•  This is the 41st installment of the Just Between Series.

•  It was posted August 4th, 2000.

Just Between
Arrivals & Departures
G. L. Dartt

Placing the last of his clothing in the carryall bag, Paris sealed it up and took a final glance around his quarters.  After serving on Voyager for seven years, he was about to start a new position on another ship, the USS Enterprise, a state-of-the-art, Sovereign-class vessel.  The young man was filled with trepidation at finding himself under the command of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, probably the most famous captain still on active duty. The Enterprise-E, meanwhile, was a much larger, more powerful vessel than the Intrepid-class ship Tom had been helming. Still, the opportunity promised a bright future for someone who had been such an utter disaster when he was younger. Drummed out of Starfleet after lying about his responsibility for a tragic accident that had killed his wingmates at Caldik Prime, Paris had been imprisoned for his subsequent actions with the Maquis. He had been with the outlaw band of freedom fighters for only a month or so before ending up in a New Zealand penal colony where Captain Kathryn Janeway had eventually contacted him, wanting his help in capturing his previous companions in the Maquis resistance cell. He had agreed to assist the formidable woman for no other reason than to secure an early release from the security facility.

That was seven years ago. While in pursuit of the Maquis ship, Voyager had been swept up by a tetryon-based displacement wave created by an entity known as the Caretaker, and flung 70,000 light-years away into the Delta Quadrant. A significant portion of the Starfleet crew had been killed, and Janeway had been forced to make an alliance with the very Maquis she had been hunting. The captain of that ship, Chakotay, had become her first officer, and Paris, skilled in navigation, had been assigned to the helm, his rank in Starfleet reinstated by the captain for the duration of their return to the Federation.

He had learned a lot about himself in the perilous journey back to the Alpha Quadrant, and now that they had finally returned, he knew that it was time for him to take the next step in his life. New orders had been issued to him from Starfleet Command, upholding his reinstatement, promoting him to senior lieutenant, and assigning him to the very vessel he had fantasized about serving all those long years ago at the Academy. To be a part of the legendary crew who manned the Federation's flagship was the cumulation of all his hopes and dreams. Yet, even as he stood here on the verge of a bright future, he was keenly aware of the part of him which would miss Voyager desperately.

As well as the people with whom he had served.

He glanced down at the bag lying on his bed, amazed that something so small was able to hold everything that had comprised his life for the past seven years. Everything he wanted or needed had been packed, and the rest could be broken down into component elements, to be sent through the recycle setting of the replicator for the energy.

He swallowed hard, surprised to find that his chest felt full. Clearing his throat, he was a little appalled for being so sentimental. This was not his nature, he told himself firmly. He was a rolling stone, a free spirit ... a shooting star that always needed to be traveling to new places and fresh situations. Yet, the fact remained that this ship had been as much a home to him as he had ever experienced, while the rest of the crew became closer to him than his own family. It was very difficult to leave.

Not that he could stay even if he wanted to, he reminded himself sharply, annoyed at the maudlin emotions roiling his stomach. Voyager was to be dry-docked, undergoing a complete overhaul in order to bring her up to current Starfleet operating standards. While they had been lost and alone in the Delta Quadrant, the Federation had fought a war, changing considerably in the course of the bitter conflict. Where once its primary motivation had been diplomatic, intent on scientifically exploring the space it held, it was now far more militaristic, more aware of the enemies which surrounded it, with more emphasis on deep space exploration to extend its territory, and less ready to use diplomatic solutions to appease those who would threaten it. The technological advances in weapons, shields, and navigational systems of the past few years had been tremendous, and according to Starfleet Command, Voyager lacked the necessary requirements to return to active duty immediately.

It could take a year or more to refit the Intrepid-class vessel, while her crew ... the band of brave explorers who had literally gone where no one in the Federation had gone before ... had been dispersed throughout the 'Fleet, taking on a variety of new positions in an organization that had suffered greatly from losses in personnel during the fight against the Dominion. There had been little delay in assigning the new posts, though if any officer felt the need to take leave in order to reaclimize, such a request would have been granted without question. The helmsman decided that he would rather report to the Enterprise immediately than take the chance he would find himself in an argument with his father about his choices regarding his professional life. He remembered well how Owen Paris had interfered with a previous posting Tom had won on the flagship. Once he was settled as a member of the Enterprise crew, then he would avail himself of his accumulated leave and visit his family. He had missed his mother and sisters greatly while in the Delta Quadrant.

He took a breath and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He knew he wasn't the first to decide to get on with his life, nor the first to depart Voyager. Currently docked at the Bajoran space station, a considerable number of the crew had already left the ship: from Maquis who were ready to get back to their civilian lives ... to Starfleet officers making other arrangements to return to their home planets since Voyager would be traveling directly to Earth once it left DS9 ... to those, like Tom, who were anxious to start their new lives on other ships and stations. He wondered if there would be enough crewmembers left to man the vessel on its final journey, or if Janeway would be required to take on new crew just long enough to get her the rest of the way to Voyager's home port.

It seemed a somewhat anticlimactic finish to what had been a most remarkable experience.

Tom inhaled sharply as he stepped out into the corridor. This would be the last time he would be exiting these quarters, he thought, and again, he had to swallow hard against the lump that persisted on forming in his throat. He railed at himself, knowing that this would pass, and soon he would be so busy learning how to fly the new Sovereign-class vessel that he wouldn't have time to miss Voyager. But for this last walk to the aft docking port where he would exit the ship, memories and thoughts of the past surrounded him like ghosts, dancing mockingly along the bulkheads and decks as he passed.

He hesitated as the door directly down the corridor slid open, and Voyager's chief of engineering stepped out. Lt. B'Elanna Torres was part Klingon, part Human, and all woman, feisty, quick-tempered, dark-haired, dark-eyed and eminently beautiful. Tom and she had shared a tempestuous and volatile romantic relationship for a year, and even now, long after they had ended it, his heart still hurt when he saw her. The engineer was accompanied by her current lover, Ro Laren, a tall, slender Bajoran with a darkly brooding nature and a constant hint of danger that lingered in the flash of her gaze. Tom supposed B'Elanna found that wonderfully exciting and attractive ... in a way that she had not found with him.

He would be the first to admit that their breakup was primarily his fault, however. He had been too casual with her heart, too quick to ignore her needs for his own hobbies and recreational pursuits. At one point he had thought she was dead, and rather than wait the prescribed time Klingon culture demanded ... rather than wait to see if it was, in fact, true ... he had found himself in the arms and bed of another. When B'Elanna returned, not dead after all, and well within the prescribed mourning period, she had been unable to forgive his perceived infidelity and they had parted ways. It was only then that he realized the true depth of his love for her, and how foolish he had been to let her slip away.

It couldn't be undone, however, and now, as he walked toward her, he wondered if he would ever have another chance at finding someone so special ... and if he did, would he have learned enough to do it right the second time around?

"B'Elanna," he greeted, proud that his voice didn't indicate his current emotional state. "Lt. Ro."

"Hey, Tom," the Klingon said. Ro dipped her head briefly in acknowledgment of his greeting. "This is it, huh? You're on your way to the Enterprise?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I wanted to get there early, become a little familiar with the ship before we leave DS9. Our departure is scheduled for 0900 tomorrow."

B'Elanna smiled, tilting her head. "You are taking this seriously. You didn't even drink at the party last night."

"The last thing I want to do is meet Captain Picard with a hangover."

B'Elanna nodded, and he realized that she was a little ill at ease, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He swallowed his pride and allowed a little of what he was feeling to show in his eyes.

"I'm going to miss you."

Her eyes lightened. "I'll miss you, too, Tom." She reached out and touched his arm. "No matter what else, you've been a good friend, and I don't have too many of those."

"You, too, B'Elanna," he said, and raised his arms. To his great gratification, she stepped into them, wrapping her own arms around his waist and hugging him fiercely.

"We had some good times, didn't we?" he said huskily into her ear.

"Yeah, we did," she said, drawing back to look into his eyes. There was no love in her gaze, but her expression held honest affection and fondness, and he counted himself lucky that, at least, that much of their relationship had survived.

"The best of luck with Utopia Planitia," he told her, referring to the shipyards orbiting Mars, where she had been assigned. "Try not to get into too many arguments with your superior officers."

Her smile widened. "I can't make any promises. You watch yourself in that big ship. It'll be a hell of a lot harder to maneuver with the Enterprise than it ever was with Voyager."

He laughed, recognizing the underlying tone that indicated she wasn't just talking about the helm or the ship's maneuverability. "No, I don't suppose it will." She stepped back and his arms ached momentarily for the loss. He nodded at Ro. "Good luck to you, as well," he offered, managing a graciousness he was far from feeling. "I understand you're heading for Starfleet Command?"

Ro inclined her head. "To upgrade my rating in Starfleet Tactical Training." She paused. "However, I may have a few other options to explore. I haven't decided anything yet."

"I'm sure that whatever you decide, you'll do well," he said, unable to imagine any area where the formidable woman would not find herself capable. She had hidden her true identity from the crew of Voyager for six years, but when it finally came out, she had wasted little time in becoming an indispensable Starfleet officer for Captain Janeway. A part of him resented it ... and her ... with an intensity that startled him. Another part, however, admired it greatly, and wished that he was equally as quick to adapt, suspecting he would need it in his new role.

He paused, long enough for the moment to become a bit awkward, then nodded.

"Take care of yourselves," he said lamely.

"You, too, Tom."

"Good fortune to you, Lt. Paris," Ro said, with what seemed sincerity.

He offered them a final smile and walked away, blinking rapidly. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get off the ship and on with his life. However, he had promised to make a few more stops, and he requested the turbolift to take him to deck six where Lt. Harry Kim, the ship's operations officer, answered the door of his family quarters. The dark-haired man was holding his young son in his arms, and Tom smiled, dropping his bag onto the deck as he reached out for his 'nephew' while the youngster gurgled and laughed, leaning into his 'uncle's' arms.

"Hey, big fella," he said, hugging the little boy as he walked into the quarters. "I'm gonna miss you, buddy."

"He'll miss you, too," Megan Delaney said, coming over to hook her arm in her husband's. Both she and Harry had odd expressions on their faces, one that combined happiness for their friend at his new opportunity ... and sadness at this parting of ways.

Tom looked at his friends soberly, Little Harry wiggling in his arms. When he had first arrived on Voyager, he had been a pariah, dismissed as a necessary evil by most of the crew in their pursuit of the Maquis. Harry Kim had been the first ... and for a long time, the only ... person who had offered his friendship. Megan had offered her friendship, as well, in the early years, even when he had been at his most boorish. It had meant a lot to the young man, and Tom was afraid that he hadn't always been able to convey that to either of them during their years on the starship.

"I can't stay long," he said. "I just wanted to say good-bye."

"You'll do all right on the Enterprise," Harry said, reaching out to slap him on the shoulder. "Hey, it's the flagship, buddy ... the Big Time."

Tom smiled. "You're not doing so bad yourself," he returned. "The Starship Design Section at Starfleet Headquarters is nothing to sneeze at. Will you guys be living in San Francisco?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, we're hoping to get a place near the bay," he said. "If not, we'll look for something up the coast and I'll commute. Megan will be able to do her research from home."

The young woman retrieved their son from Tom's embrace. "You'll be sure to visit us the first chance you get."

"I promise," he said. There was another awkward pause and he thought that he was rapidly getting his fill of them. "I uh, have to stop by and say good-bye to the Doctor."

Harry forced a smile. "He'll appreciate that," he said. "Though don't be surprised if he doesn't let on."

"That's for sure," Tom said. Another hesitation, then Harry dipped his head and stepped forward. Tom hugged him, the pair slapping each other on the back. "Take care of yourself, friend. You won't have me looking out for you anymore."

"You mean, you won't have me looking out for you," Harry returned. He looked sheepish, as if embarrassed and surprised by the depth of emotion he was feeling.

Tom knew that he certainly was, and again, he felt the need to get moving. This was far harder than he had anticipated.

"I gotta go," he said, his voice a little ragged. "As soon as you can, send me your new address."

"We'll do that," Megan promised. She kissed him on the cheek. "Be well, Tom."

He got a final snuggle from Little Harry, then picked up his bag. Out in the corridor, he had to surreptitiously wipe some moisture from his face, after first making sure there was no one else around.

"Dammit," he growled to himself. "I've got to get out of here." Yet, he knew the worst was yet to come.

He still had to say good-bye to the captain.

Captain Kathryn Janeway stood near the docking port and unobtrusively shifted her shoulders beneath the new version of uniform she was wearing. It was still Starfleet issue, of course, but quite different from the thin red and black outfit she had worn for the past seven years or so. The tunic was heavier, black offset with grey, quilted padding on both shoulders, while the sweater beneath, which denoted the ship's department ... wine-red for command crew ... seemed of a lighter material than the previous slate-blue version. Four gold pips glinted at the collar, indicating her command rank, and she thought the trousers were just a bit thicker than her old ones. It seemed a rather generic type of design, but then, that made sense considering the Federation was recently at war. Probably someone at Starfleet Operations had determined that making it difficult for a Dominion sniper to differentiate between officers at a distance ... particularly when it came to rank and department ... might be a good idea when it came to walking around on the front lines.

It should have been exhilarating to be standing here wearing the new uniform, docked to the very station Voyager had departed from seven years earlier, but it wasn't. Instead, Janeway felt sore, bone-tired, and vaguely disgruntled as she waited by the aft docking port on deck six. This had been designated as the ship's departure area, from where various members of the crew were leaving the Intrepid-class vessel for the last time. The past couple of days had left Janeway feeling decidedly melancholy, the sense that while everyone else was going on to new and exciting things, she was being left behind, discarded, as if no longer necessary to anyone. Nor was that sense of loss diminished after spending most of the day issuing formal farewells to people with whom she had been as close as family for the past seven years. She hadn't realized how difficult it would be to give her best to people who had served her with distinction and honor in the most trying of circumstances, while a secret part of her wished desperately that she could call them back, tell them not to go, that this was all some kind of mistake, and that they could stay on Voyager after all.

She became aware of a pair of ice blue eyes scrutinizing her from a few feet away, and she glanced sideways at her astrometrics officer, annoyed by the intense surveillance. Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and now wearing the uniform of a Starfleet lieutenant, was on hand to represent the departmental heads, particularly the science section which had been denuded with the transfers and resignations of so many crewmembers. Tall, with blonde hair pulled back in an austere bun, her narrow features enhanced poignantly by metallic implants left over from her time as a drone, Seven was a formidable woman. Her demeanor was one of precision and formality, her attitude encompassing a supreme confidence in her own abilities and little patience with others who refused to show competence.

Yet despite all that, Janeway knew the warm and caring woman that lay beneath the ice-queen exterior, possessing an intimate familiarity with the officer that no one else on the ship was privy to.

But then, no one else on the ship was married to her.

"Captain," the Borg asked softly, so softly that the others in the area could not hear her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Seven," Janeway said crisply, raising her chin authoritatively. The pale orbs did not waver in their intensity, however, and the captain let out an exasperated sigh. "Really," she insisted.

Only because they were in public did the young woman let it go. Otherwise, Janeway was sure that Seven would persist in having the captain tell her all her problems, needing to understand the unease she was detecting in her partner. Not that Janeway necessarily disagreed with such a desire for communication from her spouse, but at the moment, she just didn't want to talk about it. It seemed ironic to her that she had spent so much time leading up to their return reassuring Seven on how wonderful it would be, only to find the reality of it to be less than what she anticipated ... or perhaps it was just the events of this day. She wanted this duty to be over with so she could return to her ready room and get back to the familiar task of running her ship.

You mean, get back to all the paperwork that you still have to do? her little voice reminded her sardonically.

The captain had forgotten how many documents and forms were required when transferring and releasing crewmembers. It wasn't something that she had been required to deal with for the past seven years, but now it seemed that when she wasn't bidding farewell to someone, she was filling out reports and transmitting them to Starfleet Command, making sure everything was in order for their official return to Earth.

At this point, she was actually starting to miss the relative tranquility of the Delta Quadrant.

She lifted her head as Tom Paris strode down the corridor toward her, a carryall slung casually over his shoulder. Close behind him, the ship's counselor, Kes, and Lt. Neelix, natives of the same sector Voyager had been transported to seven years earlier, also carried their meager belongings in Starfleet emblazoned bags. A surge of annoyance swept through Janeway and she forced it down, not allowing it to reach her face. Other starship captains had not wasted any time in recruiting from the valuable pool of starship officers that crewed Voyager. Perhaps, under similar circumstances, she would have done the same ... but it didn't mean that she had to like it. She was particularly piqued by Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise-E, who had not only arranged the transfer of Lt. Paris before Voyager had even known for sure they would be able to return, he had also sent personal offers to several other officers, including Kes and Neelix, as soon as his ship had docked at DS9.

Of course, Janeway was aware that she and her starship no longer needed a crew. Voyager was headed for a dry-dock in the Utopia Planitia shipyards, and during the year it would take to refit the vessel, Janeway planned to accept one of the administrative positions offered her by Starfleet Command. She should be pleased that her crewmembers were going on to bigger and better things, that they were considered valuable personnel to Starfleet, even those that had initially been Maquis. Still, the presumption of the other captains aggravated her. It was as if Voyager were dying, and the rest of the vessels were circling like vultures in the desert, snatching at whatever they could acquire from the corpse of the grand ship that had dared travel into the deepest, most inaccessible part of the galaxy.

It was certainly not how she envisioned her vessel's triumphant return, but then, she also allowed that fighting a war with the Dominion had not been what anyone else had envisioned either. At the height of the conflict, just prior to the Romulans making an alliance with the Federation, Starfleet had been losing 1700 officers a day, and the holes left in the command structure were of the type that cadets fresh out of the Academy simply lacked the ability to fill. A starship that no longer required a crew of experienced and seasoned officers, making them available to be recruited, was something no captain worth their pips could afford to overlook.

"Captain," Tom said, pausing in front of her. He straightened to attention, shoulders square in his new uniform, his chin firm, the intent gaze level. "Permission to disembark, ma'am."

She held the stare, a muscle jumping in her jaw. The young man had been a special project of hers, Janeway granting him a second chance at the life he had mishandled so badly when he had been much younger. He had faltered a few times in the seven years he had served on her ship, but overall, he had fulfilled the potential she always believed he had. Besides that, she had grown to honestly like the brash young man, seeing in him elements that others, less perceptive, had missed.

"Permission granted," she said, her voice husky. She held her posture a few seconds more, then abruptly relaxed it, reaching out to hug the young man. Surprised, Tom returned it, bashfully pleased and overwhelmed.

"It was an honor to serve you," he said quietly, drawing back. His blue eyes were bright, shining with a suspicious moisture. "You've given me so much ... I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you."

"Serve Picard as well as you have served me," she said, gripping his arm tightly. "Do us all proud, Lt. Paris."

"Aye, Captain," he said, his smile a little tremulous. He dipped his head and made his farewells to Seven who returned them graciously, before taking a moment to speak quietly to Commander Chakotay. The first officer and the helmsman had a history of acrimony, but it had developed into respect and grudging admiration on both sides over the years, and their good-byes were sincere.

Janeway turned to face her other two crewmembers. Both natives of the Delta Quadrant, Kes and Neelix had been the first friends Voyager had made after arriving at the Caretaker's array. Both had asked to accompany Janeway and her crew on the long journey home, and now it was time for them to find their place in this new quadrant. Neelix, a Talaxian male with a short, stocky build, his spotted features framed with tufts of blond hair, had moisture shimmering in his golden eyes, unquestionably upset by having to say good-bye. He hadn't wanted to leave, but when Janeway found out he had been offered a position on the flagship, she had advised him to take it. After all, what position would she have him fill? Return home with him to Indiana to serve as her personal cook?

"You'll do fine on the Enterprise, Ensign," she assured him, patting him on the shoulder. "It's the pride of the 'fleet and Picard is a much honored and decorated captain."

She resisted a sigh. In truth, it was better that Neelix had ended up with Picard whose experience would enable him to make the best use of a Talaxian so far from home. There were now captains in Starfleet that Janeway didn't even recognize, some of whom were barely older than Tom Paris and Harry Kim.

"If you don't mind me saying so, Captain," Neelix said huskily. "Voyager is the real pride of Starfleet and you're the best captain I know."

Flattered beyond measure, Janeway smiled. "Thank you, Neelix."

"I wish I could stay with you."

"I know," she replied. "But with Voyager undergoing a refit, I won't have a ship for awhile. I promise, however, that when I do, I'll make sure you have every opportunity to join my new crew. I'll issue a request for the transfer personally."

He beamed. "Thank you, Captain." He hesitated, and then stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "I'll miss you."

She patted his back, torn between amusement and sadness. It was certainly not protocol for an ensign to be this familiar with his captain, but then, Neelix was far from being an average ensign, and what they had gone through together was far from average circumstances.

"I'll miss you, too, Neelix. Take care of yourself."

He nodded and moved away, going over to say good-bye to Chakotay and Seven. Janeway knew that, earlier in the morning, the Talaxian had made a special trip up to the bridge to say good-bye to Tuvok, a gesture which had greatly pleased the Vulcan security chief, though of course, he refused to show it. However, he gravely wished Neelix well on his future and had even gone so far as to promise to 'visit' if he were ever in the vicinity of the Enterprise. Janeway knew, as she left the Vulcan holding the conn, that the security officer was just as dissatisfied with the crew's departure as she was, in many ways.

She felt her heart twinge as Kes paused before her. The slender blonde was a few centimeters shorter than the captain, and Janeway always felt a sense of affection sweep through her when she was near the young woman.

"Somehow this doesn't seem fair," she said huskily. "We just got you back."

The Ocampa were a short-lived species, their lifespan covering only nine years, and Kes had been only two when Janeway had first met the calm, serene female. The captain had developed a maternal bond with the young woman and had delighted in watching her grow and explore her potential, her psychic abilities finding opportunity to develop during the many adventures they had faced in the Delta Quadrant. In Voyager's fourth year, those abilities had evolved to the extent that Kes was forced to leave the ship, and Janeway had been heartbroken to see her go.

A year later, the Doctor had requested that they build a medical assistant for him, and they had based the holographic matrix on Kes's personal profile. Unknown to them, Kes had left behind a part of herself, an essence of who she was, and they had tapped into that somehow while creating the hologram, who took the name of Sek. Eventually, Sek became the ship's counselor, and when an infuriated and greatly aged Kes had returned, seeking that missing part of herself, the pair had melded, two halves becoming whole, two individuals with different experiences merging to create a single being. Now, Kes was also Sek, looking as young as that first day they had met, and Janeway knew she would miss her desperately.

"This is something I must do, Captain," Kes said quietly, her tone melodious, like a soft breeze in the leaves. "It is where my path leads."

"I hope that it will lead you to Earth before long," Janeway said, embracing her gently. "You have to promise to visit me every chance that you get."

Kes smiled, an enigmatic expression in her luminous eyes.

"I'm sure that we will see each other sooner than you expect," she said. Her small hands rested lightly on Janeway's forearms where they squeezed gently. "Time will pass quickly and you will have much to do in your new position."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "I don't even know exactly what that new position will be. I don't suppose you'd care to give me a hint?"

Kes tilted her head. "My abilities are not what they once were," she said, her tone equally as playful. Janeway knew that when the two beings had merged, Kes's formidable and uncontrollable neural powers had disappeared for the most part, almost as if they had been burnt out by the overwhelming energy it had taken to undergo the transformation. "But I'm sure that whatever you decide, you will succeed at it with the same skill and compassion you have displayed in your command of Voyager."

"I suspect I won't have as fine a crew working for me, however," Janeway responded. Gently, she released the younger woman. "Good-bye, Kes. Take care of yourself. Take care of Tom and Neelix as well. They'll probably need it."

"I'll keep an eye on them," Kes promised.

She offered the captain a final smile before moving over to say farewell to Chakotay and Seven. The first officer was obviously saddened to see the young woman leave, but Seven was cool and reserved in her parting words, and Janeway stifled a small flare of irritation. Unlike most of the senior staff, Seven had not known Kes at all, arriving on the ship just as the Ocampa was departing, but she had been good friends with the holographic Sek. The Borg had not seen their merging as a combination of two incomplete parts, but rather as Kes replacing Sek; in essence, destroying her.

Seven had not liked the situation or the restored Kes, and made no secret of the fact. Janeway had tried to get her spouse to be more amiable to the Ocampa, but Seven had remained stubbornly resistant to all her partner's entreaties. She was probably pleased to see Kes leave, the captain thought darkly, then decided that she had better not pursue it, just as the ship's counselor had suggested on more than one occasion Even though Janeway and Seven were married, it was not required that they hold the same opinions on everything, not even regarding their circle of acquaintances.

Janeway couldn't help thinking, however, that Seven had deprived herself of getting to know a most wonderful and remarkable being, and that the two woman could have been fast friends if only the Borg had allowed it.

Taking a deep breath as the three officers picked up their bags and left the area, Janeway watched as they moved through the open airlock and down the docking umbilical where they stepped into the corridor leading to the rest of the station. A large, circular, rust-colored door of Cardassian design rolled shut behind them, cutting off Janeway's last glimpse of her crewmembers, and the captain inhaled sharply, brushing a hand down over her face as she composed herself.

"These farewells certainly aren't getting any easier," she said idly.

"No," Seven agreed in an odd tone, raising her head as she saw the next group of departing officers enter the area. "They are not."

Alerted by the tone, Janeway followed her gaze, and her stomach did a little flip, aware that her partner was about to experience the most difficult farewell she had ever had to face.

Naomi Wildman, the ship's first child, dashed across the deck and flung herself into Seven's arms, wrapping her small arms around the Borg's neck tightly.

"I don't want to go," she wailed, tears streaming down her face. "Please, don't make me go, Seven ... please?!?"

Seven of Nine held the little girl in her arms tightly, hugging her comfortingly. Over the youngster's shoulder, she could see Samantha Wildman, along with her husband and her other daughter, approach the departure area. Greskrendtregk Wildman had been left behind on DS9 when Voyager had departed all those years ago, and had no way of knowing that he would not see his wife for seven, long years, or that when she returned, she would be accompanied by two little girls: one, his daughter, Naomi, the other, a child of the Borg, rescued by Captain Janeway and adopted by Samantha Wildman as her own. Both children had been born on starships, however, and had never known any other kind of life. It was to be expected that Naomi would be apprehensive and reluctant to leave the only home she had ever known to live on the space station.

The little girl and Seven had bonded in the time they had spent together on Voyager, the young woman finding a sort of kindred spirit in the child as they grew as close as sisters. Saying good-bye to her was something Seven had been dreading since she discovered her vessel's return to the Alpha Quadrant was imminent. It took all her vaunted discipline not to give into her feelings ... not to burst into tears, thereby humiliating herself with a helpless emotional display.

"Naomi Wildman," she said, her voice lacking much of its normal precision. "I am aware that this is difficult for you, but we both knew this day would arrive."

"I know, Seven," Naomi whispered in her ear, not loosening her grip one iota. "But I want to stay with you on Voyager."

"I will not be staying on Voyager," Seven reminded her gently. "The captain and I shall be leaving it once we return to Earth." She paused. "Naomi, our journey together is complete, and now a new journey begins for both of us."

"Don't you love me anymore?" Naomi demanded through her sobs, unaware of how the words slashed directly across the Borg's heart.

"I shall always love you, Naomi Wildman," Seven told her sternly, drawing back to look into her young friend's tear-stained face. "That shall never change, not even when we are unable to inhabit the same vessel. I promise, whenever I am in the area of DS9, I shall visit you. Of course, you are always welcome to visit me and Kathryn wherever we choose to live."

"I'm scared, Seven," the child said in a soft voice.

"I understand," Seven said gently. She was peripherally aware of the captain and Chakotay taking Samantha and her husband aside, speaking with them quietly as the Borg had this private good-bye with her friend, but her focus was primarily on the child, blocking out most of everything else.

Mostly everything.

Her eye was caught by the forlorn figure of the other child, Mezoti, who was also leaving Voyager to live on DS9. Unlike Naomi, the girl was made of sterner stuff when it came to farewells, but then, like Seven, she had been part of the Borg Collective, maintaining a certain type of discipline that most children her age simply could not display. Yet, Seven knew that a cool and casual demeanor could sometimes hold great fear and unhappiness ... only too familiar with hiding behind such a mask when she had first come on board Voyager ... and she knelt, keeping her left arm tight around Naomi.

"Mezoti, come here," she instructed.

Slowly, almost shyly, the other girl came over to where Seven and Naomi were. The Borg reached out and wrapped her other long arm around the slender form, hugging her to her. There was a hesitation, almost a sense of surprise from the girl, but with only a little reluctance, she hugged Seven back.

"I know you are afraid, as well," Seven said to her, glancing at Naomi before returning her focus to the narrow face of the Pendari. "Unlike Naomi, you do not have a great deal of experience dealing with Federation beings, but Naomi will assist you." She dipped her head and met the wide blue eyes of her young friend, intending her to understand. "You will assist her, correct?"

Naomi, tears ceasing as she realized she was not as alone in her apprehension about what she would face as she had believed, nodded. "I will," she promised seriously.

"B'Elanna and I personally supervised the installation of your alcove into the Wildman's quarters on DS9," Seven added to Mezoti, doing her best to reassure her. "You will not have any problem adapting to your new surroundings."

"Yes, Seven," Mezoti responded quietly, her dark eyes unhappy.

Seven swallowed hard. "I shall miss you both, very much," she admitted softly. "I will think of you constantly, but I know that you will succeed in this new venture. You are both competent individuals, and if you work together, there is nothing that you cannot overcome." She managed a small smile. "If we have learned nothing else on Voyager, that is the one lesson we must retain."

Mezoti nodded somberly and Naomi hugged Seven again.

"Good-bye," she whispered.

"Good-bye, Naomi," Seven said, her heart shattering. "Good-bye, Mezoti."

The girls slipped away from the Borg and Seven took a long inhalation, taking a second to compose herself before rising to her feet. She linked her hands behind her back and kept her face impassive as Samantha took a few seconds to bid the Borg farewell.

"Thanks for everything, Seven," the biometrics officer said. "It was a pleasure and an honor to serve with you."

"You were a ... most adequate crewmate," Seven replied. She felt frozen, as if a layer of ice had encased her insides.

Greskrendtregk looked shocked at the abrupt words and cold demeanor, but Samantha smiled compassionately, understanding perfectly what the Borg had meant. "Visit us anytime, Seven," she said, patting the young woman on the arm, before looking around for her offspring.

Naomi was standing before a kneeling Captain Janeway, who was refusing the return of the pip she had given the child a year or so earlier.

"I may not be in command of Voyager for much longer, Naomi," she said kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she regarded the youngster, "but you'll always be my Captain's Assistant."

"Thank you, Captain," the child said. She paused, shot a glance at the Borg astrometrics officer, then leaned forward, lowering her voice confidentially, though everyone in the vicinity could easily hear her. "You'll take care of Seven, won't you? She isn't familiar with Federation beings either."

"The absolute best care," Janeway promised her gravely.

Naomi smiled, then leaned forward and hugged Janeway. "Good-bye, Captain."

"Good-bye, sweetling," Janeway said. "We'll miss you."

Seven concentrated very hard on taking one breath after another as the Wildmans left the ship, heading for their living quarters and new lives on DS9. There was a moment of silence, as Seven refused to look away from the point in the hull she had fastened her gaze upon, then, as if from a great distance, she heard Chakotay clear his throat.

"That seems to be it for our transfers, Captain," he said, regarding a padd. "I can handle any of the paperwork still required, if you'd like." He paused, shooting a glance at Seven which she refused to acknowledge, before returning his attention to Janeway. "I hear some really good restaurants have moved into the Promenade. Maybe you should think about trying one for dinner."

"We might just do that, Commander," Janeway said, a note of gratitude in her voice. "In the meantime, have Harry relieve Tuvok to cover the beta shift." She reached out and touched Seven's elbow briefly. "Lieutenant?"

Seven started a bit at the touch, then obediently followed the captain from the departure area. The two women did not speak as they took the turbolift to deck three and walked to their quarters where they were greeted by their Irish Setter, Jake, his fringed tail wagging happily at their return. Janeway knelt to pat him, scratching him behind the ears while Seven moved somewhat automatically behind the kitchenette counter, resting her hands on the butcher block counter top.

There she paused and stared out the near viewport, looking blankly at the worker bees and space-suited station personnel working about the area. Across from where Voyager was berthed, little workpods swooped around the other two ships docked to the pylons which descended gracefully from the spoked wheel that comprised DS9. One was a Bolian freighter; having experienced damage in a plasma storm, currently being repaired by one of the station's engineering teams. The other was the massive and oddly militaristically designed Enterprise-E, the Sovereign-class vessel. Magnificent even while docked, it radiated power and authority in every line of its gleaming, metallic silver hull. Voyager undoubtedly looked like a toy when compared to it, and Seven wondered if Tom, Neelix and Kes had already made their way over to it, or if they were still on the station.

She inhaled sharply when arms encircled her waist, the body of her partner pressing warmly against her back.

"Talk to me, love," Janeway requested huskily.

Seven inclined her head, putting her hands over Janeway's.

"I do not like these changes," she said in an icy voice, displaying the brutal honesty that was more in keeping with how she had been when she had first arrived on Voyager, rather than the more moderate tones she had developed during her time on the ship. "They are unacceptable."

Janeway made a small sound in her throat, one that might have been amusement but was probably just agreement. "I don't like them very much, either," she admitted.

"I wish we had not returned," Seven continued, knowing she was being irrational, and that it might hurt Kathryn, but needing to say it anyway. "I wish we had remained in the Delta Quadrant."

Janeway squeezed her tightly. "Sometimes," she admitted quietly, "I do, too." She released her hug, slipping her hands to Seven's hips and urging her to turn around. Her face was serious as she looked up into the young woman's distressed expression. "But it will get better, my love. Right now, we're just suffering the pains of separation and adjustment."

"Is that what Kes told you?" Seven said waspishly, regretting it as soon as it left her mouth. "I am sorry, Kathryn," she added immediately, before the captain's face could change. "I do not know why I said that."

"Because you're upset at Naomi and Mezoti leaving," Janeway said quietly, pointing out the obvious. "You want to strike out at something, even when you know it won't help."

"Yes." She paused. "But I should not strike out at you. I know you are upset, as well." She studied her partner's elegant features sadly. "It was most difficult for you to say good-bye to Mr. Paris and Neelix ... and Kes."

The captain did not deny it. "It was. There's not much I can do about it, however." She reached up and cupped the Borg's cheek. "That's part and parcel of returning home, darling. Not just the joy of arrival, but the inevitable pain of saying good-bye to all the people who have been our family. We knew it would be hard."

"I did not realize how hard, however," Seven said, drawing her partner into her arms and cuddling the compact form under her chin. They stood in silence for awhile, holding on tightly in the privacy of their quarters and the knowledge that here, they could be vulnerable to each other in a way they could not afford in the rest of the ship. "I love you, Kathryn," she whispered finally. "I am very glad that you are the one person I do not have to say good-bye to. I do not believe I could survive that."

Janeway lifted her face, reaching up with her hand to the back of Seven's neck, bringing her head down to her where she kissed her sweetly. "Never," she promised fiercely when they parted. "You'll never have to say good-bye to me."

Seven kissed her again, then tightened her embrace, wanting this moment to last for eternity ... because so long as she was in her spouse's arms, anything that might hurt her seemed very far away, unable to breach the shield their love formed around her. However, not even they could remain embraced forever, and eventually, Janeway drew away.

"You know, I think Chakotay had a good idea," the captain suggested as she moved around the counter. "Why don't we dress up and eat out tonight?" She shot Seven a bit of an imploring look. "You and I really never had much of a chance to 'date'. I think I'd like to be able to show off my spouse to the inhabitants of DS9."

"Indeed?" Seven considered it, her spirit lightening at the tone of her partner's voice. Obviously, the captain was trying hard to lift the dark mood which had befallen the couple and it behooved the Borg to help that along, if she could. "What would you choose to wear?"

"Ah, now that's a bit of a quandary," Janeway remarked, heading for the bedroom as Seven followed her. "My navy dress?"

The couple strode quickly into the ensuite and opened the doors leading to their walk-in closet, the extra space appropriated from the guest quarters next door in the course of their journey. Several containers took up far more space than Janeway and Seven required for their limited selection of civilian clothing, and the Borg was grateful that they had expanded when they had ... otherwise, some of the souvenirs and mementos she had accumulated over the course of their marriage would have been discarded for the sake of living space.

"This," the young woman suggested, taking a sapphire outfit from the rack. "This is the dress you wore in the Beta Quadrant when we went out to dinner with Tazna Jade." She paused, knowing that Janeway had been jealous of the Beta Quadrant native and wanting her to feel better about wearing the outfit rather than associating bad memories with it. "You made her look like a Kazon in comparison."

"Oh, my," Janeway said, obviously pleased and flattered as she accepted the garment from her spouse. "I didn't think you even knew what a Kazon looked like."

"Species 329," Seven said promptly. "The Collective considered them ... unworthy of assimilation."

"I stand corrected," Janeway laughed as she carried the dress into the ensuite. "What do you plan to wear?"

"I shall replicate something," Seven said, rather daringly since she was not known for spending rations on personal items. But then, rationing was no longer something they had to worry about, now that they had returned to the Alpha Quadrant. "It shall be a surprise."

"I can hardly wait," Janeway said dryly. She looked at her, her eyes more blue than grey. "Tonight will be much better than the day has been, darling."

"Yes," Seven agreed, nodding as she scanned the selection in the pattern buffer.

After all, she thought bleakly, keeping her thoughts from showing on her face, it couldn't get much worse than having to say good-bye to Naomi and Mezoti.

Neelix entered the cavernous lounge that comprised Ten-Forward, the Enterprise's center of recreation, where the crew came to socialize. Beside him, Kes looked around intently, her eyes bright, her diminutive pose one of eagerness and expectation. It was quiet, undoubtedly because the ship was currently docked at DS9 and most of the ship's personnel were finding their entertainment elsewhere. Only a few people remained scattered at the tables near the outer hull where viewports loomed, showing the tapered shape of Voyager docked at the other pylon. Behind the bar, which stretched along one end of the room, a dark-skinned woman was polishing glasses, and she looked up at their entry, her deep eyes assessing the new arrivals with remarkable presence.

"Mr. Neelix," she said in a calm, cool voice. "Please, join me."

"Are you Guinan?" Neelix asked, stumbling a little over the pronunciation of the name as he approached the bar, holding out the padd he had been given by Commander Riker, the ship's first officer.

He had been instructed to report here as soon as he had finished settling into his quarters, and if it wasn't what he had been expecting when he accepted the transfer, he did hope that this was where he would be assigned while on the Enterprise. It was a familiar type of area, and while many might consider it beneath the dignity of a Starfleet officer to perform this kind of work, he knew it was actually the best and quickest way to get to know both the ship and the crew.

"Yes," she said, accepting the padd gracefully. "I'm not sure if Commander Riker told you, but I require an assistant. With over seven hundred crewmembers to keep happy, you can imagine that this part of the vessel becomes quite crucial to the smooth functioning of the vessel. I was thrilled to discover that, finally, I had access to a Starfleet officer who could truly appreciate the position."

Neelix took a deep breath, expanding his chest. This was far better than he could have hoped. He had expected to be assigned to ship operations, or perhaps engineering, where his limited experience in Starfleet would have seen him doing menial tasks like cleaning out plasma vents or crawling around Jeffries tubes. To be able to work in this elegant and very large social area was exactly what he needed to feel comfortable immediately.

"This is Kes," he said, belatedly remembering the presence of his companion. "She's the new assistant ship's counselor. We served together on Voyager."

"So I've heard," Guinan said evenly, reaching over to offer her hand. "Welcome, Kes. I trust that Counselor Troi has been showing you around?"

Kes accepted the hand, grasping it tightly. "She has," the Ocampa explained. "It's such a large ship with an incredibly varied crew. I'm looking forward to all the challenges that lie ahead."

Despite the innocuousness of their conversation, Neelix was struck by the notion that the two women were actually taking each other's measure in some odd way, continuing to hold hands as they stared intently at each other. It was odd, but the thought didn't stay with him long, seeming to slip beyond his grasp almost as quickly as it had crossed his mind.

"You'll do," the older woman said finally.

Neelix wasn't sure what that meant, but he was glad that the two seemed to be getting along.

"What would you have me do first?" he asked.

Guinan drew down her brows, almost as if she had momentarily forgotten he was there, and then offered him that ageless smile again as she released Kes's hand. "Help me set up. The captain's arranged a little reception to welcome the new crewmembers coming on board, as well as to celebrate the promotion of three of our officers. How good are you at making drinks?"

"Food preparation is more my specialty," Neelix admitted. "From scratch, of course. In the Delta Quadrant, we couldn't rely on replicators so I was responsible for providing meals for 150 crewmembers."

"You're a chef?" Guinan asked, obviously pleased. "This just gets better and better." She raised a hand and gestured toward the large, crew-sized replicators set unobtrusively behind the bar. "Help yourself," she instructed. "We'll need finger foods for approximately five hundred people at any given time this evening."

"Five hundred?" he squeaked.

"Neelix, just allow for a Prixin celebration and triple everything," Kes suggested, her voice calming him as it always did.

"Right," he said, his heart rate slowing. "Good idea."

As he availed himself of the replicator, impressed by the enhanced speed, selection and power that these boasted in comparison to Voyager's more limited units, he was only vaguely aware that Guinan and Kes had fallen into an intense and private conversation. He was certainly far too busy to wonder what two women, who had never met before, could possibly find to discuss so seriously or at such length, and when he looked up again, he was surprised to see that Kes had left unnoticed. Guinan was across the room, preparing a food area where his dishes were undoubtedly supposed to go. When the woman turned to move toward him, he was surprised at how smoothly she walked, almost gliding, as if her feet weren't actually touching the deck beneath the long robe she wore.

She reached out and selected a cheese ball from the platter he was still filling. Others, covered with stasis wraps, were stacked neatly to one side of the preparation area. She chewed it slowly.

"Very good," she complimented. She tried a few other delicacies, including the ones specific to the Delta Quadrant, and nodded when she was finished. "Excellent, and far better than any replicated hor d'oeuvres I've come across. They say an army operates on its stomach ... I believe the same is true of Starfleet. You're going to make a welcome addition to the Enterprise, Mr. Neelix."

"Monitoring the morale of the ship was an important part of my duties on Voyager," he offered, feeling better about himself every moment. "Scheduling celebrations and making sure everyone had enough to eat was sometimes pretty important."

"It would be in that situation," she agreed and smiled gently at him. "Well done, Mr. Neelix. Now, if you'd help me carry these over to the serving table, you can consider yourself relieved of duty. You are one of the guests of honor, after all."

Neelix glanced at her uncertainly. "Would it be all right if I continued to work?" I think ... it would be easier for me to fit in ... at least, immediately." He concentrated on arranging the platters on the buffet. "I'm not really familiar with Starfleet etiquette..." he added, trailing off.

She paused, looking at him steadily with what seemed great compassion in her eyes. "All right," she agreed, smiling gently, "If you want to use the camouflage of serving in order to blend in, I'm certainly not going to object."

"Thank you," he said. How had he managed to fall into such a lovely position with such an understanding superior officer? he wondered. He made a promise to whatever Talaxian gods he had ignored most of his life that he would burn a candle in their honor. He glanced at her. "By the way," he added curiously, "What should I call you in terms of rank? I didn't catch that when we were introduced."

"Oh my, I'm not a member of Starfleet," she told him, seeming amused at the idea. "What would I do with a rank?"

For someone without a rank, however, he noted much later when the crew began to assemble and the party began in earnest, Guinan was certainly someone who received a great deal of respect on this ship. Neelix had enjoyed his time on Voyager tremendously, finding it far superior to any other lifestyle he had previously known, but he had also been aware that the crew regarded him with a little less ... acknowledgment than perhaps he felt his contribution deserved. He had concluded that it was a result of a culture which used replicators as their main source of nutrition, believing that perhaps the Federation members considered food preparation a primitive and not very advanced skill. Now, however, observing the way this crew interacted with Guinan, he realized that theory could not be true. When she spoke, people immediately stopped what they were doing to pay attention, and even the captain, a tall, slender bald man with remarkable presence, made an obvious display of listening to her intently.

Neelix was astounded. He was even more disconcerted ... though vastly pleased ... when Guinan took the time to introduce him and revealed that he was the creator behind the finger foods that everyone seemed to raving about. His spotted skin turned a bright pink as he received the praise which washed around him and Captain Jean-Luc Picard personally welcomed him on board, telling him with apparent sincerity, what a valuable addition he was going to be to the Enterprise.

It was a distinct difference from begging to be taken along by Captain Janeway and company all those years ago, from scrabbling for every bit of respect that he received. He had been very grateful to the crew of Voyager just to allow him to be a part of their journey.

Now he wondered if he had ever been accepted by a great many of them at all.

"You've made quite an impression, Neelix."

Startled out of his thoughts, he looked up to see Tom Paris leaning against the bar. The young man had an expression on his face, one that at first glance might have seemed cocky, almost arrogant, but for the first time, Neelix recognized it for what it truly was ... an attempt by Paris to hide his inner uncertainties and fear. Rather than being angered at such a display, the Talaxian realized he was saddened at how many times he had misunderstood the young man's attitude over the years.

"They're getting the benefit of seven years of education," Neelix pointed out with a small smile. "After all, it was the palate of Voyager's crew that suffered through all my miscues with leola root and trying to make pizza."

Tom laughed, relaxing a little. "It was a hell of a learning experience," he admitted. "For all of us."

"What will you have, Tom?" Neelix added. "I'm still learning how to make the drinks this crew seems to prefer."

Tom took a breath. "Give me a Kazon Kicker," he said. "Might be nice to get a little taste of ... home." He faltered as he realized what had just come out of his mouth. "My god, did I really say that?"

Neelix began to assemble the ingredients for the requested drink, making a mental note to use synthehol rather than the real brandy the original recipe called for. It would not do for Tom to overindulge his first night on board, especially since he was nervous enough to do just that. Neelix, Kes and Tom were the only ones on board who really knew what the others had gone through in the past seven years, and it was important that they look out for each other.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he offered as he slid the purplish-tinged intoxicant across the bar. "It was our home, and quite a good one. Voyager kept us safe across two quadrants and through more adventures than most of the people here will ever experience."

"You have a point there," Tom said, taking a healthy slug of his drink. He made a face, obviously recognizing the substitution, but he didn't say anything. Apparently, he understood what would be best for him as well.

Both men looked up as another figure joined them, and Neelix smiled as Kes placed her empty glass on the bar.

"Another?" Neelix offered.

"Please," the young woman said, somewhat breathlessly. She looked around the room. "So many people. It's hard to believe that this ship holds almost eight hundred crewmembers."

"It'll take some getting used to," Tom agreed.

"Increases the fun," Neelix noted idly as he refilled the Ocampa's glass with fruit juice. "However, it also increases the potential trouble."

"Speaking of trouble," Tom offered, frowning as he looked across the room. "What's she doing here?"

"Who?" Neelix craned his neck as he attempted to follow Tom's gaze through the seething mass of people.

"Ro Laren just walked in."

Startled, Neelix finally managed to get a glimpse of the Bajoran's slender form, slipping with some intent through the crowd, toward the area at the end of the bar where Enterprise's senior officers had gathered. She moved as if she were stepping on unsteady ground, a keen sense of alertness surrounding her, and Neelix was struck by the sudden thought that the ex-security officer was hunting.

The question was ... for what? Or whom?

Janeway tucked her arm into Seven's and smiled as the two women strolled along DS9's Promenade. Her partner was wearing a plum dress ... similar in style to the blue dress Janeway had given her for her birthday ... and the color tended to bring out a rosiness in Seven's cheeks that other colors did not, just as it had when she'd worn her biometric outfit of the same shade. Her appearance made her seem like the young, carefree woman she might have been had the shadow of the Borg Collective not touched her life, and Janeway found that her breath kept catching in her throat every time she glanced at her. The Borg had let her hair down, her eyes bright as she looked around intently, and much of the icy demeanor she normally displayed had been left behind along with her uniform.

The captain was feeling quite spectacular herself. Not normally one for dressing up, she was conscious of the fact that she could clean up reasonably well when she tried, and the dress she wore, along with the silver wedding chain and dangling earrings, set off her eyes and hair perfectly. She was very conscious of the admiring looks cast in their direction from various Humanoids ... mostly male, but also including a significant number of females ... and she felt herself preen under the attention.

The restaurant they chose was a recent addition to DS9's Promenade. This sector of space had always been considered a part of the Alpha Quadrant's frontier, a territory which bordered that of the Cardassian Empire, and thus boasted a bit of a wilder reputation than most Federation-allied deep space stations possessed. However, with the recent victory over the Dominion, a more upscale set of merchants had begun moving in, their shops and stores providing a more extravagant consumer experience than the typical Ferengi bars, Klingon kiosks and Bajoran pushcart merchants the station's inhabitants had become accustomed to. Because of a timely warning by their Emissary to refuse membership into the Federation, Bajor was prospering, having remained neutral through the war, even though it had actually been located near the center of the conflict.

Janeway wasn't sure if this indicated Bajor was actually becoming a power in the quadrant, or if it was merely a phase as they benefited from the increased traffic to the sector, but for this evening, it allowed the captain to escort Seven to the most elegant restaurant she had seen in well over seven years. The maitre d' guided Seven and the captain to seats next to a window which gave an unobstructed view of the wormhole, clearly one of the better tables in the establishment. She wondered if the couple had merely been fortunate in their timing, considering how crowded the restaurant seemed to be, or if the management had decided that the two women looked so spectacular, placing them in a position of prominence would be good for business.

For the sake of her ego, which wasn't stroked this way very often, Janeway decided on the latter.

She looked across the snowy tablecloth at her companion, the subdued ambiance of the room touching Seven's narrow features gently, granting the young woman a softness that the sometimes stark illumination on a starship just couldn't provide. The metallic implants framing the young Borg's left eye and adorning her cheek appeared more like jewelry than harsh reminders of her time in the Collective, and her ice-blue gaze was warmed by the candlelight's flickering flame. The captain felt a tug at her heart, a pleasant pang of love and adoration which filled her chest, and she reached across the table top, entwining her fingers with Seven's.

"You're absolutely lovely," she said, huskiness edging her tone.

Seven smiled, her eyes seeming to widen and become bluer.

"Thank you, Kathryn," she said. Her gaze assessed her partner in turn. "However, you are the most beautiful person on the station," she added in the sort of matter-of-fact tone that she would use in saying that the tablecloth was white or that the station was large, a certainty set in stone that made Janeway blush with pleasure. She stared at the young woman appreciatively, then became aware of a presence hovering next to them and squeezed Seven's fingers gently before withdrawing her grasp.

The Bajoran waiter, unobtrusively awaiting a break in the conversation, cleared his throat and presented the women with the wine list. Janeway glanced at hers, noting that the restaurant favored local varities, though wines from all over the Federation were available. Fortunately, she had, on occasion, spoken with Ro Laren at length about what was the best Bajor had to offer.

"I think a spring wine from the Kendra Province," she said, looking up at Seven. "Darling, perhaps a Bajoran coastal wine for you?" Suspecting that the young woman would probably choose a seafood dish.

Seven dipped her head. "Acceptable."

Janeway glanced at the young man. "A carafe of Jerrado Vineries '49 and one of Lorit Vineyards '52, if you have any on hand," she instructed.

Something like respect edged his gaze. "Of course."

He left, giving way to more waiters who filled their water glasses and placed a fresh bowl of bread sticks on the table, before leaving behind two elegantly embossed menus. In a civilization where food service was primarily automated and replicator-based, it occurred to Janeway that the presence of all these people indicated they were in a very high-class establishment, indeed ... the sort that would undoubtedly deduct a respectable chunk out of the captain's monthly credit allowance.

Fortunately, a check before leaving the ship revealed that Starfleet had been quick to restore the accounts of Voyager's crew, depositing seven years of back credit in them. Even those Maquis who had wasted little time in leaving the ship to resume their civilian lives had been acknowledged for their years of service to the starship with a transfer of credits to the station's largest bank.

Janeway, despite her casual disregard toward currency that was common to those raised on Earth, was aware that for the ex-members of her crew choosing to remain on the fringes of the Federation, those funds might mean a significant difference in how they started their lives over. To her, it was just another example of how Starfleet was quick to look after its own ... even when its 'own' wanted nothing to do with it.

"Kathryn?" Seven was regarding her over her menu, a faint frown on her face. "What are these numbers next to the list of dishes? Do they refer to the size of the portions?"

Janeway, who had been woolgathering, studied the prices on her own menu and recieved a fairly unpleasant jolt, her casual disregard abruptly giving way to the canny sense of fair exchange she had developed in countless negotiations for goods and services over the past seven years. However, she did not want to spoil the mood by bringing up something so crass as money.

"No, darling. It's a ... a rating on how good they are." She realized her mistake immediately, of course, but by then it was too late to amend the statement.

"Ah, that makes it easier to gauge the quality of the dishes described," Seven remarked. "I should logically order the selections with the highest rating."

Janeway swallowed hard, doing some calculations, but another glance at her partner reminded her that Seven was worth every credit this evening might cost and decided not to worry about it. After all, they weren't just paying for the food, but for the dining experience.

"Of course, Annika," she assured her partner. "Choose whatever looks best to you."

Seven smiled and resumed her perusal of the menu while Janeway took a deep breath and looked around. How many times, before being lost in the Delta Quadrant, had a friend or lover escorted her to a similar establishment for special occasions and she hadn't appreciated it? Not the expense involved, not the care taken in preparing the ambiance, not the work it required to provide a dining experience where the customer could feel pampered and indulged simply by sharing food ... not the simple opportunity to have such an evening out in the first place. Now, she absorbed everything into herself, from the murmur of conversation from the other diners ... not requiring a translator for a change because most were speaking Federation standard ... to the delicate fragrance of fresh flowers on the table to the layout of polished silverware on the table, which was so achingly 'normal' that she almost wept. The poignancy of sharing it all with Seven, for whom most of it would be new and unusual, almost overwhelmed Janeway.

"Kathryn?" Seven studied her with a touch of anxiousness. "You seem ... disturbed."

Janeway smiled tremulously. "Not at all, love," she said softly, reaching across to touch her fingertips to Seven's once more. "I'm not disturbed, at all ... quite the opposite. I'm actually concentrating very hard on being home again, though of course, that's not really why I brought you here. I should be focused on you, instead."

Seven lifted a brow. "I believe I understand," she said finally, after examining the captain's words from all angles. "It is fine, Kathryn. I am glad that you are enjoying your return."

"I don't want to miss a minute of it." Janeway smiled with a touch of ruefulness. "It's difficult when I look around and see people taking all of this for granted ... I want to shake them, and tell them that it could be lost in an instant if they aren't careful. Yet, they're exactly who I was seven years ago, unconscious of the advantages and benefits available to me, not noticing how fortunate I was to live in the society I did." She glanced around at the decor that did not completely disguise the Cardassian design of the station itself, built by Bajoran slave labor. "Perhaps it's not so much a factor here, where the memory of the Occupation remains fresh and the Bajorans still savor their freedom won so dearly, but it hurts me to think of how complacent those of us in the Federation are about the advantages we possess ... how complacent we seem now, even after a war which could have taken it all away."

She looked back at Seven, wondering if the woman really understood at all, especially since her experience prior to Voyager was of being part of the Collective mind and, before that, only the dimmest memory of her first six years with her parents. Seven tended never to take anything for granted, and Janeway hoped with all her heart that would never change for her spouse, that Seven would always understand and appreciate how precious certain things were that others accepted as their due.

"I'm being unduly maudlin," the captain added, deprecatingly.

"No, Kathryn," Seven assured her, her eyes warm as she observed her. "You are trying to reconcile what you have known for the past seven years with what you can expect in the future, as well as to be properly appreciative of it." She paused. "This may pass."

Janeway nodded ruefully. "You're right, it probably will. I'll become comfortable in my life again, and gradually become less conscious of the little things I was deprived of for the past seven years. However, I want you to promise me, darling, that if I ever forget where I've been and become oblivious to all the blessings in my life, you will promptly give me a swift kick in the area of my anatomy that needs it the most ... the part I'm sitting on."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I do not believe that would ever be an acceptable course of action," she said with a faint smile, "regardless of how nonchalant about your surroundings that you become. However, I do promise to remind you periodically of how much you have to be thankful for ... of how much we both have to be thankful for."

"Thank you, darling," Janeway said, returning her smile with a brighter one. They regarded each other for a few moments, the captain finding it all too easy to become lost in the young woman's eyes. It took an effort to tear herself away as she belatedly noticed the approach of another waiter. She made another, swift scan of the menu, and by the time he arrived, she had made her choice.

"The Bajoran veldbeast with baby potatoes and button mushrooms," she said, handing him the menu. "Katterpod beans rather than the carrots."

He hesitated. "You are aware that the veldbeast is prepared in the traditional manner as stated in the menu," he responded with the faintest hint of warning. "Not from a station or starship replicator."

Clearly, he had identified her, not only as a Starfleet officer from her bearing, but also as someone who had originated on or near Earth. Most people were familiar with the typical central Federation citizen's aversion to eating animal flesh ... a belief that most outer worlds and species did not, nor could not, afford to share. He certainly did not want an incident over cultural differences to spoil the evening for any of them, and was doing his best to avoid it in the event that his customer was oblivious to what 'prepared traditionally' meant.

She smiled, acknowledging his prescience, which was a sign of a good waiter who had to cater to many species and cultures. "I am," she assured him. "Make it blue rare, seared in the gravy and mushrooms, sprinkled with a little more chufa powder than usual."

The waiter smiled with approval and dipped his head in acknowledgment of her familiarity with the veldbeast preparation method, accepting that he had been mistaken in his initial assessment of her. Of course, what he could not recognize was that Janeway had been raised in a Traditionalist family. She might not have liked certain aspects of such a lifestyle while growing up, but when it came to food, her taste buds had developed a decided preference for original preparation rather than replication. She had only learned to truly appreciate the distinction, however, when Seven had acquired a propensity for cooking from scratch, and rescued the captain from the horrific creations that Neelix had come up with in Voyager's messhall ... not to mention Janeway's own inept programming of the replicator buffer patterns.

"The Salt Sea Selection," Seven requested coolly, handing him the menu gracefully. The dish she ordered was a combination of delicacies, offering a wide selection of fish and crustaceans from Bajor's oceans which were greener than Earth's. Janeway congratulated herself on her knowledge of her partner's tastes.

Janeway was also impressed with Seven's aristocratic and refined demeanor in what were clearly unfamiliar surroundings. Seven gave the impression that she had been dining in elegant restaurants her entire life, giving no hint that she had ever been through anything but the most civilized experiences. Even the waiter, who probably came across it often while working in such a facility, responded to it as if in the presence of royalty, bowing slightly in the Borg's direction.

Janeway exhaled slowly, feeling happiness permeate every pore, chasing away the shadows on her soul that had formed after a day of farewells to friends. It was extremely difficult to hang on to the past when the future looked so wonderful ... particularly when it would be centered on the lovely being across the table.

Seven of Nine regarded the platter placed before her, pleased at the large variety of choices offered. Even if she did not like everything on the plate, it was inevitable that she would like some of it and that was the best she could hope for in such alien surroundings. She glanced surreptitiously at Janeway, picking up her fork when the captain did so, and tentatively spearing a morsel from the side. She didn't think Kathryn was aware of how much she took her behavioral cues from the captain in unfamiliar situations, but then, Seven had become very subtle in her acclimatizing techniques over the past three years. Initially, her social gaffes had both amused and humiliated the captain As the young woman grew more into her lost Humanity, she grew increasingly uncomfortable with the former, and honestly regretful of the latter.

Janeway undoubtedly thought that Seven had become more evolved in her socialization, but in truth, the young woman had just become better at imitating what Kathryn did without the captain noticing. Of course, since Janeway was a cultured and most accomplished woman, Seven was aware that she could do much worse at finding a role model for teaching her how to make her way in Federation culture.

She could have looked to B'Elanna Torres, for example.

Seven adored her friend utterly, but even B'Elanna would be the first to admit that social niceties were something that did not particularly interest her. Normally, such things would not have interested Seven either, but with Janeway choosing to accept an administrative position for the year Voyager was dry-docked, the Borg understood there would be a certain amount of duty required of her where diplomacy would be called upon far more than Janeway's technological, exploratory or militaristic skills.

The Borg was determined that she would not do anything to make Janeway think Seven could not support and share in her new role in Starfleet. If that meant developing an entirely new set of priorities in her behavioral patterns, then she would accomplish that. She had been Borg, after all. Adaptation still had to be mastered, regardless of how a culture was assimilated.

"How is it?"

Surprised, Seven glanced up at her partner. "Kathryn?"

"The seafood," Janeway clarified, gesturing slightly with her fork. "Do you like it?"

"It is very good," Seven allowed. On Voyager, even when making dishes from basic foods, those ingredients usually materialized in the replicators, and there was a distinct difference from fish-flavored protein and the real thing derived from creatures that had actually lived in the sea. She speared another morsel, raising her fork. "Would you care to try some of it?"

She paused when she detected a slight drawing away in her partner's body language, a tightening around the captain's eyes, and did not reach across the table with her utensil as she had initially intended.

It seemed that the hint of withdrawal was unconscious on Janeway's part, the captain glancing down as she sliced a small piece from her steak. "Thank you, darling, but no. It's probably not a good idea to mix veldbeast with seafood."

Seven considered it carefully. The combining of similar flavors had never bothered Janeway when the Borg had previously offered her samples from her plate. Therefore, logically, she concluded it was the surroundings that inhibited the captain from accepting the proffered bite. The Borg filed away the concept that in certain, public places, one did not feed another from one's plate. Indeed, when she glanced around, she saw that no one was eating as she was accustomed. They were far more subdued in their gestures, and as they spoke, far more precise in how they ate.

She wondered, curiously, if they were enjoying their meals. It seemed a shame that such food, assuming it was all as delicious as her own choice, could not be savored completely. Then she thought about a time she and the captain had invited B'Elanna for dinner, and how the Klingon had gone into raptures over Seven's attempt at preparing Talaxian chowder utilizing Federation ingredients; an experiment that had proven a most unexpected success.

Janeway had laughed heartily, and the stoic Ro Laren had actually been blushing faintly at her lover's enthusiasm by the end of the meal. Obviously, deriving such sensual pleasure in food was not completely acceptable in all dining experiences.

"What are you thinking?" Janeway asked softly, regarding her with a faint smile. "You look amused."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "I was remembering when I served Talaxian chowder to B'Elanna," she explained. "How much she enjoyed it. I do not believe such obvious approval would be appropriate in these surroundings."

Janeway chuckled. "It was barely appropriate in our quarters," she said, obviously remembering the incident quite well. "B'Elanna wasn't just eating her meal, she was making love to it." She glanced around. "But you're correct, it wouldn't be the type of behavior appropriate for a place like this."

Seven seized the opportunity for clarification. "Why not, Kathryn? I do not mean B'Elanna's behavior necessarily. I comprehend why such extravagant displays of enjoyment are only acceptable in the company of close friends, but why is everyone here so ... serious and restrained in their gestures?"

Janeway picked up her glass, sipping her wine slowly as she considered the best way to answer that. Seven waited patiently, nibbling at something that vaguely resembled Terran shrimp, using her fork though it would have been far more efficient to utilize her fingers while consuming them.

"I guess it comes down to etiquette, Annika," the captain explained finally. "Which, admittedly, can be a slippery set of rules when it comes to different species and cultures. Starfleet has established a code of behavior by which all officers are expected to conduct themselves in public settings, and it's very similar to what you're seeing here. Incidentally, if B'Elanna had joined us for dinner tonight, I assure you that she would be acting just as everyone else is at the moment."

Seven found that difficult to believe and Janeway chuckled again, obviously reading the young woman's thoughts in her face.

"Believe me, there are reasons for those classes you took regarding the conduct in dealing with civilians, as well as the diplomatic strategies of adapting to your surroundings. Depending on the circumstances, you might be required to consume your food while hanging upside down from a trapeze set over the table, but when in doubt, you should act..." Janeway trailed off, seeking the right words. "With dignity and precision." She eyed her partner favorably. "You should have no trouble with the code ... you come by it quite naturally, particularly this evening. You're as elegant as anyone I've ever seen."

Seven did not argue with the captain's assessment of her grasp of social behavior, but she was pleased that Janeway considered her demeanor acceptable in these surroundings. They finished the rest of their meal quietly, but with shared pleasure, frequently exchanging warm gazes and glancing touches of their fingertips. Seven discovered that such dignified restraint actually enhanced the experience, making her far more aware of every subtle gesture and look by her partner, which grew more sensual as the meal progressed. By the time the waiter had cleared their dishes and served the coffee and dessert, she was acutely sensitized to Janeway and knew exactly how this evening would end ... an encounter that Seven looked forward to with keen anticipation.

It was with considerable disappointment that she greeted the appearance of a uniformed Starfleet officer who approached their table.

"Captain Janeway?"

Janeway blinked, looking up at the ruggedly handsome man who sported the insignia of a commander, three pips on the gold collar that indicated his position in Starfleet Operations.

"Yes?"

"I'm Commander Michael Patterson of Starfleet Command," he said, regarding her evenly. "Admiral Paris's assistant. I do apologize for interrupting your meal, but I've been trying to contact you for the past two days. With the departure of the Enterprise tomorrow, I didn't dare wait until the morning to convey the Admiral's personal good wishes for your return."

Janeway recovered quickly. "Of course, Commander," she said smoothly. "Please, join us. I owe you an apology. I was aware that someone on the Enterprise was attempting to contact me, but unfortunately, I've been quite busy in the past two days. This had been the first opportunity I've had to take a moment away from my vessel."

What she really meant, Seven knew, was that Janeway thought it had been Captain Picard attempting to reach her for a private meeting ... something she was avoiding assiduously in the event she conducted herself in a fashion that was not up to Starfleet standards. However, Janeway was not about to admit that to this man, whoever he was. Seven studied him with a slight bit of wariness. There was something about the name which struck a cord in her and she set about tracking it down in her eidetic memory.

"You must be Seven of Nine," he said, reaching over to offer his hand as he took a seat on the chair that had magically appeared, provided by one the hovering waiters who were quick to see to their customer's wishes ... hopefully before he could actually make the request. They also provided him with a fresh cup of coffee. "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Indeed," Seven said, bemused as she shook the man's hand. She had not thought Admiral Paris was that familiar with her ... then she abruptly remembered where she had encountered the commander's name, immediately regarding him with an increased curiosity. Phoebe, Kathryn's younger sister with whom Seven had corresponded since Starfleet had secured a method of communication with Voyager in the Delta Quadrant, had mentioned a Starfleet officer named Michael Patterson quite often, and in a most intriguing fashion. This must be the same man and if what Phoebe implied about him and his feelings were correct, this was someone that Seven would undoubtedly come to know quite well in the future.

He was tall and broad shouldered, approximately the same age as Kathryn, with dark hair and eyes a most remarkable shade of jade green. His face was kind, and Seven thought that this was a person she could like ... though she wasn't sure why she thought that. Perhaps Phoebe's description of him had unduly prejudiced her in his favor. She wondered what Kathryn thought of him, unsure why Janeway did not mention their personal connection, and then decided that it was probably some unspoken etiquette having to do with them both being in Starfleet. She filed that away and vowed not to speak of the personal connection either.

"Why would Admiral Paris send you all the way to DS9?" Janeway asked.

Patterson looked vaguely embarrassed. "Actually, he sent me to the Enterprise to represent him when the flagship escorted you into port. However, when you didn't arrive at the expected coordinates outside Earth's system, Picard came directly here, not taking the time to drop me off. My next task will be to look for transport back to Earth."

Janeway laughed. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me, considering how our slipstream trip went. Nothing went wrong exactly, but nothing went quite right, either." She paused. "Would you care to travel with us, Commander? Certainly I could use an extra body. We've been practically picked clean of personnel."

He nodded. "Thank you, Captain," he said, with what seemed honest gratitude and no little relief. "The only other thing I could find going that way within the next few days was a Bolian freighter."

Janeway held up her hand. "Say no more."

He frowned, his green eyes narrowing. "Are you really in difficulty, Captain? I could arrange a crew..."

"I exaggerate," she assured him, becoming serious. "We won't be able to do anything in the way of scientific research on the way back, of course, and we'll be running very lean, but for a trip through Federation space to Earth, we should be able to manage."

"I'm sure that after the past seven years, you are able to manage most anything, Captain." He paused. "I can't tell you how much I admire you. Your exploits in the Delta Quadrant should be required reading at the Academy, and I've made that recommendation to the admiral."

Seven thought so too, but she did think he was being a bit obsequious in his manner, though Janeway seemed oblivious of it. Of course, he had his own reasons for getting on the captain's good side ... or at least, he did according to Phoebe. Seven watched him with fascination, wondering what he possessed that had so attracted one Janeway and was now engaging another to the point where Kathryn was at her most gracious and charming, laughing freely at his comments about certain members of Starfleet Command, her hand resting companionably on his forearm.

"In any event," Patterson said finally, looking at both women somewhat ruefully, "I've interrupted your dinner long enough, and I must apologize again. With your leave, Captain, I'll report to Voyager."

"I'll let Chakotay know you're on your way," Janeway said, smiling as he stood up. "We're aiming for a departure as soon as our warp manifold is replaced and our engines are back online. I expect that will be either late tomorrow or the next morning."

"Thank you, Captain," he said, then made a polite farewell to Seven, and left the restaurant.

"What a charming man," Janeway said, regarding the Borg genially. "It's such a relief to meet someone in Administration who actually has a sense of what it's like on the frontier ... what Voyager actually went through."

"You like him?" Seven was curious.

Janeway took a few seconds to consider that. "Yes, very much," she said with a certain surprise. She tilted her head. "Why ... didn't you?"

"He is quite acceptable," Seven allowed, which Janeway would know meant that the Borg had found him charming as well. She was actually quite pleased that Kathryn liked him, knowing it would relieve Phoebe considerably. She still wasn't entirely sure why the artist had professed concerns about how the captain would receive him, but now she could assure the younger Janeway that those worries had been unjustified.

"He knew a great deal about you."

Janeway paused, shooting the Borg a sharp look. "He did, didn't he?" She thought about that. "Hmm, someone who actually prepares himself before tackling a duty. He must have immersed himself in Voyager's logs before being dispatched to greet us. That's very admirable."

Seven didn't think that he had received his information about Janeway from ship logs, but she did not say anything. After all, Kathryn would know better what did and did not motivate a Starfleet officer in his actions, so she shrugged mentally and picked up her fork to eat her dessert. In any event, the mood had been broken somewhat, and it seemed all there was left to do was finish their dinner and return to the ship.

Janeway raised her hand, attracting a waiter.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Could we have the damages?" the captain asked. Seven wondered what that meant.

"Already taken care of ma'am, by the gentleman who just left."

Janeway blinked, obviously taken aback. "Indeed," she said slowly. "Thank you."

"Will there be anything else?"

"More coffee, please," Janeway requested, and then looked at Seven as the Borg demolished a piece of chocolate cheesecake. "The night's still young, darling, and there's a little club just a few doors down the Promenade from here."

"Yes?" Seven wondered what Janeway had in mind.

"Possessing a very large dance floor," Janeway elaborated, smiling gently.

Seven smiled back at her.

Perhaps the mood had not been broken at all ... merely delayed for a more intricate form of interaction that would lead them to the same eventual end to the evening. Seven could only hope so.

Ro Laren squeezed between two Enterprise crewmembers and made her way to the bar, near where Captain Picard and Commander Riker were holding court. She very carefully did not look their way, concentrating her attention on the woman behind the counter. Guinan glanced over, appearing unsurprised at the Bajoran's appearance. A smile lifted the corners of her full lips.

"Ro Laren," Guinan said, in a louder than usual voice. Ro managed not to flinch, knowing it was quite intentional. The bartender could, if she so chose, sidle up to a cat on the prowl without it even noticing. She was merely drawing the focus of the surrounding crewmembers to the woman's arrival.

"Guinan," Ro said, speaking calmly, though not without a certain sense of apprehension in her stomach. She hoped she could pull this off. "I came by to see you before your ship left. I didn't want you to think I had forgotten you."

"Not at all," the bartender said, gliding from behind the bar to embrace the Bajoran. "I am so pleased to see you again."

Ro was conscious of other crewmembers approaching her, Geordie LaForge, with whom she had shared a most astounding adventure where they had both been out of phase, Dr. Beverly Crusher, the ship's CMO, and Deanna Troi, whom Ro did not particularly like, but had learned to respect during her time on the Enterprise-D. The Bajoran felt crowded, uncomfortable, but she stood her ground, realizing that the oppressive atmosphere actually worked in her favor. Troi was a Betazed, and highly empathic. Ro's unsettled emotions would add verisimilitude to the performance.

"Captain Picard was very pleased to hear of your survival," Deanna said, resting her hand on the Bajoran's arm. Ro hoped she was picking up the proper amount of dismay and aggravation from her.

"Was he?" Ro responded, a touch coolly.

"Very much so, Ensign," Picard said, joining the circle around the Bajoran.

"Lieutenant," Ro corrected immediately. A few people looked a little uncertain at that. One did not normally correct a captain in public like that, nor in that tone of voice.

"Of course," Picard said smoothly. "Have you considered my offer to resume the helm position?"

From the corner of her eye, Ro was conscious of Paris, Neelix and Kes staring at her. Tom, in particular, looked very uneasy at this last from the captain, and the Bajoran resisted the urge to smile.

"I'm afraid the answer is still no, sir," she responded flatly. "I have no wish to serve under you ever again."

"You think you'd do better on Voyager?" Riker asked, immediately stepping in, and Ro decided that he must involved with this as well. That actually relieved her. It would be far easier to wrangle with the first officer than it would be with Captain Picard.

"Voyager is being dry-docked ... sir," she said, allowing the same hint of insolence touch her tone, particularly on the last word. "In the meantime, Janeway is giving me the opportunity to pursue a career in command. Here, I'd always be the one who 'betrayed the captain'. With her, I have a chance to actually become a first officer." She regarded him superciliously. "I may end up with your job, Riker."

The people around them were becoming disturbed at the way this conversation was going, recognizing that there was a hostility being generated but uncertain where it was coming from or what was causing it.

"To be a first officer, you have to be capable of trust," the bearded bear of a man said coldly. "You've proven time and again that you aren't, either giving or receiving it."

That one stung, but Ro knew it was probably necessary to make this as real as possible.

"At least I try to do what's right." She knew how to stick a needle in as well. "The Cardassians were a real threat all along and too many in Starfleet just looked the other way ... until it was too late. When did you finally figure out the Maquis actually knew the real enormity of the danger that everyone was facing, Commander? When the Dominion and the Jem'Hadar arrived? Let's face it, if it weren't for people like you and Picard always taking the pacifist stance, the Federation never would have been threatened by the Founders."

"Ro, let me buy you a drink," Tom Paris said suddenly, stepping between the two officers who, by this time, were glaring at each other. "For old time's sake." He turned to Ro, putting an arm around her shoulders and trying to draw her away. "Are you insane?" he hissed in her ear. "Why are you doing this?"

Ro appreciated her ex-crewmate's attempt to defuse the situation. Tom was the last person she thought would attempt to drag her out of an awkward situation, but then, Voyager's people looked out for each other ... just like family. She really regretted what she had to do next.

"Let go of me, Paris," she spat, and elbowed him in the ribs. He bent over, breath exploding from him in a loud expulsion of air, and she twisted away from him. She was peripherally aware that Kes had her hands on Neelix, undoubtedly to keep him from interfering.

"Enough," Picard said, and the crowd was dead silent. Crusher and LaForge looked as shocked as it was possible for two people to look, while Troi looked baffled and upset. "Obviously, you haven't changed as much as I'd hoped, Ro Laren. I hate that I keep making the same mistake, that I keep wanting to give you another chance ... but I've finally learned my lesson. Number One, get her out of here."

Riker's hand closed cruelly on Ro's arm, and as he firmly escorted her from the room, the Bajoran had a sudden qualm, the thought that perhaps she had gotten it completely wrong. The expression of humiliation and anger on her face was not completely feigned, and she clenched her teeth as he pulled her into a nearby conference room.

Immediately, he let her go.

"Well done, Lieutenant," he said, regarding her with a half smile on his face. "Don't worry, this room is secure."

"Think everyone bought it?" she asked, rubbing the back of her neck as the tension eased from it.

"You were very convincing." Riker paused and smiled beneath his beard. "In fact, you almost convinced me."

She quirked an eyebrow, returning his smile faintly. "Thanks. You were rather good, yourself, Commander. Sometimes, I wonder if half the appeal of covert operations is the play acting. Maybe we should have gone into theater rather than Starfleet."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the comment, and then sobered. "Have you discovered a way to get close to Janeway?"

Ro nodded. "I have a few options. I wasn't kidding about her wanting me on a command track, and I'll probably be able to use that to remain near her as an assistant. Every first officer requires a stint in administration, and if it's true she's headed groundside, I can point that out to her. She should take it from there. She doesn't fail very often when she puts her mind to something." She paused. "Do you know when and where Section 31 is going to make a grab for Seven?"

"They might not have to," Picard said gravely, entering from another door. Both Ro and Riker straightened instinctively at his appearance. "My most recent information informs me that one of the admirals currently in Starfleet operations is closely connected to Section 31."

Ro blinked. "Which one?"

"I don't know," Picard admitted. "Finding out which of those sector admirals is a traitor will be part of your job. There seem to be several persons in high places that have taken an unusual interest in Janeway, where her career goes next, and in particular, what her partner will be doing in the meantime. Whoever he ... or she ... is, they'll undoubtedly wish to keep both women close by where they can be monitored. They can find out all sorts of information from Seven quite legitimately."

Ro hesitated. "Is that so bad? I don't mean that people would try to interrogate and hurt Seven to get information ... of course that's unacceptable ... but that Starfleet would use any information she might have to try to protect the Federation from the Collective. I think I've come to know Seven quite well, and she'd be more than willing to assist Starfleet against the Borg in any way that she can."

"The trouble with Section 31 is that they perceive others as being motivated by the same things they are," Picard noted dryly. "They won't necessarily believe that Seven is being fully cooperative." He linked his hands behind his back and started to pace a bit. "There's been an indication that they think she's an advance scout sent by the queen to infiltrate the Federation, to gather advanced tactical data which the Collective could then use to assimilate the Federation."

He stopped, facing her directly. "Ro, we know that the Collective is adaptable. Starfleet didn't even know there was a queen until we encountered her during the Borg's temporal incursion against Earth. Going back in time to assimilate the Federation before it even existed was quite an innovative idea. It has a lot of people running scared in the upper levels of Command, believing that the initial information on the Borg was all wrong. After the way the Changelings infiltrated Starfleet, they're also quite sensitive to the idea of other enemies using the same tactic to soften us up for destruction. Seven becoming a Starfleet officer was actually quite disturbing to some of them."

"What do you believe?" she asked pointedly.

"I've encountered the queen," Picard said flatly. "I believe what I read in Voyager's transmissions, that she was an aberration in the Collective's evolution, and once Seven destroyed the programming designed to bring her back, then the Borg returned to the hive mind it once was, concerned only with their need to exist. It's clear that they were hit hard by this Species 8472, and it will take centuries before they're a threat to the Alpha Quadrant. By that time, we'll be ready to deal with them in a way that doesn't include genocide, which seems to be the first idea everyone leaps upon when it comes to dealing with the Borg." He paused. "I have more reason than most to hate and despise the Borg, but taking this young woman apart, using her in an attempt to totally exterminate the Collective, is not what the Federation and Starfleet are, or should be, all about."

Ro fretfully rubbed the ripples on the bridge of her nose. "This is all speculation. What are the facts?"

Picard nodded in approval of her cutting away the external extrapolation. "Section 31 exists. Certain admirals in Starfleet Command are either members or strongly influenced by their power. Seven of Nine is seen as a viable weapon for creating a preemptive strike at the Borg and they'll do everything they can to extract every bit of information about the Collective from her down to the molecular level ... regardless of whether she has it or not. There is also some question about Janeway. They want her kept close to Earth for some reason, not back in space." He paused. "Voyager, because of its incorporated Borg technology and the slipstream drive, is actually more enhanced than many of the ships currently serving active duty. They really don't need to refit her. There was no good reason to take her away from Janeway at all."

Ro blinked. "You know this for certain, sir?"

Picard looked grave. "I know nothing for certain any longer, Lt. Ro. That's the most disturbing and damaging thing that Section 31 does ... it makes a person see conspiracies everywhere. It undermines the very trust and belief officers need in both Starfleet and each other to operate at our best. That's why this disease must be cut out of the organization."

"I understand, sir." She hesitated. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

Picard straightened his shoulders. "You're a formidable element to toss into the mix, Ro. That gives us an advantage they won't know about."

She took a breath. "I will be honest, however, sir, I'm far less interested in destroying Section 31 than I am in protecting Janeway and Seven.Just so we're clear on that."

"We are," Picard said, then raised his brows, a small smile playing about his mouth. "That's always been the real difference here, Ro. Section 31 sees the Federation as being the most important thing they have to protect, and don't care who they hurt to do it, including innocents. We realize that it's the innocents who make up the Federation that are the most important, and if they're harmed to protect an idea, then the entire concept of the Federation itself is lost."

"Yes, sir," Ro said. "I won't let you down."

Picard held her gaze. "I know." He dipped his head and left the room.

Riker cleared his throat. "You should probably wait a few minutes. Let people think he really ripped into you."

"I understand." Ro eyed him. "Uh, Riker?"

"Yes?"

"I can't apologize to Paris for knocking him flat. I don't suppose you could ... I don't know ... keep an eye out for him while he gets used to being on the Enterprise."

"Take him under my wing, you mean?" Riker looked vaguely surprised.

"He can sometimes come across as a real jerk," she warned, "But underneath, he's a good guy ... and one hell of a helmsman. It would do him good to have a senior officer in his corner."

"I promise." Riker regarded her with an odd expression on his face. She wondered what he was thinking, but she didn't ask. "Are you sure you aren't after my job?"

"Not at all, Commander," she said uncomfortably, and quickly changed the subject. "I have to make sure I'm properly upset before going back out there, particularly if Troi is in the vicinity." He nodded and made his exit, leaving her alone as she filled her thoughts with every incident she had ever been through where she had been made to look foolish, or humiliated, or frightened. Having spent the initial portion of her life in a refugee camp and the rest of it as an 'outsider' in the Federation, it wasn't hard to find a multitude of memories to draw upon, and by the time she made her own exit from the room, she was on the verge of tears, which of course, she refused to let fall.

She was dismayed when she discovered Tom, Neelix and Kes outside in the corridor, obviously waiting for her and looking concerned for her well being.

Having to slam Paris soundly into the bulkhead as she shouldered past them made it even more important that Riker fulfill his promise to her.

She was really going to owe Tom by the time this was all over.

"Do you know how much I love you?" Janeway whispered to Seven as the young woman led her around the dance floor, the two women swaying gracefully to the music surrounding them.

A live band, comprised of members which hailed from various worlds in the Federation, united to provide a lovely and romantic version of a song by one of Bajor's more famous composers, and the captain thought that the gravimetric emitters of the room had been adjusted slightly. She honestly felt as if she were dancing on air as she was held within the strong and adoring embrace of her spouse.

"I believe so," Seven remarked softly, her cheek pressed lightly against Janeway's temple. "It is precisely one fraction of a micro-unit less than how much I love you."

Janeway chuckled. "Less?"

Seven drew back to smile at her. "I loved you before you loved me. You were undecided when I already knew how much I required having you in my life."

"Ah," Janeway muttered, her competitive edge pricked slightly. "I'll have you know I was drawn to you the instant I saw you step out of the alcove on the Borg cube. I knew you were destined to be mine."

"It certainly took much effort on my part to convince you of it," Seven noted dryly.

"I'm a Starfleet captain, darling," Janeway said primly. "I had to make it a little difficult for you to win me."

"A little?" Seven repeated in a disbelieving tone, and Janeway made a face at her, brushing her nose lightly along the line of Seven's. It would be inappropriate, of course, to passionately kiss her spouse on the dance floor ... at least, in this club ... but she did enjoy the game of seeing how close they could get without actually touching their lips together.

Seven seemed to enjoy it as well, closing to within a fraction of a millimeter, her warm breath washing over Janeway, before deliberately moving her head away to place her cheek against the captain's temple once more. Janeway exhaled with blissful contentment, snuggling into the young woman's leonine neck, her lips touching the hollow of Seven's throat as she felt Seven's pulse flutter beneath them.

Sometimes it frightened Janeway when she considered the depth of her feelings for the young woman. She had been in love before, of course, and had even been engaged to be married on two occasions, but until Seven, she had never been willing to give so much of herself to another person. Even then, it had required her to lose her memories, struggling to reconcile the person she had been with whom she expected herself to be, discovering in the process how much she had held back in her previous relationships, and initially, from Seven as well.

Janeway had always sworn that she would never become involved with a person under her command ... but Seven had defied that conviction, had forced her to step out of that mindset until Janeway finally understood that there would be few accomplishments in her professional life worth equal to the love she now cherished. Furthermore, Janeway had learned that she needed someone she could work with, someone who understood why she commanded. She needed someone who complimented her as a captain, not someone she shoved to the side while she pursued her professional goals.

Someone like Seven.

She could feel the young woman's fingers pressing on the small of her back which was bare where the dress dipped down to the base of her spine, the metal cool against her skin. She lifted her head as she felt a sudden pulsation, a throb which rippled pleasurably through her back muscles and directly to her groin, highly sensitized to any hint of vibration by Seven's Borg-capped fingertips.

"Annika," she said warningly, yet still delighted by the daring of her partner.

Seven looked innocent. "Kathryn?" she queried, as if she had no idea what the captain was talking about.

"Very funny," Janeway said, giving the young woman's waist an unobtrusive squeeze. "Save it for when we return to the ship."

Seven smiled, but her fingertips did stop the provocative vibration. "Perhaps ... we should return to Voyager now," she suggested lightly.

"Hmm, perhaps you're right," Janeway agreed, regarding her with smoldering intensity. "As much as I love dancing with you, it does serve to inspire the most ... amorous thoughts. When we dance in our quarters, it's far more convenient to take the next logical step."

"Yes," Seven murmured, her lips brushing lightly over Janeway's cheek. She put her mouth next to the captain's ear. "I wish to make love to you, Kathryn," she growled huskily. "Now and for the rest of the evening."

Janeway felt her pulse speed up as her breathing developed a sudden hitch. "Oh my," she said. She allowed Seven to maneuver them through the other dancers until they reached the perimeter, then hooked her arm warmly within Seven's. "Lead on."

They had not managed to exit the club before the captain was hailed by a loud, insistent voice.

"Kat ... Kat Janeway."

Janeway felt the hair go up on the back of her neck.

Oh no, she moaned silently to herself. Anyone but him. Only one person persisted in calling her that, no matter how much she had grown to dislike it and informed him of it repeatedly.

Pasting a smile on her face, she turned around, Seven drawn with her, though the young woman clearly did not understand the sudden tension in the captain's form. A tall, broad-shoulder man bulled his way through the crowd toward them, a much younger woman trailing in his wake. They were both dressed in the latest fashion, while an expression of boredom and dissatisfaction seemed permanently etched on the girl's face. Janeway noticed that the male was still quite handsome ... in a ruined sort of way ... with silver touching his temples. However, she noted that his dark, wavy hair displayed a line that had the slightly artificial look of genetic resequencing to restore what nature had initially determined should be bald. His eyes, however, were the same, deep, penetrating blue, and while his body hadn't retained much of the musculature he had enjoyed in his youth, he didn't look soft or overindulged, regardless of the fact that she knew he was less concerned with pursuing a physical lifestyle and more with his own creature comforts.

"God, I heard your ship was back," Cheb Packer said, grabbing the captain in a bone cracking embrace that tore her grip away from Seven's hand. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you," Janeway said neutrally, once he had put her down. She took a breath and motioned Seven to come near her. "May I introduce Seven of Nine."

"Well, hello, Seven of Nine," he said, his voice changing, becoming immediately predatory as he bent over to kiss her hand. As he straightened, his eyes moved over the young woman's form in a way that caused fury to flash quick and hot through Janeway, requiring an effort to keep it from making her react in a manner unbecoming a Starfleet officer. She noticed that Seven's face had developed that closed, haughty Borg look, the same one she assumed whenever she was uncomfortable or ill at ease with a situation.

Janeway wished she had brought a phaser, or better yet, had not responded to the hail in the first place. "Seven," she said, managing an even tone as she put her hand on her partner's arm. "This is Cheb Packer. We knew each other when ... we were much younger."

She thought Seven's eyebrow would shoot clear off her forehead. "Cheb ... Packer?" the young woman repeated, looking him up and down with a combination of interest and some disbelief. Undoubtedly she was remembering well Janeway's discussions about this man who had been the captain's first romantic involvement when she had still been in her teens.

"Kat's being discreet," Cheb said, with what he undoubtedly thought was suaveness, showing quite a large expanse of dental array. "She and I were much more than mere acquaintances." The sheer insinuation in his tone made the heat rise in Janeway's cheeks, embarrassment now warring with her fury. She wasn't upset at the fact that she had been involved with him, but the way he spoke of it made it seem as if it had been nothing but the most casual ... and tawdry ... of encounters for him.

"And you are?" Janeway said stiffly, not wanting to pursue that line of conversation. She looked at the sullen young woman who was standing slightly outside their reunion.

Cheb glanced at the girl as if having forgotten she was there. "Oh," he said somewhat dismissively. "Of course, where are my manners? This is Cheryl Lynn, my wife."

Janeway managed not to change expression. Good god, she thought distastefully, she's young enough to be Cheb's daughter ... in fact, she's probably the age of Chandra, Cheb's oldest girl by his first wife, Cathy Martin. They had a son, too. What was his name again? And how many marriages did this make now ... four, five? Heaven only knew how many times he had been married while Voyager had been in the Delta Quadrant.

She wondered what the couple was doing on DS9, and then realized it probably had something to do with Cheb's business. Mark Johnson had once said Packer would have been a traveling salesman in another time and place, having an innate ability to talk people into things they didn't really want. Certainly Cheb had talked Janeway into taking him back on more than one occasion, and she had found it somewhat ironic that he had ended up doing just what Mark had suggested after being refused entrance to Starfleet Academy. Cheb had hooked up with his father's company, a shipping firm which operated a line of freighters leased to anyone with cargo to ship quickly to places that many other firms would refuse to attempt. Becoming quite successful, her former boyfriend had traveled around the various sectors, selling the advantages of using the Packer Shipping Company to a large number of different species regarding their transporting needs. Eventually, he had risen high in the organization, and would probably end up one day taking his father's place on the board of directors.

"A pleasure to meet you," Janeway said, reaching out to shake her hand, greeting her with far more graciousness than she had Cheb.

"Thank you," the young woman replied with total disinterest. She was very blonde ... artificially so ... very thin, and quite unimpressive in her demeanor.

"This is Seven," Janeway introduced again. "My wife." She put a certain amount of emphasis on the last ... a distinct warning shot across Packer's bow.

He didn't notice, of course, and she really should have known better. Though he had displayed a keen intellect while young, he had always lacked a certain sense of perception about his surroundings, probably because he was far too immersed in himself and his own needs. It was possibly that very trait which had caused him to fail to make the cut at Starfleet Academy, and certainly, when Janeway had finally figured it out, it had put the final nail in the coffin of their on-again, off-again relationship.

"Your wife?" he responded, with a certain amount of disbelief. He stared at Janeway with rude appraisal. "Honestly, Kat, I'm impressed. I never would have thought you'd be that daring in your old age. I always thought you would end up with that dry old lump, Hobbes Johnson ... a good old traditional girl right to the end. This astonishing beauty isn't your type, at all."

Janeway didn't know what to be more offended by, or for whom. It was hard to believe that three such different people, Cheb, Mark and herself, had grown up in the same small community in Indiana on Earth. She settled on forcibly reining in her temper and pinning Packer with her best level ten glare. Unfortunately, he had always been quite immune to it, perhaps because he had known ... and manipulated ... her quite easily when she had been very young and a great deal less secure in herself. He had been the first one she had ever loved in a physical way, and that gave him a certain conceit about her that she truly regretted he had ever acquired.

"Seven and I have been married for more than a year," she said flatly.

"Really," he repeated, an odd tone in his voice, obviously misunderstanding her anger. He smiled at Seven. "The contract should be ending quite soon, then?"

He laughed, a vague attempt to make it a joke, but the way he regarded Seven quite speculatively, as if the young woman would indeed be free to pursue other options in the near future while he had every intention of being her most obvious choice, absolutely infuriated the captain. The worst part was that Janeway didn't even think her spouse would understand what he was implying. Limited term marriage contracts were quite common in the Federation, the shortest and most common requiring a renewal at the end of two years to maintain the legality of the union, and for some, it was a logical and sensible arrangement. With Janeway and Seven, the two women hadn't even bothered to discuss such an option while preparing to be wed.

Seven of Nine looked Cheb Packer up and down coolly, as if he were some alien bug which had landed on her during an away mission and she was trying to decide whether to dissect it ... or merely squash it.

"Kathryn and I did not consider such an inadequate form of joining," she said, her words edged with glacier profundity and surprising Janeway, not only Seven's comprehension of what Cheb had been talking about, but with the incipient fury rising behind the words. "We were married in the traditional manner ... for eternity." She paused, and added with a decidedly disparaging tone, "Perhaps your inadequacies prevent you from finding a life partner rather than the series of temporary liaisons you have settled for."

"Inadequacies?" he repeated stupidly, looking vaguely stunned as if the Borg had just struck him hard across the face.

"I am aware of your many shortcomings when it comes to copulation," Seven said with her customary blunt and brutal honesty.

Janeway wanted to sink through the floor. Cheryl Lynn snorted laughter as if in agreement and Cheb ... he turned white, then red, then white again, his features twisting into an ugly mask of something very uncivilized. Janeway knew that he was just the sort of insecure person who would take such a comment to heart, one of the few remaining males in the Federation who considered his worth measured by what he possessed rather than who he was, refusing to acknowledge his inability to differentiate between lust and love, between real emotion and what was only superficial. He went from woman to woman, making each one and himself more and more miserable as he grew older, thinking in every instance that this would be the right one and instead, choosing more inappropriately every time.

Seven couldn't have said anything more devastating to his self esteem than if she had deliberately set out to do so from the beginning.

"Seven," Janeway began warningly.

"I don't know where you get your information from, lady, unless it's from your 'wife'." He said the last in a disdainful tone that was meant to slice deep into Janeway's psyche. "But obviously she neglected to mention what a failure she was in the sack. She didn't even know what to do when I first had her. I had to teach her everything and even then, she never got much good at pleasing a man."

Janeway knew she had to stop this before it got any worse. Certainly she had been insulted far worse by far better individuals than Packer, but she suspected that while Seven would have managed to ignore a verbal attack on herself, she would not overlook one directed at Janeway. The captain thought furiously, trying desperately to come up with a way to hustle her spouse out of here.

Then it got worse.

"You were inept then, and undoubtedly incompetent now," the Borg said coldly, with an analytical authority that cut far deeper than anger would have managed. "Hurtful, clumsy and ultimately unsatisfying as both a lover and a man ... a most pathetic participant in the art of physical intimacy."

Janeway was in shock. She herself, had been on the receiving end of that devastating dissection of one's failings on occasion ... most recently as a result of a misunderstanding over a Borg infant ... and she knew how extremely harsh and painful it could be. Seven's scalpel-like precision when it came to being deliberately deleterious to another's self-image was not something that Janeway would wish on anyone ... not even Cheb, who had clearly asked for it.

Certainly, it was too much for Packer to accept passively, and he growled something inarticulate, swinging wildly as he lunged for the Borg, intending on avenging the slur on his 'manly honor'. Janeway could have told him, had she had the time, that such action was not the wisest course to take with the young woman who had been enhanced with Borg technology. Seven might have been hurt emotionally if the responding verbal attack was skillful enough ... and she actually gave a damn about who was saying it to her ... but a physical confrontation would not inconvenience the young woman in the slightest.

Indeed, Seven easily caught one flailing arm firmly in her left hand, and used it to lever Packer over her head, launching him into a nearby table which collapsed beneath the impact. People scattered, screams rose from the more delicate of the crowd and for some reason, others began to fight, as if taking sides on a matter they had no clue about. But then, that was an inevitable consequence when alcohol and volatile emotions were mixed ... a standard setting out here on the frontier, regardless of how elegant an establishment might be. Janeway was further astonished and staggered when Cheryl Lynn leapt on her and began striking her ineptly about the head and shoulders in a belated attempt to stand by her man ... though why she was going for Janeway rather than Seven was a mystery to the captain.

On the other hand, Janeway decided as she attempted to counter the undisciplined assault, Seven had just thrown a two hundred and fifty pound man across the room with little effort. Perhaps the young woman possessed a far better sense of self preservation that her husband did ... a theory that appeared to be valid as Janeway noticed that Cheb had risen to his feet and was once more lurching at Seven, only to find himself flattened by a palm to the chest that was as forceful as a block of wood to the sternum would have been.

The security corps of DS9 were extremely well-organized and quick to respond to any hint of trouble. Janeway saw them appear in the doorway from the corner of her eye as she tried to subdue the young woman who was suddenly all arms and legs, defying the captain's best attempt to get her off her back.

When the security team started purposefully toward her, Janeway knew that the evening was not going to end well, at all.

Seven of Nine sat quietly in the holding cell of DS9, regarding a large tear in her dress and wondering if it would be possible to repair it or if it would have to be disposed of. She had quite liked the garment and hoped to keep it as part of her permanent wardrobe. Looking at the rend in the fabric made her sad and added to her overall dismay regarding her current situation.

Contained with the Borg in the security cell, Janeway frowned as she stalked about the limited floor space like a tigress in a cage. The Borg suspected that if the captain had brought along her smokesticks which Seven had given to her on her birthday, Janeway would have finished them by now, smoking one right after another. Instead, Seven's partner contented herself with grinding her teeth, the subtle sound rasping along the Borg's enhanced hearing in a most unpleasant manner.

"Are you upset with me?" she asked finally. The two women had not spoken directly to each other since being escorted from the club and brought to the station's security center. "Perhaps I should not have struck Cheb Packer."

Janeway waved it aside impatiently. "You were only protecting yourself from an assault," she said shortly. "You weren't at fault in the physical confrontation."

Seven considered that. If she had merely been protecting herself, she would have rendered the man unconscious with a Vulcan nerve pinch when he had first rushed her. Instead, she had derived a certain amount of pleasure in repeatedly knocking him down every time he got up, displaying to him how weak and inefficient he was. She would still be doing it ... quite cheerfully ... had station security not interrupted the confrontation.

She decided she should not share that bit of insight with her partner.

"Perhaps, however, I should not have verbally listed his shortcomings," she offered hesitantly. "It was conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer."

"There you are absolutely correct," Janeway said, anger in her tone as she paced, alternating her attention between the outside of the holding cell and her partner. "We should have walked away as soon as the situation became unpleasant."

Seven blinked. "He insulted you, Kathryn," she protested.

"That did not require us to descend to his level," Janeway snapped. She paused to look down at her dirty and tattered dress, glaring at it as if it were solely responsible for her misfortune. "God, I can't believe I'm in jail again. Is this going to happen every time I take leave on a space station?"

Seven stifled a sigh. The only positive thing about all this was that, at least, she had been with the captain this time. She remembered how disappointed she had been with Janeway after the last incident, when the captain and Ro had become involved in a bar brawl on Balleyport station in the Delta Quadrant. Though Seven had accepted her spouse's apology for becoming involved in such an inappropriate encounter, a part of the Borg suspected that Janeway had gone looking for trouble. Now she realized that what the captain had told her had been entirely correct ... trouble just seemed to go out of its way to find Janeway, regardless of the surroundings or whom she was with.

A figure entered the security area and Seven looked up with interest, observing closely as Colonel Kira Nerys, the station's commander, stopped in front of the force field. The slender Bajoran regarded the Starfleet captain without pleasure, obviously less than impressed with this latest incident. Her short, rusty hair seemed touched by flame in this lighting, and her eyes were dark as she scanned the inhabitants of the cell.

"Mr. Packer has been released by the infirmary," she told Janeway flatly, without preamble. "He wishes to place charges of assault against Seven of Nine." Janeway opened her mouth to protest, and Kira silenced her with an upraised hand. "Yes, I know," she continued in the same, aggravated tone. "Witnesses have stated that he swung first, and frankly, it's not the first time Mr. Packer has caused a disturbance on this station over a woman. However," she added pointedly, "it isn't the first time the crew of Voyager have caused a disturbance, either."

Seven raised an eyebrow as the memory of her last visit to the Alpha Quadrant crossed her mind. An ancient artifact had transported her, B'Elanna and Chakotay to this very station, and just before using the device to return to Voyager and the Delta Quadrant, B'Elanna had punched Admiral Paris across the station's hangar deck.

Perhaps there was something in DS9's atmosphere that contributed to such antagonistic behavior, the young woman theorized.

"Colonel, I assure you that while this unfortunate incident was provoked, it will never happen again. However, I must contend that if there are any charges to be laid, I wish to lay them on behalf of me and my spouse against Mr. Packer and his wife."

Kira rubbed her forehead fretfully. "I really wish Odo were still here," she mumbled, referring to the station's previous security chief. Seven remembered him well, a shapeshifter who was quite formidable in his law enforcing skills, and she wondered where he had gone. Kira straightened and glared at the starship captain. "Janeway, I'm going to tell you what I told Packer, that personal conflicts such as these are to kept off the station. Damages to the club are to be split evenly between the pair of you, and I want you both off my station as soon as possible. The warp manifold will be installed in Voyager by tomorrow afternoon. You should start making departure arrangements now. Believe me, you'll have a priority with station operations when it comes time to leave."

Again, Janeway started to object, paused, seemed to think better of it, and nodded her head. "Are we free to go?" she asked stiffly, obviously keeping a tight lid on her emotions.

"Please," Kira said, touching the controls and dropping the force field.

Seven stood up and followed the captain out of the cell. As she passed the Bajoran, Kira murmured in a low tone, "They tell me you really laid that jerk out, Seven. Well done."

Surprised, Seven paused to regard the colonel who returned the look with a faint smile.

"Seven." Janeway's waspish tone floated in from the outer chamber, obviously noticing that her partner was not immediately behind her as she went to exit into the Promenade. "What are you waiting for?"

"I am coming, Kathryn," Seven said, obediently scurrying after her rapidly striding spouse in an attempt to catch up with her.

The two women returned quickly to Voyager, discovering a quiet ship that was early into the gamma shift. The corridors were mostly empty as they walked through the vessel to the nearest turbolift.

"Well, one good thing about all this," Janeway remarked, obviously attempting to inject a little more cheer in her tone as they were deposited on deck three and headed for their quarters. "At least, we didn't have to call Tuvok to come and bail us out."

Seven blinked. The captain had not spoken to her since the security center, and the young woman had believed Janeway to be very angry with her. Surprised, the Borg stood just inside the door of their quarters, quietly watching as the captain went directly to the kitchenette counter where she poured herself a glass of wine.

"Kathryn?"

"Something to soothe the nerves," Janeway said, raising her glass to her partner. She took a sip, then started to chuckle. "God, the look on Cheb's face when you laid into him about what kind of lover he was. Honestly, darling, some things you just shouldn't say about a person, no matter how much they provoke it."

Seven frowned, feeling the aftermath of the encounter start to flood her, chasing away her sense of adrenaline-charged tension, replacing it with weariness and a realization of just what had occurred.

"Does it matter?" the young woman demanded, feeling the anger rise within her once more, "He ruined our evening. He is quite fortunate that I did not damage him irreparably."

"Seven?"

Janeway stared at her with surprise but the Borg did not respond, leaving the living area and moving into the ensuite where she stripped off her dress. Unhappily, she placed the torn garment in the replicator, running it through the recycle setting, cleaning and repairing it before carrying it carefully into the couple's closet where she hung it up neatly. The muscles of her neck were tight, and pain feathered along her temples as she activated the shower and stepped under it, needing to wash away the grime of the conflict.

For a long time, she just stood under the warm spray, letting the water flow over her bent head and shoulders, leaning against the side of the stall with her hands outstretched. She started abruptly when two arms encircled her waist, the wet, naked body of her partner pressing against her warmly from behind.

"Shh," Janeway whispered softly. "It's just me, love."

Seven swallowed hard as her partner found a sponge and began running it over the Borg's shoulders and spine, the cloth rubbing pleasantly over the muscles in what was more massage than any attempt to scrub the skin. Gradually, Seven felt some of her residual anger and resentment drain away under her spouse's tender ministrations.

"Cheb can ruin our evening only if we allow him to," Janeway said finally, in a very gentle voice. "The truth is, up until then, we were having a wonderful time ... and the evening has yet to be over. Why not consider it a minor interruption?"

"Because it was not minor," Seven replied evenly. "Nor was it only one interruption. Is this what we must expect in the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn? That we shall continually be interfered with by strangers whenever we try to have time together?"

"I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion, love," Janeway suggested quietly. "Granted, it was not the most pleasant of encounters, but it didn't mean anything."

"That was not your attitude while we were in the holding cell," Seven reminded her. "You blame me for the incident."

Janeway paused in her massage, putting her hands on Seven's waist and urging her around. "I do not blame you for this incident," she said, looking up into the young woman's eyes intently. She paused, thinking about it. "If it seemed as if I were, then that was my mistake," she amended ruefully, obviously remembering how she had acted in the security area. "I was annoyed with Cheb, and with the whole situation, and it's possible that I took it out on you a little. If I did, then I'm very sorry, darling. I never meant to make you feel as if you were at fault. In fact, if anyone's to blame, it's me for stopping to talk with him in the first place. I know better than most how provocative and irritating he can be, and I should have been the one knocking him on his ass."

The Borg studied her for a moment, judging the sincerity in the bluish-grey eyes, and Janeway intensified her embrace, emphasizing her regret. Seven finally sighed, looking away.

"I cannot believe you ever allowed him to touch you," she blurted.

Janeway smiled faintly. "Sometimes, I can't either," she admitted readily. She tilted her head, her face very soft and vulnerable as she regarded her spouse. "Is it possible that just meeting Cheb is what's really bothering you, Annika? That now you have encountered the reality rather than just the concept of one of my previous lovers, it's making you uncomfortable?" She rubbed her hands gently up and down Seven's biceps, fingers trailing over the moist skin. "Darling, it was a very, very long time ago, and certainly, we were both young and emotionally inexperienced when it happened. I grew up ... I don't think Cheb ever did."

Seven did not respond immediately, considering it, her eyes dark. Janeway reached up and cupped the young woman's cheek in her palm, looking at her with love and compassion.

"Let it go, darling," she advised. "It's in the past. It has nothing to do with us."

The Borg took a deep breath. "I wish that I were the only one you have ever loved," she admitted finally, sadly. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

"Oh, darling, you are so much better off acquiring me after my previous lovers had a chance to smooth away most of my rough edges," Janeway assured her, a touch of humor in her tone. Seven recognized it immediately as the captain's method of jollying her out of a bad mood ... she was just surprised to discover it was working. "As bad as Cheb was, I wasn't much better when I was involved with him, and as for Justin and Mark, being involved with them had its own form of learning and growing. Everything I have ever experienced in my life has combined to make me the woman you fell in love with, and let's not forget, you didn't exactly get that great a prize in the beginning either. Remember how self-absorbed I was? How neglectful of you I was? How I always put everything else first and you last?"

"You are a starship captain," Seven pointed out quietly. "You must be self-absorbed."

Janeway smiled. "On the contrary, Annika, being with you has taught me that I could be an even better captain if I were more open with my feelings, and less concerned with controlling everything and everyone around me. You gave me a balance, something that no one else has ever managed to do. Without you, my happiness would be calculated in microscopic terms, rather than the galactic proportions I can now measure it in."

"Technically, I did not teach you balance either," Seven persisted weakly, though she could not deny she was feeling a little better. Janeway could be so adorable when she was presenting fanciful mathematical equations to the Borg. "I believe it was the loss of your memories that profoundly altered the attitude with which you approached your life." She felt Janeway slide her arms tightly about her waist, hugging her lovingly.

"That may have been the catalyst, love, but you were my motivation, and my one true inspiration to become the person I needed to be." She rose to her tiptoes and kissed Seven carefully, her lips sweet and beaded with drops of water. "Always remember, my heart," she whispered against the Borg's mouth, "whatever has happened in the past, it's you I love now, and it's you that I'll be with forever. Trust me."

Seven closed her eyes, allowing her partner's words to reassure her, feeling the older woman's love surround her, filling her with a sense of security and optimism. She drew Kathryn closer, delighting in the feel of her slippery body against hers, the heat of the water soothing away the last of her fears and trepidations. Janeway encouraged the embrace, snuggling her face into the Borg's neck, nibbling softly against the line of her throat.

"Kathryn, you mentioned that the evening does not have to be over?" Seven asked hopefully after a few moments.

Janeway chuckled. "Not at all, my darling," she promised, her voice dropping to a husky trill. "Why don't we get dried off, then we can retire to the bedroom ... where we can manufacture our own form of moisture all over again."

That sounded like a perfectly lovely idea, and the Borg followed eagerly as the captain took her hands and pulled her from the shower. Whatever old memories popped up occasionally to haunt them, Seven knew there was only one person for her.

She was determined that there would be only one person for Kathryn ... for the rest of their lives.

B'Elanna Torres looked around the bar she was sitting in, nursing a mug of Romulan ale. She and Ro Laren had agreed to meet at Quark's, an establishment run by a Ferengi of the same name, and while she waited for her lover, she spent her time idly watching the players gambling at the dabo table. The crowd was excited, and when a jackpot was hit ... she thought she detected a certain sort of pattern that indicated a mechanical influence because it only hit when the pot was low ... other people would join in, trying their luck. Behind the bar, Quark himself looked up every so often to judge the crowd, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes every time he saw the latinum being put down on the wagering table.

Eventually, B'Elanna got bored with this blatant indulgence in gambling and turned her eyes to the entrance of the bar, wondering if things had gone all right on the Enterprise. She was aware that Ro had gone over to make contact with Picard and to set his plan in motion, but the Klingon was still concerned. The plan had required that Ro make a spectacle of herself in public, and B'Elanna was keenly aware her partner did not enjoy that sort of thing at all. Her eyes lightened as she saw the uniformed figure of her lover making her way into the establishment, and she stood up, raising her hand.

Ro's eyes scanned the crowd, spotting her finally, and she immediately began to work her way to the unobtrusive corner the Klingon had chosen.

"How did it go?" B'Elanna asked once the Bajoran had taken a seat.

"It went," Ro explained shortly. She glanced around. "Not here."

B'Elanna nodded, realizing that this was not the place to discuss anything that they didn't wish to be overheard. She drained the last of her ale. "Do you want to stay here or go back to the ship?"

Ro looked uncomfortable. "Neither. Let's go for a walk around the station."

B'Elanna rather liked that suggestion and she stood up. Quickly, the two women made their way out of the crowded bar, squeezing past an extremely large alien who didn't say a word as they went by, and returned to the main level of the Promenade with mutual sighs of relief. They headed for the nearest stairway and ascended to the upper walkway where the traffic was lighter. As they walked, B'Elanna's hand hesitantly brushed against Ro's, and to her gratification, the Bajoran grasped it tightly, continuing to hold it as they strolled up one length of the upper level, then into the outer section, making a complete circuit of the habitat ring before returning to the other end of the Promenade. They didn't speak. They just enjoyed each other's company as Ro's tension gradually eased and B'Elanna no longer felt as if the Bajoran was going to explode at any given second.

"Is everything all right?" she asked finally, as they paused by an oval viewport which looked out into space. A ship was just entering the wormhole, and a display of color and swirling light spread magnificently across the star-studded sky.

"Did you know that Bajorans believe that to be the Celestial temple?" Ro asked, not answering the question, which was, to B'Elanna, an answer in itself. "That the inhabitants are actually the Prophets?"

B'Elanna regarded the spatial anomaly thoughtfully. "What do you believe?"

"Only what I can detect with my own senses," Ro responded. "And sometimes, not even then." She paused, her narrow features distant as she stared out the viewport. "I guess that if I believed there were actually Prophets in that damned wormhole, I would want to know what the hell they were doing when Bajor was occupied and my father was tortured to death in front of my eyes."

B'Elanna considered that, knowing there was no real answer for the old pain in her lover's voice. It came down to a matter of faith, and one either believed or one didn't. Trying to qualify it by applying it to real life was a subjective approach at best.

"I don't know, Laren," she said finally. "My experience with secular faith is torn between Klingon Kahlessism and Human Christianity and ultimately, I don't take either religion that my parents followed that seriously." She squeezed the Bajoran's fingers gently. "My beliefs are pretty limited, I think. I believe in myself and my friends ... and when it comes right down to it, in you most of all."

A faint smile touched Ro's mouth and she turned her head, regarding the Klingon fondly.

"I believe in you, too," she said quietly, reaching up to touch the other woman's cheek gently. She took a breath. "However, I don't believe in Starfleet, yet I'm going to risk a lot to try to clean up the mess certain members of it have caused."

"You're not doing this for Starfleet, Laren," B'Elanna pointed out in a practical tone. She moved closer, pressing her body against Ro's side. "You're doing it to protect Janeway and Seven, and to resolve some old debts with Picard."

Ro thought about that. "You're right."

"So it went well?"

"Who's to say?" Ro responded, tilting her head thoughtfully. "We'll know it did if they bite on the setup and attempt to recruit me." She inhaled slowly and smiled. "You should be aware that I had to knock Tom Paris over. He tried to protect me from myself."

B'Elanna looked at her blankly, and then shook her head, starting to laugh. "Kahless, he always did pick the most inopportune times to become noble."

"Poor guy. He must think I'm an artful bitch."

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "I hate to break this to you, bangwI', but he always did." She shrugged. "He probably thinks that of me, too."

"Then I'm in really good company." Ro slipped her arm around B'Elanna's shoulders, hugging her.

B'Elanna leaned over and kissed the Bajoran on the jaw, nipping gently. "The best."

Ro actually smiled and B'Elanna felt a warmth spread through her. She almost suggested they return to the ship before deciding that a little more anticipation would only make things better. Besides, she was feeling a trifle peckish.

"Are you hungry? Let me buy you a late dinner and I'll tell you all about the time Chakotay and I had to sneak onto this station and secure supplies for the Maquis."

"Lanna, I was there," Ro reminded her, but she allowed the Klingon to nudge her away from the window, the couple strolling along the Promenade again. "I was flying the shuttle."

B'Elanna blinked. "God, I forgot," she said, astounded at herself. "I guess I'm still not reconciled to the fact that you and Ara Lerona were the same person." She frowned. "You were so different when you were in the Maquis, compared to how you are now."

"I was hiding my identity," Ro reminded her dryly. "I definitely didn't want anyone to remember me as a Starfleet officer. Ara is my best persona for merging into the woodwork and not being noticed."

"It certainly worked," B'Elanna said, barely remembering the shy, unassuming Bajoran who had been a part of her resistance cell. Ara had drifted into the lower decks once the Maquis had been merged with Voyager's crew, keeping a very low profile for several years, and B'Elanna really hadn't paid any attention to the woman until it was revealed that the mousy little pilot was actually the ex-Enterprise helm officer, Ro Laren. Once her identity was revealed, it was as if a shroud had been pulled away and the real and vital woman was allowed to shine through.

B'Elanna had been instantly smitten, and the two women had been together ever since, having grown close enough to share living quarters. The Klingon wore Ro's earring of commitment in her right ear, a blood red stone signifying a formal bonding of sorts ... not a permanent uniting yet, but certainly on the path to it.

"Where would you like to eat?" Ro asked as they entered the section of the Promenade where several dining establishments were located.

"I saw the captain and Seven go in there earlier in the evening," B'Elanna said, motioning at a dignified and intimidating portal across the way. "However, it looks far too expensive for my tastes."

"I agree," Ro said, regarding the elegantly appointed entrance warily. "I'm more in the mood for some real Bajoran food anyway ... homemade, not 'artistically created and arranged' by a chef who's never been hungry a day in his life."

"How about down there?" B'Elanna suggested, spotting a smaller, less refined but far more appealing restaurant not far away. Patrons, many of whom were Bajoran, seemed drawn to it in a steady stream, and most of the departing customers were carrying hefty takeout containers. The savory smells that drifted the women's way made the choice all the more appealing.

Ro took a deep breath, obviously sampling the piquant scent. "I like it already."

The pair managed to find a small table in a corner, and B'Elanna let Ro do the ordering, trusting that they knew each other's tastes well enough by now that the Bajoran would know what the Klingon would find flavorful on the menu. The engineer leaned back in her chair and looked around the dining establishment, taking its measure. It was plainly decorated, but the satisfied faces of its customers and the cheerful chatter, even this late at night, were testament to its popularity. She only hoped she could get a drink with her meal.

Ro had anticipated her, and when the waitress brought over their appetizers, she also dropped two frosted bottles of ale on the table.

"Have I mentioned that I love you?" B'Elanna told her companion seriously.

"You're just easy, Torres," Ro replied dryly. "If a Hirogen gave you a cold beer, you'd fall for him, too."

B'Elanna took a long pull from her bottle, amazed at the flavor. She knew Bajorans could make very fine wine, but she hadn't known they could brew beer with such adeptness.

"If it tasted this good?" she said, wiping the foam from her mouth. "You bet I would."

Ro quirked an eyebrow at her, smiling faintly, and the Klingon was glad to see the Bajoran was totally relaxed now. It boded well for whatever B'Elanna might want to do later in the evening. She returned the grin and reached out to try some of the appetizers, most of which looked deep fried. There were several varied sauces for dipping.

"These are good," she exclaimed after trying a couple. She held one up. "What's this?"

Ro examined it. "Katterpod."

B'Elanna hesitated. "As in insects?"

"As in vegetables."

"Ah, that's all right then," the engineer said. One could never tell with alien cuisine, and while Klingons had been known to eat their share of unappealing dishes, she tried to avoid insects and larvae whenever she could.

"These?" she asked, working her way through the selection.

"Kendra mushrooms."

"Hmm, they're very tasty. This?"

"Veldbeast strips. Uh, ... halfway between beef and venison, I guess."

"This?"

Ro hesitated and B'Elanna stopped, her mouth half full.

"What?" the Klingon said suspiciously.

"Palukoo," Ro said reluctantly. "You could call them spider legs."

B'Elanna chewed thoughtfully. "Pretty damned big spiders," she noted after she swallowed. "If these are only their legs."

"They are. They're indigenous to Bajor's moons. Members of the Resistance lived off them at times."

"They're not bad," B'Elanna allowed, trying another. "You're not eating?"

"Oh, I'm eating," Ro noted, dipping a battered mushroom into a tangy white sauce. "I'm just a lot slower than you."

B'Elanna blinked. "Funny, you'd think after the life you've led, you'd be a lot quicker off the mark when it comes to food."

Ro grinned. "What amuses me is that you eat like someone's going to take it away from you any second, and I know no one ever has."

"High metabolism," B'Elanna returned. "I use a lot of energy really quickly at times."

"Yes, I know. I sleep with you."

B'Elanna laughed and scooped up some more veldbeast strips. "So what did you order for the main course."

"Hasperat for me, of course," Ro said. "I ordered you timnance. It's a rice dish with a selection of vegetables and fowl over top." She paused. "It's sort of like Seven's chicken stirfry, only a hell of a lot spicier. If it doesn't make you go through a half a case of ale just to cool yourself off, then they didn't make it right."

B'Elanna wiggled in anticipation. "I can hardly wait."

The dish was just as spicy as Ro had promised, so hot that it actually made tears come to B'Elanna's eyes, but it was absolutely delicious, and washed down with the icy cold, clear ale, the Klingon considered it one of the better meals she had ever consumed. Being able to share it with Ro elevated it to the category of a most spectacular experience. This was the sort of food one didn't simply eat, one made love to it, and Ro smiled often at the Klingon's enthusiasm throughout their meal.

Afterward, the women leaned back in their chairs, replete, and sipping a final ale, content with what had been a most satisfying dining experience.

"It's good to be home," Ro said, looking around. "I never thought I'd have a chance to be here again."

"What about Bajor?" B'Elanna asked gently. "I know if I asked the captain, we could probably take a shuttle and spend a few days on the surface."

Ro frowned, considering it, and B'Elanna left it at that. She knew that the woman had not been back to her homeworld since escaping from a Cardassian internment camp years ago, and to go back now would be of great significance. It was not the sort of thing Ro would grant an easy 'yes' or 'no' to.

"Think about it," the Klingon suggested finally, placing her empty bottle on the table. "The installation of the warp manifold will probably be finished tomorrow and I'd be free."

"The captain will undoubtedly want to depart as soon as we're ready to go. We wouldn't have time."

B'Elanna shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to ask. If not, then you and I can come back on our first shared leave."

Ro inhaled slowly, looking away. "We'll see."

B'Elanna nodded. If it wasn't anything Ro wanted, she would have said 'no'. There were still old wounds there, and if she could somehow help her lover deal with them, that would be what she would do, but she also knew she couldn't push. Ro would have to make up her own mind, and in her own time.

"So Starfleet," B'Elanna drawled, a half grin on her face as she changed the subject. "This your first time on the station?"

Confused, Ro blinked, looking back at her.

"I know where you can find a real good time, sailor," B'Elanna elaborated.

Ro smiled. "They warned me at the Academy about people like you. Steal your credits and your heart in the same night."

B'Elanna contrived to look lascivious, suspecting that she only managed to appear vaguely demented, but Ro laughed and raised her hand, calling for the waitress who presented the Bajoran with a padd. She affixed her thumbprint to it, authorizing the deduction of credits from her account, including a reasonable tip, and then stood up.

"So," she said to B'Elanna who was delighted that the Bajoran was continuing to play with her. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," B'Elanna said with a faint growl rippling her tone, grasping Ro's hand and leading her from the restaurant.

"All mine."

Janeway smiled as she rolled over, snuggling close to the delectable form of her partner. A late night had dictated a late morning, and she relaxed in the warm nest of blankets and body heat, realizing happily that she didn't need to report for duty at all. If someone required her presence, all they had to do was contact her over the comm badge. With B'Elanna supervising the last of the warp manifold installation, the ship currently docked, and astrometrics not needed while Voyager was in Federation space, the Borg was actually free from duty requirements as well.

The captain supposed they should both cherish this brief respite as much as they could. Who knew what it would be like once they were back at Starfleet Command and the debriefings began? A quick glance out the viewport above the bed showed an empty docking pylon across the way, and Janeway realized that the Enterprise had left the station while she had been asleep. She smiled sadly, sending a silent wish of good fortune after her departed crewmembers, hoping that they would do well in their new posts and new lives.

Seven exhaled softly and stirred, wrapping her arms around the captain, pulling her down onto her as Janeway entwined her legs with the Borg's, surrendering easily to the warm embrace. She nuzzled her nose into Seven's neck, inhaling the fragrance of the young woman and the musky scent of the previous night's lovemaking which lingered over them.

"Good morning.".

"Good afternoon," Seven corrected dryly, making the captain chuckle.

"Whichever you prefer, love," Janeway allowed easily. She pressed her body against the smooth expanse of her partner, mouthing a line along Seven's jaw until she found the full lips. They kissed, slowly and pleasurably, a greeting to start the day and a promise that lingered from the night before.

When they finally parted, the captain sighed happily and lay her head back down on Seven's chest, pillowed by the full breasts, delighting in the steady throb of her spouse's heart, lifted by the rhythmic rise and fall of the Borg's breathing. This could so easily lull her back to sleep, she thought contentedly, lying safe and secure in these strong arms. Perhaps that discovery had been the real turning point in their relationship ... when she had realized that Seven was the sort she could actually sleep with, could actually drift off while snuggled together, their limbs so entangled it was hard to tell where she left off and Seven began. With previous partners, Janeway had always required her space to sleep, staking out her territory in the bed with judiciously placed elbows and knees. With Seven, she couldn't get close enough to her warmth, be surrounded enough by her softness and smooth skin, couldn't immerse herself enough in her womanly fragrance.

"Kathryn?"

"Mm, yes, darling?" Janeway replied quietly.

"What Cheb Packer said about your lovemaking abilities?" Seven noted, obviously still conscious of the incident from the previous evening. "That was not true. You are an absolutely wonderful lover."

Janeway chuckled. "Thank you, Annika." She patted her spouse reassuringly on the stomach. "Though I admit, it wasn't until Justin, and then Mark, that I understood my technique was just fine and Cheb had been the one who didn't quite know what he was doing." She paused, raising her head to look into the Borg's narrow features. "Annika, you have to realize that people like Cheb never want to take responsibility for themselves, or their actions, and when something makes them unhappy, they always want to blame someone else for it. They honestly don't know how to be happy, nor how to accept that it must come from within first, before they can find it in someone else."

Seven thought about it. "I understand."

Sadly, Janeway realized she did, having been exposed to enough examples of that Human failing in the short time she had been severed from the Collective. "Darling, I'm really sorry my past came back to haunt us."

Seven shook her head. "It is ... not important." She paused. "When my past returns to 'haunt us', there is always the risk of assimilation. Yours is of little consequence in comparison."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "I suppose, if you put it that way, Cheb wasn't so bad, was he?"

"Nothing that a certain rearranging of his internal organs would not improve," Seven told her in a very reasonable tone.

Janeway started to laugh. "Good god, darling, you've been taking lessons from B'Elanna again."

Seven smiled and reached up, cupping the captain's chin in her hand. "I have been taking lessons from you," she corrected. "You are more protective than anyone I know." A shadow suddenly seemed to pass over the pale eyes, and Janeway frowned, wondering what was causing it.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Seven shook her head. "It is ... irrelevant."

"Tell me," Janeway insisted softly.

The Borg took a deep breath. "It was remark regarding protection. For some reason, that suddenly made me think of Naomi and Mezoti. I hope they will be all right on DS9."

"I'm sure they'll be just fine," Janeway assured her spouse, conscious of how much the children's departure had affected the young woman. With just a thought, her partner's mood had altered completely, the hurt obviously still fresh to the young woman. She reached up and drew her knuckles gently along Seven's cheek. "They have their parents and there are many other Bajoran children their age on the station. It won't be long before they're so busy with school and new friends that they won't even remember Voyager." She tilted her head and offered a small, rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Annika. That's not helping, is it?"

Seven swallowed, her throat moving visibly as she began to blink, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "No, it is not," she admitted, her voice suddenly unsteady. "Nor did our evening out entirely accomplish its goal of making us feel better about the separation from our friends."

"Actually, it wasn't so much an attempt to make us feel better as a way to keep us occupied," Janeway told her, drawing the young woman closer to her. "It's perfectly all right to mourn, Annika. We're going to miss these people a great deal because they were part of our lives for a long time. That feeling doesn't go away all at once, no matter how busy we keep ourselves."

"I do not mean to imply that I did not enjoy last night," Seven whispered, obviously trying to maintain her composure.

"I know." Janeway brushed her lips over the Borg's forehead. "Don't hold it in, love. Missing Naomi and Mezoti is perfectly natural. I'm not happy with their leaving, either."

"An emotional outburst does not solve anything," Seven objected, moisture leaking from the corner of each eye to slip silently down the sides of her face. "It will certainly not bring them back."

"No, it won't," Janeway assured her quietly. "But it's not supposed to solve anything, Annika. It's just enough that you feel what you feel."

As if accepting the captain's words as permission to let go, Seven started to weep, a reaction that had been building since the previous day, made all the more powerful for the delay. Janeway cradled the young woman lovingly, smoothing the long, blonde hair, whispering words of love and comfort as the Borg released her anguish. To her surprise, she felt tears stinging her own eyes, and they escaped to join with Seven's as Janeway allowed herself to recognize how much she would miss those she was leaving behind. It took awhile before the couple was able to stop crying, and even longer as they remained huddled together in the warm sanctuary of their bed and each other.

"This is very difficult," Seven said finally.

"It's part of life, darling."

"That does not mean I must like it," the young woman said, a stubborn note in her voice.

Janeway smiled tremulously. "No, love," she assured her. "We don't have to like it."

They remained cuddled together a little longer, finding comfort in the simple act of being together, of being able to hold on, and being held in turn, the emotions easing as they allowed themselves to fully acknowledge them. Janeway exhaled slowly, conscious of the warmth of her partner surrounding her, the love that began to heal the subtle wounds rendered upon her soul in recent days.

Finally, her partner stirred, brushing her lips over the captain's forehead.

"Are you hungry, Kathryn?" Seven asked quietly. "Would you like me to prepare lunch?"

"I'm not really hungry, love," Janeway said, raising her head as she peered into her partner's eyes. She paused, lost in the pale blue of Seven's gaze. "I don't suppose I could entice you to remain in bed a little longer?" she added wistfully.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It would be an event of great significance if you could not entice me to remain in bed with you," she pointed out logically.

Pleased, Janeway settled closer onto the Borg. "I absolutely adore you, you know, with all my heart."

"You know how I feel about you, Kathryn," Seven replied, her eyes dark and serious. "It hurts me to know that there was anyone or anything in your life that did not offer you happiness."

"Annika, if a person can discover, in the course of their lifetime, one half of the happiness that you've given me, they would be considered very successful indeed." Janeway squeezed her gently. "Darling, try to let go of the things that can't be changed. For all the good-byes we've seen in recent days, and must yet face in the future, one thing remains constant, and that's you and me. Hold onto that. Let it help you. "

Seven looked thoughtful. "I will try, Kathryn."

Janeway nuzzled her, brushing her lips over the Borg's, taking the time to taste her sweetness. "The other thing you should remember is that in a very short while, we'll be greeting people as well."

Seven quirked a sardonic eyebrow. "More lovers?"

Janeway poked her in the ribs. "Mother and Phoebe," she corrected in a long-suffering tone, gratified to see the corners of her partner's mouth curve upward. "Molly Malone."

"Molly Malone?"

"Jake's mother."

Seven blinked. "I did not realize she existed in this universe as well. Would she recognize Jake?" She paused. "Is there already a Jake in this universe?"

Janeway raised her head, looking astounded. "I don't know. I didn't have a chance to name any of Molly's puppies in this universe. She was pregnant when Voyager was lost, you know. I wonder who finally took her? I left her with Mark."

"Would he have kept her and the puppies?"

Janeway shook her head. "I don't  think so. He's not really the doggie type. He did look after her, but it was mostly for my benefit, not because he had any great love affair with animals. In his letter, he told me he had found homes for all the puppies, but I would expect that he gave Molly back to Mother or Phoebe."

"We shall find out soon enough."

Smiling, the captain looked down at her. "So we will." She held the gaze intently. "It will be all right, Annika. I promise."

The Borg tilted her head, her pale eyes softening. "I believe you, Kathryn. I have always believed in you, even when it seemed as if I were angry with you."

Janeway took a deep breath and bent down to kiss the young woman, lingering over the full lips. "Your support means so much to me," she said softly, then kissed her again. "I don't know what I'd do without it."

"You shall always have it," Seven responded, her voice lowering, her lips parting to accept the tender kisses.

"Mmm, you taste so wonderful," Janeway remarked, brushing her mouth over the Borg's again, nibbling at Seven's lower lip.

Seven seemed to find the captain's flavor quite acceptable as well, wrapping her arms around the captain and pulling easily to her, so that Janeway was now fully on top of the young Borg, cushioned deliciously by womanly curves and soft skin. The captain kissed her again, deeper, more passionately, suddenly wanting her partner in ways that were less related to comfort, and more related to need and desire.

Returning the kiss with an abrupt hunger, Seven rolled them over, pressing down on the smaller woman with deliberate intent. Perhaps acknowledging their losses helped them deal with their sorrow, but completely forgetting about it for a little while would also do them some good, Janeway thought as she absorbed herself in the searing kisses.

It certainly couldn't hurt.

Seven of Nine regarded the captain with indolent satisfaction, the two women sprawled over the bed in the heated aftermath of what had been a most strenuous encounter. Seven lay on her belly, supported by her forearms, her head and upper body raised as she looked over her shoulder at her partner. Janeway was stretched out spread-eagle on the sheets beside the Borg, arms and legs akimbo, seeming almost to glow in her satisfaction, her fair skin shimmering with perspiration and the healthy flush of an extensive expenditure of energy. Eventually, the captain became aware of her lover's scrutiny, and a slow smile spread across her face.

"That was tremendous, love," she noted in a gravely tone, her throat still slightly hoarse from her previous outcries which had been loud and explicit indeed. She cracked open her eyelids halfway and peered at the other woman with warm, blue eyes. "Just what we needed."

Seven smiled faintly and licked her lips, tasting the piquant flavor of her beloved Kathryn that lingered deliciously in her mouth.

"It was ... acceptable," she said, unaware that she was looking very much like a sated carnivore to her partner .. one that had only recently brought down prey.

Smiling, Janeway stretched lazily, like a tabby finally moving from a patch of sunlight to another patch; languorously, hoping the next patch might be more comfortable.

"Hmm, computer, lower ambient temperature by two degrees," she instructed. "I believe my spouse has overheated me."

Seven reached over and grasped her partner's ankle, leaning down to gently nibble the captain's toes. "You did not burst into flames," she noted reasonably, deliberately injecting a note of disappointment in her voice.

Janeway laughed. "Not from any lack of trying on your part," she said happily. She wiggled her toes under Seven's tentative caress. "Don't start again. I'm hungry."

"Such a surprise," Seven allowed dryly as she reluctantly released her spouse's ankle.

"Beast," Janeway identified her archly.

Seven blinked. "Beast?" she repeated curiously. She lifted her head and stared at her partner, intrigued. "What kind of beast?"

Janeway eyed her judiciously. "Something feline, I think. Golden and sleek and very, very dangerous when it comes to protecting your mate."

Pleased with the comparison, Seven smiled and rolled off the bed, stretching fully and with great extension, fingertips brushing the overhang of ceiling above her. She felt Janeway's eyes move over her body in sincere and intent appreciation, the warmth in the gaze whispering over the Borg's skin like a tropical sea breeze.

"How are we ever going to be able to indulge ourselves like this in Mother's house?" Janeway asked idly.

Seven considered it. "Perhaps we cannot. Perhaps we must live in San Francisco in your previous dwelling as you suggested."

"I guess we'll know more when we get to Earth," Janeway agreed. The chirp from the comm channel above the bed made her sigh and she rolled over, touching the control panel imbedded in the hull, indicating that she was prepared to accept the call despite the privacy seal the two women had placed on their personal comm badges. "Janeway here."

It was Chakotay. "Captain, the engine room reports that the warp manifold is installed and tested. DS9 control wishes to know our departure schedule."

Seven raised an brow inquiringly and Janeway rolled her eyes, exhaling gustily. Both of them knew where that was coming from ... or rather from whom.

"There's no time like the present, Commander," the captain said ruefully. "Send out a recall to any personnel still on the station. We'll leave as soon as Voyager is secure and we have clearance. Request a departure for 1500 hours."

"Understood," he responded. There was a pause. "Uh, Captain, a Commander Patterson came on board last night. He said you authorized his return with us to Earth?"

Janeway winced. "Oh, god, I forgot to tell you about that," she said apologetically to her first officer. "It was so late when we returned from dinner that I didn't want to disturb you."

Seven regarded her sardonically. What had actually happened was that it had slipped Janeway's mind in the course of their encounter with Cheb Packer and their subsequent incarceration in the station's security center.

"So you do know him," Chakotay said, a touch of relief in his tone. "I erred on the side of caution and put him in the guest quarters."

Janeway immediately looked queasy and Seven stifled her snicker of amusement. They had never soundproofed the addition of their new walk-in closet, which was previously the bedroom of the guest quarters. Both the door leading to the ensuite and the one leading to their closet had remained wide open all evening and while it was unlikely that the man had heard anything, it was still possible that the sound of Janeway's voice had penetrated the bulkhead.

The captain could be very loud during certain, intense emotions.

Seven smiled as she left the captain with her communication and went into the ensuite to the equipment replicator in the corner, gathering up the worn garments they had changed from before going out to dinner the previous evening. She ran them through the recycler after first removing the comm badges and assorted pips, and placed the freshly cleaned and pressed uniforms neatly on the sink counter, before activating the shower, altering the temperature to be a little cooler than she would normally program if she were showering alone.

Janeway soon joined her, the captain groaning pleasurably under the warm water as it cascaded over her from three, separate shower nozzles. The captain had never been particularly extravagant with her personal items or creature comforts except when it came to her ensuite. Both the shower and tub units were fully equipped to the highest standards Starfleet could provide, and Seven had learned to appreciate the luxury of being able to shower in such lavish accommodations. She could only hope that wherever they ended up living on Earth, it would be equally as well appointed. There was nothing better than a warm shower or bath to work the lingering soreness out of muscles.

Unless it was to grasp the wiggling, slippery form of her partner and create some fresh, but more appreciated soreness in the muscles, Seven decided, as they made joyful love again amid the steamy heat of water and lather.

Seven decided she looked far too smug as she observed her reflection in the mirror over the sink counter much, much later. She carefully removed a minuscule piece of lint from one shoulder of her uniform, then settled her shoulders beneath the greyish, quilted bands, noting how the gleam of her dual pips, one gold and one black, reflected the subdued lighting overhead. She decided she preferred this current version of Starfleet uniform. It felt substantial to her, more like the away mission outfit she had designed while in the Delta Quadrant. The hidden pockets she had programmed the buffer to place on the inside of the tunic were reassuring.

"Are you coming to lunch or are you going to preen all day?" Janeway asked dryly, passing behind her and flashing her a glance with sardonic blue-grey eyes.

"I was not preening," Seven protested as she followed the captain out into the living area. She had actually been assuring herself that she was a far superior lover than Cheb Packer, but she did not offer that bit of information.

"Of course not," Janeway agreed, in a tone that indicated she meant the exact opposite.

Seven contented herself with a sharp look in the captain's direction before going to the replicator where she programmed in some salad and pasta, not feeling like preparing food today, nor having the time to do so even if she wanted. She knew that Janeway, now that she was in her uniform, would want to be on the bridge and underway once again. It was clear to the Borg that Voyager had worn out its welcome at DS9.

The captain dug into her meal with restrained enthusiasm, undoubtedly feeling what Seven was, that replicated portions had their limitations and that last night had showed them what fine dining was really about. Lying on the floor next to the captain's chair, Jake waited with anticipation in the event that a morsel was tossed his way. He knew better than to try hanging around Seven during mealtime ... the Borg did not believe he should be fed anything other than the carefully balanced nutrition provided him by the automatic feeder ... but he was frequently rewarded while on the captain's side of the table.

"You know, I can't wait to take you to all the wonderful restaurants on Earth," Janeway told the Borg who was consuming her salad with efficiency if little appetite. "There's a little place in Nova Scotia where the lobster is served fresh out of the Atlantic Ocean."

Seven blinked, surprised. "There is fishing on Earth?"

Janeway grinned crookedly. "Well, I'll admit, it's not considered a particularly civilized thing to do. A small amount of harvesting is allowed in Earth's oceans, as well as in the various agricultural parks, and while most of the produce and meat is shipped off planet as luxury items, you can inevitably find a restaurant which will offer an organic menu of whatever it is they're harvesting locally. Granted, not a lot of Terrans take advantage of it ... it's considered very uncultured to eat what once was alive ... but there's enough clientele from us Traditionalists and whatever offworlders happen to be passing through, to keep them going."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Kathryn, I have noticed that in the time we have been together, you have become more accepting of your Traditionalist background. When I first met you, you seemed to have ... not a contempt of it necessarily, but you seemed dismissive of it at times."

Janeway chewed her pasta thoughtfully, considering her partner's words.

"When I was growing up, I didn't have much use for a lot of what being a Traditionalist meant. I believed that it was a waste of man-hours and personal energy to do things that could be more easily handled by technology. I also believed that Humans had advanced to the point where a strong mind was far more important than a strong back, and doing things the old-fashioned way was a selfish kind of conceit." She speared a piece of tomato from her salad. "However, the longer I was in the Delta Quadrant, the more I learned to rely on myself and my crew, rather than on the technology surrounding us. That's how it is in the Agriculture Park, Annika. People work together, and by doing things themselves, rather than counting solely on technology to get things done, there's a sense of accomplishment and pride that perhaps others don't develop."

She looked up, meeting Seven's pale gaze. "It's ironic," she added quietly. "Once I was so far from home, I found myself going back to the very roots I had disdained when I was younger. I found in them a strength that I needed desperately, and a belief in myself that otherwise, I might not have discovered."

Seven nodded. "There is a strength in such things. I believe that one of my parents' greatest failings was that they relied too much on technology ... they depended on it to serve them, to protect them, to do exactly as they intended, which was why they were unprepared when the Borg assimilated them."

Janeway raised a brow. "I hadn't thought of it that way. In any event, I've learned to rely more on people than technology, and in you I found another connection to my roots."

"Me?" Seven repeated, mystified. "I am very much a technical being, Kathryn."

"With the heart and soul of a Traditionalist," Janeway pointed out dryly. "Face it, Annika, you're far happier surrounded by natural things rather than artificial trappings, even though it took you some time to realize that. When I first met you, you had no patience for certain things in life, considering them irrelevant to your function. Now, you're probably happiest roaming around in the planetary outdoors."

"I am happiest when I am with you, regardless of where that is," Seven corrected. Then she hesitated. "I admit, however, that occasionally, I think that I shall enjoy living on Earth, particularly if there will be water and trees in the area."

"I'm sure you will, darling," Janeway told her. "Certainly, where Mother lives has plenty of both, and there's a park near my house in San Francisco." She bit into a piece of lettuce and flashed a glance at her partner. "But I only give it a year, maybe two before we'll want the stars again."

Seven nodded, believing that to be an accurate assessment but still looking forward to the future. Living in space certainly had its own appeal, but after spending most of her life doing it, she was ready to try habitation on a planet, if only for a little while.

They finished their meal and cleaned up the dishes before leaving their quarters to head for the bridge. There, Seven took her post at the aft auxiliary tactical station, standing just behind and above the command level where Janeway took her seat. Chakotay was already there, in his first officer's chair, while Harry Kim and Tuvok manned ops and tactical respectively.

The only one missing, Seven noted somberly, was Tom Paris. She glanced at the front of the bridge where Ro Laren performed the tasks of navigation and helm control. Looking back at where the captain leaned back in her chair, she saw the brief shadow that passed over Janeway's face, the captain undoubtedly reminded of who would no longer be traveling with them. Seven felt a sharp little needle in her heart, remembering who and what she was leaving behind on this station.

The rest of the departures would come later, Seven realized, swallowing hard. Once they reached Earth, there would be no choice but to acknowledge the reality of their situation. The long journey back from the Delta Quadrant was finally over, and now it would only be a matter of saying good-bye to the rest of their friends and crewmates. Even those with whom she would remain in touch, it would still not be the same. They would not see each other every day, nor be only a comm badge signal away.

Kathryn was right. It was going to get harder before it got easier.

Seven inhaled sharply and turned her attention to her board. Around the Borg, the sounds of the starship coming back to life filled her senses, the hum of various systems coming back on line, of the station's umbilicalis withdrawing from external ports, the subtle whisper of communications from various departments that still had enough personnel to warrant reporting in with their status, the almost inaudible hiss of internal atmospheric circulation. On the fore viewscreen, the young woman noted that Ro had angled the sensors to show the forward slope of Voyager's saucer section, and one by one, Seven saw the ship's running lights activate, indicating to anyone who happened to be looking that the vessel was once more preparing to return to space. One group in particular caught the young woman's eye, the array that illuminated the big black letters of the ship's name and call letters, and to Seven's amazement, she felt a strange sensation, half pleasure, half pain, radiate through her chest as she read them.

The turbolift doors slid open and Seven raised an eyebrow as B'Elanna entered the bridge. Apparently the Klingon wished to be in the control center for this departure, rather than down in engineering and Seven noticed that Janeway offered B'Elanna a smile as she made her way to the engineering station to the captain's right.

Then, Janeway stood up, and took a long, slow circuit of the bridge, ostensibly to make a final check, but Seven knew it was the captain's way of appreciating the moment, taking the time to immerse herself in this final departure of her vessel from the space station. Seven smiled faintly as the captain passed behind her, so close that she felt her hand brush lightly against her hip before she moved on. The Borg wondered if anyone noticed it, then a glance at B'Elanna, who grinned at her, let her know that at least one person had.

Stepping down to the command level, the captain shot a look at Chakotay and the first officer dipped his head, as if receiving some unspoken communication, some silent order that indicated he was to proceed.

"Lt. Ro," he said, standing up. "Lay in our course and clear our departure with operations."

Ro's long fingers danced lightly over the board. "Course laid in," she reported. "Ops has cleared us."

"Ready thrusters," Janeway said, taking her seat.

"Thrusters ready," Harry announced in too loud a voice, and Janeway shot a look back at him, smiling. He smiled too, and Seven realized that he had done it deliberately, as if there had been some reminder in his tone that the captain recognized. Perhaps from the last time Voyager had departed from this station?

The display on the viewscreen altered, shifting as the ship gracefully eased away from the docking pylon and cleared the area.

"Voyager is clear of station perimeter," Ro noted.

"Warp engines are online," B'Elanna said.

"Warp factor one, Lt. Ro."

"Warp factor one, aye, Captain."

There was a brief instance, a pause as the captain leaned forward, then she raised her head.

"Engage."

Voyager obeyed, the stars blurring and streaking as the vessel jumped smoothly to warp and began the final leg of its long journey back to Earth.

Epilogue

Kira Nerys looked up from her operations table to watch the departure of Voyager from the lower docking pylon. It wasn't that she didn't trust the starship exactly, she just worried that maybe it would run into something before it got clear of the traffic surrounding the station. She heaved a sigh of relief as it managed to make its way out into space before activating its warp drive. There was a blur, an elongating as if a part of it remained behind while the fore part was already light years away, and then it was gone.

She took a deep breath and touched her console, organizing her next batch of tasks and scheduling the ships awaiting her attention. Yet, even as she worked, she spared a thought for the vessels so recently departed from her station. It was still very odd to her that the Enterprise had made an unscheduled stop just to pick up personnel, and there was the lingering sensation that there was something there beyond that which was superficially apparent. It could just be her old resistance nerves twinging, but a part of her sensed that something was up. She supposed she would discover what it was before too long.  Despite the vast distances in space, it really was a small universe, after all.

She sent a silent wish winging after Voyager, hoping that her captain carried with her the luck of the Prophets. For some reason, she thought Janeway might need it as much in the Alpha Quadrant as she ever had in the Delta.

The End

•  This is the 42nd installment in the Just Between Series.

•  It was posted August 18th, 2000.

Just Between Stations
G. L. Dartt

Stepping onto the bridge of USS Voyager, Captain Kathryn Janeway glanced around at the alpha shift manning their posts, checking their alertness. Immediately to her right at the tactical station, Tuvok responded to the captain's nod of greeting with a slightly raised Vulcan eyebrow. To her left, Harry Kim offered her a smile, which she returned briefly before taking a deep breath and turning her attention to the viewscreen dominating the front of the bridge. It revealed a starfield that was exceedingly ... achingly ... familiar, constellations that she had studied and become as comfortable with as the paths in the fields behind her home in Indiana. Lost for seven years in the Delta Quadrant, the captain had finally brought her vessel home to the Federation, and now they were on the final leg of that most incredible journey ... warping to Earth after departing Deep Space 9 two days earlier.

It was a bittersweet return, Janeway thought as she descended the short flight of stairs to the command level, greeted by Commander Chakotay who stood up respectfully as she approached. There had been no tickertape parade, no great sense of triumph ... just the incredible knowledge that they were finally home, and would be able to resume their lives once again.

Several of her crew had already started.

After a war with the Dominion, which had cost hundreds of ships and thousands of officers, Starfleet was desperate for skilled and seasoned starship personnel. Voyager's return had been like manna from the gods, and several other vessels had wasted little time in offering berths and positions, sweetened by promotions and other perks. Janeway couldn't match such offers, of course, since Voyager was on its way to Earth's solar system where it was to be dry-docked at the Utopia Planitia shipyards orbiting Mars, and upgraded to meet current Starfleet operating standards. She could only wish her best to those crewmembers who had been as close to her as family, including those Maquis who couldn't wait to leave the vessel as soon it had docked at the Bajoran space station. From 150, the crew manifest had been reduced to 56 ... too few for the optimum operation of an Intrepid-class vessel in emergency or tactical situations, but safe enough to ferry the ship back to its home port.

Janeway stifled a sigh as she took her seat. For seven years, Thomas Eugene Paris had been her chief helmsman, but he had been transferred to the USS Enterprise and had accepted his new posting while both ships had been berthed at DS9. It seemed odd not to see his fair head before her when she looked toward the front of the bridge, her view encompassing, instead, the slender, dangerously graceful Bajoran, Lt. Ro Laren, who covered the helm competently, if not as skillfully as her predecessor.

Trying not to dwell on it, Janeway switched her console toward her and started in on her duties for the day, quickly becoming immersed in the paperwork that seemed to be the main requirement for their return to the Federation. When the turbolift door slid open some time later, Janeway was glad of the interruption, glancing back to see her astrometrics officer stride purposely onto the upper level. The young woman moved immediately to the aft tactical post just behind the command area where she began to input data, seeming oblivious of any interest her arrival might have caused.

Statuesque, with ice-blue eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, Seven of Nine had once been a Borg drone, and even now, the metallic implants adorning her narrow features ... one framing her left eye and one adorning her right cheek ... gave stark testimony to that time. Her manner was abrupt and precise, intimidating to those who knew her only superficially.

But for those who knew her intimately, Seven possessed a warm and generous nature, readily shown to friends and family. Janeway was one of those fortunate beings, having been romantically involved with Seven for over two years. It still amazed the captain to know that she had left the Federation engaged to a man named Mark Johnson, and returned married to a woman who had been born Annika Hansen.

"Captain," Harry said suddenly, interrupting the captain's chain of thought, "We're picking up a distress call."

Immediately alert, Janeway straightened in her chair. "Details," she requested. This was the first bit of excitement they had since undocking from DS9, and she discovered a pleasurable surge of anticipation filling her chest.

"It appears to be on a heading of mark 26, the Argolis Cluster. The signature identification is a Federation freighter, the UFP Threadneedle. But Captain..."

"Lt. Ro, alter course on a heading toward the Argolis Cluster," Janeway said, her voice crisp, disregarding the fact that her ship was severely understaffed. "Bridge to sickbay."

"Captain."

"Sickbay here," the Doctor responded.

"We're responding to a distress call," Janeway barked. "Prepare sickbay for possible casualties."

"Captain!" Harry offered again, in a more strident tone.

Startled, Janeway looked back, and he looked vaguely sheepish.

"The USS Ulysses is already in the vicinity and reports that they have things under control," Harry said quietly. "They thank us for the offer of assistance, but it's not required."

Janeway opened her mouth, paused, and then closed it firmly, nodding briefly. "Of course," she said, feeling acutely embarrassed, though she wasn't sure why. "As you were."

She turned forward, feeling her ears burn. She was aware of Chakotay regarding her sympathetically.

"It's not easy to get used to the fact that we're not the only ones out here," he said in a low tone.

"It's definitely an adjustment."

"Sickbay to Bridge."

She closed her eyes. "Bridge. Sorry, Doctor, false alarm. Carry on."

There was a pregnant pause, the sort of accusing silence that only made things more awkward.

"Very well, Captain," he said finally, in a stiff voice. "I was going to ask for more details about the emergency, but apparently it's not necessary. I would suggest, however, that the next time you wish to stage a drill, perhaps you should give me a little notice. That way, I wouldn't be required to call Crewman Harris out of her bath."

With Tom Paris and Kes both gone, the Doctor had been somewhat innovative in finding medical assistants for the final trip home. Harris had once helped him hold down Jake, Janeway's Irish Setter, while the dog received his shots, and the Doctor figured that was good enough for her to at least hold a hypospray now and again.

Janeway stifled a groan. "Please tender my regrets to Crewman Harris."

She glanced at Chakotay and he looked away, undoubtedly to prevent her seeing any inappropriate amusement from him at the sheer incongruity of the situation. Janeway shook her head and sighed softly, feeling as if a little more had slipped beyond her control. What exactly, she wasn't entirely sure, but the sense of being a tiny cog in a big machine remained, and she didn't think she liked it very much.

With the bridge quiet once more, the moments continued to pass with a sort of agonizing slowness. At one point, the captain discovered she was drumming her fingers impatiently on the arm of her command chair, and rather than impose her unsettled nerves on her crew, she cleared her throat, looking over at Chakotay.

"I'll be in my ready room."

"Aye, Captain." If there seemed to be a touch of relief in his glance at her decision to leave the bridge, she deliberately chose not to notice it.

She took a breath and rose from her seat, moving over to the port side of the bridge, aware of the pale blue gaze following her progress speculatively, but Janeway did not look back as she entered her sanctuary. Inside the office, the captain mounted the short flight of stairs to the upper level and stared out the viewports which faced forward, the stars seeming to streak past the ship as it traveled through space, distorted into streaks of light by Voyager's warp bubble. She exhaled audibly and rested her hands on her hips, wondering if she was really prepared for her vessel's return to Earth ... for how she had to respond to things now that they were back in the Alpha Quadrant.

She decided that it was probably a good idea that she was accepting an administrative position while the ship was being upgraded. It would grant her some much needed time to adapt, since it was becoming painfully obvious that being on her own for seven years had altered her reflexes, and caused her to react to events in ways that didn't necessarily work in the Federation. She could only hope that the desire for independence she had developed would not hamper her when she took over a new posting.

She had yet to decide exactly which of the offers by Starfleet Command she would accept, however. It truly depended on where Seven of Nine decided to go, whether to Mars and Dr. Leah Brahms' Theoretical Propulsion Group, or to Earth where the Daystrom Institute was located. Then, there were the other offers the Borg had received from equally renowned scientific facilities such as the Vulcan Science Academy and the Trill Ministry of Technology. For the first time since the two women had been together, it would be Seven's career that dictated what the couple would do in their personal life, rather than Janeway's.

A soft chime echoed through the room and Janeway turned her head slightly. "Come."

She didn't know whom she was expecting, but somehow, she wasn't surprised when her partner entered the room. She glanced back at Seven, and then resumed her contemplation of the stars, folding her arms over her chest. "Yes?" There was a touch of warning in her tone.

She heard the Borg ascend the stairs behind her before the footsteps faltered. Janeway could see in the reflection of the transparency that the young woman had taken a position of attentive patience a few feet behind her, standing there with her hands linked behind her back, her head tilted ever so slightly so that the ocular implant framing her left eye was angled toward the captain.

"I wished to see how you were," Seven said, her voice precise.

"I'm fine," Janeway said, striving to match that controlled evenness. "It wasn't necessary that you leave your post to come in here."

There was a pause. "I do not believe you. Something is wrong."

Janeway fought down a surge of annoyance and outrage. "It is not prudent for a junior-ranked officer to accuse a captain of lying." There was an edge in her tone she was unable to excise entirely.

"I am not speaking as your officer," Seven remarked reasonably. "I am speaking as your spouse ... the person who loves you and knows immediately when something is bothering you."

The captain inhaled slowly. "Here and now is not the time to pursue this. Especially considering that we're both on duty, Lieutenant."

"If being in Starfleet means that I am not allowed to voice my concerns to you when I have the opportunity, then I shall resign my commission on the spot," Seven responded with great conviction and no little annoyance. "You may have been reluctant to share your feelings with me on various occasions in public. I have adapted to that and even learned to understand it, but you have never before used the excuse of my new position to avoid me in private." Another pause. "I will not tolerate such an action on your part, Kathryn."

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said dryly, struck suddenly by an odd sense of amusement at the strong stand her partner was taking, even as she was warmed by its fierceness. "I'll keep that in mind."

She saw her partner inch closer. "Kathryn?" Seven prodded lightly, her expression softening. "I do not mean to challenge your professional authority ... I am simply worried about you."

"Maybe I just don't feel like talking about it," the captain tried, feeling an unfamiliar sort of pain close her throat. "Not even to you."

Seven was standing just behind her now, the captain able to detect the warmth from that lean, lanky form. She half expected the young woman to touch her, but Seven didn't ... at least, not yet.

"I can accept that," the Borg said quietly. "I readily comprehend the concept of working thoughts and ideas out in one's own mind before wishing to share. If that is the case, simply tell me ... but please, do not use my rank in Starfleet to create separation between us."

Unable to deny the charge, Janeway turned to face the young woman, having to tilt her head back slightly to look into the pale eyes. "I'm sorry. That was unfair of me, but you also have to respect my need to be captain, even with you."

"If what bothers you is related to Starfleet or ship's business, then I shall," Seven told her softly, studying Janeway's face. "However, you and I have been together long enough for me to be able to speculate with some accuracy as to when it is personal rather than professional." She quirked an eyebrow. "I believe this is personal, which is the reason I came in to offer my support."

Janeway winced. "You do know how to make a woman feel guilty, don't you?"

Seven eyed her narrowly. "That was not my intention." She looked her up and down. "Have I erred in my conclusions, Kathryn? Is this professional rather than personal?"

Janeway shook her head. "Maybe that doesn't have a clear answer, Annika. Perhaps what disturbs me personally is based on my professional life." The corner of her mouth curled slightly. "What are the rules, then?"

Seven considered that carefully. "I do not know," she admitted finally. "All I know is that I love you, and when you hurt, I hurt. I only wish to comfort and protect you, regardless of the cause of your disturbance."

Stated so bluntly and honestly, it shattered any command mask Janeway might have hoped to maintain. "Damn," she said, dropping her eyes. "You just don't fight fair."

Seven's strength surrounded her, pulling her close. "I was unaware we were fighting, Kathryn," she told her quietly, resting her chin on the top of the captain's head.

Janeway surrendered, bringing her arms up to slip around the Borg's slender waist, relinquishing the last of her reluctance to give up her command presence in that warm embrace. "We're not," she said softly, with a sigh. "I guess I'm just taking my bad mood out on you, darling." She turned her head and pressed her cheek against the taller woman's chest, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, and before you ask, no, I don't know what's causing my bad mood, or why I'm feeling like this. I just am."

She felt Seven's lips brush over her forehead. "Then I am content to hold you," the young woman told her quietly, "Until it passes."

Which sounded like a perfectly good idea to Janeway.

Ro Laren glanced up from the helm as Seven of Nine finally exited the captain's ready room, after having spent most of the afternoon in there. The Bajoran wondered idly what they had passed the time doing, then decided that it was undoubtedly none of her business Another glance at the chronometer set in her board revealed that it would shortly be time for the beta shift and her relief. With so few crewmembers on board, Voyager had changed over to a two-shift system, each twelve hours in duration, and though the duties were light while the ship was traveling in this part of the Federation, the Bajoran still felt the demands of the longer shifts wearing on her after only two days. She consoled herself with the fact that they would be approaching Earth's system within the next day or so, provided they continued a steady speed of warp 5.

Of course, maintaining a consistent speed of warp 9.9 would have reduced the journey from DS9 to Earth to approximately thirty-six hours, but starships were limited to the lower warp factors unless it was an extreme emergency. It was a restriction imposed upon Federation vessels because of a discovery that subspace rifts formed due to excessive use of warp drives in the more trafficked areas of the Alpha Quadrant. USS Voyager had actually been the first vessel to utilize the new variable-geometry warp nacelles that prevented damage to the subspace continuum, and allowed it to go faster than warp 5 without causing harm. However, in the case where there wasn't a need to move quickly, such vessels were expected to limit themselves to the 'speed limit', simply out of courtesy to the other ships in the Federation.

Ro smiled faintly to herself. The new Enterprise-E also deployed subspace-safe warp nacelles ... otherwise, it never would have been able to get to Deep Space 9 in such an expedient manner when the slipstream drive had deposited Voyager in the Bajoran sector, rather than its originally intended coordinates outside Earth's solar system where the flagship had been waiting for them. She knew that Picard had flaunted the regulations in order to rendezvous with her, though the official story going around the 'Fleet was that the Enterprise's captain had wanted to be first in line to recruit from the crew of seasoned personnel Voyager had brought home.

Everyone was quite happy to be back to using the traditional warp drive, with the possible exception of Harry Kim who always seemed in a hurry these days. He was a big believer in the advantages of the slipstream drive, and Ro suspected that his first objective after taking his new post at Starfleet Ship Design would be to push for more vessels to adopt the experimental propulsion system. It would mean having to improve the current sensor and navigational technology, of course, but Ro thought the young man would probably succeed in his efforts. What it would mean to the future of Federation starships remained to be seen.

Ro turned her head as the turbolift door opened and the beta shift entered the bridge. She turned the helm over to Ensign Culhean with little formality, and headed immediately to the ready room. She had barely touched the chime when the door slid open. Obviously, the captain had been on her way out, and Janeway blinked in surprise when she saw the Bajoran.

"Lieutenant?"

"Captain, if I could have a word with you?" Ro asked respectfully.

Janeway hesitated, then moved aside to allow the Bajoran passage into the ready room.

"Of course," she said graciously. Ro noticed as she moved past Janeway, that the captain had quirked an eyebrow at the Borg, somehow indicating that she would be delayed. Seven responded by dipping her head in acknowledgment before entering the turbolift. The exchange left Ro considerably impressed with the ease and expediency of the silent communication between the couple.

"Please, have a seat," Janeway offered, moving behind her desk where she sat down. She folded her hands on the flat surface and gave Ro her undivided attention. "What can I do for you?"

Ro took a deep breath, aware that she had to be very convincing. "Captain, I've been doing a lot of thinking since our return to the Alpha Quadrant became imminent. I'm beginning to wonder if my initial decision to pursue a career in Starfleet Intelligence is the right one, after all."

Janeway raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Indeed." She waited expectantly for further clarification.

Careful now, Ro warned herself.

"To be honest," the Bajoran said with all sincerity, "I truly didn't expect to return to the Federation so quickly, and now that we have, I'm forced to make some cold, hard decisions about my future. I think my options need to be reassessed."

Janeway tilted her head. "A career in Intelligence doesn't sound so appealing now?" she said, her tone curious rather than sarcastic.

However, Ro also heard the expectation in the captain's voice, the subtle thread of what could be construed as triumph, and she struggled to maintain her earnest expression. Janeway had set out to train Ro as a first officer, despite the Bajoran's reluctance to pursue a command, and it was obvious that the captain believed her efforts were finally about to pay off. A part of Ro was squirming in revulsion at this deception, yet she knew she didn't have much choice in the matter. Picard had been very specific about how dangerous it would be for Janeway to know everything that was going on regarding Section 31, particularly at this moment in time. Since both the Bajoran and Janeway had been out of contact with how things were in Starfleet, while Picard had been right in the middle of it, Ro had to trust his authority in this.

"It's not that a career in Intelligence no longer interests me," the Bajoran responded, allowing her tone to become a little rueful, giving the implication that she was reluctant to acknowledge that she might have been wrong. "It's just that I discovered I enjoyed the various duties you had me perform. Not all of them, of course, but enough to make me realize that perhaps I wasn't allowing myself the time to consider the rewards of being on a command track."

Janeway looked thoughtful, her level blue-grey eyes becoming darker. Idly, Ro decided that her captain was really a most attractive woman, with that formidable gaze and auburn hair laced with fiery highlights. Janeway's personality and command presence radiated from her compact form like a palpable energy, one that impressed even as it intimidated, and it occurred to the Bajoran that she only encountered the like once before ... in the person of Jean-Luc Picard, commander of Starfleet's flagship.

"Lt. Ro, I must say, I'm surprised to hear this," Janeway remarked finally, after having scrutinized the officer intently. "You seemed so certain that a career in security was what you wanted."

Ro handled that one as she would a fully-armed photon torpedo. "I was," she said, injecting a bit of dry humor in her tone. "Believe me, I'm a little surprised to be sitting here, discussing it with you." She took a breath and leaned forward slightly in her chair. "Captain, I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, including decisions where I was absolutely certain of the outcome, only to find out later that they were grave errors in judgment. I didn't expect to enjoy performing the duties of first officer, but I do, and it's possible I'm letting yet another opportunity slip away by not pursuing that."

Janeway nodded somberly. "I see." She tilted her head. "So you wish to explore the avenue of command a little further?"

Ro was relieved. Janeway was really making this easy for her.

"I am. Perhaps if things hadn't come to an end so fast in the Delta Quadrant, I would have been more certain of my choices. However, our return was unexpected, and now things are happening far more quickly than I would like."

Janeway allowed a little of her command mask to slip, her eyes lightening. "I certainly understand what you mean, Lieutenant," she said, with a touch of rueful agreement. "As my spouse noted to me not long ago, things may not have been easy in the Delta Quadrant, but they were a great deal simpler. Life was more straightforward."

Ro wondered when Seven had told the captain that, and what circumstances had surrounded such an admission from the Borg.

"Captain, I know you've been pushing me onto a command path, and certainly I've done my best to resist," she said, trying not to lay it on too thickly. "However, it's possible that you knew best where my talents could be utilized to their fullest extent. In either case, I don't want to reject a course of action totally or so quickly, regardless of how fast things seem to be moving now."

The captain leaned back, linking her fingers over her stomach.

"What exactly do you have in mind, Lieutenant?" Getting to the heart of the matter.

Ro steadied herself, meeting those bright eyes squarely. "I wish to remain under your command, at least until I figure out what exactly is best for me."

Janeway blinked, surprised. "Ro, I won't have a starship command much longer. I'm accepting an administrative position while Voyager is in dry-dock."

Ro dipped her head. "I'm aware of that, Captain," she said. "However, you'll need an assistant, and it is required that all command candidates undergo a tour of duty in administration. This seems like the perfect opportunity for me to try out that aspect of first officer training."

Janeway took a deep breath. "I don't even know what exactly I'll be doing yet. Or what post I'll be accepting."

"I'm sure that wherever it is, it will be a useful learning experience for me."

Janeway eyed her keenly. "Why me?"

Ro smiled faintly. "Do you want the ego-massaging reason I'm supposed to give you, or the real reason?" she countered, knowing that if she had been younger or if the circumstances had been different, this would have been the place for her to step in with fawning praise and strokes to the captain's vanity in an attempt to ingratiate herself with her.

Janeway returned the smile, reminded that this was not an inexperienced woman she was dealing with here, nor was Ro some green cadet convinced she was going to be the next great starship captain ... the next James T. Kirk.

"I'm not adverse to being complimented," the captain said with dry humor. "However, I think we can dispense with the comments about how I'm the only captain who could mentor you in this."

Ro dipped her head. "You are, however, the only commanding officer that seems capable of accepting my background. As well as the only one who is able to utilize my skills in the most expedient and efficient manner." She lifted her chin. "I don't give my loyalty lightly, Captain Janeway. It would be far too difficult for me to start all over with another commanding officer in pursuing this kind of path. You've already laid most of the groundwork for me in this, and apparently have little problem in believing in me, even when I have difficulty believing in myself. I would be foolish to choose any other captain as my mentor."

Janeway studied her soberly, those sharp eyes assessing her with keen interest.

"What of Picard?"

Ro did not swallow, although her throat felt dry. Careful, she urged herself again.

"I have a great deal of respect for Captain Picard," she said as honestly as possible. "However, our past, and the choices I made while under his command, have served to ... complicate things. You and I have a much smoother working relationship, one that allows for my ... personality in a way that Picard cannot. Besides, he hasn't offered me an opportunity to follow a command path. You have."

The captain considered that seriously.

"I can't promise that you'll get the best command candidate experience with me," Janeway said finally. "Particularly since I've decided to use this upcoming year to arrange certain personal priorities in my life."

Ro didn't quite know what that meant, but she was aware that the captain was wavering to her side. "With all due respect, Captain," Ro remarked with knowing humor. "Where else would I go? Besides you and Picard, I don't believe I'm familiar with any other captain currently serving in Starfleet. I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but a lot of the officers commanding the ships docked at DS9 were younger than I am. I'm not sure how well my training would advance with any of those particular captains."

Janeway smiled. "I have noticed a decided lowering of the average age in the senior ranks. I also agree that my experience would offer a certain type of training that you wouldn't receive with the current wave of command personnel." She looked away briefly, then her jaw firmed, indicating she had made her decision. "Very well, Lieutenant," she said, returning her gaze to the Bajoran's dark eyes. "I'll arrange to have you transferred over to my personal command. If you decide later that being my adjunct is not what you need to pursue a career in command at this particular time, it will be easy enough to transfer you somewhere where you can find what you need."

"Thank you, Captain," Ro said, grateful and relieved.

Janeway tilted her head. "I don't suppose it hurts that I'll probably be staying on Earth, near Mars, which is where B'Elanna is posted," she teased lightly, somewhat playful now that the decision was made.

"No, ma'am," Ro admitted with a grin. "That doesn't hurt at all."

Janeway stood up and leaned on her hands. "If you have no further questions, Lieutenant, I believe we can consider this matter concluded."

"Yes, Captain," Ro said, also standing. "Thank you."

"I look forward to working with you in the future."

"Yes, Captain," the Bajoran said, and tried to make her exit from the ready room casual and unassuming.

She was quite sure that no one was aware of the cold sweat that had broken out over her body beneath her uniform, nor the way her stomach was turning gradual, queasy flips. She entered the turbolift and took a slow, cleansing breath.

The first hurdle had been passed. Wherever Janeway went in the near future, so would the captain's assistant. Ro Laren would be in a perfect position to monitor her movements ... as well as those of the captain's spouse, Seven of Nine.

Seven looked up as Janeway entered their quarters, the captain immediately greeted by the couple's Irish Setter, Jake, who wagged his tail vigorously at the appearance of his other mistress. The Borg was dressed in a t-shirt and drawstring pants as she stood behind the kitchenette counter, slicing various vegetables into small chunks in order to prepare a stirfry for the couple's dinner. Despite the fact that they were once more in the Alpha Quadrant where power was not a factor, Seven still chose to prepare the couple's meals from scratch, knowing that Janeway preferred home cooking to the otherwise perfectly acceptable replicator-produced meals. There was also a part of the Borg who wished to get some last minute practice in before being reunited with Kathryn's mother, Gretchen, who had initially taught Seven the joy of preparing meals from raw ingredients.

"Kathryn?" she queried, placing the strips of chicken-flavored protein into the hot oil simmering in the wok.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," Janeway remarked, moving over to join the Borg behind the counter, reaching up to kiss her on the cheek. "Lt. Ro wanted to see me about her future career plans."

"Indeed," Seven remarked, as the captain released her in order to head for the bedroom to change out of her uniform. "In what way?"

"She wants to continue to be my command candidate," Janeway said, raising her voice to carry it out into the living area. "I'm transferring her over to my personal command."

Seven considered that as she used a wooden utensil to stir the rapidly frying strips of simulated meat, adding garlic powder and ginger to the dish. Beyond the sizzling sounds of oil and cooking food, she could hear splashing water along with the other indications of her partner shedding her command persona. The Borg smiled faintly as Janeway finally joined her, dressed in a simple blouse and slacks, perching on a stool on the other side of the counter. The Borg promptly handed her spouse a small glass of wine which the older woman sipped with evident enjoyment.

"I'm going to miss this," Janeway said regretfully, peering into the azure depths of the beverage which had been distilled here on Voyager in an illicit still in the biometrics lab. "Sometimes I think our biometrics department missed their calling."

Seven smiled in understanding. "That is the last of the opened bottle. The other two bottles have been packed away." She gestured in the direction of the containers stacked neatly in the corner of the living area, ready for transport to a storage facility in San Francisco as soon as they docked at Earth Station McKinley. The two women had been packing steadily since leaving Deep Space 9, and now, only the civilian clothes they would be needing on Earth remained for last minute placement in their carryall bags.

Janeway followed the young woman's gaze, and a small expression of sorrow crossed the elegant features. "You know, you were right about how hard it would be to leave these quarters. There were a lot of happy times here."

"We will adapt," Seven reminded her gently. She added the carrots to the oil, having slid the chicken up the sloped sides of the wok. After the carrot slices were done, the rest would be added very quickly, cooking almost as fast as she could add them to the oil. She took the brief time before that to program the fried rice into the replicator, along with some egg rolls. "Are you hungry, Kathryn?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Starved," the captain told her, surreptitiously snagging a few mushroom slices to nibble on as the rest of their dinner was prepared. "A salad almost six hours ago doesn't really sustain a body very well."

Seven frowned as she returned to the counter, tossing in the rest of the vegetables and stirring the mixture. "You need to eat a series of smaller meals throughout the day as you work. Especially when you accept your new post and I am not available to monitor your intake."

"It will be different, us not working together," Janeway noted, refusing to be drawn into a discussion of her eating habits. She studied her partner closely. "Are you ready for that?"

"It will not be as enjoyable as working on the same starship with you." The Borg added the last of her spices and sauce to the stirfry, covering it with a large lid as she turned down the heat. "Tell me more about Lt. Ro."

Janeway stood up, going over to the replicator where she retrieved the dishes while Seven began to clean up her work area. As the captain set the table, she related the conversation she had shared with the Bajoran in the ready room.

Seven frowned faintly as she carried over the bowl of chicken-fried rice and the plate of egg rolls, placing them in the middle of the table. "That is odd," she noted curiously. "B'Elanna gave no indication to me that Ro Laren was considering such a position."

Janeway flashed Seven an arch look as she took her seat and began to spoon rice onto her plate. "Perhaps B'Elanna is not as keen on her gossip as she used to be," she offered, then laughed at Seven's odd expression. "Or maybe she's merely learning discretion. After all, it's not necessary that you know everything that's going on with that couple, despite the fact they're our friends."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed, scooping out some of the chicken and vegetables, spreading them over her rice. "However, I am accustomed to B'Elanna sharing such personal details with me."

Janeway shrugged, chewing her first mouthful of her dinner with every indication of pleasure in its flavor. "Until I agreed to transfer Ro to my personal command, there was no news to share." She raised her fork. "By the way, darling, this is tremendous."

"Thank you," Seven said idly, but her thoughts were not on her food or the captain's compliment. She became aware that she had paused in her motion, her utensil paused midway between the plate and her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Janeway asked, her expression soft as she regarded the young woman.

Seven shook her head. "Nothing that can be altered. Just that I will miss being on Voyager and being a daily part of my friends' lives. The thought of it strikes me at random, and I am left feeling ... unhappy about it."

"You'll still be a part of B'Elanna's life, especially if you choose a posting near Earth or Mars."

"Regardless of where we are posted," Seven explained, "it will not be the same. We will not be working together."

Janeway stared at her, her features compassionate. "That doesn't mean your new position will be worse, either ... just different." She smiled. "You know, we can reassure each other until we reach Earth's Orbital Station, but unless we let ourselves believe it, we're just wasting our breath."

Seven felt her lips quirk as the humor of the situation was pointed out. "You are correct. It is illogical to offer you reassurance when I will not accept any for myself."

"Let's just try to enjoy these final hours on our ship."

"Agreed." Seven finished her meal quietly, glancing up occasionally to meet the captain's eyes, warmed by their regard.

After dinner, Janeway helped her clear away the dirty dishes, then took Jake out for a walk while Seven curled up on the sofa with padds containing information about the Daystrom Institute which was located in Helsinki. Seven actually had family located there ... on the Hansen side ... and she wondered what it would be like to work in that facility, where some of the best minds of the Federation were gathered. It also occurred to her that if she did accept a posting with their astrometrics department, she could take advantage of her proximity to pursue courses in subjects unfamiliar to her, increasing her knowledge in the areas of exobiology and biometrics.

She noticed that Janeway was taking an exceptionally long time with the dog, and a few hours passed before the pair finally returned to their quarters. Seven suspected that these lengthy walks in the evening were her spouse's way of making her farewells to her vessel, but she did not say anything to that effect to the captain. She merely smiled faintly as Janeway unhooked the leash from Jake's collar and drifted over to the couch where she stretched out on the cushions, interrupting the Borg's studies as she placed her head on Seven's lap.

The Borg was amused at the deliberate intrusion, lifting the padd out of the way, though she continued to peruse it with concentrated intent. She did allow her right hand to drop onto the captain's shoulder where she lightly stroked Janeway's auburn hair, toying with the soft strands, finding the caress of silken hair to be soothing to her. The captain closed her eyes, relaxing under the tender attention, a half smile curving her lips. Every so often, Seven would glance down at her partner, checking to see if Janeway had fallen asleep, but every time she did, the captain would sense it and open her eyes, offering the young woman an engaging grin and a raised eyebrow. The third time it happened, the Borg set aside her padd and leaned down, brushing her lips over those of her spouse.

"You are attempting to distract me."

"I am not," Janeway protested in mild outrage at the accusation. "I'm just lying here, minding my own business."

"Indeed." Seven's tone indicated that she did not believe her for a second.

"Since you're distracted anyway," Janeway added cheerfully, "why don't you take me to bed?"

Seven smiled. "It is too early to sleep."

"Who said anything about sleep?"

"Ah, my mistake."

The captain chuckled and sat up, but to the Borg's surprise, she didn't stand in preparation of going to the bedroom. Instead, she moved over and straddled Seven's lap, knees bent as she bracketed the young woman's hips with them. She wrapped her arms around Seven's neck and dipped her head, kissing the young woman passionately.

"Of course," she murmured, drawing back to look down into the Borg's pale eyes, "if you really need to work...???"

"Not at all," Seven noted, aware she was being teased.  She slipped her hands beneath the captain's blouse, touching the warm, smooth skin of her sides and stomach.

"I'd hate to prevent you from your duty, Lieutenant," Janeway persisted, pressing closer.

"Captain," Seven said, unbuttoning her spouse's blouse, vaguely surprised to discover that Janeway was wearing no undergarment. "Cease your attempts to dissuade me."

Janeway laughed as Seven leaned forward to bury her face in the captain's warm cleavage, nuzzling the warm valley between the small swells. Janeway hugged the Borg's head to her chest, cuddling her lovingly, and Seven took the moment to breathe in the woman's intoxicating fragrance, listening to the gentle thud of her heart beneath her lips.

"I do love you, my darling," Janeway whispered into Seven's hair.

"I love you, too, Kathryn," Seven replied. She hugged her. "Hold on to me," she requested quietly, gathering her spouse up in her arms. As she rose smoothly from the sofa, Janeway clung to her by wrapping her legs around the young woman's waist. The Borg heard a tiny gasp from the captain, the same combination of surprise and pleasure still present after all this time at her spouse's casual display of physical prowess, and as Seven carried her precious burden into the bedroom, she nuzzled Janeway's neck tenderly.

"Did you have something particular in mind for this evening?" she asked, voice muffled against the silky skin.

Janeway hummed softly in pleasure. "I thought we'd make it up as we went along."

"A most intriguing plan," Seven noted approvingly, bending over to lower the captain gently onto the bed. "Especially since you can be quite creative at times."

Janeway smiled. "I do my best."

Seven returned her smile as she straightened and pulled her t-shirt over her head, tossing it back onto the lounger. Janeway linked her fingers behind her head, and watched with every evidence of appreciation as the young woman continued to disrobe in front of her. Conscious of the scrutiny, Seven slid her pants, along with her undergarments, over her hips and down her long legs, stepping out of them neatly. She left them crumpled on the floor, realizing that tidying their quarters could wait until after the couple had finished with their immediate interests, and eyed her partner, gaze roaming freely over Janeway's breasts, which were fully exposed by the unbuttoned blouse.

"Do you want me to finish undressing you?" she offered politely.

The captain inhaled deeply, her chest rising, almost as if she wished to display her breasts to better effect. "You should always finish what you start." Her voice had become very husky.

Seven smiled faintly, reaching down to grasp Janeway's ankle so that she could pull off her boot, before repeating the action with the other. Then, Seven placed her hands on the captain's waist and tugged down her slacks and underwear in one motion, revealing the thin triangle of auburn hair at the juncture of Janeway's thighs. She bent down briefly, depositing a kiss on the soft cushion of curled hair before tossing the clothes aside, then took a moment to look down at her partner with possessive pleasure, her pale eyes moving over Janeway with palpable intensity. The captain responded to the desire smoldering in Seven's eyes with a ruddy blush, and she rose to her knees where she shrugged out of her blouse and dropped it casually on the deck next to Seven's discarded clothes.

"You are very beautiful, Kathryn," Seven told her with the utmost gravity as she carefully put her hands on Janeway's waist, peering into the deep pools of the captain's blue eyes. The other woman raised her chin a little, as if to argue, then offered a vaguely rueful, yet pleased, expression, reaching up to place her hands lightly on Seven's shoulders, drawing her fingertips lightly over the young woman's skin in a tantalizing caress.

"Thank you, darling."

Seven inhaled slowly, then pulled her spouse fully into her arms, uttering a groan of sheer pleasure at the sensation of warm, soft curves pressing against her body. She inclined her head, closing her eyes at the touch of Janeway's mouth against her own, tasting her partner's sweetness and passion, absorbed in being with the woman she loved. She acknowledged with a distant part of herself that the universe could come to an end in that moment and it would not matter because she was exactly where she belonged ... in Kathryn's arms.

They kissed deeply and passionately for several moments, holding each other tightly, before Janeway finally drew back, her respiration unsteady. She swallowed audibly and rested her forehead against Seven's.

"It never becomes ordinary," she said, a hint of wonder in her tone.

"Kathryn?"

"Being with you," Janeway revealed, raising her eyes to meet Seven's. "Being in your arms. After all this time, it still thrills me completely to have you hold me like this."

Seven considered that. "Is it supposed to become 'ordinary'?" she asked, puzzled. Her hands slid languidly over the captain's back and sides, down to lightly cup the soft buttocks, delighting in the silkiness of Janeway's skin and the warmth of her body.

"Not in fantasies," Janeway admitted, holding the gaze, "but in reality, it usually does. It becomes less than what it was in the beginning ... familiar, mundane, regardless of how much you care about someone ... almost as if time wears down the initial passion. With you, however, it just gets better with every encounter."

Seven tilted her head. "Thank you," she said, unsure if that was the proper response.

Janeway smiled and continued to run her fingertips over Seven, featherlight on the young woman's flesh which tingled pleasantly in the wake of the provocative touch. "It's because you never allow it to become ordinary, you know," she said thoughtfully, as if she were figuring it out as she spoke. "You make me the center of your universe every time we're together, and I can't help but respond to that. You're never 'just going through the motions', or thinking of something else when we're intimate ... when you're holding me, I always know it's me you want to make love to."

"Who else would I want to make love to?" Seven asked, still not entirely clear on what her partner was saying.

"Exactly," Janeway told her and kissed her again, which did not clarify things one little bit to the young woman, but the captain's lips on hers felt so wonderful that Seven decided she didn't really require clarification ... at least, not at the moment.

"Darling?" Janeway whispered some time later.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"Promise me that you'll never treat our lovemaking as ordinary," the captain requested plaintively. "Because that would probably make me treat it that way, and that would be horrid."

Seven raised an eyebrow as she eased the woman in her arms down onto the bed. "I do not believe that would ever happen," she said, settling next to her spouse in the nest of pillows and bedding. She kissed Janeway's throat, then the cleft in her chin, before raising her head to look down into the blue-grey gaze. "There is nothing that would ever make you 'ordinary' to me, Kathryn."

"Absolutely nothing."

Janeway lay awake in the darkness, unable to sleep. Beneath her cheek, the slow, steady throb of her partner's heart should have soothed her, at least enough for her to drift off, but for some reason, it did not this night. She didn't know why she was feeling so unsettled, or why this return to the Federation ... to what should be the happiest time in her life ... instead left her apprehensive and distressed. She supposed it had to do with the uncertainty of everything. For seven years, she had been concentrating on a single goal: return her ship and her crew safely to the Alpha Quadrant. Now it had been accomplished and this was the first time in a long time that she didn't know exactly what she was supposed to do next, caught in a situation where her decisions had to wait until other people made choices.

It made her feel as if she had little control, something that was anathema to her at the best of times. She was also disturbed by how much returning as an active member of Starfleet's rank and file was beginning to feel restrictive to her. She was used to going her own way, to choosing her own path while in the Delta Quadrant, and now, being called upon to account for every decision with varied forms and documents, needing to ease back into a routine of reporting to Starfleet on a constant basis, gave her the sensation of being constantly held back. Janeway didn't think she had felt that way when she first became a starship captain, but there was no question it was certainly prevalent in her thoughts now.

Then, there was the fact that Voyager was earmarked for an overhaul in a Utopia Planitia dockyard, leaving Janeway without a vessel any longer ... as if she were a child having to return a toy that she had been allowed to play with briefly, but due to her clumsiness, wasn't allowed to have anymore. It was a feeling that had developed since leaving Deep Space 9, and grew in intensity the closer they got to Earth. Sometimes it was as if she were losing touch with all the vital elements that had been woven into the fabric of her life for the past seven years. The only thing that remained stable was her relationship with Seven.

How long before that started to change, as well? she asked herself unhappily, staring out into the greyness of their bedroom. It had not escaped her attention that, recently, she had developed a distinct tendency to cling to Seven rather than just hold her. Even now, lying in bed next to her, she was wrapped so tightly around the Borg, it was amazing that Seven was still able to breathe, let alone sleep as peacefully as she was. It indicated a neediness in herself that Janeway didn't think was particularly positive ... or attractive ... and she made an effort to relax her embrace, easing the tight grip of her arms and legs on the young woman.

She forced herself to roll away from the warm body entirely, slipping from between the sheets and standing next to the bed. She paused, waiting to see if she had disturbed her partner, but as Seven continued to slumber, Janeway pulled on the robe that had been tossed casually across the lounger, and left the bedroom. Moving quietly, she went out to the living area where Jake was stretched out on the sofa, and she pushed him aside so that she could take a seat in the corner. He promptly flopped his rusty head on her lap, and she smiled as she scratched behind his ears.

"At least, going home will be good for you," she murmured quietly to him. He was a young dog, requiring a lot of exercise, and while many on the ship had made a point of playing with him, including the children, he really needed wide open spaces in which to run. The Agricultural Park where she had grown up, and where her mother still lived, would be perfect for him ... assuming the living arrangements could be properly worked out.

Thoughts of the white farmhouse where she had spent her childhood, made her think of Gretchen, and she took a breath. In a very short time, she would be seeing her mother again, as well as her younger sister, Phoebe. They had been communicating with letters and recordings for the past few months of course, but it wasn't the same as actually being able to put her arms around them. Not that she had been keeping up on her correspondence as much as she should, she reminded herself with a touch of shame. She still had a letter from her mother sitting on her workstation across the living area that she hadn't yet managed to find the time to access. Of course, a part of her really wanted to get all the news firsthand, directly from the people she loved rather than have to read it on an impersonal padd. She felt a lump rise in her throat and she swallowed hard against it, aggravated by her unsettled emotions.

I should be excited about this, she thought furiously. I should be looking forward to being home, to showing Seven where I grew up. I should be looking to the future with optimism and hope, ready to face whatever challenge Starfleet next offers me. I'm acting as if my career is over, when in fact, it's only been interrupted for the past seven years. It's beyond time for me to get it back on track.

Yet, when she looked out the viewport at the stars, she was struck with a profound and deeply personal longing to be back in the Delta Quadrant. It was such an odd and terrifying feeling, she wasn't sure what to make of it. She inhaled deeply and shook her head.

Enough of this, she told herself sternly. She was just unsettled by all the recent ... and rapid ... changes she and her ship had been going through. Once she had accepted a new posting, once she and Seven had decided on a place to live, once the young Borg had chosen her own posting, things would settle into a normal routine again. She forced herself to believe it, telling herself that, while her anxieties over the changes in her life were to be expected, she couldn't let them control her. She was a more composed person than that. Damnit, she was a starship captain.

Without a starship, her little voice noted snidely, and she crushed the thought into nothingness. It would only be for a short time, she reminded herself sternly. Chances were, she'd be so busy with personal pursuits and her temporary position in administration, she wouldn't notice how quickly time would pass. She didn't know why these pessimistic thoughts were suddenly dominating her mind, especially since she had been so optimistic in the weeks leading up to their return. It was probably just the lack of established parameters in her professional responsibilities at the moment, she decided. Once she had spoken to Starfleet Command directly, her next course of action would be made clear to her, and she would have direction in her life again.

Sometimes, she thought restlessly, it seemed as if she needed structure and discipline in her daily routine more than Seven did. She was startled when her partner abruptly appeared in the doorway, almost as if in direct response to her thoughts, dressed in a crimson robe thrown casually about her shoulders.

"Kathryn?" Seven queried softly, coming over to the sofa where she displaced Jake onto the floor. She sat next to Janeway and drew the smaller woman into a warm and comforting embrace.

Janeway was surprised. "I thought you were asleep," she muttered as she snuggled into the strong arms, resting her head on her partner's shoulder.

"I was." Seven paused. "Are your thoughts troubled?"

Janeway inhaled slowly. "They were, but I'm fine now," she told her spouse. She rubbed the Borg lightly on the stomach. "Thank you for worrying about me, darling, but it's not necessary. I'm just having some last minute jitters about going home."

Seven took a moment to think about that. "I do not understand, Kathryn," she said finally, in a puzzled tone. "You have been anticipating this return for such a long time, yet now that it is happening, you seem ... less happy than I assumed you would be."

"I know," Janeway said softly. "I think it's all the good-byes, darling. Maybe it would have been different had we managed to reach our initial return coordinates, and gone directly to Earth rather than ending up in the Bajoran sector. I think that spending time on DS9, where we lost so many of the crew to other ships, has left me feeling out of sorts. Instead of one major transition, this return is happening in a series of small yet emotionally draining stages, and that's been difficult for me. I'm sure that once we're back on Earth, I won't feel so unsettled."

"Perhaps." She ran her fingers lightly up and down Janeway's arm. "I wish I knew how to ease your concerns."

Janeway smiled and hugged her. "You just have to be aware that being with you helps me in so many ways."

She felt the Borg's lips brush over her forehead. "I love you, Kathryn. I want to do more to help you. Is there anything you need?"

Janeway hesitated, then looked up into the face of her spouse wistfully. "Would you think I was insane if I told you I felt like playing a game of Velocity?"

"Now?" Seven was obviously taken aback.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Janeway said ruefully.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Merely ... surprising." She tilted her head. "In fact, you haven't wanted to play Velocity since your nanoprobes were removed."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "Because I knew I would eventually lose my undefeated streak if I started playing again," she admitted. "I wasn't anxious to find out how that feels."

"Do you really wish to discover that sensation tonight?"

Janeway considered it. "Who says I would necessarily discover it tonight? You've never beaten me."

Seven frowned, then eyed her narrowly. "Very well, Kathryn, if there is a free holodeck, I will play with you."

Janeway smiled sunnily at her, and as Seven went into the bedroom to dress in her workout clothes, Janeway accessed her work console and determined that there was a free holodeck ... not surprising after the loss of so many crewmembers, and the fact that half of them were on duty at the moment, while the rest were probably asleep. She returned to the bedroom to dress in her own Velocity outfit, then picked up her phaser and met Seven at the door.

The corridors were quiet and generally empty as they made their way to the holodeck. They took a little while to warm up, then started the first round, playing with far more hesitation than they had expected. Velocity was a game that combined accuracy with a phaser and the ability to calculate angles and reactions of a glowing, holographic disc. A point was won when a player could not shoot the disc within a prescribed period of time, or if the disc touched on any area of a player's person. Janeway was rusty after so long, but so was Seven, and because the captain relied primarily on experience and skill rather than physically overpowering her opponent, she was able to regain her game much quicker than the Borg. She easily beat Seven in the first round, ten to four, subconsciously feeling a sense of control return to her, as if being able to defeat an opponent during a sporting event meant she would be able to defeat anything else she had to face in the future.

"Go again?" she asked, smiling as she paused to sip from the water bottle, her eyes bright. "Make the match the best two out of three?"

Seven regarded her, amusement lightening her narrow features. "You are increasing your chances of ending your undefeated streak,"

"Not if you don't start playing better," Janeway responded in the sort of mild tone she knew aggravated her partner.

The Borg cast her a sharp look, then smiled faintly. "Two out of three."

Seven managed to control her shots better in the second round, though it was a very close encounter, and twenty well-played and lengthy points later, they were tied at ten. Neither woman bothered to offer the option of calling it a draw, and quickly set up for the final point, knees bent, phasers lifted, facing each other with narrowed eyes as the disc settled into the ready position between them. The captain knew she had to win the entire thing with this next point, or she'd be in trouble. Her enthusiasm, which had been so strong at the beginning, as well as her endurance, had eroded away steadily under the young woman's increasing confidence and shot-making. Seven was starting to dominate the smaller woman with her speed and strength and Janeway honestly doubted that she would be able to make it through a decisive third round, let alone win it.

The captain took a deep breath and readied herself, waiting for the disc to turn either blue or red that would determine who would have the first shot. If it turned red, she would fire directly at its center, hoping to angle it directly into Seven before she could dodge. Of course, if it turned blue, she had better be prepared to move quickly because Seven would have the same plan to send it in Janeway's direction. As the captain crouched there, waiting for the round to begin, it occurred to her to wonder what would happen if she fired immediately when the round began, before she took the split second to determine the color? If it were blue, and her beam struck the disc before Seven's phaser fire, then Janeway would lose the point, thus giving the Borg the match. However, if it were red, she would have acquired a split second of advantage. Or if it was indeed blue, but Seven managed to fire before Janeway ... which was possible because of her greater visual acuity ... then Janeway's beam would still impact the disc an instant afterward, and send it rebounding in Seven's direction, for which the younger woman might not be prepared.

Two out of the three possible outcomes would win the point and thus the match for her, she decided, while only one possibility would lose the round. She was firing almost as soon as she finished making the decision, observing the disc intently as it settled into the start position between the women. She wasn't sure what color it actually turned, but her beam struck the disc squarely, and sent it spinning directly into Seven's chest before the taller woman could dodge. There was a pause, an instant as the Borg looked completely dumbfounded, and Janeway waited to see if she had guessed wrong or had fired too quickly.

"Point to Janeway. Janeway wins the round eleven to ten. Match to Janeway, two rounds to zero."

Seven stared at her.

"How did you know it would be red?" she demanded, her voice edged with outrage.

Janeway grinned. "I didn't," she admitted, straightening from her firing position, dropping her arm to dangle the phaser to her side. She brushed a wet strand of hair from her forehead. "I took a chance."

"You risked the entire round on a 'chance'?" Seven queried, reaching down to retrieve the water bottle sitting unobtrusively next to a support beam. She sipped from it as she watched the captain use a towel to wipe the perspiration from her face and neck.

Janeway flashed her a grin. "I had nothing to lose, really," she said, draping the cloth around her shoulders. "I was already up a round, so if I guessed incorrectly, I still had a chance to win the match in the third. However, if I guessed right, I won the whole thing in two. It was a calculated risk." She didn't reveal how doubtful she was of making it through a third round.

Seven raised an eyebrow, taking another sip from the bottle. "A 'calculated risk'," she repeated thoughtfully, her expression turning to one of approval. "I shall remember that tactic in the future."

Janeway took the water bottle from her and tipped it up, the cool water slipping down her parched throat with an almost sensual pleasure. She swallowed several times, then took a breath, wiping her mouth delicately with the corner of the towel. "In any event, I think I'm ready for bed, love," she told her spouse. "After a shower, of course."

Seven nodded. "Going to bed is a wise idea, particularly since it is now 0124 hours and we are scheduled to reach McKinley Station at 1500 tomorrow afternoon."

Janeway felt her heart twinge. "Yes," she agreed, with what she hoped was a perfectly even voice, and took another long pull from the water bottle. Seven picked up on the tone, however, and stepped closer, reaching out to touch the captain on the elbow.

"You are looking forward to it, are you not?" the Borg asked, her eyes dark and unfathomable as she studied her partner.

"Of course," Janeway said, forcing a smile as she glanced at her, patting Seven on the arm. "I can't wait to see Mom and Phoebe again."

It was the rest of what was awaiting her that she was a little unsure about, but she wasn't prepared to share that with her spouse ... not yet.

B'Elanna Torres stifled a yawn as she entered her quarters, the illumination dim for night watch. Her team had been raided liberally at DS9, the ship losing almost three quarters of the department, including several key personnel. Lt. Carey, Ensign Vorik, and Lt. Nicoletti had all been lured to other ships and stations where chief engineer positions awaited them, leaving the Klingon without the people she normally trusted to supervise the engine room while she was off duty. If it weren't for the new guy, Commander Patterson, she probably wouldn't get any sleep at all. Fortunately, the officer, who normally worked in Starfleet Command, had started his career in the Utopia Planitia shipyards, so he knew his way around a warp core. His friendly manner and easy humor made him easy to like, and it had taken very little for her to accept his offer to supervise the engine room during her off duty hours for this short trip back to Earth.

As B'Elanna passed through the bedroom, she noted her lover was already in bed, huddled beneath the covers. The Klingon felt a warm feeling go through her, as it usually did at the sight of Ro Laren, and she smiled faintly as she entered the ensuite where she removed her uniform and took a quick shower. The warm water quickly washed away the grime of a sixteen-hour shift, and she yawned widely as she joined the Bajoran in the bed.

She knew something was wrong from the stiffness of Ro's form as soon as she wrapped herself around the taller woman from behind, and she immediately forestalled the provocative caress she had been planning to offer, turning the embrace into a comforting hug instead.

"Hey," she whispered quietly, nuzzling into the nape of the Bajoran's neck. "Not feeling well?"

There was a pause, then Ro's voice responded, quiet in the darkness. "The captain transferred me to her personal command today. I've been reassigned as her adjunct."

B'Elanna considered that. "That's good, isn't it?" she asked, feeling uncertain at the edge in her lover's tone. "That was exactly what you wanted to happen."

"I guess I'm just having a little problem with how easily I managed it." B'Elanna heard the Bajoran swallow, almost as if she had something sticking in her throat. "I sat there in the ready room and manipulated Janeway as thoroughly as anyone from Section 31 would. Where's the line, Lanna?"

The Klingon tightened her grip. "I don't know," she admitted, feeling her lover's hurt as sharply as if it were her own. "Particularly, when it comes to people like Janeway, who tend to be so honorable and decent. She gave me an opportunity to be more than I ever thought I could be, so I guess I can understand how you would feel like you were betraying her, Laren." She paused, kissing the Bajoran's ear comfortingly. "But this is for her own good. It would be far more dangerous if she knew what was going on."

"I keep telling myself that." She swallowed again, hard. "It doesn't always help."

B'Elanna didn't quite know how to respond to that, how to reassure the Bajoran. She took a deep breath and snuggled closer to her, trying to press as much of her body surface against Ro's as possible, letting her know she was there. It did seem to be helping, B'Elanna noticed, the rigidity of Ro's muscles gradually easing in the embrace, the Bajoran woman finally shifting until she had rolled over to face the Klingon. B'Elanna brushed her lips over Ro's forehead, then down between her eyebrows, moving lovingly over the nasal ridge.

"The intelligence game is a lot easier when it's not friends one is dealing with," Ro noted finally, in a grim tone.

"No question," B'Elanna agreed. She ran her hand slowly up and down Ro's back, stroking her spine, attempting to soothe her with a physical gesture if her words proved inadequate. "But you have to do what you have to do."

Ro lay quiescent under the caress, her eyes closed, almost like a wild creature being tamed by the gentle touch. "I'm really glad you're here, Lanna. I'd forgotten how lonely this sort of thing can be."

The Klingon realized how much of an admission that was from her lover, pleased by the depth of trust it indicated.

"I'm glad I'm here, too." She hesitated. "Perhaps Starfleet Intelligence isn't where you really want to be after all."

Ro inhaled quietly. "Maybe not. It's obvious I have a real problem in not becoming personally involved in situations like this."

"So maybe you haven't deceived Janeway after all," B'Elanna suggested. "Perhaps following a command track is right for you, and becoming her assistant is the perfect opportunity for you to find out. If, in the meantime, you happen to help out Picard with his goals, as well as be in the right place to protect Janeway and Seven, then that's all for the better."

Ro looked quite thoughtful at this. "Perhaps," she said, not necessarily agreeing, but not completely dismissing the idea out of hand either. She hesitated, then opened her eyes to regard B'Elanna in the dim illumination. "You were pretty late tonight," she said, quietly changing the subject. "Are your duties in engineering becoming too much? I know you lost a lot of officers."

"It's nothing I can't handle. We'll be docking tomorrow anyway."

Ro smiled faintly. "You say that like things are suddenly going to become simple. I can't imagine anything more complicated than signing on as a senior engineer with the Utopia Planitia shipyards. There, you won't have just one ship to worry about, you'll have dozens."

B'Elanna grinned. "I suppose we'll both be a little busy," she admitted. "Do you know where you'll be posted?"

Ro shook her head. "I'm not sure that Janeway knows yet." Her dark eyes were shadowed, troubled. "I can't help remembering what Picard said about there being no reason for Starfleet to upgrade Voyager. It sounds like they're trying to get the ship isolated for some reason. I wonder if they have the same idea for Janeway."

B'Elanna quirked an eyebrow. "If that's the case, then I'm in a perfect position to keep an eye on the ship while you look out for the captain. I'll be able to monitor exactly how Voyager's upgrades are coming and who might be showing an extraordinary interest in the ship."

"You are, aren't you," Ro said, looking pleased, yet concerned at the same time. "Lanna, this might be dangerous..."

"Stop," B'Elanna said quietly, yet with an intensity that cut through whatever Ro might have been about to say. "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Don't try to protect me. I can handle it."

Ro exhaled slowly. "Fine," she said, but she wasn't entirely happy about it. "Just watch yourself."

B'Elanna grinned and kissed the tip of the Bajoran's nose. "You be sure to watch your own pretty little tail," she advised, reaching down to cup the area of anatomy in question. "I'd hate to see that get scorched."

Ro smiled back at her, snuggling closer. "Have you thought about where we should live?" she asked, her tone lightening perceptibly.

"I think we should apply for Starfleet housing on Mars. If Janeway stays on Earth, there's enough commuter traffic between the two planets that you can be wherever she's posted in less than an hour, while it would leave me fairly close to the shipyards." She paused. "Of course, this all depends on where Seven decides to go. If she decides she wants to go to the Vulcan Science Academy or the Trill Ministry of Technology, then all our planning is neatly screwed ... at least, as far as I'm concerned. You'll have to go where Janeway does. I have to stay on Mars and Utopia Planitia."

Ro frowned. "I don't like the thought of having to leave you."

"I know, but you have to go with Janeway. I understand that."

Ro closed her eyes and rested her head on B'Elanna's shoulder. "It will only be for a little while," she promised.

B'Elanna kissed her temple. "Don't assume the worse."

"We have to be prepared."

"Yes, but the odds are more in our favor that Seven will go with the Daystrom Institute or the Theoretical Propulsion Group. She has ties to Earth through Janeway's family and her own relatives, regardless of how she might feel about them. I also think that Seven is looking forward to a planetary lifestyle. She's spent most of her life on starships, so she'll want dirt under her feet for awhile ... at least, until the novelty wears off."

Ro nodded grimly. "I also have the feeling Starfleet will be making arrangements for her to remain where they can keep close tabs on her."

"That's my girl," B'Elanna said dryly. "Now, you're looking on the bright side."

Ro raised her head, looking at her with a startled expression, then she smiled slowly.

"Very funny."

"I try," B'Elanna allowed.

"Yes, you do," Ro agreed, nuzzling her. The Bajoran slipped her hand lightly along the Klingon's side, down to her hip, then back up again to the underside of her breast, pausing there. "Lanna?" she added in a quieter tone. "I know you're tired from your shift..."

"Not that tired," B'Elanna responded promptly, stretching lithely in the taller woman's embrace which pressed her body against Ro's in a particularly provocative fashion. "What did you have in mind?"

Ro drew her closer. "Many things," she whispered, brushing her lips along the underside of the Klingon's chin, nipping at it lightly with her strong, white teeth.

B'Elanna groaned pleasurably and wrapped her arms around the Bajoran, holding her tight as she lowered her head, seeking out her lover's mouth, and capturing it in a searing kiss of longing and need. Ro returned it passionately, her lips caressing the Klingon's, tasting B'Elanna deeply as her hands slipped possessively over the younger woman's firm, muscular body. As they rolled over, so that the Bajoran was on top of the Klingon, B'Elanna moaned again, delighting in the soft weight of her companion, in the silk soft skin sliding over hers, and the surprisingly yielding curves which were so unexpected on the lean, whipcord frame of the other woman.

Ro languidly trailed down B'Elanna's body, over her chest to her full breasts, falling upon the fat, brown nipples with avid hunger. The younger woman arched, pressing into her lover's mouth, responding eagerly to the way Ro used her lips and tongue on the sensitive flesh, to the bright edge of her teeth which raked over the tender skin, biting lightly, making her breasts tingle as chills of desire rippled through her.

"Laren," she hissed, tangling her fingers in the short, dark hair, holding the head to her lovingly. "Kahless, that feels so good."

Ro responded by increasing the intensity of her caress, her lips fastening firmly on the closest nipple and pulling deeply, sucking on it as the tip of her tongue swirled around it. The nipple hardened and lengthened from the stimulation, and the Bajoran released it to move over to the other breast, repeating the caress there before moving back. She alternated between them until B'Elanna was almost insensate from the sheer pleasure of it. The woman's warm hands stroked and played with her almost casually, flowing over sides and hips, across her stomach, then dipping down between her legs briefly with a passing touch before moving on again, teasing, enticing, inflaming the Klingon to dangerous levels.

"Laren," she begged, her head back, eyes closed, finding it difficult to draw enough air into her lungs. "Please..."

Ro granted mercy upon her, lips searing a trail down her stomach, pausing to nuzzle in the thick thatch of dark hair at the juncture of the Klingon's thighs that parted readily at the Bajoran's approach. B'Elanna gasped and groaned as she felt the warmth of her partner's mouth cover her intimate region, the talented tongue darting out to caress her dual clitori, moving luscious figure eights over the delicate flesh. Ro's hands reached down to cup the other woman's buttocks, holding her hips up as she feasted greedily in the heat and moisture, and B'Elanna spread her legs wider, welcoming her in, inviting deeper, more intimate exploration of her body, wanting her so much that it made her cry out helplessly.

"Laren..."

Ro settled on the upper ridge while she slipped a hand between their bodies and touched the lower one with her fingertip, fondling it in perfect rhythm with her tongue, the two pleasure centers overloading with stimulation. The result was immediate and overwhelming, dual bolts of desire colliding somewhere in the vicinity of B'Elanna's abdomen and racing up her neural pathways to impact in her brain in an explosion of ecstasy and rapture, tremors shuddering through her body uncontrollably.

"Kahless, I love when you do that," she rasped when the pleasure finally released her.

Ro kissed both clitori tenderly, smiling as she crawled back up the engineer's solid form where she straddled B'Elanna's hips. B'Elanna obligingly scooted up in the bed a bit, the two women shoving pillows under her back and shoulders so that her torso was supported against the head of the bed. Then, Ro settled onto the Klingon's mound, her hips beginning to undulate so that her f'lar ridges were dragged provocatively over the stimulating texture of B'Elanna's tangled triangle, bracing herself with her hands on the Klingon's shoulders. The Klingon knew that her lover found this very arousing, and she assisted by pulling Ro's upper body to her, using her mouth on the Bajoran's small, firm breasts. She was careful not to use her teeth the same way Ro did, aware that her lover required a more delicate touch than B'Elanna preferred, but she was still forceful in her caresses, unmercifully teasing and tickling the nipples as well as the ridges that radiated from each one.

Perspiration ran freely over Ro who began to tremble as she reached for her peak, and B'Elanna's hands moved over her intimately, steadying her even as she stroked her, exploring the body which had become as familiar to the engineer as her own. She knew her lover was getting close by the raggedness of her breathing, and the way her hips jerked in short, fast hunches against the Klingon. Then abruptly, the Bajoran was climaxing, a low cry initially held back behind clenched teeth, then reluctantly released as the pleasure became too much for her to resist any longer, her hands gripping B'Elanna's shoulders desperately, nails digging into the skin.

The engineer urged her on, giving her an anchor to grasp onto as she was cast adrift. Ro's breath came in sobs as she finally collapsed on the Klingon where she was cradled in a loving and protective embrace. B'Elanna smiled and kissed the moist forehead, feeling the damp strands of hair trail over her lips.

"You're so beautiful when you climax," she murmured, rubbing Ro's back lightly.

Ro laughed, low and deep in the back of her throat. "I find that hard to believe. I suspect I look like I'm suffering the most excruciating pain."

"Well, that too," B'Elanna noted, a chuckle rumbling in her chest. "We probably both do because we're so physical when we make love, but it's a sweet pain."

"The sweetest," Ro agreed, lifting her face so that she could kiss the Klingon, before snugging her face into the engineer's neck, cuddling into her arms.

B'Elanna felt a wave of tenderness wash through her, and she pulled the Bajoran closer, nuzzling her ear.

"I love you, you know," she whispered.

"I do. I love you, too, Lanna. More than words could ever express."

B'Elanna inhaled deeply, happiness permeating every pore. Regardless of what lay ahead for the couple, she knew that they would be able to handle it as long as they remembered what they felt for each other.

Seven of Nine looked up curiously when the door to the astrometrics lab hissed open. She had spent the morning shutting down most of the sensor arrays and organizing the various Delta Quadrant starcharts into comprehensive files so they could be efficiently downloaded from the ship's databanks while Voyager was dry-docked. She was surprised when Commander Michael Patterson entered the large room, his green eyes lightening when he saw the Borg. A ruggedly attractive man, he wore the gold collar of Starfleet operations, three solid gold pips glinting in the soft illumination.

"Seven," he greeted. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"No, Commander, you are not disturbing me."

Eying him speculatively, she considered the officer who had come on board Voyager at DS9 in order to hitch a ride back to Earth after an unexpected detour by the Enterprise had left him stranded at the Bajoran space station. He had attended a dinner with the senior officers that first evening after leaving the station, and had charmed them considerably with his wit and personality. He had kept to his own devices since then, however, not leaving his quarters except to help out in engineering now and again. B'Elanna had offered the opinion that he was 'not bad around a warp core' which, from the Klingon, was high praise indeed.

Seven was also aware that the man was romantically involved with another Janeway, and she had been considerably surprised when neither he, nor Kathryn, had brought the topic up during their encounters. Initially, the young woman decided that it must be some form of odd, Human etiquette that she was unaware of, possibly having to do with them both being senior Starfleet officers. She adapted to the custom by not offering it up as a subject for discussion either. Now, however, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps Kathryn wasn't as cognizant of the personal connection between herself and Patterson as Seven was. Otherwise, the Borg was certain that the captain would have commented on it by now ... privately to her partner, if nothing else. Instead, all Janeway had mentioned was that she quite liked the man, and was glad that Admiral Paris had found himself such a competent and personable adjutant.

"How may I assist you?" She linked her hands behind her back, head tilted slightly so that her optical implant was angled toward him.

He took a breath, resting his large hands lightly on the smooth top of her console.

"I'm a little confused and I hoped that you could clear some things up for me," he admitted, a little sheepishly. "Phoebe mentioned to me once that she had told you all about me, but now I'm starting to wonder if either she or Gretchen explained things to the captain in their letters to her."

Seven blinked, wondering why he had waited until now to voice his uncertainties. "Both Kathryn and I have been fully occupied in the weeks leading up to our return, and since our arrival in the Federation," she admitted slowly, thinking out loud. "I know that I had barely enough time to read and respond to my own letters from Phoebe. I certainly did not have the opportunity to speak with Kathryn about what might have been in any letters to her from Gretchen. It is possible that, with all the duties the captain was involved with, as well as the paperwork she was required to complete for Starfleet in preparation for our return, she may have placed any personal correspondence aside to be read at a later date." Her pale eyes met his squarely, recognizing the consternation and concern in their emerald depths. "Truthfully, I have come to conclusion that she is unaware of your personal connection to the Janeway family."

He exhaled gustily. "So it isn't just my imagination," he said unhappily, shaking his head. "I kept waiting for her to bring it up one way or another, wanting to know how she felt before saying anything myself, but she seemed determined to avoid the subject. I guess I didn't want to rock the boat, but it never occurred to me that she simply doesn't know." He regarded the Borg worriedly "What should I do?"

"I am ... unsure I have any useful advice to offer you," Seven responded carefully. "Phoebe indicated in her letters that Kathryn might be resistant to the concept of the relationship, but did not explain why. When the captain was so friendly toward you during our first meeting on DS9, I assumed she had already adapted to it." She quirked an eyebrow. "I am only now considering the other possibility. Perhaps if you could explain to me why Kathryn might object to the relationship, I would be better able to offer you an educated opinion as to her reaction."

He studied her with an odd expression on his face, though his eyes were warm. "Gretchen told me you had a unique way of defining things. I'm beginning to understand what she meant."

Seven wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, so she did not, merely inclining her head slightly.

"Okay, where to start..." he said with a sigh, raking his hand through his dark, wavy hair. "There's the fact that I'm in Starfleet, which could make things very awkward for the captain, particularly since I'm ranked beneath her."

"Kathryn is conscious of rank," Seven allowed, "But I do not believe she would allow it to interfere with personal matters." She thought back to the day before, and her spouse's attempt to head off her concern by placing them in a captain/crewmember dynamic, rather than a marital one. "However," she allowed reluctantly, realizing that she had to take Kathryn's inclination for occasional illogical behavior into account, "it could pose a difficulty if you are forced to work together in a professional capacity."

He took another breath. "Then, there's the age difference. More than twenty years separate us. That can be a big problem for a lot of people."

Seven frowned. "More than fifteen years years separate Kathryn and myself," she pointed out. "Obviously, she could not use difference in age as an objection regarding you when she, herself, is involved in such a relationship."

"Don't be too sure about that," he said dryly, then grinned crookedly. "Which brings us to the final and most difficult part. I'm not entirely sure how the captain would feel about me and Gretchen being romantically involved. After all, this is her mother we're talking about."

Seven was puzzled. "Why is that an obstacle?"

He started to answer, stopped, looked at her oddly, then shook his head. "Uh, maybe it shouldn't be, but I'm pretty sure that it will pose one, at least, in the beginning."

Seven continued to stare at him, waiting for more clarification than this, and he squirmed a little. "Seven, it's difficult to comprehend that one's parent is also a person with their own ...uh, needs."

"Explain," Seven prompted him further, fascinated by this slant on parent/child relationships. She remembered, not so long ago, that Janeway had professed the belief to her partner that Gretchen had only been physically intimate on two occasions, in order to conceive her two children. At the time, Seven had thought her spouse had been joking, but now she wondered if there was an element of seriousness in Kathryn's comments.

Michael looked very uncomfortable.

"I think that perhaps Kathryn might see her mother as only her parent," he clarified. "Not as the vital, attractive woman she really is. Gretchen is a woman who has a rich and satisfying social life that simply doesn't include her children. She's only in her late sixties you know, still in the prime of her life."

"I am aware of Gretchen's age," Seven noted calmly. She studied him as she mulled over this information, examining it from all angles. "I believe Kathryn should be informed about this relationship as soon as possible if there are that many emotional repercussions related to it."

He inhaled. "I agree, especially since we should be arriving at McKinley Station very soon, where Gretchen and Phoebe will undoubtedly be waiting for us." He straightened his shoulders beneath the grey, quilted pads of his tunic. "They probably think she already knows. I have to tell her before the reunion takes place."

Seven considered that for a long moment. "No," she offered finally. "If Kathryn is unaware of this relationship, and may have objections to it, then it will come as an unpleasant surprise." She paused. "Kathryn does not react well to unpleasant surprises, and I believe that she would require a certain amount of preparation before dealing with it. I think that my informing her of it will present fewer repercussions than if you were to break the news to her."

"That would be ... exceptionally kind of you," he said and reached over, putting his hand on hers. "Thank you so much, Seven."

He was certainly a tactile person, Seven noted, but then, if she remembered correctly, so was Gretchen. She wondered if Kathryn had received her reticence about affectionate gestures in public from her father, Edward. She studied his face keenly.

"You may call me, Annika."

He blinked, surprised, then smiled. "Thank you, Annika." He seemed to understand that this signified more than merely permission to utilize her Human designation. His emerald eyes grew darker and the lines around them deepened, granting his features an innate kindness and warmth. She decided that he was quite aesthetically pleasing, with an excellent personality. Gretchen had chosen well when acquiring him as her new mate.

However, that did not mean Kathryn would see him in the same light. She needed to speak to her partner as soon as possible.

"I shall tell her immediately."

He appeared taken aback by her swift and decisive manner, but before he could say anything, she had moved past him and was out of astrometrics, striding rapidly down the corridor. It took only a minute to reach the nearest turbolift, and she instructed it to take her to the bridge where she found Janeway in her command chair, supervising the alpha shift for this final approach to Earth's system.

She paused briefly after exiting the lift, studying her partner and trying to judge how busy the captain was, frowning as she noted that Janeway appeared quite involved in the conversation she was sharing with Chakotay. At ops, to Seven's left, Harry Kim concentrated on his board, his eyes dark and intent, though his mouth held a small smile that he probably wasn't even aware of. To Seven's right, Tuvok was less obvious in his emotions, but the Borg thought that he must be pleased. She knew he would only stay a few days on Earth to finish up any security briefings that might linger, before he and the Borg twins, Azan and Rebi, would catch a transport to Vulcan where he would be reunited with his family.

She took a breath and moved over to the aft tactical station, bringing up the ship's location. She was surprised to see how close they were to Earth's solar system, and realized that she had lost track of the ship's position while she had been speaking with Commander Patterson.

The captain glanced back at her, apparently noticing her arrival for the first time, and offered the Borg a small smile, an acknowledgment of her presence. Seven returned it, feeling warmed by the fleeting expression of love and tenderness in the blue-grey eyes, but added a quirked eyebrow and a slight gesture of her head in the direction of the ready room, a subtle signal that she wished to talk with her partner privately.

Janeway's gaze darkened a bit and she frowned, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, indicating that she didn't have time for it. Seven took a deep breath and left her station, moving around the railing and down the short flight of stairs to where the captain was sitting. She placed her hand on the command chair's arm and leaned over, putting her mouth next to Janeway's ear.

"I must speak with you," she insisted quietly.

"Now is not the time," Janeway responded in an equally low tone as the others on the bridge politely ignored them. "We're within minutes of contact with Starfleet Traffic Control and I have my hands full. Is this ship's business?"

The Borg hesitated. "No," Seven admitted, finally. "It is personal."

Janeway frowned. "Is there any way it can wait?" she asked, which was far more allowance for such an interruption than she would normally allow.

Seven thought about that. This information was not life threatening, and she knew that it would require at least that level of importance to draw her partner away from her duties at this particular time. Being the captain's spouse gave her a certain leeway at times, but she could not honestly justify using that privilege at the moment.

"Yes," she decided finally. "It can wait, but I must speak with you before we disembark at the station. It is very important."

"I'll find a moment," Janeway promised.

Seven dipped her head and returned to her post. She was not entirely satisfied with the exchange, but she knew it would have to do. She just hoped that any 'moment' Janeway would find for her spouse would be sufficient to convey her information, as well as grant the captain time to adapt to it.

"Captain, we're approaching the Terran Core," Ro Laren said casually, as if this was just any other star system Voyager was approaching. "Outer Perimeter Array Control has granted us clearance to enter the system."

Janeway, sitting in her command chair, closed her eyes briefly, feeling the odd sensation of excitement and apprehension swirl through her as OPAC acknowledged their approach. Earth's automated defense array had recognized Voyager's identity codes immediately, allowing them passage without hesitation. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she opened her eyes.

"Drop to impulse," she instructed evenly, surprised at how calm and professional she sounded. "On screen."

"Dropping to impulse, aye, Captain."

On the fore viewscreen, the shooting streaks of the warp drive settling into stationary stars, and the bright, yellow pinpoint of Earth's sun beckoned as they passed by the great gas giant Jupiter. Janeway felt a pain in her chest, a twinge in the general vicinity of her heart, and she had to swallow hard against the lump in her throat.

"Set course for McKinley Station," she instructed, her tone a bit husky. "Full impulse."

"Aye, full impulse."

"Lt. Kim, contact Orbital Command; let them know we're on final approach."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry's voice was edged with enthusiasm, and Janeway glanced back, smiling at him. He worked his console for a moment or so. "Orbital Command clears us for vector one three eight, and requests that we take a direct line to an internal berth within the station."

"An internal berth would be fine," Janeway said, and turned forward to Ro. "Do it, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Captain." The Bajoran's graceful hands moved delicately over her board.

"They added a message to the docking instructions, Captain," Harry offered suddenly, an odd inflection in his tone.

Janeway turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting for it.

"It's two words," the young operations officer said, and it seemed that his voice broke a little as his dark gaze rose to meet hers. "Welcome Home."

She felt tears flood her eyes, and she looked quickly back at the fore viewscreen, blinking rapidly. Beside her, she heard Chakotay clear his throat, and she was sure that if she glanced over at him in that second, he would be having a bit of trouble with his vision as well.

"Thank them on behalf of Voyager, Harry," she instructed, once she was sure her voice wouldn't fail her. She was aware of Seven's pale eyes observing her and she wondered idly what had been so important to the young woman. However, since it was not a dire emergency, she supposed she would find out soon enough. Thinking of the young woman brought something else to mind however, and the captain crooked her finger at the Borg who loomed over her and Chakotay at the aft tactical station.

"Seven?"

"Yes, Captain," the young woman responded promptly. She knelt so that she was closer to Janeway, angling her body beneath the railing, undoubtedly realizing that, because of the way the captain had pitched her tone, this was to be a confidential conversation.

"There is an item in our quarters that I require right now," Janeway told her. "It's resting in the rear of our cooling unit. I've been saving it for a long time, just for this moment. I believe you know what it is."

Seven hesitated, and then nodded. "I do."

"Would you please go down to the captain's quarters and retrieve it for me?" the captain instructed. "Take it to the conference room, along with the proper accouterments for the entire senior staff."

"Yes, Captain." Seven uncoiled gracefully from her kneeling position and disappeared into the turbolift.

Janeway watched her go, then became aware of Chakotay glancing at her.

"Captain?"

"Before the senior staff leaves the ship, I want us to get together one last time."

He nodded. "Good idea. God knows, there'll probably be Starfleet brass just waiting to pounce on us as soon as we enter the station."

"As well as our friends and family. It's going to be a very busy afternoon and evening."

He frowned. "I appreciate that Starfleet is going to want to have us report for duty immediately, but to be honest, Captain, I think I would like a few days to get used to the idea of being on Earth again."

"I'll see what I can do," she promised before turning her attention back to the viewscreen.

"Orbital Command has us on line," Ro reported.

"Magnify."

The screen altered, and there it was, the little blue planet, third from the sun, shining like a beacon of hope and home in the darkest of night. She was aware of moisture spilling over her lids and slipping silently down her face, but she did not wipe it away, nor did she try to hide what she was feeling. This moment was too important ... too monumental ... to pretend to be calm and composed when, instead, all she could feel was wonder and joy.

Chakotay glanced at her briefly, then smoothly took over. "Clear for final approach vector."

"Approach vector locked in, Commander," Ro replied smartly. "Passing beyond Jupiter's orbit."

"Drop to one quarter impulse."

"Aye, Commander, one quarter impulse."

As Voyager cleared the system's largest planet with dignified grandeur, more traffic became visible, increasing in number the closer they got to the inner worlds. Then Janeway realized with a sort of awed astonishment that the variety of ships were falling into line with her vessel, a host of small tugs, freighters, private yachts and assorted Starfleet vessels forming a sort of impromptu escort toward the space station, while three larger vessels, two Nebula-class and an Akira-class, adjusted their trajectory to keep pace above and to the sides, bracketing the smaller Intrepid-class ship in a sort of triangular formation. Every vessel had their running lights flashing with wild abandon, indicating a celebration of monumental proportions.

It was completely unexpected, and thus, all the more touching for that reason. Somehow, news of their arrival had been announced, and now Voyager was finally receiving the welcome denied by its arrival at DS9. The captain was regretful that so many of her crew had left the ship ... they had deserved this display of acknowledgment for their return, this gesture of affirmation of their great achievement.

The silver form of Earth Station McKinley appeared, drifting across the blue and green backdrop of Earth's North America Sector, swirls of whispy white softening the landmass. Janeway swallowed hard as she saw the dark square on the upper side of the saucer-shaped station open wide for them. A glance at her helm officer revealed perspiration at the back of Ro's neck, and the captain realized that the Bajoran was not entirely pleased to have all the extra vessels escorting Voyager as she directed the ship toward the interior bay of the station. Tom Paris would have reveled in it, of course, and probably would have attempted a rollover before directing the ship toward the entrance of the hangar.

Fortunately, as they came within a million kilometers, the other vessels began to peel off with alacrity, leaving only the three cruisers. They were the last to break formation, waiting until the very last minuter before they soared away on courses that took them clear of the station.

"We're cleared for final approach," Ro said, relief touching her tone as the ship was once more clear of traffic. "Bay doors are open."

"Thrusters only," Chakotay said.

"Thrusters only, aye, sir."

The Bajoran's hands flew over her helm as the silvery station grew steadily larger, filling the viewscreen as the ship glided easily toward the dark interior of the huge, internal docking area of Earth's primary station. Janeway took a deep breath as her vessel finally entered the space station, the area so large that it was hard to get a perspective on it. The Federation starships docked at the various berths looked like toys rather than the massive vessels they really were. She blinked as she noticed various debris drifting in the vacuum, and it took a moment to identify them as colorful streamers and a form of large confetti.

She heard a sound behind her, glancing back to see that Harry was weeping unashamedly, and then looked up at Seven who had returned to the bridge unnoticed sometime during their final approach. The Borg quirked an eyebrow inquiringly at the captain, and Janeway smiled at her spouse through her tears, sniffing hard as she turned forward again. The ship eased along the traffic corridor, a huge wall looming on one side dotted with squares of transparencies. Janeway squinted and realized that the tiny bits of motion she saw were actually throngs of people, waving and cheering silently as the vessel made its stately way to the waiting berth.

There was a gentle clang which reverberated through the ship as Voyager slipped into its assigned docking port, certain hums and hisses easing as umbilicalis from the station shot out to connect to the vessel, taking over the life support system, overriding the internal systems and power output. Janeway wiped her face and swallowed hard, then touched her console.

"All hands," she announced, "Docking at McKinley Station is complete. Operation officers, report to transporter rooms one and two for final transfer of personnel and cargo. Senior officers, report to the conference room. The rest of you..." She paused. It had all been said, of course, when arriving at DS9 and in the days since, but this was really it, the last stop for her and her vessel. She cleared her throat. "You've been a fine crew, one that I have been both proud and honored to have served with. No captain has ever commanded better personnel, no starship has been more capably served. Disembarking will commence immediately according to the distributed schedule. Good-bye, and good luck in all your future endeavors. Captain Kathryn Janeway and USS Voyager ... standing down."

She felt a hard lump rise in her chest, and thought that, honestly, she could be stronger at the moment. After all she had been through at DS9, one would think saying good-bye would become easier with repetition.

She stood up and made her way into the conference room, noting the green bottle stuck in the ice bucket which had been placed at the head of the large table, a crystal champagne flute placed at each chair. Janeway took her position beneath the large viewport which showed the interior wall of the docking port. She remained standing as the rest of her senior staff joined her, taking their customary positions around the table. Chakotay was at her left hand, as always, while Tuvok took his spot on her right. Harry, wiping his face, stood at attention next to the first officer, while across from him, Ro Laren took the place of the missing Tom Paris. Seven positioned herself quietly at the other end of the table Everyone waited in silence as the other two members of the senior staff, having to report from other parts of the vessel, finally entered the room. The Doctor, arriving from sickbay, looking bemused at the glass set before him, and B'Elanna Torres from engineering, smiled faintly as she found a spot next to Ro.

Janeway nodded at Chakotay who picked up the bottle and carefully opened it, easing out the cork before letting it go, the pop quiet so that none of the precious champagne that had traveled with the captain for so long, would be lost. He filled the glasses, even the Doctor's, then placed the empty bottle back in the ice bucket.

Janeway picked up her flute and regarded these people who had been through so much with her, who had come from such different backgrounds and places in the universe to serve her and her ship with the enduring faith that she would ultimately bring them home. She felt a muscle twitch in her jaw and she raised her glass.

"There's not much left for me to say that hasn't already been said in the past few days," she said huskily. "Despite that, however, all the words just don't seem to be enough to cover what remains to be shared. It was an incredible journey, and it's so hard to believe that it's finally over." She stopped and took a breath to compose herself. "To all of those who aren't here, to those who did not live to see this day, to those that did not make this final port, our thoughts are with you. To those of you who are here, who remained true to the course, I salute you."

"To Kathryn Janeway," Chakotay broke in, his voice strong. "To the woman who brought us home against the most incredible odds, who always kept the faith and never let us down. To the captain of USS Voyager, the finest damned ship in the 'Fleet!"

"Here, here," sounded from the others in the room and together, the remaining officers lifted their glasses and drank the fine vintage of Picard Vinery '69, aware that this would probably be the final time they would all be together. Then quietly, reverently, the officers filed out of the room, leaving the captain to stare blankly into the bottom of her empty glass. It took her a moment to realize not everyone had left, that Seven had remained behind, regarding her intently.

"Kathryn," she ventured after a moment. "I need to speak with you."

Janeway took a breath and lifted her head. "Of course, darl--," she began, only to be immediately interrupted by her comm badge.

"Bridge to Janeway."

She shot a rueful glance at her partner, then lifted her head. "Go ahead, Chakotay," she said.

"The station has just contacted us. There's a formal welcoming committee waiting for us in the reception area. All the brass we could handle, including some four-star admirals. They want us out there as soon as possible."

"On my way," Janeway said, stifling her sigh. This was somewhat unexpected, as well. She closed the channel and glanced again at her spouse. "I'm sorry, darling, we'll have to do this later."

"But Kathryn---" Seven began, following the captain out to the bridge.

Janeway frowned, pausing to look back. "Later," she insisted, dropping her voice a little to inject that note of command. Seven frowned, an expression of frustration on her narrow features, and Janeway softened her gaze. "Seven, I need you to go and get Jake. We don't want to lose him in all the confusion."

Seven opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Chakotay and Harry both hailed the captain, requiring Janeway's attention on what needed to be done before they could leave the ship. When the older woman had the chance to look up again, Seven had left the bridge, and she hoped that whatever the young woman needed to tell her wasn't as important as she claimed.

Ro and B'Elanna stepped through the airlock and moved off to the side where the Bajoran could keep an eye on the captain. Ro adjusted the strap of her carryall over her shoulder, and keenly assessed the layout of the station's main lobby, noting the crowd of civilians currently being held behind a barrier by station security, while the area immediately in front of what appeared to be a hastily constructed podium was set aside for Voyager's crew. Janeway, Chakotay, and Tuvok immediately scaled the short flight of stairs leading to the small stage where they were greeted by the assembled brass drawn from both Starfleet Command and the Federation Council.

"That's Necheyev," B'Elanna identified in a low voice, pointing out a diminutive woman with blonde hair, sporting four pips on her admiral bars. "I'm beginning to think we should have changed into our dress uniforms."

"Maybe," Ro said quietly, scanning the group around the captain. "But it's not like they gave us time to prepare." Her eyes moved over to the other highly ranked officials who had turned out for the welcoming committee. "Admiral Hayes," she said, nodding at the bulky, grey-haired man.

"A major league windbag," B'Elanna said. "At least, according to Janeway."

"He's the one that ordered her to install the slipstream drive."

"I guess he was right on that call." The Klingon snorted. "For once."

Ro narrowed her eyes. "Hmm," she said, without committing herself. She nodded at another man who, with dark hair, appeared younger than the rest. "Admiral Ross. He was in command of the Allied forces during the Dominion War."

"The last admiral is Owen Paris," B'Elanna said, easing behind the Bajoran so that she was not in the white-haired man's direct line of vision. "Tom's dad. I punched him in the mouth the last time I saw him."

Ro blinked. "You never mentioned that before."

B'Elanna shrugged lamely, her grin slightly sheepish. "Slipped my mind."

"Uh huh," Ro said, shaking her head. "According to Picard, one or more of those Admirals has been recruited by Section 31. Finding out which of them has turned isn't going to be easy."

"Let's just get through this ceremony. Then, we'll worry about saving the universe."

Startled, Ro shot her a look, and then offered a grin which B'Elanna returned. The couple sobered as they glanced over at Seven of Nine. The Borg was standing by herself, the couple's Irish Setter sitting next to her, cringing against the young woman's leg. It was a tossup as to which of them appeared the most frightened. Ro noticed how white Seven's knuckles were on the dog's leash, and how she kept shifting the strap of her bag uncomfortably on her shoulder.

"I think she needs help," Ro told her partner.

"No kidding," B'Elanna agreed, obviously having spotted her friend's unease. The two women hefted their carryalls and moved quickly to where Seven stood, bracketing the young woman on either side. Jake looked up at the two women, and the Bajoran could swear there was a look of relief on his doggy muzzle. "How's it going, Seven?"

The Borg glanced at them both. "I am ... apprehensive," she admitted, though there seemed to be a certain relaxation in her shoulders at their appearance.

"It's all right," Ro assured her, reaching over to pat her on the small of the back. "This won't be the most fun you've ever had, but I promise you'll get through it. It's just formalities."

"We're here, Nik," B'Elanna added. "You're not alone."

"Thank you," Seven was visibly grateful. "Both of you."

Ro glanced over to where the Doctor stood, relieved to see that Harry Kim was standing next to the EMH almost protectively, as Voyager's crew collectively fell into a loose formation, comprised of five lines of approximately ten crewmembers each. The three women found themselves in the front row, granting them an unobstructed view to the podium. Nearby, the Doctor looked concerned as he waited, a small, metal box held tightly in his hands. Ro briefly wondered what was in it, and then she had to concentrate on what was happening on the stage, trying to figure out if this celebration had any ulterior motive, one possibly directed at Janeway or Seven.

"On behalf of Starfleet and the Federation, welcome back, Captain Janeway," Admiral Paris said, shaking the captain's hand as his voice carried over the crowd. "It's absolutely wonderful to see you again."

"Thank you, Admiral," Janeway replied respectfully. "On behalf of my crew, I want to thank you for this wonderful homecoming."

Other pleasantries were exchanged, including several long-winded speeches by the representatives of the Federation Council, obviously appearing for the sake of the photo opportunity. The Federation press corps were scattered liberally throughout the crowd, and there were several recording devices trained on the proceedings. Finally, there came the moment which the Voyager crewmembers had contemplated with apprehension, though the rest of the spectators were probably unaware of its significance.

Ro discovered that she couldn't look directly at what was happening, shifting her feet and studying the deck uncomfortably as Necheyev took her place in front of Janeway on the podium. As the admiral in charge of the sector when Voyager had initially been lost, it was Necheyev's duty to receive the final ship's log and accept command from the captain.

Janeway seemed to pause, and took a bit of a breath before speaking in a voice that was completely devoid of emotion. "We have completely our mission," she said, handing the admiral a padd. "I turn over my command codes. USS Voyager stands down."

Necheyev maintained her gaze with the captain. "Acknowledged," she said calmly, in a clear voice. "Captain Kathryn Janeway, you are hereby relieved of command. USS Voyager is removed from active duty and will be turned over immediately to Utopia Planitia Operations for upgrading and reassignment. Congratulations on bringing your ship and your crew safely home, Captain."

Ro raised her eyes, feeling a very real pain in her chest as Janeway completed the final procedures that meant she no longer was in charge of Voyager ... or anything else at the moment. Beside her, the Bajoran could sense the stiffness in Seven's body, the firm way she held her chin, and she knew that the Borg was aware of how hard this had to be for Janeway. Even though they would have planned for what would happen when they returned to Earth, it was unlikely they had expected such a public removal of her command.

The formalities completed, the admirals descended from the stage to mingle with the remaining crewmembers, shaking their hands and taking time to offer a few words to each of them. Ro felt uneasy as she regarded the approach of the brass toward the area where she stood with Seven and B'Elanna. Near her leg, it was apparent that Jake didn't like it much either, perhaps picking up on all the emotion around him. He started to growl in a low, menacing rumble. Startled, the admirals paused a few feet away, looking warily at the dog who had not shifted position, but was now glaring balefully at the Starfleet officers, his upper lip lifted to reveal sharp canines.

"Jake, no," Seven instructed in a low voice, obviously appalled. "Be silent."

He did not comply, and the young woman glanced somewhat helplessly at her friends. B'Elanna was chewing her bottom lip, obviously trying not to laugh, and Ro cleared her throat.

"It's all the noise and confusion," she offered to the admirals who carefully maintained their distance. "He's also quite protective of his mistress."

Necheyev regarded her. "He doesn't seem to be the only one that's protective," she said flatly as she eyed both the Bajoran and the Klingon. "I was unaware that the Tertiary Adjutant to Unimatrix 01 required so many guards." She seemed unwilling to look at Seven, as if dismissing her from her attention ... as if she were a machine and not a person.

Ro maintained her gaze, keeping it level and just on the verge of offense. "Not guards, friends. Seven is Starfleet, and we look out for our own, don't we?"

"Of course we do," Admiral Hayes said jovially, abruptly drawing Necheyev away. He glanced back, dropping a wink in Ro's direction. "Perhaps we should all get dogs. Certainly cuts down on the small talk." He and Ross guided Necheyev toward another group of crewmembers as the Bajoran exhaled slowly in relief.

"What the hell that was about?" B'Elanna muttered.

"I'm sure we'll find out, sooner or later," Ro said grimly.

"The admiral does not like me," Seven said in a low tone. Her eyes searched restlessly. "I do not know where the captain has gone." There was a decided edge in her tone and Ro glanced at her with concern.

"She's over there, speaking with Admiral Paris," B'Elanna said soothingly, putting her hand on the Borg's arm to point her in the proper direction. The Klingon stared speculatively at them. "I sure wish I knew what they were saying."

Seven tilted her head, and Ro abruptly realized the Borg was listening to the duo with her enhanced hearing.

"The captain is requesting that the remainder of the crew be awarded leave in order to 'acclimatize', rather than report immediately for duty," Seven reported dispassionately. "Admiral Paris replies that since this is a 'Thursday', he can arrange for a 'long weekend' for those that wish it, and there would be no need to report until next week, on 'Tuesday morning'. He also insists that Kathryn accept such leave as well, that there will be plenty of time for her to be debriefed next week. He promises that he will inform the other admirals as to this change in plans after the ceremony is complete."

"Wow, Seven, how did you learn to do that?" B'Elanna said, admiration coloring her eyes as she glanced at her friend.

"I have always been capable of listening to conversations at a distance," Seven responded evenly. "However, I was not required to display that skill to you before now."

Ro smiled faintly. "It's a good skill to have, Seven. Don't let on that you have it to very many people ... otherwise you'll lose the tactical advantage it possesses."

"I understand, Lieutenant."

The Bajoran looked up as the Doctor made his way over to them, noticing that he no longer had the box he had been carrying. He looked vaguely shaky, and before she quite realized what she was doing, she had reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

"Take it easy, Doctor. It's almost over."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he responded, with only a mild flash of his normal acerbic nature. "I turned over my mobile emitter to Admiral Ross. He promised to pass it on to Starfleet Temporal Operations."

"Did you get a receipt?" B'Elanna asked cynically.

He pulled out a padd from his tunic. "Actually, I did," he said, sounding a bit surprised as he showed the engineer the data on the tiny viewscreen. He paused. "At least a recognition that I volunteered the device freely. They didn't mention the one I was wearing." He looked hopeful, as if he might have managed to get away with something.

Ro's eyes traced the small unit which the hologram wore strapped to his arm, the device allowing him to move freely outside his sickbay. It had originally been Sek's, built by B'Elanna and Harry to provide the assistant medical hologram with the same mobility that the EMH had enjoyed. However, when Kes and Sek had merged into one being, the result was no longer a hologram, and did not require it ... which worked out well for the Doctor. His emitter had been 29th Century technology, and it was unlikely that he would have been able to keep it now that they had returned to the Federation. By promptly handing it over to the proper authorities, it was possible that the EMH had forestalled certain problems. The one he was currently wearing was larger and more awkward, and did not hold the range and capacity of the initial unit, but the device was constructed in the 24th Century, so it was hoped that it would not be taken from him.

That didn't mean the Doctor was out of difficulty, however.

"Don't count that as a victory." Ro didn't want him to become complacent just because Starfleet hadn't immediately seized his matrix and transported him to the nearest lab. It was unlikely that anything like that would take place with all the civilians and press around. "When the captain worked out the paperwork that declared you a 'sentient hologram', that probably threw a spanner in Starfleet's gears, but don't think you're entirely out of danger. Your very existence could pose a problem for them, and Starfleet medical, in particular, will try to find a way to deal with you."

The Doctor looked somber. "I'm not taking anything for granted." He looked into the crowd of civilians, most of whom seemed to be growing impatient as the Starfleet admirals and Federation Council members continued to occupy the attention of Voyager's crew. His eyes widened and he pointed. "Look, there's Lt. Barclay and Dr. Zimmerman!"

He waved wildly and there was a stir in the crowd. Ro watched in amusement as the Human version of the EMH forced his way to the barricades and began yelling in a most obnoxious fashion at the security officer, insisting that he be allowed through. That caused others who had also been waiting to start voicing complaints, and the official welcoming committee quickly saw which way the wind was blowing, promptly wrapping up the final ceremonies with the announcement by Admiral Paris that Voyager's crew would be on leave for the next four days.

Ro found it quite interesting that Necheyev looked both angered and surprised by the announcement. Ross and Hayes didn't seem all that pleased either, almost as if Admiral Paris had somehow countermanded certain plans they had formulated.

The security squad neatly and efficiently removed the barriers, allowing the civilians to get through, and the crowd surged toward the waiting crew, a plethora of friends, family, and maybe even an old enemy or two. Ro and B'Elanna exchanged a glance and moved closer to Seven, protecting her from the rush of people that suddenly surrounded them, all searching for that special someone. Members of the press circulated freely, attempting to get interviews from the crew who were far more concerned with greeting their loved ones than speaking into an imaging unit. More than once, Ro and B'Elanna had to intercept some impertinent question directed at the Borg. Cries of joy at countless reunions grew loud and boisterous, filling the air, and the Bajoran could not resist a smile as a small, older couple made their way to where Harry stood with his wife, Megan Delaney, and their son. A great deal of bowing took place, then the happy, glowing face of the older man, who accepted Little Harry into his embrace, seemed to light up the entire station in a way that Ro didn't think she'd ever forget. She hoped one of the Federation press got that on their imagers.

She was surprised when she felt a little twinge at the fact that she had no one here to greet her, but it soon passed as she realized that B'Elanna had no one to greet her either. Her hand reached out behind Seven's back to intercept the Klingon's, entwining her fingers with her lover's in a show of solidarity.

She wanted her to remember that they weren't alone ... they always had each other.

"There," Seven announced, her voice rising with pleasure as she pointed through the crowd. "The captain is over there. She is trying to make her way over to where Gretchen and Phoebe are waiting." She paused. "I believe she is having difficulty."

Without saying a word, B'Elanna and Ro immediately started working their way through the crowd, escorting Seven and Jake over to where she had last seen the captain, and then helping both women find their way to their relatives.

Somehow, in all the confusion, Ro ended up holding onto Jake's leash, and she exchanged a foreboding look with the dog, hoping that she had managed to convey the idea that he was to stay put and not bite anyone. Obviously his training by Seven was good enough to allow him to accept the warning, and they eased off to the side as Seven greeted her in-laws.

At this point, the Bajoran was just hoping this whole thing would soon be over so she could find someplace to sit down. Homecoming was damned tiresome.

With an unfamiliar anticipation, Seven regarded the tall, slender form of Janeway's mother standing before her. After all this time, after all they had been through, it was hard to believe that they were finally here, that Gretchen was so close. Seven knew that her spouse would undoubtedly say something greatly significant, some deeply profound statement to mark such a monumental occasion.

"Momma," Janeway said, in a very odd sort of tone, and promptly burst into tears.

"Kathryn," Gretchen responded in kind, opening her arms and the captain was enfolded into them, almost as if she were three years old again, rather than forty-three. Seven blinked, and regarded the embrace with interest, wondering who was crying harder ... her spouse or the elder Janeway. She suspected that Kathryn's emotion had simply gotten the better of her, since she did not believe the captain would have wanted to indulge in such a public display of emotion.

"Hey, Little Sister."

Seven barely had time to turn around before she was swept up in a big hug by Phoebe, the young woman taller and more willowy than her older sibling. Long, curly, dark red hair cascaded down her back, and her bright eyes were a light grey, the woman's genetic makeup favoring the maternal side of the family rather than the Janeway compactness that the captain displayed. Seven readily hugged the woman back, feeling happiness sweep away all the uncertainties and fears she had been experiencing since leaving the ship.

"Oh, I've missed you, Annika." Phoebe smiled widely as she had released her grip a little.

"I have missed you, as well," Seven responded, regarding the young woman with pleasure. She belatedly remembered her companions. "Phoebe, do you remember B'Elanna?"

"Of course." Phoebe reached out and took the engineer's forearm, grasping it strenuously in a Klingon greeting. "nuqneH, B'Elanna Torres."

Bemused, B'Elanna returned the greeting, looking a little overpowered by the younger Janeway's personality, just as she had when they had last met years ago when an ancient device had transported her, Seven and Chakotay to DS9.

"This is Lt. Ro Laren," Seven added, motioning to the Bajoran who nodded politely, but did not offer her arm to be twisted.

"Annika."

Seven, interrupted in the middle of her introduction, turned to Gretchen and smiled, allowing herself to be drawn into the elder woman's warm embrace. She felt moisture sting her eyes, realizing that the emotion she was experiencing was similar to what she had felt when saying farewell to the alternative universe Hansens. There was the same power in her love and connection to Gretchen, and the strength of it could only be expressed with tears. Apparently, Gretchen felt the same, because the tears slid steadily down her cheeks as well.

There were more greetings, more confusion as people swirled around them, and somehow, when it was all over, Seven found herself tucked away in the seat of a small, atmospheric shuttle piloted by Commander Patterson, on her way to Indiana. She could barely remember saying good-bye to Chakotay and Icheb, promising to visit them in Arizona as soon as possible, while Tuvok and the twins offered more formal and restrained farewells as they headed for the Vulcan embassy where they would remain for the duration of their stay on Earth.

Seven discovered that Ro and B'Elanna were also on the shuttle, invited along by Gretchen who, once she had discovered the young couple had no place in particular to go until reporting for duty in four days, other than an impersonal hotel room, insisted they stay in her Indiana home. Janeway was seated in the row in front of Seven, strapped in next to Phoebe where the pair of sisters talked nonstop to each other. Jake had curled up in the seat next to the Borg, and Seven patted him, pleased with how well he had behaved, other than the minor snarl he had offered to the admirals. She wondered what had been significant about those individuals that Jake would respond so negatively to them, but she was unable to maintain the thought long, swept up in the excitement of the trip to Earth.

Seven glanced at Ro who was keenly observing Michael Patterson as he worked the helm. She wondered if the Bajoran was concerned about his piloting abilities, or if she were merely studying his technique in a professional capacity. Ro seemed to become aware of the Borg's surreptitious stare and she shifted her eyes to Seven, her dark eyes curious. She leaned across the aisle, and obligingly, Seven reciprocated, meeting her halfway, understanding that Ro wished to share something confidential.

"How long have the Commander and Mrs. Janeway been a couple?"

Seven raised an eyebrow, quite impressed. "For some time." She paused. "How did you know?"

Ro shook her head minutely. "I didn't until now. Does the captain know?"

Seven glanced in the direction of her spouse, seeing the auburn head tilted in conference with her younger sister.

"I do not believe she does," Seven admitted softly. "I had hoped to speak with her about it before we left the ship, but I did not have the opportunity."

"Maybe her sister will tell her, or perhaps she'll just figure it out on her own."

"Perhaps," Seven said, greatly cheered by those suggestions. It would solve a certain amount of her difficulty if either possibility  occurred.

Settling back in her seat, she glanced out the viewport next to her as the shuttle cut through the atmosphere on a descent vector to Indiana. She watched as the delicate mist of clouds gave way to a landscape of gigantic green squares, interspersed by brown, curious about this planet which would probably be her place of residence for the next year or so. The colors of the ground seemed to have a certain vibrancy, vivid in a way that she had not witnessed on any other planet. The sky around the shuttle was a deep azure, dotted with fluffy white clouds as rays of a golden sun gleamed through the viewport in a particular spectrum that appeared unique to this star system.

Seven knew that she had never set foot on this planet before, but there remained a certain recognition within her, a sense, on some fundamental level, that this was a place where she belonged. Dropping smoothly, the ship altered its vector toward a group of buildings in the distance, silver in the reflection of the sun, and she realized that they must be approaching the main air-space port in the area. The shuttle soon settled onto a circular pad marked in red, the engines easing off, before shutting down completely. Everyone unstrapped and Janeway took a moment to pat Commander Patterson on the shoulder.

"Smooth flight," she complimented, one pilot to another. "Nice landing."

"Thanks." Patterson looked pleased as he rose from his seat and unsealed the hatch, helping the others step down from the shuttle, though Seven was not sure why, since all of them were perfectly able bodied individuals and quite capable of descending the short flight of stairs without assistance. She decided that it must have to do with some form of etiquette she was unaware of. Certainly, being on this planet was going to grant her many lessons in Human behavior, far more than living on Voyager ever had.

"You're coming for supper, of course," Seven heard Gretchen say to the Commander as she stepped down onto the tarmac.

"When have I ever said no to you?" he responded, offering the older woman a warm smile, before heading off across the landing area to the terminal building.

Apparently, the captain did notice this, a small frown crossing her face. It wasn't disapproving necessarily, but rather puzzled, as if finding it hard to understand why her mother would invite him to what was going to be a family dinner. Seven paused when she felt a tug on her uniform tunic and she turned, regarding Phoebe curiously.

"Kathryn doesn't know about Mom and Mike," the artist hissed in a low voice, pulling the Borg into the shadow of the shuttle.

Seven blinked. "No, I do not believe she does."

"How the hell did that happen?" Phoebe demanded as Seven retrieved her carryall from B'Elanna, who was unloading their bags from a compartment in the underside of the shuttle. "Mom wrote her about it. I delivered the letter to Starfleet Command, myself and they promised it would get to her before Voyager left the Delta Quadrant."

"I do not believe Kathryn has had time to read her most recent correspondence. Our last message burst arrived during the final evening before we utilized the slipstream drive, and we have been extremely busy ever since."

"Then why the hell did we waste time sending them?" Phoebe looked greatly offended.

Seven resisted a sigh, aware that the younger Janeway was simply not cognizant of the daily demands on a starship captain, particularly one who had just returned her ship to its home port after seven years. She shot a look at her spouse who was standing by herself a few yards away on the tarmac. Janeway's hands on her hips as she gazed up into the sky, taking deep, measured breaths. Experimentally, Seven also inhaled, detecting no unusual scents beyond the metallic fragrance of shuttle dispersion, an environmentally-friendly type of exhaust from the various transport engines around the air field. It was strong, and not entirely unpleasant, but she did not think the air quality was what the captain was evaluating. She decided that perhaps Kathryn was merely taking the opportunity to breathe Earth's atmosphere again, taking a moment for her own internal form of ceremony to celebrate her homecoming.

Seven returned her attention to Phoebe. "Did you tell her during your conversation?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding? That's your job, or maybe Mom's. I'm staying the hell out of it."

Seven frowned. "Why?"

Phoebe eyed her. "Because I know what she's like when she hears bad news."

"Perhaps she would find this news joyous."

Phoebe looked at her and smiled. "Maybe she will," she agreed cheerfully. "Let me know after you tell her."

She moved over to the hovercraft that Commander Patterson had retrieved from the nearby terminal, leaving Seven to stare after her unhappily. She was startled when she felt a touch on her elbow, and subsequently, an arm slipped firmly around her waist. There was a certain reverent pleasure on the captain's face, her eyes glowing a deep blue. Seven smiled, touched by the obvious joy in Janeway's expression.

"This is the Portage Creek Transport Station, Annika," Janeway explained, waving her other hand to take in the area while indicating a specific direction. "The outskirts of the Brown County Agricultural Park are only ten kilometers from here, and Mother's house is a fifty kilometers beyond that, deep in the heart of the park." She paused. "We're home, darling."

Seven raised an eyebrow. She had never heard that particular inflection in her partner's voice before.

"Yes, Kathryn."

Janeway smiled tremulously, and took the Borg's hand, tucking it under her arm as the couple moved over to the waiting land vehicle which hovered lightly on its anti-grav emitters, the top open to the sky. Seven tossed her bag in the compartment at the rear with the others, and slid into the back seat with her spouse and Jake. B'Elanna, Ro, and Phoebe took the middle seat, while Gretchen and Patterson sat alone in front. The commander pressed some controls and the hovercraft rose smoothly, turning on a dime and swooping into the wind as they drove through the nearest exit and onto a grassy veldt.

Seven knew that over the centuries, Earth had done away with the large highways and paved roadways, leaving the hovercraft to navigate over the flat terrain by satellite signal and the occasional marker stuck unobtrusively in the ground. With the invention of transporters, how people commuted had changed radically, and a ground vehicle like this one was actually an archaic form of transportation, only used in certain areas of the world where transporters and shuttles were not allowed unless it was a dire emergency ... such as within the boundaries of a Traditionalist Agricultural Park. Seven did not quite understand why and where the technological line was drawn for Traditionalists, but she supposed, like many things, it came down to what worked best for the group of people involved.

She felt the motion of air displace her hair, loosening it from its austere bun, and Janeway helped it along by reaching over and removing the last of the restraining clips, allowing the blonde locks to flow freely in the wind. Surprised, the Borg glanced at her and Janeway laughed, throwing back her head as they sped down the wide lane leading into the park. The hovercraft rose to swoop over an emerald swath of corn, the stalks swaying in the wake of their passage, like waves of a green sea. Beside the couple, Jake leaned eagerly into the wind, his floppy ears streaming from either side of his head like rust-colored flags, his dark eyes bright as the captain patted him. That same wind made it difficult to speak at a normal volume, and not wishing to shout, Seven spent the remainder of the journey looking out at the passing landscape, taking note of the lush vegetation and the distinct flatness of the land around her. Janeway seemed equally absorbed in looking at the scenery, though her scrutiny seemed more a matter of introspection, of enjoying the familiarity of it all, rather than sightseeing.

Thirty minutes later, the vehicle turned into a wide, graveled lane that wound between large trees, leading to a white house set amid expansive, emerald lawns. There were swinging chairs on the front porch, and as the hovercraft slowed on its approach to the house, three dogs appeared, barking loudly. Jake responded immediately, his body wiggling anxiously as Seven tried to keep him from leaping out of the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop. One of the unfamiliar animals was a dark retriever of some kind, black hair interspersed with silver, moving stiffly down the porch steps while the other two were similar to Jake. One of the Irish Setters was so similar that Seven found it positively uncanny.

"Petunia?" Janeway said, her voice wondering as she hopped out of the vehicle and knelt down to greet the black dog who wagged its tail vigorously. "I can't believe she's still alive."

"She's been staying with me," Gretchen explained "After Toby died, I was lonely, and since Phoebe already had Molly and Rufus, I thought it would be nice to have one of your dogs to keep me company. Amazingly, she keeps going, even twenty years later."

The captain seemed surrounded by wagging tails and lolling tongues, and Seven kept an eye on her and their pet, concerned as the dogs greeted all the newcomers, sniffing them over liberally, even as Jake sniffed back with equal forwardness. The Borg scanned Rufus with her ocular implant, and discovered readings that indicated he and Jake were almost identical. Could this be Jake's counterpart? Or was he simply an alternative universe sibling, a puppy from the same genetic foundation?

When no apparent threat emerged from all those animals surrounding Janeway and the excited Jake, Seven retrieved her bag from the rear compartment, along with Janeway's, and followed Phoebe and Gretchen in the direction of the house.

She felt decidedly odd as she realized that this was the beginning of their new life on Earth.

B'Elanna looked around, feeling quite comfortable in this dining room, as unfamiliar as it was. It had been decorated with obvious love over a long period of time, and the warmth of hospitality radiated from its very walls. The large, wooden table, covered with a snowy tablecloth, seemed to groan from the amount of food resting on it, and the Klingon felt saliva flood her mouth from the savory scents surrounding her. She was impatient to get started, and it was only her rarely called upon good manners that kept her from grabbing the mashed potatoes and serving herself.

She was seated next to Ro, across from Phoebe, the captain and Seven. All the Starfleet officers had changed out of their uniforms, except for Commander Patterson, but the engineer noticed their clothing still looked a little out of place in these very old fashioned surroundings. She glanced over at her her lover for a moment, wondering if Ro felt uncomfortable, before being distracted by the arrival of Gretchen from the kitchen.

The eldest Janeway took her place at the end of the table next to the Klingon, placing a large turkey on the final remaining cleared space, while Michael seated himself at the other end, directly across from her ... a positioning that the Klingon thought might be significant in some way. She made herself a mental note to ask Ro later if she knew anything. B'Elanna's instincts were on high alert, informing her that there was something quite interesting going on here.

Of course, the rest of her instincts were screaming the warning that she was starving, and if they didn't begin on this impressive spread soon, she might have to do something drastic. She was startled when Gretchen reached out and took her hand, grasping her fingers firmly, while the other reached out for her daughter's hand. Belatedly, the Klingon realized that Gretchen expected her to stand and she rose quickly to her feet, reaching out for Ro as the rest of their group also linked hands. Gretchen cleared her throat in preparation to speak, her sapphire eyes soft. B'Elanna realized that the older woman radiated quite an authoritative presence, wondering if the captain's command ability came from her maternal side, rather than from her father, the admiral, as she had assumed all this time.

"It's far too early for Thanksgiving," Gretchen said in a voice that resonated with emotion. "Yet, there's nothing else that can adequately describe this day, which is a celebration of such gratitude for the safe return, not only of my daughter, but of my daughter-in-law and their very good friends. As we sit down to enjoy this meal, I want to thank God in Heaven for this tremendous joy, and for a day that will be celebrated for a long time in the Janeway family."

"Amen," Patterson intoned, and B'Elanna was aware of an odd look ghosting over the captain's face, while Phoebe fought a grin and Seven looked mildly distracted for a moment.

Definitely something going on here, the engineer told herself.

They resumed their seats, and the next few moments were busied with filling plates and passing dishes. B'Elanna stacked her plate high, wondering hungrily if the turkey was real, aware that Traditionalists tended to prefer organic food rather than the soy-based proteins the replicator provided, regardless of how 'real' the meals might look and taste. If it was real, however, she was very curious if Gretchen had caught and killed it herself, or if she had acquired it from some kind of market.

Prior to dinner, the engineer had tracked down the only replicator in the entire house, and it was quite small, located in the study possessing distinctive masculine overtones in its decor ... undoubtedly where Admiral Edward Janeway had worked while he had been alive. There was also a small communications array, but the rest of the rooms resembled something out of a museum ... a lived-in museum. B'Elanna was glad that she had packed enough undergarments and casual clothes for the weekend, aware that if they didn't get back to civilization soon, she might actually have to do something as unexpected and archaic as 'laundry'. It was a possibility which confounded her considerably, not needing to 'wash clothes' since her time with the Maquis. She only had the one Starfleet uniform with her, and it had to be neat and clean when she reported for duty at Utopia Planitia in four days.

Meanwhile, she and Ro were staying in the guest bedroom on the main floor, near a bathroom that B'Elanna had been astounded to discover was entirely hydro plumbing, without any sonic applications at all. The water was even activated by twisting a handle, without any kind of temperature control panel. It had taken a certain amount of trial and error with the faucets for the Klingon to achieve the most comfortable settings with which to wash. She thought it wasteful, and far more involved than it needed to be. She wondered if Gretchen would like her to install more up-to-date equipment.

She supposed that all this food might prove to be wasteful, as well, but she was far less bothered by that. She moaned softly in ecstasy as she plowed her way through the turkey, mound of mashed potatoes, gravy, dressing, peas and carrots, and assorted pickles and cranberry sauce. Ro nudged the Klingon quietly in the ribs, and B'Elanna knew she had become a little obvious in her appreciation when she glanced up and saw the rest looking at her with amusement.

"This is really good," she said as justification, feeling her face heat up. "Especially after being on the ration system for the past seven years."

Gretchen reached over and patted her lightly on the arm.

"I consider it a compliment to the chefs," she said reassuringly. "I'm always pleased to have someone at my table who truly enjoys their food." She glanced over at her daughter, her eyes teasing. "Such appreciation is something that I didn't always enjoy, especially since my children and their father were such light eaters."

The captain smiled back at her mother. "It's the Janeway metabolism, mother. We're usually on the go too much to eat properly."

"Annika helped with the meal," Gretchen revealed, beaming at the Borg. "She prepared the mashed potatoes and steamed the vegetables."

Seven blushed, a faint pink staining her cheeks. "Gretchen's instructions were quite clear." Her tone was dismissive, but she still looked quite pleased by the acknowledgment.

"There's never been any question that Seven's the best cook on the ship," B'Elanna offered loyally, offering a proud look at her friend.

Ro glanced over at the Borg. "Seven, have you decided on where you're going to apply for your posting?"

Seven shook her head. "Kathryn suggested that I take the time to visit the various facilities that requested my services. Both the Ministry of Technology on Trill, and the Vulcan Science Academy have made offers for me to join their organizations. I need to visit those worlds before I make a final decision."

"What a wonderful idea," Phoebe said, glancing at her sister oddly. "I wouldn't have expected it of you, Kathryn."

Janeway eyed her younger sister. "I want Seven to fully understand all her options before making her decision," she said in that mild tone that B'Elanna had learned to handle with care.

"Well, I think it's great," Phoebe returned, apparently oblivious of the meaning of the tone, or ignoring it as was her purview as the captain's sister. "Annika, as it turns out, I'm supposed to be a guest speaker at an art symposium on Trill in a couple of weeks. Why don't you come with me? We'll visit the Ministry, and then on the way back, we'll stop off at Vulcan and check out their institution."

"That would be ... acceptable." Seven offered a brief smile to her sister-in-law.

"Where will you be posted, Kathryn?" Gretchen sounded a bit concerned. "If Annika decides to go to Vulcan or Trill..."

"In that case, I'll request a posting close to her. I won't make my final decision until Seven does."

Gretchen blinked, surprised. "You won't?"

"Of course not, Mother," the captain responded, a little too quickly. "Annika and I have decided that rather than pursue another command right away, I'll accept an administrative position."

The captain suddenly became aware that everyone, with the exception of her spouse and Ro Laren, was looking at her oddly, and she developed a defensive expression. "Why is it so hard to believe that I would adjust my career around Seven's for a change?" She glanced at Michael, who had remained very quiet until now. "Administration isn't that bad, is it?" she added jokingly.

"Not at all," he allowed carefully. He paused. "It's just that, in my experience, starship captains tend to be happier in more ... active positions."

Janeway shrugged lightly. "Well, I suspect that in a little while, I'm not going to be very active."

B'Elanna didn't know what that meant, but apparently Gretchen did. "Are you pregnant, Kathryn?" she asked, her face glowing as she regarded her daughter.

"No, Mother," Janeway responded, seeming to squirm a bit. "Annika and I have planned to take this time to arrange to have children, however. That's the other reason I'm accepting an administrative position."

B'Elanna was flabbergasted. While she could easily see Seven in such a maternal role, knowing how much the Borg liked kids, she was also aware that the young woman was incapable of conceiving and carrying a child. She tried to imagine the captain with children ... or even more ludicrously, pregnant ... and couldn't quite manage it. She wondered how the couple would arrange to produce offspring. Would Janeway go to a genetic bank?

A vision of the captain being artificially inseminated threw off the Klingon's appetite for a few seconds, and with a force of will, B'Elanna rid herself of the image and resumed her attack on her dinner, going back for seconds, particularly with the turkey breast and stuffing.

Phoebe nudged Seven. "Annika, come over to my place after dinner. I'll show you my studio."

"We already have plans," Janeway put in before her spouse could respond. "Annika and I are going to take a walk after dinner so I can show her the property before it gets dark."

Seven regarded her partner with a raised eyebrow, and Phoebe shrugged. "Tomorrow would be fine, then," she allowed, and then smiled with a touch of ruefulness. "In fact, that's probably a better idea. It'll give me a chance to clean up a bit."

Janeway nodded. "I can't wait to see your new pieces. Are you still working on your series?"

"Yes," Phoebe said, with sudden enthusiasm. "I've developed a new technique..."

B'Elanna allowed the conversation about art to fade into the background as she concentrated on her plate, wallowing in the flavors and textures that, she had to admit, replicated fare simply didn't offer. After the pumpkin pie and whipped cream had been served and consumed with enjoyment, both Ro and B'Elanna volunteered to clean up, overriding the token objections from Gretchen. However, B'Elanna was somewhat horrified to discover 'cleaning up' was not a matter of removing the dishes from the table and depositing them in the recycling unit. Instead, she found herself in front of the sink, washing them by hand in hot, soapy water which, considering the level of technology that Earth enjoyed as a society, was absolutely astonishing. As Ro dried the dishes with a 'dish cloth' and put them away in the cupboards, Michael and Gretchen busily packed away the leftovers in containers and placed them in the large cooling unit that dominated one side of the kitchen. B'Elanna made a mental note of the location, in the event she became peckish through the night.

Later, the Klingon studied her hands curiously as she strolled out onto the front porch, wondering if those odd wrinkles in her fingers were permanent or if they would eventually disappear. Sighing, she found a seat on one of the hanging chairs and looked out over the fields. The house was situated on a slight rise, and she could see the tiny figures of Janeway and Seven in the distance, being trailed by a pack of dogs as they enjoyed their walk along a dusty country road. In another direction, down by the silver glint of a stream and partially hidden in the trees, she could see another house, constructed of golden wood and gleaming glass.

"That's where I live."

Startled, B'Elanna glanced up at Phoebe who had joined her, unnoticed.

"Yes?" the Klingon replied politely.

"When I was growing up, I couldn't wait to get away from this place," Phoebe explained, her grey eyes distant as she looked over the large lawns between the houses. "I found it far too quiet when all I wanted was excitement and adventure. I actually moved to Paris for a few years."

"I guess I can understand that," B'Elanna responded, remembering her own longing as a child to be free of the colony on Kessik IV as soon as she could. "You came back, however."

"I did," Phoebe agreed, smiling gently. "The further away I got, the more I discovered I wanted to be back here. Maybe that's what Kathryn is finally feeling. There's nothing like being lost for seven years to make you appreciate coming home."

"Maybe," the Klingon allowed noncommitally. Even after seven years in the Delta Quadrant, she had no interest in returning to her homeworld. The memories there were still too uncomfortable. In truth, she was starting to miss Voyager, and she wondered if she and Ro would be able to make a home on Mars, or if it would simply be one more stop on their journey together.

Phoebe moved over to the corner of the porch, leaning on the railing as she looked out at the sun setting magnificently in a burst of reds and golds on the horizon, leaving B'Elanna to resume her contemplation of the scenery from the swing. As the light grew dim, sparks began appearing, dancing along the level of the grass, and the Klingon needed a few moments to identify the creatures as insects possessing some kind of phosphorescent.

B'Elanna felt Ro's presence before she actually took a seat next to her, the chair swaying as the Bajoran sat down. The Klingon was quite pleased when the other woman slipped her arm across her shoulders in a casual embrace.

"Pots all dry?" she asked softly, leaning into the Bajoran's lanky frame.

"Finally," Ro said, her tone edged with humor. "In the camps, we had to live like this. I have no idea why someone would make it a choice of lifestyle."

"You never ate like that in a refugee camp."

"True," Ro agreed, patting her stomach. "Maybe there are some advantages to a Traditional lifestyle."

B'Elanna glanced warningly at her. "Don't become too enamored. I like replicators."

Ro merely grinned.

Gretchen and Michael joined them a few minutes later, the pair taking a seat together on the other swing, and B'Elanna finally put her finger on what had been eluding her. The man and woman were acting like a couple, one freshly in love, and totally absorbed in each other. The engineer was duly impressed with Gretchen. Commander Patterson was a particularly handsome representative of the masculine species, and much younger than the woman to boot.

Darkness had completely fallen by the time Janeway and Seven finally appeared at the far edge of the expansive lawn, stars twinkling overhead in a sky that seemed to go on forever. The couple's hands were entwined as they walked slowly toward the house, and B'Elanna watched them with a sort of proprietary comfort, basking in the love that radiated from them. Their relationship had taught the Klingon that such profound emotion was possible, and she had been blessed to have found a similar strength of connection with Ro. Upon spotting her daughter's approach, Gretchen decided that it was the perfect time for her to retrieve some lemonade for the group, disappearing back inside with Michael close behind her.

The captain and Seven mounted the stairs leading up to the porch, the dogs bounding ahead of them to find places to flop down amid the feet of the women who were already sitting. "Where's Mom?" Janeway asked curiously as Seven leaned against the rail next to Phoebe.

"Gone to get some lemonade," Ro explained.

"Frankly, I'd rather have some coffee," the captain said, which was not a big surprise to anyone. She glanced back at her spouse. "Can I get you anything, darling?"

"No, thank you, Kathryn."

As Janeway disappeared into the house, B'Elanna nudged the Borg's foot with her own. "So how do you like the local scenery? You've been gone quite awhile."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Kathryn had many places to show me," she allowed in such a dry tone that it made the engineer smile. "Along with many stories."

B'Elanna was surprised when Janeway abruptly came through the screen door only a minute later, without the coffee she had wanted.  The captain's face was pale, and considerably disturbed, B'Elanna exchanged a glance with Ro, who shook her head ever so slightly, indicating she didn't know what was going on either. Janeway didn't offer any explanation, quietly taking a seat next to Seven who had begun a discussion with Phoebe about the behavior of dogs. Neither the Borg nor Janeway's sister appeared to notice the captain's disturbance.

"Here we are." Gretchen and Michael slipped through the door, carrying a tray with lemonade and mugs of coffee. "Enough for everyone."

"Actually, I'm a little tired, Mother," Janeway said in a wan tone. She stood up and nodded toward the door. "It's been a really long day. I think I'll head for bed."

"Of course, darling." Gretchen offered her a bit of an odd look, but did not object as the captain disappeared into the house amid a chorus of 'good-nights' from the rest. B'Elanna thought Seven looked a bit surprised at her spouse's abrupt departure, but the Borg politely made her excuses as well, and immediately followed her spouse into the house.

Leaving the Klingon to wonder what exactly was going on.

"Annika."

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"I saw my mother kissing Commander Patterson in the kitchen."

"Indeed."

Janeway waited for some further reaction from her spouse, surprised when nothing else was forthcoming. She took a breath and reached over for the lamp, activating it with a touch, producing a soft glow that spread throughout the small bedroom. These walls had been witness to most of Kathryn's youthful crisis, and despite the fact it was currently furnished in a rather generic manner as a spare room, her childhood possessions long since stored away, this bedroom still felt like her haven against the outside world.

"It wasn't a friendly kiss, either," she elaborated squeamishly, deciding that perhaps her spouse simply wasn't understanding all the ramifications of the situation. "Not on the cheek or anything. It was a ... passionate ... kiss on his mouth, the type that ... lovers use."

She almost choked on what she was saying, but there were no other words to adequately describe what she had witnessed in the kitchen. The vision of her mother and Commander Patterson clenched in a romantic embrace against the kitchen counter, Gretchen's arms entwined tightly about the younger man's neck as she kissed him with amorous abandon, was etched indelibly into the captain's mind, and it served to send a shudder of dismay through her, even now. She still wasn't sure how she had managed to silently close the door and return to the porch, walking on unsteady legs that threatened to give way any second.

"I understand," Seven said, greatly unmoved at Janeway's explanation.

A suspicion descended upon the captain and she rose up on her elbow, looking down at her spouse lying in the bed next to her. Seven was stretched out on her back, hands linked primly over her stomach on top of the blankets, dressed modestly in a flannel nightgown that had once belonged to Phoebe. The captain had found it in the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and insisted that they be 'properly dressed for bed while they were staying in her mother's house'. Seven had obviously not understood the necessity for such formality, but she had silently acceded with nothing more than an odd look at her partner.

"You knew." Janeway was absolutely certain of her assertion when she saw the Borg's eyebrow quirk in acknowledgment. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Seven blinked. "I tried," she responded reasonably. She paused, eyeing her askance. "That was the reason I asked ... on two separate occasions ... to speak to you privately before we left Voyager. If you had allowed me the 'moment' as you promised, the encounter downstairs would not have come as such a shock to you." She paused, reconsidering that. "Or perhaps it would still have been shocking, but the encounter in the kitchen would not be so unexpected."

Janeway didn't know what to say, the storm of emotion leaving her weak and feeling quite helpless in the aftermath. "When ... why..." She stopped, taking a deep breath as she lay back down on the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Oh, my god."

Seven was silent for the moment. "Is that why you insisted on going to bed so early?" she asked finally. "Even though everyone else remained on the front porch to talk?"

The low murmur of voices from the front porch had fallen silent some time earlier, and the captain suspected that everyone else had either gone home or went to bed. Only the steady buzz of the crickets remained, along with the rustle of a light breeze through the leaves of the large maple outside, whispering as it wafted through the window screen, making the lace curtains sway slightly, bringing with it the scents of growing things in the cool summer evening.

"I couldn't look my mother in the face," Janeway admitted in a raspy voice, her hand over her eyes. "My god, when did this start?"

"Not long after contact with Starfleet Command was initiated," Seven explained readily. "At Admiral Paris's request, Commander Patterson was given the task of personally delivering our letters to Gretchen. The second time he visited, he accepted an invitation to join her for lemonade. Phoebe says that the romance progressed from there until they became intimately involved a little more than a month ago."

"How do you know this?" Janeway demanded, exasperated as she glanced over at her spouse.

"Phoebe described the courtship in her most recent letter to me." Seven paused. "I am surprised that Gretchen did not write you regarding this." The captain was silent, and Seven glanced over at her. "Kathryn?"

"I haven't ... had a chance to read the last letter I received from her," Janeway admitted reluctantly. "I guess ... I thought that since we were returning home anyway, I could catch up on any news in person."

"You are certainly 'caught up' now," Seven pointed out brightly.

Janeway flinched. "Why didn't you tell me before dinner? Or when we took our walk afterward?"

Seven looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Before dinner, I was busy helping Gretchen prepare the meal. During our walk, it never seemed to be 'the right time'. You were so happy to be back on Earth, and completely involved with showing me around the farm, pointing out all the various places you enjoyed as a child, that I did not wish to ... unduly upset you. I had planned to tell you tonight as we readied for bed, but you were most uncommunicative."

Janeway frowned. "It was a little too late at that point, anyway," she said irritably.

Seven hesitated, then nodded. "You are correct," she said, her tone apologetic. "It was a 'calculated risk' on my part that did not succeed. Obviously, I am not as adept with making such decisions as you are. I should have found a way to tell you during our walk."

"Well, it's water under the bridge now." Janeway wasn't particularly happy with her spouse, but realized there wasn't much that could be done about it. She paused. "He's more than twenty years younger than she is, you know," she added in a tone of outrage. "He's my age ... young enough to be her son!"

"I am more than fifteen years younger than you," Seven noted dispassionately. "Young enough, technically, to be your 'daughter'. Why is the difference in age all right for us to overlook in our relationship, but not all right for your mother?"

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, and then shut it, frowning as that comment stymied her for the moment. "It's not the same," she said lamely.

"I fail to see how it is different."

"What does she see in him?"

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps the very traits that you initially found engaging. He is handsome, charming and very intelligent. In addition, he appears to be in good health and undoubtedly maintains a robust physicality due to a Starfleet regime of cardiovascular pursuits."

"Oh, god," Janeway moaned, covering her face again. "What does he think he's trying to accomplish with her?"

Seven was obviously surprised, raising up on an elbow to look down at the captain. "Gretchen is an extremely beautiful woman, Kathryn. She is highly intelligent, her personality is one of warmth, humor, and strength, and her enthusiasm for life is very engaging." She raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, she is the very sort of woman I would find most attractive ... were I not already involved with you."

"Seven!" Janeway exclaimed, dropping her hands to the blanket over her chest and staring at the young Borg in astonishment, "that's my mother you're talking about!"

Seven sighed. "She is not just your mother, Kathryn. Gretchen holds several degrees in history, art and political science, serves on the board of education for the Agricultural Park, and holds a seat on the local governmental council. She privately tutors various children and young people, while maintaining this farm. She is very capable and quite vibrant." She paused, tilting her head slightly as she thought about it. "In fact, she is very much like you in many ways."

Janeway took another, steadying breath. "You got all that about my mother from the letters you received?"

"Phoebe has been quite informative in describing life here in the Agricultural Park so that I would be properly prepared for it. The rest I can clearly determine on my own."

"Oh, god."

Janeway simply didn't know what else to say, completely overwhelmed by this news. Worse, it felt as if Seven had been keeping things from her, which was not entirely fair to the young woman. It was Janeway's fault that she hadn't read the most recent letter from her mother, nor taken the time to discuss certain things in greater detail with Seven. Of course, she could point to her many duties as Voyager's captain as a form of excuse, but the truth was, she had been too casual with the personal things she needed to know prior to her return, certain that she would have plenty of time to deal with them once she was home. She believed that preparing Seven for her new life on Earth was far more important than her own adjustment.

It had never once occurred to her that Seven would be far more knowledgeable about what was going on in Indiana than she was.

She exhaled and tried to compose herself. Beside her, Seven remained quiet, though she reached out and took the captain's hand, granting Janeway the space to come to terms with this in her own time and in her own way. Despite her unsettled emotions, the captain felt a rush of tenderness ripple through her, realizing that she did have the most wonderful spouse for troubled times such as these.

Annika is correct, she reminded herself sternly, allowing the touch of her partner to help soothe her. If the age difference was irrelevant to her and Seven, then certainly it should be to her mother. She did wonder, however, why Gretchen would settle for a commander when she had been married to an admiral. She reached over and turned out the light, allowing the peaceful darkness to descend upon them once more.

Suddenly, an odd sound reached her ears, one that seemed, in Janeway's opinion, very out of place and inappropriate in this most Traditional of houses.

"That's B'Elanna and Ro," Janeway said, her anger rising at the younger couple's inability to keep their hands off each other. She sat up, frowning as she glared into the darkness, hearing the unmistakably rhythmic squeak of bedsprings. "I can't believe those two. Have they no discretion?"

Seven tilted her head, listening intently for a moment. "That is not B'Elanna and Ro," she corrected with complete certainty. "They are in the guestroom downstairs. That sound is coming from the larger bedroom down the hall."

Janeway stared at her spouse blankly before the reality of what her partner was saying washed over her. She had assumed Patterson had left hours ago, though now that she thought of it, she could not remember hearing the sound of the hovercraft departing to take him to the Portage Creek Transport Station.

"No," she whispered in absolute horror.

Seven glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as other sounds became audible, soft cries, feminine in nature, far more vocal than the lower, masculine grunts of pleasure, escalating slightly as the rhythmic sounds increased.

"Now, I know why you are so verbal," the Borg noted placidly. "It is hereditary."

Janeway did not wait for the crescendo of what was going on in her mother's room, leaping out of bed and grabbing her robe and slippers before she dashed out the door of her bedroom. She was vaguely aware that she was being childish, but she couldn't help herself, clamping her hands over her ears as she slipped down the hall to the stairs. She descended them in a rush before tiptoeing to the front door which she closed softly behind her. She remembered to breathe again once she was running across the lush lawn, not entirely sure where she was going, except that it was away from the house and all the things that she wasn't ready to deal with. Her feet took her unerringly on a path that had not been traveled in quite some time, and she discovered that her willow tree was still there, still offering shelter beneath its drooping branches to a distressed and confused Kathryn Janeway, just as it had so many times before. She sat down on a low branch, not really thinking, just trying not to fall apart.

She started abruptly when a comforter was draped over her shoulders and Seven of Nine sat down beside her.

"Your footwear is inadequate for this terrain, or for this time of the evening," the Borg noted sternly, regarding Janeway's slippers which were soaked through from the dew on the grass, the hem of the captain's nightgown sodden and dripping around her ankles.

Janeway did not reply, but was somehow not surprised to discover that, not only had Seven taken time to retrieve a comforter, she had also pulled on her uniform boots and brought the captain's along as well. Janeway did not object as the young woman carefully removed her saturated footwear, drying the captain's feet with a corner of the blanket before she slipped the boots over them. Janeway shivered, and Seven moved under the blanket with her, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman as she pulled the padded quilt around their bodies.

"It will be all right, Kathryn," she whispered in a comforting tone, cradling her like a child. "I do not understand why this disturbs you so much, but I do know that it is not a bad thing. Commander Patterson makes Gretchen happy in a way that she was not, the last time I saw her."

Janeway swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "I know," she husked, tears welling in her eyes. "It's just that ... Daddy ..." She took a breath, frustrated and angry, not sure where it was springing from. "It's as if she's forgotten all about Daddy."

"I am sure she has never forgotten your father, Kathryn," Seven assured her quietly. "But she has been alone for a long time, far longer than you were on Voyager when I became involved with you. Would you really wish to deny her happiness?"

"Of course not," Janeway whispered. "It's just so hard to imagine she could be happy with anyone else. It makes me feel ... a little sick inside, I guess."

Seven kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I am sorry this is so painful to you, Kathryn. I do not believe it was anyone's intention to hurt you."

"I know," Janeway said, some small sense of perspective able to reassert itself after picking itself up shakily from where the blow had flattened it. "I guess once I have a chance to get used to it, it won't be so ... horrific. Patterson's not such a bad guy." She paused, breathing deeply. "But Annika, he's only a commander."

Seven made a small sound in her throat, one of sympathetic amusement. "I am 'only' a lieutenant. Besides, I am sure Gretchen did not take his rank into consideration when she chose him as a mate."

"'Mate'," Janeway echoed. She closed her eyes. "Oh, god."

Seven stroked the captain's hair soothingly. "Kathryn, you will adapt," she assured her, her arms strong and warm around Janeway, offering all her support and love without hesitation. "It will be all right."

The captain was not sure it would ever be all right again, but she also knew she couldn't continue to react this way. It was completely immature and totally unlike the strong, capable woman she perceived herself to be, regardless of how adrift she felt at the moment.

"Annika," she whispered finally.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"I think we should live in San Francisco," Janeway said, swallowing hard. "Rather than stay here with mother and ... and Commander Patterson."

Seven hugged her. "That is ... wise."

Janeway inhaled deeply and buried her face into the warm haven of Seven's neck, wondering how she was ever going to come to terms with this one.

Seven of Nine blinked as the unfamiliar sound of birds spilled into the bedroom through the open window, the astonishingly loud noise of their cries penetrating her unconsciousness and prodding her awake. She yawned, aware of her partner's warm body sprawled bonelessly over hers, soft skin pressed deliciously against her own, wonderfully unencumbered by flannel or anything else. She didn't know what time she and Janeway had made their way back to the house, but everything had been dark and quiet as the couple tiptoed up the stairs and into their room. They had removed their damp nightgowns, draping them ... and the comforter ... over the chair beneath the window to dry, then crawled between the sheets, and immediately fell asleep in each other's arms.

Breathing deeply, Seven inhaled the fresh morning air, aromatic with the light perfume of flowers, along with the more musky and pleasantly familiar scent of her partner. She dipped her head, seeking out Janeway's mouth, capturing it in a slow, melting kiss, love for her partner filling her with its strength and joy. The slumbering captain stirred at the touch of Seven's lips, returning the kiss with drowsy pleasure, a soft sound rippling up from the base of her throat. Seven deepened the embrace, joyfully tasting the sleepy flavor of her spouse, enjoying the way Kathryn returned her touch, the older woman operating purely on instinct at this point, not really awake.

Running her hand down to Janeway's breast, she cupped the small mound of flesh, chafing the nipple which grew hard beneath her thumb, inciting a moan of pleasure from her spouse. Desire heating her blood, Seven urged Janeway over onto her back, conscious of the smaller dimensions of this bed as compared to the one they had shared on Voyager, careful to keep them both away from the edge. Her lips traced a searing path down the older woman's throat, falling upon the captain's proud little breasts with avid delight, teasing the soft brown nipples with her lips and tongue, feeling Janeway's fingers tangle in her hair.

Suddenly, the captain froze, her entire body becoming a taut band of resistance, and greatly confused, Seven raised her head.

"Kathryn?"

"I can't," the captain responded in a hushed whisper. "Not here, and not now."

Seven hesitated, and then rolled back onto her side of the bed. She reached out with her left arm and pulled the captain to her, drawing her head down onto her shoulder. "Very well," she said quietly, resting her cheek on the soft, auburn hair. She did not entirely understand why Janeway was reacting this way, but she knew she had to respect it. She rubbed the captain's back idly.

"I'm sorry, darling," the captain said miserably.

"I understand, Kathryn," Seven assured her, pressing her lips consolingly on the captain's brow. "It is impossible to make love when you are uncomfortable with your surroundings."

"I shouldn't be uncomfortable," Janeway replied fretfully. "This is my home."

"I do not believe you feel that way any longer." Seven looked down into the classic features, studying her intently.

Janeway hesitated. "No, I don't," she admitted sadly.

Seven exhaled slowly. "I think that you need to speak with your mother, Kathryn. You must attempt to resolve this, or you will continue to be unhappy, regardless of where we live."

Janeway looked quite resistant to the idea, her jaw firming in an obvious gesture of disagreement, and Seven brushed her fingertips along the squared line in an attempt to soften it.

"It does not grant you any benefit to avoid it."

"Damn," Janeway said finally, reluctance evident in every muscle. "I hate this."

"I know." Seven hugged her sympathetically. "But it must be done."

"Can't I save it until after we move to San Francisco?" her spouse asked plaintively. "Over a comm link?"

Seven frowned. "Kathryn, you are being irrational."

Janeway frowned and looked stubborn, but rather than pursue it, Seven chose instead to nuzzle her spouse lovingly on the neck, kissing a soft line up to her ear.

"I do love you, Kathryn," she murmured into the delicate shell-like organ.

Janeway immediately melted and managed to look ashamed.

"I'm being an ass, aren't I?"

"You are definitely displaying certain obstinate traits," Seven noted, then paused before adding with a touch of dry humor, "However, your stubbornness is one of the reasons I fell in love with you."

"Well, your patience is one of the reasons I fell in love with you," Janeway muttered, snuggling closer. "God knows, you've had plenty of cause to call on it lately."

Seven smiled, but did not disagree. Closing her eyes, she relaxed against the soft pillows beneath her, feeling drowsiness steal over her. She felt Janeway nudge her.

"Are you going back to sleep?"

Seven sighed. "Do you have some objection? It is still very early."

"I thought we could cuddle for awhile," the captain suggested wistfully.

"I thought we were cuddling."

"I want you to kiss me while we're cuddling."

"Ah," Seven remarked, opening her eyes so that she could look down into her spouse's classic features. "That can be arranged."

"Good, I'd hate to have to make it an order," Janeway muttered as she raised her face.

The Borg smiled and inclined her head, closing the distance between them so that she could cover the firm lips, settling into a series of slow, melting kisses that enhanced her desire without satisfying it. However, she suspected it was also arousing the captain, despite Janeway's earlier objection to making love in this room, and before long, she felt the older woman's hand slip up to cover her breast, fingering the pink nipple gently.

"Kathryn?" she whispered against the tender mouth.

The captain hesitated. "Maybe if you're very, very quiet," she told her sternly.

Since Seven was far less vocal than Janeway while sharing pleasure, she wasn't sure why the captain thought she needed to establish such a parameter for her, but she did not argue.

"I shall be very quiet," she promised, her voice barely audible. Janeway immediately increased the intensity of her caress, rolling Seven's nipple between her fingertips, the point hardening as it tingled beneath the provocative touch.

It was almost more exciting this way, Seven decided as they continued to kiss deeply, stroking each other with languid intent. Limiting any noise they made seemed to enhance the sensation, and the sounds they did make ... the moist exchanges of their lips and tongues, the whisper of increased respiration, the subtle hiss of skin slipping gentle over curves beneath the blankets which lay over their entwined bodies ... only served to heighten the stimulation being provided the Borg. However, Janeway was not normally this restrained, and Seven worried briefly if being forced to remain so silent was inhibiting the captain's enjoyment in their lovemaking. It was a theory that ultimately proved false when she finally slipped her fingers between her spouse's legs, and discovered a wildly abundant moisture awaiting her in the delicate heat. Janeway made a low sound in her throat, unable to stifle it, and she promptly buried her face into the Borg's neck to muffle any further outburst.

Seven caught her breath at the sensation of wetness and tender flesh beneath her touch, fondling the hard little ridge with slow, easy pleasure, aroused by the liquid sound that her fingers made in the viscous moisture, before she finally slipped into her partner with loving tenderness. Janeway shuddered violently, expressing her arousal in an uncontrolled physical display in lieu of a verbal one, clinging to the Borg with one arm wrapped tightly around Seven's neck as, with the other, she explored the young woman intimately, her sticky caresses also audible in the quiet room. Seven smiled as she felt Janeway shudder a final time, the clinging walls fluttering around her fingers, the captain muffling her helpless whimper into the young woman's neck. Then, Seven lost her smile as her own climax was triggered by Janeway's insistent fingers, the pleasure sweeping over her as she jerked once, and then again, the pulsations growing almost unbearable before she was finally able to relax, completely sated.

The couple lay for some time in lazy contentment, basking luxuriously in the warm afterglow, still snuggled together in the center of the small bed.

"I guess there's something to be said for having to be quiet," Janeway mumbled finally.

Seven lifted a brow. "I do find the size of the bed limiting, however."

Janeway chuckled softly. "No need to worry about that, love. I intend to have a new bed put in our house in San Francisco as soon as I can."

The Borg smiled lazily and nuzzled her partner, nibbling along her neck. "Would that not encourage us to disturb the neighbors?"

"Not at all," the captain promised. "The house is separated from others by lawns and quite a few trees, all surrounded by a high, cedar wood fence. You'll love it ... and so will Jake."

Seven ran her fingertips lightly up Janeway's arm, noting the goose bumps that rose in the wake of the caress. "I'm sure he will." Carefully, she trailed her fingertips over to the captain's breast, stoking the nipple gently.

"Stop," Janeway warned softly, even as she arched closer. "We got away with it once ... I don't think we could a second time. People will be up soon."

Seven smiled and nipped at her ear, but as she did, she heard the door open downstairs and footsteps head for the main floor bathroom. Ro, the Borg decided after listening closely for a few seconds, the tread lighter and more graceful than B'Elanna's more aggressive and brash footsteps. Seconds later, the Borg heard movement in the bedroom down the hall. She knew it contained its own private ensuite, which was fortunate, because she did not know what Janeway would do if she ran into Michael coming out of the upstairs bathroom in a state of dishabille.

"You are correct," she said regretfully as she eased her embrace. "I hear our housemates stirring now."

"Then we should get up as well," Janeway said, rolling out of bed where she drew on her robe, moving over briefly to the chair by the window to check on the nightgowns and comforter.

"Still damp," she noted with dissatisfaction as she prodded them.

The Borg tilted her head. "In the future, perhaps you should consider dressing in more suitable attire before dashing from the house in the middle of the night."

Janeway shot her a baleful look and Seven grinned faintly at her.

"You're not funny," the captain said.

"In fact, the comment I made was quite amusing. Assuming I correctly understand the concept of observational humor."

Janeway stared at her, then was forced to look away as an unwilling grin touched her lips. "I think I liked it better when you didn't understand humor." The captain retrieved some clothes from her bag. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Would you appreciate some company?" Seven asked hopefully.

The captain shook her head. "I would love that, but you can't." At the doorway, she paused and turned back to look at her spouse wistfully. "Annika, I promise, once we're moved into the house in San Francisco, things will be more normal between us. There won't be this need to ... watch what we say and do."

Seven nodded. "Very well, Kathryn," she said, though she wasn't exactly sure why they had to 'watch' themselves in Gretchen's house. Janeway being 'Human' again, no doubt.

The captain disappeared, and Seven slipped out of bed, pulling on the crimson robe she had brought with her from Voyager. As she did, it struck her again that this was not a temporary stopover, not a leave where she would soon be returning to the ship quarters that she had considered her home for so long. She felt her heart start to pound unpleasantly, and it occurred to her that, as long as she concentrated on Janeway's disturbed emotions, she didn't have time to recognize how unsettled she was feeling. She took a slow, measured breath, forcing down her fears into a more controlled part of herself.

Standing in front of the window, she looked out at the early morning mist which was rising on the fields, tinted gold in the soft light of the rising sun. It was beautiful, she decided, even strangely familiar in a way, but obviously it was not home, not even to Janeway. She hoped that her partner was right, that once they had changed their place of residence to San Francisco, they would be able to establish a more normal routine and begin to feel less displaced.

The sound of the door opening behind her made her turn, and she was disturbed to discover that more time had passed during her reverie than she had realized. Janeway was dressed in a light blue shirt and some form of blue, denim trousers, with brown hiking boots on her feet. She looked completely different than she did in her Starfleet uniform, and again, Seven felt an odd sort of disquiet in her chest.

"What's wrong?" Janeway asked quietly as she picked up her brush and began to sort out her hair, still damp from her shower.

Seven shook her head. "I believe ... I find myself missing Voyager."

Janeway immediately stopped what she was doing and came over to slip her arms around the Borg's waist. "I do, too." She shook her head, looking somewhat dismayed at the admission. "Ironic, isn't it? We spent so many years trying desperately to get back to the Federation, and now that we're here, I feel out of place. I guess what they say is true; you really can't go home again."

Seven was appalled at that saying, and it must have shown on her face because Janeway winced and sighed softly. "Don't listen to me," she begged the young woman, hugging her tightly. "I'm still cranky from last night." Reaching up, she kissed Seven apologetically on the mouth. "Let's just get on with it, darling. Go take a shower, dress in the clothes I put in your bag, and then you and I will have some breakfast before we visit Phoebe's studio."

Seven bent her head, allowing the captain to nuzzle her chin. "Very well, Kathryn." She paused. "What clothes?"

Janeway quirked her eyebrow and drew away, finding the young woman's carryall and pulling out pants similar in material to what the captain wore, along with a white shirt and some undergarments.

"This is what we wear on the farm," Janeway explained with a bashful grin as she held them out. "I replicated them for you before we left Voyager. I also have some boots for you, as well." She pointed at the hiking boots tucked in the corner, and the Borg marveled that the captain had found time to acquire all these things ... especially considering that she couldn't find time to read her correspondence. She was also quite touched, realizing that her spouse had been attempting to smooth Seven's assimilation into the Indiana culture by providing her with the proper clothing.

Seven accepted the garments, leaned down to kiss Janeway softly on the lips in gratitude, and obediently headed for the bathroom where her spouse had left her some dry towels. She discovered that the combination tub and shower unit was still damp from the captain's usage, and somewhat unpleasant. Seven studied it with a certain amount of misgiving, wondering why there was a fabric curtain rather than a door or a force field to keep water from spilling onto the floor. There was only the one shower nozzle as well, and it took the young woman some experimentation before she was able to find a proper temperature. She hoped that the house in San Francisco was more technologically advanced.

The young woman showered quickly before drying herself off and dressing in the clothes Janeway had given her, finding the pants somewhat binding around the hips and crotch. She remembered wearing similar garments in a holodeck simulation involving a Mississippi riverboat, and fortunately, the 'jeans' seemed to grow more comfortable the longer she wore them, the fabric molding to her body. She went into the hall, noting that the polished wood floor was cool through her sock feet, as well as somewhat slippery ... a possible hazard that made her step lightly. As she returned to the bedroom, she saw that Janeway had made the bed and was kneeling on the carpet next to the open door of the closet, looking at a stuffed bear that was similar to the one Naomi had possessed on Voyager. The captain had a bittersweet expression on her face, and her blue-grey eyes were distant as she held the toy before her.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway glanced up at her, her mouth twisting a bit. "It's Bobo. I found him on the top shelf of the closet."

Seven gracefully lowered herself to the rug beside her spouse and regarded Janeway compassionately.

"Your childhood toy. The confidanté I replaced."

Janeway managed a smile. "Fitting, isn't it? My finding this, I mean. Certainly I've been acting like a child since I got here."

"Not a child," Seven corrected immediately. "Merely an individual trying to redefine her parameters."

"I'm surprised he wasn't thrown out," Janeway said absently, running her fingertips over the glass eyes and the fuzzy muzzle.

Seven reached out and took it from her, the captain regarding her in surprise.

"I am glad he was not," Seven told her soberly as she held him on her lap. "He is required to fulfill his role as confidanté to our firstborn."

Abruptly, Janeway's face became soft and vulnerable, displaying that half-pleased, half-abased expression that Seven adored so much. She leaned forward, putting her hands on Seven's forearms which were wrapped around the bear, and kissed her gently, a sweet acknowledgment of love and tenderness.

"You're absolutely right, darling," she said with rueful agreement. "It's time for me to stop living in the past and start looking to our future."

Seven pulled her onto her lap, along with the stuffed toy, holding them both tightly.

"I concur, my Kathryn," she whispered into her partner's hair. "We both shall."

Epilogue

"Samantha T. Cogley."

Sam Cogley winced as she heard the unpleasantly strident tone of her Ferengi landlord. The maintenance for her office was a little behind ... all right, it was a lot behind ... and she wondered if she pretended she wasn't there, he would possibly go away.

"I know you're in there," he snapped, pounding on the door. "You can't fool me."

She kept her mouth shut, watching the padds in front of her shiver and vibrate perilously close to the edge of her desk . She held her breath, and then looked up when the pounding stopped.

"Fine, don't answer the door, but that won't change the facts," he continued yelling through the portal. "If you don't have the rent by the end of next week, I'm having you evicted."

Since she also lived here, that was not an idle threat and she winced. Finally, the sound of him stomping away granted her a temporary reprieve, the pounding of his steps interspersed with muttered comments about how stupid he was for managing to rent space to the only lawyer in Federation history who didn't know how to make a credit.

That was an exaggeration. She knew how to make credit. She just didn't do it on a regular basis. Frowning, she picked through her padds, looking for something a little more substantial than the bills that most of them had downloaded from her mailbox on Spacenet. She was astonished to find an inquiry as to her availability to take a new case and intrigued, she scanned it, blinking as she read the details.

A Borg? On Earth? Requiring legal counsel to define her rights as a citizen of the Federation within the confines of Starfleet?

Well, that certainly wasn't the normal type of case she accepted ... for one thing, the client offered payment up front, she noted sardonically ... but it did sound interesting and if she didn't make some credit soon, she could lose her office. A lawyer without an office was like ... well, a Starfleet captain without a starship. Somewhat adrift and without resources.

She keyed in the communications system, finding out how soon she could catch a transport to Earth. To Portage Creek, Indiana, to be precise. She was somewhat appalled to discover that she also had to make arrangements for primitive ground transport from the spaceport because this client was apparently in the middle of a Traditionalist community of some sort that prohibited transporters and air trams.  She added it to the expense account she intended to present along with her services.

So long as long as this Phoebe Janeway could pay, Samantha was going to take this case. A credit was a credit, and frankly, it had been too long between making any. What would her namesake, the renowned Samuel T. Cogley think? Always get the money up front, he had told her on more than one occasion.

Certainly, old Sam had been one hell of a lawyer, actually defending the legendary Captain James T. Kirk in a Starfleet court martial. Defending a Borg would have been nothing more than a walk in the park for him.

Perhaps it might even be a walk in the park for his great, great granddaughter.

The End

•  This is the 43rd installment in the Just Between series.

•  It was posted on September 1st, 2000.

Just Between Past & Present
G. L. Dartt

Sweetness and spice were the first things Kathryn Janeway smelled as she descended the large staircase leading to the main floor of the Indiana farmhouse. Behind her, moving gingerly in unfamiliar clothing that included jeans and a brand new pair of  hiking boots, Janeway's spouse of more than a year raised her head. Statuesque, with ice-blue eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Seven of Nine was an exceptionally beautiful woman, even with the remaining metallic implants on her face giving stark testimony to her eighteen years as a Borg drone.

"Cinnamon," Seven identified in her precise tones, sniffing delicately.

"I think Mom made rolls," the compact woman suggested over her shoulder as the couple reached the polished wood floor of the spacious foyer.

Smiling as she turned down the hall leading to the kitchen situated at the back of the house, Janeway pushed through the swinging doors to be greeted by the full, intoxicating fragrance of breakfast being prepared by her mother. In a nook by the screen door leading to the back porch, brightly lit by the morning sunshine sparkling through large windows, Ro Laren and B'Elanna Torres were already seated at an ancient wooden table, their plates stacked high with pancakes, sausage and bacon, which both Starfleet officers were consuming hungrily. They were dressed in T-shirts and shorts, obviously prepared to enjoy their first full day of leave.

"I guess I was wrong," Janeway said, smiling warmly at the distinguished woman behind the kitchen counter. "I thought you made cinnamon rolls."

"I did," their hostess replied dryly as she picked up a dish of warm rolls and placed it on the counter. "Take them over to the table, please."

Tall, slender, with snowy hair and brilliant, sapphire eyes, Gretchen Janeway was as competent in the kitchen as her daughter was on the bridge of a starship, and perhaps far more creative. She quickly resumed her initial task of pouring a golden liquid into a hot, flat pan, the sizzle and smell providing a sharp memory of comfort and warmth to Kathryn who had eaten pancakes countless times in this bright kitchen while growing up.

"May I assist?" Seven asked eagerly, leaving her partner's side to join the older woman behind the counter. Despite her technical nature, Seven was a Traditionalist at heart, and the art of preparing meals from scratch was something she found quite enjoyable.

It was a trait her partner did not share. A proud proponent of the more modern advantages of living in the 24th century, Janeway flashed a tolerant smile at Seven before snagging the rolls and quickly finding a seat in the breakfast nook. Depositing the bowl in the center, she set to work filling her plate from the other platters scattered over the table. As she acquired her food, she glanced across the table at the other women, offering a cheerful "Good morning."

Ro quirked a dark eyebrow. "Good morning, Captain."

B'Elanna, dark-haired with a proudly ridged forehead that denoted her Klingon heritage, returned Janeway's greeting with a respectful nod, and mumbled a "'Morning, Captain," through a mouthful of pancakes and syrup.

Technically, Janeway wasn't really B'Elanna's captain any longer, though Ro remained under her personal command. With the exception of Gretchen, all the women had just returned to the Federation after spending seven years in the Delta Quadrant. Commanded by Janeway, USS Voyager had been on a mission in the Bajoran Badlands when an entity known as the Caretaker pulled the vessel 70,000 light-years from home. A former member of the Maquis, Lt. Torres had subsequently become the ship's chief engineer, while Lt. Ro had filled many roles, from assistant security chief to helmsman. Seven of Nine, meanwhile, had served as the ship's astrometrics officer after being severed from the Borg Collective the fourth year into the journey.

As Seven and Gretchen joined them at the table, her mother bearing another large platter of pancakes, Janeway wondered if the other women were feeling as disoriented as she was. This should be a time of great joy, and while Janeway acknowledged that returning to Earth after so long was a true accomplishment, at the same time, she was first and foremost a starship captain. To be suddenly deprived of her vessel, dry-docked at the Utopia Planitia shipyards to be upgraded to current operating standards, had left her feeling somewhat adrift.

For Seven of Nine, who had been assimilated by the Borg at age six, and had never actually set foot on the Human homeworld before yesterday, Janeway believed it had to be even more unsettling. The composed young woman did not show it as she took a seat next to her spouse, however. Instead, she filled her plate with pancakes and proceeded to consume her breakfast, slicing apart small bites with precision, and transferring them to her mouth with reserved efficiency.

"Captain, Laren and I are heading up to Mars to check out living arrangements," B'Elanna said as she filled her plate again. "Is there anything you or Seven want us to do for you while we're there?"

Janeway glanced at Seven. "I can't think of anything. Can you?"

Seven shook her head. "No." She shot a look at her partner. "I have an appointment to meet with Dr. Brahms in three days time ... on 'Monday' ... for a tour of the TPG facility.  Today, I intend to visit Phoebe's studio."

"We'll visit my sister after breakfast," Janeway promised before turning her attention back to the engineer. "So you're planning to live on Mars?"

"It'll be close to work," B'Elanna said, shrugging slightly as she referred to her posting at Utopia Planitia.

"Seven and I will be living in San Francisco, assuming she doesn't choose a posting with the Vulcan Science Academy or the Trill Ministry of Technology, of course." She directed a small grin at her partner, receiving a warm glance from the pale eyes in return.

Apparently, this was news to Gretchen, and the older woman frowned as she looked up from her plate. "You know you're welcome to stay here, Kathryn," she said, her voice troubled. "In fact, I was under the distinct impression that you and Annika were going to live here on the farm while you were on Earth."

Janeway studied her fork intently, wondering how she was going to handle that one. Staying with her mother had been the initial plan, especially since it would give Seven a support structure in the event Janeway ended up working away from her. The night before, however, the captain had discovered something that had changed her mind and made it very uncomfortable for her to remain in Indiana. As it were, if she hadn't seen through an upstairs window that Commander Patterson's hovercraft was gone, she might not have come downstairs at all, not ready to face the man from Starfleet Headquarters who was her mother's new lover.

"I think my house in San Francisco will be a little more convenient for the time being," Janeway said, lying as smoothly as she was capable of ... considering who she was speaking to. "Particularly since there will probably be a lot of briefings held at Starfleet Command in the next week or so."

Gretchen did not accept that explanation. "It takes thirty minutes for a hovercraft to travel to the Portage Creek Transport Station from here," she argued mildly. "Then, seconds to transport from there to the San Francisco terminal which is only five minutes away from Starfleet Command by air tram. This is your home, Kathryn, and certainly Annika should be allowed time to become used to Indiana."

Janeway chewed her mouthful of bacon uncomfortably. "We don't want to be a bother," she tried, once she had swallowed. "It's too much work for you to have us stay here." She realized how absolutely lame that sounded when Gretchen stared at her disbelievingly for a moment, before turning her attention to Seven, who was halfway through her stack of pancakes.

"Annika, why doesn't Kathryn want to stay here?" Gretchen asked the Borg directly, something that was an absolute disaster as far as the captain was concerned.

"Kathryn does not wish to remain where you and Commander Patterson copulate," Seven replied readily, before her spouse could forestall her response, the young woman not even looking up from her meal.

B'Elanna choked on her milk, the white liquid gushing from her nostrils, and Ro Laren immediately stood up with her empty plate, taking it over to the sink.

"I think we should go," she suggested quickly to her lover who had finally stopped coughing and sputtering, wiping her face with a cloth napkin. "We'll want to get to Mars as early as possible to look at what they have to offer in living quarters."

"You're absolutely right," B'Elanna wheezed in agreement and got up from the table, swiftly carrying her plate over to the counter, gobbling up the final bites as she went. "Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Janeway," she mumbled through a full mouth. "We'll have your hovercraft back by this evening."

The last sentence was flung back over the engineer's shoulder as the two women bolted from the kitchen through the back door, the screen slamming shut behind them. Janeway placed her fork carefully on the side of her plate and bowed her head, wishing she could go with them, and very conscious of her mother regarding her steadily with dark eyes.

Belatedly becoming aware that perhaps she should not have responded to that question, Seven had raised her head, looking back and forth between her spouse and mother-in-law uncertainly.

"Kathryn?" she prompted inquiringly. "That is the reason."

"Yes, Seven," Janeway said in a low voice. "It is, but I rather you had not put it so ... bluntly."

"Well, I'm glad she did." Gretchen's color high as she stared at her offspring. "Obviously, we have a failure to communicate here, and I think we need to straighten it out. I suppose my next question is: why is Annika able to give me a straight answer when my own daughter refuses to?"

"It's not like that, Mother," Janeway tried, finding it hard to look at her parent, concentrating, instead, on the butter melting on the top of her pancakes. "I just think that you should have some time alone with ... er, Patterson."

"His name is Michael," Gretchen corrected, frowning. "He and I have been together for over a month. Certainly you knew that when you came here."

"Actually," Seven offered helpfully, "she did not know until last night ... when she discovered you and the Commander kissing in the kitchen."

Janeway raised her eyes to meet Seven's, and the Borg abruptly subsided, clearly startled at what she read in them.

"I believe I should visit Phoebe now," the young woman added hastily and stood up. She hesitated briefly over her plate as if wondering if she should take it with her, but another glance at her spouse served to make up her mind and she followed B'Elanna and Ro's lead in fleeing ...  out the back door and across the lawn toward the house where Janeway's younger sister lived.

That left Janeway to face her mother all alone, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at the older woman. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said, attempting a conciliatory tone. "I didn't want to ... start this discussion in such a way."

"I don't understand, Kathryn." Gretchen was very stern. As an educator, Mrs. Janeway had developed the sort of voice that made one feel like they were six years old again. Janeway had developed a similar intonation and inflection for dealing with lower ranked officers who had done something that displeased her. "I wrote to you regarding all of this in my last letter. How could you not know about Michael and me until last night?"

Janeway squirmed.

"I ... was very busy in the weeks leading up to our return," she explained weakly. "Not to mention how buried I was in paperwork after arriving at DS9. I kept meaning to get to it, but ... well, you know what it's like in Starfleet."

Gretchen held her gaze, and then seemed to sigh, looking away as she shook her head. "You mean I know what it's like for you in Starfleet. You're just like your father that way, concentrating so hard on your duties that you forget to take care of your personal life. I had hoped Annika had cured you of that, but it's obvious she still has a long way to go."

Janeway was immediately defensive, then annoyed at her mother for making her feel that way. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't read it, but how was I supposed to know that you were saving the news that you had become involved with a man half your age for your last letter?"

She tried biting her tongue, but it was far too late, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Gretchen raised an elegant eyebrow. "Michael is not half my age," she corrected mildly. "He is not any younger than ... than Annika is in comparison to you. What difference does it make?"

They just had to keep throwing that one at her, didn't they? Janeway thought irritably.

"Fine," she said acerbically. "But he's only a Commander, Mother. What kind of future does he have if that's all he's managed to achieve at his age?"

Astounded, Gretchen stared at her, and then abruptly, she smiled.

"First he's too young for me, then he's too old to have a future in Starfleet," she said dryly. "Do try to make up your mind, Kathryn. In any event, what exactly does his rank have to do with anything?"

"Daddy was an admiral," Janeway said frostily.

Gretchen sobered and looked at her daughter. "That's certainly not why I married your father," she said, suddenly quite serious. "Honestly, Kathryn, I think it's time we had a talk about Edward. That seems to be what's really bothering you here."

Janeway felt a sudden sinking in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered, if she ran very fast, if she could catch up to her spouse ... or better yet, Ro and B'Elanna, who were probably halfway to Mars by now.

Ro stared out at the passing terrain, the wind stirring her short shock of dark hair as she guided the hovercraft along the line dictated by the onboard satellite uplink. "Prophets," she said to her companion, raising her voice in order to counteract the sound of the air rushing into the open top of the vehicle, "I hope I'm that energetic when I'm almost seventy."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Seventy? Kahless, I hope I'm that energetic when I'm thirty!" she responded. "Did you hear Mrs. Janeway and Patterson last night? I thought they were going to come down through the ceiling near the end." Then she started to laugh, a full-bodied, Klingon explosion of humor.

Ro glanced at her and snorted, infected by the other woman's amusement as she tried to keep her hands steady on the controls. "You know, if we hadn't be messing around ourselves at 2:00 in the morning, we wouldn't have been awake to hear it," she reminded through her laughter, which made B'Elanna whoop louder and the Bajoran bite her lip to hold back another onslaught of mirth. Her eyes were wet when she finally looked over at her lover who had collapsed back against her seat.

"I don't know what I expected when I met the captain's mother, but it certainly wasn't this."

"I bet the captain didn't either," Ro said dryly. "In fact, when I asked Seven yesterday, she told me the Captain didn't know about Gretchen and Patterson. Obviously she found out."

"How could she not after last night?"

That almost started Ro laughing again, but she swallowed it, concentrating on turning into the gate for the Portage Creek Transport Station, located just outside the city. Overhead, shuttles cut silvery trails through the azure sky, and she had to search for a place to park the hovercraft, finally finding a small lot next to the terminal. She shut down the engines, and the hovercraft eased down onto its landing struts in the small amount of shade offered by the building. The roof automatically slid shut over them, protecting the cockpit while the vehicle was dormant.

"Should we find a way to secure this, somehow?" the Bajoran asked as she and her lover climbed out of the hovercraft.

"This is Earth," B'Elanna reminded her, regarding her across the roof. "No crime. It's unlikely anyone will try to steal it. Besides, you're taking the activation card with you, right?"

Ro held up the small, colored square containing the navigational array controls which she had removed from the slot on the dash. "Right here."

The women walked across the tarmac, already uncomfortably warm from the morning sun, and entered the cool dimness of the terminal building. They paused just inside the doors, looking around the busy lobby in an attempt to regain their bearings. A large board offered three different options for reaching various destinations: a bullet train, which, according to the times displayed next to the San Francisco listing would take four hours, an air tram that would take an hour, or the public transporters which were practically instantaneous ... once a person had their turn on the pad. Of course, as officers, the couple always had the prerogative of using Starfleet transporters rather than the civilian ones, and the sign gave them directions to that area of the terminal as well.

B'Elanna nudged her partner. "You know, I think we should be in uniform. It might save us some unnecessary explanations."

Ro nodded. The uniforms they had worn yesterday were dirty, and there had been no replicators at the farm, other than one in the study that was too small to replace their clothing. The shorts and t-shirts they had on were perfect for being on leave, but not necessarily appropriate for attempting to secure living quarters as Starfleet officers. B'Elanna gestured at a nearby kiosk, which provided a variety of items for travelers, and the two women moved over to it. Utilizing their Starfleet identity chips, they programmed the large replicator to create new uniforms, and changed into them in the nearby lavatory, tucking their other clothes in a locker which their Starfleet clearance also accorded them free of charge.

Feeling suitably attired once more, the couple began their search for the Starfleet transporter area, finally discovering it tucked away in an obscure corner of the terminal building. Ro blinked as she read the sign.

"Service temporarily canceled? What the hell does that mean?"

Frowning, she and B'Elanna peered through the glass partition, cupping their eyes with their hands, and then glanced at each other, stymied. The room beyond was the standard transporter station, and though the console was shut down, there didn't seem to be any damage nor were any repairs being undertaken. They spotted a passerby dressed in the outfit favored by terminal personnel and hailed him.

"It's because of the war," the young man explained, surprise edging his tone at their ignorance. "Starfleet can't afford the staff to keep these smaller transporter stations manned. They withdrew their personnel a couple of years ago." He paused. "We really don't get enough Starfleet traffic through here to make it worth their while, anyway."

"But it still works?" B'Elanna said. Obviously, she was not anxious to wait with the large crowds in the lounge for the civilian transporter, or avail herself of the equally crowded tram service.

He hesitated. "I guess. But you'd need at least a level one operator, and I don't think there are any free at the moment."

Ro held up her hand. "We both have level two transporter experience. We've served on starships."

"Okay, but you might want to run a diagnostic first," he warned as he moved over to the door. " I can't remember anyone coming by for maintenance since it was shut down."

"Not a problem," B'Elanna told him. "I'm a chief engineer."

Reassured, he shrugged and used some kind of pass card to unseal the glass door. Ro wondered why it was secured, and then as several children chased each other through the lobby, she had her answer. The last thing Starfleet wanted or needed was inexperienced people trying to transport from one of their unmonitored transporter stations. She noticed the door sealed automatically once it closed behind them.

B'Elanna didn't waste any time in activating the console and initiating a level three diagnostic, her dark eyes intent as she studied the readouts. Ro took a seat on the dais, waiting for her partner to finish the scan.

"You know, he was right," she offered suddenly, after observing B'Elanna for a moment or so.

B'Elanna glanced up. "About what?"

"The lack of Starfleet officers through here. You're the only other uniform I've seen since we entered the terminal. It used to be that you couldn't travel anywhere on Earth without seeing all sorts of Starfleet personnel. Now, they're few and far between."

"We knew that the war took its toll," the Klingon reminded her.

"I know," Ro said. "But knowing it and actually seeing it are two different things. Everyone that can accept duty, is off planet, either on a starship or a space station." She paused. "Makes you wonder why they would want Janeway in an administrative position, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," B'Elanna said, in an odd sort of tone.

The engineer shot her a particularly intense look, obviously a warning of some kind, and Ro took a breath, abruptly remembering where she was ... a Starfleet facility that undoubtedly recorded all usage of the equipment. That log might even extend to a visual recording of the entire room, and she realized what her lover was trying to say with her eyes. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, grateful for the reminder. It might not be necessary in such a small transporter station, particularly one that had been shut down from lack of service for a couple of years, but one couldn't be too careful, not even on Earth.

"I do wonder how long it'll take before Starfleet's in good enough health to start assigning personnel to these type of posts again," B'Elanna added casually, keeping the conversation going, but not on the track that Ro had so imprudently started down.

"Someday," Ro agreed. She lifted her head. "Anything?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "Seems fine. The purser was right, however. The last maintenance check on this was dated two years ago."

Ro frowned. There was something in the Klingon's voice, something that only a person who knew her as intimately as the Bajoran might pick up on. B'Elanna didn't say anything further, however, and before long, she had the controls set to the main transport terminal in California.

Stepping onto the transporter dais, which only contained four places, Ro stood within the circle of light, waiting for her lover to join her. B'Elanna programmed in a delay, and moved quickly to the platform. Ro felt the dissolution of her molecules, and an instant later, she was standing on a pad in the very busy San Francisco Transport Center. The small alcove they were standing in had no one waiting by the console, of course,  but other, much larger alcoves in the area, keyed to larger cities like Toronto, Chicago and Indianapolis, had a steady flow of commuters moving off them to make way for the next transport.

Ro felt B'Elanna take her arm, and sensing that her lover had something specific in mind, she didn't protest as the Klingon guided her away from the transporter section and headed in the direction of the interplanetary shuttle gates maintained by Starfleet. If there had been no officers in the commuter crowd at the Portage Creek station, the exact opposite was the case here. Civilians were few and far between, while uniforms covered all sorts of species, from a Horta humping its way along a specially designed walkway ... silicon-based to protect against the acid the alien leaked from beneath its underside ... to the wispy, blue-skinned, snowy-maned Andorians, who usually traveled in fours.

Once the couple had made their way to the outbound spaceport, they checked in for the Mars shuttle, and found a place to sit down in the thronged waiting area.

"What's up?" Ro asked, studying the Klingon intently.

B'Elanna took a deep breath and glanced around. Apparently assured that the lounge was far too crowded to be monitored closely, she leaned forward.

"The last official maintenance on the Portage Creek station was two years ago, just like the guy said. But there was an unofficial alteration of the console only a week ago, when a program was installed to monitor the transporter buffer."

Ro frowned. "For what purpose?"

"I didn't want to linger in case the diagnostic was being monitored, but it looked to me like it was keyed to activate on a Borg signature."

Ro felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach, knowing there was only one person with a Borg signature who would have cause to use that particular transporter. "What would happen in that event?"

"I don't know," B'Elanna admitted. She paused, then met Ro's eyes, her gaze dark and troubled. "It's possible that such a program could alter the transporter coordinates set in the buffer. A person could end up in an entirely different location than the initial coordinates intended, without leaving any kind of trace signature."

Ro stood up abruptly. "We have to get back to Indiana, before Seven uses that transporter."

B'Elanna tugged her back down. "First of all, Seven is spending the day on the farm. Besides, we'll only look suspicious if we go rushing back there."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Ro demanded, staring at her.

"I'm not sure," B'Elanna explained, looking unhappy. "Hope we can finish up our business on Mars as quickly as possible?"

Ro exhaled audibly. "I shouldn't have left them, Lanna," she said with honest regret. She thought about it. "I need a way to warn them."

"Without letting on you're warning them," B'Elanna agreed uncertainly. "That could be tough." She paused, her eyes searching the lounge, and then she brightened. "I know, let's tell transport operations that we noticed the Portage Creek transporter wasn't working well when we used it, that we experienced dizziness or something. That might focus attention on a place that Section 31 doesn't want it focused on."

"That's a fantastic idea," Ro said, staring at her lover with admiration. "It's vague enough that it probably wouldn't be considered out of the ordinary, and there's no way to prove we didn't experience a few minor symptoms that could be attributed to practically anything. In the meantime, the transporter console will be torn apart and Section 31 will stay well away from it, suspecting but never knowing for sure if their tampering was spotted. After all, they had no way of knowing Gretchen would invite us to stay at her home, or that we would utilize the transporter first."

"There's a terminal officer over there," the Klingon said, pointing at the desk near the gate.

Ro nodded, and the women went over to register their complaint with the officer who looked appropriately concerned and promptly requested a medic. Ro and B'Elanna were scanned by a terminal health officer who, of course, found nothing wrong, but he did recommend that they not utilize any transporters again that day, and report immediately to a medical center if the symptoms persisted. More importantly, the operations officer immediately dispatched a maintenance team to Portage Creek, just to be on the safe side. By the time this was completed, the next Starfleet transport had landed and was ready to be boarded.

"While we're on Mars," Ro muttered quietly, as she found a seat in the shuttle's cabin, "We can call Janeway and tell her that the Portage Creek transporter is offline.  Until then, we should just try to act natural."

"Yes?" B'Elanna said, raising an eyebrow. Before Ro could object, the Klingon leaned over, grasped her by the front of the tunic and kissed her passionately. "Like that, you mean?"

"Very funny." Flushing hotly and unable to prevent it, Ro growled and crossed her arms over her chest as B'Elanna snickered beside her.

Once they had launched, Ro unbent enough to reach over and take the engineer's hand. "I know it was difficult last night to ... uh, restrain yourself," she said quietly. "Particularly after..."

"After we were serenaded by the captain's mother and her boy-toy?" B'Elanna finished for her. "It occurred to me that if we could hear them, they most certainly could hear us." She flashed her a grin, which revealed slightly pointed teeth. "I'll survive, but I will admit, the sooner we have our own place, the happier I'll be."

"We could get a hotel room."

"I know," the engineer agreed. "But if we did, I think Janeway's mother would be hurt. If we have our own place, however, then we'll have a legitimate excuse to leave."

Ro considered that for a moment. "If you say so," she allowed uncertainly. "You're the one who's half-Human so you'd know better how they'd react than I would."

"Trust me; she'd have her feelings hurt," B'Elanna said with assurance. She leaned back in her seat and looked out the viewport which revealed a starfield and the rapidly dwindling blue and green planet behind them. "I think I'll take a nap. Wake me when we get to Marsport."

Ro nodded and settled back in her seat as B'Elanna dozed. The Bajoran occupied herself with observing the other passengers on the shuttle. They were all Starfleet officers ... mostly young ... a couple of cadets from the Academy, and a single Lt. Commander who looked as if he had retired several years earlier.

Another sign of the war, the Bajoran thought somberly. The officers of her age and experience had been on the front lines, and had been the first to fall. Starfleet had been left with the very young or very old to hold most of the administrative positions. It was to be expected that starship captains would want to snap up personnel from Voyager once the Intrepid-class vessel had docked at DS9. Ro was merely surprised they had been left with enough crewmembers to ferry the ship back to Earth Station McKinley.

She spared a moment to wonder about those crewmates who were gone, people like Tom Paris, Kes and Neelix who had accepted postings with the USS Enterprise, commanded by Ro's previous captain. Others like Ensign Wildman and family, who had remained on DS9, while Ensign ... now Lieutenant ... Vorik had become chief engineer on the USS Venture, and Lt. Commander Nicoletti had taken over operations on DS3. The Bajoran hoped they were all doing well. In a way, she envied them. At least they knew what was expected of them and what they would be doing in the immediate future. Until certain decisions were made, Ro's future was left completely up in the air. As Janeway's adjunct, she would be going wherever the captain did, but that had yet to be determined.

The shuttle began the descent through the atmosphere of the ancient red planet, vectoring toward Mars Colony One ... or Marsport as it was known colloquially ... and Ro nudged her lover awake. B'Elanna jerked and grumbled a bit, but she stretched, throwing off the last dregs of her drowsiness. Stepping easily in the lighter gravity of the red planet, the couple filed out behind the rest of the passengers and headed for the terminal exit.

They had a lot to do before they returned to Earth.

Seven slowed to a walk as she crossed the grassy expanse leading to Phoebe's house. Off to the side, Jake, her Irish Setter, ranged freely, sniffing everything within reach with the type of enthusiasm that only youth provided. Meanwhile, Petunia, Gretchen's black retriever, ignored the romping of the other dog and concentrated on plodding steadily behind Seven's heels. The animal had reached the grand age of twenty, which Seven knew was quite ancient for this species, but though the dog's motion was stiff, she was still determinedly mobile.

The Borg discovered she admired that in some odd way.

"Annika!"

Blinking, Seven looked up, shading her eyes with her hand as she observed the house. Phoebe Janeway leaned over the railing of an upper-story redwood deck, waving at the Borg. At the same time, from around the corner of the structure, two dogs came streaking across the lawn to greet Jake. They were both Irish Setters, one so similar to her dog that Seven suspected he was actually the same animal ... not entirely impossible since Jake had come from an alternative reality, given to the couple by the Kathryn of that universe, Commodore Johnson.

"Up here," Phoebe instructed, motioning to the side of the house. "Go around and take the stairs."

Seven raised her hand in acknowledgment and did as instructed, moving around the large structure to where wide stairs led up to the deck. As the Borg scaled them, she studied her surroundings, finding the mixture of wood and glass aesthetically pleasing. This section sported large windows, allowing large amounts of light to pass through to the studio contained within this side of the house. French doors separated the studio from the large deck where Phoebe was standing next to an easel, wearing a white tunic and dark trousers, both of which were splattered liberally with varied blotches of paint, colors that corresponded to the dabs on the palette she held in her left hand. The unfinished image on the easel was of the stream that flowed in the hollow next to the house, and Seven studied the canvas with interest.

"You have never painted that particular view before?" she asked curiously.

"Many times," Phoebe admitted with a laugh. "I use it as my foundation." At Seven's blank expression, she waved her hand at the stream as she explained. "Sometimes, I get a little blocked, and by painting that particular scene, it gets me back into seeing color and light properly. Of course, it helps that the stream is never the same on any given day ... it's always changing the particular channels it cuts through the rocks, and altering the way the sun reflects off the water. The trees shade it differently depending on the time of day, and there is always new growth coming up on the banks every year."

Seven contemplated that, amazed that the young woman found evidence of such constant, ongoing change in the pleasant brook burbling its way next to the house. "Intriguing," she said finally. She glanced through the doors of the studio where several other easels stood and paintings were stacked everywhere. "Do you usually paint outside rather than in your studio?"

"In the summer," Phoebe said, dabbing a bit of color on the canvas, standing back to judge the effect before adding more. "The light is much better. In the winter, of course, it's too cold, but even then, I come out on the more pleasant days."

The young woman glanced at her curiously, as if suddenly realizing something was missing.

"Where's Kathryn?"

Seven tried to remain impassive. "She and her mother are discussing our living arrangements," she explained grimly, and filled Phoebe in on the events of the morning, as well as those of the previous evening. By the time she was done, the young woman was bent over, weak with laughter, although Seven was completely unable to comprehend what her sister-in-law found so amusing.

"God, poor Kathryn," the painter wheezed finally, wiping the tears from her eyes and picking up her brush again, filling in a good portion of the background with large strokes of green. "You know, half the problems she has are things that she manages to get herself into."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed as she took a seat on the wooden bench which ran along one end of the elevated deck. From this vantage point, she could easily see the main house on the rise, as well as Jake, who had remained downstairs on the lawns, romping exuberantly with the other dogs. He was certainly achieving a proper amount of exercise on Earth, she decided with a certain satisfaction. Petunia, on the other hand, had accompanied Seven up the stairs, and was now lying under the bench by the Borg's feet.

After determining that her pet was all right, Seven turned her attention back to Phoebe and for the next several moments, watched the young woman quietly, fascinated by the creative process she was undertaking. Seven had observed Kathryn painting many times in the da Vinci holoprogram back on Voyager, but Phoebe's technique was different. She attacked the canvas with enthusiasm, effusing every motion with a certain joy and elation that the captain had lacked. Indeed, Kathryn had always seemed a little detached from her artistic endeavor, almost as if she did not have the same love for it. Seven supposed that was an accurate assessment, since Kathryn only painted for the purpose of pursuing a hobby, whereas to Phoebe, it was her life's work. Her dedication to her painting was more in keeping with the intensity Kathryn brought to the bridge of her starship.

The slender woman was different from the captain in other ways, standing a few centimeters taller than Kathryn, with long, dark red hair that curled thickly down her back, and level grey eyes that did not change color as the captain's did. She was more slender across the shoulders, lighter-boned, favoring the maternal genetics of her Taylor heritage rather than the compactness of the Janeway paternal genes. She was also more vibrant, less apt to conceal what she was feeling and more forward in saying whatever was on her mind. In some ways, Seven was astounded that the two women, Phoebe and Kathryn, had been born of the same set of parents. She wondered if, when she and Kathryn had children, they would be distinctly different in personality, or very similar, as Azan and Rebi, the Borg twins, had been.

"Can I get you something, Annika?" Phoebe asked, finally noticing the intent scrutiny of her audience. A sheepish expression ghosted across her face. "I'm such a horrid host. You come to visit and I spend my time painting. I'm sorry."

Seven tilted her head. "Painting is a creative endeavor that completely consumes one's attention."

"Something like that," Phoebe smiled, wiping her hands on a rag and putting her brush into a container. "But that's no excuse for bad manners." She motioned toward the studio. "C'mon, I'll show you around."

Seven was escorted into the airy room which smelled of paint and turpentine and the warm scent of polished wood. She scanned the various works in progress with interest, noting several that were half finished.

"Why do you not complete one painting before you begin another?" Seven asked.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Seven blinked, unsure how to respond to the comment as she followed her sister-in-law into the main part of the house. Like Gretchen's home, it was decorated in a Traditionalist style, but Phoebe was obviously more inclined to a higher technology. Her replicator was much larger, located in the kitchen, though it was concealed in a pantry behind a large wooden door. The rest of her appliances sported touch-pad controls and remotes rather than the more antique style present in Gretchen's house. Seven examined one of the devices, realizing belatedly that it was a coffee maker.

"Where is the technological line drawn for this Agricultural Park?" she asked as Phoebe busied herself with replicating some drinks and snacks ... for which the Borg was suitably grateful considering she had been unable to finish her breakfast.

"In this park, it's the 20th century," Phoebe explained. "Some concessions have to be made, however. In that century, they utilized a great deal of machinery that ran on internal combustion engines. Those aren't ecologically sound, thus more current technology is used in machinery, such as with the hovercrafts and the tractors. We all have replicators and communication arrays, of course, but how they're displayed, and how much they're used depends on an individual's tastes. I remember that we also had a sonic shower when we were growing up, but Mom had it removed after Kathryn and I moved out. Now, all Mom's plumbing is hydro-based, which she considers more ... well, traditional."

Seven frowned as she sat down at the artist's kitchen table and acquired two of the muffins from the plate Phoebe placed in front of her. "What is the purpose of pursuing such an existence?" she asked. "Particularly on this planet which is so advanced."

"It's because Earth is so advanced, Annika," Phoebe said, munching on a melon slice. "Traditionalism stems from the concept that Terrans rely far too much on technology to perform tasks, instead of keeping alive the skills that might be needed when the technology fails. It's a way to prevent Humans from becoming helpless."

Seven eyed the younger Janeway. "It has been my experience that Humans are rarely helpless," she noted dryly. "Regardless of their level of technology."

"Because we're so bloody nasty when we're crossed." Phoebe surprised the Borg with the admission, who had not expected such candor from someone about her own species. "As the Dominion discovered." She sipped her juice and directed the conversation back to more pleasant areas. "Keeping in touch with our past is another reason for living this way. It's a way of accepting the challenge of doing things the old fashioned way, from cooking to cleaning to ... well, painting." She shrugged. "A lot of art is computer-generated now, holographic ... few people on Earth still work in the paint medium."

"This, then, is a way of retaining your history?"

"The best parts of history, of course, not the self-destructive aspects like bigotry or intolerance." Phoebe raised her glass. "After all, Annika, the past makes us who we are, and it's important that we learn from it, not forget it in the assumption that it has nothing to offer our lives in the present."

"I believe I understand," Seven allowed, taking another muffin from the plate. "However, I am still not clear on why one would wish to actively live in such a fashion. Surely one can appreciate the past without needing to reproduce it?"

"Why do you enjoy cooking from scratch?" Phoebe countered.

Seven paused. "It is more satisfying to create meals than replicating them." She thought about it. "I believe I comprehend now."

Phoebe offered her a bright smile. "I know Kathryn isn't really into her heritage, but it's fairly important to Mother, and I suppose, to me, as well."

Seven nodded. "Do not be so sure Kathryn is completely impervious to her Traditionalist background. In some ways, I think she is more traditional than even she is aware."

"If you say so." Phoebe was obviously skeptical. She nodded at the crumbs littering the plate. "Can I get you some more?"

Surprised, Seven realized she had consumed all the muffins and fruit that the other woman had replicated ... and that she was still hungry.

"Please," she said, somewhat bashfully. "When Kathryn and Gretchen began their discussion, I though it prudent to ... leave. I did not have a chance to finish my breakfast."

Phoebe laughed. "Mom must have loved that," she said as she got up and replicated some more muffins. "She hates when people waste food. She'll probably give Kathryn a lecture about it."

"I suspect you are correct."

"By the way, I retained the services of a civilian lawyer for you," Phoebe offered casually as she returned to the table. "Her name is Samantha Cogley and she works out of a colony in the Aris sector. I decided to go with an independent rather than one attached to the larger firms who tend to have close ties with the Federation Council and Starfleet."

Seven blinked, surprised. "Indeed. Do you truly believe I require such counsel?"

Phoebe stared at her soberly. "I don't know, Annika. You might not, but I'd rather you have one and not require her services, than need one and not have her available. Consider it a preventive measure. She's arriving on Earth tomorrow and you'll be able to meet her."

Seven frowned faintly. "I do not believe Kathryn will be pleased to hear this," she said, testing her newfound awareness of her partner's responses to things outside Starfleet since returning to the Federation.

"Probably not," Phoebe allowed, shrugging lightly. "But take my advice and don't be so concerned about what Kathryn will and will not be pleased to hear about. Sometimes, my beloved sister doesn't always know what's best in some situations, though she'd probably be the last to acknowledge that."

The Borg was uncomfortable to hear such an assessment, and Phoebe must have picked up on that, reaching over to touch Seven on her hand.

"Don't worry about it," she insisted. "This is just a meeting. If you don't like each other, I'll pay off the retainer and life will go on."

"No harm done."

Janeway sat in her kitchen chair and crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she were anywhere but where she was. The last thing she wanted to do this bright sunny morning was to talk with her mother about Gretchen's relationships with men ... regardless of who they were.

"I loved Edward very much," Gretchen began calmly, resting her linked fingers on the tabletop as she gave Janeway her full attention. "He and I shared something very precious and loving." She regarded her daughter intently, as if expecting some sort of response.

"But you resented him for leaving," Janeway noted with what she hoped was a perfectly neutral tone. "You resented Starfleet for taking him away."

Gretchen shook her head. "Not at all." She surprised the captain, who decided from the other woman's expression that her mother was being perfectly honest. "I knew he was dedicated to Starfleet long before I married him, and it didn't matter to me. I accepted that he would sometimes have to put his duties before anything else, even our relationship. I loved him enough to be content with whatever part of himself he could give me, and he did his best to give me as much as he could. When we were together, nothing else mattered but how we felt about each other."

Janeway frowned. "Then why ..." she started to ask, then paused, firming her jaw. She didn't know the right questions to ask in this situation and it frustrated her.

"However," Gretchen continued, "your father and I made the classic mistake that all young people make."

"Which was?"

"We thought we had all the time in the universe." Sorrow suddenly edged Gretchen's gaze. "In the beginning, it didn't matter that he had to be away so much, because we knew in our hearts that one day we would be together. Then you came along, and Phoebe, and we didn't notice the years slipping away, didn't realize how much we were losing in the process of always working for that intangible future when we could be a real family. It was a mistake that cost us dearly in the end. Your father gave his entire life to the Cardassian situation ... a situation that never ended."

Janeway felt the sharp, familiar pain strike her chest, as if her father's death had happened only yesterday. It was something that, in many ways, she had not fully come to terms with, though she had never really examined why, beyond a few minor discussions with Seven late at night. As it were, those discussions were far more than she had ever shared with anyone else, including this woman sitting across from her.

"Until now, perhaps," Janeway managed in a dispassionate tone. "My understanding is that the war practically destroyed the Cardassian empire. They're just not the same threat they used to be."

"Not before they introduced us to a much larger one, however," Gretchen said, and there was a bitterness in her voice, a type of anger and resentment that was completely unlike anything Janeway had ever heard from her kind, generous mother. "They provided the Dominion with the toehold into the Alpha Quadrant that the Founders were looking for." Janeway blinked as her mother stared at her with an unusual intensity. "Kathryn, I missed you dearly while you were in the Delta Quadrant, but I have to admit that there were several times when I was very glad you were well away from all that was happening."

Janeway quirked her eyebrow. "It wasn't exactly a stroll in the park out in the Delta Quadrant either, Mother."

Gretchen nodded. "I know," she said, reaching over to put her hand apologetically on the captain's forearm. "However, the threats you faced were ones I could only imagine. The Dominion and the Jem'Hadar were very real to us in the Federation, and the casualty reports were something that had to be seen to be believed. A great many were officers our family knew personally; associates and subordinates of your father, officers who had gone through the Academy with you, had served with you later in your career. Kathryn, once you see the memorial standing outside Starfleet Headquarters, I think you'll be horrified at just how many names you'll recognize etched in the stone."

Janeway dipped her head and loosened her defensive posture a bit. Her mother was correct in saying how hard it was to understand what it had been like. In the time she and Voyager had been lost, Earth had twice been on the verge of being conquered, first by the Borg and then by the Dominion. Sometimes Janeway felt a small sense of responsibility for that, as if by being lost, she had denied herself the chance make a difference in the Alpha Quadrant ... if only she had made other choices, things would not have become so dire for her friends and family.

Seven, of course, would point out that such thoughts were arrogant in the extreme and that Janeway was being completely irrational.

"I guess it's something I'll never truly appreciate," the captain admitted finally. "Just as I don't believe anyone other than myself and my crew will truly understand what being stranded in the Delta Quadrant was like."

Gretchen nodded soberly. "In any event," she said, dragging the discussion back to the initial topic, "you need to understand how time slips away if one isn't careful, Kathryn. I was so happy to hear that you and Seven were taking time off to have children, but it can't stop there. You have to be there for your family. Don't make the same mistakes your father and I did. It wasn't just a matter of Edward and I suffering because we were apart; you and Phoebe suffered greatly from your father's absence. We did our best, but there's no question that there were lasting repercussions with you girls that our choices were responsible for."

Janeway nodded, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm trying very hard to be there for Annika, and I'm prepared to do the same for any children we have," she assured her mother quietly. "I'm not going to let any child of mine feel the way that..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"That you felt growing up," Gretchen finished for her unhappily.

Janeway felt her heart twinge at the sorrow in her mother's eyes, and she reached over, taking the older woman's hands in her own. "Momma, it's not like we had such a bad life," she said, trying to inject a note of encouragement into her tone. "You were always here for Phoebe and me, and we grew up in a wonderful community. It gave us a firm foundation."

Gretchen sighed. "At least, we got that much righ. We didn't want to drag you all over the Federation, living in one station or planet after another, following your father around from post to post. It wouldn't have given him any more time with us, because of the sensitivity of his work, and it would have left the rest of us unsettled. I hope that you'll take that into account when you consider your next command."

"I'm not going to leave my family behind, Mother," Janeway objected mildly. "Besides, it's not like it was back then. Ships have been designed to allow for families, and I learned on Voyager that it can be done no matter what the circumstances ... you can have a family and still thrive both professionally and personally."

Gretchen smiled. "I'm glad, Kathryn. If any couple can make it work, it will be you and Annika." She paused. "Your father truly regretted all the times he had lost with you."

Janeway felt her throat close up. "I know," she said huskily. "We spoke of it before ... just a month before he died."

Gretchen abruptly withdrew her hand and got up, stalking about the kitchen like a tiger in a cage. Janeway was startled, staring at her mother, amazed by the sudden display of fury, and not understanding where it originated.

"I know about the conversation you had with him," Gretchen snapped, and gradually the captain became aware that it was herself who her mother was so angry with. "It should never have come to that. For you to have gone through your life believing that we weren't proud of you, that you weren't good enough..." Her voice cracked as she turned to look directly at the captain. "That will always be our greatest shame, Kathryn. Your father never forgave himself for that. I know I'll never forgive myself for it."

Janeway was embarrassed by the admission, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "Mother, it wasn't that bad. I mean, you know how kids are... I developed an idea in my head, and it got blown all out of proportion. I let it control my life. That wasn't your fault."

"Yes, Kathryn, it was. You were our responsibility and we failed you. We never realized how your drive to be the best and your desire for perfection were actually a cry for attention from us. You needed us, and we never saw it. I hope you can forgive us..."

"Momma," Janeway said, a little more forcefully than perhaps she needed to. "It's all right. There's nothing to forgive. It just ... it happened. It's in the past."

Gretchen shook her head, her shoulders slumping as some of her animation drained away. "Just another case of letting time get away from us." She looked very weary as she resumed her seat. "We thought we could have it all, but there was never enough time. Then your father took you up in that cursed fighter and all our chances were gone. He had no business being in that ship."

The pain that struck Janeway then was much stronger, and for a few seconds, she actually had trouble breathing. "Momma," she said after a moment, somehow managing a calm tone, "It was his job to test the Terra Nova. It had been through many flights, and what happened was just a fluke, solar wind shear..."

"It was an experimental prototype," Gretchen responded hotly. "It wasn't an admiral's place to be flying it, and it certainly wasn't your place to be there with him."

Janeway couldn't believe it. Her mother had never before indicated any hint of such anger in front of her children. Did that mean Gretchen finally felt comfortable enough to share such thoughts and emotion with her, that she felt her eldest daughter was now mature enough to handle them? Was this a result of all those deeply personal and vulnerably open letters which Janeway had written to her mother, never believing they would be sent, only to have them transmitted during an unexpected contact with Starfleet before she could edit them? Was that why Gretchen was now treating Janeway as someone who was not just her daughter ... but as as someone she now considered an adult and possibly even a friend?

If so, Janeway would rather she didn't. The events that happened on that ice floe on Tau Ceti were still too painful for her, too ... shameful. She hadn't even spoken to Seven about what had really occurred so many years ago, burying the incident away from her conscious mind, keeping it locked tightly away until an alien encounter in the Delta Quadrant unsealed the door it was hidden behind. The recovered memory forced her to recognize the incident itself, but she hadn't achieved any kind of resolution with it despite her best efforts.

She found it hard to look at Gretchen and she turned her head, staring through the screen of the back door. "Mother, it was a long time ago. It's in the past."

Gretchen looked at her, surprise ghosting over her face. Obviously she had detected a note of something unusual in her daughter's voice and her eyes narrowed, but when she spoke, her voice was very gentle.

"Kathryn, it's all right to be angry with the situation that took away your father. It's perfectly natural, in fact. I realize that there's nothing that could have been done about it, nothing could have saved him or Justin, but I can still profoundly regret the circumstances that surrounded the incident." She paused and offered a wan smile, obviously making an attempt to ease the stark tension suddenly reverberating through the kitchen. "I can still curse Edward's bullheadedness that finally got him into a situation he couldn't get out of. You knew him as your father, Kathryn, but I knew him as the man I loved, and I would be the first to admit that he had a certain arrogance that believed he was the best person for the job, even when, perhaps, it would have been better to let someone else handle it."

Gretchen caught her breath, the lines on her face deepening slightly, and for a moment, Janeway had a sense of how much of a stranger her mother really was to her, how much this person had experienced in her life that the captain was simply unaware of. Shocked, Kathryn abruptly understood how very little she knew about Gretchen as an individual, how little effort she had made to know her as a person with her own hopes and dreams, rather than always placing her in a nice, comfortable niche as being just her mother.

It shamed Janeway profoundly.

"I can even forgive him for it, because that arrogance and stubbornness were part of the reason I loved him so," Gretchen continued softly. "But for taking you along, for almost getting you killed ... that was something that took a lot longer for me to forgive. In some ways, it's possible that I never will. It was one thing to risk his own life ... it was quite another to risk yours or that of  your fiancé. Justin was a good man who deserved better than to die so young."

Janeway wanted to weep ... or laugh hysterically. Her mother didn't know who was really responsible for what happened. She took a deep breath, and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.

"Momma, I know that you and Daddy loved each other," she said, striving for a calmness in her voice that she was far from feeling. "I guess that's why I was a little upset about you and Commander Patterson. It came as such a surprise. It's not that I have anything against the man personally; in fact, I rather like ... uh, Michael."

By directing the discussion to an area where her thoughts would not be so dangerous, Janeway hoped it would divert her away from the dark feelings surrounding the incident on Tau Ceti. Compared to those devastating emotions, discovering that her mother was involved in a romantic relationship with a younger man now seemed to be quite inconsequential. She could barely remember why it had upset her in the first place.

Gretchen looked vaguely puzzled. "I'm glad, Kathryn. He really likes you and Annika a great deal, as well. In fact, he admires you in particular for your accomplishments in the Delta Quadrant. I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to know him better on your trip from DS9."

The captain bent her head. "That's my fault. I should have read your last letter, but I was so intent on making sure Seven was ready for life on Earth, that I didn't really understand I would also have some adjustments to make. I guess there was a part of me that just believed everything would be exactly the same as before I left ... at least when it came to you. Now I see how selfish that was of me..."

Gretchen made a small sound of dismay. "Kathryn, don't," she said, reaching over and grasping her daughter's hand tightly. "It's perfectly natural to assume such a thing. Certainly, if I hadn't met Michael, I would probably be living exactly the same sort of life that I had prior to your being lost. Don't blame yourself for being ... Human." Her gaze grew more intent. "Kathryn, I want you to know that just because I have feelings for Michael, it doesn't mean I loved your father any less ... any more than your loving Annika now means your feelings for Justin were any less than what they were."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "I know, Momma." She forced a smile. "I just want you to be happy. I want to know that Patterson is a good enough man to accomplish that for you."

"He is," Gretchen allowed, and her bright blue eyes seemed to glow with that particular sheen of happiness and new love. "Oh, Kathryn, it's so amazing when love appears out of the blue like this. No one could have predicted it, and I suppose, that's part of its miracle. Michael is such a wonderful person ... he's kind and caring and treats me just like a queen. I'm his whole world." Her smile grew a bit roughish. "He's also a very good lover."

"Mother!" the captain squeaked, outraged.

Gretchen laughed. "Honestly, Kathryn, I raised you as a Traditionalist ... not a prude."

Janeway eyed her mother with exasperation. "I doubt that you want to know how skilled Grammy Taylor finds her lovers to be."

Gretchen immediately sobered, wincing slightly. "Touché, Kathryn. You're right." She paused. "I'm sorry if we ... disturbed you last night. It was so late ... I suppose we thought everyone else would be completely asleep and perhaps we forgot ourselves a bit in our ... ah, enthusiasm." Janeway felt herself blush, not knowing what to say to that, and Gretchen offered a rueful smile. "I certainly don't want my personal relationship to drive you and Annika out of the house."

Janeway shook her head. "It's not that, Mother. The truth is, Annika and I would be more comfortable in our own space."

Gretchen nodded, a wry smile touching her lips. "I suppose I can relate to that. Heaven knows, I'm quite self-conscious about you being just down the hall now, though it never crossed my mind last night. Maybe using the house in San Francisco until you build your own home here is exactly the right thing to do. That parcel of land near the pond you've always had your eye on has been cleared by the Park Commission for construction whenever you're ready."

"Someday, Momma," the captain responded quietly. "There's never been any doubt in my mind about the fact that I would make my home here." Despite everything else she might be feeling, a tender warmth spread through her as her mother reached over and hugged her tightly, the captain returning the embrace readily.

"Go find Annika," Gretchen suggested huskily, when she finally released her daughter. "I want to go down to the market later in the morning, and you two should come with me."

"Seven will love the market." Janeway offered a smile to her mother as she rose from her seat and slipped out the screen door, but it faded as she paused on the back porch, staring at Phoebe's house across the way. Jake and her sister's dogs were romping exuberantly on the lawn, and the two figures on the deck were visible, though partially obscured by trees. Chances were that Phoebe and Seven were having a grand time, and they certainly didn't need the captain to show up in this mood to ruin their visit with each other.

Janeway suddenly found the thought of facing her sister unbearable, knowing what she had taken from her, and she bent her head as she descended the stairs. Walking quickly away from the houses, she began a desperate search for someplace isolated to regain the balance she had lost during her conversation with her mother .

Before someone looked in her face and discovered what she was trying to hide.

The tavern was cool and quiet and just the thing that B'Elanna needed to settle her rattled nerves. She accepted the ale, along with the spring water, from the bartender and carried them over to the table where Ro had found a seat. The Bajoran regarded her somewhat sardonically as she took a seat.

"A little early in the day for this," she noted, eyeing the ale, "but perhaps to be expected after that last apartment. Now, can we try my idea?"

"You were right, I was wrong," B'Elanna granted, after taking a long, soothing pull off her bottle. "We should have tried the Utopia Planitia base housing from the start rather than try to find an apartment in Marsport. I just thought with what's usually issued to lieutenants, we could arrange a much better deal with something off the base. Plus, you know that despite all the tolerance the Federation claims to have, on a Human base like Utopia Planitia, a Klingon and a Bajoran aren't going get first choice at anything decent."

"Unlike that last place we saw? What were those things moving in the bathtub, anyway?"

"I don't want to think about it." The Klingon barely restrained a shudder. "I thought Earth was so civilized."

"This isn't Earth," Ro reminded her. "Even after a century of terraforming, Mars is still very much a colony, not an independent planet. They still have to import too many necessities. Besides, the war affected everyone, and there are a lot of refugees remaining from worlds the Dominion conquered. They haven't gone back, either because they're scared it'll happen again or because they can't afford it. Right now, Marsport is bulging at the seams."

"Do you want to try looking for a place back on Earth?"

"Let's try the base first. Even if we're lieutenants and not from this part of the quadrant, we might luck out and come up with something livable."

"If you say so," the engineer responded, not feeling particularly enthusiastic. She had vaguely hoped to return to the Janeway farmhouse where, after spending a lazy afternoon on the front porch, Gretchen would undoubtedly feed her another huge spread for supper. There was something to be said for a Traditional way of life ... despite the lack of technological amenities.

She raised an eyebrow, astounded and pleased, as she saw a stocky, older man enter the bar, his light hair curly and thick. She stood up and motioned at him, trying to attract his attention. "O'Brien. Miles O'Brien. Come over here, we'll buy you a beer."

She had met the chief on DS9 years earlier when she, Chakotay and Seven had been mysteriously transported to the station by a Bajoran orb they had discovered in the Delta Quadrant. She grew to know the operations officer fairly well, recognizing a kindred spirit when it came to engineering. She still had the tools he had given her before the trio had been transported back to Voyager.

The man looked over, his face brightening into a smile, and it wasn't until he was near the table that the smile disappeared. He stopped, staring at Ro who offered him a guarded nod, and B'Elanna frowned, not knowing what was going on.

"O'Brien and I served together on the Enterprise," Ro explained in a low tone as the man hesitantly resumed his approach, taking the seat B'Elanna shoved out for him.

"I heard Voyager was back," he said to the Klingon, slapping her on the arm. "I'm glad to see you again." He dipped his head at the Bajoran. "I admit, I'm sort of surprised to see you ... uh, Lieutenant."

"Long story," Ro responded quietly. "But yes, I am back in Starfleet."

O'Brien looked puzzled, and then seemed to shrug. "Well, all right then." He signaled for a drink. "So what are you doing here? Story has it that Voyager was picked clean of officers at DS9."

"That's an exaggeration," B'Elanna said, reaching for a new bottle of ale as the waiter deposited another round, as well as the padd to credit the tab. "Not by much, however. In any event, I'm posted at Utopia Planitia. Ro and I are up here trying to find some quarters before I report for duty on Tuesday."

The rangy features of the chief creased in a smile. "That's great. I'm posted at Utopia Planitia as well." He paused. "After the war, we came home to Earth and I taught at the Academy last year, but to be honest, it got a little boring ... just not enough hands-on. When an opening was made available on the team building the new Frontier-class, I jumped at it. Keiko's still working on Earth of course, so I commute."

"We may have to do that as well," Ro noted.

He studied her curiously. "Are you working at the shipyards, too?" B'Elanna wasn't sure if Miles liked that idea or not. There certainly seemed to be a history there, and she made a note to dig it out of her lover when she had the opportunity.

"No," Ro responded. "I've accepted an assignment under Captain Janeway's personal command. I'll be performing the roll of her adjunct wherever she's posted."

He raised his eyebrow. "Then you'll definitely be at Utopia Planitia," he informed them casually. "Rumor has it that she's next in line to be the base liason when Commander Krause leaves."

The two women stared at him in astonishment, and he looked vaguely defensive. "It's just what I heard. I'm not saying it's true."

B'Elanna shook her head. "That can't be right. Janeway hasn't made up her mind where she's going yet. Besides, becoming commander of the shipyards, after having been a starship captain, is a hell of a demotion, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, but that's the buzz around the water cooler."

"Why would Starfleet even offer her such a position?" Ro asked thoughtfully, almost to herself. "Are they punishing her in some way?"

O'Brien snorted. "Hardly. Word's out that Necheyev has her tagged for command of the USS Millennium." Again, both women stared at him, and he sighed. "That's the new type of vessel they're developing. It's been on the drawing boards for years, and they just started to build it before the war. Construction was delayed for the duration of the conflict with the Dominion, but now they're going full steam ahead with it again. It's a new design, meant for lengthy deep space missions. I guess with Janeway's background, the admiral figures she's the best choice for the command."

"What if Janeway doesn't want to go back out on a deep space mission?" Ro asked grimly.

He looked back and forth between them. "I don't see what the problem is," he said, obviously baffled by their decided lack of enthusiasm. "There are captains who would give up certain body parts to be awarded that ship. It's absolutely state-of-the-art, and there's talk of it having two drives; the traditional warp and some new type that is completely experimental."

"Slipstream," B'Elanna said.

He frowned. "Huh? Never heard of it." He paused. "But then, we haven't really started on the internal systems yet."

"You probably will," Ro assured him. "Before too long." She exhaled. "It seems that Starfleet has everything planned out nicely."

"You've been out of the loop awhile, Lt. Torres. You'll get back in it quickly enough when you start work at the shipyards. We find out everything before anyone else does." He drained his beer and granted the two officers a smile. "Take it easy. I'll see you on Tuesday, B'Elanna. Thanks for the drink, ladies."

He got up and left the bar, leaving the women staring after him.

"Is it just me, or did that seem sort of weird to you, too?" B'Elanna asked quietly, after a few moments of silence.

"Maybe," Ro said slowly. "I hate to sound paranoid, but I'm wondering if there's some reason for us to be receiving all that information."

B'Elanna looked at her lover. "What do you mean?"

"I don't doubt that O'Brien is working at Utopia Planitia right now..." the Bajoran allowed slowly, almost as if she were figuring something out. Then, she suddenly offered B'Elanna a bright ... and rather false ... smile. "It doesn't really matter. Let's go check out some more apartments."

The Klingon was surprised by the abrupt change in her lover, but obediently got up from the table and followed Ro out into the street, the sun a little hard on her eyes after the dimness of the bar. As the Bajoran led them to a crowded walkway, B'Elanna finally figured out that she was looking for someplace where they could talk freely. The Klingon remained quiet as they moved along the strip until they came to an outdoor coffee shop. With the lunch rush yet to begin, they easily found an isolated table near the railing.

"What's going on?" B'Elanna asked, once the waitress had delivered their order: a few pastries to take the edge off their hunger, along with some iced raktajino. Both Ro and B'Elanna were fond of the freshly brewed version of the Klingon coffee which had become very popular in the Federation in recent decades ... but couldn't stand the replicated version. "I know you made us leave the bar because you thought it was monitored."

"It's just that O'Brien isn't someone who just works in starship operations," Ro explained, "He's also been known to do certain missions for Starfleet Intelligence."

B'Elanna felt weak. "You think he's with Section 31?"

Ro shook her head. "He was one of the officer who helped bring it to Picard's attention. The question is, why do we have this information all of a sudden? Are we supposed to warn Janeway off so that she refuses to accept such a position, or is Utopia Planitia where she should be, and we should do all we can to encourage that."

"Kahless, that's some choice," the Klingon said, chewing on her Danish. "Make the wrong one, and we could be doing Section 31's work for them."

Ro considered the situation carefully as she sipped her cool drink. "I think we should try to encourage the captain to take it," she said finally. "Remember what Miles said about this new vessel being a desirable command to a lot of captains? Maybe the trick is to get Janeway in there and prevent some other captain from getting it." She paused. "It might be interesting to find out who those other command choices are, and which admirals are pushing them."

B'Elanna exhaled. "This is becoming really complicated."

"Or maybe it's starting to simplify," Ro allowed. "Look at it this way, Janeway, you, and I will all be at Utopia Planitia, working on that new ship. Chances are, if that new drive he mentioned is some form of slipstream, who else would be working on it?"

"The Theoretical Propulsion Group," B'Elanna said slowly. "Dr. Brahms ... who offered Seven a position on her team almost before we knew if the slipstream drive would work or not." She finished the sentence in a rush, triumph lighting her eyes.

Ro raised an eyebrow. "I think that Janeway and Seven are being manipulated into a position where they can be the most useful. I'm just not sure who's doing most of the manipulating ... our side, or theirs?"

B'Elanna seemed to think about it, then shrugged. "One thing at a time," she suggested. "Let's find a place to live, then we'll worry about who's manipulating whom."

Ro glanced at her, then smiled. "That's probably the best idea of all." She dropped her thumbprint on the padd presented by the waitress, and followed B'Elanna to the nearby transport station where they caught a tube to the outskirts of Marsport.

The Utopia Planitia base was located near the crater of the same name. Of course, the deep depression was now a lake filled with crystal clear water, bordered by luxurious houses and providing the inhabitants with the opportunity for boating, swimming and a variety of water sports. Junior officers like lieutenants were, of course, traditionally housed in the apartment complexes near the central command, making it difficult to avail themselves of the amenities that the highest ranks enjoyed, but it still provided a picturesque landscape in which to work and live. Ro was aware that many higher ranked officers in Starfleet Command were known to maintain vacation homes on the lakeside area of the base, even when they weren't officially posted there.

After checking in with the duty officer at the gate, they found their way to the Housing Authority where a rugged veteran of Starfleet's Supply and Services Department had them fill out an application. He took a few minutes to read it over, and then pointed them at a hovercraft ... obviously being a man of few words ... which he used to transport them to the lakefront. When they entered the comfortable three-bedroom house, B'Elanna thought some sort of mistake had been made. Both women looked at him with growing suspicion. After seven years on a starship, this was practically a mansion, and the large deck which overlooked the wide lawn sloping down to the red sand beach did little to dispel that impression. In the back yard, there was even a small flower garden situated next to a tennis court.

"You do know we're both lieutenants," Ro said, taking another glance around the spacious living room with its polished oak floor. It was already furnished with a sofa and chairs, covered in neutral-colored fabric to facilitate further decorating.

"I know what two pips stand for," he responded laconically.

B'Elanna was more straightforward. "What the hell's wrong with it?" she demanded, arms crossed over her chest, her chin stuck out pugnaciously.

That's when he cracked a smile and started to laugh. "Not a thing," he said, wiping his eyes. "Furthermore, I'm old enough to know why that's so funny. I remember the base housing I had when I was a lieutenant. I mean, it was clean, but so small that if I belched, the guy two doors down said 'excuse me'. Being on a starship was like winning a fortune at the dabo table ... the quarters were so big."

"Maybe I'm not understanding something here," Ro said with rising annoyance in her eyes. "We're just in from Voyager..."

"I know," he interrupted, grinning at her. "I read the application, which is why I played it this way. Not much opportunity for amusement in my line of work." He seemed to notice B'Elanna's shoulders starting to swell, and he held up his hands defensively. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'll admit, before the war, this was considered family quarters for a command level officer ... no question about that. The thing to remember is that we just don't have the same amount of administrative personnel housed on Mars that we once did, nor do we get the steady influx of pre-graduation cadets for training. Not long after the war started, new security measures were instituted that prevent personnel from accessing any Starfleet facilities unless they or their family members are actually posted to those facilities. In other words, no more honorary administrative positions awarded to senior officers in order to have a vacation home on Lake Utopia. We don't even need to use the apartment complexes anymore."

Ro and B'Elanna exchanged a glance. It was another sharp reminder of how the war had altered Starfleet in recent years, but at least this time, the repercussions seemed somewhat beneficial. "You're serious?" B'Elanna asked, almost afraid to believe it. "We can have this house all to ourselves?"

He shrugged. "If it suits you," he said. "I have several more with lake frontage I can show you, but personally, I think this one has the best view, and because it's on the end of the access lane, it's quieter than most."

"This one is fine," Ro said quickly. B'Elanna nodded dumbly in agreement.

He grinned again and held out a padd for the Klingon's thumbprint since B'Elanna was the officer signing for it. "You can requisition any necessary household goods, like additional furniture, from the auxillary supply depot just down the road, next to the community's Officer's Club," he said, jerking his thumb in a general westward direction. "An air tram makes regular stops throughout the day to transport officers to the central complex and if there are any problems, you can just call the Housing Authority. The office is open until 1700 hours, but you can leave a message with the computer. If it's an emergency, we can usually get a maintenance crew out here within the hour. The groundskeeper comes by on Wednesdays to mow the lawn and maintain the garden. If you want to do that yourself, you have to make arrangements with him so he can skip your place. The difference in expense will be credited to your account at the Officer's Club." He pointed out the glass doors where a dock jutted out into the shimmering lake. "You can even requisition a private sailboat if you'd like, but there's a deduction in your monthly credit allowance for private berth fees and maintenance, which can add up quickly. It isn't worth it unless you're really into boating. You can rent one from the civilian Marina at a far more reasonable rate, and return it when you're done."

"Thanks," B'Elanna managed, still in a state of disbelief. He waved a casual good-bye and strode down the walk, where he hopped into the hovercraft, and disappeared down the road. She turned and looked at her lover who appeared greatly bemused.

"I've never lived in a house before," the Bajoran offered quietly, looking at the view out the back doors.

The Klingon shook her head. "I have, but not like this," she responded, a slight catch in her voice. She straightened her shoulders, embarrassed to be so emotional over a house of all things. "Maybe this won't be such a bad posting for us after all."

Ro flashed her a grin. "Why don't we slip down to that supply depot and pick up what we need? I think I'd like to sleep here tonight." Her eyes traced over the compact form of her lover with intimate provocation, the Klingon feeling her pulse rate jump perceptibly.

"Sounds like a good idea," B'Elanna replied.

"A really good idea."

Seven of Nine frowned as she saw her partner cut across the lawns toward the large cornfield in the distance. She and Phoebe had returned to the upper deck, and while the younger Janeway finished her painting, Seven leaned back on the bench, enjoying the sunshine and the rare pleasure of being outdoors. When Kathryn suddenly appeared on the back porch of the main house, Seven fully expected her to immediately come across to join them, but instead, the captain simply gazed in their direction for a long time before her head and shoulders slumped and she went off in another direction entirely.

"Phoebe," Seven said, promptly standing up. "I need to leave now."

Surprised, Phoebe looked at her. "Okay," she said, somewhat doubtfully. She offered a rueful grin. "I know I'm not the best hostess..."

"It is not you," Seven assured her abruptly as she turned and rapidly descended the wooden stairs. Janeway had disappeared from view by the time she reached the bottom, but Seven suspected she knew where her partner had headed, and set a brisk pace that Petunia didn't even bother to follow. Crossing the lawn, Seven plunged into the large expanse of corn that spread in a sea of green over the landscape.

Moving through the cool, green plants, Seven could not see much of anything, the leafy stalks rising much higher than her head. It was like moving through an extremely regimented jungle, and frequently she had to stop and regain her bearings by utilizing her ocular implant ... just as she had the night before when her partner had dashed from the house so heedlessly, upset by the sounds of her mother's romantic activities with Commander Patterson.

After several moments, she abruptly exited the field, the dividing line between the corn and the grassy meadow sharply defined by a drainage ditch. She stepped lightly across it and looked toward the end of the meadow where it sloped down into a small hollow. Located there was a pond, cool and peaceful, surrounded by the grand forms of weeping willows. Their long branches trailed gracefully on the ground and into the still water itself, obscuring what might be sheltered beneath any one of them. Green circles of lily pads dotted the water, while at the far end, a few ducks glided passively in the reeds. Seven raised her head, her eyes keenly sweeping the area. A command to her cranial implant altered the view in her left eye, allowing her to see in the infrared spectrum, and she immediately spotted a Human-sized blob glowing red-orange beneath the largest tree.

She took a breath and resumed her normal vision, crossing the meadow and pushing through the willow branches to discover her partner sitting on the hard ground, her back against the tree's rough trunk. Janeway's knees were drawn up, her arms wrapped tightly around them, almost as if she were cold. Her eyes were a disturbingly blank grey, and her face seemed devoid of any expression that Seven could readily identify.

"Kathryn?" Seven offered, surprised when her partner did not acknowledge her arrival.

Her eyes widened when Janeway continued to stare straight ahead.

"Kathryn," she tried again. "What's wrong?"

Again, no response, and the young woman felt uncertain, unsure of what to do next. She knelt down beside her spouse and touched her on the shoulder. "Kathryn? Do you wish to be alone?"

Janeway leaned away from her, not a rejection necessarily, but almost a flinch, as if Seven's touch hurt her in some way. Seven was becoming a little frightened. "Kathryn, please, speak to me."

Janeway shook her head minutely, barely moving it, and Seven took a deep breath, trying to control her fears. Her partner obviously needed her, and she could not let her uncertainty overwhelm her.  She especially could not allow it to prevent her from doing what was needed to reach through this sudden withdrawal by her partner. In some ways, it reminded Seven of the way the captain deliberately put distance between herself and everyone else during certain, emotionally stressful times on Voyager, isolating herself in her quarters or her ready room, away from those who might try to help her. However, this seemed a far more acute and powerful withdrawal, a mental distancing that was more disturbing than a physical one. In the past, Seven had learned to bridge such self-imposed isolations, and she was determined that she would bridge this one. It would simply require patience and the reassurance to Kathryn that she was not alone, that she had someone who cared for her and whom she could trust absolutely.

Carefully, as if dealing with an easily startled animal, Seven eased onto the ground next to the captain, pulling her onto her lap as she leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "Kathryn, I am here," she told her softly. "I am not going anywhere, and you cannot push me away. I will remain here until we have dealt with this."

Silence stretched between them, but Seven did not move, nor did she say anything else. She just waited patiently, holding her spouse close and keeping her warm, making sure Kathryn had a physical awareness of her even if she didn't want to acknowledge her consciously.

"I..." Janeway whispered finally, her voice cracked. "You don't know..."

"I do not know what?" Seven asked gently. "Tell me, Kathryn."

"I ... I can't," her partner said.

"You can tell me anything," the young Borg said positively, with complete confidence.

"Not this."

Seven hesitated. Janeway had, in the past, occasionally refused to tell her things, though Seven inevitably discovered them, either by being firm or teasing them out of her partner, but she sensed that this particular instance was different in some way. This was not a case where the captain was hiding something for Seven's sake ... instead, it was almost as if Kathryn was afraid to tell her, as if the consequences would be so dire, it would damage them both far more than how Janeway was feeling now. Could this withdrawal spring from the discussion Kathryn had shared with her mother? Seven drew her fingers lightly up and down Kathryn's back through the thin shirt, suddenly aware of how small her partner felt in her arms.

"Kathryn, I am Borg," she said finally, not knowing if what she was saying was correct or not, but sensing that she had to find some way to reach Janeway, to show her that it was all right to confide in her. "During my time in the Collective, I assisted in the assimilation of many beings, including children, bringing an end to their existence as they knew it." She faltered, this reality still somewhat hard for her to acknowledge at times, particularly here, on such a lush, green world which was the antithesis of the sterile coldness that was the Borg. "I comprehend that I was not entirely responsible, that I was unable to make any other choices at the time, but that does not ease the sense of accountability I sometimes feel for my actions."

She brushed her cheek against the cool skin of the captain's cheek. "Despite that, however, you loved and accepted me completely," she concluded carefully. "I do not know what it is that so troubles you now, but you must know that I offer you the same unconditional acceptance and love you give me. Nothing will ever change that."

"You can't say that," Janeway responded huskily. "You don't know..."

"I do know that," Seven responded with absolute assurance. "You can tell me anything, Kathryn."

"I killed my father."

The words were stark, wrung from some deep, dark part of Janeway's soul, flung out of her in a paroxysm of an agony so deep, it seemed impossible that she had survived it.

Seven was careful not to reply too quickly,

"Explain," she asked finally, in a perfectly even tone. It was not colored by surprise or judgment, simply a request for information. For several minutes, she didn't think that her partner would reply at all, and then finally, Janeway began to speak in a painful, halting voice.

"Daddy, Justin and I were testing the Terra Nova. It was a prototype craft that Daddy had designed for the conflict with the Cardassians. It was just a routine flight, one which had been done several times before. I don't know exactly what went wrong ... there was no warning, no hint of danger. I think Justin said something about wind shear, but it happened so quickly. We crashed, and when I regained consciousness, I could see this ... this black iceberg in the water." She paused, breathing harshly, her eyes not staring at the green cocoon of the willow branches surrounding them, but at the white bitterness on that ice floe so long ago. "The ship had come apart, and it was the front part of the fuselage I was looking at. Through the viewport of the cockpit, I could see Daddy and Justin. They were hurt, but they were still alive. In the part of the cabin I had ridden down, there was a computer station that still had power in it. I cobbled together some circuits until I had a makeshift transporter which could make a site-to-site transport. While I was altering the console, the cockpit was sinking into the water."

She stopped and Seven tightened her embrace, completely supportive. "Go on," she prompted softly.

The silence lasted so long, Seven had thought she had lost her chance to reach her, but finally Janeway continued, speaking in a flat intonation, almost as if the technical assessment of the situation was the only way she could approach it. "Two emergency microfusion generators were still online," she recited. "I routed them to the primary energizing coils and brought the targeting scanners online. They refused to lock on. The annular confinement beam was too unstable to hold two bodies in the spatial matrix. I had enough power and time to transport only one person. Not two. Only one."

Seven felt the blood drain from her face, abruptly comprehending the terrible choice her partner had been forced to face on that ice floe. She had never told Kathryn that once she had made an effort to discover what official logs pertaining to that event were contained in Voyager's databanks, wanting to understand her partner's obvious reluctance to discuss her father's death. However, all the Borg found was a Starfleet medical report which had listed, in dry detail, all the injuries Janeway had suffered in the crash: the fractured leg, the cracked ribs, the concussion, numerous cuts and contusions, the ruptured spleen. During the actions Kathryn now related, she would have been sliding into shock, operating purely on training and sheer will as the wickedly icy atmosphere drained the heat from her body with every passing second.

"I had to chose which one would live and which one would die," Janeway whispered, each word a shard of pure agony, just as every breath must have been on that terrible day. "How could I do that? How could I save the man I loved and let my father die? How could I go on knowing that I had sacrificed Justin to let my father live?"

Seven closed her eyes, hurting profoundly for her partner.

"What happened next?" she asked gently.

"I refused to accept either option," Janeway whispered. "I tapped into the capacitors, rerouting the power through the phaser couplings which would have boosted the annular confinement beam up to eight hundred megawatts, allowing me to transport both of them out. I only needed enough power to make one transport. By the time it was ready, the fuselage had sunk beneath the ocean and  I ... I couldn't get a lock. No matter what I did ... no matter how hard I tried ... they just wouldn't transport."

She shuddered abruptly in her partner's arms, reliving the horror.

"Because I couldn't choose which one to save, I lost them both," she said, her voice lost and whip-thin. "I failed. I failed Justin, I failed Daddy ... I failed in my duty as a Starfleet officer."

Seven flinched. How many times had she flung the words 'you will fail' in the captain's face, unaware of how deeply and cruelly the phrase must have cut, not realizing that she could not have chosen any harsher assessment of her partner had she deliberately set out to do so.

"You did all you could," Seven told her.

"No," Janeway said, and now her tone was as cold as the air must have been on that day, keen with self-loathing. "I should have saved Daddy. He was the superior officer who held a more vital role in the Federation. He also had a wife and another daughter who needed him. I loved Justin, but he had no family. I was the only one who would have mourned his loss, but I wasn't courageous enough to accept that future. I failed to make the correct choice."

"There was no correct choice," Seven told her firmly. "Making such a decision now is something you have managed only after time has granted you a distance from the event, and after command experience has given you the conceit that you could weigh one life against another ... ultimately, you are deluding yourself, Kathryn. You do not give up on life. If the same event happened today, you would still do exactly the same thing, and try to save them both. It is certainly not a decision you could have made under those circumstances and at that time in your existence. You are being too demanding of yourself."

"I was arrogant, Annika," Janeway whispered. "I thought I could face any challenge, defeat any obstacle..."

"You were young, and in pain and doing exactly what your mind and heart told you," Seven told her. "You did not kill your father, Kathryn. It was an accident. You did everything you could to save him."

Janeway closed her eyes, an expression of pain slashing across her face. "How can I tell mother?" she said. "I cost her the man she loved. I cost Phoebe her father."

"No," Seven insisted, seeking the right words to reach the captain, wanting to make her see that this secret she had been carrying for so long was a burden she did not have to accept. Suddenly, all of Kathryn's descents into despair, all those bouts with paralyzing guilt, made sense to the Borg. It was not her command or her ship that ate away at Janeway's sense of self ... it was this, a secret hell she had hidden away for so long that perhaps even she did not realize where all the lingering feelings of shame originated. Every incident that caused the slightest doubt in her abilities inevitably drew it to the surface, making difficult professional incidents personally devastating to the starship captain.

"I never told anyone," the captain whispered. "I never explained that I could have saved one of them if only I had the courage to make a choice."

Seven brushed her lips over Kathryn's forehead. "It was not a choice you could make, Kathryn," she repeated, hoping that if she said it enough times, it would somehow filter through the pain. "Any more than it is a decision you could make now, if you had to choose between me and your mother."

"You must hate me," Janeway said in a very small voice. "They will all hate me."

"You are my Kathryn," Seven said, holding her close. "I would never hate you. Indeed, I would take this hurt from you and suffer it myself if I could. No one else will hate you, either, least of all your mother or Phoebe. They love you just as I love you ... completely, with all our hearts."

That's when Janeway began to cry, and she cried until she couldn't breathe, and then she cried some more until Seven became concerned that she would have to slap her or do something equally as drastic and unpleasant to get her to stop. It seemed to take forever before the tears and the sobbing finally ceased, and Seven maintained her embrace throughout, murmuring words of comfort until her voice grew raspy and she had to stop. Then, she just held the captain as tightly and as lovingly as she knew how to hold her. For a long time afterward, they huddled beneath the tree, the Borg listening to Kathryn breathe, stroking her hair, and rocking her gently in her arms. This was such a huge thing that Janeway had finally been able to relate to her, and Seven hoped that, with the confiding, her partner would be able to find some measure of peace. She had a sense, vague though it was, of how far Janeway had to come to reach a place where she could acctually speak of this incident with her ... something that perhaps the young Borg wouldn't have understood earlier in their relationship. Seven was grateful that she had grown enough to appreciate the depth of this incredibly difficult and delicate sharing.

"I have to tell Mother," Janeway said finally.

Seven kissed her temple. "Yes," she agreed, hurting for her partner, but incredibly proud of her courage at the same time. "It is a burden you have carried for too long, Kathryn. Trust in her as you trust in me."

Janeway shivered and dropped her head to Seven's shoulder, clinging to her partner within the cool shadows of the tree. Seven hugged her tightly, conscious suddenly of the foliage that surrounded and hid them from outside eyes. The fragrance in this private place was of dusky herbs and the fresh, earthy scent of loam, granting her a sense of peace. She thought she understood why Kathryn continued to choose this place in which to find sanctuary, even against her own internal thoughts and fears. There was a certain amount of irony in this situation. Since returning to Earth, it had been the captain who had experienced the more difficult time, had been faced with the more emotional challenges. Despite that, however, there was a sense of home here that she knew was very important to Janeway, and if Seven were to be completely honest with herself, it was something she desired as well.

"Annika?"

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven responded.

"I'm so frightened. What if ... Mother can't understand?"

"She will." The Borg placed her forefinger under her partner's chin and raised her face so that she could look into the stormy grey eyes. "You are not alone, Kathryn. I will remain with you when you speak with Gretchen."

She brushed her lips over the captain's, a promise and a reassurance.

"It will be all right, Kathryn. I am here for you. I will always be here for you."

Janeway found it impossible to look at her mother, shame and fear in equal measure making her stomach churn. If it weren't for her spouse sitting next to her on the sofa, Seven's steady presence a constant reassurance that she was doing the right thing, the captain would probably be bolting from the house for the second time in as many days. How could her mother possibly understand what she had done ... how could she ever forgive her? Janeway did not think she could ... in her place.

The silence that had fallen as Janeway finished speaking was finally broken by Gretchen leaning forward and covering her daughter's hands with her own. "Kathryn," she said in an extremely gentle voice. "Why did you have the idea that Phoebe and I knew nothing about this?'

Shocked, Janeway raised her head, wide eyes searching her mother's. "I didn't ... I never told anyone..." she stuttered.

"Darling," Gretchen said firmly, yet compassionately, "Starfleet did a complete investigation into the crash, up to and including the transporter logs found in the wreckage. Everyone knew of your valiant effort."

"But, those were classified..." Janeway began dazedly.

"Not to me," Gretchen said, squeezing her daughter's hands. "Kathryn, I know you did everything you could to save them. When you stayed in your bed for months, we had Starfleet counselors advising us constantly. Of course, Phoebe eventually came up with her own plan to rouse you by dumping cold water over you. As it turned out, it was exactly the right thing to do, but we always knew what was causing your initial distress beyond just losing your father. We thought that once she had lured you out of bed, and after you found Petunia, you had come to terms with it. Obviously we were wrong."

"I couldn't choose, Momma," the captain said, her chest tight with agony. "I couldn't save them."

"No one could, not in those circumstances," Gretchen said, reaching up to cup Janeway's face in her palm. "Tell me, if the circumstances were the same, could you choose today between me and Annika?"

Janeway took a deep breath. She supposed it was telling that Seven had posed the same scenario earlier under the willow tree.

"No," she whispered helplessly. "I couldn't."

"Never be ashamed of following your heart, Kathryn," the elder woman said. "You were not to blame. Heaven knows, I never blamed you."

"I blamed myself," Janeway responded.

"I can see that," Gretchen said regretfully. "It's time to stop. Let it go, Kathryn. Forgive yourself ... for everything."

Janeway had wept all her tears in Seven's arms beneath the willow tree. Now, all she could feel was completely exhausted and light-headed as her mother hugged her. After she was released from the embrace, she remained on the sofa, her head bent, hands resting limply on her knees She became aware of Seven kneeling beside her, looking up into her face with concern.

"I think it would be prudent for Kathryn to lie down for a time," the Borg suggested, her voice sounding as if it was coming from a great distance.

"I think so, as well," Gretchen said, also sounding as if she were very far away. "Stay with her, Annika. I'm off to the market to pick up some things for supper. I'll be back in a few hours."

Janeway lifted her head, vaguely remembering that her mother had mentioned earlier that Gretchen had wanted them to accompany her. "Annika, you should go with Mother," she said weakly. "You'll enjoy the market."

"I am staying with you," Seven said, in that tone that indicated she couldn't be moved with a tractor beam, even if Janeway had one handy. "I will see the market another time."

Janeway was surprised to discover she was on her feet and being led firmly up the stairs.

"You shouldn't put off things," she told her spouse in an odd sort of tone as the couple ascended to the second floor. "You might not get another chance." She didn't understand why she felt so disoriented and apart from what was happening.

"Being with you is relevant, Kathryn," Seven informed her, ignoring her advice. "I am 'putting off' nothing."

Janeway managed a wan smile as she was lowered to the bed, her partner unfastening her hiking boots and pulling them off before covering her with a light blanket. "I don't seem to be thinking very well," she admitted foggily. "It's like my head is full of cotton."

"You have had a very emotional morning," Seven told her, bending down to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Things will be clearer when you wake. Sleep now."

The touch of her partner's lips was like a balm, a healing warmth that spread through the captain's body, chasing away the lingering shadows. The last thing she remembered was Seven's concerned features watching over her as she closed her eyes and plunged into unconsciousness.

When she woke, there was a slight breeze flowing in through the open window, and the light had that particular refraction that heralded sunset. She blinked and swallowed, making a face at the sour taste in her mouth, and then glanced around the room, still slightly muddled. She discovered Seven sitting in the low chair next to the window, head bent as she studied the padd in her hand.

The dying sun granted the young woman's skin a luminous glow, her blonde hair almost reddish in the final rays. There was a tiny furrow between her brows, next to the metallic grey implant that framed her left eye. She had her right hand curled under her chin, elbow supported by the arm of the chair, while her knees were drawn up, her stocking feet tucked beneath her thighs.

Janeway thought she was the most beautiful sight she could ever remember witnessing.

"Annika?"

Seven's pale eyes glanced up, the ice blueness warming as she regarded her partner.

"Kathryn," she said calmly and uncoiled from the chair, leaving the padd on the table beside her. Gracefully, she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to place her fingertips on the captain's chin. "How do you feel?"

Janeway considered it. "Better," she said slowly. "Lighter ... as if a great weight has been lifted from me."

"It has," Seven noted accurately.

Janeway felt tears well in her eyes, not of sadness, but simply from the emotion of being here with her spouse. "I couldn't have done this without you." The words came hard because of the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

Seven dipped her head, her eyes intent. "You are most welcome, my Kathryn."

Janeway wasn't sure then if she sat up or her partner had leaned down to gather her into a warm embrace, but the next thing she knew, she was in Seven's arms, clinging to her tightly.

"Oh god, Annika, I love you so much," she whispered raggedly into her partner's ear.

"I love you," Seven assured her, rocking her gently. "I always will."

Finally they drew apart, and Janeway rested her head on her partner's chest, her eyes closed. She felt stronger as her partner's devotion surrounded her, offering her a safe place to reclaim herself. She knew they would have to speak of this further, but understood that, for now, it was all right to put it aside, to concentrate on other things as she became used to not having the secret burden weighing her down. Seven's embrace was strong and tender, lending her all the courage she could ever need or want for as long as it was required, and for the first time in far too long, Kathryn felt completely whole.

"What time is it?" she asked finally, her voice still shaky.

"1732 hours," Seven told her promptly, then paused as if acknowledging that they were no longer on a starship. "I mean, it is half past five in the afternoon."

Janeway made a small sound of dismay. "Time for dinner. I must have slept most of the day."

"Yes," Seven said. "Since you missed lunch, it is important that you eat tonight."

Janeway inhaled. "I need to wash up," she said, but she didn't move.

"In a moment," Seven said and dipped her head, using her fingertips to raise Janeway's chin so that she could kiss her. The captain hesitated for a split second, conscious of how her mouth must taste after sleeping for several hours, and then kissed her back, increasing the intensity as the kiss was prolonged, a connection of love and faith, of complete and total support for her.

"Did you mention dinner?" she asked, once they had finally parted. She was surprised to find how strong her appetite suddenly was.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "I am releasing you only because you must eat and I must assist Gretchen in preparing it. Otherwise, I would spend the rest of the evening with you in my arms."

Janeway smiled, pleased to discover she hadn't forgotten how, after all. "I think that, if I weren't so hungry, I'd be more than glad to insist upon staying in your arms, my darling," she responded quietly.  She kissed her partner once more, and then slipped out of Seven's embrace, off the bed where she stretched out a few of her kinks. "Are B'Elanna and Ro back yet?" she asked, glancing back at Seven who had drawn her legs up underneath her as she leaned back against the pillows. The young woman looked absolutely delectable and Janeway was immediately torn about passing up the opportunity to be 'held all evening'. It was as if she was suddenly alive once more, her thinking crystalline in its clarity, every sense suddenly sharp and acute.

The Borg nodded briefly as the captain went over to the dresser to retrieve fresh clothes. "They returned Gretchen's hovercraft at approximately 'three o'clock'," she explained. "Gretchen invited them for dinner, but they had secured quarters on the base at Utopia Planitia and decided to spend the night in their new home. They left an hour ago in a shuttle. B'Elanna mentioned that we should not use the transporter at the Portage Creek Transport Station. Apparently, there was a maintenance problem which caused them to become slightly ill during the beaming process, and now it is down for a complete inspection."

"I see," Janeway said, choosing a white, embroidered shirt and some fresh jeans. She was honestly pleased that the couple had found a place to live, but regretted that she hadn't had a chance to say good-bye to them. She supposed, with a touch of sorrow, that she would not be seeing much of the Klingon now, though Ro would still be around because of her attachment to Janeway's command.

"They have invited us for a 'house warming' tomorrow night. They are hosting a 'barbeque'."

"We certainly can't miss that." Janeway was surprised, wondering where B'Elanna and Ro would possibly find room for a barbeque in base quarters. They must have lucked out and been assigned living space that included a small balcony. She glanced back at her spouse. "Go on ahead, love," she instructed. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

She left the bedroom and went into the bathroom down the hall where she pulled off her wrinkled clothes and showered quickly. She studied her reflection in the mirror, aware that something had changed in her features, some indefinable relaxation around the eyes perhaps. Of course, she knew it was probably her imagination, and there were no visible signs of what she had been through this day, but it did seem as if she looked a little more at ease with herself.

God knew, she certainly felt that way.

She sighed and pulled on her fresh garments before leaving the bathroom and descending the graceful staircase to the main floor. She could hear Seven and Gretchen talking in the kitchen as she paused at the foot of the steps in the foyer, listening for a long moment before she slipped through the nearby door leading to the cool dark of her father's study. She moved behind the desk and sat down in the big leather chair, feeling small yet surprisingly secure in this familiar seat. It had been twenty years, but it was almost as if Edward Janeway had just stepped out for the moment, his presence still lingering in this room he had called his own. Kathryn leaned back, closing her eyes and stilling her breath, while she listened to the sounds of the house, sensing the worn threads of the past which were finally weaving themselves into the fabric of her present. Her memories of being a child were particularly strong, remembering how much that younger version of herself had wanted her father's approval so desperately, never realizing until just before his death that he had been so very proud of her throughout her entire life.

But he had never told her, so she had never known.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. Her mother was right. It was time to let go.

"I'm married now, Daddy," she said quietly into the darkness. "Annika's just the sort of smart, sensible and tough person who can handle me ... but mostly, she loves me completely, in a way no one else ever has." She paused, then smiled faintly. "I think you'd like her a lot. "

She slowly uncoiled from the chair, and before she left the room, she stopped to look back once, before dipping her head and moving on, firmly shutting the door behind her.

Her mother and spouse looked up and beamed at her as she entered the kitchen. She returned the smile when she saw the stool positioned next to the counter, warmth flooding her at her partner's attempt to provide some form of familiarity for her.

She shot a look at Seven as she perched on the high seat. "If I won't participate, then at least, I can be an appreciative audience for you," the captain guessed, her eyebrow rising in amusement. "Just as I was on Voyager?"

"Precisely," Seven allowed, with what seemed to be a touch of relief shading her eyes. Obviously, she had been concerned at Janeway's continuing state of mind. "Of course, you always participate, Kathryn."

"Yes," Gretchen agreed, her tone light and affectionate as she filled a large pot with water and placed it on the heating unit to boil. "You eat."

"The most important part," Janeway said, retrieving some mushrooms from the pile Seven was slicing. The captain felt almost giddy, exhilarated, as if the gravity of Earth had lessened significantly since the morning. She found it surprisingly easy to put aside the emotional turmoil of earlier in the day, and concentrate fully on the joy of being with these people that she loved. "What are we having?"

"Stuffed peppers, salad and corn on the cob, with strawberry shortcake for desert," Seven said. She regarded Gretchen from the corner of her eye. "I am surprised that your mother was able to restrain herself from serving corn for this long."

Gretchen turned, looking at Seven in surprise. "Are you teasing me?" she asked, delighted.

"Annika's come quite a long way in her grasp of what is amusing," Janeway informed her mother, glad that her spouse was comfortable enough with the older woman to try out her still-forming sense of humor with her. "Unfortunately, she's using Phoebe as her template."

"Did I just hear my name used in vain?" Phoebe appeared at the screen door, and as she let herself in, she shot an admonishing look at her sister. "Supervising, are we, Kathryn?" she asked tartly, coming over to lean against the counter.

Janeway regarded her blandly. "I am Seven's gallery," she said. "Like all artists, she works better for an audience."

"Ah, is that a peanut gallery by any chance?" Phoebe noted.

Janeway offered an exaggerated sigh. "Make her stop, Annika," she appealed to her spouse, who was looking slightly bemused by the sibling interaction. "She's picking on me."

"Hey, I had to fight back with words, Annika," Phoebe protested. "She was always holding me down until I cried uncle."

Janeway looked at her. "You were the one who tickled me until I wet my pants."

Gretchen laughed and Seven raised her eyebrow.

"Once!" Phoebe exclaimed, outraged. "I managed to do that once, and after that incident, Mom would always take your side. She said it was unfair because you were smaller than I was." She looked at Seven in an appeal for sympathy. "I have no idea why our parents thought that just because she was smaller, she couldn't look after herself. You know, as well as I do, that she's all elbows and knees."

Seven glanced at Janeway and the captain smirked at her. "Phoebe fights like a Ferengi," she said, in tones designed to scandalize her sister who had found another stool and was carrying it over to the counter, no doubt to add her presence to the 'gallery'. "Is that my fault?"

Seven frowned. "You made a habit of physically assaulting her, Kathryn?" she asked, uncertainly.

"Not real fighting, Annika," Gretchen assured the Borg, patting her on the shoulder as the young woman stuffed the peppers with the rice mixture the older woman had prepared. "When they were younger, they would wrestle until one of them ... usually Phoebe ... was in a losing position, and that's when she would scream for help ... loudly and intrusively. That's why I didn't like it when they fought in the house. It was very noisy." She pinned Phoebe with a stern look. "But I never took anyone's side."

Janeway's jaw dropped. "You always took Phoebe's side."

Gretchen rolled her eyes and shook her head at the Borg who was taking this all in. "See what you'll have to put up with when you have children?"

Seven nodded, her eyes lightening in comprehension. "Kathryn and I still wrestle," she informed her mother-in-law. "However, in our case, she is always in the 'losing position'."

"Not always," Janeway protested.

Seven regarded her blankly. "Always," she insisted, and the captain grinned.

"God, I'd pay to see that," Phoebe sighed, obviously remembering all those incidents when she ended up on the short end of childhood scuffles.

"So would Tom Paris," Seven said brightly, making Janeway choke on her mushroom as Phoebe and Gretchen looked at her oddly. The Borg noticed their scrutiny and elaborated before Janeway could get rid of the obstruction in her throat. "We are usually naked when we wrestle."

Gretchen regarded her daughter with a raised eyebrow. "Ah, not such a prude after all, I see. Is that what you were doing earlier this morning? Wrestling?"

Janeway blushed a fiery red as Phoebe chortled. The captain hadn't realized her mother heard the intimate encounter she and Seven had shared in the predawn, believing they had managed to be perfectly quiet. It never occurred to her that her mother might just be guessing in her attempt to tease her.

"Did your crew make a habit of paying to see you and Seven wrestle in the nude?" her sister added curiously.

"It's not like that," the captain said, making a face at her spouse for getting her into this. She supposed she really didn't mind the teasing however. It meant things were returning to some semblance of normalcy for her and her family. "Early in our relationship, after finishing a Velocity match, Seven and I were playing around with each other when we went over our allotted holodeck time. Mr. Paris came in and found us on the floor, whereupon he made some comment about how we should wrestle on a mat rather than the deck. Seven promptly informed him that we didn't require a mat because we normally wrestle in the nude on the bed in our quarters, and ... after he finally resumed breathing ... he muttered something to the effect that he would actually pay to see that."

Seven looked vaguely embarrassed as Gretchen and Phoebe laughed. "That was before I understood I was not to share all the details of our personal life with others," the young woman explained, placing the mushrooms in a large salad and tossing it with wooden spoons. "It was difficult for me to know at that time what was considered intimate and what was considered play. I assumed wrestling was play."

"When you're nude, it's foreplay" Phoebe said dryly.

"I realize that now," Seven remarked, and offered the captain a look that promised more than a little foreplay in her immediate future.

Ro carried two frosty bottles of beer out to the patio and took a seat next to her lover on the bench lining the railing of their deck. The two women had worked steadily since returning from Earth, and new blinds graced the windows, while the large bed in the master bedroom had been made up for the night. They had transported the rest of their things from the storage facility on McKinley Station, and though they had little in the way of personal possessions, the few items they were able to add to the decor served to leave their mark on their new home. Now they were enjoying the fruits of their labor by contemplating the cool evening, content to sit and listen to the quiet lap of water on the shore and the murmur of voices from down the street, which wafted through the dusk along with the smell of barbeque. The two moons of Mars, smaller than the silver orb of Earth's satellite, glided across the star-emblazoned sky, while a bright blue spark shone low on the horizon.

"You know," B'Elanna said, her voice a lazy trill of satisfaction in the aftermath of a sensual swallow from her beer, "a body could get used to this."

Ro laughed, a low, quiet chuckle. "I hate to admit it, but so could I," she allowed. "I rather hope Janeway does take over Utopia Planitia, because I'll be assigned here, too."

"Two accounts at the officer's club," B'Elanna agreed. She paused. "Do you think I should do my own gardening?"

"Just to increase your entertainment allowance?" Ro glanced at her, eyebrow raised in amusement. "It's far more viable to requisition beer from the supply depot ... or program synthehol into the replicator."

The Klingon made a face at the thought of the Ferengi-created alcohol substitute.

"I like going out to dinner once in awhile. I was talking to a commander while we were at the depot, and he explained that the club has a chef brought in on the weekends."

Ro lifted an eyebrow. "Nothing's too good for our people in uniform," she noted sardonically. "And nothing like a war to make people start appreciating the common soldier. However, I somehow suspect that the regulations that allowed us this house will probably be changed as the memories fade and the admirals want their lake back."

"Probably," B'Elanna allowed easily, no stranger to the inherent rule that 'rank hath its privilege'. "In the meantime, let's enjoy it for all it's worth." She raised her bottle in an informal salute, and smirked at the Bajoran.

Ro shook her head, but she was smiling as she took a long pull from her own ale. She supposed that for however long they had it, it was far more than a great many people had. She crossed her feet at the ankles and stared contemplatively over the water, so still in the night, it was like glass.

"So, we're having a party tomorrow night?" she asked dryly.

B'Elanna looked slightly abashed. "That just sort of slipped out when I was talking to Seven. I've always wanted to have a house warming. I only mentioned it to her, however. If you'd like, we could keep it to just a small type of dinner."

Ro shrugged. "No, let's see if we can invite all our friends," she allowed. "It's short notice, but it'll be Saturday night, and with any luck, they won't have any plans this soon after returning home. It would be nice to see everyone a final time before we report for duty on Tuesday."

"My thinking exactly," B'Elanna agreed, enthusiastic now that she had Ro's willingness to participate. "It's not too late in the evening. We can call Harry and Chakotay ... and the Doctor..."

She trailed off as she ran out of people to invite, and again, both women were conscious of how many of their friends had remained in space with only a few returning to Earth with Voyager. B'Elanna looked particularly frustrated. Obviously, she had wanted to show off her new home to everyone.

"They'll all be bringing people," Ro reminded her. "The Doctor will probably bring Barclay and Zimmerman. The captain and Seven will bring Gretchen, Phoebe and Commander Patterson. Chakotay will be bringing Icheb and maybe his cousin. So we'll be sure to have a full house. Then, there's Tuvok and the twins who are still at the Vulcan Embassy in Paris ... they might agree to come. We might have to leave a message for them, however. It's quite late in France right now."

"We'll have to go to the depot tomorrow morning," B'Elanna said thoughtfully, counting up the supplies they would require. "Too bad Neelix isn't here. He's always been much better at planning this sort of thing."

"We just have to make sure we have enough food and liquor," Ro assured her. "The rest will take care of itself." She paused. "This will hit our credit allowance pretty hard, Lanna. Ordering that much at one time will definitely slide the invoices into those of a luxury requisition, and they'll deduct that from our balance, rather than consider it necessary living expenses. As your designated other, I can access the depot, but only in a limited amount, and I can't requisition liquor."

"Let's do it this way, then," B'Elanna said. "You take care of the food and I'll take care of the liquor. Besides, you forget that we have all that back credit in our accounts after being in the Delta Quadrant."

The Bajoran blinked and glanced over at her lover. "You're right, I had forgotten," Ro said in slight chagrin. "I'm not used to thinking in terms of regular pay again after seven years. Still counting ration slips for the replicator, I guess."

"We'll all be doing that for awhile, I think."

"We'll have to do the cleanup afterward," Ro reminded her. "We won't be able to call on the base staff or find some crewmembers willing to clean quarters in exchange for holodeck time."

B'Elanna sighed. "Part of throwing a party."

"Then, let's do it," Ro said. "You make the calls to Chakotay and Harry. I'll use the upstairs comm to contact Tuvok at the embassy and the Doctor."

The comm in the upstairs study was blinking when the Bajoran reached it. She touched the controls, downloading the messages from the base cybernet into the buffer, surprised to discover one was from Captain Picard. It was an official document, informing her that a reprimand would be placed in her permanent record for her actions on the Enterprise while it had been docked at DS9 unless she issued an immediate apology to him and his first officer. Ro was momentarily astonished and outraged, and then it occurred to her that perhaps this was just a way for Picard to communicate with her. She took a seat and began to scan the message after taking the proper precautions of downloading it into an isolated, security-sealed padd.

She immediately found indications of an encryption sequence, knowing what to look for this time, but again, she was unable to decode it, and she sighed in frustration.

"B'Elanna!" she shouted.

"What?" came the answering yell from the kitchen, where the other comm unit was located.

"Come up here," Ro said, then wondered why they were shouting like idiots when there was an internal comm system right in front of them.

"Come up here what?" B'Elanna demanded in a roar.

Ro blinked, and then exhaled audibly.

"Come up here, please," she said. Soon, she heard the tread of her lover's footsteps on the stairway, and she showed the Klingon the padd as soon as she entered the study. "Another message from Picard."

B'Elanna scanned it and snorted. "An apology?"

"I'm quite sure it's a cover. There's an encryption. Can you decode it?"

B'Elanna nodded and took a seat on the other side of the desk from the Bajoran. Her brow ridges furrowed as she studied the messages. "It's more complicated than the last one," she admitted after a moment. "I'll need a few moments."

"All right," Ro said, curbing her impatience.

"By the way, Chakotay and Harry are both coming," B'Elanna said idly as she worked. "Did you get a hold of Tuvok and the Doctor?"

"I found this on the base net. I thought this was more important."

B'Elanna looked up and frowned. "Intrigue is far less important than the party tomorrow. You can call them while I do this."

Ro resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Fine."

While the Bajoran contacted both parties, who indicated they were more than happy to attend their housewarming, the engineer worked steadily on the padd.

"Got it," she said finally, in a tone of triumph, and handed it to the Bajoran. "You know, you're really lucky you have me around. You wouldn't have any idea what was going on if it were up to you to decode these things."

Ro ignored the jibe and read the secret message her former captain had sent to her.

Attn:               Ro Laren, USS Voyager
From:             Captain Jean-Luc Picard, USS Enterprise
Recognition: Ten Forward
Be advised; Contact by operative will be made on first visit to Mars. Information regarding Janeway posting to be conveyed in public place. Unknown where Seven's posting is required by Section 31 to move on her. Be alert to possibility regarding third party intervention. Confusion lingering about information sequence. Communication will commence with exchange of messages regarding apology for incident on Enterprise. Resist issuing apology as long as possible. Encode information within replies.

"Well, I guess we know now that O'Brien was the contact," B'Elanna noted as she read the message over her lover's shoulder. "It doesn't clear up what we're supposed to do if we can't convince Janeway to accept the Utopia Planitia posting, however."

"I'll ask about the backup plan when I send the message," Ro said. "Can you encode a similar security seal on mine?"

"Not a problem." The Klingon smiled. "I can even compose a nasty response about what he can do with this supposed apology in the cover letter."

Ro smiled. "Not too nasty," she said. "We want to be able to keep this correspondence going for as long as possible." She took a breath. "I wonder what he meant by 'third party intervention'?"

"You should ask for clarification," B'Elanna said as she keyed the padd. "Let's start with that question."

For the next few hours, the couple labored over both the message and the official response to Picard's request for an apology, but in the end, they managed to hide their questions ... along with the information about the illicit program they had discovered in the Portage Creek transporter ... within a polite, if chilly refusal to apologize to the commanding officer of the USS Enterprise.

"There," Ro said, after sending it off. "That's done."

"Have you thought about how we're going to convince Janeway to take the posting?" B'Elanna asked quietly, leaning back in her seat.

"We need a katterpod," Ro noted, "not a branch."

"What?"

Ro realized she had slipped into an old saying of her Bajoran culture. "Incentive. You move a veldbeast easier with katterpods than you do by hitting it with a branch."

"Carrot and the stick," B'Elanna responded, nodding.

"What?"

"Never mind. What would be the incentive for Janeway to accept such a demotion?"

"That new ship," Ro suggested. "I know that she looked really happy to be home last night, but it won't be long before she's feeling the urge to get back into space again ... assuming I know anything about starship captains. She's only putting up with this because she thinks she's going to get Voyager back in a year."

"That's my thought, too," B'Elanna agreed. "That still leaves Seven, however."

"If Seven accepts the offer from Dr. Brahms," Ro reminded her, "that would increase the odds Janeway would take command of the shipyards even though it would look like a demotion."

B'Elanna nodded. "So we don't just work on Janeway, we convince Seven to take the TPG offer."

Ro paused and took a breath. "Do you hear what we're saying?" she asked, a touch of disgust coloring her tone. "This isn't a holoprogram or some kind of game. These are our friends that we're trying to manipulate."

"Laren, I've already been working on Seven to take a posting with the TPG," the Klingon pointed out, "regardless of whether Section 31 existed or not. I like having her around."

Ro stared at her, then shook her head. "Fine," she allowed in a gentler tone, "but have you considered the fact that Dr. Brahm's group isn't the best place for her?"

"As long as there's a threat, the best place for both of them is where they have a support group in place," B'Elanna said reasonably. "That's us. The fact that it allows us to keep working closely with them is a bonus." She reached over and touched Ro on the hand. "We'll use the party tomorrow night to sell the advantages of working on Mars."

Ro held the dark gaze for a moment, then nodded. "If I'm going to suggest Utopia Planitia as a viable post for the captain to consider, I'd better find out more about what's going on there."

She tried not to let her concerns get the better of her as she accessed the computer, putting in a request for the specs of the new Frontier-class ship currently being built at Utopia Planitia. If she was going to sell this position to Janeway, she had better know all she could about the job.

And that new ship.

Flickering sparks drifted across the edge of the lawn where the cornfield began, flashes of phosphorescence from insects who danced in the darkness, their luminescence drawing mates to them, attracted by the steady flashes. Seven tilted her head slightly as she watched them, surprised to find them fascinating. Beside her, her spouse was snuggled against her side, tucked neatly under Seven's arm which was draped across her shoulders, her blue-grey gaze also following the hypnotic weaving of the tiny creatures. Beneath the women, the porch swing swayed slightly in a rhythmic motion, one the Borg took note of. She had done a certain amount of research into caring for children, particularly young children, when she had been looking after the Borg baby, and she had discovered that such rocking was soothing to an infant. She was surprised to find it worked equally well for adults.

The couple, along with Phoebe and Gretchen, had moved to the porch after their dinner, spending the early part of the evening talking and enjoying each other's company. Later, after her mother had excused herself for bed, Phoebe made her farewells and walked across the lawns to her house where a light had shone in her upstairs window for a half an hour,before finally going dark. Now, Kathryn and Seven simply enjoyed being alone together to appreciate the night and the fragrance of the nearby flower beds that bloomed along the base of the porch. Of course, since Janeway had slept most of the afternoon, she was not at all tired, while Seven was content to sit here with her spouse for as long as she wanted.

"Annika?" Janeway's voice was a husky trill in the darkness, a raspy rumble that rested pleasurably in the Borg's ears.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"We should go to San Francisco tomorrow and ready the house for us to move into. Commander Patterson can probably requisition a Starfleet shuttle to take us to B'Elanna and Ro's party afterward."

"You truly do not want to stay here in Gretchen's home?" Seven asked, feeling vaguely disappointed.

Janeway sighed softly. "It's becoming so awkward, Annika. Phoebe told me that Patterson usually comes to dinner on Friday nights. Tonight he didn't show up. Either mother called him and asked him to stay away, or he feels too uncomfortable to visit while we're here."

"I understand," Seven said, and stared into the night. Despite the resolution her partner had reached with her mother earlier in the day, it was clear that Kathryn still felt uncomfortable about being in her mother's house while the possibility of Patterson's presence remained. "However, such preparation of the San Francisco house must take place in the afternoon. I have an appointment tomorrow morning."

Janeway seemed surprised. "An appointment?"

"Phoebe has arranged for me to meet with counsel," Seven explained. "Tomorrow's meeting is to determine if we are compatible enough to begin a working relationship."

Janeway was silent for a moment. "I believed there was a possibility you might need something like that when we came to Earth, but I thought a member of Starfleet would be more appropriate."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I think it would be more appropriate if such counsel comes from a civilian professional," she said, vaguely surprised.

Janeway patted the Borg on the thigh, her hand warm through the denim material. "It's your choice, darling." She paused. "Besides, I guess Sek wasn't exactly Starfleet either."

Seven frowned in the darkness, wondering what Sek had to do with anything, but before she could ask, her partner nudged her in the ribs.

"Look."

Seven blinked and looked across the lawn. From the cornfield, two creatures hesitantly crept out, fat and grey with dark streaks across their eyes, giving them the appearance of masks covering their tiny faces.

"Raccoons," Janeway whispered. "I'm glad Jake and Petunia went in with Mother. They'd be going crazy right now." Seven saw the bright flash of teeth as her spouse smiled when four smaller balls of fur stumbled out, intent on playing with each other while the chittering parents attempted to herd them across the lawn.

The two women enjoyed the show, entertained by the antics of the baby animals. When the creatures finally disappeared into the underbrush down by the stream, Janeway released the laugh she had been suppressing. "God, that was priceless. We won't see too much of that in the city, I'm afraid."

"It is my understanding that those type of creatures are quite adaptable," Seven corrected. "It is possible that you will also see raccoons in San Francisco."

"Maybe." Janeway settled back against the Borg. "But it won't happen under such a sky, or on a night that's so quiet, you can hear the water in the stream."

Seven brushed her lips over the captain's temple, nuzzling the auburn hair. "We don't have to leave, Kathryn."

"Yes, we do," Janeway said ruefully. "However, it doesn't have to be for long. I would like to meet with some architects, see what it would take to build a house down by the pond."

"Would that not be unduly soggy?"

Janeway nudged her, undoubtedly suspecting she was being teased. "Not right by the pond," the captain explained in a long-suffering tone. "On the southern rise overlooking it. We could have a rear deck which would provide us with a tremendous view."

"That is acceptable," Seven agreed. She paused. "Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling?"

"You do not wish for me to work on Vulcan or Trill, do you?"

Janeway hesitated. "Annika, you need to make your own decision regarding your future." Not for the first time, Seven recognized it as what her partner thought she should be saying for the sake of the Borg, as opposed to what was really in her heart. However, this was the first time Seven was actually going to pin her partner down about it.

"That is not what I asked," the young woman said gently, a smile edging her tone. "Please, Kathryn, do not vacillate with me."

She listened to Janeway's breathing in the darkness as the captain took a moment to find an answer. "I don't want to have to live on either of those planets. I want us to stay here on Earth until it's time for me to accept my next command."

Seven nodded. "Then, that is what we will do."

"Annika, I do want you to go with Phoebe next week to visit Trill," Janeway insisted, pulling away a little to look in the young woman's face. Seven was pleased to see the contrary spark in those blue-grey depths ... she had been afraid the day's events had blunted it somehow. "You need to check out both facilities before you make a final decision."

"I look forward to visiting both Trill and Vulcan, but I already know I will be returning here to join either the Theoretical Propulsion Group or the Daystrom Institute." Seven paused, regarding her partner steadily. "Earth is where we belong, Kathryn. Even I recognize it, and it is the time in our lives when we both need a home more than anything else. That is part of the reason you were able to face your past today, when you could not come to terms with it during all your years in space."

Janeway studied her, her gaze searching Seven's expression intently. Then she swallowed, her eyes darkening as she accepted the validity of the Borg's words. "You're right." She managed a tremulous smile. "How did you become so smart?"

Seven smiled. "I am Borg."

The captain held the gaze, then leaned forward and kissed her. Seven closed her eyes, delighting in the soft lips that covered hers. Soon, the tentative touch of her partner's tongue brushed lightly over them, a shy seeking of entrance which the Borg welcomed gladly, the kiss sparking easily into passion.

Janeway inhaled deeply when she finally drew away. "I think it's time for bed," she said softly, her face soft with a longing expression as she regarded her spouse.

"Indeed," Seven responded, then paused, smiling faintly. "Do you think you could be very quiet tonight, Kathryn?"

The captain returned the smile slowly, a gentle curve touching the corners of her mouth. "Are you planning something that could make that difficult, darling?"

"If you do not object," the Borg said as they stood up. For a moment, they embraced by the swing, Seven's arms about Janeway's waist, the captain resting her hands lightly on the Borg's upper chest. "However, I do wish a shower before I retire for the evening. It has been a very long day."

Janeway drew her nose along the line of Seven's throat, sniffing audibly. "I assure you, you smell quite wonderful just as you are," she said. The touch tickled, and the Borg smiled as she raised her chin, feeling the tip brush along the underside of her jaw.

"I will smell better after the shower."

The captain lifted her face, pressing her lips to Seven's chin, encouraging her to bend her head again which she did, finding herself captured by another kiss, light, teasing, a promise offered and accepted.

"I'll be waiting," Janeway whispered, slipping out of Seven's arms and through the screen door.

The young woman remained on the porch for a moment after her spouse's departure, smiling faintly as she looked out over the dark fields stretching as far as the eye could see to a midnight blue horizon, stars etched across the sky like a child's scattered and forgotten toys. Then, she quietly moved into the house, making sure the heavier inner door was shut firmly behind her before moving to the stairs which she ascended silently. In the bathroom, she removed her clothes and took a hot shower, lathering her skin lavishly with the provided soap that left a pleasant fragrance all over her body.

She dried her hair with a towel, then brushed out the long blonde locks falling softly over her shoulders, before wrapping a bath sheet around her body. Feeling the sense of expectation stir strong within her, she padded down the hall, the polished floor cool beneath her bare feet, carrying her worn clothes and boots. She smiled as she opened the door to the bedroom, discovering her spouse sitting up in the bed, perusing a padd as she waited patiently, just as she had promised.

Seven pretended not to notice the captain's intent gaze as she took her clothes over to the container that had been designated a 'hamper', supposedly a storage facility of some sort until the garments could be taken elsewhere to be cleaned. The boots, she placed tidily next to the dresser. When she turned back to face the bed, Janeway had deposited the padd onto the night stand and rolled over onto her side, chin cupped in her hand. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, and there was a small curve to the corner of her mouth as she regarded Seven intently. The soft glow from the lamp on the stand behind her backlit the captain's hair, granting it a coppery sheen, and the soft pink of her skin, wonderfully visible and devoid of any nightgown, made the Borg's heart rate increase measurably.

"Come here," Janeway requested throatily.

Seven quirked an eyebrow, but obediently drifted over to the side of the bed where she paused, curious as to what her partner would do next. Janeway regarded her a moment, eyes tracing over the Borg's body with sensual intent.

"Get rid of the towel," she purred.

Seven felt a pleasurable shiver go up her spine, and she met her partner's gaze squarely as she undid the knot at her cleavage, allowing the towel to drop to the floor where the terrycloth draped loosely about her feet. Janeway raised her head, nostrils flaring slightly, almost as if she could smell the young woman.

"Am I ... acceptable?" Seven asked quietly, humor edging her tone.

"Oh, my, yes," the captain remarked, and flipped back the blankets, inviting her into the bed. "Very acceptable, my love."

Seven eased between the sheets and lay on her back, looking up at the captain who gazed down at her with an expression of sudden vulnerability. Gently, Janeway drew her fingertips down the Borg's cheek.

"You are so very precious to me," she whispered.

Seven inhaled slowly, aware of the anticipation feathering through her chest and stomach, flowing warm when it reached the juncture of her legs. "I am yours, Kathryn."

Janeway smiled slowly, then reached behind her to turn off the light before reaching for her Borg in the peaceful silence of the night. Seven shivered as their bodies came together, smooth warm skin pressing against soft yielding curves, lips that caressed and consumed her, taking possession of her mouth with unfettered need. The young woman ran her hand over Janeway's back, pulling her down onto her, delighting in the soft weight and pressure of the woman she loved.

"You smell so good," Janeway whispered into Seven's ear, nipping at the lobe lightly.

"A result of my shower," the Borg responded with a smile.

"Maybe I should have taken another one," the captain said, her hands all over the young woman.

Seven pulled her closer. "Your fragrance is intoxicating. You smell like you, and that is all I require."

"Sweet talker."

Seven smiled and rolled them over, careful to remain within the parameters of the bed that was significantly narrower than the one she had shared with Kathryn on Voyager. She kissed her partner deeply, then nibbled a trail down her throat, nuzzling the hollow at the base before drifting to the small swells of the captain's breasts. She felt rather than heard the subtle vibration in her partner's chest and knew Janeway was humming that husky little trill she indulged in whenever she was aroused.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling," Janeway replied in a barely audible voice.

"I am going to taste you," Seven told her softly, wanting her to be prepared. "Extensively."

"Oh, my."

"You must remember to remain quiet."

"Of course."

"Very quiet," Seven insisted.

"I will," Janeway said, obviously piqued by the second reminder.

Seven raised an eyebrow skeptically, finding it difficult to resist her amusement at the situation, and the captain poked her in the ribs with her thumb.

"I am always quiet," she protested.

Such a blatant falsehood made the Borg chuckle, which caused Janeway to start giggling, and soon the couple were laughing so hard they could barely breathe, utterly incapable of controlling it. They most certainly could not continue in the sensual and provocative fashion with which they had began their encounter, and Seven was forced to move away from Janeway, onto her own side of the bed to give themselves room to expurgate their mirth.

"So much for romance," Janeway snorted finally, looking up at the ceiling. "My mother, if she is listening, must think we're absolutely insane."

"She undoubtedly believes we are wrestling," Seven informed her, which set her partner off again, the captain rolling over to bury her face in the young woman's shoulder to muffle her outburst.

"Oh god, I guess making love really is out of the question," Janeway said, sprawled over the Borg pleasantly. "Knowing we might have an audience is far too inhibiting. I guess this morning was an aberration rather than a sign that I can be mature about this."

Seven sighed. She supposed they had been far more determined in the cool dimness of predawn, rather than how they felt in the warm confines of this summer night. Or perhaps it was the fact that Gretchen had teased Kathryn about it, thus making the captain very aware that no matter how quiet she was, it was still audible if someone happened to be listening. "We must move to San Francisco as soon as possible."

Janeway nestled her head on the young woman's chest. "We will, darling," she promised in a murmur.

"Tomorrow night, we'll be in our own bed in our own house."

Janeway looked around the familiar surroundings of her San Francisco home, feeling a sense of relief now that they had completed the final transport of the couple's belongings from the storage facility. Across the living room, dressed in a pair of tan shorts and a blue t-shirt, dust smudging a dark streak across her nose, Seven knelt next to a stack of small shipping containers, unpacking one containing several of the couple's images.

"How is it possible that these containers became so dirty?" she complained in her precise tones as she wiped each picture frame with a clean cloth.

"I'm afraid the storage facilities are not maintained to Starfleet standards," Janeway told her, amused at the note of dissatisfaction in her partner's tone. "The electro-magnetic signature of the containers and their contents after transport seems to attract dust, like metal filings to a magnet."

"This process of storage is inefficient!" Seven said in what was, for her, the most scathing commentary she could make. She looked into another box, her eyebrow flying up her forehead. "They have damaged one of my artworks!"

Janeway moved to peer over her partner's shoulder, and winced at sight of the twisted sculpture lying in the box.

"We'll send a complaint," she said sternly. "It looks like they absolutely mangled it."

Seven cast an odd look at her. "Not that one," she said, pulling it out and placing it on a nearby table. "That is undamaged. It is this one." She pulled another one from the box and Janeway squinted at it, seeing no significant difference in the incomprehensible lines of the alien carving as compared to the other one.

"Oh," she said, baffled. "Where is it damaged?"

"Kathryn, it is damaged all over," Seven noted, outrage edging her tone. "It is completely altered from its original shape."

"How can you tell?" Janeway asked, then quailed under her partner's laser glance and backed off. "I'm going upstairs and unpack our clothes," she added quickly.

Grateful to escape having to comment further on Seven's collection of art, Janeway bounded up the stairs to the loft where the master bedroom and ensuite were located. There, she busied herself with removing the couple's civilian clothes from the shipping container and placing them in the generous walk-in closet. Since their respective wardrobes were quite limited, it didn't take long, and it occurred to her that she and her partner needed to do some shopping before long.

She took a moment to stare out the window which afforded a view of the Golden Gate Bridge arching magnificently over the azure waters of the harbor, catching a glimpse of Starfleet Command Headquarters just beyond that. Listening to the sounds of the city, muffled somewhat by the tall redwoods and thick hedges that surrounded the yard, she took a deep breath of the air scented with a faint tang of saltwater. Overhead, she could see sharp gleams of sunlight reflecting off shuttles, as well as larger transports, circling in preparation of descending to the spaceport located on the other side of the city.

It was not Indiana, of course, but Janeway had always possessed a soft spot for the California city and for this house in particular, falling in love with it the moment she had seen it all those years ago. It had been one of the very few things she had truly regretted leaving behind during her time in the Delta Quadrant, and when she found out that her mother had not turned it over to the San Francisco Housing Authority, as she had expected, but instead, had maintained it as a vacation home which required the expense of a large amount of credits, she had been deeply touched. The compact home was airy and bright, constructed with large windows and gleaming wood, while a spacious back yard provided the perfect location for Jake. She could see the dog currently sniffing around his kennel, determining what his boundaries were. A tiny transmitter attached to his collar offered a mild warning shock whenever he wandered too near the gates, but for the most part, he seemed relatively pleased at his new home, not to mention the return of his toys that had been packed away until now.

We need to get him a playmate, however, Janeway thought, her chin resting idly on her palm as she gazed down at him. It would afford him company during the day while his mistresses were away.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway started, vaguely embarrassed at being caught woolgathering by her spouse. Seven regarded her oddly from the arch of the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Have you unpacked our clothing?"

"All put away," Janeway said, waving airily at the closet.

Seven regarded the large bed that had been delivered shortly after the couple had arrived earlier in the day, obviously wondering why the captain was just standing there while the bare mattress remained uncovered. "Do you require assistance making the bed?" she asked pointedly.

Janeway smiled widely. "Are you accusing me of being derelict in my duty, Lt. Seven?"

"Are you?"

"I'm taking a break, Lieutenant," the captain told her, in a very dignified tone.

"Ah," Seven remarked, eyeing her narrowly. "Perhaps you should be put on report."

"Perhaps you should haul your two little pips over here and give me a kiss," Janeway countered.

"Perhaps you should gather together your four pips and..."

The chime of the doorbell forestalled the rest of the Borg's suggestion, causing Seven to disappear from the bedroom, and leaving Janeway feeling vaguely disgruntled. She followed her partner as far as the loft that overlooked the living room, watching as Seven descended the stairs and moved across to answer the door.

"Good afternoon," a voice said brightly.

"Good afternoon," Seven repeated dutifully.

By leaning over the railing a little, Janeway could just catch a glimpse of the somewhat stout form of a woman, unfamiliar and obviously a civilian. She was garbed in a brightly flowered dress, and her hair was the most appalling shade of orange that the captain had ever seen.

"I'm Melody Bellwood, from just down the street," the newcomer continued. "I noticed the moving van and decided to welcome you to the neighborhood."

Janeway raised an eyebrow. Melody Bellwood. Melody Bellwood. Why did that name send up a faint warning bell with her? She worried it like a puppy with a bone as she continued to eavesdrop her partner's first experience with a nosey neighbor, taking a seat on the sofa next to the railing.

"That was not a moving van," Seven informed the stranger. "That was the transport from the furniture store delivering our new bed."

"Well, isn't that wonderful," the voice chattered on, seeming not at all put off by the tall Borg looming over her, or Seven's clipped intonation. "You know, we're so glad to see this house being lived in again. It was such a tragedy what happened." Her voice had lowered to a confiding tone, indicating that whatever had happened did not necessarily reflect well on the previous occupants of the house.

"Tragedy?" Seven prompted politely, since that was obviously what the gregarious woman wanted.

"The lost starship," the woman revealed in a tone implying it was an event of some scandalous magnitude. "Villager or Viper or Voyeur ... something like that."

"Voyager."

"Yes, Voyager. You know, I heard the crew was reduced to cannibalism to survive their journey, and those that did make it back had become stark, raving mad. It's a huge coverup by Starfleet."

Janeway blinked and Seven's voice rose slightly. "Indeed?"

"My, those are wonderful," Melody noted, reaching up to touch Seven's implants, ignoring her brief flinch. "On what planet is that kind of facial jewelry stylish?" Though she kept edging from one side to the other, obviously expecting an invitation inside, Seven remained immovable in the center of the entrance, preventing her passage.

"Thousands of planets," the Borg told her, and Janeway resisted the urge to snicker. "From whom did you receive the information that the crew of the lost starship consumed each other?"

"The Galactic Enquirer," Melody informed her without missing a beat. "Of course, every one says that they're just a scandal sheet, but you know, they'll come out with a story, and everyone will scream that it's all lies ... then six months later, the real story comes out and you know what?"

"What?" Seven said, her tone one of absolute fascination. Janeway wondered if the Borg was taking notes.

"It's exactly the same story as the one the Enquirer told," Melody said. "Only a very few details are different."

"Only a few?" the Borg echoed.

"By the way, I didn't catch your name," Melody said.

"Seven of Nine,"  Seven offered gravely.

"Oh, what an unusual name!" the neighbor exclaimed. "Where are you from originally?"

"I was born on Tendara Colony."

"I'm sure you'll find Earth far more sophisticated," Melody said in a rather condescending tone. "Do you have any children?"

"Not at the moment," Seven said. "However, we do have plans..."

"That's wonderful," Melody said, barely allowing the Borg to finish responding to her staccato assault of questions. "This is a great neighborhood for kids, and the school down the block is rated as one of the best in the city. My oldest grandchild will be starting there in a couple of years. I live with my daughter and her husband, you know."

"No, I did not know."

"What's your husband do?"

"I do not have a husband," Seven told her. "I have a wife."

"Oh, a same-gender pairing. You have to meet the Coles. They have two children."

"Indeed."

"What do you do?"

"I have not decided yet."

"Ah, don't worry, you'll find a job. Are you planning to add to the house?"

"Not at the moment."

"It's such a lovely home, just perfect for kids," Melody said. "Well, I should be going. You need anything, just give me a call. We're in the directory under M. H. Johnson." She paused. "You know, it's so sad about the woman who used to live here."

"Yes?"

"She was on that ship that was lost. My daughter's husband knew her."

"Indeed," Seven said, her tone suddenly interested.

"Actually, he was engaged to her," Melody went on. "Such a tragedy ... I didn't think Mark would ever get over it. Fortunately, Melissa was there to lend her support, and when they finally fell in love and got married, it was so very romantic. Well, I can't stay any longer. You and your spouse must come over from dinner some night. In the meantime, I'll see you around the neighborhood."

Janeway had leapt straight up as if jolted by an electrical shock, finally identifying the name ... and why it had sent up so many alarm bells ... but she couldn't move quickly enough. By the time she had scrambled down the stairs and turned the corner, the door was shut and Seven was standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over her chest, pinning Janeway with a pale blue gaze of pure ice.

"We live next door to Mark Johnson?!?"  Each word was bitten off as if they were shattering icicles.

Janeway raised her hands defensively. "Not next door, exactly," she explained quickly. "More like across the street and five houses down. I ... uh, forgot to mention that our homes used to be located relatively close together."

"'Used to be'?" Seven's tone was pure skepticism, edged liberally with displeasure.

"Well, actually, I didn't think he still lived here," Janeway admitted. "I thought he and his wife would have moved back to Indiana by now, especially since that was what Mark always said he would do. I mean, honestly, it's been seven years, and when Mother didn't mention it, I didn't think it was a problem."

"Kathryn..." Seven began.

"Annika, it's not that bad," Janeway said, speaking quickly as she strove desperately to keep this from becoming more of a situation than it already was. "I'm married to you. It doesn't make any difference at all where Mark is or whom he's married to ... my god, what a bubble brain. I wonder if Melissa turned out anything like her mother?"

"Kathryn!"

"Sorry," Janeway said, realizing she had gotten a little distracted. "Look, darling, it's not going to be a problem. I doubt we'll even encounter them."

"We have already 'encountered' them," Seven noted coldly, and went into the kitchen to unpack her cooking utensils.

Janeway hesitated, then followed the young woman into the other room that, aside from a large replicator, didn't really have much in the way of appliances ... a far cry from Gretchen's fully appointed kitchen in Indiana. Staring wistfully at her partner, Janeway paused by the island as Seven began to put away her tools in various compartments and drawers that the captain hadn't even known were there, never having spent a great deal of time in this particular area of the house. The Borg's motion was abrupt and agitated, her gaze dark whenever it flashed in the captain's direction.

"I'm really sorry, Annika," the captain said finally, apologetically. "I should have told you there was a chance that Mark and his family still lived in the area."

Seven paused, then exhaled audibly and looked at her. "I suppose I must forgive you," she said, somewhat grudgingly. "After all, I did not tell you that your mother and Michael Patterson were involved." She paused. "Was this a form of revenge?"

Janeway was appalled. "Of course not," she protested. She thought about it. "It would have been perfect, however."

"Indeed." Seven spoke with little enthusiasm, carefully inserting her knives in a wooden block which she then placed in a nook on one end of the counter. "Perhaps it would not be so terrible to know they are in the neighborhood ... once I become more familiar with the concept."

"We could invite them over for dinner," Janeway suggested. Seven shot her a look. "Or maybe not."

Seven shook her head in exasperation with her spouse but there was a small smile touching her full lips, and encouraged, Janeway edged closer, offering her best hangdog expression. "Darling, it wasn't a deliberate oversight," she said. Daringly, she reached out and put her hand on the small of the Borg's back. "I honestly didn't mean to hide it from you."

"No, you merely hoped to avoid telling me ... just as I had hoped to avoid speaking with you about your mother's relationship." She turned to look at her partner. "Kathryn, it is best when we do not keep things from one another."

Janeway reached out and hugged the young woman. "I agree," she said fervently. "No more secrets, darling, not even ones that seem relatively harmless at the time." Seven dropped a kiss on her forehead and the captain sighed. "Am I out of the doghouse?" she added hopefully. At Seven's expression, she clarified before the young woman asked when Janeway had shared Jake's kennel. "Have you stopped being annoyed at me?"

Seven gave every indication of considering it carefully, and Janeway poked her gently with her thumb. "Seven!"

Seven smiled. "Since we have only an hour before we must leave for B'Elanna and Ro's party, I suppose I must stop being annoyed at you," she said in a warmer voice. She dipped her head. "However, you must go up and make the bed right now."

Janeway made a face, but managed to capture a kiss from her partner. "Oh, all right," she said. She squeezed the young woman and nuzzled her gently, dropping her voice to a husky trill. "Of course, we'll only mess it up when we get home."

Seven regarded her impassively. "Only you shall have the opportunity to 'mess it up' if you have forgotten to tell me anything else about our living arrangements," she warned, unmoved by the implication in the captain's tone.

Janeway raised her hands in surrender, immediately backing away and heading for the door.

"I'll make the bed right now."

She wondered if she was learning the definition of being 'henpecked', and what Melody Bellwood would have to say about that?

"You must be kidding!" Janeway exclaimed as she walked out onto the spacious deck where B'Elanna was supervising the barbeque. Chakotay, Tuvok, the Doctor, along with their assorted guests, had arrived earlier, and they greeted the captain and her companions warmly. "These are your new quarters?"

The Klingon flashed Janeway a grin. "What's the problem, Captain?" she asked, as she flipped several more hamburgers onto a plate. "Not used to seeing lieutenants with decent housing for a change?"

"Decent?" Janeway echoed, hands on her hips as she looked out over the shimmering lake. "My god, when I was a lieutenant, I had a room with a bed, a desk and a chair. Frequently, they were all the same piece of furniture. What did you do to warrant this, Lt. Torres?"

"It's a lovely home, B'Elanna," Gretchen said, graciously accepting a drink from Dr. Zimmerman, who was looking at her with enough interest that Commander Patterson immediately made his presence known to the medical officer by moving to Gretchen's side and glaring at him. "I remember visiting this lake when the girls were young. However, I assumed these houses were for the senior ranks."

"There was a change in regulations," Ro Laren explained as she delivered a glass full of a smokey golden liquid to the captain. B'Elanna knew it was whiskey and soda, the captain's favorite choice of intoxicant and just the thing to relax Janeway ... making her more open to suggestion. "Apparently, an officer or family member actually has to be posted to Utopia Planitia to now live on the base." The Bajoran flashed a smile at her lover. "I'm fortunate enough to know the right people."

"I'm impressed," the captain said, sipping her drink. "Maybe I should try for a posting at Utopia Planitia."

Ro and B'Elanna exchanged a glance, then Ro urged the captain and Gretchen away on the pretense of showing them the flower garden in the back yard.

"B'Elanna," Harry Kim greeted as he turned the corner of the house, accompanied by his wife and son. He was carrying the little boy who immediately screeched in pleasure as soon as he saw Seven and wiggled out of his father's arms, scrambling across the deck. The young man was dressed in a yellow tank top with dark, baggy shorts and sandals, while his wife, Megan Delaney, wore a light summer dress. Their son was dressed in a sun suit and B'Elanna saw a rare and very bright smile cross Seven's face as she scooped up the little boy, hugging him happily.

"Hey, Harry," the engineer greeted the new arrivals. "Megan. There's beer, soft drinks and fruit juice in the cooler, and this round of burgers is almost done. There's plenty for everyone. You can find the condiments on the picnic table. There's also some salad, corn and some fried chicken."

Music from the house computer filled the air, and the party quickly developed into a pleasant exchange of good food and good conversation, giving every indication of being a total success. The Klingon glanced around the deck in pride and satisfaction, pleased to see that everyone appeared to be having fun, and quite grateful for the chance to catch up with each other after the past few days. It wasn't the most elegant of affairs, but then, B'Elanna would rather her guests be comfortable than impressed. She finished up the barbeque duties, shutting the cover of the device before filling a plate for herself, and drifting over to where Seven was sitting with Icheb and the Borg twins on the bench lining one end of the deck. The oldest Borg child ... almost a young man really ... was recounting his adventure with a large quadruped he called 'Spooky', supposedly a 'painted pony' that was going to be his 'cattle horse'. Azan and Rebi looked faintly envious, and disappointed that they wouldn't be able to see it before leaving for Vulcan on Monday, immediately after Tuvok's debriefings. Characteristically, the security chief was cutting short his 'long weekend' to make it possible to return home sooner.

B'Elanna didn't try to draw Seven away from the Borg children immediately. Instead, she took her plate and sat down close to the group, quietly listening to the conversation. When the young people were finally lured away from the Borg by Chakotay's suggestion that they go for a walk on the beach, B'Elanna scooted into the vacated place on the bench and nudged her friend.

"Having a good time?" she asked.

"I am," Seven admitted in a tone that sounded almost surprised. She glanced at the Klingon. "Are you enjoying your new home, B'Elanna?"

About to respond with a brash dismissal, indicating she was not the sort who would ever be influenced by such a thing, B'Elanna hesitated, then dipped her head. "A lot," she admitted. "I know that the regulations will probably change again, and we'll lose the house, but for the time being, Ro and I are really enjoying the opportunity to live like 'real people' for awhile."

Seven nodded. "I felt similar emotions as I was unpacking our belongings in the house in San Francisco. There was the sense that this would be a place that Kathryn and I would settle for a significant period of time."

B'Elanna approached that carefully, as if it were a bird that would fly if she pounced on it too quickly. She took a bite of hamburger, chewing rapidly to give her some time to consider it.

"So, you and Janeway will be staying on Earth?" she asked casually after swallowing. "What about Vulcan? Or Trill?"

Seven, unaware of how important her response would be, took a sip of fruit juice. "Phoebe and I shall be visiting those planets next week. However, unless something of great significance occurs on either of them, I will not be accepting either position. Instead, I shall accept either the offer from the Daystrom Institute, or that of Dr. Brahms."

B'Elanna glanced sideways at the Borg. "Any preferences?"

Seven blinked. "No. Both possess certain advantages as well as disadvantages regarding which would be preferable. The Institute would provide me with the opportunity to learn as well as pursue my research. However, I find Dr. Brahms to be a most fascinating person, and the working relationship we developed during the slipstream drive project would facilitate my immediate absorption into her team."

"Then there's the fact that, with the TPG, you'll be working here on Mars," the Klingon threw out casually. "That will give you and me the chance to get together every so often."

"Perhaps more than a chance. I was speaking with Dr. Brahms this afternoon via the comm system from our house in California. She mentioned that if I were to join her team, I would most likely be assigned to the new propulsion system they are completing for an experimental vessel being built in Utopia Planitia. Do you know which ship you will initially be assigned, B'Elanna? If it is the same ship, you and I would actually be working together again."

"I'd really like that, Nik," B'Elanna responded, utilizing her diminutive form of Seven's Human designation to indicate the depth of her pleasure.

In truth, B'Elanna wanted to howl in triumph, realizing that this couldn't be working out better than if she had arranged it herself. In fact, she decided, it was working out almost too well. For a second, a flash of what might be a premonition raised her hackles. What was it Ro had said? They didn't know for sure which side was doing the manipulating here. Perhaps the engineer should not find this such promising information after all.

Seven frowned, seeming to be slightly disturbed as well. "B'Elanna, despite the attraction of joining the Theoretical Propulsion Group, I am afraid that it would be very similar to what I have already done in Starfleet regarding my duties on Voyager. There is a part of me that wonders if I should not try something entirely different, attempt to test my intellect within the unfamiliar environment provided by the Daystrom Institute. I am afraid that I may choose to join the TPG because it is 'easy', not because it is the best choice for me."

B'Elanna thought about it, resolutely pushing away her own agenda and trying to consider it solely as the Borg's friend.

"That's always a possibility, Nik. It's tempting to chose the more familiar path rather than the one that's entirely unfamiliar, but that doesn't mean you're choosing incorrectly by taking the easy road. It sounds to me like both situations offer their share of challenge. It's not wrong to consider your personal needs when you're considering your professional ones, and a smoother path will afford you more time to spend with the captain, rather than be fully occupied with adjusting to new things at the Daystrom Institute."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I had not considered it from that perspective." She stared out over the shimmering water. "Perhaps you are correct, B'Elanna. Choosing the TPG will afford me a shorter adjustment period. Certainly, that would benefit both the captain and myself."

B'Elanna ignored the sharp little jab her conscience gave her. "Sounds like you've made up your mind."

Seven nodded. "The factors are definitely weighing toward that outcome." She glanced at the Klingon. "Thank you for listening, B'Elanna. You are a good friend."

B'Elanna knew that Seven would never set out to stick verbal needles into her associates, but somehow, she always knew the right thing to say which would gut an opponent with just a word or two. It was an ability the Klingon admired greatly, even when she was on the receiving end of it, and even when the Borg was completely oblivious of her natural grasp at bestowing guilt trips on those who were attempting to manipulate her.

Must be the innocence thing she has going, B'Elanna decided.

"Anytime, Nik," B'Elanna said, and made a mental promise to do what she could to make it up to the young woman ... when this was all over.

B'Elanna was vaguely relieved when she saw Ro returning with the captain. The Bajoran's eyes met hers, and there was the faintest of nods. The engineer hoped that meant Ro's discussion about Utopia Planitia went smoothly. Of course, no one would really know anything until Tuesday, when they were all supposed to report for duty.

Then the real fun would begin.

Janeway bent over, her hand pressed against the left side of her abdomen, sucking in oxygen desperately. Beside her, bouncing lightly in her shorts, t-shirt and running shoes so that she wouldn't stiffen up, Seven tilted her head and regarded her partner curiously. Jake also looked on with interest, his jaw open, tongue lolling happily as he sat on his haunches.  His long leash was looped casually around the Borg's wrist, which was fortunate because at the moment, the captain did not appear strong enough to hold him should he take it into his head to divert from this unscheduled pause in their morning outing.

"Kathryn, are you sure that running every morning in Golden Gate Park is really what you want to do?" Seven asked reasonably.

Janeway waved her other hand, clearly unable to speak at the moment. Other runners pounded past the couple, perhaps not even seeing them in their striving to reach physical fitness. Perhaps they also ignored the early morning mist retreating from the emerald lawns, burned away by the pale rays of golden sunshine, the dew providing miniature rainbows on the individual stems of grass. If so, it would be a waste, Seven decided. The air was fresh with the tang of salt coming off the bay, and Seven found it all very invigorating, though she suspected her partner was having more trouble deriving energy from her surroundings than the Borg was.

"Kathryn?"

"I ran every morning when I lived here," Janeway wheezed. "I can do this."

"Perhaps you should work up to it," Seven suggested helpfully. "This first morning, we could take a walk in the park, rather than a run."

Janeway shot a look at her partner, but either decided it wasn't worth arguing about it ... or could not spare the breath. Instead, she gingerly straightened and began to move down the pathway at what could be considered a somewhat less than brisk walk. Raising an eyebrow, Seven fell into step with her, Jake belatedly scooting along behind them. The Borg felt wonderful, as if she could run all day, but she decided that was not the sort of thing she should necessarily share with her spouse at the moment.

"Dammit, I'm out of shape," Janeway grumbled as they strolled through the manicured grounds. "Starship duty is horrible for maintaining one's endurance."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed, though it had not affected her endurance at all.

Of course, the Borg noted silently to herself, sliding in after midnight because of B'Elanna and Ro's party was probably the real obstacle to the captain's plan to resume the workout regime she had enjoyed seven years earlier ... not to mention the six whiskey and sodas Janeway drank over the course of the evening. The flight back to Earth had been rather trying for all concerned as the inebriated Kathryn and Gretchen ... suddenly acting as if they were friends now rather than mother and daughter ... insisted on singing ribald songs at the top of their lungs while Patterson grimly piloted the shuttle, and both Seven and Phoebe gritted their teeth, squashed into the rear of the cockpit. That was when Seven discovered that Kathryn had apparently inherited her inability to carry a tune from her mother, though the Borg was pleased to see how well the two women were interacting with each other.

"I do intend to start running in the mornings again," Janeway told her stubbornly, "as long as we live here."

"Of course, Kathryn," Seven agreed evenly.

"Why did you let me drink so much last night?"

Seven blinked. "I was unaware I had any control over your liquor intake. Indeed, when I do comment on it, you imply that it is none of my concern."

"As if that ever stopped you before," Janeway complained. She paused by a fountain and took the opportunity to drink deeply, undoubtedly still dehydrated from waking up with a hangover. The Borg didn't know why Janeway had insisted on performing this cardiovascular activity this morning instead of holding off another day ... other than sheer contrariness ... but she was glad to see the captain was breathing much easier after imbibing some H_2O.

"Are you feeling better?" Seven asked.

Janeway snorted with little humor. "My head is pounding, I have a stitch in my side, I'm sweating like a pig and my calves hurt." She paused. "I think I'm getting old, Annika."

"I was unaware porcine perspired," Seven said, interest coloring her tone. "Or is that merely a saying?"

"The latter," Janeway said, heading down the path again. "Come on. I want to go home and take a shower, then you and I can go out to this cafe I know for brunch."

"Do you really intend to do this every morning, Kathryn?" Seven queried, pursuing this for the moment. She had no wish to one day discover her partner lying face down on one of these manicured lawns because she insisted on overdoing it.

"Every morning," Janeway said resolutely, as a group of young people, outfitted in Starfleet Academy sweats, blew by them, led by a gracefully striding young woman whose long hair was held back in a ponytail, streaming behind her in a crimson trail. The captain looked after the rapidly disappearing pack with a dark expression on her face. "I used to be able to run marathons ... now I doubt I can sprint a hundred meters."

"Why is it important that you be able to run? It was my understanding that administration was a sedentary sort of position." She realized that was exactly the wrong thing to say when her partner turned her dark look on her.

"I am not going to sit all day in a chair, Annika," Janeway stated firmly. "No matter what posting I accept." She increased her tempo to a brisk walk and, stifling a sigh, Seven picked up her pace, her long legs making it easy to stride along beside the more compact captain. "Besides, the better shape I'm in, the less being pregnant will affect my work."

Seven faltered as she missed a step. "That is correct," she said, pleased but somewhat bemused. "Why do I keep forgetting that now we can actively pursue the expansion of our family unit?"

"I don't know," Janeway said. She paused at the corner where the paths intersected, then took the one which would lead them to the exit of the park closest to their home. She glanced over at the young woman. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Not at all." Seven frowned, considering it carefully. "Perhaps I still feel too unsettled to contemplate our having children yet."

Janeway slowed to a stop and turned to her. "That's fair," she admitted, her eyes lightening to a soft grey as she lifted her hand and rested it on Seven's arm. "This upcoming week will clarify things considerably, darling. Then we'll begin turning our plans into reality."

Seven smiled warmly. "That would be acceptable." She wondered if she dared lean over and kiss her spouse, even though anyone passing by could see them. On the other hand, Janeway was certainly not the captain of the park, and did not have to worry about violating her command dignity in any fashion.

Seven was already pulling Kathryn into her arms as the objections were considered and discarded in her mind. To her pleasure, Janeway didn't hesitate in the slightest, surrendering immediately to the Borg's embrace. Their lips met, and Seven decided that it must be irrelevant to her partner that they were standing in the middle of a public place in broad daylight. It was rather pleasant being on Earth.

"You must really love me, darling," Janeway muttered happily, once they had parted. "Only you want to hold me no matter how much I reek. I can't say that about any of my previous lovers."

"I will always want to hold you. Your previous lovers were fools."

Janeway frowned, and Seven was surprised until she realized the captain was looking past her, to something behind the Borg.

"I don't know how foolish they were," Janeway said, with what seemed to be a bit of a rueful sigh, "but they certainly have the most incredibly bad timing."

Feeling somewhat fatalistic, Seven released her partner and turned around. There was a tall, muscular man approaching the couple from the entrance of the park. He was pushing a stroller and accompanied by a voluptuous chestnut-haired woman holding hands with another child who looked approximately three years old. Instinctively, Seven realized that this must be Mark Johnson, accompanied by the family he had acquired after giving up on Kathryn. She studied him keenly, curious about the man who was the last of Janeway's lovers before giving her heart to the Borg.

"Kath," he said, a wondering tone in his voice. "Is it really you?" He was staring at Janeway with a very odd expression in his eyes, one that Seven did not particularly appreciate. Apparently, neither did his companion, and the woman frowned as she regarded the captain.

Janeway, Seven was pleased to note, did not look at all comfortable with the developing situation, and the smile she offered the newcomers was quite forced, though possibly only the Borg could tell.

"Mark, it's good to see you again." She took Seven's arm. "May I introduce my spouse, Seven of Nine."

He blinked, as if noticing for the first time that the captain was not alone, but seemed to recover quickly. "Seven," he said, holding out his hand in a traditional Human greeting. "That's an unusual name."

"It is my Borg designation," she stated, hesitating slightly before reaching out and shaking his hand firmly. For a brief instance, she toyed with the idea of crushing it, but decided that would be completely inappropriate ... not to mention the fact that Kathryn would be most displeased with her. "My Human designation is Lt. Annika Hansen."

He appeared slightly taken aback by this, but managed a quick nod. "Borg," he echoed. "That's ... very interesting." Seven somehow suspected that was not the word he wanted, but it was a fairly innocuous comment and therefore safe. He turned to the woman. "This is my wife, Melissa, and our children, Willie and Marcus."

Seven softened as she regarded the Johnson offspring, though Marcus seemed shy, sticking a chubby finger in his mouth and moving closer to Melissa. The Borg offered him a faint smile, and he tentatively smiled back, peeking at her from behind his mother's legs. He also seemed quite interested in Jake, obviously wanting to go over to him, but also afraid to leave his mother's presence. Jake, quite experienced with children younger than five through his encounters with Little Harry, prudently kept his distance to the fullest extent of his leash, lying on the grass nearby as he regarded the youngsters warily.

"I remember your assistant," Janeway said briskly, nodding at the woman. "It's good to see you again, Melissa."

"It's good to see you, too," the woman responded politely. Seven did not think either of the women were being entirely honest.

Mark shook his head. "I saw on the news that you finally brought your ship in last Thursday." His gaze was intent, looking at Janeway as if trying to imprint her indelibly into his memory. "Have you been in San Francisco the entire time?"

"No, we spent some time in Indiana with Mom, then came out here yesterday and moved back into my house on R. Garrett Avenue." Her smile grew a bit warmer, less artificial, almost as if she found something amusing. "I guess that means we're going to be neighbors."

That bit of news did not seem to be particularly welcomed by Melissa, though Mark appeared to appreciate it. Seven discovered she was becoming slightly annoyed with the whole thing.

"How soon will you be going out to space again?" Melissa asked abruptly, and when everyone looked at her, she tilted her head, looking a little defensive. "That is what you do, isn't it ... as a starship captain?"

Janeway dipped her head. "After seven years, I've decided to take a bit of a leave. I'll be accepting an administrative post for the next year or so, until my next command comes through." She glanced at her spouse, and Seven wondered if this moment could possibly become any more tense. "Seven and I will be staying in San Francisco full time."

"That's just wonderful, Kath," Mark said, with a heartiness that seemed inappropriate ... particularly since things were long over with him and Kathryn. Weren't they? "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of you. It's a pretty small neighborhood."

"Yes, it is," Seven interjected at that moment. "I have already met your mother-in-law."

Janeway nudged her unobtrusively in the ribs, and the Borg subsided slightly.

"I don't think she knew who you were," Mark said, suddenly focusing his attention on Seven ... which was fine with her since it meant he was not staring at Janeway. "Otherwise, I'm sure she would have mentioned it."

"I suspect she did not know who I was," Seven agreed. She met his eyes squarely, and allowed her gaze to grow cold, becoming the inhuman, dispassionate, clinical stare of the Borg Collective that she still utilized on occasion when it suited her purposes. He blinked, color flooding his face, and she felt a measure of satisfaction.

"I ... uh, we're on our way to church," he muttered. He forcibly tore his gaze away from Seven's and returned it to the captain, undoubtedly feeling that was safer.

Janeway lifted her head. "Church? I thought that, as a philosopher, you found most organized religions incompatible with your beliefs."

"Actually, philosophy is tied irrevocably to spirituality, and as I further my studies, I discover that certain beliefs do appeal to my sense of self." He offered the captain a warm smile, an implication that there was more there than just his words, as if he were offering some memory of when they had been together and discussed such things extensively.

Seven wondered if she would have to kill him slowly or quickly.

"Do you remember, Kath, that night in San Paulo when I debated just that question with Professor Penmen?"

"I do," Janeway said, returning the smile, relaxing as they started to relate to each other verbally, probably just as they had years ago, before Voyager had taken her away from him. Seven was uncomfortably aware that Kathryn and Mark had known each other since they were very young, growing up in the same Agricultural Park, though it was much later in their life that they became romantically involved. The past tied them together on many levels, and it was not easily ignored. There appeared to be a subconscious reaching out between them, a subtle attempt to restore a friendship developed over a long period of time, regardless of their current circumstances.

Seven deliberately broke the moment that was building by taking a deep breath, expanding her chest to its full magnitude, and like metal filings drawn to a magnet ... or dust to a shipping container ... Mark Johnson's eyes swiveled and locked on the Borg's prominent assets, covered only by the thinnest of t-shirts and undergarments. It was an interesting phenomenon, one Seven had taken note of several times while on Voyager, and she was intrigued to find it still applied on Earth. For whatever reason, when she displayed her breasts as if they were trophies of some sort, Human males could not control their gaze. It seemed a purely instinctual thing, one that a great many of them were apparently unable to prevent, and sometimes, even seemed completely unaware of.

If Mark was unaware of his involuntary response, however, Janeway wasn't, nor was Melissa, and they both stared at Seven, one with blatant resentment, the other with surprise ... as if having forgotten who was the only one entitled to ogle that piece of anatomy. Seven innocently raised an eyebrow at her partner, and Janeway's eyes narrowed.

"We're going to be late for church," Melissa interjected, and Seven was frankly surprised not to see her breath crystallizing in the summer air ... her tone had been one of such sheer ice.

Mark blinked and seemed to become aware that he had spent several seconds in an inappropriate appreciation of another woman's anatomical features, his face coloring darkly.

"Uh, yes, we are," he agreed. He nodded at the Starfleet officers. "It was nice to meet you ... uh, Seven. Kath, always a pleasure."

"Have a good day, Mark," Janeway said, seizing Seven's elbow. "Melissa, good to see you again."

"You must tell me why your previous lovers persist on calling you something other than your name, Kathryn," Seven insisted quite loudly as Janeway pulled her away. "Do they lack the mental capacity to remember words of more than one syllable?"

"Shh," Janeway hushed her, taking her arm and leading her to the path out of the park. If she suspected that her spouse was making one final, needling comment at her ex-lover on purpose, she did not immediately indicate it, too busy trying to get her spouse away from Mark and his family.

Perhaps Mr. Johnson would take the parting comments philosophically, Seven told herself darkly.

"I can't believe you," Janeway scolded as they entered the street and turned up their block. "You were positively awful!"

Seven managed an expression of mild confusion. "I was not anything other than who I am."

Janeway pinned her with a sharp, sideways look. "We've been married far too long for me to continue to underestimate you in social situations, Annika," she told her sternly. "Lately, I've developed the distinct impression that you're utilizing that Borg innocence of Human society as a cover just to see how people will jump here on Earth."

Seven did not respond immediately, uncomfortably aware of the accuracy of that assessment.

"Perhaps," she allowed finally, very reluctantly.

"Not to mention the fact that you're acting like a jealous wife."

Seven blinked. "I am a jealous wife."

Startled, Janeway stopped and stared at her. Seven regarded her evenly, and her partner began to smile. "There's nothing for you to be jealous of," the captain assured her as she moved well within the Borg's personal space, her body brushing against Seven's. She put her hands on Seven's arms and the young woman immediately responded by pulling Janeway closer to her. "I love you, darling. Nothing will change that, no matter how many old lovers show up."

"There are more?" Seven asked in dismay as she gazed down at her spouse.

"Of course not," Janeway told her, looking up into her pale eyes intently. "But, even if there were, Annika, it was all in the past. It doesn't need to affect us now."

"The past does influence the present however. Refusing to acknowledge it is a mistake."

Janeway stared at her a moment, then eventually nodded. "Fine," she said, exhaling slowly. "How it affects us is up to us, however. Believe me when I tell you that I don't have any feelings for Mark, other than the fond memories of the friend I once had. Trust me when I say that you are very much my present and the only future I care to pursue."

Seven studied that sincere, blue-grey gaze. "Very well." She quirked an eyebrow. "In any event, by the end of the conversation, he was far more interested in my cleavage than he was in you."

Janeway made a face at her. "Sometimes you can be far too knowledgeable of Human quirks for your own good, my love." She paused. "Of course, he couldn't help but be impressed by you, Annika ... Mark's always been a breast man. Couldn't you tell just by looking at Melissa?"

"Indeed?" Seven remarked, gazing down at her partner inquiringly, specifically in the area of Janeway's chest which was nicely proportionate to her height, but certainly not what one might consider ... generous ... unlike the Borg or even Melissa who had apparently received more than her share. "What was the basis of his attraction for you, then?"

Janeway rose to her tiptoes and bit Seven on the chin. "Beast," she muttered huskily. "I would think by now you would know that any more than a handful is a waste."

Seven discovered she was smiling. "I do know, Kathryn. You are perfect in every way."

She hugged her spouse tightly, reveling in the bright sunshine and the woman in her arms, and decided that Janeway was right. It was time to put the past into its proper perspective and concentrate on the present. As for the future...

Seven would face that when it happened.

Epilogue

Admiral Hayes leaned back in his chair and regarded the other three admirals who had gathered to discuss the Voyager Situation. Their superiors in Starfleet Command wanted the final details wrapped up as soon as possible, and things settled so that starship operations could get back to concentrating on the other problems facing the Federation, ranging from the Breen to a rise in criminal activities by the Orion Syndicate. Sitting across from Hayes, Admiral Ross looked both bored and annoyed, which was understandable considering that most of their recent meetings had consisted of little more than verbal wrangling between the other two admirals.

"By what authority did you issue them leave?" Necheyev demanded, glaring at Paris. "The sooner we know where they're posted, the better it is for them and the better it is for us to make plans regarding their deployment in the future. Not to mention the fact that as long as that Borg remains unassigned, the greater the chance we have of losing her to civilian life. Isn't anyone aware of the offers she's been getting from places like the Vulcan Science Academy? What good will she do us on Vulcan?"

"They've been serving non-stop for seven years, Alynna," Paris responded, using Necheyev's first name with a familiarity that the woman hated. Hayes suspected Paris was deliberately baiting her, though he wasn't sure why. "They'll be reporting soon enough. First thing tomorrow morning, as a matter of fact."

"Why don't you just concentrate on your area of operations, Paris?" Necheyev said acidly. "Leave the actual commanding to us."

Paris bristled, and Hayes resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There had been bad blood between the two admirals for over a decade, beginning with Necheyev's investigation into an accident involving Tom Paris, Owen's son. Necheyev had pursued the case with what seemed to be unusual zeal, and while her suspicions had been absolutely correct in that it hadn't been an accident, but a case of negligence on the part of the squad leader ... specifically the younger Paris ... she couldn't prove it. Nor would she, had young Tom not subsequently made a full confession. Necheyev never let the other admiral forget it, forever questioning his judgment when it came to certain decisions, as if the son's failure reflected directly on the father.

Then the situation was exacerbated even further when Paris authorized a mission which handed one of the new Defiant-class vessels over to a class of cadets. Necheyev had argued strenuously against it, insisting that the political and territorial situation in the Alpha Quadrant was too unstable to send out a shipload of cadets with only a few senior officers, predicting that it would be a disaster. As the ship had been caught behind enemy lines when war broke out, and eventually destroyed by the Jem'Hadar, all hands lost but for a single cadet and two passengers, Necheyev had ultimately been proven correct, but it had been a most bitter vindication.

Necheyev's niece had been on the USS Valiant, serving as the first officer. She had not survived.

An entire class of the best Starfleet Academy had to offer had been lost. Certainly, it was a moment in the history between the two admirals that resonated through the present and undoubtedly, would continue to influence the future. Now, whatever Necheyev wanted, Paris did his best to undermine. He had to know that the admiral had wanted to debrief Voyager's captain immediately, and it was entirely possible that giving Janeway and the remaining members of her crew a four day leave ... a generous gesture on the surface ... was actually a deliberate slap at Necheyev's authority. She was the sector commander, she was Janeway's immediate superior, and she was the one who determined where to deploy her people. It was clear to Hayes that Necheyev had specific plans for the captain of Voyager and he wondered how long Paris would continue to interfere with them out of little more than what appeared to be sheer spite.

Hayes stifled a sigh. Chances were, once Janeway and her Borg spouse reported for duty, things would really start to bubble. It might become a case where he would have to step in to salvage the entire situation, and frankly, that was something he didn't want to have to do.

Not at this juncture.

The End

•  This is the 44th installment in the Just Between Series.

•  Title provided by Silk.

Just Between Ranks

G. L. Dartt

Reflecting off the gleaming surface with almost painful intensity, sunshine poured down from a cloudless sky onto the newly constructed Starfleet Headquarters. Destroyed in a Breen attack a year or so earlier, the facility had been completely rebuilt, incorporating many improvements and utilizing a more flowing line of architecture that evoked a sense of it being a grounded starship rather than merely a building. Rumors flew that it actually was a starship, and in the event of another attack, it could launch and defend itself ... though most discounted that as absurd speculation. The entrance of the building was fronted by a large plaza, in which a circular fountain sprayed high in the air, bordered by flower beds and lawns sloping up to the wide boulevard. Across the street, Starfleet Academy spread over two city blocks, the buildings surrounded by manicured gardens. The most striking aspect about the new headquarters, however, was the white walls which ran along each side of the plaza, widening as they approached the structure itself, engraved with all the names of the Starfleet officers who had perished during the Dominion War, a monument to all those who had died in defense of the Federation in the past few years.

For Captain Kathryn Janeway, it seemed both hopeful and heartrending at the same time, reaching out for space and the future, but always mindful of what that future had cost the Federation in Starfleet blood. When she had first arrived in the plaza, she could scarcely believe how many names had been painstakingly etched into the stone, her eyes scanning the surface in astonishment. Then, as the list went on and she recognized more than a few officers who had made the ultimate sacrifice for Starfleet, her stomach began to hurt and she finally had to turn away, choosing to take a seat on a bench near the fountain, staring determinedly at the cool water before her.

"Why did you ask your counselor to meet us here?" Janeway demanded querulously, knowing she was unsettled by the monument and taking it out on her spouse.

"It is important that she represent me when I speak with Starfleet Command," Seven of Nine responded patiently, either not noticing the note of irritation in her partner's voice, or choosing not to.

Statuesque, with ice-blue eyes and blonde hair tied back in an austere bun, the young woman presented a most formidable demeanor in her black and grey uniform, a blue undertunic denoting her as a science officer. Janeway couldn't understand why Seven, a former member of the Collective, who still retained much of the Borg's innate arrogance, was so insecure about this encounter with their superior officers that she required support from a complete stranger. Didn't she believe that Janeway was capable of guiding and protecting her during these briefings?

"Seven?"

Both Janeway and the Borg turned to see the approach of a diminutive young woman carrying a briefcase, puffing slightly as she trotted across the plaza. A short shock of dark hair framed elven features set off by large dark eyes, and the captain blinked as she realized that the newcomer, slightly boyish and dressed in whatever passed as the latest fashion on Earth at the moment, looked barely older than Seven. The captain hadn't seen a briefcase since her father carried one twenty years ago. It was definitely a Traditionalist type of accessory.

"Samantha T. Cogley," Seven identified, a hint of disapproval in her tone. "You are late."

The young woman looked taken aback. "Only a minute," she protested.

"Four point three-five minutes," Seven corrected. "Are you prepared?"

The woman hesitated, then sighed audibly, raising her briefcase. "I have your paperwork right here," she said. "Don't worry about anything, Seven. If Starfleet tries anything to violate your rights as a Federation citizen, I'll hit them with so many writs, they'll never get out from under the paperwork."

"I doubt very much if Starfleet is going to do that," Janeway said, confused by the conversation.

That drew the young woman's attention to her and the counselor promptly stuck out her hand. "You must be Captain Kathryn Janeway," she said, her dark eyes bright. "Samantha T. Cogley, Attorney-at-Law."

Janeway was blind-sided as she grasped the hand automatically to shake it. "Attorney? You're Seven's legal counsel?" She shot a look at Seven. "I thought she was your psychiatric counselor," she said, appalled at this turn of events.

Seven blinked. "I never told you that, Kathryn," she responded, puzzled.

Samantha was frowning. "Wait a minute. Why would you think I was a psychiatric counselor?" she demanded. She glanced at the Borg. "Is there something I need to know about your mental state, Seven?"

Seven was beginning to look confused, and Janeway touched her arm. "Seven, why did you retain a lawyer?" she demanded.

"Phoebe retained her," Seven explained readily, her expression clearing as she was given a question she was able to respond to concisely. "She believes that I require a certain protection in the event Starfleet perceives me as only Borg, rather than remembering I have rights as a Starfleet citizen."

Janeway closed her eyes momentarily, taking several slow, deep breaths to calm herself, before lifting her head and regarding her spouse.

"Seven, you don't require legal counsel," she said in a very even tone. "Phoebe is inventing problems where there aren't any." She shifted her glance to the other woman, again conscious of how young she was. "Miss Cogley..."

"Sam," Samantha corrected.

"Sam," Janeway said, in her most diplomatic tone. "I appreciate that you're trying to assist, but we don't require your services."

Samantha eyed her narrowly, assessing the captain with a keenness that seemed out of proportion to her youthful form. "Well, I hate to break this to you, Red, but I don't work for you, I work for Seven of Nine on behalf of Phoebe Janeway," she said. She nodded at the Borg. "Now, if Seven wants to send me away, that's fine. I'll go back and inform Phoebe that I have an uncooperative client, and she can take it from there, but you really don't have anything to do with this."

A muscle jumped in Janeway's jaw as she kept a rein on her temper. This was all she needed her first day back at Starfleet Headquarters. "Fine," she managed. "Seven?"

Seven look troubled. "I do not wish to send her away, Kathryn," she said.

Janeway discovered she was grinding her back teeth, and forced herself to stop. "Seven, I need to speak with you a moment," she said. "Privately." She shot a look at the other woman, and Samantha promptly shrugged and moved away, presumably out of earshot.

Janeway took Seven by her arm and pulled her over to the relative shelter of the wall, noticing the name of one of her classmates at the Academy etched in the stone just over the young woman's shoulder. She had to force herself to focus on the Borg's pale eyes.

"Annika, I don't understand," she said in a low tone. "I thought we had settled this back on Voyager. Starfleet will undoubtedly want to accommodate you, not try to harass you in some fashion."

Seven regarded her evenly. "In truth, you cannot be sure of anything Starfleet will do at this time, Kathryn," she reminded the captain. "I would rather have legal counsel present during these initial meetings, rather than discover too late that I required such services." She reached out and put her hand gently on the captain's forearm. "Kathryn, if Starfleet is as accommodating as you believe, they will not object to Samantha accompanying me. If they are not, then at least we both will have some protection. It is merely a matter of preparation, and you always appreciate it when officers are prepared."

Janeway couldn't think of a way to counter that. "This isn't normal protocol, Annika," she said stubbornly.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Neither is a Borg becoming a Starfleet officer," she said pointedly.

Janeway wanted to debate this further, but she found it difficult to formulate a logical argument at the moment, particularly since they were already running a bit late. Besides, while she could not remember ever hearing of such a thing before, she had never come across a regulation specifically prohibiting the presence of civilian legal counsel during proceedings of the type they were facing. Furthermore, as hard as it was to admit ... especially to herself ... it was possible that Seven was right in determining that Janeway couldn't know how Starfleet now reacted to things. Perhaps there wouldn't be any harm in it, despite the fact the captain didn't like it one little bit.

This all flew through her mind in a matter of seconds, and she ended up sighing in frustration. "Fine," she allowed. "However, Miss ... Cogley needs to remain conscious of the fact that she is here only to protect your civil liberties as a Federation citizen; she is not to interfere with your responsibilities as a Starfleet officer, Lieutenant."

Seven nodded. "I understand ... Captain," she said. She paused. "It is entirely possible that just the knowledge I have retained legal counsel will prevent any ... misunderstandings between myself and Starfleet Command."

Janeway stared at her a moment, then nodded.

"Let's go," she said.

She led the way into the building, peripherally aware of her spouse gesturing for the lawyer to accompany them. As they entered the large lobby, the first thing Janeway saw was the giant UFP insignia emblazoned within the plastiseal floor, then, on the wall behind the main desk, the Starfleet insignia, which gleamed golden in the refracted sunlight streaming through the skylights above. She did not normally consider herself a sentimental person, but after spending seven years lost in the Delta Quadrant, similar images and symbols had been impacting on her psyche with a great deal of force in the past few days. The sight of these two symbols, as well as that of the monument outside, struck directly to her heart, making her chest feel full as tears stung her eyes.

"Captain."

Janeway blinked rapidly as she turned and discovered Lt. Ro Laren loitering near a display case which contained a piece from Zefram Cochrane's space ship, the first warp-propelled vessel in Human history. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, the Bajoran moved toward her with a graceful deadliness, reminding the captain, once again, that the officer was a product of Advanced Tactical Training. Ro had served as a security officer on Voyager, and now was attached to Janeway's personal command as the captain's adjunct.

"I apologize for being late, Lieutenant," Janeway remarked. She noted the Bajoran's curious look at Samantha, who was craning her head, gazing around as if she had never been here before. For all Janeway knew, the lawyer hadn't. "Lt. Ro, this is Samantha Cogley, Seven's ... legal counsel."

The only implication of surprise was a brief twitch of Ro's left eyebrow. "Miss Cogley," she greeted smoothly. She glanced at Seven and seemed to nod, almost in approval, and Janeway wondered if she was the only one who thought this was a bad idea.

"Admiral Necheyev's office is on the twelfth floor, section ten," Ro explained, leading the way to the turbolift. "I've already cleared us with the duty officer."

"Were you waiting long?" Janeway asked as the lift carried them up to the requested section of the building.

"Not really," Ro said. She paused, then added in a lower voice; "Initially, I was waiting by the fountain, but those walls ... it just got to me and I decided to wait in here."

"I know what you mean," Janeway said soberly. While Voyager had been gone, the entire quadrant had shifted in significant ways, both politically and territorially. An entire war had been fought and won, and the longer the captain was back, the more unsettled she became. It was as if the universe had moved on without her, and now she was desperately trying to catch up.

She hoped that these briefings with Starfleet Command would clarify things for her, not just in terms of what she needed to learn about the current state of Starfleet, but also in solidifying a new position until she was once more able to take command of Voyager. The Intrepid-class vessel was currently dry-docked at Utopia Planitia, undergoing an overhaul to bring it up to current operating specs. Until that happened, she hoped to be offered an administrative posting on Earth, close to her family and where Seven would undoubtedly accept an assignment with a scientific facility.

It was past time, in her opinion, that she regained control of her life.

Seven of Nine tempered her breathing as the turbolift carried them to the twelfth floor, trying not to allow the nervousness she felt overwhelm her. She was keenly aware that this was the headquarters of the very organization which had defeated the Borg Collective not once, but several times, and she was afraid that she would be considered just another drone, despite reassurances from her spouse and others. She supposed that was why she had insisted on having Samantha accompany her, regardless of Janeway's obvious distaste for the idea. Samantha was a civilian, and therefore could be considered an objective party during any briefings with the upper echelon of Starfleet.

The lawyer seemed to pick up on her client's unease, and she reached over, patting her on the back. "It's covered, Seven," Sam murmured. "Don't worry about a thing."

Janeway glanced over her shoulder, obviously hearing that, but before she could say anything, the doors to the lift opened and they were walking into the corridors of the twelfth floor. It was very similar to the halls of a starship, Seven noted, though much larger and decorated in subdued shades of blues and silvers. Signs on the wall gave clear directions to where they needed to be, and the captain led the way, flanked by Ro. Seven and Samantha brought up the rear, the Borg growing steadily conscious of being out of place, and uncomfortable about feeling that way. She knew that Janeway was very proud that her spouse wore the uniform of Starfleet, but Seven did not think she would ever truly be as much a part of the organization as was the captain.

Of course, that was to be expected, Seven reminded herself, as they turned down another corridor. Janeway had grown up with the precepts of Starfleet, following in her father's footsteps as soon as she was old enough to attend the Academy. Seven, on the other hand, would be the first to admit that she had only pursued a commission in order to function more efficiently as a crewmember of Voyager. She was not entirely sure she had any desire to function within a command structure on Earth, but she had promised Janeway she would give her commission 'a chance' so she hadn't resigned, even though a certain part of her really wanted to.

However, she allowed for the possibility that, depending on what happened this day, she might be walking out of this structure without ever needing to don the uniform again.

They arrived at a lobby which seemed to be a reception area of sorts for this section of Starfleet Headquarters. Seven was reminded of the rough chart her friend, B'Elanna Torres, had made for her not too long ago during a barbeque at the Klingon's home, explaining how Starfleet's operations structure was made up, and identifying which admirals Seven might find herself dealing with during her briefings.

STARFLEET

Starfleet
Intelligence

Starfleet
Science

Starfleet
Operations

Starfleet
Medical

Starfleet
Academy



Starship & Starbase

Operations

Planetary

Operations



Command

Diplomacy

Military

Scientific

Command

Diplomacy

Military

Scientific

Necheyev

Hayes

Ross

Paris

T'Varn

Dawson

Aspeth

Patterson

The lieutenant sitting behind a large desk, who apparently served as a clerk of sorts for this particular floor, lifted his head at the approach of the women. Noting the four pips on Janeway's collar, he promptly jumped to his feet.

"Sir!" he said smartly, and Seven realized he was very young. "I'm Lt. Glasket, the Attaché for the Starship Operations section."

Which, as the Borg had learned from B'Elanna's lessons about how things worked in Starfleet Headquarters, was another term for receptionist. Officers of import working directly under the admirals, such as Commander Michael Patterson did for Admiral Owen Paris, were referred to as 'adjuncts' or 'assistants'. Anyone could be an 'attaché', though it carried marginally more authority and responsibility than being referred to as a 'aide'. Ensigns being sent out for coffee were 'aides'.

"We're here to speak with Admiral Necheyev," Janeway told him. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager." A small twitch in Janeway's right brow betrayed to Seven how much the words stung after the fact. Technically, Janeway wasn't captain of anything at the moment.

"Of course, sir," he said. He raised his arm. "This way. Admiral Necheyev and the others are waiting for you in conference room one."

Seven swallowed hard, and Janeway turned to Samantha, nodding at the sofa in a lounge provided for those who were required to wait.

"Miss Cogley, please remain out here," she instructed. "If Seven requires your presence, it will only take a call to bring you in. Otherwise, it would be best if your presence were not brought to anyone's attention."

Samantha frowned and looked rebellious. "Seven," she asked, looking over at the young woman. "Is that what you want?"

Seven glanced at her spouse, thought about it, then nodded. "Yes, remain here," she agreed. In this much, she would trust her partner's judgement. "If I need you, I will call. If I do not require you, there will be ... no harm done."

The lawyer appeared slightly angry, then abruptly, her face cleared and she seemed to shrug. "Your decision," she said, moving over to the sofa. "I won't move from this spot."

Seven nodded in gratitude, but she didn't have time to pursue it because suddenly they were being led into a large conference room dominated by a sleek, black table. Four section admirals ... the same admirals who had greeted Voyager's crew on their return at Earth Station McKinley ... sat around one end, while three chairs remained empty at the other end, obviously intended for the lower-ranked Starfleet officers. Lt. Glasket busied himself with serving them coffee, providing them with padds, then quickly vacated the room as soon as they were settled.

The Borg discovered she was shaking slightly, and she gripped the arms of her chair tightly. She did not know why she felt so uncomfortable, but she knew that if she had been required to attend this briefing on her own, she simply would have refused. The whole atmosphere appeared designed to be intimidating, and that made her feel both afraid and angry at the same time. Through the windows, which lined one side of the room, the city skyline and the top of the Golden Gate bridge were visible, and she longed to be outside. Janeway's knee, hidden beneath the table and pressing firmly against the Borg's in silent support, did not ease the young woman's mind at all.

"It's good to see you again, Kathryn," Admiral Paris said warmly. "Did you enjoy your leave?" He was a sparse man with white hair and his son's blue eyes, but lacked Tom's boyish charm. Seven did not know if she liked him or not.

"Very much," Janeway offered in that even tone that Seven recognized as her partner's most diplomatic tone ... an inflection that gave nothing away. She wondered if that was an indication that Kathryn was also feeling somewhat nervous, though there were no visible signs of it. "I believe all my crew found it quite useful in settling certain domestic arrangements."

"I understand you've moved back to San Francisco," Ross offered. He was younger than the rest, darkly handsome with a muscular body and rugged features. Seven knew he had been in command of the Starfleet forces during most of the war, and was now being considered for the upper echelons of Starfleet Command, requiring one more promotion to achieve the rank of five-star admiral, a Commander-in-Chief, which was the highest rank attainable in Starfleet. Those officers dealt directly with the Federation Council and assisted in instituting policy that affected whole sectors rather than systems, the entire quadrant rather than merely the civilizations within it.

"Yes," Janeway offered.

"Are you looking for another ship?" he asked. "I have five that are currently patrolling along the Romulan Neutral Zone and the Breen Border. Any one of them would benefit greatly from your experience."

Janeway blinked, and Seven decided that Ross obviously was not one to vacillate, but then, he was in charge of maintaining the military duties of the Starfleet vessels, and his priorities were clear.

"Actually," the captain admitted, "I was hoping to remain on Earth for personal reasons while Voyager is being overhauled."

"I have a Galaxy-class vessel you can assume command of immediately," he said, clearly expecting that it would be added incentive. "The USS Venture."

Janeway dipped her head in acknowledgment of what, under any circumstances, would be a most generous offer. "Thank you, sir," she said graciously. "But after seven years of constant duty, you'll forgive me if I don't immediately jump into another command."

Ross stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Understandable," he said. He glanced at the others, then, as if reacting to some undetectable communication, he stood and picked up his padds. On his way out the door, he paused by Janeway's chair. "If you change your mind, contact me immediately," he said shortly.

"Yes, sir," she responded.

He nodded at Ro Laren. "Lieutenant, you're with me."

The Bajoran raised an eyebrow, but obediently got up and followed the admiral from the room, leaving the captain and Seven alone with the remaining senior officers. The Borg studied the admirals surreptitiously. She thought Hayes looked a bit disappointed that Janeway had not accepted Ross's offer, but the other two, Necheyev and Paris, clearly looked pleased. She wondered why that disturbed her slightly, and why Ro had been taken away.

"Well done, Kathryn," Paris said. Seven remembered that he was an old friend of the captain's, Janeway having served as his science officer on the Al-Batani. "You're far more useful here, in Starfleet Command, than you would be taking another starship. Besides, you've always been more a scientist than a soldier." He offered her a smile, then glanced at Seven. "You're a scientist, too, I understand."

"Yes, I am," Seven managed, uncomfortably aware that the attention had shifted to her as she did her best not to squirm.

"Lt. Hansen," Necheyev said. Her blue eyes were laser sharp, pale chips of ice which assessed her with all the dispassion of a Borg drone. Despite being a slight woman, with blonde hair and Slavic features, she exuded authority, more so than even Janeway, and Seven suddenly wished she had resigned her commission back on Voyager so she didn't have to go through this.

"Yes," Seven remarked, then belatedly added, "sir."

She was aware of the captain wincing slightly beside her, realizing that the delay had made the Borg's words sound insolent rather than revealing the nervousness which had truly caused it. Seven was merely pleased that she had remembered the honorary address at all, considering the state she was in.

Necheyev took a deep breath, almost as if she were exasperated in some fashion.

"Admiral Hayes, as diplomatic envoy, will conduct your debriefing, Lt. Hansen," she said coldly. "Please accompany him to his office."

Seven was so relieved that Necheyev was not going to be conducting her debriefing that she got up and followed the older, stocky man without objection. She didn't even glance at her spouse in farewell, so anxious was she to vacate the room and the piercing eyes of the admiral.

Outside the conference room, Samantha immediately rose to her feet, moving aggressively over to block their path, and Admiral Hayes paused, glancing at her with surprise.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Samantha T. Cogley, Attorney-at-law," she snapped professionally. From her briefcase, she withdrew a padd and shoved it at him. "Seven of Nine is my client, and I want it made perfectly clear that she is a Federation citizen in addition to being a Starfleet officer. No harassment due to her connection with the Borg Collective will be tolerated."

Rather than being angry, he seemed almost amused as he accepted the padd, glancing back at Seven. "Were you truly concerned about this, Lt. Hansen?" he asked.

Seven hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir," she said. "When I first joined Voyager, I experienced certain difficulties due to my association with the Borg. Admiral Necheyev does not conceal her disdain of me. I was ... concerned that attitude prevailed in Starfleet."

"Afraid we would spirit you off and dissect you?" His tone was faintly sardonic.

Seven felt the color rise in her face. "It had been ... suggested, sir," she allowed faintly.

He nodded. "I see," he said, and now his eyes were stern, if still kindly. "Whoever gave you such a perception of us, did you a disservice. Starfleet holds to certain ideals and goals which are not compliant with the scenario you are describing. It would not happen, Lieutenant, not now, nor in the future."

Seven did not have an answer to that. Samantha did, however.

"Since the war, Starfleet is being restructured along militaristic lines," she pointed out. "My client, as an ex-Borg, has cause to be worried about unfair treatment, just as a Romulan or a Cardassian would."

He blinked. "Not once they became Starfleet officers," he pointed out. "Such discrimination is not tolerated, Miss Cogley, nor would such behavior be expected. It would go against everything we believe in. In any event, merely by joining us, she has already offered her loyalty and cooperation in any dealings with enemies of the Federation." He turned to Seven. "Haven't you? Did you understand that part of accepting your commission?"

Seven dipped her head. "Yes, sir," she said. "I am quite willing to assist Starfleet in any confrontation with the Borg or any of their other enemies. Indeed, I have already contributed to the defense of Voyager on several occasions."

He looked back at Samantha, his craggy features expectant that Seven's words were enough to settle it, but a stubborn expression crossed the young lawyer's face. "Such cooperation does not supercede her rights as a sentient being," Sam insisted. "She cannot be held to conduct that differs from that which is expected of any other Federation citizen who has accepted a Starfleet commission."

"We are quite in agreement, Miss Cogley," he assured her graciously, showing a patience that impressed Seven, despite her uneasiness. "In truth, Starfleet is quite pleased to have Seven of Nine as a member. I assure you, it is not the habit of admirals to brief lieutenants on their future within the organization unless they are considered remarkable officers indeed."

"That in itself, might be considered suspicious," Samantha warned. "You understand that if any impropriety is discovered, I will take this to the highest Federation Supreme Court, not to mention releasing the entire story to the Federation News Service."

"I would expect nothing less," he responded. He maintained his eye contact with the young woman, and finally, she shifted her gaze to Seven.

"Seven, unless they actually do something untoward to you, there's not really anything else I can do," Samantha noted, a slightly rueful tone in her voice. "The padd he accepted contains a copy of your citizenship papers, as well as any writs I would file in the event of any impropriety. Thus, as a representative of Starfleet, he's been duly informed that you're fully aware of your rights, while that acknowledgment has been automatically recorded with the Federation Legal Authority. The instant anything happens to you, if you were to disappear or be harmed in any way, a complaint would immediately be filed with the Sentient Being Advocacy which would require the Federation Council to demand an immediate and complete investigation into the matter. I can't provide any more protection than that. In fact, it's far more than the average Federation citizen arranges when joining Starfleet."

Seven nodded. "I understand," she said. "I am most grateful for your assistance, Sam."

Samantha hesitated, then reached out and put her hand on the Borg's arm. "I'm not far away, Seven," she said. "I'll also keep in touch with your sister-in-law. If you have any problems, I'll be here immediately."

"Thank you," Seven said. She watched as the lawyer strode briskly down the corridor.

Samantha turned around to shoot a final look at the admiral, a bulldog glare of dire consequences if he was lying to her, then turned the corner, disappearing from view. Seven inhaled slowly, then looked over at the admiral. He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you were so concerned about this, Lieutenant," he offered mildly.

"I ... regret the necessity for such preparation," she said, feeling somewhat embarrassed now that her fears had proven to be unfounded. "However, I am pleased that there will be no misunderstandings."

"At least, not relating to your civil rights as a Federation citizen," he agreed dryly. He held out his hand, gesturing toward his office. "This way."

Seven entered the tastefully decorated office and took a seat in the low-backed chair that he indicated. He sat down in the big leather chair behind the desk and regarded her closely. "As you are aware, Lt. Hansen," he said finally, "many of the preliminary briefings were conducted over the communications array prior to Voyager's return. The issue of the Maquis was settled, the various field commissions were evaluated as to their validity and verified by Starfleet Command, while all remaining information to bring Voyager's crew up to speed regarding events in the Federation was transmitted and distributed. These final meetings are primarily for the captain, and to clear up any lingering uncertainties regarding the status of the few remaining officers who have yet to secure postings." He smiled at her, in a paternal fashion. "Tell me, Lt. Hansen, have you considered what your future will be with Starfleet?"

He listened with courteous attention as she explained the offers she had received from scientific facilities on Trill, Vulcan, and Earth, all of which she intended to visit either before or during an upcoming trip with her sister-in-law. She explained all about the visit to the Mars TPG facility which had taken place the day before, as well as how much she had been impressed with Dr. Brahms in person as compared to just working with her over the comm system during their collaboration in the Delta Quadrant. She also expressed her desire that, whichever offer she accepted, she wished to maintain her commission within Starfleet.

His dark eyes were quite thoughtful by the time she had completed her recitation.

"You must understand that Starfleet hasn't enough influence with the facilities on Vulcan or Trill for you to maintain your commission with us in the event you decide to go with them," he said slowly. "As for the two facilities in this system, only Dr. Brahms' Theoretical Propulsion Group is affiliated with the Starfleet Science Division. The Daystrom Institute guards its autonomy most assiduously. You'll have to return to civilian status in order to accept their invitation."

Seven nodded. "Thank you for your candor," she remarked gravely.

"Obviously, we would prefer you remain with Starfleet," he told her with what seemed to be complete sincerity. "We believe your scientific qualifications would make you a valuable asset to us, not to mention your prior connection to the Borg Collective, which may provide information that could aid us in any future dealings with them. By the same token, however, we do not want an officer who is unable to abide by our rules and regulations, who chafes under our necessary restrictions, or is simply unhappy wearing the uniform. That causes far more problems than it solves."

She took a deep breath. "I understand, Admiral," she said. "I must admit, I did not expect such a ... reasonable response from Starfleet Command regarding my plans." She paused. "Particularly after experiencing Admiral Necheyev's attitude at the ceremony on McKinley Station."

He smiled at her. "You have to understand, Lieutenant," he said in a confidential tone, "Admiral Necheyev takes the protection of the Federation very seriously, and unlike others in the aftermath of the war, she has not forgotten the potential threat of the Borg Collective. However, she is unquestionably fair, and I'm sure you'll discover that once you get past her initial suspicion." He drew down his brows. "If it is any consolation, she presents the same personality and attitude to everyone, not just you."

"Yes, sir," Seven replied dubiously.

He looked at her seriously for a long moment. "Lieutenant, I think you should go on this trip with your sister-in-law," he said finally. "Consider all your options carefully. Until you have made a final decision, I will grant you a temporary leave of absence, but I would expect that you will have made your decision by the time you return from your journey."

Seven was overwhelmed, realizing that this was far more allowance than she could have hoped for, and she decided that her partner had been correct all along.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Thank you, sir."

"Now," he said, offering her a genial smile as he leaned forward and offered her his complete and utter attention. "Tell me everything about your initial meeting with Captain Janeway and joining Voyager." His small eyes twinkled. "It must have been very disconcerting in the beginning."

Feeling much better about things, Seven proceeded to tell him everything she could think of related to her time on Voyager.

Ro Laren balanced uneasily on the balls of her feet while she glanced around the office, waiting as Admiral Ross moved around his desk to take a seat. Sparsely decorated, she had the sense Ross wasn't in this room much ... which made sense if he was in charge of the day-to-day operations of the military dealings of Starfleet's vessels. He raised an eyebrow when he saw she was still standing, and he gestured at the chair.

"Please, sit down," he said.

She did, sitting gingerly in the low-backed chair, watching him warily. She knew she had been too obvious in her caution when he grinned at her suddenly.

"I don't bite, Lieutenant," he said.

"No, sir," she replied, but she didn't relax in her chair either.

He flipped around his computer console and tapped in some commands, undoubtedly bringing up her records. "You've had quite the ... colorful career, Lt. Ro," he noted after a moment.

"Yes, sir," she said.

His dark eyes pinned hers. "For some reason, Janeway has a lot of faith in you," he noted. "She's placed several recommendations in your file, particularly with regards to your actions on Voyager during the past year and a half."

She dipped her head. "Sir."

He inhaled slowly, regarding her as if she puzzled him in some way. "Picard also has spoken highly of you, even though you left Starfleet ... and him ... in the middle of an extremely delicate mission. Without officially resigning, which made you a deserter, I might add."

There wasn't really much Ro could say to that, so she didn't. She merely stared at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

"Janeway has transferred you to her authority, as her adjutant, and has presented you as a command candidate," he continued. "Working in Starfleet Command means dealing with very sensitive issues at times, requiring a certain delicacy and discretion." He paused. "Your history indicates that you're good at being discreet, but not particularly inclined to the diplomatic. Administrative skills are also required for a command track. Yet, there's nothing in your record that implies you would have any interest in a starship command prior to this sudden appointment by Janeway."

"No, sir?" she responded.

"No," he said. "So I'm left wondering why you would pursue such a position."

She didn't change expression, regarding him steadily. "It offers me a promising career move," she said blandly. "Certainly, I've had enough experience on the alternative side of life to appreciate a more ... disciplined lifestyle."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" he repeated. "Do you understand what being a starship captain entails?"

"I'm trying to learn," she replied quietly, and held his gaze.

He finally broke the stare to look back at the viewscreen. "I spoke with Lt. Commander Tuvok yesterday," he informed her. "He implied that you were extremely interested in a career in Starfleet Intelligence at one time. I'm curious why you suddenly changed your mind."

Ro took her time about responding to this one. "Perhaps I've come to the conclusion that the lifestyle required to pursue such a career was not for me," she said, shading her answer with just enough truth to make it feasible. "I'm sure that you're aware that I'm personally involved with another Starfleet officer who is posted at Utopia Planitia. Accepting a role in Starfleet Intelligence would mean keeping things from her, would require long periods of time away from her, and would possibly destroy any hope of a relationship with her. She is Klingon and holds honor in the highest regard. Occasionally, those in Intelligence must act without the restrictions of honor."

She paused. "It wasn't worth it," she said finally.

His expression looked vaguely perplexed, as if this was not what he had expected at all when he had provoked the discussion.

"I ... see," he said.

She felt amusement rise at his befuddlement, though she was careful not to show it.

"Then, there is the example set by Captain Janeway, herself," she continued. "I have never met a more straightforward and honest officer, and the deception inherent in being a member of Starfleet Intelligence does her no honor. I would be remiss if I turned my back on all the lessons she has taught me. I expect to learn everything I need to know about being a Starfleet captain from her. I could have no better role model than the two captains I have been fortunate enough to serve under."

A silence fell upon the office when she finished speaking, and she wondered if she had lain it on a little too thick. She also hoped B'Elanna would forgive her for using the Klingon as the excuse not to pursue a career in Starfleet Intelligence. She made a mental note to fill B'Elanna in on this entire conversation as soon as she returned home ... just in case the engineer and Ross ever came in contact with each other. B'Elanna would have to play the Klingon to the hilt with him to back up the 'honor before death' story.

"I have to admit, I had an entirely different perception of you," he said finally. He offered a faint smile. "I suppose that's why this meeting was required, even though admirals are not in the habit of briefing lieutenants. Of course, the whole Voyager situation is somewhat unique."

"Yes, sir," she said.

He settled back in his chair and linked his fingers over his midsection. "Tell me, Lieutenant," he said. "What do you feel has been the hardest adjustment you've had to make since your return?"

"The war," she said promptly. "Everyone here lived it. Those of us on Voyager can only imagine it. Of course, the reverse is also true. I doubt very much that the average Starfleet officer can identify with what we went through in the Delta Quadrant."

He nodded, his face thoughtful. "That was considered when the decision was made to disperse Janeway's people so quickly throughout the 'Fleet," he explained. "Ideally, we would have insisted that the crew of Voyager take several months of adjustment under careful evaluation by our counselors, integrating each officer slowly back into active duty only after determining where each would best be suited."

"Starfleet couldn't afford that, however," she finished for him. "I understand, Admiral. I find myself very aware of the little things now: the average age groupings of the officers I've come in contact with, the lack of uniforms present in the crowds here on Earth where once they were plentiful ... it provides a most unsettling sensation. Walking through the plaza this morning, looking at the names on the wall and recognizing so many of them was quite ... disturbing."

He nodded. "The truth is, Lt. Ro," he allowed, "if you're really serious about pursuing a command track, and you prove to be at all suitable for such a position, it will happen very quickly for you. Far more quickly than you may be ready for. Starfleet is in desperate need of experienced officers to take command roles, not just in terms of captains, but in the senior command staff that support those captains, particularly in the more sensitive areas of the Federation's borders. Depending on how you progress under Captain Janeway, you could easily find yourself in the position of a first officer by the end of the year, and being offered a command of your own vessel within two."

Ro managed to control the worst part of her shock, but she felt a decided lurch in her stomach. "Within two?" she repeated stupidly.

"I'm not referring to command of a transport or a cargo carrier, either," he continued gravely. "I'm speaking of the frigate and scout type vessels which are being refitted in the Utopia Planitia shipyards even as we speak." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers, looking very serious. "Replacing the ships we lost in the war has been relatively easy in comparison to finding the right balance of officers to man them. There's not enough experience left in Starfleet at the moment, and many crews are unevenly comprised of cadets fresh from the Academy, most of whom are being forced to learn quickly ... some might say too quickly, either for their own good or for Starfleet's."

"I understand," she said.

"Fortunately ... if one can call it that ... the other players in the Alpha Quadrant are in the same position of rebuilding," he continued. "It's almost a race now as to who can regain their strength first, us or the Romulan Republic. The Cardassians, of course, are no longer a factor, while the Klingon Empire is in a shambles, having lost a significant portion of their warriors. The Dominion is quiet for the time being, but there's no guarantee that will remain the status quo, despite the promises of the Founders. The Breen remain, as always, a mystery."

Ro inhaled slowly. She had known it was bad, but to have it stated so succinctly by the admiral was disconcerting in the extreme.

"What about ... an external threat?" she asked, a little unsteadily.

"That's a concern," he allowed. "Frankly, we were relieved to hear that the Borg had been decimated by Species 8472 ... and that Species 8472 had only been protecting themselves, with little interest in picking up where the Borg left off. However, it's equally possible some threat could be posed by the Delta or Gamma Quadrant in the future."

She held his gaze. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"I want you to be sure of your path," he said, his voice becoming edged a little. "None of us have the luxury of vacillating at the moment. Be sure of your decisions because Starfleet needs every officer it has to step up and fulfill their oath. Whatever you choose, Lieutenant, you can be sure it's going to demand much of you in the next little while. You have to be ready for that."

She raised her chin. "I am," she said.

He lowered his brows, then nodded. "Excellent," he said. "I don't believe Janeway is in the habit of making mistakes when she grooms her personnel for specific purposes. I expect to be adding a pip to your collar before long, Lt. Ro. Don't let me down. Don't let her down."

"No sir," she replied. "I won't, sir."

He nodded briefly, then glanced at his console. "You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," she said, and hastily vacated the office. Not seeing either Seven or Janeway out in the waiting area, nor the lawyer that Seven had brought along, Ro decided that the others were still being briefed. She speculated as to whether they were receiving the same, somewhat confusing mixture of pep talk and dire warnings that she had, and tried to figure out why exactly Admiral Ross had chosen to be the one to give it to her. As he said, admirals were not in the habit of briefing lieutenants.

She found a seat on the sofa in the lobby, nodding politely at the young man behind the desk, and went over the encounter in her mind, analyzing it from every angle. She wondered if there had been something there, something beyond a simple briefing. He had been quite specific about the threats the Federation now faced, and what role Starfleet had to play in protecting its borders. It was possible that she was just imagining it, of course, but for whatever reason, her instincts were telling her to pursue that line of investigation. Not that she could always rely on her instincts ... sometimes it seemed that they got her into more trouble than out of it ... but she knew that quite often one's 'instinct' was nothing more than information picked up subconsciously by the physical senses, the brain deciphering it on a subconscious level to disturb the conscious mind with a discernment that something more existed beneath the surface.

So what had she seen or heard in her briefing that was now arousing her suspicions?

Whatever it was, she had better figure it out quickly. Things had a way of moving faster than she liked since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, and she couldn't expect this to be any different. She looked speculatively at the young officer working behind the desk.

It had been her experience that, often, file clerks knew far more about what was going on in their immediate surroundings than did those at the top, particularly if they were in the right place where the information was available. Ro couldn't imagine any area more significant than operating as the attaché for the admirals and their adjutants on this floor. She stood up and sidled over to the desk, satisfied when Glasket glanced up at her and blushed faintly. Though he wore the pips of a lieutenant, just as she did, he had to be at least fifteen years younger than she was, and obviously not long out of the Academy itself. It was simply a matter of figuring out how discreet he was, and being very careful to keep their conversation to what appeared to be harmless information only.

She was very pleased to discover in the course of their discussion, that he wasn't nearly discreet enough.

"Admiral, I wish to brief Captain Janeway alone," Necheyev said coldly.

For a moment, Janeway thought her old mentor might object, but Owen Paris firmed his jaw and offered a short nod. The captain was detecting a decided tension between the two admirals, but it was understandable that they would not choose to display it while in the presence of a subordinate.

"Come see me this afternoon, Kathryn," he muttered to Janeway as he passed.

"Aye, sir," she replied in a low voice.

She inhaled slowly and tried to ignore the light pain beginning to feather along her temples. She had forgotten all the various political maneuvering that took place in the upper echelons of Starfleet, and though her father had shared more than a few stories to help her deal with them, and even use them to her advantage at times, she preferred to steer clear of such situations altogether. She wondered if Voyager had somehow become the center of the admirals' controversy with each other, or if this was an ongoing thing in which she and her ship had become involved merely by happenstance.

She was conscious of Necheyev's eyes assessing her with an intensity that she had not experienced often in her life. Indeed, the only other person Janeway knew who possessed such a dispassionate cold contemplation was Seven of Nine. It had taken a while before the ice had melted in the Borg's pale eyes and become the warm glow the captain now associated with her spouse.

"Sir," she prompted finally, tiring of being analyzed as if under a microscope.

Necheyev raised her head. "I've never been impressed by you, Janeway," she said flatly, to the captain's complete consternation. "From the moment I met you at your first command evaluation ... which you made no secret you thought was beneath you ... I have considered you to be a most unremarkable officer."

Janeway flushed hotly at the description, remembering the incident quite well. She had just completed her first command in deep space and had been called before a review board which she had considered a complete waste of time, saying as much to Admiral Paris. A Vulcan ensign named Tuvok had also been present and he had offered a scathing report about her lack of commitment to tactical operations during her tour, an assessment that had absolutely outraged her. Her defense that, as commanding officer, it was her responsibility to delineate the rules and regulations of Starfleet, and that her crew did not need to be schooled in the art of war, was not one accepted by the board. She was chastised verbally for such an approach, and informed that regulations were put in place for a reason, not solely for an individual officer's creative interpretation. That Tuvok was also instructed in the concept that a commanding officer had to be both flexible and creative, did not assuage her keen humiliation at all.

To Janeway's further displeasure, Tuvok had subsequently been assigned to her command, with the intention that each officer would benefit by learning from the other. After such an inauspicious beginning, no one had been more surprised than Janeway when she and the Vulcan eventually became the best of friends, proving that the members of the board were, indeed, far more intuitive than she was. The memory of the hearing still stung, however, whenever she was forced to think about it, and she had been unaware that she had provided such a negative impression to the admiral whom, at the time, Janeway had admired greatly and only wanted to emulate. Though Necheyev had been in charge of the sector where Voyager was initially assigned, the ship had been lost so quickly that the captain never really had the chance to work with the woman.

She decided that was probably a good thing.

"Yes, sir," she said woodenly. If Necheyev didn't like how she interpreted rules and regulations in her first command, Janeway could only imagine how the admiral viewed her conduct in the Delta Quadrant. She decided that this was not going to be a very good briefing.

"You have consistently used the fact that you were the daughter of one of Starfleet's more respected admirals to your advantage," Necheyev went on mercilessly. "You parlayed your connection with the associates of your father to pave your way to a command, a fact which became painfully clear when you were awarded Voyager. She was one of the first of our Intrepid-class ships, and you honestly did not deserve her, but Admiral Patterson swung the vote in your favor. The fact that he, Finnegan, and Dawson were old friends of Edward Janeway should have excluded them from the Appointment Committee altogether. It truly did not surprise me that the very first thing you managed to do ... on what should have been a routine mission to the Bajoran Sector ... operating under my authority ... was lose your ship in another quadrant."

A muscle jumped in Janeway's jaw, outraged at such an unfair assessment, but unable to respond in the manner in which she wanted. The captain had discovered very early in her career that when a superior officer didn't like you, there wasn't much a person could do but maintain a stiff upper lip and take it ... and work doubly hard to prove them wrong. However, it was not a pleasant thing to have to deal with, nor did she feel it was deserved, forcing herself to remain in her seat, frozen with indignity and rising fury. She was profoundly grateful that Seven of Nine was not here to witness this lambasting.

The reminder of her partner brought the sudden realization that Necheyev should also be damned grateful Seven wasn't there. By this time, the Borg would have had the admiral hanging upside down by her ankles, demanding that she apologize immediately to her spouse and threatening dire consequences if she didn't. The image of such a spectacle immediately restored the captain's temper, and she was able to take a deep breath while raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she replied evenly.

"You could always fool those admirals who had never commanded a starship on the frontier," Necheyev continued that chill tone. "Officers like Hayes and Patterson didn't know what such a post really demanded. However, there were those of us who could tell you were just another committee appointee, arriving through political ties rather than merit, like so many who were assigned ships during that time. There's no question in my mind that had you remained in the Alpha Quadrant, you would have suffered the same fate that the rest of those captains did."

"Which was?" Janeway managed coolly.

"Take a good look at the wall outside," Necheyev said with an old anger. "The deaths are listed in the order of date from the beginning of the war, and the names of those captains were chiseled in first. Unfortunately, they usually managed to take their ships and entire crews with them."

Janeway took a breath. "Is there a point to this, sir?" she asked, keeping her voice devoid of inflection.

Necheyev smiled faintly, an unpleasant, provocative smile. "Aren't you going to storm out of here in righteous indignation, Janeway?" she asked in a dry contemptuous tone. "Request an immediate transfer from my authority? You can always tell one of your daddy figures, and they can easily arrange it. Paris is just down the hall, and he probably possesses as much pull as I do around here, despite the fact I'm in charge of starship command operations. He can't wait to take you under his wing and start directing your career just as he did before."

The comment swept a flash of blinding rage through the captain, but she didn't speak, taking a moment to allow the red haze to clear from her vision. She did notice that her hands, held under the table out of Necheyev's sight, were clenched into fists so tight, her knuckles were white as she quickly brought her fury under control.

She amazed herself by offering a thin-lipped smile. "With all due respect, Admiral," she returned flatly. "Are you saying you lack the ability to deploy me properly?"

Necheyev stared at her for a long moment, then a humorless grin ghosted across her narrow lips. "Something changed you out there," she determined with a certain satisfaction, leaning back in her chair. Her shoulders relaxed, and her stern, rigid features softened visibly, the shift in mood so startling and disconcerting to Janeway that she struggled to retain her command face.

"Sir?"

"I'm not sure what it was, but now when I look at you, I actually see a starship captain," Necheyev told her as she picked up her mug of coffee and sipped it. "Not just someone playing the role as you were in the beginning."

Janeway wasn't sure how to react. She had never considered herself anything but a dedicated and tireless worker her entire career, believing she had earned everything she had received. Yet, there was a tiny part of her that was almost forced to agree with the admiral in her assessment about her current command ability, at least as far as the improvement was concerned. She had changed during the past seven years, discovering depths to herself that she had never known existed before being forced to call on them in the Delta Quadrant. She was undoubtedly a better captain for it, but was the admiral right? Had the potential unleashed in the past seven years been completely absent at the beginning of her command career? However, that didn't give the admiral the right to ... to...

To test her?

Janeway suddenly relaxed as well, dipping her head to regard the admiral with an intent gaze that had served her so splendidly in the past.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" she said briskly.

Necheyev inclined her head marginally. "Please."

"How the hell do you manage a working relationship with anyone using that approach?"

That actually generated a bark of laughter from the older woman, something Janeway did not think happened very often. "The best always know where they stand with me, and I, with them," Necheyev admitted. "That's sufficient for anyone who's secure in their abilities. The rest, I can't be bothered to waste my time with. They ... and I ... are far more comfortable with them reporting directly to Hayes, or Paris, who will coddle them and candy-coat things so they'll go down easier."

"And Ross?"

Necheyev smiled again. "You could do much worse than to accept a command under him patrolling the Federation borders," she said, which sounded like very high praise coming from her.

"Is that what you think I should do?" Janeway asked frankly.

Necheyev met her gaze squarely. "Your refusal of him today tells me a great deal," she said, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "As he said, it's understandable that you should not be assigned another ship right away. Your return from the Delta Quadrant is still too fresh, too ... raw. You've gone your own way for too long, and immediately putting you back in the harness would be a mistake on all our parts. I commend your prescience for knowing that." Janeway did not correct this assumption on the admiral's part, even though she had really refused the command in order to give Seven time to experience life on Earth. She didn't think Necheyev would understand such a gesture. " It concerned me that you would immediately demand another vessel. However, the need for a starship and your own command will come back to you soon enough ... perhaps quicker than you think."

"Which is why I intend to wait for Voyager," Janeway pointed out.

The admiral eyed her keenly. "You disappoint me, Kathryn," Necheyev said. "Courier missions? Escort duty? Short-range survey missions? Is that really what you want to do? I thought being in the Delta Quadrant showed you where your true talents lie."

Janeway paused. Those were the types of duties usually assigned the Intrepid-class ships, and while the quick hit-and-run missions had been appealing to her years ago, she didn't think they would be now. She had temporarily forgotten that Voyager was not a deep space vessel, despite how incredibly well the little ship had performed in just that role.

"In truth, I had considered the Galaxy-class vessel that Admiral Ross offered me," Janeway admitted reluctantly. "Just not so soon."

Necheyev shook her head. "The galaxies are good, all-purpose ships, but not enough for what you need," she said firmly.

Janeway frowned at that concept. Galaxy-class vessels were the most versatile of all the starships.

"Not Sovereign-class," she said tentatively. "I've seen the Enterprise. It's obviously a military ship, a Heavy Explorer. I was surprised Picard took it."

"Commanding the flagship is its own reward, and at the moment, the Federation needs to make a statement with it, particularly to the Romulan Republic," Necheyev stated evenly. "But no, you're too much of a scientist to work well with one of those. One guess gone."

"Nebula?"

"Too much of a warrior to spend years studying one spatial anomaly. Two guesses gone. You have one left."

Janeway inhaled slowly. "Do I get a lollipop if I win this guessing game?" she asked with a touch of annoyance.

Without so much as a flicker, Necheyev reached into her uniform tunic and pulled out the candy in question, placing the lollipop on the table. Janeway was staggered, and she stared at the admiral in complete and open befuddlement.

"A ... secret vice of mine," Necheyev admitted in a very dry tone. "Revealed, however, just for the sake of seeing what would shatter that command mask you wear."

Despite herself, Janeway smiled. "So what does that leave?" she said. She paused, savoring the moment with a certain delight. "The Frontier-class USS Millennium they're currently building at Utopia Planitia?"

That disturbed Necheyev's controlled expression, astonishment widening her pale eyes, and the admiral was forced to take a breath.

"Yes," she said happily. "You do have the right stuff, Kathryn. What a shame it took seven years in the Delta Quadrant to instill it in you." She studied her with measuring intent. "Or perhaps my initial impression of you was wrong. Perhaps the war wouldn't have culled you from the herd as I thought ... it's possible you had what it took all along, and it just couldn't blossom until you got out from under the aegis of your father's associates."

Janeway did not respond, not agreeing with the admiral's assessment, but not prepared to completely dismiss it either. Whatever else she had discovered in the past seven years, learning how to rely only on herself, without any kind of safety net, had been a revelation to her. Remembering her early years in the Delta Quadrant, she wondered how many of the problems she faced had been caused by nothing more than her arrogance and absolute belief in a system of Starfleet protocols that didn't always work, especially with a crew who were partially Maquis. Solving those problems had forced her to develop her current state of flexibility, and shaken up many of her personal perceptions.

"Is that the ship you had in mind for me?" she prodded lightly.

Necheyev stared at her, then silently slid the candy over to the captain. Janeway quickly took it, doubting she would ever have the opportunity to receive another concession from the intimidating admiral, tucking the lollipop neatly into her inner tunic pocket.

"What do you know about the USS Millennium?" Necheyev asked.

Janeway thought about the conversation she had shared with Ro Laren a few nights earlier, at the housewarming party at the new home the Bajoran shared with her lover, B'Elanna Torres. Ro had talked incessantly about the new ship currently being built in orbit around Mars, something that was quite unusual for the stoic woman who had never indicated much interest in starship design before. At the time, Janeway had chalked it up to the alcohol being imbibed, but now she remembered that she had been the one drinking, and Ro had not touched anything other than fruit juice. She wondered if her new assistant had an ulterior motive for revealing so much about the new starship.

She made a mental note to have a little chat with the Bajoran.

"She's a Fast Explorer type," Janeway recited from memory, staring blandly at Necheyev. "Massing almost 7 million metric tonnes, she's slightly over 700 meters in length; her beam is 470 meters, and her height is 170 meters, making her slightly shorter than a Sovereign-class, while the beam and height are slightly wider, though less tall, than a Galaxy-class. Her primary weapons system boasts fourteen type-10 phaser emitters, eight pulse phaser cannons, three torpedo launchers ... photon or quantum compatible ... while also carrying three launch platforms for a multitask fleet designed for dual purpose military, diplomatic and scientific procedures while outside Federation space. From what I understand, she will be utilizing two separate and distinct drives, one warp, and the other, some form of transwarp system. Her performance specs rate her as reaching a maximum cruising speed of 9.985 for up to twelve hours, though her rate of acceleration is quite slow in comparison to other ships which possess less powerful warp drives. Her fleet complement consists of 3 Yellowstone-class Heavy Runabouts with extended science module capabilities, 6 Tornado-class Medium Shuttles and 18 KillerBee Light Fighters designed to run escort duty while cruising hazardous space."

There was dead silence when Janeway finished repeating what Ro had told her.

"I underestimated you, Kathryn," Necheyev said plainly, after a moment. "I won't do that again. Which leaves me with only one question."

She leaned forward and pinned Janeway with a piercing gaze.

"How badly do you want to be her captain?"

Seven entered the restaurant which was located on the third level of Starfleet Headquarters, her pale eyes searching eagerly for her spouse. After her meeting with Hayes, he had offered to give her a tour of the facilities, and she readily accepted once she understood that Janeway would be occupied with Necheyev for the rest of the morning. Outside the admiral's office, they ran into Ro Laren, and the Bajoran accompanied them on the tour as the admiral explained all the various departments found in the facility. Starship Operations, to which he, Necheyev, Ross and Paris were currently assigned, was only one area of the huge organization headquartered here.

Hayes also seemed to be taking a proprietary interest in Seven and the young woman decided that she was not adverse to that. She knew that many senior officers chose to 'mentor' certain lower-ranked officers at the beginning of their career, just as Admiral Paris had once acted as an adviser to a young Kathryn Janeway, taking a special and personal interest in her progress. Admiral Hayes appeared to be a very kindly man, if not as keenly intelligent as most, and certainly, Seven would benefit from someone who knew how to operate on diplomatic levels, as he seemed to be skilled in, rather than someone who was more active in the militaristic or scientific aspects of Starfleet. She had Kathryn for that aspect of her teaching, after all.

She tried to imagine Necheyev as her mentor, assuming that was even possible, and decided that was too horrific to contemplate. She hoped her spouse had held her own with the intimidating admiral, though to be honest, she could not envision anyone, not even Necheyev, with whom Janeway could not retain her command authority.

As they toured the facility, Seven noted that a great many of the administrative personnel were required to be 'in the field', specifically away from Earth in order to carry out their duties. Apparently this was happening far more now than before the Dominion War, and Seven was concerned that if Janeway accepted a similar position, the captain would find herself, not on Earth as she expected, but rather in other areas of the Federation, thus defeating the purpose of pursuing such a temporary post.

The Borg also noticed that many younger people in grey uniforms were being used as aides and clerks because of the lack of available personnel to handle the routine tasks that still needed to be done. Hayes explained that many of them were cadets earning extra credit, affording them the opportunity to remain at Starfleet Academy for an extra year, since most third-year students were being posted to ships and stations. Seven expressed an interest in visiting the Academy across the street, and the admiral promised to arrange a tour of the facilities for her the following day.

"Starfleet has become very hands on, now," Hayes said somewhat proudly at one point. "We're no longer tied up so much in rules and regulations which insist on a passive approach to starship operations. All areas of our policies, military, diplomatic and scientific, are becoming more keyed to doing what's best for the Federation."

Seven found that quite interesting, remembering such discussions during her classes on Voyager, though she did wonder what the disadvantages to such changes in Starfleet policies were, particularly since the admiral didn't appear to want to discuss that topic.

When lunch time rolled around, he directed Ro and Seven to the large restaurant on the third floor, promising that the chef-prepared food was far tastier than using one of the replicators which could be found in the small lunch rooms located on every level. He instructed Ro to meet with Necheyev during the afternoon, while Seven was expected to spend some time with Admiral Ross, discussing the Borg additions which had been made to Voyager. A brief call to Necheyev's office by Ro retrieved the information that Captain Janeway was already on her way down to level three, whereupon Seven promptly headed for the nearest turbolift as the Bajoran dutifully tagged along.

"Over there, Seven," Ro said, nudging the Borg discreetly, as they stood in the foyer of the tastefully appointed dining area. "In the corner."

Though pleased to see that her partner was already seated, Seven was surprised to discover Janeway was speaking to someone who was unfamiliar to the Borg. As Seven and Ro approached, the uniformed stranger, who's collar sported four pips, nodded once to Janeway, got up from the table, shot a unfathomable look at the Borg, then left without saying anything further. Seven regarded her spouse curiously.

"Who was that?" she asked as she sat down across from her partner. Ro took a seat to Janeway's right, which automatically put her back to the wall, allowing her a clear view of the entire room.

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "An old acquaintance," she allowed. "I'm trying to find out what a year or so of taking charge of the Utopia Planitia shipyards is really worth." She offered Seven a bit of a wry smile and changed the subject. "Where's your legal counsel?"

"Samantha carried out her duties and was able to leave," Seven explained. She paused. "My briefing was not as ... disturbing as I had anticipated."

"I'm glad to hear that," Janeway said, her eyes becoming a bit serious. "Was Admiral Hayes put off by you bringing a civilian lawyer along?"

"Not at all," Seven responded, allowing a touch of satisfaction to color her tone. "He was very accepting and cooperative with her. It appears that your fears regarding their attitude toward my retaining legal counsel were unjustified, Kathryn."

"Apparently, so were yours," Janeway pointed out dryly, "or it wouldn't have gone so smoothly between Miss Cogley and the admiral. Now, will you admit that Starfleet isn't this conscienceless monster intent on persecuting one helpless little Borg drone, despite what my sister claims?"

Seven considered that. "Perhaps you are correct," she responded reluctantly. "However, I also believe that having Samantha present prevented any misunderstandings on the part of Starfleet regarding my specific case."

Janeway didn't look as if she agreed with that, but she didn't say anything, obviously not wanting to argue about it any further. Instead, she glanced at Ro.

"You look a little pale, Lieutenant," she noted. "Too much brass for your liking?"

Ro's brown eyes darkened. Seven wondered if her partner noticed. "No, Captain," the Bajoran said calmly. "However, I will be pleased when I am required to carry out my duties rather than merely talk about them."

Janeway smiled and nodded. "I quite agree," she said. "I had a very promising discussion with Admiral Necheyev this morning. It went a long way in clarifying things for me, and by extension, for you, as well."

"The admiral does not like me," Seven remarked, remembering the look in Necheyev's eyes when she left the room. "She is ... wary of the Borg and distrusts me. Admiral Hayes expressed the opinion that she is very conscious of the threat the Collective poses to the Federation."

Janeway glanced at her, her blue-grey eyes becoming a bit troubled. "I agree that Necheyev's manner could be construed as ... imposing," she said. "Even quite rude at times. However, to her credit, she recognizes that. She told me that she thought you would be far more comfortable speaking with Admiral Hayes, who is in charge of diplomatic operations, than with her, and that's why it was arranged for him to do your briefing. It was purely for your benefit, Annika."

Seven blinked, unpleasantly surprised. "Indeed," she said slowly, remembering how freely she had spoken with Admiral Hayes, once he proved to be so accommodating and friendly toward her. Apparently, what she had believed to be kindness was actually a deliberate managing of her, and she was left feeling rather foolish. Filing it away as a lesson to remember, she focused her attention on her partner. "Did you find Admiral Necheyev intimidating, Kathryn?"

Janeway didn't answer right away, an odd expression crossing her classic features. "Let's just say she takes some getting used to," she admitted finally. "I know that until now, I've never really had the opportunity to work with her. Even when I accepted Voyager, which brought me under her direct authority as sector commander, I dealt more with Admiral Patterson in my preparation because she was supervising the fleet patrolling the Orion Cluster. Patterson had been one of my professors at the Academy, and he asked to supervise my transfer of command personally." Janeway paused, looking uncomfortable about that for some reason. "Of course, Voyager was promptly dumped in the Delta Quadrant during our first mission, and I never even had the chance to speak directly with Necheyev."

"Admiral Patterson?" Seven echoed. "Is he related in anyway to Michael?"

Janeway lifted her chin, frowning. "I don't know," she said, her voice a little surprised, as if the question had not occurred to her. "I'll have to ask him the next time I see him."

"Uncle," Ro said suddenly.

Startled, both Janeway and Seven stared at her and the Bajoran raised an eyebrow. "Admiral David Patterson is the Commander's uncle," she elaborated. "However, they don't necessarily get along. The admiral seems to think Michael is a bit of a disappointment in his career. He's also not pleased that his nephew is now romantically involved with 'the wife of an old friend'."

"How do you know that?" Janeway asked, her tone one of astonishment.

Ro shrugged. "I was talking with Lt. Glasket who was covering the desk," she said. "He had a great deal of information to share about what's really going on in the various sections of Starfleet Headquarters at the moment."

Janeway blinked. "Are you sure you're not picking up your roommate's bad habits?" she asked.

Ro regarded her evenly. "I assumed that assessing the current political makeup of Starfleet Command is part of my duties as your assistant," she responded with a hint of reproach in her voice, just enough for the captain to know she didn't appreciate the comment.

Janeway looked surprised, then nodded. "I stand corrected, Lieutenant," she said in a gentler tone. "I meant no disrespect of your abilities, nor did I mean to imply that I was unappreciative of them ... regarding you or your partner."

She was not apologizing exactly, but perhaps acknowledging that she may have been somewhat imprudent in her words, which would be as far as she would go with a lower-ranked officer. Seven found the subtle inflections and interaction between the two women fascinating, but then, she always did when Ro and the captain were speaking. They communicated on several levels which were far more complicated than what they appeared superficially.

"Speaking of your partner," Janeway continued, "B'Elanna began her duties at Utopia Planitia this morning, correct?"

Ro nodded. "She doesn't know what area of the shipyards she'll be assigned to yet, but she's hoping it will be either Voyager's overhaul or the new Frontier-class vessel they're building."

"Ah, yes, the USS Millennium," Janeway said thoughtfully. Seven glanced at her, frowning at the note of something she didn't quite recognize in the captain's voice, but before she could pursue it, a waiter approached and they were required to check out the menus to decide what they would be eating for lunch.

Once they had ordered, Seven glanced around the dining area. Although it was a civilian-run restaurant, established to serve the variety of tourists and diplomats that visited the facility, it was full of Starfleet personnel. Towering windows lined one area of the large room, looking out onto the front plaza and the Dominion War Monument, the white walls seeming to sparkle in the midday sun. Beyond the Academy grounds across the street, the magnificent backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge arched over the bay, and Seven decided this would be a most acceptable place to be assigned, simply for the view. She could see several people outside in the plaza, eating their lunch on benches, and she wondered if they enjoyed having their duties located in a distinctly different area from where they resided. For Seven, having lived and worked on a starship since being severed from the Collective, it would be an entirely new experience to explore such a lifestyle.

"What did Ross have to say in your briefing, Lieutenant?" Janeway asked the Bajoran, drawing Seven's attention back to her companions.

"He seems to think that if I'm serious about pursuing a command track, I would have a first officer position in a year," Ro said soberly. "And a command of my own within two."

Janeway choked on the water she had been sipping. "Good god, are things really that bad!" she exclaimed. She colored suddenly. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't mean..."

"It's all right, Captain," Ro assured her. "I'm a little shocked by it as well. If I were the type to measure my value in rank, I'd say the future looks very bright, but since I have no misconceptions about the sort of situation which would consider me prime captain material for a Scout type starship like Voyager, I'm a little ... well, horrified by the implications."

"What about your briefing, Annika?" Janeway asked. "What did Admiral Hayes speak about with you?"

Seven thought back over the briefing, realizing that Janeway would not want a verbal recitation of the entire conversation, but not knowing what exactly would be considered important to her partner. She tried to summarize as much as possible.

"He explained that Starfleet wishes me to retain my commission, but he appreciates the opportunities I have been offered," she said finally. "He has granted me a leave of absence until I can decide, though he expects me to have a decision by the time I return from my trip with Phoebe. He also mentioned that should I choose an option other than a regular assignment or Dr. Brahm's Theoretical Propulsion Group, I could not retain my commission."

Janeway considered that, her eyes bright. "I see," she said. She paused, and rather unnecessarily added in a low voice, "I also want you to retain your commission."

"However, you are not attempting to influence my decision," Seven noted dryly.

The corner of the captain's mouth curled slightly. "Not at all," she insisted.

Seven smiled, as did Janeway, while Ro regarded them both sardonically.

"Did he mention any specifics regarding regular assignments, Seven?" the Bajoran asked.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "The USS Merrimack, a Nebula-class vessel, requires a science officer, as does Space Station 561," she told her. "He also mentioned that any admiral in the Starfleet Science branch would arrange a place in their staff if I wished to remain attached to Starfleet Headquarters here on Earth."

"Are you interested in any of those?" Janeway asked curiously.

"No," Seven responded. "I am more interested in pursuing one of the options already offered me."

"I see," Janeway said, leaning back as their lunches arrived. She had ordered a chicken sandwich to go along with her salad and soup, and wasted little time in attacking her meal once it was placed in front of her.

"Are you in a hurry, Kathryn?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway flashed her a smile. "I promised Owen I would stop by his office this afternoon," she explained. "I think he wants to talk to me about my future, as well, though I suspect most of the 'briefing' will be spent reminiscing over old times, and discussing how Tom performed on Voyager."

Ro looked faintly disturbed, and the captain obviously picked up on it.

"Yes," the older woman prodded. "You have something to add, Lieutenant?"

"Admiral Necheyev and Admiral Paris are..." Ro trailed off, obviously searching for a tactful way to put it.

"Enemies," Seven supplied helpfully. "Bitter rivals. Hateful competitors."

Janeway eyed her partner sardonically. "I've picked up on a bit of antagonism between them, though I think Seven is exaggerating," she allowed, dipping her spoon into her minestrone. "Unfortunately, clashes in personalities are bound to happen when everyone is ranked on a level within the same section, and no one role is considered any more important than the other. There's always been an uneasy shifting of authority between the scientific, military, diplomatic and command applications within Starfleet, particularly when it comes to dealing with the starships. I believe the rivalry has just become more pronounced since the end of the war."

Ro shook her head. "It's a little more than just jockeying for the largest piece of the section pie, Captain," she said soberly. "Seven wasn't exaggerating. It appears to be far more personal than professional. Granted, I've received my information second-hand, and I have to allow for youthful hyperbole, but my understanding is that Paris and Necheyev actively hate each other." She met the captain's eyes squarely. "To the point where if you're working with one, you're expected to be completely against the other. It's been providing a lot of tension lately, and there's a belief that the only one keeping them from tearing each other's throats out is Hayes, who acts as sort of an intermediary. Ross is away from Earth too much to be involved."

A serious expression crossed the captain's face. "That's not good for morale," she noted soberly. "Or for Starfleet."

Ro nodded. "I just thought you should know," she said. "It seems, according to scuttlebutt, that Necheyev has 'plans' for you, as does Paris. It's almost as if you're a prize of some sort between them."

Janeway sighed, shaking her head. "I've always hated command politicking," she said. She nodded at the Bajoran. "Thank you for the warning, Lieutenant. I'll watch my step."

Seven forked a bit of lettuce in her salad, wondering what this meant for her spouse, who could usually take care of herself, but not necessarily as well as Janeway always assumed. Still, Seven wasn't entirely sure what she could do if this proved to be too much for the captain. Place Seven in an alien prison and she knew exactly how to get her partner out of danger. This seemed to be a far more complicated situation, and it was unlikely that Borg cutting implements would be helpful when dealing with Starfleet Command.

Unfortunately.

"There she is," Miles O'Brien said, as he and B'Elanna Torres paused beside one of the large viewports lining the interior ring of the main docking facility. All the shipyard docks maintained a geo-synchronous orbit with the Utopia Planitia base located on Mars, and beyond this spatial structure, the engineer could see two more docking frames, one of which contained a Askari-class cruiser, while the other surrounded a Galaxy-class explorer.

The Klingon engineer focused her attention on the vessel framed in the dock she was standing in, the large ship held in place by tractor beams and an umbilical to prevent drift. The graceful lines of the massive construct made for a magnificent panorama against the backdrop of stars, and B'Elanna felt her heart beat just a little faster, unable to remain completely immune to the sight. Already under construction prior to the Dominion War, work on the new type of ship had been shoved aside in the interest of finishing other, more proven types of vessels, such as the Intrepid and Nebula-class ships, in order to ready them quickly enough to participate in the war effort. Manufacture had been swift, and just enough to make those vessels combat-ready before they were thrown out on the front lines, manned by skeleton crews cobbled together from the survivors of other ships which had been damaged beyond repair.

Despite that, however, those hastily completed vessels ... and their crews ... had performed with surprising and admirable aptitude, and once victory had been assured, the ships had immediately been called in to finish the bulk of detailed work which had been eschewed during the military crisis. Construction had also resumed on the next vessel in the Frontier-class, the line of Explorers which were intended for deep space missions, its crew expected to accept five-to-ten year tours of duty.

The newest vessel of this line under construction had been designed with the idea of incorporating, in addition to the traditional warp drive, a new system which the Theoretical Propulsion Group, headed by Dr.Leah Brahms, had been developing for the past ten years.That development had shown a marked increase in advancement and interest from Starfleet Command when the TPG first started receiving data from USS Voyager two years earlier, where work had begun on the Intrepid-class vessel's own version of a faster-than-warp drive which would eventually return it to the Alpha Quadrant. The Frontier-class line was immediately re-designated as Fast Explorers, due to the major breakthroughs with the drive which finally made it feasible enough to build.

B'Elanna had picked up enough gossip on the base where she lived to know this new system wasn't really that close to the slipstream drive she, Harry Kim and Seven of Nine had finally constructed for Voyager, but it did incorporate similar elements, as well as elements of the Borg transwarp coil, and a transwarp system which had been tried almost a century earlier in the then-new Excelsior-class ships. It had been tagged with the term 'transition drive', and the Klingon wondered if it would work as well as the slipstream unit had.

Of course, B'Elanna noted, remembering that rather wild ride back to the Federation, the slipstream drive hadn't exactly been a method of travel which would catch on with many people. The speed far outstripped the current technology of sensor arrays, making it impossible to navigate with any sort of precision, and the plasma flow coil was extremely sensitive to spatial anomalies, causing it to malfunction in the most inconvenient ways. She didn't know if this new 'transition' drive would function any better, but in some ways, it certainly couldn't function any worse.

"She is a beauty," she admitted to the older man, her dark eyes tracing the sleek hull, feeling a little guilty about how much she was immediately taken with the vessel. It was similar in shape to the much smaller Voyager, boasting a delta-tapered saucer while Galaxy-type warp nacelles curved up to bracket the teardrop-shaped engineering section. The larger, outboard transition drive nacelle curved along the dorsal spine, giving it a heavier look, while the ship's hull had already been painted, the name and call-letters etched at the appropriate spots ... USS Millennium NX 80861. It was mostly the internal systems requiring completion now, all the various operating units being installed, though fortunately, life support was already up and running, its installation finished only a month earlier.

B'Elanna was grateful for that. While she rather enjoyed space walks in general, she hated moving in the bulky environmental suits within enclosed areas, and to be able to work in a comfortable uniform was a big plus. It appeared as if she was joining the team at just the proper time.

"C'mon," O'Brien said, drawing her away, and B'Elanna realized she had been staring at the large ship, lost in her contemplation of what secrets it held and how it would relate to her immediate future.

As they moved toward the travel pod which would carry them to their assigned duty area, B'Elanna realized there was someone waiting by the docking port. The stranger was a stocky woman, with darkish blonde hair and sharp eyes that seemed to miss little. Three pips of a full commander adorned her collar, and the Klingon wondered who she was.

"O'Brien," the woman greeted politely, though her eyes were on B'Elanna, assessing her keenly. "This must be our new engineer."

"Yes, sir," O'Brien agreed, putting his hand on B'Elanna's shoulder. "This is Lt. Torres, off Voyager. She got to work with an alternate drive in actual real life circumstances. B'Elanna, this is Commander Sarah MacDougal. She's in command of the Millennium Team."

"Sir," B'Elanna said.

"Call me Chief," the woman said, offering the Klingon a small smile. "Have you been in the ship yet?"

"No, si--- Chief," B'Elanna said. She noticed that the woman's hands were toughened and slightly gnarled. No padd pusher here, she thought with a certain amount of pleasure. Here was a woman who actually got herself dirty with her crew.

"O'Brien will fill you in on the details," MacDougal said. She focused her attention on the stocky, curly-haired crewman. "I want her to start with those specs from TPG. Maybe she'll have less problems deciphering them than the rest of us." She gave them both a short nod, then strode briskly away.

He nodded and gestured for B'Elanna to enter the travel pod. Comprised of only an engine with thrusters and a place for the passengers to stand, the tiny transports were the most practical way to maneuver around a construction site of this size. Though the facility surrounding the Millennium was connected by a umbilical to the ship's fore docking port, walking to the umbilical from the transporter dais, where B'Elanna and O'Brien had just arrived from the Utopia Planitia base, would take at least an hour. That didn't include the time it would take to cross the kilometer-long span of the umbilical itself, as well as moving through the massive ship which did not yet have a turbolift system in operation. This way, O'Brien could dock the travel pod at the airlock closest to the section in which they'd be working. Of course, transporters were always available, but with the profusion of energy fields and random power surges which regularly occurred during systems installation, it was considered a rather dicey method of getting around. It took an experienced officer to know when to risk using that method of transport, and most engineers simply didn't take the chance of losing an assorted body part during an unexpected energy fluctuation in the pattern buffer.

O'Brien handled the small boat's helm controls with easy familiarity, detaching the pod from the exterior dock, and pointing it at a miniscule airlock near the underside of the Millennium. The ship filled the viewport and B'Elanna placed her hand against the smooth transparency, eyes wide as they eased beneath the enormous dorsal hull of the engineering section. It was easy to forget how huge these vessels actually were, and the Millennium massed more than either a Galaxy or a Nebula-class ship.

"What's the story on MacDougal?" she asked.

"Good officer," O'Brien said shortly, "and a better crew chief. She served as head of engineering on the Enterprise in 2364, before accepting a post here. She never asks anything of her team that she wouldn't do herself, and she never lets any of the guano filter down to us from the upper levels of the shipyards."

B'Elanna grinned. "Is there a lot of guano, Miles?" she asked.

He grinned crookedly. "In a facility this large, this close to Starfleet Command?" he echoed. "You bet." He eased the pod towards the docking port which grew steadily larger as they neared it. "Tell me, why this ship and not Voyager? I would have thought you'd have preferred helping out on her overhaul."

"Voyager was my first choice," B'Elanna admitted. "Commander McCord claimed they didn't need any more personnel."

O'Brien blinked. "That doesn't make sense," he said, puzzlement edging his tone. "Even if they have a full complement, why would he refuse the services of the engineer in charge of the vessel for the past seven years?"

B'Elanna shot a look at him, conscious of the fact that Ro suspected O'Brien was working as a plant, placed in Utopia Planitia by Captain Jean-Luc Picard who was conducting an operation against Section 31, a covert organization operating within Starfleet Intelligence.

"That does sound strange, doesn't it?" she prodded gently. "Maybe McCord doesn't like Klingons."

He looked at her, his light eyes speculative. "Maybe," he said in a noncommital tone. "It might be worth looking into, just for the sake of finding out."

She continued to stare at him, but he didn't say anything further, concentrating suddenly on his controls as he turned the travel pod around, reversing the thrusters. There was a soft bump as the pod nudged gently back against the docking port, then the panel beside the door flashed green, indicating a solid seal with the air lock. B'Elanna followed O'Brien into the ship, struck by the scent which was present only in new vessels, the odd mixture of chill spaciousness and seared heat, of molten metal and cold plastiseal, the medicinal flavor of a freshly installed atmosphere, underlaid by the acrid tang of conduit fluid.

As they walked through the corridor, panels gaped open overhead and along the bulkheads, wires and cables bulging out, not yet organized in a comprehensive alignment within the hollows. Dark holes marked where touch panels and computer access had yet to be inserted, while dust and debris littered the bare deck, devoid of carpet. They passed through the entrance to what had to be the engine room, the doors constantly open and drawn back within the recesses lining the bulkhead.

Immediately upon entering, B'Elanna felt her jaw drop, looking about the unfinished section which was a buzz of activity, suspecting she looked like some kind of rube, but unable to help herself. This was three times the size of her old engine room back on Voyager, and the dual warp cores, though dark and inactivated, loomed above her to a height of four decks, separated by an ivory-colored coolant system. She wondered at the presences of two cores, then decided one had to power the traditional warp drive, while the other was channeled into the various manifolds which would power the new transition plasma flow, keeping them aligned, but separate from each other. Each of the engine room consoles were also divided, with one side devoted to the warp drive while the other was intended to control the new propulsion system. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and she belatedly became aware of O'Brien standing nearby, waiting patiently as she took it all in, a somewhat indulgent look on his face.

"I hope I don't look as stupid as I think I do," she offered dryly.

"No worse than any of us," he said, looking up. "We all react that way when we first come in here. It's far larger than any other engine room I've ever been in, and to see warp cores of that size is, frankly, intimidating. The amount of energy required to power the transition drive is reputed to be incredible, and somehow, I can't help but feel that the more complicated it gets, the more things can go wrong. I don't know why we can't be content with warp. It's worked perfectly well up until now."

B'Elanna grinned. "Ah, it's not so bad, Miles," she said, teasing him a little. "Alternative drives have some advantages, even though using the slipstream unit was a lot like flying through fog, never knowing where you are, but always taking you where you're going ... more or less."

He shook his head. "If you say so," he replied dubiously.

He led her into a room set off from main engineering, apparently intended to be the chief engineer's office. It was the size of Captain Janeway's old ready room, and B'Elanna glanced around enviously, impressed with the sweeping decor and dual levels, though at the moment, it was being used as a combination cafeteria and conference room, the various pieces of mismatched furniture units covered with an array of discarded tunics and padds. A conference table dominated the lower level, while a portable replicator was shoved unceremoniously in the corner, half-full coffee cups decorating the various shelves lining the bulkheads. Larger padds were stacked on the large work desk on the upper level where three officers were going over them with an air of frustration.

One of them, a solid, dark-haired young man with lieutenant commander pips, nodded at O'Brien with a sort of informal familiarity. That was one of the things B'Elanna liked most about some engineering teams; they rarely worried about rank, and respect was based on ability, not how many pips one had.

"Commander Brighton, this is Lt. Torres," O'Brien said. "She's off Voyager."

"Call me Dave," he said, sticking out a massive hand which she shook gingerly. "If you're off Voyager, then you've worked with that slipstream configuration."

"Helped build it," she replied easily, peeking at the specs spread out on the desk.

He grinned with what seemed relief and moved aside, motioning at the others to give the Klingon room. "Maybe you can figure out what the TPG just sent down to us this morning." There was a tone of aggravation in his voice, not directed at her, she sensed, but at those padd pushers who insisted on making changes, and including alterations to a system already in the process of being built. She had become quite familiar with it while working with Brahms over the comm relay in the Delta Quadrant. She could only imagine how further aggravating it could be dealing with the scientists where they weren't limited by the restricted duration and accessability of a communications array required to cross two quadrants.

She moved around to look at the design images spread over the desktop. "Where are the original specs?" she asked.

"You mean the first set released ten years ago, or the one just before this set?" one of the other officers asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.

B'Elanna winced. "The previous ones," she said. When Brighton pointed them out, she studied them side by side. "I see what she's doing," she said finally. She paused and lifted her head. "This is Brahms we're talking about, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Brighton said, offering her a friendly grin. "I guess you worked with her before?"

"The TPG assisted us when we were constructing our slipstream drive," B'Elanna said absently and tapped her finger on padd. She realized belatedly that O'Brien had left, but she supposed she didn't need him to nursemaid her around any further. Either she would be able to fit in, or like a great many things in her life, it would be a challenge, but in any case, it was up to her to accomplish it. "She's realigned the coil so that the flow ratio is balanced more precisely, but by doing that, she has to replace the conduit here with a filter and utilize the bypass juncture as a secondary regulator. We had to do the same thing on Voyager before we dared install the slipstream unit."

Brighton blinked as he stared at the specs. "Damn, why didn't I see that?" he asked.

"Maybe because this is the fourth time we've had to adjust the bypass juncture?" one of the others suggested. "Is the balance of the flow ratio really that important?"

B'Elanna pinned him with a look, discovering that he was only about twenty, sporting a single ensign pip, which meant he was fresh out of the Academy. That didn't necessarily mean he was green, she reminded himself, not when officers just as young had been ducking Jem'Hadar blasts not so long ago, but it wasn't the sort of question asked by anyone who had ever served on a starship.

"For us standing here," she said mildly. "No. For the person maintaining that flow when there's a plasma leak and the hull is buckling under constant fire from a enemy ship, it might mean the difference between sucking vacuum and flying the hell out of there."

He colored and Brighton laughed. "You're dealing with a real officer, now, Cannel," he said, slapping him on the back. "She's been out there and she knows that theory is fine, right up until the moment it doesn't work under real life demands."

"Which has always been my major argument with Dr. Brahms," B'Elanna agreed, "but in this case, she's right. It's definitely worth the adjustment."

"Then we'd better get to it," Brighton said. He flashed her another charming smile. "You'll do, Lieutenant. You'll do just fine."

B'Elanna discovered she was smiling as she followed the group out the office, deciding that this was going to be a hell of a lot better than she would have dared hoped. She reminded herself, however, not to enjoy herself so much that she forgot what her other purpose was while she was serving here.

Figuring out what Section 31 was up to.

Janeway stuck her head tentatively through the open doorway, tapping lightly at the frame as she saw the familiar, snowy head of her mentor bent over some padds. He looked up, his blue eyes brightening when he saw who it was, and he gestured at her to come in. She wondered briefly where Commander Patterson was, not seeing the admiral's adjunct anywhere, then decided that he was probably away from San Francisco performing some task for Paris as so many adjuncts seemed to be doing lately. Few positions were mere desk jobs in Starfleet Command anymore.

"Kathryn, please, have a seat," he said, rising to his feet.

She did, and noting that he went around and sealed the door behind her, she wondered if she should find that an ominous sign of sorts.

"I see you survived Necheyev," he said, returning to his place behind the big oak desk. To her amusement, Janeway realized it was the same one he had used back when she had first met him.

"I think the admiral and I understand each other," she said evenly. She smiled as he placed a mug in front of her and poured some coffee from the pot kept hot on a nearby heating unit. "You remembered."

"You lived on the stuff on the Al-Batani," he reminded her.

"I lived on it in the Delta Quadrant, as well," she admitted, sipping the hot liquid with quiet pleasure. It wasn't as good as Seven's blend, of course, but it was still one of the better cups she had enjoyed since being back in the Alpha Quadrant ... certainly as good as what was served in a little cafe she and Seven had been dropping by in the mornings after their run through Golden Gate Park.

Their brisk walk, she amended silently, forced to be honest in the privacy of her own mind. It might be a week or so before she was up for an actual run.

He granted her a moment to enjoy the coffee, then leaned forward, linking his fingers and resting his hands on his desk.

"I don't know what Necheyev has planned for you," he said seriously. The 'and I don't care' was implied in the tone, but not said. Janeway tried not to let her discomfort show. "I do know that it probably undervalues you."

"Indeed," Janeway said, careful to keep her voice even.

"I want to see you join us in Starfleet Command," he continued. "How does Admiral Janeway sound?"

She felt as if someone had struck her in the stomach.

"Like someone is speaking of my father," she managed finally. "But not me."

"Kathryn, don't depreciate your worth..."

"I'm not," she said, gently but firmly. "I appreciate the offer, really I do, and I understand what it is exactly that you're offering, but I'm not ready for it. I believe I still have too much to offer as a starship commander."

He looked frustrated. "I understand that certain captains have this mistaken belief that they require only a starship to satisfy them, but I never expected you to be one of them, Kathryn," he said. "You're a scientist, first and foremost, and after combining both Maquis and Starfleet into a solid crew for seven years, it's obvious that you also have the administration skills to be outstanding in Starfleet Command. Come work with me in scientific operations."

"No, thank you, Admiral," she said. She paused, organizing her thoughts. "If I've learned nothing else during my time in the Delta Quadrant, it is that I am first and foremost a woman who needs to command a starship. I had the unique opportunity to see what would have happened had I taken another path, where an alternative version of me did walk away from her starship command and accepted a promotion." The memory of Commodore Johnson ... the emptiness that existed in her life the first time the captain met her, and the renewal of spirit once she had regained possession of Voyager ... had never left Janeway. "It's a lesson I took to heart, Admiral. I'm taking a brief period of adjustment ground-side to take care of a certain personal agenda, but at the end of it, I expect to be in the center seat of a starship bridge again."

He stared at her as if he had never seen her before. "Kathryn, this doesn't sound like you at all," he said.

"On the contrary, it is me," she insisted with complete certainty. "Command is where I am best suited, it is where my skills are best utilized and most importantly, it's where I am most comfortable."

"Nonsense," he thundered.

"Not to me," she said quietly. She carefully placed her mug on the desk. "I will turn down any promotion offered, sir. If I am refused a vessel, I will request a formal investigation as to why."

He could not have looked more shocked and dismayed than if she had struck him full across the face. A formal investigation was something brought up only if an impropriety was suspected.

"Is that what Necheyev offered you?" he demanded, his voice harsh. "A ship?"

She met his gaze squarely. "Necheyev does not need to offer me a vessel," she pointed out. "Nor even Admiral Ross, though he already has. My experience would make it an error for Starfleet to try to place me anywhere else." She took a breath. Despite the fact that as she became older, she had less tolerance for being told what to do, Owen Paris had been a powerful influence on her life ... she did not wish to hurt him. "I'm considering this next year or so to be nothing more than a leave, a chance to rest and catch up on all I missed during seven years," she added. "However, it is not an indication that I have lost my taste for command."

"If you follow Necheyev..." he began.

"I follow my oath as a Starfleet officer," she said, careful not to let anger touch her voice, keeping it calm and even. "My loyalty is to Starfleet and the Federation, not to any one officer. You, of all people, should know that."

He was breathing heavily, obviously getting a rein on his temper, and she regarded him sadly, wondering when the vital man she had known became this grasping politician, more involved in a pursuit of power than in upholding the ideals of Starfleet. Had it been when his son was involved in that tragic accident? Was that when he thought it was more important, in his role as an admiral, to start arranging things to work his way, rather than doing what was best for the Federation? She didn't know, and she prayed she would never experience something that would make her follow a similar path.

"I will tell Necheyev the same thing, if she believes she can use me as a pawn in some power struggle between the two of you," she added. She offered a smile. "That principle comes straight from Admiral Edward Janeway. I would not honor him were I to act in any other way."

His face grew closed, reserved. "Being gone so long changed you, Kathryn," he said stonily. "Not for the better, either."

She smiled sadly. "I don't believe I'm the only one," she said. She inhaled slowly and straightened in her seat. "If that's everything, Admiral?"

He stared at her, then nodded shortly. "I guess it is, Captain," he said, the bitterness emphasizing the word and turning it into a slur rather than a term of address. "You're dismissed."

She knew this had shattered the relationship they had once shared, and she was sorry about that ... though to her surprise, not as sorry as she thought she should be. Apparently, the changes she experienced out in the Delta Quadrant included a desire to please herself first, rather than always requiring the approval of others, particularly older, paternal figures. She wasn't quite sure how that would affect her future dealings with her superiors in Starfleet, but she discovered that a good part of her didn't care beyond a certain point. She had learned to be true to herself, and to accept the consequences that befell her wherever that policy took her. She just hoped that she could deal with all this political maneuvering without involving Seven.

She moved out into the lobby and glanced around. Her debriefing with Paris had taken less time than she had anticipated ... undoubtedly because the expected reminiscing over old times simply hadn't taken place, and probably wouldn't again soon with Owen ... and she decided that Ro and Seven were still in their briefings with the other admirals. Recognizing that the meeting had left her too restless to hang about the lobby waiting for them, she informed the young man at the desk that she was going to look about, and to tell her companions that she would meet them outside by the fountain in the plaza when they were done. He nodded, and she took her leave, heading for the turbolift.

After checking out the civilian-run gift shop on the main floor ... she was still astonished by that concept when relating it to Starfleet Command ... she selected several news publications and the latest entertainment rag, downloading them into a padd. Along with a few pieces of fruit and a bottle of spring water, she took her new acquisitions out to the plaza where she found a seat on a bench beneath the pleasant shade of a tree, in full view of the fountain. She supposed that the changes made in the new facility were Starfleet's attempt at becoming more accessible to the public. Seven years ago, an officer had to leave the familiar confines of Headquarters in order to eat anything other than replicated food, or pick up civilian publications or just deal with the citizens of the city. Now, Starfleet appeared to be making a concentrated effort to bring the citizens within their walls, to be more ingrained in the everyday culture of the Federation, rather than maintaining an aloofness from it. She wondered if that new policy had anything to do with the difficulty Starfleet had experienced in the early days of the Dominion threat. Ironically, even as they were presenting a 'kinder, gentler' face to civilians, internally, they were streamlining in a fashion that was more aggressive in all aspects of its operation than it had ever been.

Janeway hadn't quite decided what she thought about that, whether it was a logical progression, or if it somehow indicated a situation that was a little sinister about the Federation itself. Being away for seven years seemed to have granted her an objectivity and distance that living with it daily obviously did not provide. She suspected that if she tried discussing this with other officers of her rank, they wouldn't know what she was talking about.

Well, perhaps Picard would, she amended to herself, thinking of one of the few surviving captains of her peer group left after the war. She regretted not taking the time to meet with him on DS9, but she had been so busy dealing with the loss of her crew, she just hadn't pursued it.

After skimming all the news publications, she read the entertainment offering, noting all the major cultural events which were taking place throughout the Federation. She was pleased to see that the symposium Phoebe was attending on Trill in the next week was listed as a 'must see' event, which would be useful for Seven's continuing education, but she had to admit that she was somewhat surprised to find that her younger sister was considered to be a guest speaker of some note. Kathryn had been aware that the youngest Janeway was a thriving artist, but clearly, Phoebe's work was extremely popular, and she was highly regarded within the cultural community. Mother was right, Janeway chided herself, she really did allow herself to become oblivious to the larger universe in her concentration on Starfleet and her career. She decided that she would not only have to temper that in herself, she would also try to steer Seven away from such myopic behavior.

"Kathryn."

She looked up as Seven and Ro approached her, and realized more time had passed beneath the shade than she had been aware of. She stood up and greeted her spouse with a hand on her forearm and a quick kiss on her cheek just to the side of the starburst implant, a public gesture of affection on Starfleet grounds that obviously surprised the young woman. Seven was pleased by it, however, her pale eyes glowing.

"I think we should have dinner at Genesis Rising tonight," the captain suggested, referring to dining establishment she had read about in the San Francisco news publication. "It's a new restaurant that just opened up in the city core, but it's already receiving wonderful reviews."

Seven blinked. "Very well," she agreed.

Janeway looked at the Bajoran. "Would you care to join us, Lieutenant?" she asked politely. "I'm sure it wouldn't be difficult to contact B'Elanna and have her meet us there."

Ro offered a wan smile. "Thank you, Captain," she said. "However, I'm sure B'Elanna would rather a quiet evening at home after her first day, as do I, but we would be honored to accept a rain-check."

"Of course," Janeway said. She glanced at her partner. "Maybe I'm asking too much of you after your first day, as well, Seven," she added contritely. "If you're tired, we can stay home this evening."

"No," Seven said, her eyes clear and bright. "I am not tired. I would enjoy going out with you." She smiled. "This will be another 'date', correct?"

Janeway smiled and tucked her hand under the young woman's arm. "Let's just hope it doesn't end like the last one," she said, sharing a private joke with her partner.

"Let us hope it does," Seven said, returning the smile, as the couple beamed at each other.

"If you'll excuse me," Ro said, clearly having as much of the couple's rampart sentimentality as she could stand, "I have to take a tube to the transport station and catch a shuttle back to Mars."

"I'll meet you here tomorrow morning," Janeway instructed her, amused by the Bajoran's dry tone. "You and I will be taking a little tour with Necheyev tomorrow that should prove to be quite interesting."

"So she mentioned," Ro responded in a somewhat odd tone. She nodded a polite farewell, then strode toward the nearest subterranean tube station, located not far from the plaza.

Janeway watched until the Bajoran's slender figure was out of sight.

"She seemed upset about something," she said thoughtfully.

"Not upset, angry," Seven corrected as they began to stroll toward the street. R. Garrett Avenue wasn't so far from Starfleet Headquarters that the couple found the walk to their house arduous, not even after a long day of briefings. "I believe Admiral Necheyev provoked her."

Janeway smiled. "Admiral Necheyev is a provocative kind of officer," she allowed. "Ro had better get used to it, however. It's entirely possible that I will accept the position she offered me."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "What position is that, Kathryn?"

"She wants me to take command of the Utopia Planitia shipyards," Janeway explained. "I realize such a position could be considered quite a demotion, but the truth is, it's only an interim position in preparation for what I'll really be doing."

"Which is?"

"Taking command of the new Frontier-class vessel they're building there," Janeway allowed.

Seven frowned. "I think we need to talk about this," she said. "Obviously, I missed a great deal by not being with you during your briefings."

"I know," Janeway agreed. "That's why I want to take you out to dinner. It'll give us a chance to relax without having to prepare our own meal."

The Borg looked at her, then nodded. "Very well," she said, but she didn't sound as if she was anticipating the conversation.

Janeway resisted a sigh, but realized that was part of being married. Her life choices didn't just affect her, they affected Seven, and it was obvious that they had to discuss this thoroughly before any final decision was made.

Seven of Nine opened her eyes, hearing the sound of birds chirping through the windows over the bed. It was misty and grey outside, a thick fog rolling in over the city the night before which would undoubtedly burn off later in the day, but in this early predawn, it made for a dull illumination within the couple's bedroom.

She stretched carefully, aware of the form slumbering peacefully beside her, somewhat surprised to discover that Janeway was not wrapped tightly around her as had been typical of her lately. Since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, it had been apparent to Seven that the captain required a closer physical connection to her while the couple slept, but this morning, Janeway was turned half on her side, some distance away from her spouse, the blankets draped casually over her waist, leaving the upper part of her torso bare to the night. Seven wondered if the briefings the previous day had anything to do with this more relaxed sleeping habit. Kathryn had seemed far more optimistic over dinner than she had in some time as she explained the offer made her to by Necheyev, and it was obvious that this assignment, which guaranteed an eventual starship command, was something that appealed to the captain greatly. It must have also afforded a certain release of tension within her.

Seven knew it had certainly eased some tension for her. With Janeway settling down, it helped the Borg refine her own immediate future. If Janeway truly wished to accept this new position, Seven decided she would naturally have to join the Theoretical Propulsion Group. She could not imagine any of the other facilities offering her the opportunity not only to work with her captain and her friends, but additionally, offer the chance to be challenged intellectually. She did experience a brief qualm about how neatly everything seemed to be directed to this conclusion, but she consoled herself with the fact that she had been quite impressed with the facilities when she had visited them at the first of the week, and Dr. Brahms had been a most interesting and intriguing person to interact with. Even Kathryn had found the scientist most agreeable.

Smiling, Seven eased over next to her compact spouse, appreciating the amount of space they now enjoyed in their bed. The sleeping arrangements on Voyager had been reasonably spacious, but the narrow, double bed they had slept in at Gretchen's Indiana home for a few nights had been extremely crowded. This new, gigantic piece of furniture, ordered by Janeway once they decided to move to San Francisco, was half again as wide as the bed on the starship and almost half a meter longer. Despite her generous height, Seven could actually lie lengthwise across it and not come close to having either her head or her feet overhang the edge.

Tucking her knees under Kathryn's, Seven carefully slipped her arm around the captain's body, pressing her torso against Janeway's back, delighting in the sensation of smooth, warm skin. Janeway murmured and stirred, but did not wake, cuddling automatically back into the embrace as Seven closed her eyes in contentment and settled against her, drawing the blanket up over them. Beneath the fingertips resting against Janeway's chest, the Borg could feel the slow, steady throb of her wife's heart, and it soothed her, inspiring drowsiness, causing her to fall asleep again.

She didn't think her slumber had lasted long before she was awakened by the motion of Janeway wiggling out of her embrace, and she observed her spouse covertly with a half-opened eye as the captain padded naked to the ensuite. For some reason, Seven found the sight of her disheveled partner, yawning widely and scratching her left buttock as she crossed the room, to be absolutely adorable, though she could not explain why. A moment later, the Borg heard the muffled but unmistakable sounds of her partner taking care of certain biological necessities, then the sound of running water as Janeway washed up. A glance at the chronometer revealed that it was still very early in the morning, and Seven wondered if her partner would return to bed or insist on going out for a run ... a recent behavioral pattern which the Borg did not entirely understand. Fortunately, it seemed that Janeway was not anxious to start her day in that foggy mist, and she returned to the bedroom, slipping beneath the covers beside Seven.

The young woman smiled faintly as she felt Janeway's lips trace a path up her neck to her ear, where sharp-edged teeth nibbled gently at the lobe. "Are you awake, Annika?" Janeway whispered in a barely audible voice.

"Yes," the Borg responded, but did not open her eyes, even when the captain made a pleased sound and snuggled closer. "Why?"

A small chuckle, husky and warm. "I didn't want to start without you," the captain told her, her left palm smoothing over Seven's abdomen in slow, sensual circles.

"Start what?" Seven asked lazily, though she had no doubt as to what the answer would be.

"A proper good-bye," Janeway murmured, nuzzling lightly at the young woman's neck. "In a few days, you'll be leaving for Trill, and we won't see each other for some time. I want to catch up on all my loving in advance."

Seven's eyes flew open, realizing that in her enthusiasm for the upcoming trip, she had overlooked that particular aspect. She had spent time away from her partner before, of course, during away missions while serving on Voyager, but not for such a lengthy period and not with such a large distance separating them ... not since that horrible time when an ancient artifact transported Seven to the Bajoran Sector. After that incident, each woman made an effort to remain in close proximity to the other, but this trip would take more than two weeks. Seven supposed that she had subconsciously assumed Janeway would find a way to accompany her and Phoebe, but with Kathryn actively considering Necheyev's offer of a possible posting, it would be impossible for her to leave right now.

"I do not wish to go," Seven said, hugging the captain abruptly. "I will call Phoebe and cancel it. After all, it is almost predetermined that I will accept the position with Dr. Brahms and the Theoretical Propulsion Group. No other position is suitable for what I require."

"You'll do no such thing," Janeway told her sternly, rising up to her elbow so she could look into Seven's face. Her eyes softened to a dark blue. "Darling, Phoebe really wants to show her 'little sister' around a bit, and this is your chance to see some of the Federation before you accept any new posting. We agreed that you need to consider all the information carefully."

Seven sighed. They had discussed it, and since Janeway would be busy for the foreseeable future, they probably wouldn't have much of a chance to be together in any event. Still, the thought of not being in her partner's arms for several nights was almost unbearable.

"Darling, this isn't just a matter of seeing facilities that are renowned scientifically throughout the quadrant," Janeway continued in a persuasive tone, "it's a chance to explore different cultures without me looking over your shoulder every minute."

"I like you looking over my shoulder," Seven protested.

Janeway smiled. "Darling, you have to discover what it's like to experience things without me," she said encouragingly. "Remember when you first started seeing Sek and you told me that you needed to find your own path? You were absolutely right, and I think this is another opportunity for you to do just that."

Seven did not entirely agree, but perhaps she had developed a inordinate sense of dependence on her partner. She didn't want to believe it, but it was possible that insecurity was forming the core of her sudden aversion to the upcoming trip ... a trip that she had been greatly anticipating until discovering Janeway could not accompany her. She certainly didn't want to rely so much on her partner that Janeway would find her a burden rather than an equal partner in their relationship. Besides, it wouldn't be as if she would be completely alone on this voyage ... Phoebe would be there.

"Very well," she agreed grudgingly. She paused and added wistfully; "I will miss you, however."

"Oh, Seven of Mine," Janeway replied fervently, pulling her closer and kissing her lovingly, "I'll miss you, too, but I honestly believe you should take advantage of this opportunity."

Seven felt her spouse's hands start to stroke her with slow, languid intent and she smiled.

"How much?" she asked.

"How much what?" Janeway asked.

"Exactly how much will you miss me?"

Janeway chuckled huskily in Seven's ear. "Are you challenging me to come up with numbers?" she asked, her tone indulgent.

"No, merely encouraging you to show me with a physical gesture," Seven noted happily, unable to resist the tender touch, her body responding powerfully to the fingertips that left tingles in their wake as they traced featherlight over the Borg's skin.

"I'll give you physical."

Seven closed her eyes blissfully, her head going back in total surrender as her partner made love to her. Lips and hands seared a path over the Borg's body, skilled in their caresses, knowing, as they sought out every sensitive area, arousing Seven to a fevered pitch. Kathryn was so gentle with her, yet commanding at the same time, whispering words that danced along the young woman's nerve endings as strongly as the physicality of it did at times.When the older woman reached for her with that ardent look in her eyes, the young woman could bring down all the walls she utilized to protect herself from the rest of the universe, release all her inhibitions and uncertainties, capitulate utterly to her partner. Seven simply could not resist, completely consumed by the captain's touch, losing herself willingly in the fire of their lovemaking. She knew that when she gave herself to Kathryn, she was loved and cherished beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. It was an intimacy that she would never want to share with anyone else, and ultimate pleasure was not so much won as it was gifted to her, shivering through her body without restraint, and leaving her momentarily weak from the sheer intensity of her climax.

She recovered quickly, seizing Janeway in her arms, drawing her down into an embrace that claimed her heart as much as her body, and not for the first time, Seven found loving her partner a spiritual encounter, reaching deep into her inner self, providing a connection to this woman that could not be severed. After the last tremors had died, and they lay together in sated contentment, Seven basked in the tenderness she felt for her partner, knowing there would be nothing she could not face bravely and without hesitation, so long as she had this love sustaining her.

A trip away for a couple of weeks was insignificant.

"Hmm," Janeway finally murmured, nudging her slightly. "Ready to go for a run?"

Seven smiled faintly, her heart still racing somewhat. "I would think this would be enough of a workout for you."

A laugh, low and throaty. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you don't like going for our runs first thing in the morning," Janeway said teasingly.

"On the contrary, I enjoy the physical exertion tremendously," Seven responded. "What I do not enjoy is seeing you attempt to overextend yourself."

"I'm just out of shape, love," Janeway protested mildly as she rolled away from her spouse and sat up. She raked her fingers through her auburn hair, disarrayed from their passion. "I have to push myself if I want to get my wind back."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed. "However, you must allow yourself to return to that level of physicality gradually, not expect it to return overnight." She paused and eyed her partner judiciously. "It is entirely possible that your drive to succeed will cause you to harm yourself."

"Fine," the captain said, holding up her hands in surrender. "I promise to let you set the pace when we go out."

"That would be acceptable," Seven said, then tilted her head, frowning. "You must also promise to pace yourself in a reasonable fashion while I am away."

Janeway shot her a inscrutable look. "I promise," she replied, which did not mollify Seven at all. It had been said in the sort of tone that indicated the captain was not entirely serious about her response.

"Kathryn, please," she insisted sternly. "You must promise not to overdo it while I am gone."

"I said I wouldn't, didn't I?" Janeway responded, rolling out of bed. There was a touch of irritation abruptly threading her tone, and Seven understood that she had pressed too hard. Immediately, the Borg rose from the bed and caught the captain in a warm embrace before Janeway could reach the bathroom.

"The intensity you bring to accomplishing your goals is part of why I love you so much," Seven told the stiffly resistant woman in her arms. "It is, in fact, why you were able to bring Voyager home so quickly. I admire your determination greatly, even as I despair of it because it is also the aspect of your personality which causes you to forget meals, go without sleep, and imposes undue stress on you physically in the pursuit of your goals. To know you were harmed while I was gone would be intolerable for me, Kathryn."

Janeway hesitated, then finally relaxed, sighing audibly as she reached up to pat Seven's arm which lay across her chest. "I know I've overdone it in the past ... enough that you find it hard to accept when I promise to slow down," she admitted sheepishly. "Certainly, enough for you to understand that what I say and what I actually do are sometimes at odds." She shifted, turning around so that she could look up into her partner's concerned features. "I really do promise, Annika. I'll take care of myself while you're gone."

Seven regarded her seriously, then finally nodded. "Very well, Kathryn," she said. She paused, her tone softening. "I do not mean to ... 'nag'."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "I don't mean to be such a hardass that you feel you have to," she returned ruefully.

"I love you, my Kathryn," Seven whispered, pulling her tightly to her, brushing her lips over her forehead. "I could not bear it if anything happened to you."

"You just be sure to take care of your own self while you're away," the captain countered, returning the embrace fiercely. "I would be very angry with you if something bad happened while I wasn't there to protect you."

Seven blinked, bemused. "What could happen?" she asked. "Phoebe will be with me."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Janeway said dryly, and at her partner's puzzled look, she smiled. "Let's go for our run."

Seven released her and followed her into the ensuite where they found their workout clothes ... shorts, tank tops, undergarments and special running shoes which were cushioned to absorb shock and excess moisture. They descended the stairs and went out to the back yard where they retrieved Jake, their Irish Setter, putting him on a long lead. The mist was dissipating as they walked toward the park where they normally took their morning constitution, and once inside the gate, they began a sedate trot along the paths winding through the manicured lawns, seeing the shimmer of the bay through the trees.

The Borg was startled when, a few moments into their run, a group of cadets from Starfleet Academy suddenly thundered past them, obviously participating in an impromptu race of some kind. The cadet in the lead, a young woman with a long graceful stride, cast a half-contemptuous, half-pitying glance over her shoulder at the two older women as she passed. She was tall and lanky, with long, reddish-brown hair tied back in a ponytail flowing in the wind of her passage, her dark eyes flashing with a confidence that shaded into arrogance. Seven was annoyed, knowing the look the girl offered them was exactly the sort of thing that caused her partner to be dissatisfied with her progress, but this morning, Janeway merely gazed after the running cadet wistfully, then shot a mischievous look at her partner.

"You could beat her, couldn't you?" she asked suddenly.

Seven frowned. "Beat her?" she repeated, momentarily confused. "You wish me to assault her?"

Janeway laughed. "No, I mean, you can run faster than she can," she elaborated.

Seven looked at the cadets as they strung out around the corner ahead. The young woman was easily leaving the rest behind her. "I believe so," she said after a moment of keen evaluation. "My Borg implants regulate the buildup of toxins in my blood, hence, I do not tire at the same rate, and my legs are approximately three centimeters longer, allowing me an advantage with the length of my stride." She paused. "A marathon between us would be a reasonably fair contest, but she would not be able to compete with me in a sprint." Like everything else she encountered in her life, when Kathryn and she had begun running, Seven had researched it extensively ... the main reason she grew concerned for her partner's health at times. Running could be a very physically deleterious form of exercise when done improperly.

Janeway flashed her a bright-edged grin. "We're not talking about fair, love," she muttered. "We just have to figure out how much hubris that cadet needs to lose."

Abruptly, the captain began to run after the cadets, Jake bounding gleefully along beside her as they cut across the lawns to intercept the leader. Startled, Seven belatedly quickened her pace to pursue them, nursing the exasperated opinion that the only one required to lose some 'pride' at the moment was one Captain Kathryn Janeway.

A low grey mist lay heavy over the still waters as Ro Laren stared out over the lake, eyes dark as she sipped her hot mug of raktajino. She was standing on the deck of her new home at the Utopia Planitia base, already dressed, and from the house behind her, she heard movement as her lover finally woke up and began her day. Several moments later, B'Elanna joined her on the deck, looking decidedly sleepy in her Starfleet uniform, cradling her own mug of Klingon coffee in her hands. Ro glanced over, feeling a certain contentment spread through her as it always did in the presence of the engineer, even when she was also feeling a vague desire to be alone.

The previous evening, B'Elanna had returned so enthusiastic about her new posting that Ro had not wanted to bring her down by relating the events of her day at Starfleet Headquarters. She kept her comments to a minimum, and B'Elanna had not even noticed ... or perhaps respected the Bajoran's reticence, probably assuming that Ro wanted to think on what had happened before sharing it.

Ro exhaled slowly as she felt B'Elanna place her hand at the small of her back, the warmth penetrating the thick tunic.

"It's nice," the Klingon said quietly. "The lake, I mean. Kind of soothing."

Ro smiled faintly. "Yes," she agreed. "Puts things into perspective."

B'Elanna took a sip from her mug. "Is that something you needed to do?" she asked carefully. "I know I was really excited last night, but not so much that I didn't notice that you seemed a little ... I don't know, down or something. I thought you said the briefings went well."

"They did," Ro said, "particularly for Seven. I had a meeting with Necheyev in the afternoon, however." She trailed off, hearing the anger in her voice, and it took a bit of concentration to temper it into a less inflammatory response.

"What happened?" B'Elanna asked.

"Let's just say Necheyev knows exactly the right buttons to push," Ro said coolly, remembering the conversation with the admiral which had left her literally shaking in fury. She had never experienced such a contemptuous, demeaning and personally insulting conference before, not even when she had disobeyed orders early in her career and eight members of her away team had died. "She seemed to think I wasn't worth the material Starfleet issued for my uniform. I swear, Lanna, I was a breath away from taking that supercilious attitude of hers and ramming it right down her throat."

She could hear her partner inhale slowly beside her. "Why would she do that with you?" B'Elanna asked curiously. "She knows you're Janeway's adjunct. Was she attempting to antagonize you for some reason?"

"I don't know," Ro said, frustration edging her tone. "She was so vicious, Lanna, bringing up everything in my past from Garon II to my last mission on Voyager to how unsuitable I was as Janeway's adjunct. It was like she was trying to get me to ... resign or something."

"So she was testing you," B'Elanna said.

Ro froze, then closed her eyes and groaned.

"That never occurred to you?" The Klingon was looking at her with surprise.

Ro said some very bad words, which would have gotten her mouth washed out with soap back in the internment camp. B'Elanna merely recognized the intent behind the unfamiliar expression and grinned, showing slightly pointed teeth.

"I guess you were too close to it," the Klingon soothed her, reaching up to pat her on the shoulder. "It's been a long time since we've been in a situation where we're constantly being asked to prove ourselves. It was a habit we got out of on Voyager, where everyone had a place and there wasn't much in the way of career maneuvering. I went through the same thing yesterday at the shipyard, though with engineers, it's a lot easier to spot."

"I still should have recognized it," Ro said, disgusted with herself. "I allowed myself to react to the words, rather than looking for the intent behind them. I've been around long enough to know better."

"From what I hear, Necheyev's pretty good at going for the weak areas and exploiting them to the fullest," B'Elanna said, almost in an admiring tone. "She led Starfleet's ground-based forces during the war. All the battles didn't take place in space, you know, and there were several planets that required Starfleet to go in and root out entrenched Jem'Hadar forces. She received the Pike Medal of Valor for helping free Betazed from Dominion rule."

Startled, Ro glanced at her. "How do you know that?" she asked.

B'Elanna grinned crookedly. "You'd be amazed at the sheer amount of apparently irrelevant information flying around the shipyards," she said. "It's been an education ... even for me."

Ro nodded. "Anything about ... what we need to know about?" she asked.

The Klingon sobered. "Not yet," she said. "However, I may have a lead. I'm really glad to be attached to the Millennium team, but there's something odd about McCord refusing my services for the Voyager overhaul. I'm going to check him out."

Ro felt a flutter through her stomach. "Just be careful," she warned. "If there is something there..."

"I will," the Klingon said. "Hey, after the Hirogen and the Borg, one snotty Starfleet Commander isn't going to bother me."

"The real question is why Voyager is there to begin with," Ro said. "Picard was under the impression that there was no reason to pull the ship off active duty, regardless of what upgrades it might have needed."

"It might have to do with the Borg enhancements that were incorporated into its systems," B'Elanna speculated. "That's unusual enough technology to warrant taking a second look."

Ro lifted her head. "Speaking of Borg, I forgot to tell you about a rather interesting conversation I heard after my briefing with Necheyev."

The Klingon looked at her with a touch of admiration. "Even after being hung out to dry, you still had the presence of mind to eavesdrop?" she said.

"That's why," Ro admitted grudgingly. "I wanted to get something on her. I was convinced she was Section 31."

"Who was she talking to?"

"Hayes," Ro said, thinking over the gist of the conversation she had heard by offering to cover the desk for Lt. Glasket while he took a late lunch. She tapped into the comm system and managed to open a channel into Necheyev's office where the two admirals were having their discussion. "Apparently, it was initially Paris's idea for a diplomat like Hayes to brief Seven. Hayes talked Necheyev into letting him do it ... without letting on whose idea it was ... assuring her that his approach would be better for keeping Seven in Starfleet. Necheyev was outraged; first when Hayes let slip that the idea of using a diplomat had originated with Paris, next, by Seven having brought a civilian lawyer to the briefings, and finally, by the fact that Seven was granted leave to go on her trip with Phoebe. Necheyev seemed to think that it meant Starfleet would lose Seven to civilian service. Hayes kept emphasizing that one 'catches more bees with honey', whatever that means. Their conversation was very heated."

"It means that the more cooperative Starfleet appears to Seven, the more inclined she will be to retain her commission and stick around under their authority," the Klingon translated. "The katterpod and the branch approach." She looked thoughtful. "Would Seven really fall for that?"

"Seven did 'fall for that'," Ro told her grimly. "At lunch, she seemed very impressed with Hayes, and a lot more relaxed about Starfleet." She frowned. "I know she was an absolute wreck earlier in the morning, though she did her best not to show it, so there's no question that his 'grandpa' approach influenced her subsequent state of mind."

"What else was said in that conversation between Hayes and Necheyev?" B'Elanna asked, her eyes serious.

"I don't know. I had to shut down the comm system because Glasket came back," Ro responded.

"Do you think the admiral is up to something specific with Seven?" B'Elanna demanded. "Why is it so important the Seven remain in Starfleet? Do you think Necheyev is working on behalf of Section 31 to accomplish that?"

Ro thought about it. "I honestly don't know, B'Elanna," she said soberly. "Necheyev looks like perfect Section 31 material: rabid about protecting the Federation, seeing enemies where there aren't any..." She trailed off, staring across the lake. "In fact, she's so perfect to fit the role of a Section 31 operative, that in itself makes me wonder."

"You're afraid that you want it to be her so much, you're not looking at other, less obvious admirals?" B'Elanna clarified.

"Exactly. Necheyev isn't subtle, and from what I've gathered, that's Section 31's stock in trade. It would be too easy if it were her."

"Sometimes 'easy' doesn't always mean 'wrong'," B'Elanna reminded her placidly, slipping her arm around Ro's waist. "We'll just have to discover more information."

"Agreed." The Bajoran smiled and sipped her raktajino, lifting her arm over B'Elanna's head to rest it across the Klingon's strong shoulders. She knew that without her partner's support, she would be finding this covert task of Picard's considerably more difficult to carry out, and the chances of her pulling it off successfully would decrease measurably.

"What about Seven?" B'Elanna said after a moment, as they stood in companionable silence.

"What about her?"

"Is letting her go off on a trip the best idea?" The Klingon said with concern. "If it's Section 31's intention to kidnap her, a pleasure trip to Trill might be exactly where they'd do it, especially if all she has accompanying her is Phoebe."

"I've been thinking about that," Ro allowed unhappily. "I just haven't figured out a way to convince Janeway to let me go with them. Seriously, what justification could I give to tag along on a pleasure trip with Seven and her sister-in-law?"

"That is a difficult one," B'Elanna agreed and became quiet, a little furrow on her lower brow ridge indicating that she was thinking furiously. "Maybe we could have Seven ask you to come along."

"She'd want to know why," Ro pointed out.

"You're right, and frankly, I'm not comfortable lying to her," B'Elanna agreed.

Ro grinned crookedly. "But it's okay to lie to Janeway?"

B'Elanna considered it. "It's not Janeway I'm keeping things from necessarily, it's the captain," she explained. "Since I've always been a little resistant to authority, that's easy, particularly if it's for her own good."

"I admit, it's a rationale of sorts," Ro allowed quietly. She decided she would have to think about that one. She smiled as she felt her partner slide her hand up her back, massaging it lightly.

"Hmm, I don't suppose we have time before reporting for duty," the Klingon murmured regretfully.

Ro glanced at her. "Time for what?" she asked, though she had a very good idea, judging from the look in her partner's eyes.

B'Elanna leaned over and nuzzled the line of the Bajoran's jaw up to her ear, where she kissed the lobe, biting lightly. "You know what," she whispered huskily.

Ro laughed, and raised her head, feeling an equal sense of regret pass through her. "Unfortunately, no," she said. "I have to catch the shuttle to Earth. I can't keep Janeway waiting."

"And I have to head for the transporter center," B'Elanna agreed ruefully. "I don't have the perks of a chief engineer's position up there in the shipyards, the way I did with Voyager."

Ro pulled her close with her free arm, as she held the almost empty mug of raktajino clear of their bodies, bending her head to kiss her deeply.

"When we return home tonight, we'll have plenty of time to ... enjoy ourselves," she promised in a provocative tone, once they had parted.

"I can't wait," B'Elanna said, smiling happily. She slapped Ro lightly on the abdomen. "Come on, the tram will be here soon."

An air tram operated in the lakeside community, offering daily transport for the Starfleet officers to the center of Utopia Planitia base, where the administrative facilities were located. It had a designated time for stopping at the local Officer's Club every morning, and it was up to each person to be there waiting for it, because it also had a designated time for leaving, not waiting a second longer for any latecomers. Ro obediently finished her raktajino, then followed the Klingon back into the house. However, they misjudged the time, and barely made it down their street, leaving Ro a little breathless from the breakneck sprint of the final hundred meters that had been required to rendezvous with the vehicle. Fortunately, it took about five minutes for the tram to cross the twenty-kilometer distance to the base's central core, and the Bajoran was able to catch her breath before they exited the vehicle.

Inside the base transport center, B'Elanna offered Ro a tiny wave and grin of farewell as she moved to join the crowds heading for the transporter room which serviced the heavy traffic between the base and the orbital shipyard. Ro, meanwhile, made her way to the less crowded shuttle field where the interplanetary vessels made regular runs to McKinley Station. There, she caught another shuttle which took her down to San Francisco Transport Center and boarded a tube which dropped her off at the station next to Starfleet Headquarters. Discovering that Captain Janeway and Seven had yet to arrive, she found a seat under the same tree as the captain had sat beneath the day before, and passed the time by observing the various officers arriving for their day. The air was a little heavy and humid, pressing on her lungs after the thinner, clearer air of Mars, making it slightly difficult for her to breathe easily.

She heard the captain and Seven before she actually saw them, the two woman having a spirited discussion about some kind of running and whether it was entirely fair of Seven to race some cadet when, in fact, her Borg implants clearly made her the superior runner. Janeway countered that it was the fault of the cadet that she hadn't recognized Seven was Borg or even a Starfleet officer, and that her spouse had actually taught the cadet a valuable lesson about underestimating one's opponent. Seven pointed out that Janeway merely wished to embarrass the cadet for giving her a superior glance of some kind during their run, which the captain said was absolute nonsense. At that point, Ro thought she should probably interrupt the conversation because it seemed to be growing a little heated.

"Captain Janeway," she said, standing up.

The captain looked over at her and cut short her attempt to persuade her spouse that they had been actually doing something beneficial for this unknown cadet whom, Ro was sure, had not the slightest clue what had hit her by the time the captain and the Borg had gotten through with her. Separately, both Janeway and Seven were formidable women ... together, they were a force of nature and almost frightening to contemplate.

"Lieutenant," the captain said. She motioned the Bajoran over to where they were standing next to the fountain. "Seven will be spending the day touring Starfleet Academy, then tomorrow, she'll be going to Helsinki to tour the Daystrom Institute," she explained. "Rather than tour Utopia Planitia with me and Necheyev, I want you to accompany Seven both days and make sure she finds the answers to any questions she might have."

Ro blinked, surprised but very pleased. Since Seven was purportedly the main target of Section 31, she had wanted to stick with the Borg rather than with Janeway, but as the captain's adjunct, she wasn't sure how she was going to manage it. Janeway was making it very easy for her.

"Yes, Captain," she said obediently.

"I also expect you to ask any questions that Seven might not think of, particularly at the Institute," Janeway added, putting her hand on Ro's elbow and lowering her voice a little, though Seven was right there, listening to every word. "Don't settle for the routine line they give the public. Make sure she understands all the pros and cons of what working there would be like. I'm relying on you to assist her in any way."

"I understand," Ro said.

Janeway nodded, then turned to her spouse, reaching up to kiss Seven on the cheek, surprising the Bajoran who didn't think the captain tended to public displays of affection. However, considering no one was technically on duty yet, she supposed it really wasn't a violation of any protocol.

"Have a good day, love," the captain murmured to the Borg, then strode briskly for the front entrance of Starfleet Headquarters.

Ro glanced at Seven, wondering if the Borg resented having her along essentially to 'babysit'. If she did, she did not show it, and when Seven abruptly began to walk toward the entrance of the plaza, Ro hastily started after her.

She didn't know how interesting this duty might turn out to be, but at least she was not required to deal with Necheyev. That made the whole situation just a little brighter, and she was somehow not surprised as the sun finally appeared through the fog.

Janeway glanced at Necheyev as they stepped through the air lock onto the docking facility bracketing the starship under construction. The admiral had taken a course that seemed deliberately to avoid a clear view of the dock's interior, and Janeway wondered why Necheyev felt the need to keep the vessel hidden for as long as possible. Then, the admiral drew her over to the viewport that looked out onto the site, and Janeway had her first good look at the ship being offered her. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the gleaming, magnificent lines of the Frontier-class Millennium, and for a few seconds, her heart spasmed pleasantly in her chest.

She didn't know how long she stood in contemplation of the new ship before the admiral finally broke the silence. Necheyev's voice was quiet, almost reverent.

"There's nothing like knowing a vessel is waiting for you," she said. "One that no one else has ever commanded, one that will be yours and yours alone for as long as you want it. There is no greater aspiration than to have starship and a star to guide it."

Startled, Janeway glanced at her, then smiled. "You possess an unexpected flair for the dramatic, Admiral," she said. "That's quite poetic."

Necheyev offered a thin smile. "Don't let it get around," she ordered. She nodded at the ship. "That's what they don't quite understand, Kathryn. Hayes and Paris ... they don't know how commanding one is worth more than all the pips and rank they can offer you. If I had to do it over again..." Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, there was a sadness so profound in the dark eyes that Janeway could hardly bear it.

Janeway looked away uncertainly, uncomfortable to see a side of the admiral that she wouldn't have expected ... or perhaps she was uncomfortable at how easily she recognized it, having seen the same form of aching loss in her counterpart in another universe. Seven would be the first to point out how cranky Janeway got when things didn't go her way. She suspected that if she had accepted a promotion unwisely, she would be just as short-tempered and antagonistic as Necheyev. In fact, Janeway was sure Seven would claim her spouse had the potential to be far worse.

She returned her gaze at the ship. "It's primarily deep space exploration?" she asked.

"We're anticipating five-to-ten year tours to various quadrants," Necheyev allowed. "Assuming that Dr. Brahms can provide the necessary transition drive, of course. The missions will be primarily scientific and diplomatic in nature, but obviously, we have no idea what's out there. Voyager's logs were proof of the risk, and we need ships and crews who are ready for anything they might find, led by a captain who knows when to turn the other cheek ... and when to show the iron fist. The weapons and shields will be the best our current technology has to offer, but the ship will also be designed for families, allowing a more comfortable living arrangement for people away for so long."

"I have to admit that aspect interests me," Janeway allowed. "Seven and I have decided to start a family in this next year, once things are settled a bit."

Necheyev looked surprised at that, and not particularly pleased. "Are you sure you really want this command?" she demanded.

Janeway was careful not to let her amusement show. "Of course," she said. "I learned on Voyager that it was quite possible to have both, and in fact, being secure personally made me a far better captain." She paused. "You wondered what changed me, Admiral? You have only to look at my personal life."

"Lt. Hansen," Necheyev said flatly.

"She prefers Seven of Nine," Janeway corrected gently. "She rarely uses her Human designation, particularly on duty."

"That doesn't bother you?" the admiral demanded, glaring at her.

Janeway paused. "Do you think it indicates a lack of loyalty?" she asked, honestly curious.

"She is Borg," Necheyev said coldly. "She's said that herself. I need to know what that means."

Janeway started to respond, paused, then smiled faintly. "Then perhaps you had better ask her," she said. "I assure you, however, it does not mean she is 'less Human'. Indeed, in some ways, she is the most 'Human' person I have ever met."

Necheyev looked troubled, but rather than continue the argument, she seemed willing to leave the conversation there. Janeway smiled, quite agreeable to give the admiral a chance to mull over her words. She knew she wouldn't be able to change Necheyev's mind overnight ... it would take time and patience. She gestured at the ship.

"What exactly would my duties as shipyard commander entail?" she asked, dragging the conversation back on topic. "This can't be the only vessel being built."

"Actually, it is at the moment," Necheyev responded. "We barely have enough personnel to crew the ships we have. The rest of the docks are filled with damaged and unfinished ships being brought up to full operating status."

"Including Voyager," Janeway said.

"Including Voyager," Necheyev allowed. "Would you like to take a look at her, meet the team working on her?"

Janeway nodded. "Yes," she said.

She took a last look at the Millennium, a jewel sparkling in the dark of space, then followed the admiral to a nearby travel pod. Obviously, the admiral intended them to return here for the shuttle they had used to travel from Earth.

Voyager was being kept in one of the smaller docking facilities, floating on the perimeter of the orbital territory Utopia Planitia used for their shipyards, almost as if the ship was being shoved into a forgotten corner of a closet. Janeway didn't like that, and she was even less pleased when she met the engineer in charge of the ship's overhaul. Commander McCord was a thin blond man who possessed an abruptness that aggravated the starship captain. Like Seven and Necheyev, he was arrogant, but unlike the two women, he lacked the sheer brilliance of Seven or the seniority of Necheyev's earned rank to back it up.

"Unfortunately, our progress has been slowed by the Borg enhancements that were added to the ship the seven years it was gone," he said, when she wanted to know why no systems analysis had been made about how they would proceed. "We have to work our way through that before we offer a detailed schedule for the refit."

Janeway pinned him with a look. "Then why did you refuse a request by B'Elanna Torres to join your team?"she asked. She had been surprised and outraged when Necheyev told her about that refusal on the trip from Earth. "She's far more familiar with the technology than any of the officers currently comprising your core of engineers."

He looked surprised that she had such information, and very uncomfortable. "I have a full complement," he said, somewhat sullenly. "I couldn't replace any of them."

"It is not an efficient complement if keeping them means losing necessary skills and information," she pointed out.

He took a breath, obviously angry, and shot a look at Necheyev. "Am I being ordered to replace one of my team members with Torres."

Necheyev didn't flicker. "Starfleet Command is not in the habit of interfering with how the commander of this base organizes her personnel," she said. She glanced at the other woman. "It will be Captain Janeway's call as to how Voyager is overhauled, assuming she decides to accept the post."

Janeway had not softened her glare at McCord. "You'll be the first to know if I require you to alter your roster," she told the man. She flicked a glance at Necheyev. "In the meantime, I'd like to take a tour of the ship. Everything happened so quickly during our return that I didn't get a chance to really say good-bye to her."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Necheyev agreed, comprehension rather than censure in her eyes at the captain's admission of sentimentality.

"But..." McCord began, then subsided when both women immediately looked at him in a mix of amazement and annoyance. "There's a lot of open panels and reconstruction," he finished weakly.

"I know my way around," Janeway said, with some asperity.

Necheyev nodded and glanced at her padd. "I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you," she said. "I need to check some things out with Commander Krause and the Millennium team. When you're done, use one of the other travel pods to return to the main dock."

"I'll meet you there," Janeway promised, and started down the umbilical leading to the fore docking port of Voyager's saucer section, leaving McCord to stare after her in what appeared to be baffled frustration. She dismissed it as irrelevant. Surely he had to be aware that she would be taking a close, personal interest in how her old ship was cared for, even if she didn't accept Necheyev's offer to command the base.

Her first stop was Voyager's bridge, and to her surprise, it seemed relatively intact and quite empty. She decided that initial operations were being concentrated someplace else, such as the engine room, though normally, the bridge was the first area tackled by the refit squads.

She was actually grateful for that alteration in procedure, however. It gave her some needed solitude and privacy to sit down in her command chair one last time, gazing around the bridge where she had spent most of the last seven years. Though the fore viewscreen was blank, the stations all dark and deactivated, for a brief moment, a wave of memories swept over her and she could almost hear the sounds of her alpha shift working in the background. She blinked rapidly to prevent the tears welling in her eyes from spilling over, and quickly got up from the chair. Taking a long, last look around, she smiled at her nostalgia and finally turned away to descend the short flight of stairs leading to her ready room. The door had to be opened manually, but the override functioned smoothly and she stepped through.

She faltered as she saw what had happened to her private sanctum, the sight providing a most unpleasant jolt. The room had been completely gutted, the work console and desk removed entirely, while several openings in the bulkhead showed where any interior spaces had been excavated ... though why, she had no idea. Particularly since the bridge hadn't really been touched.

Confused, she left her ready room and crossed the bridge, using the access ladders to descend to deck three. She found even more disarray in the quarters where she and Seven had lived. The kitchenette counter was completely torn apart and the furniture had all been overturned ... what little had not been totally disassembled. This made no sense at all. Crew quarters should have been the absolute last thing for the teams to be refitting. This didn't exactly look like a refit, either ... it looked like someone had been searching for something.

Frowning, she ran a check on where the team was actually located on the ship, using a tricorder she had carried with her from Starfleet Command, since computer access was usually disrupted during refit. Her disturbance increased when she discovered the entire refit team was split between astrometrics and the small room in cargo bay two, while not one lifesign registered in the more logical areas for refit, such as engineering. Her first inclination was to immediately storm down and demand to know what the hell they thought they were doing, but a cooler, more cautious part of herself held her back.

She took a slow breath as she stood amid the shambles of what had been her home, trying to find some reasonable explanation for it, and suddenly very conscious of being on Voyager without trusted backup of any kind. That was a sensation she hadn't experienced in over seven years, and it was not pleasant. Considering it for a few moments, she decided that it might be prudent for her to get off the starship and return to the main docking area. There, she could contact B'Elanna or Ro, and have them meet her before coming back to Voyager to check things out. Possibly, she should even contact Seven, aware that the Borg would be able to figure out exactly what was going on just by looking at what work had been done on her alcoves.

Janeway made her way back to the umbilical, grateful not to see another soul on her journey, becoming spooked by the dimly illuminated corridors. By the time she passed through the fore docking port, she was jumping at shadows and moving as if she were in enemy territory. When things continued to remain peaceful, however, she began to relax, a little disgusted at herself. She even managed to dismiss most of her uncertainties as she activated the small travel pod and programmed it to take her back to the main docking facility where the Millennium was being built. After all, she reasoned, it was entirely possible that McCord had a perfectly logical explanation for concentrating the initial refit on the areas he had. Indeed, he had seemed quite concerned about the Borg additions to the systems, so it made sense he would start with the source, where Seven had lived and worked, determining what enhancements she might have made personally as opposed to what the Collective had done during the Scorpion Incident which was listed in the logs.

That doesn't explain why they ripped apart your ready room or your quarters, her little voice reminded her sharply. Don't dismiss this, Katie. Something very weird is going on here, regardless that 'weird' is part of the job description.

She was so busy with her internal debate that she didn't immediately notice the pod drifting off course. When it finally did come to her attention, she assumed that she had input incorrect coordinates while in her distracted state. However, reinitiating the navigational system didn't seem to correct the drift, and attempting to override with manual controls didn't work either. Frowning, she began to run a diagnostic, trying to determine what the problem was. These pods were fairly simple, utilizing only thrusters and a small life support system, so it was unlikely that there was much she couldn't repair. At worst, she would simply call for a pickup by one of the shuttles patrolling the shipyards.

Except there was no response on her comm badge, and she was appalled to discover that the communication system on the travel pod had been completely dismantled, offering only an empty shell when she opened up the panel to check it. Suddenly, this was going from a minor problem to a major one, especially when she realized the thrusters were propelling her on a trajectory that would impact on the underside of the Millennium. Demands to the onboard computer to release the helm were completely ignored as the thrusters continued to burn at full throttle, leaving her unable to slow the travel pod down. Then, because apparently someone thought the current mess she was in might not be enough, she heard the sudden hiss of escaping atmosphere, indicating a hull breach of some sort.

A chill shivered through her and she began an immediate search with her tricorder, discovering a pinhole in the bulkhead which had been covered with some type of faulty patch, utilizing a material which froze and flaked away in the unforgiving vacuum of space ... decidedly non-regulation hull work. A swift check of the compartments at the rear of the pod revealed no repair kits, which did not surprise her at this point, and her initial concern and fear were gradually being replaced by a simmering fury. It was obvious this was not simply a case of a malfunctioning pod, but rather a deliberate attempt by someone to cause her harm.

Harm? Her little voice was outraged. Someone's trying to kill us Katie! Do something!

She took off one of her pips and jammed it against the pinhole, temporarily preventing any further loss of her precious oxygen, then quickly checked to see what she had in the way of tools. In addition to the tricorder, she had a tiny phaser concealed in the heel of her boot. It was completely non-protocol, but since being captured by the Barellan, who had incarcerated her in their brutal prison, Janeway had developed the habit of carrying additional unauthorized equipment on her person at all times. She was grateful that she hadn't lost the habit, even after returning to the Alpha Quadrant. She set the phaser to a fine, intensely hot beam and used it to melt the pip into a solid duranium patch over the tiny breach, preventing it from becoming any larger, and preserving her remaining life support.

Once that was taken care of, she turned to the next problem: the fact that she was on a collision course with the underside of the starship looming before her. A check of the proximity sensors revealed that she still had a little time before she ended up plastered against the impervious hull like a bug on a hovercraft windshield, but whatever she did, she would have to do it within the next few minutes if she wanted to save herself.

The navigational system had completely frozen under the diagnostic, refusing any further commands, and the panel to access the interior circuitry had been sloppily welded shut. Furious, she used the phaser to cut her way into the helm and began cross-linking conduits until she had gained a rough control over the thrusters. She shut off the starboard activation, leaving only the port thrusters to angle her down and away from the Millennium. She held her breath as she drifted so close to the massive vessel that she could have sworn she scraped paint off the hull, but then she was moving beyond it and was clear, drifting free into empty space before the thrusters immediately sputtered and died, obviously out of fuel, which represented the final deliberate malfunction.

Relief flooded her as she slumped against the bulkhead, then slid down it to the deck, where she leaned against the base of the control panel. There wasn't much else she could do now but conserve her energy and wait for someone to notice the wayward pod. She attributed the fact that she was shaking uncontrollably to the cold, and she hugged her knees, wishing with all her heart that a certain, statuesque blonde was holding her instead.

A few hours later, a shuttle pilot noticed the drifting pod, and receiving no response to his hail, brought it on board, shocked to discover a very cold and very furious starship captain inside. He immediately transported Janeway back to the main docking facility where Admiral Necheyev alternately went pale and a deep, furious red as Janeway gave her report. She put in an immediate call for security to pick up McCord and secure Voyager.

Somehow, Janeway was not entirely surprised to find that the Commander was gone and no trace of him could be found anywhere in Utopia Planitia.

Seven silently seethed as she and Ro crossed the expanse of lawns and paved paths that led to Starfleet Academy. It annoyed her tremendously that her partner apparently did not think she was capable of handling these visits on her own, and the way she arranged it with Ro, as if the Borg  were a child, infuriated her beyond measure. What was more bothersome was that it came after Janeway's own words earlier in the morning about how important it was for Seven to be independent and take this upcoming trip with Phoebe.

In truth, Kathryn had been acting in odd and contradictory ways since returning to the Alpha Quadrant. One moment it was as if the captain could not be close enough to the Borg, needing to know her every move, openly affectionate in public, and the next, it was as if Kathryn was attempting to push her away, encouraging Seven to contemplate trips and experiences which didn't include Janeway at all. It was very confusing and not a little aggravating, although so far, Seven was attributing it to her spouse's tempestuous adjustment to being back in the Federation. It was a situation that was less than two weeks old, but had already included, on a professional level, Janeway losing her ship and most of her crew, and on a personal level, confronting her family about old wounds, as well as dealing with new realities that had shocked her profoundly. Perhaps it was understandable the captain was taking longer to resume her normal self than Seven would have liked ... or worse, that Janeway was reverting somewhat to the person she had been at the beginning of their romantic involment.

Seven wished Sek were still available to her. The Borg needed to talk about these things, and unfortunately, she had not found anyone who could really replace the holographic ship's counselor, not even Kes, who had merged with Sek. Particularly Kes, Seven decided, since she did not trust the Ocampa, at all. B'Elanna and Ro remained somewhat available to her, of course, but it wasn't the same, especially once the other couple had acquired their own house an entire planet away. Though Seven continued to interact with Ro as Janeway's adjunct, she didn't have the same relationship with the Bajoran as she did with B'Elanna, and she realized that she hadn't seen the Klingon for five days, not since the housewarming party on Mars. It was decidedly different from how it had been on Voyager when everyone was simply a hail away, or easily connected to during meals in the messhall.

She supposed she could try to speak with Gretchen and Phoebe about her feelings. It had also been five days since she had seen either of them, though she had spoken with them a few times over the comm system. However, that did not offer the same sort of intimacy that Seven required to deal with this situation. Of course, if she were really looking for an intimate confidante, she should probably be speaking to the source itself, and try to ascertain what Janeway was really feeling and why.

As the young woman considered all this, she tried not to show her irritation with her spouse to Ro Laren. After all, it was hardly the Bajoran's fault that she had been assigned the duty of shepherding the Borg around, nor was Seven entirely adverse to having Ro there simply for her company. The Borg liked the woman, appreciating Ro's poise and constrained deadliness, as well as being grateful that the Bajoran had brought such happiness into B'Elanna's life.

However, that did not mean that Janeway should have assigned Ro to 'babysit'. It was insulting, and Seven resolved to have a stern talk with her partner as soon as she saw her again. In the meantime, it behooved her to put her pique aside and concentrate on this visit to the Academy, a place that she had only heard about and never seen, even though she wore the uniform of a junior lieutenant.

The lobby of the main administration building was manned by an elderly officer who looked as if he had retired several years earlier. He squinted at the two women, then checked the padd on his desk.

"Seven of Nine?" he repeated. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

Seven and Ro exchanged glances, then looked back at him.

"Perhaps it is under Lt. Hansen?" Seven suggested, maintaining her patience.

He frowned at her, then looked back at the padd. "Yes, here it is," he grumbled. "Admiral Hayes arranged this tour. Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

Seven took a slow breath, then accepted the padd he handed to her. "Thank you," she said politely, if a touch icily. It would not do to pick him up and shake him by the ankles, regardless of the fact that it might improve his attitude. She wondered why such a person had been placed in the position of dealing with the public on a full time basis.

"I'll alert Cadet Tarn that you've arrived," he said and gestured toward a waiting area. "Please have a seat."

Seven glanced at the padd she had been handed as she and Ro obediently made their way over to the sofa covered in Starfleet blue fabric. The padd contained a layout of the Academy buildings and grounds, along with a guide to what subjects were offered, a brief history of Starfleet Academy itself, and a roster of the teaching staff. The building they were currently in was reserved mostly for administration and the offices of various professors. Seven was intrigued to see Commander Chakotay's name listed in the anthropology section, teaching survival skills based on ancient techniques, along with another course in exo-archaeology.

"Here's our cadet," Ro said quietly, and Seven looked up from the padd, glancing over her shoulder at the uniformed figure approaching the waiting area. "She looks a little unhappy at pulling escort duty."

Cadet Tarn's sullen features went pale as Seven stood up, and they recognized each other. This was the same young woman Kathryn had chased after in the park earlier in the morning, catching up to the cadets in a hollow where the young woman had been standing victorious over several other runners who appeared as if they had absolutely exhausted themselves racing with her. The resulting conversation between Janeway and the cadet had been quite intriguing to Seven, particularly when the captain manipulated the discussion until Tarn actually ended up challenging 'Annika' to a race. She had spoken to the Borg in the sort of disparaging tone that implied she didn't think the blonde woman was worthy of matching paces with the Starfleet Academy Athletics Champion. At that point, the Borg had not been particularly impressed with the arrogant cadet ... or her spouse who was pretending to be far less intelligent than she really was as she maneuvered the young woman into doing what she wanted ... but Seven didn't say anything as she lined up at a starting point, sprinted a hundred meters so quickly that she left the cadet several lengths behind, then trotted easily back to where Janeway was watching with an expression of insufferable smugness on her classic features.

"Lt. Hansen?" the cadet said stiffly. "I'm Cadet Elisa Tarn. I've been assigned to escort you on a tour of the facilities."

"Cadet Tarn," Seven greeted politely.

"Do I take it you two know each other?" Ro asked calmly, looking back and forth between them with bright eyes. The Bajoran rarely missed much, Seven realized, particularly on the unspoken level.

"I met Lt. Hansen in the park this morning, sir," Tarn replied stiffly.

Ro quirked an eyebrow, but did not smile, though the Borg suspected that she wanted to.

"Lt. Ro Laren," the Bajoran introduced herself smoothly, then looked at Seven. "Is this the cadet you and the captain were talking about?"

"Captain?" Tarn repeated, her voice squeaking as her eyes widened.

Seven knew that the young woman had believed Janeway and Seven to be civilians, and wondered if that also formed the basis for her imprudent attitude. Perhaps Kathryn had been correct in attempting to teach the young woman a lesson not only about her mistaken assumption of superiority in her physical skills, but also in her approach to civilians whom Starfleet had been founded to protect.

Ro bit off a short laugh and eyed the girl who obviously wished to be anywhere but where she was. "Don't worry about it, Cadet," she said dryly. "You're not the first to be tested by Captain Kathryn Janeway. You will definitely not be the last."

"Yes, sir," the cadet said unhappily, as she digested the news of just who she had been rude to earlier in the day.

"Are you prepared to give us the tour?" Seven asked shortly.

"Aye, sir," Tarn responded, straightening. "However, may I ask why a guide is required?"

"Because I did not become a Starfleet officer by graduating the Academy," Seven replied readily. "I assimilated the necessary technical knowledge as a Borg, while amassing the required philosophical and ethical classes on Voyager in the Delta Quadrant. Now I wish to see what I may have missed in acquiring my commission."

"Borg..." Tarn began, then stopped, her features growing very still. She took a breath and motioned toward the entrance. "This way," she said without any further inflection in her tone.

Frowning, Seven followed her as Ro flanked her. Eventually, the Borg noticed that the Bajoran had a faint smile on her face, and Seven was intrigued, aware that Ro Laren was not the sort to be amused without cause.

"What do you find so amusing, Lt. Ro?" Seven asked.

"Our tour guide," Ro said, quite distinctly. Seven believed the officer was deliberately speaking loud enough for the young woman to hear, and she glanced quickly at Tarn, seeing the flush of red rise in the back of the young woman's neck.

"How so?" Seven remarked curiously.

"I'll bet she's thinking the whole race was unfair because you're Borg," Ro said. A flinch from their guide, the tension across the shoulders, indicated that the Bajoran had scored.

"It was unfair," Seven said plainly, puzzled at where Ro was going. "With my enhancements, very few Humanoid species could hope to match me in a physical contest. Even you, with your advanced tactical training and superior knowledge of martial arts technique, have been defeated by me in a physical confrontation."

"Exactly, but I don't consider that a failure on my part," Ro said. "The kid does, but she doesn't really understand where she's really failing. She doesn't understand what the Captain was showing her."

Seven's face cleared. "Yes," she agreed, finally understanding what was being said. "There is no failure in losing a contest. The failure was in underestimating her opponent and accepting things at face value. The failure was in allowing arrogance to overcome prudent judgement. It is a mistake made often by the young and can be a dangerous lesson to learn. Fortunately, it was not in this case, merely ... humiliating."

"She got off easy," Ro said, scorn lacing her tone liberally. "Where I come from, the penalty for underestimating an opponent is a lot more permanent than some minor embarrassment. The first lesson we learned in the Cardassian internment camp was that it doesn't matter how good you think you are, there's always someone out there who's stronger, tougher, faster and better. The only muscle that truly needs to be developed to the fullest is the one between one's ears."

"A most interesting analysis, Lt. Ro," Seven complimented.

"Thank you, Lt. Hansen," Ro replied politely.

Seven frowned and Ro lifted her head. "I meant no disrespect," the Bajoran added quietly, bringing the conversation down to a more private level. "I know it annoys me when someone calls me Lt. Laren, because it's obvious they haven't made the effort to understand the Bajoran cultural influence on our names."

"No, it is ... acceptable," Seven remarked. "Obviously, now that I am a Starfleet officer, that will be my designation, as listed in my official record, regardless of the fact that I would prefer to be called Seven. I am ... no longer of the Collective."

"I'm sure a great many people will continue to call you Seven," Ro assured her. "But yes, you can probably expect people who don't know you to refer to you by your Human designation, particularly in Starfleet."

"They did not on Voyager," Seven said.

"We're not on Voyager any longer," Ro reminded her, and Seven resisted a sigh as she realized that was probably the most difficult aspect of all in returning to the Alpha Quadrant.

"This building contains mostly classrooms," Tarn offered finally as they stopped before a large, square building, vines of some sort crawling up the brick. If the cadet had taken Ro's words to heart, she gave no indication of it, and her tone was very polite and reserved. "They are primarily used for lectures and small demonstrations. The labs are in the other science buildings, while the flight simulators and holodeck training facilities are across the common. Do you have any preference, sir, in what you wish to see first?"

"I wish to visit Anthropology 101 which is being conducted in section ten, level four of this building," Seven said.

Tarn looked confused at the Borg's precise directions for where she wanted to go, but with a small shrug, she led the lieutenants into the building and took an elevator to the fourth floor. In a room overlooking the sweeping lawns of the Academy gardens, Commander Chakotay was demonstrating how to start a fire with a piece of bark, a string wrapped around a branch, and some hair donated by a student.

He glanced up as he saw the trio and a smile spread across his face. He nodded at his class.

"Attempt to start your fire," he instructed. "Billings, stand by with that extinguisher."

As his students set to work, attempting to mimic what he had been showing them, he moved over to where the women were standing and drew them out into the corridor, shutting the door behind them so that their conversation would not interrupt the class.

"Ro, Seven," he exclaimed. "It's so good to see you. What brings you here?"

"I am touring Starfleet Academy," Seven explained, and gestured to Tarn who inexplicably blushed when Chakotay glanced at her. "Cadet Tarn is showing me the facilities."

"Trying to figure out what you might have missed?" he asked.

"Yes, Commander," Seven said. "I wish to compare what I learned in the ship's classes with what is learned at the Academy."

"I assure you, Seven," Chakotay told her with a smile. "There's nothing here that you don't already know. It might be taught in a manner different than how you learned it on Voyager, but the outcome is the same." He glanced at Ro. "How's B'Elanna doing at Utopia Planitia?"

"She's quite pleased with the posting," Ro explained. "She gets to play with all sorts of starships all day long."

He nodded, and glanced at Seven. "Has the captain decided on a position yet?" he asked.

Seven paused, wondering if Janeway's contemplation of Necheyev's offer was in any way confidential. Kathryn hadn't told her not to discuss it with anyone, she decided.

"The captain is considering taking command of Utopia Planitia," she said.

Chakotay blinked, obviously surprised. "That's a hell of a demotion," he said, frowning. "That post only requires a rank of commander at best."

"It is merely an interim position," Seven added. "She will actually be supervising the construction of a new vessel which she intends to command. It is designated the USS Millennium."

"The Millennium?" Tarn repeated, then colored as the others looked at her. "That's the new Frontier-class ship," she explained in a tone that indicated this was common knowledge amid the student body. "Every captain in Starfleet wants that ship ... except maybe Picard, and that's only because he's already commanding the flagship."

Chakotay's smile showed brilliant white against his dusky skin, the tattoo arching over his left eye crinkling in his amusement. "Leave it to Kathryn to swoop in and pluck the prize right out from under everyone's noses," he said, vastly delighted by the news. He shot a look at Seven. "Right, Lt. Seven?"

Seven was unsure to what he was referring, then realized he was alluding to Janeway's incursion against the Collective where the starship captain came away with a certain Borg drone. Seven blushed and almost smiled.

"It is her nature," she agreed, unable to keep the pride from coloring her tone.

"We'll let you get back to your class, Commander," Ro suggested then. She nodded through the transparency which looked into the room. "I think they've set a desk on fire, and your man Billings doesn't seem to be able to get the extinguisher to work."

Startled, Chakotay followed her gaze, then bit off a curse and quickly moved back into the room, smoke billowing out through the open door. Seven and Ro exchanged a shared glance of amusement, then the Borg looked at Tarn.

"I wish to see the labs, next," she instructed.

Tarn, still wide-eyed at the sheer amount of fascinating information she was absorbing from her charges, nodded mutely and moved down the corridor. Obviously, her duty, toward which she had displayed every evidence of apathy, was turning out to be far more interesting than she had anticipated.

With a wave of her hand, Janeway dismissed the two Starfleet security personnel, who had been loitering unobtrusively across the street since Seven had returned home hours earlier, and entered her quiet house. It was long after she had originally expected to be home, and she hoped Seven wasn't too upset with her. Frowning, she looked around the empty living area, then through the arched opening leading to the kitchen, not seeing the young woman anywhere.

"Annika?" she called anxiously, wondering if Seven was upstairs in the bedroom or perhaps even in the ensuite. "Annika, where are you?"

"I am outside, Kathryn," Seven called from beyond the kitchen, her voice carrying through the open french doors which lined the rear of the dining area.

Janeway felt a surge of relief flood her, realizing only after the fact how keyed up she had been. Quickly, she moved through the dining area and out onto the large patio which was illuminated in the deepening dusk by a sequence of lights running along the railing. The deck was stained redwood to match the high fence bordering the spacious yard, and a hot tub was set unobtrusively in the corner, next to some foliage which produced a pleasant, herbal fragrance. The captain was surprised to see Seven of Nine, sans swimwear, relaxing in the roiling water, her arms stretched out along the edge of the tub. Slightly appalled, Janeway wondered if the temporary security she had placed on her spouse earlier in the day, had witnessed Seven's disrobing during their surveillance.

Forcing a smile on her face, the captain moved over to the circular sauna, leaning against the side as she regarded her gloriously revealed partner. Nearby, Jake was stretched out on the bench, the Irish Setter thumping his tail as the captain reached over and scratched behind his ears.

"Annika, it is customary to wear a suit while in the hot tub," she complained mildly.

"It is?" Seven asked, her tone puzzled. "Why?"

"Because we're in public," Janeway said.

Seven took a quick glance around, obviously confused by her spouse's objection. "We are not in public," she replied finally. "Our deck is hidden from the street by the house and concealed from casual view from our neighbors by the height of the fence surrounding the yard." She looked back at the captain and quirked an eyebrow. "You certainly did not offer this opinion the first night you introduced me to it. In fact, from that incident, I developed the distinct impression that clothing was not an option at all, let alone a requirement."

Janeway started to respond to that, then sighed, remembering the night in question. "All right," she said. "However, it would have been awkward had I brought someone home for dinner this evening and we walked out here to find you completely naked."

Seven pinned her with a look. "Is it your intention, Kathryn, to bring guests home without informing me first?" she asked sharply. "I would find that unacceptable ... almost as unacceptable as your not calling to tell me you would be late, or your treating me like a child who requires an adult to escort her everywhere."

Stymied by Seven's challenge, and not a little embarrassed, Janeway backpedaled furiously. "Of course not," she said, though in truth, she had asked Necheyev to join her for dinner, hoping the more casual setting would provide Seven and the admiral some neutral ground in which to meet halfway and perhaps reach an understanding of each other. However, Necheyev had requested a rain-check on the captain's invitation, and after seeing her spouse out of uniform in more ways than one, Janeway decided that perhaps it was just as well. "I apologize for not calling," the captain added in a gentler tone. "Some things happened that were unexpected and I couldn't get away. I'm also sorry if it seemed as if I were treating you like a child earlier in the day. That was never my intention. I just thought Ro's prior experience as a graduate of the Academy and her time on Earth could help you since I couldn't be with you."

Seven regarded Janeway closely, apparently evaluating the level of her contriteness. "Very well," she said finally. "However, I do insist that you call in the future if you are required to be late. On Voyager, it was inconvenient when I did not know where you were. On Earth, it can be ... frightening."

Janeway felt a sick sense of dismay shoot through her. She could only imagine how frightened Seven would have been had Janeway called with news of exactly why she had to be late.

"I'm sorry," she repeated regretfully, reaching out to draw her fingertips along the young woman's cheek. "You're right, Annika, I didn't mean to frighten you. Next time, I'll call and let you know when I can't make it home on time."

"Do you anticipate there being a 'next time', Kathryn?" Seven asked, her pale eyes almost translucent in the deepening darkness.

"I suspect there will be," Janeway allowed. She inclined her head, regarding her partner intently. "I've decided to accept the Utopia Planitia assignment."

Seven considered it for a moment. "What would be your response if I were to ask you not to accept such an assignment?" she prompted.

Janeway took a deep breath. "Then, I would't take it, of course," she said, though she was not happy about it, suspecting Seven was still punishing her for her actions earlier in the day. "You and your needs are far more important to me." She paused. "I would like to understand the reasoning behind your objection, however."

Seven inhaled slowly, then nodded. "I have no objection to you accepting the position, particularly if that is what you truly want, Kathryn," she explained, somewhat sheepishly. "I merely wished to know what you would do if I were displeased by the decision."

Janeway crossed her arms on the rim and leaned against them, thinking that one over. "Annika," she said soberly, "I promised you that we would do what was best for both of us. If you have any problems with my accepting this appointment to the shipyards, then we need to discuss them now."

Seven looked away, suddenly shy. "I do not like Admiral Necheyev," she admitted reluctantly. "It bothers me that you will be working directly under her authorization. I know that is unprofessional, Kathryn, but it is how I feel."

Janeway stifled a sigh. "I understand, Annika, particularly since she doesn't like you much either," she allowed ruefully. "However, in both cases, it's because you really don't know each other. The truth is, you're remarkably alike in a great many ways."

Seven was surprised. "We are?" she said, obviously not ready to accept that at face value. "How?"

"You're both very secure in what you know, and quite arrogant in presenting that knowledge," the captain explained. "You're very assertive and not very tactful when it comes to relating hard truths. When you settle on a goal, a photon torpedo couldn't divert you from going after it. You're intolerant of failure and constantly demand perfection, both in yourself and others around you. However," she added, and leaned closer, smiling faintly, "I can assure you that you're far more attractive, Annika."

Seven flicked an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said, unmoved by the compliment. "The admiral will still have to prove her goodwill to me. I shall not offer my trust easily."

Janeway thought about how vulnerable her partner could be and nodded. "That's fair," she said. "In fact, you should be very careful about who you offer your trust to, not just the people you don't like personally."

"You mean, Admiral Hayes," Seven said flatly.

Janeway blinked, surprised. "Not exactly," she said slowly, wondering where that had came from. "Why would you mention him? I thought you found him 'acceptable'."

"I did," the young woman said, dissatisfaction edging her tone. "However, it is possible that his friendliness was nothing more than a manipulation of me in order to facilitate my providing information to him."

"A 'catch more flies with honey' approach?" Janeway asked. At Seven's baffled expression, she clarified. "He knew you would be more responsive if he approached you as a friend rather than an enemy."

"Yes," Seven said, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance altering her narrow features.

"That's not necessarily a crime, Annika," Janeway reminded her gently. "After all, you've learned yourself that sometimes being kind and considerate of another's feelings will accomplish far more than always being brutally honest about what you think. Particularly with Naomi and the Borg children." She mentally kicked herself for bringing up what could possibly still be a raw association for her partner, but fortunately, the young woman didn't seem to notice. Instead, Seven hesitated, then dipped her head grudgingly.

"Yes," she agreed. She paused. "I am not a child, however."

"You mean you don't like being manipulated so well that you didn't catch on until I pointed it out at lunch yesterday," Janeway corrected gently. "You don't have to be a child to be treated with kindness, Annika, and besides, Hayes is a diplomat, first and foremost. That's what he does best and it's something I, personally, am very grateful for because he was able to deal with the Maquis issue and secured their pardon before we had even returned to the Federation. However, do you know what the real definition of a diplomat is?"

"No," Seven asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. "What is the definition?"

"It's someone who can tell you to go to hell in a way that makes you look forward to the destination," the captain said, then smiled at the expression on Seven's face. "I guess you're not interested in dealing with diplomats."

"No," Seven said flatly. "I am not."

"Then, I'll be the only diplomat you'll have to deal with from now on," Janeway promised teasingly.

She leaned closer, kissing Seven on full lips that refused to respond ... initially. However, with a tiny amount of applied pressure, they gradually softened and reacted to the captain's mouth, parting with increasing sweetness the longer the kiss went on.

"You are incorrigible," Seven grumbled when they finally parted.

"Unquestionably," Janeway replied. She leered gently at the young woman and nodded at the water. "Would you care for some company?" she asked.

"Will you insist on wearing a swimsuit?" Seven countered, eyeing her from the corner of her eye, the slightest curve raising the corner of her full lips.

Janeway's grin widened. "I suppose I could be persuaded to go without," she allowed with mock reluctance. "This one time."

"Then, please," Seven said, finally returning the smile fully, "Join me."

The water in the hot tub was wonderfully soothing, particularly after the day Janeway had experienced. Being with her spouse was even more healing, and once Seven picked the captain up in her slender, but incredibly strong arms, and carried her into the house and up the stairs to the room where their big bed awaited, the captain left the problems of Starfleet far behind. The women made slow, extremely passionate love, and it seemed to Janeway that they reached unprecedented heights of sustained ecstasy on this night; Seven because she loved and wanted her partner immensely, and Janeway, because she suddenly needed the Borg with an intensity that almost terrified her. The captain knew it was undoubtedly an effect of the day's events finally catching up to her, but despite the source, the devote tenderness and fierce desire for her spouse was accepted and cherished by Seven without question.

Afterward, when the young woman had fallen asleep, a slight smile dusting her full lips, Janeway slipped quietly out of bed and went out to the loft where the computer work station was maintained, making sure the bedroom door was sealed behind her. She placed a call through to Utopia Planitia on Mars, utilizing a secure channel and encrypting it with her private code designed by Seven as an added protection against anyone tapping into it. It took a while for the response to come through, but finally, the image of the UFP symbol flickered and gave way to a rumpled Ro Laren dressed in a robe. Standing just behind her, leaning over her shoulder, B'Elanna was also present.

"Captain!" the Klingon said. "I heard about what happened today! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Janeway said. She glanced at Ro. "I take it you also know?"

"I know you had some kind of malfunction in a travel pod you were using," Ro said evenly, her dark eyes intent. "That there was some kind of sabotage found on Voyager."

"It's not that simple," Janeway said. She hesitated, looking at B'Elanna, then sighed. Obviously, she could not expect to keep things from the inquisitive Klingon for very long, particularly when she was living with Ro whom the captain needed at the moment.

"It was more in the lines of theft," Janeway explained. "Commander Jason McCord was discovered to be in the employ of the Orion Syndicate, using his position at Utopia Planitia to steal Borg technology from Voyager, undoubtedly, for future use in weapon construction. I was out there to inspect the refit, and he must have panicked, arranging a little 'accident' for me involving my travel pod. To be honest, I think he was hoping that by the time they finished scraping me off the underside of the Millennium and figured out what had happened, he would be long gone. Fortunately, I was able to bypass the sabotage and was picked up by a patrol shuttle after only a few hours."

"Was security able to track down McCord?" Ro asked.

Janeway hesitated. "What was left of him," she revealed, dissatisfaction edging her tone. "His remains were found in a lavatory on McKinley Station. Apparently, he was attempting to catch a transport outbound when his employers caught up with him."

"The Orion Syndicate doesn't accept any resignations but the permanent kind," B'Elanna said somberly. It was clear she knew more than a little about the organized crime syndicate which historically operated on the outer fringes of the Federation.

Ro frowned. "Is Starfleet sure it's the Syndicate?" she asked sharply. "It's not their style to work in such close proximity to the inner core systems, particularly on planets like Earth."

"The method of execution is one associated with the Syndicate, and they left their traditional calling card ... an 'Orion' symbol carved into the corpse's forehead," Janeway said, though she did wonder why Ro would even ask that. Who would dare present themselves as representatives of the Orion Syndicate if they weren't? "I've been informed that the war has opened up certain 'cracks' which allow the Syndicate to operate with greater freedom in places they didn't normally have access to before. Seven years ago, they were a problem located on the outer fringes of the Federation, and handled by the various planetary law enforcement agents. In the last few years, however, they've expanded their influence, and Starfleet Intelligence has become involved in attempting to limit their operations. With this new incident, it's clear that something more will have to be done about their incursion into the inner core systems."

"Captain, do you require additional security?" Ro said, her brows drawn. "I can arrange..."

Janeway interrupted her. "Not me," she said. "As I said, I was ... 'accidental', showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Starfleet Command has increased its security measures throughout Utopia Planitia, particularly around Voyager, which will be acquiring a new refit team. What is of real concern is that the Syndicate might continue to try for Borg technology."

"Seven," B'Elanna blurted, looking quite pale suddenly. "Oh, Captain..."

"Exactly," Janeway said. She looked directly at the Bajoran, her gaze intent "Lt. Ro, as of now, I'm assigning you to protect her, particularly while she's on her trip with Phoebe."

"Captain, is it wise for her to go on a trip now?" Ro asked.

Janeway inhaled slowly. "I don't want to prevent her from going," she admitted. "I'd have to explain why, for one thing, which I'm not authorized to do, and for another, it might actually be safer for her to be on the move rather than staying in one place on Earth. I'm counting on you to keep her travel plans ... secure, Lieutenant. There will be several undercover operatives from Starfleet Intelligence monitoring the situation on Trill and Vulcan."

Ro stared at the captain, her surprise evident through the viewscreen. "Aren't you going to tell her about what happened today, Captain?" she asked.

"The events surrounding the sabotage are classified, Lieutenant," Janeway said stiffly, not at all happy about it. but knowing she had to toe the Starfleet line. She took a breath, softening her posture. "I don't want to worry Annika, particularly since, as I said, it was a random incident. This is a very special trip for her, and I don't want her spending every moment considering me a target when I'm not." She knew she was justifying what she was required to do as much to herself as to Ro, but she had to accept that there were certain things that were out of her hands. "Just be sure you're at her side if she needs you."

"I understand, Captain," Ro said. She paused. "Do I have an explanation for inviting myself along for this trip, since apparently, I can't tell her the real reason?"

Janeway offered a thin-lipped smile. "I will explain your deep and personal interest in Trill culture to Seven in a way that will hopefully encourage her to invite you along," she allowed dryly. "Seven will be meeting Phoebe at the Earth Station McKinley at 0800 this Saturday in order to board a private transport to Trill, which has also been arranged by me. Until then, whenever I'm not with her, I expect you to be, is that understood?"

"Understood, Captain," Ro said.

Janeway cut the channel and sat silently for a time, looking at the blank screen unhappily. She was uncomfortable about keeping things from her spouse, but since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, she had to remember to look at the bigger picture, consider things in terms of how they affected the Federation, and not just herself or Seven. She was no longer a captain protecting a crewmember, or even a woman protecting her spouse, but a Starfleet officer expected to obey the orders of her superiors. Necheyev had been quite clear that an unassigned junior lieutenant did not need to know about the plans Starfleet had for luring the Syndicate into a sting operation utilizing Borg technology on Voyager, not even when she was part of the bait, and Janeway could not find justification to violate that order. Seven would be safely away on Trill, visibly surrounded by a variety of Starfleet personnel, which would hopefully provoke the Syndicate into thinking the only way to acquire nanoprobe-powered weapons would be by retrieving McCord's stolen merchandise ... officially listed as still missing ... rather than try to kidnap an ex-drone for dissection.

Wishing she were back in the Delta Quadrant where life seemed so much simpler, and she had far more control over things, Janeway stood up and returned to the bedroom where she draped her robe over the chair and slipped between the sheets next to her slumbering spouse. Wrapping her arms tightly around Seven's lanky body, Janeway tried to find comfort in her partner's warmth, though her stormy grey eyes were icy as she stared out at the dimness.

Trying hard to believe that Starfleet's ability to protect Seven of Nine was as adept as her own.

Epilogue

The admiral was absolutely furious. The plans put in place to secure Seven of Nine were completely disrupted, and it was all the fault of those blundering idiots in the Orion Syndicate. With their blatant incursion into the Utopia Planitia shipyards to steal Borg technology, not to mention attempting to kill Captain Janeway, Starfleet had been placed on high alert, with increased security in all the places that Borg technology could be found, particularly around Janeway's valuable spouse.

"You're not looking at this the right way, Admiral," the shadowy figure at the end of the table said rationally.  "This actually works to our advantage."

"How so?" the admiral demanded, an unpleasant edginess reverberating in the tone.  "Seven of Nine is never alone now, whether she notices it or not, and the upcoming trip, which would have been the perfect time for us to contact her, away from Earth and her spouse, is now being monitored closely by Starfleet Intelligence ... the official branch, not our group." An expression of dismay crossed the Starfleet officer's face.  "Several undercover operatives have been dispatched to follow her everywhere on her journey, while the good captain has arranged to have her adjunct, Lt. Ro Laren, accompany Seven openly on her visit to Trill and Vulcan. The Bajoran is a graduate of Starfleet's Advanced Tactical Training. She won't be someone easily bypassed or coerced, particularly when she's keeping a close eye out for a criminal organization."

The shadowy figure shook his head slowly back and forth, in what appeared to be exasperation at the admiral's obliviousness to the opportunity they had just been presented.

"The leaders of the Orion Syndicate have gone too far," the Section 31 operative pointed out. "There's no question that it's time they learn that elevating themselves from a minor criminal organization to actively becoming an enemy of the Federation through their attempt to create Borg weapons was not the wisest course of action. They must know by now that none of their people were responsible for the death of Jason McCord, regardless of the symbol carved into his forehead." The operative paused. "Nice touch, by the way."

"Thank you," the admiral said, calming a little now that it was clear the contact from Section 31 was not looking at this as a setback as was initially feared. On occasion, the covert operations group could be as ruthless in their punishment for failure as the Orion Syndicate. "I just find it ironic that our operation, which was designed to secure Seven of Nine, is now being put aside in order to protect our investment from any further attempt by the Orion Syndicate to steal Borg technology."

"Again, you're not looking at the bigger picture, Admiral," the operative said. Gloved fingers pressed against each other in a steeple. "This will work for us in reaching our original goal. After all, an enemy of one's enemy must be, by definition, a friend. The Orion Syndicate may have done us a favor by attempting to kill Janeway. It would be even more fortunate if they were to attempt it again."

The admiral considered that, then slowly smiled as the realization of what that meant penetrated the anger. The Section 31 operative was correct. This would work wonderfully in their favor.

Seven of Nine, Tetiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01 would be theirs, perhaps quicker than they had initially hoped.

The End

•  This is the 45th installment in the Just Between Series.

•  It was posted September 29th, 2000.

•  Special thank you to Kim who provided a suggestion for a particular scene. She knows which one. *G*

•  Another thanks to MJ who reminded me exactly what Ro would have to deal with once she was home, and provided the impetus for a most interesting encounter.

Just Between Planets
G. L. Dartt

Seven of Nine gazed through the viewport at the M-Class planet hanging against the backdrop of unfamiliar stars, fascinated by the first sight of the planet she was about to visit. This was the homeworld of the Trill, a joined species of humanoid hosts and small vermiform known as symbionts, a lush planet of purple and green, swirled with white weather patterns. Lavender tinged the oceans, thick with the crill that provided nutrition to a tremendous variety of life, while the land masses were a deep emerald and chocolate brown. Jungle and deserts with nothing in-between were all, many claimed, that could be found on the Trill homeworld... except for the brilliant white of the Tenaran ice cliffs located in the upper hemisphere. The young woman hoped to be able to see that remarkable landmark for herself, as well as investigate the caves of Mak'ala during her visit to the planet.

Glancing over her shoulder at the rest of her companions, Seven wondered if they were also anticipating this visit. Piloting the private yacht, DragonFlight, Lt. Ro Laren frowned over her controls as she communicated with planetary transport control, securing an approach vector and a berth at the Trill orbital space station. Meanwhile, lounging in the passenger seat at the rear of the cockpit, Phoebe Janeway, Seven's sister-in-law, made sketches on a pad of paper. It was an archaic medium in the 24th Century, but since the artist was also a Traditionalist, it was to be expected that she would eschew advanced technology whenever possible.

The young woman tossed her head, flipping her long, curly, dark red hair back over her shoulder, then glanced up to meet Seven's gaze, her level grey eyes warming perceptibly. "Excited, Annika?" she asked, using the ex-drone's Human designation.

"I am ... anticipating our arrival on Trill," Seven agreed, which for the icy blonde, was as enthusiastic as she tended to get. However, Phoebe understood and smiled widely.

"There'll be a lot to visit," she said. "I'll have to spend a certain amount of time at the symposium, of course, but I've set aside enough time for us to sightsee."

The artist glanced at the Bajoran at the front of the ship's cockpit, and a fleeting expression of dissatisfaction crossed her face. Seven knew Phoebe hadn't been exactly thrilled to discover the ex-security officer was accompanying them, but the Bajoran apparently had a deep and abiding interest in Trill culture, a hobby that Seven had never suspected prior to her spouse telling her about it. Naturally, Seven had sought out the Bajoran and invited her along. Ro had been very grateful, to the point of providing the use of a privately owned ship, though the Borg had no idea where the Bajoran had acquired it, or whom she knew who could lend her such a yacht. It was a vast improvement ... according to a seasoned traveler like Phoebe ... over the commercial liners, though it had done little to soften the artist's stance against the Bajoran. Seven still wasn't entirely sure why her sister-in-law was so wary of Ro.

"What aspect of Trill art interests you most, Lieutenant?" Phoebe asked, with the same cool, if polite, tone she had used when speaking to the other woman during most of the three-day journey from Earth.

"I have a decided preference for the D'horna masters," Ro replied shortly, over her shoulder. It was not the first time Phoebe had asked such a question, and Seven wondered if the artist was somehow testing the Bajoran. If so, Phoebe had not discovered anything beyond the short, precise ... and, so far as Seven knew ... accurate answers that Ro had offered. The Starfleet officer glanced over at Seven. "You'd better strap in, Seven. We're on final approach."

On a private transport such as this, the pilot was always in command, and Seven obligingly made her way to the nearest seat, securing herself with the strong straps which fit over her chest and stomach. Through the fore viewport, past Ro's dark head, she could see the orbital station they were nearing, the spiky architecture typical of Trill design, and feel the pace of her heart pick up just a little as the ship eased into its berth. There was a subtle jolt as the vessel connected to the airlock, the Borg waiting through the other jolts caused by umbilicals and magnetic clamps, which indicated that the vessel was being fully secured to the station, before Ro shut down her helm. Various lights, scattered across the touch pad, became dark, though a few remained dimly lit, indicating power was still being channeled in the circuits, ready for future activation.

Seven unfastened her webbing and rose from her seat, aware of a distinct excitement rising within her. This was the first time she had ever visited a planet for the sole purpose of peacefully exploring a known culture, and despite missing Kathryn constantly, it still provided her with a sort of excitement, combined with the belief that she was going to enjoy herself. She wondered if this was a sign of her adaptation to living in the United Federation of Planets now, rather than how she had existed as a crewmember of Voyager in the Delta Quadrant. There, she and her fellow crewmates had to be constantly on guard against unexpected threats while visiting unfamiliar planets and cultures. She had initially dismissed the importance of being a Federation citizen, but now she realized that sense of security was allowing her to concentrate fully on enjoying her trip rather than being intent on accomplishing a task as part of an away team.

Her luggage consisted of one large carryall, and after retrieving it from her small cabin at the rear of the vessel, she slipped the long strap of the bag over her shoulder, and returned to the cockpit. Janeway had packed it before Seven's departure, assuring the young woman that everything she would need would be in it, plus a few things that would probably not be required, but might be nice to have along. There had been a bit of an odd expression in the captain's eyes as she said that, so Seven suspected that there were a few surprises in the luggage which remained undiscovered. She just hadn't had the chance to completely empty the bag during the trip from McKinley Station to Trill to see what exactly had been packed.

It took some time for the three women to work through the various inspection areas of the station. Since the Dominion war, which had involved the entire Alpha Quadrant in a struggle against an aggressive civilization from the Gamma Quadrant, the regulations and rules regarding the entry of visitors to even the most peaceful planets were more stringent and formal. However, Seven maintained her patience, as did Ro and Phoebe, and eventually, they made it to the transporter area where they beamed down to the planet itself. Materializing in a travel center which serviced one of the larger cities on the planet, they were directed to ground vehicles waiting outside, helmed by helpful Trill transport personnel. Ro requested an address that Phoebe did not recognize.

"I made reservations at the Hotel Braharni," the artist objected as they climbed into the rear seat of the hovercraft.

"Since you were so kind as to invite me along, I took the liberty of securing rooms at the Daxina Retreat," the Bajoran explained smoothly. "At my expense, of course. It's much closer to the university where the symposium is being held."

Phoebe blinked. "That's a rather exclusive resort," she said doubtfully, though she looked vaguely pleased. "Quite expensive." She paused, then added bluntly, "How does a Starfleet lieutenant afford that?"

Ro regarded her. "Seven years of back credit," she said blandly. "As well as a substantial discount for Starfleet officers. Apparently, Trill is still very grateful for the ships sent here to protect the planet from Jem'Hadar invasion."

"Oh," Phoebe said, obviously taken aback. "I didn't know about the discount. That's quite thoughtful of you. Thank you, Lt. Ro."

Seven, listening intently to this conversation, had the distinct impression that Ro was not being entirely forthcoming. She didn't know why she thought that exactly, but she wondered if it wasn't the officer's almost lackadaisical attitude that was arousing her suspicions. During the time Seven had known Ro, she had developed a sense of constantly contained energy from the Bajoran, a restrained tension ready to be unleashed at any moment, disdaining the need for comfort or luxury, considering such indulgence as unnecessary weakness. This indolent appeal for Phoebe's approval was a side of Ro that Seven didn't recognize, and it occurred to her that perhaps, like most of the Voyager crew who had returned to the Alpha Quadrant after seven years, the officer had been forced to change what had been her standard operating procedure in the Delta Quadrant to an attitude more in keeping with the society of the Federation. Or perhaps this was simply what Ro was like when she wasn't on starship duty.

If so, Seven wasn't sure she liked it, but there wasn't much she could do about it.

The resort the vehicle took them to was a large, sprawling, very elegant building set within a lush park-like area, located directly in the heart of the city. Even with her limited experience with commerce and monetary exchange, Seven was able to deduce that this was an area reserved for a select few who could afford it. She saw many of the short, stocky beings known as Ferengi among the guests, a ready indication that this was a place where significant deals could be made amid the civilized atmosphere of a vacation resort populated by lavishly garbed Trill citizens and offworld visitors.

Ro had arranged a three-bedroom suite for the women, with a balcony that overlooked a sparkling, lavender-tinted pool below, bordered by professionally tended gardens that stretched to the four meter high stone walls keeping the rest of the city at bay. The three women took a moment to avail themselves of the view, breathing in the air perfumed by a profusion of flowers spread beneath them in a colorful array.

"Too bad this balcony doesn't have direct access to the pool," Phoebe said, but it was a token complaint only. For the most part, the young woman was overwhelmed by the Bajoran's generosity, and she seemed to realize that she was being somewhat ungracious. "Not that we need it," she said, offering Ro a smile. "This is wonderful, Lieutenant."

"Please, call me Laren while we're on vacation," Ro responded pleasantly.

"If you truly require direct access, Phoebe," Seven suggested, evaluating the distance from the balcony to the ground dispassionately, "you could always climb down utilizing the vines secured to the building."

Phoebe shot her a look as if suspecting she was being teased, while Ro shook her head, a serious expression in her dark eyes. "No, she couldn't," the Starfleet officer said shortly. "Those are t'karni vines."

Ro moved back into the suite before Seven could ask what that meant. Phoebe seemed to notice her confusion and drew the Borg over to one side of the balcony. "T'karni vines," Phoebe said, pointing at the growth winding its way up the side of the structure not far away. On closer inspection, Seven could see a less attractive aspect of the greenery. "They're covered with thorns which exude an acid-based poisonous sap for protection. Anyone attempting to climb them would find themselves in a great deal of trouble very quickly."

Seven blinked. "Indeed," she said. "Why would such vegetation be used for a resort?"

Phoebe considered it, then shrugged. "Well, they look beautiful at a distance and blossom with those lovely golden flowers," she explained. "Then, there's always the security factor."

"Security?" Seven repeated, feeling a slight nudge at the back of her brain, though why that warning tingle shot along her spine was not immediately clear.

Phoebe offered her a bit of a sardonic expression. "A lot of very wealthy and influential people stay in resorts like this," she said. "It would be bad for business if a thief or assassin could climb into the rooms."

"I see," Seven said. As Phoebe returned to the suite, the Borg regarded the lovely vegetation in a new light, wondering if the beauty and luxury of this establishment were why Ro had chosen it for their stay on Trill ... or if something deeper was at work here.

She filed it away as something she would have to pursue later, and slipped through the balcony doors into the living area, noticing that Ro was at the comm system while Phoebe relaxed on the sofa, studying the padd with the hotel restaurant menu. Seven picked up her bag, which had been placed near the door of one of the bedrooms, and carried it inside, glancing around the room that would be hers for the duration of her stay.

She tried not to notice the generous size and obvious comfort of the bed as she placed her luggage on it in preparation of unpacking, shoving aside the thought of how much she would have loved rolling around on it with her spouse. Kathryn was not with her and she was simply going to have to deal with that fact, the Borg reminded herself. Instead, she would concentrate on enjoying herself as much as possible, as well as taking this time to investigate the Trill Ministry of Technology, a institution which had invited her to become a member of its scientific collective. She had no intention of joining them, of course, having already decided to join Dr. Leah Brahms' Theoretical Propulsion Group on Mars, but she was still very interested in the work the Trill were doing, particularly in connection with artificial worm holes. She had an appointment to meet with Dr. Lenara Kahn, who would be giving her a tour of the facilities. Seven had been corresponding with the scientist for some time, and she hoped to be able to discuss some of the more intriguing aspects of Kahn's research in person.

As she unpacked her bag, Seven was surprised to discover a padd tucked unobtrusively in an interior side pocket. Curiously, she pulled it out and activated it, feeling somewhat odd as she saw an image of her partner appear in the small screen.

"Hello, darling." Janeway's husky voice was a caress in the Borg's ears. "I just wanted you to know how much I love you and that I'm missing you. I trust that you're having a wonderful time with Phoebe and Ro. I've included some files to help you remember we're married in case you start to forget about me." Seven flicked an eyebrow, wondering how Kathryn would even consider such a possibility, then realized her partner was being facetious. "Play a file every night, just before you go to sleep, so you'll know I'm thinking of you constantly." The captain paused, and tilted her head slightly, lowering her eyelid in almost a wink. "There's even one in case you're only missing my body rather than my scintillating personality, but make sure you're completely alone when you access it."

Seven's lips curled into a smile, equal parts of tenderness and amusement at her partner's gesture warming her heart. Sometimes, the Starfleet captain could be so unexpectedly romantic, surprising her partner with her loving imagination and thoughtfulness. It was not something Janeway was known for, not even by those who loved her most.

Suddenly feeling as if her partner were only a heartbeat away, Seven finished unpacking and carefully placed the padd on the night stand to access later. Returning to the living area where Ro and Phoebe were discussing dinner plans, she discovered that her first evening on Trill was apparently going to include something called a t'Crina fire show after a formal meal in the hotel restaurant.

Captain Kathryn Janeway reached out automatically for her partner as soon as she awakened, finding only empty linens and the unpleasant reminder that Seven would be away for another week or so. Unhappily, the compact woman rolled over and put her hand on her face, sighing with dismay. It had been her encouragement that had prompted the young woman to go on a trip to Trill and Vulcan, even after Seven, for all intents and purposes, had decided on accepting a position with the TPG. Janeway wanted Seven to take full advantage of her leave before starting work with Dr. Brahms' team, but after several nights in a cold, empty bed, the captain was beginning to profoundly regret her initial insistence.

Still, Seven was undoubtedly safer where she was, on the move and with several undercover Starfleet officers protecting her. A recent incident at the Utopia Planitia shipyards, involving a Starfleet engineer named Jason McCord, had made the captain fearful to have Seven around ... especially since the young woman still retained several internal implants which might prove valuable to the cartel of criminals known as the Orion Syndicate. Initially a small crime syndicate operating on the fringes of the Federation, they had gradually been increasing their territory and influence over the past few years, discovering that a quadrant still recovering from a devastating war, was a great deal easier to operate in than it had been seven years earlier, before the Dominion had invaded.

McCord, a young Starfleet officer who had fallen in with the wrong crowd, had stolen Borg technology from Janeway's previous starship command, USSVoyager, in an apparent attempt to pay back several heavy gambling debts owed to the Syndicate. Starfleet suspected that the nanoprobes were intended to be used by the Syndicate in the construction of new and powerful weapons to combat the various law enforcement agencies working to stop their illicit activities. For the cartel to strike within Earth's solar system, however, indicated that they had somehow achieved a conduit of some sort into one of the Federation's most powerful, inner core planets. It was a problem that needed to be addressed immediately, and a plan had been implemented by Starfleet Intelligence to lure those representatives of the Syndicate into a trap, using the stolen Borg units as bait, and hopefully, discovering where the opening for such criminal activity had been provided ... and by whom.

Groaning silently, Janeway rolled out of bed and padded naked to the ensuite where, after taking care of a few biological necessities, she retrieved a set of workout clothes and pulled them on before heading downstairs. As she exited the french doors at the rear of the house, she whistled for Jake, her Irish Setter ... something that turned out to be rather unnecessary since he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs which descended from the deck, wagging his tail vigorously. He knew they were going for a run, just as they had every morning since moving to San Francisco, and it was obvious that he couldn't wait to get to it. Smiling, she snapped his leash onto his collar, then went through the gate to the quiet street at the front of her house.

The San Francisco sunshine was burning off the greyish mist as she and Jake entered Golden Gate Park, located just a block or so from where she lived. She stretched out his leash to its full length, and together, they began a slow jog through the manicured lawns and pebbled pathways of the park. She wanted to pick up her pace, to actually sprint for a certain distance, but she had promised Seven that she would not overdo it while the young woman was gone. Janeway felt unusually compelled to honor her promise, particularly since she hadn't been entirely forthcoming with her spouse regarding the young woman's trip. She had not told Seven anything about the criminal cartel, or the fact that an attempt had been made on the captain's life while she had been touring the shipyards prior to accepting the posting. She had not even told Seven that Ro had been assigned to protect her on the trip, rather than accompanying her because of a feigned interest in Trill culture that Janeway had invented to manipulate Seven into inviting the security officer along. Despite her twinges of guilt, Janeway understood the levels of security clearance required for this operation, which her spouse did not possess, and was under orders to keep the situation classified. Perhaps it was a good thing that Seven was enjoying herself without having to worry about things like the Orion Syndicate or what Starfleet had to do in order to discover whom they were working with on Earth.

After the captain and Jake had completed their regular circuit, not seeing anyone they knew personally ... though a few of the other runners had become familiar enough to nod 'good morning' to ... she pulled in the dog's leash and they returned home where she made sure he was fed and watered. As she left him gnawing on a bone, she made another mental note to herself to find a playmate for him, so that he wouldn't be so alone through the day with both his mistresses gone.

Upstairs in the ensuite, she shed her sweaty clothes, running them through the recycler and putting them away in the provided space in the closet, before activating the shower unit. After a long, luxuriously hot shower, she brushed out her short auburn mane and drew on her uniform, meeting the bluish-grey eyes of her reflection in the mirror, noting how the black and slate-blue tunic fell over her shoulders, and checking the fold of the wine-red sweater beneath. She retrieved her comm badge and pips, affixing the adornments to left breast and collar respectively, then moved back through the bedroom to the outer loft. She disdained making the bed, knowing it would only be used again that night, and descended the staircase to the living area below.

In the kitchen, she replicated some coffee, grateful that Seven had programmed the initial pattern, though the captain was keenly aware it was not as good as the brew the Borg usually made from carefully selected roasted coffee beans. Janeway toyed with the idea of breakfast, decided she wasn't that hungry, and finished her coffee over a padd where she scanned the tasks she had scheduled for the day. She had just accepted a posting at Utopia Planitia, taking over the shipyards in an interim position until her next command was ready, and like all new jobs, it required an intensive period of adjustment. The presence of a rogue officer had also forced her to go over the entire base with an attentiveness that might not have been present in other circumstances. Janeway often worked late into the evening with her engineering teams, ostensibly to knock the rust off her engineering skills, but in reality, to take the opportunity to personally assess her personnel, and make sure there were no more bad apples in the barrel.

That was another reason Seven was better off not being on Earth at the moment, Janeway thought to herself, leaving her stained mug on the counter as she utilized the downstairs bathroom to clean her teeth. The ridiculously late hours she was pulling during this initial adjustment period would have outraged the young woman, and with Seven away on her trip, that was not the problem it might have otherwise been. Picking up some padds from the coffee table in the living room, Janeway tucked them into her tunic and left the house, sealing the door behind her.

The transport from McKinley Station, orbiting the Earth, to her office on Mars was just a matter of seconds thanks to a private alcove tied into the Utopia Planitia base power supply. The larger-sized power cores considerably boosted the tranporter's range, enabling it to maintain a confinement beam from the space station orbiting her homeworld to the red planet, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away. Janeway found the use of a private transporter an unusual but necessary perk of her new position as commander of the shipyards, facilitating her mobility about the wide-spread facility, as well as allowing her to bypass much of the complexity of traveling between worlds.

The longest part of her daily commute was the walk from her home to the station, then waiting for the public transporter to beam her to Earth's main space station. Of course, utilizing her captain's privilege, she could actually beam directly from her home to McKinley Station via the Starfleet transporters, but she thought she should save that for an emergency ... not to mention the fact that it would be lazy in the extreme. Besides, she rather enjoyed her morning and evening walks, and she inhaled the salty tang of the San Francisco air with appreciation as she headed down R. Garrett Avenue. As she neared the house at end of the block, she noticed the front door opening, and felt an unidentifiable lurch in her stomach as she recognized the man who came down the path to start his day. With a bright expression on his face, he joined her as she passed by his front gate.

Mark Johnson was a tall, lanky man who still retained much of the sleek musculature from his youth, good looking in a rugged rather than handsome way. Initially a thoughtful boy who had pursued a career in philosophy, he and Kathryn had actually grown up together in the same Indiana Agricultural Park, where their friendship had been formulated from a great many reciprocal experiences and a shared base of ideals and beliefs. However, it was not that history that caused Seven of Nine to grit her teeth every time they ran into their neighbor. Rather, it was what had happened later in Janeway and Johnson's lives, when they elevated their friendship to a more intimate level.

Kathryn and Mark had been engaged to be married prior to that fateful mission to the Bajoran Badlands where the captain's ship had been swept into the Delta Quadrant for seven years. Mark had been one of the last to give up hope, but eventually, believing Voyager destroyed and Kathryn dead, he had moved on with his life, marrying his assistant and starting a family which now included two young children. Yet, for all that, there remained a connection between Janeway and Mark, one that perhaps Seven and Melissa, Mark's wife, sensed whenever they all encountered one another. Certainly, neither young woman had been pleased to discover their spouses now resided just down the street from the other, and while Seven trusted Kathryn implicitly, the Borg also made no secret of the fact that she intensely disliked the whole concept of Janeway being in such close contact with her ex-fiancé on a regular basis.

Janeway, herself, wasn't exactly sure what she felt when she ran into Mark. There was a history between them that she could not deny, and while the romantic feelings had faded, wiped out by the more powerful and immediate emotion for Seven, the captain missed the close, infinitely comfortable friendship she and Mark had shared. She suspected he did as well, and when their paths crossed, as they seemed to be with increasing frequency over the past week or so, they had fallen into the same ease of conversation and interaction that they had enjoyed before Voyager's unexpected detour to the Delta Quadrant.

Janeway had decided that she was relatively pleased at how the situation was progressing. Mark was a wonderful man, and she cherished his friendship deeply, enhanced by the fact they were both married now, and Janeway was completely in love with Seven ... as she supposed he was with his wife. Without romance to complicate matters, their friendship had the opportunity to mature into one which was far richer than the relationship they had shared previously. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her enjoying his company, regardless of Seven's baseless suspicions about the man; the fact that Janeway's internal voice of caution also gave her a sharp nudge about it now and again, was something she noted but ignored for the most part.

"Beautiful morning," he offered as they fell into step with each other.

"Part of why I moved back to San Francisco," she returned with a smile. "You have an early class?" Mark taught philosophy at the University of Indiana on a semi-regular basis when he wasn't busy with his role in the Questor Group, though he and his wife continued to live in his home in San Francisco. Transporter technology had made such long distance commutes inconsequential, after all. The only thing a person truly had to be conscious of, were the time differences between zones.

"A guest lecture at the Washington campus," he explained. "You're on your way to Mars?"

"Utopia Planitia," she said. "A full day ahead of me at the shipyards."

There was a pause as they turned the corner and started down the sidewalk which sloped down to the waterfront where one of the city's main transport centers was located.

"You know, this is how I always pictured it," he offered quietly after a few moments, as they entered a more commercially-zoned area of the city, the cobblestone streets lined with small stores and restaurants. The coffee shop on the corner was one that Janeway had frequented many times while residing in the area, and had recently introduced to Seven.

Janeway glanced at him. "Pictured what?" she asked blankly.

"Our married life," he said. "Walking to the station together, discussing our plans for the day, maybe meeting for lunch at McKinley Station..."

Janeway suddenly had the sensation that a fully primed photon torpedo had just been deposited in her path, very conscious of her little voice crossing its figurative arms over its chest in grim satisfaction.

This is what I've been trying to tell you, Katie. He's not over you at all! Why don't you listen when I try to warn you about things like this? Heavens, what will Seven say?

"Times change," she said, attempting a light tone, though she didn't pretend she had no idea what this conversation was really about. "Life works out the way it was meant to."

He stopped, putting his hand on her shoulder to turn her around so that she was facing him. "Kathryn," he said in a voice that was not at all light, apparently ignoring the fact that they were standing on a street corner in full view of everyone. Exasperated, Janeway took his arm and drew him into the relative shelter of an entrance of a store which had yet to open, apprehensive about why he suddenly wanted to talk about this. "Meet me for lunch," he invited seriously. "We can talk over old times, figure out where we go from here..."

"Go from here?" she echoed stupidly, realizing she had misread their resuming friendship, furious with herself for having ignored all the warning signs. Had she become so incredibly obtuse during her time away that she couldn't avoid this kind of emotional complication?

He studied her face, as if memorizing it, moving closer to her, the warmth of his body brushing over hers. "Kath, don't you understand how much I've missed you?" he asked, his manner becoming intimate in a way that her body remembered well. "If I had known you were still alive, that Voyager had just been lost rather than destroyed..."

"What? You would have waited seventy years for me to return?" Janeway responded coolly, not allowing herself to respond to the sensations coursing through her, which were nothing more than a purely physical imprinting of a personal closeness that no longer existed. "You couldn't, Mark, and I wouldn't have asked you to."

"But, it didn't take seventy years," he reminded her, putting his hands on her waist in a gentle ... and familiar ... embrace, dipping his head so that his lips were only a breath away, inviting her to close that infinitesimal distance between them.

"What about Melissa?" she asked pointedly, not moving a millimeter.

That was like a cold dash of water on something that was becoming far too heated, and he had to stop to take a breath, pain shading his eyes. Despite his confusion, Mark was an honorable man, and the guilt over his conflicted feelings was evident in his face. His hands dropped away, and he stared at her intently.

"I love Melissa," he said quietly. "But I have loved you first, last, and always, Kathryn, from the time I was old enough to know what love is. You know that." He paused, his internal struggle evident in his face. "You and I had something very special. I'm not prepared to throw it away without even trying to save it."

Janeway carefully took a step back, drawing away from his immediate presence, and putting some much needed distance between them. "Mark, there's nothing to save," she said softly. "Do you honestly believe there might be some kind of chance for us? I can assure you that there isn't. You're married, and I'm married..."

"We should have been married to each other," he insisted. "How can we just ignore everything we've meant to each other?"

"I'm not ignoring it, but it's in the past, Mark," Janeway said reasonably. "It's over ... and it would have been over by now no matter what the circumstances."

At his expression, she exhaled audibly, trying to find the words that would make this easier, and suspecting that there weren't any. She really didn't want to hurt him beyond what their choices in life already had, but this was something that had to be dealt with once and for all, before it went any further. Not just for her sake, but for his, as well.

"Mark, I loved you as much as I have loved anyone ... I won't deny that," she explained, with great sincerity. "Yet, even when I did ... even when I believed we would spend the rest of our lives together ... there was always a part of me that I held back, that I refused to share with you. It was the part of me that needed to be on a starship rather than stay on Earth and settle down with you."

He took a breath. "I know about that part of you, Kathryn," he said. "I've always understood and respected your life in Starfleet..."

She shook her head sadly. "No, Mark," she said gently.  "While I could never share that part of myself with you, I can with Seven. She's found a way to become integral to it, perhaps because she can accept it on a level that you never could. My personal and professional relationship with her is one that you and I could never manage to create, no matter how hard we tried ... not because we didn't love each other, but because of the type of people we are. That's just how it is. It isn't anyone's fault." She paused, searching for the words which would bring an end to this. "It never would have worked between us, Mark."

He gazed at her for several moments, with a stark disbelief that gradually gave way to sorrowful acceptance and understanding.

"You really believe that?" he said, his voice unsteady.

"I know that," she told him persuasively. "I saw it, Mark. During my time in the Delta Quadrant, I visited a parallel universe, one in which my counterpart did come home to you, did return in time to marry you."

He flinched. "And?" he prompted.

"It didn't work," she said. She patted him on the forearm comfortingly. "Your counterpart found his future with Melissa's counterpart ... just as you did here. Apparently, it was meant to be ... but even if I hadn't seen that outcome with my own eyes, I've always known on some level that Seven is the one person who's absolutely 'right' for me. There's nothing else that could replace our understanding of one another ... not even what you and I shared, as special as it was."

He looked away, all his illusions and dreams being shattered right before the captain's eyes, but when he finally looked back, there was a sort of peacefulness in his gaze, replacing the haunted look that had existed since resuming their friendship, though of course, she hadn't recognized it until she saw it healed. Once more, she cursed her astonishing lack of sensitivity.

"I'm really happy for you, Kathryn," he said finally, with painful honesty. "I guess ... I just needed to..."

"I know," she said gently. "I should have cleared this up between us from the beginning." She paused. "No matter what else, Mark, you were always a good friend. I still cherish that part of our relationship, but if it can't exist now, I'll understand."

His features were dark as he considered that. "I don't know, Kath," he admitted. "I would like us to be friends, but it's obvious I fooled myself badly ... not to mention what I was prepared to give up with Melissa..."  Shame colored his gaze.

Janeway nodded. "That's something that you're going to have to come to terms with, Mark," she agreed gently. She looked across the street at the large chronometer set in the building. "Damn, I'm going to be late."

"You'd better go," he agreed. He paused. "I'm truly sorry, Kathryn."

She looked back at him. "I am, too," she admitted. "For everything."

She left him standing in the doorway, striding briskly for the station, aware that she had just cut away a vital part of her past in order to be free to pursue her future. It was necessary and inevitable, but still very painful.

Suddenly, she missed Seven so much, she could almost taste it.

The Trill Ministry of Technology was housed on a less populated area of the planet, high in the hills of the P'Dorna mountain range, and Ro Laren wondered if that had anything to do with the experiments that took place within the low, sprawling structures that covered several acres. Settling lightly onto its landing struts in the plaza in front of the main administration building, the atmospheric shuttle's hatch slid open as a short staircase unfolded. Ro descended first, looking around keenly, before nodding at Seven to join her. If the Borg wondered why the Bajoran was acting as if they were on an away mission rather than a vacation, she didn't say anything about it, merely accommodating her whenever Ro seemed to take command.

It occurred to Ro that perhaps Seven thought she was just being odd, and was far too polite to tell her that such precautions were out of place on Trill. Phoebe certainly would, the Bajoran knew, and she was glad that the artist had been left behind at the symposium for this visit. Phoebe's questions about why Ro was really there were becoming progressively more pointed and not a little antagonistic.

A female figure appeared at the entrance, and Ro watched as she crossed the plaza to where the visitors waited. The Bajoran decided that this had to be Lenara Kahn, the Trill scientist who would be conducting the tour. She was quite attractive, an older woman with that timeless expression in her eyes that indicated she was one of the joined members of her society, host to a symbiont cradled protectively within her body's midsection. Spots traced a delicate trail from her forehead, down her temples and throat to disappear under the neckline of her garment, and her smile, as she greeted the Borg, was luminescent.

"Seven of Nine? I'm Dr. Lenara Kahn," she said, reaching out a graceful hand. "It's so good to finally meet you in person."

"Thank you," Seven responded. She glanced at Ro and raised her hand to indicate her. "This is Ro Laren who will be accompanying us. She is very interested in Trill culture."

Lenara regarded her evenly, amusement coloring her eyes. "Is she?" she said, shaking the Bajoran's hand. "I'm glad you told me, Seven. Otherwise, I would have assumed her to be a Starfleet security officer assigned to protect you during your visit to Trill."

Since Ro was not wearing her uniform, and Seven had not indicated she was even a Starfleet officer, it took a great deal for Ro not to react. Seven quirked a somewhat sardonic eyebrow. "In truth," the Borg said calmly. "That thought had occurred to me, as well."

Concerned, Ro mulled that over as the two women started toward the main building, immediately falling into a discussion about Kahn's research into artificial worm holes. The Bajoran wondered just who was trying to fool whom here. She granted that her cover story had not been the best, but she hadn't realized Seven had seen right through it. How long would it take before the Borg would pin Ro down and demand to know exactly what was going on?

Which, of course, led directly to the next question of how much trouble Ro would cause herself and the captain if she told Seven everything about the Syndicate and what had occurred at Utopia Planitia. She doubted she would be able to satisfy Seven's curiosity with mere platitudes once the Borg suspected Ro was there for something other than what she had initially implied. Wondering if Janeway could handle any personal repercussions if she told Seven everything, Ro realized that the professional matter of informing a junior lieutenant about a classified incident was something else that would have to be considered, as well.

The tour of the Trill facility was extensive, and Kahn was quite animated in presenting all the advantages the Ministry had for someone like Seven, even though Ro knew the Borg had told the institution that she had already decided on another position before they had even arrived on Trill. Apparently, the Ministry was not ready to take Seven's word at face value, perhaps likening it to some kind of negotiating ploy, and it was obvious Kahn had been instructed to change the young woman's mind about her decision if she could. Ro particularly appreciated the suggestion that joined Trill, like the Borg, had a sense of possessing more lives than just their own, which would afford Seven a comfortable environment in which to function. Seven appeared unmoved by that argument, however, obviously not believing that combining several lifetimes through the symbiont truly compared to having the memories of thousands of species in her cortical implant. It was an interesting conversation however, as Ro remained quiet and listened, realizing that Seven was handling herself quite well, wondering if perhaps Janeway had not been underestimating her spouse's social skills and ability to look after herself.

Despite Seven's resistance to Kahn's more clever appeals, Ro suspected that if the Borg didn't have a Starfleet captain waiting at home for her, she'd be sorely tempted to accept the Trill's offer. It was very generous, and obviously, intellectually appealing.

"I suppose I can't blame you," Kahn said finally, as the trio paused for lunch in the dining room of the main administration area. "One becomes so cloistered in facilities such as these. I've been seriously thinking of accepting a posting to a Starfleet vessel myself, now that they're taking civilians again."

Ro lifted her head.

"They stopped?" she asked, vaguely surprised.

"During the war, even the Galaxy-class vessels restricted themselves to Starfleet crew only, with no civilians," Kahn explained. She smiled faintly. "Perhaps that's why we now have so many restless scientists in the Ministry. We were used to having the option of working anywhere in the Federation, and perhaps we never really appreciated the freedom of career movement that Starfleet offered us until it was suddenly gone." For a moment, her gaze grew sad. "I, myself, once had the opportunity to live and work on a Starfleet station, but ... other responsibilities took priority."

Ro eyed Kahn covertly, doubting it was just the missed Starfleet opportunity that stirred such profound heartache in the warm eyes. There was more of a story there than the Trill was revealing, though the Bajoran was sure that she would probably never know the whole truth.

"I'm sure Starfleet would welcome the opportunity to work with someone of your qualifications," Seven said, obviously not detecting the subtle hint of melancholy in the other woman. "They welcomed me, and in fact, that is part of the reason I cannot accept a position with this facility. I would be unable to maintain my commission."

"Is your commission that important to you?" Kahn asked curiously.

Seven hesitated, discretion warring with her innate honesty.

"It is to my spouse," she admitted finally. "She is a Starfleet captain, and if I were to resign, it would limit our ability to be together."

Kahn regarded her intently. "Being with the person you love is far more important than we sometimes realize," she said quietly. "I understand now why there is nothing I can offer you here." There was a brief pause, the words weighing oddly heavy in the atmosphere, before the Trill inhaled and looked down at her meal. "I hope that we can continue our correspondence, Seven. I found your views on the application of radion particle waves to be particularly fascinating."

"I would ... appreciate maintaining contact," Seven agreed. "It intrigues me that the energy fluctuations of the cluster nodes have taken such a wide divergence in your studies."

Ro tuned out the rest of the conversation as it rapidly submerged into technological gibberish between the two women, far beyond the security officer's ability to follow. As she gazed around the dining room where other scientists and technicians were eating, she noted that the Trill seemed to have a preference for decorating with lush fernlike plants and a black, granite type stone, matching the style found in the rest of the facility. After lunch, Kahn offered the Starfleet officers a final tour through the residential compound, where Seven met several other scientists, before finally escorting them back to the shuttle as the sun set over the mountains, the shadows growing long across the plaza.

"It was very nice to meet you, Laren," Kahn remarked. "I hoped this has added to your appreciation of Trill culture." Her eyes were amused and Ro stifled a sigh.

"Thank you," she replied politely.

"Please, inform me as to your results on the cluster expulsion rate, Lenara Kahn," Seven requested, taking the Trill's hand briefly in her own as she made her farewell.

"Perhaps, I'll personally bring the results to you on Earth," Kahn responded. "I've been feeling a decided need to expand my horizons lately. It's possible I'll find them there."

"Perhaps," Seven allowed.

Ro slipped into the cockpit of the shuttle and activated the pre-launch sequence as Seven and Kahn exchanged a few more pleasantries, then the Borg entered the craft and sealed the door behind her. She settled into the seat next to Ro and stared straight ahead as the Bajoran keyed the helm and lifted the tiny ship off the ground. Through the transparencies, Ro saw Kahn standing by the entrance of the facility, lifting her hand in a final gesture of good-bye, and she waved back before turning the ship's nose onto a heading back to the capital city.

It was a few moments before Seven spoke, and even though Ro had suspected what she was going to say, she still flinched at the questions posed so casually, yet so decisively at the same time.

"Why are you really here, Lt. Ro? Why did Kathryn send you to protect me?"

Ro hesitated briefly, considering several responses, then finally told Seven the truth about the assault on the captain at Utopia Planitia, the Orion Syndicate's desire to get their hands on Borg technology ... which might include Seven of Nine ... and the trap that Starfleet Intelligence was laying for the criminals, using Voyager's Borg units as bait. When the Bajoran had finished, Seven sat in silence for a long moment.

"Why did Kathryn keep this from me?" she asked finally, her voice cold.

Ro inhaled slowly. "This is all classified, Seven, coming from a higher authority than she is," she said. "Plus, she didn't want to ruin your holiday with Phoebe."

"That is unacceptable." Seven words were razor sharp, bitten off with resentment and anger.

The Bajoran inhaled slowly, not commenting on that.

"The DragonFlight was not arranged by you, was it?" the Borg persisted.

"No," Ro said. "The captain arranged it. It's more heavily armed than a civilian transport, and the shields are far more powerful. She borrowed it from an old acquaintance, a Captain David Willis. He's the captain we saw talking to Janeway in the dining room at Starfleet Headquarters the first day of our briefing."

"I remember," Seven said, her eyes narrowed in thought. "That was before the incident at the shipyards, however."

"I guess she was thinking of your safety even then," Ro said evenly. "Or at least, your comfort."

"Do you think the Orion Syndicate will attempt to capture me?" Seven asked after another long pause.

"They would be foolish to risk it," Ro admitted. "I'm not the only one assigned to keep you safe, Seven. The word has been put out that several undercover operatives from Starfleet Intelligence are keeping an eye on you, and before you ask, no, I don't know who they are. That would defeat the purpose of them being under cover. Certainly, the Syndicate would have no way of knowing who they are ... just that they exist."

"I see," Seven remarked. "The stolen Borg units from Voyager have been made to appear as the more attractive and available prize."

"Precisely," Ro said.

There was another pause, and the Bajoran was impressed by how contained the young woman was, even as she sensed the fury simmering beneath the cool exterior.

"In your opinion, is there any purpose served by my immediate return to Earth?" Seven asked.

Ro considered it. "Unless you have this irresistible need to immediately confront your spouse about this on a personal level," she offered, "I'd have to say no. I'm pretty sure Starfleet won't let you be involved with any plan to capture the criminals operating in the inner core planets. Despite the allowances Starfleet has been giving you because of your background, Lt. Hansen, ultimately, you're just a junior science officer without the security clearance required to know about these things."

The last was a bit harsh, but Ro had to remind Seven that they were all playing in a much larger pond now, that the freedom they had enjoyed while serving on Voyager was a thing of the past.

"I do not wish to confront Kathryn," Seven said finally. "Not yet. I need to carefully consider my tactics in this matter." Her eyes were thoughtful in the reflected light of the helm, granting her narrow features a greenish cast.

Ro chewed on that for a moment, not liking the sound of it at all but not really able to argue about it. She stared idly at the passing landscape beneath the ship, shadowed in the darkness, her hands steady on the helm controls.

"It's probably not my place to comment on your personal life, Seven," she offered finally. "But if you want my advice, this is something that you may have to get used to. There's a big gap in what a captain needs to know, and what a junior science officer needs to know while serving in Starfleet. That's just how it is. We're not on a starship in the Delta Quadrant any more, where everything can be shared within a select and trusted group regardless of rank. There are too many outside influences on all of us now, and Janeway doesn't hold the autonomous authority she once did."

"I realize that," Seven replied. "However, I must set specific parameters for our personal life. Those are required regardless of where we are, and what we are required to do."

Ro thought about her relationship with B'Elanna. "You're right," she said. "It always works better when both people know what lines they can and cannot cross."

Seven inhaled slowly. "I have not moved quickly enough," she noted fretfully. "Since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, our lives have undergone constant turmoil. Kathryn is trying to adjust to her position, which does not include a starship, while I am trying to adjust to a life that is entirely unfamiliar to me. I wonder if the real reason she wished for me to leave was so I would not continue to burden her."

Ro glanced at her sharply. "Seven, that just wasn't a factor," she told her immediately. "There are only three reasons why Janeway wanted you to go on this trip: to spend some time with Phoebe, to have a chance to see more of the Federation, and to protect you from the Syndicate. She thought she was doing what was best for you."

Seven dipped her head. "Very well," she allowed finally, in a grim tone. "However, sometimes Kathryn is so intent on doing what she thinks is best for me, she occasionally forgets to ask what I think is best for me. I shall have to remind her, once we return, that it is a mutual decision, not one that is solely hers to make."

Ro felt her lips quirk. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the reminder," she said dryly.

The rest of the journey was devoid of conversation, and the Bajoran was glad to see the bright lights of the city skyline ahead. As she landed at the transport station, and the two women took the rather crowded public tube back to their hotel, Ro found herself feeling suddenly claustrophobic and thought she understood what Kahn had been saying about being cloistered on this planet. Not for the first time, the Bajoran found herself wishing she was back on the clean lines of Voyager. The crew might not have known what they would discover next on their incredible journey, but there had always been a decided sense of belonging within the ship's complement, a strong bond of community based on a group all working together for a single goal. Ro missed that desperately in her current life of impersonal crowds and uncertain alliances.

Feeling a strong need to get back to space, where things were clearer and more defined ... where one knew who one's friends were, and where enemies usually made their intentions clear from the first shot, Ro stepped off the tube and readied herself to escort Seven safely to their hotel room.

Several days later, Seven stifled a sigh as she retired to her room for the evening, feeling the activities of a very full day in every part of her body. Though she had managed to hide her displeasure over her spouse's deception from Phoebe during the rest of their stay on Trill, the artist had apparently sensed that Seven was not her normal self, and had responded by scheduling intensive sight-seeing tours every day, hitting so many areas of the planet, Seven suspected that she now knew more about Trill than she did Earth. The bright and exuberant nature of her sister-in-law also made it difficult for Seven to retain her bad mood, and gradually, the Borg's keen anger at her partner had been worn away to a dull annoyance. She had even unbent enough to send a short message home through the comm system, just as she had promised to do before she left, though it had been devoid of any personal comments to Kathryn.

Seven tossed the souvenirs she had purchased on the dresser, and pulled her bag out from the closet, beginning to pack it in preparation for their departure the following morning. This day had begun with a sail down the T'varnta River to catch the sunrise, before touring the fossil-filled cliffs leading to Bataurn, a small city on the seacoast. They ate lunch there in an open air café, before enjoying the afternoon hiking through the botanical gardens. They ended the evening with a lavish dinner before attending the planet's most renowned theater, where the featured performance was a play dramatizing the first unification between a Trill host and an intelligent symbiont. The host was played by a very beautiful actress, and the symbiont was presented as a male, though in reality, the entities were considered quite genderless. Seven decided that there was a strong sexual dynamic represented in the scene which displayed the joining of symbiont to host, and while discussing it later with both Phoebe and Ro, she discovered that they agreed. Ro pointed out that was probably why the play was considered controversial. A great many Trill, particularly the joined ones, had been offended by it, but the production was playing to packed houses every night, so perhaps such controversy was good.

Undressing quietly by the bed, Seven ran her worn clothes through the cleaning cycle of the room's replicator, then finished packing them and her souvenirs, leaving out some travel garments for the following day. She had been surprised by the style of the various civilian outfits Janeway had provided for her trip, but they had obviously been chosen with care, and apparently, the Borg looked quite attractive in them. More than once in the past week, other guests at the resort had commented on Seven's appearance, as well as making mention of the unusual 'jewelry' she sported, wanting to know if the metallic adornments had a particular function ... if they represented any sort of culture ... and where similar pieces could be purchased. It had gradually become clear to Seven that the average person in the Federation simply did not recognize her as being Borg, and when informed that her 'jewelry' were actually cybernetic implants, shock and consternation had immediately followed. Eventually, Seven contented herself with saying they were symbols of her people and not available for purchase, though one Ferengi was convinced that if he just offered enough latinum, she would rip them from her face and give them to him.

Ro finally had to have a little 'discussion' with him that somehow involved him ending up going for an unscheduled dip in the pool beneath their balcony. Now that the Bajoran no longer had to hide her 'bodyguard' status from Seven, she was more than prepared to have a little fun with it when she had the opportunity.

Slipping between the smooth sheets, Seven was unable to keep from thinking about the current problem she was experiencing with her spouse. Frowning, the young woman stared at the ceiling as she lay on her back, conscious of being alone and isolated, despite knowing that her friends were just outside her bedroom door. The illumination dimmed at her request, but a defused light from the city outside her window made the interior of the room easily discernible, even without utilizing her Borg vision. She supposed she could get up and close the blinds, but she discovered she enjoyed the way the shadows danced across the walls and ceiling, a leafy tree making a lacy silhouette on the wall at the foot of the bed.

She took a deep breath and again, went over in her mind the tactics she intended to use with her spouse once she had returned to Earth. It was becoming progressively clear that now they had returned to Alpha Quadrant, Janeway had reverted somewhat to the person she had been when she and Seven first became romantically involved, attempting to separate her professional life from her personal one, preventing Seven from sharing that part of her. It was understandable, perhaps, with so many outside influences now affecting the starship captain, as Ro had pointed out, but Seven knew she could not afford to let it continue. She would have to confront her spouse as soon as she returned home, and resolve it once and for all.

Her course of action determined, she settled back against the pillows, preparing for sleep. It stubbornly eluded her, however, perhaps because, while she had made a decision about how she would handle the upcoming conflict, she was still hurt by Kathryn's deception. Despite that hurt, however, she found herself missing her spouse with an intensity that was actually painful. The ache inside reminded her of the padd which had been lying on her bedside stand for the past few nights. After her discovery of Kathryn's perfidy, she had studiously ignored it, indulging her displeasure with her spouse by conducting a silent boycott of Janeway's romantic gesture. Now, unable to resist, she reached over and activated the opening program, once again listening to the message her partner had recorded to help ease the young woman's loneliness.

The image froze on Janeway's face, and slowly, hesitantly, Seven activated one of the remaining unviewed files her spouse had included in the memory chip. Her selection displayed an image of Janeway and Jake in the backyard of their San Francisco home, and Seven raised a bemused eyebrow, uncertain when the captain had found the time to record the message without the Borg being aware of it.

"Hello, my heart," Janeway's raspy trill issued from the tiny screen, making the Borg's eyes well up and her throat fill with emotion. Somehow, when Seven was extremely annoyed with Kathryn, that was also the time that she loved and needed her the most. She did not understand how that was possible, but she had to acknowledge the reality of it.

"Jake is really missing his mom," the captain continued, thumping the dog lightly on the ribs. The animal seemed to know he was being talked about, and for whatever reason, he was looking directly at the holo-imager, making it appear as if he was looking at her, his tail wagging strenuously. Seven was touched, despite the illusion. "But he knows you're having a wonderful time as do I. We're running every morning and he's not letting me overdo it." Seven exhaled audibly, doubting that Jake could prevent the captain from doing anything she intended, and of course, since these files were recorded prior to her trip, the captain could hardly know what Jake would and would not do for her in Seven's absence. The Borg allowed that Janeway's intention to take care of herself was undoubtedly sincere, but somehow, Seven was not entirely sure her partner would be able to maintain it while the Borg wasn't there to ... encourage her.

Suddenly, Seven discovered she was smiling faintly at herself in sardonic amusement. The truth was, she could not make Janeway look after herself either, any more than Jake could, unless the captain was willing to cooperate in the first place.

"Darling, I love you so much, and I'm missing you terribly, but I'm so glad you're out there, seeing the Federation and discovering how different and interesting the various planets and alien cultures can be. I'm thinking of you every moment of every day that you're gone. Go to sleep, now, and dream of me, knowing how much I need and cherish you. I know I'll be dreaming of you."

The Borg swallowed against the lump in her throat and activated another file at random, one recorded in Janeway's office at Utopia Planitia. Seven recognized it because her partner had given her a tour of the facility the day after the captain started her new job and just before the young woman had left on her trip. In the file, Janeway expressed how much she loved her partner and was thinking of her even when she was busy with her new position. She even expressed some of her uncertainties about how she would tackle this posting, which was so different from being in command of Voyager, and what she planned to do to ease that transition. It was a sharing that was very important to Seven, and she realized that Janeway had not completely cut her out of her professional duties. Perhaps Ro was correct when she said Janeway had no choice in pushing Seven away at times.

Not that the Borg would allow the captain to continue to do it, regardless of what Starfleet demanded.

The third file Seven keyed had been recorded on Voyager, and Seven realized how long Janeway had been preparing this gift, not necessarily for the Borg's trip to Trill in particular, but in the event that the couple would be separated in the future. Janeway, in full uniform, was sitting on the sofa in her ready room, and she smiled faintly at Seven from the viewscreen.

"We're a day out of DS9 and on our way to Earth now, darling. I wanted to take this moment to tell you how much your love and support have meant to me in the time we've been together, and how important it will undoubtedly be in the days ahead. I'm not sure what challenges lie in our future, but I promise you that whatever we face, it will be immeasurably easier because we'll be meeting and overcoming it together. I love you so much, and I hope that wherever you are and whatever you're doing at this moment, you can feel that in every molecule of your being. It's not easy loving a Starfleet captain, but you've perfected it to an art. I can only hope that I'm able to love my Borg with the same intensity and focus that you bring to loving me."

By the time this file had completed, Seven was ready to take the next transport to Earth, whether the rest of her companions were ready to return or not, wanting only to be in Kathryn's arms once again. Sniffing slightly as she blinked back her tears, the young woman accessed yet another file, this one entitled 'Desk'. To her surprise, the file was prefaced by an additional message from her partner, separate from the program itself and activated when the file was accessed.

"Hello, my darling," Janeway said, her voice was very throaty and provocative. Seven blinked as she realized this image had been recorded while the captain was in bed, wearing nothing but a sheet draped precariously over her body. The Borg couldn't quite recognize where it had been recorded because all she could really see were pillows behind the nude captain, but suspected for some reason that it was the bedroom they had shared in Gretchen's home in Indiana, possibly recorded the last night they had spent there while Seven had been taking a shower.

"I'm sending this file along on your trip in the event that you're missing not just me, but my body." The sheet slipped lower, and Seven's eyebrow did a slow crawl up her forehead as her partner deliberately took a deep breath, her chest expanding to display every millimeter of her small, but firm bosom, the captain going so far as to put her arms behind her head to grant herself more emphasis.

"Do you remember that night on Voyager, when you decided to make my most secret fantasy come true?" Janeway continued, her eyes sparkling a bright blue, their mischievousness and wanton appeal apparent even in the limited dimensions of the padd's viewscreen. "When you knocked the console off my desk, it continued to store data throughout our entire encounter, and as a result, we now have a permanent record of that evening. If you're accessing this file, make sure you're completely alone, the door is locked and you're in the ... proper mood to watch it." Janeway's lids lowered, becoming very sensual. "I miss you, darling. Make no mistake; I can't wait until I'm in your arms once more, until your beautiful body is pressed against mine, until we're finally making passionate love again. Until then, we'll both just have to ... use our imaginations."

Seven inhaled deeply, staring at the screen as it faded to a pale blue, the 'activation' symbol flashing to indicate the file was loaded into the buffer, ready to play. She could feel the heat rise in her face, intrigued by the whole concept of such a file, but wondering if she was in the proper 'mood' for such a thing, considering she was still exasperated at her partner. She had to admit to herself, however, that the files she had been watching had gone a long way to ease her lingering hurt and annoyance, and it was hard not to notice that the door was locked, she was alone and conveniently, she was already quite naked between the soft sheets of her hotel room bed.

Daringly, she activated the file, watching it silently all the way through, from the first moment she had transported into the ready room on that night so many months earlier, through the very graphic display of their lovemaking, to the final glimpse of a uniformed Janeway leaning over the console and shutting it down. When the image finally faded from the screen, Seven discovered she was extremely aroused, her nipples tingling pleasantly, and the juncture between her legs moist and aching. She hesitated, then slowly reached down to touch herself, quivering abruptly as she felt her fingertips brush over the sensitive flesh, pulling back uncertainly. She understood that this was what Janeway had implied when saying the couple should 'use their imaginations' while Seven was away, but the young woman was not overly familiar with the practice of solitary masturbation. The one time she had tried it on Voyager, clumsily utilizing the couple's accessory, it had been a very disappointing experience, and even after Janeway had taken the time to give her further and more detailed guidance on the technique ... instruction that had proven most enjoyable indeed ... Seven had yet to attempt it on her own again.

Now, after witnessing the recording of that special interaction, she felt an undeniable need to use what she had learned in her lessons with Kathryn. She activated the file, replaying it from the beginning as she inhaled deeply, and slid down between the sheets until she was stretched out fully on the mattress, her knees bent and slightly parted. Holding up the padd so she could see the screen, she slipped her right hand beneath the blanket and touched herself again, a little more firmly, dipping down briefly to dabble in the moisture welling from her opening. She spread the viscous, natural lubricate around to ease the passage of her fingers, the tips brushing back and forth insistently over her sensitive nub, feeling the most delightful sort of chills ripple through her with every caress.

Swallowing hard, Seven watched the recording of herself being pressed back against the desk, the captain hooking the Borg's long legs over her shoulders, forcing her down onto the cold surface where Seven knocked the console aside. There was a brief instance of spinning room ... undoubtedly the actual fall of the device from the desk to the floor ... then, with breathless anticipation, Seven witnessed the most interesting angle of Kathryn leaning forward to press her mouth against the juncture of the Borg's legs. The young woman stifled her groan, closing her eyes as a sudden ... and acutely vivid ... memory flashed through her mind and along her nerve endings, remembering keenly the delicious sensation of the captain's mouth against her, the way Janeway's lips and tongue had moved over her delicate flesh, tasting her with a refined, if intense, greed.

The padd fell from her left hand onto the bed, the soft moans of the Borg's delight and Kathryn's empathetic murmurs continuing to issue from the small speaker, enhancing Seven's current desire. She wanted to echo the moans, biting her lip to keep them contained, her fingers swirling faster and faster over her tiny protrusion, the edge of sensation shivering sharp throughout her with steadily increasing need, rising in accordance with her heartbeat as she imagined Kathryn pleasuring her, tasting her ... loving her with all the tender skill Janeway possessed. Fully in tune with that image of herself on the viewscreen, Seven felt her body strive for its peak, the soft, guttural sounds of the padd stirring her on, increasing in intensity and duration until she could no longer resist her own caress, abandoning herself utterly to the spasms of delight that shook her body, releasing the tension in her loins, crying out softly in perfect harmony with her recorded self.

As the final shudders slowly died away, still immersed in her fantasy of being with her partner, Seven drew her hand up to her face, languidly licking the salt-sweet essence of desire and pleasure from her fingers. She paused, then regarded them wistfully, abruptly brought back to reality as she realized it just wasn't the same as when she licked her essence from Kathryn's fingers ... or better still, Kathryn's piquant flavor from her own.

Stifling a sigh, she reached down and shut off the file, interrupting the image of her undressing the captain, the padd's screen going blank just as Janeway bent over the desk, her buttocks hiked in the air while Seven donned the couple's accessory. The Borg placed the padd back on her night stand, aware that she would probably be accessing the file again before the trip was over. Smiling faintly to herself, she rolled over and curled up in a fetal position, wrapping her arms around the spare pillow. It was not anything like the warm body of her spouse, just as her solitary climax had not been nearly as satisfying as being with Kathryn would be ... but both sensations soothed her enough that when sleep finally reached out for her, she was able to surrender to it.

Drifting off into wonderful dreams which featured her partner in the most amazing and provocative positions.

The hovercraft handled easily as Janeway turned up the graveled lane leading to the white farmhouse, not displacing a single pebble as it passed over the groomed path with its antigrav emitters. She brought it to a stop in front of the shed where her mother kept her bright red vehicle, noticing another hovercraft parked to the side, crouching on its landing struts and looking sullen with its covering of dull, grey paint. It matched the model and style of the captain's rented vehicle from the Portage Creek Transport Station, and Janeway knew that meant Commander Michael Patterson was here, the man that Kathryn's mother was romantically involved with. Janeway felt a twinge of discomfort at the thought of seeing him, but she resolutely buried it deep inside herself as she climbed out of the hovercraft and crossed the fragrant clover of the expansive lawn, Jake bounding beside her in anticipation.

This was a familiar place to the dog, and before long, he was streaking across the springy turf to greet Phoebe's animals, Molly and Rufus, all three Irish Setters coming together in a rusty ball of hair and unrestrained energy. Petunia, the black retriever, remained on the front porch, where she regarded this youthful exuberance with all the imperious disdain her ancient twenty years could muster. Janeway smiled sadly, remembering that uncontrollable puppy she had discovered in a cornfield so many years ago, and keenly aware of the precious time which had slipped away since then, never to be recovered.

Hearing voices from the rear of the house, the captain moved around the corner, faltering briefly when she saw her mother and the much younger man kneeling side-by-side in the flower bed lining the base of the back porch. They were laughing in a very comfortable sort of companionship, and when Gretchen looked up to see her daughter approaching, her eyes were sparkling a brilliant blue.

"Kathryn," she said, her tone delighted.

She rose from the ground, moving lithely with little indication of her sixty-nine years. Tall, slender, with a shock of white hair framing the fine cheekbones that the starship captain had inherited, Gretchen was looking far younger and more vital than Janeway could ever remember seeing. The captain smiled as she was embraced, and she returned the hug.

"Have you heard from Annika?" Gretchen asked as she drew back, looking into her daughter's face.

"A very brief message arrived from Trill this morning," Janeway said. "You know Seven, never use a paragraph when a single word will do. She said she enjoyed the symposium and the chance to sightsee on Trill. She and Ro explored the ice caves, and Seven said that she and I would have to go back one day because she believed I would find them 'most intriguing'. Their ship left for Vulcan yesterday morning and should be arriving there later this evening. She's looking forward to seeing Tuvok and the twins again."

"I'm glad," Gretchen smiled. Her keen eyes searched the captain's face. "How are you doing?"

Janeway forced a smile. "I'm okay, Mom," she said.

Gretchen dipped her head. "Don't lie to me, Kathryn," she said in a low tone that only Janeway could hear.

The captain sighed. "Fine," she said, her tone exasperated. "I came here for dinner because one more night of sitting in our empty house, staring across the dining table at the seat where Annika should be, would have driven me completely out of my mind. It isn't so bad through the week when I'm busy at work, but it's completely unbearable on the weekend. Even going into the office today wasn't enough to keep me busy, so I came here straight from Mars." She paused. "I'm not sure it's fair to bring this bad mood home to you, however."

Gretchen laughed and kissed her cheek. "That's what I'm here for, Kathryn," she said. "Stay here and keep Michael company. I'll go prepare dinner."

She was gone before Janeway could object, and uneasily, the captain turned around and regarded the man who was digging in the dark earth. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say in circumstances such as these, but then, she suspected he was a little uncomfortable himself, judging from the intensity he brought to probing the loamy dirt. She took a breath and sat down on the top step of the stairs leading up to the back porch. Through the screen door behind her, she could hear her mother in the kitchen, the sounds of food preparation very familiar, evoking more than one childhood memory that danced tantalizingly along the recesses of her mind.

"Isn't it a little late in the summer to be planting?" she asked inanely, not entirely sure when that sort of thing took place when one was talking about flowers.

He shot her a look. "Winter bulbs," he explained gently.

"Ah," she said, nodding as if that was a crucial piece of information he had just granted her. Her eyes moved restlessly over the corn fields which stretched toward the horizon, almost ready for the final harvest.

"I'm sorry this is so ... uncomfortable, Captain," he said finally, after a pause that seemed to go on for an eternity.

She exhaled audibly. "Me, too," she said. She paused. "It's not really you," she added awkwardly. "I'd feel this way about anyone who ... uh, my mother was ... well, involved with."

"I guess I'd feel the same way," he allowed, continuing to work in the dark, rich earth. He offered her a smile. "Still, the whole Starfleet thing is an unnecessary complication between us."

She hesitated, then returned the grin faintly. "Maybe," she allowed. "Especially now that Paris isn't too fond of me." Patterson served as adjunct to Admiral Owen Paris, and recently, Janeway and her mentor had experienced a difference of opinion about what posting Janeway should accept. The admiral still wasn't speaking to her, apparently considering her some kind of traitor for accepting a position under Admiral Necheyev's direct authority.

He looked more uncomfortable. "The admiral maintains a ... personal conflict with Necheyev," he explained carefully. "When one does not share his view, certain ... ah, difficulties can arise."

"I don't envy you your job," she offered honestly.

"It can be ... interesting," he allowed, before attempting to bring the topic back on course. "In any event, I was thinking more in terms of our respective ranks. It must be hard to have someone ranked below you involved with your mother."

She shrugged. "Unless you end up assigned to a post under my command..." she began, then stopped, thinking about it. "Let's hope that doesn't happen," she concluded delicately.

"Agreed," he said. He poked his spade under a particularly stubborn weed. "Then, there's the fact that Gretchen and I aren't the same age."

She winced. "As my beloved Annika has pointed out," she said dryly. "That's not anything I have the right to object to considering that roughly, the same difference in age separates us."

He nodded slowly. "So what does that leave?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, and smiled somewhat ruefully. "I honestly do like you, Michael. You're a very personable and charming man, and I'm sure Mother is very lucky to have you in her life." She leaned closer, lowering her tone. "I'm just being childish and I'm not sure how to get past it."

"I guess we all turn into children when we're dealing with our parents," he agreed. He tossed the stubborn weed onto the pile next to him, having finally pried it loose. "You know..." He paused, looking at her directly. "I didn't expect to fall in love with Gretchen ... I really didn't expect to fall in love with anyone ... but from the moment I saw her, I couldn't stop thinking about her. All the objections that I came up with against pursuing a relationship with her just suddenly seemed so unimportant. She's such a wonderful woman, intelligent, warm, caring, beautiful..."

Janeway chuckled, holding up her hand to stop the litany of her mother's attributes. "You don't have to convince me," she allowed. "I may be slower to realize these things than everyone else, but as Seven has pointed out to me, Mom's quite the catch. I guess I should be surprised that she hasn't been deluged by suitors over the past few years."

"She has," Michael said, surprising Janeway profoundly and reminding her again of just how little she really knew about her parent. "I count my lucky stars every day that she chose me out of all the men she could have accepted."

"Oh," Janeway said, blinking, as yet another side to her mother was revealed. She dredged up a smile. "Michael, I'm sure I'll be able to work this out eventually for myself," Janeway assured him. "Just ... give me a little leeway for a certain amount of foolishness?"

"Of course, Captain," he said gratefully, shooting her a look with those remarkable green eyes. Janeway wondered idly if that was what had first intrigued her mother about the man. Certainly, she might have been inspired to take a second look at the sparkling emerald pools of attraction in other circumstances.

"I think, considering everything that's happened, you can probably call me Kathryn," she said dryly.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Kathryn," he said. He raised an eyebrow. "I understand the Millennium is progressing quite nicely."

They fell into a discussion about the new vessel being constructed at Utopia Planitia, which had actually been the real reason Janeway had accepted the post, a position which otherwise would have been considered a significant demotion for the starship captain. In this area, at least, Janeway was quite comfortable talking with Patterson, and before she knew it, Gretchen was calling them both to dinner. Happily stuffing herself with Gretchen's homemade fried chicken served with rice and vegetables, Janeway was left feeling much less lonely than she had in her home in San Francisco during Seven's absence. After dinner, Michael volunteered to do the dishes, so Kathryn and her mother went for a stroll along a nearby country road to settle their meal and provide a little exercise for Petunia, who didn't move as quickly as she once did. As a result, the walk was quite lazy, with frequent pauses along the way to look at various birds, and judge the growth of corn in the fields.

"I noticed you and Michael were getting along much better at dinner," Gretchen said at one point. "You two were actually speaking directly to each other rather than using me as a buffer."

Janeway smiled, scuffing a bit of dust up from the road, watching as it settled across the black, polished surface of her boot. "I told you I liked him, Mother," she said. "It just takes some getting used to." She cast a sideways glance at her parent, noting how trim Gretchen looked in her denims and western shirt, her forearms browned from being out in the sun. She wore a faded stetson to shade her eyes, and the captain realized that her mother was a very attractive woman, unsure how she could have missed it for all these years.

"Michael tells me that you had a lot of guys on the hook before hauling him into the boat," she said bluntly.

Gretchen blushed prettily. "He exaggerates," she said modestly.

"Does he?" Janeway offered. She kicked a pebble up the road. "It occurs to me that a lot of Dad's friends used to come around for dinner years after his death ... long after you might not have needed that kind of constant emotional support. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now I'm wondering."

"Only now?" Gretchen said dryly.

Janeway laughed. "Okay, Mom, I admit, I've had my eyes opened tremendously since returning from the Delta Quadrant," she said. "What about it? Were you and any of them ... involved?"

Gretchen chuckled, reaching down to pull out a strand of grass to chew on. "Kathryn, I would never become involved with any of your father's friends," she said. "It would be far too complicated." She paused. "That's not to say some of them didn't try." She smiled, almost as to herself, looking thoughtfully over the fields. "In fact, I think some of the antagonism Michael's receiving from his uncle is a result of me never giving David a tumble."

Janeway winced, thinking about Admiral Patterson, who had been one of her professors at Starfleet Academy and had always shown a paternal interest in the younger Janeway. She had known that he had visited her mother quite regularly, but she thought that had been out of friendship. Was she truly that naive about things? What had her mother said ... a tumble?

"God, I'm sorry I asked now."

Gretchen shook her head. "Honestly, Kathryn, I really don't know where you developed this prudish streak," she said. She paused. "I will say that, until Michael, I had been emotionally alone for a very long time."

Janeway hesitated, wondering why her mother had phrased it that way. "But not physically?" she asked delicately.

"Kathryn, I was your age when your father died," Gretchen replied evenly. "Tell me, did your physical needs end with Justin? Were you celibate after Mark, not experiencing desire until Seven came along?"

"That's..." Janeway began, about to say it was different for her, but realized it wasn't at all. If she had chosen to be celibate until Seven, it was because of her belief ... ultimately misguided ... that she could not afford a personal relationship while on Voyager, not because she didn't have exceptionally strong needs that plagued her on a regular basis. Earlier in her life, after Justin's death, it had taken awhile before she discovered her physical desires again, but once she became involved with Mark, she had practically worn the poor man out. She wondered if she had inherited that great exuberance for loving from her mother.

"Heavens," she said, dismayed at herself. "How can I be so close to a person and not really know her at all?"

"Parents and children have a different dynamic, Kathryn," Gretchen told her serenely. "You didn't know because you didn't want to know, and that's perfectly fine. You shouldn't have to know, but I don't want you to continue through life with this idea that once you reach a certain age, your physical appetites suddenly ... disappear."

"I never really thought that," Janeway protested, then smiled crookedly. "Only when it came to you." She started to chuckle and so did her mother. "Sometimes, I'm really dense."

"Part of your charm, darling," Gretchen said, making the starship captain laugh again.

"Speaking of being dense, I should tell you that Mark still lives down the street from my house in San Francisco," Janeway added, once the women had resumed their leisurely walk.

Gretchen glanced sharply at her. "My god, I didn't even think of that, but you're right, he and Melissa never moved back to Indiana." She exhaled slowly. "Too many memories here, I think, particularly of you. I haven't really kept in touch with him over the past couple of years."

Janeway sent another pebble skittering down the road. "Too many memories in San Francisco as well," she said. Taking a deep breath, she told her mother about trying to resume her friendship with the man, and how it had backfired a few days earlier when she and Mark had been walking to the transport station. "I haven't laid eyes on him since," she concluded. "I'm missing Seven terribly, but I'm so glad she wasn't here to witness that. She'd be furious."

"Does Seven get furious?" Gretchen asked in a rhetorical tone of voice. "I thought she just became more Borg until you couldn't stand it anymore. Still, there's no question that she would probably become a little upset over this. She might not understand that there was never any closure between you and Mark. He never really had a chance to stop loving you ... he just moved on with his life because it seemed as if he had no choice."

"I know," Janeway said. "I realize that now ... but Mom, he's married, I'm married ... why would he even think there was a chance for us to pick up where we left off? Did I ... mislead him in some way?"

"I have no doubt that Mark loves Melissa and his children completely," Gretchen said evenly. "However, you need to realize, Kathryn, there was a part of him that 'settled' for loving her because he believed he had lost you forever. Don't forget, your return was so unexpected, and suddenly, you were right there, a visible part of his daily life again. He had all sorts of unresolved feelings to deal with, and until you told him directly that it was over, until he realized there really was nothing there for him, it was eating away at his heart and mind. You're both quite fortunate that the situation was handled with relative quickness and ease."

"It didn't seem easy," Janeway said fervently.

Gretchen smiled. "Believe me, darling, it had the potential to be much worse. You need to make some allowances for Mark ... and for yourself." She paused. "Imagine for a moment if, by some miracle, Justin suddenly reappeared in your life. How would you handle it? How would you feel?"

Caught, Janeway shook her head, feeling a little light-headed. "Probably as well as you would deal with Daddy suddenly appearing while loving Michael," she countered. "I guess I can understand why Mark would be so confused. Still, I love Annika completely. No one, not even Justin coming back from the dead, could interfere with that."

Gretchen nodded. "I'm glad," she said seriously, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder as they walked. "That kind of love is rare. Always cherish it ... and protect it wisely."

Janeway did not look at her mother, though she felt the words keenly. She wasn't sure she could claim much wisdom regarding her relationship with Seven lately ... particularly in how she had manipulated events to make sure Ro had accompanied her spouse on her trip. She promised herself that when Seven returned, she would find a way to make up for her deception.

Or at least, she would finally own up to it.

Vulcan was hot. It was dry. Most of all, however, it was incredibly taxing to the body because the air was thin and the gravity was a half again what Earth demanded of its inhabitants. This world had produced beings who learned early in their development that success came from tempering ... tempering one's emotions, tempering one's aggression, tempering one's self like a sword in a flame. Vulcans were composed, restrained, according pure logic as the highest aspiration they could strive for.

Visitors to Vulcan strived to stave off heat prostration. Without the triox compound administered daily, Ro suspected that none of the women would be able to function at all ... excluding Seven, of course, who probably had an implant that allowed her to ignore such inconveniences such as dehydration and lack of oxygen.

The Bajoran stepped out onto the balcony of the traveler's lodging, looking down into the courtyard where a fountain burbled clear, sweet spring water. Just the sound of it provided Ro with the sense of being cooler, but she could still feel her mucus membranes dry out as she inhaled the desert air. Beyond the gates of the lodge, located outside Vulcan's capital, she could see the reddish sand and harsh vegetation stretch for kilometers beneath the silvery illumination of moonlight, putting her in mind of the more desolate areas of Mars where she was now living with her partner, B'Elanna Torres. She wondered how the Klingon engineer was doing while she was away, then decided that the young woman's new position at Utopia Planitia was probably keeping her so busy, she wouldn't even notice Ro was gone.

That thought depressed the security officer so much that she resolved not to think about it any more, relieved to hear the soft chime of the comm system, indicating that she had a message. Curious, she returned to her room, going over to the desk and activating the channel. Beyond the door, from the rest of the suite, she could hear the muffled sounds of Seven and Phoebe talking about the art exhibit they had visited earlier in the day. No matter what else happened on this trip, the young Borg was certainly acquiring a cultural education that would probably help her in the future.

Ro raised an eyebrow as she saw a familiar face appear on the viewscreen. "Tuvok," she said, with honest pleasure. "We were hoping to have a chance to speak with you before we left Vulcan. I understand you and your family were on a personal retreat."

"We were," he responded, his voice calm and even. He, of course, was not displaying the same enthusiasm for the communication that Ro was, but she thought that his eyes might just have taken on a lighter cast. "However, we returned this morning and I received your message that you were on Vulcan. I trust all is well?"

"Things are going very well," Ro replied, settling down in the chair. "Seven visited the Science Academy yesterday and spent the day touring the facility. Honestly, Tuvok, if she hadn't already committed to the TPG, I think she would be sorely tempted to accept the position they offered. She really likes the efficient and emotionally restrained working conditions."

"After several years of witnessing Lt. Torres, and her approach to engineering and technology, I'm sure Seven would find the Science Academy a distinctly different atmosphere," he agreed, and Ro smiled, realizing the Vulcan was teasing all three women ... in so far as he would indulge in that sort of thing. Of course, he had a fondness for Ro, B'Elanna and Seven that went beyond the mere working relationship they had shared on Voyager. He raised an inquiring eyebrow. "When do you depart for Earth?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Ro responded promptly. "We have a departure window scheduled for 1400 hours."

"Would it be possible for you to visit my home in the morning?" he asked. "All of you?"

Ro dipped her head. "Wait a moment, please," she said. She slipped out of the chair and went to the entrance, the door sliding back at her approach. In the suite, Seven and Phoebe looked up from the discussion they were conducting over a pitcher of the cool, tangy fruit juice, which all three women had developed a taste for since arriving on the planet. "Tuvok wants to know if we can visit his home tomorrow morning, before we leave."

Pleasure infused Seven's face. "Will Azan and Rebi be there?" she asked.

"He didn't say, but I'm sure they will be," Ro said. "Shall I accept the invitation?"

Phoebe dipped her head. "I have an early appointment with the curator of the Vulcan Archive of Art, but there's no reason why we can't all meet at the ship at two o'clock," she offered. "You two should visit your friend."

Seven nodded with enthusiasm. "That would be acceptable," she said.

Ro nodded and returned to the console. "Seven and I will be there, Tuvok," she said. "0600 local time?" On most worlds, that would be indecently early for a personal visit ... for Vulcan, where most business with outworlders took place during the coolest part of the day, it was quite reasonable.

"I anticipate your visit," he said, before terminating the contact.

Tuvok's family home was located on the other side of the planet, in a small town situated by an oasis. His wife was a lovely, contained woman who immediately welcomed Ro and Seven into her house, directing the Borg to the back yard where Tuvok and the Borg twins were. Eagerly, Seven went out to meet them, but when Ro moved to follow the young woman, she was restrained by the fleeting touch of T'Pel's hand on her arm, startled by the personal contact that was not the norm for Vulcans.

"Cousin," T'Pel said. "Someone wishes to welcome you personally."

Ro was suddenly reminded of what inspired such an implied blood relationship and she felt light-headed. She had somehow managed to bury the magnitude of what had happened months earlier on Voyager in the recesses of her mind, but now, apparently, she was expected to face further consequences of her actions. She gulped as from the other room, another Vulcan female appeared, bearing a small bundle.

"Prophets," she breathed, as the tiny form was handed to her, stiff and fearful that she would drop it, gazing down into the tiny, grave face of a Vulcan infant. Two delicately pointed ears adorned each side of his head, his eyes big and dark as they regarded her with bright interest. Now she knew why Tuvok and his family had gone on retreat as soon as he returned home. The infant was no more than a few days old.

"Your son is very healthy," T'Pel said, her tone edged with just the faintest bit of pride and pleasure.

Ro's immediate instinct was to object, but she managed to bite her lip, suspecting it would be something of an insult to do so. After all, she had been a full participant in Tuvok's pon farr, and certainly, she realized that the four-way mental bond between herself, the security chief, T'Pel, and Tuvok's cousin, Tumak, had initiated conception. Ro had even accepted that she had provided an essential mental energy in creating a new life, but now that she was holding the child, it suddenly came home to her in a way that profoundly shocked and moved her.

She inhaled slowly as she looked at the child, feeling an unmistakable sense of connection to him. Perhaps it was all a matter of faith or just perception, but she realized that this little life would not exist if not for her contribution, for no other reason than T'Pel would have died when Tuvok did, had the surrogate option not been utilized.

"What's his name?" she asked huskily.

"Surnak," T'Pel said quietly. "It is for my grandfather who passed on several years ago."

Ro nodded soberly. "A proud name," she said. She took a breath and glanced up at the woman who had actually borne the child. "What do my responsibilities entail?" she added, suddenly frightened but fully prepared to accept all the implications of the experience she had voluntarily initiated when it seemed as if Tuvok would perish.

T'Pel looked vaguely amused, yet pleased by the question. Ro, through her friendship with Tuvok, had become very good at reading the subtle muscle movements in those impassive Vulcan faces and interpreting what they meant.

"He shall be raised with his blood family, of course," T'Pel said. "However, it is understood that should all the line perish, but for him, you would take over his upbringing."

"Of course," Ro agreed instantly, knowing that Tuvok's family was quite extensive and it would take a considerable disaster to wipe them out, making her Surnak's last living relative.

"Also, when he reaches his Time of Ascendence, he would be expected to accompany his spirit mother on a journey of exploration, learning of your culture and what it means to be Bajoran," T'Pel said.

"Oh," Ro said, blinking. "I'm not even sure I know what it means to be Bajoran."

"Then, perhaps you would find out together," the Vulcan suggested placidly.

"What is this 'Time of Ascendence'?" Ro asked, realizing that she needed to do some further research into this culture as soon as possible.

"It is that period between childhood and becoming an adult ... when he must learn all that which makes him who he is and what he shall be," T'Pel explained.

"Ah," Ro said. Adolescence. So she would be expected to teach the Vulcan equivalent of a teenager all about being a Bajoran, and what that entailed, assuming she had figured it out by then. Still, she thought, gazing down into the child's innocent face, that obligation would not occur for many years yet, particularly since Vulcans matured slower than Bajorans. Who knew if she'd even be around to teach the child? Carefully, she handed him back to his birth mother, feeling a surprising sense of loss at the sudden emptiness in her arms. "I will do my best," she promised.

"To expect less of you would be illogical," T'Pel allowed graciously. "You are a worthy addition to our family line, Ro Laren."

The woman retreated to the garden with the child to introduce him to Seven, while Ro hesitated, reaching out to the nearby wall with her hand to support herself as she swayed on suddenly uncertain legs. She swallowed hard as she wondered how she was going to explain this one to B'Elanna.

After regaining her composure, she followed T'Pel into the garden where Seven and the Borg twins were talking intently to each other, the young woman sharing what she had discovered on her tour of the Vulcan Science Academy. Apparently, she thought that would be the perfect place for Rebi and Azan to attend when they were older, though both boys offered the opinion that they wished to enter Starfleet Academy, as their 'father', Tuvok, and their 'older sister', Asil, had done. Tuvok agreed with Seven, however, and the discussion became relatively heated ... as far as Vulcans and Borg went ... before it was through. Ro was grateful for the attention it was drawing, however, because it granted her the privacy to think about what this new development might mean for her future, and that of her partner.

Before leaving Tuvok's, Ro drew her mentor aside and suggested that he might want to think about contacting the captain at Utopia Planitia. She didn't have leave to tell him all the details, but his security clearance allowed her to tell him what she could about the Orion Syndicate making an attempt on Janeway's life. He was very grave when she finished.

"I am sure that you are more than capable of protecting her," he told her. "Do not underestimate your abilities."

"I'm not," she responded. "However, I'm also not underestimating the captain's ability to get herself into trouble. She's quick to utilize me as a security officer with Seven, but not necessarily when it comes to herself."

He raised an eyebrow. "True," he allowed. "Perhaps I should apply for the posting of security chief at Utopia Planitia." He paused. "However, T'Pel and I have made a decision that I would not leave her and our growing children behind ever again."

Ro regarded him seriously, unsurprised. She suspected it was an approach to life that most of Voyager's crew had adopted since their return to the Alpha Quadrant.

"The Millennium is designed for families," she hinted. "Mars is not similar to Vulcan, but it's much dryer than Earth. There's a significant population of Vulcans who prefer to live there while working at Starfleet Command."

Tuvok nodded. "T'Pel and I will consider it," he promised.

Ro had to content herself with that as she and Seven took their leave and headed for the nearest space port. Catching a shuttle to the orbital station where their ship was docked, they found Phoebe waiting for them. As the artist and Seven secured the vessel, Ro headed for the station's administration office to finalize any docking fees, as well as go over the inspection record, just to be sure the engineers had given the vessel a complete maintenance check before granting departure clearance. It was a somewhat unnecessary request, considering these were Vulcans she was dealing with, but both they and she realized it was a prudent ship captain that routinely double-checked everything. No one indicated they minded the extra care taken ... not that Vulcans would ever show annoyance, of course.

She was walking back to her docking berth when a casual glance out a viewport jolted her to a stop, leaving her staring at the lean shape of the USS Enterprise easing into a berth. If she hadn't happened to be returning to her vessel at just this moment, she might have missed it entirely, and a quick check with station operations revealed that the Sovereign-class vessel was picking up some ambassadors en route to a conference in the Tirrelus Cluster. She didn't dare contact Picard openly, but she really did need to talk with him.

Apparently, he needed to speak with her as well because when she returned to the DragonFlight, she discovered a short message waiting for her on the ship's comm station.

"Ecitan kiosk, twenty minutes."

According to the time on the message, she only had ten left and only another half hour before her vessel was expected to depart. She asked Seven to finish the preparation for launch, telling her she had an errand to run before they left. Fortunately, the Borg did not seem to be either surprised or unduly curious about this, and agreed, settling into the pilot's seat of the DragonFlight.

Trying not to appear anxious, nor wanting to draw attention to herself, Ro made her way back into the station, finding the Ecitan kiosk in the promenade area of the facility, surprised to discover it was a sort of tacky combination of lunch counter and gift shop that seemed entirely out of place in a Vulcan space station. She nervously took a table, relieved to see she was a minute early, then looked up as a cloaked and disguised man sat across from her. She raised an eyebrow when she looked beneath the shadows of the hood to discover Picard.

"Don't you think that's a trifle dramatic?" she asked dryly.

He smiled thinly. "It wouldn't be good if we were seen together," he explained. "Particularly since I keep demanding an apology from you."

"I think we've just about exhausted that tactic," she said, sobering as she leaned forward. "Captain, was the Orion Syndicate what you meant when you were talking about a 'third party' in your messages?"

"Yes," he said. "Unfortunately, at the time, I didn't know they were the third player, only that my initial data had been flawed. My sources are not as reliable as I would like, and now it appears that the original information they gave me was garbled, confusing the Syndicate's intentions with that of Section 31. It seems that it was always the Orion Syndicate who was attempting to acquire the Borg technology that Seven ... and Voyager ... possess."

Ro exhaled slowly. "So Section 31 doesn't want Seven?"

"Oh, they want Seven," he said, and his eyes grew darker. "In fact, it's much worse than merely wishing to secure her technology and knowledge of the Borg queen. I don't believe they'll be trying to recruit you, after all, Lieutenant."

She blinked. "No?"

"Apparently, they want to recruit her," he told her somberly. He paused. "If they succeed in convincing Seven of Nine that they have the Federation's best interests at heart, if they can persuade her that working with them would make it easier to protect what she holds dear, she would make a most formidable agent for them, particularly with her physical skills, intelligence and technological enhancements."

The Bajoran felt a wave of shock roll over her, one more jolt on a day that had already provided more than its share.

Seven of Nine would become the very thing that she and Picard were trying so hard to destroy.

"Azan and Rebi told me that Surnak is partially your child, Lt. Ro," Seven remarked quietly, once their vessel had cleared the Vulcan system and had laid in a course to Earth, settling into a steady warp four. It would take another day or so for them to reach the solar system, but the Borg discovered she could not wait to pin the Bajoran down about the fascinating piece of information she had discovered ... though she did restrain herself until Phoebe had retired to her cabin for the evening. "How is that possible?"

Ro started abruptly, obviously badly shaken by the Borg's question, her dark eyes uncertain as she stared out the viewport.

"It's ... complicated," Ro admitted finally.

"I suspected it would be," Seven allowed patiently, waiting for the other woman to elaborate.

"How did Azan and Rebi find out?" Ro said, a touch of exasperation in her tone.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It has been my experience that children often know far more than the adults around them realize," she said. "I suspect it is because their presence is often discounted, though they hear and understand a great many things no matter how subtle the adults believe they are being."

"Wonderful," Ro grumbled. She took a deep breath. "Do you remember when Tuvok isolated himself in his quarters ... uh, maybe you don't because it was around the same time you encountered that alien pretending to be your mother."

Despite the many months that had passed since that event, despite the distance Seven had managed to put between her and what had been a most painful experience with the Mimic, the young woman still flinched.

"I do," she said, managing an even tone. "Tuvok was undergoing pon farr. Kathryn told me it had been taken care of."

Ro dipped her head. "It was," she said. "By me."

Curiously, Seven tilted her head. "Explain."

"Tuvok had to mate or he would die," Ro said, sighing slightly as she seemed to realize she wouldn't be able to get out of responding to Seven's questions. "I offered myself as surrogate, and during the course of our ... mating, which involved not only myself and Tuvok, but T'Pel and Tuvok's cousin, Tumak, acting as surrogate in a psychic bond, T'Pel conceived a child."

"You were part of the conception?" Seven asked, greatly intrigued.

"In a manner of speaking," Ro said. She turned her head and pinned Seven with a look. "Vulcan mating rituals are an extremely private and personal thing, Seven. You must swear to me that you will never discuss this with anyone else."

Seven hesitated, frowning, and Ro sighed.

"Other than the captain, of course," she added. "Besides, Captain Janeway already knows what happened."

"She does?" Seven said, filing that away as yet another thing her partner had been keeping from her. "I promise not to discuss it with anyone other than Kathryn." She studied the Bajoran closely. "Will you discuss it with B'Elanna?" she asked.

Ro inhaled slowly, looking very serious. "I have to," she said. A muscle trembled in her jaw. "The incident almost finished our relationship, Seven. It took a long time for B'Elanna to come to terms with what I felt I had to do. I'm not sure how she'll react to this."

Seven considered it. "If you tell her immediately, she would be more understanding than if you attempt to dissemble," she said. She was absolutely assured that this was the proper form of advice, since she was keenly aware of how aggravated she had become over Kathryn's decision to keep things from her.

"I know," Ro allowed softly. She glanced at her. "Do you understand why I did what I did to save Tuvok's life?" The question was posed in a most tentative tone, unlike Ro's normal inflection, almost as if the Bajoran needed some sort of reassurance about something.

"Of course," Seven replied promptly. "Indeed, I informed Kathryn that I would be willing to mate with Tuvok if it were necessary to save his life." She paused, remembering the conversation. "She said that I could be physically injured in that event."

Ro looked thoughtful. "I don't think so," she said. "But it was quite ... energetic. If you've never been with a male, it might have posed a problem or two."

"You were not injured?" Seven asked brightly.

Ro shot a sharp look at her, then smiled faintly. "No," she responded. "It was ... fairly pleasant, in fact."

"As a result, you now have a child," the Borg added.

That wiped the small smile from the Bajoran's face. "Yes," she said quietly. "I do. It was something I never really took into consideration when I made my decision to help Tuvok, but now I have to accept responsibility for my actions."

"What is it like, suddenly being a mother?" Seven asked, curiously. She had experienced a taste of it when the Borg children came on board, but they quickly became the responsibility of all the Voyager collective. The only one that she felt she had a true maternal claim on had been the infant, but the child's relatives had been found and she had been forced to watch as the captain handed the baby over to them. It had been a wound between her and Kathryn which eventually healed, but left a deep and ragged scar.

The corner of Ro's mouth curled upward. "Scary," she said shortly. "Scary as hell. Not to mention the fact that suddenly, your life isn't entirely your own anymore. A piece of it is claimed by someone else."

Seven thought about that later when she withdrew to her cabin at the rear of the vessel, stripping down to her undergarments and washing in the small sink which was provided. Crawling between the sheets of the narrow bunk, she lay there for some time, staring through the small porthole next to her, contemplating the passing stars and all she had learned on this visit.

Not long afterward, she heard the subtle sounds of Ro retiring to her own cabin for the night. That meant the DragonFlight had been turned over to the navagational computer which would automatically pilot it while Ro was asleep. Of course, Seven and Ro could take turns monitoring the helm, but with the simplicity of the vessel's systems, there was little that could go wrong. This area of Federation space was well traveled, and it was unlikely the helm would lose so many reference points as to move them off course. It wasn't like Voyager, for example, in the Delta Quadrant, which required almost constant monitoring by officers because of the unknown variables in that area of space, and the complexity of the Intrepid-class vessel's more advanced navigational array.

Exhaling slowly, Seven was abruptly aware that in a little more than twenty-four hours, she would be in Kathryn's arms once more. Despite the problem between them, she still looked forward to that moment with eager anticipation. She had never been away from her partner for so long, not since that incredible journey via a Bajoran orb to DS9 which lasted three months, and she discovered that missing Kathryn was like an ache within her, a sort of pain that she couldn't heal and was hard pressed to ignore.

She sat up and leaned over, pulling her bag out from beneath her bunk, and digging out the padd with Janeway's files. She wasn't in the mood for the 'special' file, but she went through the rest of them, one after another, immersing herself in the sound and sight of her spouse, feeling a little less lonely. Eventually, she tucked the padd beneath her pillow and fell asleep with Kathryn's voice rasping pleasurably in her ear, telling her how much she loved her and always would.

When she woke, Seven could hear muffled conversation through the door of her tiny cabin, and sensed that she had overslept somehow, though time was rather fluid on a private yacht in space. She slipped out of her bunk and stripped off her undergarments, washing off briefly in the sink with a cloth and a cleanser specifically designed for space necessities. When she dressed in fresh clothes and went out into the main cockpit, Phoebe wordlessly handed her an herbal tea and some breakfast pastries. The young woman took a seat next to the viewport and glanced out at the stars as she ate her meal. All three women were very quiet this morning, as if aware that the trip was finally coming to an end, and were using this time to be alone with their thoughts about it.

At the helm, Ro manually navigated the ship, though it wasn't really necessary. Seven supposed the Bajoran wished to keep busy ... not that she blamed her, wishing that she had something to do as well. Phoebe, of course, could busy herself with her art at any time, making sketches or simply going over her notes from the symposium on Trill. The Borg wondered if she should develop a 'hobby', one that could be practiced regardless of the surroundings.

Seven was surprised when her sister-in-law leaned over and touched her on her shoulder.

"Come back to my cabin, Annika," the red-haired women suggested in a low voice. "I have some images I took on Vulcan that I'd love for you to see."

"Of course," Seven acceded, and rose from her seat, following Phoebe back to the artist's cabin which was no larger than Seven's. The two women sat on the bunk, tucking their legs underneath them.

"What's going on?" Phoebe demanded.

Seven blinked. "Could you be more specific?" she asked, realizing that the artist had been conducting a deception. Apparently, there were no images of Vulcan to be perused, much to the Borg's disappointment.

"Halfway through our visit to Trill, Ro gave up that ridiculous attempt to pretend she was fascinated with their culture and started acting like what she was really there for," Phoebe said. "Why was she sent to protect you, Annika?"

Seven hesitated. If the possibility existed for Ro to be disciplined for revealing the real reason she had been sent along on the trip, then the Borg telling Phoebe ... telling a civilian ... about matters classified by Starfleet, could slide very quickly into something that could become quite complicated for everyone.

"She did accompany us in order to secure my protection," Seven admitted finally. "However, I cannot discuss the 'why' with you."

Phoebe stared at her, then nodded. "Fine," she said, a touch of discontent to her tone. "I'm sure it probably has to do with Starfleet which, frankly, is the story of my life, but I am glad to know that my first guess was right ... that she was only pretending to have an interest in Trill culture."

Seven did not respond to that, regarding her sister-in-law quietly.

Phoebe shook her head and sighed. "Otherwise," she asked somewhat wistfully, "did you enjoy the trip?"

The Borg immediately brightened. "Oh, yes, Phoebe," she said with enthusiasm. "It was very enjoyable. Thank you so much for suggesting I come with you. It was fascinating to see all the various scientific facilities and to meet the people with whom I have previously corresponded only over a communications array."

"I'm glad," Phoebe said, pleased as she patted Seven gently on the thigh. "Listen, are you and Kathryn having problems?"

Seven blinked. "Why would you ask that?"

"The whole Ro thing," the artist said. "I understand why Ro would have a cover story for me in order to come along, but there's no question in my mind that you also believed it, at least in the beginning. That means Kathryn sent her along without telling you why."

Seven was amazed and somewhat consternated at her sister-in-law's powers of deduction. She tried to come up with an answer, then inhaled slowly. "Kathryn cannot always tell me everything in her role as a Starfleet officer," she said.

Phoebe stared at her a minute. "You're right, she can't," she agreed. "But as her spouse, you have the right to know if something is up, particularly if it involves you. She, of all people, should know what it feels like to come second to Starfleet."

Seven dipped her head. "She does," she said, realizing that perhaps it was not just her spouse who had felt neglected by her father. Obviously, Phoebe still had a few unresolved feelings with the whole parental situation. "I agree, Phoebe, it is something that Kathryn and I shall have to address once I have returned to Earth. It is entirely possible that she was so concerned about my safety that she overlooked the fact that she must take the time to discuss things with me. However, while I have the right to be angry with her, you do not."

Phoebe blinked. "Who said I was angry with her?" she asked.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Your body positioning, the tenor of your voice, the way your pupils are dilated, the..."

"All right," Phoebe said, holding up her hands in surrender. "I am pissed at my sister. You're the best thing that's ever happened to her, and if she's so stupid that she can't see that, then obviously I'm going to have to point it out to her."

Seven smiled faintly, warmed at the ferocity in her sister-in-law's voice, and the brightness of her eyes. Being fully accepted and loved completely by Kathryn's family was something that she cherished deeply, and it was the sort of sustaining support that made her wonder if she should seek out members of her own family for a more extensive contact. During her visit to the Daystrom Institute, she and Ro Laren had taken a brief side trip to visit Seven's grandparents, both maternal and paternal, and while it had still been somewhat uncomfortable, it was far less stressful than their first meeting years ago on DS9. It was possible that with time and effort, she could actually achieve a sort of family bond with them, despite the fact that she did not really feel such emotion yet.

"I appreciate your ... concern," Seven said. "However, this is a situation that Kathryn and I must work out on our own."

"In other words, you want me to butt out," Phoebe said dryly.

Seven considered that. "If the implication is that you are not to interfere in my relationship with your sister, then yes, you are required to ... 'butt out'."

Phoebe grinned wryly, looking remarkably like her sibling at that moment. "Okay," she said placatingly. "I promise I won't pick a fight with Kathryn over this, but you have to promise me that you won't let her get away with this."

Seven sobered suddenly. "No," she allowed, a faint trace of distress in her tone. "I will not allow her to 'get away with this'."

"Kathryn will have to recognize the consequences of her actions."

"We have a bite."

The cool tones of Nechayev startled Janeway as she worked at the desk in her new office at the Utopia Planitia base, and she glanced up to see that the admiral had broken into her comm channel. At first, the captain didn't understand what her superior officer was saying, still lost in the schematics of the Galaxy-class USS Discovery, but finally she figured it out.

"Where?" Janeway asked smoothly, putting down her padd. She did not bother to object to the admiral cutting into her private emergency channel ... after all, that's what it was for ... but she did wish the older woman would not be so abrupt all the time. Undoubtedly, it was part of the reason why Seven did not like or trust the Starfleet admiral.

"McKinley Station," Nechayev replied. "Beam directly to the administration office. The coordinates have been downloaded into your transporter buffer."

The viewscreen went blank as the admiral cut the channel, and without hesitation, Janeway rose from her chair and moved over to the small transporter dais set unobtrusively in an alcove across the room. It had been a courtesy, Janeway realized, for the admiral to include her in this since most of the operation had been taken over by Starfleet Intelligence. Or perhaps there was something more to it. She had developed the distinct impression Necheyev was up to something, but she hadn't quite figured out what yet.

She keyed the transporter and felt her molecules dissolve, reassembling her in the administration office of the space station that orbited Earth. She felt a slight dizziness that quickly passed, and she wondered if such regular, long-distance beaming was good for her. She decided that she would have to do some research into it, or better yet, get someone who enjoyed digging around databases to do it for her. That made her think of Seven, and she hoped that this would not take very long. Seven, Ro and Phoebe were expected to be arriving from Vulcan later in the day, and she had every intention of personally being there to greet her spouse the second she stepped off the DragonFlight.

Taking a position just behind the station technician monitoring the console, Janeway nodded briefly at the blonde woman standing next to an unfamiliar officer. Admiral Nechayev was not a particularly impressive person at first glance, slender and diminutive, even when compared to Janeway's compact form, and especially compared to the man she was standing beside. However, the longer one was in her presence, the more Nechayev's personality imposed itself, like the steadily increasing levels of deadly radiation from a star about to go nova. Before one knew it, they were experiencing the fear that they might not survive an encounter with her if they were not especially careful. Janeway, herself, was of two minds about her superior officer. On one hand, she greatly respected and admired the accomplishments of the woman, but on the other, Nechayev's arrogant and brutally forceful attitude was extremely off-putting, even to the captain who thought she knew what it originated from.

"Captain Janeway, this is Captain Provo, Starfleet Security," Nechayev said, introducing the balding, broad-chested man who towered over her. His small eyes glinted and he dropped a semi-courteous nod at Janeway before returning his attention to the viewscreens. The captain dipped her head in response, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his attitude.

"What do we have?" she asked.

"A face which has been identified as being connected to the Syndicate," Nechayev replied, when Provo did not seem inclined to answer the captain's question. "We don't know the Human with him, but I suspect it's our conduit, or at least, someone who can tell us where it's been routed."

The admiral motioned at the viewscreens covering the wall at one end of the room, which monitored the passenger, storage and docking facilities of the station, including the spacious departure section where the various civilians were waiting to board ships bound for a multitude of destinations. The large lobby was bordered by a wide range of gift shops, kiosks and merchant stands, providing last minute necessities and merchandise to the departing travelers. Janeway noticed the main viewscreen appeared to be centered on a small, somewhat obscure newsstand located in a quiet corner of the lounge, away from where most of the crowds were located, and a considerable distance from the main storage facility where lockers could be rented by the travelers. Nechayev pointed at two beings, a Bolian and a Human, lounging nonchalantly by the counter, perusing the offering of publications. "I think they're waiting until the area is more crowded before trying the lockers. Once they have what they came for, it's only a short walk to the departure gates. We'll take them once they're past the gate and are on approach to their ship."

"Is this the same locker where McCord originally left the Borg units?" Janeway asked, feeling a keen sense of awareness fill her, the scent of the hunt flaring her nostrils. It had been a while since she had felt like this ... not since the Delta Quadrant, as a matter of fact. She was also struck by an odd sense of familiarity with the sight of the Human operative, though the hood the burley figure was wearing made it difficult to get a good look at his facial features. She wondered when those cowls had become the fashion, belatedly realizing that many in the departure crowd were also wearing them. Convenient for criminals to disguise their features ... not so convenient for the law enforcement agents attempting to track them. They could easily be lost in the sea of travelers if Starfleet wasn't very careful.

"Yes," Provo answered for Nechayev, overriding the woman's question. "Our undercover agents leaked word that Starfleet has been unable to find where McCord hid them. We've been monitoring this area for the past two weeks. This is the first nibble we've had."

"Won't they be suspicious?" Janeway asked, deciding she didn't like this man at all, though a part of her was sympathetic as she realized his abrupt attitude sprang partially from an uncertainty in his own abilities. Obviously, he was another indication of the toll the Dominion War had taken; an officer promoted too quickly into a position he wasn't entirely ready for. It was suddenly more understandable to her why the Orion Syndicate would have dared operate this close to the core system.

Provo shook his head. "We were very apparent in searching this area thoroughly for several days before moving our operation to the Utopia Planitia base." He paused, grinning without humor. "Surely you've heard all the complaints from your engineers the past week about how we keep getting in their way as we poke around."

Janeway exhaled audibly. "Oh, yes," she said acidly. "I've heard." Commander McDougal's displeasure still resonated from the last staff meeting of chief engineers she had attended on the base.

"They're moving," the technician at the console said.

Provo reached down and pressed the touch pad. "All units, stand by," he said shortly, his eyes suddenly gleaming with an unpleasant glitter. "Quarry is beginning to move."

Janeway tensed, wanting to be more involved, finding the task of merely watching the events unfold on the monitors almost agonizing. It was very similar to having to sit calmly on the bridge of a starship while an away team carried out an operation, granting her the same sense of anticipation, excitement and frustration over being merely an observer. However, in that circumstance, she always had the option of involving herself directly if she so chose because of her command authority. Here, she had to stand by and watch without interference, as the various Starfleet Intelligence undercover agents began slowly to tighten the perimeter of their trap, closing in on the storage area where the syndicate members had gone directly to the locker where the Borg technology had been stored. There, while the Bolian kept a look out, the Human removed a false back to the locker and took out a couple of devices which Janeway recognized as belonging to the power units from Seven's Borg alcove.

"Wait," Nechayev snapped to Provo. "Your people are moving in too quickly. We want them not only to pick up the merchandise, but we also want to pinpoint which ship they're using. We need to know how they're able to operate in Earth's solar system."

Provo grunted, but he nodded and gave the order for his operatives to hold back until the targets had reached the section leading to their vessel. That way, Starfleet would know which particular berth the Syndicate ship was docked at, and hopefully discover what government body or private enterprise was providing the criminal organization with passage within the core systems.

A sudden qualm struck Janeway. "What if they transport directly out once they have the merchandise?" she asked.

"The transporter system on the station is too large and monitored too closely," Nechayev explained in a low tone as Provo shot the starship captain a bit of a condescending look. "Any unauthorized attempt would immediately alert administration, and the main pattern buffer would grab their signal and hold it until security checked it out."

Tersely, Janeway nodded and resumed her observation of the viewscreens. As she watched, her attention was caught by an image in the corner, and she realized that one of the Starfleet operatives had faltered, as if ill, leaning uncertainly against the pillar not far from the newsstand where the syndicate members had been loitering earlier. Fortunately, it was not close to the action where other agents were closing in on the criminals, but Janeway kept half an eye on it anyway. On the main screen, the Syndicate operative was shown deftly tucking the Borg units in a bag before handing it to the other member who promptly slung it over his shoulder. It was very smooth, with a minimum of fuss or effort, and Janeway was struck by how 'planned' it all seemed. These two knew exactly what they were doing.

"Provo, you have a break in the perimeter," the captain said as she noticed the rearguard agent slumping to the deck. "One of your agents is down."

Startled, Provo cursed and started making calls to the closest operatives, all of whom were on the other side of the storage area near the departure gates.

The undercover operative was lying next to the pillar by this time, and Janeway abruptly realized it was no coincidence that the two criminals had originally been loitering by that tiny newsstand. Obviously, the proprietor of the shop was also somehow involved, quickly coming around the counter and grabbing the unconscious or dead Starfleet agent under the arms to drag her out of sight behind the counter. Horrified, Janeway noted that there was a vent located near the tiny kiosk which, according to a check with the computer, led to a series of maintenance tubes. Comparable to the Jeffries tubes on a starship, the access tunnels could take a person directly to any one of the docking ports, avoiding the departure gates entirely, not to mention all the security monitors.

The syndicate members had started back across the departure area, obviously retracing their steps to the newsstand instead of taking the expected, much shorter and direct route to the gates. Apparently, no one had anticipated this particular escape route ... which meant someone on Provo's staff had let him down ... and as a result, only the one operative had been left to cover the area. With that operative suddenly gone, the syndicate had a opening through which they could slip if they moved quickly.

They were moving very quickly.

"Morgan, T'Pan, get your team out into the docking area," Provo snapped into the comm system. "Ferris, back track into the departure section and follow the Syndicate operatives.

"What about force fields?" Janeway asked Nechayev, scanning the board.

"That part of the security system is not responding," the technician at the console replied, slapping at his touch pad frantically. "The internal sensors are down."

"This was their escape route all along," Nechayev said grimly, shooting a look at Provo. "Someone may have tipped them off."

"Impossible," he sputtered, his gleaming head flushing a deep red, almost glowing. He returned Nechayev's glare with one of his own, but it faded quickly beneath the power of her steely eyes.

"There will be a complete investigation," the admiral said, in a voice that made others in the room tremble. "If we lose these people..."

Janeway could tell with a fatalistic detachment that there were no other agents close enough to replace the one who had been taken out. Scanning the various view screens, Janeway abruptly realized that the administration area was in reasonable proximity to that unobtrusive maintenance tube, and without further delay, she sprinted from the office, hearing the astounded "Captain!" flung after her by Nechayev.

As Janeway descended to the next deck, using an emergency maintenance ladder, and dashed down the corridor leading toward the main maintenance tube, she was struck by the fact that she had neglected to secure a weapon for herself before she left. She couldn't quite remember if she had replaced the concealed phaser she normally carried in her boot heel ... or if she had neglected to take it out of her tunic after the last incident requiring its use, which meant it would have been recycled into component energy when the uniform went through the replicator.

However, she didn't falter as she turned the corner and raced down the access corridor, grateful that she had resumed her runs in the morning. This was not an easy distance to cover at top speed, and she doubted she could have managed it a few weeks earlier. She did hesitate as she reached the vent leading to the maintenance tube, trying to figure out if the criminals had transversed this section, or if they had yet to reach this particular juncture. Judging from the noise, she determined that they had already bypassed this tube on their way to the docking ring, and that the pair had been joined by a third person, undoubtedly the newsstand proprietor.

Ignoring the nagging sense that she was following more than just a triad of criminals, she dropped into the tube and crawled quietly after them, wondering how she was going to stop ... or at least, delay ... the trio since her brief view of them on the monitors indicated that they all outweighed her by a considerable amount. She was aware she would have to come up with something soon, however, since they were rapidly making their way to where their ship would undoubtedly be ready to launch. Starfleet didn't have enough operatives in place to put a person on every docking port, and without knowing which ship they were headed for, despite the administration office using Janeway's comm badge for triangulation as she trailed them, it might be impossible for Starfleet to get someone to the berth in time to prevent the syndicate members from dropping out of the vent directly next to their ship's airlock and sealing it behind them. Even assuming Starfleet discovered which vessel they had taken refuge in, the criminals might actually be on neutral territory, and impossible to extradite. Certainly, any civilian company would know how to make things very complicated legally just by demanding search warrants ... by the time Starfleet had clearance to search the private transports, the Syndicate would have transported the merchandise elsewhere and further disguised their operatives.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Janeway found herself noticing the conditions of the tube she was in, which were a far cry from the stringent standards of Voyager, or in fact, any Starfleet vessel. She was appalled by the thickness of the dust, accented by a cobweb now and again, and was hard pressed to keep from sneezing in the grit the trio ahead was kicking up. She actually had to pause briefly at a juncture to rub at her burning nostrils.

At that exact second, a ruby flash shot through the space she would have been occupying, had she not stopped to scratch her nose, and seared a nasty black streak on the wall beside her. Hastily, she cowered back against the meager shelter of the bulkhead and reached for her boot, relieved when the small phaser dropped into her palm as she slid back the heel. She replaced the heel, ducking as another beam splashed with deadly heat against the tube, then waited, listening intently to her opponents. She was very conscious of the hiss of air reclamation and the constant hum of the station's power systems around her, but there was no sound of further motion from down the tube. They were undoubtedly waiting to see if they had hit her ... or better still, if she would fire back. Of course, the one advantage she had was that they couldn't wait long, aware that more Starfleet operatives would be closing on their position as every second passed, and that they only had a limited amount of time to get to their ship.

When they finally began to move again, so did she, hurrying to catch up though she was careful every time she rounded a corner to make sure a phaser beam was not waiting for her. An alteration in the background noise indicated that they had entered the docking area, and she put on a burst of speed, crawling faster as she wished her trousers had extra padding in the knees. She gasped as she abruptly went through an unexpected cross tunnel, lifting her phaser instinctively and firing to her right without looking as she scrambled for cover in the opposite tube. There was a masculine scream, and she was somewhat chagrined to realize she hadn't changed the settings on her phaser  since the last time she had used it . She took a second to change the level from the fine, intensely hot cutting beam to the stun parameters, then slipped cautiously out of the tube as she heard them start to move again ... this time with the distinct noise of one of them being dragged.

She gulped a little as she passed the cauterized foot of one the operatives, realizing that she had taken it neatly off at the ankle. It was lying sideways, still in its boot, and she tried very hard not to retch as she ducked through one more tube. The sound of a grill being kicked out ahead of her made her realize they had reached the end of the line, and she carefully peeked around the corner, barely able to get out of the way of a blast that nearly took her face off. There was probably something quite ironic about losing the very nose she insisted on poking into things, she thought with giddy excitement as she quickly assessed the situation. Obviously, the injured man had remained behind to cover the escape of the other two with the Borg units ... even if it meant he was sure to be captured.

She looked around, noting that directly across from where she was huddled, there was another grill, undoubtedly located above the berth next to the Syndicate's vessel. The problem was, while she was trying to get it open, she would be a very easy target. Not wanting to give herself time to think about it ... realizing that if she did, her commonsense would prevent her from doing anything ... she launched herself across the tube, crashing into the grill. Fortunately for her, it was not secured against a hundred and thirty pounds of small, but wiry, starship captain impacting on it from the inside, and rather than bouncing her backward into the line of fire, it exploded outward, both grill and woman dropping to the deck ten feet below. She grunted as she hit, already rolling to a crouch as she looked down the ring to where the carryall was being lowered to the waiting criminals. She lifted her phaser and stunned them both before they could react, then as the third one reached down with his weapon, she shot him as well, leaving nothing but his arm dangling from the vent as the disruptor he was using clattered harmlessly to the deck.

There was an amazing sort of silence, then Janeway moved over to the crumpled forms, kneeling down next to the Human male who had seemed so familiar to her on the monitors. Impassively, she drew back the hood and gazed into the still handsome features of an unconscious Cheb Packer, then glanced at the insignia decorating the air lock of the vessel which had been waiting to receive the Syndicate members, identifying it as the Packer Shipping Company logo. Realizing who had provided the crack for the Syndicate to infiltrate Earth's solar system was not surprising at this point, but it still did not feel particularly good to see how far a man she had once loved had fallen. A distant part of the captain wondered if that meeting with Packer on DS9 was as accidental as it had appeared at the time, or if it had been the incident which started this whole thing. She heard the pounding footsteps of the rest of the Starfleet team belatedly making their appearance from further down in the docking area, and abruptly, she felt her body, completely outraged at what she had been demanding of it, finally put up a loud outcry of protest. She slumped against the bulkhead, feeling very weary suddenly, and when she opened her eyes again, it was to gaze into the pale eyes of Admiral Nechayev who was regarding her with a very odd expression on her face.

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing?" Nechayev demanded harshly.

Janeway cautiously got to her feet, tucking her phaser away in her inner tunic pocket.

"My duty as a Starfleet officer," she offered quietly.

Nechayev started to respond, hesitated, then offered her a flinty grin. "You've become bloody independent, Janeway," she said. She dipped her head, and added in a lower tone, "That's why I worked so hard to keep you under my command."

Janeway's mouth tightened. "This is really why you put me in the shipyards, isn't it?" she demanded. "To flush out these people, and to see if anything else is going on there."

Nechayev paused, glanced over her shoulder to check how close the rest of the security officers were. "Let's just say that there have been certain things going on in Starfleet lately that make me ... uneasy," she said quickly and quietly. "The events at Utopia Planitia may only be the tip of the iceberg. Your being away from all this for the past seven years makes you the perfect officer to be sent in to clean it up. I can trust you." She offered the captain another humorless smile. "You didn't think the posting to Utopia Planitia would be a milkrun, did you, Janeway? I assure you, you're going to be earning the right to possess the Millennium every moment of every day until that vessel finally breaks orbit. You're not the only captain who wants that command, nor are you necessarily the captain others in Starfleet Command want to see have it. Now, get the hell out of here before you embarrass Provo's people any further."

Astounded by this cryptic revelation, Janeway stared blankly as the admiral turned and greeted Provo who had finally arrived on the scene. Despite his belated appearance, however, he immediately began to supervise the arrest of the unconscious syndicate operatives and initiated the seizing of the vessel which had been waiting for them, just as if his people had been responsible. With this blow to the Orion Syndicate and the company facilitating their operations, perhaps the criminal organization would realize that Earth was not an inner core system they would care to do business in. Janeway noticed that Nechayev appeared content to allow Provo his moment, granting him the glory of taking credit for this particular operation. The captain wondered what that meant ... if anything.

Finally, Janeway took the admiral's dismissal as permission to leave, and limped off, heading back to the arrival area, keenly aware that it was past time for the DragonFlight to have docked. She made a quick stop at the first lavatory she came to, utilizing her Starfleet identity code to replace her uniform from the small replicator, and washing the dust and dirt from her face and hands. A glance at the chronometer set in the bulkhead above the exit made her put on a decided burst of speed as she left the bathroom.

Raking her fingers through her auburn mane to straighten it, she was breathless by the time she made the passenger lobby, and paused to peer around the large reception area, her eyes immediately drawn to the tall blonde standing near the arrival gate where the private vessels were berthed. The Borg was speaking to Ro and Phoebe, but somehow, she must have sensed her partner's presence because she abruptly looked up, scanning the vicinity until her eyes locked on Janeway's. The smile that brightened the narrow features, the sudden joy that radiated from every line of that statuesque figure, reached out for the captain like a blow, staggering her with its intensity. Perhaps she was still keyed up from what she had just been through, but before Janeway quite knew what she was doing, she was sprinting across the polished deck and leaping into the waiting embrace with little thought to either her command dignity or her battered body.

The sensation of Seven's arms surrounding her, the warm haven of body and heart pressed against hers, was absolutely incredible, and the rip in her soul that Janeway had not even realized was there was suddenly mended. They hugged tightly, then parted just long enough to kiss, before hugging each other tightly again. It took some time before the captain was able to greet Ro and Phoebe, both of whom were watching this public display of affection with amused expressions. As they moved in a group across the lobby towards the transporter section, Janeway kept her arm snug about the Borg's waist, holding her close to her side, not wanting to let her go. The captain barely listened to the expected babble of how the trip was, what they saw, how good a time they had, and how they really should be heading home because it was late and everyone was just exhausted and dinner, along with their respective homes, would look absolutely wonderful after all this time. If Ro and Phoebe seemed unusually anxious to take their leave, Janeway certainly had no objection, wanting only to be alone with Seven again. Finally, the other two were gone and it was the couple's turn at the transporter which would beam them down to San Francisco.

"Oh, love, I don't think I realized just how much I missed you until now," Janeway whispered as she leaned into her partner's embrace. "Maybe I didn't let myself think about it."

"I have missed you, Kathryn," Seven assured her. She bent her head and put her lips next to the captain's ear. "We must discuss those files you included in my luggage."

Startled, Janeway laughed. "Indeed?" she responded, delighted. "I can't wait."

"We will also discuss why you sent Ro to protect me, and did not tell me about the incident in the shipyards regarding the attempt on your life."

That was less delightful and the captain gulped audibly.

"You know about that?" she asked uncertainly.

Seven drew back, releasing the embrace abruptly as she reached down to retrieve her bag. "We have much to talk about," she concluded sternly, turning away to step purposely up on the transporter dais. The captain barely had time to position herself onto the pad next to her spouse before Seven imperiously requested that the transporter operator activate the console and beam them down.

Ro entered the house located on the shore of Lake Utopia, knowing immediately that her lover had yet to arrive home from her day at the shipyards. The dwelling felt empty, almost deserted in a way, and after dragging her bags wearily up the stairs, the Bajoran entered the master bedroom and tossed the luggage onto the bed before going into the ensuite where she took a long, hot shower. She felt a little better as she pulled on her robe and returned to the bedroom where she unpacked her bag.

She hadn't understood how much this mission had worn on her until she had turned Seven over to the captain on McKinley Station. Now, she wondered if she would require another vacation to recover from this one, conscious of the fact that taking care of the young woman in civilian surroundings had proven far more difficult than looking after her within the confines of a Starfleet facility would have been. The Bajoran had needed to be constantly alert, aware that an attack could come from practically anywhere, and that every stranger they had met on their trip had to be scrutinized with the most acute attention.

Ro was also still disturbed by what Picard had told her. Keeping Seven safe from a kidnap attempt was far easier than trying to prevent someone from convincing the Borg to join Section 31. How would Ro even recognize it when it happened? The Bajoran shook her head and returned her empty bag to the closet, tucking it away on the top shelf. Replicating a mug of hot chocolate from the small device set in the wall next to the ensuite, Ro curled up on her bed and sipped the sweet liquid slowly, feeling adrift and not a little apprehensive as she considered this new information. When her mug was empty, she placed it on the night stand and leaned against the pillows, her head back as she contemplated the ceiling above her.

She must have fallen asleep at one point because the next thing she knew, the sound of footsteps thudding on the stairs made her open her eyes and look around blearily, barely having time to prepare herself for the Klingon whirlwind that dashed across the room, launched herself in the air and landed directly on top of the Bajoran.

"Kahless, I'm so glad you're home," B'Elanna said, embracing Ro tightly and raining kisses all over her face.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, yet somewhat enchanted at the sheer amount of enthusiasm for her return, Ro promptly wrapped her arms around her lover and kissed her back.

"I'm glad to be home, too, Lanna," she murmured against her lips. "I thought of you every second I was gone."

The Klingon drew back to study the Bajoran's face intently. "Are you tired?" she asked. "Why are you in bed this early?"

"Catching up to local time, I guess," Ro responded, offering a brief smile. "It was an eventful trip."

B'Elanna abruptly sobered. "Were there any attempts on Seven?" she asked.

"No, but she did figure out that I was there to protect her," the Bajoran replied. "I suspect that right at this moment, she and the captain are discussing it."

"Oh, boy," B'Elanna said, then snickered. "Janeway should know better."

"So should we," Ro said quietly.

Startled, B'Elanna looked at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Ro said, taking a deep breath, "Seven isn't the complete innocent that we sometimes expect her to be. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself ... maybe more than we might like. According to my latest information, it was only the Orion Syndicate who was interesting in kidnaping and dissecting her. Section 31 actually wants to ... recruit her."

"Recruit her!" B'Elanna repeated. "But..." She trailed off, staring at her partner.

Her face thoughtful, she slipped off Ro and stretched out next to her on the bed, propping herself up against the pillows which she had fluffed up behind her. The Bajoran sat up as well, shifting onto her side so that she could look at the Klingon, drawing her legs up under her thighs. The Klingon reached over and took her hand, holding it warmly, and despite herself, Ro had a sense of security suddenly descend on her, filled with the knowledge that things would be all right now that she was with the engineer again.

"I hate to say it," B'Elanna allowed finally, after considering it from all angles, "but Seven would be someone they'd find fairly easy to recruit."

"My thoughts exactly," Ro said quietly. "Not just because she is naive in some ways, but because she has a certain viewpoint when it comes to defending those around her. That was apparent more than once on Voyager, and she's very specific about what she's prepared to do for the good of her 'Collective'. I saw it for myself the first time we were on a mission together to root out the nomad pirates. Nor can we forget the stories of what she did in the Barellan prison to rescue the captain. She's not afraid of getting her hands dirty to protect those she loves."

B'Elanna looked extremely concerned. "If Section 31 could somehow convince Seven that the best way to protect her 'Collective' ... particularly the captain ... is to protect the Federation in the same manner that they do, then she'd join them in a heartbeat. I don't know that anyone could convince her differently ... not even Janeway if she got in too deep."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Lanna," Ro said worriedly. "I can fight a physical attack, I can keep an eye out for someone trying to harm Seven ... but how the hell do I fight things whispered in Seven's ear, particularly if they seem harmless on the surface? With the Orions making an attempt on Janeway's life, Section 31 wouldn't have to do much to convince Seven she needs help protecting the captain against the 'enemies of the Federation'." She paused. "How the hell can I tell her that doing everything in her power to protect the one she loves, is not always the right way to be? That sometimes the cost to others is too high?"

B'Elanna glanced over, then reached out and patted Ro somewhat clumsily on the Bajoran's stomach. "I don't know," she said helplessly. She took a breath. "We might need to tell the captain about this. She's the only one who's opinion really matters to Seven."

"Honestly, I would if I could figure out how to tell her," Ro asked seriously, hoping her partner had the answers that she didn't. "Would she even believe a story that there's this secret organization within Starfleet devoted to protecting the Federation even if they have to violate everything that Starfleet is to do it ... but we can't really prove it because they're so good at keeping their secret that they've existed since the Federation began? How would she react when we tell her that we think ... but we're not sure ... there's an admiral in Starfleet Operations who's working with this mysterious group? However, what we first thought was their machinations was actually the work of the Orion Syndicate so maybe there's no secret society at all?"

B'Elanna sighed, slipping her arm around Ro's shoulders. "Well, since you put it that way, you're right, the captain will give us that insufferably patient look and explain exactly how we're letting our imaginations run away with us," she said. "Unless Picard tells her..."

"He's not ready to," Ro explained. "He's afraid that her knowing would tip off the admiral involved. Picard really wants him or her ... more so than Section 31 itself. He has faith that I can keep Seven out of Section 31's hands until we find the operatives working within Starfleet Operations."

"Everyone has their own agenda, don't they," B'Elanna said fretfully. "Section 31, the Orion Syndicate, the various admirals at Starfleet, Picard ... even Janeway and Seven are operating on separate paths at the moment."

"It makes my job a lot harder," Ro agreed quietly. "Life was so much easier on Voyager."

B'Elanna nodded unhappily. "Janeway's such a big believer in Starfleet. In fact..."

She trailed off and Ro frowned faintly. "What?" she prompted, resting her palm on the Klingon's stomach.

"She's a lot different in the Federation than how she was in the Delta Quadrant," B'Elanna said reluctantly. "I know that's not necessarily surprising ... we've all had to adjust ... but since she took over the shipyards, it's like she's reverting back to who she was when she first got lost in the Delta Quadrant ... a real by-the-book, do-it-by-the-numbers Starfleet officer. She didn't even ask me if I wanted to be taken off the Millennium team and be put in charge of the Voyager team, she just sent down the order in a memo and the next day, Miles and I were working in cargo bay two, cleaning up the mess with the Borg alcoves."

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"To be fair, I haven't had the chance," B'Elanna said. "I guess I was going to wait until things settled down a bit before I requested a transfer back to the Millennium team. It's only been a couple of weeks, and she's been trying to do five hundred things at once as she takes over her new position. Starfleet Intelligence has been poking around all over the shipyards, and I haven't really seen that much of her. When I have seen her, she's been sort of  ... preoccupied ... probably because Seven was gone."

Ro considered that. "I think Janeway is trying to fit back into the Starfleet harness and it's not coming easy for her," she allowed after a few moments. "It probably wasn't the wisest thing for her not to tell Seven why I had to accompany her on the trip, but I know she was operating under orders from Nechayev." She leaned back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. It just seemed like too much to handle at the moment, and she exhaled slowly, bringing her sense of helplessness under control. She needed to take some time to think about this, she decided. Break the problem down into small sections and approach it one matter at a time.

After a moment, she glanced over at her partner. B'Elanna had remained silent, watching her with an expression of patience and tenderness in her eyes, obviously respecting Ro's needed moment to regain her composure.

"Lanna, something else happened on this trip that I need to tell you about," the Bajoran said, not wanting to put it off any longer. Seven was right. This was not something she should dissemble about.

"Yeah?" B'Elanna said, moving closer. She slipped an arm across Ro's shoulders. "What?"

"It has nothing to do with Seven or Janeway," Ro said. Tentatively, she dropped her hand down to B'Elanna's leg, squeezing lightly. "It has to do with us and certain ... events that we thought had been left behind."

"Oh," B'Elanna said, sobering considerably. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, Ro told her all about her discovery on Vulcan, and what additional responsibilities she would be required to assume in the future. As she expected, B'Elanna was not pleased by what she heard, stung by the reminder of something she had thought resolved, but she was not as upset as the Bajoran had feared.

"So in fifteen or twenty years, you're going to have to 'guide' your teenage son in the ways of Bajor," B'Elanna said finally.

"Yes," Ro said quietly.

The Klingon exhaled audibly. "Well, I suppose it could be worse," she said. "We might have been required to look after him until the Time of Ascendence."

"It can always be worse," Ro agreed, heartened by the inclusive 'we' her partner had used. She raised her face and nuzzled lightly at the engineer's jaw. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" B'Elanna responded, puzzled.

"For understanding," Ro said.

The Klingon shrugged, though her gaze was bashfully charmed. "Not much else I can do," she allowed quietly. She glanced at the Bajoran out of the corner of her dark eyes. "So, in the interest of changing the subject, did you bring me back a present?"

Ro smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did," she said. She reached over to the night stand to retrieve the gift-wrapped package she had carried back from the first planetary market they had visited. "I don't know what this was doing on Trill, but as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it, and by the end of the trip, I knew it was for you."

Vastly pleased, B'Elanna ripped off the paper and opened the box, discovering the ornately engraved bracelet inside. She looked slightly bemused as she pulled it out, then abruptly her eyes went wide.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked huskily.

Ro realized she was suddenly feeling somewhat queasy, but she forced a smile. "If you want it to be," she said uncertainly. "I'm not saying you have to accept it right now, but it's something to think about in the future."

B'Elanna stared at her for a long moment, and Ro lowered her eyes, squirming. "I probably should have arranged a more ... romantic sort of setting," she added, abruptly conscious of only wearing a robe while B'Elanna was still in her uniform, stained and wrinkled from her day in the shipyards, both women sprawled over the bed which was mussed from Ro's nap. It was not exactly the candlelit dinner under the stars she had originally imagined ... the rare times that she had allowed herself to think about it during the trip from Vulcan.

"It's a Bajoran betrothal bracelet," B'Elanna said, demanding clarification.

"Uh, yes, it is," Ro said.

"You're asking me to marry you," B'Elanna said.

"Yes," Ro said. She searched for something else to say. "I, uh ... betrothal bracelets are usually passed down through families but of course, that wasn't possible when ... in my situation. Generally, the bracelets that are found for sale in other parts of the Federation come from families who were completely wiped out by the Cardassians, their possessions looted by soldiers and collaborators. Usually, the alien vendors don't even know what they're really selling ... the merchant on Trill certainly didn't. I'm not sure what lineage this bracelet came from originally, and the Bajoran database had no match for the engravings, but it always means a lot when a Bajoran can reclaim one ... that way, the old family survives in the new family, if only through the jewelry." She paused, understanding that she was babbling a bit. "It would honor me greatly if you would become a part of the Ro family line, B'Elanna," she added very quietly. She stared steadily at her hands resting on her lap, her fingers entwining nervously. There was a silence, then B'Elanna reached over and took Ro's hand. Ro's eyes rose to meet those of her partner, startled and disturbed to see tears welling in the dark eyes.

"I would be honored to be a part of your family line," B'Elanna said, her voice full of emotion as she brought the hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. "Ro Laren, would you join the house of Torres, and add your blood to mine?"

Ro felt a stinging in her own eyes. "I will," she whispered.

It seemed natural then to reach over and pull B'Elanna into her arms, hugging her tightly, the embrace returned readily by the Klingon. B'Elanna clung fiercely to her, sniffing slightly, and Ro ignored it, knowing the engineer would be embarrassed to be caught so emotionally flatfooted.

"This is a big step," the engineer whispered finally.

"It is," Ro agreed, her cheek pressed tightly against the Klingon's temple. "I just can't imagine ever needing or wanting anyone else in my life."

"You know I feel the same," B'Elanna replied. There was a pause, while the engineer took a few deep breaths. "When?"

"When what?" Ro queried.

"When do you want to do this?"

It was Ro's turn to take a few deep breaths. "I guess that would depend on how we want to do this," she said reasonably. "How big a ceremony are we talking about here? Will it be Klingon or Bajoran or a combination of both? Is this something we want to do simply and quickly, in a civil ceremony, or do we want to make a big production out of it?"

"In other words, we need to take some time to get used to the whole idea," B'Elanna said.

Ro offered a shy smile. "I do love you, Lanna," she said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"That's exactly where I want to spend the rest of mine," B'Elanna promised her. "But you're right, we need to take our time and consider everything carefully." She dipped her head. "I 'm curious, though. Why did you decide to take this step right now?"

Ro shrugged. "Possibly because of the house, and the fact we're settling into a very domestic arrangement," she offered thoughtfully. "Or honestly, maybe it was holding Surnak and realizing that time was passing by so quickly and I might only get one chance at true happiness in my lifetime. I really missed you while I was gone, and it gave me a lot of time to think about us. I guess I thought this was the next logical step for us to take. I'm ready for it, and if you are too, then maybe we should see where it takes us."

"Sounds fair to me," B'Elanna allowed. She moved closer and kissed Ro lightly on the lips. "I missed you every second, too" she added fervently.

Ro responded immediately, kissing her partner back, feeling the first ripples of desire thread through her as she pressed closer to the more compact woman. The attraction between them was always so molten, flaring into an inferno very quickly. From the way B'Elanna moved against her, she knew the Klingon was feeling it as well. "I don't suppose you'd care to show me how much?"

B'Elanna grinned, showing sharp-edged teeth. "Are you sure you're up for it?" she teased, her hands slipping beneath the robe to touch Ro's skin, making her gasp. "You seemed pretty drowsy when I arrived home."

"Why do you think I took a nap?" Ro responded, tugging on the Klingon's tunic, pushing it off the engineer's shoulders. "I expected to be welcomed home properly."

"Oh, I'll welcome you home, bangwI," B'Elanna muttered as she wiggled out of her gold sweater.

"For the rest of the night, if you'd like."

"Are you very angry with me?" Janeway asked, glancing at Seven from the corner of her eyes as they entered their home.

Seven took a deep breath. She had not spoken to her partner beyond the most clipped responses during the beam in to the San Francisco Transport Center. The walk from the station had been made in silence as dusk fell over the city, and apparently, the captain could no longer contain herself once they had made it inside the house.

"Yes," Seven said shortly.

"Annika, there are things that I just can't tell you as a Starfleet captain," Janeway said, taking up a position in the center of the living room, hands on her hips. "That's something that I won't apologize for. You knew what my responsibilities were when you got involved with me."

She was obviously ready for a battle, in full captain mode, her chin stuck out aggressively, believing a good defense sprang from a better offense. Were Seven less determined to have it out with her spouse, she might have found it 'cute', but at the moment, it only served to enhance the Borg's aggravation, though she was careful not to show it. Dropping her bag on the coffee table, she glanced at her partner once, then took a seat on the sofa, folding her hands neatly on her lap.

"I understand that," Seven said calmly, in a very reasonable tone. "The events surrounding the attempt made on your life at Utopia Planitia, and the plans subsequently put in place to prevent future attempts by the Orion Syndicate to secure Borg technology, were classified. A junior Starfleet lieutenant with limited security clearance is not entitled to know such things."

Janeway was taken aback, confused, as if not expecting this response.

"Exactly," she said finally, relieved, though also sounding slightly disappointed as she retreated to the chair offset from the sofa, angling her body toward the Borg, and giving up her dominant position. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed perceptibly, her shoulders easing beneath the quilted grey of her uniform. "I'm glad you understand."

"However, Kathryn," Seven said firmly, her voice abruptly dropping several degrees, edged with a fury she had no intention of tempering as she rose from her seat and used every millimeter of her generous height to loom over the startled Janeway. "I am your spouse and I am entitled to know when you are endangered, even when I cannot know the circumstances surrounding that danger. Starfleet has nothing to do with our personal relationship. How dare you keep this from me, Kathryn? This is completely unacceptable!"

"It's not that simple, Annika," Janeway tried in a low tone, pressed back into the cushions behind her, completely thrown by the young woman's strategy, and desperately trying to regain her original assertiveness. "There are certain things that my position as captain and my oath as a Starfleet officer simply prohibit me from telling you."

"You were not required to give me any classified details," Seven said flatly, her pale eyes twin spears of glacial blue, pinning the captain in her seat as the Borg placed her hands on the arms of the chair and leaned threateningly over her. Seven was quite satisfied that she had maneuvered her partner into an area where Janeway could not rely on her uniform or superior rank to lend her authority. Too often during their arguments, Janeway held the upper hand by virtue of her greater experience with emotional situations. For the first time, Seven felt like she was truly holding her own and winning her points with force of personality ... not because Janeway conscended to allow them.

"You could have requested that I take Ro for my own protection, and I would have trusted your word that it was necessary," the young woman continued inexorably. "I may have argued briefly, but ultimately, I would have trusted you. You know that. Yet, you chose not to tell me anything, probably because you did not want to discuss it with me. Worse, you actually lied to me, and manipulated the situation regarding Ro, in order to trick me into doing what you wanted. That is unacceptable, Kathryn! I am not a child! My rank of lieutenant does not make me a lesser being! I am your partner and an equal in this relationship! Starfleet ... Be ... Damned!"

She straightened, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared down at her spouse, feeling the sort of magnificent wrath that she had not experienced since Janeway had made the decision to return the Borg baby to her parents against Seven's wishes. On that occasion, however, Seven's fury had been laced with profound pain and betrayal. In this instance, she was merely enraged, the emotion exquisitely cold and clean in its purity.

"Annika..." Janeway began weakly.

"No!" Seven thundered, overriding the captain, suspecting that if she granted Janeway any leeway in this instance, it would be far more damaging to their relationship than was apparent. This was a situation that needed to be clarified completely, with no misunderstanding as to where she stood on the issue. "Kathryn, secrets like this destroy marriages! I appreciate your loyalty to Starfleet, I understand it, but it can not and must not supercede your loyalty to us!" She paused, and added what she knew would be the ultimate declaration of how she felt. "My loyalty to you is absolute. I expect the same in return. If you cannot offer it, then ... our marriage has failed!"

Janeway looked as if she had been smashed across the head by a spanner, her mouth moving but no sound coming out, eyes wide and a blank grey. Seven waited patiently for her response, her gaze unwavering as she frowned at the captain.

"You haven't spoken to me like this ... since our misunderstanding over the baby," Janeway said finally, in a small voice.

"This has the same potential for damage, Kathryn," Seven said flatly. "On Voyager, you could not conceal things from me for very long. Here, it is much easier for you to fall back into an existence where you can separate me from your life as a captain. I am clarifying what the consequences will be if you do. I must establish where my boundaries are and how important it is that you respect them."

Janeway looked lost, her features vulnerable and open. "What would the consequences be?" she asked huskily. "Would you ... leave me?"

Seven took a deep breath, feeling the soul-deep pain of those words quiver through her. "If I must," she said, hurt etching her words, seeing that she had completely astonished her partner. Such a concept had never been raised between them before. "Without trust, Kathryn, we have nothing."

"Annika," Janeway began, faltered, looking very distressed. Clearly, she had not expected such a reply from her partner, but was aware that it was not an idle threat. She knew better than anyone that Seven would not offer that kind of possiblity unless she was fully prepared to carry it out, regardless of the personal cost to herself.

Seven dipped her head. "You promised me that Starfleet would never come between us, Kathryn," she said. Her voice broke slightly. "Are you going back on your word?"

Janeway bent her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean ... I didn't realize..." She remained silent for a moment, breathing steadily. "I guess that's exactly what I was doing, wasn't it?" She raised her head, staring at her partner. "It won't happen again," she said soberly. "I swear. I won't always be able to give you all the details at any given time, but I will let you know if I'm involved in something that concerns either of us personally."

Seven inclined her head, indicating that she could accept that.

"However," Janeway continued, her voice still a little unsteady, "you have to respect it when I do have to give you orders, even when I can't tell you the reasoning behind those orders ... even when you don't like those orders. That's part of my responsibility to Starfleet. This isn't like Voyager, Annika. There may be things that I can never fully explain to you."

Seven considered that. "I understand, Kathryn," she said, finally. She paused, then knelt in front of the chair, placing her hands gently on the captain's knees. "I will try very hard to trust in your decisions," she told her earnestly. "I will try very hard to balance who you need to be as a Starfleet captain, with who I need you to be as my spouse. I will question when I feel I must, but I will also obey completely if you honestly require it."

Janeway nodded, looking vaguely relieved, though her eyes maintained their disturbed grey sheen. "I promise to better weigh my responsibilities to Starfleet with my responsibilities to you in the future, Annika," she said quietly. "I won't lie to you, or try to manipulate you into doing what I need you to do as an officer. I'll make it an order and trust that you will carry it out in a professional manner."

Seven held her gaze, then nodded. "Acceptable," she said.

Janeway swallowed, her throat moving visibly. "Would you really leave me?" she asked huskily.

"What other choice would I have?" Seven countered promptly.

Janeway's face crumpled, and without hesitation, Seven reached out and drew the captain into her arms, holding her closely.

"I love you, Kathryn," the Borg said softly as she rubbed Janeway's upper back, "with everything I am. However, I am learning that I must not allow that to override my own requirements for a positive existence ... not all the time."

"You have to do what's right for you," Janeway agreed shakily, her arms wrapped tightly around the Borg's neck. She pressed her face into the young woman's hair. "I'm sorry, Annika. I know there's no reason for you to believe this, but I really was going to tell you everything once you were home."

"If you say you were, then I believe you, Kathryn," Seven told her quietly, stroking the back of the captain's neck with her fingertips. "However, you should not have placed Lt. Ro in such an awkward position of having to explain it. Laren is no longer a security officer ... or is protecting a Borg drone from a criminal organization some form of command training I am unaware of?"

"Are you criticizing how I deploy my remaining crew?" Janeway asked, her mouth tightening, and Seven knew she had gone a little too far with what was still a very sensitive topic with her partner.

"Not at all, Kathryn," the young woman reassured her, cupping her cheek. "I am sorry." She kissed her gently on the forehead. "I must unpack."

Releasing the captain reluctantly, she straightened and picked up her bag from the sofa where she had dropped it, carrying it up the stairs. She was aware of Janeway watching her uncertainly, not moving from her chair, but Seven refused to feel guilty for initiating their confrontation, believing that the redefinement of their boundaries on Earth was exactly what was needed to properly maintain their marriage. As she reached the top of the staircase, she took a glance down at the living area and into the kitchen, shocked at the profusion of coffee cups and padds littering the various surfaces. Armed with that forewarning, she was not surprised when she reached the bedroom to discover the bed was unmade, the blankets strewn across the mattress, while still more activated padds and worn garments were scattered about the floor and night stands.

Stifling a sigh, Seven unpacked her garments and put them away, then straightened up around the bedroom before going into the ensuite. That required another few moments of tidying before she dared to take a shower, but finally she felt at home again, freshly damp and pink from the steamy water. She retrieved her silken, crimson robe from the bedroom and pulled it on before returning to the main floor where she discovered that the captain had taken the opportunity to clean up all the coffee cups, depositing them in the recycler, as well as deactivating and stacking several padds on the bookcase.

Janeway had also kindled a small blaze in the fireplace, kneeling before it as she prodded desolately at the logs with a poker. She obviously remained distressed over their conflict, her classic features appearing drawn and unhappy in the rosy glow cast by the flickering flames. She had removed her tunic, leaving it draped over the nearby chair, and she looked very small in the wine-red sweater and dark trousers, hunched before the hearth. Seven decided that she had impressed her point quite enough upon her spouse, and now it was time to remind Kathryn that she was still adored beyond love itself. Seven moved over to the rug in front of the fireplace, and sank down beside the older woman, leaning against the chair as she reached over to rest her hand on Janeway's shoulder. The captain ignored the touch, continuing to poke at the fire.

"I have missed you, Kathryn," Seven offered softly. "I thought of you every moment."

"Undoubtedly deciding on the best way to take strips out of my hide," Janeway returned, indicating that the Borg's reprimand was now beginning to sting her pride rather than merely making her feel guilty. She did not look in the young woman's direction.

"On the contrary, the plan of strategy to bring you in line only required twenty-point-two-four minutes of consideration," Seven remarked with dry humor, reaching out to lightly tuck some strands of auburn hair around Janeway's ear. "The rest of the time, however, I very much wanted you to be with me. No matter how magnificent the sights I witnessed on Trill and Vulcan, none were as impressive as the sheer depth and color of your eyes."

The poker faltered, then Janeway blushed and bent her head. "However do you put up with me?" she mumbled sheepishly.

Seven smiled and reached over, drawing the unresisting captain onto her lap, leaving the poker lying in the glowing coals. "Only eighteen years with the Borg Collective has accorded me the necessary strength and determination to do so," she teased lightly as they settled down on the rug, patterned in a grey, blue and black Southwestern motif. Seven's back was supported by the base of  the chair as Janeway leaned her side against the young woman's front, both women curling up before the stone hearth.

The Borg hesitated, then kissed the captain's ear tenderly. "I did not mean for my homecoming to be so ... tempestuous, Kathryn," she added in a more serious tone. "I merely felt I had to establish my parameters before this developed into something that neither of us could repair."

"You were right to do so, Annika," Janeway said with a sigh, burrowing into the Borg's embrace, body turned toward the fire. "I know I should have been more up front with you ... I knew it even before you left, but..." She trailed off uncertainly, her eyes distant as she stared into the flames. "It's very hard to know where I stand now," she admitted finally, in a very quiet voice, her words coming with difficulty. "Particularly when it comes to comprehending what Starfleet expects of me."

"There are many outside influences affecting us now," Seven agreed. "Tell me, did my trip work as a 'diversion'? Did the Syndicate members operating within the core systems fall into your trap?"

Janeway made a rueful sound, one of mixed amusement and aggravation. "They did, even though it wasn't 'my trap'," she said, and proceeded to relate to the Borg everything that had happened on McKinley Station. Seven decided that this time, it was clear that the captain was not editing anything, particularly since there was more than one part of the explanation that made the young woman almost dizzy with fear for her spouse.

"If we hadn't arranged for your safety, they wouldn't have been so anxious to go for what seemed the easier target," Janeway concluded. "Clearly, the Syndicate was demanding that Cheb and his people secure the Borg units as quickly as possible, and that made them a little sloppy."

"I should have terminated Cheb Packer when I had the opportunity on DS9," the Borg said flatly, her eyes cold.

Janeway sighed. "I'm not sure it would have done much good," she said, nudging her slightly with her elbow. "In any event, you know that simply wasn't an option for you."

"Perhaps," Seven said darkly. She frowned, then the narrow features softened as she regarded her spouse. "I wish you would not do such dangerous things, Kathryn."

"It's part of the job," Janeway said in a tone that Seven knew she could not argue with. Sighing, the Borg drew her closer and kissed her.

"Were you hurt, Kathryn?" she asked.

"I was a little sore afterwards," Janeway admitted, a certain wry smugness touching her tone. "But surprisingly better than I would have otherwise expected. I guess working out regularly since I've been back gave me a bit of an advantage ... not to mention my smaller size enabled me to crawl through the tubes easier than the syndicate goons."

"That is not what I meant," Seven said quietly.

"Oh." Janeway was silent for a moment, her eyes distant as she considered what her partner did mean.

"It wasn't pleasant to see how far Cheb had descended," she allowed finally, a muscle working in her jaw. "But it had nothing to do with me. He made his own choices in life."

"Yes," Seven said, hugging her closely. "Kathryn, sometimes you frighten me." She paused. "I do not find that acceptable."

Janeway smiled faintly. "No, I don't suppose you do," she allowed. "I'll try to be more careful in the future." She snuggled into Seven's embrace, and changed the subject. "So tell me all about your trip, love. Don't leave anything out."

Despite knowing that Janeway was attempting to divert her, Seven pulled the captain closer, cradling her tenderly in her arms as she told her everything that happened from the time she left Earth to the moment she returned.

Up to and including the surprise awaiting Ro on Vulcan.

The captain drew in a deep breath as she cherished the warmth of Seven's embrace and the flickering fire. If there had to be a bit of unpleasantness which needed to be cleared up before they could reach this level of shared intimacy, the captain knew it was for the best. She was just regretful that she had ignored her trepidations about keeping Seven in the dark about what was going on in the first place. She had been trying very hard to fit back into the Starfleet command structure, and following Nechayev's instructions seemed like the proper thing to do at the time. However, since it was clear that Nechayev valued Janeway's independence, and it had hurt Seven, then clearly, it had been an unacceptable course to follow.

She exhaled slowly, then turned her head to look back at her spouse, delighted when Seven gently covered Janeway's lips with her own, kissing her deeply. The kiss progressed, becoming two, then several, each more ardent than the previous one. The captain was surprised, but pleased, by the strong demand in Seven's touch, suddenly aware of how long they had been apart, how much she had missed her spouse, how much she needed and wanted her this very second, sensing the surge of corresponding desire from the Borg. The captain made a small sound at the back of her throat, thick with unmistakable yearning, and the young woman immediately responded by lowering Janeway to the floor, the Borg easing her down onto the soft rug and covering the smaller woman's body with her own, insinuating her leg between Janeway's knees.

For a brief second, it flashed through Janeway's mind to wonder how many times she had made love in front of this very fireplace, on this very rug, but she instantly erradicated the thought, putting it in the distant past where it belonged. Instead, she concentrated only on the here and now, focusing completely on Seven and her wonderful hands moving over the captain with increasing passion, tugging at her uniform sweater, pulling it up over her shoulders. Muffled clicks could be heard as the four rank pips gracefully popped from the collar and sailed off in various directions, no doubt to be lost for all eternity ... or until the next time one of them cleaned. Janeway wiggled out of it, then wrapped her arms around Seven's neck, tangling her hands in the blonde hair, pulling the Borg's head tightly to hers as they continued to kiss hungrily, intent on fully familiarizing themselves with each other after being apart for far too long.

Janeway moaned softly as Seven tenderly kneaded her breast through the black material of her bra, suckling the captain's ear, nipping at the lobe. Then, the young woman pulled Janeway's undergarment from her torso in one abrupt motion, ripping it away and tossing it aside, affording the captain with a thrill at Seven's aggressiveness.She hissed in pleasure as she felt the Borg's hand attend to her breasts once more, alternating back and forth between them, fingertips stroking and teasing the nipples in just the way Janeway loved to be touched.

"Annika," she breathed, arching into the caress, "god, how I adore you."

"My Kathryn," Seven assured her, dropping her head to kiss the flesh where her hands had been as she worked Janeway's pants and boots off. "I love you." She moved back up her body, kissing the captain once more on the lips, her mouth hot and possessive.

Janeway groaned as she wormed her hands between them, seeking out the tie which was keeping Seven's robe closed. The Borg avoided her intention, catching the seeking hands in her own, pressing them firmly down onto the rug.

"Patience," she instructed.

Janeway widened her eyes. "Patience? I've been waiting for you for weeks," she protested.

Seven smiled and flicked the captain's lips with her tongue. "I want to love you first," she said persuasively. "I also enjoy how your body feels through my robe."

Janeway certainly couldn't argue with that, the silken material sliding provocatively over her nipples where they pressed against Seven's more generous bosom, so she relented and slipped her arms around the Borg's neck again. As Seven trailed down over her chin, the captain glanced down at the Borg's intent face as she nuzzled Janeway's breasts, her lips and tongue plying the nipples which grew even harder under the attention, aching from the blood engorging them. Lovingly, the captain stroked the young woman's cheek, feeling tenderness and need rise with equal power within her. Then the young woman was trailing down over Janeway's rounded stomach, darting her tongue into Janeway's rounded navel, making the captain squirm before nuzzling into the rich, auburn triangle, urging her legs further apart. Janeway quivered as she felt her partner's warm breath on her, Seven slipping her shoulders under the captain's thighs, raising them up and immobilizing her. Raking her fingers through the blonde hair, Janeway urged Seven to where she needed her to be, though the Borg required little guidance. Crying out, the captain finally felt the soft tongue on her most intimate flesh, and her head lolled back and forth against the rug, the sensations rippling through her with ever increasing intensity until quickly ... too quickly ... she climaxed in a rush of pleasure and involuntary spasms.

She gasped for breath, feeling vaguely disappointed that it was over so soon, but fortunately, it seemed that Seven was far from done with her. Before Janeway had completely descended from that peak, Seven had moved up the captain's body again until the Borg's lanky form was covering her passionately.

"Annika," she managed to murmur before Seven's lips, strong with the captain's flavor, covered hers once more, muffling any further words.

Her knees were spread wide by the Borg's body pressed insistently between them, and then Seven's fingers were plunging into her, penetrating deep into the heat and moisture, twisting and exploring avidly. Janeway shuddered and shifted, her leg nudging between Seven's, and she could feel the Borg's own wetness slide against the smooth skin of her thigh as her partner rocked on her in perfect rhythm to the fingers thrusting steadily and deliciously into her partner.

Janeway had never felt so taken by the Borg, not even when Seven had utilized a device to simulate penile penetration, and she accepted it joyously, her breathing harsh yet united with Seven, who gasped for breath next to her ear. The scent of their coupling rose strong in her nostrils, and Janeway threw her head back, eyes wide as she stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it at all as the pleasure overwhelmed her again. She gripped Seven's shoulders desperately through the robe, hanging on as she climaxed hard about the driving fingers, then again, losing herself in this moment of being completely loved by her spouse. Finally, she felt Seven jerk against her, crying out her name softly, and it set off a final, ultimate, shuddering explosion within Janeway. She was sure that she had actually passed out from the sheer, unceasing pleasure of it because stars suddenly appeared before her eyes, becoming multicolored as she closed them.

When she opened them, Seven was looking down at her, her gaze soft and amazed, almost uncomprehending as to what had happened. "Oh, Kathryn," she whispered.

Tenderly, Janeway reached up and cupped her face in her palms, drawing her down to kiss her with a deep and abiding joy.

"My heart," she husked against the full lips. "That was absolutely incredible. Maybe you should go away more often."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I think not," she said. "Regardless of how ... exciting this was."

"Agreed," Janeway chuckled, assuring her as she pulled the Borg down onto her. "I don't want you to go away anymore, either."

Seven eased onto her side, spreading her robe to drape a part of it over the captain protectively ... more a gesture than because there was actually enough spare material to use as a blanket. Her leg and arm covered Janeway with comforting weight, and the older woman nuzzled her face into the Borg's neck.

"Have you been saving up for me?" Janeway asked teasingly. "That was quite energetic."

"Yes." Seven kissed her spouse at the corner of the captain's temple, tracing the thin, auburn brow lovingly with her lips.

Janeway smirked. "You mean that file I sent with you didn't cause you to ... ah, experiment with solitary forms of pleasure?" she prodded.

Seven hesitated, then blushed. "Very well," she said, lowering her head modestly. "Perhaps I did not 'save it all' for you ... just the larger percentage."

Janeway laughed out loud and Seven pressed closer to her. "However, Kathryn, this was not as romantic as I had intended my homecoming to be," she added, her tone slightly regretful. "I just wanted you so much..."

"Romance is relative, my darling," Janeway remarked with a lazy grin, nestled in her partner's arms, and thinking that there was little in the universe better than this. "Sometimes, you just have to go with what feels good rather than what is expected. Undoubtedly, this was exactly what we needed after being apart for so long. I know I certainly found it quite ... invigorating." She drew her fingers lightly along the smooth skin of the young woman's shoulder beneath the robe, regarding her partner with warm pleasure. "So, shall we have dinner now? Or should we just retire to the bedroom for another course of this?"

Seven kissed Janeway's ear lightly. "That is a most difficult choice," she murmured. "I have not eaten since early this morning, but the concept of spending more time in your arms is quite irresistible."

"Oh, darling, I appreciate your finding this a dilemma, but we have to make sure you're fed," Janeway said with amusement. "We have to keep up your strength."

Seven smiled and nibbled the captain's earlobe. "Have you been keeping up your strength, Kathryn?" she asked slyly.

Janeway laughed throatily. "If that's your subtle way of asking if I took care of myself while you were gone, then the answer is 'yes'," she said. "I ate regular meals, tried to get enough sleep, and every morning, Jake and I went out for a slow jog."

"You did not overdo it?"

"Not at all," the captain promised. "In fact, I even cut back on my caffeine." At Seven's small sound of disbelief, she nudged the Borg's abdomen with her thumb. "Honestly. I know it didn't look like it, considering all the mugs I left lying around, but I didn't drink nearly as much coffee as when you're here." She paused. "For one thing, the replicated stuff is horrid compared to your blend."

Seven pulled her closer. "You are not exactly reassuring me, Kathryn," she said.

Janeway snickered. "Jake and I were very good," she insisted. "Really."

"I have missed Jake," Seven admitted. "Yet, I did not even take the time to greet him." She looked slightly ashamed and glanced in the general direction of the dining room where the french doors led out to the back yard.

"He'll understand," the captain assured her. "Besides, he was so busy exploring his new neighborhood that he hardly noticed you were gone."

"I believe he enjoys living here," Seven noted thoughtfully. "In Indiana, however, he had many other dogs with which to play."

"We can always get another dog, Annika," Janeway pointed out. "Maybe we could persuade Phoebe to part with Rufus."

"Have you noticed how similar in appearance and behavior Rufus is to Jake?" Seven asked.

Janeway nodded. "I have," she said. "It's almost as if they're the same dog." She paused. "You don't think..."

"Yes," Seven said. "I do."

Janeway frowned. "Could that be dangerous?"

"I do not know," Seven replied. "But perhaps it would be best if we kept the two separated ... just to avoid any possibility of an alternate universal paradox."

Janeway sighed. "I guess you're right," she said. "Besides, Phoebe's pretty attached to both him and Molly now. We'll just have to check out the local pound. Even in the 24th century, unfortunately, there are stray dogs who need good homes."

Seven paused. "Kathryn, is it so easy for you to give up pets that you once possessed?" she asked. "I would find it quite difficult to give up Jake, yet you seem unaffected by seeing Petunia with Gretchen, or Molly with Phoebe. You told me how much Petunia helped you in the aftermath of your father's death, while Molly was the dog you had before you were lost in the Delta Quadrant. Is it that easy to forget them?"

Janeway was silent for a few moments, thinking that over, and Seven waited patiently, knowing that the captain was considering the question carefully.

"I haven't forgotten them, Annika, and it wasn't easy to give them up," Janeway admitted finally. "I may not show it, but it hurts a little bit when I see the animals that I loved, and that loved me in return, in the hands of someone else. However, I only had Petunia for six months before I was sent away on a deep space command, and by the time I returned, she was clearly Phoebe's pet. Plus, I was heading for my next posting very soon, which meant I couldn't have a dog. I consoled myself with the knowledge that she had a really good home with Phoebe and was loved completely."

She hesitated, then continued in a very serious tone. "As for Molly, she was part of my history with Mark," she said. She noted the wince Seven was unable to suppress and smiled gently, reaching over to pat the young woman on the hip. "I know you might not want to hear this, darling, but I was far more upset with losing him than I was with losing her."

"I understand," Seven replied softly, after a brief hesitation.

Janeway exhaled slowly. "When I finally resolved my feelings about Mark, I discovered I had also said my good-bye to Molly. To be honest, I was surprised that she remembered me." She reached up and drew her fingers along Seven's cheek. "Do you comprehend this, darling? Do you understand that although it would hurt me to lose Jake, it still would not mean as much as if I lost a person I loved? I know that may sound very harsh, but I've always known that animals live a far shorter time than we do, and while I've learned to cherish the time I have with them, rather than regret the time I don't, I can adapt to their loss easier than some other pet owners."

"I comprehend what you are saying," Seven said, studying her face intently. "You've never loved another dog as much as you loved your first pet, Brambles. You won't let yourself be hurt that much again ... not when it comes to dogs."

Janeway was stunned by her partner's words for the second time that day.

"How did you get that from what I said?" she complained.

"Years of being with you," Seven replied promptly.

Janeway exhaled in exasperation. "Well, you're wrong," she said.

"Yes, Kathryn," the Borg said, in that tolerant sort of tone that indicated she was thinking the exact opposite.

Shaking her head, Janeway wiggled out of the young woman's embrace. "Let's get you fed," she said. "You're becoming delusional." She stood up and stretched, looking down at Seven who remained reclined on the rug. "I found this wonderful Chinese restaurant while you were gone. Let's order out and I'll go pick it up while you get used to being home again."

"You will dress and shower first?" Seven asked innocently as she accepted the hand the captain offered to help her up with. "Or do you intend to display the evidence of exactly how you have been appreciating my homecoming?"

Janeway released the Borg's hand, allowing her to thump back onto the floor. "Very funny," she said, turning and heading for the staircase. "Just for that, I'll pick it up naked."

"A most unacceptable plan," the Borg noted, smiling as she uncoiled from the floor, pulling her robe closed around her. "You will become cold during the walk to and from the restaurant."

Janeway shot her a grin as she ascended the stairs to the loft, heading for the work station where the comm system was located. The captain noticed a few twinges as she keyed the communications system ... careful to keep it to audio only ... and realized that perhaps she shouldn't have made love so energetically on the rug ... not after participating in a confrontation with the Orion Syndicate earlier in the day. A tingle in her left buttock indicated she had acquired a bit of a friction burn, and when Seven patted it comfortingly as she passed on her way to the bedroom, the captain knew there must be a red mark there to indicate a slight contusion.

Still, compared to the injuries she could have sustained that day, including an irreparable one to her heart had things not worked out with her partner, it was a minor hurt that Janeway was more than glad to suffer.

Seven smiled languidly as she woke in the dull, morning light, aware of how wonderful it felt to be back in her own bed, warmed by the presence of her partner slumbering only millimeters away. Janeway's arm was stretched negligently across the bed, resting on the lower part of the young woman's stomach, her fingers tangled in the blonde curls of the Borg's triangle, as if to keep it safe in the night, and Seven had to be careful as she eased away, losing some strands in the process. Amused, she rolled out of bed and moved over to the window where she looked out into the blank grey of a San Francisco fog, the world seeming to disappear just beyond their home. She could not even see the trees which bordered their yard as she stared into the formless mist for several minutes.

"Annika?"

The tone was slurred slightly, lazy, yet quite sensual, the husky voice caressing the name as it was uttered. Seven raised an eyebrow and turned her head, peering over her shoulder at her partner who was blinking sleepily at her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Seven responded. "I am merely enjoying the morning and being home once more."

Janeway made a small sound of pleased agreement, tossing the blankets away from her body and patting the mattress beside her.

"Come back to bed," she requested. "Let's enjoy it together."

Seven smiled again. "You are insatiable," she noted.

"After being without you for so long, can you blame me?" Janeway asked in her best appealing tone.

Seven obligingly moved back to the bed, crawling up on the large expanse of mattress and toward her partner with predatory intent. Janeway's eyes lit up in anticipation, laughing as the Borg suddenly pounced on her, the pair of them rolling around on the big bed until Seven had the captain pinned beneath her once more, pressing against her provocatively.

"Oh, god, I've missed you," Janeway murmured against Seven's lips, nibbling gently at the bottom one.

"Indeed?" Seven told her. "I thought you took this opportunity to resume your relationship with Mark."

Janeway froze, then looked up at her partner accusingly. "You've been talking to mother," she said.

"Last night, when you went out to pick up dinner," Seven told her placidly. She raised an eyebrow. "In truth, I believe Gretchen assumed I already knew, and I did not dissuade her of that assumption as we discussed it."

"You conned my mother into telling you about it?" Janeway said, outraged, wiggling in an attempt to escape Seven's arms.

Seven tightened her embrace, holding her spouse in place. "Is there a reason why she and I should not discuss Mark Johnson's attempt to lure my wife into an illicit affair?"

"It wasn't exactly like that," the captain protested.

"Irrelevant," Seven said.

"Darling, you know I would never do anything like that," Janeway said. "I love you."

"I know," the young woman said. "I trust you implicitly."

Janeway stared at her a moment, apparently evaluating her sincerity.

"Thank you," she said finally.

"And once I terminate Mark Johnson, it will not come up again," Seven remarked evenly.

Janeway exhaled audibly. "Annika, you are not going to ... 'terminate' him," she said.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Then, I shall maim him," she asked.

"You most certainly will not," the captain said, exasperated.

"Break his nose?" Seven suggested hopefully.

"Violence is not the answer," Janeway told her sternly. "Honestly, Seven, you really have to lower your perceptions of just what sort of punishment is suitable for certain ... lapses in judgement."

"May I, at least, threaten him?"

"No," Janeway insisted. "Darling, it's been dealt with. I'll admit that Mark and I had a big misunderstanding about what kind of relationship we expected from one another, but it's been discussed and now he knows that you're the only love of my life."

"He seems a particularly dim representation of your species, Kathryn," Seven said with concern. "Are you sure he understood? You did not use words of more than one syllable, did you?"

Janeway snorted, obviously wanting to laugh at that, but deciding at the same moment that it was inappropriate. "Annika, now you're just being nasty," she said reprovingly, poking Seven in the ribs with her thumb. "Mark is a very intelligent man." She paused. "It's possible that I just bring out his ... vulky side."

Seven blinked. "His what?"

"It's an expression, darling," Janeway explained rather unhelpfully. She wiggled beneath Seven again, differently than her previous effort to get away. "Aren't there things we could be doing other than discussing Mark Johnson?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

Seven considered that. "Several," she admitted. She offered her spouse a smile and settled a little more on her body, enjoying the warmth of the captain's compact form beneath her. She dipped her head and kissed Janeway gently. "Did you have something specific in mind?" she murmured against her lips. "Did you wish to go for our run in the park?"

"It's the weekend, darling," Janeway told her. "You start your new posting on Monday. We don't have to run on the weekends once we're both working. It's our time for R&R."

"Ah," Seven said, realizing her spouse had just created another arbitrary rule for living on Earth. "I shall remember that." She eased her thigh between the captain's legs. "What would you care to do for 'our R&R'?"

"Hmm," Janeway muttered, arching her hips slightly, slipping moistly against Seven's leg. "Right now, I intend to make slow, passionate love to you. Then, after brunch, we could rent a hovercraft and drive up to the wine country. My collection is in dire need of being replenished, and I was thinking we could have a picnic in the afternoon."

The Borg smiled. "Acceptable," she said, tingles of pleasure rushing through her. "It has been a long time since our last picnic."

Janeway smiled at her blissfully. "Now, about that lovemaking..."

A few hours later, Seven raised her head, the breeze whipping through her long, blonde hair as the hovercraft swooped through the rolling hills and valleys covered with a multitude of grape vines. Beside her, Janeway skillfully powered the vehicle along the dirt lane which was bisected by a grassy turf. In the rear seat, Jake stuck his head up and eagerly leaned into the wind, his long ears flapping, his jaws parted in a happy grin.

"They run horse-drawn wagons along here," Janeway explained. "That's why those ruts formed."

"Horses," Seven repeated. "Quadrupeds, equine ... Icheb has one which he 'rides'. Do you ride, Kathryn?"

Janeway grinned crookedly and glanced over at her. "I'm not really fond of animals bigger than I am. When we visit Chakotay, you're on your own with any equestrian endeavors."

"I understand, Kathryn," the Borg said, smiling as she looked out over the beautiful valley while Janeway brought the hovercraft to a stop near a small stand of trees.

The couple retrieved a blanket and large picnic basket from the rear compartment, where Janeway also selected a wine from the various bottles they had purchased at a small, but highly respected vinery located not far from where they had turned off a larger dirt road. As Jake ranged around this new, and therefore, fascinating area, Seven spread the blanket out beneath the pleasant shade of a tree, then sat crosslegged on it and looked out of the sweeping green hills, inhaling the fresh full air with a deep appreciation before regarding her partner happily. The captain caught her eye and smiled as she settled next to her.

"One advantage of administrative positions, darling," Janeway allowed as she opened the basket and began to distribute the containers of food. "We'll be able to share regular time off every week to explore all the spectacular places on the planet."

Seven nodded. "I will admit, Kathryn, Earth holds a unique attraction," she allowed. "I better understand your obsession with returning to it."

Janeway flashed her a smile. "I knew once I had you here, you'd feel the way I do," she said. She spread some fragrant cheese on a freshly baked roll, all purchased at various farms along the way, and handed it to her spouse. "Here, love. Try this."

Seven tried the roll, the warm bread and zesty cheese making a wonderful combination, then another. There were so many new and different types of food for her to try since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, and these had been prepared in the old-fashioned way, making each flavor unique, far better than any soy-based replicated versions found in the city.

"Kathryn, why have the inhabitants of the core systems moved away from natural flavors and textures?" she asked as she savored a meat-stuffed wrap.

Janeway shrugged. "Most people actually prefer the replicator, Annika," she allowed. "They consider these flavors too strong and overpowering to enjoy. Others have a moral objection to consuming animal-based byproducts when a perfectly acceptable simulation is available. Then, there are just those who never dare to try new things and thus, never know what they're missing."

Seven dipped her head, thinking about her partner's words. "I am grateful that you introduced me to this, Kathryn," she said. "I would never have attempted such consumption of organic materials on my own. Before you, I considered nutritional supplements to be nothing more than a necessary requirement to function. Now I am grateful for the joy I find in experiencing such things."

Janeway smiled, reaching over to draw her fingertips fleetingly along Seven's cheek. "Providing you with joy is my highest aspiration," she said wistfully.

Seven captured the captain's hand and kissed the palm lightly, her eyes meeting Janeway's with warm regard. Janeway's smile widened, her gaze turning a brilliant blue, then she retrieved her hand from her spouse and poured them both another glass of wine.

After they had finished the rest of their meal and packed away the emptied containers into the picnic basket, Seven leaned against the trunk of the tree, Janeway's head resting on her lap as they took the time to enjoy the lovely view. Nearby, Jake stretched out on his side in the sunshine, happily snoozing off a meal which had included not only his ration of food, but several tidbits offered by his mistresses. The Borg drew her fingers lovingly through the captain's auburn mane, her head tilted as she gazed down at her, feeling a bubble of sheer joy expand within her.

"It's just not the same as a holodeck, is it," Janeway said softly, knowingly, as she relaxed on the blanket, looking up at her spouse. "Nor the arboretum on Voyager."

"No," Seven agreed. "It is not. This is wonderful, Kathryn." She paused. "Does this mean you have no desire to return to space?"

Janeway chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far," she said. "The stars have their own form of beauty and appeal, but I think that being able to appreciate both is a gift not offered to many people. I'm an extraordinarily fortunate woman in so many ways, Annika ... not the least of which is being with you."

Seven bent down and kissed her forehead. "I am the fortunate one," she whispered.

They spent the rest of the afternoon lazily enjoying themselves beneath the spreading shade of the tree, then reluctantly packed up the hovercraft. Janeway plotted a longer route back to San Francisco, one which took them along the California shore, and Seven was witness to a spectacular sunset over the sparkling Pacific Ocean, completely enchanting the Borg who filed the vision away in her eidetic memory as one to cherish for the rest of her life.

If clouds lay in their future, now was not the time to worry about them.

Epilogue

"So you're a hologram?"

The Doctor regarded the diminutive woman warily, no longer sure this was a good idea, but Seven of Nine had personally recommended her, and at the moment, he didn't have a whole lot of options.

"I am an Emergency Medical Hologram," he explained stiffly. "However, I have been constantly activated for over seven years, transcending my program to reach a level of sentience."

"Says you," Samantha Cogley said, leaning back in her chair. Her office was much like her, small, reserved, filled with sharp objects that concealed themselves until one ran directly into them.

"Says the official logs of Voyager that Captain Janeway transmitted to Starfleet," he responded acerbically.

"Yeah?" Sam responded, raising an eyebrow. She had her hands linked behind her head, her feet propped casually up on her scarred and ancient desk. Books, an archaism in this age of padds and computer access, were scattered over a set of shelves behind her, and above that, a dust-streaked window looked out over the stark skyline of New York city. "So the captain would testify to your sentience in a court of law?"

"I am sure she would," he told her.

"I don't need you to be sure, I need you to be positive," Sam said. "Though, frankly, I don't really see any advantages in accepting this case. What would be in it for me? Holographic credits?"

He frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. "I have associates who would be willing to pay your fee, as well as my own funds. What are you, of Ferengi extraction?"

She grinned at him, showing small, even, white teeth. "Who I am is someone who's learned to get the credits up front, especially if I'm preparing to tilt at windmills. This case could take months, just in the preparation work."

"This could be a case that will go down in the annals of Federation history," he said. When she remained spectacularly unmoved at that, his shoulders slumped in surrender. "You're my only hope," he admitted softly.

Sam regarded him evenly for a moment, then inhaled almost wistfully. "Just the concept of sentient holograms is going to make a lot of people, particularly those in the holo-programming business, very nervous. It'll also make a lot of people rethink what they know about sentience and life forms ... not to mention how they use their holo-toys. People don't like it when their nice, comfortable worlds are shaken up."

The Doctor shook his head. "I don't care about what people think," he said, wishing he did not sound so desperate. His time was running out, however. Already, Starfleet Medical had made several requests to have his program transferred to their facilities, and Dr. Zimmerman was running out of excuses to delay transmitting it. "I just want my freedom."

She tilted her head. "Now that I can work with," she said finally. "Come here tomorrow with a credit chip for my retainer, and I'll take your case. God knows it won't be the first time I've taken a shot at the stuffed shirts at Starfleet Command." She grinned suddenly. "In fact, this one might be a little more fun considering the last case I tossed at them turned out to be disappointingly routine."

"If you lose, it will be more than merely disappointing for me," the EMH said grimly.

"It could mean my very existence!"

The End

•  This is the 46th installment in the Just Between Series.

•  It was posted on December 1st, 2000.

•  This begins the final arc of 'season five'.  It will have a more 'to be continued' feel than I generally have for my stories, but hopefully it'll all come together by the end.

•  This final arc is dedicated to my beta readers that helped me thrash out this storyline; Susan, Marco, Elisa, Helen and a special mention to Dru who helped me clean up some things along the way.

Just Between Influences
G. L. Dartt

The door to the office slid open, and the dark-haired woman glanced up to see the Doctor enter her office, his expression one of vague impatience and annoyance. However, since that seemed to be the hologram's permanently programmed expression, Samantha didn't take it too seriously. Instead, she put down the padd she had been perusing, and leaned back in the dark leather chair that used to belong to her great-grandfather, the infamous Samuel T. Cogley, Attorney-at-Law.

"Well, you're punctual, I'll give you that," she said, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him. "Come in, Doctor. Have a seat ... you are allowed on chairs, aren't you?" He hadn't sat down the last time he'd been in her office, spending all his time pacing and waving his arms as he told her all about the perfidy of Starfleet Medical, and she was suddenly struck by the thought that perhaps his programming didn't allow for something like sitting.

This was the first time that she had found herself defending a hologram, an EMH program that had once been standard issue on Starfleet vessels, and the more she knew about him, the better prepared she would be. It would certainly be an interesting case. Holograms, in the 24th Century, were not considered viable lifeforms anywhere within the Federation of Planets, which would make this a precedent setting case, and could possibly establish her as one of the best in the legal profession for the rest of her career ... assuming she won, of course.

He looked offended, which seemed to be his other main facial expression. "Of course, I'm allowed on the furniture," he said acerbically. "I'm a hologram, not a dog."

"Just checking," she said cheerfully.

He exhaled audibly as he took his seat and glared at her from beneath shaggy dark brows, his eyes deeply penetrating. "I'm developing the impression that you don't believe I'm sentient," he said.

She shrugged. "It's not important what I believe," she told him honestly. "It's what I have to make the judiciary council believe."

He suddenly looked bewildered, and she filed that away as a new expression that she would suggest he use whenever he could throughout the trial. It made him look ... well, Human, and the perception of the individuals on the Starfleet board could hold a significant amount of sway in the final outcome of the upcoming hearing.

"If you don't believe I'm sentient, how can you prove it under the law?" he asked in a baffled tone.

She passed over the padd. "Thanks to Captain Janeway, and her little report declaring your sentience, I may not have to. It wasn't a particularly well thought out legal document, which is why we're headed for this hearing, but it was initially accepted by Starfleet on an official basis in your specific case, which will give us a bit of an advantage going in. It falls on opposing counsel to disprove your sentience ... and fortunately, disproving something is always more difficult than proving it, particularly when reasonable doubt is involved."

"Could they prove it, however?" he asked worriedly.

She smiled. "They must think they can or they would have settled it before now," she said. She paused. "Tell me, Doctor, it's my understanding that after Voyager returned from the Delta Quadrant, Starfleet immediately accorded all the crewmembers seven years of back credit. Did that include you?"

He frowned. "There was an account set up for me with the Federation's bank, but they didn't continue to deposit credits after the initial settlement." He shrugged. "Of course, I have no need of credit. It's not as if I eat or sleep." He lifted his left arm slightly to display the small device strapped to it. "When I shut down my program for regular periods of maintenance and recharging, I don't really require much energy, only what my mobile emitter demands to maintain its power levels, and it can actually draw that from solar emissions."

"I see," she said, filing that away. Starfleet Medical, who was the plaintiff in this case, would probably contend that since the hologram's continued existence depended on a mechanical device to sustain his matrix, he was therefore not a viable lifeform. Fortunately, she could counter that by pointing out the various citizens of the Federation who were walking around with artificial organs in their bodies, without which, they would have quickly died.

"But they did set up the account for you, just the same as they did for ... say, the Maquis," she continued, getting back to her initial point.

"Yes," he replied. "Is that important?"

"It indicates that Starfleet Operations considered you a full member of Voyager's crew, and only changed their minds after Starfleet Medical got to them," Sam said. "Is the account still open?"

"Yes," the Doctor said. "I haven't spent any of the initial funds, and Dr. Zimmerman has also been transferring credits as payment for my assistance in his holographic research. I didn't want to accept, but he insisted he needed to do it for the sake of his own paperwork."

Sam smiled. Good old Dr. Zimmerman. The programmer of the EMH was obviously very interested in his creation, and making her job a little easier. She had met the man several times in his lab on Jupiter Station during her preliminary research into the case, deciding that he was a completely lecherous reprobate, but that he was also doing his best to protect his 'offspring'. Certainly, it was his loudly stated belief that Starfleet Medical was attempting to destroy his 'creation', and had offered several reasons why. Since he was the one paying the bills, not letting the Doctor touch his own funds, it was incumbent upon her to listen to him.

"That also works to our advantage," she advised. "It means that whatever Starfleet and others might believe, the Federation Bank of Commerce obviously considers you a sentient enough lifeform to utilize their institution."

He blinked. "I didn't think of that," he admitted.

"You'd better start," she said sternly. "We'll need every scrap of evidence we can muster to counter whatever the opposing counsel puts forward. Everyone's in agreement that you're a hologram. What's at stake here is: have you developed sentience, and what rights must be accorded to you in that event? Or are you just a complicated computer program that's gotten a bit out of hand?"

"I don't understand why Starfleet Medical is doing this," he said, sounding wounded.

She raised a thin eyebrow. "Your ... sponsor ... thinks it's obvious," she said. "Dr. Zimmerman believes that they consider you a threat to their branch of Starfleet Command."

He blinked. "In what way?"

"You've served as the Chief Medical Officer on a starship for several years," Sam pointed out patiently. "Quite successfully, I might add."

"Shouldn't that please them?" he said. "They were the ones who implemented the project of the EMH in the first place."

"Not when your success indicates that your type of program could easily replace the medical staff on other ships," Sam reminded him. "No one likes to think they can be replaced by a technological construct. They appear to be afraid that Starfleet will start using holograms to replace all their medical staff, and it's only a short leap in logic from that, to assuming civilian medical facilities would start doing the same. Why take the time and expense to train someone to do it when a facility can purchase a hologram which will perform just as well? Not to mention the fact that such a device would never have to go off duty, would never tire, and would never need to be paid a salary. It's not just Starfleet you threaten, but possibly the Federation's entire medical profession. The FMA is not prepared to let that happen."

The Doctor paused, frowning with frustration. "But it isn't like that," he protested. "I wasn't designed to replace the medical staff on a starship, I was only a supplement. What happened to me was purely accidental, as a result of being continually activated for seven years."

"Exactly," Sam agreed. "That's the irony here. Yours is a unique situation, a combination of many events and incidents which occurred over the course of seven years ... circumstances that would be practically impossible to reproduce. Starfleet Medical is actually their own worst enemy at this point. If they had just recognized that it was in their best interest to accord you ... as an individual ... sentient status, and leave the whole hologram question alone, this wouldn't be turning into what it's turning into. According to Dr. Zimmerman, they apparently want to get rid of the problem altogether, and to do that, they need you to be officially declared Starfleet property, which allows them to do whatever they want with you."

"Can't we explain that to them?" he asked.

"Believe me, I've tried," Sam said, sighing slightly. "Unfortunately, their attorneys seem stuck on the whole 'holograms can't be real people' issue. Starfleet Medical is running scared, and scared people are stupid people ... who do stupid things, like build this into a huge sentience rights case. The holographic industry, meanwhile, has gotten involved as 'observers', and while they would love for me to prove that you could competently replace doctors ... or whatever ... because it would mean an increase of business for them in fields that they didn't really exploit before, they don't want me to prove that you're actually a sentient being. That would mean significant changes in how the holographic entertainment industry does business ... particularly when it comes to the intricacies of their programming. Believe me, the Sentient Being Advocacy is keeping a close eye on this one."

"Why?" he asked blankly, looking somewhat confused at this point.

"I told them to," she remarked brightly. She inhaled and leaned forward, linking her fingers and resting them on the desk. "Tell me, Doctor, do you believe you were sentient when you were first activated for duty on Voyager?"

The Doctor looked thoughtful. Another good expression, Sam thought. He really was quite ... accurate in his mannerisms, far more than the android who had won his rights as a sentient being several years earlier. Sam had been only a teenager then, but she had studied the case extensively, intending to use it as precedent in this hearing. Lt. Commander Data, along with other crewmembers of the USS Enterprise who had once served with the Doctor, were on their way back to Earth to serve as witnesses during the hearing. She made a note in her padd to contact the android as soon as he landed to prepare his testimony.

"I don't think so," the Doctor admitted finally. "But then, I'm not sure when the awareness came to me that I was more than just a program." He looked stricken. "I'm sorry."

"No, that's fine," she said, reaching over to pat him on the hand, not even aware that was what she was doing. "Actually, it's better for it to have been a gradual process, than if there was one significant moment in your existence that you could point to and say, 'that's when I became sentient'. That would allow the opposing counsel to concentrate on it in order to discredit it. It will be far more difficult for them to prove that you didn't achieve sentience as a result of several varied influences over the course of time."

He looked considerably cheered by that, and she discovered she was somewhat pleased she was able to offer him encouragement. Perhaps he was right, she decided. Perhaps it was important that she herself believe that he was sentient.

"What if the burden somehow falls on you?" he asked suddenly.

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?" she responded.

"You keep saying that it's up to them to prove holograms can't be sentient," he said. "What if you're wrong, and the declaration of the captain's is dismissed as inadmissable? What if you then have to prove that holograms can be sentient?"

She exhaled slowly. "That's not my job," she told him in a reasonable tone. "Doctor, let's make one thing perfectly clear here; we don't want to prove that holograms can be sentient ... that's irrelevant. We're going to prove that you became sentient. Don't confuse the issue here ... that's what Starfleet Medical and the holographic industry is doing. We have to show them that regardless of what other holograms may or may not be capable of, you are a fully sentient being, an individual who must have the same rights as any other Federation citizen, including the right to practice medicine as you are qualified to do."

"If any other hologram wants me to prove their sentience, they can damned well come up with the credits and hire me themselves."

Seven of Nine opened her eyes, wondering why the computer had not announced the time to begin her morning, then remembered with a deep pleasure that this was 'Saturday', the beginning of her 'weekend'. It had not taken many months for the young woman to grasp the concept of the 'weekend', even though she had spent most of her life, from the age of six, as a drone in the Borg Collective where such things were unknown. Even while on the starship Voyager, lost in the Delta Quadrant for seven years, Seven had rarely spent two off-duty days in a row, and certainly not on the regular basis she was experiencing now.

Shortly after returning to the Alpha Quadrant, Seven had accepted an assignment as an alternative propulsion specialist with the Theoretical Propulsion Group, working in their facility based on Mars, close to the primary colony on the red planet. Working with the many enthusiastic and energetic scientists in the group, who were more than a match for the young woman's brilliance and focus, Seven found herself inspired to imitate their dedication as they pursued theoretical breakthroughs in transwarp and subspace research. It was an unusual evening when the young woman was able to make it home before 10:00, inevitably missing dinner, and often having to go straight to bed, rising the next morning eager to tackle her next project. She had never been so intellectually challenged or stimulated before, and she had discovered she loved it intensely ... almost as much as she loved her spouse.

Of course, Seven's spouse, Kathryn Janeway, would have undoubtedly been outraged by the Borg's regular absences through the week, were it not for the fact that the older woman was also working long hours in her new position as commander of the Utopia Planitia shipyards, an interim tour of duty while Janeway awaited the preparation of her next command, the Frontier-class USS Millennium. Janeway was taking a very special interest in every detail of the new vessel, and as a result, she was as consumed by her new job as Seven was with hers. It was not uncommon for the two women to avoid speaking beyond the most superficial pleasantries throughout the week as they encountered each other only in the early mornings and late in the evenings.

But on the weekends ... that was when both women did their best to catch up and be a couple again.

Seven sighed softly, feeling the soothing warmth of her partner wrapped around her from behind, the pair tucked cozily into the center of their large bed. The soft rush of Janeway's breath whispered warm over the back of the young woman's neck, and the captain's arm was draped heavily over Seven's torso, their legs entangled pleasantly.

Hearing the soft rumble of Janeway's elegant snores against her spine, Seven closed her eyes, suspecting that her partner would be asleep for awhile. As the Borg lay there in languid contentment, she wondered how they would spend the upcoming two days. Perhaps they would visit Indiana where Kathryn's mother and sister lived, reaffirming family ties that also included Seven in their warmth and strength ... or perhaps they would utilize the large public transporters, and explore another part of the captain's homeworld, one that the Borg had yet to see, and that Janeway believed would benefit the young woman, such as the Pyramids of Giza or the Great Wall of China. Of course, there was always the opportunity to remain in San Francisco, enjoying each other's company within the sheltered confines of their cozy home, making love for hours on end, or walking around the city as they spent quality time with their dog. The contemplation of all these wonderful possibilities caused Seven to slide back into a state of warm drowsiness, smiling faintly as she drifted back to sleep.

Roused by the stirring of her partner some undetermined time later, Seven opened her eyes. "Kathryn?" she whispered, in a barely audible voice.

"Hmm," came the sleepy mumble from behind her, the captain tightening her embrace, pressing against Seven's back.

"Are you awake?"

"Barely," came the throaty mutter.

Seven smiled, and rolled over as Janeway shifted, easing the young woman's passage. As soon as the Borg was settled, the captain snuggled up against her side, resting her head on Seven's left shoulder. Wrapping her arm snugly about the captain's body, Seven pulled her closer, resting her cheek against the rich auburn hair.

"I love waking up next to you," the captain murmured.

Seven brushed her lips over the smooth forehead. "Not as much as I love waking up with you," she told her quietly.

Janeway smiled, pleased, and placed her palm on the young woman's chest, where the Borg's heart beat in steady rhythm. "What would you like to do today?" she asked softly, pressing her face into Seven's neck, kissing it gently.

"We have many options," Seven allowed, lifting her head as she felt the tender lips trail over her throat. "However, one apparently has priority in your mind at the moment."

"Oh, but we can make love any time, darling," Janeway offered teasingly, though she did not stop her gentle nuzzling of the Borg's soft skin.

"Not any time," Seven pointed out, inhaling slowly as she thought about it. "We have not made love since last weekend."

"So we haven't," Janeway replied, a hint of surprise in her tone. Seven was not sure if it was sincere or not. "We'll have to remedy that oversight immediately."

"Kathryn, are we working too hard?"

The question made the amorous captain stop her caresses, and she rose up on her elbow so she could look down at her partner. Curiously, Seven studied the bluish-grey eyes, soft in the early morning illumination.

"Do you think we are?" Janeway asked reasonably.

Seven exhaled. "When I am at the TPG facility, I do not notice the time passing by," she explained, trying to put her concerns into a comprehensive form so that there would be no confusion or misunderstanding. "I truly enjoy what I am doing, and even when I do not return home until very late, I am always enthusiastic about what I will be doing the next day. However, I am trying to remember if we have had the chance to speak of anything significant to each other since last Sunday evening, and I cannot. Therefore, I must conclude that we are not able to share important moments throughout the week ... only on the weekend."

Janeway raised an eyebrow, her face thoughtful as she considered that. "I see. This disturbs you?" she asked.

"I am not sure," Seven said. She paused. "Kathryn, you told me that one of the things your mother most regrets in her relationship with your father is that they let time slip away from them. Is it possible that we are doing the same thing?"

"We make plenty of time for each other every weekend, darling," Janeway pointed out. "I haven't felt neglected ... have you?"

"No, but while the weekends are sufficient for us, they are not sufficient for everything," Seven pointed out. "We barely have time to attend to Jake's requirements."

She thought about the couple's pet Irish Setter, and realized that she was perhaps being generous regarding the attention they had accorded him lately. Taking Jake on their early morning runs every morning was usually the only time spent with him throughout the week. Concerned, Seven reached up and touched the captain's cheek lightly with her fingertips, her brow furrowed as she considered the routine they had slipped into since accepting their new positions.

"We certainly do not have time for children," Seven concluded.

Janeway's expression turned serious as she pulled away from her partner and sat up, apparently realizing this could be a lengthy discussion. Fluffing up the pillows, she stacked them at the head of the bed so she could lean back against them. Seven followed suit, folding her hands neatly on her lap on top of the blanket as she regarded her partner.

"We did agree that this time on Earth was going to be about starting our family," Janeway said somberly, as she gave this problem her full attention. "There's no question that we'll have to lighten our schedule a great deal to carry that out. I'm starting to slow down at the shipyards, so I could probably become pregnant immediately ... and by the time I become clumsy, I'll have things completely under control with my preparation for assuming command of the Millennium."

Seven frowned. "Actually, Kathryn," she began, then trailed off uncertainly. She found the next words difficult to say, and discovered herself staring at her hands. "I find I have less ... need for children in my life at the moment. I no longer feel the same about extending our family unit as I did while on Voyager."

She realized she had surprised Janeway profoundly, but then, she had surprised herself over the past few days as she came to the realization that perhaps she was not ready for children, or even for Janeway to become pregnant. An event of such magnitude would require a great deal of her attention ... attention that she was simply not prepared to grant during this new and exciting stage of her life.

"I ... see," Janeway said finally, after a stunned silence. "Have you been thinking about this long?"

"For the past week," Seven admitted. She hesitated, then added in a rush, "I enjoy my duties at the TPG, Kathryn, in a way that I did not while serving on Voyager. They are intriguing and exciting to me in so many ways, and there is so much for me to learn from the people I work with. I wish to explore this new challenge fully, but I cannot if we are preparing to start a family."

Janeway regarded her. "You're right," she agreed slowly, her face thoughtful. "When you do something, darling, you put your whole focus on it, and while you might be able to find room in your life for your duties and me at the moment ... you probably can't find room for your duties, me and babies. Something would have to give, and it would probably be your position with the TPG. My duties at Utopia Planitia offer far more allowance for family. Now that I have things running the way I want, the number of hours I'm working during the week have started to decrease dramatically. The TPG, in contrast, are constantly going ahead with new projects involving time and space, each one presenting a different challenge to the abilities of the scientists stationed there. That's what makes the TPG one of the finer scientific facilities in the Federation, not merely a warp propulsion lab."

Seven felt extremely distressed. "Is this wrong, Kathryn?" she asked helplessly. "I do not understand why I no longer desire offspring..."

Janeway reached over and took the Borg's hand, holding it tightly. "It's all right, Annika," she soothed. "You're only 26 years old, and for the first time in your life, you're making your own way professionally, as well as adapting to Federation society. It's a wonderful, exciting time for you, and suddenly, you're being fulfilled in ways that you hadn't expected. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. There are a lot of things in your life that you haven't had the chance to experience until now, and it's perfectly understandable that you would want to explore them fully before occupying yourself with a family."

"But, Kathryn, this may be our only opportunity..." Seven began.

"Not at all," Janeway said firmly. She paused. "Darling, I can have children any time, and the Millennium is designed for families of all types, which is part of the reason I accepted it. Or, if you feel that you want to stay with the TPG longer than we initially anticipated, then I'm fully prepared to ask for Voyager back. Staying in the Federation, and taking on Scout-type missions, should keep me close to home ... assuming I don't get lost in the Delta Quadrant, again." She said this last with gentle good humor, obviously wanting to ease her partner's distress.

Seven offered a look of mingled tenderness and gratitude to her spouse. She knew how pleased and flattered Janeway had been by being offered Starfleet's prized vessel, truly excited about the chance to command it; yet, without so much as a flicker in expression, the captain was prepared to discard the opportunity, simply for the Borg's benefit. Bringing Janeway's hand up to her lips, Seven kissed the inside of her wrist gently.

"I will not let you give up the Millennium," she promised softly, then paused, thinking about it. "Are you certain, Kathryn?" she added soberly. "I know you also want children..."

"I want us to start a family when we're both ready to have children," the captain said firmly. "Annika..." She began, stopped, searching for the words. "Darling, you need this time to discover all the things about yourself that you need to discover. Ignoring that for the sake of starting a family wouldn't be fair to you, and it certainly wouldn't be fair to any children we might have. You can't jump into parenthood before you're ready, even if you thought you might have been before. There's no law against changing your mind, particularly if you've discovered new influences on your life." She raised an eyebrow, a small curve edging the corner of her mouth. "You know, I think maybe I saw this coming."

"You did?" Seven said, highly skeptical.

Janeway held her gaze, then grinned slightly and looked away. "Well, maybe not about the children exactly," she admitted, "but I did know you would have many opportunities to grow as an individual once we returned." She settled back against the pillows and exhaled audibly. "Darling, on Voyager, you were somewhat limited in how you could apply your vast abilities, so perhaps you were searching for fulfillment in other ways, which having children would have granted. However, now that we're back in the Alpha Quadrant, there are just so many avenues opening up for you, so many things that you can experience as a scientist and a Starfleet officer ... it's natural for you to want to try those things first. Believe me, our having a family will happen in its own way and in its own time."

"I thought you said it was important to plan these things," Seven reminded her.

"We are planning these things," Janeway pointed out dryly. "Right now, we're planning to wait a little longer."

"Yes, we are," Seven allowed, swallowing hard against the emotion suddenly filling her throat. She leaned over and rested her head on the captain's shoulder. "Thank you, Kathryn."

She felt Janeway's arm wrap around her shoulders warmly, the captain's lips brushing over the top of her head. "For what?"

"For understanding," Seven replied softly. "Even when I do not entirely understand myself."

"I just want you to be happy, love," Janeway murmured. "Believe me, bringing children into our lives is a big step, and if you're not sure that this is the right time, then you're very wise to acknowledge your doubts and share them with me."

"I do not feel wise," Seven muttered, hugging Janeway tightly.

"Perhaps not," Janeway allowed softly. "But trust me, you are." She paused, kissing the young woman again. "So, that's one significant discussion out of the way, and we haven't even had breakfast yet. I think we're managing quite well for only having the weekends to do this sort of thing. Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"I do not believe so," Seven responded, smiling faintly. She lifted her head. "I will point out, however, that the 'significant discussion' interrupted something else which we only seem to have time for on the weekend."

Janeway smiled. "Hmm, I believe you're right," she said, bending closer to brush her lips over Seven's, kissing her sweetly. "Thank you for pointing that out."

"Now you're being very wise."

Two weekends after her discussion with Seven over the possibility of their having children ... or not, in this case ... Janeway pried the stick out of Jake's mouth, as they wrestled around on the grass, and considered the fact that her partner had been absolutely correct over how busy their lives had become since returning to Earth. The past months had gone by almost without the captain noticing, and it shocked her to realize that she couldn't remember the last time she had played 'fetch' with her dog. She grunted in triumph when she finally freed the branch from the playful animal's jaws, and promptly flung it across the length of the backyard, directly into the hedges lining the tall, redwood fence. Delighted, the Irish Setter sprang to his feet and dashed across the lawn to nose anxiously about the thick bushes, looking for the prize so he could carry it back to his mistress.

It was bad enough that they ignored their pet this way, Janeway thought sadly. It would be completely unacceptable to consider treating a child in a similar fashion. It was a relief that Seven had brought it up before the captain had to ... or worse, if they had gone ahead with Janeway's pregnancy, determined to do everything according to 'plan' only to discover, after the fact, that it wasn't the right time after all.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway lifted her head, looking over at her partner who was pulling the barbeque out onto the back deck. Grilling outside was a new form of cooking for the young woman, and she had taken to it with ease, the couple preparing and eating their meals outside whenever the weather was pleasant. This Saturday afternoon in San Francisco was absolutely beautiful, and so was the vision of the captain's spouse. Seven was dressed in a t-shirt that enhanced, rather than obscured her chest, and a pair of shorts that showed off the entire length of her golden legs. Her blonde hair was almost white in the sunshine, and the ice-blue eyes were brilliant as she concentrated on her task.

"Yes, love?" Janeway responded, immediately heading for the deck. She gestured for Jake to follow her, and leaving the stick where it was for the moment, he accompanied her back to the house. "Isn't it a little early to start supper?"

"Ro and B'Elanna are coming for dinner this evening," Seven responded. "I wish to make preparations now so that I will have time to visit with them before I begin to cook." She paused, then offered her partner a bashful look. "They will be here, shortly."

"I know," Janeway said, regarding her partner curiously. Obviously, there was something else going on here that Seven didn't think Janeway knew about. Looking through the open french doors into the dining area, the captain checked the chronometer on the same antique grandfather clock which had been in her quarters on Voyager. "You sound as if you're not looking forward to it."

"Kathryn," Seven said, her voice dropping to a subdued tone, "they may be bringing something with them."

"Like what?"

"I do not wish for you to feel bad," the Borg said, her pale eyes full of concern for her spouse.

That made Janeway raise an eyebrow. "Why would their coming to dinner make me feel bad?" she asked, hooking a leash on Jake's collar and securing him to the deck railing.

"I thought initially that you were 'pretending' not to remember," Seven said in a low voice. "But now, I do not believe you actually do."

"Remember what?" Janeway demanded. "What are B'Elanna and Ro bringing that would make me feel bad?"

Seven lifted her eyes, looking vaguely stricken. "Birthday gifts."

The time may have gone by without her noticing, Janeway thought idly, but Seven always knew when the date was.

"Oh, my god," she said in a weak voice. "Annika, it isn't..."

Seven bit her lower lip. "Actually, it is," she said. "B'Elanna and Ro said they would stop by tonight to help me celebrate." She paused, looking very unhappy. "I did not wish for you to be unpleasantly surprised."

Janeway crossed her arms over her chest, looking grim. "Well, we certainly couldn't have that, could we," she said sarcastically. "My god, I shouldn't feel bad that it's your birthday and I forgot all about it, should I?"

Seven flinched. "Kathryn, it is all right," she insisted, opening the lid of the grill.

Janeway tilted her head, checking the time once more. "I'm sure it is," she said in a much gentler tone.

Throughout the yard, people abruptly began to materialize, the hum of multiple transporter signals filling the air while Seven turned around in shock and Jake, tied securely to the railing so he wouldn't get in the way, began to bark loudly.

The sparkles faded to reveal Seven's mother-in-law, all the people who had served closely with the Borg on Voyager who could make it to this particular event, as well as all the new friends working with her at the TPG. Most of them were bearing brightly wrapped gifts, and they looked around in that brief instant of disorientation after transport, checking their bearings, before shouting "Surprise!" loudly to the astounded Borg standing on the deck.

Seven's eyes were so wide they seemed to fill half her face as she stared disbelievingly at all her friends, then at her spouse, her mouth working but very little sound coming out of it. Janeway could not remember ever surprising her partner so completely before, and she filed the moment away as something to cherish for the rest of her life.

"Honestly, darling," Janeway said with a certain amount of satisfaction, "did you really think I would forget four years in a row? Three times was bad enough, even considering the fact how busy we were last year preparing the slipstream drive, but four would have required me to find the nearest bridge and jump off it."

"I do not understand," Seven said, finally finding her voice again.

Janeway heard the sound of the doorbell, and she flashed a grin at her completely astounded partner. "That must be B'Elanna and Ro," she said cheerfully, shooting a look at her mother, who was the first onto the deck to greet Seven. "I'll get it. Don't forget to let Jake loose."

Leaving Gretchen, along with Chakotay and Leah Brahms, to explain how Janeway had arranged the entire surprise party, including having to receive clearance with the city of San Francisco and Starfleet transport operations for a mass site-to-site transport to a private backyard, the captain went to answer the front door. B'Elanna Torres grinned at her, while Ro Laren looked slightly embarrassed as Janeway frowned at them both.

"You're late," she said with a touch of exasperation. "You were supposed to help me keep Seven distracted this afternoon."

"My fault, Captain," B'Elanna said, as the couple brushed past Janeway, carrying a large, flat package. "We needed to pick this up before we came here, and when it didn't arrive when it was supposed to at the transport station, I insisted they track it down for me. That took longer than I thought it would."

"Dare I ask?" Janeway queried, regarding the huge gift warily. She remembered the last present the couple had given Seven and the captain for their anniversary, and wondered if she should make a point to have her partner open it in private, rather than in front of her guests. The odds that it was an exceedingly personal type of gift were very high.

"You'll have to wait until Seven opens it," the Klingon remarked. She and her lover sat the package carefully on the sofa, then the Klingon turned to regard Janeway. "Was she surprised?"

"Absolutely," Janeway said, pleased. "You should have seen her face."

B'Elanna exhaled audibly. "I wish I had," she said, voice tinged with regret.

The doorbell rang again, and as Janeway went to answer it, B'Elanna and Ro drifted out to the backyard where the party was rapidly developing into quite a noisy affair. Someone must have found the house entertainment controls because music was now reverberating from behind her, and the captain hoped their neighbors were the understanding type.

"Set up on the deck," the captain instructed the caterers from a local restaurant which specialized in small outdoor parties. "Use the side gate. This includes a wet-bar, correct?"

"Yes, Captain Janeway," the head caterer promised, as she showed him the yard entrance where he and his assistants could carry their supplies from their hovercraft to the patio, rather than have to tramp through the house. She scooted back inside and ran upstairs to the closet to retrieve the gift she had been saving for almost a month, digging it out of the most inaccessible part of the lower drawer. As she descended from the loft, she was startled to discover her partner waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

"You're missing your party," the captain told Seven, smiling.

The Borg didn't say anything. She just wrapped her partner up in her arms and kissed her until the captain was lightheaded, and couldn't quite feel her feet anymore. For long moments after Seven had finally released her and returned to her party outside, Janeway stood swaying slightly, her eyes closed and a silly smile on her face as she tried to locate the floor beneath her, hanging onto the bannister for support.

"Kathryn?"

The captain opened her eyes to find her mother staring at her, the brilliant blue eyes greatly amused. Taller than her daughter, the older woman had a shock of snow-white hair framing classic features that Janeway had inherited, particularly around the cheekbones and mouth.

"Are you all right?" Gretchen asked, looking tremendously impressed. "That was one hell of a kiss."

"It was, wasn't it?" Janeway agreed happily, still feeling a trifle dizzy. "I think she's pleased by the surprise party."

"I would say so," Gretchen said. "You know, I used to think it was primarily an intellectual attraction between you two, but now I see what really keeps you coming back."

"Mother!"

Gretchen started to laugh as she took her daughter's arm. "Sometimes, you're a very easy mark, Kathryn," she said.

"Now, I know where Phoebe developed her horrid sense of humor," the captain grumbled with mock severity, which only caused her mother to laugh again as they went outside. "It's just as well she couldn't make it, or I'd have both of you to contend with."

"Oh, she wanted to," Gretchen said. "She just couldn't get away from her meeting with the curators at the Louvre in Paris. She sent along a card, however, with a promise to get together with Seven next weekend for a special belated birthday dinner in Rome."

"Seven will love that," Janeway said idly as she checked on how things were progressing in the back yard. The caterers had set up at one end of the deck, Ro supervising the proceedings as Janeway had expected she would. Over the past few months, the Bajoran had turned into an extremely adept adjunct, seeming to know what Janeway required before the captain did, and it was entirely possible that Ro was finding her command training to be more useful than she had initially expected.

The sound of the second chime at the front door surprised Janeway, since the captain had thought that everyone who was invited to the party had already arrived. Leaving her gift on the picnic table with all the others, Janeway made another trip through the house to the front door. She was astonished to discover her superior officer, Admiral Nechayev, standing in the entrance, the diminutive, Slavic blonde, dressed in civilian clothes, and holding a gaily wrapped package.

"Kathryn, I understand the B... your spouse is having a birthday today," she said stiffly, obviously uncomfortable, but trying hard not to show it. "I thought I'd drop this by."

Janeway blinked. "That's wonderful," she said. "Come on in. We're having a party in the backyard."

Nechayev shook her head. "Thank you, no," she demurred. "I need to return home."

Janeway eyed her judiciously, recognizing that this was an instance where a certain amount of persuasion was required. "Don't be silly," she said, taking Nechayev's arm firmly and drawing her into the house. "Seven will be so pleased you stopped by."

This, of course, was an out-and-out lie, since Seven held the same sort of antipathy for the admiral as Nechayev had for the Borg, barely civil to each other the few times they had encountered each other. However, Janeway had been doing her best to moderate the situation over the past few months, separately working on both women to blunt the inevitable interaction between them, and the admiral stopping by with a gift was clear proof that the captain's subtle tactics were working. Nechayev looked a little panicked however, as Janeway dragged her through the house to the deck. She didn't resist exactly, but she obviously wasn't eager to join the young Borg's party, either.

There were a few raised eyebrows as the admiral appeared on the deck, but Ro didn't hesitate, retrieving some drinks from the bar and bringing them over to where the admiral and captain were standing, a whiskey and soda for Janeway, and a vodka tonic for Nechayev. Janeway dipped her head approvingly at the Bajoran who smiled faintly before drifting away to join B'Elanna. The admiral stared at her drink in consternation, as if wondering how it had suddenly appeared in her hand.

On the lawn, speaking to Icheb and Chakotay, Seven glanced up, her eyes widening as she saw who was standing with her partner. She hesitated, then, as if steeling herself for some unpleasant task, the Borg lowered her head and strode purposely for the deck. Janeway stifled a smile, thinking her partner looked as if she were about to go into battle rather than greet the newest guest to her party.

"Admiral," Seven said politely, her hands linked behind her back. Her face was as impassive as she could make it. "I am ... surprised ... to see you."

Nechayev looked as if she wanted to flee. "I ... ah, someone told me that Kathryn's wife was celebrating a birthday today," she managed weakly. "I thought a ... gift would be appropriate."

Janeway resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "The admiral brought you a present, Annika," she said pointedly.

"Thank you," Seven said automatically to Nechayev, in a wooden tone as she accepted the gift offered uncertainly by the Starfleet officer. Janeway wanted to kick her partner in the ankle, but couldn't figure out how to do it without it being obvious. The Borg glanced at her spouse, seemed to realize she was being ungracious, and softened slightly. "Kathryn has arranged a buffet. Please, partake of the meal." She paused, then with an almost visible effort, added, "I am ... sure you will enjoy the food."

Janeway closed her eyes, wanting to groan. To be fair, the situation had been sprung upon Seven unexpectedly, but she really had thought the young woman had acquired more social skills than this.

"Alynna."

All three women started slightly, surprised as Leah Brahms inserted herself into their circle. The scientist was a statuesque woman, with dark hair framing serene features and a bright smile ... and clearly, more than a little familiar with the Starfleet admiral. Nechayev raised her head, then offered a thin smile.

"Leah," she said. "It's good to see you again."

"Listen," Brahms said, taking the admiral's arm and drawing her away. "I want to talk to you about the Starfleet allocation of resources. Is there any chance you could put a word in for the TPG..."

Janeway sighed as the starship propulsion designer lured Nechayev off, and she was left regarding her partner. Seven pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"I was ... unacceptable," the Borg offered quietly.

"I wouldn't say that, exactly, darling," Janeway said ruefully. "I'll give you full marks for trying, and to be perfectly fair, she wasn't much better. You, at least, have the excuse of having been a Borg drone for eighteen years."

"Why is she here?" Seven asked.

"I don't know," Janeway allowed. Now that she was thinking about it, it was unlikely that Nechayev had come simply in a 'gesture' to build bridges with Seven of Nine. It was entirely possible that she had some other purpose for stopping by, most likely involving Janeway on a professional level. "I'm sure I'll find out."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a light touch to get her attention, and she turned to discover Voyager's chief medical officer.

"Doctor," she said, delighted. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"It might be my last chance to see you," he said, forcing a smile.

Janeway blinked, then frowned. Gripping his elbow lightly, she led him over to a nearby bench where they took a seat.

"What do you mean, Doctor?" she asked, once more feeling like Voyager's captain as every protective instinct she had suddenly went on alert.

"What's wrong?"

The Doctor felt a certain easing about his chest as he looked into the keen blue-grey eyes of the woman who had been his commanding officer. As a hologram, he wasn't sure what the sensation was, but as a doctor, he would have described it as 'breathing easier', though he did not have any need to breathe. Just being in the Janeway's presence made him somewhat more comfortable about having shared his news with her.

"Captain, it's important that you make other arrangements for your medical care," He concluded. "It's possible that by the time this is all over, I will no longer be able to practice medicine. You must also arrange another doctor for Seven, someone who can be familiarized with her Borg implants. The genetic material that I have been keeping for you both should be transferred to another facility as soon as possible."

"Hold on, Doctor," Janeway said, holding up her hand to stop him. It was clear that she was desperately attempting to digest everything that he had told her about his upcoming hearing with Starfleet. "What do you think is going to happen to you?"

"If Sam ... Miss Cogley ... cannot uphold my status as a sentient being, I am certain that Starfleet Medical intends to ... deactivate me, and decompile my base coding to determine what alterations occurred over the past seven years," he said flatly. "Undoubtedly to make sure my ... evolution ... doesn't happen again."

Janeway was horrified. "They can't do that," she blurted.

"If I am only a hologram," he pointed out, "they can do whatever they want. As an EMH Mark One assigned to a starship, my program would belong to them." He felt an odd sensation in his matrix flow, a bitterness that spread through the general vicinity of his oral cavity.

"Why didn't you come to me with this before now?" Janeway said sternly.

"For what purpose?" he asked her blankly. "You're no longer my commanding officer."

"I'm still your friend, Doctor," she said admonishingly. "I could have done something ... used my influence..."

"Your influence with Starfleet Medical is somewhat limited at the moment," he noted with light sarcasm, "considering you authorized my continual activation which contributed to my current state in the first place."

"Isn't that the point, Doctor?" Janeway offered, and despite the circumstances, he felt a sense of lightening at the determination in her tone. "I was the one who reported that you had transcended your programming to become something more than what you had been initially, and I'm the one who officially declared you sentient in my ship logs."

"Yes, and undoubtedly you will be called to testify to what events led you to believe that," he said, then hesitated. "However, Captain, how do you prove that belief to Starfleet Medical? They consider me obsolete, a holographic matrix that they reconfigured to scrub plasma conduits on waste transfer barges. Even you, in the beginning, required a great deal of convincing from Kes and then Seven, to accord me the most basic respect given to any other member of your crew."

She opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, then regarded him dolefully. "I'm beginning to comprehend the problem," she allowed after a moment, her mouth turned down at the corners. "Still, Doctor, I would have appreciated knowing what was going on. I assumed you were doing quite well with Dr. Zimmerman."

"I am," the Doctor told her. "He and I have managed a fairly ... benevolent ... working relationship. Certainly, we've been making incredible inroads into holographic programs that can work independently, that can learn and grow within the parameters of their matrix. Lt. Barclay, after his success with Pathfinder, has transferred over to assist us with the new Trojan Horse project."

Janeway shook her head, putting her fingertips against her brow. "I haven't even taken the time to arrange a meeting with Lt. Barclay," she said regretfully. "Since he was the one responsible for establishing Starfleet's contact with us while in the Delta Quadrant, we members of Voyager owe him a great deal. I think I've let certain things slip away from me this past year."

"We've all had our own lives to pursue in the Federation, Captain, including you," the Doctor said, shrugging lightly. "The opportunities to interact with each other have been few and far between in all the months since returning to the Alpha Quadrant." He dipped his head, depressed suddenly. "Of course, this will probably be the last chance I'll be able to visit."

"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor," Janeway said crisply. "I'll find a way to fix this."

"You're no longer responsible for Voyager's crew," he pointed out, wishing he could take it back as soon as he saw the look she bestowed upon him. It was all her molten fury and glacial control wrapped up in one intense glance that practically seared him to his matrix core.

"Perhaps not officially," she said flatly. "But I'll be damned if I'll let one of them be persecuted without doing everything I can to stop it."

He bowed his head. "Thank you, Captain," he said quietly. Despite what he had said, the thought that she was now in his corner made him feel much lighter, as if his gravimetric controls were malfunctioning. A quick diagnostic showed that they weren't, so he suspected that this was profound relief rushing through him.

She patted him on the shoulder. "As I said, Doctor," she scolded him. "You should have come to me sooner."

She stood up and made a beeline for Admiral Nechayev, who was standing with Brahms and a few of the other design engineers from the TPG, drawing the admiral aside to speak intently to her. The Doctor took the opportunity to seek out Seven of Nine who was currently in a group which included Chakotay, B'Elanna, and Ro Laren, the discussion centering on the Commander's recent field trip to an archaeological site with his class from Starfleet Academy.

They were considerably disturbed by the time the Doctor had finished filling them in on what was happening in his life, even Seven, who had suggested he go to Samantha Cogley in the first place, but had not really known how bad it was. The young woman was pleased that he found Sam to be a suitable legal counsel, but was outraged by the way Starfleet had attempted to commandeer his matrix for their own purposes.

"You must tell Kathryn about this," she said, frowning.

"I already have," he said, soothing her. It appeared that Seven's time in Federation society had accelerated her return to Humanity, the young woman much quicker to react emotionally to situations, and far more volatile in those emotions. Of course, to a person who didn't really know the Borg, she would still present an icy, composed demeanor, but for the Doctor, who had been witness to her development from the beginning, the difference since the last time he saw her was quite significant. He wondered what influences were acting on the young woman to make her so protective of those she considered her 'collective'.

Seven turned her head, seeming displeased when she saw Janeway speaking to Nechayev, but she did not say anything, simply taking the EMH in tow and dragging him across the lawn to where the two women were standing.

"We must do something," she stated flatly to Janeway, ignoring the admiral.

The captain glanced at her spouse. "I'm already working on it, Seven," she said pointedly, and nodded at Nechayev who regarded the young woman warily. "The admiral seems to think this is a minor matter that could be easily cleared up."

The Doctor frowned. "With all due respect, Admiral," he said, "I don't consider my freedom to be a 'minor matter'."

"Doctor," the admiral said earnestly, "I'm sure that Starfleet Medical has no intention of harming your matrix in any fashion. In fact, I'd be fairly interested to know why you believe they would."

"Because they keep trying to commandeer my matrix," he said, staring at her in frustration. "I would think their intent would be obvious."

Nechayev took a deep breath, then glanced at Janeway and visibly softened her stance, obviously more for the captain's benefit than for the Doctor's. The hologram raised an eyebrow as he observed this interaction curiously. Were the admiral and the captain friends?

"Doctor, Starfleet Medical has requested that you be transferred to their command, but that's because you haven't accepted a posting anywhere else," Nechayev stated. "I'm sure they're just trying to establish your status within their branch of Starfleet Command. Dr. Zimmerman, on the other hand, appears quite content to keep you under his control to study you, but he's acting outside his authorization by doing that."

"Dr. Zimmerman isn't studying me," the Doctor said, affronted. "We work together." He leaned forward. "He even pays me a salary, which is more than Starfleet is doing."

"Starfleet stopped crediting your account because you haven't reported for duty as ordered," Nechayev reminded him pointedly. "Doctor, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you go to Dr. Zimmerman's Jupiter lab directly from McKinley Station after Voyager docked, then refused all further contact with Starfleet Medical?"

"Because they want to decompile my matrix," he protested.

"Who told you that?"

The Doctor paused. "Dr. Zimmerman," he said finally, frowned, then shook his head. "There have been several indications that Starfleet Medical considers me nothing more than a hologram."

"You are a hologram," Nechayev pointed out reasonably.

"A sentient hologram," he said acidly.

Nechayev paused, glancing again at the captain. "I'm not sure this is the place to be arguing that point," she said, somewhat uncomfortably as others had been drawn closer by the raised voices, becoming, by virtue of proximity, part of the discussion.

Janeway dipped her head. "I respectfully disagree, Admiral," she said, glancing around at the people surrounding them. "The more people that are aware of this situation, the better it will be for the Doctor's case." She paused, then glanced at the hologram. "However, it's also not fair to put the admiral in this kind of position, Doctor. As she so correctly pointed out to me when I first asked her about it, she really has nothing to do with Starfleet Medical. However, I do know a few people there who might be able to clear this up without any further inconvenience to anyone."

"Kathryn, are you sure you should be interfering with this?" Nechayev asked.

The Doctor was aware of Seven stiffening beside him, and Chakotay, who had been hovering next to the captain, carefully eased out of the direct firing line between the women.

"Admiral, regardless of the fact that I've stood down from command of Voyager, these people are still my crew," Janeway said pleasantly, if exceedingly firm in her tone. "You cannot ask me to stand by and do nothing while one of them is in trouble."

Nechayev frowned and shook her head. "There may not be any trouble beyond what Zimmerman is manufacturing," she said, then exhaled audibly. "However, I should know by now that you don't stand down for anything, even when it's the proper thing to do."

"I'm glad we agree," Janeway said, and flashed the admiral a bit of smile, as if the two women were sharing a private joke of sorts. The Doctor felt very much like an outsider, and it was not a pleasant feeling.

Seven seemed to sense his disquiet and she moved closer, placing her hand warmly on his shoulder.

"Doctor, Kathryn will solve this problem," she told him seriously. "You will have her declaration of your sentience upheld, and then you will be able to begin treating patients again." She paused. "You will always be my doctor."

Nechayev frowned, raising her head. "One moment. Are you telling me that you're continuing to treat patients? It was one thing to do it on Voyager, but you're an emergency medical hologram, not a qualified doctor."

The Doctor, bolstered by Seven's support and the apparent willingness of the captain to present his case, squared his shoulders. "I am fully capable of performing any medical duties that any physician can perform," he pointed out. "Over the past seven years, I have proven that countless times." He paused, frowning at her. "Tell me Admiral, do you believe I'm sentient?"

Nechayev's face abruptly turned to stone, and the Doctor suspected he had probably asked one question too many, one that he really didn't need to hear the answer to. That was a failing of his, always having to get in the last word, and he suspected he had Dr. Zimmerman's programming to thank for that, because his creator operated on much the same level. The arguments the pair of them got into while working together were more than enough to send Lt. Barclay fleeing out of the lab on several occasions, causing Zimmerman to note that the Starfleet officer was a bit 'sensitive'. Fortunately, neither Zimmerman nor the Doctor were nearly as high-strung as Barclay appeared to be.

"No," Nechayev responded finally, in a flat tone. "I don't believe you're sentient. I believe that you think you are. I believe that your programming has been adapted to give the appearance of being sentient over the past few years. Certainly, you're more advanced than any hologram I've ever seen before, but ultimately, you're still a hologram, and holograms are not lifeforms."

The Doctor abruptly discovered that perhaps he was just the slightest bit 'sensitive' after all, because his feelings were profoundly hurt.

Seven grew more uncomfortable as the discussion continued. After the admiral's initial statement of disbelief as to the EMH's sentience, others had become involved, arguing the issue from both sides. The crew from Voyager appeared unified in their belief that the Doctor was a viable lifeform, while Nechayev, Dr. Brahms, and the engineers from the TPG argued the other side, purely on a technical basis. No one seemed to be taking it personally, except perhaps the Doctor, but that was enough for the Borg to feel her levels of annoyance and resentment toward the admiral rise steadily.

"Face it, Doctor," Nechayev said coolly to the EMH, "I'm not a holo-programmer, but give me a tricorder, and a few seconds, and I could permanently alter your matrix, not only so that you wouldn't believe you're sentient, but in such a way that you wouldn't even consider yourself a doctor anymore. Judging from Voyager's logs, we can't forget how easily the crew of the Equinox were able to alter your ethical programming with only a minor expenditure of energy."

Seven was absolutely infuriated by this, perceiving it as an unnecessarily cruel statement about a situation that the Doctor had been greatly shamed by. She immediately struck back, wanting to show the admiral how it felt to have her individuality dismissed so cavalierly.

"And I," she interjected bitingly, "could utilize my assimilation tubes and turn you into an unresisting Borg drone. That too, would require only a 'minor expenditure of energy'. Does that mean you are not sentient?"

Nechayev turned white, Dr. Brahms raised an eyebrow curiously, and Janeway groaned audibly, closing her eyes, while the Doctor snorted briefly, halfway between laughter and dismay over his defender's choice of words, obviously aware of the admiral's attitude toward the Borg. Seven realized that she may have chosen an inappropriate argument to counter the admiral's point, but while she regretted that she had made her other guests uncomfortable, she did not regret in the slightest that Nechayev had been forced to take a step back. She did not like the admiral, and she did not understand her spouse's insistence that if the two women would only get to know each other, they would become ... if not, friends, then at least, tolerable acquaintances. Seven knew better, not only from her own instinctual distrust of the admiral, but from what she had extrapolated from discussions with her mentor at Starfleet Command.

"Because this is an off-duty function, I'm going to forget you said that," Nechayev said in a dangerously low tone. "However, if I ever hear of you threatening to utilize your implants in such a fashion again..."

"Seven was merely upset on the Doctor's behalf," Janeway broke in strongly, shooting an admonishing look at her spouse and drawing the admiral's attention back to her. "She was merely making the point that just because the Doctor has certain technical weaknesses, it does not make him less of a viable lifeform. Perhaps the example was ... ill chosen, but the intent was sincere. Admiral, the Doctor, regardless of what his form consists of, is a sentient being ... just as drones are, not only before, but also during and after assimilation."

"He considers himself sentient only because he has been programmed over time to believe it," Nechayev argued, turning her attention to the captain and proceeding to ignore Seven. "That perception of him was based on him becoming a member of your crew. It is not something that would have ever evolved on its own ... which makes it an artificial parameter. It's a circle that feeds on itself ... the more you believe he's sentient, the more the program has him act that way for the comfort of the lifeforms around it ... but take it out of the confines of the environment that created the circle, as Voyager returning to the Federation has done ... then it becomes clear that it is simply a faulty line of reasoning. He is nothing more than a hologram."

Seven was fully prepared to counter that as well, but a sharp look from her partner made her subside, and frowning, the Borg took her empty glass over to the bar, deciding that if she remained in the admiral's proximity, she would only do something that would displease her partner further. As the bartender refilled her glass with fruit juice, she became aware of being flanked on either side by B'Elanna and Ro.

"Kahless, Seven, what the hell did you say to Nechayev?" the Klingon asked anxiously. "She looked like she wanted to phaser you into non-existence right where you stood."

Seven felt a certain amusement. "She undoubtedly did," she replied and told her friend what the argument had been about. It was obvious to her that while both B'Elanna and her partner had been observing her interaction with Nechayev, they couldn't hear what was being said.

Ro looked slightly concerned by the time the Borg had finished. "I suspect you could have worked a little more tact into the conversation at that point," the Bajoran offered. "There's a time and place to attack a known weak area in your opponent, Seven, but I'm not sure that was either."

Seven tightened her mouth stubbornly. "Nechayev will not help the Doctor," she said with certainty. "Kathryn is wasting her time. The admiral does not consider anyone but full-blooded Humans truly sentient. Even Starfleet officers of hybrid extraction have problems with her."

B'Elanna was startled. "Where did you hear that?" she asked in an astonished tone.

Seven lowered her head, frowning. "I do not remember exactly, but certainly her attitude makes that impression easy to believe," she said. "She is a larger threat to the ideals of Starfleet than those the Federation considers enemies."

"She can be obnoxious, Seven," Ro agreed, exchanging an odd sort of glance with B'Elanna that Seven did not comprehend. "But honestly, she's an equal opportunity grouch. She treats everyone, Humans as well, with the same attitude, demanding they earn her respect, rather than simply granting it to them."

"She is respectful of Kathryn," Seven countered.

B'Elanna snorted. "I bet the captain had to be at her best to achieve it, however," the engineer said dryly.

Seven regarded the dark haired woman. "Are you saying that you like the admiral?" she asked, feeling disappointed. Was she the only one at this party who saw Nechayev as the small being she truly was?

"Oh, hell, no!" B'Elanna exclaimed, patting the Borg on the shoulder. "I couldn't stand her the few times I've run into her at Utopia Planitia, but you don't necessarily have to like someone to respect them, Seven. Her Starfleet record is outstanding ... even for me, the unbiased cynic." She paused, looking at her friend closely, perhaps sensing that the Borg was not convinced. "Do you remember what it was like when you and I first met?"

Seven smiled faintly. "Yes," she said. "I did not like or respect you in the beginning."

"And you turned out to be completely wrong," B'Elanna returned, grinning as Seven threw her a sideways glance. "The respect came first, then we gradually grew to like each other, but even if we hadn't made the second step, the first would have remained."

"Perhaps," Seven said, allowing that much, though she did not think it was the same set of circumstances in this case. She could not imagine ever liking Nechayev, and she wished Janeway was not so appreciative of her superior officer. Of course, Janeway eventually saw the truth about Owen Paris, who had filled the role of the captain's mentor as she rose through the ranks, so perhaps the captain would eventually understand the truth about Nechayev, as well.

She sipped her fruit juice, and decided to retreat inside for a while, at least until her annoyance at Nechayev had cooled somewhat. B'Elanna and Ro retrieved their own drinks and followed the Borg into the house where they found seats on the sofa in front of the fireplace, across from where Seven was seated in the chair.

"At the risk of changing the subject, Seven," B'Elanna began, once they settled in. "Is it true what they're saying about that transition drive?"

"I could better respond to that question if I were aware of exactly what 'they' were saying," Seven said evenly.

"That Humans can't use it," B'Elanna said, snuggling against Ro who obligingly put her arm around the Klingon's shoulders.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "You are referring to the effects to Humans during the transition stage between warp speed, and the subspace corridor," she noted. "It has been determined that Humans are susceptible to certain symptoms of disorientation and illness during this period of acceleration."

"Humans can't stay on their feet through the transition stage," B'Elanna translated, "and they throw up."

"It is most inconvenient, but not life-threatening," Seven agreed.

Ro frowned. "Wouldn't that prevent Janeway from being captain?" she offered. "Particularly if she can't tolerate the transition?"

"It is a very brief period of time," Seven said dismissively. "Another officer could supervise the bridge during that stage ... one assumes Kathryn will be required to choose a first officer who is not Human."

"I guess that leaves Chakotay out," B'Elanna said, offering her partner a sly look that Ro either did not notice or chose to ignore.

"I don't believe he would be interested," Ro said. "The way he was talking about his classes, he seems pretty happy to be teaching at the Academy."

"Kathryn will require entirely new personnel," Seven agreed. "She is already thinking about what kind of a crew she would like to assemble. She realizes that a great many of them will be probably be very young, as many of the starship crews now are."

"Janeway on a boatload of kids," B'Elanna said, her grin showing sharp-edged teeth. "I'd love to see that."

"She would be excellent at teaching them how to be proper Starfleet officers," Seven noted. "Just as she taught you ... and me." Her face softened. "There will also be extensive facilities for families, unlike the makeshift arrangements Voyager provided for the children born there."

"Speaking of children, weren't you and Janeway going to have your own?" B'Elanna asked, without a shred of tact. "Is she pregnant yet?"

Seven glanced down at her drink. "Kathryn and I have decided to wait before extending our family," she said simply. "Our lives are not at a stage where children are yet an option."

Ro regarded her narrowly. "Who's decision was that?"

"Mine," Seven said. "I have discovered that too many things occupy my attention at the moment. It would be incorrect to have children now, since I am not prepared to grant them the commitment they deserve." She had surprised the other couple, she saw, but that seemed to be the standard response upon hearing her change of attitude, so she did not pay it much mind.

"Well, that's life," B'Elanna said finally, after digesting this one. "Plans change."

"Yes," Seven agreed.

"I suppose we should tell you our own news," Ro offered. B'Elanna glanced at her, bestowing an achingly, tender look which was somewhat out of character on the Klingon's brash features, making it all the more poignant.

"Proceed," Seven said, curious as to what could cause such a reaction in her friend.

"We're getting married," B'Elanna blurted, before Ro could answer. "In a few months."

Seven blinked. "Indeed," she said, feeling a sense of satisfaction rush through her, though she did not entirely understand why, since she had nothing to do with the couple's decision. She offered the pair one of her rare smiles. "That is very acceptable."

"Thank you, Seven," Ro said dryly, obviously understanding what was really meant behind the Borg's words.

B'Elanna was right, Seven thought. Life did change, and it was not always in uncertain ways, but in positive ways as well. Approvingly, she raised her glass.

"May your life together be as successful as Kathryn's and mine," she said.

"Hey, if it's half as successful, we're happy," B'Elanna said, obviously pleased by the toast.

"Very happy," Ro added, and raised her own glass.

"Did you really have to threaten to assimilate her, Annika?" Janeway asked, brushing out her auburn hair as she prepared for bed.

Seven glanced up from the padd she was studying as she leaned back against the headboard, the covers draped becomingly over her nude form. Her pale eyes were chilly, but she did offer a small smile that warmed them as she regarded her partner.

"I realize it was inappropriate," the young woman allowed. "However, what she said was also unkind."

"Agreed," Janeway said, putting her brush in the drawer of her night stand and slipping out of her robe before crawling between the warm sheets next to her partner. "However, two wrongs do not make a right."

Seven lifted her head. "Is that a saying of some kind?" she asked curiously.

Janeway shot her a look. "You know it is," she said firmly. "Quit trying to change the subject." She lay back on her pillow, relaxing now that she was finally in bed. It had been a very long day, and tomorrow, she could expect a rather extensive cleanup of the downstairs of the house, which had not been covered by the catering contract, unlike the backyard. Beside her, she felt the mattress dip as Seven put her padd away, bringing the lights down with a brief command, then rolling over to her side to look down at her partner. Aware of the scrutiny, Janeway opened her eyes and gazed into the intent regard of her spouse, the young woman's face shadowed in the dim illumination of city lights reflected through the bedroom window.

"What did she want?" Seven asked.

Janeway smiled crookedly. "Apparently, I need to assess the new fighters we're planning to use for the Millennium."

"'Assess'?" Seven echoed warily.

"We're doing some test flights," Janeway elaborated shortly. "The week after next."

Seven was silent ... a sort of oppressive silent ... and the captain raised her near eyebrow, appraising her partner's expression. "You object?"

"It could be dangerous," Seven remarked evenly.

"It could," the captain agreed carefully. She exhaled slowly, then injected a certain note of command in her voice. "Your concern is noted, darling."

Seven dipped her head. "This is not something that I have leave to argue about with you," she stated, obviously not happy about it.

"This is part of my job, Seven," Janeway said, not unkindly.

The Borg hesitated, then placed her palm carefully on the captain's stomach. "I understand," she said. She hesitated, then began to move her hand, rubbing Janeway's belly lightly. "Thank you for today, Kathryn. It was an enjoyable party, and it pleased me to see all my friends again."

"Even when they weren't all your friends?" Janeway asked with dry humor, reaching up to stroke tender fingertips along Seven's cheek.

The young woman dipped her head, her gaze growing more intent. "Kathryn, regardless of the antagonism between Admiral Nechayev and myself, I do not wish to place you ... 'in the middle'," she said. "I do not agree with your perception, or admiration, of her, but I would never attempt to make you 'choose' between us, even in a limited fashion. I comprehend that we both have people in our lives that the other does not necessarily approve of, but it is an individual choice, and I know we both must respect that."

Sighing, the captain slipped her other arm around the young woman's torso, hugging her lightly. "Thank you, darling," she said. "I hope I didn't ruin things for you by inviting her in to join your party. Of course, between the Doctor's news and some of the drunken behavior that occurred later in the evening from the scientists from the TPG, I'm afraid it didn't turn out nearly as well as I'd hoped. I rather wish B'Elanna had not suggested 'shooters straight up' as a way to move the evening along."

Seven leaned down and kissed her briefly. "It was a wonderful birthday," she insisted. "You are a most wonderful spouse."

"Did you really enjoy it, darling?" Janeway asked wistfully.

"I did," Seven assured her, and kissed her again, lingering a bit this time. "It was the best birthday I have ever experienced."

"Hmm," Janeway murmured, enjoying the play of lips over her own. "I'm glad."

"Did B'Elanna and Ro tell you their news?" Seven asked suddenly, drawing back.

The captain blinked. "You mean there's more on top of everything else we discovered today?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to hear it.

"They are getting married," Seven informed her. "In two months."

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "Oh," she said, somewhat at a loss for words. "That's ... wonderful."

Seven lifted her head. "You do not sound as if you entirely mean that," she said, her tone puzzled.

"I do mean it," Janeway said with more certainty. "I'm very happy for them. I guess I was just a little surprised. I hadn't realized they had become that serious."

"They have lived together for months, Kathryn," Seven pointed out. "Including when they shared quarters on Voyager."

"I suppose you're right," Janeway said. She shook her head slightly. "Life keeps moving right along, doesn't it, darling?"

"That is its function," Seven noted dryly. She nibbled at Janeway's earlobe. "Do you feel as if you are falling out of step, Kathryn?"

Janeway considered that. "No," she replied finally. "Not exactly. I'm just more aware today of how time is slipping away from all of us."

"Birthdays always seem to be an occasion for reflection," the young woman agreed. She paused. "I was surprised by B'Elanna and Ro's present."

Thinking of the large painting of Voyager streaking across the colorful backdrop of a nebula, Janeway was forced to agree. Commissioned and painted by the captain's sister, Phoebe, it seemed a fairly bland and impersonal gift, especially considering who was involved.

"It did seem fairly ... mundane," the captain allowed slowly. "Somehow, when it comes to those three, I'm always expecting something quite..." She trailed off, unable to think of a proper pronoun.

"Outrageous," Seven supplied. "Audacious? Flamboyant?"

"Yes," Janeway said with amusement, realizing her partner had been actively expanding her vocabulary since returning to the Alpha Quadrant. "This was the sort of gift that comes from a couple who doesn't really know us, and painted by an artist who didn't appear particularly inspired. That just doesn't describe those three at all ... which makes me wonder why this gift would be so ... ordinary."

Seven was silent for a moment. "Perhaps it is because things are so peaceful in the Alpha Quadrant," she suggested finally. "It influences how a person reacts to certain situations. It occurs to me that you were able to remember my birthday this year because we were not in the middle of a crisis."

"That and the fact that I put reminders on every computer station I work at," Janeway allowed modestly. "Both here and at Utopia Planitia, not to mention asking Mom to remind me of it constantly. Believe me, Annika, it would have taken something major for me to forget it this time."

"I am glad you did not," Seven murmured, moving closer. "Such effort on your part to celebrate my birthday means a great deal to me."

The captain's smile widened as Seven's slow circles over her stomach became more exaggerated, brushing against the underside of the captain's breasts, then down below her navel to drag her long fingers through Janeway's auburn thatch. "Hmm, I don't suppose you were expecting something else for your birthday, were you?"

"The jewelry and clothing you gave me were most acceptable," Seven said, making a small sound of amusement, nuzzling the side of Janeway's jaw. "In this instance, I was contemplating something of a mutual gift ... or are you too wearied from today's events?"

"It was something of a full day," Janeway admitted, "but I can't imagine ever being so tired that I wouldn't want ... a gift like that."

"Sometimes you are," Seven noted. "Throughout the week, for example."

"Really?" Janeway purred, raising her head as Seven kissed along the line of her throat. "It seems to me you're the one that comes home and goes straight to bed ... not for gift-giving purposes, either. Instead, you just roll over and start snoring."

"I do not snore, Kathryn," the Borg protested.

"You do fall asleep very quickly, however," Janeway pointed out.

"The challenges of my position are satisfying, but quite taxing," Seven agreed. She touched the captain's breasts gently, lightly brushing her fingertips over the nipples which hardened from the delicate sensation. "Are you beginning to feel neglected, Kathryn? As you mentioned, your duties at Utopia Planitia are easing. Should I make a point of also shortening my hours through the week?"

"Is that possible?" Janeway asked, inhaling slowly as Seven slowly circled each areola, teasing the sensitive skin and spreading tendrils of delight through her chest.

"I believe that I could designate one evening through the week as a supplement to the weekend," Seven said thoughtfully. "Perhaps Wednesday?"

"That sounds wonderful," Janeway agreed, releasing her breath in a hiss as Seven rolled a nipple between her forefinger and thumb. "One night a week where we both make a point of being home for dinner."

"I will discuss it with Dr. Brahms," Seven promised. "I accept that I do not have the necessary time to accord children, but I have every intention of providing the proper attention to you and our marriage."

"Thank you, darling," Janeway whispered. She smiled happily. "You really are a most remarkable spouse."

"It is merely a matter of establishing priorities, Kathryn," Seven told her. She took the moment to kiss her quite thoroughly. "You will always be my ultimate priority."

"Speaking of priorities," Janeway muttered once they parted, Seven continuing to play with the captain's breast tenderly, "I don't suppose we could table all current discussion for a later time."

Seven smiled in the darkness, the bright edge of her teeth barely showing in the lowered illumination. "Am I making it difficult for you to concentrate, Kathryn?" she asked.

Janeway chuckled. "You know you are," she said. "What I'm waiting for, however, is for you to make it impossible for me to concentrate."

"I will comply," Seven whispered, sliding over until she was on top of her spouse, her greater mass pressing down lightly on the captain. Her lips became decidedly more passionate, and the smaller woman hummed softly, delighting in the warmth of Seven's body on hers.

The kisses grew lengthy, lingering, neither woman in a particular hurry to reach satisfaction this night. Janeway spread her legs, feeling Seven's hips settle between them, the soft hair of the blonde triangle a pleasant tickle against her intimate flesh, while Seven cradled Janeway's shoulders on her forearms, holding her close as their breasts cushioned each other, their abdomens sliding across silky smooth skin. The captain thought she would be perfectly content to remain in this position for the rest of her life.

Except, of course, that contentment did not last any longer than it took for their desire to begin demanding more specific attention, their kisses growing fierce and ardent with each passing moment, their hands more erotic in their caress. When Seven finally rose up, bending her knee and positioning their centers against each other, Janeway groaned happily at the incredible sensation of wetness pressed against wetness, the slow, very controlled motion of intimate flesh searing hotly along her nerve endings. It grew difficult to breathe and the captain gasped for air, clutching at her partner as delight rippled through her with increasing intensity. This position worked wonderfully because of Seven's greater strength and discipline, keeping the motion steady and constant, the Borg holding Janeway firmly in place as she undulated over her, the sound of their joining sticky and provocative, enhancing their lovemaking.

Janeway jerked uncontrollably as the pleasure swept her up abruptly, dancing along her senses, the rapture surging in an overwhelming peak. As if this was all Seven required to trigger her own desire, she cried out Kathryn's name in a heated whisper, her motion no longer controlled, but instead, a series of hard shudders that pressed her tightly against Janeway, before finally releasing the Borg into the aftermath of her climax.

The Borg slumped over the captain, careful not to put her full weight on the smaller woman, but still needing this moment of helplessness as Janeway surrounded her protectively with her embrace. Nuzzling the young woman's ear and neck, Janeway felt the last tremors subside in both their bodies, the languid joy of fulfillment cradling them in a mutual pact of satisfaction, once more content to lie quietly together in a state of sated bliss.

"Happy Birthday," Janeway muttered finally.

Seven laughed outright, her sense of humor developed enough to appreciate both the timing and absurdity of the remark.

Janeway smiled and hugged her partner closer as they settled on the mattress, finding a comfortable position in which to snuggle in the lassitude of afterglow. Seven's arm and leg were draped warmly over the captain, while her head lay on the pillow next to Janeway's, her face mere millimeters away. Janeway could feel the sweet warmth of her partner's breath feathering over her cheek and jaw, and she made a soft sound of sheer happiness deep in her throat.

Seven pursed her lips, kissing Janeway lightly on the soft spot beneath her ear.

"I love you, my Kathryn," she murmured sleepily.

"You're my heart, Annika," Janeway whispered back, the words more a necessary ritual of eternal devotion between them now, rather than developing into platitudes as they might have had the love between them lessened in any degree over the years rather than deepening into this solid bond of togetherness.

Smiling in the warm cocoon of darkness, Janeway listened as the breathing of her partner smoothed out beside her, the young woman surrendering to sleep. With little hesitation, she followed suit, drifting off in Seven's arms, love permeating every molecule of her body and soul.

Dr. Kate Pulaski looked up from her desk at Starfleet Medical's main administration facility, disturbed by an intrusive beep which sounded from her work station. Irritably, she lifted her chin further, resenting yet another interruption in her work, and her hard blue eyes glared in the general direction of the ceiling, though the computer could pick up her commands regardless of how she held her head.

"Computer, who is it?"

"Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Utopia Planitia shipyards."

The older woman blinked, surprised by the response. Kathryn Janeway had been a student of hers years ago at Starfleet Academy, and though they had kept in touch... at least until Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant ... it had been a cordial, rather than a particularly close friendship. Pulaski was a little surprised Janeway would make a point of calling on her in person, then she remembered what the hot topic was in the various coffee rooms around Starfleet Medical the past few months, and decided the captain's sudden appearance was understandable. The issues surrounding Zimmerman's EMH were not going to go away, and undoubtedly, both sides were assessing their alliances, pulling in any strings they had that could be pulled.

Pulaski knew it had been Janeway who had officially declared the hologram a member of her crew, as well as establishing its status as a sentient lifeform. She had no illusions about which side the captain was representing.

"Come," she said, standing as the door slid open to reveal the uniformed figure of the starship captain. Pulaski eyed her curiously as Janeway entered, assessing the changes that had occurred since the last time she had seen her. The signs of aging in Janeway's classic features, the deepening lines around the brilliant eyes and warm mouth, made the doctor feel old, remembering the achingly young woman who had caused her no little aggravation at the Academy. She found herself wondering what tempering the captain had experienced in the Delta Quadrant for her to now radiate such an incredible presence of experience and wisdom.

"Kathryn," she said, reaching out her hand. "It's so good to see you again."

"I want to thank you for the flowers you sent to recognize Voyager's return," Janeway replied pleasantly, grasping the doctor's hand in a strong grip. "It meant a lot to me."

The medical officer dipped her head. "I received your note," she said, as the two women took their seats on opposite sides of the desk. "I would have contacted you personally, but I knew you'd be so busy readjusting to being back, that it would take some time before you got around to visiting old acquaintances. What brings you by today?"

Janeway had the grace to blush. "I wish I were stopping by under other circumstances," Janeway admitted. "I have to talk to you about something important."

Pulaski nodded "So you are here about the hologram issue," she said, a statement, not a question. "Not just to catch up on my news."

"Actually..." Janeway paused, then looked vaguely embarrassed. "I have spoken with you recently ... at least, an alternative version of you."

Pulaski blinked. "I see," she said, relaxing in her chair. That sounded intriguing. "Could you elaborate a bit more?"

It took a while for Janeway to explain about the other universe where she had not only met and befriended her own counterpart, but had resumed her relationship with the Pulaski of that parallel reality. Halfway through the recitation, the doctor had to go into her desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey, pouring each of them a glass, requiring libation as she listened to all this. Then, she refilled them to the brim, as the captain further explained her position on the evolution of Voyager's EMH program, and why she had come to such a decision in declaring him sentient.

"This is pretty incredible," Pulaski offered finally, after the captain had finished speaking.

"Every word is true," Janeway assured her, sipping the smokey liquid cautiously. "Kate, I appreciate that you possess a certain amount of wariness when it comes to technological advances, but you're also a fair-minded person, and willing to entertain new ideas."

"The new idea in this case being an EMH achieving sentience?" the doctor responded dryly. "Kathryn, I appreciate that you believe your hologram has become ... well, more than what the initial program set out to do, but I have to tell you, I'm on the side of Starfleet Medical in this. I find it highly unlikely that a hologram has achieved true sentience."

A flash of dismay crossed Janeway's face. "Didn't you once tell me that you had learned a great deal about what constitutes life from serving with an android on the Enterprise?" she asked pointedly. "Isn't this the same thing?"

"Yes, it is," the doctor countered, then smiled at the look on the captain's face. "Kathryn, my conflict with Data was that he wanted to be Human, and my contention about that continues to this day. I believed he should be content with what he is ... the only one of his kind ... not strive to be something he could never achieve. I know he participated in a trial which granted him certain rights and privileges as an android in Starfleet, and those have never been challenged since, but that didn't make him any more than what he already was; it did not make him either Human, or an alien lifeform, merely a technical being with a unique status. I've worked with several EMH programs, and found them very useful supplements on occasion, particularly the Mark Four, but they're only tools. If your hologram has become a little more than that, it was only because the programming expanded beyond the initial technology, thanks to the constant enhancements programmed in by your crew, not because it was somehow granted life."

Janeway looked vastly disappointed at this, but it was clear she wasn't about to give up so easily. "What is life?" she argued.

"The current physical description, or the metaphysical version?" Pulaski asked, not taking offense at the tone. It wasn't like Janeway to be so adamant unless she was truly passionate about the subject, and it was obvious to the doctor that, regardless of whether or not the hologram was actually anything more than what it appeared to be, the captain believed it was. "Kathryn, it is a condition of being that exercises functional powers. Right away, your hologram can't function outside its parameters, being purely dependent on a matrix created by machines, whether it's the ship's systems, or the enhanced mobile emitter it carries around. It may have expanded its access to a larger database, which grants it the appearance of being alive, but that's all it is ... an illusion."

"You know about the emitter?"

Pulaski rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows about it," she said. "Frankly, I think Starfleet Medical is less interested in having the hologram decompiled, than Starfleet Science is in getting their hands on that portable device for their own holographic research."

"You don't see anything wrong in that?"

"Of course, I do," Pulaski said patiently. "It's nothing more than scientific greed, but it's a greedy grab for technology, not an attempt to usurp the rights of an individual lifeform."

"That's semantics," Janeway protested.

"It's all semantics, Kathryn," Pulaski said firmly. "It's entirely possible to debate whether you or I are actually sentient beings, depending on the circumstances. Certainly, I'm not denying that it usually comes down to what one believes. It just so happens that the predominant belief at the moment is that a hologram cannot achieve life."

"That doesn't make it a correct assessment, however," Janeway said spiritedly. "Such finely debated semantics have been used throughout history to oppress the rights of others. This being is worthy of being considered alive, while this one is property ... have we achieved so little in the past few centuries?"

"I agree that perhaps we don't always know what is truth versus what is simply believed," Pulaski said doggedly. "However, whether we like it or not, one must set limits, particularly with technological refinement. Where do you draw the line, Kathryn?"

"I draw it when a friend of mine is being threatened with termination," the captain retorted.

Pulaski looked at her, then smiled faintly.

"Do you still have a dog, Kathryn?"

"Yes, I do," Janeway said, temporarily thrown by the change of topic. It made her wary, the suspicion clear in her eyes. "I actually found one in the Delta Quadrant, and he lived on the ship with me. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Are you fond of your dog?"

"Of course," Janeway said.

"Would you trade the life of any Human to save your dog?"

"Of course not," Janeway said, frowning. "That would be ... I couldn't accept that."

"Would you trade Voyager's EMH to save your dog?"

Janeway hesitated. "That's not the point," she insisted.

Pulaski leaned forward, sensing a weak area. "Of course it is," she said inexorably. "Let me try it from another angle. You're a starship captain, Kathryn. You know that in that role, you could be called upon, at any time, to sacrifice the life of one of your crewmembers to save the ship." She paused. "Yet, a starship is only an inanimate object, a piece of equipment. What such a statement really means, is that you would sacrifice the life of one crewmember in order to save the lives of the rest of your crew. 'Saving the ship' only means the crew as a whole, not the actual vessel itself. You would never sacrifice a person's life just to save a piece of equipment."

"Of course, that's understood," Janeway said. Undoubtedly, she could tell Pulaski was leading up to something, but from her expression, the doctor knew that she hadn't quite determined what yet, which would make her next words all the more compelling.

"My question is, Kathryn: in an emergency where you could save only one, an injured crewmember or the damaged EMH operating system, which would you choose? Would you, as captain, sacrifice the living crewmember to salvage the EMH ... or would you just let the program cease to exist in order to save the person who was alive? Would you even hesitate in your decision?"

Her face like stone, Janeway glared at the doctor. "That's not fair," she said finally.

Pulaski raised an eyebrow. "Of course it is, Kathryn," she said. "I know, and you know, that you would never sacrifice any living being for that hologram, regardless of how sentient you want to think it is. Hell, you might not even be prepared to sacrifice your dog to save its program." She paused. "Or are you entertaining the perception that the EMH program is only ... 'sort of' alive ... that there is a category for 'limited sentience'?"

Janeway looked down, unable to meet Pulaski's eyes. "This is why I've always hated your classes," she mumbled.

Pulaski leaned back in her chair. "You have to think about this, Kathryn," she said. "Starfleet Medical certainly is."

"But this is nothing more than a technology bias imposed upon us by cultural conditioning," Janeway said tightly. "You're right, I wouldn't hesitate in your example to save the crewmember rather than the Doctor, but that wouldn't make me right ... just that my enlightenment about what constitutes life is not as advanced as I would like it to be."

"It doesn't mean such hesitation on your part is wrong, either," Pulaski replied gently. "Kathryn, you're obviously fond of the program. Hell, I have holograms I'm fond of, too, and I take a tour through the holodeck with them every so often, but I don't make the mistake of considering them as alive as the stranger next door. To do so would be irrational."

"The Doctor had performed nobly as my CMO," Janeway said stubbornly. "I'm not going to let him be destroyed simply because others don't see his value."

"Then, maybe you need to approach it on that level," Pulaski offered reasonably. "Take the stand that the enhancements added to his program have made him an extraordinarily valuable and unique piece of equipment, one that Starfleet Command simply can't afford to treat like any other hologram. Work to have him assigned to Zimmerman's lab full time for his holographic research projects. He is the foremost authority on holographic science, after all, and Starfleet Medical might go for that type of compromise. It's my honest opinion that this whole sentience defense will fail, Kathryn, and frankly, it should. A hologram is not a living organism, nor will it ever be, no matter how much its program expands."

Janeway exhaled slowly. "Damn it," she said. "Can you at least give me a name to start with if I decide to go that route?"

Pulaski hesitated, then smiled. "Dr. Romanoff, in Prague, has stated that he's not as firm in pursuing a course of legal action as others are," she said. " He might be able to convince the rest of Starfleet Medical to compromise on the issue. However, he won't be swayed on the sentience issue, just the idea of where the technology could be placed."

Janeway dipped her head. "Thank you," she said.

Pulaski topped off their glasses again, deciding that perhaps they had just about exhausted this subject, and could probably benefit from a change of topic.

"I heard you had a Borg on your ship," she said, eyeing the compact captain narrowly. "Is it true you ... married her?"

An expression ghosted over Janeway's face, one Pulaski had rarely seen on most people, and even more rarely on this woman's face, a brief flash of sheer joy and contentment. Pulaski had known Edward Janeway, and believed his daughter had too much of a father fixation to ever be that adventurous in a personal relationship. She had been surprised to hear that Janeway had fallen in love with a woman in the first place, and had been even more shocked at the concept of it being an ex-Borg.

"Her name is Annika Hansen," Janeway explained, an oddly tender note in her voice that caused an unexpected echoing resonance within the doctor's chest when she heard it. "She still goes by Seven of Nine of course. You can take the girl out of the Collective, but it's hard to take the Collective out of the girl ... at least, entirely." Her eyes were amused, and Pulaski blinked, surprised again that Janeway and her spouse were comfortable enough to joke about it.

"She sounds incredible," Pulaski said.

"She is," Janeway insisted. "Listen, I would love for you to meet her."

"I'm sure I'd enjoy that," Pulaski allowed. "For no other reason than to meet the person who put that lilt in your voice and sparkle in your eye."

Janeway chuckled. "Come over to dinner this Saturday night," the captain said. "We'll spend the evening reminiscing, and I'll tell you all about what happened in the Delta Quadrant."

"Of course," Pulaski promised, though she had no doubt Janeway would use the opportunity to present her case once more, falling back to reestablish her battle lines now that she understood the doctor's opinion. Pulaski shrugged mentally. If Janeway could come up with something that would change her mind, then perhaps there was more to it than she believed.

If not, then, at least, she would get a decent meal out of it.

Seven felt the muscles in her arms start to twitch as she attempted to adjust the painting over the fireplace, wanting it to be perfectly aligned before she instructed the self-hooking fastening at the top of the picture to seal itself to the wall. It wasn't too heavy for her, but the mass and form were incredibly awkward, and she had difficulty holding it in place.

"Is it straight, Kathryn?" she asked, frowning when there was no response. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that her partner was staring at the painting above the Borg's head, a very odd expression on her face. "Kathryn?"

"Oh, my god."

Startled, Seven nearly lost her grip on the unwieldy frame, and she was forced to sit it on the mantle, easing it down carefully so that it was leaning against the wall. Shaking out the tension in her arms, she turned to her partner, feeling slightly annoyed at her partner's lack of assistance in hanging the birthday gift from B'Elanna and Ro.

"What is it?"

"Have you looked at this painting?" Janeway's voice was a combination of outrage and astonishment.

"Of course," Seven said, puzzled. "Several times." So had the captain, not only when the gift had been opened at the party, but a great deal since that day as it remained propped against the railing in the upper loft until they had the opportunity and time to hang it in the living area. The Borg wondered what had changed that would cause her spouse to suddenly appear dismayed and ... offended? ... by the painting.

"Come over here and look at it," Janeway demanded.

Obediently, Seven complied, crossing the room to stand next to the captain. She frowned as she regarded the painting of the starship streaking across the purples, reds, greys, browns and tans of a class-two nebula, not seeing anything in particular.

"I do not understand," she said. "What is wrong, Kathryn?"

"Let your eyes go slightly out of focus as you look at it," Janeway instructed in a grim tone. "Let the background move into the foreground."

Seven did her best to follow these somewhat imprecise instructions, squinting at the picture. Suddenly she blinked, then stared, aware that her mouth had fallen open somewhat.

"Kathryn?"

"I can't believe she did that," Janeway said, appalled.

Seven blinked again. "It is..." she started, then stopped, unsure as to how she should describe it. "Us!"

Looking at the painting from a distance, and refocusing her vision, Seven could now see that the lines and shapes of the background, which she had initially perceived as nothing more than a spatial anomaly, were actually the stylistic form of two women lying sideways across the canvas ... Janeway and Seven lying together, to be precise. The image of Seven was on her back, with Janeway pressed against her side, the pair kissing passionately. The captain's hand was cupping the juncture of the Borg's legs, apparently fondling her intimately, while the young woman's hand did not cover up the captain's breast which ... as far as Seven could tell ... seemed quite correct anatomically, both in shape and size. Voyager, meanwhile, streaked across Janeway's buttocks, obscuring them from view.

"How was this managed, Kathryn?" Seven asked curiously, fascinated by the optical illusion. Now that she could see the forms of herself and her partner, she found it difficult to see it only as a nebula once more. "How can a painting be done in such a way that it looks like one thing from one viewpoint, and something completely different from another?"

"I don't know," Janeway said furiously, arms crossed over her chest, "But when I see Phoebe again, I'll be sure to ask her." The implication in her tone indicated that the 'asking' could possibly take on a physical form, rather than merely a verbal exchange.

Seven tilted her head. "It is beautiful," she said with appreciation. "Apparently, this gift is not as 'bland' as we initially thought. It will be more of an impressive addition to this room than I originally expected."

Janeway looked at her, startled. "You're not still thinking of hanging it there?" she demanded.

Seven glanced at her. "Why not, Kathryn?" she asked. "It is my birthday gift, and you said I could place it there."

"But anyone who visits can see ... us ... naked ... making love," Janeway said, gesturing weakly in the general vicinity of the portrait.

"Only if they look at it properly," Seven noted. "After all, it took us a few weeks to discover the optical illusion. You only discovered it by accident, possibly because you were bored, and not paying as much attention to my attempts to hang it properly as you should have been."

Caught, Janeway opened her mouth, paused, then shut it firmly, her lips growing thin as they were pressed together.

"Are you ashamed of how we feel for each other?" Seven prodded quietly.

"Of course not," Janeway argued, "But I don't want those feelings spread over my fireplace for casual viewing either."

"I believe you are overreacting," the Borg said. The chime of the door prevented her from saying more, and she left Janeway to stare glumly at the painting while she went to answer it. Still occupied by her discussion with her partner, Seven actually needed a few seconds to recognize who the visitors were, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Hey, Seven," Tom Paris said, his boyish features creased in a wide smile. "I hope you don't mind us dropping by like this."

Voyager's ex-helmsman was dressed in uniform, two gold pips of a senior lieutenant adorning his collar. Behind him, also in uniform, Neelix and Kes smiled broadly at the dumbfounded Borg, the Talaxian offering a small wave.

"Annika, who is it ... oh, my god!" Janeway spread her arms. "Come on in. It's so good to see you. What are you doing here?"

Seven had the presence of mind to step aside as the three entered their home, pleased by the look of happiness on Janeway's face, the captain obviously thrilled to see her former crewmembers. Quickly drifting into the kitchen to create some snacks, Seven was grateful that, shortly after moving into the house, she had thoroughly reprogrammed the replicator to accommodate her exacting standards. With the easing of her workload at the shipyards, Janeway had begun to socialize more, inviting her fellow officers and superiors at Starfleet Command over to the house regularly, particularly through the week when Seven continued to work late. The recipes the Borg had carefully programmed into the pattern buffer not only helped Janeway in providing acceptable and tasty meals for her guests, but kept Seven from being caught short by unexpected visits, such as this one. In this manner, Seven believed she was more efficient than her mother-in-law, though she would never express such a thought to Gretchen.

"We actually came to testify at the Doctor's hearing," Neelix said as the Enterprise officers made themselves comfortable in the living room. He and Kes sat on the couch while Tom took the chair opposite them. The Talaxian's golden eyes beamed up at Seven as she placed two platters of hors d'oeuvres on the coffee table. "Thank you, Seven."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgment, and took a seat on the arm of the chair where her partner was seated, facing the fireplace.

"When did you arrive?" Janeway asked.

"Yesterday," Tom explained. "Since we were headed to Earth anyway, Commander Riker arranged some R&R for us, which we're entitled to after having accepted immediate posting to the Enterprise at DS9. This morning, we gave depositions to the Doctor's lawyer, and she's arranged for us to stay at the Carlton Plaza until the hearing."

He munched on the vegetable pockets hungrily, and Seven decided it must have been some time since the trio had eaten. She began to make mental plans for dinner. Five ... or perhaps more? A buffet might be just the thing, in the event this turned into a party.

"Provided there is a hearing," Kes said in her melodious tones. "We're aware you have been negotiating heavily behind the scenes to avoid this unpleasantness, Captain. I know, after speaking to the Doctor, that he's very happy and relieved to have such a formidable officer on his side in this matter."

Janeway smiled faintly, coloring slightly. Seven knew the captain was pleased by the compliment, since they had been few and far between from the rest of Starfleet Command regarding the situation. Seven felt somewhat kindlier toward the Ocampa than she had since Kes had merged with Sek.

"I was simply trying to take care of my CMO," the captain said modestly. She glanced back at Tom. "Have you had a chance to see your father?"

Tom hesitated briefly in transferring a morsel to his mouth, but continued on and chewed it thoroughly before he responded to the question.

"Last night," he admitted shortly. "Spent the evening with the family."

Seven raised an eyebrow, curious at the odd tone in the helmsman's voice.

Janeway stared at him for a few seconds, then, as if realizing it was not something that should be discussed at the moment, she turned her smile on Neelix.

"I've been hearing good things about you, Ensign," she said. "Rumor has it that the Enterprise has the best food in the 'Fleet. You're single-handedly bringing back the concept of a mess sergeant."

Neelix blushed, his golden, spotted features turning ruddy. "Thank you, Captain," he responded. "Of course, you know I owe it all to Seven. Her recipes are what convinced me that there really is a difference between Human and Talaxian taste buds."

"We told you that in year one," Tom protested.

"You weren't as convincing as she was," Neelix responded reasonably.

Tom made a face at him, and Seven realized that the two men had become friends, bonding in some way, perhaps because they had both been strangers on the Enterprise and only had each other to turn to.

"You'll stay for supper, of course," Janeway invited.

"We don't want to put you out," Tom said.

"Nonsense," the captain remarked.

Seven lifted her head. "Perhaps if we were to contact B'Elanna and Ro?" she prodded her spouse delicately.

"Not to mention Harry and Megan, of course," Janeway agreed instantly. "Chakotay and Icheb may also be available. Then, there's the Doctor and Zimmerman. I should call Mom and Phoebe; they'd love to meet more of Voyager's crewmembers." She flashed a look at her three guests. "You stay right there. With a little luck and a few calls, we'll be able to get together a little party celebrating your return to Earth."

The trio looked a trifle disconcerted as Janeway immediately sprang from her chair and headed for the upstairs loft where the communications array was located. Seven offered them a bland smile, and mentally increased the amount of food that would be required. Definitely a buffet. The only question was what particular menu would she go with?

"Won't this be too much for you, Seven?" Kes asked, concern in her eyes.

The Borg shook her head. "It is actually easier to prepare a buffet for many than it is to prepare dinner for five," she said. "Kathryn will also assist. She has become reasonably ... domestic."

Tom looked a little dazed, but also pleased. "Do you suppose Harry and Megan will bring the little guy?"

Seven frowned and checked the time. "Unlikely," she judged. "Assuming they will be able to attend, they would anticipate a late evening. They will undoubtedly arrange a sitter."

"Do you still babysit, Seven?" Neelix asked.

The Borg shook her head. "No," she said shortly, in such a way that allowed them to know it was a topic that should not be pursued. If she learned nothing else from her spouse, voice inflection had been one of the more useful lessons. She became aware of Kes observing her intently, and she turned her eyes to meet the gaze. "Yes?"

Kes frowned, as if puzzled. "Seven, you seem ... different," she said.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I have now spent some time living in the Federation," she pointed out. "Is that not to be expected?"

"Yes, but..." Kes began.

"They all can come," Janeway said, interrupting the Ocampa as she came back down the stairs. "I've also invited a couple of people from Starfleet Command, just for the sake of rounding out the party. It never hurts to develop contacts, as I'm learning in the Doctor's case.

"Captain, we really appreciate this," Tom began, spreading his hands. "A party isn't what we expected, but it'll be great to see everyone again."

"We love to entertain," Janeway said, waving it off. "Certainly, we have it down to a science now. Let's move this out to the back yard. It's a lovely evening, and there's more room out there."

Obligingly, Tom, Kes and Neelix picked up their glasses, leaving behind the seriously depleted platters of hors d'oeuvres as they moved through the dining area and out the french doors leading to the back deck. By the time Seven and Janeway had them settled, other guests were arriving to greet the Enterprise trio like the old friends they were, the gathering forming itself into a comfortable exchange of quips and good times. The couple took the opportunity to return to the kitchen.

"Theme?" Seven queried her partner shortly, moving over to the replicator.

"Egyptian?" Janeway asked, frowning thoughtfully as she studied the padd containing the recipes Seven had on file. "Chinese? Mexican? Irish?"

"Mexican," Seven suggested. "Fajitas and tacos can be eaten by hand on the deck. Corn chips and salsa are good fillers. Rice with peppers as a side dish. Pastries and sherbet for dessert."

"Agreed," Janeway said. "I'll set up the buffet."

While Janeway placed a stack of plates on the island, along with utensils, napkins and condiments, Seven programmed in the necessary commands to replicate the various dishes. Soon, she had a row of platters lined up along the breakfast counter, making it easy for their guests to travel smoothly along the buffet line.

"We need more picnic tables," Janeway said, as she worked at the island, placing bowls of corn chips and various dips on a tray in order to carry them outside.

"I requested that Chakotay and Harry carry them out from the basement." Seven told her, turned away from her partner as she made sure the dishes on the counter would remain hot by placing warming trays beneath them. She was startled when she felt Janeway's arms encircle her waist from behind. "Kathryn?"

Janeway hugged her closely, resting her cheek against Seven's back. "You are so wonderful," she murmured. "I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you adapting to my spur-of-the-moment invitations to people."

Seven smiled, closing her eyes and leaning back into the embrace for a few seconds. "I enjoy seeing our friends, as well," she assured her quietly. "Particularly since we no longer work together on the same starship. I am curious about the others you invited from Starfleet Command, however. Do you intend to use the gathering to further your pursuits in the Doctor's case? I know you have been working very hard to moderate a settlement of some sort."

Janeway reached up on tiptoes to kiss the Borg's jaw line as Seven turned toward her, wrapping her up in a loose embrace. "Maybe a little," she admitted, "but I promise to limit it. This should be a fun evening, and I won't drag it down over an issue that can't be settled tonight. In any event, I'm going to ask the Doctor to come by Utopia Planitia sometime next week. I think I have a proposal to offer him."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "What kind of proposal?" she asked curiously.

"One that, even if he doesn't completely like it, will ease the pressure on him, and give him some more time to solidify his bid for official sentient status within the Federation," Janeway told her.

Seven tilted her head, studying the eyes of her partner. They were more grey than blue, obviously troubled, but still determined.

"You do not think he will like it?" she asked gently.

"No," Janeway said grimly. "But he may have to accept it."

"It could be his only hope."

Janeway appraised the schematics on the padd for a second time, then glanced around at her staff. Comprised of the senior officers heading the teams of engineers working both on Mars, within the confines of the base, and the huge orbital docks in geo-synchronous orbit above their heads, this regular weekly meeting gave her the chance to catch up on everything that was happening within the expansive facility. The engineers didn't particularly care for what they considered an unnecessary interruption in their workweek, but the captain did not grant much allowance for that sort of grievance. She had come into this base immediately recognizing that it needed to be organized so that it would run with the same discipline and control of a starship, rather than the free-spirited inattention of her predecessor. If some people felt their creativity was being restricted a bit, that was just too bad.

Janeway was assured that the Orion Syndicate would never have been able to infiltrate the facility under her watch. Certainly, none of her current senior staff were allowed to indulge in personally destructive habits, such as the uncontrolled gambling which had caused Jason McCord to fall under the influence of Cheb Packer, and through him, of the criminal cartel. She made a point of forming a personal connection with each of her crew chiefs, regardless of how small, and demanded that they provide the same extra attention to the members of their engineering teams. Any chief who expressed the opinion that they were there to build starships, not 'babysit' their crews, subsequently found themselves transferred to one of the starships headed away from Utopia Planitia, while officers who showed more ability for management and leadership were promoted to fill their spots.

Janeway wasn't just constructing starships on Mars, she believed she was training future captains and commanders that Starfleet so desperately needed during this trying time in the aftermath of the Dominion War.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Commander?" Janeway said, eyeing MacDougal curiously. The stocky woman was a fixture in the shipyards, having served there for years. She was in charge of the Millennium team, and the captain had found herself working in close proximity with her. She wasn't the most personable woman Janeway had ever served with, but she knew her job and did it well.

"I need to know when we can have Torres back," the engineer said. It was not the first time she had made the request, and Janeway doubted it would be the last. "She's the only one who can decipher the revisions that Brahms is continually sending down."

"I need B'Elanna on Voyager," Janeway said, then relented a little, appreciating the woman's problem. Unlike B'Elanna, MacDougal lacked that certain flair for originality that the Klingon possessed ... and subsequently recognized in the work of Leah Brahms. "Seven of Nine can also translate the good doctor's theoretical schematics to engineering specs," Janeway allowed. "I'll send a request to Dr. Brahms to assign Seven to the Millennium project, at least until the final installation of the transition drive has been completed."

She took note of the expressions that crossed a variety of faces and raised her eyebrow. "Problems?" she asked thinly.

MacDougal dipped her head, a frown forming. "Is she ... familiar with this kind of work?" she asked uncomfortably.  Janeway sensed that the question didn't reflect what the engineer was feeling, but had been the only diplomatic thing she could think to say.

"Seven was Borg," Janeway said, clamping down on the anger that rose within her. Her senior staff had been used to Seven on Voyager ... here in the Federation, the young woman was still very much an unknown. The captain knew people feared the unknown, and with an effort, she forced a small smile. "Don't tell me that Starfleet engineers afraid of working with someone who is technologically advanced?"

"Depends on the advances," Lt. Brighton spoke up dryly. He was the propulsion specialist on the Millennium. "I heard from a technician at the TPG that she once threatened to assimilate Admiral Nechayev."

The rest of the engineers all looked at each other with varying degrees of amusement and uneasiness, and Janeway stifled a sigh, resolving to have another little chat with her spouse about making imprudent remarks in public. She took a breath and glanced at MacDougal. "I'll see what I can do about getting you some help," she promised. "One way or another, but I do think Seven is your best option."

"Yes, Captain," the engineer said, not particularly happy about it. "Thank you."

Janeway lifted her chin. "If there's no further business, you're dismissed."

The engineers all got up en mass and headed for the door, as if eager to escape. Janeway supposed she couldn't blame them, grinning ruefully to herself as she gathered up her padds.

"Captain?"

Janeway glanced over as Ro entered the conference room, and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"The Doctor and his legal counsel are here," the Bajoran told her. "I put them in your office until the staff meeting was finished."

"Have they been waiting long?" Janeway asked, scooping up her padds and tucking them under her arm.

"Only about five minutes," Ro reassured her.

"Good," Janeway said. "Laren, I want you to sit in on this meeting. I'm not sure how it's going to go, and perhaps you could offer something constructive to the whole situation."

"Thank you, Captain," Ro said. "I'll do my best."

Janeway didn't know how close the Bajoran was to the EMH, but she believed that Ro would have the same concern for a crewmate that any of them experienced. Certainly, it would be useful to have the lieutenant's input.

The Doctor and his legal counsel were sitting somewhat impatiently in her office, and the captain offered them a smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said. She nodded at Samantha, a slender young woman with dark hair and eyes. "Nice to see you again, Miss Cogley."

Samantha dipped her head. "Janeway," she greeted.

Janeway supposed it was an improvement over 'Red'.

"I know you're both wondering why I asked you to meet me, and I won't waste any of your time," Janeway said, settling down behind her desk. "I've been speaking extensively with various contacts in Starfleet Medical, and I think I've been able to arrange a compromise for you."

The Doctor and the lawyer exchanged a glance.

"Compromise?" he echoed. "What sort of compromise?"

Janeway hesitated, discovering this was more difficult for her to say than she had anticipated. "Doctor, I honestly don't believe you can win this hearing," she said. "If you don't, we both know that your matrix could be deactivated before your lawyer can file an appeal. This isn't a civil case, it's an internal organizational matter, and they will move swiftly in that event if you are declared the property of Starfleet Medical."

The Doctor looked devastated. "You don't believe I'm sentient," he said.

Janeway felt her heart twinge. "It doesn't matter what I believe," she said, more harshly than she had intended. She took a breath, and deliberately softened her tone. "Doctor, if it comes down to evidence, I think that Starfleet Medical can prove, purely on technical terms, that you're a hologram, whereas all you have to prove you're sentient, is ... well, a perception of certain events. You might win on that basis, but would the sentiment of the judiciary council be something you really want to rely on?"

The Doctor started to respond, outraged, and Sam put her hand on his arm, restraining him. "Let's hear her out," she suggested.

He looked at her for a moment, then subsided, looking dissatisfied.

"Doctor, it's possible that if you, instead, follow a line of evidence of being a unique hologram which can only be studied by the foremost authority on holographic research in the Federation," she offered, "that would be a compromise Starfleet Medical could live with."

"Dr. Zimmerman," the Doctor said. He paused, considering that. "However, in that case, I would still be ... Starfleet property."

"But Zimmerman's ... 'control' in that regard would be more in the form of a guardianship than an ownership, correct?" Janeway prodded.

The Doctor clearly looked unhappy and Janeway stifled her sigh. "Doctor, I realize this may not be what you hoped for, but it may be the best that can be arranged," she admitted. She turned her attention to Samantha. "Unless you feel you have a good chance of winning outright?"

Samantha hesitated, then glanced at the Doctor. He stared back at her, his face crumpling. "You don't think you can win," he said, a statement rather than a question, his voice breaking slightly.

"I'm going to do my absolute best, Doctor," Sam told him earnestly. "Certainly, I believe I can win, and have you declared independent of Starfleet, which would be the first step to you becoming a Federation citizen, but I won't lie to you ... it's an all or nothing proposition that we're dealing with here. I would be remiss as your counsel if I didn't make sure you were aware of the fact that if I don't win this hearing, the captain could be quite correct in saying that you would be gone before I could make an appeal. Don't get me wrong, such an action would piss me off royally, and I'd go after them with every legal option I had. Starfleet Medical would end up paying through the nose eventually, but the problem is, you wouldn't be around to enjoy it." She paused, taking a deep breath. "It's my professional advice that you should, at least, consider the offer, but I'm ready to do whatever you want." She looked back at the captain. "This is a valid offer, right? Not just wistful thinking on your part?"

"Dr. Romanoff, a doctor with the rank of admiral, has indicated that he'd be willing to accept such a compromise," Janeway said. "His opinion carries a lot of weight within the administrative echelons of Starfleet Medical. He's instructed the lawyer representing them to wait for your call to discuss it."

"What if he refuses to make the deal?" Sam asked flatly.

Janeway spread out her hands. "Then, you go into the hearing the same as you are now, prepared to do everything you can to have the Doctor declared an independent, sentient entity," she said. "Just be aware you now have that option to play with."

The Doctor looked stricken, almost as if he wanted to cry, and Janeway felt another pang of remorse about this ... she just didn't know what else to do.

"Doesn't anyone in this room think I'm sentient?" he asked with a sort of wistfulness that stabbed into the captain's heart. He looked pointedly at Ro Laren who had remained unobtrusively in the corner, regarding them impassively. "Lt. Ro?"

The slender Bajoran blinked, the only indication she had heard the Doctor. "I think, ultimately, it doesn't matter what I believe, or even what Starfleet believes, only what you believe" she said finally, very calmly. "If you think you're sentient, then you are. A slave is still his own person, regardless of what his owner thinks. His body might be possessed, but the heart and mind are not ... not unless he allows them to be. The choices he makes are his own, whether to accept the bonds placed upon him, or to do whatever it takes to be free, even if it means death."

The Doctor didn't have much to say to that, but his face was very thoughtful after that.

Samantha dipped her head in the direction of the captain. "Thank you for bringing this option to our attention, Captain," she said formally.

The lawyer rose to her feet in preparation of leaving, the Doctor following without looking back at the captain, or even adding his good-bye to that of Samantha. Janeway knew that he felt she had betrayed him in some fashion, and certainly, she would have loved to present him with a solution that would solve all his problems in one fell swoop, but in this event, she didn't see where it would be possible.

She stood up as the pair left her office, and then she glanced over at Ro.

"Nothing else to add, Lieutenant?" she asked, somewhat sardonically.

Ro shook her head. "No," she admitted. She paused. "You don't think he's sentient, do you?"

Janeway moved around her desk, then leaned against it, bowing her head as she took her time to answer the question. "I'm no longer entirely certain," she admitted finally, her arms crossed over her chest. "That's the problem. If I can be made to doubt just by hearing the opposing side's arguments, when I want to believe he's sentient, how easy would it be to influence a judiciary council who doesn't care either way? It's possible that the Doctor is nothing more than a hologram which developed access to a larger database, and it's that programming which is giving him the appearance of being alive, rather than granting him actual sentience. I would still err on the side of mercy in that case, but I'm not sure a judiciary council would."

Ro considered that. "I see your point," she allowed. "I'm not sure I agree with it, but it's probably valid. You know how Starfleet Command would work better than I would."

"Nonetheless," Janeway said grimly. "I think this is the Doctor's best option for freedom ... if not now, then eventually in the future."

Ro raised an eyebrow speculatively. "Yes?" she offered idly. "I hope so, Captain. The alternative would not be something one would wish to contemplate."

Samantha frowned as she looked around the room which had been set aside for this hearing. It was not the grand stage of a Federation courtroom in which she had initially hoped to try this case ... that would come later ... but she appreciated the help Captain Janeway had provided in arranging the deal going into this preliminary hearing. At the very least, it provided her with the time to tackle it on the civilian level, bypassing the Starfleet court altogether, without the immediate threat of deactivation hanging over her client's head. She glanced back at the captain who was present in the observer's gallery. Sitting next to Janeway, was her adjunct, Ro Laren, and on the other side, a tall, older woman with white hair, wearing the uniform of Starfleet medical personnel. Sam didn't recognize her, but she did accept that Janeway would have friends in all sorts of places.

Thadeous Marshall was representing the plaintiff. The gaunt, middle-aged man was a well-known counselor from one of the larger law firms on Earth, and what he was making in credit from this case, was probably more than Sam had made in her entire lifetime. She wondered why Starfleet Medical had gone with outside counsel rather than a Starfleet JAG officer, then realized that a civilian lawyer would have more experience arguing intangibles, as well as finer points of law. She was a little disappointed that she wouldn't have a chance to tangle with him, but the deal that had been struck a few days earlier should make this a fairly short hearing, and afterward, the Doctor would officially be assigned to the possession of Dr. Zimmerman. Seated next to Marshall at the plaintiff's table, Dr. Romanoff, a sparse, white-haired man, represented Starfleet Medical, while in the crowd, other officers from Starfleet Science watched anxiously.

At the front of the room, a podium was set up where three judges presided, all officers from other branches of Starfleet, waiting to rule on this case. From Starfleet Planetary Operations, Admiral T'van, a Vulcan female sat quietly, while Admiral Murphy from Starfleet Academy kept subtly checking the chronometer, obviously disturbed at the delay. Admiral Spenser, boasting five stars on his admiral insignia, sat in the middle, and would act as spokesperson for the judiciary council. The hearing was ready to begin.

Unfortunately, Samantha's client had yet to arrive.

"Miss Cogley?"

Samantha rose to her feet. "My apologies, Admiral Spenser," she said. "My client has been unavoidably detained. I'm sure he'll be here shortly."

That was purely wistful thinking on her part, of course. She hadn't a clue where the Doctor was, nor his creator. She should have made a point of picking the Doctor up personally at the Jupiter Holographic Research Station, rather than relying on Zimmerman to make it there on time. This would not provide a good first impression with the admirals who, with the exception of the Vulcan, were beginning to look impatient. If they were annoyed enough, they might refuse to authorize the deal she had made with Starfleet Medical, demanding that a definite decision be made on the hologram's status once and for all.

"Admiral, if it pleases the court, this indicates a certain irresponsibility on the part of Dr. Zimmerman," Marshall said suddenly, standing up. "Because of that, we wish to withdraw the compromise offered to the defense counsel, as initially stated."

Sam glared at him, deciding that had been the plan of Marshall all along, probably talking Starfleet Medical into following that route. Offer a compromise to lower the defendant's defenses, then find some excuse to withdraw it at the proper time. If it hadn't been Zimmerman and the Doctor showing up late, they probably had a whole list of other reasons why such a valuable piece of equipment should not be placed in the scientist's custody. They were simply using this as the most expedient course, getting it out of the way before the hearing even started. A quick glance over her shoulder caught the look of betrayal on the face of Captain Janeway, and Sam shook her head. Such innocents these Starfleet people were. Fortunately, she was used to working with backbiting legal tactics, and this was only the opening volley. She would simply have to win this case as she initially intended.

Just then, the door opened at the rear of the room, revealing the cocky form of Dr. Zimmerman. Everyone focused their attention on the scientist, whose body language revealed he was reveling in the scrutiny, as he walked toward the front of the courtroom. The lawyer felt an internal qualm as she realized he was alone, and worse, that he had a decidedly smug expression on his face.

One could hear a pin drop as he took his seat next to the lawyer, and Sam leaned over, conscious of every eye in the room angled in her direction.

"Dr. Zimmerman," she hissed in a barely audible tone. "Where's the Doctor?"

"Gone," he replied.

"WHAT?" She realized she had raised her voice, and the judges at the front of the room frowned. The observers in the crowd stirred, murmuring, and Captain Janeway shot a particularly concerned look at the defendant's table.

"Miss Cogley, if you'd care to share with the rest of the participants in this hearing?" the admiral prodded unsmilingly.

"One moment, please," she said, then grabbed Zimmerman's arm and pulled him closer, trying not to be overheard. "What do you mean, he's gone?"

"I mean, he packed up his mobile emitter and hit the road last night," he replied, sounding very satisfied. "Cleaned out all the credits in his back account, bought a ticket on an outbound transport, and shipped out of the Federation. I have a copy of his resignation right here." He pulled out a padd and brandished it triumphantly under her nose.

She stared at him, wondering why he sounded like a character in a bad crime holo-novel, then swallowed as she turned to face the three members of the judiciary council. Rising to her feet, she took a deep breath.

"Your Honors, apparently, my client has decided that he has no wish to proceed with this hearing," she said. "He has resigned his commission to Starfleet, and left the Federation on a civilian transport."

Absolute bedlam broke out over the next few moments as everyone tried to make sense of this revelation. Zimmerman was in his glory, tossing insults at the opposing counsel who accused the scientist of deliberately arranging the situation. Scoffing, Zimmerman stood by his story that he left the Doctor the previous night in relatively fine spirits before going to bed, but when he got up in the morning in preparation of attending this hearing, the EMH was gone, leaving behind only a note which he read to the court. Samantha allowed that the lengthy and sometimes rambling statement was quite touching, as the Doctor expressed his need to be free rather than enslaved, though she doubted it had much impact on the admirals who regarded the scientist with similar stone faces.

"I demand that the EMH be tracked down immediately by Starfleet Security," Marshall ordered the judiciary counsel, who seemed even less impressed with this demand from a civilian attorney than they had with Zimmerman's recitation Sam thought she detected a bit of an opening, and rose quickly to her feet.

"Your honor, is my learned colleague implying that the EMH is now a fugitive?" she asked. "That he is a living being capable of making his own independent decisions, and thus, is a wanted man attempting to escape custody, even though he has committed no crime?"

"On the contrary, he is a valuable piece of equipment that needs to be recovered," Marshall said, a touch of contempt in his tone, thinking he saw the trap easily.

"In that case, shouldn't you be calling on Starfleet Supply and Services to track it down rather than request a security detail? He wasn't stolen, after all, merely misplaced." Sam asked innocently.

Marshall looked at her, frowning, then at the council. "My mistake, Your Honor," he said smoothly. "We request that Starfleet Supply and Services immediately arrange for its retrieval," he said, and Sam stifled a chortle as her path opened in front of her with the ease of Moses parting the Red Sea. One certainly could consider such an error on the part of the well-respected lawyer to be that of Divine intervention. Obviously, Marshall wasn't aware that Starfleet's S&S would only track down equipment if the cost of doing so was less than replacing it with the same model. Mark One EMH's were easy to replace, and a tug on Marshall's arm, dragging him down so that Romanoff could speak intently in his ear, finally enlightened the lawyer on where the trap set by Samantha really lay.

"Admiral," Marshall said, straightening as he shot a poisonous look at Sam. "I do want it made clear that this is a unique and valuable hologram that must be retrieved intact, rather than merely replaced by Supply and Services. It should never have been left in the care of Dr. Zimmerman."

"What makes it unique?" Samantha countered immediately. It occurred to her that the Doctor's bid for freedom was probably the best thing that could have happened. She wished she had thought of it herself. "There are holographic programs all over the place, and even if someone wanted an EMH Mark One specifically, they could pick up one in Starfleet surplus for relatively few credits. They're only used for cleaning plasma residue, after all. Why is Starfleet Medical so determined to get their hands on this particular hologram?"

Marshall frowned at her. "The enhancements made to this particular EMH provide it with advanced technology," he said. "Such technology belongs to Starfleet Medical, not Dr. Zimmerman."

"Actually, the Doctor's technology is exactly the same as any other Mark One," Zimmerman broke in. "You have his specs right there. The only real alterations are in the base coding of his holo-matrix, but that's a matter of self-programming and the personality subroutines the Doctor added to himself in the Delta Quadrant, not the actual equipment itself. I can tell you that I didn't program it, nor did anyone on Voyager, and I'll swear to that on a stack of Bibles if you want."

The scientist had spoken out of turn, but the admirals looked thoughtful at this while Starfleet Medical looked frustrated. Obviously, they could not reproduce a matrix sequencing they had never seen before, nor was it up to the court to reimburse them with information that had been created by someone else ... unless they were willing to declare that the hologram had indeed been working for them as a Starfleet officer rather than as a piece of equipment.

Samantha decided to strike while the opportunity was there. Suddenly, she was in the position to be offering the deal instead of the other way around. She hoped Zimmerman would have the presence of mind to back her up.

"If it pleases the court, Dr. Zimmerman has access to the backup file of the EMH, possessing the same exact serial number as the original, which can be activated and used for any future study regarding that particular matrix," she pointed out, not adding that the backup file was the original which had existed seven years ago. The Doctor had been notorious for refusing to back himself up with any regularity, and the only time he had, the unit had been lost during an encounter with aliens in the Delta Quadrant. "Dr. Zimmerman agrees to reinitialize the matrix from this backup file, and replace the Mark One EMH on Voyager with another, completely at his own expense, so that Starfleet Medical will not be out any technology. He will even recreate the mobile emitter so that the replacement hologram can move around independently of the holo-emitters in sickbay, even though that's not really his responsibility since that equipment was not anything he created. Since Starfleet possesses all the Doctor's medical logs for the past seven years, I have no recourse but to ask what more Starfleet Medical requires?"

Zimmerman looked startled, then nodded. "I can have the replacement Mark One with mobile emitter installed in Voyager by the end of the weekend," he said quickly, jumping to his feet on cue exactly as Samantha had hoped. He glanced back at the crowd. "Indeed, I can replace it before the weekend, assuming the lovely Captain Jane, who is in command of the shipyards, agrees to authorize a team to assist me." Sam noticed that the starship captain looked put on the spot, but Janeway inclined her head to indicate her agreement when the judiciary council looked in her direction.

"It's Captain Janeway," she said, a touch of annoyance in her voice, undoubtedly directed at Zimmerman. "However, I agree to authorize any assistance Dr. Zimmerman requires in the installation of a replacement EMH on board Voyager."

There was a pause as the admirals conferred with each other, then Spenser spoke again.

"We find that satisfactory," he stated, much to Marshall's chagrin and Samantha's delight. "If this hologram is only a piece of equipment, as the plaintiff has presented, then the logical solution of providing equipment of equal or greater value by the one who ... misplaced the original ... is sufficient for this council, particularly since Starfleet Medical already has access to Voyager's medical logs."

"It's insufficient for us!" Romanoff exclaimed, clambering to his feet. "We must have the Doctor himself."

"Why?" Sam countered.

"We need to study the matrix of this particular hologram," Romanoff said, ignoring the urging of his counsel to sit down, brushing off the hand on his arm.

"For what purpose?" Spenser asked pointedly.

"If this thing really is alive..." Romanoff began, which was all Sam needed.

"Then, it's not the place of Starfleet Medical to hound him and hold him against his will," Sam said loudly over the crowd which had stirred again at the doctor's inadvertent revelation. "Particularly after he's resigned his commission to Starfleet. He's certainly committed no crime ... beyond existing."

Romanoff turned to her, outraged, but before he could speak, Spenser slammed down his gavel and brought order to the courtroom, while Marshall succeeded in convincing the doctor to sit down, preventing him from speaking any further. The lawyer knew as well as anyone that with just that one word, by opening the door for the concept to be possible, Romanoff had completely undermined his entire case.

Waiting until there was silence in the courtroom once more, Spenser addressed the medical officer. "Defendant's counsel is quite correct, Dr. Romanoff. If the defendant in this case is only a hologram, as Starfleet Medical insists, then replacing it at Dr. Zimmerman's expense must be acceptable. Furthermore, assuming he does reimburse Starfleet in this manner, the original Mark One hologram, should he ever find it again, becomes his property to do with as he pleases. If, on the other hand, this hologram is indeed, alive, regardless of how or when it may have happened, then, at the very least, it has the right to resign its commission from Starfleet, and disassociate itself from the authority of Starfleet Medical, as well as the authority of this judiciary counsel. Any other challenge to that must be made in a civilian court, not here within the boundaries of Starfleet. I must also warn you, that in the event it is discovered that the hologram is found to be alive, and the plaintiff considered that a possibility before this hearing, then this council will be forced to take a hard and serious look at those officers who planned to hold it against its will with the intention of deactivating it. Does the court make itself clear?"

Sam felt dizzy. The Doctor's running away had forced the issue, placing Starfleet Medical in an untenable position and turning a lengthy hearing into a very short one. If the Doctor had escaped the custody of Starfleet Medical, then they could track it down, not sparing any expense to get it back, but since they had left it in Zimmerman's care, he became responsible for it, which he was quite willing to do. He probably had the backup Mark One all ready to fire up as a replacement. That thought made her frown faintly, and she shot a look at the scientist. She wouldn't put it past him to have come up with this whole scheme himself, and that the Doctor was actually waiting back on Jupiter station to see if the ploy worked. However, if that were the case, and if Starfleet Medical could prove that Zimmerman could have produced the equipment, but didn't, then they were all in trouble.

Marshall finally finished speaking with his client, no doubt explaining how the doctor had just left Starfleet Medical open for a civil suit they might not be able to win should they continue to pursue it, and stood up.

"If it pleases the court, Starfleet Medical accepts the replacement equipment, and drops the case to secure the Mark One EMH which had initially been installed on Voyager," he said. They were not going to budge an inch on the stand that this was only a hologram, but by doing so, they forced themselves to also give up a rightful claim to the equipment once it was replaced.

"Defense counsel agrees to this," Samantha said, also standing.

"Excellent," Spenser said. "This court is adjourned."

There was a shuffle as people were allowed to move, and Sam clutched Zimmerman's arm. "Where is he?" she hissed. "Really?"

"He's really gone," Zimmerman said, and now his expression was honestly concerned. "He didn't tell me anything before he left."

Sam exhaled audibly, then was aware of the captain standing right behind her.

"Do I have this right, Doctor?" Janeway said, her voice chill. "The Doctor is alone out there? We have to find him."

"My thoughts exactly, Captain Jane," Zimmerman responded, and put his hand on Sam's arm. "That's why I'm hiring Miss Cogley to find him."

Sam blinked. "Hold on a moment," she protested. "I'm a lawyer, not a private detective."

"I'll pay triple your rate as a lawyer," he said flatly.

She thought about that. "Well..." Then shook her head, bringing herself back to reality. She realized her preoccupation with credit was somewhat unusual, particularly on Earth where currency was a formality rather than a necessity, but she had tasted poverty while growing up on Enteron Prime, and even after finally making it to Earth, she never forgot that hardship. However, she couldn't allow it to influence her into a foolish decision now. "I wouldn't even know where to look," she pointed out reasonably. "I don't have the resources to search, or the authority..."

"That's why we'll send a trained security officer with you on a Starfleet vessel under my authority," Janeway said firmly. "Lt. Ro will accompany you in your search."

Ro blinked, looking unpleasantly surprised. "Captain?" she said, her voice raising at the end of the word.

Janeway turned to her. "Since you obviously put this idea into the Doctor's head, I think it proper that you be the one to track him down, Lieutenant," she said sternly. She stared at the Bajoran, then softened. "I know you don't want to leave right now, with your upcoming wedding, but I'm afraid the Doctor has to take priority. Take B'Elanna with you, if you'd like. I'll arrange for her to have leave from the shipyards."

"But, Captain," Ro began again, then stopped as if she didn't know what to say beyond that. There was an expression of helplessness in the lieutenant's dark eyes that Sam recognized all too well.

At the lack of further comment, Janeway ignored the Bajoran's weak protest, and turned to Zimmerman as they began to discuss the probable places the Doctor would have headed for, and how far his credits would take him.

Samantha finally came to the unpleasant conclusion that she had as little choice in this matter as the Starfleet lieutenant under orders from a superior officer. As long as the Doctor was her client, she felt a sense of responsibility for him, and if that meant bringing him back, then that was what she would have to do.

Over the shoulder of the technician she was with, Seven saw her mentor appear in the entrance of the lab, and after some final instructions as to what she required the young ensign to do, she strode briskly toward the solid bulk of the admiral. She was pleased to see him, discovering over the past few months that she looked forward to these impromptu luncheons, appreciating not only the break in her lengthy day, but a chance to hear all the various rumors and innuendo swirling through Starfleet Command. She would never possess the same interest in trivial information as her friend, B'Elanna Torres, did, but she did enjoy knowing what was going on, particularly when it came to her spouse. It was difficult at times, working separately from Janeway and the rest of the people she had known on Voyager, but the admiral provided her with a link to them, the chance to stay up-to-date, if not actually in touch, with everyone.

The captain considered Seven's mentor a bit of a 'windbag', meaning that his words were usually more adept than his actual abilities. Initially, Seven had experienced her own trepidations over his interest in her, but his persistent kindness had won her over ... just as Janeway's had when Seven had first been severed from the Collective and placed within the strange and acutely different confines of Voyager. He made a point of regularly dropping by the TPG facility at least three times a week, usually treating the young Borg to lunch at one of the more fashionable restaurants in Marsport, and listening attentively when she told him what was going on with her life. Indeed, it was his advice that helped smooth Seven's transition into becoming a fully fledged member of Leah Brahms' science team. She learned to appreciate his distinctiveness, finding in him a cherished paternal figure, much as Tuvok had been on the starship in the Delta Quadrant.

In the Borg's opinion, he was exactly what a Starfleet admiral should be; kind, diplomatic, thoughtful ... if not always particularly brilliant ... ready with a story or anecdote of his own dealings with others in the ranks, which inevitably helped Seven see her way to becoming a satisfactory Starfleet science officer. He was always supportive, always sympathetic, and always considerate of her unique situation as the only Borg in Starfleet.

Put concisely, he was the complete opposite of Nechayev.

Seven did not understand why Janeway could be dismissive of him, while showing admiration for Nechayev who was apparently so afraid of the Borg, it affected her better judgement when it came to Seven. Her mentor had explained how Nechayev had experienced a most harrowing encounter with the Borg at Wolf 359, unable to prevent her sister's assimilation while barely escaping herself, but while Seven appreciated the severity of the incident, she remained impatient with the weakness of Nechayev who seemed unable to put the past into perspective. Hayes, the young woman believed, was an admiral who understood Seven perfectly. Nechayev was someone who lacked the courage even to begin to accept who Seven was or could be.

"Admiral," she greeted politely.

"Lt. Hanson," Admiral Jack Hayes said, with obvious pleasure. He extended his arm. "Would you provide the opportunity for an old man to be seen in public with a very pretty young woman? The Martian Seas is holding a table for us."

Seven offered a brief smile in response as she took his arm. She did not believe anyone truly thought she and the admiral were romantically involved, particularly not Hayes, but if it pleased him to indulge in such a harmless fantasy, she would not object. She logged out of her private lab, then allowed him to escort her from the TPG facility to the local station where they caught a tube into Marsport. The Martian Seas was one of her favorite restaurants, specializing in seafood imported directly from the oceans of Earth. Mars did not have any seas, of course, even after a couple of centuries of terraforming, and the most it could boast was some very large freshwater lakes. However, Seven had seen Lake Utopia on more than one occasion, visiting B'Elanna and Ro who lived in a home situated on the shore, and considered it a most beautiful body of water.

"First of all, I have some news for you," Hayes offered as they settled at one of the best tables in the establishment, and had been served their water. "I'm not sure you want to hear it, however."

Seven regarded him inquiringly. "Indeed?" she prompted. "Perhaps you should tell me the information, and I will formulate my own conclusions."

"It's about your friend, the EMH," Hayes said, his face very sympathetic. "I know you've been worried about him, and how his hearing would go this morning."

"Yes," she said, feeling anxious suddenly, though she wasn't sure why. "What was the decision of the judiciary council?"

"There was no decision, at least in terms of the hologram's status, though Starfleet Medical has dropped their claim on the matrix," Hayes said gently. "The Doctor took his mobile emitter and vanished last night."

Despite her surprise, the primary emotion washing through her was one of relief. "Acceptable," she said.

It was the admiral's turn to appear surprised. "You approve?" he said.

"If it means he will be safe, then yes, I do," she said. She realized that was probably not the proper attitude for a Starfleet officer to take, but it was her reaction, nonetheless.

Hayes lifted a cautionary finger. "It's not that easy, Annika," he said. "The Doctor is not a Federation citizen, and with this disappearance, it's possible that he may never be declared a viable lifeform."

"He has been protected from being deactivated, however," Seven pointed out reasonably. "That is sufficient."

"For now," Hayes allowed. "But it was a rather extreme measure on his part."

"Extreme circumstances require extreme measures," Seven pointed out.

Eyeing her thoughtfully, Hayes inclined his head slightly. "Perhaps," he allowed. "Certainly, it gives him time to build his case, with the help of his lawyer ... along with Captain Janeway's assistance."

"Kathryn has been working very hard on negotiating a fair and just settlement in this." She paused, offering him a bit of a shy smile. "I am also aware that you have been providing aid to her, whether she realizes it or not. I know it was you who convinced Dr. Romanoff to meet with her initially, as well as smoothing her way to contact the other influential people in Starfleet Medical."

Hayes reached over and patted Seven's hand paternally. "I just wanted to help," he said, looking pleased, yet somewhat embarrassed by the approval in her tone. "I knew it was important to you, and sometimes an admiral can make inroads where a captain doesn't quite have the necessary pull." He paused. "However, it's not necessary that your spouse think otherwise."

Seven lowered her head, smiling faintly at this thoughtful attempt to spare Kathryn's feelings. "No," she agreed. "It is not."

She lifted her head as the waiter arrived with their food, the conversation altering as they proceeded with their lunch. Hayes told Seven all about the latest incident between Admiral Paris and Nechayev, how the recent visit to Earth by Tom had opened up some old wounds between them. Seven thought Hayes was being far too understanding of both Humans, having little patience for either admiral, and the more she heard, the less understanding she thought he should be. He laughed when she told him that the next time the two admirals argued during a meeting, he should simply pick them up by the ankles and shake them ... or at least, the Starfleet equivalent.

"I'm afraid you're ascribing too much power to me, Lieutenant," Hayes said. "The most I can do is try to mediate on occasion. Trust me, if they didn't have each other to spar with, they would aggravate someone else."

"Like Kathryn?" Seven asked sharply.

He blinked. "Do you worry about that, Annika?" he asked.

Seven inhaled slowly. "It concerns me that Admiral Nechayev places Kathryn in danger," she admitted. "The information that others are maneuvering their own command choices into contention for the Millennium worries me. I fear that Nechayev is utilizing the captain as nothing more than a weapon in her dealings with other admirals."

Hayes looked very serious. "Have you spoken to your spouse about this?" he asked.

"Yes," Seven said. "Kathryn, however, is not concerned. She expresses the opinion that it is 'regular command maneuvering' and that she is fully prepared to handle it. She is determined to become the captain of Millennium, and she dismisses the idea that any other captain could replace her."

"You don't trust Nechayev to keep her word to Captain Janeway?" Hayes offered, eyeing her curiously.

Seven considered that carefully. "No," she said. "I do not."

Hayes took a sip of his coffee. "For what it's worth, Annika, know that I'll do my best to see the captain receives everything she deserves," he said.

Seven felt a sense of relief. "Thank you," she said. She looked down at her plate, empty now but for a few loose pieces of rice from her meal. "Admiral, you have been very kind to me since my reporting to Starfleet Command. I wish you to know how much I appreciate it."

Hayes raised his glass in a sort of salute. "You are the only Borg in Starfleet, Seven," he said, smiling magnanimously at her. "We would be remiss if we didn't offer you the proper sort of guidance to fit into our organization. I know others see value only in your technological abilities, but the truth is, it's your remarkable strength and personality that are the true contributions you offer to us ... your new collective."

Seven was pleased. "I am beginning to consider Starfleet my new collective," she admitted.

"Even Nechayev?" he said, his tone gently teasing. "Or Paris?"

Seven inhaled. "Even them," she allowed. "However, not all members of a collective are as functional as others. I reserve the right to consider them ... useless."

"'Useless'?" Hayes laughed. "I agree, Seven. This is probably not something I should be sharing with a junior lieutenant, but that's the best way to regard them."

The conversation over lunch occupied Seven's mind through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening as she walked leisurely along the sidewalk bordering R. Garrett Avenue, heading for her house. It was quite dark, the street lights muted in this residential section of San Francisco. Seven was aware that centuries earlier, a young woman could not safely walk the streets alone at night, unlike 24th century Earth where there was no crime and everything was peaceful. Of course, even were it not safe for the average Human to walk alone at night, it would be a most unfortunate mugger or assailant who would accost a Borg. He would quickly find himself ripped limb from limb and scattered over the street, just as a warning not to do it again.

Seven had been thinking a lot about security and safety lately, particularly for those she loved. It was so much easier on Voyager, knowing who the enemies were, and who her friends were. Janeway and Seven were part of a team then, including the rest of the crew on the ship, and despite her new intellectual challenges as a member of the TPG, it wasn't quite the same. Seven missed her time on Voyager.

The house was dark as she entered, though she could see a sliver of light under the door in the loft above her head. She strode up the stairs and slipped quietly into the bedroom in the event her partner had fallen asleep without lowering the illumination. However, Janeway was tucked up in the bed, reading a book, the hardcover resting on her lap. She glanced up as Seven entered, offering her partner a smile.

"Hello, darling," she said. "Still working late on the output ratios?"

"Yes," Seven said, pausing on her way to the ensuite to kiss her spouse hello. "They will not equalize as I wish, but I have every intention of completely solving the problem tomorrow."

"I'm sure you will," Janeway assured her, reaching up to touch her cheek.

Seven smiled faintly and kissed her again, then went into the ensuite where she undressed, took a quick shower, and replicated a new uniform for the next day. Crawling into bed next to the captain, she wrapped her arms around her and rested her head on Janeway's chest. The captain, concentrating on her book, automatically lifted it out of the way until Seven was settled, then put it back on the support of her bent knees. Her right hand absently stroked the Borg's blonde hair, providing a soothing caress to the young woman.

Closing her eyes, Seven sighed softly, relaxing against her spouse. If she was accepting of the long hours that she worked, this was still the most important part of her day, this welcome that greeted her upon returning home. For long moments, the young woman immersed herself in the warmth and touch of her partner, inhaling Janeway's familiar and beloved scent, listening to her steady heartbeat, the soft whisper of her respiration, the soft crackle of the pages being turned ... delighting in the sheer sensation of just being in Kathryn's arms once more. It was something the Borg did not believe she would ever grow tired of.

"Kathryn?" she asked after some time.

"Hmm?" Janeway was obviously distracted by what she was reading, her response absent.

"I heard about the Doctor."

There was a pause, then Janeway carefully marked her spot, and placed the book on the night stand. With a word, the lights lowered, and she slipped down under the covers next to her partner.

"It was a surprise," Janeway admitted, as they settled against each other once more in the cozy nest of bedding. There was a bit of a ragged note in her voice, very subtle ... perhaps one only Seven was capable of picking up on.

"Are you upset, Kathryn?" Seven prompted gently.

"It never occurred to me that he would do such a thing," Janeway said slowly. "I can't help but think that if I hadn't tried to arrange this compromise ... if I hadn't given him the impression that I didn't believe in him, that I didn't support him completely..."

"Kathryn, you did all you could," Seven assured her. "You offered him the best compromise in a complicated situation. I realize you believe that he feels you betrayed him by not wholeheartedly supporting his cause of being declared sentient, but you still did everything you could for him. You work best when you change the rules. That is what you were attempting to do in this instance."

"I think I tried changing them too much this time," Janeway said softly. "He thought his only recourse was to run away ... and maybe he was right. It's obvious that the compromise was nothing more than a deception on their part."

"Indeed," Seven said, surprised. She paused. "Perhaps he was simply imitating you, and changing the rules by leaving."

"Perhaps," the captain said. The uncertain note was still there, and Seven brushed her lips over the captain's temple. "It bothers me that he's out there on his own."

"He is very capable," Seven pointed out. "I am convinced he can take care of himself."

Janeway didn't look as if she agreed, but didn't pursue it. "Dr. Zimmerman hired Miss Cogley to track him down, wherever he is, and tell him that it's all right to come back. The way the rest of the hearing went, Starfleet Medical quickly backed themselves into a corner. I don't think they'll be trying to bother him any more."

"I am glad," Seven remarked, mulling over this new information. "Kathryn, do you believe Samantha will be able to find him? As legal counsel, she is quite adequate, but I am unsure as to her abilities when it comes to searching for the Doctor who probably does not wish to be found."

"I ordered Ro to accompany her," Janeway told her. "They're leaving tomorrow morning on the DragonFlight ... one more favor I owe David. I'm not fully cognizant of Cogley's abilities, but I'm sure that if anyone can find him, it's Ro Laren."

"Lt. Ro is very capable," Seven agreed, relieved to hear that the Bajoran would be the one actually looking for the Doctor. She had a great deal of respect for the officer's skills.

With her night vision, the Borg could see Janeway frown, her expression slightly puzzled. "I arranged leave for B'Elanna to accompany Laren," the captain added, "but they both refused. I'm not sure why."

"She undoubtedly has her reasons," Seven said thoughtfully.

"I'm sure she did," Janeway agreed. Seven heard the captain exhale audibly in the darkness, and she tightened her embrace.

"It will be all right, Kathryn," the Borg said softly. "The Doctor will be fine."

"Are you sure?" Janeway asked wistfully, allowing her vulnerability to show to the one person she trusted above all.

"Of course," Seven said positively, then tried to ease the mood. "I can quote you probability percentages if you would like."

"No, that's all right," Janeway said, her tone lightening perceptibly as she snuggled into Seven's arms. "I'll take your word for it."

Seven eased closer. "Will you accept something else from me?" she asked, lowering her voice, making the words provocative.

"My goodness, on a weeknight?" Janeway responded in mock astonishment, though she was quick to shift her body so that it was angled more toward the Borg. Seven sensed that Kathryn had a need for physical contact this night, and so did she, both seeking the comfort lovemaking would bring. "Whatever will the neighbors say?"

"That," Seven murmured, as she drew her partner to her, "is entirely irrelevant."

Phoebe laughed until she could scarcely breathe, holding her sides as she bent over, leaning weakly against the counter in Gretchen's Indiana kitchen.

"I don't think this is funny," Janeway said to her sister, arms crossed over her chest. "Seven insists on hanging that damned painting in the living room, directly over the fireplace. Every time we have dinner guests, and we retire to the living room for conversation, I'm terrified about what's going to happen. Only last Friday night, I thought Admiral Dawson was going to have a heart attack right in his chair."

"His coffee came out his nose," Seven remarked in a wondering tone, obviously still impressed by the incident. The Borg was dressed in a similar fashion to the captain, in jeans and a sweater, and she looked absolutely delectable behind the counter as she helped Gretchen prepare dinner.

"All over his beard," Janeway declared in outrage, forcing herself not to be distracted by the sight of her partner.

That inspired another burst of hilarity from the clearly unrepentant artist, and even Gretchen had to turn away briefly and cover her mouth in an effort not to join in her younger daughter's merriment. Sitting at the kitchen table, Michael Patterson, Gretchen's lover, chuckled as he continued to peel potatoes for their Thanksgiving meal. It was not an holiday traditionally celebrated anymore ... except by Traditionalists in honor of the October end of the harvest ... but Janeway and Seven had taken Friday off to be able to enjoy a four day weekend in the historical manner, and both were looking forward to sharing a large turkey dinner with the family.

"It is a beautiful painting and perfect where it is," Seven corrected her partner as she prepared the yams, the smell of roasted turkey filling the air. "Kathryn is exaggerating about the reaction to it. Most of our guests do not even notice it, and if they do, they are remarkably restrained about it." She paused. "The only one, besides the admiral, who truly seemed taken aback was Chakotay during his last visit."

"He stared at it for twenty minutes," Janeway said in disgust. "He'd still be standing there if I hadn't gone looking for him after he took a trip to the lavatory and never came back to the table."

Phoebe was lying on her side at this point, absolutely howling as she rolled around the floor, clutching her ribs. Michael had to put his knife down briefly so that he wouldn't inadvertently cut himself as he joined in the infectious laughter. It was obvious Janeway was receiving no empathy in this house.

"All I want to know is, did Ro and B'Elanna know what you were painting?" she demanded, standing over her sister and waggling her finger at her. "Worse, did they specifically request it?"

Phoebe lifted a hand weakly, waving it in lieu of an answer. The captain wondered if that was some kind of an affirmative response, or if her sister was merely requesting time to compose herself before she could answer. From the snorts and giggles coming from her, the captain suspected that could take a while.

"Does it make a difference, Kathryn?" Gretchen asked reasonably.

"Of course," Janeway said firmly. "I have to know how many of these people I need to take my revenge on."

Phoebe, who had just managed to get herself under control, immediately fell apart again at this threat, delivered in Janeway's best command tone, tears streaking her face as she laughed until she cried. She eventually had to crawl to the nearby lavatory, apparently afraid she would be unable to moderate her bodily functions if she remained in Janeway's presence any longer. It occurred to Janeway that regardless of how imposing she was to other Starfleet officers, in the loving confines of her family, she had practically no authority at all.

"I don't think it's that bad, Kathryn," Gretchen noted, once the target of Janeway's indignation had left the kitchen. "In fact, I may have Phoebe do a similar painting for me and Michael, only without the optical illusion. Just he and I on a bed of flowers. I'll hang it in the parlor where we hold the park council meetings."

"Oh my god!" Janeway stared at her mother, horrified. "You wouldn't." Over at the table, Michael appeared a little shocked himself, glancing over at the women with wide eyes.

Seven regarded them both, then raised an eyebrow appraisingly at her mother-in-law.

"You are correct ... they are 'easy marks'."

Gretchen laughed as Janeway made a face at both women, which made Seven smile. The captain proceeded to pointedly ignore them all as she went outside to play with the dogs, letting the screen door shut unnecessarily loud behind her. By the time dinner was ready, however, she was in a much better mood, and helped Phoebe set the table willingly enough, though every time the artist glanced at the captain, she smiled in a particularly annoying fashion. The meal turned out to be delicious, as often was the case when Seven and Gretchen joined forces, and after stuffing herself, Janeway was feeling much more benevolent to all concerned.

After Janeway and Seven helped clean up, the couple set out for a walk in the fields behind the house, Janeway bundling up in a heavier coat, as well as a knitted hat and mittens. Seven also pulled on a jacket, though in her case, it was more for the sake of making Janeway comfortable about watching her walk around in the cold than because she actually required the protective gear. Late fall in Indiana brought a decided nip to the air, and the women could see their breath issuing in white clouds while they walked in the gathering darkness. Around them, Jake and Phoebe's Irish Setters tore through the fields in an unrestrained romp, while Petunia, Gretchen's dog, had stayed back at the house, where it was warm and infinitely more comfortable to the ancient animal.

"We'll have to make a point of coming out here when the snow falls," Janeway told her spouse as they tramped across the frosty ground, the short stalks of harvested corn crunching loudly beneath their feet. "Would you like to learn to cross country ski?"

"Yes, Kathryn," Seven said, but it was said somewhat automatically, and Janeway squeezed the young woman's hand through the material of her mitten, wondering why her spouse seemed so distracted. Seven blinked at the sudden pressure on her fingers, glancing over at the captain.

"Is something bothering you, darling?" Janeway asked softly.

"No," Seven said. Then seemed to reconsider her response. "Perhaps a little," she admitted after a moment.

Janeway leaned into her partner, and they paused, long enough for them to kiss lightly before continuing their walk. "Tell me," she urged quietly, taking the opportunity to slip her arm around the Borg's waist, feeling Seven's arm encircle her shoulders warmly.

"Kathryn, do you feel that Admiral Nechayev is ... utilizing you only for her own political dealings?" Seven asked finally, a tentative note in her voice.

Janeway began to understand where this was coming from. "Darling," she said firmly, "I assure you, those test flights were absolutely routine. I know there was a rumor going around that my third pass through the shipyards experienced difficulty, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. Besides, it's not as if I'll be flying any missions in those fighters. I just wanted to get a sense of what my future crewmembers would be experiencing when I deploy them."

"You nearly collided with the USS Discovery," Seven said.

Janeway winced. "Not even close," she replied, fudging slightly as she remembered the way she had barely pulled the fighter's nose up in time. The little ships were far more sensitive in the navigational controls, with a quicker response time than anything else she had ever flown. It had been a close call, but entirely her own fault, becoming too daring in her third pass through the shipyards to test their maneuverability in close quarters.

"You could not run a simulation in the holodeck?" Seven asked wistfully.

Janeway smiled. "You can't protect me all the time, Annika," she said, hugging her gently with one arm. "Not even from myself. I know this is a discussion we've had before, and we probably will again, but I need to do what I have to in my role as captain." She paused, and glanced over at her spouse. "However, regardless of what taking command of Millennium demands of me, I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize what I already have with you, all right?"

Seven considered that, then finally nodded. "Very well, Kathryn," she said.

Janeway squeezed her lovingly, then took a deep breath, delighting in the keen freshness of the air. Tipping her head back, she gazed up at the pinpoints of light glittering hard in the night sky arching overhead.

"I wonder which star the Doctor headed for?" she said idly, changing the subject.

Seven followed her gaze, smiling faintly. "Undoubtedly, one boasting a planet with an opera house," she said. She paused. "I am sure Samantha and Laren will find him, Kathryn."

"I'm still bothered by the fact that B'Elanna chose to stay behind," Janeway said. "You don't think there's any trouble between her and Ro, do you?"

"I have not detected anything to that effect," Seven remarked. "Since Ro's departure, I have been seeing B'Elanna regularly. She expresses the opinion that we should not allow our friendship to 'slide' as we have been doing, and often stops by the TPG through the day just to visit me, particularly when I am working late and she is off-duty."

"Having friends around is important," Janeway offered. "I suppose that she misses working with you." She squeezed her partner's waist, leaning her head on the Borg's shoulder as they walked. "Annika, you'd tell me if anything were wrong, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, Kathryn," Seven replied. "Why?"

"You seem so distant tonight," the captain prodded lightly. "Is it really bothering you that I did those test flights?"

Seven looked surprised, stopping and turning toward Janeway. The pale eyes studied the captain intently. "No, Kathryn," she said seriously. "I understand why you decided to perform them." She paused, frowning slightly. "I did not ... like it ... but I accept it. This is more a matter of having a great many things on my mind, but I do not wish them to influence me to the extent that I am neglecting you."

"You're not, darling," Janeway assured her. "I'm just ... I guess your being distracted is unusual enough in itself to make me worry a bit. I wonder if you're experiencing some kind of trouble, and if so, I want to help."

Seven stared at her, then smiled and pulled her close, bending her head to kiss her lovingly. "Kathryn," she whispered against her lips, "these are thoughts and ideas that I must work out to my own satisfaction. Until then, I find it unnecessary to discuss them. Can you be patient?"

Janeway felt a sharp pang in her chest, a sliver of worry that penetrated her heart, but she knew what her response had to be ... the same response that she expected and requested when their positions were reversed.

"Absolutely, darling," she said. "Take as much time as you need."

Seven nodded somberly. "Thank you, Kathryn," she said as they resumed their walk.

"Will you let me know if there's anything I can help you with in the meantime?"

"Of course," the young woman assured her. "Immediately."

"Then, I guess, I'll just have to be patient, won't I?" Janeway said.

Seven smiled faintly. "I know that is difficult for you," she said.

Janeway managed a laugh. "Nonetheless, I'll do my best," she said.

They stopped again, this time beneath the shadowed darkness of an oak tree, a familiar place to both women who appreciated the secluded location, and the isolation from the rest of the farm it offered them. Janeway leaned against the trunk, her back pressed against the hard bark as she felt Seven's arms surround her. She lifted her face, her lips parting beneath the warm mouth of her partner, feeling the kiss resonate through every part of her soul. Despite the chill air, desire rose as Seven's hands began a lazy caress beneath the captain's jacket.

"Hmm," Janeway muttered, once they parted. "Perhaps we should think about heading home."

Seven smiled. "Do you object to us making love beneath this tree, Kathryn?" she asked. "You did not the last time we were here."

"The last time it was Indian summer, the middle of the day, and still quite warm," Janeway pointed out. "Try something like that tonight, and I'll probably lose something delicate to frostbite."

Seven nuzzled her jaw. "That would be most unfortunate," she agreed. "Let us return home, then. First, we must say good-bye to the others."

Janeway kissed her again, and took her hand. The walk back to the house took much less time than the walk out ... certainly less time than their farewells took, with Gretchen making sure that they did not set off without the proper fortification. The hovercraft zipped back to the Portage Creek Transport Station in less than thirty minutes ... Janeway's hand at the navigational controls ... and the transporter beamed the couple from there to San Francisco in a matter of seconds. They had to take off their heavy jackets during the walk back to their house in the much warmer California weather, where the sun was still above the horizon, glowing red in a spectacular sunset. Jake walked sedately at their heels, having exhausted much of his natural exuberance while romping with the other dogs.

"I'm glad we decided to take tomorrow off," Janeway said as they entered their house where she tossed the couple's coats over a nearby chair. "After a meal like that, I'll need three or four days to recover."

Seven's arms were filled with containers. "It will take three or four days in which to consume these leftovers," she noted as she took them into the kitchen, storing them in the refrigeration unit. "I am glad you like turkey and dressing."

"So am I," Janeway agreed and collapsed on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table. Linking her hands behind her head, she watched in lazy contentment as her partner puttered around the kitchen. Occasionally, the captain was struck by how much better her life was in the Federation, after having been lost for seven years in the Delta Quadrant, than it had been before that fateful mission to the Bajoran Badlands. This was another of those moments.

Seven raised an eyebrow as she returned to the living room. "Why are you smiling, Kathryn?" she asked curiously, kneeling by the hearth to kindle a blaze in the fireplace.

"Just realizing how happy I am, darling," Janeway told her. "How much I have to be thankful for."

"Ah," Seven said. She paused, staring thoughtfully into the small flames spreading uncertainly along the logs. "I am happy, as well." She shot a look at the captain, and offered her a smile. "You were concerned that you would forget to appreciate being back in the Alpha Quadrant."

"I know," Janeway said, remembering the dinner the couple had shared on DS9 where they had discussed it. "I guess you don't have to kick me in the ass, yet."

"Not yet," Seven agreed indulgently. She got up from in front of the hearth and moved over to join Janeway on the couch, stretching her long legs out beside the captain's, the side of their bodies touching along their entire length. Janeway lowered her hands, and Seven took the left one into her own, while she slipped her other arm around the captain's shoulders. "This has been a good day."

"It has," Janeway agreed, turning her head to her partner, smiling as Seven immediately took the opportunity to kiss her. "Hmm, and obviously, it's not over yet. I was afraid that you had forgotten what you suggested beneath that tree."

"I would never forget that, Kathryn," Seven told her, amused. Her pale eyes were almost colorless in the soft light of the fire, but the warmth of their glow stirred a blaze within the captain. Janeway smiled and leaned closer, kissing her again. The intensity of the embrace increased, and eventually, without quite being sure how she managed it, Janeway discovered that she had edged her way onto Seven's lap, straddling the Borg's hips as she faced her, the couple kissing deeply.

"Hmm, should we go upstairs?" she murmured, pressing into Seven as the young woman touched her breasts through her sweater.

"Later," Seven promised, tugging at the captain's sweater and pulling it from her jeans so that she could slide her hands beneath it. Janeway gasped as she felt the warm fingers on her abdomen, trailing across her skin which tingled in their wake.

"Later is good," Janeway agreed, breathing heavily. "Oh ... darling..."

Seven smiled as she helped the captain pull the sweater off over her head, then paused to follow suite herself. Janeway wrapped her arms around the young woman's neck, kissing her hotly as the Borg's hands roamed over her back and sides, delighting in the feel of Seven's skin against her own. With a bit of maneuvering, they were able to divest themselves of their jeans, resuming their position on the sofa once they were nude. Janeway found this exciting, loving the way Seven's lips moved over her throat and chest, the way her hands moved soft over her hips and legs, up her back. Urging the Borg's head up so that she could kiss her again, the captain settled more of her weight on the young woman's lap, feeling the tickle of Seven's triangle barely touch her moist and intimate flesh. It teased more than satisfied, but that was what made it so delightful. The anticipation was as enjoyable as any eventual fulfillment.

She threw her head back as Seven dropped hers to the captain's breasts, her lips moving over them with slow passion, tongue prodding each nipple into a tingling point of sensation, moving back and forth between them. Janeway didn't know how long Seven concentrated on her breasts, how long she held the blonde head to her with loving tenderness, how long the pleasure rose in her in rhythmic waves. She only knew that when Seven finally decided to touch her between her legs, long fingers brushing over her center, then sliding easily into the heat and wetness, it was like a bomb went off inside her and spread throughout her body, an explosion of desire and pleasure racing along her nerve endings like liquid fire.

"God," she whispered, after Seven had guided her through the spasms, had gently eased her back to her arms and reality, "you do that so well." She continued to undulate on her, almost without conscious volition, the lingering tremors continuing to squeeze the long fingers buried inside her.

Seven nuzzled in the warm valley between the captain's breasts. "Was it not you who told me that when one enjoys what they do, it is easy to do it well," she responded with dry humor, her voice slightly muffled.

"If I didn't, then I should have," Janeway said with a small laugh. She was reluctant to give up the fingers that withdrew slowly from her heat, but she knew her partner was fully aroused, waiting patiently, but obviously ready to be pleasured. She leaned down and kissed the Borg thoroughly.

"Mphh, Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I love you."

"I know," Janeway whispered against Seven's lips. "Do you know how much I love you? How much I enjoy touching you ... tasting you?"

Slowly, with careful attention, she eased down the lean body of her spouse, kissing and suckling various bits that she knew Seven enjoyed having caressed. Finally, she knelt on the floor between the young woman's legs, her senses alive with her partner's body, hearing the soft moans of the Borg helpless beneath the captain's caresses, scenting her desire, seeing the delicate pink flesh awaiting for her touch, a decided hunger filling her.

Nuzzling the tender inner skin of Seven's thighs, Janeway kissed along the line of muscle, intoxicated by the fragrance of readiness and need, bending forward to brush her lips over the swollen outer lips, tasting the essence which gleamed softly in the flickering firelight. She nudged the Borg's legs further apart, opening her fully to her attention, then finally, covered the tender moistness with her mouth, eagerly and happily feeding on the bounty her partner offered.

Seven was more than ready by this time, lifting her legs into the air, allowing her partner easier access, bracing her feet against the coffee table as she arched beneath Janeway's mouth. Fingers tangled in the captain's auburn hair, Seven held the captain's head tight to her, a wordless demand for more. The first spasm arrived quickly, a jolt that seemed to rocket up through Seven's body to escape with an abrupt cry, an incoherent groan of pleasure that issued from full lips. Janeway paused, waiting for this initial climax to subside, then settled in to feed on Seven for real. As she did, she brought her hand up and pushed a finger into the tight confines of her beloved, easing into her as she flicked her tongue steadily over the tiny erection that swelled beneath her lips. She managed to add a second, slowly, taking her time, then with her other hand, she teased the rear channel open, allowing her to penetrate there as well, filling her partner completely.

Crying out again, Seven surged beneath the captain, this climax was more powerful than the first, the young woman shuddering helplessly beneath her partner's devote attention. Janeway kept the Borg in a delirious state of unceasing multiple orgasm until finally, the young woman simply could not respond any further.

Seven's breath was a sob when Janeway finally released her, kissing the tender flesh in a gentle farewell before easing the young woman down onto the couch and stretching out on top of her.

"You are ... astonishing, Kathryn," Seven whispered, when she could finally talk again, gathering together the shredded remains of her composure.

Janeway allowed herself a smug grin. "Imagine if there were two of me," she told her cheerfully.

Seven groaned with more emphasis than perhaps was required. "I simply would not survive," she said. "I barely survive one of you."

Janeway laughed. "Goodness, what would you do without Borg enhancements?" she asked, enjoying the game, one they played regularly in the aftermath of a particularly strenuous encounter.

"You would have to marry another," Seven told her gravely

Janeway kissed her sweetly. "I don't want another," she whispered against her lips. "Sorry, love, you're stuck with me."

Seven smiled. "Perhaps it shall not be such a bad existence."

"I hope not," Janeway teased.

There was a pause, then Seven pulled her closer. "I am going to carry you up to bed now," she said.

"Yes?" her partner said, pleased. "My, you recovered quickly after 'barely surviving'. Why do you want to take me to bed?"

"Because I do not believe we are finished," Seven told her. She managed to rise from the couch, lifting the captain easily in her arms, raising an eyebrow challengingly at her. "Unless you are too tired to appreciate the rest of this weekend?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," Janeway told her, hugging her neck lovingly as Seven carried her up the stairs. Somehow, this was a more powerful gesture here on Earth than it had been in the Delta Quadrant ... perhaps because Seven had a longer distance to go. "But I will say, all these late hours you're pulling through the week have had a bad influence on me."

"How so?"

"When I am with you, all I want to do is make love."

Seven smiled as they entered the bedroom. "Then, I shall continue to use that influence on you," she promised as she lowered Janeway onto the large bed.

"For the rest of our lives."

Epilogue

Located on an obscure planet in the outermost fringes of the Federation, the bar was half full of patrons, the chatter rising in a low hum in the smoky room. It had been said at the nearby spaceport that most any kind of deal could be done here, whether it was buying, selling or trading ... not to mention employment opportunities. It was the latter which had brought the Doctor here, seated in a dark corner, across from a man who might hold the key to his survival out here on the edge. The Pardian was reputed to be a mayor of Noiro, here to recruit skilled professionals to his expanding colony, and rumor had it that he might be especially receptive to hiring some skilled medical personnel.

"You're really a medic?" Duvont asked skeptically. Humanoid, his skin was darkly scaled, almost metallic, while his reddish eyes assessed the hologram keenly, though the Doctor didn't think he recognized him as a hologram, which was a source of pride to the EMH. The Doctor had even hidden his emitter by solidifying his matrix into a nude form, and putting on real clothes over it to further conceal his true nature. He just hoped he didn't run into anything that would disrupt his matrix. Fortunately, he had experience 'blending in' with a native culture, from his time in the Delta Quadrant, where he had spent three years in an alien civilization ... though only minutes had passed on Voyager.

"I am far more than a medic," the Doctor said coolly. "I served the Federation as a CMO on a deep space vessel for the past seven years, and am a fully qualified physician, familiar with a variety of alien physiology and medical techniques."

"Then, what are you doing way the hell out here?" the alien asked rationally, lighting a smoke stick by inhaling deeply, then blowing the smoke languidly through his nostrils as he regarded the hologram. The Doctor wrinkled his nose, though of course, he was not bothered physically by the smoke ... not having to actually breathe ... but still appalled purely on a medical basis. Still, it was clear that Duvont was not taking anything at face value, and the Doctor knew he would have to access his sub-routine dealing with creative storytelling in order to convince the colony recruiter that he would make a valuable addition to his frontier community.

"Let's just say that I ran into some problems with Starfleet," the EMH said dryly. "However, they had absolutely nothing to do with my abilities. It was more ... personal, a matter of disagreement between us in how I would be utilized and for what purpose. I didn't like what they intended for my future, so I ... left."

"Just ahead of Starfleet security from what I hear," Duvont allowed slowly.

The Doctor blinked. "I wouldn't say that, exactly," he responded honestly, wondering how that rumor had arisen. Had he said something in the past week to indicate such a scenario? Perhaps he should take more care in whom he talked to and what he talked about, though he had tried to be as discreet about his history as possible once he had left McKinley Station on the Bolian transport. It had been the only berth he could find on such short notice, and they hadn't cared to ask any questions, which he was grateful for.

The alien smiled. "Sure," he said casually. He leaned back in his chair. "I should tell you that there are more than a few in our organization who have had the same sort of ... disagreement ... with Starfleet." He picked up the knife that had been lying on the table, and began to clean his nails. The Doctor wondered if he would accidently cut himself, realizing that it might be a perfect opportunity to show off his skills if he did.

Duvont leaned forward and the Doctor did the same.

"Our ... colony ... has grown a lot in the past few years, in ways that we never expected, and we have a lot of colonists who weren't the sort we had before the Dominion war," the alien explained. The Doctor wondered at the intonation Duvont had used with the word 'colony', thinking that should bother him, but not sure why. "We need someone who can handle not just the usual injuries, but also the stuff that regular people have, like runny noses, pregnancies, that sort of thing."

The Doctor blinked. "As I said, I am fully qualified," he repeated. He paused. "Usual injuries?"

The alien stared at him. "The colony is heavily involved with ... shipping," he said, as if the Doctor should be able to understand the emphasis he was placing on certain words. "It's a highly competitive business in this area."

The Doctor, not wanting to appear uncertain before a potential employer, and keenly aware of how few credits he had left, nodded his head in what he hoped was a knowing fashion. That seemed to satisfy Duvont, and he smiled, reaching out his hand.

"I think you'll fit in fine, Doc," he said, shaking the EMH's hand firmly. "Welcome to the Noiro Belt. We'll be shipping out for the colony as soon as we've finished loading our supplies. You can find our vessel at Berth 6, the Blue Nebula."

"I'll be there," the Doctor smiled, pleased. He was making his way on the frontier, just as he had on Voyager, and if Starfleet didn't recognize how capable ... and sentient ... that made him, then it was entirely their loss. He relaxed in his chair as Duvont left, contemplating his untouched drink.

Finally, things were looking up.

The End

•  This is the 47th installment of the Just Between Series

•  It was posted on December 15th, 2000.

•  Title is provided by Wendy.

•  A Wonder Wand Warning is in effect for this story.

Just Between Love & Hate
G. L. Dartt

The steady mist made the ground slick, and Ro Laren moved carefully to avoid the trickle of dirty water flowing down the sidewalk. She still couldn't believe how quickly events had progressed beyond her ability to stop them. She should be back on Earth, performing her role as Janeway's adjunct, as well as protecting the captain's spouse, Seven of Nine, which was her true mission. Instead, she was light-years away, on a backwater planet in an obscure star system, attempting to track down a missing Emergency Medical Hologram. Ro could only hope her partner, B'Elanna Torres, would be able to keep things under control with Seven until she got back.

"Damn it."

Ro looked back to see her associate stumble over a bit of debris. Samantha Cogley was a civilian lawyer, and completely out of place on what Ro had come to consider a Starfleet away mission. Slender, dark-haired, slightly boyish, Sam was a feisty and determined Human, but even her personality could find itself tested on a planet like this, located on the fringes of Federation space.

"You all right?" the Bajoran asked.

"I'm fine," Sam said fretfully, righting herself. "Tell me again why you think the Doctor is here?"

"This is where we traced him through the shipping lines," Ro said patiently, for the tenth time. She knew the woman was nervous, but it wasn't making her job any easier. "According to the personnel at the port, if one wanted to find some quick work, no questions asked, this is the place to find it."

"Why would he be looking for work?" Sam asked as they approached the entrance to the facility. "Why wouldn't he just lie low?"

"First, because his credits are limited, and he knows that," Ro replied. "Secondly, he's programmed to help those in need medically. That's his nature. He'd look for a place where his talents could be used."

"Makes sense," Sam agreed.

The Bajoran heard the lawyer inhale sharply as they entered the tavern, greeted by a lull in the conversation, a brief pause as the two women were looked over by the patrons, then dismissed, the murmur of voices resuming again. Ro let her eyes adjust from the gray mist outside to the much dimmer illumination in the bar, and swept the taproom with a keen eye, checking out the clientele and deciding who looked like the most knowledgeable person. She finally decided on taking a chance with the bartender, a smooth looking Renplima from Tellus Prime, his dark green hair combed straight back from the cranial ridges which arched over somewhat attractive lavender eyes. The mouth and nose were in the traditional humanoid arrangement, but the ears were swept back in wing-like lines on either side of his head. They were the sort of shape that Ro suspected allowed him to hear a lot of things, regardless of which part of the room they were spoken in.

"What can I do for you, ladies?" he asked, relatively pleasant yet wary, as the two women found a place at the bar. He regarded them evenly as he wiped the counter top with a clean cloth.

"We'll have a drink," Ro said, easing onto the stool. She was pleased when Sam followed her lead, perching on the stool beside her. "Also some information if you have it."

"The drinks I have," he said, noncommittal. "What's your pleasure?"

"Spring wine," Ro said.

"Samarian Sunset," Sam added, surprising the Bajoran, though Ro didn't show it. The bartender did, looking at the lawyer as if she were crazy, but without saying anything else, he reached down and made the drink. Ro's choice, he simply poured from a bottle that did not appear particularly clean nor corked, and the Bajoran wondered sardonically how long it had been 'breathing'.

He set the glasses in front of them, flicked the glass of Sam's drink to produce a rather weak color burst, then handed Ro a padd which she altered, changing the charged amount considerably upward, tilting it so that he could see it, but not making the input which would finalize the exchange. The bartender wasn't stupid, and a twitch in his right eye let Ro know he was receptive to the amount.

"What kind of information?" he asked quietly, checking to make sure no one was hovering. Fortunately, the bar was relatively quiet this time of afternoon.

"I'm looking for a doctor," Ro said. "I have a ship running supplies to the Dominion War refugees on Cardassia Four, and a medical officer would come in handy."

"A medic?" he repeated, probably not believing a word of it considering it was a Bajoran he was dealing with, regardless of how lucrative the black market in food and medicine was to the Cardassians, but not walking away either. "You think there's one floating around here?"

"Let's just say I heard one might have been in the neighborhood recently," she said.

He gazed at her evenly, his lavender eyes assessing her with an experienced regard. "One might have," he allowed finally. "But he also might have moved on by now."

She waited, then, when nothing more was forthcoming, she added a few credits, then dropped the padd, indicating that was as far as she would go. He inhaled, looking at it, then raised his eyes to meet hers.

"How do you know you're getting what you pay for?" he asked.

"I don't," she allowed easily. "If it's not, however, then I'll be back ... and I won't be alone." She let the years of living on the edge ... of growing up in Cardassian internment camps, of working with Starfleet and the Maquis, of fighting for every scrap of nutrition, education, respect and dignity she received ... show her eyes. His face changed subtly, became bleaker, and he inclined his head slightly. He understood perfectly what she was saying.

"Someone like that was here a few weeks back," he said. "You're too late, though."

Sam made a sound, and Ro steadfastly ignored her. "How so?" she asked.

"He found a job," the bartender said. "Some guy was here, made him an offer to be the doctor in his colony, and offered to pay big money. They both shipped out on a private transport a day later. Someplace called the Noiro Belt."

"Noiro," Ro echoed. "Never heard of it."

The bartender glanced at the padd again, then lifted his head. "This one I'll give you for free," he said, his voice abruptly so low she could barely hear it. "If you never heard of it, it's because you don't need to hear of it. If you have no business there, then it's best you stay clear."

Ro considered that one with a touch of surprise. The bartender had been deadly serious, and she sensed what could have been ... fear? ... in his tone. Obviously, she needed to know more.

"Why should we steer clear?" Sam queried.

Since it was the next question Ro was going to ask, she didn't glare at the lawyer, but she did wish Samantha would remain quiet and let her handle this.

The bartender glanced between them, then exhaled. "It's the sort of trouble that all the credits you could offer me wouldn't make it worth my while to tell you," he said.

Ro blinked. That was not something said lightly, not by this sort of male, nor in this sort of location.

"I see," she said. "Who could I offer them to?"

He hesitated, then leaned closer. "There's a place on Dargas IV, called the New Moon," he said finally. "You might be able to find someone there who not only can tell you where the Noiro Belt is, but might be able to smooth your way ... don't tell them where you came by the idea, though." He glanced at Sam. "Unless you can handle yourselves, Dargas IV is the sort of place that most people also avoid."

"Understood," Ro said, and touched the padd, finalizing the credit entry. She put down her glass, leaving her wine untouched ... knowing it would be a rather cheap and sour version of the Bajoran beverage ... before gesturing with her head. Sam promptly finished her drink, and followed the Starfleet officer out of the bar.

"Word of advice," Ro said.

"Yes?" Sam asked curiously as they hunched beneath the mist which was increasing into a grey drizzle.

"Don't order a drink like that in the next place," Ro said flatly. "I don't want to have to drag your sorry carcass back to Earth, and explain how I managed to let you be killed."

Samantha blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Those aren't the sort of drinks ordered out here ... most people don't have the credits for them," Ro said, "I know we're on an expense account, but there's no need to get greedy, nor is there any need to draw attention to ourselves."

Sam opened her mouth to object, then took in the look Ro shot her way, and subsided.

"Okay," she said. She paused. "Actually, it wasn't a bad Samarian Sunset."

Ro exhaled in exasperation, knowing that they had to establish who exactly was in command here as soon as possible. "I know you think you're tough," she said, not unkindly. "Maybe you are when it comes to Earth. Out here on the fringes, however, you're way out of your league."

Sam looked angry as she shook her head, shaking off the droplets of water forming in her hair. "I didn't grow up on Earth," she said with an old bitterness. "My parents left there before I was born, and I grew up on Enteron Prime. We were poor as dirt. If it wasn't for my great-grandfather's estate paying my way to Earth to go to law school, I'd still be on the farm, grubbing for roots with the rest of them."

Ro raised an eyebrow. That explained a few things. "An agricultural planet," the Bajoran said, digging up the details from her memories with the Enterprise, which had conducted a mission there once while she was still a helmsmen for the flagship. "Suffered a twenty-year drought. Times were hard."

"Really hard," Sam said flatly.

Ro shot a look at her. "However, Enteron Prime was never occupied by Cardassians, never found itself in a demilitarized zone, was never involved in a war, and the criminal organizations never made their presence felt," she said, her voice suddenly sharp and laced with ice. "The Federation arranged relief and supplies on a continuing basis, and sent scientists to come up with crops that were drought-resistant, which helped the planet recover. There are much worse things than being poor, Miss Cogley, and what you experienced isn't close to what the people on the worlds in this sector have known. Trust me when I tell you that, comparatively speaking, you've had it easy, and they can see that. They consider you weak, and that makes you prey. Keep your mouth shut, do what I say, or you can go back to the ship while I search for the Doctor. I expect you'll earn your fee either way."

Sam flared at her. "This isn't about the credits!" she said.

"No?" Ro said in a decidedly bored tone. "Then, why did you make Zimmerman pay you more than his original offer of three times your going rate."

Sam looked away, almost as if she were hurt. "You don't understand," she said quietly. "I'm here because of the Doctor."

The Bajoran finally managed to attract the attention of a passing cab, and slipped into the back seat of the hovercraft, relieved to be out of the rain.

"Fine," she said, once the machine began to move, granting the lawyer the benefit of the doubt. "In either event, do it my way, or stay on the ship."

Sam glared at her, but when Ro met her eyes, Sam looked away. "All right," she said sullenly. "I'll follow your lead."

Ro nodded, not entirely satisfied, but suspecting it would be the best she would get.

Seven of Nine eyed the large, sleekly brown quadruped warily, not entirely sure this was a good idea after all. She took a slow breath, then glanced over her shoulder at her partner who was waiting expectantly next to Chakotay, both Starfleet officers perched on the top rail of the fence bordering the dusty enclosure.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Annika," Janeway told her, the captain shading her eyes from the Arizona sun with her hand. Dressed in jeans and a light shirt, just as Seven was, the Borg's spouse seemed somewhat amused at the young woman's trepidation.

Chakotay smiled. "Kathryn's right, Seven," he said. "A horse always knows when its rider is afraid."

"I am not afraid," Seven replied, affronted. She looked back to the animal who had turned its large, tapered head to regard her placidly with big dark eyes. Icheb, the tall, gangly youth who had once been a Borg drone, just as Seven had been, held the reins of the beast, and offered the young woman an encouraging look.

"I also possessed certain misgivings prior to my first ride, Seven," he told her earnestly. "However, it was an enlightening and positive experience. Snoopy is the calmest of our horses, and will not shy easily."

"'Shy'?" Seven echoed with a certain note of apprehension.

"Step sideways in an abrupt fashion," Icheb explained.

"Very well," Seven said, exhaling a little more audibly than she would have liked. Gathering her resolve, she placed her left foot in the 'stirrup' as she had earlier been instructed, and using the protrusion at the front of the 'saddle' ... the 'saddlehorn' ... she levered herself onto the back of the large creature, feeling slightly off balance, but possessing a giddy sort of triumph once she was there.

"Keep your heels down, Seven," Icheb instructed. Seven had been his mentor after he had been severed from the hive mind of the Borg Collective a year earlier, and it seemed to please him to be the one teaching her for a change. "Squeeze with your knees."

The horse's breath abruptly erupted with a grunt, and the animal's knees buckled.

"Not so hard," Icheb yelped. "Gently squeeze." He glanced up at the Borg-enhanced young woman with a touch of exasperation, and Seven, already a bit off balance, shot him a nervous look. "Just enough to remain steady in the saddle, Seven," he elaborated.

"You should have been more precise in your explanation," Seven admonished him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Chakotay trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile, while her partner had her hand covering her mouth, the blue-grey eyes twinkling visibly, even at this distance. Resolutely, Seven ignored them, deciding she would receive no useful instruction from that area.

"We will begin," Icheb told her. He began to walk forward, leading the animal who lurched into motion. Swaying uncertainly, Seven tried to tighten her grip on the animal ... gently ... and held onto the horn of the western saddle desperately, almost to the point of breaking it. Fortunately, she detected the ominous creaking in the leather before she ripped it off completely, and she relaxed her hands marginally. As the walk around the corral progressed, however, she became accustomed to the motion of the animal beneath her, and even began to understand how to alter her own muscles to accommodate the horse's movement.

"You're a natural, Seven," Chakotay noted from his perch.

Janeway merely looked proud as she watched her partner be led about the fenced enclosure. Apparently, though the starship captain was not ready to participate in this endeavor herself, she appreciated her partner's bravery in doing so. After a few more turns around the corral, Seven was feeling even more courageous, and glanced down at Icheb.

"May I attempt to control the animal now?" she requested.

Icheb hesitated, then nodded, handing her the reins. Carefully, he instructed her in how to hold them in her left hand, while resting her right hand lightly on her thigh.

"Why did this procedure develop?" Seven asked curiously. "Would it not be more efficient to hold the reins in my right hand?"

"Perhaps," Icheb said slowly, as if he had not thought about it before. Somewhat helplessly, he glanced over at the tall, slender figure standing against the fence on the other side of the corral. "Juan?" he prompted.

Chakotay's cousin, his bronzed arms resting lightly on the top rail as he observed the boy's attempt to teach his friend how to ride, lifted his head. "It's tradition, Seven of Nine," Juan Windrider said. "You're correct in saying a right-handed person would be more comfortable manipulating the reins that way, but by using your left hand to hold the reins, you leave your dominant hand free in case it's needed." He smiled faintly, his impassive features altering only slightly. He had reminded Seven of a Vulcan the first time she had met him. "Or perhaps you could teach her how to hold them in her teeth, Starseer."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Starseer?"

Icheb nodded. "It is my tribal designation," he said proudly.

"A proud name to aspire to," Chakotay allowed.

"Why would I wish to hold the reins in my teeth?" Seven persisted, puzzled.

"It is irrelevant," Icheb told her, which did not satisfy her curiosity at all. He patted the horse on the neck. "Nudge him in the ribs with your heels, Seven. Keep the reins loose. To turn left, move your hand to the left until the reins are on the horse's neck. To turn right, move your hand right until the rein is against the horses neck. To stop, you gently pull the reins towards you and say 'whoa'."

Seven glanced down at her mount. Now, that it was just the two of them, she felt some need to define the parameters of this interaction. She leaned forward.

"Snoopy," she said firmly, noticing that the animal's ears twitched backwards at the sound of her voice, "we shall walk about the corral at a controlled pace. You will comply."

She nudged him with her heels, and Snoopy obligingly started walking sedately about the corral, as Chakotay raised his thumb in approval, and Janeway clapped her hands. Seven offered her partner a bright smile, and straightened proudly. Just then, a raven swooped low over the corral, not landing, but appearing close enough to attract the attention of both horse and Borg. Perhaps it was the fact that the horse knew it had a novice rider, or the fact that the bird had honestly surprised him, but the next thing Seven knew, Snoopy had abruptly danced sideways across the dusty ground. Unfortunately, the Borg had jerked in the opposite direction, and devoid of a mount, she dropped to the ground in the middle of the corral, a small cloud of dust puffing out from under her as she landed on her behind, the jolt rattling both her dignity and her implants. Confounded, her gluteus maximus stinging from the contact, Seven glared up at the horse which was standing a few feet away. Though she had managed to keep her grip on the reins, her sudden unseating had caused the bridle to be yanked over one ear, giving the horse a drunken expression as he regarded her placidly, obviously waiting for her to get up.

"Seven, are you all right?" Janeway said, peering at her with an odd twist to her mouth. Seven noticed that the captain did not leap down from the fence to see, however, and she shot Janeway a sharp look, suspecting that her spouse was trying not to laugh.

"I am ... functional,"Seven said, frowning.

"Get back on, Seven," Chakotay instructed. "That's the best thing to do after you've been thrown."

Seven eyed him skeptically, but got to her feet, aided by Icheb who offered his hand. The young man shot her an encouraging look as he adjusted the bridle, putting it back in place while Seven futilely attempted to brush the dirt from her jeans.

"I too, have fallen from a horse, Seven," he said. "Chakotay is correct. It is best to immediately make another attempt if you have not been injured. Juan has told me that there has 'never been a horse that ain't be rode, and never been a rider who ain't been throwed'"

Mulling over the oddly worded saying, Seven obeyed, putting her foot back in the stirrup and mounting again. With more determination, she held the reins with authority, and nudged the horse into another walk. Before long, she was trotting about the paddock ... a gait that caused her teeth to jar together ... and by the end of it, she was beaming, proud not only of herself, but of the animal which had performed obediently to each of her commands.

Confidently, she acquiesced when Icheb suggested they go for a quiet ride on the trail which led through a nearby canyon. Juan also accompanied them, mounting a big bay gelding while Icheb rode a smaller horse with large patches of black scattered throughout the snowy coat. Icheb's animal was called "Spooky", apparently because of the white circles around his eyes that gave the horse a perpetually astounded expression. Juan's mount was called 'Lightning', and the way it danced in place, allowed Seven to speculate that perhaps it was a commentary on the animal's speed.

Seven grew more comfortable the longer they rode, and she was able to relax her concentration on her horse a little in order to look around. Captivated by the scenery, particularly the reddish hues of the rocks which made up the geological aspect of the region, she also noticed that the scents and sounds were different from anything else she had experienced. Juan pointed out a rattlesnake that lay coiled in the shade of a prickly bush, the trio taking a respectful berth, and Icheb was quick to offer such detailed data on the reptile that the young woman knew he had made a point of studying all aspects of his current surroundings. It pleased her to know that he had finally found a home, particularly after his original family and homeworld had been ready to sacrifice him as a biological weapon to use against the Borg. Chakotay had been good for the young man, and conversely, Seven thought that Icheb had also been good for Chakotay. The first officer seemed more at peace with himself in a way that he had not when Seven had first met him on Voyager. If nothing else came from having been lost in the Delta Quadrant for the first officer, at least he had found a son.

She found herself riding beside Juan as Icheb ranged ahead. She had met Chakotay's cousin a few previous times, but never really had the chance to speak with him extensively. Now she assessed him subtly, trying to decide where that sense of calm rationality came from. Perhaps he was a Vulcan after all, though she knew Humans were capable of displaying a wide range of personalities. She glanced at his ears, seeing no points, his long dark hair pulled back behind them, tied at the nap of his neck with a thin strip of rawhide.

"You have a question, Seven?" he asked, not looking at her though aware of her scrutiny.

"Icheb says Starseer is his 'tribal name'," she asked. "How does one achieve such a designation?"

"The name comes from who a person is," he said. "Icheb, despite his place with us, still seeks the stars at night. Eventually, they will take him away from the tribe."

Seven considered that. "You disapprove?" she asked.

He flicked an eyebrow. "We each must follow our own paths," he said. "They will lead back to where his heart is, just as Chakotay's did." He paused. "My cousin is the last of his tribe, but in Icheb, he found the seeds to start again. He will find it in others, and his tribe will grow, become strong. Eventually, the knowledge and ways that sustained his people, and mine, will live again."

The young woman found that an attractive idea. She understood what it was like to lose everything and have to begin again in strange and different surroundings, of finding ways to live a completely different life, yet still manage to accept it as a home. Taking a deep breath of the desert air, she concentrated on the ride, finding it easier to settle into the saddle the longer they went. She was actually disappointed when Juan turned his mount around and indicated it was time to head back. He smiled faintly at her when she requested that they extend the duration of the excursion.

"Trust me," he told her. "We have been on the trail long enough." His eyes ran over her appraisingly, in a way she did not understand. "Perhaps too long," he added, with a rueful note in his voice.

It wasn't until they had finally returned to the ranch and Seven had dismounted, that she realized what he had meant. Until the moment her feet touched the ground, she had not known that riding a horse carried certain strenuous demands upon a person's physicality.

"A little liniment massaged into the muscles will do wonders," Juan suggested calmly as he handed Janeway a bottle full of some blue liquid. "However, it should be done as soon as you both return home. She may be stiff for a few days."

"I understand," Janeway said dryly as Seven leaned painfully against the fence, the muscles of her buttocks and legs screaming in protest. The captain readily lent the young woman a shoulder to support herself with as the Borg tottered uncertainly back to the hovercraft.

"This is not an acceptable conclusion to this experience," Seven said through gritted teeth.

"It just emphasizes my reasons for not wanting to try it," Janeway murmured as she helped the Borg into the front seat. The captain rolled up her jacket to provide as much padding as possible for her partner who eased down onto it uncomfortably. "I suppose this means our dinner date tonight is canceled?"

"I do not believe I shall be able to sit down for some time," Seven allowed unhappily. "Kathryn, will this take long?"

Janeway offered the young woman a small smile as she activated the controls and directed the land vehicle out the gate and down the lane. "I'll go as fast as the machine will allow," she promised, and Seven had to content herself with that.

The young woman was disappointed that her visit with Icheb and Chakotay had to be cut so short, but the sensation in the lower part of her body reminded her that the sooner she returned home, the better. She resolutely stared ahead, trying to ignore the aches streaking up and down her thighs as they headed for the Phoenix Transport Station where they could beam back to San Francisco.

"Well," Janeway quipped finally, unable to resist any longer after parking outside the terminal and handing the hovercraft's activation chip over to the attendant. "That's one learning experience that's behind you."

Seven just groaned as she limped toward the transporter section, finding the pun as painful as her buttocks at the moment.

After Seven and Icheb rode away on their mounts, Janeway remained on the top rail of the corral fence, feeling equal measures of pride and apprehension as the young woman embraced yet another new challenge in a life that currently appeared to be filled with them ... none of which seemed to include the captain. She knew she should be happy for Seven, pleased by how eagerly the young woman was tackling every new experience here in the Alpha Quadrant, but at the same time, there was a part of Janeway that felt left out. It was not a pleasant feeling, nor one that she was particularly proud of.

"Kathryn?"

She glanced over at her friend, the man who had served almost seven years as her first officer on the USS Voyager. Chakotay was a bulky bear of a man, darkly handsome, with a tribal tattoo arching over his left brow. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, he appeared leaner and more content with himself than she could remember.

"She'll be all right," he assured her seriously. "Icheb has become a very adept equestrian in the time he's been on Earth. He seems to have a natural affinity for horses. Plus, Juan is with them, and he wouldn't allow anything bad to happen."

She nodded. "I know," she allowed. "That never concerned me."

"Then why do you have that look on your face?" he asked.

She inhaled slowly, the smell of horses along with the arid tang of desert sage strong in her nostrils. "What look?" she said, knowing very well how hard it was to hide things from him.

He stared at her, then inclined his head. "What's going on, Kathryn?"

She hesitated. It had been awhile since the two of them had talked, and since returning to the Federation after being lost in the Delta Quadrant, she hadn't kept in touch as well as perhaps she should. Yet, he was still her friend, and someone she had relied on greatly when things had been at their worst during that incredible and trying journey. Certainly, he might provide an unbiased opinion on the things that had been bothering her lately about her partner.

"Sometimes, it seems as if Seven is growing too fast," she said finally, tentatively, unsure how it would be received.

"Why does that worry you?" he prodded gently.

"How long before she doesn't need me at all, Chakotay?" she concluded softly.

He made a small sound, not quite a snort, but an acknowledgment of sorts. "Ah, I see," he said, shaking his head. He slipped off the rail, landing lightly on his feet. "Let's get out of the sun."

The pair retired to the front porch of the ranch house where Chakotay retrieved a couple of cold beers from the cooler, handing one to his previous captain. She accepted it, taking a long swallow of the icy brew.

"You think I'm being foolish," she said, after savoring the liquid running a cool line down her dusty throat.

"I think," he allowed, "that the very traits that make you a great captain ... your sense of organization, your personal attention to every detail, your need to know every aspect of your command ... are what cause you the most irritation in your personal life. On Voyager, you had far more say in what went on in the day-to-day scheme of things, particularly with Seven. She came to you for everything, not only personally, but professionally as well. Here, however, she's expanded her horizons immeasurably, particularly as a scientist. Even at the Academy, we've heard about the incredibly talented and brilliant Borg that Leah Brahms managed to recruit for her TPG facility."

"I understand what you're saying, Chakotay, but that's not it," Janeway disagreed. "I'm very proud of her, and extremely pleased that she's been so successful in her new role."

"I'm sure you are," he said easily, leaning back in his chair and putting his booted feet up on the porch rail. "But Kathryn, it's not easy to adjust to that lack of ... input ... after providing it constantly for three years."

"I would hate to think I'm that much of an obsessive that I need to influence everything Seven does," she said dryly.

"No, you're not, Kathryn," he pointed out. "By the same token, however, it's not easy to see her experience things without really participating in them as well. You think she's growing away from you."

"She is," Janeway said softly.

"No, she's simply growing," Chakotay said placidly. "As she does, she needs you less in some ways, but more in others. You just have to accept that the balance is changing within her ... hopefully into a more healthy one where she can be more of her own person ... and not always defined by being Borg, or being Voyager's astrometrics officer or even by being Captain Janeway's spouse. She's becoming Lt. Annika Hansen, a respected Starfleet scientist."

Janeway considered that carefully. They had discussed similar topics before, and she knew it was Chakotay's perception that Seven nurtured an unhealthy reliance upon the captain, one that did not necessarily interfere with the couple's relationship, but sometimes did inhibit Seven's growth as an individual.

"It's not just that, Chakotay," she argued. "She works late all the time, and what she does in her job is something that I can't really share with her. Even when she does try to explain her experiments to me, half the time I haven't the faintest idea what she's talking about. She encourages a certain distance between us now, whereas before, she fought against it desperately."

"That could be a good thing, Kathryn," he insisted. "She needs to learn how to be herself without your advice or even your approval at times."

"I know," she said, frustrated that she wasn't able to get across why exactly she was uneasy about this. Of course, she didn't know why exactly either, so perhaps it was to be expected that Chakotay couldn't appreciate what she was feeling. "I guess ... I hate feeling as if I'm not a part of her professional life anymore, especially when she says something regarding Starfleet or the Federation that shocks the hell out of me, and I wonder who she's been talking to at the TPG to formulate such opinions."

He raised an eyebrow. "You and I both know that any facility which is primarily made up of scientists is going to generate some odd ideas at times, Kathryn," he said, a smile curling his sensitive mouth. "The people who work at the TPG may technically be Starfleet officers, but they're also free-thinking in a way that Seven wasn't exposed to on Voyager." He paused. "Are you sure this isn't a matter of your becoming bored with Utopia Planitia now that you have things running the way you want?"

Janeway inhaled slowly, considering that. "I will admit," she said slowly, "it does make Annika's absences more acute when I'm not occupied with my own pursuits."

"This may be something that you'll just have to get used to," he reminded her, not unkindly. "It was your decision to take an administrative post while Seven adjusted to living in the Federation. That she's become quite successful at it should be a source of celebration, not regret."

"It is," she insisted. "I'm very happy for her." She stared out over the red stone, her eyes tracing the purple and rust lines of the rocky vista. "Maybe you're right," she allowed finally with a sigh. "Maybe I am starting to feel less challenged by my current position, and translating that into worrying unnecessarily about Seven. However, it's also possible that Seven isn't achieving the right sort of balance by working all the time, either."

Chakotay sighed. "I can see that this is hard for you," he offered in a gentler tone. "However, you have to be able to let Seven go, Kathryn. That way, she'll be able to come back to you without restraint." He reached over and put his hand on her shoulder companionably. "You have her heart, but her body and soul belong to her, and that's how it has to be."

"I had hoped you would be able to give me some good advice, Chakotay," she told him, taking another swallow of her beer.

"I did," he replied amiably. "You just don't want to listen to it."

"I'm listening," she said, glancing at him sideways. At his grin, she started to chuckle, despite herself. "Fine, I'll take your words under advisement."

The sight of the returning horsemen attracted her attention and she stood up, smiling and waving as she watched Seven ride toward the ranch, showing a true adeptness on her mount. However, the smile faded as Seven had difficulty dismounting, and Janeway realized that the plans they had for dinner were no longer an option. Certainly, there was a certain amount of amusement to be derived from the Borg's predicament, but it was tempered by the obvious pain her partner was feeling, and Janeway did not spare the hovercraft on their return to the Phoenix Transport Station, nor did she hesitate in using her command authorization to have Starfleet transporters beam the couple directly to their house on R. Garrett Avenue, the couple materializing in the middle of their living room.

"It hurts, Kathryn," Seven murmured as Janeway assisted her up the stairs to the second floor loft.

"I know, darling," the captain responded sympathetically, helping the young woman to the bed and removing her jeans and underwear. Janeway was thankful there was no blistering, but it took a great deal to cause Seven to complain, so the captain knew that it must be more than just the usual strain of using muscles in a different manner. "Lie down," she instructed. "I'll put on some of this liniment."

Seven stretched out across their bed, pillowing her head on her folded arms. Janeway knelt on the mattress beside her, and using the oil that Chakotay's cousin had offered her, she began to work it into the muscles of Seven's thighs and buttocks. The young woman exhaled audibly, her breath almost a sob, and Janeway hesitated, peering at her anxiously.

"Darling?"

"Continue," Seven urged, her voice tense. "It felt so good when the pain ceased, I could not remain silent. The oil must have some desensitizing property."

Janeway frowned, realizing that perhaps it was a bit worse than she had thought, but then she had never ridden a horse, so it wasn't as if she had anything to compare it with. She took her time as she massaged Seven's legs and buttocks, finding pleasure not only in touching her partner's curvaceous body, but in being able to relieve the young woman's discomfort at the same time.

"You are so good to me, Kathryn," Seven said lazily, after long moments. Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on her forearms, her face turned toward the side where Janeway knelt. "You are always there to take care of me when I require it. I do not know how I could exist without you."

Janeway bent down and kissed Seven's shoulder blade through the thin shirt. "My pleasure, love," she said, aware of the irony of these comments so soon after her discussion with Chakotay. She felt ashamed that she had been so selfish as to want Seven to draw back from her newfound professional success. She decided she needed to help her partner explore this life she was living in the Federation, not resent the fact that Seven was so willing to try new things. "I'll always be here for you."

Seven smiled, a sort of angelic, contented smile that lit up her narrow features. "I love you," she whispered.

"I positively adore you," Janeway told her, nuzzling her neck lightly. "However, I have to admit, I'm not particularly fond of how you smell at the moment, darling. Between the horses and that liniment, you're pretty rank. I'm going to draw you a nice hot bath, and that should work out the rest of the stiffness for you."

Seven made a small sound of pleasure. "That is very acceptable," she muttered. "Will you join me?"

Janeway laughed. "I suppose I could be persuaded," she allowed, before sliding off the bed and heading into the ensuite.

After filling the large whirlpool tub with hot water, adding some salts that would aid in further easing Seven's soreness, she stripped as her partner tottered in from the bedroom, having removed the rest of her clothes. The Borg was still a bit ginger in her motion, but appeared not nearly as awkward as she had looked on the walk from the hovercraft through the transport terminal in Phoenix. The captain helped her into the tub, then joined her, slipping into the warm water behind the young woman so that Seven could lean back against her chest.

Tipping her head back onto Janeway's shoulder, Seven closed her eyes blissfully, her skin flushed pink in the steamy air of the bath. "Despite the consequences of learning this new skill, it was a very pleasant day," she said quietly. "Did you enjoy visiting with Chakotay while I went for my ride with Icheb and Juan?"

Janeway smiled and drew a sponge languidly over Seven's arms and upper chest. "We had a good talk," she admitted.

"About?" Seven prompted.

"This and that," Janeway said vaguely, turning her head to kiss Seven's cheek. "Aside from how hard it was on your ... on you ... what did you think about learning to ride a horse?"

"I found it a most appealing exercise," Seven said. She paused. "We could not have a horse here, could we?" Her voice was wistful, however, as if hoping that the captain would come up with a way to make such a thing possible.

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "Where would we keep it, love?" she pointed out logically. "In the back yard with Jake? Besides, you'd only be able to ride on the weekends. You're usually quite busy through the week."

"Yes, I am," Seven agreed readily. "However, I would like to pursue future opportunities to ride."

Janeway thought about it. "It might be possible to rent a horse," she said. "I know there are stables located not far from the city." At Seven's quizzical glance, she smiled. "Mark enjoyed riding, but didn't have the time or facilities to look after an animal of that size, either," she explained. "I used to browse the local shops while he took a ride through the park. If you want, we could do the same thing next weekend."

Seven inhaled. "It would not bother you?" she asked.

Janeway blinked. "Why would it bother me?" she returned, puzzled.

"That we would be doing the same things that you and Mark did," Seven pointed out.

Janeway pulled her closer. "That's not an issue, darling," she said. She chuckled and kissed her neck. "Fortunately for you, or I wouldn't be able to do a lot of things he and I did ... like make love."

"Ah, I had not thought of it that way," Seven said thoughtfully. "Was he a good lover, Kathryn?"

Janeway inhaled slowly. "Why do you ask?" she countered.

Seven considered that. "I am curious," she offered finally. "Sometimes I wonder if I am able to offer you everything he did."

"You do," Janeway assured her, hugging her tightly. "You absolutely do, Annika, and so much more." She reached up and used her fingertips to turn Seven's head toward her so she could look into the pale blue eyes. "Have you run into Mark lately? Is that what's prompting this?"

"No," Seven allowed softly. "I have just .... heard things ... like how happy you and he were, how much you loved each other, and how you were going to be married before Voyager was thrown into the Delta Quadrant."

"Well, whoever is telling you these things is seven years out of date," Janeway said firmly. "Yes, I will admit that Mark and I were happy when we were together, but that was another time and another place. It's not important to the here and now."

"Isn't it?" Seven asked.

"What do you think, Seven?" Janeway urged quietly. "Look into your heart and tell me the answer."

Seven hesitated, her eyes distant as she obeyed, then she smiled, a touch ruefully. "I think that sometimes I become concerned over things that are completely irrelevant," she admitted finally.

Janeway laughed softly. "I think we both do, my darling," she said. "Maybe it's just part of being 'Human'." Seven sighed and settled deeper into her embrace as Janeway cradled her, feeling a warmth and tenderness flow through her that was so strong, she had trouble catching her breath for a second. "In any event," she said, swallowing back the tiny lump in her throat, "how are you feeling now? When the liniment washed off, did the pain come back?"

Seven bent her knees, the water in their bath sloshing slightly as she tested the various muscles. "No, the application worked perfectly, Kathryn," she said, her voice pleased. "There is no lingering soreness."

"I'm glad," Janeway said. "I don't think either of us would have enjoyed the rest of our Saturday evening otherwise."

Seven glanced at her. "How are we going to 'enjoy' the rest of the evening, Kathryn?" she asked, her voice becoming husky.

Janeway smiled. "Oh, I think we can find a way," she said, sliding her hands down Seven's chest. "Don't you?"

Idly perusing the transmission which had arrived earlier in the morning, having downloaded it into a padd before leaving her home on Mars, B'Elanna Torres headed for engineering. So familiar with the interior of Voyager, the Klingon hardly had to look up to navigate through the corridors as she read the message from her partner. Ro Laren didn't have much to tell her in the missive, other than she and the lawyer had tracked the Doctor to an obscure planet on the outskirts of the Federation. The Bajoran expressed the hope that 'everything was going well', which the Klingon knew was a reference to Seven ... B'Elanna had remained behind to keep an eye on the Borg ... then finished up the communication with a reminder of how much she loved B'Elanna. There was even a rather poetically worded promise to return to B'Elanna as soon as possible. It was not something one would expect from the stoic Bajoran, and the attempt provided the Klingon with a warm feeling in her chest, a small smile playing about her lips as she instructed the turbolift to take her to deck twelve.

She tucked the padd in her tunic as she stepped off the lift and strode briskly down the corridor which led to main level of engineering. Inside, the rest of the Utopia Planitia team of technicians were completing the final details of the upgrades to the Intrepid-class vessel, bringing the systems up to current operating specs. Privately, B'Elanna thought the tough little Scout ship could fly rings around most vessels in Starfleet without the need of any upgrades, but she appreciated that Starfleet wanted to make sure there were no surprises left in the ship after seven years of innovative jury rigging in the Delta Quadrant. As the Klingon walked over to where Miles O'Brien stood working on the main console, she speculated briefly as to what would happen next. With these final adjustments, Voyager would be ready to return to active duty again, and B'Elanna was curious who would take command now that it was clear to everyone concerned that Janeway was heading the list to command the new USS Millennium.

"Lieutenant," Miles greeted her, handing her a padd. "The plasma alignment is as sweet as it can be."

Technically, B'Elanna wasn't ranked high enough to be placed in charge of an engineering team, but Commander Dickson had recognized that she was the only one on the team with any real familiarity with the vessel, and had essentially made her his second-in-command, granting her the authority to do what needed to be done with the rest of the ship while he concentrated on the bridge refinements. It hadn't taken long for the team to realize that B'Elanna was the one to go to whenever they hit a snag in the refitting.

"Good work," B'Elanna complimented, scanning the data. She glanced around the engine room which had been her territory for so long, appreciating that it would soon be turned over to another. The thought made a small pang go through her, and it occurred to her to wonder what she wanted to do now. She had enjoyed working in the shipyards, but she thought that offering a closer, more individual attention to a single vessel on active duty was more to her liking. As soon as the mess with Seven and Section 31 was over, she'd think about applying for a starship berth ... assuming that was what Ro was interested in, as well.

"Miles," she said, dropping her voice and moving closer to the husky operations officer. "What's the word with Voyager? Who's taking her?"

He quirked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "A few names have been tossed around," he admitted, continuing his work on the console. "One of them is your former first officer."

"Chakotay?" B'Elanna said, surprised and pleased. Then she remembered how much the ex-Maquis member enjoyed teaching at Starfleet Academy. "He probably won't accept it."

"No?" Miles said, sounding a bit surprised. He paused to think about it, obviously having offered the most feasible piece of gossip first. "It might be taken by an admiral as their flagship. I hear Hayes has been sniffing around."

"Admiral Hayes?" B'Elanna said, blinking. "What would he do with a Intrepid-class vessel like this? Don't they usually go for the larger ships?"

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Miles said, offering her a grin. "I know the gossip, but not the reasoning behind it."

B'Elanna returned the smile. "I guess you're right," she said. She paused, then looked around again, stifling a sigh. "I have to admit, I'll miss the old girl. She's a fine ship and whoever takes her will be getting one of the best."

Miles lifted his head, considering it. "I think you're right," he agreed, having heard a great many stories about the Delta Quadrant from the young woman. "She's a sweet little vessel, and god knows, survived more than most, which gives her a rep for being a charmed ship. There'll be a lot of captains who wouldn't mind taking her over." He glanced at the Klingon woman. "Any chance Janeway might want her back?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, grinning faintly. "She's got her sights set on the Millennium, and I doubt she'd settle for Voyager now that she's been offered the bigger prize."

"I'd better get my credit into the pool, then," Miles admitted. "Now that I have the inside track that Chakotay probably won't accept it, I can still get some down on Webster. He's the most obvious choice. He's young, gained a lot of experience during the war, but not enough for him to receive any type of larger vessel. He and Voyager would make a good fit, I think."

B'Elanna glanced at him. "I'm surprised there's still a pool around after that mess with McCord," she said.

He snorted. "Oh, McCord didn't waste time with anything as small as the shipyard pools," he said. "Every ship or station has one, and most people play them, aside from the most senior of officers. He never bothered, however, and in retrospect, it's easy to see why. He was too busy losing big money in the casinos on Mars."

"Owned by Packer Shipping Incorporated," B'Elanna added dryly. She shook her head over the waste of a promising officer, then handed the padd back to Miles after making a few adjustments. "See if you can refine the overflow ratio a little, just to see if it can be done. I'm going to see Dickson and tell him we're ready to shut down operations here."

"Are you going back with the Millennium team?" Miles asked curiously.

"That would be my first choice," B'Elanna said. "But I'll probably end up on the Discovery. You?"

"Me too," he said. "I think that may be a good place for us."

He offered her a bit of an enigmatic smile, and not for the first time, she was reminded that there were depths to the Irishman that were not always apparent. Ro suspected that he was actually working under Jean-Luc Picard's authority, as the Bajoran was, but neither woman had been able to verify that for certain. He did seem to know more about what was going on in the shipyards than anyone else, even stuck on the outer edges where Voyager's refit was taking place.

She thought about that as she gave her report to a very pleased Dickson, the team having brought the refit in on schedule, which was amazing considering they had started in a hole, having to clean up the mess left behind by McCord before they could even start the actual modifications. The rogue Starfleet officer, who had been in the employ of a criminal cartel known as the Orion Syndicate, had torn apart key areas of the vessel in order to retrieve Borg technology, with little regard to the actual refit. In celebration, Dickson gave Torres's team the rest of the day off, allowing them an early start to the weekend, and B'Elanna immediately headed for the nearest work pod, managing to board it before another engineer did. It was crowded in the tiny shuttle, but it was only a short flight to the main docking array where there was a quick exodus for the transporters.

Instead of keying the coordinates for the Utopia Planitia base and home, however, B'Elanna requested a transport to the Theoretical Propulsion Group complex, located just outside Marsport. She immediately felt lighter as she stepped off the transporter dais in the main building, enjoying the change in gravity as she always did while on the red planet. Waiting patiently as her identity was verified, she was finally issued authorization to allow her to travel about the compound unaccompanied. Security had become a great deal tighter around Earth and Mars in the aftermath of the incident involving the Orion Syndicate, particularly in Starfleet Science facilities, and more extensive checks had become the norm.

Once the Klingon was cleared, she located the nearest turbolift and requested the section where Seven worked. Accorded her own personal lab, Seven had also been assigned a group of Starfleet scientists and technicians who aided in her research and experiments, working under the Borg's direct authority. B'Elanna wondered if the young woman had become better at dealing with command than she had on Voyager, then realized that the frighteningly brilliant, but socially inept, officers populating this facility probably wouldn't find Seven's abrupt style all that out of the ordinary. In fact, the Klingon knew that Seven's team liked to jokingly refer to themselves as the 'Collective', and had taken on numbered designations as nicknames. Inside the TPG, it was considered amusing. Everywhere else in Starfleet, anyone who had ever dealt with the Borg was forced to control a tiny shiver when they heard about it.

Spotting Seven hard at work on a console in the lab, the rest of her team all intent on their duties, B'Elanna knew she had come at a crucial time. Finding herself a quiet corner to wait until Seven was less occupied on whatever it was that required her complete concentration, B'Elanna sat down on a stool and observed quietly. The Klingon prided herself on being a hell of a good engineer, but some of the techniques and theories the TPG worked on were so beyond her, it was amazing that she and Seven could find anything to talk about when they got together.

B'Elanna took a deep breath. There was more going on with that than just the Borg's new position, she reminded herself. Seven had undergone some distinct personality changes over the past few months since joining Leah Brahms' TPG. It wasn't that there was any less friendliness from the Borg toward the Klingon, but there was a difference to her, a type of distance that wasn't usual, not even for the cool, composed ex-drone. Perhaps it was simply a natural progression of Seven's being back in the Federation, of being surrounded by the scientists of the TPG rather than starship personnel, but B'Elanna didn't think so, and neither did Ro. Both women believed someone was getting to the young woman, influencing how she was thinking and growing, perhaps even in some sinister way related to Section 31.

However, neither woman had been able to discover anything specific so far, and it was beginning to worry the Klingon ... not to mention making her paranoid. She was also concerned that she was starting to see enemies everywhere, and ascribing the worst connotations to the most innocuous conversations.

But then, that was how Section 31 worked.

"B'Elanna."

The Klingon, jarred out of her musing, looked up to see Seven crossing the lab toward her, a faint smile on her face which indicated the young woman's pleasure in seeing her. B'Elanna forced away her dark thoughts, and pasted a smile on her own face.

"Why are you here in the afternoon?" Seven asked curiously.

"Playing hooky," B'Elanna said, then at the Borg's widened eyes, amended that. "We finished up the final details on Voyager, and she's ready for active duty again. Dickson gave us the rest of the day off, allowing us to start the weekend early. Can I entice you to do the same? We could go pick up a late lunch in Marsport, do some shopping, maybe hang out a bit like the old days."

Seven frowned, a mix of emotions crossing her face. "I cannot, B'Elanna," she said regretfully. "I have several more tests to run today, and it is my intention to leave early in order to be home for Kathryn. Otherwise, I would appreciate spending an afternoon with you."

"Some other time," B'Elanna said graciously. "So what do you and Janeway have planned for tonight?"

Seven beamed, and for a brief second, she looked exactly like the same young woman the Klingon had learned to accept and appreciate on Voyager, a woman newly in love and overwhelmed by her emotions. It passed quickly, but B'Elanna was left with the sense that perhaps not every aspect of Seven had undergone change in the past few months.

"I am going to surprise her with a special dinner," Seven said, her voice warm. "I think she has been feeling neglected lately."

B'Elanna blinked. "Why do you think that?"

"She has been asking a great many questions regarding my work in the past few weeks," Seven explained. "What I am doing, who I am spending time with, what I discuss with them ... I believe she is feeling less a part of my life, particularly when it is so difficult for me to explain my experiments in a way that she can understand. I have also noticed that since she has organized the shipyards in the matter she prefers, it has made her duties less pressing, and she is becoming decidedly ... 'bored'. That will not be helped by the completion of Voyager's refit, and knowing that someone else shall be taking command of her vessel. I am glad you shared that with me, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna blinked. "I hadn't noticed her being all that bored," she said. "Are you sure?"

Seven dipped her head. "Perhaps it is something only I would notice, but it is evident to me in many ways," she said. "I intend to address it this evening."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," B'Elanna said, putting her hand on Seven's back as they walked toward the exit. "However, you and I need to get together soon."

"It has been some time since I have involved myself with the kind of trouble I usually find myself in with you," Seven agreed placidly.

B'Elanna shot her a delighted look, pleased to hear the Borg attempt a joke at her expense. She reached up and ruffled Seven's hair, messing up the austere bun, and surprised, the Borg ducked away.

"B'Elanna!" Seven said with outrage, but she was smiling as she attempted to put the loose strands back in place. "I believe you were leaving?"

"I'm going," the Klingon said, throwing her hands up in surrender. She offered the young woman a final smile in farewell as she left, but it was a smile that faded immediately as she strode down the corridor away from the lab. With any luck, the Borg would not detect the tiny transmitter B'Elanna had just planted on her head when she ruffled her hair. It would work its way to the roots of the Borg's hair, and attach itself to her skull where hopefully, it would be too small for anyone to detect.

Not even by Janeway when she was running her fingers through the young woman's blonde locks.

Seven considered the Klingon's departure curiously, looking at the doors that she had disappeared through, and thinking that her friend had changed somewhat since their return to the Alpha Quadrant. She could not remember the Klingon ever ruffling her hair before, and she wondered what it signified. Perhaps the engineer was missing Ro Laren and required more tactile contact now that the Bajoran was away. That was something Seven understood completely, particularly after experiencing a trip not long after returning to the Federation, when she had been away from Janeway for a long period of time. Touch between partners was not always sexual in nature, and perhaps B'Elanna was missing the simple, physical presence of the Bajoran, and attempting unconsciously to recreate it with Seven. The Borg made a mental note to find more time to spend with her friend during Ro's absence, as she completed the task of fixing her hair into the customary bun that she wore while on duty before returning to her lab.

The tests took a little longer than she anticipated, and she had to hurry to the transporter section of the facility at the end of her day. She wanted to reach the house before Janeway, though the captain usually had the advantage in commuting from Mars to Earth due to the private transport unit in her office at Utopia Planitia. Pleased to discover Janeway had yet to arrive home, Seven immediately ordered dinner from one of the local restaurants that Janeway favored. After it was delivered, she dared to take a quck shower and change out of her uniform, then prepared several candles and ignited a fire in the hearth, grateful for the extra time to prepare, but somewhat uncertain as to what was taking her partner so long. Dusk had fallen before she finally heard Janeway at the door, and she quickly took her place in the center of the room, holding two glasses of wine.

The captain's head came up as she entered the house, surprise shading her face as she saw what was waiting for her. Seven smiled faintly, aware that her new gown clung to her curves like a second skin, flowing from her hips and around her legs in a most provocative fashion. Her hair was down, her skin still slightly flushed from rushing around, and she knew that she looked quite acceptable simply from the glow that kindled in the captain's eyes. Janeway smiled and dropped the padds she had been carrying on an end table, reaching up to unfasten her tunic and pull it off, tossing it onto the sofa.

"Hello there," the captain said, her voice dropping to that husky trill the Borg adored as she moved over to meet the young woman. "Am I forgetting a special occasion?"

"Not at all," Seven assured her as the captain accepted the glass of wine she offered. "I believe you have been feeling neglected lately. I wish to make up all my late hours to you."

"Oh, you do," Janeway said, arching a brow as she sipped the wine. It was a deep blue liquid, a special beverage which had actually been fermented on Voyager in an illicit still. This was the last bottle the couple possessed. "I haven't felt neglected."

"No?" Seven said, not disbelieving her exactly, but deciding the captain wasn't being entirely forthcoming, particularly in light of the subtle signals she had been detecting in her partner since the weekend they had visited Chakotay's ranch. "Then, consider this a gesture to remind you how much I love you."

"Hmm, what a wonderful idea," Janeway remarked happily. "So what did you have in mind?" Her eyes traveled languidly up and down Seven's body.

"Not that," the Borg told her with an indulgent smile. "At least, not yet. I have dinner already prepared."

"Do I have time to shower and change before then?" Janeway asked, moving closer to the Borg and looking up at her with a lidded gaze.

"Of course," Seven told her, dipping her head as Janeway stood up on tiptoes and brushed her lips fleetingly, but sweetly, over the young woman's. "The food is under stasis."

"I won't be long," the captain promised.

"I will wait," Seven told her. She smiled as her spouse set her glass down on the coffee table, scooped up her tunic, and trotted quickly up the stairs leading to the second floor. Leaving her own glass behind, Seven moved into the kitchen where she retrieved the meal. Setting it on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, she lit the candles about the room, affording a cozy, golden illumination as Janeway finally descended the stairs, dressed in a slinky black dressing gown that Seven could not remember ever seeing before. It seemed to enhance the blue in the captain's eyes, and the flickering flames of both candles and hearth made the rich auburn hair appear touched by fire.

"You are exceptionally beautiful," Seven told her, amused when Janeway promptly blushed. She did not understand why her partner reacted that way every time she told her that ... it was, after all, only the simple truth.

"Sweet talker," the older woman murmured, raising an eyebrow as she saw the meal spread out over the coffee table. "Eating in front of the fire?"

"Do you object?" Seven asked as the captain moved to the opposite side of the table.

"Not at all," Janeway replied, sinking gracefully down to the cushions Seven had provided. She lifted off the silver stasis lid, smiling as she saw the plate full of pasta and Chicken Parmesan. "Remington's?"

"I know you enjoy their food," Seven said.

Janeway raised her glass. "I appreciate that, darling," she said. "To think I almost stayed late tonight because I thought you wouldn't be home. As it were, I stayed long enough to finish up some reports."

"I was about to call and ask that you leave the office," Seven admitted. "That would have spoiled some of the surprise, however." She reached over and took the captain's hand in her own. "Kathryn, I know that you have had cause to resent the many late nights I have been working. I have not even fulfilled my earlier promise to take a regular evening off through the week so that we could spend it together. I am sorry."

Janeway regarded her steadily, her eyes deep and intent. "There's no need to apologize, Annika," she said earnestly. "I never want you to be sorry about doing what you love, or how much time you need to give it. I especially don't want you to feel as if you have to give up anything on my account."

Seven shook her head. "On the contrary, Kathryn," she responded. "It is you who have been 'giving up things' on my account. You have offered me your total and complete support as I involve myself completely with my duties at the TPG. Perhaps, even too much support."

Janeway tilted her head, looking slightly confused. "Too much?"

Seven brought the captain's hand to her lips, kissing the palm gently. "I think that you have not been willing to tell me that you are feeling dissatisfied with our current situation," she said, detecting the tightening around Janeway's eyes that let her know she had guessed correctly. "You want me to pursue my professional goals without considering your feelings, but that is not acceptable, Kathryn. I must consider how you feel ... without you, the rest of my life is irrelevant."

Janeway seemed unable to respond to that, her face growing softer as she looked at the Borg. Seven smiled and released her hand. "Eat," the Borg suggested. "We can discuss this afterward."

Acquiescing, Janeway picked up her fork and speared a piece of pasta, bringing it up to her mouth where she chewed thoughtfully. The couple ate their meal quietly, but with enjoyment, accented by the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious quality of the food. The captain still looked pensive, Seven noticed as she served the coffee and dessert, as if Janeway had been considering the young woman's words carefully all through dinner.

"You think I'm sacrificing my own needs for your sake," Janeway said finally, after taking a small bite of her cherry cheesecake, regarding her partner with level grey eyes. "To the point where I'm doing myself harm."

"Yes," Seven said, observing her with both concern and affection. "You are the sort of captain who would not hesitate to sacrifice your very life for your crew ... it is not such a leap to believe that you would also sacrifice your own sense of happiness for my well-being. You are very good to me, Kathryn, but it is possible that you have gone too far in this instance. I do not require you to lack in fulfillment in order for me to discover my own."

"It's not that simple," Janeway said, then paused, obviously searching for the words that would convey what she was thinking. "Annika, there were many times on Voyager when your needs had to take second place to my role as captain. That was something we both accepted, and furthermore, you made the sacrifice willingly, because you loved me, and respected the demands of my position. This is the same thing, only from the other side. It's not a matter of ignoring my needs, so much as it is allowing yours to take priority for a change. It balances out in the end, and I don't regret any of what I've had to do to make it possible."

"However, recently I have understood what it has cost you personally to have accepted the administrative position at Utopia Planitia," Seven countered mildly. "I do not believe that you are being fulfilled in your role as commander of the shipyards ... not in the way you were as captain of a starship. Were I not a factor, I believe you would be taking command of Voyager now that its refit is complete. Instead, you must wait several months until the completion of Millennium, which must only enhance your sense of dissatisfaction."

"Annika, if I truly wanted Voyager back, we would have discussed it before now," Janeway said firmly. "The truth is, the Millennium is the far more attractive ship to command, and I'd be prepared to wait for her regardless of how long it takes, or whether we were married or not ... so my needs are also being met. This isn't a matter of 'settling for the Millennium' because of you. This is a matter of being offered a greater opportunity that I might have missed without you."

"But you are not happy, Kathryn," Seven told her seriously.

"I'm not unhappy," the captain pointed out, before sighing softly. "I admit, sometimes I've felt a little left out when you talk about your work, particularly when you seem so excited about it, whereas all I have to talk about is refit schedules. Obviously, you've picked up on that, regardless of how much I've tried to hide it. However, I never wanted you to think that you were responsible for me feeling that way." She paused to take a sip of her coffee. "Annika, our life and marriage are a matter of compromise and adjustment. Sometimes my needs will take center stage, other times, yours will. Together, we'll work through an accommodation until such time when both of us can be equally fulfilled, both professionally and personally."

"When will that be?" Seven asked. "When the Millennium is ready?"

"I hope so," Janeway said honestly. "Are you concerned that you won't be fulfilled on a starship now that you've experienced the working conditions in a facility like the TPG? Annika, you need to remember that Voyager was not really set up for what being lost in the Delta Quadrant demanded of it. It was a short range vessel only, and whatever we were able to do, both in terms of surviving our journey and discovering all the amazing things we did, were in spite of its limitations. A vessel like the Millennium, however, is designed for being in deep space for long periods of time, and is fully equipped with all the scientific equipment Starfleet can provide. Granted, you might not be able to pursue the purely theoretical research you currently are with the TPG, but the ship will include a large percentage of scientists in the crew, both from Starfleet and on a civilian level. Believe me, you're going to have your hands full taking over as its chief science officer."

Seven smiled. "Are you offering me a berth, Captain?" she asked dryly.

Janeway blinked, an astonished expression creasing her face. "Of course, I am," she said. She hesitated, thinking about it. "My god, I just assumed that you would be my science officer, didn't I? Don't you want that?"

"I do, very much," the Borg said, toying with her fork. "Truthfully, I am looking forward to a time when I can work with you on a regular basis, rather than apart from you, but that is not something we have really discussed. Rather, it was something that both of us were taking for granted."

"You're right," Janeway admitted. "I'll need to get started on the paperwork right away requesting a transfer for you from the TPG pending completion of the Millennium."

"There is something else we must discuss," Seven reminded her. "Specifically, Jake. Will we be taking him with us?"

Janeway paused, thinking about that. "Actually," she said slowly, "wouldn't that be sort of cruel?"

Seven nodded. "I agree," she said. "Now that he has experienced planetary living for an extended period of time, he would be unhappy on a starship. We shall have to make certain arrangements for him to remain on Earth. With Phoebe, perhaps?"

"Or Mother," Janeway said. She shook her head. "Obviously, I haven't been as on the ball as I thought. I forgot about Jake."

"Are you so certain that you will be assigned the Millennium, Kathryn?" Seven prodded, eyeing her partner intently. "Perhaps you are making assumptions that are unwarranted."

"It's understood, Annika," the captain told her, slightly surprised. "By everyone involved."

"Have you not warned me about making decisions based on what is 'understood' in Starfleet?" the young woman pointed out delicately. "As opposed to what is confirmed?"

Startled, Janeway looked at her oddly, then smiled. "You're right," she admitted. "If I didn't warn you about that sort of thing, then I certainly should have. I'll make a point of confirming my next post in writing ... signed by Admiral Nechayev. Certainly, I've managed to accomplish a sufficient amount on my part to have earned it by now."

"That would be wise," Seven said, relieved, though she did wonder what exactly Janeway meant by 'earning' the vessel. "In any event, assuming command of the new starship will not occur for a few more months, and I am afraid that your discontent will increase exponentially." She inhaled. "I do not want you to be unhappy, Kathryn."

"Darling, I'm responsible for my own happiness," Janeway told her seriously. "If I'm finding myself bored, or out of sorts, then it's up to me to find a way to remedy that, not you. If Utopia Planitia isn't enough to keep me occupied until my next command, then I'll just have to find something else to do." She paused. "Maybe I'll take up horseback riding."

Seven dipped her head, seeing the corner of her partner's mouth quirk. "You are being facetious," she determined dryly. "However, it would be very interesting to see you astride a horse." Janeway wrinkled her nose at her, and the Borg smiled. "I will try harder to be home in the evenings," she added quietly, reaching over to take her hands. "Not just the weekends."

"You don't have to do that on my account," the captain insisted, squeezing gently. "Honestly, Annika, I'm perfectly fine with your work, and how much attention you have to give to it."

"I am doing this on my account, Kathryn," Seven told her. "I enjoy my position, but I also require a personal balance in my life." She paused. "I think I can fulfill my obligations to the TPG without nudging you aside, or leaving you to your own devices."

Janeway smiled. "Worried that I'll get into trouble without you?" she asked teasingly.

"Worried that you may find someone else to dance with in my absence," Seven said firmly, pulling the captain to her feet as she uncoiled from the floor. Janeway willingly rose, and after the couple had pushed aside the cushions and the coffee table to clear a space in front of the fireplace, the captain fit herself snugly against the young woman's body.

"I would never dance with anyone else," Janeway told her softly, the couple swaying easily to the music playing over the house's sound system.

"Not even our next door neighbor?" Seven asked, referring to Mark Johnson who lived just down the street ... a situation which had given the young woman more than a little pause when she discovered it, though so far, it had not caused too many problems.

"Not even him," Janeway promised. She nuzzled Seven's neck. "Besides, Mark has two left feet." Seven squeezed her admonishingly, and the captain laughed. "You brought it up," she reminded her.

"So I did," Seven agreed, a little sheepishly. "My mistake. I must remember not to offer him as a topic of conversation."

"You have nothing to worry about, love," Janeway murmured, tipping her head back to look up at her partner. "You're absolutely the only one for me."

Seven found herself lost in the bluish-grey pools of the captain's eyes, sinking into the warm gaze.

"I do love you, Kathryn," Seven promised softly. "Nothing else will ever be more important to me than that."

Janeway searched her face. "How did you know?" she whispered.

"How did I know what?"

"That I was feeling a little ... left behind?" she asked.

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "I know you," she said, emphasizing the word. "Perhaps better than I know myself, and I could ... sense ... that you were feeling disconnected from me."

"Because you have felt equally disconnected from me on occasion?" Janeway prodded gently.

Seven considered that. "It was easy for me to recognize the symptoms," she allowed finally, with great gentleness.

An expression of regret ghosted over Janeway's face, but she did not respond beyond the small, sad smile she offered. Dropping her head, she tucked her face into the hollow of Seven's neck, settling against her body as she made a soft sound of contentment in the back of her throat. Seven tightened her embrace, closing her eyes as they danced, concentrating only on the woman in her arms.

Knowing exactly how important Kathryn was, and what she was prepared to do to be with her.

Rising quietly onto her elbow, Janeway looked down into the peaceful features of her spouse. It was rare that she had the chance to watch her partner sleep, and she grasped every opportunity with a quiet sort of reverence and gratitude. Smiling faintly, her eyes traced the narrow lines of Seven's face, moving over the metallic grey implants that the young woman still wore from her time as a Borg drone, the ocular device framing her left eye and arching over her brow, the starburst adorning her right cheek. Her face was so innocent in repose, showing the youthful woman that Seven might have been had the Collective never taken her ... or perhaps Janeway was deceiving herself. Perhaps Seven's face maintained its innocence simply because she had been Borg rather than growing up in the Federation. It was something that the starship captain had not considered before, and she toyed with the thought as she silently observed her spouse.

Would she have fallen in love with an Annika Hansen who had never been Borg? Would she even have liked an Annika Hansen who had never been Borg?

Despite having met an alternative version of Seven, whom Janeway had not found particularly likable, the captain suspected it wasn't a question that could truly be answered, so she did not ponder it for very long. Instead, she studied the flawless, smooth skin, the way Seven's sandy eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, the brief gleam of moisture on her full rose-shaded lips, slightly parted to show the white flash of teeth. Seven had a dimple in her chin, a depression that Janeway had always found absolutely adorable, and unable to restrain herself now, she leaned closer and brushed her lips over it.

That was all Seven required to awake, and without opening her eyes, her arms instinctively reached out and drew Janeway to her, pulling her close to the warmth of her body, seeking out the captain's mouth for that first, sweet kiss of the morning. Janeway exhaled slowly out her nostrils, tasting deeply of her partner, absorbed in the love and tenderness implicit in the kiss.

Smiling faintly, Seven finally opened her eyes, the ice-blue warming perceptibly as she regarded her spouse. "Good morning," she said softly.

"It is with you here," Janeway agreed, and kissed her again.

Her body molding itself to Janeway, Seven granted her whole attention to the captain's mouth, and the older woman started to float away with the intensity of the connection between them, breathless by the time they finally parted. Warm palms began to smooth over Janeway's back and sides, caressing gently but with intent, not making any secret of how the young woman hoped they would start their day. Janeway smiled, lips drawing back over her teeth as she drew her own fingertips lightly over Seven's shoulders and chest, down the slope of the full breasts to tickle the rosy tips. There was no need for further discussion, no need to verbalize beyond what their bodies were already communicating to each other in the cozy nest of bedding, just this slow and easy familiarity with each other that sparked a glowing heat which intensified with every passing second.

Janeway bent her knee, sliding it up Seven's leg and resting it on the young woman's hip, her mouth captured and held by the Borg, the deep and searing kisses making her dizzy. Gentle hands plied her with loving delicacy, knowing when to be firm, and when to scarcely touch her, building the sensation steadily and skillfully. The captain responded, tracing over curves and planes, cupping soft flesh, massaging muscle and implant equally, fondling tender skin so delicate that barely brushing over it caused the young woman to moan softly. Together, they caressed and stroked, suckled and nibbled, teased and aroused until finally, the desire overwhelmed them, the couple shuddering almost simultaneously, pleasure peaking within seconds of the other.

Relaxing in her partner's arms, Janeway gulped for breath, feeling the last ripples of delight shiver and fade, sensing the corresponding tremors in the young woman. She snuggled into Seven's body, seeking protection and warmth now, rather than passion, knowing that her partner was doing the same and offering it freely.

"What a wonderful way to start the day," she muttered.

"Yes," Seven agreed. She nibbled Janeway's earlobe enticingly, pressing against her provocatively. "However, the day does not have to begin yet."

Janeway made a small sound of pleasure and anticipation. "I see," she said, smiling. "You're not thinking of spending more time in bed, are you?"

"Would you object?" the young woman asked, drawing her hand along Janeway's flank, stroking it warmly.

"Not at all," Janeway said, running her hands over Seven, intent on kindling her passion once more. "In fact, it's been awhile since we indulged ourselves this way. We've spent the last few weekends being tourists, so some time at home would be a nice change."

Seven teased the captain's ear with the tip of her tongue. "Our exploring of this world has been most enjoyable, Kathryn," she allowed huskily. "However, it is possible that our excursions have contributed to the distance between us. It is difficult to feel an intimate connection while white-water rafting down the Colorado River."

"I thought we did quite well," Janeway quipped, remembering the incident in question, though granted, it had not been entirely pleasant when the raft overturned, and they had been required to swim for safety. It had brought back a few unfortunate memories for the Borg, but the captain had been quite proud of how aptly Seven had handled it, even going so far as to joke a bit with the river guide once everyone was on shore and drying out, informing him that it was not the first time she had immersed her implants into a raging river. It was possible that Seven had a point, however. Perhaps Janeway had been trying so hard to offer Seven every opportunity to explore new things, she had helped create the very situation she had grown despairing of.

"I like having you here to myself," Seven told her quietly. She eased Janeway onto her back, pressing her down as her mouth began to trail down the captain's compact body. Janeway hummed softly and tipped her head back, delighting in the feel of her partner's mouth pausing to cover her breasts, flicking the nipples into aching points of excitement. Hugging Seven's neck, the captain pulled her close, arching to offer more of herself to the young woman who responded by taking the entire breast in her mouth until the tip hit the back of her throat, a most inspiring sensation.

"Oh, darling," she moaned, closing her eyes. Seven, of course, could not answer, but she intensified the caress, setting her spouse ablaze, continuing to arouse her to a fever pitch. It was almost a relief when the Borg finally left the sensitive breasts and traced a line down Janeway's abdomen, kissing her way down to the auburn triangle which she nuzzled affectionately. Janeway spread her legs readily, bending her knees as Seven settled between them, the Borg's mouth covering the moist tissue lovingly. Tongue dancing insistently over the sensitive ridge, Seven moved back and forth over it with increasing pressure, a sensation that left the captain twitching from the radiating jolts of glorious tension. Janeway tangled her fingers in Seven's blonde hair, holding her in place though the Borg showed little indication that she wished to move.

As the pleasure continued to rise in steady waves, throbbing with every beat of her increasing heart rate, the captain found it difficult to breathe, quivering as the peak seemed to dart tantalizingly out of reach, before finally succumbing to it, crying out as the spasms rippled through her. Yet, even as she descended from that peak, it was apparent that the young woman was not finished, continuing to lave her hungrily, her tongue spearing her as deeply as it could before moving hotly over the swollen ridge, and instinctively, Janeway knew her partner was readying her for something more.

When the young woman finally drew away and crawled up her body, reaching for the compartment set within the headboard of the bed, Janeway cupped Seven's face in her hands, kissing her lustily, tasting her own essence on the Borg's mouth. Above her, the captain sensed her partner rummaging about their adult accessories until she had pulled out the couple's favorite, the patented Wonder Wand 9000. It was a device the couple tended to maintain with a specific grouping of parameters, though it was accompanied by a remote control which offered a huge range of features beyond the average Human male standard. The Borg quickly attached the artificial phallus to herself, the automated bands securing it to her intimate flesh, then positioned herself over the captain.

"Wait," Janeway commanded huskily, putting a hand on the Borg's chest to forestall her eagerness. "On your back."

Startled, Seven hesitated, then obediently rolled over, the wand jutting proudly from her golden thatch, just as if it were a part of her body, rather than a most accurate simulation. Janeway rose to her knees, and straddled the Borg's hips, reaching down to wrap her fingers around the fleshy cylinder, making Seven moan with pleasure as the captain guided it to her opening. Anointing the mushroom head with her moisture, Janeway slowly ran it up and down her crease, caressing herself with it until the Borg was twitching uncontrollably, regarding her through slitted eyes hard with desire. The device had sensors that transmitted sensation to where it was attached to the young woman, and to Seven, it undoubtedly felt as if Janeway were tormenting her unmercifully.

"Kathryn, why do you delay?" she demanded querulously.

Janeway laughed. "The sensitivity too much, darling?" she asked wickedly, knowing it was because she had locked in the parameters herself the last time they had used it. In a small part of her mind, she realized that she possessed the same heady sense of power over her partner in this position that she had experienced with her previous male lovers ... not a particularly evolved attitude, but one she secretly enjoyed nonetheless.

"I do not understand why you wish it to be programmed so high for me," Seven whispered between clenched teeth. "It is much easier to control my responses when the setting is at a lower level."

"I know that, darling," Janeway said, supporting herself with her left hand on Seven's chest, the Borg's heartbeat fluttering strong and fast beneath her palm. She smiled as Seven's hands on her hips attempted to move her into position, and after deciding that the timing and angle were finally correct, she allowed it, the head pressing against her opening, seeking entrance. "However, if the sensitivity wasn't so high, it wouldn't feel so good to you when we do this."

She eased down onto the shaft as Seven arched her hips almost involuntarily, thrusting upward so that the probe filled the captain intimately, the head skidding over the spot inside that made Janeway cry out in delight. Seven also cried out, head going back in pleasure as her spouse sank down onto her, seeming to surround her clitoris with the warmth and wetness of wonderful womanhood. Janeway smiled ferally as she crouched over the Borg, using her internal muscles to grip her partner, offering an erotic massage to Seven as she settled on top of her, her hands fondling the Borg's breasts, dizzied as always by the astonishing combination of male and female attributes. They stayed locked together for a few moments, simply appreciating their joining, then lazily, concentrating fully on the sensation, they began to move, the captain rocking as the Borg undulated her hips, finding a complementary rhythm that shook the bed and filled the air with their inarticulate moans, gasps and grunts.

Perspiration ran freely as Janeway rose over her spouse, tossing her hair back as the thrusts between her legs became bolder, deeper, urging her toward that climactic goal. It took some time, both women prolonging the pleasure as long as they could before a series of deep, throbbing spasms radiated through Janeway's body, racing up her spine to impact wetly on the inside of her head. She sobbed happily as Seven surrendered to her own pleasure, undoubtedly triggered by the captain's internal fluctuations, the quick jabs inciting more sensation within Janeway until gradually, their shudders faded, and the two woman were still, breathing deeply in the aftermath of a most strenuous encounter. Janeway lifted her eyes, looking down at her partner who returned her scrutiny lovingly, the Borg's fingertips smoothing gently over the captain's sides and chest, along her upper legs and hips. Swallowing hard against a mouth gone dry from panting, Janeway rose up onto her knees as Seven slipped the now intrusive hardness from her body, removing the device from her loins, and tossing it onto the floor until it could be cleaned and put away. Gratefully, Janeway collapsed against Seven, the couple coming together in the center of the bed, curling up in a womanly ball of smooth skin and soft curves.

"You really are the complete lover, Annika," the captain murmured to her young spouse, nuzzling her face into Seven's leonine neck in the warm afterglow. "How could you ever believe that you were lacking in any way?"

Seven kissed her sweetly. "Irrational fears are the hardest to overcome," she reminded her quietly. She tightened her embrace, surrounding the captain with a protective tenderness. "I am beginning to believe, however, that it is unlikely any of your previous lovers could have possessed the endurance to match yours, particularly regarding that aspect of sexual interaction."

Janeway laughed huskily. "It was a problem at times," she agreed. "Thanks to Borg enhancements, and a little Ferengi ingenuity, I have the best of both worlds with you for this particular type of encounter."

Seven smiled faintly. "Is there anything you have ever wished to do that I have not yet provided you?" she asked idly.

Janeway thought about that. "I can't think of any, offhand," she admitted, raising her eyebrow. "I'll let you know if something comes to mind." She paused. "What of you? Is there something you would like to try that we haven't?"

Seven hesitated, then colored faintly. "I ... perhaps," she allowed.

Janeway tilted her head, regarding her curiously. "Annika?" she prompted.

Seven dipped her head, then leaned forward, whispering in the captain's ear. Janeway's eyes widened as she listened, feeling a decided thrill rush along her spine as her partner elaborated on her fantasy, wondering where and how her partner had ever formulated that scenario.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed, surprised and pleased by her partner's daring. "I'll definitely keep that in mind the next time the opportunity arises."

Seven blushed harder. "You do not think it is ... odd?" she asked.

"Darling, anything that makes you feel good, and isn't harmful to you or me, is perfectly fine," Janeway assured her. "I'd be more than glad to provide you with such an experience." She paused, and kissed her gently. "In the meantime, what would you say to some breakfast?"

"I would say that your restraint has been remarkable this morning," Seven noted dryly. "Normally you would have requested food before our second encounter."

Janeway laughed and poked her in the ribs with her thumb. "Beast," she said affectionately as she rolled away from her and out of bed. Obligingly, Seven did her best imitation of a growl, and the captain danced out of reach of the Borg's playful swipe at her, heading for the ensuite. "Shower first," she instructed. "Then food. Then, maybe we can try out that suggestion of yours."

Seven's eyes brightened and she slipped out of bed after the captain. "Indeed?" she asked. "After breakfast?"

Janeway flashed her an impish grin. "Maybe even during," she promised.

Stiffening as the alien appeared in the doorway of the tavern, Ro reached out and nudged Samantha in the ribs. "He's here," she said quietly.

Glancing unobtrusively over her shoulder, Samantha sighed. "About time," she grumbled. "We've been chasing this lead for weeks."

"Remember, I do the talking," Ro said. "It's becoming clear these are more than just malcontents distancing themselves from the Federation that the Doctor's become involved with. I think there's an actual criminal element involved."

"I leave it completely in your hands," Sam said. "After all, what would I know about a criminal element? I'm only a lawyer after all." Ro chose to ignore the heavy sarcasm.

The Bajoran was aware that others in the seedy establishment had also taken note of the newcomer's arrival, and she kept a wary eye on that as she observed her quarry crossing the room to the bar. Lanky, with greenish-brown scaled skin devoid of hair, the alien towered over the stout bartender, having to bend to hear what the proprietor was saying to him. The miniscule gesture made toward the vicinity of the two women indicated that the bartender was finally earning the generous tip Ro had bestowed upon him, and the newcomer cast his solid dark eyes over in their direction. Ro lifted her head in acknowledgment, but she didn't smile or otherwise indicate anything beyond that.

The alien hesitated, then slowly made his was across the room, finally stopping near their table. Ro felt a twinge in her neck as she looked up at him, assessing his physicality automatically, almost without conscious volition. Though his height would grant him a certain advantage in any confrontation, she dispassionately picked out his weak areas, the joints which were doubly knobbed, making them particularly vulnerable to a slashing attack, while his features were fragile for someone so tall ... cartilage she determined, rather than bone, which would not protect his internal organs from blunt trauma.

"You've been looking for me?" he trilled, his tones surprisingly musical.

"Are you Parthma?" Ro said shortly.

"Yes," he responded.

"Then I've been looking for you," she allowed. Tilting her head slightly, she added with just the proper amount of deference and confidence, "May I buy you a drink?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "I never say no to a drink with a female," he said, folding his lean form into the chair across from her. "Particularly a beautiful one."

A charming line, Ro determined, if not particularly accurate. What constituted beauty varied greatly from species to species, and she doubted Bajoran standards were the same as his might be.

Without having to be asked, the bartender brought over another round, and Ro flipped him this planet's form of currency, dipping her head to indicate he should keep the change ... an amount significant enough for him to make it worth his while to make sure the area around the private booth was kept clear of eavesdroppers. The two women had been in the tavern enough evenings for him to know that, not only was the Bajoran a generous patron when pleased, she could be an exceptionally harsh customer when crossed, as two other aliens, earlier in the week, had discovered when attempting to press unwanted attentions on Samantha.

The barkeep had just finished repairing the front window where Ro's two assailants had passed through on their way out of the tavern which she had made a decidedly unhealthy place for them to be.

Parthma waited until the bartender was out of earshot, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I hear you have a shipment for a specific group of customers," he said.

She inclined her head. "I do," she said. "The Noiro Belt."

He frowned, or at least, offered his species' equivalent. His lipless mouth was not particularly indicative of his mood as a Bajoran's would have been in his place.

"That's a ... risky place to do business," he said flatly. "Usually, it's not worth a person's while for one minor shipment."

"I'm aware of that," Ro said carefully. This was their first hint of a connection to the mysterious colony, and she had to play him with all the skill she was capable of. "However, I also hear the colonists are always looking for smart people."

His dark eyes narrowed. "I see," he said. He glanced at Sam, as if finally seeing her for the first time. "Yours?"

Ro resisted a smile. "Yes," she said, edging her tone to warn him away.

Sam struggled not to look outraged and did a fairly decent job, but the Bajoran knew the Human was furious. However, the lawyer's feisty nature had not proven enough to overcome her small, slight frame, not out here in the outer fringes.

He looked vaguely regretful, and returned his attention to Ro. "What kind of ... merchandise ... are we looking at here?" he asked.

"Medical supplies," Ro said, having stocked up the DragonFlight with contraband before she left the central Federation for just this scenario, knowing that she might have to bribe her way into places, and that hard currency wasn't always the most useful form of exchange. "Luxury goods. Technology from the central worlds." She smiled without humor. "You get the drift."

"Why do you need to sell it in this particular area?" Parthma asked keenly. "That's the sort of merchandise which will move anywhere."

"If I were only trying to sell it," Ro agreed. "However, I'm looking for more of a ... trade."

He angled his head, eyes darting back and forth between the women. "Trade," he repeated silkily. "For what?"

"Protection," Ro said. "I was once Maquis, and fortunate enough to be in prison when the Jem'Hadar moved through. Since my release I've been trying to make ends meet, and though I've been fairly successful, I've also made certain ... enemies. I need somewhere to hole up for a little while."

"Why?" he insisted. He was letting nothing go at face value.

Ro lifted an eyebrow disdainfully. "Let's just say that the supply depot where I retrieved my merchandise was not anxious to see it go missing," she said.

"Were the people manning that depot uniformed by any chance?" he asked.

She offered him a bit of a sly smile. "As a matter of fact, they were," she allowed with just enough emphasis to present the type of confident persona she wanted to display. "Distinctive black uniforms, with a bit of grey on the shoulders. Colorful sweaters though."

He stared at her. "Those are the sort of enemies you don't want to make," he told her.

"Agreed," she said. "That's why I need a stronger sort of protection than usual."

He hesitated. "The people I represent don't offer that sort of blanket coverage for just anyone," he said. "They're not generally in business to offer haven to competitors."

"I'm not looking to be a competitor," she said honestly. "I'm hoping that while I'm there, they'll see fit to maybe ... hire me. I'm bringing a fast little ship in addition to useful merchandise ... plus the ability to go into a Starfleet depot and make off with a valuable supply of cargo."

"Unsuccessfully," he noted.

"On the contrary," she argued, "they only noticed me out of sheer luck and because, for some reason, Starfleet is now on high alert for that sort of thing." She paused. "I don't know why, they never worried about my kind of ... entrepreneur before. Not to this extent, anyway."

He looked slightly rueful. "Apparently, certain attempts by my compatriots to expand our resources ran into the same problem you did," he said. Then, an expression came over his face, and it was not particularly pleasant. "However, that doesn't mean we're going to accept every petty thief that flies by."

"It wasn't just merchandise I picked up," Ro said, pretending to be reluctant, as if this were her last card to play. "I also came across something else when I was relieving the depot of its latest shipment."

He waited for her to speak, appearing bored.

"The command passwords to several other depots in the area," she said finally.

There was a spark of interest in his eyes and he regarded her with a little more respect.

"In return for providing these, you only want protection?"

"Consider the codes part of my rent," she said. "The shipment will get me my first week, then the next ten weeks will be paid by one code sequence at a time. By that time, the heat should have died down." Her face hardened. "Let's make it clear, however. I'm Maquis and used to dealing with Cardassians. This information won't be pried out of me against my will. My vessel and myself will self-destruct before that happens."

He considered that. "Apparently, you know how to bargain," he allowed grudgingly. He looked away briefly, then seemed to make a decision. "Fine, in exchange for this merchandise, we'll give you a berth within the Noiro Belt. You'll have to arrange your own food and fuel."

Ro hesitated. "I have a lot of merchandise and those codes are valuable," she insisted. "Food and fuel are included."

A deep inhalation, but finally he nodded. "Agreed," he said. "However, you have to realize that the people I represent value their privacy. Your protection will be complete because no one has ever revealed the location of the Belt to anyone who might let it slip to outsiders. Your vessel will have to be slaved to mine on the trip in."

Ro didn't like that, but accepted that it was a reasonable precaution on his part. Her vessel would have a device installed which would blank out all its sensor arrays, and hand over its navigational control to Parthma's ship. The DragonFlight was clearly supposed to be deaf and blind going to this location, but she'd still be able to self-destruct if it came to that. Besides, from what she knew of this little ship the captain had arranged for her, it probably had a few surprises in its onboard computer to overcome any slaving device.

"Fine," she allowed. "When do we leave?"

"We'll be shipping out tomorrow at dawn," he said. He lifted his glass and swallowed the smokey purple liquid, then rose from his chair. "Look for the Jolly Nexus. Thanks for the drink."

Ro and Sam watched him leave, not speaking until he had finally exited the bar.

"Thank you," Ro said, breaking the silence. "I know that wasn't easy for you, pretending to be my ... uh, paramour."

Sam nodded soberly. "This is starting to get a little heavy, Ro," she asked. "What kind of place has the Doctor gone to that it requires this much aggravation to even find it?"

Ro lifted her spring wine and sipped it sparingly, trying not to wince at the taste. She didn't know why she persisted in ordering it since she was convinced she wouldn't receive any vintage worth the trouble out here on the Federation frontier.

"I don't know," she said, "but I'm starting to have a very bad feeling about it. It doesn't sound like the normal retreat for those who walk on the other side of the law. This is something more."

"Could it be..." Sam trailed off.

"What?"

The lawyer leaned closer and lowered her voice. "The Syndicate?" she asked. "I mean, this may sound sort of stupid, but if you reverse Noiro, it becomes Orion."

Ro felt that jar her all the way down to the pit of her stomach. "I trust they wouldn't be that obvious," she said carefully, not liking the taste of this at all.

"What's obvious?" Sam pointed out. "We never even heard of a place called the Noiro Belt until we got out here on the absolute edge of nowhere. I think the Doctor just grabbed the first transport he came across, and went as far as his credits could take him. Is it so odd to wonder if he hasn't inadvertently jumped right from the frying pan into the fire?"

Ro recognized the saying as a Human one, having heard it before. She thought it was fairly appropriate. "Actually, it would be just like him," she said ruefully. She paused, thinking about it. "Maybe you'd better think about taking the next transport back to the inner worlds. If this does turn out to be some kind of homeworld for the Orion Syndicate, it could become very dangerous. It isn't your responsibility to follow him, or me, into something like that."

For once, Sam didn't respond immediately, her dark eyes serious as she stared at Ro. "You're not thinking of going in there on your own, are you?"

Ro dipped her head. "I'm trained for this sort of thing, Miss Cogley," she said, suddenly very conscious of being a Starfleet officer, while her companion was only a civilian. "I have my orders to bring the Doctor back."

Sam shook her head. "I doubt very much that Captain Janeway expects you to go into a criminal enclave to ask the Doctor to come back to Earth," she said. "In fact, if she had the slightest idea you were even considering it, I'd bet she'd be furious."

"It's not that simple," Ro told her. "If this is some kind of central colony for the Orion Syndicate, then it's my duty as a Starfleet officer to discover as much as I can, and transmit that data to the authorities."

"How can you transmit anything when they're going to slave your ship?" Sam hissed.

"I have my ways," Ro told her ... and hoped she wouldn't ask what they were because she wasn't quite sure herself.

"You're insane," Sam said flatly. "There's only one person I know who's more insane."

Ro smiled without humor. "Really?" she said. "Who might that be?"

"Me," Sam said. "I'm going with you."

Ro shook her head. "Sam, I appreciate..." she began.

"No," Samantha said. She paused, gathering herself, her face intent and serious. "Look, I know that you think I'm not tough enough to handle this. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a Starfleet officer, but I'm smart and quick on my feet, and I'm not a total fool. Besides, wouldn't it look the slightest bit suspicious after you said I was 'yours', for anyone to see me head back to the central worlds while you go off to this colony ... especially if you're supposedly on the run from Starfleet?"

Ro exhaled audibly. "I was hoping you wouldn't pick up on that," she admitted. "I was worried what kind of story I would come up with to explain you absence."

Sam smiled crookedly. "Now, you don't have to," she said. She reached over and put her hand on the Bajoran's arm. It seemed very small resting there, Ro noticed unhappily. "Everyone needs someone to watch their back. I may not be your first choice, but I'm all you've got."

"Fine," Ro said, having no real choice. "But when you get yourself killed, don't come running to me about it."

"Wow, you sounded just like my mother just then," Sam informed her cheerfully.

Ro closed her eyes and groaned.

The Martian Seas was crowded this time of afternoon, and Seven considered herself fortunate that she had managed to find a table. Her mentor had asked her to meet him here for lunch, and she wondered if she should be worried in some way. His voice had been anxious over the comm channel, while the viewscreen had shown him looking far more serious than she had ever seen before. Nor was it like him to be late like this. Frowning, she glanced around at the multitude of Starfleet officers and civilians enjoying the restaurant's famed lunch menu, wondering if she should attempt to contact him again. The older man's appearance in the restaurant lobby caused such a sense of relief to ease through her that she was forced to take note of it. Why had she been feeling so uneasy? Had it been only in response to the sound of his voice, and the expression on his face during their earlier conversation?

"Annika?" he greeted warmly, taking a seat opposite her. "I'm so glad you could meet me here."

"Admiral Hayes," she returned politely. She studied his craggy features intently. He did seem concerned about something. "Is everything all right?"

He offered her a weak smile. "You've really come to know me well over the past few months, haven't you," he said. He paused. "I guess that's what makes this so difficult."

Seven raised an eyebrow, but before he could continue, the waiter arrived, undoubtedly drawn by the four-star bar on the admiral's collar, promptly presenting them with menus. Seven was forced to wait until they had ordered before she could pursue the conversation.

"What is so difficult, Admiral?" she asked after the waiter had departed.

He inhaled deeply, his bulky form seeming to expand in the chair. "It's about Starfleet, Annika," he said. "I once told you that we would always find a way to protect our own."

"Yes," she said, remembering the conversation clearly. It had occurred on the very first day she had reported for briefings at Starfleet Command. Indeed, were it not for his kindness and gracious acceptance of her, soothing her fears, she probably would have resigned her commission on the spot, and run out of there as quickly as possible. "Has something happened that would alter that perception?"

He frowned, obviously struggling to find the correct words. "I've come across a piece of information that I probably shouldn't be sharing with you," he said. "Especially considering that you're only a junior lieutenant."

Seven felt a flare of annoyance. She was quite familiar with Starfleet's attitude regarding what a lower ranked officer did and did not 'need to know'. She and Janeway had even had a rather heated conflict about it on one occasion since returning to the Federation, and she decided that this must be serious indeed.

"Yet, you are considering it," she said. "Why?"

"Because I'm afraid this might involve you ... and your spouse," he said, his big hands toying with his utensils. "You might even be endangered."

She felt a sense of trepidation surge through her. "Proceed," she instructed, rather curtly, appreciating that it might seem presumptuous to be speaking that way to an admiral, but when it came to Kathryn, or anyone else she loved, Seven rarely stood on protocol.

He studied her face. "I just received word that Cheb Packer escaped from custody early this morning," he related somberly. "So far, it's an internal security matter only, but as you remember, he made specific threats during his trial against Captain Janeway. Apparently, he holds her solely responsible for uncovering his connection to the Orion Syndicate, and bringing him to justice, not to mention damaging the repute of his father's company to the point where Packer Shipping is experiencing financial difficulties. A decision was made by other authorities in Starfleet Command that neither you nor the captain were to be informed about this, but I disagree. I felt that, of all those involved, you needed to know."

Seven froze, every muscle going taut as she received this news, her hands clenching into fists where they rested on the table. He regarded her with some alarm, and the Borg forced herself to breathe slowly.

"Elaborate," she said.

He hesitated, then looked over as the waiter arrived with their food. Seven waited impatiently as their meal was placed on the table, ignoring the food she had ordered as she pinned the admiral with a glare. He paused mid-bite, fork halfway to his mouth, then with what seemed to be a touch of regret, put it down again.

"During the transfer of Packer to the New Zealand penal colony, his transport disappeared from sensors," he said. "When a rescue team was dispatched, they discovered the security guards had been rendered unconscious, and Packer nowhere to be found, though the landed transport was completely undamaged."

"Who was responsible?" Seven said flatly.

Hayes raised an eyebrow. "Admiral Nechayev arranged the initial transport of the prisoner," he explained. "However, I'm sure it was the Orion Syndicate who arranged his escape.  They probably spirited him well away from Earth by now. In any event, this criminal cartel is becoming a dangerous enemy of the Federation, and it's obvious that more stringent measures have to be taken to deal with this disruptive element."

"Has Starfleet formed a plan of action to deal with this?" Seven demanded.

"Security has several top operatives trying to track him down," he said. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time before he's recaptured, but certain of us in Starfleet still believe that you have the right to know that his escape might pose a threat to you or your spouse."

Seven inhaled slowly, then nodded. "Thank you, Admiral," she said, thinking furiously. "I am ... grateful for this information, particularly since it is apparent that you must violate certain protocols to tell me. However, I am ... disappointed that Starfleet did not consider the situation the way you did."

Hayes regarded her steadily. "To be honest, Annika," he said quietly, "this is not the first time the various factions in Starfleet have approached a delicate situation from different angles, and tangled themselves into futility in the process. Depending on where the Federation is at any given time, different sections have dominance within the upper echelons of Starfleet."

"Yes," she agreed. "I learned that in my Academy classes on Voyager. The three elements of Diplomacy, Science and the Military shift alliances and political power frequently within Starfleet Command."

"You're leaving one out," Hayes said, eyeing her closely. "But perhaps that's to be expected."

Seven blinked. "I am?" she said.

He paused, glanced around, and leaned closer. "There is one element of Starfleet that is above petty political maneuvering, Annika. It has one priority only, and that is to protect the Federation from its enemies, both external ... and internal."

Tilting her head curiously, she frowned. "Explain," she said.

"Annika, have you ever heard of Section 31?" Hayes asked.

Seven searched her memory. "No," she said definitely. She raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"It is the aspect of Starfleet Security that I have ties to," Hayes explained. "It was our people who believed that you deserved to know you might be threatened, so that you're free to act accordingly. It's how we continue to operate, even when the rest of Starfleet has become so bogged down in shifting alliances and bureaucratic nonsense, it's unable to function efficiently."

Seven was fascinated. "Why have I never heard about this section of Starfleet?" she asked.

"We're a covert group, Annika," Hayes said seriously. "We do the work that no one else wants to acknowledge, but still has to be done for the good of the Federation ... whether it's carrying out certain missions to win the Dominion War, or dealing with the Romulan threat in the aftermath." He caught her gaze in his own. "Annika, we do whatever is necessary to keep our collective Federation safe. I think that more than a great many others, you would probably understand and sympathize with our priorities."

"I do," Seven agreed, thinking of all the times she had been forced to make decisions while protecting her spouse and Voyager ... decisions that were perhaps not always approved of at the time, but were choices she never regretted making, particularly when she looked in the eyes of those she loved, her convictions strengthened by the knowledge that she had kept them safe. She was amazed and gratified to find beings in the Federation who also seemed to understand the importance of doing what had to be done, and did not allow irrelevancies to interfere. She dipped her head. "Am I to understand that not everyone approves of this group?"

A sorrowful expression crossed the admiral's face. "As long as we keep our enemies from destroying all the Federation has accomplished, then public approval is irrelevant," he told her, though she sensed that he was saddened by the thought that people could not ... or would not ... understand utilizing methods that were sometimes necessary. Seven was all too familiar with that attitude. "That's why we keep a low profile. It's not necessary that the Federation know to what extent its protectors need to go to in order to maintain it."

Seven thought about the children on Voyager, and how the adults around her protected them not only from harm, but from even knowing the potential harm had existed in the first place. She also remembered that Janeway had explained how the Federation Council had kept most of the real disruption the Changelings had accomplished during their infiltration prior to the Dominion War from the average Federation citizen, teaching the young Borg the concept that sometimes truth could be more damaging than holding back certain bits of information.

"I understand," she said, and meant it sincerely.

He smiled paternally at her. "I knew you would," he said, obviously pleased. "I've always believed that you're someone who appreciates efficiency as opposed to those who pursue their own avenues of power ... such as those who think in similar fashion to Nechayev or Paris."

"May I ask why you are telling me about this?" she asked. "Particularly since Section 31 clearly prefers to operate subtly, rather than overtly."

"Because we believe you can handle such information," he said, reaching over to pat her on the hand. "We know you can be trusted, regardless of your rank. We also wanted you to know, particularly with Packer running about loose, that you're not alone. There's always someone who's ready to help you at any time. All you have to do is ask, and you'll have all the resources you need."

"Indeed," she said, her heart lightening. Such support was unexpected, but certainly welcome. "That is ... acceptable."

He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not really concerned about Packer," he added. "He's on the run, and with so many Starfleet security personnel tracking him, he's undoubtedly heading away from Earth as quickly as possible. Even if he weren't, even he was so foolish as to remain on the planet and go so far as attempt something regarding your spouse, both she and you would be more than capable of handling it completely on your own."

Seven's features grew cold, settling into the Borg impassiveness. "Yes," she said, "We are." She hesitated, then softened. "However, I am grateful for your offer of support. It means a great deal to me. Hopefully, it shall not be required."

"I hope so, too," Hayes told her seriously. "Just know that I'll be here whenever you need me, Annika. You have my home code and my private Starfleet code. Call anytime."

"I'm sure Kathryn will be relieved to know of your support, as well," she said gratefully.

He frowned briefly. "Do you think that's wise, Annika?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

He poked at his cooling meal. "I'm just concerned that with Admiral Nechayev being her superior officer, that would put Janeway in a rather delicate position," he said. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Would Nechayev approve of Captain Janeway allying herself with a section of Starfleet that is beyond the admiral's purview?"

"You mean a section that she does not control," Seven said coldly. She considered it. "You are correct. If the admiral became aware that we had an alliance to other areas of Starfleet, she would make things quite difficult for Kathryn ... perhaps even to the extent of refusing to support her command of the Millennium."

"I don't know that I'd go that far, Annika," he cautioned her. "Nechayev tries to be fair."

She did not agree with him, finding Nechayev to be an extremely self-centered individual, but she did not wish to argue with him, particularly since he had made so much effort to reassure her about this troubling situation. It was even possible that he had caused himself certain complications in the process by going against the decision of the other admirals in Starfleet Operations. She was aware that he did not always receive the respect he deserved from his peers, particularly from Nechayev and Paris, even when it was primarily his efforts that maintained a functional peace between them. To a certain extent, it reminded her of Voyager and her ex-crewmate, Neelix. He too, was a being whose contribution was frequently overlooked, or even dismissed by others entirely. Sometimes it seemed as if the Humans in Starfleet were unable to appreciate what was right in front of them.

"I will not hide anything from Kathryn," she allowed. "However, I do not believe it will be necessary to share this information with her unless we are required to ask for your help."

"Of course, Annika," Hayes said. He inhaled deeply, then glanced around. "Obviously, I've ruined our lunch. I'm sorry."

"Not at all," she assured him. "In any event, lunch is not over."

"No, it isn't," he allowed, beaming at her. "Let's send these back and reorder. I think that knowing you're prepared for anything Mr. Packer might come up with has restored my appetite."

"Mine, as well," Seven said, smiling at him as he signaled for the waiter.

With this forewarning, she almost hoped that Cheb Packer would come within reach. Apparently as inept in pursuing a criminal career as he was in the arts of the physical expression of love, the universe would be much better off without his continued existence. Perhaps she would finally be able to do what she should have done months earlier on Deep Space 9 when she first ran into Kathryn's ex-lover.

Immediate termination.

Janeway swept into the Indiana farmhouse through the back door, her eyes immediately seeking out the form of her mother who was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of tea resting in front of her. Glancing up at her daughter's arrival, Gretchen rose to greet her, offering a sad, tremulous smile as the captain removed the jacket and gloves she had donned at Utopia Planitia in preparation for visiting the Midwest in early winter.

"I don't think it was required that you immediately drop what you were doing and come here, Kathryn," she said, taking the captain's hands and drawing her over to a chair.

"How could I not?" Janeway said, searching her parent's face. "When did it happen?"

"Sometime in the night," Gretchen explained. "When I woke, she was ... just gone ... peacefully in her sleep." She moved over to the kitchen counter. "Tea?"

"Sure," Janeway replied, raking her fingers through her hair. "Who took care of ... everything?"

"Michael," Gretchen said, carrying over a steaming mug of herbal tea for her daughter. She raised a thin brow. "He came over first thing this morning before reporting for duty. He found a box and used his phaser to carve out a grave in the backyard. I'll show you where she's buried, if you'd like."

"I would," Janeway said, picking up her tea and gingerly putting her lips to it, finding it too hot before she put it down again. She shook her head sadly. "It's ironic. I was saying to Seven not so long ago that I was able to get over the demise of pets as a matter of course, then this happens, and I realize how much I was fooling myself. As soon as I got your message, I didn't think twice. I just logged out and came home."

"I only sent the message because I thought you should know. She was initially your pet, after all." Gretchen reached over and patted her hand. "However, Petunia was twenty years old, Kathryn," she reminded her gently. "Almost twenty-one. For a dog, that's almost two lifetimes."

"I know," Janeway said wistfully. "I guess I believed that if she had lasted this long, she's probably go on forever. Foolish, I know."

"Not at all, darling," Gretchen said, resting her hand on the captain's shoulder. "Did you tell Seven?"

"I will tonight," Janeway said. "I didn't want to disturb her at work. It's not like my duties where I can drop everything and just go because there's not that much occupying my attention." She tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone, but must not have succeeded, aware that Gretchen was eyeing her curiously.

"Problems?" the older woman asked.

Janeway exhaled. "Only on my part," she said. She paused, staring down into the depths of her tea. "I'm so pleased and proud that Seven is doing so well at the TPG, but the fulfillment she receives from her work is a continual reminder of how mundane and tedious my daily routine is. She works late a lot of nights. That can be difficult."

"I see," Gretchen said, her brilliant blue eyes somber. "Have you discussed this with Annika?"

"Of course," Janeway said, shrugging. She picked up her tea and sipped it now that it had cooled a little. "She's trying to allocate her time better, and she even told me she would be home for dinner tonight. However, it's not really her problem, Mom, it's mine. I don't regret doing anything I had to do in order to be offered command of the Millennium, or to provide Seven with the time and support she needs to follow her own dreams, but sometimes it seems like construction on the ship going to take forever. Frankly, the rest of the shipyards don't really provide that much in the way of..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"In the way of what?" Gretchen prompted.

"Excitement," Janeway admitted, feeling embarrassed. "Personal challenge. The opportunity to grow and learn. In fact, once I had cleaned things up and organized Utopia Planitia so that it was running smoothly, it became ... well, exceedingly dull."

Gretchen considered that. "I can see where it wouldn't be something that could hold your interest for long," she said. "What are you going to do?"

Janeway blinked. "What can I do?" she said. "Part of accepting command of the Millennium was overseeing its construction, and filling a void at the shipyards that Starfleet Command had been concerned about. Now, however, it's become a matter of waiting for the final details of the vessel's systems to be finished, which is somewhat tedious."

"You've never been particularly good at waiting," Gretchen agreed. "Have you thought of asking for more extensive duties from your superiors?"

"Nechayev has offered me various missions, but most of them would have taken me away from Earth for extended periods of time," the captain explained. "Mom, Seven was always there for me in the Delta Quadrant. It's important that I make a home for her on Earth ... not leave her behind to go traipsing around the Federation."

The corner of Gretchen's mouth curled. "I'm sure Seven does not expect you to suddenly become so domesticated that you never leave home," she said dryly. "However, if you really don't want to leave Earth, you can always look for pursuits outside of Starfleet."

Janeway glanced at her, aware that her mother was very active in the community beyond running her small farm. It had always been that way, particularly since Janeway's father, Edward, had been away so much as a result of his career as a Starfleet admiral. She stifled a sigh.

"I did go through a period where I hosted a lot of dinner parties," she allowed. "I try to socialize, and still do, but so much of it seems to be nothing but politicking in the San Francisco area. I suppose because Starfleet Headquarters is there, and everyone's so rank conscious. It's taking a lot to adjust to that, when it wasn't that important in the Delta Quadrant."

"Not everyone is a Starfleet officer, Kathryn," Gretchen reminded her. "You could pursue other interests in your civilian life." She paused, thinking about it. "You've always liked dogs. Why not find something in your neighborhood that could help them, such as volunteering at the local pound? There's also usually a community center that requires regular volunteers."

Janeway must have made a face of some sort because her mother started to laugh. "Honestly, Kathryn, I know it won't match the excitement of commanding a starship," the older woman said, "but it might give you a sense of fulfillment beyond what you're experiencing." She paused. "If you really feel a need to be challenged intellectually, then go back to school while you're on Earth. I'm sure there are courses you could take at your local university in the evenings."

Janeway fixed her with a look. "Mother, I'm a graduate of Starfleet Academy, with several degrees in astrophysics and engineering," she said patronizingly. "I think any evening course would be a bit superfluous."

Gretchen dipped her head, regarding her daughter with a bit of pity. "Kathryn, I'm not suggesting you take a science course," she said with what seemed long-suffering patience. "Take something you've never explored before, maybe in the arts. Learn to play piano. Try basket-weaving. Just don't complain when you have so many options." She raised a finger as Janeway opened her mouth to respond. "Don't you dare tell me that you're too old to learn how to play piano. You've never too old, Kathryn. Believe me."

Janeway regarded her energetic parent and stifled another sigh.

"I wasn't going to say that," she said lamely, lying through her teeth.

"I'm learning to play the guitar," Gretchen told her.

Janeway blinked. "Why?" she asked.

"Because I didn't know how," her mother said. She beamed proudly. "I can already play the collected works of Lynyrd Skynyrd."

"Who's that?" Janeway asked in confusion. "A Vulcan composer?"

Gretchen did not exactly roll her eyes, but the captain was left with the distinct impression that her mother wanted to.

"Never mind, Kathryn," she said. "The point is, you can do whatever you want. The choice is yours."

Janeway nodded. "I know, Mom," she agreed ruefully. "I just haven't found anything that truly interests me." She paused, then changed the subject. "Have you thought about getting another dog?"

Gretchen shook her head. "It's too soon," she said. "I'm still adjusting to losing Petunia, and besides, Phoebe's dogs are over here practically as much as they're at her place, so it's not as if I'll be entirely devoid of animal companionship."

"I understand," Janeway said softly, and for a moment, she thought about the black haired puppy she had discovered so many years earlier. She had been so upset, confused, left adrift by the death of her father and fiancé. She had spent months in bed, not wanting to leave the cocoon of her room, before Phoebe finally forced her out. Yet even then, Janeway had remained detached, not wanting to feel again ... not until she discovered the feisty, energetic bundle of dark hair half-frozen in the corn field. Petunia had given her a reason to care ... to live ... again, and despite the fact that she had been left behind on Earth when Janeway went on to her next command, the animal's death still hurt. She blinked, tears welling in her eyes.

Gretchen patted her comfortingly. "She was a good dog," she said. "She had a good life."

"I know," Janeway whispered. She forced a smile. "Remember the time I was trying to teach her that my slippers were not chew toys?"

The two women passed the rest of the afternoon trading stories about the dog, as well as the other pets they had known through their lives. Janeway found it a fairly pleasant diversion from the boredom of her post, and something of a fitting tribute to the animal who had given her so much. Gretchen invited her to stay for supper, suggesting she have Seven join them there, but the captain demurred, wanting to have her partner to herself for the evening.

On her way back to the Portage Creek Transport Station, however, Janeway decided to take a slight detour, altering her hovercraft's course to the tiny village which serviced the agricultural park. Surrounding a snow-covered square which made up the village center, she found a market, some administrative buildings, and a tavern where the farmers could get together for a few rounds of darts on Saturday nights. Beneath the spreading oaks of the square, stark without their leaves, Janeway saw a few mothers supervising their children, the youngsters playing in the small drifts, while older people moved sedately along the cleared walkways. At the far end of the iron railed park, set at the base of the slight rise, a multi-denominational church offered sanctuary for those who sought spiritual enlightenment.

Not necessarily the sort to seek that form of comfort, Janeway nonetheless brought her hovercraft to a stop on the lane in front of the church, and crawled out of the vehicle. She wasn't entirely sure why she had chosen this day to return here, but she supposed that Petunia's death had reminded her sharply of how lost she had been when she first found the pup. In a way, this was bringing it full circle, and she inhaled deeply as she strode around the church to the rear where the cemetery began. She pushed open the gate and moved up the cleared path, wishing that she had brought something, perhaps flowers of some sort.

Janeway had never really considered communing with the dead to be a particularly useful exercise, but she felt a decided need to be here now as she ascended the slight hill leading to the oak tree, beneath which the Janeways had their family plot. Here could be found the graves of her paternal grandparents, along with Grandpa Taylor. Here too, was Edward Janeway's final resting place, marked by a granite tombstone which was carved elegantly with his full name, his date of birth and the date he had met his death on that ice floe on Tau Ceti Prime.

The captain paused, looking around and seeing a stone bench located conveniently near her father's grave, assuming that her mother had arranged it somehow. She brushed the snow away and sat down, taking a moment to breath deeply in the chill air. The tree stretched skeletal branches into a sky so blue, it was a color that almost defied the description. It reminded the captain of an ice planet on which she and her spouse had been temporarily stranded months earlier, back when Voyager was still wandering about the Delta Quadrant. Listening to the uniquely muffled quiet that accompanied a recent snowfall, she was happy that there was no breath of a breeze which would have made the day feel much colder.

"Hey, Dad," she whispered softly, not wanting to be overheard even though she was, as far as she could tell, completely alone in the cemetary. "I just thought I'd stop by and say hello. I know I haven't ... not since I returned to Earth, but then, I wasn't much for stopping by before my ship was lost, either." She paused, feeling a wry smile touch her lips. "I guess I'm not much for graveyards. I'm not really sure why I needed to come by today, either, but here I am." She watched her breath crystallize in the air. "Sometimes, I really wish you were here to give me advice. Mom does her best, but deep down, she really doesn't understand all the aspects of Starfleet. I guess I'll have to follow my instincts, just like you always told me."

She swallowed hard, blinking against the stinging in her eyes, and forced another smile. "I'll try to make it back here soon, Dad. Maybe I'll even bring Seven with me, though I'm sure she probably won't totally comprehend why I'm doing it. However, she's surprised me before."

She shivered, the cold starting to affect her. Despite the sunshine, the temperature was approximately -15 Celsius, and the snow glittered sharply in the bright light. Standing up, she brought her gloved fingertips to her lips, then pressed them against the frigid tombstone, just above Edward's name. "Bye, Dad," she said.

She returned to her hovercraft, not quite understanding why, but somehow feeling better for having taken this moment to visit her father's grave. She wasn't about to analyze it either, choosing to savor instead, the warmth of the heater in the vehicle as she activated the engines and pulled away. Suddenly, she was very anxious to get home, and she did not spare the vehicle's engines as she headed for the transport station. Once inside, a quick glance at the civilian transporters told her that her side trip to the cemetery had left her in the middle of the heaviest commuting hour, and she quickly directed her attention to the Starfleet transporters. Showing her authorization to a purser, she was allowed into the secured and unmanned area, and she immediately accessed the console, programming in her coordinates, noting that a maintenance check had taken place only a week earlier. Apparently, Starfleet was beginning to pay more attention to these subsidiary stations once more, but she frowned when she saw it hadn't been logged off by anyone. She made a mental note to inform operations that one of their technicians had violated protocol.

She set the delay, then moved around the console and stepped up onto the dais. She felt the familiar sensation of dematerialization, then new surroundings appeared around her. She had actually stepped off the dais before she realized that it was not the San Francisco transport station.

Nor did the men standing around the room, weapons aimed in her direction, look anything like Starfleet officers.

Seven of Nine frowned as she peered out the window of her home, hoping to spot her partner striding briskly up the street. Dinner had been ready for an hour, and still, Janeway had yet to return. A call to Gretchen earlier had confirmed that the captain had already left the Indiana farmhouse with every intention of going directly home, but as time passed and there was still no Janeway, the Borg was becoming increasingly concerned. She was even more disturbed when she tried an emergency call, direct to the captain's comm badge, and detected no return activation, as if the communicator had been disabled. Another call to the Portage Creek Transport Station gave evidence that the hovercraft the captain had rented had been turned in hours earlier. There was no record, however, of anyone named Kathryn Janeway utilizing the public transporters, nor departing on either a shuttle or the bullet train.

On another day, perhaps the young woman would not be so agitated, aware that sometimes Kathryn didn't always let Seven know when she was going to be delayed. On more than one occasion, she had been called back by the shipyards to attend one detail or another, even when officially logged out, her comm badge temporarily taken offline by the various energy fields which fluctuated in a vessel under construction. After the lunch with Admiral Hayes, however, Seven was finding it exceptionally difficult to contain her apprehension, even though this was Earth, supposedly the safest of all inner core worlds. Pacing around the house, first upstairs, then throughout the main floor, and into the backyard, where she ignored Jake's obvious desire to play, Seven was at a loss as to what to do next ... or whom to call. If this had been Voyager, a quick contact with Chakotay or Tuvok would result in an entire crew jumping all over the situation, even though the captain was only an hour late. Here, in the Alpha Quadrant, with her friends and support group spread throughout the Federation, Seven was uncomfortably aware that she was on her own.

Finally, the Borg went upstairs and changed into her old away mission outfit, retrieving the dark trousers, sweater and padded vest from the back of the closet. After making sure Jake's food was programmed into the automated feeder for the next week or so, she went next door and asked the Coles to walk the Irish Setter daily, in the event she was away for an extended period of time. She wasn't sure why she was taking all these precautions, but she knew she couldn't wait to hear from Janeway any longer. If it turned out that she was overreacting, then she would graciously accept the teasing from her partner that was bound to follow, and simply be grateful that she had been wrong to worry.

Jogging quickly to the San Francisco Transport Station, Seven noted that most of the afternoon commute had eased, granting her quick access to the public transporters. She beamed directly to the Portage Creek station, the last place she was certain Janeway had been. Logically, since all the other possible transit systems had been checked at the facility, that only left the small Starfleet transporter room which was not overseen by the civilian authorities, and thus would have no record of the captain's access to it in their database.

Seven used her identity chip to convince the Portage Creek officials to allow her into the transporter room, though her black outfit caused a raised eyebrow or two. Once inside, the Borg began to run an extensive diagnostic, noting immediately that Kathryn's pattern had been recorded as entering the pattern buffer, but her intended coordinates at the San Francisco station had sent no verification of receipt. That gave Seven a nasty pause, the thought that perhaps Janeway had been lost, her pattern scattered, but she realized that if there had been a malfunction of some sort, all sorts of alarms would have gone off. There were too many safety overrides installed in every transporter, particularly on Earth. Instead, she discovered that the equipment was reading Janeway's pattern as still being in the pattern buffer. Repeated efforts to materialize the pattern failed, however, and Seven was forced to investigate further, deciding that the equipment display readout was receiving a faulty message from the buffer. She began to carefully examine the console, and came across an auxiliary program which should not have been there. It took a few moments before she understood what it was, and what it implied. It was a hidden directive which would allow commands from an external remote to override a transport in progress, and divert the pattern to some unspecified area, without alerting the safety alarms or leaving a specific trace as to the destination.

Or rather, leaving a trace that could be discovered by an ordinary officer.

Furious and frightened, Seven bypassed her Starfleet training, and used every Borg technique she could think of, going so far as to plunge her assimilation tubules into the interior circuitry in the hopes that she could discern what had happened by assimilating the information directly, rather than merely allowing the database to track it down for her. It took a great deal of concentrated effort, but finally she was able to piece together the tiny fragments of data stream left behind in the pattern buffer, determining that Janeway had been transported straight up, several miles above where Seven was standing. Shivering with dread, the Borg withdrew her tubules and sent a request to McKinley Station orbiting the Earth, demanding to know if there had been any ships maintaining a geo-synchronous station over Indiana earlier in the day, particularly during the time that Janeway's transport had been initiated. It took some time before she received any information, and then, it was only as a result of her utilizing a special command code that Janeway had given her to use in emergencies ... something Seven didn't think Starfleet was aware of ... to encourage the civilian staff to respond. Seven paced about the transporter room, terrified that the answer would come back in the negative. The only thing that kept her from falling apart completely was the conclusion that if this program's activation had been an attempt to kill the captain, it would have been a simpler matter to scatter the transporter beam entirely, rather than beam the pattern to a specific location in space.

Finally, McKinley Station responded, informing her that there had indeed been a ship in the general vicinity for approximately twenty minutes, pausing to repair a minor fluctuation in their comm system before they warped out of Earth's system. Furthermore, the vessel in question was registered to the Packer Shipping Company. Seven barely had the presence of mind to thank them as she shut down the channel, trying to bring her racing heart under control.

She vowed that the next time she saw Cheb Packer, she would not hesitate to terminate him in the most efficient method possible.

She accessed the communications system once more and made another call, using the private code Hayes had given to her that afternoon. She found it difficult to regulate her respiration, and she concentrated on breathing evenly as she waited for a response. It seemed to take hours, though her cranial implant insisted that only a moment or so had passed before the admiral's personal home computer tracked the older man down. She almost sobbed in relief when she saw his craggy face appear on the viewscreen.

"Lt. Hansen," he said. "What's this about?" Behind him, she could see a crowd and she realized that the admiral had been out for the evening, perhaps to the theater or the opera.

"They've taken Kathryn," she blurted.

He frowned, then his face became very professional. "Just a moment, Lieutenant," he said. "I can't talk here. Give me your comm frequency, and I'll call you back."

Seven nodded and transmitted the frequency to Hayes, waiting impatiently as he found somewhere private to return her communication. She glanced fretfully out the transparency which showed various commuters going about their business, completely unaware of the drama occurring just inside the tiny transporter room. She wondered if she had been equally oblivious at times, and made a mental note to pay more attention to her surroundings.

There was a beep at the console, and Seven immediately touched the controls, bringing up Admiral Hayes on the viewscreen. The image displayed that unique variance which indicated it was heavily coded with a high level security seal.

"Explain what's happening, Lieutenant," he said, granting her his full and complete attention.

She approved of his bluntness, finding it very efficient, and she filled him in on her findings. His face was more thoughtful and concerned after she had completed her report.

"It sounds to me as if they wanted her alive, Annika," he said.

"Why?" Seven asked. Not that she wasn't grateful for it, but if she were to step back and deal with that situation without emotion, she had to wonder why Packer simply hadn't killed the captain outright since he blamed Janeway for all his problems.

"Because she's more useful to them alive," he said. "Probably for bait."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Bait?" she echoed.

"It was you the Syndicate was initially after, Seven," Hayes reminded her. "Believe me, Packer couldn't have pulled this off without their assistance, which means he's not in charge, they are. They won't let him do anything to her until they've gotten their use out of her. The longer you remain out of their hands, the longer she'll remain alive."

Seven felt a muscle jump in her jaw. "Unacceptable," she said. "I will not stand by and allow them to keep her a prisoner."

"Seven, the reason the Syndicate remains a problem is because we've never been able to track down their headquarters in order to remove their threat entirely," Hayes said. "I know this is hard for you---"

"Let me find them," Seven said flatly. "You promised me that if I asked for your help, you would provide me with certain resources. In return for your assistance, I will find the Orion Syndicate's homeworld for you."

He stared at her. "Seven, you can't expect to find them when Section 31 has failed..." he began.

"I am Borg," she told him flatly. "There is nowhere in this universe that I cannot find Packer, and he will lead us to the Syndicate. At least, allow me to make the attempt."

He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Very well," he said. "Give me a few hours while I gather a team to assist you. They'll bring all the information that we have on the Syndicate, and perhaps you can discover something that the rest of us have missed."

"Where do I rendezvous with this 'team'?" Seven asked.

"Use the public transporter," he said. "Go to the address I'm transmitting to you now. It's in Washington, D.C. You'll be met by an operative with the information of where to go next. If you can provide a location for the Syndicate, then I'll make sure you have a vessel, and the authorization to lead a search and destroy mission to take care of this threat once and for all."

"Thank you," Seven said gratefully.

He smiled, though it seemed a bit forced. "As we told you, Seven," he said. "We'll take care of you, so long as you take care of us. Now, I know it's difficult for you to remain composed in this situation, but we need you to be thinking clearly. Otherwise, you'll be useless on this mission."

"I will comply," Seven responded coldly. "When may I transport to Washington?"

"As soon as you can," Hayes instructed. "Time is of the essence. We don't want to tip the Syndicate off that their plan has been discovered, nor do we want the rest of Starfleet to catch up to you and make a bad situation even worse."

"I understand," Seven said, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. The viewscreen went blank, and Seven left the transporter room, moving out to the main station and the public transporters, wanting to get to Washington as quickly as possible.

She tried not to speculate about what her partner might be going through in the hands of Cheb Packer.

B'Elanna listened to the log one more time, staring at her work console in complete disbelief, realizing that her tiny surveillance device had been far more useful than she had anticipated. If only there had not been so many conversations to go through before she had been rewarded. When Seven used the TPG transporter system at the end of her work day on Monday, the tiny device downloaded everything that it recorded since activation into an internal buffer. The stored information was then transmitted to B'Elanna's home on the shore of Lake Utopia in the early hours of Tuesday morning. The signal was hidden in a carrier frequency, lost in a host of other energy readings which occurred as the facility reset their subspace array; an automated daily routine that B'Elanna had taken note of in her initial research of the TPG facility, and the transmitter's AI unit detected as being safe to transmit its data through.

The Klingon didn't think Ro would necessarily approve of monitoring Seven of Nine in this fashion, but since B'Elanna wasn't the one with all the advanced tactical training, her only advantage lay in her engineering skills and her ability to improvise. B'Elanna did wish she could have planted the bug on Seven early Monday morning rather than the previous Friday, but the engineer had been forced to seize her opportunity when it arose. It had wasted a lot of the Klingon's time to skim through all of Seven's conversations, trying to find out who was subtly influencing her, only to discover that the Borg had spent the entire weekend with Janeway, not going out at all. Despite skipping as much as she could, B'Elanna found herself a reluctant voyeur to the couple's private time together, discovering a great deal more about the Borg's sex life than she really wanted to know, including one incident that had left her slack-jawed, but it wasn't until Seven's conversations on Monday that she finally hit the jackpot.

The discussion between Seven and Admiral Hayes during their lunch together at the Martian Seas answered all Ro and B'Elanna's questions regarding which admiral belonged to Section 31, and what they had in mind for the young Borg.

There was only one problem.

What was she supposed to do with this crucial information, now?

Ro was far out of reach, still on her mission to track down the Doctor, while Captain Picard was light-years away on the Enterprise. Unfortunately, B'Elanna didn't think she could sit on this information for very long ... certainly not as long as it would take either Ro or Picard to return to Earth. From what B'Elanna could determine from the recording, Section 31 almost had Seven signed, sealed and delivered to the covert operations group, and if what Hayes had also said about Cheb Packer was true, time was running short. The Klingon found it hard to believe that Starfleet knew about the Syndicate member's escape and was refusing to tell the captain, but it was obvious that the admiral was using this event as a way to finally convince Seven she would be best served by joining their operation.

B'Elanna decided that she had to go directly to Janeway. It probably wouldn't be the recommended course of action in Picard's opinion, but the young woman didn't know what else to do. Steeling herself for some lengthy explanations, the Klingon accessed her communications system, but when the engineer contacted Janeway's San Francisco home, all that responded was the house computer, informing her pleasantly that neither the captain nor Seven were currently at home. B'Elanna left a message, requesting that the couple get in touch with her as soon as possible. At her request, her comm system then tried to contact Janeway directly through her comm badge, using an emergency channel, and the Klingon became progressively more concerned when it was unsuccessful. Still intent on talking to Janeway as soon as possible, she dared to call Gretchen on the off chance the couple was visiting the captain's mother, discovering that while Janeway had visited Indiana the previous day as a result of a dog's death, Gretchen had not talked to her or Seven since.

When she contacted base operations, and discovered that Janeway hadn't logged back in at Utopia Planitia since the previous day when she left early to attend a family priority, B'Elanna was more than concerned ... she was actually frightened. Perhaps none of this was necessarily alarming on its own, since it was entirely possible that the captain had just taken a personal day, then she and Seven had gone out for the evening, leaving their comm badges behind, but combined with the other information B'Elanna had discovered, it was sufficient to send a hormonal charge through the Klingon.

As midnight rolled around and there was still no answer at the captain's home, B'Elanna had to make some hard decisions. She hesitated a little longer, then inhaled deeply and made a call that she really didn't want to make. Nechayev's blonde hair was disheveled, falling loose around her Slavic features, obviously readying for bed, but at least she had accepted the call directly. She frowned as she regarded the Klingon.

"Lt. Torres," she said slowly, as if needing to search her mind to identify her, even though she had run into the Klingon on various occasions at Utopia Planitia. "You were Janeway's engineer on Voyager."

"Yes, sir," Torres said. "Uh, ma'am, have you seen the captain today?"

Nechayev blinked. "You contacted me at home this late for that?" she said.

Torres forced down the annoyance she always felt when dealing with this woman. "Admiral, I know about Cheb Packer's escape," she said flatly. "Captain Janeway has not been seen since the early part of yesterday afternoon. I respectfully ask again, have you been in contact with her?"

The admiral's head went back, either at the edge in B'Elanna's tone, or the information she had just received. "What do you mean, she hasn't been seen?" she asked, her voice sharp.

"Just that," B'Elanna said. "She never logged in for duty today, and I can't get through to her comm badge using any emergency channel. Her home computer says that neither she nor Seven are home."

"How did you find out about Packer's escape?" Nechayev demanded. "It's classified."

B'Elanna inhaled deeply, then related what she had discovered on her surveillance logs, transmitting a copy to the admiral's console, as well as explaining the reason she and Ro had been monitoring Seven to begin with. The admiral looked alternately shocked and furious as the engineer told her everything that had been going on since Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant.

"Are you telling me that you've been operating under Picard's authority all this time?" she said.

B'Elanna shook her head. "Lt. Ro has," she said, then added reluctantly. "I've just been helping out because I'm worried about Seven."

"Why didn't you come to me before this?" Nechayev demanded sharply.

"Until today, we didn't know which admiral was allied with Section 31," B'Elanna said reasonably. "We even had our doubts about you." She paused. "However, you don't seem surprised by the whole concept of Section 31."

"I'm not," Nechayev said, giving B'Elanna a qualm or two. "I've known something has been going on since the beginning of the Dominion War, but it's only been rumors and innuendo. Every time I thought I had tracked down something concrete, it turned out to be nothing more than shadows." She looked away briefly, working on her console out of range of the viewscreen.

"With all due respect, Admiral," B'Elanna said. "As much as everyone wants to nail Section 31, don't you think it's the Orion Syndicate that we need to worry about?"

"Starfleet Security has the situation under control," Nechayev said stiffly.

"Then, where's Janeway?" B'Elanna asked flatly. "Or Seven? I haven't checked the TPG, but somehow, I wouldn't be surprised to find that she didn't go to work today, either."

Nechayev stared at her, then touched her controls again. "Stand by," she ordered. "I need to verify that."

B'Elanna's screen went blank, and impatiently, she drummed her fingers on the desktop, becoming more and more scared as the moments passed. After what seemed an eternity, the comm finally chirped again, and the Klingon almost broke a nail, slamming her fingers down to activate it.

"You were right, Seven never reported for work this morning," Nechayev said without preamble. "We tracked them both to the Portage Creek Transport center yesterday afternoon. I've dispatched a security detail to do a follow-up, but for now we know that apparently, Janeway transported to San Francisco using the Starfleet system, but there's no record of her arrival. Seven showed up in Portage Creek later that afternoon, perhaps looking for her, contacted McKinley Station to ask about a vessel orbiting Indiana, then beamed to the Washington, D.C. station. There's no further report of her whereabouts." She looked up. "McKinley told her that the ship was a freighter registered to the Packer Shipping Company."

"The Orion Syndicate has Janeway," B'Elanna concluded, feeling weak. "Seven's going after them."

"We don't know that, Lieutenant," Nechayev said sternly.

"Would you explain something to me, Admiral?" B'Elanna asked, schooling as much fury out of her tone as possible. Nechayev dipped her head warily, allowing the question. "Why didn't you let Janeway know about Packer's escape? She would have been more alert to any possible danger from him."

"Lieutenant, the decision to try to keep this as quiet as possible was made by Starfleet Command," Nechayev said, her mouth twisted as if she was tasting something unpleasant.

"By you?" B'Elanna asked.

The admiral looked away. "By Paris," she admitted.

"Wait," B'Elanna said, thinking that over. "Hayes told Seven it was your decision."

"No, it was Paris who made the call," Nechayev returned, looking vaguely confused. "There was a worry that Janeway would not respond well to such information." She dipped her head. "As far as that goes, I would have to agree with it. She does like to take matters into her own hands at times."

"Why would Paris involve himself with a security matter?" B'Elanna pursued.

"Because he's always interfering in areas that don't concern him," the admiral snapped, and B'Elanna suspected that it was the late hour that caused Nechayev's imprudence. That or she had forgotten she was speaking to a lieutenant. "Hayes informed me that Paris instructed security to ..." Nechayev stopped. " Damn ... oh, damn."

"I bet Hayes told Paris it was purely your decision not to tell the captain, just like he told Seven," B'Elanna said, choosing her next words with care. "Are you entirely sure it was the Orion Syndicate who arranged Packer's escape?"

Nechayev looked as if someone had slammed her across the head with a Klingon pain stick, and B'Elanna realized that Hayes must have been playing the other admirals off against each other for months ... perhaps even years, depending on how long this particular group of admirals had been assigned the Starship Operations sector. Section 31 wasn't overt, the engineer reminded herself. They moved in the shadows, a nudge here, a carefully placed comment there, and as a result, they manipulated situations to their specifications while the ones actually involved were none the wiser.

"I don't believe Section 31 would ally themselves with the Syndicate," Nechayev said, color staining her cheeks. "Despite their methods, they're still Starfleet, and they still have the Federation's best interests at heart."

"The Orion Syndicate is an enemy of the Federation," B'Elanna said, thinking furiously over what she had learned in that conversation between Hayes and Seven. "What does Section 31 do with enemies?"

"Eliminate them," Nechayev said, following the chain of thought. She swallowed, her throat moving visibly. "That doesn't explain why Packer was given the opportunity to kidnap Janeway..."

"Packer hates the captain," B'Elanna said unhappily. "After grabbing her, the first thing he'd do is run for the protection of the Orion Syndicate. They might even give it to him because Janeway would give them bait to draw Seven and her Borg technology to them, but it's possible that's exactly what Section 31 is counting on." She paused. "Admiral, I don't think the Syndicate knows how dangerous Seven can be, but I'll bet Section 31 does. I think they'll send Seven to lead them to Packer, and they hope Packer will lead them to the Syndicate. They're using her as a weapon to destroy the cartel, once and for all."

Nechayev stared at her. "I think you're overestimating your friend's ability," she said with a touch of disdain.

B'Elanna set her jaw. "I know her, Admiral," she said. "I've worked with her. I watched her go into an alien prison and bring the captain out when no one else could have. Believe me, if there's one thing Seven knows, it's the most efficient way to get something done, and she doesn't care what that is or what cost there will be to her personally as long as Janeway is safe at the end of it. Besides, think of it in terms of how Section 31 operates. This would be Seven doing whatever she could to save her spouse, wiping out the Orion Syndicate, and no one even notices Section 31 is involved."

"But we know," Nechayev said.

"Would you, without me or Ro?" B'Elanna reminded her. "Or Picard putting us on the trail in the first place? Admiral, I have enough evidence with these logs to stop Hayes, but what are we going to do about Seven and the captain?"

Nechayev opened her mouth to respond, then turned her head as something caught her attention. B'Elanna frowned as the admiral killed the audio, obviously speaking to someone on another channel. The Klingon felt a thrill go through her as Nechayev's eyebrows suddenly flew up her forehead, an expression of complete shock on her face. B'Elanna was literally quivering in her chair with impatience by the time the admiral got back to her. Nechayev's face was grim, her eyes frozen chips of blue ice.

"Utopia Planitia just got around to returning my call," she said flatly, restoring the audio. "Voyager launched from its dock under Admiral Hayes's authorization early this morning. I suspect Seven of Nine is aboard. I'm going to contact the Enterprise and the USS Hood, and have them rendezvous with my flagship at Vulcan before we go after it." She paused. "I could use an attaché, Lieutenant. Apparently, one of mine is missing, which is why it took so long for certain information to get to me."

"I'm on my way," B'Elanna said, her blood racing through her like liquid fire. "Where?"

"The Gorkon will beam you up in twenty minutes," Nechayev said. "Be ready. We won't wait for you."

"You won't have to," B'Elanna promised.

The channel went dead, and the Klingon raced for the master bedroom across the hall from the study. Swiftly changing into a fresh uniform, she grabbed the bag she kept packed in the event of an emergency, and tapped her comm badge, informing the admiral's flagship that she was ready.

This was one ship she wasn't going to miss.

Janeway wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but she knew she didn't like it. Her captors had been decidedly unhelpful when she demanded to know who they were and what they thought they were doing. They had simply gestured with their weapons, strongly implying she should obey any directive they imposed. Initially hesitating, the impassive, professional set to their faces, and the fact she was outnumbered five to one convinced Janeway that it was not the time to resist. She was even more glad she hadn't when they professionally and impersonally frisked her, relieving her not only of her comm badge, but of the phaser hidden in her left heel, and the spare communicator in her other. Fuming, but forcing herself to comply, she followed their instructions, moving out of the transporter room and into a corridor of what appeared to be a freighter of some kind. Without speaking, they escorted her to a plain room containing a narrow bunk, a simple table, a single chair, a sink, and a waste disposal unit in the corner, then left her to her own devices.

As far as prisons went, she had been in far better. Of course, she reminded herself, after going over every millimeter of the cell, and assuring herself there was no immediate escape, she had been in far worse, as well. For a brief second, the memory of the Barellan prison she had been incarcerated in during Voyager's journey in the Delta Quadrant crossed her mind, and she repressed a shiver.

Taking a seat on the bunk, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them as she tried to figure out who these people were. Abruptly, she was reminded of the time that had passed since the transport, and her thoughts turned to Seven, realizing that the young woman would soon start wondering where she was, waiting for her arrival home. Janeway didn't know if there would be anyway to trace the transporter beam to this ship ... she still couldn't figure out how they had managed to snag a Starfleet transport in progress without setting off all sorts of alarms at both the Portage Creek and the San Francisco transport stations ... but she didn't think that the freighter would have hung around Earth long enough to be searched. Undoubtedly, it was well on its way out of the inner core system; a speculation that was verified as she felt the unmistakable surge of warp power resonate through the deck and bulkheads.

If she could only contact Seven and tell her not to worry, Janeway would be better able to tolerate this captivity. The thought that this would undoubtedly cause her partner undue unhappiness was something the captain hated, hoping that the young woman would remain calm and composed. In the meantime, however, Janeway had every intention of escaping and furthermore, of bringing these malcontents to justice in a Federation court of law. If the question of what might be the result if she failed in such a task crossed her mind, she steadfastly ignored it, not allowing any negativity to compromise her ability to think clearly.

It did occur to her that the next time she felt as if her life wasn't exciting enough, she would have someone hit her with a stick until the feeling subsided.

Deciding that there was nothing she could do at the moment, she lay down on the uncomfortable sleeping pad, and tried to get some rest, knowing that she needed to be ready to grasp her opportunities when they arose. Her stomach growled audibly, and she found herself regretting that she hadn't taken Gretchen up on her offer to stay for supper, not only because it might have prevented this, but because she had skipped lunch, while breakfast was a long time in the past.

Hours passed with agonizing slowness, the captain unable to sleep as her mind raced through a thousand different plans of action, all of them discarded as being unnecessarily risky or flat out insane. The sound at the door was a welcome relief from her thoughts, and she rolled off the bunk, rising to the balls of her feet, fists clenched. The door slid back and a sparse, balding man entered. Narrow featured, with eyes set close together, he stared at her emotionlessly, yet, his regard of her seemed curiously devoid of rancor. He was carrying a tray, and accompanied by a bulky, muscular man who kept his weapon at the ready, taking up a position just inside the door where he glared at her silently.

"Captain Janeway," the first man greeted in an even tone. "We thought you might be hungry."

She eyed him warily, then looked over the larger guard, carefully gauging her options. Deciding there weren't any, she forced herself to relax.

"You have the advantage of me," she said.

"Yes, we do," he agreed. He placed the tray on the table, then stood back. "It's not out of the best model of replicator, but it's better than starving."

"Indeed," she said, looking at it suspiciously. "Drugged?"

"If that was our intention, we'd just drug you," he said, shrugging lightly. "We wouldn't have to trick you into taking it."

She dipped her head in acknowledgment of that unpleasant truth. "Who's we?" she asked again. She didn't expect an answer, but he smiled faintly.

"I think you could probably figure it out," he suggested. "Considering how much you've been interfering with things, lately."

That could cover a lot of ground, Janeway thought unhappily.

He seemed to sigh. "If it's any consolation," he offered, "this isn't personal. You have something we want. It's just business."

"I can't say as I like your type of business," she said. She noticed he was holding her chair, and surprised at the unexpected courtesy, she took a seat. "Thank you."

He moved back, seeming to understand that she would be uncomfortable with his proximity. Conscious of their appraisal, she picked up a fork.

"Are you to provide the dinner show?" she asked, testing the first bite gingerly. The man had been correct, it was plain and fairly bland, but at this point, her hunger was such that she swallowed, and readily scooped up more.

"Just here to make sure you don't palm a utensil and turn it into a phaser rifle," he told her laconically. "Plus, we have to remove the tray when you're done."

She raised an eyebrow. "My, you have a somewhat inflated opinion of my abilities," she said dryly.

"We've heard a great deal about you," he responded. "Enough to know not to underestimate your abilities."

For some reason, she did not find that flattering. Instead, a chill went down her spine, unsure why, but conscious of it nonetheless.

"I see," she said.

She proceeded to eat the rest of her meal silently, suddenly not having much in the way of an appetite, but realizing again that it was important to make every effort to maintain her strength. While she ate, the two men chatted casually about a dabo girl that had worked in the last Ferengi casino they had been in, but the conversation did not distract from their keen attention of her. When she had finished, they motioned her away and she obeyed, moving back against the wall. For a brief instant, while the smaller man had picked up the tray, and the larger man had turned away to open the door, Janeway thought she had a bit of an opening and she tensed, leaning forward.

However, the opportunity was gone almost as quickly as it came, the entrance filled by another form, this one dishearteningly familiar. Janeway felt an unpleasant sensation fill her chest, and suddenly, a great deal became clear, from who had kidnaped her and exactly why they had done it, to what they hoped to gain in the end.

Oh, Annika, she cried silently.

"Happy to see me again, Kat?" Cheb Packer said, smiling oily at her.

"That wouldn't be the word I would choose," she replied evenly.

"No, I don't suppose you would," he said. "Not enough syllables, and it wouldn't allow you to feel condescending to whomever you're talking to." Still handsome in a ruined sort of way, Janeway's first lover ran his eyes over her with a decidedly discomforting possessiveness. "I must say, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be lucky if you remember words of one syllable, let alone two."

Janeway kept her command mask rigid, but it was taking an effort. She cast a glance at the smaller man who seemed to have a touch of distaste in his features as he regarded Packer.

"Just business?" she accused, throwing his words back in his face.

He inhaled, glancing at the larger man. "It is for us," he said. "Some of us, however, tend to be less professional than others."

"The Orion Syndicate," she said flatly. She was aware of Packer continuing to regard her with that twisted little smile that made her feel ill. "You hope that by taking me, you'll be able to lure Seven into your hands."

"That's the idea," the small man agreed. She weighed the dynamics in the room carefully, using all her command skill which served her so well at reading people. The smaller man wasn't just a flunky, she decided. He held an authority and confidence that was missing in Cheb, though perhaps the merchant didn't realize that.

"That's why you helped Packer escape," she said, still addressing the first man. She was aware of Packer's face coloring as she continued to ignore him.

A brief expression of surprise ghosted over the smaller man's face. "Actually, the Syndicate had pretty much washed their hands of Mr. Packer," he admitted. "His abrupt ... liberation ... came as a bit of a shock." He shot the felon an indecipherable look. "Perhaps we underestimated his abilities. Certainly, escaping Starfleet custody and providing another plan to secure the Borg will go a long way to make up for his past ... failures."

Janeway offered a calculated snort. "I wouldn't become too attached to that idea, if I were you," she said. "Failure and Cheb tend to be constant companions."

She realized she had overplayed her hand when Cheb took two strides and buried his fist into her midsection. She doubled over to meet a backhanded slap that sent her staggering back to fall to the deck, blood spurting from the unmistakable fracture of the cartilage of her nose. Undoubtedly, Packer was still feeling quite antagonistic from the drubbing he had taken at the hands of Seven when they had all met on Deep Space 9, and was anxious to take it out on her. Curled up on the deck, Janeway realized that she had confused stupid with weak, conscious that he had always been a fairly athletic and strong individual, and made a mental note not to do that anymore.

Packer reached down and hauled her to her feet, and Janeway felt a decided urge to vomit all over him, holding it back not because she feared his reaction, but because she didn't want to waste the food she had just consumed. He drew back to drive his fist into her face again, and was grabbed by the smaller man, yanking him away. Cheb looked at the other man with sheer disbelief as Janeway, her head ringing, blood streaming down the front of her uniform, collapsed onto the bunk.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Vicarny?" Packer spat, shaking him off. "This is my ship and she's my prisoner. Back off."

He appeared even more stunned when Vicarny promptly pulled out a small weapon, gesturing with it slightly.

"Calm down," the small man ordered in a bored tone, though his eyes grew even colder than Janeway had suspected possible. "She's no good to us dead. A little slap to keep her in line and remind her exactly what the situation is, is something I have no problem with, but you're enjoying yourself far too much. As I told her, regardless of how you feel, this is just business."

"I've never liked you, Vicarny," Packer began hotly, jerking his head at the other man in the room. "I didn't want to hire you, but I was doing Duvont a favor. That ends now. Ricardo, take care of him." To Packer's obvious consternation, and Janeway's mild amusement, Ricardo didn't move a millimeter, staring back at the merchant shipper impassively.

"I'm constantly amazed at your tendency to the obtuse, Packer," Vicarny reminded him flatly. "Ricardo and I ... now that we've all been introduced to the good captain, which does none of us any good ... work for the Syndicate, as do you. The captain can be useful in helping us acquire some Borg technology, and we're not going to waste that opportunity just because you have some petty grievance with the woman."

"I was able to have the transport diverter in the Portage Creek station console replaced while I was in prison, after yours was discovered," Packer said, his eyes gleaming unpleasantly. "I'm the one who arranged my escape, and I'm the one who initiated the operation to capture her. Janeway is mine, and I won't let anyone take her from me."

"Maybe after the Syndicate's done with her, you can have her back," Vicarny offered dispassionately, obviously offering the merchant a bone to smooth things over. "Until then, you keep your hands off her." His face hardened, and he lifted his weapon to Packer's forehead, pressing the muzzle against it significantly. "I'm not kidding here, Packer. So far, you've been a major disappointment to us, providing far more problems than results. This is your final chance to prove your worth to us. I suggest you not waste it."

Packer glared at him, but the smaller man didn't budge. Breathing heavily, Cheb turned to Janeway, his face an ugly mask of frustrated hatred. The captain felt his hand grip her chin cruelly. "I had your heart once, Kat," he said, his face millimeters away as she stared into dark eyes that were not quite sane. "I had your body. By the time I'm done, I'll have your soul."

"I'd die first," she spat.

"Oh, you'll die," he agreed, and smiled a particularly humorless smile. "But not for a good long time. You'll be mine, eventually, Kat. Count on it."

His face, the droplets of sweat glistening off the stubble of his unchecked beard, was the last thing she saw as he pulled a hypospray from his tunic pocket and jammed it against her neck. The unknown drug dropped her down into a cold pit of darkness from which there was no escape, and for the first time since this had all began, Kathryn Janeway felt very much afraid.

Epilogue

The Doctor hummed happily as he puttered about the medical center. Noiro Colony had turned out to be all that he could have wanted, and far more than he would have hoped when he had arrived on the fringes of the Federation, desperate and almost broke. Meeting Duvont had been the best thing that could have happened to him at that difficult stage of his existence, and the Doctor smiled as he rearranged his surgical instruments so that they would be ready at an instant. He had even made friends in the short time he had been here, particularly with the mayor, the pair finding a common interest in chess. Over a game in the evenings, Duvont and the Doctor had discussed a great many things, from the hopes and dreams the alien had for his young colony, to the fact that Duvont hoped the Doctor would eventually be the head of the colony's first true hospital, rather than just the small medical center they had now. The EMH was beginning to feel a sense of belonging, a sense of home, even in the short time he had been here.

The giddy air of excitement in the atmosphere told the EMH that there were a fleet of ships coming in soon, a special occasion that warranted a great deal of celebration. Spouses were anticipating the rendezvous with their loved ones, children were excited to see their parents again, shopkeepers were anxious to get a look at any new merchandise, while the crews who had been plying the space lanes would be happy finally to be home. Of course, there was a downside to the return of a Noiro fleet. There would be a great deal of liquor intake this upcoming evening, which would inevitably lead to the occasional fight, providing a range of knife wounds and battery injuries which the Doctor would have to deal with. Fortunately, there were no energy weapons allowed within the colony boundaries, and while he did not approve of knives being allowed either, it left him with more variety than he had experienced in Starfleet, and felt quite rewarding in some strange way. There was a vitality in this colony, a sort of frontier-type 'us against the quadrant' esprit that he had not experienced since the Delta Quadrant and Voyager.

He wondered if the ships would also be bringing in patients. As Duvont had told him, the shipping industry on which the colony depended to maintain their financial stability as they developed into self-sustenance, was apparently a dangerous business. Usually, on every incoming vessel was a patient who required immediate treatment, usually from some major trauma or phaser blast. Duvont explained about 'competitors' that operated out here on the fringes, which the Doctor assumed was a euphemism for 'pirates'. The Doctor had sympathized, having experienced his own encounters with marauders in the Delta Quadrant, though of course, he had not mentioned Voyager by name, or talked much about his former life, a situation that no one seemed to find particularly curious.

In fact, it was entirely possible no one in the colony knew he was a hologram. He had altered his matrix density and maintained a solid nude form rather than his standard uniformed matrix, allowing him to 'wear' clothing as other humanoids did. His mobile emitter was usually concealed under his shirt, or passed off as a 'heart monitor' which the average colonist accepted as a mere quirk of their new doctor. To further that, he had added a subroutine for a small beard and moustache during his frantic journey away from Earth, the trim 'growth' making up somewhat for the top of his head which he was completely unable to alter, perhaps because Zimmerman's physical attributes had been so deeply programmed into his base matrix. As a result of all this effort, the colonists treated him as just another Human, and that was quite refreshing to the Doctor. It also made him realize how others, particularly those on Voyager, had always been very conscious of his being a hologram.

He looked up as he heard motion in the entrance of the clinic, seeing three men bringing in a fourth person on a stretcher. One of the newcomers was the mayor, Duvont, a Humanoid whose skin was darkly scaled, almost metallic, with reddish eyes. The Doctor frowned when he saw that the sheet completely covered the face of the patient, and he wondered if they were bringing him a corpse instead. The unfortunate aspect of being the only doctor in a colony was that he also doubled as the undertaker, preparing bodies for proper disposal. He decided that was something he was not going to put on his resume on the off chance he ever returned to the inner core of the Federation.

He picked up a tricorder and a medical probe, moving toward the stretcher. The patient was not dead, he realized with a sort of relief, but showed every evidence of being heavily under the influence of a narcotic known as 'dream dust'.

Probably another overdose, he thought disapprovingly. Brought in to sober her up just so she could inevitably do it all over again. Dream dust was a notoriously difficult drug to shake an addiction to without assisted rehabilitation.

"Special case, Doc," Duvont said. He seemed tense, disgusted, glancing at the other two men with a down turn to his mouth, obviously displeased with them both. "This is not the sort of thing I like being brought here to the homeworld, but I don't think we have any choice. Put her in the private room, and keep her quiet."

"Violent?" the Doctor asked professionally.

One of the other men snickered. "Not anymore."

The Doctor frowned, not liking the sound of that, shooting him a look. "I'll take care of her," the EMH said, feeling a great deal more sympathetic to the patient suddenly, even if she were a 'duster. If she were involved with the man with the unfortunate sense of humor, perhaps she had reason to escape reality. "Bring her in to the treatment room so I can detoxify her."

There was a pause as the men exchanged glances. "We don't want her detoxified," Duvont explained. "Just kept on ice for awhile. We'll provide enough dust to keep her happy."

The Doctor stared at him, horrified. "That is completely ... I cannot believe ... how could you even consider..." he blustered, unable to find the words to convey his complete abhorrence to this. He drew himself up to his full height. "My prog--- profession's highest rule is Do No Harm."

"Then I guess we'll be looking for a new medical officer," the larger man noted, snidely, pulling out a weapon which he pointed at the EMH. The smaller man grabbed his arm, taking the weapon from him and handing it to Duvont.

"No energy weapons in colony boundaries, Packer," the mayor said coldly, glaring at the large man.

"What kind of setup did you bring me to, Vicarny?" Packer demanded of the smaller man.

"Will you stow it, Packer?" Vicarny said, disgust tinging his tone. He looked at the Doctor. "Look you won't really be doing any harm, Doc," he added in a more reasonable tone. "This prisoner has to be kept drugged. Now either you can do it here in the medical center, making sure that the dust is administered in exactly the proper dosages to keep her comatose while maintaining a close monitor of her lifesigns, or we'll have to do it ourselves." He looked regretful. "I doubt we'd be as adequate at it. She'd probably die."

The Doctor was furious. "Why don't you contact the constables and arrest these men?" he said, looking at Duvont.

"Where did you find this guy?" Packer said in amazement, nudging the mayor. "Doesn't he know how the Orion Syndicate does business?"

The Doctor stared at him, speechless, aware his mouth had fallen open as certain things that should have been obvious in the beginning, abruptly became very clear. Feeling decidedly unsettled, he reached out, and drew back the sheet from the face of his patient, receiving an even greater shock.

As he looked down into the bruised features of Captain Kathryn Janeway, he realized that things were no longer looking up ... not for him or a great many other people.

The End

•  This is the 48th installment of the Just Between series.

•  It was posted on December 29, 2000.

•  Title provided by Shaych.

•  Please be aware, there are some scenes in this that are similar to those in JB Species. Proceed at your own risk.

Just Between Life & Death
G. L. Dartt

Her mouth was cotton dry when she woke, and she tried to swallow, her head pounding with a pain that echoed through her temples and down her neck. Her body tingled unpleasantly, pins and needles lancing up and down her limbs, as if the blood flow had been blocked in them and was only now resuming. She must have made a sound, because suddenly, someone was next to her, and a tube was being inserted between her lips.

"Drink," said an oddly familiar voice, though she couldn't quite place it at the moment. The word was spoken in a hushed tone, anxious, almost as if the owner were fearful of being overheard.

She obeyed, swallowing as the cool liquid slipped down her parched throat like a balm, easing the soreness. With an effort, she opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh illumination, her vision fuzzy and unfocused. She made another sound as the tube was taken away, one of protest, and a hand was pressed over her mouth.

"Quiet," a low voice instructed. "It's not safe here, Captain."

Captain? Yes, now she remembered. She was Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship ... of the starship ... of no starship at the moment.

Or was she?

"Doctor?" she whispered, her eyes slowly able to make out the details of the man ... no, the hologram ... leaning over her. She felt as if she were in some sort of disjointed dreamscape. "Am I on Voyager?"

For a moment, she had the horrified thought that all the memories crashing in on her were nothing more than a series of hallucinations ... that she had actually been ill, and the USS Voyager had never returned to the Alpha Quadrant, nor had she and Seven spent more than a year adjusting to being home in the Federation. That didn't explain why the Doctor now possessed a goatee, however, the dark growth granting him a somewhat surreal appearance.

"We should be so lucky," he murmured ruefully. "No, we're on the homeworld of the Orion Syndicate. You've been drugged by a particularly nasty narcotic known colloquially as 'dream dust' which creates a highly suggestible state. Since your arrival, I've been cleaning the drug out of your system, but I've had to hide that from your captors. I've replaced the drug with a substitute that does not cause the long term damage to your neural tissue, nor causes catastrophic addiction, but it does mimic the initial state of hallucination and incoherence along with the symptoms of periodic withdrawal: the somnolent state, the dry mouth, the sweating, the headaches, the cramps..."

"I get the point," Janeway whispered, acutely aware of every one of those symptoms plaguing her now. "Doctor, when I'm ... under the influence ... do I talk?"

"No," he assured her. "You mumble, but as I mentioned, it's incoherent and disjointed. This grace period of withdrawal is our only window of communication. As I clean out your system, it will become longer each time, but for now, we only have a few minutes of clarity."

"Grace period?" she echoed, a sense of dread permeating her.

"It will soon be time for you to receive another injection," he explained.

"Don't administer it," Janeway hissed.

"I have no choice, Captain," the Doctor told her, glancing over his shoulder with an agonized expression, as if expecting visitors any moment. "They're always present during the treatment, and watch very closely to see that I have a full hypospray, then they check your vitals to be sure you're ... well, 'high' is the term, I believe they use, particularly that Packer fellow. All I can do is lessen the duration of the hallucination period, and limit the harmful side effects and intensity of withdrawal."

The reminder of being kidnapped by Cheb Packer, the man she had shared a teen romance with, made nausea rise in Janeway's throat, and she jerked convulsively. Blinking rapidly, she stared at him.

"What are you doing here, Doctor?"

An expression of embarrassment crossed the EMH's somber features. "It's a long story," he admitted. "Let's just say I was looking for a job, and accepted the first offer I came across. I didn't check out my employers as well as I should."

"You're working for the Orion Syndicate?" the captain slurred in disbelief.

"No," he insisted. "I was working for a frontier colony which needed medical personnel. I didn't know this was the home base of the criminal cartel until they brought you in." He paused. "I don't think they actually do a lot of their business on this planetoid, Captain. It's more their sanctuary, a place to keep their families safe, and to provide them with a place to run when things become too ... complicated ... for them in the rest of the Federation." He leaned closer, dropping his voice even more. "In fact, I overheard Duvont, the mayor of the colony, telling your kidnappers that he wasn't pleased they had brought a Starfleet captain to the homeworld, no matter how much use you could be to them." He paused, looking confused. "I'm not sure what use they expect you to be, anyway."

Janeway cleared her throat, swallowing back the bile. "Bait," she said succinctly.

"Bait?" the Doctor echoed, uncomprehending.

"They don't want me, they want Seven's Borg implants," Janeway managed to choke out. "They're hoping that she'll come after me. The trouble is, they're right. She will." She glanced around, taking in the room which was painted in a light green, empty of furnishings beyond the bed she was lying in, and a mobile cart of some sort containing medical instruments. "I need to escape before then." She tried to rise into a sitting position, and that was when she realized she was strapped down. "Doctor, release the restraints."

He looked regretful and panicked at the same time. "I can't, Captain," he said. "I'm supposed to keep you 'on ice'. If I don't, they'll take over your treatment, and believe me, they won't be using a relatively harmless substitute."

The captain glared at him. "Have you switched loyalties, Doctor?" she murmured with deceptive mildness, "Now that you've resigned from Starfleet?"

"Certainly not," he said, greatly offended. He paused. "On the other hand, Starfleet did want to deactivate me..."

"Doctor."

He glanced back at her. "Sorry," he mumbled. "However, trust me when I tell you that you're in no shape to make a break for it. The dream dust has only now begun to clear your system enough so that you can think rationally, but the alternative drug still affects your motor control. You wouldn't even be able to stand up, let alone move around with any competence, but I don't dare stop giving it to you."

Janeway didn't like that, at all, especially when she belatedly realized she was drooling uncontrollably, but she was beginning to fully appreciate the difficulty of her position.

"I can't stay here," she protested, hating the weakness in her normally commanding tones, the lack of forcefulness in her voice. She couldn't remember ever feeling so vulnerable or helpless before. The Doctor had been correct about how depleted she was physically.

"I'm aware of that," he snapped, irritated. "But, I don't know what else to do at the moment, Captain. There are only a few ships remaining in port, and those that are, don't belong to the colony itself. They're independents, which means their crews are expected to stay close to their vessels, rather than roam about the facility. We're completely surrounded by members of the Syndicate, and if they catch us while we're attempting to leave the planetoid, they'll undoubtedly kill us. At least, they'll kill you. Heaven only knows what they'd do to me."

"Calm down, Doctor," Janeway urged, trying to think, though she found it difficult with the clouds fogging her mind. "Tell me, is there anything in your pharmaceuticals that will counteract the substitute you're using? Something that could work very quickly if required?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes," he said. "But without a plan, what good would it do?" He regarded her unhappily. "Your captors drop by frequently, Captain, including Packer. He doesn't do or say anything in particular, but he can stay up to thirty minutes at a time, just standing and staring at you in a most unpleasant fashion. I suspect if the other man, Vicarny, didn't keep him in line, Mr. Packer would be very interested in taking over your 'care'."

"Undoubtedly," Janeway agreed. She paused, feeling her heart pound with unusual rapidity. "Mr. Packer is an old ... enemy." She paused. "If the decision is made for him to take possession of me, Doctor .... I'm counting on you to make sure I'm dead before I leave this room."

He stared at her, shocked and horrified. "You can't be serious," he whispered.

"I'm very serious, Doctor," she said coolly. "Trust me, you'd be doing me a favor."

She could see his throat move as he swallowed, and she wondered if that was a subroutine of his programming, or if he had truly become that ... Human.

"I understand," he said weakly.

She could see that he did, and she was sorry to bring him such distress, wondering if his matrix could survive all these shocks to his system. Still, he had learned a lot on Voyager, and he knew how to think on his feet. His actions during the incident where Seska and the Kazon took over the ship were proof of that. He had also been quite a competent counter intelligence agent when the Hirogen had captured the crew, and trapped them into continually running holodeck scenarios. For a moment, the captain was shamed that she had ever doubted his sentience, or his ability to adapt.

"Doctor, keep the antagonist to the substitute close by, ready to be used if an opportunity arises," she instructed. "In the meantime, find out as much as you can about possible escape routes. I need to get to the spaceport."

"That could be very difficult," the Doctor said. "This planetoid is in the process of being terraformed, and the entire colony is housed underground, within a huge facility that goes down almost thirty levels into the bedrock. We're in the middle section which is reserved for services such as this medical center, and commercial services such as taverns, shops and restaurants. The spaceport is on the surface, and there are a lot of administrative levels between here and there. Residential quarters fill the levels below us, then at the lowest level, there's the power plant that runs on geothermal energy, tapping directly into the planetoid's core to provide the colony's energy needs."

Janeway looked at him approvingly. "My apologies, Doctor," she said softly. "You have been doing your homework." She paused, feeling particularly dizzy suddenly. Her brief struggle against the restraints had quickly sapped her energy. "How many people live here?"

"I'd guess fifteen hundred to two thousand people," he said. "Everyone I've come in contact with has a fierce loyalty to the mayor and his governing council ... which means the Orion Syndicate, I guess ... and little regard for the Federation. They make no secret of their profound hatred of Starfleet."

"Wonderful," Janeway muttered unhappily. "Keep on it, Doctor."

There was noise in the outer room at the same time the Doctor's tricorder gave a chirp, undoubtedly to indicate someone had just entered the outer emergency area. "Remember, Captain," he instructed, shooting her a stern look. "You're supposed to be dazed and confused. Don't respond directly to anything."

"No problem," Janeway whispered, closing her eyes.

The Doctor straightened and moved over to the other side of the room, preparing a hypospray. He looked every inch the professional when two men finally appeared in the doorway, Janeway observing them surreptitiously through slitted eyelids. One was Vicarny, a small, sparse man who had been involved with the aftermath of her kidnapping, arranging to bring her here. He seemed to be more in command than Cheb Packer had been, and a great deal less antagonistic toward her, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. The other was unfamiliar, a Humanoid whose skin was darkly scaled, almost metallic, with reddish eyes.

Janeway was very grateful not to see Cheb Packer accompanying them.

"Doc, is the injection ready?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, Mr. Duvont," the Doctor responded with what seemed to be a respectful tone. It was possible that even if the EMH didn't care for the implication of the Syndicate, it was apparent that he did have a genuine liking for the mayor as a person. "I would like to state my objection to this once more."

"I know, Doc," Duvont agreed, not unkindly. "However, sometimes we have to take care of business, and it isn't always pleasant. It pays the bills, however."

"How is she?" Vicarny asked, staring at Janeway. The captain let her facial muscles go slack, breathing sallowly as she tried to give the appearance of being completely oblivious to her surroundings.

"The 'dream dust' is causing progressive damage to her neural tissue," the Doctor said. "If I continue to administer it, she will soon become completely addicted, if she isn't all ready. There are other drugs that will keep her sedated without having to create this level of dependence."

There was a silence, and Janeway wondered if the Syndicate members were looking at each other.

"That is an option, Vicarny," Duvont offered finally, in a reasonable tone. "She is a Starfleet captain, after all. We should seriously consider returning her relatively unharmed, or else expect to have every other starship captain take a personal interest in our business until it becomes impossible to function. You know what Starfleet's like."

"Packer won't like it," the small man replied laconically. "I think he envisions her becoming his personal slave, and the first step to that is addicting her to the dream dust, which is probably why he chose it. A 'duster will do anything for their next fix ... absolutely anything."

"Is Mr. Packer's opinion that important within the organization?" the Doctor interjected with great delicacy.

There was another silence, and Janeway waited breathlessly.

"Vicarny and I will take your advice under consideration, Doc," Duvont allowed, finally. "Packer has proven useful to us in this instance, and that has to be taken into consideration. We don't want to get in the habit of rewarding good work with betrayal, but on the other hand, the larger picture does have to take priority."

"Just don't take too long to think about it," the Doctor told them, his tone acerbic. Janeway heard him move closer, and she forced herself not to tense as he leaned over her, feeling the cool metal of the hypospray press against her neck. "This 'dream dust' will eventually kill her if I keep administering it in this concentration."

"That might work, too, Doc," Vicarny said, obviously quite accepting of that option as well. "That way, Starfleet would never know what happened to her."

It was not the most encouraging thing she could have heard, Janeway thought, just before the drug plunged her once more into the colorful dreamscape of disjointed images, threaded throughout with a dark shadow of fear and helplessness.

Seven looked around the bridge of Voyager, exceedingly uncomfortable about sitting in the captain's chair, or even utilizing the starship for her own purposes without Janeway's knowledge, but the Borg did believe that this was the only way to save her spouse. Around the bridge, various members of the covert Starfleet operations group, Section 31, manned the consoles, navigating the ship through the Oriolus Belt. It was in this area that Seven had determined the Orion Syndicate had constructed their headquarters, arriving at that conclusion after assimilating every bit of information, no matter how small, that Section 31 had accumulated on the criminal organization. She believed the criminals had an extensive compound located on a planetoid hidden deep in an asteroid belt that orbited a G-type star, far away from the more heavily trafficked areas of the Federation. Voyager's sensors were now tracking an ion trail through the asteroid cluster, identical to the one used by the vessel involved with Janeway's kidnapping. Built and maintained by the Packer Shipping Company, the match of the ship's signature trace verified her findings, and convinced the others in the Section 31 team that her conclusions were correct.

She glanced sideways at the man occupying the first officer's seat. Lt. Kagan was the senior operative within this branch of Starfleet Intelligence, and a frequent contact of Admiral Hayes. She had been surprised when she discovered his identity, realizing that he was a attaché in Admiral Nechayev's office. It verified her belief that Starfleet had little comprehension of the proper utilization of the skills of its officers; otherwise, Kagan would not have needed to find a place with Section 31, working with Hayes. Once more, the young woman felt a strong sense of gratitude toward her mentor who had taken her under his wing not long after she had returned to the Alpha Quadrant. It was probably his kindness and acceptance of her that convinced her to uphold her commission in Starfleet, and it was unquestionably his authority and ties to Section 31 which were allowing her to pursue Cheb Packer in order to rescue her partner.

Kagan was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with stern features which rarely showed expression. In fact, most of the team were of the same ilk, quietly and calmly going about their business as professionally as possible. On one hand, Seven appreciated their competence greatly, finding them to be an exceptionally efficient crew, but on the other, she discovered she was missing her friends and family desperately. She would have liked to have recruited the help of B'Elanna Torres or Ro Laren, her fellow crewmates off Voyager, or had the chance to discuss the situation calmly and rationally with Tuvok or Chakotay, the ship's previous security chief and first officer. Despite their obvious skills, none of the Section 31 people were her friends, and she felt very lonely and isolated in a way that she did not completely comprehend.

"Do you understand the plan once we're in reach of the system?" Kagan asked again, regarding her closely.

"Of course," Seven said. She forced herself not to display any irritation with his insistence on going over this several times, even though she suspected it was a necessary and regular occurrence with other operatives. However, she was not just any other team member, she was Borg, and her eidetic memory had filed the plan of attack away the first time they had undergone a briefing.

"Our long range probe has determined the schematics of the facility housing the colony, and the best way to approach it," she recited dispassionately. "We shall transport down to a secure region close to the Syndicate complex, and infiltrate on foot through the access tunnels which are lightly secured. Voyager shall remain in geo-synchronous orbit, and should remain masked to their sensors so long as the cloaking device, installed prior to our launch from Utopia Planitia, remains activated. While I locate Captain Janeway, utilizing a tricorder set specifically for her bio-readings, your team will descend to the main power room to set the explosives which will destroy this complex once and for all."

"Once you give the signal that you have Janeway's location confirmed, we'll activate the detonation sequence," he added. "It will be set for only an hour countdown, so you must be back on Voyager before that."

"It will not take me an hour to rescue Kathryn," Seven said, her eyes growing cold.

"We'll err on the side of caution," he insisted evenly. "The detonators are tamper proof, but if anyone tries, they'll activate immediately. Or you may run into unexpected resistance. Just remember that the longer we can remain undetected, the greater chance this mission has of success."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Resistance is futile," she stated with authority.

He met her pale eyes and smiled without humor, nodding slightly. "I think you're right," he allowed. "I will say, I'm glad you're on our side, Seven, and not theirs."

Seven didn't bother to tell him that the only side she was truly on was that of her partner. Instead, she looked towards the front of the ship, noticing that Lt. Chandler had a firm control of the helm. The Section 31 member was a stoic woman who seemed a little more authoritative than the man who had assumed the role of Seven's 'first officer', and Seven wondered why she was not in command. The Borg had never felt particularly comfortable in the role of 'leader', and it probably showed to the others, though they did not display any apparent discomfort with it.

It also felt very odd to look around and see strangers where familiar and friendly faces used to be. Harry Kim should have been the one manning operations, not some grim-faced Bolian, while tactical should have been covered by Tuvok, not a woman with a decided cranial ridge. Seven didn't think she even recognized the species.

Not knowing what was happening with her partner was a constant ache within her. Seven had dealt with Cheb Packer personally on one occasion, in addition to formulating an opinion about him based on what her partner had told her about her very first lover, and the young woman had determined that he was a shallow, even cruel, individual. If he had developed a specific hatred for Kathryn, it was entirely possible that he was causing her great physical and mental discomfort. That thought made it difficult for Seven to function, inciting strong emotion ... predominately rage ... and a decided need to terminate the Packer individual as soon as possible. However, she knew for this rescue to be carried off successfully, she needed to be thinking clearly and concisely, so she buried the fury deep inside, where it burned with a constant fire.

"Coming in range of the planetoid," Chandler announced suddenly.

"Status?" Kagan ordered.

"Cloaking device remains activated," the Bolian at ops announced. "No indication that the colony's sensors have detected us."

"Weapons systems on standby," the woman at tactical reported. "Shields at maximum."

"Establish a geo-synchronous orbit over the colony," Seven instructed.

"Aye, Captain," Chandler said. "Establishing orbit."

Seven flinched at the appellation, even though it was the proper form of address since she was supposedly in command of this mission. She glanced over at Kagan. "Prepare your away team," she instructed. "I shall meet you in transporter room one. Lt. Chandler, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir," he said. Acknowledging her command, Kagan rose from his chair as Seven rose from hers. Meanwhile, another officer took over the helm as Lt. Chandler moved smoothly to take command of the bridge. Seven strode briskly to the turbolift, and requested that it take her to deck three.

She felt the same qualm she always did as she entered the quarters where she and the captain had lived during their time together in the Delta Quadrant. It had been totally refitted, of course, not resembling the previous decor either in color or the layout of its furnishings, but it was still the same bulkheads, the same deck, the same rooms. She had discovered that she couldn't use the bed, unable to bear lying there alone as the hours passed in the darkness of nightwatch, preferring instead to use the sofa in the living area to grab what little sleep she had managed since leaving Mars orbit. She wondered if the only thing that allowed her to function was the thought that when it was all over, she would bring Kathryn to these quarters, which had provided such a secure haven throughout their time together, and reassure her that she was completely safe and loved once again.

She changed out of her Starfleet uniform to the away mission outfit that she had brought with her. It was an ensemble that she had designed back when she had not even been a member of Starfleet, consisting of dark, heavy trousers tucked into combat boots, a black sweater, and a padded vest filled with various supplies that had proven quite useful in the past. She took a last look around the rooms, believing that she would either return with her beloved spouse, or she would not return at all, dying with the captain in the headquarters of Orion Syndicate. To her, that was also an acceptable outcome. Without Janeway, there would no point in Seven attempting to go on with her life.

The last items she picked up before exiting the quarters were a type-three phaser rifle and a type-two hand-held weapon which she tucked into one of her many pockets.

Down in transporter room one, Kagan stood by with five other members of his team, all wearing transporter buffer belts, which held heavy weapons broken down in their molecular form, rematerialized at a moment's notice as needed. This type of ordnance, according to Ro Laren, was carried only by Starfleet's best trained ground troops, and allowed the team to be fully prepared for any kind of resistance. Seven, who would be on the solo search-and-rescue mission, had no need of such heavy artillery, and was simply going with what she could carry in her vest pockets. She took note that the members of the team were no longer dressed in their Starfleet uniforms, and were instead, wearing dark outfits, similar but not quite the same as her own. Another sign that she had more in common with this branch of Starfleet than others, she thought, and was once again grateful that she had been contacted by them, despite the lack of connection she still felt toward the members. It was similar to when she first joined Voyager's collective, she reminded herself, or when she accepted the assignment to the Theoretical Propulsion Group. Friendships eventually formed in both cases, and she was sure that they would form within this new type of collective.

"Ready?" Kagan asked, offering her an environmental mask which Seven placed over her face. "We'll be materializing close to one of the external ports to the compound. Once inside, we'll use the access tunnels to descend into the facility itself, while you use the maintenance system to search each level for Janeway, giving us plenty of time to set the explosives. As soon as you've pinpointed her location, give us the signal. We'll activate the detonation sequence and you have an hour to clear the compound."

She really wished he would not repeat everything as if she were a child.

"Understood," she said.

"Seven..." he began, then paused.

"Yes?" She looked at him curiously.

"If you're caught, we won't be able to do anything for you," he said bluntly. "In that event, Voyager will immediately break orbit. We're trusting that you will not reveal the existence of the explosives ... even if it means that you and your spouse will be killed when they detonate. Wiping out the Orion Syndicate would still be a priority, even if your initial mission were to fail."

Seven regarded him narrowly, wondering if she should be offended that he thought so little of her discipline ... or the chances of her success. "I will not fail," she said flatly, then nodded at the transporter operator. "Proceed."

They materialized on the lee side of a rock outcropping, the wind whipping grit and sand into any skin on their faces which remained uncovered by the environmental masks. The howl was too loud for any of them to speak, and Kagan had to use his hands to gesture toward the circular metal hatch embedded in the rock. It had obviously been located in this meager shelter in the hopes of providing some relief from the unceasing wind, the atmospheric conditions typical of the early stages of terraforming as massive amounts of air were heated into motion by the devices designed to accelerate the evolution of the small world. It usually took about two generations for a world to become completely comfortable or 'Earthlike', but the initial procedure of making the atmosphere breathable was on a ten year schedule.

Seven wondered where the Orion Syndicate had stolen the terraforming equipment in order to switch this tiny, unforgiving world over to a habitable, and even comfortable environment. Other colonies in the Federation had to wait years to turn their worlds, which usually started out as mining operations, into the paradises that others in the inner core systems enjoyed. It outraged her that these rogue individuals would have access to a process that other, law-abiding citizens of the Federation ... families with children ... actually had to wait for, perhaps even because the Syndicate had appropriated their allotted equipment.

She was pleased by the thought that there would be nothing left of the facility, or the Syndicate, by the time she and Section 31 were through. The damaged individuals that made up the criminal cartel deliberately chose to live a life of chaos over that of positively contributing to the stability of the Federation Collective. It was nothing more than anarchy, a concept that chilled Seven's personal beliefs to their core.

As a member of the Section 31 team utilized a device to bypass the hatch alarms, allowing the rest to slip inside, Seven made a last check of her equipment before following the others. Within the chamber, the wind was cut off, the incessant howl terminated, and Seven removed her environmental mask with relief. Even through the protective gear, the young woman had been peppered with tiny pieces of dirt, and a gritty taste remained in her mouth.

She glanced at Kagan who returned the look grimly.

"Don't forget, Seven," he reminded her yet again, "Sixty minutes."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes ... or slap him across the head. She was unsure where the urge came from since it was not something she was in the habit of feeling, but then, she had rarely worked with someone so ... anal retentive. They moved down three levels, until they were clear of the large spaceport which housed the Syndicate's starships. Seven was appalled at the number of vessels the criminal cartel possessed. Undoubtedly received from the Packer Shipping Company, she thought grimly.

On level four, Kagan pulled back a grill covering the opening of the maintenance tubes, similar, Seven decided, to a starship's Jeffries tube. Section 31 would continue down via these external access tunnels.

"Let's get started," he instructed.

Seven slipped her rifle over her shoulder so that her hands would be free to manipulate the tricorder, aware that the close quarters would make it more prudent for her to use her Borg enhancements in the event of any opposition. She shot one last look at the Section 31 team who were observing her impassively, then resolutely turned her eyes forward, crawling into the tube, hearing the grill click ominously shut behind her.

"I think I may have found the Doctor."

Lt. Ro Laren, late of both the USS Enterprise and USS Voyager, currently posted as adjunct to Captain Kathryn Janeway, and now assigned to what was becoming a progressively annoying and futile mission, glanced over at Samantha Cogley.

"How did you do that?" she demanded. Her brows drew down over her dark eyes. "You haven't left the ship, have you? They strictly prohibit that."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she responded. "However, we are allowed to contact administration, and I've been chatting up the traffic controller who works the day shift. I was talking with him early this afternoon, and he informed me that recently, the colony recruited an honest-to-God doctor. They're very pleased with him, and claim he's knowledgeable in various medical techniques. The problem is, it didn't really sound like the Doctor when he described what the new medical officer looked like. This guy has a beard."

"The Doctor has the capability to alter his imaging projection slightly," Ro mused, turning her pilot's chair around. "How the hell did this conversation ever come up?"

The bridge of the DragonFlight was not particularly large, but the two women tended to spend most of their time there. It had taken weeks to track down this mysterious Noiro Belt, and now that they were berthed within the hangar of the gigantic facility, the first ginger inquiries into whether the Doctor was here had been initiated. Ro was concerned, however, that the lawyer may have violated their carefully constructed facade of being thieves on the run. Requiring a safe haven in which to hide from Starfleet Security forces would not hold up for long if someone started to wonder why the two women were so keen on locating a specific someone.

"Well, it occurred to me that the best way for us to see this doctor was to find out if we were allowed access to medical care," Samantha said, looking vaguely shifty. "To set that up, I may have given the impression that my 'paramour' was a bit of a beast, regularly in the habit of beating me up, and thus, I might require a bit of medical assistance."

The Bajoran stared at her. "I'm an abuser?" she said mildly.

Sam spread out her hands, shrugging. "I couldn't just come out and ask," she reminded.

"You're right," Ro said. "Good job, I guess. What did you find out?"

"I think Tads likes me," Sam admitted with a sort of mock bashfulness that made the Bajoran roll her eyes. "He told me if there were any problem with you, just to call him, and he would arrange for the Doctor to see me immediately."

"Here on the ship?" Ro asked, suddenly alert.

"No," Sam replied, and the Starfleet officer deflated, disappointed. "The clinic is located in the center of the facility. It's not convenient for someone to get to ... or out of ... particularly when we're not supposed to be wandering around the colony. We'd have to be escorted there."

"So whatever we do, it's going to have to look real to warrant an escort," Ro said, then eyed Sam speculatively.

The lawyer drew back. "Not a chance," she said firmly. "I'm not going to let you punch me in the mouth just for authenticity."

"I was thinking more along the lines of some form of makeup," Ro noted dryly. "Bruising is a result of blood trapped under the skin, and I could simulate that by withdrawing some of your own blood, and injecting it into the appropriate tissue." She raised an eyebrow. "After all, you're the one that implied the type of relationship we have."

"Well, that sounds all right," Sam said reluctantly. "However, that won't get you there. They'd probably leave you on the ship, and if I'm reading Tads correctly, he'd want me to stay with him ... for my own protection. I'm not sure what good that would do any of us, including the Doctor, other than letting him know we're here."

Ro, already reaching for the medikit, hesitated. "You're right," she said slowly as she found a hypospray. "I need to be able to accompany you."

"Bruise me up," Sam instructed. "Let me think about it while you make my disguise."

Ro blinked at the imperious tone, but proceeded to do so, not having any real objection to this idea so far. Withdrawing several cc's of the young woman's blood, she injected half into Sam's jaw, making it look as if she had been struck near her mouth. The other half she injected to the side of the lawyer's eye, though not too close, not wanting the swelling to interfere with Samantha's vision.

"There," she said, with a certain amount of satisfaction when she was done. "You look awful."

"Thank you," Sam said, checking her appearance in the mirror. "You are a beast, aren't you. My god, a black eye and a bruised mouth."

"I could split the lip for effect," Ro offered helpfully.

"This should do," Sam demurred. She turned away briefly. "Now for you," she added, turning back. Before Ro realized what the young woman had in mind, Sam had stabbed the Bajoran in the side with the thin molecular probe she had retrieved from the medikit. The end was pointed, allowing it to perform as a satisfactory blade when jammed into the flesh around the Starfleet officer's midsection.

Astonished, Ro looked down at the blood abruptly seeping from the wound in her side, welling around the tool which protruded from her tunic.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelped, pressing her hand against her ribs. Her advanced tactical training and well-honed senses had given her no warning ... no hint ... that the other woman had been about to attack her, and dazedly, she grasped the thin rod before reconsidering and leaving it where it was. Pulling it out would only be painful, and not necessarily good for her.

"Making this real," Sam said, turning to the communications console. "Don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. I made sure not to hit anything vital."

"Are you sure?" Ro said, gritting her teeth against the pain which belatedly was beginning to make itself felt. "What do you know about Bajoran anatomy?"

That made the lawyer pause, and she glanced back at the Starfleet officer worriedly. "You mean it's not a flesh wound?"

Ro hesitated. "Well, yes, it is," she said in annoyance, gingerly probing the bloody but relatively harmless wound. "That's not the point! There's always the risk of infection." The last sounded a bit lame, even to herself.

"Oh, quit whining," Sam remarked, as she dabbed her fingers in some dust, and rubbed her eyes hard, giving them a reddish appearance as if she had been weeping profusely. "You want a way in, I'm getting you in. Now lie back in the chair, and pretend to be unconscious." Activating the communications system, she arranged her features in a terrified, rattled expression as the screen cleared to reveal the colony's traffic control center.

"Tads, oh my god, you have to help me," she demanded, staring wildly at the startled young man who had appeared on the viewscreen. "Laren and I were fighting, then she got violent and I ... oh god, I think I killed her. You have to get a doctor."

Ro slumped quickly in her chair, closing her eyes in an effort to look passed out, though she was furious that things had been taken out of her hands so quickly. That was a consequence of including a civilian in an away mission, she thought darkly. They were just so damned melodramatic. A little more thought, and they might have been able to find a way to the colony's medical center that did not require Ro to have a molecular probe jammed through her side. However, despite her annoyance, it appeared that the lawyer's plan was working. Sam's latest conquest in the spaceport administration section immediately dispatched an escort to the DragonFlight, and before long, Ro found herself strapped down on the antigrav stretcher hovering in mid-air and guided through the corridors of the spaceport, heading for the central lifts which led down into the lower levels of the colony.

Physically helpless because of the restraints, Ro took note of the route through half slitted eyes, assessing the facility they were entering. She had also noticed the fact that Sam had managed to surreptitiously secure the ship before leaving, something that the Bajoran hadn't though the lawyer would have had the presence of mind to do. Now, the young woman was leaning heavily on a confused, and somewhat disgusted young man as the two women were escorted to the middle section of the colony where the commercial services area was located.

In addition to the young male dealing with Sam's wonderfully distracting hysterics, two bored looking humanoids were attending Ro's antigrav stretcher, one of them, a Katarian female who stood alertly, her phaser rifle held at the ready position. Ro and Sam had been informed upon arrival that the possession of energy weapons was prohibited within the facility itself, and the Bajoran wondered why this particular group was allowed to have them. She studied them closer, realizing that all of her escorts were dressed in matching dark clothing, badges on their chest and arms indicating that they were some version of security; law enforcement officers perhaps, necessary for maintaining the colony's peace. Full face helmets were part of the ensemble, but these 'constables' were wearing theirs hanging down from the straps around their necks rather than on their heads, indicating perhaps, that they did not consider this a particularly dangerous escort duty. Stripes lined the cuffs and shoulders of the tunics, probably emblematic of rank, and the woman with the rifle sported one more on her sleeve than the two men. Possibly, she was in charge of the escort duty, and the way the others tended to defer to her, verified that supposition on Ro's part. The rifle was Starfleet issue, from a decade or so earlier, the Bajoran noted, and more than once, as the barely coherent stream of recriminations and rambling streamed from Sam's lips, the muzzle was raised in the young woman's direction, almost as if the constable wanted nothing more than to silence her once and for all. Ro sent a silent message to Sam not to overplay her role, not wanting to see the lawyer stunned into unconsciousness by the twitchy officer.

As she lay there, the Bajoran did acknowledge a certain sort of irony in a criminal cartel maintaining a police force in their colony.

Remaining very still as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the dull burning in her side, Ro was guided through more corridors toward a large set of doors. Over them, in several languages, Ro read the words 'Medical Center', and from the amount of motion and noise inside, Ro had a sense of complete chaos. She wondered if this was normal for the area.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded of her companion.

"There was a brawl on level sixteen," the female constable related, forestalling the young man's reply to the lawyer's question. "Why everyone has to go crazy just because the fleet came in, is beyond me." She shot a look of disgust at Samantha. "You picked a hell of a time for a lover's spat, little girl. You and your girlfriend won't see the doc for hours."

Ro was tremendously pleased. This sort of disorganized confusion would be perfect for them, especially if the doctor turned out not to be the EMH they were seeking. Then, she and Sam could be treated, escorted back to their ship, and they could go about convincing traffic control to arrange a launch window for them with no one the wiser. However, if it was the hologram, it occurred to Ro that it might become quite complicated in a very short amount of time. Could they convince the Doctor to leave when there were patients needing medical attention?

Head lolling to the side away from her escort, Ro cautiously opened her eyes again, glancing quickly about the room before closing them again. Judging from what she saw, there were approximately six people requiring treatment, blood in a variety of colors splattering a host of individuals who also boasted contusions and cuts on their faces. The smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies was strong in the Bajoran's nostrils, and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose.

"Listen, Sarge," the other stretcher bearer said, lifting up a small black box that was undoubtedly a communications device of some kind. "The chief is saying she needs us down on level sixteen. There's some kind of looting going on."

"Old man Ripley's no doubt," the woman snorted. "If he wouldn't try to overcharge so many people, his shop wouldn't get wrecked every time there's a fight next door at the tavern. You always have a few drunks trying to get back the money he conned out of them when they pawned their belongings to get drinking money. It's like a vicious circle."

"Are we joining them, Sarge?" he asked, sounding eager. He obviously didn't want to hang around the medical center when there was more excitement to be had on another level.

The woman hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, Travis, you're with me," she said to the other constable. "Stan, you stay with our lovers here until they're treated, then take 'em back to their ship. Don't let them start fighting again."

"Aw, Sarge," Stan began, prying Sam's arms from around his neck for the fifteenth time. The lawyer was certainly conscientious in playing her part well, Ro noted approvingly.

"You have your orders," the Sargent told him, then added, not unkindly. "There'll be other brawls, kid. Count on it."

The two constables disappeared out the door, and Samantha took the opportunity to fling herself onto Ro's chest. Ro grunted as the lawyer landed on her, but fortunately it was covered up by the wailing of her companion.

"Oh, baby, please don't be mad at me," Sam ranted into Ro's face. "I didn't mean to stick you with that nasty probe. Why do you have to treat me so badly?"

Rolling his eyes, Stan drifted away a few meters, talking to another man garbed in blue, perhaps a nurse or medic of some kind.

"Do you see the Doctor?" Ro whispered in a barely audible voice.

"Not yet," Sam murmured back, covering the conversation by depositing a rain of sloppy kisses on Ro's face which the Bajoran found completely appalling. It occurred to her that the kind of work she had once wanted to participate in so strongly as a career, included a great deal of personal embarassment on a recurring basis.

"What's the story here?" a familiar voice suddenly spoke from close by.

Ro forced herself not to react, and to her credit, neither did Sam, though her eyes widened slightly as she leaned over the Bajoran.

"Domestic dispute, Doc," Ro heard the constable explain. "The girl got herself beat up a little, then stuck her woman with some kind of shiv. I need you to patch 'em up, then I have to escort them back to their ship."

"Wonderful," the Doctor said acerbically. He nudged Sam aside without really noticing her, and stared down into Ro's features. There was an instant of complete shock and consternation, but it passed quickly. Ro flicked an eyebrow at the new goatee the EMH was sporting, then the Doctor looked at Sam, obviously recognizing her for the first time.

"Something wrong, Doc?" the constable queried curiously from behind them.

The Doctor hesitated briefly, then grabbed the stretcher and proceeded to push it through the room towards the rear of the medical center. "This is a serious wound," he said over his shoulder. "I need to get her isolated as soon as possible. See what you can do about helping my assistant in his triage duties."

Any protests by the young man were lost in the wake of the Doctor's abrupt actions. Sam scurried after them, and Ro was jolted as the stretcher was shoved through another set of doors.

"What the hell's going on here?" another voice demanded.

"Visiting hours are over," the Doctor said, with an uncharacteristically harsh edge in his voice. Ro felt a qualm as she noticed the EMH was shielding her from the other's view, and she wondered why. Sam had fallen silent, staring at something beyond Ro's area of vision, and suddenly appeared very small, as if the lawyer was trying not to be noticed. "I need this room for the time being while I deal with this medical emergency. You'll have to come back at another time."

There was a pause, an ugly hesitation, then with an oath, the stranger strode angrily from the room. Ro had a glimpse of broad shoulders and the back of a dark-haired man, before the doors slid shut behind him.

"I don't know why you're here, but I'm sure glad to see you both," the Doctor said fervently. He shoved a dermal regenerator into Samantha's hands. "Pull that thing out of Lt. Ro, and seal up the wound. I have other patients I need to attend to, then I'll be back. Some explanations are in order."

Before Ro could say anything, he was gone. Disoriented, the Bajoran sat up, staring in disbelief at the third person remaining in the room, barely able to credit what her senses were telling her. Bluish-grey eyes regarded her blearily, the drawn and pale features of a familiar face reflecting the astonishment the Bajoran was feeling.

"Does someone want to let me in on what's going on?" Sam asked, arms across her chest, staring at Captain Janeway in complete bemusement. "Because I'm just totally lost at the moment."

Janeway drifted up from the cottony darkness, knowing she needed to wake but finding it a difficult process. She forced herself through it however, steel determination and will providing her with the strength to fight off the beguiling unconsciousness, knowing it for a deceptive comfort, not wanting to be sucked down again.

She opened her eyes, then wished she had allowed herself the relative ease of unconsciousness since the dim illumination speared into her head like daggers through her pupils, sending tendrils of pain throughout her head. The discomfort seemed to become more intense every time she had a lucid period, and she was beginning to wonder if the actual drug could be any worse than the substitute. She didn't even remember how long she had been here. Had it been a week, all ready? Two? The days were passing in an unconscious stupor, and without being able to differentiate day and night, she had completely lost track.

"Doctor," she whispered, her voice harsh and seeming very loud in her ears, though she knew she was unable to generate much volume.

"Right here, Captain," he responded quietly, leaning over her.

"I can't go on this way much longer," she said, her voice weak. "We need a plan of escape, and we need it now."

He nodded. "The fleet arrived in port early this morning, Captain," he told her. "That always provides a great deal of confusion, and the crowds move freely between the various levels. This might be our best chance to make our escape."

She nodded, relief seeping through her ... as well as a sick sensation of disorientation. She heaved, and the Doctor was right there to hold a container beneath her head, supporting her shoulders, though all that came up was some kind of green bile. Belatedly, she realized she was unstrapped from the biobed, but that did her little good. The room was spinning, and she sincerely doubted that she could move very far. She was about to order the EMH to administer the antagonist when she became aware of another presence entering the room.

"Well, isn't this a sweet picture?"

Janeway felt another wave of nausea hit, but that was due to recognizing the voice, rather than because of the lingering effects of the drug being administered to her.

"Feeling a little under the weather, Kat?" Cheb Packer went on, moving closer. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with dark hair touched with silver. He was still very handsome ... in the way that a once magnificent structure fallen to decay retained the grandeur of what it once had been.

The Doctor gently lowered the captain back onto the bed, granting her a gentle squeeze of warning on her shoulder. She didn't acknowledge it, but it provided a little comfort in a situation where she felt particularly helpless.

"If you wish to speak to the patient, she needs to be taken off this concentration of the drug," the Doctor said, moving between Janeway and Packer. "In her present condition, she can't respond to you in a coherent manner."

"That does take some of the fun out of it," the man said, in a considering tone. Janeway, however, knew better than anyone how false that particular inflection was. "She can still feel sensation, can't she? She knows whether she's hot or cold?"

"Of course," the Doctor said, as Janeway forced herself not to react. She doubted that the EMH had any idea why Packer would ask such a thing. However, she knew exactly where Packer's mind was headed.

"Then she can feel pain," Cheb said with satisfaction. "That's all I require."

Janeway could see through slitted lids that the Doctor was outraged, and the EMH took a step toward the man. "While she remains under my care, you will not touch her," he said, his voice low and shaking with fury. The captain almost opened her eyes wide, astonished and impressed with the EMH's fire and determination, the sheer outrage in his tone and manner.

Packer offered him a thin grin. "She won't be here forever, Doc," he said snidely. "Besides, you're overstepping your bounds. You're just hired help, remember."

"So are you," the EMH reminded the merchant pointedly. "I'm not sure you would wish to get in a contest over whose skills are considered more useful to this facility, and to our employers ... would you?" He raked Packer with a particularly contemptuous look.

Packer's face twisted into an ugly mask of anger, clearly insulted by the EMH, and he went so far as to shove the doctor, attempting to use his height and apparent greater weight to intimidate the other, smaller figure. However, the Doctor must have solidified his matrix to a heavier mass, because he didn't budge an inch, forcing Packer to rebound off him as if he had just attempted to shove a brick wall. The Doctor offered a thin lipped smile to his startled opponent.

"I am well versed in Human anatomy," he said threateningly. "I know countless ways to incapacitate you, several of which may turn out to be permanent. Would you care to continue this ... outside?"

Packer went for the inner pocket of his tunic, and the Doctor immediately grabbed his wrist with an immovable grip, dragging the man's arm away, and using his other hand to pluck the weapon from the interior holster.

"I don't like weapons in my medical center," he said, putting the small pistol into his coat pocket. "They're also illegal within the colony itself. Perhaps, I should ask one of those constables currently in the outer emergency area to come in here."

"You're making a big mistake," Packer snarled impotently, but as with any bully faced with a clearly superior physical opponent, he was backing up even as he said it..

"Maybe," the Doctor said, unimpressed. He raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps we should discuss this with Duvont or Vicarny? Neither one seem anxious to waste the valuable resource a starship captain can be, and I take my orders from them. I suspect you do, as well."

They glared at each other, inches apart. Packer's nostrils were flaring as he inhaled heavily, his anger running high and hot. The Doctor, in contrast, looked exceptionally cool and collected, his demeanor one of composed determination. Of course, as a hologram, he simply had no need to breathe or flush angrily, but Packer had no way of knowing that.

"Doctor!"

A young man dressed in light blue stuck his head through the door. He hesitated at the tableau he discovered, but it was obvious his news couldn't wait.

"Doc, we've got incoming," the assistant told the EMH urgently. "There was a brawl in the tavern with a lot of knife work. At least four casualties are on their way, with possibly more to come."

The Doctor glanced at him, dismay shading his features, and Packer smiled narrowly. "Duty calls, Doc," he prodded. The EMH returned his attention to the man, pushing him back slightly.

"If you lay a finger on her, it will cost you," the Doctor said, in an irrefutable tone. "I promise you that." With a look of disgust, he rudely shouldered past the merchant and strode briskly for the door, not looking back. Janeway wanted to call out to him, plead with him not to leave her alone with Packer, especially when she was so helpless and unable to fight back, but she maintained her appearance of drugged oblivion.

It was difficult, however, to keep her eyes shut and pretend to be barely conscious. She was aware of Packer moving closer to her, the scent of his sweat overlaying the strong cologne he favored, and she forced herself not to tense. It seemed as if an eternity had passed as he loomed over her, and it took what little will power she had left not to flinch back against the linens.

"It is a shame you probably don't understand what's going on," Packer whispered finally, his voice harsh, an insane and horrible parody of a lover's whisper. He drew his fingers down her cheek and she wondered if she should vomit again, just to make it unpleasant for him. "Soon you'll be mine, and no one will be protecting you any more. Then, when you're crawling on your belly, willing to do absolutely anything for another fix of the bliss you're in, you'll understand how much you belong to me."

She discovered she was hoping he would spare her the melodramatic dialog, finding it quite tedious, then realized that her mind was doing its best to distance itself from what was happening. It was a combination of her innate scientific detachment and the Starfleet training she had gone through. Every officer serving on a starship knew that there was always a chance of falling into enemy hands, of being at the mercy of someone who would utilize torture on them to discover information ... or simply because it was an unfortunate aspect of their culture. Exploring the galaxy held many forms of danger, and this was far from the first time that Janeway had ever found herself in a situation of being in the hands of someone who wanted to do her harm in a most unpleasant way.

However, it was never easy to accept, and the desire to fight back was strong within her. She had to remind herself to wait for the proper moment. Her life ... and possibly the existence of the Doctor ... depended on it. She did notice that Cheb was not attempting to harm her physically ... had the hologram's threat really frightened him? ... but what he was promising to do to her once he had her in his possession, the detailed account of all the horrible and varied techniques for creating the most amount of pain, was enough to make her stomach turn. That he was obviously becoming sexually stimulated by his ranting only heightened her revulsion.

"Then, after I'm done with you," he concluded, "I'll ask them to give me what's left of your little wife, and I'll do the same thing to her. Or maybe, I'll keep you around long enough to let you watch."

Almost ... that made her react, and only the knowledge that this was not the proper time, kept her from swinging at him ... that, and the fact that he would probably beat the snot out of her in her weakened state. Considering what she would do to him were the odds more equal, enabled her to ignore the rest of his explicit and grotesque ranting, even when he described how Seven's body would look in the aftermath of his 'fun.'

He really had developed into a sick little individual, the captain decided, and she wondered where the young man that she had known and loved so many years ago had gone. It was clear there was nothing left of that being in the cruel and vicious person Cheb Packer had become over the years. Was it a progressive thing, she wondered? Something dark inside him that ate away more and more of his soul until there was nothing left? Or had he always been the sort of person who's personality tended to that sort of thing? Certainly, he had been an exceptionally self-centered individual when she had been involved with him as a teenage, a person whose view of the world was shaded primarily in how things affected him versus anyone else, able to twist things around so that he was always the victim of bad luck or timing, rather than as a result of his own actions. Was this merely an extension of that personality flaw, his failure to get into Starfleet Academy the start of an ever increasing spiral down into darkness? Or had he already been on that path, and their conflicts as teenagers simply the first visible signs of his aberration? They had broken up not long after he started displaying his selfishness and manipulation to her so openly, and she had no way of knowing what turns his life had taken after that ... other than the fact he had been married several times, all the women ending the unions in preemptive divorce proceedings instead of utilizing the convenient option of allowing the short term marriage contract to elapse. Perhaps that was a clue in itself. What had those women discovered about Packer once they got past his considerable charm, looks and credits? Did they find they had married a monster, someone who defined their relationship to him as permission to indulge his cruel and demeaning ways?

Perhaps Seven had the right idea all along. Perhaps some people should be terminated simply because they were a menace to the Collective, and incapable of being repaired. Somehow, Cheb had avoided the Federation counselors all these years, and being drawn to the Syndicate appeared to be a natural outcome for him in retrospect.

Janeway's musing was interrupted as she felt a sharp pain on her chest, just between her breasts, and she was unable to keep from crying out, realizing belatedly that Packer had sliced down her chest with some sharp object. Obviously, he had been able to resist only so long before attempting some physical harm to go along with the emotional harm he was attempting, perhaps because she had been so unresponsive to the latter.

"So you do feel pain, just as the doctor said," he crooned, his eyes alight as he bent over her. He lifted what turned out to be a dagger to her cheek, pressing the point just under her eye. "I just needed to mark you, Kat ... let everyone know that you're mine when this is all over."

Just then, the doors were flung open and Cheb hastily straightened the sheet over Janeway, slipping his knife up his sleeve, before turning around to face the newcomers.

"What the hell's going on here?" he demanded.

"Visiting hours are over," the Doctor said, with an uncharacteristically harsh edge in his voice. Janeway's sense of relief at the Doctor's return was far stronger than she thought it should be, and she inhaled deeply. "I need this room for the time being while I deal with this medical emergency. You'll have to come back at another time."

There was a pause, an ugly hesitation, then with an oath, Packer strode angrily from the room. At his exit, Janeway was able to open her eyes, and turn her attention on the people who had accompanied the Doctor into the room. Her heart took a leap into her throat, and with complete bafflement, she watched as the Doctor shoved a dermal regenerator into Samantha Cogley's hands.

"I don't know why you're here, but I'm sure glad to see you both," the Doctor told the newcomers fervently. He gestured at the Bajoran lying on the stretcher "Pull that thing out of Lt. Ro and seal up the wound. I have other patients I need to attend to, then I'll be back. Some explanations are in order."

Janeway sat up, pressing her hand against her chest, her palm coming away bloody, determining that Cheb's 'fun' had resulted in nothing more than a superficial cut down the valley between her breasts. Then she glanced at Ro Laren who was staring back with wide eyes.

"Does someone want to let me in on what's going on?" Samantha asked, arms across her chest, regarding the captain in complete bemusement. "Because I'm just totally lost at the moment."

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me how you two got here?" Janeway countered in a raspy voice.

"We were following your orders to find the Doctor," Ro said, rising to her elbow. She swayed, and Janeway finally noticed the implement sticking out of the Bajoran's side.

"What happened to you?" she croaked.

"Long story," Sam said hastily, pressing Ro back onto the bed. "Lie still," she scolded the Bajoran. "Let me operate."

"Prophets, that's all I need, a lawyer who thinks she's a doctor," Ro said acidly.

"Better than a Starfleet officer who thinks she's a secret agent," Sam retorted tartly, She abruptly yanked the rod from Ro's side, provoking a muffled oath from the Bajoran, then ran the dermal regenerator over the flesh visible through the rip in her tunic. "I could have done this back on the ship. I hope they don't realize that."

Janeway, feeling woozy, slumped back onto the bed. "After you're done with her, take a look at me," she demanded. Startled, Sam finished her ministrations to Ro, then moved over to the captain, peeling back the sheet to view the shallow slice down her breastbone, blood trickling warm down Janeway's side.

"How did this happen?" she asked, appalled.

"The man who left when you arrived," Janeway said flatly, a forearm resting over her eyes as the lawyer worked, refusing to watch as she repaired the cut. "He has some twisted ideas of how to treat someone who's not feeling well. He's also the one who kidnapped me, and brought me here in the hopes of luring Seven into the hands of the Orion Syndicate."

"We had a suspicion this was where they were headquartered," Ro said, her voice stronger now as she slipped off the biobed and stood up. She looked a bit pale but still quite competent.

"Who was he?" Sam asked, motioning with her thumb to indicate the departed merchant.

"Cheb Packer," Janeway slurred. "We have to get out of here. Did you say you have your ship here?"

"Docked at berth six," Ro said, examining the captain closely. "Captain, can you walk?"

"At the moment, no," Janeway admitted in a shaky tone, swallowing as her stomach rolled. "However, the Doctor has an antagonist for the substitute drug he's been giving me in place of the Syndicate's narcotic. As soon as he returns, he can administer it, and we can make our escape."

"Of course," Ro said, though her eyes held a touch of doubt.

Janeway wondered if, perhaps, she looked as bad to her adjunct as she felt, and that was the cause of the Bajoran's apparent skepticism. However, she couldn't allow it to stop her. She simply could not afford to remain in the hands of Packer who was progressively becoming more unstable, and at some point, she doubted that even the threat of Syndicate reprisals could prevent him from doing something completely unspeakable to her. She had to be out of here before that happened ... or die trying.

Seven hesitated as she heard noise coming from somewhere ahead, drifting down the access corridor through the grill that led to this level's maintenance tubes. The facility was essentially a giant cylinder drilled into the planetoid's surface, much like the Barellan prison had been, and Seven was mindful of the irony of a prison and a criminal headquarters being constructed along the same lines. To avoid detection, she used the exterior tunnels to descend down each level before entering the internal maintenance system to scan the interior layout of the facility. She had completed five levels so far, and had just entered level nine, concerned at how much time was passing in her search. Perhaps the sound of conversation she heard ahead of her was not necessarily an obstacle, but rather an opportunity.

Pressing against the rock which made up the walls of the tunnel, carved smooth by a heavy duty laser drill, she altered her implant, the one attached to her left wrist. The bands of mesh bracing her fingers blurred and raised, becoming serrated blades which extended beyond her fingertips with claw-like curves. Initially a tool used by the Borg for cutting through cable and wiring, Seven had learned how to wield the implant as a weapon of some potency, backed up by nanoprobe-enhanced skeletal and muscular strength.

Moving quietly, she approached the juncture where the sound originated. As she crawled into the new conduit and turned the corner, she discovered two men in overalls, working on a panel. She didn't hesitate, lunging toward them with deadly intent. They didn't even have time to turn around before she had snapped the neck of the first one, allowing him to drop to the floor, before grabbing the other one and shoving him up against the wall, her blades pressed against his throat.

"I am seeking a woman," she said coldly, staring into the terrified eyes of her enemy, who turned out to be a young Human male with dark features, barely into his twenties. "She was captured by Cheb Packer and brought here as a prisoner. Where is she being held?"

He gulped, sweat glistening on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered.

Seven was infuriated by the lie. "You will tell me where she is," she demanded.

He stared at her, obviously believing what she said, and managing to look even more terrified if that were possible. "Honest," he said in a weak voice. "I don't know. I didn't even know a prisoner had been brought here to the homeworld. Please," he added. "Don't kill me."

"You have violated the laws of the Federation, abducted one of its citizens, and threatened all I hold dear," she told him. "Your termination will benefit the collective."

"That wasn't me," he babbled, the whites of his eyes showing. "I'm just a tech, honest. I don't have anything to do with the business outside Noiro. All I do is make sure the sewage system keeps functioning."

Seven paused, considering that. It was possible that the Orion Syndicate would require support personnel within their compound, and that those people would not know what the upper echelons would be doing, just as an ensign on deck fifteen rarely knew about the daily routine of the bridge on Voyager. Still, this man was a member of the criminal cartel, and it would be illogical to leave him alive to possibly warn the others of her presence. She began to press her blades deeper into his skin, blood welling around them to trickle over the metal.

"I never did anything to you," he whimpered in helpless terror. In his eyes, she saw only incomprehension as to why he was about to die, and she paused, suddenly uncertain.

"Where would a prisoner be held?" she demanded. "Speculate."

At the easing of the weapon against his throat, he took a grateful breath of air. "Possibly in the jail," he said.

"Jail?" she echoed, not sure if she understood the reference.

"It's near the sheriff's office," he said quickly, apparently knowing his life depended on the amount of information he could give her. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Captain Kathryn Janeway, of the starship Voyager," Seven said. That wasn't quite accurate, since Janeway had given up her command of the vessel in order to take over the administration duties at Utopia Planitia, but Seven believed her spouse's previous designation would be more recognizable to the average criminal.

The man blinked, dumbfounded. "A Starfleet officer?" he squeaked. "They would never bring someone like that here."

"I tracked the ship's warp signature," she told him mercilessly. "They brought her here."

He blinked. "Then, she wouldn't be held where the colony would know of her presence," he said, obviously thinking quickly. "They would keep her somewhere in the administration level or ... or ... yeah, maybe in the medical center where they could keep her drugged and out of sight."

Seven stared at him. "For someone who is only a sewage worker, you know a great deal about kidnap protocols," she said flatly.

He paled, though perhaps that was from the loss of the blood trickling down his neck. Dispassionately, she determined that she had not severed any major arteries. If left alone, the wound would clot and heal naturally. He licked his lips nervously as he realized she was staring at his neck.

"I ... uh, hear things sometimes in the tavern about how things work," he admitted. He trembled in her grasp. "Please, I helped you," he said softly, pleadingly. "Don't kill me."

"Where is the medical center?" she asked.

"Level twelve," he said. "We're on level nine."

Seven filed that away, then tensed. He closed his eyes, apparently realizing what was coming, and from somewhere inside her, something stayed her hand. Perhaps it was his relative youth, or the knowledge that the facility was to be destroyed in any event, but she decided it was not necessary to terminate him at the moment. Her implant blurred again, becoming simple bands of grey once more, and her fingers moved at the juncture of his neck as she used the Vulcan nerve pinch to cause unconsciousness. Retrieving a belt from the corpse nearby, she bound the technician tightly, then ripped a sleeve from the other's shirt to gag him, before shoving him into the relative concealment of a nearby alcove. The corpse, she left where it was, not concerned about it anymore than she was the open panel in the wall.

Moving quickly, she found the nearest ladder, and began her descent deeper into the complex, bypassing two levels until she was on level twelve. Using her tricorder, the energy output shielded from sensors by a Borg algorithm, she scanned the nearby vicinity for Janeway's biosigns. She suspected that the rest of the Section 31 team had their explosives planted and were awaiting her signal, something she didn't want to give until she was certain she had found Kathryn alive and well. As she crawled through the maintenance tubes, she was careful not to be seen by anyone, particularly whenever she came to a grill that looked out into the central corridors, sliding beneath the level of view.

Of course, by doing that, she never took the opportunity to look out at the various people passing by, though she could hear their voices. She ignored their conversations, intent on getting to the medical center as quickly as possible. The tricorder had triangulated the captain's bio-readings and had locked on, the green, flashing symbol on the tiny viewscreen causing relief to flood Seven's body. The signal was that of a living being, though perhaps weaker than she would have liked, and she tried to quicken her pace.

As she crawled through the confines of the tube, she made a note of her route, determining the quickest way to return to the surface where they could beam back to Voyager undetected. The medical center appeared to be in the core of the level, near the central traffic shaft which ran the entire height of the facility, more shafts branching off in each level. Seven decided that was a logical location for it, since the proximity to the turbolifts would provide easy access for those requiring the services, though it would have been far more convenient for her had the medical center been located on the exterior ring of the level. She mentally debated the idea of utilizing the traffic shaft to facilitate her retreat with Janeway, using a turbolift or the stairs to take them to the upper level spaceport, then make her way through the hangers to the closest airlock leading to the surface. After some reflection, she decided it was likely the Syndicate had the traffic areas secured with a variety of sensors and defense arrays. It would make more sense to quietly retrieve her partner, bring her back through the maintenance tubes, and use the access tunnels to make their way to the surface, where the security system had not been extended.

Unfortunately, she could not request a direct beam out once she found Kathryn. The ship's sensors had determined that the facility had been constructed with iridium, which not only limited her shielded tricorder readings to one level per scan, but also prevented the transporters from operating undetected. Seven found the concept of being reunited with her partner, only to be unable to convey Janeway the final distance to safety, was completely unacceptable. Transporting from the center of the facility would alert the criminal cartel, and it was entirely possible that, just as the Orion Syndicate had illegally acquired the equipment to build the facility, as well as the ability to terraform the planetoid, they undoubtedly had the advanced technology necessary to override a transporter signal, preventing the couple from reaching the ship at all. In fact, the Borg reminded herself, that was how Janeway had been captured in the first place, by a remote command interrupting her transport from the Portage Creek Station on Earth, and diverting it from San Francisco to a freighter in geo-synchronous orbit over Indiana.

No, she decided, Kagan was correct. The longer Seven and the Section 31 team remained undetected, the greater the chance of success. She would find the captain, and take her out without her captors discovering the rescue. When the colony began to come apart around them, then they would know they had conducted their last illegal foray against the Federation.

She hesitated as the tube abruptly branched off into two directions, both leading away from the area where she had determined the captain was located. Frowning, she scanned the area, realizing that she must have reached the central traffic shaft, and the tubes had to bypass it. Chafing at the delay, she took the right fork, grateful for the padding in her trousers which protected her knees from the metal mesh comprising the flooring of the tube. She tucked the tricorder in her breast pocket, stopping periodically to make sure that once she had cleared the central shaft, she would be moving back toward the medical center. She was glad that she had a device to show the way. There were many cross tubes which led off to unknown destinations, while the conduit she was working her way through was not particularly constructed for easy passage. Obviously, this was not a main channel to the medical center, and she wondered where the majority of power conduits and energy relays feeding into the area was located. Perhaps from below, but she was not about to make her way back out of the tunnels, go down one level, and try it from there. She would stick to the maintenance tube she was in, and hope it did not become so small that she could not squeeze through.

Finally, she was directly over the medical center, and from her tricorder readings, Seven determined that Janeway was in the room beneath her. Unfortunately, the captain did not appear to be alone, additional bio-readings in close proximity revealing that other beings were in the room with the captain. The Borg hesitated, wondering if she should wait until the area was clear, or if she should immediately attempt the rescue, disabling the others with a swift surprise attack. Her tricorder indicated that the number of bodies were manageable odds, but if she were slow to terminate one, or if one escaped, then she would lose what advantage she possessed, and the facility would be alerted to her presence. If she waited until Janeway was alone, however, she could spirit her partner out of there without anyone being the wiser.

She considered her options carefully, and decided to wait, at least until she had determined the quickest possible way into the medical center. The solid structure between herself and the room where Janeway was located was so thick that even her enhanced hearing could not detect what conversation might be taking place, and though she knew she could blast through it, that would take precious time.

As she listened to the low murmur, having no indication of what was being discussed, a sudden fear struck her. What if those additional bio-readings were those of Janeway's criminal captors, and they were currently discussing the final disposal of the starship captain? Perhaps Seven's time limit did not come from any signal sent to Kagan in the power plant, but from what was happening to her spouse. It could even be Cheb Packer in there, perhaps torturing the captain as the Syndicate initiated their plan of luring Seven of Nine to a location of their choice.

Seven's lips drew back over her teeth, a snarl of fury and hatred as she began to search the area for an entry point, frantic now that her thoughts had turned to the idea that her partner was actually being harmed while Seven waited, oblivious, in the ceiling above her, only a meter or so away. Her tricorder hummed, beeping in a barely audible tone as it detected a thinning in the mesh not far away, and the Borg scanned the section quickly, determining that it was an panel of some sort, granting access from the interior of the medical center to the maintenance tube she was crouching in. She ran her fingers around the edge of it, trying to find a latch which would allow her to open it. Unfortunately, it appeared to be on the underside of the hatch, inaccessible from this crawl space. Awkwardly, she slid her rifle around, adjusting the settings so that it would vaporize the panel, but hesitated again, reconsidering.

She must not allow her fears to dictate her actions, she reminded herself sternly. If she went in there without proper consideration, she could end up being captured or killed, which would not do Janeway any good at all. Normally, Seven was more judicious in her actions than this, but when her partner was involved, it was extremely difficult to think clearly. In this case, however, with so much riding on it, it was imperative that she act with forethought.

Swallowing hard, she lowered the rifle and checked the tricorder again. She was glad she had, because there was an increased number of bio-readings, indicating that others had entered the room. Dismayed, she tilted her head, listening hard, hoping that the panel would be less soundproofed. However, there was still nothing but soft murmurs, which could be regular conversation, or actual shouting which was being muffled by the insulation in the wall construction. Seven had no way to tell until she actually broke through.

In an agony of indecision, she waited, then came a sound that chilled her to the bone, a cry of some kind, possibly one of pain, and in an instantly recognizable voice. She slapped her communicator, the device tightly shielded from sensors, and programmed to shoot a highly secured transmission to the comm badge belonging to Lt. Kagan.

"I found her," she said. "Initiate detonation sequence."

"Acknowledged."

She carefully aimed the muzzle of her rifle and blew out the panel barring her way.

"Tell me, Lt. Torres," Nechayev said coolly, resting her hands on the rail just aft of the command chair. "Have you considered a career in Starfleet Intelligence? You may be responsible for uncovering the biggest scandal the Federation has ever witnessed." There was a certain shame and bitterness in her voice, lightly flavoring what had undoubtedly been meant as a compliment by the admiral.

B'Elanna was too worried about her friends to grant that the attention it probably would have deserved under other circumstances. "No, thank you, ma'am," she responded absently. "I prefer the comfort of a nice, quiet engine room." She glanced around the bridge of the USS Enterprise, torn between being amazed to be there on Starfleet's flagship, and wishing the Sovereign-class vessel would move a little faster. "How much longer before we reach the Oriolus system?"

Sitting at the operations console at the front, the golden-skinned Lt. Commander Data, raised his head. Obviously, he had overheard the women's conversation. "We will reach the outer rim in one hour, twenty-four minutes," he told her. Neither Captain Picard nor Commander Riker, sitting anxiously in their chairs, seemed to disapprove of the android's providing the information, though it was somewhat unsolicited.

Tom Paris, at the helm, glanced briefly over his shoulder as he worked his board "We'll get to them in time," he said reassuringly. "Don't worry, B'Elanna."

"I hope so. The alternative just isn't acceptable," she responded with a trace of the old interaction between them, slightly acerbic, but grateful for his presence, nonetheless. Seeing his face, and knowing that at least two other people on board were fellow crewmates from Voyager, made the Klingon feel a little less alone in what was becoming a much larger situation than she ever expected it would be. She did wish Ro wasn't on a mission tracking down the Doctor, however. The Bajoran would have appreciated being involved in the final act of this little drama.

"It was a smart play to put a transmitter on Seven," Riker offered approvingly, glancing back at her. The Enterprise first officer seemed to know B'Elanna was becoming more worried the longer the journey took. "It made tracking Voyager a great deal easier, particularly since they've somehow appropriated a cloaking device."

B'Elanna exhaled slowly. "I'm not proud of what I've done," she said honestly. "Seven is my friend, and I know better than most that she isn't a bad person in any way. Hayes just has her so confused and twisted around after so many months, that she doesn't know whom to turn to when things go wrong. The only person she honestly trusts is in the hands of the Syndicate, and Kahless help anyone who gets in her way while she rescues the captain."

"Particularly when she is being assisted by Section 31," Captain Picard agreed in his deep voice. His features were stern as he regarded the fore viewscreen, the stars streaking past, but obviously not fast enough for him. There was a tension in his compact form, a firmness to his jaw that B'Elanna did not think was normal for the starship captain. He lifted his head. "What is the status of the other vessels?"

"The USS Hood and USS Gorkon remain steady in triangular formation," Paris replied professionally. "Aft port and starboard."

B'Elanna took a deep breath, wondering if three starships would be enough to handle what they would find. If this was, indeed, the headquarters of the Orion Syndicate the small task force was approaching, things could become quite complicated before it was all through. No one knew what kind of defense capabilities the criminal cartel possessed, what form of weapons they might be able to draw upon, whether they had ships, or had mined the asteroid belt, or were surrounded by killer satellites. All they had was a location, a thin beam of transmission somehow maintaining its integrity as the small device B'Elanna had planted on Seven continued to operate, apparently undetected by anyone.

Unless it had been detected, B'Elanna reminded herself grimly. It was entirely possible that Section 31 had discovered the tiny transmitter and had removed it in order to lay down a false trail. For all the Starfleet officers on the Enterprise knew, they were following a shuttlecraft leading them on a wild goose chase while in another part of the quadrant, Seven and Section 31 were contentedly wiping out the Orion Syndicate without any concern that they would be interrupted.

Aw 'Nik, the Klingon thought. What have you gotten yourself into now?

"Lt. Torres, would Seven have been able to pinpoint the location of the Syndicate so quickly?" Captain Picard asked, glancing over at the Klingon.

B'Elanna nodded. "Yes, sir," she said. "Trust me; if they were there to be found, she would have done it ... especially once they had taken Janeway. There's no place in the universe that Seven can't find her spouse."

He studied her measuringly. "Is that something you know, or are you merely speculating?" he asked, needing to be sure.

"I know," she said with certainty. "I've seen it."

"I'm forced to agree with the lieutenant," Nechayev offered, her face grim as she regarded the fore viewscreen. "There is far more to Seven of Nine than I initially realized ... or perhaps was allowed to recognize. There's also the possibility that Section 31 already knew where the location of the cartel's headquarters was, and is merely allowing Seven to think she's discovered it. They've chosen this opportunity to target it, knowing what a formidable weapon the Borg is, and are undoubtedly using it as a recruiting technique. Once she's participated in one of their operations, she will find it difficult to say no to them in the future. In either event, however, there's no question in my mind that once the Borg and the Orion Syndicate encounter each other, the end result will be catastrophic, not only for them, but possibly for Starfleet, as well."

Picard dipped his head. "I knew she would be a formidable operative for them," he allowed. "Perhaps I'm just thinking that I should have handled this better."

Nechayev stared at him. "It would have been preferable had you come to me about your suspicions of the admirals in Starfleet Command in the first place," she said pointedly.

Picard offered her a dark look. "There was no way of knowing that you weren't the admiral involved," he reminded her quietly. "Admiral Hayes was very good at confusing the issue." B'Elanna glanced away, not wanting to see how the captain's words impacted the older woman. She suspected that Nechayev was still stung over how easily Hayes had manipulated her and Paris.

"Captain?"

Picard turned his attention to the front of the bridge. "Yes?"

"Sensors are detecting traces of several ion trails through the asteroid belt," Data reported. "One is identical to the trail detected in orbit over Earth, when Captain Janeway was kidnapped. It's registered as the UFPSooner Strike, a freighter belonging to the Packer Shipping Company fleet."

There was a sense of relief that eased some of the tension on the bridge. Obviously, B'Elanna had not been the only one assailed by doubts as they followed the faint trail of her transmitter.

"Yellow alert," Picard instructed.

"Raise shields," Riker said. "Drop to impulse."

"Dropping to impulse," Paris responded. "The Hood and the Gorkon have moved to five thousand meters on starboard and port, also dropping to impulse."

"Hood and Gorkon have raised shields," Data added. "Both vessels have brought weapons systems online."

"Tactical," Picard requested.

The officer covering the tactical station raised her head. "Phasers activated," she said crisply. One of the new young breed that populated so much of Starfleet in the aftermath of the Dominion War, she was at least five years younger than B'Elanna, but possessed the two gold pips of a full lieutenant. "Photon torpedoes loaded."

"Stand by," Riker said, in a slightly cautioning tone.

B'Elanna stifled a small grin. The young lieutenant had seemed the slightest bit eager, and it was apparent that she was still learning how to fit into this seasoned crew who had been together so long on the flagship. Though Paris, on the other hand, seemed to have fit into the bridge with little problem. His time in the Delta Quadrant had gone a long way in maturing the young man.

B'Elanna discovered she was clenching her fists, aware that she wanted something to do. It was difficult to be standing on the sidelines as nothing more than an observer. Spotting an empty station, she moved over to it, taking a seat and bringing the console online. It was a science station, but she was able to channel the engineering systems through the touch pad. She could do nothing more than monitor them, of course, but at least she was at a station and no longer felt so left out.

Nechayev quietly took a seat in what was normally the ship counselor's chair, to Picard's left. Here, the admiral would be able to see what was going on without requiring updates from the captain. B'Elanna brought up the chart of the Noiro Belt, and glanced at the fore viewscreen, seeing the large chunks of asteroids floating against the starfield through which the three vessels had to carefully navigate.

"Captain, we're being hailed."

B'Elanna noticed that Picard offered a start of surprise.

"By whom?"

"The signal originates from the Noiro Colony," Data responded. The android tilted his head, then turned his chair so that he was facing his captain.

"It's a Class One general distress call, Captain."

B'Elanna felt her heart start to pound. What had Seven gotten herself into now?

"I still don't understand what possessed you to take a job with the Orion Syndicate," Samantha Cogley said, staring at the Doctor.

The EMH sighed as he injected Janeway with the antagonist to the substitute drug he had been administrating to the captain. Immediately, she felt an easing to her nausea and her headache, exhaling audibly with relief.

"I told you," he said with forced patience to the lawyer, "I didn't know that's who was hiring me. I thought they were just a colony on the fringes of the Federation in need of quality medical care."

Ro regarded him evenly. "That seems like the sort of thing you should find out about your employer before you sign on," she suggested, and Janeway was struck by the thought that the stoic Bajoran was actually teasing the EMH.

The Doctor shot her a dark look, and resumed his attention on the captain, scanning her with a medical probe as he checked the readings on his tricorder. Janeway regarded the other two, feeling more and more like herself with every passing second.

"Am I to assume that the DragonFlight is close by?" she asked, pulling the sheet closer around her, the only garment she had at the moment.

"Berth six," Ro told her. "If we can somehow disguise two of us as constables, maybe we can escort you back there with no one giving us a second look."

"She's only a little larger than I am," Sam offered. "Shorten and darken her hair a little, have her put on my clothes, and she could take my place, while the Doctor and I could dress in the uniforms of the constables."

"Better yet, I'll dress as a constable which won't require extensive makeup that we don't have," Janeway corrected dryly, somehow not surprised the young woman would immediately come up with an unnecessarily complicated plan. She was also quite certain that the clothing the lawyer was wearing was nothing that she could ever be persuaded to don. Samantha's taste in clothes ran to the very latest trends, and were considerably more ... daring than Janeway's own personal preferences, with glaring colors that actually hurt one's eyes.

"You just want to carry the gun," Samantha grouched, shooting an admonishing look at the captain.

"Actually, I just prefer to be in a uniform," Janeway told her honestly.

"Big surprise," Samantha noted. She paused, then glanced at Ro. "Where will we get constable uniforms, anyway?"

"There are still a few constables outside," the Doctor said. "They're taking statements from the witnesses from the tavern brawl before escorting the main combatants to jail. If we could lure two of them in here, I could sedate them, then the captain and I could take their place. The others should believe that the two officers are simply escorting you two back to your ship, and not pay it too much attention."

Janeway nodded, sitting up gingerly. When the room didn't begin spinning around her, she judged that to be a successful step in the major task of standing up.

"It sounds like an acceptable plan," she said. "We'll worry about how we'll get clearance to launch once we reach the ship."

"That vessel has quite a few surprises in it, Captain," Ro said. "As last resort, I think we can probably blast our way out, regardless of their docking clamps."

Janeway took a breath. "At this point," she admitted, "I'm not sure I would object to that even though it would leave a big hole in their hangar, and expose their colony to the surface." She made a move to stand, regretting it immediately as her body screamed in protest.

The Bajoran's gaze darkened with concern, and she reached out to support the captain, putting a hand on her shoulder as the Doctor scanned her again, his face concerned. "I know it may not seem like it, Captain, but the antagonist is working," he said reassuringly. "You'll be unsteady for awhile, but you are regaining control over your body."

She nodded. "Let's see about getting those uniforms," she said shortly.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and pocketed a couple of hyposprays. Then, he nodded briefly at Ro, who took up a position on the inside of the door, and exited into the outer emergency room. Sam and Janeway moved over to an obscure part of the room, out of the way of the Doctor and the Starfleet officer, who would be responsible for securing the constables. Janeway discovered she was clutching weakly at the sheet as she leaned against the wall for support, and she flinched as the door abruptly opened. Two constables stepped through, one a male, approximating the build of the Doctor, the other a woman, a little larger than the captain, but undoubtedly the best choice he could find.

"They're right over there," he said, pointing at Janeway and Sam in the corner.

The constables actually took a step toward the women before the male faltered. "Wait, she's not the one---"

Before he had finished his sentence, the Doctor had jammed the hyposprays against their necks, innoculating them with a strong sedative, while Ro stepped forward to catch the female, the EMH supporting the unconscious male, lowering them both to the floor.

"Quickly now," Janeway instructed. "Undress them."

The Doctor looked a little uncertain, but Ro and Sam didn't hesitate, bending over the two forms and stripping the uniforms from them, leaving them in only their undergarments. The somnolent forms were stashed in a nearby closet, where they wouldn't wake for several hours, while their garments were quickly handed to the captain and the hologram. The Doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably as he accepted the uniform, and immediately went over to the corner, his back turned pointedly to the women as he changed.

Janeway rolled her eyes, wondering where the Doctor had developed such an archaic sense of modesty, particularly during a crisis, particularly when dealing with other Starfleet officers who had long since gotten over the taboo of coed nudity during their time at the Academy, and particularly since he was only a hologram. Of course, the Doctor had never attended the Academy, and chances were, his matrix was displaying Dr. Zimmerman's inhibitions, of which, the captain suspected, the scientist had many. Besides, hadn't the EMH proven that he was far more than a hologram by this time? She began pulling on the uniform, still a little weak and needing to pause every so often to rest. Ro regarded her worriedly, though the Bajoran was doing her best not to make her scrutiny of the captain too overt.

The Doctor had finished changing long before Janeway, and he fidgeted uncomfortably as he waited. A quick glance out the door seemed to increase his nervousness, careful to poke only his head through the narrow opening.

"Can we hurry up things here?" he requested impatiently when he looked back. "The outer area is pretty much cleared out now that the other constables have taken the brawlers away, but someone else may stop by with a hangnail or something. I'd like to be out of here by then."

"Stay calm, Doctor, and shut that door," Janeway advised him as she tucked the dark shirt into the trousers, and fastened the heavy belt, which contained some kind of communications device, a baton, and a disruptor of sorts that looked to be Cardassian issue of several years ago, around her waist. Straps running from the belt crossed over her chest and fastened at the back, the captain needing a few moments to figure out how they attached. "Put on your helmet."

She followed her own advice, placing the helmet on her head and pulling down the dark shield, the one-way transparency covering her face almost to her mouth, obscuring her features adequately. She had barely accomplished this when the door abruptly opened, and Cheb Packer, along with five other men ... all large, all carrying nasty batons ... entered. There was a frozen moment of shock and consternation, with Cheb looking around in outraged confusion, while the four would be escapees tried not to look excessively guilty.

"What's going on here?" the merchant demanded.

"We're taking these two back to their ship," the Doctor responded, and Janeway, weak from the jolt she had received at seeing Packer and his goons, noticed that the EMH had pitched his voice so that he didn't sound like himself. She made a mental note to congratulate him on his quick-thinking once this was all over. In the meantime, she kept her head down, letting the others do the talking.

"Where's the Doctor?" Cheb demanded, going over to the bed and ripping at the bedding, as if expecting that the EMH, or perhaps the captain, would be hiding amid the linens. "Where's the woman who was here?"

Sam put her hands on her hips. "The Doc wheeled her out of here after treating me and my sweetie," she said, injecting a bit of sauciness in her tone.

Cheb took two steps toward her, grabbing the lawyer by the arm and twisting it. "Where'd he take her?"

Sam somehow maintained her impertinent smirk, though the hold on her biceps had to be painful. "How the hell would I know?" she retorted. "He mentioned something about transfering her to a 'safer location'."

He stared at her, and the Doctor stepped forward, tapping Cheb on his shoulder with his baton. "We need to get these two back to their ship," he said, affecting a bored tone. "You know the rules about independent traders."

Janeway was amazed by the composure of her companions. A cold trickle of sweat was running down her spine, and her knees felt like jelly. It was taking all her willpower to maintain a casual posture, to look as if she were just another constable doing her job.

"Maybe he took her to Duvont," one of Cheb's men piped up. "You said that the doc didn't like how you were treating her."

Cheb shot him a poisonous look and released Sam, who sauntered past him. He glared after her as the four moved towards the door. Just a few meters more, Janeway chanted to herself, seeing freedom beckon before her. We're almost at the door.

"Stop."

Janeway felt her heart pound as the four paused just before they reached the exit. Cheb moved around in front of them, staring at Ro, who regarded him evenly.

"Don't I know you?" he demanded.

"Don't think so," Ro told him laconically.

He frowned, looking puzzled as he searched her face, some minor detail obviously plucking at his memory. Janeway felt her heart pound unpleasantly in her chest, remembering that Ro had been seated next to her during Packer's trial on one occasion. Would Cheb have taken note of the Bajoran's face enough to recognize it now, or had he been too caught up in his legal difficulties?

"We need to get these people back to their ship," the Doctor insisted.

Uncertainly, Cheb glanced at him, then started to step aside, obviously unable to place the Bajoran. Janeway went to move forward, and abruptly, Packer brought his baton back and slammed it across Ro's ribs, knocking the Starfleet officer to the ground. The Doctor froze in horror, and Janeway grabbed for her disruptor. Unfortunately, Packer had anticipated that move and knocked the captain's hand away, grabbing for the weapon himself and shoving the muzzle up under Janeway's jaw.

"Nice try, Kat," he said, reaching up and ripping away her helmet. "You must think I'm as stupid as the rest of the fools you deal with." He motioned to his men, who quickly relieved the Doctor of his weapons and shoved their prisoners back into the room. Two men grabbed Ro, who was still curled in a fetal position clutching her midsection, dragging her over next to the bed, and flinging her down against the floor.

Cheb's eyes glittered as he pushed Janeway against the wall, a smile playing over his lips. "So," he murmured, the bulk of his body pressing intimately against her, the muzzle of the disruptor digging cruelly into the soft underside of her chin. "Thought you could slip one past me, Kat? I guess you haven't been getting the dream dust as planned. You look far too ... mobile."

Despite the terror sending icy tendrils through her stomach, Janeway managed a bored expression. "If you're going to kill me, Cheb," she said, with a casualness she was far from feeling, "just do it. Don't bore me to death with your inanity."

He drove a fist into her stomach, a short punch that drove the air from her lungs, and for an instant, blackness edged her vision. She slumped against the wall, aware of a commotion going on around her, and finally understood that Ro had broken free of her captors. The Bajoran had lunged at Cheb, bringing him down with a flying kick that connected with his chest. She was unable to follow up on it as the other men jumped on her and dragged her back away from Packer. Wheezing, the merchant finally got to his feet, an ugly expression on his face.

"Watch her," he snapped, motioning one of his men to guard Janeway. The captain was hauled unceremoniously to her feet, the straps of her outfit yanked down over her shoulders and used as a makeshift binding around his arms. She ignored her manhandling, staring at Cheb who had gone over to where Ro was being restrained.

"Don't," she demanded, suspecting what he would do to the Bajoran.

He shot her a glare. "You'll hate this worse than anything I might do to you," he said slowly, as if understanding something for the first time. "She's one of your people, one of your crew."

Janeway made a step toward him, yanked back by the straps around her torso by the man guarding her. Horrified, she watched as Cheb stood before Ro, who had been forced down onto her knees in front of the merchant, immobilized by two of his men grasping her shoulders. The Bajoran stared up at him impassively, her jaw set, her eyes dark with scorn for this being who would dare confront her, a survivor of the Cardassian internment camps, a product of Starfleet training and Maquis tempering.

"You'll be sorry for that," Packer promised her viciously, grabbing her by the hair and yanking it cruelly. "By the time I'm done with you, there'll be nothing left but a carcass for the scavengers."

Ro didn't so much as blink, not granting him the satisfaction.

He glared at her. "Duvont and Vicarny might get a little upset over my taking Kat," he told the Bajoran, obviously wanting to elicit some reaction from her. "However, you're nothing to them, just a Starfleet officer in the wrong place, at the wrong time. No one's going to mind when I take you apart piece by piece."

Janeway noticed that his men seemed to blink and stir uneasily at this, whether at the revelation that Ro was a Starfleet officer, or that Packer was planning to take the captain away from Syndicate custody. Nearby, the Doctor appeared unable to comprehend what was going on, staring at the scene in front of him in horrified confusion, before moving toward Cheb and Ro, shaking off his guards as if they weren't there. The captain didn't think the hologram was capable of actual violence, but his programming had no restrictions about moving where he needed to be.

"Stop this," he demanded imperiously. "You're not going to kill anyone."

Cheb raised the muzzle of the weapon he had retrieved from Janeway and pressed it against Ro's forehead, the metal cutting into the skin and sending a trickle of blood down the Bajoran's face, gathering along the ridges of her nose. Fearful, the Doctor hesitated.

"Watch me," Packer told the EMH coldly.

"No," the Doctor shouted furiously, impotently, afraid to move any closer. "Let her alone."

"Doctor, please don't," Janeway said, playing one final, desperate card, improvising madly, seeking any advantage, no matter how small, knowing that time was running out for all of them so long as Cheb had the upper hand. "You're an innocent in this. I couldn't bear for you to be killed for the sake of us in Starfleet."

Packer turned his head to Janeway, an unpleasant smile playing about his cruel mouth, and with deliberate intent, he lifted the weapon and fired at the Doctor, the merchant so intent on enjoying Janeway's reaction to his callous killing of a bystander, he didn't immediately notice that the disruptor bolt had no effect on the hologram. It passed through the Doctor's matrix to barely miss two of the other Syndicate members who dived for cover, striking the wall between them in a shower of sparks. Janeway began to fight against her guard, as Ro took her cue to begin struggling, attempting to take advantage of the momentary surprise of their captors.

Then, from above their heads, a portion of the ceiling blew apart, and six feet of enraged blonde Borg dressed in black dropped through the smoking and shredded opening. She was toting a heavy duty phaser rifle, while pure and absolute fury radiated from the ice blue eyes, centered on Cheb Packer.

Seven took only an instant to assess the situation, surprised to see Ro Laren, the Doctor, and Samantha Cogley present, but not allowing it to cause her any hesitation. She promptly blasted one of the men holding Ro as she dropped to the floor, intent on freeing the most combat skilled individual who could assist in the rescue, then had to dive and roll, dodging the disruptor bolt that flared toward her from Cheb Packer. The deadly red beam barely missed her as it splashed against the wall, scorching it and causing the paint to bubble and blister, leaving an ugly streak of black across the mint-green surface. She noted that her allies had apparently taken advantage of her unexpected arrival to turn the tables on their captors, Samantha ramming her elbow into the man holding her and pulling out of his grip, while Ro kicked out, swiftly sweeping the legs out from under Cheb Packer, sending him crashing to the floor, the weapon skittering away from him.

Seven felt her lips draw back over her teeth in a snarl, but she wasn't able to go after the merchant immediately. Instead, she turned her attention to her partner, struggling in the hands of another Syndicate member, seeming unable to put up much of a struggle. It probably did not help that the captain was twisted up in a webbing of some sort around her arms, which apparently was hampering her as much as the man's grip on her wrists. The Borg leaped across the room, past the Doctor who was grappling weakly with two other men, his programming inhibiting his ability to fight, and slammed the butt of her rifle into the shoulder of the man holding Janeway. He released the captain who fell to the floor, still tangled in the straps, and shook off the blow, reaching out for the Borg, grappling for the rifle. Seven released her weapon, surprising her opponent, but before he could raise the muzzle between them, her left hand had shot out to snare his throat, squeezing with devastating force, feeling the bones and cartilage give way to the crushing strength of her Borg implant.

He gagged and died, and she allowed him to drop in his tracks. She made an abortive move to retrieve her rifle, but had to turn to face the rest of the battle and her next opponent before she could grasp it, sensing rather than actually seeing the attack in time. She was barely able to brace herself as a large man shoved her back, having left his conflict with the Doctor to leap on her. It was difficult for Seven to keep track of what else was going on in the close confines of the room as she dealt with this new problem, blood spurting within her mouth as the Humanoid attacking her slammed his fist across her jaw. His species was obviously a product of a high gravity environment, much stronger and faster than the average Federation member, on a par with Vulcan or Klingon, and Seven quickly found herself on the defensive to a series of blows which struck her stomach and chest, trying futilely to intercept most of them with her forearms. She had a brief regret that she no longer possessed the abdominal implant which would have protected her from the worst of the assault. As it were, the stiff, forceful punches drove the air out of her lungs and forced her to retreat.

She was brought up short by the wall, running into it with an impact that made her grunt. Desperately, she managed to catch the next swing on the outside of her left arm, allowing the implant extension to absorb most of the blow. With her right hand, she stiffened her fingers and drove them into his belly, with little effect. It was like jamming her fingers into stone, and she was slammed by another blow that jolted her to her bone marrow. Shaking her head to clear her vision of the blood streaming from a cut over her right eye which was beginning to swell shut, she felt the first tendrils of uncertainty feather through her. It was possible that she was outmatched physically, and she found it impossible to send the command from her cranial implant to alter her hand mesh into a much needed weapon, or even dig her type-two phaser out of her vest pocket. He wasn't allowing her a second to recover either, not granting her an instant to focus her concentration on anything, but defending herself with her hands.

He knocked aside her feeble attempts at striking back, and wrapped her up in a grip that lifted her from the floor, his massive arms tightening around her. Seven was unable to breathe, and for a disbelieving moment, she actually felt the reinforced bone of her ribs creak and begin to compress, squeezing her internal organs. A red shade began to cover her vision, edged with darkness, and consciousness started to slip inexorably away.

Suddenly, there was a respite, a loosening of the man's grip, and Seven gained a brief second to regain her senses. She managed to raise her hands and slam them brutally together on his ears, causing him to release her and fall to the floor where she gasped for breath, looking up at the combatants looming over her. She was horrified when she realized from which direction the interruption of her battle had originated, shocked to see that Janeway had finally freed herself from her bonds, and had promptly jumped onto the back of Seven's assailant, pounding on his head and shoulders with her small fists, her face altered into that feral expression of hatred and fear that the Borg had witnessed only once before. Janeway's attack, as sincere and furious as it was, was much like a tiny dog attacking an elephant, and the man bent over to flip the captain easily off his back, the momentum sending the woman skidding across the room, brought up short by crashing into the other wall, where she lay still and unmoving.

However, her spouse's reckless leap on the man was all Seven had needed, and with fear for her partner enhancing her reaction, she altered her implant and raked the man's chest with all four cutting edges, dark blue blood spurting from the furrows she left. He appeared startled, looking down at his chest for a second, before his face twisted and he lunged at Seven once more. However, the Borg had learned her lesson, and had no intention of coming within reach of those bear-like arms again. She danced out of his way, slashing at him with her hand, opening up more cuts and wounds that bled profusely.

He growled, a mindless, animal response of pain and hatred, lurching after her with only one intent in his eyes, that of completely destroying her. She backed away, looking for an opening that would allow her to finish him. He lunged once more, then stiffened as the energy beam from a weapon struck him, making him glow briefly with an aura of red, before he disappeared completely. Seven looked over and saw Janeway lying on the deck on her stomach, her head raised, a Cardassian disruptor dangling weakly in her hand as if she had used the very last of her strength to pull the trigger.

Seven inhaled deeply, her heart thumping painfully in her chest as she glanced around. Ro was on top of Cheb Packer's back, maintaining a strong grip on his wrist as she had his arm twisted behind him, keeping his face mashed against the floor, not allowing him any leverage with which to get up. Across the room, the Doctor was staring somewhat blankly at his hands as he stood over a motionless form at his feet, almost as if he were unable to fathom how it had all happened. Only Samantha still seemed to be in trouble, and Seven sprinted across the length of the room, driving her shoulder into the lawyer's assailant, her momentum slamming him into the wall. She heard something crack, and realized she wouldn't have to follow up in her attack as he looked at her with surprised eyes already shading over with the dimness of death, the light of life leaving his body with a breath that brought crimson bubbling over his lips and flowing down his chin as he slumped in her grasp.

Distastefully, she dropped him, then turned and looked over at Sam who was staring at her in astonishment. "Seven?" she said. "Where did you come from?"

"I am here to rescue the captain," Seven said, as if it were obvious, moving over to help Janeway to her feet. The captain swayed, apparently still weakened from her ordeal. "Kathryn?"

Janeway blinked, then looked at her spouse as if realizing for the first time who actually had been the one to intrude on the situation. "Annika?"

Seven felt her breath catch in her throat, and she carefully put her arms around her partner, wanting to sweep her up in an embrace that would never be released, but afraid to tighten her grip on a body that suddenly seemed so fragile. Janeway exhaled with almost a sob and hugged the young woman tightly ... fiercely ... about the waist, trembling briefly in her arms.

"I am here, Kathryn," Seven whispered, closing her eyes as the emotion threatened to overwhelm her. "You are safe now."

Janeway inhaled sharply, then drew away, her hand resting on Seven's chest as she composed herself with a visible effort, grasping for the remains of her command persona. Her eyes were grey as she glanced up at the Borg. "Your timing is impeccable, my darling," she said softly. "As always."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice to respond in any verbal fashion. Janeway glanced around, apparently taking stock of things.

"Lt. Ro?"

"I have him," Ro responded through gritted teeth, seeming to have difficulty maintaining her hold, which was completely unlike the Bajoran. Seven decided that it was possible the security officer had been injured. "I could use a little help, however."

Seven immediately went over to where the Bajoran was pinning Cheb Packer to the floor, her implant altering once more into her cutting blades.

"Seven, no!"

The captain's voice was a whip, and the Borg hesitated, looking back at her spouse in amazement. Janeway's jaw firmed, and she lowered her head, her eyes flashing with authoritative presence.

"Secure him," Janeway ordered sternly. "He will return with us to face Federation justice."

Seven took a breath, unwilling to comply, but she knew that once the immediate battle was over, the captain had a specific set of protocols when dealing with prisoners, none of which included immediate execution. She didn't understand it, but she was forced to respect it. She looked at Ro, seeing a bit of sympathy in the Bajoran's dark eyes, but the officer did not say anything, also prepared to live with the captain's directives as she released Packer into the Borg's custody. Seven exhaled audibly, and found some straps lying on the floor, using them to bind Packer's hands behind his back, ignoring the man's cursing until irritation finally made her slap him sharply across the head with the mesh of her implant.

"You live at Kathryn's whim, not mine," she hissed into his ear as she finished securing the last of his bonds. "Were it up to me, you would have been terminated at DS9. Do not try my patience."

That served to silence him for the moment, and she yanked him upright, shoving him unceremoniously across the room to fall at Janeway's feet. He looked up at the captain, and Janeway stared sternly down at him, her hands on her hips, looking as imperious as any queen who had just been presented with a petitioner.

"For your own sake, Mr. Packer," she said, in her best Starfleet command voice, formal, and as cold as the deepest reaches of space, "Do not speak. Anything you say can and will be used in a Federation court in the case Starfleet will bring against you." She paused, and her eyes grew darker. "There is also a very good chance that if you open your mouth at this moment, I may be forced to forget I am a Starfleet officer, and allow my spouse to deal with you as she has wanted from the moment she first met you."

He cowered and Janeway looked away, dismissing him from her attention, leaving Ro to pick up Seven's phaser rifle in order to guard him. Seven followed the captain's gaze to the Doctor, who appeared to be in a state of shock. Concerned, both women moved over to him.

"Doctor?"

The EMH's mouth moved, but nothing came out of it. Seven gripped him tightly by the arm and gave him a little shake. He blinked, the blankness dissipating somewhat, and his vision clearing as he looked at her.

"I think I killed him," he whispered.

Seven glanced down at the man on the floor, assessing his condition dispassionately. He was certainly quite dead, and the angle of his neck indicated how the hologram had terminated him. She was impressed, though realized that for a hologram, this might be the sort of thing that could cause a fatal loop within his matrix programming. It was amazing he was still on his feet at this point.

"You did what you had to do, Doctor," Janeway said in a forceful tone, reaching up to grab his chin, forcing him to look at her. "You acted to protect yourself and your patients."

"I'm a Doctor," he said, his face crumpling. "I do not take life."

Janeway focused all her considerable command personality on the hologram. "I am not saying that this is not an extemely difficult situation for you," she said compassionately, but firmly. "However, we don't have time for this. We need to get out of here. Frankly, I'm surprised we don't have the entire security force down on us by now."

He shuddered, closing his eyes, then managed to get a grip on himself somewhat.

"This room is sound-proofed," he explained weakly. "Part of the reason why you were kept here."

"Ah," Janeway said flatly. "So no one could hear my screams."

Seven took a step toward her, abruptly realizing what her partner must have gone through, and Janeway glanced at her, an expression of ruefulness in her eyes, as if regretting what she had said.

"I'm all right, Seven," she said, patting her reassuringly on the chest. "We have a few moments leeway before we make our escape. Do you have a route secured?"

"Yes," Seven said. "Voyager is in orbit, and once we've reached the surface using the access tunnels, we can request an immediate transport."

"Voyager?" Janeway stared at her. "Voyager is here? Why wasn't it detected by the Syndicate?"

"It is cloaked," Seven said, with a hint of pride. "We installed the device at Utopia Planitia."

"What? Where the hell did you get a cloaking device?"

Seven opened her mouth to respond, when Packer abruptly lunged to his feet, driving his shoulder into Ro's midsection, knocking her down before making a dash for the door, shouldering easily past Sam when the diminutive lawyer tried to stop him. It was apparent that the Bajoran's injuries were hampering her greatly because Ro was unable to bring the muzzle of the phaser rifle around to target him in time, and the door slid automatically shut after his exit, just as it had opened at his approach, enabling his escape. Slamming the rifle onto the floor in frustration, Ro cursed in a half sob, her other arm pressed tight to her ribs.

"Damn it, we have to go after him," the captain said, starting in the direction of the doorway.

"No, Kathryn," Seven said, reaching out for her, impeding her progress with more success than Ro and Sam had managed with the merchant. "We must vacate the premises immediately."

"We can't afford to let him escape to warn the others," Janeway insisted, trying to pull away from her spouse.

"We must leave," Seven insisted. "Now, before the plasma explosives detonate."

The starship captain stopped dead, turning around to grab Seven by the arms. "What plasma explosives?" she said, horrified.

"The explosives the rest of my rescue team placed in the power plant, which will destroy the colony's geothermal core, and by extension, the planetoid itself," Seven said. Beside them, the Doctor looked absolutely dumbfounded.

Janeway grasped the Borg's biceps tighter. "My god, Seven," she said, her voice more horrified than the young woman had ever heard before. "There are children in this facility."

Seven blinked, and the Doctor could see that hit her with the power of a phaser blast. "Children?" she echoed uncertainly. "But ... this is where the leaders and operatives of the Orion Syndicate are headquartered."

The Doctor felt a fluctuation in his matrix, a sense of dismay and horror which added to his current disorientation. "It's also where they keep their families, Seven," he explained weakly. "That's why it's so hidden and protected. That's why they recruited me as their doctor, to look after the medical needs of a colony."

"Regardless of what the Orion Syndicate has done, regardless of what their parents have done, those children are innocent," Janeway said, furious. "We cannot sacrifice innocents for the sake of punishing the guilty. It's better they get away than do that. What kind of Starfleet officers are involved in such an operation?" She looked around, picking up the Cardassian disruptor which she jammed into her holster. "We have to disarm those explosives."

"We cannot," Seven said weakly. "The gravimetric detonators are protected against any interference. They will initiate the detonation sooner if any attempt at disarming them occurs."

Janeway turned white, while the Doctor suspected he didn't look much better. "We'll have to evacuate the colony somehow," he said. "How much time do we have?"

"The detonators were set at 60 minutes when I informed Kagan I had determined your location," Seven said. She tilted her head, apparently checking her internal clock, a look of astonishment crossing her face that so much had happened in so little time. "That was 13.5 minutes ago."

"That leaves us 45 minutes," Janeway said grimly. "Doctor, get to the administration area, convince Duvont to send out a general evacuation and distress call to any vessels in the area. Ro, you and Sam go with him, then make your way to the DragonFlight. Seven and I will try to make it to the power plant. Maybe there's a chance we can figure out a way to delay the detonation, if we can't forestall it completely." She shot them all a look. "Move!"

There was no one outside the door, and the Doctor realized that wherever Packer had run off to, he hadn't managed to raise any kind of immediate alarm.

"Hurry," he told the women. "We can take the lift to main administration. With any luck, Duvont will be in his office."

Ro nodded, moving stiffly as she leaned on Sam. It was obvious to the Doctor that she had broken or cracked ribs, while contusions discolored her features. Samantha didn't look much better, considerably disheveled in her scrap with the Syndicate members. Of them all, only the Doctor was uninjured, but then, he was a hologram, and his matrix rarely altered. He didn't even sweat.

But apparently he could kill.

For a moment, the Doctor felt the same sort of disorientation and dissolution that he had when he had heard the crack of bone in his opponent's neck, and saw the astonished expression cross the man's face as he died under the EMH's hands. He hadn't meant to squeeze so hard. He had only been trying to keep the man from going after Samantha. Faltering, the Doctor had to reach out and put his hand against the wall to support himself.

"Doctor?" Ro asked, looking at him closely.

"I'm all right," he said, somewhat more harshly than he intended, and he stared at the doors as they slid shut and the lift ascended to level four. He knew that this wasn't the time to deal with what he had done, personally or professionally, and with the captain's words providing a margin of comfort to his shattered psyche, he concentrated on doing what had to be done. After this was all over, then he could ... fall to pieces ... if that was what was required.

The lift opened to the section where the traffic control and the colony's main administration offices could be found. Above his head, three levels contained the spaceport, with their massive hangars and ship berths. How many could be evacuated using the vessels that were currently in port? One hundred? Two? There were almost two thousand people in this colony, and the odds of being able to evacuate them in less than thirty-five minutes were astronomical indeed.

As they entered the control center, the Doctor spotted the colony's mayor immediately, talking intently with a couple of technicians. Their attention was taken by something on one of the various viewscreens, and everyone appeared very concerned.

"Mayor," the Doctor said. "I need to speak with you."

Duvont glanced back, raising an eyebrow when he saw how the Doctor was dressed. "Sorry, Doc," he said, obviously distracted enough by the data on the viewscreen that not even the sight of his doctor in a torn and tattered constable's uniform could grab his attention "I don't really have time to talk. I have three Starfleet cruisers on a direct approach vector for the colony."

The Doctor raised his eyebrow in surprise. "That's not all you have," he said grimly. His tone was apparently edged enough that Duvont immediately focused his gaze on him, an odd expression creasing his scaled features. "Seven of Nine's rescue team has mined the power plant with explosives. You have thirty-five minutes to evacuate the colony."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Duvont said, staring at him. He glanced at the two women who were standing near the tactical console. Ro was studying the readout with interest over the shoulder of the technician manning the board, though the Bajoran continued to lean heavily on Sam.

The Doctor reached out to grasp Duvont by the shoulders, knowing he had little time to convince the mayor.

"Listen to me," he said, putting all the forcefulness of his personality matrix behind his words. "You wanted to lure Seven of Nine into a trap using Captain Janeway as bait? Well, it worked, only she's using her own timetable, rather than yours. She just broke into the medical center to rescue her spouse, while the rest of her team installed explosives in the power plant and activated the detonation sequence twenty-five minutes ago, set for a sixty minute countdown. Now, I can spend what precious time we have remaining, explaining how I know all this, or you can run around trying to verify this, or you can even waste those minutes fighting those Starfleet vessels out there, one of which, I might add, you don't even know about, because it's cloaked and came into orbit hours ago. Or you can issue an immediate evacuation order, and try to get as many people out of here as possible. Either way, this colony is going to be destroyed in thirty-three minutes."

Duvont stared at him, and the Doctor hoped that the man he had come to know over the past weeks was more the mayor dedicated to the well-being of his people, than an Orion Syndicate member.

The alien looked over at his staff who were all staring at him with varying degrees of shock and horror.

"Duvont, I think he's telling the truth," one of them said shakily. "I just got a call from a maintenance worker. He said he was attacked more than two hours ago by a tall blonde woman who killed his partner and demanded to know where a Starfleet captain was being held. He's just now managed to get free."

"Starfleet captain?" someone else said, horrified. "Who would be stupid enough to bring anyone from Starfleet here?"

The Doctor noticed that Duvont winced perceptibly at that, and shook his head. "I knew this was a bad idea from the start," he muttered to himself.

"I can't get through to anyone in the power plant," another of the technicians reported. "I know it's after hours, and the fleet's in, but there should still be a night crew assigned to cover the monitoring system."

Duvont stared at her unhappily, hesitated for another few seconds, then dipped his head. "Issue the evacuation order," he commanded. "It's a raid. Traffic control, initiate pre-launch for every vessel in dock through their slaver device, whether they're ready to go or not, set at twenty-five minutes from now. Send a message to Vicarny on the Blue Nebula, tell him the whole thing's gone up in smoke, and that he shouldn't come back this way in the future. There's no point in trying to make arrangements for an exchange with our Federation contacts now ... apparently our initial target has taken it completely out of our hands." He swallowed hard, his eyes haunted. "We'll never be able to get everyone out in time."

"Contact the Starfleet ships out there," Ro said urgently. "Every vessel is fully equipped for emergency evacuation procedures. They can use their cargo transporters to beam up large groups of people. No matter what you think about Starfleet, you have to know they won't harm non-combatants, least of all children."

He hesitated, then nodded, and indicated that the person at the communications console should do as the Bajoran suggested.

"Mayor, I can't initiate launch for one of the alien vessels," another woman said. "The DragonFlight."

"That's our ship," Ro said. "The navigational computer can't be overridden. I'll go up and launch manually."

"How do we know you won't just take off?" Duvont asked harshly.

Ro straightened as much as she was able with her injuries. "I'm a Starfleet security officer," she said flatly. "I don't operate that way."

His eyes grew dark. "God, is anyone here not from Starfleet?" he demanded.

"Next time, don't kidnap a Starfleet captain," Ro told him without sympathy. "We take care of our own."

He blinked. "How did you find her?" he said uncertainly.

She flicked an eyebrow. "Skill," she said, not indicating that it had been purely accidental. She looked at the Doctor. "Come on, let's get to the spaceport. The DragonFlight can hold approximately 60 people, but only if we get them secured in time."

"Take the express lift to the hangar," Duvont instructed, gesturing to the doors across the room. "Otherwise, you'll never be able to get through now that the evacuation order's been issued. Launch is at T-minus twenty-three minutes."

"Come on, Doctor," Ro said, jerking her head at the EMH. "You're with us."

The Doctor hesitated, looking at the mayor, and Duvont gave him a little shove. "Go on," the alien said roughly. "You can't help us here, but you might be able to help the rest. There's going to be a lot of injuries with those who do manage to get out. These ships will be launching hot and hard, without enough blast webbing for everyone."

The Doctor nodded, and followed the women who were already limping for the lift. There was no doubt in his mind that the mayor would remain until as many colonists had been evacuated as possible, probably dying in the explosion that would destroy what to him, was the embodiment of all his hopes and dreams, a world where he and his kind could live in peace, away from Federation bureaucracy and regulations. Sparing a moment of mourning for all the chess games and conversations they had shared in the past weeks, for the kindness the alien had shown the Doctor who had been lost and alone in this strange place, the hologram looked back just once. Duvont was not paying any attention to the departing medical officer, concentrating on organizing the evacuation, then the lift doors slid shut, cutting off the Doctor's view.

"So many are going to die," the EMH said softly.

"Maybe not," Ro said, putting a hand on his shoulder, attempting to reassure him. "This is a Syndicate facility, after all, and I'm sure most people here are used to making quick getaways. Besides, if there are three Starfleet vessels coming into orbit, then they'll be able to transport hundreds with their heavy transporters."

"But there's so little time," he insisted.

"Then, we can't afford to waste any," she told him firmly as the lift doors opened and they stepped out onto a catwalk that ran along the walls which made up the main hangar. On the floor, throngs of people seethed, directed by black-clad constables who were loading them onto vessels as quickly as possible. Fortunately, there was no access from the floor to the catwalk where the trio were, and that made it easy for them to hurry to the dock where their ship was berthed. A constable stood working at the door panel, frustration etching his face, as behind the barrier manned by more constables, frightened colonists awaited their turn at boarding the vessel.

"We can hold 60," Ro told the man who looked at her suspiciously, then moved aside as she accessed the hatch. "More if it's mostly children."

He nodded, then waved at the constables manning the gate.

Ro plunged inside, helped by the Doctor and Samantha to the helm. The EMH glanced around the ship in confusion, wondering where the Bajoran had acquired the vessel.

"Doctor," Ro snapped, initiating the launch sequence, her helm coming alive under her fingers, lights making the touch pad glow. "You and Sam pack as many people in here as you can, get them sitting down or braced somehow. We blasting out of here hot and fast."

"I understand," the Doctor said, glancing at Sam. "Just before Lt. Ro has to seal the doors, I'll deactivate my form, and you take my mobile emitter. That will make room for a few more."

"Understood," she said, her young features pinched and white, though she did as she was told, and did not hesitate as the first of the refugees began to enter the ship. The Doctor turned his attention to guiding the smaller women and children in finding places wherever they could, even putting them on the floor of the head. Every five minutes, Ro made a shipwide announcement of the time remaining until launch. With one minute remaining, the Doctor picked his way through the people sitting all over the deck, finding Samantha holding two young girls on her lap, all three strapped into one of the chairs. The lawyer looked up at him, managing a weak smile.

"Two more have been jammed in here," he said. He looked into her eyes, and patted her shoulder. "We'll be all right."

"Sure," she said, though her voice wasn't entirely convinced.

He reached over and touched his emitter, fingering the controls that deactivated him, and slipped into nothingness, not knowing if he would ever be activated again.

Seven made a move to pick up the pistol that the Doctor had left behind, not wanting to leave any weapon for their opponents, believing it to be a tactical error.

"Leave it," Janeway instructed shortly, already moving toward the door. "Let's go."

Seven hastily scooped up her phaser rifle and followed her partner out into the corridor. They hadn't gone very far before they heard a general announcement over the speakers instructing everyone to move to the escape pods and the upper level spaceport, indicating that the Doctor, Ro and Sam had been successful in warning the colony's governing body about the impending explosion. Launch would take place at T-minus twenty-five minutes, five minutes before the scheduled detonation. The corridors began to fill with frightened people, primarily women with young children, moving with purpose to the main traffic shaft as dark-clad constables maintained an orderly evacuation. Pain beat at her temples as Seven saw the havoc she had been partially responsible for, and she wondered how Section 31 could not have known this was a fully functional colony with families. Then, with a sick realization, she decided that they probably had, and felt mortification and guilt cascade over her. Seven was naive, but she was not stupid, and she was beginning to realize how much she had been manipulated, both by Hayes and the Section 31 team.

Facing a tide of upset and agitated Humanoids surging toward her, Janeway took refuge in a doorway.

"We'll never make it this way," she said, her jaw set in frustration.

"I traveled through the maintenance tubes and access tunnels," Seven said. She paused. "They are not guarded, and provide complete access to the facility from top to bottom."

"Show me where," Janeway snapped.

Seven took a breath and led her to the nearest emergency door, pulling it back and allowing Janeway to proceed her before following her in. They utilized the tube to head for the external channels surrounding the facility, coming out finally to the stone tunnel. There were a few members of the Orion Syndicate moving through these corridors as well, maintenance workers smart enough to realize they could reach the upper levels quicker this way, but none of the criminal cartel bothered to stop the two women as they passed, too intent on getting their families to safety.

"How the hell was all this managed, anyway?" Janeway asked as they descended the ladders to the lower levels, bracing hands and feet outside in order to slide down as quickly as possible.

"Admiral Hayes arranged for the Section 31 team and myself to use Voyager for this mission," the Borg explained woodenly.

"Section 31?" Janeway echoed, frowning as she thought about that. "Nechayev's told me about some covert operations group in Starfleet Intelligence...." She shot a look up at Seven. "God, Annika, don't tell me they actually exist, and that you're mixed up with them."

Seven's jaw tightened. "They offered to help me rescue you when Starfleet wouldn't," she told her defensively. Then, she remembered that she had not actually asked anyone in Starfleet to assist her, other than those members in Section 31.

"If rescuing me meant completely destroying this colony, then I'm not surprised Starfleet wouldn't help you," Janeway responded hotly. "Damn it, Annika, you know I would never have wanted to be saved at the expense of all these lives."

"The survival of any members of the Orion Syndicate was ... irrelevant to me," Seven admitted.

They dropped to the lowest level of the tunnels, and Janeway paused a second to glare at the young woman, her features angry and unforgiving. "Life is never irrelevant, Seven, regardless of whom it belongs to," she said in a harsh tone. "We've discussed this before, more times than I can count. Why would you even consider this a viable plan of action? Have you learned nothing about what being a member of Starfleet is all about? What I'm all about?"

Seven faltered, hurt filling her chest. "I did what I thought was best," she said.

"Then, your best isn't good enough, Lieutenant," Janeway said furiously, turning and striding away.

Seven hesitated, shame filling her, understanding that she had disappointed her partner in a most profound way. Dipping her head, tears stinging her eyes, she moved after the captain quickly, still needing to protect her, even now.

The colony's power plant was located on the other side of the facility from where Janeway and Seven entered the level from the access tunnel. The area also contained the main sewage treatment plant and the rest of the life support systems. Corpses littered the floor in various areas, and while Seven had known that Section 31 would not allow anyone to stop them in their task, she hadn't really considered what that meant. Before her knowledge of exactly what this colony consisted of, Seven might have viewed these bodies as necessary casualties in the execution of the mission, might even have approved of Section 31's efficiency in dispatching them quickly and professionally. Now, she realized that she was not just encountering the remains of her adversaries, she was actually looking at the relatives of some of those children that she had seen, perhaps even their parents in some cases, and for the first time, she understood why Janeway insisted on feeling compassion for those she dealt with, even those who considered themselves her enemy.

As they passed each body, Seven was aware of the captain's mouth growing a little tighter, the lines around her eyes, a little deeper. None of the colonists had been armed, and their wounds clearly were a result of Section 31's phasers set to kill. The only being on this level who might have been able to put up a fight was one constable who lay in frozen rigor mortis near a doorway, the woman's weapon not even drawn from her holster, an expression of complete surprise on her frozen features.

"This was a massacre," the captain muttered at one point.

Seven did not respond. For the first time in her life, the Borg was understanding that the cost for successfully and efficiently carrying out a task was sometimes too high. Understanding why her partner insisted on acting with mercy and compassion whenever possible, for no other reason that to prevent a scenario such as this from ever happening.

"In here," Janeway said, stepping over a dead technician as she entered the room. She paused, looking around, her face going pale. "Oh, my god."

Seven glanced around, seeing the greyish clay of plasma explosive plastered extensively throughout the large power generators, littered with tiny, hair-trigger transmitters, keyed to a large box located on a console in the middle of the room. It was obviously the main control panel for the power plant equipment, and the rectangular device resting on it was the main detonator, boasting a digital readout which displayed a series of numbers, counting down with horrific rapidity.

00:14:52 ... 00:14:51 ... 00:14:50 ... 00:14:49 ... 00:14:48...

Janeway took a slow, deep breath, regarding the readout as if she would view a poisonous reptile, coiled to strike. When the numbers reached 00:00:00, the device would send out a signal to each of the tiny transmitters scattered throughout the level. The resulting explosion would travel along the geothermal tap to the molten core of the planetoid, causing it to destabilize, resulting in a complete and catastrophic eruption, shattering the surface crust and destroying everything on or in it, including whatever remained of the Orion Syndicate facility.

"We must leave," Seven said firmly, assessing the layout at once. "We can not disarm these explosives without prematurely setting them off. We barely have enough time to return to the surface through the tunnels."

Janeway ignored the Borg, warily moving closer to the device, examining it a closely as she dared without actually touching it.

"Perhaps there's a way to isolate the main trigger," she said, a touch of sheer desperation in her tone. "Prevent the signal from going out."

Seven hesitated, then removed a tricorder from a pocket in her vest. Carefully, she scanned the detonator, making sure she had her scan shielded, so that it would not activate any failsafe circuit within the device.

"There is not," she said finally, firmly. "Any energy field would be construed as tampering by the device's detection grid. We must leave, Kathryn."

"Think of something," Janeway demanded.

Seven shot her a hard stare. She may be ashamed of how she had gone about this rescue, but there was one priority that had not changed. Her partner's safety was still paramount to her.

"Kathryn, I did not come all this way just to watch you die in a futile attempt to stop what is unstoppable," she scolded. "We must contact Voyager."

The captain's face was like stone, furious and frightened all at the same time, though perhaps only Seven could detect the trace of fear edging the stormy grey eyes.

"That solution isn't good enough," Janeway said flatly. "We've been in impossible situations before, Lieutenant, and still succeeded. This is no different. There must be someway to put a shield of some kind around that detonator to prevent the signal from reaching the explosives."

Seven stared at her, then took a deep breath, beginning another scan with her tricorder, furious at her partner for being so illogical, yet aware that this was very much who Janeway was ... very much the woman that she had fallen in love with, and loved now beyond life itself ... even when she was angry and baffled by her decisions.

"Perhaps," she allowed finally, very reluctantly, "I can set up a modulating frequency aimed at the digital counter itself, instructing it to recycle constantly at the same second. However, there is no way of knowing how long the tricorder will be able to maintain it."

"Do it," Janeway ordered.

Seven exhaled audibly and set to work. She had to be extremely careful not to interfere with the connection between the timer and the detonation sequence itself, which would result in the immediate acceleration to zero. She needed to somehow insert a command to the timer's base programming, causing the timer to increase by one, decrease by one, then repeat the same instruction indefinitely. The problem was actually finding a way to insert the code without the security features recognizing that the counter was being tampered with. The other problem was that a countdown was the absolute simplest instruction that could be imprinted on any device, making it practically tamper proof.

"Ten minutes," Janeway said, rather unnecessarily since Seven could see the readout as easily as the captain. The Borg suspected it was merely Kathryn's way of contributing to something that she could do nothing about. Standing by, waiting for someone else to carry out a task, was an extremely difficult experience for the captain at the best of times. Here, when everything was about to be destroyed, it was probably intolerable for her.

"Kathryn, I will stay and do this," Seven offered quietly. "You must leave. I will contact Voyager and instruct the Section 31 team to beam you out."

Startled, Janeway looked at her, then her eyes softened, the disappointment and outrage she had been displaying easing somewhat.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," the captain said in a very gentle voice. "I know you can do this, Annika. I believe in you."

Seven swallowed, feeling tears sting her eyes, which she blinked away immediately, not having the time to wallow in emotionality.

"It is entirely possible I will fail," Seven said huskily as she continued to work. "In that event, I will not consider it a complete failure if you have reached safety."

Janeway shook her head. "We're both leaving here together," she told the Borg firmly. "One way or another. Besides, I'm not any more anxious to land in Section 31's hands than I was to be in the hands of the Orion Syndicate."

Seven paused long enough to glance at her spouse, and Janeway dipped her head, her eyes dark.

"One way or another," Seven agreed softly. She took a deep breath and refocused her attention on her tricorder. Finally, she had the sense she was getting somewhere, and carefully, she made the final adjustments to the frequency.

"I believe I have it, Captain," the young woman said, easing the tricorder down onto the top of the console next to the detonator. She paused and regarded Janeway. "If I am incorrect, however, initiating the signal will result in immediate detonation."

"Wait until we're down within the final five minutes," the captain instructed. "That way, at least the colony's ships will have launched."

"I understand," Seven said. She watched the counter, mesmerized by the numbers which were flicking without pause, an indication of how much life they had left. Dimly, she felt Janeway's hand on her elbow, and she looked over at her. The captain was regarding her evenly, and there was nothing else for Seven to do but to kiss her at that moment, leaning over to press her lips against her spouse's. Janeway did not hesitate either, her mouth welcoming her spouse's kiss, the soft lips parting beneath Seven's readily as the captain slipped her arm around the Borg's neck, hugging her tightly. For a precious moment after the kiss, they stood, heads bent, their eyes closed.

"Seven, about what I said earlier..." Janeway began softly, regretfully, but the rest was lost as, above them, the colony's vessels flung themselves into space, recklessly launching from their berths to claw through the thin, still forming atmosphere to the safety of vacuum with a deafening roar, carrying the most valuable cargo the Orion Syndicate had ever attempted to transport from the facility. Around Janeway and Seven, the walls vibrated and swayed from the simultaneous launch, a few ceiling panels shaking loose to crash to the floor a few feet away, barely missing the two women who refused to move or even flinch, though they did cling to each other a little more tightly.

They waited about thirty more seconds, wanting to be sure the vessels were clear of the atmosphere and would be able to take some cover in the asteroid belt, then the captain lifted her head, looking at Seven.

"Initiate the signal," she ordered quietly.

Seven pressed the tricorder's touch pad, sending the signal to the counter. For a brief instance, nothing happened, the counter continuing the countdown.

At least, it did not detonate, Seven thought dimly, hearing the blood rush in her ears. Then, she saw the readout on the counter, mirroring the one on the tiny viewscreen of the tricorder.

00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:15......

Janeway's breath exploded from her. "You did it," she said, her voice elated. "The rest of the colonists will have time to escape."

Seven felt dizzy, her heart pounding in her chest. "We must go, as well," she said. "I do not believe the Orion Syndicate would be pleased with us, regardless of our stopping the countdown. Additionally, the signal is very precisely aligned. I do not know how long it will hold."

"I agree," Janeway said, picking up Seven's phaser rifle and handing it to her.

The couple turned for the door, and Seven was aware of movement there, but before she could react, a disruptor bolt took her high in the chest, just below her collar bone, lifting her from her feet and slamming her to the floor. The phaser rifle went flying across the room, sliding under a large piece of equipment, and there was an instant of blankness for the Borg before she was able to focus again, unsure how or why she was suddenly lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. With an effort that took an enormous toll on her, she shifted her eyes to the doorway. Inside, she could feel her left lung collapse, and her cranial implant went into overload as it dispatched a flood of nanoprobes through her system in a desperate attempt to repair some of the damage before it resulted in a complete termination of her lifesigns.

"Did you really think I'd leave without saying good-bye, Kat?" Cheb Packer said to Janeway, aiming his weapon at the captain. Seven realized it was the one they had left behind in the medical center, and decided that she would not allow her spouse to dictate tactics any more, regardless of her senior ranking. Neither Packer nor Janeway were looking at Seven's form collapsed on the floor, as if the Borg were already dead and forgotten, leaving only the two of them to face each other in this confrontation.

In what Seven knew would be the final conflict between her partner and this individual.

Shock edged Janeway's vision, acutely aware of her partner crumpled on the floor somewhere behind her, but not daring to glance back to determine her injuries, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on this new threat. She would not allow herself to consider the fact that perhaps Packer had just killed Seven.

"Take your weapon out slowly and kick it over here," he demanded.

She paused, then the tightening of his finger on the trigger made her gingerly remove the disruptor from her holster and lower it to the floor before she kicked it over to him. He didn't pick it up, apparently content simply to have it out of her possession.

"I should have let Seven kill you when she had the chance," she rasped, damning herself with every breath for having allowed this man yet another chance at harming her partner and herself.

"You should have," he agreed, grinning faintly. He glanced over at the tricorder. "Nice," he complimented. "You managed to delay the detonation of all these explosions, I see. We might have a chance of getting out of here, after all."

"How?" she demanded. If only she could keep him talking, perhaps she would find an opening, and the opportunity to turn the tables. "Didn't you hear the vessels launch?"

"They'll send someone back when the explosion doesn't occur as planned," he said. "If not to check it out, then to rescue Duvont. Knowing that bleeding heart, he would have stayed behind while everyone else escaped." He gestured with his weapon. "Let's go."

Janeway wanted to laugh, but it would have been bitter indeed. "I'm not going with you," she said, continually surprised at his tenuous grasp on reality.

"I'll kill you," he snarled.

She shrugged. "You'll kill me anyway," she pointed out, suddenly feeling oddly detached, as if this were happening to someone else. Perhaps her system had finally reached its limit and was no longer bothering to send a jolt of adrenalin into her system, considering it a waste of time. "It might as well be here and now."

He seemed somewhat stymied at this and frowned, glaring at her. "Then I'll carry you out of here," he growled, lowering the weapon, going so far as to jam it into his belt.

Janeway was both astonished and elated. She couldn't believe that the man was actually going to come within arm's length, and it occurred to her that she was a considerable blind spot where he was concerned. He would do anything to possess her, rather than just kill her. It might provide the only advantage she would have. Cheb was a large man, still possessing much of the musculature he had enjoyed in his youth, and outweighing her by a considerable margin, holding the upper hand in both reach and strength. However, Janeway had years of Starfleet combat training, and a determination that she would not be defeated, not this time nor by this man. Seven's life might depend on it, assuming the young woman had not been killed in the initial assault by Packer.

Waiting for her moment, the captain backed away warily as Cheb approached. He had an unpleasant grin on his face, his arms spread, an expression of almost playfulness on his face, as if this were a sadistic game of some sort. She balanced lightly on the balls of her feet, patiently, then, as he stepped next to Seven, the Borg weakly reached out and grabbed his ankle, briefly tripping him up. Energized by the knowledge that her beloved partner was still alive, Janeway dived ... not for the disruptor on the floor some distance away, or even the rifle under the nearby equipment, which Packer seemed to anticipate as he kicked Seven away from him, recovering his balance ... but for the metal bar Janeway had spotted earlier. It was some kind of brace which had fallen out of the ceiling along with the tiles, long and fairly solid, having a decent mass to it.

Rolling back to her feet in one motion, she scooped it up, and faced him, wielding the bar threateningly, like a quarterstaff. He paused, frowning, the frustrated expression on his face making it clear that he thought Janeway was not playing this game fairly at all. He reached for his disruptor, seeking the clear advantage, as always, but the captain was ready for that, altering her defensive posture immediately to one of attack, bringing the bar down across his forearm. Crying out, he dropped the weapon, the disruptor clattering to the floor, and she kicked it out of reach as she continued her motion, whirling to smash the bar across his ribs, hearing one crack audibly.

"That's for Ro," she said, dancing back out of his reach as he grabbed for her.

He hugged himself, his breath coming in pants as he glared at her. If possible, he was even more dangerous now. She had hurt him, the pain maddening him, but he did not rush her, watching her warily, aware that she was not the helpless prey he had anticipated.

"Come on," she taunted. "What are you waiting for?"

He stared at her, his eyes reddened and furious, then before her horrified eyes, he reached back and swept the tricorder off the console, disrupting the delicate link to the counter. There was no immediate explosion, but that was the only positive about the heedless and insane move. The countdown on the detonator resumed, as if never having been interrupted.

00:04:15, 00:04:14, 00:04:13, 00:04:12...

"Got ourselves a time limit again, Kat," he said, breathing heavily. "You're right, who cares if we live or die ... as long as we know we're taking the other with us."

He abruptly lunged for her, and she tried to intercept his assault with the bar, slamming it crossways against his chest, but his momentum bowled them both over. She used her legs to continue it, levering him over her head, the heave to get him up and over requiring all her strength. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, moving to the side of the room away from Seven, where she would have more room to maneuver.

No longer interested in drawing this out until he tired, she went on the attack, feinting with the bar to his head as he approached her again, then, as he straightened to counter that, she went for his legs, getting in one good slam at his right knee, causing it to buckle under him, then scampering back before he had the chance to lunge and pin her.

He cursed, falling back against the console, jostling the detonator. Janeway felt her breath catch, but the timer serenely continued its countdown, disregarding the struggle going on around it. Leaning heavily against the work station, Packer reached down. At first, Janeway thought he was reaching for his injured knee, but instead, he lifted his pant leg, revealing a sheath from which he drew a dagger ... undoubtedly the one he had used to cut her in the medical center.

"You're just a walking arsenal, aren't you," she noted distastefully. She shifted lightly on her feet, though she was keenly aware that her energy reserves were very low. Days in bed, under the influence of a debilitating drug, had left her lacking in endurance, and fatigue weighed heavily on her muscles. Anyone who thought a physical confrontation was not draining had never actually been in one, particularly when the initial surge of adrenalin wore off, and doubt at the outcome of this struggle began to set in.

"I'm going to start on your face," he snarled, his eyes no longer entirely sane as he held the knife before him. "By the time I'm done, you'll be in so many pieces, no one will be able to put you together again."

"That's your problem, Cheb," she said with deliberate cruelty. "You're always saying what you're going to do, rather than what you actually manage to accomplish ... just like when we were young. You were going to enter the Academy, but you couldn't even pass the initial entry exams. You were going to be a great starship captain, but all you are is a peddler of the ships that others command. You're a waste of time and space, Cheb, just as your father always claimed. Who knew the old man would finally be correct about something. Of course, you went out of your way to prove him right. "

The words were designed to infuriate him beyond reason, drawing on everything she knew of the man from their history together so long ago to try to incite him into a foolish move. He stared at her, the silvery flash of blade weaving in his hand like the fang of a serpent, thirsting for her blood. However, when he lunged, it wasn't for her, but for Seven lying on the floor on the other side of the console.

"No!" Janeway shouted, leaping forward to intercept him.

That was exactly what he had been waiting for, the move toward Seven nothing more than a feint as he turned to meet her rush. Snatching at the bar, he yanked it out of her grasp with one hand, as with the other, he whipped the blade at her, scoring a line across her thigh, leaving a shallow slice that burned as she stumbled back, feeling the wetness of blood start to soak her trousers.

He grinned, that same, sick grin that the captain was becoming thoroughly tired of, and she backed up as he tossed the bar aside and moved toward her with deliberate patience, as if he had all the time in the world, ignoring the fact that the timer behind him had just clicked down to 00:02:00. She limped backward, maintaining eye contact, aware it would be her only clue as to when he would attack. She paused when her heel came up short, sensing rather than actually knowing there was a wall behind her. She dared a quick glance to the side, trying to determine her location, which was his cue.

She barely had time to get her hands up, grabbing his wrists as he brought the dagger down in a final strike, pausing it temporarily in the thrust designed to finish her life. His greater mass pushed her back, and she slammed into the wall, desperately holding the point of the knife away from her, though her arms strained at the burden.

He hesitated, a deliberate pause, knowing that finally he was in the dominant position and wanting to enjoy every second of it, secure in his victory as he peered at her, his free arm across her chest, leaning against her and pressing her back against the wall. He maintained the grip on his knife, his smile widening as he felt her arms begin to tremble, the blade descending with inexorable pressure, Janeway's strength draining away.

Looking into the maddened pits of his eyes, the obsidian windows to Packer's soul which held nothing but more darkness, Janeway knew that there was nothing left in her ... nothing but one final move of complete desperation. She released her pressure on his wrist, reversing it to a pull, dragging it down and trying to guide it to an alternative target as she used the last of her strength to twist away. For just an instant, he was caught off guard by the move, unable to alter the direction where the blade was heading as he inadvertently put his weight behind Janeway's yank on his arm. The captain felt the shock all the way to her bone marrow as the knife punctured flesh, her mouth opening in a shock of horror and dismay, and for a timeless moment, they stared into each other's eyes, both astonished, then Cheb Packer gasped once, coughed, a trickle of red appearing at the corner of his mouth.

Weakly, Janeway shoved him away, and he staggered back, running into the console one more time, trying to raise his hands to the dagger sticking out of his chest, the blade penetrating to the hilt between two of the upper ribs on his left side. She didn't hesitate, taking two steps forward, reaching out to grasp the handle of the dagger with both hands, twisting and turning it with all her strength, working it back and forth in the wound to make sure it punctured both the lungs and the pericardium, not leaving anything to chance this time before she yanked it out, stepping back to avoid the stream of blood that splashed from the man.

Impassively, she watched Packer fall to the deck, her enemy managing to deliver a final glare of bitter hatred before he died in a shuddering spasm, red fountaining through his fingers as he clutched at the hole in his chest. She dropped her weapon to the floor and moved quickly to Seven's side. The Borg was trying to reset the tricorder, blood smearing the controls into obscurity as above her head, on the detonator, the digital readout reached 00:01:00 and started the final minute countdown.

"Annika," the captain said raggedly, drawing the young woman onto her lap. Red stained the Borg's chest and shoulder, flowing freely from the entry wound in her breast, and Janeway quickly ripped the sleeves from her shirt, pressing the wadded ball of cloth against Seven in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. Of course, even if she could stop it, there was no way out for either of them at this point, only seconds away from a cataclysmic blast. The Borg's comm badge had disappeared, possibly destroyed, when she had been hit by the energy beam, and Janeway had none, preventing any request an emergency beam out ... not that she suspected Section 31 had maintained their orbit to save her and her partner in any event. As for the DragonFlight, it had undoubtedly launched when the others had, and was desperately navigating through the asteroid belt in an effort to escape the inevitable concussion wave from the impending explosion.

"Kathryn." It was a bare whisper, a weak acknowledgment of her partner's presence. The tricorder fell weakly from Seven's hands as the Borg was unable to recreate her delicate and time consuming computations, and her pale eyes fluttered as she gazed up at Janeway, the ice blue orbs distant, almost as if they were already seeing far beyond this existence to the next. The captain felt a sob catch in her throat.

"I'm right here, darling," she said frantically. "Hold on, now." Directly above them, the captain could still see the digital readout of the explosive, flickering with unnerving rapidity.

00:00:33, 00:00:32, 00:00:31, 00:00:30, 00:00:29...

"Kathryn," Seven said, her words becoming more distinctive, as if needing to say this more than she needed to conserve her strength. "I am sorry I disappointed you."

Janeway shook her head. "You've never disappointed me," she said, tears streaming down her face. "Never. About what I said before ... about your best not being good enough ... I didn't mean to be so harsh. I was angry and scared and half out of my mind from the drugs ... I'm so sorry, Annika..."

00:00:14, 00:00:13, 00:00:12, 00:00:11...

Seven gazed at her intently, apparently trying to permanently imprint her features into her mind.

"I love you, my Kathryn," she said, her voice weakening perceptibly.

"Oh, my darling," Janeway replied huskily, conscious of the time ticking away, knowing there was no escape, no way to change what was about to happen. "You're my heart, and always will be. I'll love you forever."

00:00:07, 00:00:06, 00:00:05...

Seven smiled faintly, as if this were the only thing she needed to hear before letting go.

"Good-bye, Kathryn," she whispered.

"Oh, love, don't..." Janeway groaned, the despair echoing through her heart and soul as Seven closed her eyes, her head falling back onto the captain's shoulder, her lanky body becoming deadweight in her spouse's arms.

00:00:03, 00:00:02...

Janeway dipped her head, pressing her lips against Seven's, tasting her sweetness for the final time, wanting her breath to be the last one they both took as the universe dissolved around them in a bright flash of light.**

"Do you have them?"

B'Elanna tried to ignore the admiral, intent on her task, having shoved the regular operator out of the way.

"The pattern is erratic," she reported.

"Sensors detect an explosion within the planetoid!" came Captain Picard's terse tones over the comm. "Transporter room one, what's your status!?"

"Stand by," the Klingon shouted desperately, annoyed beyond measure at these senior officers who insisted on interrupting her. "I'm having trouble stabilizing the annular confinement beam. I'm going for a skeletal lock."

With exquisite care, she reset the pattern buffer, and once again initialized the materialization sequence. Sparkles appeared fretfully on the dais, faded, then strengthened until finally, two figures formed, both women covered with blood, lips pressed together in a kiss of farewell that they undoubtedly had believed would be their last.

"The planetoid is beginning to destabilize," Picard noted sharply. "Concussion wave will impact in five seconds."

"We have them, bridge," Nechayev responded in the next breath.

"Raise shields. Get us out of here, Mr. Paris," came the captain's words over the comm before Picard cut the channel.

Shudders rippled through the ship as the unmistakable sensation of a sudden jump to full impulse hummed through B'Elanna and perceptibly vibrated the bulkheads. She was astounded that Picard had stood by with his shields down and his ship vulnerable for as long as he had while she scanned the facility, finally finding the bio-signs of her friends, and beaming them out just as the plasma explosion went off. The Klingon didn't know if it was all too late, if the planet's last death spasm would reach out and catch the Enterprise in the final paroxysm of destruction, but it was out of her hands at this point. The deck unsteady beneath her feet, she staggered around the transporter console, her whole attention focused on her friends on the dais.

"We need a medic," she cried, kneeling by the couple's side. "Seven?"

She put her hands over the captain's, helping her hold back the red flowing from the Borg's chest. Janeway looked up at her, her stormy grey eyes haunted and beginning to fade to blankness, the classic lines of her features drawn and pinched. B'Elanna was shocked, wondering what the captain had been through since she had last seen her, then deciding that she probably didn't want to know if her appearance was any indication. Besides, if Seven's condition was as bad as B'Elanna feared, that would be far worse than anything the captain might have experienced prior to this moment.

"A most timely transport, my friend," Seven noted weakly, opening her eyes to gaze up at the engineer. The fact that she was conscious ... that she was actually still alive ... startled both Starfleet officers, and they looked down at the young woman anxiously.

"You just stay with us, you ... you Borg," B'Elanna said fiercely, feeling tears sting her eyelids, spilling over to slide down her cheeks. "Don't you dare ruin all my hard work."

Seven managed the faintest of smiles. "I will comply," she murmured.

"I have her," the Doctor said, shouldering B'Elanna gently aside as he ran a glowing probe over the Borg, the tricorder recording her vital signs. Astonished, the Klingon gaped at him, wondering where he had materialized from, and how the hell he had grown a beard, though he ignored the Klingon's unabashed scrutiny. Instead, he focused his whole being on Seven, frowning for a second before glancing reassuringly at Janeway. "It's serious, but nothing that can't be healed. Her nanoprobes are keeping her stable and preventing her from bleeding to death. Once the wound is repaired, I expect that she'll make a full recovery." He looked over his shoulder at the technician who had returned to the console abandoned by B'Elanna. "Initiate a direct transport to your sickbay."

For a brief instance, relief and joy shone with equal measure from the captain's face, then the command mask slid back over it, almost as if, finally, Janeway were aware of the rest of the situation, glancing over at the admiral who stood watching patiently, before looking back at Seven.

"Annika..." she began softly.

Seven dipped her head minutely. "I understand," she whispered. "You must go and be captain now."

"I'll come be with you as soon as I can," Janeway promised, a note of regret in her voice, putting her hand tenderly along Seven's cheek.

"I know," Seven said, and closed her eyes, her wounds too much for even her Borg stubbornness at this point.

The captain hesitated, then looked at the Doctor, easing her spouse into his arms before drawing away from both of them. He lifted the young woman in his embrace, and the technician, recognizing his cue, transported both to sickbay. Janeway inhaled deeply and stood up, tugging at her ripped and stained shirt, tucking it into her trousers, her classic features bruised and battered, blood streaking her arms and clothing. Despite that, however, dignity and composure still radiated from every line of her posture as she came to attention.

"Admiral," she said calmly.

"Captain," Nechayev responded in an equally measured tone, her narrow features inscrutable as she regarded the ragged starship officer.

B'Elanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes, then cleared her throat. "If you'll excuse me, sirs?" she interjected politely.

Janeway glanced at her, a hint of something sparking in the bluish-grey eyes.

"Lieutenant?" she said, her husky voice containing only a shadow of its normal inflection.

"I'll go to sickbay," the Klingon explained. "Seven should have someone she knows there, besides the Doctor."

Janeway dipped her head. "Dismissed," she said, as if she were the one in complete command here in the transporter room of the USS Enterprise.

B'Elanna stifled a grin and headed for the door. At the last minute, a quiet "B'Elanna?" halted her and made her turn back, looking at the captain. Janeway's eyes met hers squarely, a wealth of meaning radiating from their intent gaze in a way that she never could, or would, convey in mere words.

"Thank you," she said, very softly. "For everything."

B'Elanna nodded. "Anytime ... Captain," she said.

Bemused, the Klingon strode rapidly for the turbolift, instructing it to take her to the deck where sickbay was located. It took some time for her to get there once she left the turbolift, however, because the corridor was thronged with officers dealing with what appeared to be civilians. B'Elanna found herself often being taken aside and given tasks by the harried Enterprise personnel, and only the thought of Seven being scared and alone kept her in the area. The Klingon knew that freighters, escape pods, and shuttles had been launching recklessly from the Noiro spaceport as the Enterprise, the Hood and the Gorkon established orbit, and she subsequently discovered, from the conversations of the medical staff, that one vessel had actually demanded, and received, permission to board the Enterprise, towed into its main hangar even as the Sovereign-class vessel still orbited the planetoid. Apparently, the Syndicate ships blasting hot and fast away from their doomed home had imposed incredibly powerful gravitational pressures on the passengers who had been crammed into every spare millimeter of space, and now, about sixty frightened and injured children, along with a few adults, filled sickbay.

The three Federation starships, which had abruptly found themselves switching from a possible combat mission to that of rescuing an entire colony, were now clearing the asteroid belt and going to warp. They had utilized their heavy transporters to beam up as many of the colonists left on the planetoid as possible, depositing them in their large cargo bays as fast as the crew could deal with them. Meanwhile, many of the Syndicate vessels were incapable of speeds faster than warp two, and once the Starfleet cruisers overtook their ragged formation, the battered ships promptly surrendered to their authority, no longer interested in flight. Security personnel were very much in evidence, keeping things under control, and B'Elanna expected that a call for more Starfleet vessels had gone out as soon as the task force had realized what it was dealing with.

The Klingon finally found Seven of Nine in a relatively quiet corner of the massive medical center, the Doctor standing over her as he finished repairing the wound in her chest. In the next biobed was another familiar face, and B'Elanna froze, staring at the form of her lover in complete consternation. Ro Laren did not appear to be moving, her eyes closed. With her heart pounding in her ears, the Klingon finally managed to get her legs to work as she walked shakily over to where the Bajoran was lying.

"Laren?" Her voice was tentative, unsteady.

Ro's eyes flew open and she regarded B'Elanna with an arched brow. "What are you doing here?" she asked in pure astonishment.

B'Elanna felt her stomach churn, and she leaned heavily on the side of the bed. "I might ask you the same," she said. She reached out and touched Ro's face, careful to avoid the bruised area, deciding that her partner had not been treated yet. "Though when I saw the Doctor, I should have known you wouldn't be too far behind."

The Bajoran managed a brief smile. "You know me," she said softly. "Wherever the action is..."

B'Elanna looked her up and down, noting the ragged tunic and grimy trousers. "So, are you all right?" she asked, concern coloring her tone.

"I'm fine," Ro assured her. "Just some broken ribs. The Doctor's already fixed up the ribs and internal bleeding. I just have to stay here overnight for 'observation'." She paused. "I'd probably look better in some clean clothes."

"I'll see to it," B'Elanna said promptly.

"Actually, Sam went to get me some," Ro told her.

"Sam?"

Ro smiled. "The lawyer," she elaborated. "You know, Lanna, she didn't turn out to be the problem I thought she would be. She really held her own in the fights."

B'Elanna considered that, wondering if she should feel jealous at the note of approval in her lover's voice. Then she saw the lawyer approach, and there was an expression on the young woman's face that altered somewhat when she saw B'Elanna. The Klingon knew she should feel a certain concern, if not necessarily with regards to her partner's emotion, then because it was apparent that Samantha Cogley had developed some rather fond feelings for the Bajoran.

"Lt. Torres," Sam said quietly as she placed the Starfleet issue pyjamas on the stand by Ro's bed.

"Miss Cogley," B'Elanna replied politely.

The two women stared at each other, a wealth of meaning underlying the intent gaze they exchanged, a sort of awareness that one knew exactly what the other did, and the other knew she knew. It was a silent communication that allowed them both to acknowledge that Sam would never, ever approach the Bajoran in any way as long as she was with the Klingon, but that B'Elanna had better damned well grant her relationship the attention it deserved, because the lawyer would be ready and willing to pick up the pieces for Ro in the event the engineer didn't. Finally, the lawyer nodded briefly, then withdrew, moving over to Seven's side beside the Doctor who immediately began using her as an assistant.

Completely oblivious to the emotional currents flowing around her, Ro reached out for the pyjamas Sam had replicated, forestalled by B'Elanna who grasped her wrist gently. "Let's get you cleaned up first," the Klingon suggested. "I'll help you to the shower."

Ro shot her a look of gratitude. "Thanks," she said softly.

B'Elanna deliberately did not look over at Sam as she helped Ro out of bed, tucking the pyjamas under her arm as she guided the Bajoran to the nearby rest room, a reasonably sized facility attached to sickbay for the convenience of the patients. This area was also crowded, but fortunately, there was one empty cubicle which B'Elanna immediately headed for.

"Hey, what's going on here," one of the women, obviously one of the refugees, demanded as she spotted the couple. "How come our pilot's being manhandled by Starfleet?" Near the door, one of the Enterprise's security officers straightened her shoulders beneath her tunic, her hand raising to rest casually on her phaser.

"She's not being manhandled," B'Elanna said through clenched teeth, favoring the woman with a Klingon stare that promised a great deal, not the least of which, was immediate and painful death. The engineer's fear and anger over her friends and lover finally boiled up, getting the better of her Starfleet professionalism, lowering her voice to a feral growl. "I'm helping her clean up, so get out of my way before I make you wish you had stayed behind on what's left of your stinkin' colony."

The woman blinked, then raised her hands defensively, backing away.

"I was just asking," she said sullenly.

B'Elanna shot a glare around the room, and helped her partner the rest of the way into the cubicle, which contained a small sink, waste disposal unit and sonic shower, every millimeter of space at a premium, but providing a meager amount of privacy once the door was sealed behind them.

"My hero," Ro drawled as she looked at the Klingon with sparkling eyes.

B'Elanna grinned and blushed. "Let's get these off you," she said, unfastening the grimy tunic and easing it off the Bajoran's shoulders, slipping it down her arms. Ro offered her a faint smile and tried to help, still stiff and labored in her motion. B'Elanna caught her breath at the dark patch spreading over Ro's midsection, and at the various nicks and cuts that were scattered over the rest of her lean form. Though the medical staff had healed any broken bones and the most serious injuries of the patients pouring into the sickbay, anything less was clearly left to be attended to at another time. The Bajoran had to be suffering a considerable amount of pain just from all her deep muscle bruises.

"Damn," the Klingon breathed.

"You should see the other guy," Ro muttered.

"Yeah?" B'Elanna said, removing the other woman's pants, depositing them, along with the tunic and her undergarments, in the recycle unit. "What did he look like?" Obliging the centuries old joke.

"He got up and ran away," the Bajoran said, her voice laden with disgust.

B'Elanna stifled her snort of laugher. "Well, you know what Chakotay used to say," she said. "Sometimes, you get the bear..."

"And sometimes, the bear gets you," Ro finished glumly, stepping into the shower, as B'Elanna activated it. The Bajoran groaned, half in pain, half in pleasure as the vibrations massaged her body, head bent as she leaned on her arms which were braced against the bulkhead for support. The sonic action dissolved the dirt and dead cells from her skin, and left her freshly pink, the bruises standing out in even starker contrast. "That doesn't make me proud of my lack of accomplishments, however."

"I suspect you were probably outnumbered," B'Elanna guessed. "Otherwise, you would have finished him."

Ro exhaled, her eyes closed as she basked in the shower. "Perhaps," she allowed. She paused. "It was a real mess, Lanna."

"I'm sure it was," the Klingon allowed gently, reaching in to rub the Bajoran's shoulders lightly, easing the tension she discovered there, "but you're all safe now, including the captain. Anything else, we can handle as it comes. We have plenty of time now."

"I hope so," Ro muttered fretfully. She remained a few moments longer, surrendering to the Klingon's loving attention, then finally stepped from the shower, spotlessly clean.

B'Elanna didn't pursue the conversation as she helped the Bajoran on with the pyjamas and returned with her to sickbay, but she thought her partner was merely suffering a little from the aftermath of what had been a very stressful mission. She knew the situation wasn't entirely resolved yet ... that would come after the multitude of briefings and sorting through all that had happened ... but she believed the worse was behind them.

At this point, that was a victory in itself.

Epilogue

The Section 31 operative paused outside the door leading to Admiral Hayes office. From inside, he could hear voices, and he instinctively drew back into the shadows of a nearby alcove. He was barely in time, and his blood ran cold as he saw the admiral escorted from the room by two grim-faced security officers. Hayes had his hands fastened in front of him with a security band, and his craggy face was suffused with anger and a touch of fear. Uncertainly, the Section 31 agent made himself as unobtrusive as possible, hoping that no one, particularly not the admiral who could possibly give him away, would notice him.

He clearly did not have to ask how the operation to destroy the Orion Syndicate was going. He had suspected the worse when he had lost contact with the people on Voyager, and now it was obvious that the whole house of cards was coming down around their heads.

He had warned against this, believing that both Sloane ... and Kagan after him ... had grown too confident, too arrogant in their power, too obvious in taking positions within Starfleet Command headquarters. Perhaps it had been the chaos of the Dominion War, the initial infiltration of the Changelings, which had led Section 31's leaders to think they could act with such impunity, but with the Federation now at peace, and the presence of the covert group becoming common knowledge among the upper ranks of Starfleet, the risks had grown increasingly larger. Now, it had gone too far, and the very organization itself was at risk.

Once the corridor was clear, he slipped out of the alcove and headed for his own office. Someone had to pick up the pieces, to clean up the mess that had been left behind by his superiors, and he knew he was the only one left in a position to do the job. His face tightened as he realized what his first task would have to be.

And who exactly would have to die to maintain the security of Section 31.

The End

•  This is the 49th installment in the Just Between series.

•  It was posted on January 12th, 2000.

•  Title provided by Dyin' Isis.

Just Between Loyalties
G. L. Dartt

"Why didn't anyone tell me about this?"

Kathryn Janeway stood in the middle of the captain's ready room on the USS Enterprise and glowered at the two other Starfleet officers in the room. By the time Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Admiral Ross had finished explaining all about Section 31, exactly what the covert operations group was, how long they had existed, the methods they used to operate, as well as how they had attempted to recruit Janeway's spouse, the starship captain was weak with shock and horror. The information on the operation carried out by Picard to discover the admirals in Starfleet Command tied to Section 31, only served to enhance the bitter news, leaving her face white and pinched.

"Did it ever occur to anyone that I deserved to know about this?" she repeated harshly, her eyes grey as week old ashes.

"It wasn't a matter of deserving it," Picard said, somewhat defensively. A slender, bald man, he normally radiated competence and poise, infinitely composed. Now, he sat nervously on the sofa, legs crossed, his hands resting uneasily on his lap. "It was a matter of 'need to know'."

"I needed to know," she spat, hands on her hips, her gaze one of molten fury as she glared at the Enterprise captain. "Damn you. Of all people, I needed to know!"

Standing against the wall, Admiral Ross watched Janeway, his dark eyes assessing the starship captain warily. The admiral from Starfleet Command had rendezvoused with the Enterprise as soon as the ragged fleet of Orion Syndicate vessels, led by three Starfleet vessels, had set course to Deep Space 6, the nearest Federation base capable of handling a thousand or so refugees from the destroyed colony. His sudden arrival in a tiny courier ship indicated that he had been the admiral Picard had been reporting to all along ... one more secret that Janeway had been oblivious to, and judging from Nechayev's face, one that Janeway's immediate superior had not known either. However, it was of little consolation that the captain hadn't been the only one operating in the dark.

"No, Captain," he said, his voice hard, "you didn't. Not so long as Nechayev was a possible Section 31 operative. You were her special project, and as long as we suspected her ... we suspected you."

"Me!"

"You were old school Starfleet, with connections to admirals who had been of questionable loyalty for years," the admiral said. "We couldn't take the chance."

"But you were willing to risk Seven," she said furiously.

"We were willing to believe in Seven ... and her friends," Picard said. "Believe that when push came to shove, she would remember everything she had learned as a Starfleet officer, and that Lt. Ro could keep her safe."

Janeway could not remember feeling so betrayed or angered before in her life. "You had no right to risk us like that," she said, breathing harshly. "How dare you?"

"How dare we not?" Ross said, the whip of command in his voice. He moved closer, subconsciously using his greater height and mass to remind her who held the superior rank in the ready room. "I appreciate that you feel left out of this operation, Captain, and we're sorry about that. Certainly, if we had more information at our disposal, then yes, we could have brought you into our confidence sooner, but until we understood which admiral in Starfleet Command was working for Section 31, everyone was suspect ... including you. This was bigger than a single officer, Janeway, and you're just going to have to accept that." He stared at her, then attempted a more conciliatory tone. "I know what it's like to be placed in a position where your reactions are limited by the parameters Section 31 set up, Captain. I've been in your shoes, and it's not always a matter of making the right decision for everyone, but the one that will result in the least amount of damage. You should understand that."

"What if I can't?" she demanded, her color high.

Ross didn't waver. "Then you can't," he said. "However, it doesn't make any difference in the larger scheme of things. You've been around long enough to know that." He glanced at Picard, demonstrating that as far as he was concerned, the issue was dealt with. "What's the status with Noiro colony?"

"The Enterprise, the Hood and the Gorkon were able to evacuate most of the populace using our heavy cargo transporters. In addition to the syndicate vessels we have in tow, several ships fled from the colony, presumably containing more refugees, including several key members of the cartel's upper echelon. We didn't pursue, but did launch tracer probes to mark and track every vessel. It should only be a matter of time before they're all picked up. Meanwhile, we should be arriving at DS6 within the next three days, where most of the refugees will be processed. Now that the planetoid where their colony was located has been completely destroyed, those people innocent of any crimes will require a new place to live." He paused and shot a look at Janeway. "At the moment, there have been no reports as to Voyager's current location."

Ross shook his head, looking disgusted. "Unbelievable," he said. "Despite everything, Section 31 did manage to accomplish what they set out to do, and that was rescue Captain Janeway, and break the back of the Orion Syndicate."

"Their methods were unacceptable," Picard noted.

"More so than yours?" Janeway asked harshly, made even more furious at being ignored as if she wasn't there. The Enterprise captain regarded her for a moment, then dipped his head in acknowledgment.

"I was responsible for contacting and recruiting Ro Laren," he told her, not unkindly, a trace of empathy for her in his eyes as one captain to another. She found it excruciatingly condescending. "Her priority from the beginning, however, was not to capture Hayes or Section 31, but to secure your protection and Seven's. If there is any blame to be laid, it is on my shoulders, Captain. I was the one who instructed Lt. Ro to remain close to you, regardless of what it took to accomplish it. I was the one who authorized her infiltration of Starfleet Command as your adjunct. Finally, I was the one responsible for ordering her to remain silent about her mission, even when she repeatedly asked for permission to inform you of the situation."

"He received his clearance from me," Ross added evenly. "Despite Captain Picard's assumption of authority, I was the one ultimately responsible for this operation."

"I was the one played for a fool, however," Janeway said bitterly. "Who's responsible for that?"

She favored them with a final, incendiary glare, making both men flinch, then turned and stalked from the room, indignation radiating from every uniformed line of her. She did not grant anyone on the bridge of the Sovereign-class vessel a passing look, though she was conscious of Tom Paris, at the helm, turning to look at her with a concerned expression. Inside the relative privacy of the turbolift, she lifted her chin.

"Computer, locate Seven of --- Lt. Annika Hansen," Janeway said, knowing that even though this was the Enterprise, the main computer should be able to detect Seven's identification signature in her comm badge ... assuming she had been issued a new one after her previous one had been destroyed by a blast from a Cardassian disruptor. There was a pause, and she wondered if she were going to have to add specifics, such as requesting a ship-wide bioscan for the Borg elements in Seven's physiology.

"Lt. Annika Hansen is in conference room ten," the computer reported finally.

Janeway blinked. "Is she alone?" she asked, suddenly concerned. Heavens, they must have taken Seven directly into briefings as soon as she was released from sickbay, she thought uneasily.

"Admiral Alynna Nechayev is also present."

Janeway crossed her arms over her chest. It was unfortunate that Seven's briefing was being conducted by someone with whom she didn't feel comfortable, but perhaps it would do the young woman some good to face someone who wasn't trying to manipulate her by utilizing some kindly, amiable approach.

That still shook Janeway to the core of her being. How could she have been so blind? How could she have not seen that Admiral Hayes had been using Seven for his own personal agenda? A small, logical part of herself reminded her that it was unlikely she could have known. If he had been attempting to lure Seven into prurient pursuits, Janeway probably would have recognized that immediately, and responded appropriately, but to recruit the Borg into a covert operations group was something the captain never would have expected. She had been far more worried that her partner would not be accepted, that she would be hated and resented by everyone she came in contact with for being Borg. She certainly never anticipated that Seven of Nine would actually become a prize to be pursued by so many organizations.

Hayes had also been very clever. The captain had dismissed him as a bit of a windbag, a relatively unimportant officer whose influence on Starfleet was overshadowed by those around him, never realizing that he had been the one actually pulling the strings of the other, more blatantly powerful, command admirals. When she had thought of him at all, it had been with a vague gratitude that he was providing a bit of guidance to Seven as she adapted to being a Starfleet officer. Now, a sick feeling seeped through her as she realized her ignorance. It was of little consolation to know she had not been the only one fooled by his aura of harmless benevolence. She should have known better, if not for herself, then for the protection of her spouse, whose experience was so limited. How many times had Seven questioned the whole concept of politicking in Starfleet, and Janeway had dismissed it as not applying to their situation? She had thought she was more than capable of dealing with all the maneuvering and manipulations that went on ... when in fact, she was obviously a babe in the woods.

She remembered the few times Nechayev had ventured the topic of Section 31, sounding the captain out on her opinion regarding it. Janeway had not been very helpful, considering it some kind of myth or legend that popped up every so often in the halls of Starfleet Command. Deciding it was more of Nechayev's natural paranoia displaying itself, the captain had not wanted to encourage it, and always presented a neutral response. As a result, the admiral had never pressed her theories, and now Janeway wondered if perhaps Nechayev had thought the captain was involved in the covert group, and stopped attempting to discuss it when faced with such obvious antipathy. Such was the damage that a group like Section 31 did. One inevitably suspected everyone, so many circles within circles, motivations hidden behind a friendly face, secret agendas and tactics imposed to divert attention to one situation, when it was actually another where the danger lay.

It wasn't paranoia when there actually was someone out to get you, Janeway reminded herself harshly.

"Captain."

She paused, turning to look over her shoulder at Commander Riker who was striding down the corridor toward her. She realized that she had stepped off the turbolift, and had been wandering through the ship, completely lost in thought as she ignored her surroundings and the people she had been passing. She didn't even know which deck she was on.

"William," she said politely, if somewhat distantly. She hadn't had a chance to speak with the first officer since her arrival on the Enterprise. He had been holding the conn while Picard had been involved with her debriefings. "It's good to see you again."

She had met the burly, bearded commander several times, not the least of which was an incident in the Delta Quadrant when Q had transported him to Voyager to testify in a hearing that could determine the future of the Continuum. During the incident, they had pretended not to know each other in Q's presence, both Starfleet officers instinctively seeking any edge they could while dealing with the omnipotent being who, for all his great abilities, tended to take things at face value at times. Of course, Riker would not be aware of it, his memory wiped when he was returned to the Enterprise. She wondered if he still remembered their first meeting, an awkward blind date set up by her roommate, while both of them had been attending Starfleet Academy. He had never mentioned that encounter in subsequent meetings, and so, neither had she.

"Heading for Ten-Forward?" he asked, once he had caught up to her.

She shook her head. "No," she admitted. "In fact, I'm not sure where I'm headed."

"Rough day," he offered. He glanced at her, his dark eyes assessing her face. "If you don't mind me saying so, Kathryn, you should have those bruises looked at by the doctor." Though he was ranked below her, as contemporaries and acquaintances, the two officers reserved the right to address each other by their given names, particularly in unofficial circumstances.

She frowned, raising her fingertips to touch the tender spot on her jaw that only now, felt sore. After beaming from the planetoid's surface, she barely had time to clean up and change into a uniform, let alone make a visit to sickbay to visit Seven or to have her injuries healed, before being thrust into briefings with Picard and the admirals. She hesitated at the thought of going there now. Sickbay was undoubtedly where Ro and B'Elanna still were, and she didn't feel up to facing them, knowing that, at the moment, her emotions were on a knife's edge. Encountering either woman in this state could result in some unfortunate things being said by her in the heat of anger.

"No," she said shortly. "Sickbay is probably still busy dealing with all the refugees from Noiro colony. My minor injuries can wait."

He favored her with an exasperated expression, undoubtedly all too familiar with the command reluctance to surrender to the CMO's authority, unless absolutely necessary. "If you say so," he allowed, with an exaggerated patience that, despite her current mood, made her smile faintly. "In the meantime, why don't you let me buy you a drink?"

He gestured with his arm, indicating something down the corridor, and she glanced in that direction, discovering a set of doors with the symbols that indicated one of the ship's recreational areas. Suddenly, the thought of sitting down to a whiskey and soda held great appeal.

"After you, Commander," she said, inclining her head in assent.

He led her into the comfortable lounge, considerably larger than the messhall on Voyager, and more lavishly decorated. This was where Neelix had been posted, Janeway remembered belatedly, and despite her affection for the Talaxian she had brought back with her to the Alpha Quadrant, she was not really in the mood to deal with him, any more than she was Ro or B'Elanna. She hesitated, lingering behind Riker as she made a quick scan of her surroundings, relieved when it revealed no hint of her former crewmember, only a dark-skinned woman standing behind the bar, and a few Enterprise crewmembers sitting at tables along the hull where large windows looked out at the stars streaking by. Riker motioned her toward a table in the corner, and Janeway gratefully sat down, startled when she looked up to find the woman behind the bar suddenly appear without warning beside their table. She was even more surprised when a whiskey and soda was promptly placed in front of her, while a glass of syntheale was offered to Riker.

"Thank you, Guinan," he said.

The serene woman smiled, a particularly enigmatic smile, and bemused, Janeway watched her glide away, wondering how this 'Guinan' could have known that she wanted this particular drink. She finally decided that Neelix must have told the bartender of his previous captain's preferences ... though that didn't explain why she would remember it, or how she had known it was what Janeway had wanted at this particular moment.

"You want to tell me about it?" Riker asked, interrupting the captain's bemusement. She glanced over at him, chagrined to see that expression first officers used to invite a superior officer to confide in them ... the same expression that Chakotay offered whenever Janeway was at her most unsettled. She doubted Riker was quite prepared for the turmoil she was experiencing, however.

"I don't think you possess the necessary security clearance," she said, more than a little bitterness coloring her words.

"Maybe not," he allowed easily, smiling faintly through the heavy growth of dark beard. "Tell me what you can, however, and I'll bet you'll feel a lot better after you do."

He leaned forward, obviously sincere in his desire to help her, and Janeway considered it carefully, deciding that perhaps that wasn't such a bad idea. Otherwise, the next person she might find herself speaking with could be Seven, and the consequences of such a conversation while still in her agitated state could be dire indeed.

Seven regarded the two pips that lay in her hands, wondering how such insignificant things could be worthy of such loyalty ... particularly when she suspected they would soon be gone. She inhaled deeply, feeling a decided pain in her chest, and lay the small metal circles gently on the table in front of her. She wondered if she would be incarcerated for a long time, and tried not to think too hard about what being separated from Kathryn would really be like. She had never disappointed her spouse so much, she knew, nor had she ever allowed someone else to influence her to this extent. She had failed on so many levels, including in the role of Starfleet officer, dishonoring the uniform she currently wore.

The door hissed open, and the Borg lifted her head, flinching as she saw Nechayev enter the room. Of all the people who could be interrogating her, it would have to be this admiral. She tried to prepare herself mentally, vaguely surprised when the woman merely pulled out the chair opposite her and quietly sat down. Reaching inside her tunic, Nechayev took out an oddly shaped item, and placed it on the table in front of the Borg.

Baffled, Seven stared at the round, colorful ball attached to a small white stick, unsure of what it signified, or even what it was. She was even more confused when the admiral pulled out another one, removed the stasis wrap from it, and licked the ball, holding the stick delicately with her fingers.

"It's called a lollipop," Nechayev said conversationally. "Candy. The top is edible."

"Indeed," Seven said coolly, finally finding her voice. "Why have you given me this ... 'lollipop'?"

"Because I suspect we're both in dire need of a sugar rush at the moment," the admiral told her.

Seven stared at her, then hesitantly, she picked up the candy by the stick, removed the wrap, and cautiously touched the tip of her tongue to the ball, tasting it. It was very sweet, but in a pleasant way, and she took another taste, longer this time. Despite the situation, she did feel marginally better, and decided that this 'sugar rush', as the admiral had called it, was indeed, beneficial.

"Am I to be court martialed?" Seven asked finally, regarding the admiral warily.

Nechayev shook her head briefly. "For what?" she asked in a rhetorical sort of tone. "Being deceived by Admiral Jack Hayes? Being manipulated by Section 31 in order to wipe out the Orion Syndicate? If so, we'd all be facing charges. I've just discovered that one of my aides, an officer in my own department, was the Section 31 operative leading that assault team!" Her voice was heavy with disgust, at Hayes, at herself, at the entire situation.

"Lt. Kagan," Seven agreed.

Nechayev shook her head. "There's no law against being played for a complete and utter fool, Lieutenant," she said heavily. "Luckily for all of us."

"I was actually referring to my having contributed to a conspiracy to kill several thousand people, and dishonoring my oath as a Starfleet officer," Seven reminded her unhappily.

Nechayev leaned back in her chair, regarding her narrowly. "You were conducting a mission arranged by a Starfleet Operations admiral," she said evenly. "We do not hold junior ranked officers responsible for following orders they believe are valid. It was due to the actions of Section 31 operatives that those explosives were planted, and the colony subsequently destroyed. Your participation was limited to attempting to rescue Captain Janeway. According to her, you even attempted to forestall the eventual explosion, and had actually succeeded before Mr. Packer interfered."

"Nonetheless, I am responsible for my own actions," Seven said, raising her chin stubbornly. "I was the one who discovered the actual location of the colony when Section 31 could not. I was in command of the Section 31 assault team, and fully prepared to do whatever it took to rescue Kathryn." She faltered, inhaling sharply. "Even if it meant destroying the Orion Syndicate headquarters, and killing everyone who was there."

"Are you sure?" Nechayev asked. "Lieutenant, I know you believed it was the only way that Janeway could be rescued, but Hayes and Section 31 set you up to believe that. I also doubt you truly were in command, regardless of what they may have led you to think." She looked away. "I'm not saying that your decisions have been particularly intelligent or correct over the past weeks, Lieutenant. I'm not even saying that you didn't make mistakes ... large mistakes ... but I, and the rest of Starfleet Command, believe you were acting in accordance with what you were being taught as a Starfleet officer over the course of the past year. The fact that the larger percentage of your training was being conducted by a renegade was as much our responsibility as yours."

Seven frowned, staring at her as she absorbed what the admiral was trying to say to her. "Why are you being so kind to me?" she asked finally, in a flat tone. "That is not your nature."

Nechayev started to respond, then paused, reconsidering her initial answer. "Perhaps not," she admitted, her narrow, Slavic features thoughtful. "On the other hand, I'm not sure you have the true picture of what my nature is ... anymore than I know where your true nature lies."

"Explain," Seven demanded, puzzled.

Nechayev exhaled audibly. "Let's just say that looking back, I can see where my opinion of you might have been unduly influenced by how Hayes presented you to me," she admitted softly. "I also suspect he had a decided influence in how you perceived me ... and others in Starfleet. It was to his benefit for you to believe that he was the only one who accepted and understood you. I won't lie, I am ... generally suspicious and wary of anything Borg, nor am I the easiest person to get to know. On the other hand, I don't think I was allowed into a position where I could know you as anything more than a representation of the Borg, despite Captain Janeway's best efforts to moderate our mutual distaste."

Seven swallowed, feeling a little dizzy as she realized for the first time how much of her opinion of the admiral had been colored by what Hayes had said ... or rather intimated. In retrospect, it was difficult to pick out definite statements he had made regarding Nechayev, or the other admirals in Starfleet Operations, but Seven understood that she had formulated much of her attitude toward those officers based on things he had told her. Now, she could see how he had deliberately manipulated her, and it sickened her, because she had initially suspected him of being capable of manipulation in his role as a diplomat, but had ignored that qualm in the face of his unrelenting kindness to her.

She believed that he had actually cared for her as an individual.

"I have failed," she said bleakly. "On so many levels."

"So you have," Nechayev said, not unkindly. "We all do at one point or another. The trick is to pick yourself up, learn from your mistakes, and try again. That's what being a Starfleet officer is all about. No one is perfect." She smiled faintly. "Not even a Borg."

Seven swallowed. "It is very difficult to learn from such failure," she said.

"If it were easy, you might be tempted to make the same mistake again," the admiral pointed out. She took a breath, then reached over to pick up the pips, cupping them in her palm as she offered them to the Borg. "Put them on," she said gruffly.

Hesitating, Seven looked into the ice blue eyes. "I am not worthy of them," she said.

"Sorry, you don't get off that easy," Nechayev told her, with little sympathy. "Anyone can walk away when the going gets rough, Hansen. A true Starfleet officer digs a little deeper, stands a little straighter, and finds a way to make right what once went wrong."

"What if I cannot?" Seven asked weakly, uncertain.

"Then you can't," Nechayev said mercilessly. "But don't ever allow that failure originate from lack of trying, Lieutenant. We expect better of our commissioned officers."

Seven stared at her for a long moment, then carefully plucked the tiny metal circles from Nechayev's palm, reaching up to fix them to the proper position on her sweater collar. Nechayev rose to her feet, and hastily, the young woman followed suit, straightening to attention away from the table as the admiral crossed from behind it and took up a position in front of Seven, her pale eyes hard and unyielding.

"Lt. Hansen, you will receive an official reprimand that will be placed in your permanent file," the admiral informed her in extremely formal tones. "You will undergo a probationary period of service to Starfleet for two years, under the supervision of your superior officer. Any behavior during that period deemed detrimental to the smooth functioning of the chain of command will result in your immediate and dishonorable discharge from Starfleet, with no chance of appeal. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Seven responded faintly. "I understand."

There would be no second chance available to her ... for at least two years. Any command protocols she might violate in the immediate future would have her dismissed summarily from Starfleet, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the incident. That was a stronger punishment than might be readily apparent on the surface because Seven knew that any officer discharged in such a manner was also forever barred from working on Starfleet vessels, even in a civilian capacity. It would mean she would be unable to work with Kathryn on any starship the captain might subsequently command. That was a punishment Seven did not want to risk.

Nechayev dipped her head. "I don't want to ever have this discussion with you again, Lt. Hansen," she told her sternly.

"No, sir," Seven agreed, drawing on her verbal protocols desperately, not wishing to make any more mistakes in this situation. "Thank you, sir."

"You're dismissed," Nechayev said. As Seven started to leave, relieved at being finished, the admiral added in a gentler tone; "If it's any consolation, Lieutenant, if it weren't for you, Section 31 would still be strongly influencing Command Operations. We owe you our thanks."

Seven glanced back, her face blank. "It is not ... any 'consolation'," she said quietly, before slipping through the doors.

Seven had enough experience at this stage of her life to know that she had been treated fairly by Starfleet Command, perhaps far more fairly than she deserved. Had it been anything other than Section 31 involved, she might not have been so fortunate, but she was still disturbed, knowing in her heart that the presence of the covert operations group was largely unrelated to her actions. Even if she had been alone, she still would have gone to the Noiro colony to rescue her partner, and considered the consequences of such actions irrelevant. She allowed that she might not have necessarily destroyed the entire colony, but she certainly wouldn't have let anyone stand in her way, either.

Even a child?

Seven paused, unsure where that thought had come from. She knew that some children were as capable of causing harm as any adult, but that their actions were considered somehow 'less' because of their lack of life experience, and the perception they were more easily influenced. However, if a child, or even a teenager of Icheb's age, had attempted to prevent her from rescuing Janeway, would she have dealt with them in the same manner she would have dealt with any adult?

Seven didn't know, and that gave her a great deal to think about as she paused in the juncture of a corridor, checking the panel set in the bulkhead to give her directions to her cabin. She and Janeway had been assigned guest quarters on deck eight for the return to Earth, though the young woman had yet to visit them. Her injuries were such that she had been dispatched immediately to sickbay. After spending the night for 'observation,' she had been outfitted with a new uniform and directed to a round of briefings with various officers, the most recent of which had been with Nechayev. Seven hoped that by receiving her punishment, however, it would be the end of the matter ... at least as far as Starfleet was concerned.

For her and her spouse, however, the Borg knew that this incident would linger for a long time.

Finding her way to the guest quarters, she immediately sealed the door behind her and looked around, slightly dazed. For the first time in days, she had a chance to really contemplate all that had happened, and suddenly, she was struck with a weariness beyond anything she had felt before. Belatedly, she realized she still held the 'lollipop' in her hand, and she gently laid it on a table by the door, unsure what to do with it, and having no desire to finish it. It appeared the 'sugar rush' did not last very long, and it was an effort to formulate words to the ship's main computer.

"Computer, locate Captain Janeway," she requested in a ragged tone.

"Captain Janeway is in Ten-Forward," the computer replied pleasantly.

Seven did not know what 'Ten-Forward' was, but suspected that it was some place Janeway needed to be at the moment. Otherwise, she was sure the captain would have determined Seven's location and joined her.

Or would she?

Seven exhaled, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes, and she sank down onto the deck, leaning her back against the cool surface of the bulkhead, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her chin fell onto her chest, as if her head were suddenly too heavy to remain upright, and within her abdomen, she felt a distinctive pain radiate through her. She could not forget how disappointed her partner had been when she discovered Seven had been working with Section 31, how appalled she had been to know that the Borg had been fully prepared to destroy the colony ... to participate willingly in the death of thousands ... in order to save her. Seven understood her partner's dismay, though until this incident, she had never truly comprehended why Janeway insisted on feeling that way. Now, Seven thought about the frightened faces of the children who had been dragged along by their parents in that panicked evacuation, the terror reflected in their eyes as they fought their way to safety, the pain they had suffered as they had been crushed by high gravimetric forces during their escape, and she felt sick, knowing that she had been partially responsible for it. Not since being a Borg drone had she been the cause of such havoc.

It had seemed such a reasonable plan in the beginning: save the captain, and destroy the headquarters of the Orion Syndicate, a criminal cartel which had caused suffering to countless innocents, making certain that a threat would never be generated by any of them again. It had not occurred to Seven that within the organization, there would also be beings who were not of the same ilk as those who had committed the varying degrees of criminal acts. She had attacked a concept, targeting a organization, deliberately overlooking the fact that any collective was always made up of individuals, and that they each had to be assessed on their own merits, just as she wished to be assessed. She had been contemptuous of Nechayev when it had seemed that the admiral was judging Seven solely as a member of the Borg Collective, yet Seven had been guilty of exactly the same thing when it came to the Orion Syndicate.

Shame filled her as she realized again how foolish she had been. Worse, she had wanted to be that foolish, had embraced Hayes and the covert group who had recruited her, simply because their methods were easier to understand and carry out than those dictated by the slippery concepts of compassion, loyalty and honor that the larger part of Starfleet and Janeway embodied. All the lessons the captain had taught her over the years, teaching her to see the larger picture, had apparently not convinced the young woman.

Seven of Nine had failed.

Perhaps failure was something that Starfleet officers sometimes experienced, just as Nechayev insisted, but Seven expected better of herself. She was Borg. Perfection was something she had strived for over the course of her existence, and the thought that she had fallen so far short of it, was extremely distressful.

There, in the darkness of the unfamiliar quarters, she wept, not only for the person she had been, but for the person she was becoming, forced to recognize that there was so much that she did not understand ... and perhaps, never would.

Watching as Janeway sipped her drink, Riker toyed with his glass. The woman seemed somewhat fragile, unlike the person he had come to know over the years, not only personally, but from the Starfleet reports on her career, and he wondered how much of that was a result of her ordeal at the hands of the Orion Syndicate. He had always found her to be a very beautiful woman, greatly attracted to the lithe, compact form, the auburn hair laced with fire, the classic features set with high cheekbones radiating compassion and command presence, even when she had only been a cadet. Now, with the restless energy about her, the sense of barely contained anger, the blue-grey eyes almost sparking as he observed her, she was even more attractive. He wondered at the opportunity they had missed years earlier when they had both attended the Academy. She had excused herself early from the blind date they had shared, and during all their subsequent encounters, she had never mentioned it. He wondered if he had been so unmemorable to her.

A lot of water under the bridge had passed since then, he acknowledged ruefully. Not unfamiliar with romance or the company of beautiful women, no relationship had ever lasted for him, other than one he had shared with Deanna Troi, the Enterprise's counselor. The two officers were currently in the process of figuring out where they stood with each other personally, after years of separation; uncertainty and misunderstandings finally resulted in them reuniting, first as friends, and now as lovers. Janeway, meanwhile, had returned from the Delta Quadrant married to the young woman at the center of this whole unfortunate situation.

He wondered how much of Janeway's fury sprang from that fact, and how much of it was combined with fear for her spouse.

"Can I get you something?" he asked, eyeing her hollow cheeks. "I'll bet that it's been awhile since you last ate."

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she said shortly.

No, but you'll be drunk quick enough on those whiskey and sodas if you don't put something in your stomach, he thought sardonically, and raised his hand to signal Guinan. As always, the mysterious woman who held sway over this area of the Enterprise was already three steps ahead of him, moving toward the table where he and Janeway sat with a platter of finger foods. "If you don't mind, I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Janeway waved her hand slightly, as if she could care less. Guinan deposited the platter, and quietly disappeared.

"I will say, the service in here is absolutely incredible," Janeway noted dryly as Riker chose some vegetable pockets from the selection, and popped the pastries into his mouth.

"Guinan prides herself on knowing what her patrons want before they do," he explained, watching her closely. He noticed that Janeway reached out and casually snagged a chicken finger, dipping it into one of the variety of sauces provided, her features unchanging, almost as if she were unaware of what she was doing. Perhaps her body was simply reacting on an instinctual level at this point, and its demand for food was on complete automatic.

"I get the impression that you're a little upset with Picard's handling of the situation," Riker said, tossing out the opening volley of the conversation. He had the sense that once he actually starting her talking, the entire burden she was carrying around would just pour out, and he mentally steeled himself for that onslaught.

"It is not my habit to speak of other captains to their subordinates," she said icily.

Despite himself, Riker flinched a little at that. Obviously, she was more than 'a little' upset; she was absolutely furious at his commanding officer.

"Okay," he said easily. He paused, taking his time to select another morsel of food. "You should know, I was also aware of the operation to protect you and Seven from Section 31. I helped Ro set it up." He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and was barely able to keep from cowering under that bitter glare. The woman certainly could radiate absolute fury when she wanted, he thought idly.

"Am I to understand that practically everyone in Starfleet knew what was going on but me?" she said in a voice that could shatter steel with its iciness.

"It's not like that," he said.

"Then what was it like, Commander?" she demanded, the temperature in her tone rapidly switching from ice to flame, her gaze hot as she regarded him. "Did you think I was a member of Section 31?"

"Of course not," he replied hastily. "You're one of the most honorable and straightforward officers I've ever met. Not Section 31 material at all." He selected a mozzarella stick and chewed on it thoughtfully. "However, we did have a great many questions about Nechayev, and we didn't think you could hide what we suspected from her."

"Do you think so little of my abilities?" she said, and he could swear there was a trace of hurt in her voice. "I've conducted my share of covert operations, not just here, but in the Delta Quadrant as well."

"I know, but you're not that good at them," he said, and held up his hand to stay her impending outburst. "This took months of concealing what was known about Section 31, Kathryn," he reminded her. "It was easier for us on the Enterprise. We weren't in contact with questionable admirals every day, not like you. Could you have kept it quiet that long, working under Nechayev's direct supervision? Could you have kept it from your spouse? Could Seven have kept it quiet? Would Hayes be able to get anywhere near her if you both knew?"

"If you're asking would I have agreed to use Seven as bait to discover which admiral was Section 31, then you're right," she said angrily. "I wouldn't have."

"That's why it was conducted the way it was," he said. He exhaled audibly. "Kathryn, we're not dealing with Cardassians or Romulans here, where we have a pretty good idea of where the intrigue might come from. We're dealing with rogue Starfleet officers recruited by an organization that has operated since the Federation was created. This is the same group that arranged for the Founders to be infected by a virus which may or may not have won the Dominion War for us. This is the same group who was involved with the assassination of a Romulan senator, pulling the strings behind the scenes. Ross was actually there when it happened, and could do nothing but try to minimize the damage to the Federation in the aftermath, but ever since then, he's been working steadily to bring them down. Both he and Captain Picard believe that Section 31's influence reaches to the very heart of the Federation Council itself." He shook his head. "Frankly, we were lucky to nail Hayes, grab Seven back from them, and save most of the members of the Orion Syndicate. Despite that success, do you want to know what the most frightening thing about all this really is?"

Janeway stared at him. "What?" she asked flatly.

"We'll never know if we actually managed to stop their plans ... or if instead, we did exactly as they wanted and planned for us to do all along," he told her. "After all, the Orion Syndicate is pretty much finished now, and that was the whole point, wasn't it?"

That made an impact, he saw, and her face grew still, thoughtful, the bruise on her jaw and left cheekbone contrasting even more with her fair skin. He wondered how many other bruises and contusions she carried beneath the uniform ... how many scars she carried even deeper than that, and would for the rest of her life, over this incident.

"They wanted Seven," she said finally, her voice ragged.

"She'd make a tremendous operative for them," he agreed. "Yet, Section 31 usually doesn't work with outsiders, particularly in an operation this size and this public. They're far more subtle than that." He shook his head in apparent confusion.

"You're assuming that Section 31 expected their raid on the Syndicate colony to play out the way it did," she reminded him coolly, and he tried not to alter expression as he watched her start to consider this on a more objective ... almost scientific ... level. "There is no way they could have expected all that happened. There were too many random elements coming together to prevent any kind of smooth operation."

"How so?" he prodded, trying to lead her to her own conclusions without making it apparent that was what he was doing. He knew that if she was at the point where she was discussing it rationally, rather than reacting to it only with her emotions, that had to be considered a triumph of sorts. Kathryn Janeway in full emotional flight was not something anyone wanted to deal with, and Riker wondered if Picard and Ross were still stinging from their encounter. The Enterprise's captain had looked exceptionally wan and shaky after leaving the ready room, only minutes after Janeway's furious exit, and he had readily acquiesced when Riker asked permission to go after the woman.

Janeway nodded. "Let's say this had gone off the way they planned," she said slowly, thinking out loud. "Seven would have gone in, rescued me from the medical center, and transported back to Voyager. I might never have known about the destruction of the colony, because certainly we would have broken orbit immediately." Janeway seemed to shiver suddenly. "Furthermore, the Doctor diverted what should have been regular injections of dream dust by replacing them with a substitute drug," she added faintly. "By the time of Seven's arrival, I should have been a helpless addict, possibly permanently damaged, completely at the mercy of Cheb Packer."

Riker swallowed hard, knowing what that meant as well as she did. "The Doctor was undoubtedly the most unexpected element in all this," he pointed out, keeping the conversation going, forcing Janeway to consider all the angles. "If he hadn't taken a job with the colony, completely unwittingly, then he wouldn't have been there to protect you from the Syndicate. Ro and that civilian lawyer wouldn't have been there either."

"Seven would have rescued a woman so drugged and disoriented, it would have taken me months in a medical facility to recover," she said bleakly, "if ever."

"Plenty of time for Section 31 to finish recruiting Seven, and convince her that it might be a good idea that you not be told what happened to the facility where you were being held," he noted.

"To be honest, even if she did tell me that she had been forced to destroy the facility belonging to the Orion Syndicate during my rescue, it probably wouldn't have meant that much to me," Janeway allowed quietly, her eyes grey and distant. "Seven didn't know it was a colony with families. I certainly wouldn't have known if the Doctor hadn't told me, then saw the families for myself later when Seven and I made for the power plant."

"So, if this had worked according to Section 31's plan," Riker said, as if she had laid it out for him, "You would be on your way to a medical facility where you would be facing months of recovery, and Seven would be content that she had saved you, destroying any future threat from a criminal cartel in the process. The Orion Syndicate would have been destroyed, without any survivors to tell the tale, and Section 31 would have just faded quietly into the background, just as they always have." He offered the starship captain a faint grin. "Face it, Kathryn, even without having a clue about what was really going on, you and your crew ultimately managed to ruin their plan, and may be responsible for not only bringing about the end of the Orion Syndicate, but Section 31, as well."

She stared at him, then unwillingly, a small smile touched her lips, recognizing the humor in his words, if not able to find any in what had been an extremely harrowing situation. He was glad to see most of her anger had been blunted now, and he wondered why Picard and Ross had handled her so badly. They just didn't know what kind of person Kathryn was, he decided. Approach her logically, almost on a scientific basis, and she was perfectly reasonable. Tell her that she was just another officer expected to accept and follow whatever Starfleet had to do, dismiss her concerns as irrelevant to their operation, and of course, they were going to spark her temper and sense of outrage. That was the real reason Janeway wasn't Section 31 material, or even admiral material for that matter. She had to know all the aspects of what was going on. She could never operate comfortably in a position where she didn't feel in complete control ... as she did on the bridge of a starship.

Riker shook his head. This was why he dealt with the civilians on the Enterprise far more than the captain did. For all of Picard's abilities, he really wasn't that good at dealing with other strong-willed people, particularly where their emotions were involved.

"Don't be angry with Ro," he added quietly. "She was doing her job the best way she knew how. Of all of us, she was the one who wanted to tell you the most."

Janeway looked away, her lips tightening.

"She deceived me," she said, a trace of bitterness lacing her voice. "I doubt she ever wanted to be a command candidate. This whole operation was just another step on her way to becoming an operative in Starfleet Intelligence."

He shook his head, disagreeing. "On the contrary, Kathryn, she'd never make it in Intelligence," he said knowingly. "She reacts far too personally to things, and lacks the necessary distance an operative requires." He raised his eyebrow. "Like someone else I could mention."

She stared at him, not ready to accept that yet, and he decided it was time to change the subject. "So," he added, glancing down. "Do you need more chicken fingers? You've pretty much demolished those."

She blinked, then regarded the platter on the table in front of her with surprise, belatedly realizing that her side of the platter was completely clean, and she had made serious inroads into the first officer's portion as well.

"Well," she allowed bashfully, "perhaps I was a little hungry after all."

"More?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Fine," she said, and he raised his hand to signal Guinan. The bartender was still behind the counter, however, the lounge having filled up while he and the captain had been talking, busy with her other patrons. Riker smiled as he noticed a certain space remained around the table where he and the captain sat, as if no one had wanted to be too close to the senior officers. The Enterprise crew was nothing, if not perceptive ... or perhaps it had just been the expression on Janeway's face which had caused them to steer clear. Guinan glanced over, saw his gesture, and dipped her head. Shortly thereafter, one of her waiters arrived with another platter of food, including some kind of hearty stew which Janeway wasted little time in attacking.

"So tell me," Riker said expansively, watching as she ate, spearing a bite for himself now and again. "What else has been going on in your life since returning from the Delta Quadrant?"

Janeway entered the guest quarters assigned to her and her spouse, wondering if Seven had finished with her briefings yet. The illumination was dim, lowered to almost complete darkness, and she was about to order the computer to raise it when she spotted Seven sitting in the corner, barely visible in the starlight coming through the viewports. The young woman was leaning against the bulkhead, her knees drawn up to her chest, her slender arms wrapped around them in a desolate hug, as if huddling for warmth. There were tear stains on her narrow features, a puffiness around her eyes that indicated she had been weeping, and Janeway felt her heart twinge sharply in her chest. Leaving the illumination as it was, she moved over and quietly sat down on the deck next to the young woman.

"Annika?" she ventured finally, after Seven barely acknowledged her presence with a tiny glance in her direction, a mere shifting of her eyes sideways before dropping them to the floor once again. "Was Admiral Nechayev ... terribly obnoxious?"

"No," Seven said softly. "She was actually ... very kind. Far kinder than perhaps she should have been. I have been placed on probation for two years, and received a formal reprimand in my file."

Janeway considered that with surprise, and a bit of gratitude toward her superiors for granting Seven a certain leeway that they were certainly not required to provide to the young woman. Studying her partner intently, Janeway recognized the same sense of bone deep weariness and sadness in Seven that she, herself, was feeling. Slowly, the captain reached over and put her hand on the young woman's shoulder, squeezing lightly. She wanted to do more, to enfold the woman in her arms and protect her from all the responsibilities and harm that was out there, but knew she couldn't ... not in this instance.

"That's not so bad," she said with a lightness she was far from feeling.

"No, it is not," Seven agreed softly. She inhaled deeply, an audible sound of effort and unhappiness. "I am sorry I failed you as a Starfleet officer, Kathryn."

Janeway sighed. "That's not really what's at issue, Seven," she assured her. "Besides, you're far from the only one who made mistakes during this whole sorry incident. I can't count the ones I made, including letting Cheb have a second chance at harming us."

The two women sat in silence for awhile, both lost in thought.

"Can you forgive me for what I have done, Kathryn?" Seven asked finally, in a quiet voice.

Janeway hesitated, trying to think of a way to respond to that.

"It's not my place to forgive you, Seven," she said finally, trying to convey something that she, herself, only understood in the most tentative of ways. Her talk with Riker had gone a long way in clearing her mind, and she hoped that it had granted her the proper distance she needed to be able to help her spouse out of the confused tangle she was in. Certainly, if Janeway had tried to talk to Seven before she had taken the darker edge off most of her emotion, there might have been unfortunate repercussions. "I can't absolve you of your choices, nor is this something that I can 'fix' by taking responsibility for it from your shoulders."

"No," Seven agreed sadly. "It is not."

"That doesn't mean that I'm angry with you," Janeway continued, offering a gentle squeeze to the thin shoulder beneath her fingers. "It just means that this is something that I really can't help you with on several levels, as much as I might want to. This entire situation is just too big for me, in a professional, rather than a personal, way. That's not an easy thing for me to accept, and I freely admit that I don't like it much. It would be far easier for us both if I could just assume complete responsibility for the whole thing, but I'm learning that doesn't make things any better. All of us ... you, me, Ro, B'Elanna, Nechayev, Hayes, Picard, everyone ... made choices during these past few weeks, and we'll just have to live with those choices for the foreseeable future. In the end, we can only try to work things out for ourselves on an individual basis."

"It is your opinion of me that matters most, Kathryn," Seven told her plaintively.

"I know, but maybe it shouldn't," Janeway told her honestly. "It should be your own opinion that determines how you conduct yourself, regardless of what others think, including me." She paused. "What do you feel about your actions over the past few days?"

Seven swallowed, the muscles moving in her throat clearly visible as she considered that. "I thought I was conducting myself in an acceptable manner, that I was doing what was correct," she said slowly. She paused. "However, it was wrong, as subsequent discoveries on the planetoid proved. My actions were flawed, lacking the ethical and moral guidance you have provided in the past, devoid of the crucial information required for me to act properly."

"Why did you lack that crucial information?" Janeway prompted gently.

Seven was even slower to respond to that question. "I ... was frightened for you, and very angry at Cheb Packer and the Orion Syndicate," she admitted. "Because of that, I did not formulate my own decisions based on known data, or make an effort to discover more information, but instead, allowed Section 31 to guide me to the conclusions they wanted." She dipped her head. "Perhaps I also wanted to come to those conclusions, rather than consider all the options available to me."

"You, and Section 31, went for an extreme but fairly simple solution to the problem," Janeway told her, not unkindly. "Unfortunately, things are rarely so black and white in reality. There are usually too many shades of grey involved, and that's why a Starfleet officer has to consider all the data, not just the information that fits a specific course of action. Everything we do must be tempered with an eye to the greater good, as well as the understanding that we must always conduct ourselves with compassion, not only for our allies, but for our enemies as well."

Seven's eyes glistened in the low light. "You have explained this to me before," she said softly. "Many times." She faltered. "I have not entirely comprehended what you meant. Perhaps I did not want to comprehend. It is ... easier ... to react in a 'black and white' manner, Kathryn, to react purely as a drone protecting my collective. It is more expedient to act without regard for anything but what I consider important to me. I did not want to acknowledge that there might be something requiring attention beyond that. In many ways, I am still Borg."

"Yes, you are," Janeway agreed. "However, in many ways, I'm only a Starfleet officer, and sometimes I can't see beyond that. Otherwise, the concept of Section 31 would not have come as such a shock to me." She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, mimicking her partner's position. "Seven, do you now understand why, as captain, I used to become so stern with you about situations where you chose to ... terminate ... those who were threatening us?" she added softly. "Why I believed those actions were so inappropriate?"

Seven hesitated. "Yes," she admitted, her head bent. "You were afraid that, should I not accept the ideals of Starfleet, something similar to this would happen. That innocents would be harmed if I continued always to choose the most efficient, rather than compassionate method to deal with a problem."

Janeway felt her heart spasm at the pain in her partner's voice, and she reached over for Seven's hand, squeezing the fingers lightly. "It wasn't just their innocence I was concerned with," she said very gently. "I know your heart, Seven, and I know how you would have felt in the aftermath of such an incident. I would not wish that on you."

Seven caught her breath, suddenly, her eyes dark as she stared across the dimly lit room. "You are correct," she said.  "I am constantly aware of what the personal consequences would have been had I had found out too late that there had been children in that colony ... if I had willingly assisted in the death of so many beings innocent of the crimes the Orion Syndicate had committed."

"Seven, I won't lie; I prefer clear and concise answers as much as you do," Janeway offered, trying to find some common ground between them, to show her that, although Seven's actions had been extreme, she understood what had prompted them. She didn't want her partner to feel that she was condeming her in any way. As a senior officer, however, she had to emphasize just how much the method with which Seven and Section 31 had gone about things was unacceptable. "That's probably why we both like mathematics so much. In that area, a formula is created, logic is invoked, and in the end, we receive an answer that we know is correct. However, as Humans, we need to be guided by a belief system that is larger than ourselves, because we simply don't enjoy the same clarity and precision in every day life. For me, I look to the moral and ethical beliefs of my family, of Starfleet and of the Federation as a whole. I would like for those to be your ideals, as well."

"I understand, Kathryn," Seven said evenly. "However, Section 31 is also of Starfleet. Their set of ethics and beliefs are not so different from yours. In fact, they believe they are operating with a higher moral responsibility than the rest of the citizens in the Federation."

Janeway started to respond hotly, stung by that observation, and had to force herself to temper her initial response. "I suppose it could be looked at that way," she said finally, carefully allowing the point. "The fine line between what they do and what we do is a hard one to define, and I'm not sure how I can explain to you why they're wrong, and the rest of us are right. Maybe it's not even a matter of wrong or right. Maybe it's just a matter of degree, and the acknowledgment of the ideals that they ignore or lack. Mercy, honor and compassion are very intangible concepts." She paused, studying the mesh hand cradled in her palms. "I've always had difficulty conveying the intangibles to you in a way that you can comprehend, Annika. If I had managed to explain things better..."

"This is not your fault, Kathryn," Seven said strongly, interrupting her. "This is my responsibility, as you and others have said. I made the choices I did, even though I was fully aware that you would not approve of some of them." She glanced over at her. "I designated you as my template for ethical behavior, but it was up to me to live up to those standards. I comprehend the 'intangibles' as much as anyone, but decided to choose the simplest, most expedient methods instead." She swallowed hard. "That is my true failure."

Janeway swallowed hard against the lump which had abruptly appeared in her throat. "It's not that simple, Annika," she said softly. "You had so many outside influences, so many demands on you that perhaps you weren't ready for..."

"Yes," Seven said coldly. "I should have been more suspicious, more wary of the motivations of others. That was a lesson taught to me by the Mimic who impersonated my mother, but I ignored it in the face of the perceived kindness of Admiral Hayes. Apparently, I am slow to learn."

"That's not what I meant," Janeway said quietly. "Don't allow Hayes to make you cynical, Annika, or quick to be merciless in your judgements. One of my greatest fears, after the incident with the Mimic, was that you would lose all your innocence. Don't let this take it completely away from you. Don't automatically assume that kindness and a friendly hand cover secret and negative agendas. That's just not the case."

"I do not believe I will ever trust people in the same manner in which I have in the past," Seven told her, her pale eyes serious.

"I know," Janeway said sadly. "I just don't want you always to suspect the worst of people from now on, either."

Seven managed a smile, devoid of humor. "One is never disappointed that way," she pointed out.

"Perhaps," Janeway said. "Yet, one is never open to love or friendship that way, either. One misses positive experiences because one is too busy looking for the dark side."

Seven shook her head, but the look she offered the captain was considerably softer than it had been. "You are ... more adaptable than I, Kathryn," she said. "I try to be like you, but I do not always succeed. As events have proven, it is not always the wisest course of action to follow my own instincts, which are still very limited."

"Don't believe that," Janeway said seriously. "You're growing all the time. Consider this just one more lesson in a lifetime of them, and never forget, I'm always learning myself. Much of what happened this past week has shaken my beliefs and concepts of how the universe should be. It's possible that my perceptions were as faulty as yours ... in some ways, even more so. There's enough shame to go around, Seven, don't try to take it all on yourself. "

The young woman stared across the dim room. "Kathryn, why did you prevent my termination of Cheb Packer when I had the opportunity?" she asked suddenly. "Particularly since you killed him only a short time later."

Janeway frowned, searching for the words that would make it clear, not only for her partner, but to herself, as well. "If he had to die for his obsession with me, Annika, it was my responsibility to do it," she said finally, slowly. "He was my problem, and I had to be the one to take care of it. If you had killed him, it would have been a matter of revenge, a murder committed in my name. That would have been unacceptable to me."

Seven considered that. "I do not understand," she said finally, a little helplessly, and the captain tightened her grip on the young woman's hand comfortingly.

"I know," Janeway said with a small sigh. "I'm not even sure I understand it entirely, myself. Perhaps it goes back to my not wanting you to have to have his death on your conscience. It was a personal situation with him, rather than professional."

Seven hesitated. "In the future, I will try to be a better Starfleet officer," she offered quietly, though there was a tone in her voice, a note of defeat, as if she doubted she would be able to succeed. It was not something the captain enjoyed hearing, and she squeezed the young woman's hand again.

"I know you will, Annika," she said, regarding the young woman. She decided for both their sakes that a change in topic might be wise at this point. "Are you hungry?"

Seven blinked. "I have not thought about it," she admitted.

"When was the last time you ate?" Janeway insisted.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "While in sickbay, nutrients were included in my treatment, so it has been since early this morning," she said. She dipped her head in the direction of a piece of candy lying on the table nearby. "Admiral Nechayev offered me a 'lollipop', but I was unable to consume it all."

Janeway offered a crooked grin as she glanced at the token of Nechayev's secret vice. "I'm impressed," she said. "I don't believe the admiral is in the habit of handing too many of those out. Maybe she's warming up to you."

Seven looked away. "I do not believe I was allowed to understand her properly," she said, unhappily. "I am afraid that can be said about many situations and people since Admiral Hayes became my mentor."

Janeway flinched and reached out, putting her hand on the small of Seven's back. "Darling, it's time to step back a little here," she suggested. "I think that once you have something to eat, and get a little rest, you'll feel better."

Seven eyed the captain narrowly. "What of you? Have you eaten?"

"I had a late lunch in Ten-Forward this afternoon," the captain said, seeing the shadows from the pale eyes, and wishing she had some magical way to remove the darkness from her partner's gaze.

Seven tilted her head slightly. "Ten-Forward?"

"This vessel's version of a messhall," Janeway explained. "More upscale, however. A lounge rather than a cafeteria."

"What were you doing there?" the Borg asked. She reached up, her fingertips stopping short of touching the bruise on the captain's jaw, her expression sorrowful. "You should have been in sickbay."

"Possibly, but I was busy talking things over with an old friend," Janeway admitted. "I'm glad I did, Annika. I was pretty raw, and in no shape to talk with anyone closer to me. I was able to work out most of my aggravation over the situation with him."

"Who?"

"Will Riker," Janeway explained. "I've told you about him."

"Yes," Seven said, nodding. "He is the first officer of this ship. Was he able to assist you?"

"Yes, even if, at times, he was nothing more than a sounding board for me while I figured out where I stood with all this," Janeway admitted. "His objectivity allowed me to temper a lot of my anger."

"You were angry at me," Seven said sorrowfully.

"I was angry at everyone, including myself," Janeway said gently. "It was a badly handled incident in so many ways, not just by you, but by Starfleet. Section 31 would never have managed to get to you if only we had been more aware of what was going on right under our noses. A group like Section 31 wouldn't exist if we're doing our job properly."

"Yet, it does," Seven said soberly. "In fact, they still possess Voyager."

"I know," Janeway said, finding that a hard one to absorb. "Hopefully, not for long." She inhaled deeply, then uncoiled from the deck, using the bulkhead for support. "In any event," she added, holding out her hand to the young woman, "there's not much we can do about it at the moment. Let's get you something to eat, take some time to regroup, then we'll tackle the situation again tomorrow."

Seven accepted the helping hand, allowing her partner to pull her to her feet where Janeway slipped her arms around the young woman's waist, hugging her gently. Seven immediately returned the embrace, wrapping the captain up in her arms. For long moments, they just held each other, Janeway tucked up under the Borg's chin, her head resting on Seven's chest, hearing the throb of her heart.

"I am sorry, Kathryn," Seven whispered finally.

"I know," Janeway replied. "I am, too."

This would not be something they would be able to put behind them immediately, but Janeway hoped with time ... and the knowledge they loved each other ... the nagging sense of betrayal and disappointment they were feeling would eventually fade.

How long it would take, however, the captain just didn't know.

Seven pressed the admittance chime of the door, feeling uncertain about what she was about to do, but knowing she needed assistance. It was entirely possible that Janeway could adapt to the present crisis simply by becoming angry with Commander Riker, but for the Borg, she was left with lingering feelings of shame and regret, as well as the sense of having let her partner down in a most profound way. It ate at her, leaving her darkly depressed.

"Come."

Seven entered the office, and discovered that the assistant ship's counselor was not alone. Sitting in front of the desk, Kes's superior, Deanna Troi, looked back at the Borg with curiosity. A diminutive woman with long dark hair, the senior counselor radiated a serene demeanor, her eyes deep and comforting, dark pools of placid blackness. Kes, her blonde, blue-eyed Ocampa looks a direct contrast to the Betazed's, stood up at Seven's entry, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Seven," she said in her melodic tones. "Please, come in."

Deanna also stood up, extending her hand. "You're Seven of Nine," she said. "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Indeed," Seven remarked, taking the hand briefly, as politeness dictated.

The ship's counselor nodded. "Both Neelix and Tom are full of stories surrounding you and your spouse," she said by way of explanation. "You've led quite an adventurous life."

Seven managed not to react. "It did not seem ... 'adventurous' ... at the time," she noted.

Deanna offered a smile. "I suppose it didn't," she allowed. She glanced at Kes. "I'll speak with you later, Kes," she added.

"Of course," Kes said. "Thank you, Commander."

Troi nodded briefly to Seven, offering a faint smile, and left the office. Seven stood, her hands linked behind her back, and turned her head slightly to the side as she watched Troi depart from the corner of her eye.

"Seven?"

The Borg shifted her head forward, glancing at the Ocampa. Kes was gesturing at the chair. "Please, have a seat."

Seven hesitated, preferring to stand, but realizing that it was inevitable, she graciously sank down into the chair. Lacing her fingers together, she rested them on her lap neatly, her back straight, her eyes steady on the other woman.

"How can I help you?" Kes asked finally, after they had stared at each other for a few moments.

Seven hesitated, searching the Ocampa's face. "I wish ... I need ... to speak with Sek," she said, referring to the holographic medical assistant that had been created on Voyager, and who had become a close friend of the Borg's. Kes's violent return had precipitated a joining, a merging of the entity known as Sek with that of her other, resulting in a single being. For Seven, however, it was as if Kes had destroyed Sek, taking her over. She had not only lost a friend, but a trusted counselor who had been successful in helping her with many personal problems.

Kes tilted her head slightly. "Sek is still within me, Seven," she said quietly. "Still very much a part of me. Indeed, it was that missing part that caused my darkness. She is the light ... all that is good and wise and kind within me."

"I am ... troubled ... by that concept," Seven admitted.

Kes dipped her head. "I know," she said gently. "You do not trust the Kes part of me, nor do you believe that she would have your best interests at heart, as Sek would." She leaned forward. "Seven, I assure you that I am indeed both of them, and that Sek is as strong within me as the Kes part, perhaps even stronger. Without either, the beings that existed were incomplete."

"Sek did not seem incomplete," Seven said sullenly.

Kes smiled. "No? Why do you suppose she pursued a career in psychology? She was seeking her own completeness by helping others discover theirs. Why do you suppose she always kept the Doctor and Tom at arm's length, even when both offered their love?"

Seven studied her hands. "I don't know," she said finally.

Kes watched her, then seemed to reconsider what she was about to say. "You are of a dual nature, as well, Seven," she said instead. "Both Borg and Human influence the unique being you are."

Seven considered that. "It is my Borgness that has caused so much destruction lately," she said sadly.

"Has it?" Kes asked quietly. "Or was it your other side? How can you know what fueled your actions? Your Borg desire to protect your collective ... or Human desire for revenge on those who would harm your partner. Both aspects have a strong impact on you as an individual."

Seven lifted her eyes, meeting the kind gaze of the ship's counselor. Of course, she had reason not to trust such kindness, and despite her promise to Janeway not to be cynical, she found it hard not to flinch, or be angered by it. Kes seemed to sense that, and she leaned back in her chair, presenting a more casual, impassive posture.

"I appreciate that you are finding this difficult, Seven," Kes said in a calm, quiet tone. "However, will you accept that I have all the skills and abilities that Sek assimilated as a hologram when it comes to psychology? Can you allow that any help you can derive from speaking with me is purely on a professional, rather than a personal level, and will be to your benefit?"

Seven exhaled slowly. "I must try," she said, bleakly. "I cannot address these issues on my own, and I believe Kathryn is too ... close ... to the situation to be able to help me, despite her desire to do so."

Sek paused. "Would you prefer to speak with Commander Troi," she suggested. "She doesn't have the same history with you that I have."

Seven considered that. "No," she decided finally. "It is our 'history' that enabled me to come to you in the first place. You already know Kathryn and myself, as well as how we approach various situations. It would be less efficient to go to someone else once I have established a client record with you."

Kes nodded thoughtfully, and for an instant, Seven could see the being within her that she had known as Sek, could recognize her friend in this stranger whom she did not completely understand. For an instant, it was very difficult for her to retain her composure, missing the hologram greatly, and Kes lifted her eyebrow, apparently detecting the internal struggle the Borg was experiencing.

"It would not take long for Commander Troi to be brought up to date," she offered again, giving Seven every opportunity to gracefully distance herself from the Ocampa. Realizing the counselor was doing her best to put the control of the situation back in the Borg's hands, Seven was grateful for it. "I can transfer your case to her immediately."

"No," the Borg said, stubbornly resisting the easier path. That was a mistake she would not choose to make again "I have allowed my perceptions of others to rule my actions too often lately. I must at least make the attempt to participate in a session with you. If I am unable to overcome my reservations, then that will be the time to be treated by another counselor."

"I think you're being very brave, Seven," Kes said sincerely. "It's not easy to face one's failings and try to overcome them."

"I have been informed that it is what a Starfleet officer does," Seven said glumly, reminded of Admiral Nechayev's words to her during the Borg's briefing.

"You sound uncertain about that," Kes said with a small smile.

Seven blinked. "Kathryn is very clear on what a Starfleet officer should be," she said finally, after thinking about it.

"You always try to live up to what Janeway wants," Kes offered, without judgement.

"Yes," Seven said softly. "I ... it is very important to me."

The counselor nodded, reaching out and picking up a mug, sipping the tea in it. "You feel in this latest instance that you didn't," she said.

"No," Seven admitted, finding the word difficult to say. "I have disappointed her greatly."

"How do you know that?" Kes asked.

"She was very angry with me," Seven said. She paused. "She said my best was not good enough." She faltered. "She apologized later for the harshness of her words, but it was what she was truly feeling at the time. The way in which she chose to convey that disappointment was irrelevant."

"Not so irrelevant," the counselor noted gently. She looked pensive, obviously thinking over her next words. "You know, Seven," she added finally, "there's something very interesting you should know about Humans. They tend to react most extremely to the very traits they dislike the most in themselves. Do you remember the captain's reaction to Ransom?"

Seven frowned at the apparent change in subject. "Yes," she said, remembering the incident with the captain of the Equinox very clearly. "She was strongly ... perhaps, unnaturally so ... outraged and infuriated by his actions."

"What Captain Janeway reacted to was the display of personality traits in him that she shares in great measure: his obsessive nature, his arrogance, his ability to make seemingly cruel and harsh decisions to protect his ship, " Kes explained. "It's possible that she subconsciously feared that if Ransom, as a Starfleet captain, had allowed his 'dark side' to control him, then it might also control her one day. Yet, this 'dark side' is also a very necessary and vital aspect to Janeway. It is part of what makes her an outstanding captain, that allows her to make the tough decisions when required, that gives her the strength to be a good leader. In a way, all of us possess dual natures, Seven. With you and me, we might feel it's easier for us to separate and define the various elements because of our physical duality of hologram and Ocampa, or Borg and Human, but most people possess a duality of light and dark. Some, like Ransom, allow one side to dominate beyond reason."

"You're saying that Kathryn feels that my failure is her failure," Seven said slowly, considering this new revelation with uncertainty. "That is why she becomes so angry with me during those situations. She expects better of me as a Starfleet officer, because she expects so much from herself."

"Hmm, perhaps that's attributing a little more conscious perception by the captain than she actually has," Kes cautioned. "It's probable that Janeway doesn't even realize why certain things you do make her more angry than others. You just have to be able to recognize when she is reacting to you and your actions alone ... and when her reaction is being tempered by the elements she dislikes in herself." She linked her hands on the desk in front of her, tilting her head as she regarded the Borg. "Regardless, there is one important aspect for you to remember about this whole situation."

"What is that?" Seven asked.

"You were deceived through no fault of your own," Kes said seriously. "Your actions are your responsibility, yes, but the initial deception was not your fault. The members of Section 31 were the ones who deliberately led you onto a path where your choices were limited. Don't accept the blame or responsibility for their actions. You are innocent of them."

"I do not believe it is that easy," Seven said.

"Oh, I didn't say it would be easy," Kes said, sounding very much like Sek at the moment. "You'll be affected by this for awhile, and it will take time for you to make your own sort of peace with it. I just want you to remember that it's all right to make mistakes, and to learn from those mistakes, but be aware of which ones were yours, and which ones were the doing of someone else."

Seven exhaled, her head bent. "Needing to learn from my mistakes appears to be my priority," she said. "Particularly lately."

Kes offered a sympathetic expression. "Unfortunately, Seven, it's a difficult task," she said gently. There was a chime from her console, and she raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry," she added apologetically, checking her screen. "I have an appointment with a client now, but I can make more time for you before we return to Earth. Is that something you would like?"

Seven hesitated, then nodded. "Yes," she said. "I would like to speak further about this with you," she said.

"I'll schedule a series of sessions over the next few days," Kes promised, making a note in a padd. She studied Seven. "If you feel you need further therapy once you've returned to Earth, we'll make some kind of arrangements for you with a counselor there."

"I understand," Seven said. She stood up, preparing to leave, then at the last moment, she turned and looked back at Kes. "Thank you," she added softly.

Kes dipped her head. "You're very welcome, Seven," she responded. "Believe me when I tell you that I have greatly missed being able to help my friend."

Seven inclined her head in acknowledgment, then left the office, brushing politely past the Enterprise officer who was scheduled to see Kes at this time, her mind filled with the concepts that the counselor had presented to her. There was no question that she had a great deal to think about in the immediate future, not only about herself, but about her partner as well.

Pausing as she reached the door, Seven glanced back into the waiting area, something teasing past her preoccupation to draw her attention. She hadn't really noticed who was waiting to see the counselors as she exited, but from the corner of her eye, she must have detected something familiar, and she looked back now to see the Doctor enter Commander Troi's office. Curious, the Borg wondered why the hologram had not said anything to her as she walked past, then realized that he had not noticed her, either, possibly too involved with his own concerns to want to talk to anyone else. Seven knew the EMH was still deeply affected by what had happened in the Noiro colony, and she was glad he was getting help from the ship's counselor.

"Seven."

Frowning, the young woman turned, the weight she was feeling lightening somewhat when she saw B'Elanna and Ro approaching her. The Bajoran was looking much better than the last time Seven had seen her, dressed in a Starfleet uniform once again, her face devoid of the bruising she had received in attempting to help the captain escape the Orion Syndicate. She was also moving with her normal deadly gracefulness, not the labored, injured limp.

"It is good to see you both," Seven said honestly, when they had joined her. "I was not entirely sure what had happened to you after I had left sickbay."

"Probably the same thing that happened to you," B'Elanna said with a smile. "Long, tedious briefings along with lectures about our behavior." She paused, reaching out to touch Seven on her arm. "What's the damage?"

Seven understood that it was her friend's way of determining if the Borg had been punished for her actions. She raised an eyebrow.

"An official reprimand in my permanent record," she said. "Two years of conditional probation."

"Ouch," B'Elanna said, as Ro winced slightly.

"I'm sorry, Seven," the Bajoran said quietly. "You don't deserve that."

"On the contrary," Seven said evenly. "It is entirely possible I deserve far worse. My actions were unacceptable."

"Your actions," B'Elanna pointed out, emphasizing the word, "were a result of Hayes twisting you around so much for months that you didn't know what you were doing. It sounds to me like you're taking the fall for all the rest of the stuffed shirts that Hayes also screwed over."

Seven inhaled slowly. "Perhaps," she allowed. "However, B'Elanna, I must take responsibility for my choices. That is what being a Starfleet officer is all about."

The Klingon didn't pursue it, instead choosing to regard her friend for a moment, studying the Borg's face. "Are you all right?" she asked seriously. "What about the captain?"

Seven dipped her head briefly. "We are ... functional," she said, somewhat bleakly.

This served to darken B'Elanna's eyes, a concerned expression crossing her face, but before she could respond to that, Ro touched her arm, diverting the Klingon's attention.

"Seven," the Bajoran said. "We're going to lunch in Ten Forward. Why don't you join us?"

"That's a good idea," B'Elanna encouraged. "Come on, 'Nik. Things always look better when you have some food in your stomach."

Seven discovered she was smiling faintly, wondering if the counseling staff on this vessel was aware of the Klingon's treatment for all ailments.

"Thank you," she said. "I would ... appreciate that."

Perhaps with a bit of time spent with her friends, and some further sessions with Kes, Seven would stop feeling so alone and isolated ... would stop feeling as if she were the most unsuitable individual ever to wear the Starfleet uniform.

"So this is the one who didn't get away," Guinan said, regarding the couple benevolently.

Ro smiled, and blushed faintly, glancing at B'Elanna who looked faintly amused at her partner's discomfort. "She is," the Bajoran admitted. "We're planning on a ceremony in a few months. We'd really like it if you could attend."

"I wouldn't miss it," the bartender said, smiling warmly at her friend. She reached out and took the Klingon's hand, holding it as she took B'Elanna's measure. Bemused, the engineer returned the scrutiny, not backing down a millimeter.

"Yes, I think this is a good match for you, Ro," Guinan said finally, thoughtfully. "She's tough enough to put up with you."

"To be fair," B'Elanna noted immediately, "Ro has to be pretty tough to put up with me."

"I wasn't going to mention that," Guinan responded, provoking a laugh from the Klingon. She glanced at Ro. "I'd say this deserves a drink to celebrate while you wait for your table. Prune juice for your lovely fiancé?"

"Sounds great," B'Elanna said with enthusiasm, taking a seat next to Seven at the bar. The Borg was observing the interaction between the other women with an intrigued expression, though she had not spoken much since entering Ten-Forward, beyond the brief greeting she had offered Guinan when introduced to the enigmatic bartender.

"I'd prefer some spring wine if you have it," Ro said. The Bajoran had tried the Terran concoction her partner enjoyed on a previous occasion. It had taken three days, and some strong breath mints, before she was sure she had rid herself of the taste of prune juice completely.

"Seven?" Guinan asked.

"I will have a spring wine as well," the Borg responded politely.

Ro glanced around the lounge as Guinan prepared their drinks. This time of day tended to be quite busy for the recreational area, with members of the alpha shift breaking for lunch, while those from the gamma shift were enjoying a late supper. This, of course, was not the same lounge that Ro had known so well on the Enterprise-D, but it didn't seem to her that it should be so crowded, certainly not to the extent that they had to wait for a table. Then she saw the tufted, stocky form of Neelix moving through the crowd with a tray of dishes held high which he delivered to one table, and she realized what was bringing in the crew. On Voyager, they may have gotten tired of the Talaxian's varied menu, but here in the Alpha Quadrant, apparently Neelix's unusual dishes, created from scratch, alleviated the tedium of replicated food. Ro was glad that the golden-eyed alien had managed to find his niche so many thousands of light-years from his home.

"He seems to be fitting in very well," B'Elanna noted, her dark eyes following her ex-crewmate as he laughed and joked with the patrons.

"Neelix?" Guinan said, picking up on the Klingon's remark. "I couldn't do without him, now. My biggest fear is that your captain will want to transfer him back to her command once she's taken over the Millennium."

Ro raised an eyebrow. That was high praise for Neelix coming from the woman who had been alive a lot longer than most suspected, who had became Picard's friend in some sort of mysterious temporal event, who had actually cowed Q on more than one occasion. Still, pit her head to head with Janeway, and even the Bajoran, with all her advanced tactical training, wasn't sure which woman would come out on top.

Eventually, a table emptied, and Guinan escorted the three women to it, touching the design embedded in the center of the tabletop and activating a small screen to bring up the menu.

"I'd recommend the special," she suggested. "However, I'm sure you know better than anyone here what dishes Neelix excels at."

"Excels at," B'Elanna repeated after Guinan had glided away, shaking her head slightly. "Now, there's something I never thought I'd be saying about Neelix when it came to cooking."

"We all change," Ro offered dryly, generating a bit of a smile from her partner.

Ro noticed, however, that Seven did not seem to share in the engineer's good mood, suspecting that the Borg was still smarting from her reprimand. Without needing to communicate anything beyond an exchanged glance, Ro and B'Elanna spent the rest of the meal doing their best to cheer the young woman up. Not entirely sure they succeeded, Ro nonetheless thought Seven seemed a bit less downcast by dessert than she had been when they sat down.

The chocolate cherry cheesecake probably didn't hurt, either.

"What I do not understand," Seven said, as she sliced off another bite, "is how you and Nechayev knew where to find the Noiro colony."

B'Elanna shot a look at Ro, then reached over and slipped her fingers through the Borg's hair. Startled, Seven remained still as the Klingon carefully picked a tiny something from the blonde roots, and Ro blinked as she saw the tiny, dark speck on B'Elanna's fingertip.

"Transceiver," the Klingon explained shortly. "We knew you were being recruited by Section 31, Seven; we just didn't know which individual was contacting you. Not until I put this on you that day I ruffled your hair. Do you remember?"

"I do," Seven said, studying the tiny device curiously. "You monitored my conversations after that?"

"Yes," B'Elanna explained. "When Hayes revealed all at that lunch he shared with you at the Martian Seas, I knew we had him, but by the time I had received the transmission, it was too late. Janeway had been kidnapped by the Orion Syndicate, and you had gone off with Section 31 to rescue her." She paused, regarding her friend sheepishly. "I'm sorry we didn't come to you sooner, Seven, but we just couldn't. We didn't have enough information. Until we knew exactly who the agents in Command Operations were, it would have been dangerous for you and the captain to know. If you had given any hint to Hayes that Section 31's existence had been revealed, they might have been far less interested in recruiting you, and more concerned with removing you as a possible threat."

Seven considered that, her pale eyes thoughtful. "Yes," she said, with a certainty that sent a shiver down Ro's spine, as if the Borg was thinking about something she had detected during her mission with the cover operations group. "Moving prematurely would have resulted in Section 31 terminating Kathryn and myself immediately. Lt. Kagan, who was Admiral Hayes contact, is an extremely ... ruthless ... individual."

"Still, if we had to do it again, we'd probably have brought you into our confidence a lot sooner," Ro said.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "There is a Human saying," she said. "'Hindsight is always twenty/twenty.'"

Ro blinked, not recognizing the adage, but from B'Elanna's face, she could tell that the Klingon did, and didn't appear as if she felt particularly good about it. She made a mental note to have the engineer explain it to her later. In the meantime, she reached over and touched her partner's fingers in silent support, and the Klingon forced a smile.

"A lot of us were walking around with blinders on, 'Nik," she told the Borg, and Seven nodded sagely, as if this made a great deal of sense to her. Ro suspected that the conversation had slipped away from her a little bit, not knowing what either woman was talking about at this point.

Seven's head suddenly rose, and her pale eyes grew warmer. "The captain," she identified, and the other women followed her gaze to spot Janeway working her way through the crowd to their table.

Ro nodded to her superior officer. "Captain," she greeted. "We're almost finished, but if you'd like to join us..."

Janeway offered her a smile that seemed oddly devoid of her natural warmth. "Thank you, no, Lieutenant," she said, putting her hand on Seven's shoulder. "I'm just here to retrieve my spouse. There are a few more things that Admiral Ross would like to go over with her regarding the cloaking device Voyager used."

"Of course," Ro said, frowning slightly as the captain led her spouse away. There had been something there, a little vibration from the captain that she had detected, something that she had never sensed before ... at least, not directed at her.

"What's wrong?"

Twitching slightly, Ro realized that she had been staring blankly after the departed couple longer than was required. B'Elanna was regarding her from across the table, her head tilted slightly, a bemused expression on her face.

"I'm not sure," Ro admitted. "Did the captain seem ... oh, I don't know ... a little 'off' ... to you."

"She has just gone through a hell of an ordeal," B'Elanna pointed out.

"I know, but that's not it," Ro said with a certainty that made her stomach churn. "It was more like ... do you remember how she was with Chakotay after the encounter with Species 8472, once she had retaken command of the ship? When he countermanded her orders, and tried to break the deal she had made with the Borg?"

B'Elanna frowned, thinking. "You mean ... when she was still friendly to him, and exceptionally professional, but if you looked and listened really closely, you could tell that she didn't exactly trust him the same after that? It was as if something was suddenly missing from their relationship ... something that you didn't even know existed until it was gone?"

Ro nodded. "I'm detecting that same inflection from her now," she said softly.

"Regarding you?"

"I think so," Ro admitted. She paused, staring at her lover sadly. "Oh, Lanna, what have I done?"

"What you had to do," B'Elanna said, reaching over to take her hand. "Maybe the captain's a little irked that she wasn't in on everything, but she can't blame you for that. You were acting under orders from a superior officer."

"I don't think it's that simple," Ro said. "This sort of thing doesn't come down to what's right or correct, or even what had to be done. It has to do with what you feel in your heart, and right now, I don't think the captain believes I can be trusted, not with anything really vital or crucial to her. She'll go out of her way to make sure I'm never put in a position where I can betray such a trust ever again."

Inhaling slowly, B'Elanna squeezed Ro's fingers. "Maybe you're overreacting, Laren," she suggested gently. "The captain's probably feeling pretty raw at the moment. It's unlikely she's trustful of anyone."

"Perhaps," Ro said, trying to accept that small sliver of hope, but she really didn't believe her partner's encouraging words. She was a security officer, trained to look beneath the surface, to see beyond the superficial shell presented by the beings around her, and when she looked at Janeway, there was a distance that had not existed between them prior to this. She didn't know how to bridge it, or if she would ever be able to. Regardless of what else had gone on, Ro was aware that she had kept crucial information from Janeway involving her spouse, and the Bajoran doubted that the captain would be quick to forgive, regardless of how politely or professionally she treated her adjunct from now on.

In trying to prove herself to one important person in her life, she had perhaps harmed another. Ro wasn't sure the cost had been worth that, no matter how much she admired and respected Picard.

"Hey," B'Elanna said softly. "We should stop hogging the table. There are people waiting."

"You're right," Ro allowed, shaking off her melancholy with an effort. Standing up, she threw a small wave to Guinan who acknowledged it with an inclination of her head, before resuming her conversation with the people at the bar. As Ro followed her partner out of the lounge, B'Elanna's hand snaked out and snagged the Bajoran's.

"Come on," the Klingon suggested gently. "We're not on duty, there are no more briefings scheduled, and it's been weeks since I've held you the way you deserve to be held. Let's find the quarters they assigned us, and spend the rest of the afternoon catching up with each other."

Ro blinked. "I have to admit," she said slowly, "that sounds like a wonderful idea."

"I do have them occasionally," B'Elanna said slyly.

Ro smiled, cheered despite herself, and squeezed her partner's fingers. "You know, that transceiver was brilliant," she complimented the engineer. "How did you keep it from being detected?"

"It was shielded," B'Elanna explained as they made their way through the ship's corridors to their quarters. "Plus, it didn't transmit constantly, just when it found an energy wave it could use to disguise its transmission in a microburst."

"You gave it an AI?" Ro said, amazed as always, at her partner's ingenuity.

"A limited one," B'Elanna admitted modestly. "Enough to know when it was safe to send the information it recorded."

Ro shook her head as they entered the guest suite on deck eleven. "Phenomenal," she said. "I'll bet Starfleet Intelligence would love to get their hands on that thing."

"You'd win that bet," B'Elanna allowed, as she slipped out of her tunic and tossed it over the back of the sofa which was beneath the viewports lining the hull. "I had to leave the schematics with Nechayev. That was one of the first things she insisted on." She paused, glancing back at her partner. "I got the impression during our briefings that they're interested in assigning you and me to more covert operations."

Ro collapsed on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table, and spreading her arms along the top of the cushions. "I was left with that impression, too," she responded, thinking about it. "To be honest, Lanna, I'd be glad if I never had this kind of mission again."

B'Elanna nodded thoughtfully as she sat down next to the Bajoran. "I guess that doesn't surprise me," she allowed. "You take these things very personally, and that's not something you can do in Starfleet Intelligence."

Her head back as she stared at the ceiling, Ro inhaled slowly. "You're right," she agreed quietly. "I'm a terrible operative. Why did I ever think I could pursue a career in this?"

"The independence of being an operative might have appealed to you," B'Elanna suggested. "However, you keep finding yourself in very nasty types of situations, none of which have that secret agent type of appeal."

"Maybe I'm just stupid," Ro said grimly.

"No," B'Elanna said firmly, reaching over to pat her knee. "Just trying to find your way ... like the rest of us."

Ro swallowed, glancing down to study her boots. "What about you?" she asked softly. "I think you enjoyed this far more than I did."

B'Elanna smiled. "I admit, it had its moments," she said. "However, don't forget, I had all the fun jobs, like bugging Seven, lurking around starships, digging through databases, playing mind games with various admirals, and riding to the rescue at the end. You were the one who had the dirty work of actually going in and extracting the target from the mess she found herself in."

"Completely by accident, Lanna," Ro reminded the Klingon with a hint of exasperation. "If the Doctor hadn't joined the Syndicate, I'd probably have tracked him down elsewhere, dragged him back to Earth and would now be sitting at home, wondering what the hell happened to Seven, and where the hell you had gotten off to."

The Klingon raised her eyebrow, smiling faintly. "It just goes to prove, bangwI', the universe has a sense of humor," she told the Bajoran.

"An extremely twisted one," Ro agreed, shaking her head as she started to smile herself. Sometimes, the situation was such that one just had to laugh at it.

Otherwise, the weeping would never end.

The huge space dock hung suspended in the heavens, its contents surrounded by an assortment of worker bees, shuttles and spacesuited individuals. Janeway stared out at the panorama that was her domain, arms crossed over her chest, gazing past the starship to the orbital array of Utopia Planitia beyond, the multitude of docks buzzing with the industrious intent of Starfleet construction crews as they built or repaired the huge vessels which served as the lifeblood of the Federation. Such was the momentum of the large shipyard that it had not missed a beat while its commander had been missing. The captain wondered if that momentum would have slowed had she never returned. She knew she should be proud of such structure, aware that it was her attention to detail and organizational skills that had brought the facility up to its full potential, but she was finding it difficult to take comfort in anything, particularly after all her experiences the past few weeks.

"Captain?"

Janeway inhaled slowly, refocusing her eyes from the space beyond to the reflection in the viewport transparency in front of her, identifying the image of Admiral Nechayev ... as if that distinctive voice hadn't been identification enough.

"Admiral," she said politely, turning her head slightly. "Can I help you?"

"I heard they were loading the auxiliary fleet into the Millennium's hangars today," Nechayev said, coming up beside the captain, hands linked behind her back, looking out at Starfleet's newest starship. It was Frontier-class, a vessel which crouched in the dock like an animal caged, as if sullen at being restrained from leaping to the unknown and unexplored reaches of space which would be its natural habitat.

"They are," Janeway agreed. She raised her hand and pointed to an area of space free of other traffic. "They launched twenty minutes ago, and should be coming in on that approach vector."

The admiral nodded, and the two women fell silent as the fleet they were discussing finally appeared, pinpoints of light at first, moving silently across the darkness until they grew close enough for them to pick out the individual vessels.

Three Yellowstone-class Heavy Runabouts with extended science module capabilities, six Tornado-class Medium Shuttles and eighteen KillerBee Light Fighters designed to run escort duty while cruising hazardous space. Their approach vector was broken down into squadrons, each squad led by a wedge of six fighters surrounding two shuttles which bracketed the heavy runabout, three waves in all. Janeway should have been impressed ... she was impressed ... but still, something was lacking, and she stifled a sigh as she watched each squad separate and dock within the larger vessel. The auxiliary fleet utilized all three launch platforms; the smallest Gamma Hangar located on the back of the engineering section, the Alpha Hangar on the underside of the saucer facing front, and the Beta Hangar, which was located just aft and six decks below the bridge section.

"We should go take a look at them," Nechayev suggested casually. "Make sure they're secured properly."

Janeway was not particularly enthusiastic but she nodded, and together, they moved to the nearby pod, the captain programming the helm to take her to the Fast Explorer-type vessel. The viewport of the tiny transport boat took up most of the fore section, providing the women with a good view as they approached the massive vessel, the sleek lines and shining reflection of the snowy helm granting a beauty to the ship that was not matched, in Janeway's opinion, by many other vessels. Even feeling as detached from things as she had since returning to Earth, there was still a surge of emotion in Janeway's breast as she closed on the Millennium, a sense of being granted entrance into a special and significant world by entering the ship.

"I hoped this would bring you out of it," Nechayev said quietly, studying the captain surreptitiously.

"Sir?" Janeway responded, keying the helm controls as the tiny pod reversed and backed against the airlock, the panel by the door switching from red to green as the seal was checked and verified.

"You've been moping around since the whole Noiro incident," the admiral said as the two women stepped through the airlock and into the ship itself. "It's been worse since Voyager was discovered drifting and abandoned last week near Jupiter Station. Don't you think it's time to get over this whole mess and move on to better things?"

"With all due respect, sir," Janeway said, coolly, "I don't believe you know what you're talking about."

Nechayev sighed audibly. "Kathryn, you know I'm not one of those touchy-feely kind of admirals," she said with forced patience. "I'm not going to probe your tender psyche with gentle understanding and compassion, or carefully draw out your wounded feelings about abandonment and betrayal. I'm just going to keep hammering at you until you break, so you might as well just tell me what's eating at you, and save us both a lot of time and effort."

Despite herself, Janeway felt an involuntary grin touch her lips. Nechayev was nothing if not cognizant of her own failings, even to the extent of using them to her advantage at times.

"I'm having some lingering problems with the Section 31 situation," she admitted finally, deciding that she might as well get it over with.

"Could you be a little more specific?" Nechayev asked.

As the two women moved through the corridors to the primary hangar forward of the saucer section, Janeway tried not to sound as annoyed as she felt.

"It's not so much Section 31, itself, as how others in Starfleet chose to handle it," she said finally.

"You mean Ross and Picard," Nechayev said flatly.

"Yes," Janeway admitted with a touch of bitterness. "I'm having a lot of difficulty with that. I expect better from the people I serve with in Starfleet, and to me, it seems that their actions were no different than those of Section 31." She paused. "It's apparent to me that Starfleet has changed significantly while I was in the Delta Quadrant, and I'm not sure I can still wear this uniform with pride."

The admiral glanced over at her. "Don't you think you're overreacting, Kathryn?" she asked as she touched the controls for the hatch, stepping through to the catwalk overlooking the main hangar deck where the new vessels of Alpha Squadron were being taxied to their berths, a swarm of officers below surrounding each vessel to lock it down.

A muscle twitching in her jaw, Janeway lifted her head slightly as she placed her hands on the railing, leaning over slightly in order to watch the ships be secured. "I'm considering resigning my commission," she said quietly.

Nechayev rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Kathryn, you can't be serious. Starfleet has always been a political animal, reflecting whatever happens to be going on in the Federation," she said, her tone edging into irritation with the captain, as if she were not a particularly bright child. "Perhaps you were able to remain oblivious to it because of your father and his friends looking out for you, or maybe because you just plain didn't want to know, but this is how things operate in Starfleet Command, just as they did in your father's day, and his father's day before that."

"I don't agree," Janeway said stubbornly.

"Then you're far more naive than your spouse," Nechayev said plainly. "Even Seven, at this point, has a better understanding of how Starfleet works than you apparently do."

Janeway was stung by that one. "Seven was used by Starfleet," she said, outrage edging her tone. She knew how much her partner was still trying to deal with the incident, the captain granting her as much space and silent support with which to do it as possible, but also aware that things did not seem to be improving. However, her personal life was not something she was going to share with Nechayev, nor did she suspect, did the admiral want to hear about it.

"We're all 'used' at one time or another," Nechayev said, her narrow face stern. "It goes with the job, Kathryn. In fact, I doubt very much that you can say, as a captain, you didn't use every member of your crew ... including Seven of Nine ... to conduct missions when they had no idea what was really involved."

"That's..." Janeway stopped, reconsidering what she was about to say.

Nechayev snorted. "If you were about to say, 'that's different', then I'd like to know how." she demanded. "It's all part of the same chain of command, Kathryn. You're just pissed off because on this occasion, you were the tool being used, whereas, you're usually the one using the tools." She paused, schooling her voice to a gentler tone. "On a starship, you're the sole authority, Captain. You and I both know that. Furthermore, you spent seven years on Voyager as a completely autonomous authority. I understand that it's difficult suddenly to be just another link in the chain, and God knows, I sure as hell don't like it, myself, on occasion, but it's something that we both have to accept. That's how Starfleet works, that's how it's always worked, and that's how it's probably always going to work. If you can't live with that, then fine, Starfleet will get along quite nicely without you." She shot the captain an arch look. "Don't forget to take into consideration, however," she needled, "that very shortly, you can go back to being the authority again, instead of just another officer that has to follow it." She gestured, spreading her hands to encompass the hangar and the vessel beyond, which Janeway was expected to command.

Janeway refused to accept the validity of the words, her jaw stuck out pugnaciously, grey eyes stormy and dark as she crossed her arms across her chest, glaring out into the hangar.

"I swear, Kathryn, if you're about to pout, I'll have no choice but to slap you," Nechayev added unmercifully. Janeway glanced at her, startled to see that the admiral was being completely serious, then returned her eyes forward, disconcerted. "Quit acting like a child and start conducting yourself as the Starfleet captain I know you are."

"I doubt I'll ever trust in Starfleet the same way again," Janeway muttered reluctantly, after several minutes of silence.

"You were never supposed to trust in Starfleet blindly, Kathryn," Nechayev said, sighing slightly in exasperation. "It's an organization made up of individuals, not some faith or religion where the concept of it is tantamount to God. The only way it succeeds is when its members maintain a healthy skepticism about where it's going at any given moment." She reached over and put her hand on Janeway's shoulder, patting her awkwardly and generally shocking the captain who knew the admiral was not in the habit of such affectionate gestures. "However, while Starfleet doesn't need an officer so damnably enamored of it, it would be much poorer for losing you, just as you would be for losing it. Don't let that happen, Kathryn. Don't let Section 31 force you to give up the life you were meant to lead."

Janeway bent her head, thinking about it.

"Damn," she said finally, finding the truth painful, but forced to acknowledge it nonetheless.

"Yes," Nechayev agreed. "Yet, we're all damned together, Captain."

Shaking her head, Janeway regarded the vessels below her, realizing that while Starfleet continued to be nothing more than a reflection of the Federation, the vessels down there were a sign that the Alpha Quadrant had undergone significant changes while she had been in the Delta Quadrant. No mission had ever required such auxiliary vessels on a starship before, and though Janeway had enjoyed her test flights in the little KillerBee-class fighters, the fact that they were now being stowed away as regular complement on a starship she was expected to command, left her cold.

"Are you sure the fighters are something we really need?" she asked. "It's not exactly how I would like the Federation to be represented in the various quadrants."

Nechayev eyed her. "Are you telling me that there were times in the Delta Quadrant that you wouldn't have wanted something like a squadron of those to back you up?" she noted pointedly.

Janeway blinked . "No," she admitted finally, unhappily, as0 several violent and frightening encounters with the Hirogen, the Vidiians, and the Borg, abruptly popped into her head. "I can't say that such vessels wouldn't have come in handy during certain situations. In fact, we built the Delta Flyer because the class-two shuttles simply weren't sufficient for what we required."

Nechayev nodded, her expression serious as she viewed the small fighters being secured in the hangar. "Let's not have any confusion here, Kathryn," she said firmly. "You're going to be on your own with the Millennium as much as you were with Voyager, particularly in terms of what support Starfleet can get to you in a hurry. The only difference is, this time, you'll have the equipment to be true explorers and representatives of the Federation, not just stranded expatriates trying desperately to get home. Being able to protect your vessel is a priority, because you'll do us little good if you don't bring you, your crew, and your information back intact after every trip. We can't put a facility like DS9 out there for you, but we can provide you with some of the same types of vessels that our deep space stations have for protection and support."

"I understand, Admiral," Janeway said. She didn't have to like it, however, she added silently as another deadly craft was taxied into its berth under the catwalk lining the bulkhead of the alpha hangar. She decided that she didn't have to like any of it, and longed for the simplicity of commanding a starship again, rather than dealing with all the politics behind it. She took a breath. "Admiral, with all due respect, I would like my appointment to command the Millennium to be authorized in writing, with your signature, and if possible, I would like it on my desk by the end of the day."

Nechayev looked over at her, her pale eyes assessing her. "Isn't my word that you'll be granted this command good enough for you?" she asked, her tone silken.

Janeway hesitated. "No," she said finally. "Not when it comes to a command appointment."

The admiral smiled with satisfaction. "Now, you're catching on, Kathryn," she said, reaching in her tunic to pull out a padd and handing it to the captain, who regarded the authorization it contained with a touch of surprise, feeling that once again, the admiral was three steps ahead of her. It was dated for three months earlier, and signed not only by Nechayev, but by Paris and Ross as well, though a signature from Hayes was conspicuous by its absence.  "Frankly, Captain," Nechayev added dryly, "I was beginning to think that you were learning nothing during your tour in administration. Now, I'm convinced that this experience with Section 31 is exactly the wakeup call you needed to be the proper commanding officer for this sort of mission."

Staring at the padd, Janeway still felt somewhat adrift, but the official notation in her hands gave her a professional anchor, a certainty to hold onto while she worked to right herself personally.

"Thank you, Admiral," she said.

"Let's see if you're still thanking me a year from now," Nechayev said dryly. "It's an unproven ship, with an unproven crew, and where it's intended to go will leave you without backup from Starfleet. It'll be Voyager all over again ... times ten."

"Not quite," Janeway said, raising her head, her eyes shading to a more even blue-grey. "This time, we'll be out there by choice, rather than as a result of circumstances beyond our control. Furthermore, after recent weeks, it'll be a relief to deal with an area of space other than my own for awhile."

"Agreed," Nechayev said firmly, staring out at the hangar. "I realize that we're going into the holiday break for Terran Solstice, Captain, so you should take some time in the upcoming two weeks to regroup and center yourself. Once you've returned, you'll be far too busy to worry about Section 31. Starfleet has moved up the timetable for Millennium's launch." She glanced at the other woman, and despite all that she had been through in recent weeks, Janeway felt a tiny thrill pass through her as she heard the admiral's next words.

"You'd better start assembling your crew. USS Millennium departs Utopia Planitia on its maiden voyage in four months."

Seven regarded her console screen curiously, surprised to see the official confirmation sent to her so soon, and wondering if there was some reason the timetable had been accelerated. Regardless of her surprise, however, it also came as something of a relief. Section 31 still existed somewhere, and she knew she would be far more comfortable on a starship. She suspected her partner would be as well, the captain seeming more at loose ends the past few weeks than she had before her kidnapping.

She glanced at the scientists who comprised her TPG lab team, trying to figure out if any of them were the sort that would be pleased for her, or would be excited at knowing this information, then realized that while she had formed tentative friendships with some of them, none were of the type of bonding that she had developed on Voyager. That saddened her, but after the events of the past few weeks, she thought she understood it. She downloaded the message from her console onto a nearby padd, then picked it up.

"I must speak with Dr. Brahms," she said shortly to Dr. Schneider. He nodded, not looking up from his work station. She knew he had heard her, but doubted that he much cared where she was going. Her team worked well together, but Seven was beginning to realize it was more a matter of having common goals rather than because they had developed personal relationships. Left to their own devices, each member tended to quickly isolate him or herself with a specific line of research during the initial stages of a project, leaving Seven to bring them all together before starting the series of tests that would prove or disprove their various theories.

It occurred to Seven that anyone could do that ... or rather, anyone capable of understanding the various lines of brilliant theoretical data presented by the scientists and technicians during the course of the project ... and it was probably just as well that another duty was beckoning her.

She discovered the head design engineer of the TPG working alone in her office, and Dr. Leah Brahms looked up curiously as Seven tapped uncertainly at the door frame. The Borg knew that the scientist had an 'open door' policy established, but she had never quite comprehended it. She compared it to how Janeway ran her starship, and knew that the captain would never leave the door of her ready room open at all times. She wasn't sure what that meant, just that it made her slightly uncomfortable when dealing with Brahms on a professional basis. She preferred privacy when she spoke to her superior, and felt uncertain with the knowledge that just anyone could walk in while they were carrying on a conversation.

"Seven, come on in," Leah said, putting aside the schematics she had been working on. "Have a seat." She gestured to the chairs and sofa which were located on one side of the office, an area designated for 'discussion'. Seven preferred a desk to stand in front of when she delivered her reports, but over the past year, she had adapted to this more casual approach. Gingerly, she sank into one of the chairs, her back straight, her torso angled forward as Leah took a seat on the sofa. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Seven shook her head. "No," she said. "Thank you." She waited until Leah had poured herself a mug of tea, then handed her the padd. Brahms read it, raised an eyebrow, then read it again. When she was done, she placed it on the coffee table.

"This is rather sudden," she said, her features serious.

Seven lifted her chin. "You were informed when I began this posting that I intended to transfer to my spouse's vessel as soon as she had been assigned a new starship command," she reminded her.

"I know," Brahms said, sipping her tea. "I thought ... I hoped ... that once you had worked with the TPG, you would decide to stay with us. You won't be able to pursue this sort of theoretical research on a starship."

"I am aware of that," Seven agreed. "However, as ... fascinating ... as this experience has been, my choice is to go where the captain's duty takes her." She paused. "After the events of the past weeks, I believe I would be far more comfortable serving on a starship rather than here on Mars, in any event."

Brahms sighed. "I suspect I'll never know everything that went on while you were gone, Seven," she said, referring to the classified nature of the Borg's encounter with both Section 31 and the Orion Syndicate. "I'm just disappointed that it apparently gave you the idea that this isn't where you should be. You're a brilliant scientist and one of the most formidable minds that I've ever encountered. The TPG was lucky to recruit you, and your loss is going to leave an irreparable hole in our team."

"Thank you," Seven said politely. "However, I enjoy starship duty, including the comaraderie that is formed on a vessel on its own in deep space." She paused thoughtfully. "It is different than that which is formed within a facility such as this."

"Is that why you're leaving?" Brahms asked, surprised. "The comaraderie?"

"No," Seven assured her. "There is a satisfaction in undertaking scientific missions in the field that conducting tests in a lab does not provide. There is also the unexpected aspect of space exploration. It provides a decided change from always knowing what the next project will be prior to finishing the current one."

"I guess you know what's best for you," Brahms said, shaking her head regretfully. "I'm sure Admiral Hayes will be disappointed, however. He was the one who suggested I actively pursue you for this facility, and I'm so glad he did. You've been an asset to the TPG, the kind that only comes along once in a great while. I was thrilled when you chose our facility."

Seven blinked, another piece of the puzzle abruptly fitting into place, and she felt a little twinge in her chest, knowing that Dr. Brahms, whom she respected greatly, was yet another person deceived by the admiral's machinations. "I do not believe the admiral will be that disappointed," she said coolly.

Brahms frowned. "I disagree, Seven," she said. She leaned forward, looking at the Borg earnestly. "Can't you wait until the admiral returns from his leave before making your decision? I'm sure he could explain better than I can what advantages lie in remaining with us."

Obviously, while Dr. Brahms was aware that the admiral had become Seven's mentor, and hoping that the personal relationship would provide him with a stronger argument than the one she was providing, she had no idea what had truly gone on with the admiral. The 'leave' actually consisted of Hayes sitting in a cell in a Starfleet security facility awaiting his court martial, and what 'official' reason would be distributed for his continued absence in the future remained uncertain. Starfleet apparently did not want it known to the general public, or even to their lower ranks, that one of their admirals had been involved in a scheme to massacre a colony full of families. As all this went through her mind, Seven did her best not to change expression, thinking that if the scientist only knew what the Borg knew, Hayes would be the last person Brahms would be invoking in the attempt to change Seven's mind.

"I agree that he probably could explain it better," Seven offered dryly. "However, I doubt that he shall be back from his 'leave' before I join the Millennium."

This was not something the Borg could share with her superior, any more than she could reveal that the scientist had been nothing more than a dupe in the admiral's plans to keep Seven close by until it was time for Section 31 to make their move. It would do Leah little good to know about it, and even if Seven did not agree with Starfleet's reasons for classifying the events surrounding her recent adventure, it was enough for her not to want to hurt the woman by telling her the truth.

"There's nothing I can say that will cause you to reconsider?" Leah tried plaintively.

"No," Seven said. "I appreciate your desire to keep me as a member of your facility, Dr. Brahms, but this is a decision that I made long before this moment, and it is one that I am content with." She reached out and tapped the padd with her fingertip. "I have included a list of suggestions as to the restructuring of my lab so that it will not loose any efficiency after my departure. I would recommend that Dr. Schneider take over as project head."

"It won't be the same without you," Brahms said. "So what will you be doing on the Millennium? Isn't it difficult having your spouse as your commanding officer?"

Seven tilted her head as she considered that. "The captain and I learned early in our relationship to keep what happens on the ship outside the door of our quarters," she explained. "It allows us to maintain a professional relationship which is separate and distinctive from our personal one." She thought idly that it was not necessarily a pattern that had worked well in the Federation. On Voyager, even if they limited their talk about business during their personal time, they still always knew what was going on with the rest of the ship. Here in the Alpha Quadrant, not knowing what was going on beyond their doors had almost turned deadly for them both.  She paused. "I must admit, I am anticipating the resumption of that existence. I have missed working with Kathryn day to day. She is exceptionally intelligent."

What she didn't add was that she hoped once they were on a starship and in deep space again, she and her partner could recapture what had been lost between them, keenly aware of the distance that remained between them. Seven's sessions with Kes had helped her deal with resuming her professional responsibilities, as well as coming to terms with what being a Starfleet officer truly meant to her, but she had not arranged for any further therapy once she had left the Enterprise. Now she was left wondering if that had been the wisest course of action, since the personal problems persisted.

Brahms studied her. "Not as intelligent as you," she said carefully. "I noticed the last time she visited that she seemed more than a little lost when Schneider was explaining your newest project."

Seven smiled faintly. "To be honest, Dr. Brahms, you also look somewhat lost when Dr. Schneider explains our projects," she pointed out. "He has developed a way of speaking that can be deliberately obtuse. He believes that if he can make his research complicated enough, he will receive resources for it simply because the administrators at Starfleet will be so impressed with the intricacy, they will not look further into it."

Brahms laughed. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Are you sure about recommending him to take over for you?"

"He is the most efficient in his work habits, and will be able to maintain the organizational structure I put in place," Seven explained. "Simply have Dr. t'Rum'ph translate any reports for you, and you will know exactly what the team is working on at any given moment."

"I think you've learned a lot about management since you've been here," Brahms complimented warmly, reaching over to put her hand on Seven's forearm. "That was one area in which I wasn't sure you would ever become comfortable."

"It is something that should prove useful on the Millennium," Seven agreed. "Particularly since there will be a large contingent of civilian scientists on board. I anticipate having help, however. I have sent a personal request to Dr. Lenara Kahn on Trill in the hopes she will accompany the ship on its initial journey. She had expressed an interest in 'expanding her horizons', and a vessel dispatched to areas of space that have yet to be explored, should accomplish that adequately."

"When do you start?" Brahms asked.

"As soon as you can authorize the transfer," Seven replied honestly. "It would be most efficient for me to report for duty once the upcoming holiday break has ended."

Brahms laughed a little. "Maybe you do belong on a starship," she said. "You certainly don't believe in wasting time." She picked up the padd and input some data into it, then downloaded it into her own database. "I guess if you're that anxious to get started, I'm not going to stand in your way. I'll authorize this transfer and transmit it to Starfleet Command immediately." She lifted her eyes to meet Seven's. "Along with a commendation for the excellent work you've done here."

"Thank you," Seven responded. Such a note would contrast nicely with the reprimand which had already been placed in her permanent record, and she wondered if the two would not offset each other somehow. At the very least, perhaps the recommendation by Dr. Brahms would mediate the severity of Seven's punishment to any senior officer who perused the file in the future.

She supposed she was fortunate she was transferring over to Janeway's command. Any other captain might have been confounded when faced with the sort of personnel file the Borg boasted.

"We're going to miss you, Seven," Brahms continued, rising to her feet. Belatedly, Seven followed suit, and took the hand the scientist offered. "I'm going to miss you."

"I shall ... miss you as well," Seven admitted. "You were an adequate superior, and a good friend to me during my time here. Thank you for your kindness."

"It wasn't kindness, Seven," Brahms assured her. "I do consider you a friend. Be sure to maintain a correspondence with us. We'll be very interested in what you discover when you're out there in the vast unknown."

"I shall," Seven promised. She accepted the padd Brahms handed her, with the copy of her authorized transfer contained within. "I intend to clean out my personnel locker before leaving the facility today. Do you wish for me to inform my team about my departure, or would you rather inform them?"

Brahms blinked. "I'm surprised they don't already know," she said.

"We are in the middle of Project Minotaur," Seven explained. She paused. "It never came up."

The scientist laughed and put her hand warmly on the small of Seven's back as they walked to the door. "I'll tell you what, Seven," she said. "Let's you and I go tell them, together. Maybe I'll even grant them an early start to the holiday break to salve your loss."

Lake Planitia was ruffled by a light breeze, stirring up whitecaps to grant character to the usually calm body of water that was the largest on Mars. The reddish sand cushioned B'Elanna's bare feet as she strolled along the beach, her uniform trousers rolled up, carrying her boots in her hand as the sound of the waves lapping against the shore provided a peaceful counterpoint to the cries of the Terran gulls overhead. She looked up, appreciating the gracefulness of the birds swooping through the pleasantly cool, dry air. They had been imported to the red planet a century earlier, though over the generations, they had evolved into much smaller versions than their cousins on the homeworld, about the size of robins, with feathers that were almost blinding in their whiteness.

She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked toward the back deck of the house she shared with her partner, identifying Ro standing there, sipping from a mug. Surprised that the Starfleet officer was home from the shipyards before she was, which was not normally the case, B'Elanna quickened her pace. Ro must have noticed the Klingon's approach, because she raised her hand in a brief wave before going back inside the house. B'Elanna discovered the Bajoran minutes later on the sofa, padds littering the coffee table in front of her.

"What's up?" the engineer asked as she wiped the sand from her feet on the static mat just inside the french doors, dropping her boots on the floor. She began to shrug out of her tunic as she moved over to join her partner. "You're home early."

"The captain decided to grant those of us in her immediate staff an early start to the holiday leave," Ro explained. "Perhaps because when we return, we'll immediately start assembling the crew for Millennium's newly scheduled launch in fourteen weeks."

"Wow, four months," B'Elanna said, blinking as she sat down next to the Bajoran. "It was supposed to take another eight. How come I didn't hear anything about this?"

"I guess Starfleet Command didn't feel they had to clear an acceleration in their plans with you," Ro noted dryly, earning herself a poke in the ribs that made her smile. She handed her a padd. "Your orders arrived a couple of hours after I got home. I guess Captain Janeway already had them cut pending notification of her command appointment."

Bemused, B'Elanna accepted the padd, looking at the request for transfer. "Chief Engineer?" she said in astonishment. "Can Janeway do that?"

Ro frowned, glancing at her. "You sound surprised," she said, studying her partner.

"Well, I hoped that she would want me in her crew, but I didn't expect the chief engineer's position," B'Elanna said. "There are a few other people in line ahead of me."

"As far as I know, the captain always planned to offer you first refusal," Ro said. She paused, then added in a neutral tone, "Don't you want it?"

"Of course," B'Elanna said. "What engineer wouldn't want to be in charge of those engines?" She eyed her partner. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a big step in your career," Ro agreed. "Provided a deep space assignment is what you want."

B'Elanna exhaled. "You know, you're right, we haven't talked about this yet," she said. "I guess ... I thought you were going as her first officer, and I just wanted to be a part of the crew. Being offered the post of chief engineer is a bonus." She frowned as a sudden thought struck her. "You are being posted to the Millennium when Janeway goes, aren't you?"

"I haven't received any orders to that effect, yet," Ro responded.

"What?" B'Elanna stared at her. "Haven't you talked about it with her?"

"The captain and I haven't discussed anything other than the shipyards since our return," Ro said, her attention suddenly on her coffee table. "In any event, I sincerely doubt that my being her first officer is anything Janeway wants."

"Oh, Laren," B'Elanna said softly. She regarded her partner, seeing the firmness of the jaw, the indications of distress around the dark eyes, though the Bajoran was doing her best not to show it. "I'm sorry." She abruptly flung the padd down on the table. "If she thinks I'm going to be her chief of engineering while she treats you this way, she's got another think coming."

Ro smiled faintly, as if amused at her partner's outrage. "B'Elanna, you might want to reconsider that," she cautioned. "After all, we both agree that this would be a great assignment."

"I'm not leaving you behind," the Klingon protested. "Especially on a vessel like this. Its first mission is expected to take a year before it sees port again. Even then, it's only going to be a space station on the outskirts of the Federation to transfer logs and personnel, before taking off on the next mission." She faltered, uncertain. "Do you want me to leave?"

Ro turned swiftly to her, reaching out to take her hand. "Of course not," she said intently. "I just don't want to be the reason you refuse a professionally advantageous posting like this."

"Do you think it would mean anything at all if you and I weren't together?" B'Elanna asked, feeling her throat fill. "Laren, part of the reason I was able to get along on Voyager was because I didn't really have anyone back in the Alpha Quadrant missing me. There is no way I could do it now. It's not even an option, all right?"

The Bajoran hesitated, then nodded, a soft expression on her face. "All right," she said.

"I can't believe that Janeway is acting like this," B'Elanna said, frustrated.

"Lanna, she doesn't feel that she can trust me completely," Ro said quietly. "I can't blame her for that."

"You were just doing your job," B'Elanna seethed.

"Yes, but I was doing it for Picard, not her." Ro paused, her expression pensive. "Janeway is someone who places a great deal of emphasis on loyalty, Lanna. She now feels that she never possessed mine. That doesn't mean that she's treating me any less professionally, just that she's not going to allow me into a position of trust that being her first officer requires. Besides, it's rare that a captain gets to choose a first officer anyway. Usually, they're assigned by Starfleet."

"I'll bet if Janeway requested you, they wouldn't refuse her," B'Elanna insisted.

"Perhaps not," Ro said, sighing slightly. "However, it's probably not something that she's going to ask, so we might as well just figure out what to do from here."

B'Elanna squeezed her fingers. "As long as we're together," she insisted. "I'm not one of those officers who think a career is more important than being with the person I love. I'd resign my commission before I'd let that happen."

Ro smiled. "Neither one of us are the typical Starfleet officer," she reminded her. "We've both walked away from the uniform before, and undoubtedly, we could do it again. However, it's possible that we could find a place together."

"Why not here?" B'Elanna suggested, lifting her hand to indicate their current dwelling. "We have this great house by the lake, and the shipyards aren't that bad to work for. I'm sure that you could get another adjunct position with someone in Starfleet Command." She paused, then added evilly, "I hear Nechayev's looking for another attaché to replace Kagan."

Ro snorted. "You're nasty, do you know that?" she said affectionately, as B'Elanna laughed. Sighing, the Bajoran leaned back on the sofa, staring into the fireplace. "It is a great house," she agreed thoughtfully.

"Staying around Mars wouldn't be so bad," B'Elanna offered as she settled down beside the other woman, turning slightly so that she could put her head on Ro's shoulder. She smiled as she felt the Bajoran's arm come up around her shoulders, hugging her to the lanky body, and she patted the woman's belly through her tunic comfortingly, wanting to ease her concerns. "I rather like it here, and Marsport isn't such a bad city."

"Is settling down what we really want to do, however?" Ro asked her curiously. "Are we ready for that?"

"Between the pair of us, we've been through more than our share of adventures," B'Elanna reminded her. "Certainly more than the average Starfleet officer. I don't think it's asking too much to have some time just to live like normal people."

Ro considered that carefully.

"Nawww..." they both said together, and started to laugh. Ro leaned over and kissed the Klingon gently.

"You always make me feel better," she said, nuzzling B'Elanna's ear. "That's not an easy thing to do."

B'Elanna snuggled closer. "It's my pleasure," she said sincerely. She settled a little closer, allowing her hand to find the fastening of the Bajoran's Starfleet tunic, sliding it down. Ro regarded her quietly, a small smile touching her lips, a sort of glow lightening her dark eyes. Slipping her hand under the sweater beneath to touch warm skin, B'Elanna kissed her partner's neck. "Of course, I wouldn't mind making you feel even better."

"Dare I ask how?" Ro queried idly, lifting her chin as the Klingon traced a trail along her throat.

"Only if you want to waste time asking a question you already know the answer to," B'Elanna told her easily. She removed her hand from beneath the sweater, and tugged at Ro's tunic, slipping it off her shoulders, first one, then the other, the Bajoran readily tossing it aside. The Klingon's sweater soon followed, then trousers and undergarments. Before long, Ro's lean, cool body was pressed against B'Elanna's, and the Klingon was finding it difficult to breathe as they kissed so deeply, she thought she'd pass out from the sheer intensity of it. Stretched out along the length of the couch, entwined in an erotic embrace that neither woman seemed able to get enough of, B'Elanna decided that such things as what their next assignment might be, were insignificant indeed.

Afterward, they sprawled in lazy pleasure across the sofa cushions, their perspiration drying in the cooling air as the setting sun cast its dying red fingers across their bodies, making their glistening skin glow with fire. B'Elanna reached up for the blanket draped across the back of the nearby chair, barely managing to snag it with her fingertips without leaving the warmth of her partner's smooth skin, dragging it to her until she had enough to flip over them. Ro made a soft sound of contentment and huddled closer to her lover, resting her chin on the proud ridges of the Klingon's brow.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," she murmured, brushing her lips over the dark hair.

B'Elanna smiled. "You know I feel the same," she whispered back. "I love you, Ro Laren."

"Even when nobody else wants me?" the Bajoran teased.

"I'll always want you," B'Elanna promised. "That's all that matters."

Lights twinkled within the green bows of the fir tree, reflecting off the tinsel and ornaments that had been in the Janeway family for centuries. At the top, a star glittered, brushing against the ceiling, and the smell of evergreen evoked countless Christmases past as Janeway placed her gifts under the sweeping branches. Music of this specific holiday played softly in the background, and from the kitchen, the captain could hear the murmur of voices as Seven, Gretchen, and Grandma Taylor prepared the turkey which would be placed in the oven and left to roast all night ... or at least, until the timer went off.

It hadn't taken Seven of Nine long to grasp the Traditionalist's concept of Christmas that first year on Earth, celebrated within the holiday break of Solstice ... winter for the Northern Hemisphere, summer for the Southern half ... particularly with the exchanging of gifts, and the idea that they were celebrating a birthday of a spiritual leader. She did have a little more difficulty with the concept of who exactly that spiritual leader was, particularly in this second year, pointing out that an omnipotent creator sending down a son to 'die for one's sins' smacked of allowing a specific group of Humans abdicate responsibility for their own errors in judgement ... something Seven had been quite sensitive to lately.

Janeway was just so happy to see her partner's eyes sparkle with some enthusiasm for a change, to see some spark to her personality, both of which had been missing since their experiences with the Orion Syndicate.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway looked over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow as her sister entered the room.

"I'm taking the dogs out for a run," Phoebe said, her level grey eyes assessing her older sibling curiously. "Want to come along for the exercise?"

Janeway weighed the idea of staying near the fire where it was warm, or facing the frigid air of an Indiana Christmas Eve. The look of challenge in Phoebe's eyes, the inflection in her voice, as if she expected her sister to choose comfort over forging through the snow, decided the captain.

"Lead the way," she said, uncoiling from the floor and following her sister out to the closet in the front hallway where she retrieved a heavy jacket and boots, as well as a thick scarf, some lined gloves, and a warm, knitted hat.

The air hit her lungs with a bite as she stepped onto the front porch, and she gasped a bit as the dogs brushed past her rudely, leaping down off the porch without benefit of the stairs, romping through the fresh drifts in a display of energy unleashed. Despite all that had happened in recent weeks, Janeway felt her spirits lift as she regarded their unrestrained joy, and she descended the stairs with renewed vigor, the snow squeaking beneath the tread of her footwear. Glad of the thermal underwear she had on beneath her jeans, she glanced up, seeing clouds gathering in the frosty night sky, the smell of snow sharp in her nostrils.

"Invigorating," she said, glancing over at her younger sister, who smiled back.

"I'm glad," Phoebe said as they tramped down the driveway. "I was beginning to worry about you .... and Seven. You both seem ... I don't know ... unlike yourselves. Is everything all right between you?"

"Of course," Janeway said, suddenly concentrating on the line of trees in the distance, their branches, stark without their leaves, reaching mournfully over the horizon, keenly aware of her sister's skeptical expression beside her. Phoebe didn't bother to refute that, her wordlessness speaking volumes as she maintained her pace with Janeway step for step. They moved out to the road which had been plowed for land vehicles, leaving it a wide expanse of white dotted with black pieces of gravel.

"We ran into a bit of a mess not too long ago," the captain admitted finally, unable to take the accusing silence any longer, which undoubtedly had been Phoebe's intention. No one knew how to get to Kathryn Janeway quicker than her sister ... not even Seven.

"Tell me about it," the artist prompted.

After only a brief hesitation, Janeway obeyed, suddenly realizing as she did how much she had needed to share what she had gone through while captured by the Syndicate ... by Cheb ... with someone who knew her as Kathryn, not as a Starfleet captain. Unwilling to discuss it, or to burden Seven beyond what she already was in her own struggles to deal with the situation, Janeway had been left on on her own. It also didn't help that by nature, Janeway was reticent about many people knowing her internal insecurities. Phoebe, for all their arguments while growing up, was someone Kathryn knew she could trust absolutely, and while there were certain details of the incident the captain could not share because of their classified nature, there was still plenty left to indicate how serious the whole situation had been, and why she and Seven were still in the process of recovering. They had walked quite a distance by the time she had finished, having made an entire circuit around the next farm before heading back down the road toward the Janeway homestead.

"Ever since we've returned, it's not been the same between Annika and me," Janeway concluded, her breath issuing in a frosty cloud. "It's as if something's missing."

"I'm not surprised," Phoebe said. "It sounds like you've both been through hell. My only question is why you believe you're the only one feeling this way."

Startled, Janeway looked at her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Don't you think Seven feels the same?"

Janeway exhaled slowly, uncertainly, hands jammed in her pockets as she trudged over the snow. It was hard to convey in mere words the distance from Seven she had been feeling the past weeks. "I don't know," Janeway said reluctantly. She faltered, kicking a piece of ice down the road, watching it slide out of sight in the darkness. "She reported to the TPG the day after we returned to Earth, and went right back to working late hours. It's as if she doesn't need me." She paused. "Maybe she doesn't."

"Don't exaggerate, Kathryn," Phoebe said.

"I'm not," Janeway insisted. "We were so busy with all the briefings and work we needed to catch up on when we returned to Earth, that I didn't notice it at first, but now I'm wondering if she has any interest in being with me at all."

"I don't believe that," the younger woman scoffed.

Janeway remembered the first evening of the Solstice break, reaching out to her partner as they prepared for bed in their home in San Francisco before seeing the detached look in her partner's eyes, sensing that although Seven was more than willing to please her partner, there was none of her normal joy and desire, no pleasure of her own to enjoy. It had sent a chill through her, and altered her touch to a simple hug of affection, which Seven had surrendered to without changing expression. 'Surrender' was precisely how Janeway perceived it, and it frightened her. Coming to Indiana yesterday morning, spending last night in the narrow bed, she had been very conscious of Seven pointedly turned away from her. She had lain in frozen misery, afraid to touch her in case her partner was placed in the horrible position of having to pull away.

"No, I've seen it," she said softly, bleakly. "It's as if ... she doesn't really want me. We haven't been ... intimate ... since before it all happened."

Phoebe shook her head. "You're wrong, Kathryn," she said, with absolute certainty. "She wants and needs you more than ever. I watched her yesterday afternoon while you and Mom were decorating the tree. She kept looking at you every now and again, and there was this ... expression ... on her face..." She trailed off, searching for the words. "If I were painting her portrait at that moment, I would title it 'Fear and Longing'. It's as if she wanted to reach out to you so badly, but is deathly afraid of your response."

"Afraid?" Janeway stopped, looking at her sister in astonishment. "Why would she be afraid?"

"I don't know. Could it be that she thinks she doesn't deserve your love?" Phoebe offered with just the slightest edge to her tone. "Think about it, Kathryn. She let you down ... at least, she believes she did ... and let's not forget that whole 'your best isn't good enough' line. Honestly, that was just the slightest bit ... nasty."

Janeway winced, almost sorry she had revealed that moment of weakness to her sister. "It was," she agreed regretfully. "I was angry with her, and the whole situation, but that's no excuse. It was a stupid thing said in the heat of the moment." She swallowed hard. "I apologized for it."

"I'm sure you did, but an apology never makes up for words that cut so deep," Phoebe pointed out as she stared at Janeway, then softened as she witnessed the expression on her sister's face. "Seven's probably still feeling ashamed and hurt, Kathryn," she added in a much gentler voice. "You need to remind her how much you love her, and that you'll love her no matter what's happened in the past, or will happen in the future. She needs to feel safe with you again." She paused. "Plus, I think you need to feel safe again, too. Have you two actually been intimate, in the true sense of the word, Kathryn? Forget sex, have you taken the time to be with each other, just for the sake of being together, or have you both just occupied yourself with other things, pretending to yourselves that you're just 'respecting each other's space'."

Janeway flinched, aware of her own failings, and not needing to be reminded of them by her sister. "I'm hoping this holiday break will give us the chance to do just that," she admitted. "Seven seemed fairly enthusiastic about it ... certainly more enthusiastic than she has about anything else involving the pair of us lately."

"Here, you're not a Starfleet captain, and she's not a science officer," Phoebe reminded her. "You're just a couple of members of the Janeway family, no more, no less. Maybe Seven has her own hopes for this holiday break. Once you both leave your professional life behind for awhile, you'll start remembering what's important, and stop orbiting each other like a pair of opposing electrons."

"God, a science reference," Janeway muttered. "Should I be worried?"

"When you start using artistic references, then it's time for us to worry," Phoebe retorted. She raised her head. "You know, I have an idea," she began.

Janeway sighed. "Now I'm really worried."

Phoebe nudged her sister, almost knocking the captain into the nearby snow bank. "Just hear me out," she demanded. "Instead of you two staying at the farmhouse tonight, why don't you stay over in my guest room while I spend the night at Mom's? That will give you and Seven some time to ... well, work some things out. God knows, there isn't much in the way of privacy at her house, especially with Grandma Taylor visiting for the holidays."

Janeway was startled ... and incredibly touched by the offer, knowing it was sincere.

"Thank you," she said, feeling the lump in her throat. "That means a lot, Phoebe."

"Anytime," Phoebe told her, smiling. "You head back while I drop by my place and pick up a few things. I'll meet everyone later back at Mom's for the traditional caroling."

"That sounds great," the captain agreed, watching as her sister started off across the lawns to her house next to the creek, feeling a warmth within her that had been missing for far too long. With a lighter step, she kicked her way through the snow to the white farmhouse, a golden glow pouring from the windows to light her way home. Jake, remaining faithful even though the other two dogs had bounded after Phoebe, trotted at the captain's heels, his jaws parted in a happy grin as he panted, tongue lolling. The pair of them bounded up the stairs, and entered the house, the inside temperature welcoming after the chill of the outside.

Seven had just entered the hallway, and seemed somewhat surprised to see her.

"I did not know where you went," she said. The comment was not accusing, but Janeway recognized a hint of something else ... fear at another disappearance by her spouse, perhaps? ... coloring it.

"Phoebe and I took the dogs for a run," Janeway explained as she pulled off her mittens. "Sorry, I should have told you I was going out." She stuffed the mitts, along with her scarf, into the hat, and tossed it into the container reserved for them, then shrugged out of her coat. "It was cold out there."

"You still appear cold," Seven remarked, regarding her evenly. "Your cheeks are red."

"Warm me up?" Janeway asked, turning back from the closet after hanging up her coat, and extending her arms to the Borg tentatively.

Seven hesitated, then reached out, slipping her arms around her. "Of course," she said. They stood there in an embrace for long moments, and gradually, Janeway was aware that the young woman was surreptitiously nuzzling her hair, hesitantly, as if unsure she was allowed that privilege. The captain caught her breath, deciding that perhaps her sister had been more accurate in her assessment of Seven's state of mind than she had wanted to believe. It wounded her to know Phoebe could see things more clearly when it came to the Borg than Janeway could.

Remaining still, she encouraged the tender touch, concentrating on just being with her partner in this individual moment of togetherness. Finally, because Seven had stopped, Janeway drew back, tilting her head back to look up at her spouse.

"Are you warmer now?" Seven asked, her pale eyes soft in the light.

"Much," Janeway said. She tilted her head slightly, searching the young woman's face. "You do know how much I love you, don't you, Annika?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Seven responded, but there was the slightest pause there, Janeway noted, and it sent a sliver of pain through her heart. The young woman raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?" she added softly, uncertainly.

"I just wanted to make sure," Janeway said sadly, tightening her embrace.

From the living room, she heard the tinkle of piano keys and knew her grandmother, her mother and her mother's lover, Michael ... a concept that still gave the captain pause on occasion ... were waiting for them. Tucking her arm into Seven's, Janeway rested her head on the Borg's shoulder.

"Come on, darling," she said quietly, nudging her toward the rear of the house. "Let's join the others."

There was a fire laid in the hearth, and unlit candles scattered about the living room while a bottle of wine stashed in an ice bucket, along with two crystal glasses, rested on the coffee table. Seven eyed this tableau curiously, deciding this was why Phoebe had arrived so late for the carol singing, her explanation of 'picking up a few things in order to spend the night at Mom's' notwithstanding. Uncertainly, Seven glanced at Janeway, and wondered if the captain had noticed the additional touches her sister had provided for the couple.

"Let's get our bags up to the guest room," the captain suggested. "We'll change into our pyjamas, then we'll come down here and have a glass of wine before bed." She paused. "If that's all right?"

Seven picked up the couple's bags. "That would be ... acceptable," she allowed.

Phoebe hadn't been as obvious in the guest bedroom, but the bed had been made up with fresh linens, and the ensuite was perfumed faintly with some rose scent. Janeway pulled a peach nightgown from her pack.

"Do you mind if I take a shower first?" she asked.

"Certainly," Seven said, not knowing why her partner was being so formal with her, almost as if this were the first time they had ever spent the night together. She allowed that it was the first night they had spent at Phoebe's, but surely that was not the cause of the tension between them. Of course, since the incident with Section 31, there was little that Seven was certain of when it came to Janeway.

The captain did not take long in the bathroom, and when she came out, freshly showered and changed, she offered Seven a small smile.

"I'll be downstairs," she said. "Join me?"

"As soon as I have washed and changed," Seven promised.

When she finally descended the stairs, dressed in her silver satin pyjamas that her partner had given to her years before, she was somehow not surprised to discover her partner had kindled the fire and lit the candles around the room. The captain looked particularly beautiful in the illumination of the flickering flames, their light streaking her auburn hair with fire, her skin glowing warm and smooth. Glancing up at Seven's approach, Janeway smiled, the sort of smile that the Borg had thought she might not ever see again ... not necessarily desirous, though that was certainly an element to it ... but rather shy and proud, as if she were the most fortunate being in the world to have Seven of Nine for her spouse. The Borg suddenly felt bashful, and she sank down onto the cushions her partner had gathered together in front of the hearth, wrapping her arms around her knees. Janeway smiled at her and offered her a glassful of white wine.

"It's not bad," she said. "A little dry, but it has a nice bouquet."

Seven sipped it gingerly, finding it just as her partner had described it. She had not known what to expect when she had seen her partner stretched out before the fire, but Janeway seemed content just to lounge on the cushions next to her and drink her wine. Gradually, Seven relaxed, realizing that it had been some time since she and Janeway had simply spent time together in quiet repose. There was no need to discuss anything, no sense that they had to fill the passing moments with stilted conversation about what they were doing at their respective jobs, or what was going on in Starfleet Command regarding the repercussions of Admiral Hayes being arrested, or even what was going on in their immediate neighborhood. It simply felt ... comfortable ... to be there, and watch the flames crackling in the hearth, the sense of togetherness something that Seven had been missing desperately for what seemed to be a very long time ... though perhaps she hadn't understood how much until this very moment.

She inhaled sharply when Janeway reached over and put her hand on the small of the Borg's back, slipping it beneath her pyjama top, but rather than an amorous gesture, the captain began to scratch Seven's back with slow, languid strokes, her nails barely pressing against the skin. Exhaling slowly, Seven bent her head and closed her eyes, relaxing under the idle caress that she had not experienced for months. Long moments of sheer pleasure passed, the young woman melting into a state of pure rapture.

"It's been awhile since I've done this," the captain said finally, a sorrowful note in her soft voice. "Too long, in fact. I can't even remember the last time."

Seven made a small sound of agreement. "On Voyager," she murmured. She paused. "The same amount of time has passed since I last rubbed your feet."

"So it has," Janeway responded regretfully. "Small pleasures meant so much in the Delta Quadrant. I guess we lost track of that once we returned to the Federation."

Seven considered that. "I believe you are correct," she said.

Janeway's action gradually became more involved, and without needing to be asked, Seven unbuttoned her top, allowing it to hang loose and affording her spouse more room to maneuver beneath the material. Janeway set her glass down, and rose to her knees behind the Borg, using both hands to attend to every millimeter of Seven's back, alternating between brisk, short brushes across her shoulder blades, and the long, lingering strokes down her spine.

They fell silent, each concentrating on the simple joy of this interaction, one granting the touch unselfishly, the other receiving it with utter bliss, connecting on a deeper level than they had for weeks. Seven smiled, her eyes closed, almost drifting off from the sensation of her partner scratching her back without pause, as if the captain intended to occupy herself with nothing else but this for the foreseeable future. It was a very loving thing for Janeway to do, an act that benefitted only the Borg, because it certainly did not accord the captain any pleasure beyond the knowledge that she was providing a special gift to her partner. It was caring and gentle, and it made Seven feel as if her existence might actually be worth something once more.

She hadn't realized she was crying until Janeway paused in her attention, reaching around to gently wipe Seven's cheek with her thumb. The Borg swallowed hard, and turned her head, completely vulnerable to the captain.

"I ... failed you," she whispered.

"Just as I failed you," Janeway responded softly. She paused. "I can't take back anything I've done or said in the recent past, Annika, but I am truly sorry if any of it added to your pain. That was never my intention, and certainly not anything I would ever want to have happen."

"I cannot ... undo ... anything I have done, either," the Borg said sadly.

"No," the captain agreed, leaning forward and resting her chin on Seven's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around the Borg's chest. "That's irrelevant, however. Annika, please know this; I've never loved you any less than what I always have, not for one instant, and I'll love you with my whole being for the rest of my life." She inhaled deeply, and tightened her embrace. "With all my heart and soul, now and forever, my darling. Please, believe that."

Seven swallowed hard, her head bent as she felt the warmth of her partner surround her. "I do, Kathryn," Seven whispered softly, realizing as she spoke that she actually meant it, her heart seeming to ease its beat as if some restriction around it had been lifted. All she had needed was to hear it from her partner's lips. "I love you, too."

Janeway exhaled, an audible whisper, almost as if in relief. "I needed to know that," she said softly.

Seven blinked, surprised. "You doubted it?" she asked.

Janeway paused. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "You've been so distant lately."

Seven turned her head to look at her. "So have you," she noted gently.

Sorrow ghosted over Janeway's face. "So I have," she said wistfully. "Obviously, it's past time we return to what's important."

"A starship?"

A small sound of what might have been amusement, but could just as easily have been a sob came from the captain's throat. "Taking care of each other," Janeway corrected huskily. "Making sure that we share not just a home, but our hearts and minds as well." She rubbed her cheek against Seven's. "Do you remember just before I was kidnapped, how you provided me with that special evening?"

"You were feeling neglected," Seven said, remembering the evening well, though for some reason, it felt as if it had occurred years ago.  "I wished to make up for all the evenings and months I had worked late." She paused. "Now I realize how insufficient it was."

"It was a lovely night, darling," Janeway assured her. "I loved every second of it, but you're right, it was a sign of something that we were only then beginning to recognize. We had drifted apart beyond what our respective jobs were causing, but we couldn't really see the damage being done to our relationship ... perhaps because it was so gradual."

"Perhaps," Seven agreed, leaning back into her partner's arms. "Kathryn, I think I was ... encouraged ... not to be so open with you ... not to be close to you ... though I did not realize it at the time."

"That's my guess, too, but obviously, I facilitated it," Janeway said regretfully. From the corner of her eye, Seven could see the captain's eyes shading to grey. "It's easy to blame Section 31's influence on you, darling, but the real problem is that they were able to isolate you from me in the first place, and that's as much my fault as it is yours." She paused to hug her tightly. "I guess we're just going to have to work harder to prevent it in the future," she added softly.

For a moment, they remained in the warm embrace, trying to help each other comprehend the depth of their pain, then Janeway resumed her caress, running her hands lavishly over the Borg's back. As she drew her nails along Seven's side, scratching her ribs, it made the young woman quiver in response.

Seven lifted her head and sighed. "This feels so good, Kathryn," she offered gratefully.

"I want you to feel good," Janeway told her, then smiled as Seven abruptly yawned, unable to keep from blinking sleepily. "I think today is catching up to you, love."

"Several days," Seven admitted. "Weeks." She looked back over her shoulder. "Thank you for scratching my back," she added shyly.

"You're very welcome, my darling," Janeway told her fondly, patting her on the shoulder. "Ready for bed?"

"Yes," Seven agreed as the two women rose from the cushions. She glanced around the living room as she buttoned her pyjama top. "I believe that Phoebe intended us to be ... romantic," she added.

"This was romantic," Janeway protested lightly, offering her partner a brief smile as she picked up the wine glasses. "Besides, I think she just wanted to remind us how much we love each other. Why don't you go on up to bed? I'll bank the fire and make sure the lights are out before I join you."

Seven nodded, ascending the stairs to the guest room. Inside, she moved over to the window, looking out into the night. During the evening, clouds had moved in, and now snow was falling thickly. Fascinated by the flurries pattering the window, Seven was startled when she saw Janeway's reflection appear in the glass.

"It reminds me of that ice planet we were stranded on," Janeway said, moving beside her, and Seven immediately drew her to her, her arm wrapped warmly around the captain's shoulders.

"Fortunately, this house is a great deal warmer than the Delta Flyer was," Seven noted. "Nor are there any snolions."

"For which I am very grateful," Janeway said, chuckling slightly.

How long had it been since she had heard Kathryn laugh? Seven thought sadly that it had to be before the Noiro incident, at the very least, and she swallowed hard as she hugged the captain. They stood together for a few moments, watching the snow fall, then Janeway patted her on the back and drew away. Seven followed her over to the bed, the couple needing a moment to arrange themselves on the modest mattress, even smaller than the one they slept on at Gretchen's house. Seven wondered if the choice of narrow beds were a Traditionalist attribute, or if Janeway and she were simply unusual in their preference for expansive sleeping arrangements.

As soon as they had settled and turned out the lights, Janeway issued a soft sigh. "It feels so good to hold you," she murmured. "I've missed this so much."

Seven raised an eyebrow as she embraced the captain. "Why have you not held me like this recently?" she asked, thinking of all the nights that had passed since being rescued from the doomed colony.

Every evening, the couple would routinely go to bed, and share a perfunctory kiss good-night before the Borg would roll away to her side of the bed, her back to Janeway, still deeply ashamed of her actions on Noiro. She knew she didn't deserve it, but she yearned desperately for the captain to reach over and wrap her up, offering the promise that she still loved her as much as she ever had. However, Janeway would inevitably remain on her side of the large bed, falling asleep while maintaining her distance from her spouse, leaving Seven to lie there in silent misery for the rest of the night.

Janeway was silent, and when she finally spoke, Seven realized she had surprised ... and undoubtedly shamed ... her spouse. "I thought you required space, Annika," the captain said sorrowfully. "You finished your sessions with Kes, then went back to work so quickly ... you didn't seem to require anything from me. I didn't feel I should intrude while you were working this out."

"Oh," Seven said, feeling very inept suddenly, as she raised her head to regard her partner. "I did not wish to impose my ... confusion ... on you. I did not feel I deserved to ask anything of you after having disappointed you so greatly."

"Oh, Annika," Janeway whispered unhappily, reaching up to touch her cheek, "I'm so sorry. I guess I'm not very good at understanding nonverbal communication."

"Apparently, neither am I, nor am I very good at conveying my feelings nonverbally," Seven added. She exhaled and tightened her embrace. "I did not make it clear that I required your presence, not 'space'."

Janeway did not respond for a long moment, and from the tension in her body, the young woman knew she was working something out in her own mind before sharing it with her spouse. She waited patiently, and finally the captain added in a small voice, "It's not your doing, Annika. Maybe I was the one who required the space ... at least, at first."

Seven exhaled slowly. "From me?" she asked softly.

Janeway shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "From everything. I ... so much of this was beyond my control, Annika. It made me feel so helpless and angry. When I'm helpless..."

"You do not react reasonably," Seven allowed, understanding better why Janeway had not reached out to her before now. "You withdraw into yourself, not wanting to show how vulnerable you are ... even to me when it is an extreme situation." She felt a twinge in her chest, aware that had she been less occupied with her own problems, she would have seen it immediately and assisted her spouse as she had so often on Voyager. "I did not realize, Kathryn," she said with dismay. She hesitated, searching for the right words. "We have not discussed what happened to you in the hands of Cheb Packer and the Orion Syndicate. I was so concerned with my own situation..."

"No," Janeway said, raising a finger to her lips to stop her. "Don't, please, darling." Her face was very serious in the night. "I think ... before now, when one of us was in a bad place, the other was able to to help her through it. This time however, we both found ourselves in a bad place at the same time, and it took us a while to realize that. Instead of reaching out, we kept expecting the other to do it, and when that didn't happen, we thought it was from the other not wanting to, rather than because we were both afraid of being ... rejected. The longer we waited, the worse it became. There's also the fact that even before this happened, we possibly weren't as 'connected' as we should have been."

Seven considered that, then nodded briefly. "Yes," she said slowly. "That is what happened. I needed for you to tell me things were all right between us. I did not understand that you required the same from me." She tilted her head slightly, studying the dark grey eyes of her spouse. "How did you manage to ... overcome that misunderstanding?"

Janeway lifted an eyebrow ruefully. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe it was something Phoebe said to me ... or maybe I just needed you so much, it no longer mattered to me that you might push me away."

"I would never push you away," the young woman told her, astounded that her partner would ever harbor such an idea. Exhaling audibly, she lowered her head onto Janeway's shoulder, completely baffled. "How could we arrive at such conclusions about each other?" she asked.

Janeway was silent for a moment, and when she finally spoke, it was in a very tentative way. "There's a stage in every Starfleet officer's career," she offered. "It happens a few years after graduating the Academy when the officer has worn the uniform for awhile, and has a little experience under his belt. He starts to believe that he can handle himself in any situation, and has yet to learn how little he really knows. It's a very dangerous time, but generally, we all go through it."

"Yes?" Seven prompted, not sure what her partner was saying.

"I'm just thinking that maybe marriages are like that too," Janeway suggested uncertainly.

"You mean, a committed relationship may go through a dangerous stage?" Seven asked softly.

"Maybe it goes through a lot of different stages," Janeway said, obviously thinking out loud. "Maybe this is just the first one we've encountered. We've been through so much together in the Delta Quadrant, Annika, that perhaps we became complacent in the supposed safety of the Alpha Quadrant. We may have made assumptions based on how well we thought we knew each other, but the fact is, as people, we're constantly changing and evolving. I think we need to pay as much attention to each other now as we did when we were starting out, instead of always assuming we know what the other is thinking and feeling."

"We made conclusions based on our history together, which no longer applied to who we are as individuals in the Alpha Quadrant," Seven offered. "We each changed as time passed, but we did not make sure our relationship changed with it."

"Yes," Janeway allowed. "I didn't know what elements were influencing you over the past year, darling, and the truth is, perhaps I don't understand you as well as I thought I did. That clouded my judgement when I felt distanced from you. Instead of seeing that you needed me, I decided that you were doing just fine without me."

"Meanwhile, I let someone influence me so greatly that I could no longer see how much you needed me," Seven said sadly.

"It's not your fault, darling," Janeway whispered, brushing her lips over the young woman's forehead comfortingly. "Hayes was kind to you, and very clever in never allowing you to see anything but that side of himself. Don't forget, I didn't have anyone deliberately manipulating me, yet I didn't let you know how I was feeling, and that's my responsibility." She stroked Seven's hair lightly, drawing her fingers through the long, blonde locks. "I guess I wanted you to be independent, to be able to embrace all the new and wonderful experiences here in the Federation ... I didn't notice that we stopped being close in the meantime, or if I did, I didn't want to be ... selfish ... in demanding so much of your attention."

Seven considered that, lifting her head to regard her spouse. "I would never have considered you a 'demand' on me, Kathryn," she said softly. "I wanted you to share in every aspect of my life this past year. How could you not know that?"

Janeway paused. "You never told me," she said simply.

Seven made a small sound, almost a groan, and pulled her partner closer. "I am telling you now," she said with all the sincerity she could convey. "You are necessary to me, Kathryn, in every way."

"Oh, darling," Janeway replied, "You're necessary to me, too ... always." She exhaled softly, a sigh of remorse. "I think that we sometimes lose track of each other personally. When it happened on Voyager, it was easier to find our way back because we were in such a closed environment. Here, with so much going on outside our relationship, it was a lot more difficult to recognize what was happening." She drew back so she could look at her spouse. "Regardless of the reasons, darling, I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

"You will never lose me, Kathryn," Seven promised.

Janeway offered her that vulnerable expression again, and hugged her tightly, snuggling against Seven's body as if seeking sanctuary. For the first time, Seven realized that she had not been the only one terribly hurt by what had happened with the Orion Syndicate, and she held the captain comfortingly, protectively, understanding that her partner required her presence now, more than ever.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered, "I will always be here for you. You have only to ask."

Janeway exhaled. "I know," she responded in a barely audible voice. "Sometimes it's the asking that's hard, despite all we've been through."

"I understand," the young woman reassured her, and it was not merely words ... she truly did comprehend how difficult it was for Kathryn to be vulnerable, to show another person that she was lost and unsure of herself, even when that person was her spouse. It was an aspect of the captain's personality that Seven accepted, but it did sometimes make their relationship very complicated. There were ways to simplify it on occasion, however, and tipping Janeway's head up, Seven kissed her slowly, carefully, trying to convey all her emotion through this gentle connection. When she finally released her, the captain's eyes were closed, a tiny smile touching her lips.

"Oh, love," she breathed.

"Yes," Seven said quietly. "I am that for you, just as you are for me. I am sorry about my contribution to our estrangement."

"Shh, no more apologies," Janeway told her softly, burrowing her head into the hollow of the young woman's neck and shoulder. "We need to put all this behind us and move on. We only have so much time to be with each other, darling. Every spare moment we have should be concentrated on us, not wasted on further recriminations that solve nothing."

"Very well," Seven said, happy to agree to that. She paused. "Kathryn, do you want to make love now?"

Janeway made a sound, one that Seven thought might be amusement. "I think we're both a little wrung out at the moment," the captain responded gently. "It would be wonderful just to be able to hold you tonight. Would that be all right?"

"Of course," Seven responded, feeling relieved that her spouse did not require a sexual response from her this night, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because they still weren't healed enough.

She inhaled the familiar fragrance of her spouse, submerging into her scent, finding solace in the soft cushion of hair beneath her cheek. As she relaxed in her partner's arms, she realized that she had been running on a thin edge for weeks, and now that she was able to cast aside her trepidations, it was as if she had been drugged, or stunned by a phaser. She inhaled once, then, with the next breath, she was asleep, unconsciousness descending upon her as heavily as the snow blanketing the countryside beyond their window.

Janeway woke before her partner, realizing how weary Seven had been for that to occur. Usually the young woman was alert long before the captain, or at the very least, awoke whenever the captain stirred. This morning however, Seven did not move as Janeway slipped from the bed and went into the ensuite, taking care of a few biological necessities. The chill in the air sent her scurrying back for the cozy comfort of the bed, and she slid gratefully between the warm sheets, huddling against the young woman's lush body, tucking herself under the Borg's chin.

Seven murmured something inaudible and wrapped herself around the captain, hooking her leg behind Janeway's, and slipping her arms around her torso to completely enfold the woman into her embrace. The captain smiled to herself, feeling surrounded by her spouse, something that Seven had not been doing recently. The fact that she had now indicated that last night's reaching out by Janeway had done wonders for the young woman's sense of security in their relationship. The captain wondered how she could have misread Seven's aloofness from her as indicating a desire for space, rather than what it had truly been. Even after all this time, the potential for misunderstanding between them remained, and the captain had to remember that, for both their sakes. For all her frighteningly keen intellect, Seven was still somewhat emotionally fragile. She was especially fragile when she had been through an experience where she had felt she failed.

Not that you react to failure in a more mature way, Janeway's little voice reminded dryly. You just try to make up for it by working harder.

She sighed inaudibly and snuggled closer to her spouse, dozing for awhile before finally opening her eyes to glance at the chronometer. She knew that the rest of the family would be rising, waiting for the couple to join them in the festivities, and regretfully, she nudged Seven, urging the young woman out of the deep sleep she was enjoying.

"Mmm, Kathryn?" Seven blinked drowsily, almost like a child, and Janeway felt another twinge of remorse.

"Sorry, darling," she said. "It's Christmas morning. We need to dress in order to meet Mother and the rest. They'll be waiting for us."

Seven groaned and pulled her partner closer. "I wish to stay here with you," she insisted.

Janeway smiled. "I know, darling," she said, hugging her back. "I can't say that I wouldn't prefer that, as well, but we do have obligations."

Seven paused. "I am very tired of having 'obligations'," she stated. "Even when they are family obligations."

Janeway paused, thinking about that, then nuzzled the young woman's throat. "Agreed," the captain said. "How do you feel about leaving as soon as dinner is over, and spending the rest of the holidays alone together? Perhaps some place special?"

The young woman raised an eyebrow. "That would be most acceptable," Seven said. "Where shall we go?"

"Let me think about it," Janeway said, patting her on the stomach. "I'll have it figured out by this afternoon."

The Borg squeezed Janeway tightly in agreement, then with an air of reluctance, she flipped back the covers, allowing the cool air to hit their bodies, their thin sleepwear not doing much to protect them. The captain made a small squeak of protest, but since she had instigated this, she really couldn't object, and she reached for the clothes she had laid out the night before. Before long, both women were dressed in sweaters and jeans ... the outfit of choice for Indiana's winter weather ... and had headed downstairs where they added more clothes in order to cross the snowy expanse to the main farmhouse.

Despite their initial reluctance to leave the comfort of their bed, Janeway suspected that Seven quickly altered her mood once they had joined the rest of the family. After consuming a light breakfast, they all moved into the living room by the tree where the Borg once more experienced the tradition of opening the Christmas gifts. The young woman's face was avid in her enjoyment, not only of receiving so many presents, but in watching the others open her gifts to them.  Later, the couple and the rest of the family sat down at the large dining room table to the holiday dinner with all its fixings, the conversation warm and often provoking laughter, a sense of togetherness permeating the entire afternoon until it was time to go. Gretchen, of course, was somewhat disappointed to know the couple were leaving so quickly, but even she seemed to have recognized something was going on with them, and did not protest too much. As they made preparations for returning to the Portage Creek Transport Station, and Seven secured their luggage and parcels in the hovercraft, Phoebe took the opportunity to draw her sister aside.

"Well?" she demanded.

Janeway smiled. "Last night went a long way for us," she assured her. "You were right. All we needed to do was get past the fear and reach out. Thank you."

The artist looked relieved. "I'm glad," she said. "Take care of her, Kathryn. She's the best thing that ever happened to you."

"I know," Janeway said, regarding her partner fondly as Seven patted Jake good-bye. The couple had given the dog to Gretchen to replace Petunia, a retriever she had recently lost, and also because the Irish Setter was obviously much happier in Indiana. The two women knew it would be cruel to take him with them when they accepted starship duty once more, and Christmas had seemed like an acceptable time to transfer ownership of the dog to Janeway's mother. The captain remembered how easy it had been for the couple to come to that decision, and realized that should have been a clue to how both she and Seven were becoming somewhat detached from the pet they had cared so deeply for while on Voyager, and subsequently, from each other as well.

Thank god we don't have any kids, Janeway thought fervently.

"Where are we going?" Seven asked, once they were in the hovercraft and speeding over the fresh snowfall, throwing up a cloud of frosty powder in their wake.

"First, back to San Francisco," Janeway offered. "We'll drop off our presents, empty our bags, then repack." She offered her partner a shy look. "Do you remember the holodeck program the crew gave us for our honeymoon?"

Seven nodded, her pale eyes curious.

"It was based on a specific area in the Carribean," Janeway explained. "I contacted one of the resorts there, and made reservations for tonight and the rest of the holiday break." She paused. "How does a second honeymoon sound to you?"

A radiant smile spread over the Borg's face, making Janeway's heart lurch pleasantly. "That would be ... wonderful," Seven admitted warmly.

Pleased, Janeway returned the smile and urged a little more speed out of the hovercraft. At Portage Creek, she utilized her Starfleet authority to have the couple beamed, with their bags and gifts, directly to their home ... after Seven made a complete diagnostic on the console, since neither woman was prepared to arbitrarily trust an unsupervised transporter ever again. In San Francisco, the couple quickly emptied their luggage of all their cold weather clothes, replacing them with shorts, bathing suits, short-sleeved shirts, and sandals. Within a few hours, they were checking into a lavish resort which provided them with a private cottage facing a small cove with a white sand beach. The palm trees swayed slightly in the tropical breeze, its warmth chasing away the last of the lingering shadows and coldness they had been experiencing.

Janeway stood out on the deck, freshly bathed and changed into a silken robe, watching the full moon hang over the shimmering sea, inhaling the perfume of hundreds of flowers. Her partner, having showered and changed into her own robe earlier, came up behind her, enfolding her in strong arms.

"Thank you for this, Kathryn," Seven whispered in her hair. She paused, then added uncertainly. "However, could this not be considered yet another ... 'gesture' between us?"

"It's not the trip, darling," Janeway said, leaning back against the young woman's body, surrendering to the warm embrace. "It's about our being together, far away from everything. It's all about my concentrating on you, and you concentrating on me, and both of us sharing our hearts and minds fully. It's about talking about everything, no matter how insignificant, holding nothing back, and using this time to reconnect. The actual location is irrelevant. We could have done this in Indiana or San Francisco, but I wanted us to be somewhere where it was unlikely anyone would know us ... or be able to bother us."

Seven considered that, tightening her hug. "You are correct," she said softly, nuzzling the captain's hair. "Being far away from Starfleet is necessary for us at the moment."

Janeway smiled and rested her hands on Seven's forearms, feeling the cool metallic mesh under her left palm as they stood quietly, enjoying the moonlight on the water. "Shall we order room service for a late dinner?" she asked finally. "I think their kitchen is still open."

"I am still replete from the turkey we ingested in Indiana," Seven said, kissing the captain's neck. Her hand slipped beneath the robe her partner was wearing, stroking the warm swell of her stomach. "However, I would not be adverse to ... dessert."

Janeway laughed, realizing her spouse was actually flirting with her once more, the young woman's confidence and self assurance in her partner's love apparently restored to its former level.

"I've not been particularly sweet the past few weeks," she warned her.

"Sweet is overrated as a dessert format," Seven responded easily, nibbling the captain's ear. "I prefer rich ... full bodied ... tangy..."

"Oh my," Kathryn said, allowing her partner to lure her inside the cottage, feeling the skilled hands moving over her body as the Borg urged her over to the expansive bed.

The captain instinctively understood that this had to be Seven's evening to be the aggressor, the Borg's time to set the pace and intensity of their physicality. The young woman had been wounded deeply, and it was up to her to determine how and what she wanted this night to find her way back to her spouse. There was also a significant part of the captain who required Seven to take the lead, to make love to her, to prove to her how much the Borg desired the older woman, how much she had to have her. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Janeway had also been damaged by all they had been through, and allowing Seven to love her like this was what she needed to start mending the hurt inside.

Nor was she immune to the burning desire that swept them up. It felt so wonderful to have her spouse's body against hers once more, their robes seeming to slip from them magically, to lay crumpled and forgotten on the floor as Seven lowered her to the bed, covering her possessively. Janeway didn't know how long the couple moved together, touching and tasting every bit of flesh, attending to every millimeter of skin, aware only of the pleasure that seemed to wash over her with the same regularity and strength of the waves crashing on the shore outside. The sound provided a perfect counterpoint for the women to establish their rhythm, sharing equally in the demand of quickened respiration and soft cries of delight, of salt sweet flavor and mutual stimulation, of stroking and kissing until both were breathless and weak, quivering bone and muscle going slack with delicious satisfaction.

With Seven's face buried in her neck, the tears of the young woman's release wetting her skin, Janeway blinked back her own emotion and stroked the Borg's long spine soothingly, her nails playing lightly over the smooth skin. It was the final healing between them, not arrived at by the act of passion, but by the work of their devotion leading up to this physical unity, of bonding in love and rebuilding trust before being able to solidify the connection with physical desire. Janeway wondered how long it would be before she would be able to accept that as a given, rather than needing to discover it through painful trial and error, of striving through hurt and forgiveness before either was able to reach this sweet place of joy and tenderness.

"Kathryn?"

"I'm right here, darling," Janeway whispered, kissing the young woman's temple. "I'll always be here, I promise."

"I love you."

"Oh, sweetness, I love you, too," the captain swore. "Forever."

Seven snuggled closer, her lips soft against the captain's cheek. "We must not allow our paths to stray so far apart ever again," she urged.

"We won't," Janeway agreed. "We'll make certain of it."

"It shall be easier on the Millennium," Seven noted thoughtfully.

"Perhaps," the captain said. "However, it also comes down to us remembering that marriage always takes attention and care, regardless of where we are, or how long we've been together."

"Yes," Seven agreed. She paused, running her hand lazily along Janeway's side. "This has been a hard lesson, Kathryn, but one that hopefully we both shall benefit from."

"As I get older however, I rather wish the lessons were a little easier on me," Janeway said dryly.

Seven made a small sound of amusement, reaching down to press her lips against the captain's collar bone, trailing a line of kisses back up to her ear. "You are so strong, Kathryn," she murmured. "Without your courage to sustain me, I could never have made it through this."

Janeway put her finger to Seven's chin, raising her face so she could kiss her lips. "You're the strong one," she whispered. "Even when I'm flailing around without a clue, you hang in there until I figure out where I need to be. Thank you for loving me, Annika."

"It is my pleasure," Seven told her. They kissed sweetly once more, then again, their lips melding into a long line of tender touches, their initial edge of desire removed, able to begin again, slower, hotter, with more want and less need, making love with great joy and no little relief at discovering their bond again, reminded with each passing second of what was most important to them.

Waking the next morning, a warm breeze wafting through the open french doors of the bedroom, Janeway smiled and stretched without opening her eyes, finding the contrast of waking in this tropical paradise quite delicious compared to the previous morning of icy temperatures and snow-covered fields. She reached out, disappointed to discover her partner had already risen, and she rolled out of bed, padding naked to the doors to look down at the beach.

Seven was just coming out of the water, her skin golden in the morning sunshine, body sleek in the blue one piece bathing suit. Her hair was slicked back over her head, and Janeway watched her appreciatively as she approached the deck.

"You're absolutely beautiful, my darling," she called out to her.

Seven looked up and offered the captain a bright smile, more brilliant than the sparkles on the sea. "Not as beautiful as you," she observed, eyeing her partner's naked form happily. "However, I have ordered breakfast. Perhaps, you should put something on before it arrives?"

Janeway heard the knock at the front of the cottage, and hastily, she snatched at her robe, aware of her partner's amused gaze following her out to the living area where she answered the door. The young man delivering the food was dressed in a brief pair of shorts and not much else, and Janeway raised an eyebrow of mild aesthetic appreciation for his well developed physique as he placed the tray of fruits and pastries on the table, along with a large pitcher of juice, and best of all, a carafe of hot coffee.

She tipped him a few credits, then took a seat, quickly joined by Seven who had rinsed off, having changed into a t-shirt and shorts before leaving the bedroom, though she was still drying her hair. Draping the towel over the back of her chair, the young woman hungrily served herself several pieces of fresh fruit, muffins and bagels from the selection, attacking her meal with an appetite that she had not shown since before the kidnapping. Janeway regarded her fondly as she sipped her coffee and buttered a croissant, also feeling peckish after a very busy holiday which had ended with extensive lovemaking the night before.

Despite the resumption of their emotional and physical ease with each other, the captain was completely unprepared when Seven abruptly ducked beneath the table. At first, Janeway thought her spouse had dropped something, but when she felt gentle hands nudging her legs apart and a warm breath on the flesh which was bare beneath her robe, her eyes widened.

"Annika!" she yelped, part way between shock and sudden, sharp arousal, glancing down at her partner who was insinuating herself between the captain's knees, feeling the soft skin of Seven's cheeks along the inside of her thighs. "What are you doing?"

"Obviously," Seven said as she lifted the captain's legs onto her shoulders, then gently kissed Janeway's triangle, sending a chill of pure sensation through the captain's body, "I am enjoying my breakfast."

"Darling," Janeway protested weakly, though she made no effort to push the young woman away, "I haven't even showered this morning."

Seven's response was muffled and incoherent ... and provided an interesting sensation in itself, a vibration that reverberated through Janeway's loins, a mumble that did the most wonderful things to the captain's vulnerable flesh. Setting her coffee down carefully on the table so as not to spill it, either on herself or on Seven, Janeway dropped her hands to the arms of her chair, hanging on tightly as she tipped her head back, closing her eyes and moaning softly. The Borg swirled her tongue hotly around the captain's tender nodule, urging it from its pocket, the skillful flutters causing it to swell and ache with pleasure. Lifting her hips, Janeway arched against Seven as the delight grew in steady waves, then abruptly, she peaked, a sharp spasm that made her cry out, shuddering uncontrollably.

Sprawling weakly in her chair, the tremors continued to echo through Janeway as her spouse rose to kiss her tenderly on the mouth, cupping her face in gentle hands. The captain's flavor lingered, salty, on the Borg's lips, with a faint underlay of melon, and when Seven finally drew back to her previous position across the table, it was with a decidedly smug expression. Janeway inhaled deeply, and tried to gather together her composure as well as her robe which had fallen open, leaving her completely exposed. As Seven resumed her interrupted meal, taking a bite of her melon with a lusty appetite that could not be mistaken by the captain, Janeway managed to find her voice again.

"I'm not going to get much rest during this honeymoon, am I?" she muttered.

Seven eyed her briefly, then gestured to the plate in front of Janeway. "Between our discussions and making love, I suspect not. Eat your breakfast, Kathryn. You shall require all the nutrition possible in order to maintain your energy level." She lifted a brow. "Unless you have an alternative method of spending this Solstice?"

Janeway blinked, then slowly smiled.

"Not at all, darling," she responded sincerely. "I'm all yours."

"For this Solstice, and the rest of our lives."

Epilogue

Jack Hayes, disgraced and dishonored, looked up as the security officer tapped on the door of his cell.

"You have a visitor," she said in a tone devoid of inflection, dropping the force field.

She escorted him to the waiting area, and the admiral's eyes widened as he recognized the Section 31 operative, even as he strived to make no indication of it. Inside, however, he felt a sensation of excitement and relief. Obviously, they were finally here to help him out of this mess, but he didn't speak until the security officer had taken up a position outside the meeting room.

Hayes leaned forward, lowering his voice, choosing his words with care, knowing that any conversation might be monitored and trying to keep the discussion as innocuous as possible.

"Thank you for visiting me," he said.

"I wanted to say that I find this all so hard to believe," the operative said, playing his role as the attaché shocked by a superior officer being incarcerated, uneasy and awkward. "Are you all right? Are they treating you well?"

"As well as can be expected," Hayes said.

"In the event that you fall ill, is there adequate medical care?" the operative asked in a concerned tone, but his eyes were unusually intent, and Hayes lifted his head.

"Yes," the admiral said slowly. "I believe there is."

"Good," the operative said, with what seemed relief.

They exchanged more pleasantries, stilted conversation about what was going on in San Francisco in the admiral's absence, then the operative took his leave. When he left, there was a small white pill left in Hayes' possession, slipped to him unobtrusively, along with the idea that once he took it, he would become ill and be sent to the prison's sickbay where Section 31 would then undertake a rescue. It would mean that Hayes could never go back to Starfleet, of course ... which caused a real pang in the admiral's heart ... but at least he would be free, and working behind the scenes, he could continue to contribute to the protection of the Federation.

Hayes palmed the pill, and returned to his cell, waiting another day and a night before swallowing it. He lay down on his bunk and waited for the reward for all his hard work that Seven and Janeway had destroyed. With any luck, perhaps he would even have the opportunity for a little revenge ... though of course, he would have to keep that strictly outside any Section 31 operation.

On the other side of the planet, the operative went about his business in San Francisco, aware that by this time, the problem of Hayes had been taken care of by the undetectable poison which would give the appearance of the admiral having died of natural causes. In another part of the Alpha Quadrant, the problem of Kagan and the rest of the assault team had been rectified by Chandler. The mysterious deaths would undoubtedly be blamed on Section 31 despite the lack of proof, but then, every incident in the near future would be blamed on the covert Intelligence group. However, from this moment on, all scheduled operations were canceled, and all agents withdrawn to a position of strict neutrality, essentially disappearing as if Section 31 had never existed. Eventually, the memory of their presence would fade entirely, the trail left behind growing cold with the lack of activity as the decision was made to pull back from any attempt to influence either Starfleet or the Federation Council. Section 31 did have to look at the long term after all, and for now, the Federation would just have to struggle along without their immediate contribution.

But sometime in the future, regardless of how many years it took, Section 31 would once again be needed, and on that day, all their operatives would be reactivated to provide the protection and leadership the Federation so desperately needed in times of crisis.

The End

•  This is the 50th and final installment in the Just Between Series. I started writing JB Us around the first of the year in 1998, and now it's the first of the year in 2001, so it seems fitting it ends at this time, three years later. It's been a heck of a ride, and for all those who were there from the beginning on the mailing list, to those who have just recently picked it up, and to everyone just between, thank you for all the wonderful feedback and comments. This has been a wonderful experience from beginning to end, and I dedicate this last one to you, the readers.

•  It was posted on January 26th, 2001.

Just Between
Earth & the Stars
G. L. Dartt

A good portion of Earth's northern hemisphere lay blanketed in February snow, deep in the heart of winter, but on the equator of Mars, it remained shirt-sleeve weather. The wide, blue expanse of Lake Utopia provided a picturesque backdrop to the crowd gathered in the back yard of the lakeside home, while a multitude of flowers bloomed colorfully in the nearby garden as if to celebrate the occasion. From her position at the altar, where she was performing the duty of 'attendant', Seven of Nine took note of the perspiration on her friend's upper lip. Lt. B'Elanna Torres recited her vows to the person she was marrying with a decided quaver in her tone, and the Borg wondered if she would be called in to catch the bride in the event she collapsed. There was an unnatural greyness in the Klingon's skin tone, the proud head ridges standing out in stark relief as B'Elanna's dark eyes glittered with an unnatural luster.

Standing next to her, Lt. Ro Laren appeared even worse, her face pale, her usually keen gaze slightly glazed. When the other woman finally completed her vows, the Bajoran began her own recitation, her voice as unsteady as the Klingon's had been. Seven noted that B'Elanna appeared far more relieved to be finished her part of the wedding ceremony than actually touched by the words Ro was now muttering, but the Borg knew from her own experience that the Klingon would remember them later ... once she had a chance to recover from this intense experience.

The Borg glanced over her shoulder, seeking out her spouse who was seated in the front row next to Commander Chakotay. Both officers were outfitted in their dress uniforms, as were most of the guests from Starfleet, and Captain Janeway had her hands folded neatly on her lap, her features somewhat pensive. It occurred to Seven that perhaps Kathryn was lost in thoughts of their own wedding which had occurred more than two years earlier. Their eyes met, and Janeway smiled faintly, her gaze shading to blue as Seven offered a slightly raised eyebrow.

Breaking off the warm glance with an effort, Seven returned her attention to the ritual, wondering how much longer this was going to take. The ceremony was a combination of alien elements from both B'Elanna and Ro's respective backgrounds, presided over by a Vedic from the Bajoran embassy on Earth, as well as a Human minister from Marsport. B'Elanna wore her full dress whites, as did Ro, both women disdaining the more feminine attributes of the wedding ceremony. That dubious distinction had been left up to Seven, who was garbed in a lavish gown of brilliant red, the Klingon color for weddings, though traditionally, the bride wore it, rather than her 'attendant'. Meanwhile, Ro's 'attendant', Lt. Commander Tuvok, wore a simple Bajoran unity robe, and raised a demonic eyebrow as Ro faltered a bit. He prompted her quietly, maintaining an impassive, attentive expression. Of course, Seven reminded herself, Vulcans would never allow themselves to show boredom, even though this was taking three times as long as Seven and Janeway's wedding ceremony had.

Her attention wandering once more, Seven found her eyes sweeping the crowd. In addition to the people who had served with both B'Elanna and Ro on Voyager, there were several people who had served with the Bajoran on the USS Enterprise, including Captain Picard and Commander Riker. They were located well away from Janeway, which Seven thought had been a prudent decision by whoever had made up the seating arrangements. There remained a slight antagonism between the starship captains after a recent covert operation by Picard that had involved not only Janeway without her knowledge for most of it, but Seven, as well. It would have been most unwise to have the Starfleet command officers placed in close proximity for any length of time.

Lt. Tom Paris, Ensign Neelix, and Lt. Kes looked on avidly. Though seated with the Enterprise crew, all three officers had served on Voyager when it had been lost in the Delta Quadrant for seven years. Seven wondered idly if any of her former crewmates had received their new orders yet, and if so, what their response was going to be. She knew Kathryn was quite anxious to finalize her crew assignments for her new command posting on the USS Millennium.

Seven issued a soft sigh of relief as the Vedic stood forth and began his final blessing on the couple. With any luck, the Borg would soon be able to change out of the tight dress, finding it incomprehensible why the garment had to be designed so that her breasts were cinched nearly up to her chin, providing her with an openly displayed cleavage so ample that more than one male guest had lost his entire chain of thought while glancing at her. However, she had agreed to participate in the ceremony, so she did her best not to squirm impatiently as she stood there. She was not pleased when she remembered that the reception line would require her presence directly after the ceremony, and she resigned herself to at least another hour of constricted movement and pinched ribs before she would be free of the heavy and awkward Klingon garment.

Unfortunately, it took two hours, and Seven discovered she was ready to tear the outfit directly from her body by the time she was finally allowed to retreat to a room in the house where she quickly changed into her dress uniform. Of course, this outfit was just as restrictive in its own way, and she tugged at her collar unhappily as she descended the stairs to join the rest of the celebration taking place in the back yard, wishing she had one of her flexible and skintight biomesh outfits to pull on. At the bottom of the stairs, she was surprised to encounter her sister-in-law, Phoebe. The young woman had an inquiring expression on her face.

"I was just about to go up and see if you needed help," the artist said, a note of amusement in her voice. "You didn't ... uh, rip it to shreds, did you?"

Seven shook her head. "I removed it properly," she told her. "However, the thought of destroying it so no one else would ever be condemned to wear it did cross my mind."

"You looked lovely," Phoebe assured her, hooking her arm in the Borg's as the two women exited the french doors at the back of the house. Seven cast an envious look at her free-spirited companion who was dressed comfortably in a simple summer dress, her feet tucked into sandals. "Red is definitely your color."

"I resembled a victim of a hovercraft accident," Seven corrected her, causing the young woman to laugh out loud. "No one should choose that shade of arterial red to display their love."

"It's still better than those uniforms you've all chosen to wear," Phoebe said, waving her hand disdainfully at the crowd. "Honestly, you all look like waiters in an overpriced restaurant ... or a high school marching band."

Seven smiled in certain agreement, but as she shot a look across the yard at her spouse who was talking with Admiral Nechayev, along with other members of the Starfleet brass, she was convinced that however the rest looked, Janeway still appeared to be the most elegant and dignified person there. Phoebe had apparently followed her gaze, and she squeezed Seven's arm.

"How are you and Kathryn doing?" she asked in a lower tone, her face sobering. "I know you were having a few problems at Christmas."

"We have overcome them," Seven said, with a touch of pride at the hard work both she and Janeway had dedicated to reaffirming their relationship. It had not been easy, but she and her spouse were finally back to where they both thought they should be, sharing a single path rather than wandering in alternative directions, unsure of where they had lost track of each other. "Of course, Kathryn has been quite busy preparing the Millennium for its maiden voyage, but since I am able to work with her on a full time basis, it is not as it was when we were working in separate Starfleet facilities."

"I still can't believe you two are shipping out so soon," Phoebe sighed. "I thought you would stay on Earth longer."

Seven lifted an eyebrow, considering how much she had been through in the past year and a half on Kathryn's homeworld. "It is possible we shall be safer in unknown space," she offered dryly.

Phoebe made a face, part regret at the Borg's accuracy, part amusement at the humor in the comment. "Just remember, you'll always have a home here," she said. "Once you're finished wandering around the galaxy."

"I suspect that Kathryn shall never tire of 'wandering around the galaxy'," Seven told her. "It is part of who she is. Perhaps it was even a contributor to the difficulties we have faced here. In any event, wherever she goes, I shall be with her. I could not imagine any other life." She rested her arm around the shoulders of her beloved sister-in-law and hugged her. "However, your friendship and love shall be with me no matter where I am."

Phoebe returned the hug, her arm around the young woman's waist. "Always, little sis," she promised.

"Hey, Seven."

The Borg turned around, nearly bowled over by an enthusiastic embrace offered by Tom Paris, surprised by the helmsman's enthusiasm, but appreciative of the affection behind it.

"How are you, Lt. Paris?" she asked as he released her.

"I'm doing great," he said. "I just got my orders. Is it true there'll be three squadrons of fighters on the Millennium?"

"It is," she said. She paused. "Will you accept the transfer?"

"Of course," he exclaimed. "Wing Commander? That's a lot more attractive than bus driver."

"'Bus driver'?" she echoed uncertainly.

"He's exaggerating, Seven," Kes said, joining the group. The slender, blonde ship's counselor put her hand on the lieutenant's arm, and Tom flashed the Ocampa a smile. "I remember a time when helming the Enterprise was your greatest dream, Tom."

"That was before I checked out the specs of those KillerBee fighters," he said, using his hands for emphasis. "I can't wait to fly one, let alone be in command of the entire auxiliary fleet."

"The captain believes you would be an adequate leader for those newly commissioned officers who will be accompanying us," Seven said.

Tom's initial enthusiasm immediately took a plunge. "'Newly commissioned'?"

"Experienced officers, particularly pilots, are difficult to recruit in the aftermath of the Dominion War," Seven explained, unsure why he was not already aware of this. "Since the Millennium is required to take on a certain percentage of graduates directly from the Academy, the captain chose to concentrate many of them in the auxiliary fleet section. She believes that by having the pilots all start from basically the same point, it would be easier for their senior officer to teach and guide their development into a unified squadron."

Paris let out his breath in an audible expulsion of air. "I didn't ... realize that," he said, his face falling. "Thanks for telling me, Seven."

Seven blinked, realizing that she may have unduly influenced the officer's decision as to whether he would accept the posting. However, it was best that Tom know what he was getting into. She doubted that Kathryn would want an officer who was not prepared for what she would expect of him.

Kes was regarding the young man with amusement. "Don't tell me you're considering changing your mind?" she asked. "You were so excited on the way here, you talked of nothing else." She glanced at Seven. "Honestly, Seven, I think he's just frightened at the prospect of having to teach cadets how to fly."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "They will all know how to fly," she corrected the ship's counselor. "They would not have graduated Starfleet Academy with a top pilot rating otherwise."

"Exactly," Tom said, groaning. "They'll know just enough to think they know everything, and not enough to realize they haven't a clue. They'll be cocky and arrogant ... hot shot officers convinced that they're the greatest thing ever to access a navigational system."

"In other words, an entire squadron of little Tom Paris's," Harry Kim broke in, having heard the latter part of the conversation. Voyager's former operations officer looked a bit heavier than the last time Seven had seen him, but still quite happy, content in his marriage and fatherhood. He was carrying his young son, Harry Jr., who immediately stretched out his arms to Seven.

The Borg smiled and accepted the youngster, bouncing him a little in her arms. Though she had decided not long ago that children of her own were not in her immediate future, she still enjoyed being with the child whom she had helped deliver in a turbolift on Voyager.

"I resent that," Tom said.

"Don't you mean, you resemble that?" Harry needled his friend.

"So what about you, Harry?" Tom asked him, manfully overlooking the laughter that followed. "Are you applying for a post on the Millennium?"

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. "My career is really taking off," he said, referring to his position in Starfleet Command's Starship Design section. "Megan and I will be staying on Earth, but I'll be thinking of you guys while you're out exploring the galaxy."

Kes glanced around. "Where is Megan?" she asked.

Harry gestured toward the buffet table where his newly pregnant wife was stocking up. "You know how it is," he said sheepishly.

Tom poked the lieutenant in his ample belly. "She has an excuse. What's yours?" he asked, making Harry blush. "This whole domestic scene seems to be agreeing with you, buddy."

Seven played with Little Harry and allowed the conversation of her former ... and perhaps future ... crewmates wash over her, comforting her with its familiarity, and renewing her sense of belonging. There had never been any denying that Kathryn Janeway ultimately belonged on a starship. What surprised the Borg was that she was discovering she belonged there almost as much.

Janeway smiled faintly as she saw her spouse enjoying the reception in the company of the captain's sister and their ex-crewmates from Voyager. The young Borg was beaming as she tossed Little Harry lightly into the air, making the child laugh and gurgle, and Janeway felt warmed at the sight, feeling that, finally, her partner was back to whom she had been becoming before Hayes had interfered with her life, diverting her onto a path where she had been isolated from those who cared most about her. If the admiral wasn't already dead, his heart stopping from some previously undetectable defect ... though a great many believed it had been Section 31 covering their tracks ... the captain might have been the slightest bit tempted to hurry him along herself.

"She's very beautiful."

Janeway inhaled slowly, then turned around to face Picard. "Yes, she is," she agreed sharply. "Is that why you used her as bait?"

Over the starship captain's shoulder, she saw Commander Riker, Picard's first officer wince and roll his eyes. She had attended the Academy with Will, but she wasn't about to take any advice from him regarding Picard. She also wore the four pips of command, and regardless of the fact the distinguished man commanded the flagship, she was not about to allow him any leverage in their encounters.

"I appreciate that you and I shall never agree about this ... situation," Picard said measuringly. "In any event, that's not what I wished to speak to you about."

Janeway took a rein on her temper, already regretting her initial comment. It had solved nothing, and worse, it had indicated a lack of control over her emotions. That was not something she cared to show to any of her brethren, even when she didn't like the other captain very much.

"Proceed," she said evenly, using one of Seven's favorite prompting techniques.

"Lt. Ro," Picard said. "She has not yet received an assignment from you. If you have no intention of offering her a posting on the Millennium, I'm offering her a position on the Enterprise. I'm in dire need of an experienced tactical officer."

Janeway was beyond outrage. Forcing back her fury with an effort, she glared at him. "Which tactical posting she accepts is, of course, up to her," she said stiffly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I hadn't realized you had offered her the tactical station on your ship," he said. "May the best captain win."

Janeway started to respond hotly, then abruptly stopped, thinking it through. This is too deliberate, she thought. Too manufactured.

"Sorry, captain," she said frostily, her eyes edging into grey "I won't jump to your manipulation any longer. I will offer Ro the posting when, and if, I deem it necessary."

His face tightened. "She deserves better than for you to punish her because you can't punish me or Admiral Ross," he said, angered because he had been caught, but also annoyed with Janeway for her stubbornness. "I expect better of you."

That comment stung, partly because of its accuracy, but mostly for its implied condescension, and again, Janeway came close to saying something that a starship captain shouldn't really say to another. She couldn't deny that she had been furious with the Bajoran, even as she knew, deep down, Ro had simply been doing her job, following her first loyalty. That the Bajoran's first loyalty had been with Picard was what truly rankled.

"What you do or do not expect of me is irrelevant, Picard," Janeway said, her tone icy. She took a breath, controlling her anger. "In any event, you should be less concerned with the officers you don't have on your vessel, and be more aware of the officers you used to have." Deciding she should quit while she was ahead, Janeway turned and stalked away, wanting to put some much needed distance between them.

That was the problem with starship captains, she thought grimly, as she sought out the relative privacy of the nearby flower garden, striding briskly along the graveled path. The very personality traits that elevated certain individuals to that position, also made it difficult for them to get along in different situations, particularly when it seemed as if one were violating the territory of another. Crossing such invisible boundaries inevitably resulted in raised hackles and the determination to put the other in their proper place with regards to who had the proper authority. She had done the same thing with Ransom back in the Delta Quadrant, making it clear which of them had the upper hand ... long before she had discovered that he had been up to no good. Perhaps, before her tour of duty in the Delta Quadrant, and her appointment to the Millennium, she would have unconsciously accorded Picard a certain seniority due to his greater accomplishments, and for commanding the larger vessel, but now she considered herself his peer, not a lesser officer in anyway, and it manifested in her attitude toward him. It was purely instinctive, and she was sure that Seven, upon observing it, would have some comment about the sheer 'Humanness' of it.

"Kathryn."

Jolted out of her musing, Janeway lifted her head to see her mother and her mother's lover ... a concept that still gave her a little twinge on occasion ... seated on a bench beneath an oak tree which had grown to a respectable height in the lighter gravity of Mars. She forced her dark thoughts to the back of her mind, and pasted a smile on her features, one that became more genuine as she saw how happy Gretchen appeared. It was obvious that the man, approximately the same age as the captain, had provided the older woman with a new enthusiasm for life. Or perhaps Gretchen had always had it, and Michael simply made it easier for Janeway to spot it.

"I suppose this wedding has given you a few ideas of your own," Janeway said jokingly, as she sauntered up to them. Her smile faded as the two immediately exchanged a brief glance, the intent of which she didn't recognize, but decided that she might not like. "What did I say?"

Gretchen looked vaguely guilty, but also very pleased with herself at the same time, as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Janeway's misgivings grew deeper.

"Mother?"

"We were going to tell you and Phoebe together," Gretchen admitted, after exchanging another look with Michael. "Not here, however. This should be B'Elanna and Laren's day, not ours."

Janeway hesitated, then took a seat on a boulder conveniently located nearby and stared at the couple, making it clear that she had no intention of moving until she had uncovered what was going on.

"What?"

"We're already married," Michael admitted, his jade eyes looking like a cat's in the sunlight. His dark hair tumbled boyishly over his forehead, and Gretchen squeezed his hand, regarding him fondly. "Just after Christmas, as a matter of fact."

"It seemed like a good idea," Gretchen explained as Janeway gaped at them, not sure she was hearing correctly. "You and Seven had gone off on your second honeymoon to the Caribbean, Phoebe was busy preparing for her new showing ... we just decided to go off on our own vacation."

"To Greece, I know," Janeway said, remembering the message that had been waiting on the house comm when she and Seven had finally returned after a week and a half in the sun and surf. However, there had been no mention of anyone getting married. "That was three weeks ago!"

"It's not as if we've seen you much since you resumed your duties on your new ship," Gretchen admonished, and Janeway blinked, fixing her stare on her mother. The older woman had the grace to blush faintly. "We just didn't want to make a big deal out of it, Kathryn," she amended.

"What ... where was the ceremony?" Janeway asked, feeling oddly detached and weak. "In Greece?"

"On a little island in the Aegean Sea," Gretchen said, enthusiasm edging her tone. "The sand was pure white, and the caretakers of the cottage we were staying at stood up for us. The village priest married us. It was really very charming, Kathryn."

Janeway was aware of her mouth moving, but not much coming out. With an effort, she firmed her jaw and closed her mouth firmly. She needed a moment to gather herself, then forced another smile.

"I guess all that's left to say is ... congratulations," she said, standing up. She hugged her mother tightly. "As long as you're happy," she added in a murmur in Gretchen's ear.

"Oh, yes, Kathryn," she responded, a dimple appearing in her cheek. Gretchen's eyes were the most brilliant blue the captain could ever remember seeing. "I'm ecstatic."

Janeway released her, then reached out for her new ... step-father, a distinct pain throbbing in her temple at the thought.

"Congratulations, Michael," she managed.

"Thank you," Commander Patterson said, accepting his own hug from the captain, though this was a bit more awkward. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She straightened and regarded them both, feeling quite bemused at their beaming faces.

"So, you haven't told Phoebe yet?" she asked.

"No," Gretchen allowed. "However, I suppose we should tell her immediately since we've told you. Seven should know, as well."

Janeway's face softened. "I know Annika will be very happy for you," she said.

"Captain?"

Janeway glanced over, seeing Neelix approach through the flowers, and the newly married couple apparently took the Talaxian's appearance as their cue to leave.

"We'll speak with you later, Kathryn," Gretchen promised as she hooked her arm in Michael's, and the pair left the captain with her former crewmember.

Short, stocky, with golden eyes and tufted features, Neelix greatly resembled a Terran animal known as a warthog, though with a much gentler and outgoing personality. He had acted as Voyager's morale officer for most of their incredible journey in the Delta Quadrant, and looking back, Janeway knew that without him, the journey would have been a great deal more difficult.

"How can I help you, Neelix?" she asked him graciously, putting aside the issue of her mother's new marital status for the time being.

He bowed slightly, and gestured to the bench recently vacated. "I'm aware that this might not be the time or place, Captain," he said as they took a seat. "However, I think that the sooner you know, the sooner you'll be able to make alternative arrangements."

Janeway exhaled, not liking the sound of this either. It seemed that as much as this day belonged to Ro and B'Elanna, there was little of it that was going to go right for her.

"What do you mean, Neelix?" she prompted evenly.

"It's about this request for transfer, Captain," he said. "I know that we had discussed it when I first left Voyager, but now I find that ... well, I've changed my mind."

Janeway blinked. "I see," she said slowly. "You want to stay with the Enterprise."

He nodded, eyeing her closely. "Yes, Captain," he said. He seemed to sigh. "I know that you'll need a morale officer since you're going off into the unknown again, and I had to think long and hard about my decision. However, I'm tired of ... well, wandering around. I feel I've created a vital place for myself on the Enterprise, and to be honest, the type of missions it carries out, the amount of diplomatic functions we encounter ... I just think Picard needs me more."

Janeway considered that, regarding the little alien whom she had first met almost nine years earlier, a lost soul who had no real home, throwing in his lot with a band of intrepid explorers doing their best to return to the Alpha Quadrant. He was thousands of light-years away from the world where he had been born, but it was obvious that he was content in the place he had finally carved out for himself.

"I understand," she said, reaching out and putting her hand gently on his shoulder. "I agree; the Enterprise is definitely the sort of vessel where your talents can be utilized to their fullest. I'm sorry to be losing you as a crewmember, Neelix, but I hope I'll never lose you as a friend."

"Never, Captain," he promised, his eyes glowing. "Good luck with your new ship. I know I'll think of you often out there in the various quadrants."

Janeway smiled. "I'll be thinking of you every time we come across a new world we've never seen before, Neelix," she said. Impulsively, she reached out and hugged him, patting him on the back. When she released him, he was blushing, but very flattered at the captain's informality. "Picard's a very lucky captain," she added.

He dipped his head and lowered his voice. "You're still the best, Captain," he said, offering her a smile. He rose from the bench, and with a dip of his head to indicate a final good-bye, he moved off toward the lawn where the rest of the reception was taking place.

Janeway leaned back against the bench, looking out over the lake glinting dark blue through the trees, the sun setting low over it. This part of the garden offered her a certain isolation, and she was happy to revel in it, suddenly feeling a certain weariness permeate her body. She thought about returning to the reception, but the thought of working her way through the throngs of people lacked appeal, and she tilted her head back, her gaze turning to the darkening sky above, and beyond, to the first stars that were beginning to appear, one after another. She pondered a moment, then stood up, tapping her comm badge.

"Janeway to Utopia Planitia Control," she said. She decided not to bother contacting her spouse, believing she'd probably be back before she'd be missed by Seven or anyone else at the party. She just needed a bit of a breather from all the news that was suddenly descending upon her.

There was a brief pause, then; "U.P. Control."

"One to beam to administration, then on to the yards, docking array one-alpha."

"Acknowledged."

Janeway felt the dissolution of the transporter sweep her up, beaming her to the dock where her new ship waited, needing to walk its decks and reassure herself that the vessel was exactly where her future lay.

Picard stared after the departing Captain Janeway, aware of his first officer's sardonic gaze on him. "That went well," he noted dryly.

Riker smiled. "I don't know what it is about you two, but you really know how to push each other's buttons," the burly officer said. "How do you manage that?"

"I have no idea," Picard sighed. "She's very ... stubborn."

"She's a starship captain," Riker reminded. "One of the best, in fact."

Picard eyed him. "Are you implying that it's the nature of the beast," he asked, raising an elegant brow.

Riker's smile widened through the thick growth of beard he sported. "In my experience?" he said. "You bet."

Picard shook his head. "What did she mean about officers I 'used' to have?"

Riker glanced toward the buffet table at a group of Starfleet officers which included Seven of Nine and the officers who had served with her on Voyager but who were now serving on the Enterprise. Picard followed his gaze, and his eyes widened.

"She can't do that!" Picard was outraged, and Riker shrugged helplessly.

"They have the right to consider other postings, Captain," he reminded him. "Particularly, when it's to a new and larger vessel. Janeway has tendered several requests of transfer, not only to all her previous crewmembers, but additionally, to twelve officers in our science section, three from sickbay, including Nurse Ogawa, and most importantly, she's offered the first officer position to Lt. Commander Data, along with a promotion to full Commander."

Picard stared at Riker in horror. "Why am I only hearing about this now?" he demanded.

Riker spread out his hands. "Unless they accept, it's not anything I can officially report," he said. "I've already made them the necessary counteroffers to encourage them to stay with the Enterprise, but there are some benefits that I just can't match. That promotion for Data, for example. Despite his great abilities, no one else has ever really offered him that kind of position before, perhaps because he's an android. Janeway, on the other hand, has served with a holographic CMO. She has no prejudices. It might be a hard offer for him to turn down."

Picard's face turned grim. "I'll speak with him," he said.

Riker dipped his head, lowering his voice. "We knew this might happen when we accepted the new Sovereign-class ship, Captain," he reminded. "Its purpose is primarily sector patrol, with an eye to internal Federation policy dealing with territorial and diplomatic issues. We no longer count scientific exploration as part of our primary mission, yet some officers joined Starfleet for just that reason. It was no coincidence that we lost so many crewmembers, including Barclay, as soon as it was clear what kind of ship the new Enterprise-E was going to be. Meanwhile, the Millennium, with an emphasis on scientific missions, is heading out to explore deep space, not remain within Federation boundaries. That's quite attractive to a lot of people."

"Including Data?" Picard asked.

"It might tempt him," Riker admitted.

Picard exhaled audibly. "You realize this is nothing more than a blatant attempt to raid my crew," he said.

Riker lifted his head, looking out over the lake, and away from his superior officer's eyes. Picard frowned.

"Fine," the captain said heavily. "I allow that I could have been accused of doing the same thing at DS9 when Voyager first returned ... but this is personal, Number One."

"Janeway's the sort of captain that takes things personally," the first officer reminded him. "From what I can tell from rumors floating around, she's a big believer in not necessarily getting mad as much as she is in getting ... even."

Picard firmed his jaw, considering this, then spotted Guinan across the lawn, speaking with the newlyweds. It occurred to him that conferring with the woman, who had been his friend for so many years and on so many levels, could help him deal with what was rapidly becoming a major aggravation. When he made the decision to keep Janeway in the dark about Section 31, he had known she would be angry, but he had not truly realized what facing the captain's fury really meant. Now he required a certain amount of damage control, and no one was better at that than the enigmatic bartender who reigned over Ten-Forward.

"If you'll excuse me, Commander," Picard said. "I think I'll offer my congratulations to the new couple."

"Of course, Captain," Riker said, and immediately drifted over to where Deanna Troi was talking with Lt. Reginald Barclay, the Emergency Medical Hologram from Voyager, and Dr. Lewis Zimmerman.

Picard squared his shoulders and headed for where Ro and Torres were speaking with the stocky, dark-skinned woman. Guinan, as always, sensed his approach long before he was near, and left the couple, patting Ro on the arm with a warm smile, before turning to intercept the captain near the bar.

"Captain?"

"Did you know that Janeway is trying to recruit her old crewmembers for her new ship," he said flatly, without preamble.

"Yes," she said, glancing at the bartender and gesturing at a slim blue bottle, holding up two fingers to indicate how many she required. "Fortunately, I believe I was able to convince Neelix that his future would be more successful with the Enterprise."

"I'm more concerned about our assistant ship's counselor," he said, accepting the glass she handed to him absently, not really paying attention until he took a healthy swallow of it. It was like fire burning a path down his esophagus, and he gasped for air.

"You really shouldn't gulp Romulan brandy like that," she said, frowning slightly as she regarded him. "It's meant to be sipped."

"I didn't realize that was what I was doing," he admitted, looking down at the blue liquid with bemusement.

"You were saying?" Guinan prompted.

"Kes," Picard said. "Is she accepting transfer to the Millennium?"

Guinan looked thoughtful. "I believe she is," she admitted.

He paused, looking around to see who was in earshot, then moved over to a quieter, more private area of the back yard, guiding the woman with him by placing his hand on her elbow. Seeming faintly amused, Guinan accepted the nudge, regarding him with a raised brow.

"Is something the matter, Captain?" she asked.

"Do you think it's wise for her to ... leave?" he asked. "You had concerns about her ability to temper her power."

"Initially," she agreed. "However, after a year and a half of tutoring, she has progressed significantly in her control. Besides, she has also progressed significantly in her role as a psychologist. It was inevitable that we would lose her to a vessel that requires a counselor, and Janeway would naturally want to work with someone she knows and trusts in that role."

"What will this mean if what you portended actually occurs?" he said worriedly. "Shouldn't she stay with us? Should I fight this transfer?"

She shook her head, putting a hand on his arm warningly. "Not at all," she said, her voice very patient and calm. "It will do Kes good to be on her own for awhile. There is still time before her talents are required, and when that time comes, it's truly irrelevant where she happens to be in the universe."

Picard exhaled. "You know how much I hate dealing with intangibles and mystical possibilities," he said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "If it were anyone else, Guinan, I simply wouldn't be according this any credibility at all."

"I know," the serene woman said. She lifted her head. "I understand how difficult it has been for you to maintain your own counsel in this. There is, honestly, no need to concern yourself, Captain. It's not as if anything is going to occur in the foreseeable future. In fact, as I said, it's entirely possible that it shall never occur. We're simply preparing for every eventuality."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked flatly.

She offered him a smile, less reassuring than her normal demeanor. "No," she allowed.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes in frustration.

"Why don't you offer your congratulations to the happy couple," Guinan suggested gently. "This is a wedding, after all, and a time of celebration."

He nodded. "You're right," he said. He paused. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Not at the moment, Captain," she told him. She paused, then met his eyes with her dark gaze. "Let it rest for now. Things will happen ... or not ... in their own time."

"That's easy for you to say," he muttered, before turning away, escaping that infuriatingly calm smile and serene demeanor of his friend. As he worked his way through the crowd, periodically stopping to speak to various people he knew from Starfleet Command, or had served with him on the Enterprise at one time or another, such as Miles O'Brien and his wife Keiko, along with their children, he eventually found Ro and Torres again.

"I'm so glad you could come, Captain," Ro told him warmly.

"I wouldn't have missed it," he said, smiling as he stiffly embraced her. He was not known for affectionate gestures, but he was particularly fond of this woman, even when it had seemed she had let him down. However, Ro had more than made up for that disappointment, and he was truly sorry that anything she had done in his service had inconvenienced the Bajoran when it came to her professional relationship with Janeway.

He was still a bit agitated over his earlier encounter with the starship captain, mostly because there was a lingering guilt there. He knew how he would have felt in Janeway's shoes, and suspected that he would have been just as outraged and angered at being left out of the planning of an operation that involved him on any level. Still, he couldn't see where he could have managed it differently, and with a determined effort, he decided to put the whole thing behind him, and concentrate fully on the future.

"Your tour with the shipyards should be coming to an end, soon," he noted, regarding the young woman closely. "Have you considered your next position?"

Ro and Torres exchanged a glance, the Klingon offering a bit of a raised brow. It occurred to Picard that any position he offered the Bajoran, would have to be matched with another position offered to her new spouse, and he began to go over his engineering section. There was no question the Klingon was a formidable talent, and any ship would be fortunate to have her, but the Enterprise's engineering section was doing quite well under the aegis of Geordi LaForge. There were simply no openings for an officer of Torres's abilities on his starship. Would Ro accept a position without her? Somehow, looking at the two women, Picard sincerely doubted it.

"We're thinking of staying on Mars," Ro admitted. "Utopia Planitia requires a new commander."

Picard blinked, surprised. "You're going to take over Janeway's role when she leaves?" he asked.

"I've spoken to Admiral Ross about it," Ro said. "He seems to think it's a viable position, and would provide me with some valuable command experience." She smiled. "I wouldn't be the first officer who chose this route on the way to my own ship or space station."

"No," Picard agreed slowly. "Captain Sisko commanded the shipyards while he was starting out. So did DeSoto. A lot of fine captains came out of Utopia Planitia." He glanced at Torres. "What of your ambitions?"

The Klingon smiled lazily, not the least bit impressed with the reputation or aura of the starship commander in front of her. "Ambition comes in many forms," she said. "Mine is to be happy in my personal life before I start worrying about my professional one." She glanced at her spouse, regarding her proudly, and making the stoic Bajoran blush faintly. "In the shipyards, I get to play with a variety of engines, not just one."

"So the new transition drive doesn't appeal to you?" he asked, honestly surprised. It had been common knowledge that Janeway had every intention on shipping out with the same officer who had managed to keep Voyager intact during the seven years it was unsupported by Starfleet. Some of the other engineers with more seniority had voiced their disgruntlement, but there was no question Torres possessed the inside track for the position of chief engineer on the Millennium.

Torres shrugged. "Like I said," she said. "Some things are more important." She glanced over as more people approached, obviously intent on congratulating the newlyweds, and it was apparent the conversation with Picard was over as far as she was concerned.

Picard offered the two women a hasty good-bye and his best wishes, before fading back into the crowd. He finally found Riker and Deanna Troi speaking with Seven of Nine, along with Paris and Kes. There was also a young man whom Picard did not recognize, but suspected had probably served on Voyager, the unfamiliar officer holding a child who displayed a distinct family resemblance to him. The entire group seemed to straighten to attention as he joined them, a side effect of his rank which was so automatic that he suspected they weren't even aware of it. He greeted the others politely, then focused his attention on the Borg, wondering if this might be an area that he could utilize to smooth things over before he left the reception.

"If I could speak with you a moment, Seven of Nine?" he asked.

Seven blinked, then dipped her head, and together, the pair moved off to the side. "Locutus," the young woman remarked once they were relatively isolated from other ears. "How may I assist you?"

He winced, though he recognized that was the way the young woman would know him best, far better than his role as a Starfleet officer. "I'd rather you didn't call me that," he requested gently.

"Of course," Seven corrected, not missing a beat, "Captain Picard."

"I was speaking to your spouse," he said. "Were you aware that she has yet to offer Lt. Ro a post on the Millennium?"

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I assumed she was waiting until she had completed her other crew arrangements," she said calmly. "I am sure she has every intention of offering Lt. Ro the position of tactical officer and chief of security."

"I think Captain Janeway is delaying the assignment because she's still upset at Ro about having worked for me on the Section 31 operation," Picard told her bluntly, suspecting that complete honesty was the only decent way to deal with the young woman, particularly after her encounter with Section 31. He owed her that much. "It's probably not my place to interfere, but I thought that I might warn you that if she waits too long, some other assignment may snap Ro and her spouse up."

Seven stared at him evenly. "Your concern in this?"

He lifted his head. "I feel responsible for any ... animosity ... that may have arose between Ro and Janeway from this whole situation, which was primarily my operation," he said. "I know Janeway is someone to whom loyalty is very important."

"Yes," Seven said. "It is." She looked thoughtful. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Picard nodded. "I'm glad to help," he said. He smiled briefly. "I can't help remembering the incident on DS9 when you first appeared in the Alpha Quadrant."

Seven's gaze warmed, as if she, too, were remembering the meeting between them years earlier. "You assisted me then," Seven concurred. She tilted her head. "You have an interest in my well being?"

"Let's just say that Starfleet officers should look out for each other whenever they can," he said. "I think that this will be far from the last time that all our paths cross."

"I agree," Seven said, her pale eyes sparking in acknowledgment.

"It is a ... very small galaxy."

Seven left the Enterprise captain beneath the tree, searching for her spouse. It did not take her long to realize that Janeway was nowhere to be found, and a quick check with Utopia Planitia Control ... which kept close track of the base commander, particularly in the last few months ... informed the Borg that the captain was in orbit, having beamed to the Millennium's docking array a few hours earlier. Seven sighed in exasperation, knowing that it was difficult to keep her partner away from her new vessel, but expecting that Janeway would show more restraint on this day, if not at any other time. As the launch date rapidly approached, however, she appreciated that Janeway was growing more anxious about how her new vessel would perform, and her abilities in taking command of it, even if she chose not to show that uncertainty and vulnerability to anyone but her spouse.

The Borg made her farewells to Ro and B'Elanna, wishing them her best. The afternoon had turned to evening, and both women were starting to look a bit worn. Seven remembered how exhausting her own special day had been, and that she had been so tired by the end of the reception, her wedding night had consisted of her lying down in bed and promptly going to sleep. Janeway had been amused by her spouse's inability to perform the physical aspect of the matrimonial tradition, but Seven still felt a bit of embarrassment whenever she thought about it. She hoped Ro and B'Elanna had paced themselves better, and would be able to enjoy the full experience of their maritial joining.

Finding an out of the way spot, Seven requested a transport to the docking array that lay in geo-synchronous orbit above the Mars base. The dock was quiet, only a few engineers still on duty to finish last minute details on the ship's exterior, and she quickly made her way to the tether that physically connected the vessel to the dock. She could have beamed directly to the ship itself, of course, but transporter use was generally frowned upon as long as the vessel was still considered under construction, due to the occasional power fluctuations during systems installation. In any event, Seven did not mind the walk though the long corridor, the roof of the temporary link lined with transparent aluminum so that she could see the massive vessel every time she looked up.

Inside the ship, she was greeted by that fresh, metallic scent that all new starships possessed ... or so she had heard. Certainly, this had been how Voyager had smelled when she had been on board briefly at its construction during a temporal excursion. Most of the final, interior details of the Millennium had been completed, from the thick slate-blue carpet on the deck that muted her booted footsteps, to the shiny panels that adorned the bulkheads, indicating where she was located in the vessel at any given moment. She paused near one and touched the surface, accessing the ship's internal comm system.

"Computer," she tried.

"Working," came the flat response. The mainframe had yet to have the final personality AI connected, and it was far more 'mechanical' than the other computers Seven had become accustomed to during her time with Starfleet.

"Locate Captain Janeway."

There was a pause as the computer searched the ship utilizing the internal sensors, the communicators still primarily linked with UP Control rather than the Millennium, and not yet interfaced with the main search parameters. Nor did the vessel have a specific crew roster in its databanks, so the only way it could find the captain was by locating the badge identification chip which corresponded to the name in the Starfleet personnel files it cross-checked in its database. It only took a few seconds, but in computer terms, it was a long time before it managed to track her down.

"Captain Kathryn Janeway is on the bridge."

Seven exhaled. She should have guessed, she thought to herself.

Taking the direct route to the closest turbolift, she instructed it to take her to deck one where she stepped onto the expansive bridge, spotting her partner sitting in the captain's chair, her auburn head bent intently as she worked at the console that spread around each arm of the command post. Janeway obviously hadn't heard the almost silent hiss of the turbolift door ... an equipment flaw that might prove dangerous in the future, Seven noted disapprovingly ... and it provided the Borg a moment to observe her partner unnoticed.

Janeway had changed from her dress whites at some point, and back into a regular uniform. Her sweater collar was loosened at the neck, while her tunic had been tossed over the chair at the science station, indicating she had been working there earlier. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing wiry forearms that flexed as she tapped commands into the console, while the elegant line of her face was in perfect profile, eyelashes casting a dark shadow over her cheekbone. Seven smiled fondly, then crossed her arms over her chest, assuming a stern demeanor as the captain abruptly realized she wasn't alone. There was a pause as Janeway lifted her head, then she glanced back at Seven. A rueful expression ghosted across her face as she turned the command chair which swiveled smoothly on its base in response to a touch of her finger on the control.

"I've been here longer than I anticipated," she offered weakly, as a sort of explanation. "I did mean to get back before the reception ended ... or before you missed me."

"What are you doing here at all?" Seven requested pointedly.

Janeway considered that, obviously searching for an explanation that would satisfy her partner. "Uh, I wanted to work on the sensor relays?"

Seven stared at her, and the captain threw up her hands in surrender. "Fine," Janeway finally admitted. "I was feeling a little ... out of control, and decided to come up here to cool off."

"You had a confrontation with Captain Picard," Seven guessed.

Janeway shot her a sharp look. "How did you know that?" she asked.

Seven shook her head. "Logic," she said. She lowered her arms, linking her hands behind her back. For her, it was a definite relaxation in body language, though for others, it would still appear unnaturally stiff. "I spoke with him about you, and since you had disappeared, it was reasonable to assume that you and he had interacted earlier."

"He wants to grab Ro for the Enterprise," Janeway said, leaning back in her chair.

Seven raised her brow delicately. "You object?"

"Of course I do," Janeway said, frowning at her partner. "You know I intend to offer her the tactical post."

"Is Ro aware of this?" Seven prodded. "Because if she is not, then she may choose to accept another offer. Furthermore, one could expect her new spouse to follow her, which may explain why B'Elanna has not yet confirmed her posting to the Millennium. I am unsure why you are persisting in this approach, Kathryn, but it occurs to me that it may not only cost you Ro's services at tactical, but B'Elanna's in engineering as well."

Janeway stared at her, breathing steadily, and Seven knew she was considering what she had said, even if she didn't like it much. Finally, the captain bent her head and swiveled her chair back to its original position so that it faced forward.

"You think I'm being an ass," Janeway said finally, her eyes dark as she stared at the blank viewscreen..

Seven tilted her head. "Not at all," she said honestly. "However, for you to offer that comment suggests that you may hold that view. Do you, Kathryn?"

It seemed a flicker of hurt crossed the classic features, not necessarily from Seven's words, but from what the captain was thinking, and the Borg quickly moved closer, stepping down from the upper part of the bridge to the lowest part of the deck which was already being referred to as 'the pit' by various members of the crew. It contained the first officer, science, navigational and auxiliary stations, and was one step below the main bridge. The captain remained at eye level, since her chair was on the upper part of the bridge, granting a distinctive aura of authority to the location. Tentatively, Seven reached out and put her hand on the captain's where it rested on the console arm of the chair.

"Kathryn, what is it that truly troubles you?" the Borg asked compassionately.

"Ro was never my command candidate," Janeway said, her face lowered, shadowed in the lowered lights of the bridge. "She was always working for Picard. I ... it's left me feeling ..."

"Foolish?" Seven prompted.

"Uncertain of my judgment when it comes to trusting the officers under my command," Janeway corrected dryly.

"I see," Seven said. She paused. "Perhaps it is merely your perception that you must feel ... uncertain about. It is possible that Ro was quite content to be your command candidate, and was merely serving Picard in addition to her duties to you."

"She could have confided in me," Janeway said flatly. "She would have ... if her first loyalty was to my command."

Seven inhaled slowly. "You once told me that you hold many responsibilities, not just to me, but within Starfleet itself," she said quietly, studying her partner thoughtfully. "Sometimes, those responsibilities conflict, and the only thing you can do is choose the greater of the two demands upon you. Just as I am expected to accept and understand when you are required to choose such a demand over your loyalty to me, is it not possible that you will, by necessity, find yourself in that position with another Starfleet officer? With Lt. Ro?"

Janeway stared at her darkly, but Seven could tell from the lighter cast of the eyes, shading from dark grey to a paler shade, that her words were penetrating the captain's anger and disappointment.

"Is this a matter of rank?" Seven prodded. "In that case, Ro was required to obey the senior officer, which was Picard, the captain of Starfleet's flagship. Or are you truly angry because so much of this was out of your control?"

Janeway dropped her eyes and mumbled something.

"Excuse me?" Seven said politely.

"I said," Janeway repeated in a clearer tone. "The latter."

Seven nodded, satisfied that this, indeed, was the true problem. "You are being unfair to Laren," she told her spouse, as gently as possible. She always had to proceed with care when discussing such things, knowing that there was fine line that she could not cross when it came to Kathryn's command. She had sworn never to use her personal ties to the captain to attempt to sway her professionally, but that didn't mean she couldn't point things out to her when required.

"I know," Janeway said finally, exhaling audibly. "I'll offer Ro the posting as soon as possible." She seemed to relax once she had made her decision, as if an unseen burden had lifted from her shoulders.

"That is most wise," Seven told her approvingly, squeezing her fingers lightly. "However, you should probably wait until she and B'Elanna have completed their honeymoon. They shall return next Monday."

Janeway sighed. "I suppose you're right," she said. As she regarded her partner, her face altered slightly, to an expression that seemed somewhat remorseful. "I'm sorry I left the reception early. I should have told you that I was going, and where."

Seven did not shrug exactly, but the incline of shoulders altered slightly, which was indicative of the same thing. "It is better for you to be in a place where you can calm yourself and think things through," she allowed. "Rather than try to remain surrounded by people you may find yourself in conflict with, causing you to make decisions that may prove ... imprudent ... in the future."

"You're probably right," the captain agreed. "However, after all we've been through, I should be more considerate about any 'sudden disappearances'."

Seven lifted her chin. "I was not concerned," she said. "Particularly once I knew where you had gone."

Janeway tilted her head, her eyes soft as she regarded her partner. "Did Mom have a chance to speak with you?"

Seven smiled. "Yes," she said, her mood lightening. "I was ... surprised but pleased. I believe Gretchen and Michael's union will be successful." She paused. "Phoebe appeared unduly shocked, however."

Janeway made a small sound of amusement. "I suppose that I should feel glad that I wasn't the only one caught unawares by this," she said. "One thing this time on Earth has given me is the chance to discover what a truly interesting and amazing person my mother is. Who knew that she could be so unpredictable?"

"Those are all traits that you possess in great measure," Seven pointed out gently. "You had to inherit them from one of your parents."

Janeway dipped her head bashfully, acknowledging the truth of the Borg's comment, then lifted Seven's hand to her lips, kissing the inside of the wrist tenderly, as if suddenly reminded that this was, after all, a day of romance, though few in the Federation recognized the significance of the 14th day of February anymore. "Have I told you how glad I am you immediately accepted your assignment to the Millennium?" she murmured, eyeing the young woman from beneath her lashes. "How much I love working with you on the same ship?"

Seven felt the corner of her mouth lift. "I enjoy it, as well," she admitted. "I feel more comfortable being only a few decks away from you at any given moment. Perhaps working so closely together would not be acceptable or beneficial to some couples, but for us, it is a functional ... and nurturing ... arrangement for our relationship."

"I agree," the captain said warmly. She paused, staring at her. "You've mostly spent your time in the science labs," she added. "Or engineering. Have you had a chance to take a complete circuit of the ship?"

Seven shook her head. "Not yet."

Janeway stood up and stepped down from her chair, offering her arm. "Then allow me to be the first to give you the captain's personal tour," she said. She motioned to the port side at a door by the turbolift. "That's the conference room," she explained, though she made no effort to show the young woman the interior, and Seven wondered how sincere her partner was about giving her the 'tour'. It was entirely possible the captain was up to something else altogether. Janeway turned and pointed at the door opposing it. "That leads to the staff room."

"Staff room?" Seven decided that she would not make it easy for her spouse, asking questions at every opportunity.

Janeway eyed her speculatively. "Apparently, it was decided that the bridge needed one, rather than have the crew take the turbolift down a deck, or utilize the ready room when they require a break in their duties," she explained. "It's supposed to decrease stress during times when the senior officers are required to work beyond the normal shifts. Other areas, such as engineering and sickbay, also have their own personal lounges."

"It is a concept that B'Elanna once mentioned to me," Seven remarked.

"My only concern is that they might serve to further isolate the various departments from each other," Janeway noted. "I'll have to keep my eye on that."

Seven offered her a fondly proud look. "I am sure you will find a way to limit any disadvantages," she said, generating a a pleased but shy expression from her partner at the compliment. The Borg accepted the warm grip on her elbow with a faint smile as Janeway scooped up her tunic and led the Borg to the rear of the bridge, where a door was located between the two turbolifts.

It slid open at their approach, and inside, Seven discovered the captain's ready room. It was similar to Voyager's in that it was comprised of two levels, but like the rest of the Millennium, it incorporated a more circular, flowing line of decor. The first thing Seven saw immediately before her was a large circular sofa and a coffee table in what was obviously a conversation pit of some kind. Following Janeway up the ramp which swept up the right side of the conversation pit, bordered by a rail, Seven checked out the upper level containing the captain's desk. It was drawfed by the large transparencies that looked out over the aft part of the saucer and engineering section, and down onto the beta hangar launch pad. A small head was tucked to the starboard side, aft of the turbolift, while a changing room, containing dress uniforms and a sonic shower, was located to port. Shelves lining the curved bulkhead and a built-in cabinet displayed many of the professional souvenirs and space-going antiques the captain had accumulated during her career. A large replicator, located near the captain's desk, already had a small, permanent coffee stain on the lip of the tray. It made Seven smile.

"It is ... spacious," Seven noted. "More so that your previous office."

"That might be deliberate," Janeway allowed, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked around with a decidedly possessive air. "I guess they believe I'll be spending a lot of time in here."

"You also have direct access to the turbolifts," Seven said approvingly.

"Yes, bypassing the bridge," Janeway agreed. "Even better, there's an alternative shaft that runs directly to the captain's quarters on deck three, accessed by a special command code. That's not in the official specs, by the way. It's just a little surprise they added."

Seven considered that. "For decreasing the time it takes for the captain to reach the bridge?" she said.

Janeway smiled. "Among other things," she offered. She suddenly reached over and patted Seven lightly on her left buttock, startling the Borg. "It occurred to me that you would never have to utilize a site-to-site transport should you wish to 'surprise' me in the ready room sometime in the future."

Seven eyed her. "I am sure that was not the intention of the engineers when it was designed," she said dryly.

"Perhaps not," Janeway offered impishly. "However, one should consider all the options." She moved down the other ramp to the turbolift, the doors slipping open quietly for her. "In the meantime, let me show you our quarters. They finished moving in the basic furnishings yesterday."

Seven regarded her partner from the corner of her eye, wondering what Janeway was up to, but certainly having no objection to participating in the captain's sudden playful mood. Besides, she had yet to see the quarters she was expected to share with the captain for the next few years, and now was as good a time as any to investigate them.

The turbolift did not open directly into their cabin, and Seven realized that Janeway had programmed the lift simply for deck three, belatedly remembering that the captain would not yet have recieved the main codes that controlled the ship systems. Those would be given to her just prior to launch by the admiral during a high security transfer of command. The two women walked down the corridor, and Seven took note of the two other doors leading off from this section.

"First officer?"

"Yes, and VIP guest quarters on this deck," Janeway agreed. "Just as it was on Voyager."

Not quite, Seven mused. For one thing, Commander Chakotay would not be in those quarters, would not be performing the role as the captain's second-in-command on this voyage. In fact, it had yet to be determined who the first officer would be. The captain had put in a formal request for Lt. Commander Data of the USS Enterprise, but it was entirely possible that Starfleet Command had its own idea about who would be suitable to serve with the captain. The only thing Seven knew for sure was that whomever was chosen, the individual could not be Terran. That was because of the transition stage of the new propulsion system the vessel used. Between warp and ultrawarp, there was a brief transition period where the vessel entered the subspace corridor, and for some reason, as yet undetermined, it adversely affected Humans. Other species, Bajorans, Vulcans, Klingons, Bolians, and even Betazeds who were humanoid to within 82% of the natives of Earth, remained immune, but for those with a base Human genetic composition, they experienced dizziness, nausea and severe headaches. For Janeway to command the vessel, it had to be balanced by an exec who could take over for her during the transition.

Seven wondered how her spouse would handle her first 'jump'. Somehow, she doubted Janeway would do the prudent thing, allowing herself to be medicated, and granting her alien first officer command for that brief transition stage. She hoped that after Janeway had experienced it once, she would learn to accede to the inevitable, as the rest of the Humans in the crew would have to.

Janeway paused at the door at the end of the corridor, pressing the controls. They were welcomed into the quarters with a soft hiss, and the captain immediately brought up the lights. She tossed her tunic onto the back of an easy chair, then stood back to allow Seven to look around.

It was much larger than their living space on Voyager had been, the Borg noted. To her immediate left, she took note of the curved doors indicating where the turbolift could open directly into the room. Beyond that, the dual work stations were against the wall, facing each other just as they had in their previous ship's quarters, while the living area was decorated with comfortable looking sofas, and a large coffee table, which took up the central space. They faced the curved windows which looked forward onto the top of the ship's saucer section. To Seven's right, there was a dining area, as well as a fully functional kitchenette, which was not standard issue at all. She flashed a look at Janeway and received a smile.

"For me?" Seven said, greatly pleased. Cooking from scratch was one of the Borg's favorite hobbies, and looking back, one of the clues that she and Janeway had stopped operating on an acceptable level while on Earth should have been that she stopped finding time to prepare meals for the couple.

"For you," Janeway confirmed with a wry smile. "After all, it's not as if I've learned my way around the kitchen in the past year and a half."

Smiling faintly in return, Seven moved over to the doorway next to the dining table, expecting to find the bedroom. However, when the door slid back to reveal the interior, she actually faltered, struck almost speechless.

"Oh, Kathryn," she said wonderingly. "How did you arrange this?"

Janeway regarded her partner with satisfaction as Seven walked into the arboretum, the young woman's expression one of pure astonishment and joy. The captain, knowing her partner's love for the outdoors, had instructed the designers in charge of the final interior ship decor to see what it would take to install a small botanical garden next to the captain's quarters. It wasn't as extravagant as the green areas installed on the lower decks, but it would provide a space for Seven to meditate, or just breathe air filled with the scent of flowers and growing things. Certainly, as a gift for her spouse on this minor holiday, it was far superior to the traditional present of a dozen roses and a box of chocolates.

Seven turned to her, spreading her arms wide. "This is amazing, Kathryn," she said, her face as bright as the birth of a new nebula.

"I'm glad you like it," Janeway said softly, leaning against the door frame. She glanced around the area, noting the transparencies overhead interspersed with the high intensity lights that provided the necessary solar radiation the plants required to thrive. Beneath a gracious apple tree, a small fountain babbled joyously over artfully placed rock formations which also concealed a hot tub resting on the other side ... something Janeway decided she would reveal at another time for her partner. "I thought, at the very least, we could still have a backyard. I suspect that's the one thing you'll miss most about our house in San Francisco. Of course, in the future, it could be altered back to living quarters ... in the event we were to require a nursery or something."

The brilliant smile radiating from the young woman was all the reward Janeway could have wanted or needed for her 'surprise'. The kiss her partner provided a few seconds later, sweeping over to embrace her warmly, was pure bonus.

Janeway nuzzled the Borg's ear. "Let me show you the rest of the quarters," she suggested, feeling a certain tingle echo through her. Seven did not hesitate, readily accepting her hand, and following her from the arboretum back into the main living area. On the other side was the entrance to the bedroom, the interior dominated by the presence of an incredibly large bed ... far larger than was standard issue for starship quarters.

"Kathryn, who chose the furnishings?" Seven asked, regarding the expansive mattress with a touch of amusement that lent color to her pale eyes.

Janeway grinned unrepentantly. "I had a direct hand in the final decor," she admitted. "After all, it's very rare that a captain has the opportunity to contribute to the actual interior design of the ship she'll command. It would have been wasteful had I not taken advantage of it. Besides, since these are the quarters we'll be expected to live in for a five year tour of duty, and possibly beyond that, they should be exactly to our specifications."

"'Our' specifications?" Seven repeated, eyeing her skeptically.

Janeway hesitated, feeling her cheeks warm. "Uh, I did try very hard to take your tastes into consideration," she said weakly. She gestured at the curving, wall-length cabinet enclosed with transparent doors. "I had that made for any souvenirs you might pick up on our journey."

Seven held her gaze, then smiled faintly, reaching out to take Janeway into her arms. "It is wonderful, Kathryn," she said, hugging her affectionately. "Very efficient, yet designed for comfort as well." She glanced to the door leading to yet another room. "I am sure you had the ensuite constructed with equal attention."

Janeway entwined her fingers in Seven's. "You know me, darling," she said, drawing her into the bathroom which included a lavish tub and a large hydro shower stall, along with a separate sonic unit. "This was the room I had the designer do first."

Seven looked around the area. "Acceptable," she said. "Closet space?"

Janeway touched an area of the wall, the mirrored panel drawing back to reveal a walk-in closet.

"Sufficient even for you, love," she teased.

Since being in the Alpha Quadrant, Seven had greatly expanded her wardrobe, to the extent that a good portion of it would undoubtedly have to be left behind. Of course, on a starship where uniforms were generally predominant for the Starfleet officers, one really didn't require an extensive wardrobe.

Seven blushed faintly, aware of her partner's gentle needling, but clearly pleased by the amount of space provided. "Kathryn, you are not in the habit of authorizing such luxuries for yourself," she said, her tone curious. "Why now?"

"Well, there were always your needs to consider, not just mine," Janeway said over her shoulder as she returned to the bedroom. "Besides, Annika, this isn't going to be like Voyager where we had to make do with what an Intrepid-class vessel could provide. Starfleet knows exactly how long this initial tour of duty is expected to take, and with that in mind, it's important that the ship's interior be set up so the crew will be comfortable, both physically and psychologically. This type of deep space duty, devoid of regular communication with Starfleet, offers its own form of stresses, as we well know from our time in the Delta Quadrant. Whatever could be done to alleviate that was incorporated into the ship, which includes the living quarters."

"Intriguing," Seven said, pausing in the ensuite entrance to watch her partner. "Now I understand better why some of the areas are constructed the way they are. Not necessarily for efficiency, but to provide the most acceptable surroundings for long voyages."

"Exactly," Janeway said, sitting down on the bottom of the bed and crossing her legs, leaning on one arm as she rested the other across her thighs. She exhaled slowly, regarding her partner with languid interest. "So, do you think you could enjoy living here?"

"It appears to be an efficient layout," Seven told her evenly.

Janeway tilted her head invitingly. "Efficient?" she queried softly, deliberately dropping her voice a few octaves.

Seven hesitated, eyeing her measuringly as if to gauge the captain's mood, then gracefully, she drifted to the bed, leaning over Janeway as she placed her hands lightly on the older woman's shoulders, the warmth penetrating the layer of sweater. The Borg's face was only millimeters away, so close that Janeway could feel the young woman's breath flow sweetly over her, but deliberately, Seven did not close the slight distance between them.

"What is it that you wish to hear?" she asked in a provocative tone, making the captain smile.

"You never did say if you approved of the bed," Janeway reminded the Borg huskily.

"It is of significant size," Seven noted, the corner of her mouth curling upward in obvious recognition of the game. Her lips almost, but not quite, brushed over the captain's "Certainly comparable to the one we have in our San Francisco home."

"But, do you like it?"

"I cannot not offer an opinion since it has yet to be utilized," Seven said. She paused, arching an eyebrow curiously. "Is it important?"

"Very important," the captain told her sincerely. "I would hate for anything to be unacceptable, particularly the bed. Perhaps we should 'christen' it now, just to be sure."

"'Christen'?"

"Try it out officially," Janeway elaborated. "Make sure it meets with all our criteria."

Seven's eyebrows rose slowly. "Is not the night of Millennium's launch the proper time for such 'official' assessment?" she asked blandly.

"Hmm, that will probably be a very busy day," Janeway offered reasonably. "It's possible that we'll be so tired that evening, we won't be able to grant the tradition the attention it deserves."

"Ah, rather like our wedding night," Seven said thoughtfully.

"Something like that," the captain agreed. "In any event, by then it will be too late to make any alterations we might require."

"Therefore it is logical to 'christen' the bed while we have the opportunity," Seven concluded.

"Exactly," the captain whispered.

Seven's eyes grew lidded. "You may proceed, Kathryn," she said.

The captain's smile widened, and she closed the remaining distance to press her lips to the young woman's, the contact very gentle, yet implicit in its promise, both women taking their time to savor the tender kiss. With her right hand, Janeway reached up and found the fastening of Seven's uniform, pulling it down slowly as she kissed her again. "Let me undress you," she requested softly, pushing the tunic off her spouse's shoulders.

The Borg lifted a brow, but remained still, allowing the captain to slowly remove her dress uniform, dropping each garment onto the deck. Janeway gave the task her entire attention, captivated by each new revelation ... the soft shadow of Seven's collar bone, the gentle swell of her toned abdomen, the high point of her hip ... granting each discovery a tender kiss, a fleeting brush of her fingertips, a flick of her tongue. By the time she had finished, the young woman was trembling with arousal and anticipation, standing nude before the captain as Janeway looked up and down the glorious golden length of her with deep pleasure.

"You are so beautiful," she murmured, drawing her hands lightly over Seven's stomach, up to her breasts, toying with the rosy nipples, feeling them harden into points beneath her fingertips.

Seven inhaled, shuddering. "Are you going to undress?" she asked.

"Hmm," Janeway said, leaning forward to kiss Seven's surgically reconstructed belly button which the captain found absolutely adorable. "Eventually, I suppose."

Seven laughed, a low chuckle of sensuality as Janeway moved lower, nuzzling into the pale triangle, feeling the curly strands tickle her nose and cheeks, aware of the Borg's hands raking lavishly through the captain's hair. Slowly, Janeway trailed upward once more, nibbling over the smooth skin, her hands stroking the young woman's legs and hips, around to the swells of her buttocks, cupping them as she pulled Seven closer to her.

"Kathryn, you are making it difficult for me to remain standing," the Borg muttered.

Janeway smiled, lifting her head to kiss along the under curve of Seven's full breasts, not quite able to reach the nipples with her mouth. For that, she would either have to alter her sitting position, or bring Seven down onto the bed. She chose to delay the decision, pressing the upper part of her face in the warm valley between the generous swells, Seven's arms going about her head to hold her tight for a brief moment of loving repose.

"I love you," the captain whispered, wrapping her arms around the lanky torso. "So much."

"I know, my Kathryn," Seven responded quietly, stroking Janeway's forehead, her cheeks. "I love you, too."

Janeway exhaled happily and drew back, gazing up at her. "So, are you going to come down here, or shall I go up there?" she asked playfully.

"A dilemma," Seven said, considering it carefully. "Let me undress you while we decide." She grasped the captain's biceps firmly but gently, pulling Janeway to her feet as she looked into her eyes with amusement.

"It seems that the decision has been made," the captain noted dryly.

Rather than answer, Seven bent her head, kissing her spouse with a mouth that was sweetly intoxicating to Janeway, the captain immediately lost in the satiny taste of the Borg's lush lips. She paid only glancing attention to her partner undressing her, focusing on prolonging the kiss rather than on her sweater being peeled from her torso along with her bra, the seams parted neatly by Seven's mesh-covered hand. The trousers were pushed down over her hips, left crumpled on the deck next to her boots, and other discarded garments. Then it was warm body against body, silken skin against skin, a heated embrace that lowered them onto the new bed without ever losing the continuity of kisses that went on without pause.

Lying on her side, Janeway rested her palm on the Borg's breast, her tongue dancing with Seven's, the women conveying wordless sonnets to each other through that oral connection, silent songs to touch the heart and tantalize the soul. Meanwhile, Seven's right hand moved restlessly over Janeway's hips, legs and stomach, fleeting caresses that inflamed and tormented the captain.

"Oh, love," she murmured, finally breaking away from the delectable mouth, almost breathless from the sensation. "You're driving me crazy."

Seven nipped at her bottom lip. "That implies I am deliberately teasing you," she responded, her voice equally unsteady in her arousal. "I am merely following your lead."

Janeway laughed throatily. "You know that we're both holding back to see who surrenders first."

"A competition infinitely more enjoyable than many others we participate in," Seven noted, her respiration quick, her pulse fluttering visibly in the leonine line of her neck.

"Infinitely," Janeway agreed, stroking the slope of her partner's breast, squeezing one nipple, then the other, rolling them between her fingers.

Seven moaned, closing her eyes, her head going back, and the captain drew her tongue along the young woman's throat, mouthing the underside of the Borg's chin. However, Seven's hand drifted down to Janeway's thigh, pulling her knee up onto her hip, leaving the woman open to her. She touched the captain between her legs, and it was Janeway's turn to whimper, quivering helplessly as Seven's fingers swirled in her wetness, the tips rubbing over the nodule engorged with desire.

"God," she exhaled, as much prayer as oath. "So good ... it feels so good, darling..."

Seven lowered her head, brushing her cheek against Janeway's. "Perhaps ... a mutual surrender?" she hissed in her ear.

"Oh, yes," the captain replied, accepting the compromise instantly. She adjusted her position, as did Seven, allowing them both full access to the other. "Much better," she muttered, inhaling deeply, her fingertips dipping into her partner's heat and stroking her avidly.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered, a direct reaction to her partner's fondling. It was more than just the captain's name, it was the first hint to Janeway that the sensation was becoming too intense for the Borg to resist. "Oh, Kathryn."

"Yes, darling," Janeway urged, her fingers moving faster, responding to the young woman's touch which intensified correspondingly, feeling the delightful chills shiver through her. "Oh, yes..."

"Kathryn ... oh ..."

"Now..." Janeway groaned, trembling. "Darling ... now ... ohhh ..."

Together they reached their peak, torn between their own irresistible spasms and the need to maintain their caress for the other, the sensation lessened slightly by the split in concentration, yet strengthened at the same time by the knowledge of the pleasure the other was feeling. Finally, naturally, they slowed and stopped, not so much collapsing as melting into each other, quiet on the bed, fingers still touching the other possessively, lovingly.

"Oh, love," Janeway murmured finally, swallowing in an effort to generate some moisture in her dry mouth.

Lazily, she released her grasp of the Borg, easing back against the bedding beneath her. Seven leaned over her, pausing to bring her fingers up to her mouth, delicately licking clean Janeway's wetness that still glistened on them, a gesture that provoked a chill of pure animal pleasure within the captain. Seven eyed her languidly like a big cat, obviously aware of what it did to her partner, and deliberately, she reached down to touch herself. Offering the result to Janeway, the captain accepted it readily, sucking lightly on the digits slipped between her lips, savoring the mingled taste of herself and her spouse before finally releasing them.

"Delicious," Janeway told her softly, kissing each of the fingertips.

"As are you," Seven told her, leaning over to replace her fingers with her lips, the kiss languorous but deep, indicative of more passion as yet unquenched.

"Was it a suggestion?" Janeway whispered against her lips.

"A promise," Seven explained.

Janeway cupped the Borg's face in her hands. "Together?"

Seven smiled faintly. "Is that what you would like, Kathryn?"

"Very much," the captain said fervently, and captured the Borg's mouth in another kiss, before trailing over her chin, and down her throat.

They took their time to get into position, rebuilding the fire between them with a multitude of kisses and caresses. When Janeway finally put her knees on either side of Seven's head, easing herself down onto the Borg's mouth, she was breathing heavily, more than ready for the touch that welcomed her eagerly. The contact seared along her nerve endings, and she glanced between her legs, seeing her partner's chin and jaw move against her juncture, almost as if the young woman were actually feasting on her. Janeway groaned loudly, then shifted her attention hungrily to the intimate flesh beneath her, inhaling its heady scent with sincere enjoyment. Breasts cushioned by the muscled warmth of Seven's stomach, she felt the young woman's thighs come up to surround her head as she covered Seven's center with her mouth.

Stiffening her tongue, Janeway manipulated the sensitive node with the tip, sending shivers of delight through her spouse, keenly aware of her own desire being stirred by her lover's mouth, hot and avid as it pleasured her. Her buttocks were gripped tightly by Seven to hold the captain in place, and Janeway cried out into the wetness bathing her face as Seven teased her opening with her fingers, before boldly penetrating her. Undulating into the tantalizing sensation flexing within her, Janeway continued to flutter her tongue rapidly over Seven's ridge, finding it difficult to concentrate on both. Shifting her weight onto her left elbow, Janeway slipped her right hand under the young woman's leg, wetting her index finger in the pool of moisture before circling Seven's smaller orifice, easing it into her rear channel. The tight band gripped it with constrictive force, then gradually yielded to her probe as Janeway eased into her partner as far as she could. The vibration of Seven's moan of pleasure reverberated through the captain's loins, and Janeway felt herself drift away, lost in the complete immersion of herself in her spouse, her senses aflame with the taste, smell, and touch of the Borg surrounding her. From behind her, the captain heard the unmistakable sound of metal crumpling under an implant, clear indication of the pleasure escalating far beyond the young woman's control, and Seven bucked spastically beneath her as she surrendered to her climax. Janeway felt her own desire overwhelm her, shuddering from the jolts radiating from her center, the intensity catching her by surprise before the mutual intensity finally released them both, allowing them to collapse limply in the tangle of bedding.

Janeway gulped for air, finally feeling her heart ease its rapid pace, while Seven's stomach beneath her chest expanded and contracted mightily as the Borg fought for her own share of oxygen. Finally, Janeway managed to turn herself around in order to crawl up into Seven's arms, the couple slipping between the sheets and happily settling in the center of their new bed, perfectly content not to move for the next eon or two.

"Has our new bed been properly 'christened'?" Seven asked eventually, her voice warm with amusement.

"Oh my, yes, darling," Janeway said, smiling faintly, her eyes closed as she rested her head on the Borg's chest. "Particularly, once you mangled the headboard."

Seven paused, apparently surprised. "The metal rods were not meant for me?" she asked uncertainly.

Janeway chuckled happily. "No, they were part of the decor," she explained. "Obviously, the designer didn't believe me when I told him that any headboard would require additional  reinforcement beyond what ordinary space travel requires. We'll need to have it replaced before we leave." She paused, snuggling closer. "Of course, that means these quarters will require a second christening between now and the launch ... just to be sure any replacement is sufficient."

"I shall keep my schedule open," Seven promised immediately. Her embrace tightened slightly. "Are we remaining here tonight?"

Janeway exhaled, licking her lips, still tasting the provocative salt-sweet flavor that lingered on her tongue. "Mmm, I certainly don't want to get up," she admitted drowsily. "The ensuite is fully online, as are the replicators, so we should have no problem arranging clean uniforms along with some breakfast in the morning."

"Then we shall stay here," Seven decided. Janeway felt her lips brush over her forehead tenderly, cuddling her close. "Goodnight, my Kathryn."

"Sweet dreams, love," the captain whispered, surrendering to the sleep that beckoned with irresistible force, delighted to spend the rest of the night on her new vessel, sheltered within the arms of her beloved spouse.

Realizing that there was no better way to end Valentine's Day.

Over the next few days, hundreds of unique individuals received official notification from the USS Millennium that would greatly affect their future. For some, it came in the form of orders to report to the vessel by a certain date, and they had little choice in the matter if they truly wished to pursue a career in Starfleet. For others, with far more seniority, it meant making a choice between where they currently served, and what accepting a post on the newest Starfleet vessel actually promised. Then, there was the final group for whom the official notification came like a gift from the gods, an offer to join a vessel that might fulfill all their hopes and dreams as either an Starfleet officer, or as an addition to the civilian population who would round out the crew.

On Trill, Dr. Lenara Kahn finished packing the last of her bags, her brother leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a dismayed expression on his features.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, not for the first time. Dr. Bejal Otner had worked with his older sister for a long time, and it wasn't surprising that he would find this a most disturbing turn of affairs.

The scientist smiled faintly, sealing up the carryall. "I am," Lenara said. "You know how restless I've been. It's time I expanded my horizons."

"I don't see how you're going to be able to pursue your research on artificial worm holes while you're traipsing all over the galaxy," he said fretfully. "What about your work here?"

"You'll continue it," she said, picking up the bag and slipping the strap over her shoulder. With her other hand, she picked up another, much larger piece of luggage which he took from her automatically, hefting it as he followed her out into the living area. "Bejal, this is something I have to do."

He stared at her, his eyes bleak. "This is about Dax, isn't it?"

She blinked. "Why would you even say that?" she responded, an edge in her tone. Even now, the wound remained, still tender to any reference of the Starfleet lieutenant who had served on DS9.

"You made the right decision," he insisted. "The cost was too high. If you had stayed with Jadzia, you would have lost everything."

"I know," she said, frowning, resentful that he had brought it up. "I knew it at the time, which is why I chose to leave. What's your point?"

He hesitated, then dipped his head. "It's just that ... I don't think you've had a moment of real happiness since you walked away from her five years ago," he said softly. He swallowed, his throat moving visibly. "I almost wish..."

He didn't finish the thought ... and she didn't dare.

She forced a smile onto her face. "So this change will be good for me," she said in a cheerful tone. "A totally new job in a new starship, exploring an area of space that's never been explored before."

Yet, as she turned away, heading for the front door, her heart ached, remembering how she had felt when the news had arrived that Jadzia Dax had married another. The pain seemed to settle inside her and never left in all the years since. Later, the stark memo informing the Trill homeworld of the death of the host, and the symbiont being passed on to another, a young woman named Ezri in an emergency joining, was almost more than Lenara could bear. It was then that she realized it had been Jadzia she had cared for, as much as the symbiont, and it had left a hole in her heart that would probably never heal. Leaving Trill ... leaving the Federation entirely ... seemed to be the only thing that would ease that knowledge of just what she had refused that day as she stepped through the docking port at DS9, turning her back on the woman standing on the catwalk above her.

If ultimate salvation lay in the amount of light-years she could travel away from the memories, then the Millennium would be exactly what she needed.

In another part of the Federation, Elisa Tarn ... fresh out of the Academy, her ensign pip so new, it gleamed in the sunlight of San Francisco ... stood in front of the transport center, preparing to transport to Utopia Planitia where she would report for her very first assignment as a Starfleet officer. She still couldn't believe she had won a post that so many in her graduating class had been vying for. The USS Millennium had been considered the choicest vessel for any cadet to shoot for, and she almost hadn't applied. Even though she had been near the top of her class, had even won many academic and athletic awards during her time at the Academy, Tarn had a bit of a history with the vessel's captain and chief science officer. She had believed those encounters would have precluded her from being considered for such an assignment.

Tarn still burned with humiliation whenever she thought of her arrogance and condescension toward the compact, older woman she had met while running in the park, contemptuous at the suggestion that either 'Kathryn' or perhaps her spouse, 'Annika', could give the Academy Champion a bit of a race. Later, she discovered that the woman had been none other than Captain Janeway, and the other woman ... who not only defeated her in a sprint, but did so with such casual ease that she had been left eating her dust ... had been Lt. Hansen, a Borg scientist of some repute. It had taught Tarn a valuable lesson in the danger of taking things at face value, as well as the harsh reality that no matter how good she might think she was, there was always someone better, stronger, smarter, and faster out there ... not to mention, far more devious.

She had thought that applying to the vessel under Janeway's command would be a waste of time, the captain not about to accept some cadet who had shown herself to be so foolish and inept. However, Tarn's student advisor had encouraged her to apply, and despite her misgivings, the young woman had done so, sure that she would be overlooked in favor of other, more qualified applicants.

No one had been more shocked or astounded when Tarn was instructed to report to the USS Millennium as a bridge operations officer for the Frontier-class ship's maiden voyage. It was a tour that would last at least a year, if not longer, and the vessel would be exploring areas of space that no one else had ever gone before.

"Tarn!"

Startled, the slender young woman turned, seeing one of her old classmates working his way through the throng of commuters toward her. Ensign Davinus Marcos was a solid Human from the Greek isles, a young man who was considered one of the better pilots to come out of this year's Red Squad. He seemed a lot nicer than the rest of his team, though still displaying the cockiness that seemed a prerequisite for being a member of the elite group of cadets with outstanding skills in high warp tactical applications.

"Marcos," she said coolly. "Heading for Mars?"

"Just like you," he agreed easily, a bag slung over his shoulder. Stocky, with dark hair and eyes, he was fairly handsome in a swarthy sort of way ... if one was the sort to find that attractive, which Tarn was fully determined not to. "I hear you were posted to bridge duty. That's really great."

She thought it was too, but didn't want to appear overly eager. She had learned her lesson about being a braggart and assuming too much about her own abilities. "It'll probably be the gamma shift," she said dismissively.

"Maybe," he agreed. "It's still the bridge, however. Fifty percent of the officers on a ship this size never even get a look at deck one ... unless they're on their way to the captain's ready room to be reprimanded."

That thought made Tarn slightly dizzy. Please, she thought, don't let that be my first accomplishment on the Millennium. She could only imagine what it would be like to find herself under that bluish-grey gaze of disapproval ever again.

As the two graduates gathered their bags and headed into the San Francisco transport center on Earth, another young male, not so long out of the Academy himself, though years ahead of the other two in practical experience, stood on the catwalk overlooking the Promenade of DS9, lost in thought. His orders to report to the newest starship about to be launched from the Utopia Planitia shipyards had come as quite a shock, and even now, he was wondering if there was some way to avoid accepting the posting.

"Nog!"

The Ferengi lieutenant glanced over to see his best friend, Jake Sisko, approaching along the upper walkway of the main Promenade. The young man towered over the shorter alien, and for a few seconds, Nog remembered when they had both been approximately the same size, not long after Jake had arrived on the station ... had it been ten years ago? An entire decade? Where had the time gone?

"I thought you'd be more excited," Jake said, leaning on the railing next to his friend.

"What about?" Nog replied, though he knew very well what the young man was referring to.

He tried to inject a display of careless confidence in his posture, but it was difficult. This was like the Academy all over again. He had been fortunate after graduation to be able to come back to where he had spent most of his formative years, in order to serve with old friends and colleagues on DS9. These orders, however, would see him covering the helm on a brand new vessel, would have him working with strangers and officers he didn't know. That was frightening to the young man who had already struggled against the many misconceptions his species carried with them at the Academy. He had actually nurtured the vague hope that he would spend his entire career on DS9, perhaps even taking Captain Sisko's ... now Colonel Kira's ... place one day as commander of the station.

"You know," Jake noted, observing the Ferengi keenly. "Your new orders. Why do you seem so depressed? I heard this was a ship that a lot of officers would love to serve on."

"I'm not sure that this is the kind of position I want," Nog admitted softly.

Jake considered that. "Are you going to turn it down?" he asked.

Nog shook his head, not in negation, but in a sign of his uncertainty. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's not good for one's career to turn down an assignment of this prestige. There's no profit in it."

"But?" Jake prodded.

Nog stared at the variety of people passing beneath him.

"But ... sometimes profit isn't everything," he said. Softly, so that he wouldn't be heard by anyone, not even his friend who was regarding him worriedly.

Meanwhile, light-years away, in Atlanta, Georgia, on the planet Earth, Dr. Katherine Pulaski regarded the orders on her workstation, and wondered what the hell Janeway was up to now. She couldn't believe that her old friend would actually request her services as the CMO of her new vessel, but the request for transfer was right there, flashing on the screen. Pulaski hadn't pulled starship duty for years, and a prototype vessel heading into the vast unknown would not be her first choice in returning to such a position.

Yet, there was always the fact that Janeway had a way of making life interesting, and there was a part of Pulaski that desperately needed for her life to be interesting again.

She leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. Did she really want to go off to the stars again, never knowing what was going to happen each day as she rose from her bed? She had chosen the administrative position with Starfleet Medical because she had been tired of starship duty, wanting to spend time on Earth ... put down some solid roots for a change. Of course, as the survivor of three marriages, though she remained good friends with all three men, it was quite clear that being able to put down solid roots was not her strongest trait. If she found it difficult to give the proper amount of commitment and attention to a personal relationship, was she really prepared to do it for her career? This tour of duty was going to last five years at the absolute minimum.

Nor could it be considered any kind of career advancement. After operating in the upper echelons of Starfleet Medical, returning to the confines of a starship sickbay was a definite step backward. On the other hand, it was to serve on a vessel that was literally going where no one had gone before, and the possibilities inherent in being the first medical officer to encounter heaven only knew what, held a certain appeal for her.

She admitted to herself that she wasn't getting any younger, and this could be her last opportunity to explore space the way she had wanted to when she first accepted her Starfleet commission so many years ago.

She looked up at the gentle chime at her door.

"Come," she said.

Her eyebrows nearly shot off her forehead as a man dressed in civilian clothing entered the room. Except, she reminded herself wryly, he wasn't exactly a man.

"You have more balls than the Academy tennis squad," she said flatly, staring at the sparse figure who had fought ... and beat ... the organization whose headquarters were housed in this very facility. "Even if they are holographic."

The Doctor ... which was the only name he had ever utilized to her knowledge ... looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he didn't hesitate to come right to the point, perhaps suspecting that after having made it this far, he wouldn't have a lot of time to make his presentation.

"I'm here about the Millennium," he said. "Since resigning from Starfleet, I can only apply as a civilian physician. However, the authorization for me to be accepted as a part of the crew is apparently not in the captain's hands, but is at the discretion of the Chief Medical Officer's."

Pulaski blinked, then stared at him, completely bemused. Taking a breath as she tried to stall until she had composed her thoughts, she gestured to a chair. "Have a seat," she said, deciding that a little politeness never hurt anyone.

He paused, then sank into the chair, peering back at her uncertainly as she took the opportunity to study him curiously. Though she had been at the trial where he had been fighting for his rights as a sentient being, she had never met him personally ... primarily because he had never actually shown up to participate in the judicial inquiry. Now she looked him over, trying to determine if she would have been able to tell he was a hologram if she hadn't already known that fact.

"Where's your emitter?" she asked suddenly.

He lifted his arm, covered with the material of a coat.

"Under my clothes," he said.

"I see," she said flatly. "You want to appear Human."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I want to appear as someone who isn't automatically dismissed as irrelevant because of my physical nature."

Surprised, Pulaski considered that with a touch of amusement. "Nicely put," she complimented. She lifted her head and eyed him. "You know, I haven't decided yet if I'm even accepting this post."

He lowered his brows. "I considered that," he said. "However, if you're not the Millennium's CMO, the captain's only other option is a medical officer fresh out of his or her internship. I'm not sure I could convince such a person to authorize my inclusion into their medical staff. In fact, I am positive I could not. You're my only hope of getting on board."

"Why would you think I'd help you with that?" she said, honestly surprised.

His dark eyes were particularly intent. "Dr. Pulaski, regardless of how you view holograms, you can accept my usefulness as a medical supplement. You also have experience dealing with ... alternative lifeforms. That provides you with a certain acceptance and tolerance ... which is the sort of atmosphere that I can only hope to receive on this particular Starfleet vessel."

"Ah," the doctor remarked, thinking about that. "Did Kathryn tell you this was the best way to approach me?"

"She told me what your attitude would be," he agreed. "However, the only thing she really said to me was that I would have to convince the ship's CMO to hire me to his or her staff on my own. If I were unable to do that, then I wouldn't be able to function on the Millennium as a fully fledged doctor in any event."

"She's right," Pulaski agreed. She linked her fingers behind her head and leaned back in her chair, looking him up and down frankly. "So convince me that you and I could actually work together for five years."

If, in the process, he could offer that elusive purpose for her to accept this post, so much the better.

A desert wind blew the fragrance of sage and sand toward the Borg as she sat on the front porch of the small ranch house. Beside her, her protégé, Icheb, regarded the young woman intently. The two had just come in from a long ride through the canyon, and had released their mounts into the corral. Now, they were spending a few moments together before Seven was required to return to San Francisco.

"I wish I were going with you on the Millennium," he said earnestly.

Seven nodded. "I understand," she said. She reached out and put her hand briefly on the shoulder. "However, you will attend Starfleet Academy in the fall, and at the end of four years, perhaps you will be able to join us."

"It seems so far away," he said mournfully.

"If there is one thing I have learned, it is that time has a way of passing quicker than one would initially assume ... or necessarily want," Seven said. She glanced up as the screen door opened and Chakotay came out onto the porch. Tall, darkly handsome, leaner than he had been on Voyager, the former first officer offered Seven and Icheb some lemonade, the glasses moist from condensation. Chakotay had a tribal tattoo arching over his left eye, and Seven wondered if Icheb would also be required to acquire the facial art as a member of the older man's tribe.

"Have you heard anything from B'Elanna and Ro?" the commander asked as he took a seat on the bench, propping his booted feet up on the railing.

Seven, sipping the tart liquid, shook her head. "They plan to return tomorrow," she said.

"So you don't know if Ro's going to accept the tactical position," he prodded.

"Kathryn has not yet had the chance to ask her," she explained. She paused. "This concerns you?"

He smiled faintly, his eyes distant as he glanced out at the rugged landscape beyond the corral. "I would just hate to see the captain go off without the proper experience in a key position," he said. "If Tuvok isn't going to be her tactical officer, then I wouldn't want it to be anyone other than Ro."

Seven thought about that, and decided she agreed. It took a special kind of security officer to keep track of a captain like Kathryn, and anyone of less capability than Tuvok, or at least, an officer trained by the Vulcan, would be at a decided disadvantage. Seven didn't like the thought of Janeway and her ship not being protected by the very best.

"I am sure Lt. Ro will give the offer the most careful consideration," Seven said, paused, then added; "Despite Kathryn's .... delay in offering her the post."

Chakotay smiled, but did not say anything. He knew, as well as the Borg did, how the captain sometimes got herself into a mess because of her pride and stubbornness.

"Are you excited about your new posting, Seven?" Icheb asked her. "I thought you enjoyed your duties at the TPG."

"I did," Seven admitted. "However, I believe I shall enjoy the duties I will be performing on this particular starship more, and being able to serve with Kathryn is something that the TPG could not offer." She glanced back at Chakotay. "I am curious, Commander. Did you ever consider applying for a post on the Millennium?"

Chakotay considered that as he sipped his own lemonade. "To be honest, Seven," he said, "I did for about half a minute when I first heard what kind of ship it was going to be. However, I truly enjoy teaching at the Academy, and with Icheb starting his first semester this fall, it looks like Earth is our best bet for the foreseeable future. I'm just grateful for the arrangement the captain was able to make for us."

"I could be taught on the Millennium," Icheb said slyly, before Seven could respond to the first officer.

The older man looked at him narrowly. "Not as well as you can here," he reminded the young man. "Besides, you may discover that the Academy isn't for you. There are many other quality educational facilities where you might be better suited, should a career in Starfleet not be what you want after all."

"The Daystrom Institute," Seven offered readily. "You are certainly intelligent enough to be accepted, Icheb."

The young man, undoubtedly sensing that he had lost any ground he had gained about joining the Millennium, and afraid that he was now losing ground on attending Starfleet Academy, firmed his jaw and refused to say anything further. Chakotay and Seven exchanged an amused glance, and the Borg allowed herself to feel some satisfaction in how the conversation had gone. Chakotay merely stifled his smile, and took another sip from his lemonade.

After finishing her drink, and speaking further with Chakotay about what the captain expected, Seven bid the two men her final farewells, suspecting she would not have a chance to speak with them face to face again before her vessel departed. She promised to maintain a correspondence with them, even though all of them recognized that any type of mail would be sporadic at best, because of the rarity of the vessel being within communications range. Taking a moment to hug Icheb, she assured him that he would do well in his future, regardless of what he chose, then she climbed into the hovercraft which she piloted to the Phoenix Transport Station in order to beam back to San Francisco.

The rooms of the house she shared with Janeway on R. Garrett Avenue seemed particularly empty now that most of their personal things had been transferred either to their new quarters on the starship ... such as the picture that used to hang over the mantle of the fireplace ... or placed in storage for when they returned to Earth after they finally had their fill of starship duty. They had gifted Janeway's mother with their pet Irish Setter during the Solstice break, and Seven was abruptly aware of the quiet as she passed through the living area. She paused next to the stairs, gazing around pensively as she realized suddenly that in a very short while, she would be leaving this home behind. She had not taken the time to comprehend how much she would miss the dwelling, even though she had lived in it such a relatively short period compared to her stint on Voyager, and now she recognized that a very special part of her life was going to be left behind. The special memories she and Janeway had managed to generate within these walls made the Borg smile faintly as she allowed her eyes to trail over the remaining furnishings.

The large sofa had offered a relaxing place to snuggle during sunny Sunday mornings after breakfast, with Janeway reading the daily news publication quietly as Seven perused literature she had not been exposed to during her time on Voyager. Later, in front of the hearth during the evening, she and the captain would eat dinner off the coffee table while discussing their upcoming workweek, a cheerful fire casting a warm glow over them. The patterned rug spread across the natural wood floor had provided a cushion for more than one erotic encounter after both women became bored with their professional talk, and became far more intrigued with personal pursuits.

Seven remembered the way Kathryn's skin had glowed in the unique illumination of the flickering flames, and the Borg knew she would greatly miss having a fireplace.

Hand resting on the post of the bannister, the young woman looked toward the kitchen, mindful of the many meals prepared by her, and occasionally by Janeway. She eyed the island in particular, and was struck by a memory of lying on it as Janeway taught the young woman several rather imaginative uses for various food groups ... including dairy. After that, Seven had never been able to resist a small smile whenever she prepared dinner on the butcher block surface.

In the expansive dining room, the couple had hosted a multitude of dinner parties, reaching out to include family and friends in their life away from space. There was the notch in the wooden leg where Little Harry had rammed his walker while the couple had been baby-sitting, while the scar along one edge of the polished wood was where Seven had inadvertently lit the tablecloth on fire during her attempt to make Baked Alaska for Janeway's birthday celebration. She flushed faintly as she remembered that evening, suspecting that she and her guests would have found the incident a great deal less hilarious had they not been so 'relaxed' from Chakotay's pre-dinner concoction of 'Singapore Slings'. Then, there had been the couple's second anniversary, returning to this house after their friends had surprised them with a party in a local restaurant, both women slightly tipsy and very amorous. They had made love on the dining room table in a hazy celebration that had resulted in both women slightly injuring themselves when one leg collapsed near the end, spilling them onto the dining room floor.

Seven moved around the bannister and ascended the stairs to the loft where the house's main computer system was located. Here, resting on the couch set against the descending angle of the ceiling, Seven's presents from her birthday party had remained for months until the couple finally found the time to deal with them. Now, it was covered with containers that had yet to be transported to the storage facility. It had also been witness to a strenuous romantic encounter one rainy Saturday afternoon not long ago, when the couple had utilized several of their 'accessories' in rapid succession in an effort to determine which was their absolute favorite. They intended to take that choice with them to their new vessel, and leave the rest behind in storage, but the couple hadn't agreed which was the best ... which, of course, demanded that they take them all with them in the interest of future experimentation. Seven was of the opinion that the springs on the left side of the small sofa would never truly recover from the interaction, and she wondered if she should have mentioned the flaw to the new caretakers.

In the bedroom, the large bed had provided a comfortable and pleasant haven for the couple, both for sleeping and making love. Its size had been wonderful for rolling around, but at the same time, it had provided far too much distance between the women when Janeway and Seven found themselves working through a painful situation. The young woman considered the fact that perhaps a smaller mattress surface had its advantages at times. It was far more difficult to overlook a spouse's misery when one was intruding greatly in the other's personal space while trying to sleep. Perhaps the much narrower bed the couple shared on occasion at Gretchen's Indiana home provided its own advantages, and the young woman wondered if she and Janeway should consider reducing the size of their bed on the Millennium.

Moving into the ensuite, Seven stripped off her shirt and jeans, still pungent with the scent of horses after her visit to the ranch owned by Chakotay's cousin, the aroma strong in her nostrils as she ran the garments through the recycler. She took a quick shower, and then dressed in a robe, brushing out her hair as she returned to the bedroom. The sound of the door opening downstairs made the young woman's head lift eagerly, and moving swiftly out onto the loft, she leaned over the railing to spot her spouse returning after a Saturday morning at the shipyards, having been called in to provide her base command presence for the launch of a refitted Galaxy-class ship.

"Hello darling," Janeway said, tossing her tunic casually on the sofa as she glanced up at her spouse. "How was your visit with Icheb? Were they interested?"

"Yes," Seven said. "Chakotay is quite grateful for the opportunity to live closer to the Academy." She paused. "Although Juan was initially happy to have his cousin and Icheb stay with him, I believe now that he has developed a relationship with the woman at the general store, it has become far more difficult for the three men to live together."

"Then it all worked out for everyone," Janeway said with satisfaction, putting her hands on her hips. "Chakotay and Icheb will find this a convenient place to live while they stay on Earth, and we won't have to give up title to the house due to lack of occupancy. It'll still be here for us when we return from our tour of duty. It would have been too much to ask Michael and Mother to maintain it for us this time around, particularly since they're fully involved with the farm in Indiana. "

Seven descended the stairs, striding across the floor to embrace her partner. "I am very pleased we will be able to keep it," she admitted into the auburn hair as she held Janeway tightly. "I discovered this afternoon how much I will miss this house while we are gone."

The captain smiled, her head tilted back to regard her partner lovingly as she returned the hug. "It's amazing how attached you can become to a place, even when you haven't spent a lot of time here."

"It became a home very quickly," Seven agreed. She peered into the deep blue eyes of her spouse, lost in their depths. "Kathryn, how did you ever become used to moving so much?"

Janeway shrugged. "I think it's part of my nature, darling," she said. "I've always been seeking that next star, and even though I love Earth and my home, it only takes a certain amount of time before I start developing itchy feet."

"'Itchy feet'?" Seven repeated, puzzled.

"An expression, love," Janeway explained patiently. "It means that I need to start exploring the unknown again."

"Ah," Seven said, amused. "I thought it was an unsubtle hint for me to rub them."

Janeway laughed. "Not this time," she said. She paused. "Not that I would object, mind you," she added wistfully. "I spent the morning giving Federation news teams the full tour before the Discovery's launch. Walking through twenty or so decks is not my idea of fun."

"Sit," Seven instructed as she nudged the captain toward the nearest chair where Janeway collapsed with a sigh of relief. The Borg sat cross-legged on the floor as she removed her spouse's boots and socks, bringing the sore feet onto her lap where she began to massage them with attentive skill. Lately, the couple had made a point to remember the small pleasures they used to share, realizing that the lack of such gestures was indicative of a loss of togetherness. Physical intimacy did not always require sexual interaction, though occasionally, the first led naturally to the second.

"God, that feels wonderful, darling," Janeway groaned, her eyes half closed as she sprawled over the chair in boneless bliss.

Seven smiled, pleased that she was able to provide such comfort to her spouse. As she stroked the instep, she glanced up at her partner. "Lt. Ro returns from her honeymoon, Monday," she reminded the captain. "Do not forget to offer her the tactical position immediately."

"I won't," Janeway promised. She twitched as Seven discovered a particularly tender area at the base of her toes. "Whatever would I do without you, love?"

Seven offered a small smile. "Forget what is most important," she said wryly. "Just as I would without you."

Janeway looked around the bridge of USS Voyager, finally released back to Utopia Planitia after Starfleet Intelligence had gone over every millimeter of it, the empty consoles seeming to mock her with their secrets.

"Security wasn't able to find anything?" she asked unhappily.

"Not a thing," Admiral Nechayev said with equal dissatisfaction. "Section 31 was very good about cleaning up after themselves. The only sign of life was in the captain's quarters where Seven undoubtedly stayed while she was on board. If we didn't know any better, it would be easy to think that she had been the only one on the ship since its refit."

Janeway lifted her head. "You can't believe that," she said, alarmed.

Nechayev waved her hand. "Don't be ridiculous," she said impatiently. "If one individual Borg could commandeer an Intrepid-class vessel, fly it to where the Orion Syndicate was based, mine their headquarters with explosives, rescue you, and somehow drop Voyager off by Jupiter Station, completely undetected, then she'd be too damned smart to leave any trace of her doing it on her own."

The captain exhaled audibly. "That's why I hate Section 31," she said through gritted teeth. "They encourage the belief in conspiracies everywhere. I just don't want Seven to be caught up in another one."

"Agreed," Nechayev allowed. The diminutive admiral rested her hand on the rail next to the stairs. "In any event, Voyager's been cleared for active duty again, apparently none the worse for wear for her little mission on the dark side. I'd like a team to prep her for immediate launch. Captain Bedford is champing at the bit to take her out."

Startled, Janeway glanced at her. "Bedford? Lydia Bedford?" she echoed. "I was sure Webster was tagged for it."

Nechayev grinned at her. "You didn't put any credits down on that, did you, Kathryn?" she needled.

Janeway frowned, mentally kissing good-bye those twenty credits she had slipped to Miles O'Brien. "Of course not," she lied frostily. She wondered if anyone playing the shipyard pool on who Voyager's next captain would be had picked the experienced commander off the Cairo. "She'll make a fine captain, but I suspect Jellico won't be pleased at losing his first officer."

Nechayev snorted. "Captains are never pleased to lose their first officers," she said. "Particularly once they have 'em trained to jump to their tune. However, the whole point of anyone being a first officer in the first place is for them to eventually become captain." She eyed Janeway. "Which brings us to the Millennium."

Janeway inhaled slowly. "I'm not getting Lt. Commander Data, am I?" she said ruefully, though how she knew that, she wasn't sure. Perhaps because that would be exactly what she wanted, while the admiral's expression indicated that Janeway was going to get what Starfleet needed instead.

Nechayev chuckled. "After picking clean Picard's science section, as well as taking back the first decent helmsman he's had in years, did you really think he'd give up his favorite android to you as well?" she asked rhetorically.

"I expected it to be Mr. Data's choice," Janeway pointed out coolly. Nechayev merely smiled at her, and the captain stifled her sigh. "What's Starfleet Command's decision in this?"

"We're giving you a first officer who requires some final seasoning," Nechayev explained. "A year out in the frontier with you, and we're certain that he'll be completely ready for his first command."

Janeway wasn't sure she liked that. "And the next year?"

"The same thing," Nechayev said. She seemed amused by the captain's expression. "It's your own fault, Kathryn. Did you know that four of your team leaders on your engineering squads of the past year have been tagged for commander status? You're too damned good at teaching these people the subtleties of being competent leaders for us to ignore. I know it's not easy to have a series of what are basically 'temporary' execs, but it's what Starfleet requires from you right now."

"Oh, god," Janeway groaned. "I should have promoted Ro immediately, and pushed for her. You're right. This is entirely my own fault."

"As senior tactical officer, Ro will still be third in command," Nechayev consoled her. "That will help you adjust to a new exec." She paused, then added with a bit of an edge in her tone. "Of course, I have yet to see Ro listed on the roster. What are you waiting for? Ross is trying to recruit her as your replacement here in the shipyards."

Janeway hoped her flush wouldn't show, though she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. "It's just a formality," she lied.

"Well, verify it," Nechayev said, staring at her. "Time is passing faster than you seem to realize."

"Yes, sir," Janeway said, deciding the less said on the topic, the better.

Nechayev gave a last look around. "I need to return to my office," she said. "I'll see you at the end of the week for an update on the Millennium's progress."

"I'll make sure Voyager is prepped by Wednesday," Janeway promised.

The admiral dipped her head in acknowledgment, then headed for the turbolift, leaving Janeway alone on the bridge. The captain glanced around, about to follow when a sudden whimsy struck her. She moved over to the command chair, and sank down into it, leaning back experimentally. It didn't feel quite the same, of course, having been re-upholstered during the vessel's upgrading, and Janeway smiled faintly as she realized the new captain would be expected to wear new dents into the seat. As she sat there, she took a final moment with the vessel that had served her so well for so long.

So many adventures, she thought, listening to the subtle sounds of a ship at station keeping, so many extraordinary encounters. How many moments of quiet reflection, or of stark terror, had she been witness to while sitting in this chair? How many incidents had she experienced that resulted in a pride that resonated through the entire ship, or left a deep sadness that would never be forgotten by any of the crew. Other memories brought a smile to her face, brief captures of life in the Delta Quadrant, though looking back, she realized she had not particularly felt like smiling at the time. She could almost see the six feet of blonde Borg standing in front of her, informing her in those oh so precise tones of hers, that their duty shifts had ended and they could now make love. The varied expressions on the faces of her bridge crew would forever remain with Janeway, as she was sure her expression was indelibly etched in their memories for all time, as well.

She glanced toward the front of the bridge, to the helm manned ably through the years by Tom Paris, the young man so lost and damaged when he first arrived, somehow finding himself because of the captain's confidence in him. It would be good to have him on the Millennium with her, where his interest in various ships, particularly fast ones, would be well served by placing him in charge of the pilots manning the auxiliary fleet. Perhaps with him as their leader, they could learn their lessons in an easier fashion than he had. It would be odd to see a Ferengi in the helm position, but she anticipated that Lt. Nog wouldn't have accumulated the commendations he had if he wasn't a supremely capable officer.

To her right, the tactical station which had been the security chief's domain awaited its new master. The Vulcan had left behind more than most on that incredible journey to the Delta Quadrant, but showed it far less than anyone else on the ship. He had come home to a newborn son, and it was now that child who would keep him on Vulcan for the time being. For the first time in more years than Janeway could remember, she would be shipping out without Tuvok's steady presence serving with her. She was glad that she and Seven had found the time to have dinner with Tuvok and his wife the evening after Ro and B'Elanna's wedding, affording the good friends a chance to say a final good-bye before the Vulcans returned to their homeworld.

She looked at the engineering station, usually not manned, but generally B'Elanna's post when it had been. The feisty, Klingon/Human hybrid had come such a long way from the rebellious young woman she had been when Janeway first gave her the role of chief engineer. There had been more than a few growing pains, but in the end, B'Elanna had more than surpassed Janeway's expectations of her. The captain wouldn't have wanted anyone else looking after her ship while so far away from Federation space and technical support, just as she wouldn't want to have the Millennium's engines in anyone else's hands now.

She would have to get along without Chakotay, however. Janeway reached over and rested her hand on the arm of the first officer's chair, wondering if the exec assigned her by Starfleet would work out as well as Chakotay's unexpected appointment in the most unusual of circumstances. She knew she couldn't have managed to get through those seven years without his quiet confidence and friendship.

There was no chair beyond the first officer's seat, not on an Intrepid-class vessel, but there would be a special post on the Millennium, designated for the ship's counselor. Janeway had never commanded a ship large enough to warrant one before, but she had certainly learned the need for a psychologist while in the Delta Quadrant. Morale had been of utmost importance in their situation, and she suspected that if it weren't for Neelix, and then Sek ultimately becoming a counselor, they would have returned in much worse shape than they had. She was glad that Kes had agreed to serve on the Millennium, knowing that having someone who was familiar with the problems deep-space assignments caused would only be to her benefit. Meanwhile, Picard would benefit from Neelix's unique take on diplomacy.

She smiled as she thought of the Doctor, amazed that he had managed to convince Pulaski not only to accept him as a part of her staff, but also to accept a starship assignment again. She would have to dig out the rest of the story later, but Pulaski had made it clear that the EMH had been part of the reason she had agreed to the transfer. It was comforting to know Janeway was going out with an experienced and extensive medical staff, particularly after losing Voyager's so quickly.

A quick glance over her shoulder at the ops station made her eyes soften. So inexperienced and uncertain, Harry Kim had taken over the post, and somehow survived those years that could have ultimately destroyed any hope of a career which had appeared so promising when he had left the Academy. Yet, despite the fact his first assignment had taken far from his home and his life, he seemed to have found professional success at Starfleet Command upon his return, and even more in his personal life with his wife and son. She would miss the young man at ops, and hoped that the ensign she had chosen from the list of available officers would adapt to the Millennium, just as Harry had to Voyager. Certainly, it would be interesting to see if Tarn was as quick to learn her role on the starship as she was with her mouth.

Offering a final look at the aft tactical station, Seven's post when the Borg made a rare appearance on deck one, the captain felt a certain lump in her throat. Of all the things Janeway had discovered and accomplished in the Delta Quadrant, severing a Borg drone from the Collective had turned out to be her greatest achievement. Where would the little Intrepid-class vessel be without the skills and knowledge Seven of Nine brought to her crew? Still wandering around out there, undoubtedly, with a captain well on her way down the dark path that others had taken before her. Seven had not only saved the ship on several occasions, she might possibly have saved Janeway's soul on more levels than the older woman wanted to admit.

Taking a deep breath, Janeway rose to her feet and left the bridge, and this time, she did not look back. Voyager was a part of her past, and it was time to finally put it behind her once and for all. Her future lay on another starship, with another crew. She anticipated that her new command would provide the same positives to her life that this vessel once had.

In the transporter room, she arranged for a direct beam out to her office in Utopia Planitia's main administration building on Mars. Stepping down off the dais, she went immediately to her desk and dispatched a team to begin prepping Voyager for her new captain and crew, then transmitted a facility-wide hail for Ro Laren's comm badge. She hadn't seen the Bajoran since the wedding, but she knew Ro had been expected to report back for duty at the base earlier in the morning.

"Ro here," came the immediate response.

"Could I see you in my office?" Janeway requested. "As soon as possible?"

"On my way," Ro replied.

Janeway sat down, checking a few items on some padds, unsure how long it would take the lieutenant to make it to the captain's office. However, it was only a few minutes before the chime to her door sounded, and she realized that Ro must have already been on this level of the building. Folding her hands neatly on the desk in front of her, Janeway lifted her head, assuming a posture of command.

"Come in," she said.

Ro Laren strode through the entrance, moving with that sleek deadliness that was indicative of her advanced tactical training. Janeway motioned to the chair with a wave of her hand.

"Please, have a seat, Lieutenant," she said.

Ro lifted an eyebrow, but without saying anything, she obediently sank into the chair and regarded the captain steadily. Janeway hesitated, wondering how she should approach this, then realized that with this particular officer, the straightforward truth had always served both women the best. There was no need to dissemble, no need to gently lead up to it in an effort to spare both their feelings about a situation that had to be dealt with.

"I owe you an apology, Lieutenant," Janeway admitted evenly. "I allowed my anger over the whole Section 31 situation to spill over onto you, and it was partially displayed by my not promptly offering you the post you deserved. I felt that your role in the operation somehow reflected badly on me as your commanding officer, but that offers no excuse for my actions."

"It was understandable, Captain," Ro said quietly, her dark eyes assessing Janeway steadily. "I deceived you on several levels."

"Perhaps," Janeway allowed. "However, you were following the orders of a senior officer, and it wasn't acceptable of me to allow that to influence my future dealings with you once the operation had ended." She inhaled slowly, suddenly uncomfortable as she studied her hands. "I've been informed that sometimes I allow my determination at holding my ground defeat the purpose of just what it is I'm trying to accomplish. In this case, it could cost me the services of an extremely qualified and competent officer."

Ro lifted a brow. "I can't imagine who might have informed you of that," she said sardonically.

Janeway smiled faintly. "I think we both know who has a way of pointing out my failings with unfailing accuracy," she said. She lifted her eyes to meet the Bajoran's. "I want to personally request that you accept the position of senior tactical officer on board Millennium. I can't offer you the first officer's position ... that's a role that Starfleet insists on assigning themselves ... and it's possible that this posting would be less useful to any future command career than becoming commander of Utopia Planitia would be, but I really don't want to ship out without you around to guard my back."

Ro considered that. "You need to be able to trust your tactical officer," she said finally, laying it out there so that there would be no misunderstanding. "Implicitly, without question."

"I know," Janeway said readily, not altering her gaze from the Bajoran. "Are you implying that there's some reason that I won't be able to?"

Ro swallowed, her throat moving visibly. "No, ma'am," she said, her voice soft. "You can trust me. Thank you, Captain."

"Do you accept the post?" Janeway asked.

Ro hesitated. "You're not offering me this just because you need B'Elanna, are you?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

Janeway smiled. "I won't say that didn't factor into my expediency in coming to you as soon as you returned from your honeymoon," she said dryly. "That was another point brought up by Seven. The longer I delay with you, the longer B'Elanna will delay the acceptance of her own post, and we need her in the engine room. However, I can honestly say that I would still want you to be my tactical officer, Laren, even if Lt. Torres decided that she'd rather stay here at Utopia Planitia."

Ro blinked, obviously impressed with that statement, if not by any of the others.

"I see," she said. She lowered her head. "Very well, I accept." She paused. "Do you know who will be serving as first officer? Has Commander Data accepted the post?"

Janeway smiled. "Unfortunately, we'll have to train someone else to our ways rather than Data," she said. She reached into her desk and pulled out a small box, pushing it across the desk to the Bajoran. "Don't forget to put this on your collar."

Ro picked it up and opened it, regarding the dark pip it contained. "Sentimentality is not one of your strongest traits, is it, Captain?" she asked dryly.

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "Did you want a brass band, Commander Ro?" she responded reasonably.

The sound of her new rank obviously set the Bajoran back slightly. "No, Captain,' she said, smiling faintly as she fixed the pip next to the two gold ones on her collar.

"This will do just fine."

B'Elanna Torres looked up as the front door to her home opened and her new spouse swept into the living area. It did not take long before she spotted the new lieutenant commander's pip adorning the Bajoran's collar, and she studied Ro's eyes before reaching for a padd on the coffee table.

"I have to transmit my acceptance of transfer to the Millennium, don't I?" she said, tapping in the instructions, and sending them to the house computer for later transmission to the new starship's database.

Ro tilted her head. "What makes you think it isn't a promotion for the Utopia Planitia shipyards?" she asked playfully.

B'Elanna grinned. "Because you're happy," she said. "You'd only be happy if you and the captain settled things. Besides, we both know that starship duty is far more suitable to you than looking after a base full of engineers would be."

Ro smiled faintly. "I'm going to miss this house," she said, rather than address her partner's question directly, glancing around.

The Klingon sighed. "Me too," she admitted, then forced herself to let it go, knowing that Ro was ready to break out as a Starfleet officer, ready to take that next step to a command of her own, and B'Elanna would just have to go along, finding her contentment in playing with the new engines, particularly the transition drive. She thought about the dual warp cores that reached four decks high, and tried not to salivate.

Ro stared at her, then moved over to the sofa, kneeling in front of the engineer as she rested her hands on her knees, and looked at her intently. "Lanna, if you really want to stay here..." she began.

B'Elanna reached out and cupped Ro's face with her palm. "I can't wait to tackle those engines," she said sincerely. "Two propulsion drives for the price of one ... what self-respecting engineer could resist an opportunity like that?"

Ro continued to study her. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely," B'Elanna replied. "Honestly, Laren, we both knew this was where we'd end up. It was just a matter of Janeway having to give in sooner or later."

Ro smiled briefly. "It was more along the lines of Seven working on her, I think," she allowed. "The captain can be very stubborn."

"You don't have to tell me," the Klingon said. She paused, then nudged her teasingly. "So, you're the first officer?"

"Lanna, I'm not her exec," Ro explained, and added before the engineer could cloud up, "I'm the senior tactical officer. Starfleet is assigning the Millennium's first officer."

"Oh," B'Elanna said, thinking about that. "Where does that leave you?"

"Third in command," Ro pointed out.

B'Elanna grinned. "That's all right, too," she said. Then she really thought about what that would mean, and touched Ro's extra pip gently. "Do you feel ready for it?"

Ro nodded. "I believe so," she said. "If I'm not, then I'll know soon enough. I can't believe Janeway will be prepared to cut me much leeway, even if we've established our professional boundaries once again."

"You think you're still on probation with her?" B'Elanna asked curiously.

"For a while," Ro agreed. "I have to prove to her that my first loyalty will be to her, no matter what."

B'Elanna considered that. "Is that what you really want to do?" she asked softly. "Spend your next posting trying to ... make amends?"

Ro tilted her head. "It's important to me," she said. "I owe her, Lanna. Can you understand that? If it had just been between her and I, then we'd have finished working it out by now, but this was about me keeping her in the dark about Seven, the woman she loves. That sort of thing needs time to settle between us personally, beyond just our professional standing. All she's done by giving me this post is let me know that she's willing to try." She paused. "I know that if our positions had been reversed, and she had kept me in the dark about you being in danger from Section 31..."

The Klingon put her hands on the Bajoran's shoulders. "I guess when you put it that way, I can see why you would want to play it this way," she allowed. "I just don't want you to lose yourself in doing it."

"I won't," Ro assured her.

They stared at each other for a long moment, basking in the sense of excitement for what their future held, and a realization of just how far they had both come. B'Elanna glanced at the bracelet on her wrist, the symbol of her having joined the Ro clan, and she smiled.

"What?" Ro asked softly, reading her spouse's facial expression.

"Just thinking of how we managed to arrive at this place," B'Elanna said. "It's been a hell of a ride."

"It has," Ro agreed, the lines around her eyes deepening. She tilted her head slightly, and reached up, linking her hands around the Klingon's neck. "I love you, B'Elanna Torres. Whatever else has occurred in my life, and will in the future, keep that as the one constant."

"I will," B'Elanna promised, pleased. She leaned forward and kissed the Bajoran, capturing her bottom lip between her own and biting with extreme gentleness. "I love you, too, bangwI'," she added in a whisper against her mouth, "with everything I am."

Ro kissed her again, a tender kiss of love and devotion, of promises made that were set in stone, vows that the Bajoran would die before breaking. B'Elanna pulled the woman closer to her, deepening the connection, offering her own wordless promise of faithfulness and honor, of everlasting commitment to Ro and their relationship. During the day of their wedding, the magnitude of the ceremony got lost in all the nervousness and confusion, then afterward, they were intoxicated by the concept of their honeymoon, by the surreal aspect of their maritial status in the Aspen resort. Here, in their home on Mars, in this single moment of stark reality as they stood on the brink of a new future, a solid and firm bond formed between them.

When they finally parted, they looked at each other with new eyes, with a sense of purpose and affirmation of the love they had discovered during a voyage where both had begun so lost and alone.

"I think ... this is going to be very good for us," B'Elanna said, her voice slightly shaky.

"I think so, as well," Ro said, her voice low and deep. The Klingon studied her, drawing her fingertips lightly down the smooth cheek, resting her thumb on the firm base of the Bajoran's chin.

"I would like it very much if you took me upstairs and made love with me," B'Elanna requested.

A small smile curled the corner of Ro's mouth. "I believe that would be just the proper thing to do right now," she agreed.

The Bajoran uncoiled from her crouched position on the floor, taking the Klingon's hands in her own. Together, the couple ascended their stairs to their bedroom, sharing glances of anticipation and desire. Yet, at the same time, there was a certain lack of urgency to it, B'Elanna noted, no need to promptly leap on each other to satisfy a craving as so many of their encounters consisted of. This was more as if they were about to share something very precious, and neither of them were interested in hurrying it along. The pace was comfortable, a sense that there was no where else in the universe they needed to be at this particular juncture of their lives, and they had every intention of granting their full and undivided attention to each other for as long as required.

Neither of them spoke. It didn't require comment on how different it seemed, or even what it signified. It was enough to know that they were in the same place at the same time, and perhaps always would be metaphysically, if not in actuality.

B'Elanna inhaled deeply as her spouse stood close, kissing her lightly as Ro removed the engineer's uniform, first the sweater, then the trousers, before removing her own, leaving all the unwanted garments discarded on the floor. The couple sank onto the bed, slow in their caresses, taking their time to appreciate the sensation of lips on skin, of fingertips that explored and stroked with lazy delight, of the sight, scent and sound of the other woman in her arousal.

Coming from two separate species, each woman had her own unique needs and physicality that had been learned by the other over countless exciting and satisfying encounters. Ro was fine wire, velvet over metal, requiring tender touch on ridges and ripples, desiring strong, yet delicate pleasure that built quickly, and overwhelmed like a flash of plasma, quick and searing, but leaving her ready to be reinitialized at an instant's notice. B'Elanna, meanwhile, was white-hot antimatter, needing to be carefully tamed and channeled even as she struggled against it, requiring just the slightest bit of pain to enhance her pleasure, a nip of teeth on tender tissue, the sharp edge of fingernails on sensitive skin, nothing that abused, but rather, aroused, sparking and building a chain reaction that settled into the steady consummation of energy, until finally, she had achieved warp, leaving nothing behind.

No one had ever understood her needs better than Ro, B'Elanna acknowledged dazedly as she shuddered beneath the strength of her partner's passion. No one had ever comprehended that demand had to be mitigated with request, that desire had to be tempered by the sense of affection and gentleness, that love had to be equally balanced by respect. Perhaps it was Ro's keen perception, an instinctive awareness honed by her training as a security officer, or just from surviving so many years, first in a Cardassian refugee camp, then in the Federation, fighting to become a Starfleet officer, diverted temporarily by the Maquis. It would have broken a lesser person, or made them cruel and unforgiving, harsh and unwilling to be vulnerable in any way. With the Bajoran, it had made her considerably harder on herself and her foes, but considerably more tender with those she cared for. If she accented the pleasure she offered the Klingon with slight pain, it was because B'Elanna wished it, not because Ro enjoyed any sense of power it might provide her.

B'Elanna, in turn, dampened down her passion with a firm control, discovering that voluntarily placing restraints on her aggressiveness provided her with a deeper sense of satisfaction. It was exciting to barely brush her lips over the ridges that were the seat of Bajoran desire, knowing that the delicate caress provided far more sensation to Ro than if the Klingon had attempted to take her forcefully. She was able to fully appreciate the taste of her lover, to savor the distinctive bouquet with all her senses, and it built her own desire so that when the Bajoran reached out to manipulate the dual clitori at the juncture of the Klingon's legs, the pleasure exploded within her, leaving her almost delirious from the sheer intensity of it.

Afterward, the Klingon lay in an exhausted heap of happy satisfaction, head resting on her partner's chest, pillowed by Ro's small breasts, feeling the Bajoran slowly stroke her fingers through B'Elanna's dark shock of wavey hair. The engineer decided that she had no wish to move for the rest of her existence, content to stay within the warm haven of these loving arms, surrounded by the immediacy of loving this person with her whole being, and being loved in return. Her fingers remained tangled in the moist patch of the Bajoran's triangle, the tips resting lightly on the uppermost part of the f'lar ridges, while her leg draped heavily over Ro's thighs, holding her in place. Beneath her flushed cheek, B'Elanna could hear the steady throb of the other woman's heart, realizing that she was not the slightest bit sleepy, yet unable to generate the energy to move. It was simply enough to remain there, being held by her partner forever, if that's what would be.

"Mmm, Lanna?" Finally, a whisper that danced sweetly into her consciousness, brushed lovingly around the name.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't say we have to get up," B'Elanna growled softly. "Don't say we have to go anywhere, don't tell me you have duty or work or need to go back to the base for something you promised you'd do for the captain."

A soft chuckle. "Actually, I was wondering what you wanted to do for dinner," Ro told her, tucking the strands of dark wavy hair behind the Klingon's ear. "It's about that time."

"Not a thing," B'Elanna said. "Let's stay here."

Ro's stomach growled, and the Klingon raised her head, staring at her accusingly.

"I didn't have lunch," Ro protested mildly, but her eyes were sparkling, and B'Elanna could not hold the imposing glare, dissolving into laughter.

Ro interrupted it by kissing her, a tender kiss as she slipped out of the grasp of her spouse and stood up, her body barely visible in the lowered illumination as night pressed against the bedroom window..

"Stay there," the Bajoran suggested. "I'll replicate something, and we can eat in bed."

B'Elanna shook her head, stretching and yawning extravagantly. "No, that's all right," she said. "I need to transmit my acceptance of my new post anyway. The captain's probably waiting on it." She eyed Ro. "You didn't..."

"No," Ro said, before the Klingon could finish the thought. "I didn't go to the captain and ask her to take me so you could take the position of chief engineer. She told me that even if you were staying here, she'd still want me as her tactical officer, and I believed her."

"Hmm," B'Elanna said with satisfaction. "It's good to be wanted, isn't it."

Ro looked her up and down languidly. "Yes," she said, her voice lowering. "It is."

B'Elanna flicked an eyebrow, regarding her with amusement. "I thought you were hungry," she reminded her pointedly.

Ro looked reluctant, but another rumble from the vicinity of her abdomen provoked her final decision, and with a smile flashed the Klingon's way, she picked up her robe and left the bedroom. B'Elanna stretched again, just to loosen up, then rolled energetically out of bed, scooping up her robe and moving out to the hall and down the corridor to the study. The windows here looked out over the dark expanse of the lake, dotted with the dimly seen triangles of sailboats. Along the further shore, the lights of Marsport twinkled like stars, reflecting off the smooth, glassy water. Over the base, in the other direction, the Klingon could see shuttles descending for touchdown on the landing pads, undoubtedly bringing in equipment from various manufacturers around the Federation to Starfleet's largest shipyard.

Activating the console at the desk, B'Elanna transmitted her acceptance, amused when it was instantly registered, her name appearing on the lengthy list of personnel already verified as shipping out on the Millennium. The Klingon had been keeping half an eye on it, of course, particularly on the engineering sector just to make sure who'd she be working with in the future. Now she took a quick scan of the other departments. Most were names she didn't recognize, but a few had served with her on Voyager. She was surprised to see Dr. Katherine Pulaski listed as the ship's Chief Medical Officer, bringing along a staff that included a Dr. E.M. Hologram. She blinked, not sure she was reading it properly.

Obviously, she had a lot to catch up on once she took over as the ship's chief engineer.

The setting sun edged the windows of Gretchen Janeway's Indiana home with a reddish glow, and Seven shivered as she looked out over the fields behind the house, a vivid green now that spring filled the air. She was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by the people she loved, including her new step-father-in-law, and she should have felt warmed by the time of year and their presence. Instead, all she could think of was that she was leaving them behind, and that left a wintery chill within her that was difficult to ignore.

There was a pressure against her knee, and she blinked, looking across the table to see her partner regarding her curiously. Belatedly, she realized it was the captain's leg that was pressing against hers in hidden comfort, and she forced a smile, refocusing her attention on the conversation. She knew that when she had first been severed from the Collective, she had not allowed her thoughts to wander as she did now, and she wondered if it was a sign of her development to a more Human state. Of course, at the TPG, she had been encouraged to take a more instinctive and imaginative approach to science, and part of that had been allowing her thoughts to drift in order to formulate a plan of action while tackling a problem. However, what worked at the research facility would not necessarily work on a starship, and she decided that she should return to the habit of granting her full attention to whatever was happening at the moment.

"You were a million miles away, Seven," Phoebe noted.

Seven lifted a brow. "No," she corrected promptly. "I was here on Earth, considering what it will mean not to have you, Gretchen and Michael as an immediate part of my life."

Janeway's face softened, as did Gretchen's, while Phoebe looked a little startled by the answer to what the Borg now recognized had been a rhetorical question. Seven was sorry she had misinterpreted her sister-in-law's intent, but not the fact that her feelings had been brought out into the open.

"We're going to miss you, too, Annika," Gretchen said, reaching over to take the young Borg's hand, holding it tightly. "You'll always be in our hearts, you know that."

"Yes," Seven agreed. "However, that does not lessen the pending reality of traveling so far away from you." She paused. "There is a great deal of room on the Millennium for civilians," she added hopefully. "You could all come with us." She was quite taken with this concept, wondering why she had not thought of it before. "You could be assigned to the biometrics department, Gretchen, assisting in maintaining the green areas, while Commander Patterson could serve in his Starfleet capacity. Phoebe could teach art in the educational facility on board."

She glanced at her new father-in-law who looked vaguely thoughtful, then at Phoebe, who wasn't looking at Seven, but was instead regarding the captain with obvious amusement. Surprised, the Borg realized that Janeway had a unique expression on her face, one that Seven could not quite identify. It was as if the captain had just tasted something very unfamiliar, possibly even unpleasant, and was debating whether to swallow it ... or spit it across the room.

Gretchen smiled at the young woman. "Thank you, Annika," she said with good natured warmth. "I'm sure that you've just provided Kathryn with a jolt that should stay with her a while, but despite the fact it would be extremely amusing to see her try to squirm graciously out of it, I won't take the opportunity to tease her by pretending the suggestion would intrigue me. Earth is my home, and I prefer to explore inner space, not the vast unknown of the galaxy."

"You know you'd always be welcome, Mother," Janeway said mildly.

Phoebe started to laugh. "Funny how she couldn't find her voice until after you let her off the hook, Mom," she said.

Seven glanced back and forth between them, confused. "I do not understand," she said.

"I suspect that while Kathryn is quite content to live on the same planet with us," Phoebe explained, deriving a great deal of entertainment from her sister's discomfort, "she's not ready to live with us in the close confines of a starship."

"I wouldn't say that," Janeway protested. "I just know that neither of you would be happy on a starship, particularly one which won't be making port for a year or more."

"Of course, Kathryn," Gretchen said, patting the captain's hand. "We understand."

There was the faintest note of amused sarcasm in her voice, however, and Janeway did not look at all mollified by it, shaking her head as if both her mother and her sister were badgering her unmercifully. Seven decided that her partner really did not wish her mother, her mother's husband, and her sister to come with them, and furthermore, Gretchen recognized that and was indulging in some mild teasing of her daughter. She also realized that apparently Gretchen and Phoebe were sincere in their lack of interest in accompanying the couple on the Millennium. It was not what the Borg would have hoped, but she supposed that she could understand it. After all, they had lived on Earth far longer than she, and unlike Kathryn or herself, they had little interest in exploring space. It did not mean their feelings for her or the captain were any less than what they were, just that for now, their paths led in separate directions.

"Besides, I already have a new assignment, Seven," Michael offered, apparently detecting Seven's disappointment, and wanting to change the focus from the Borg. "Since Kathryn has convinced Ro Laren to accompany her on her ship, that's left the command of Utopia Planitia up for grabs. This morning, Admiral Paris authorized my request to take it over." Gretchen smiled proudly at him, as Janeway regarded him with interest. "I've always considered my previous tour of duty there to be the most enjoyable I've experienced, and a posting there will keep me within the solar system, rather than requiring regular trips to other parts of the Federation as an admiral's adjunct requires."

"Congratulations, Commander," Janeway said, reaching over to shake his hand. "I feel a lot better knowing I'm leaving the shipyards in such capable hands."

"You've established an organizational structure that will make my job a lot easier," he said graciously.

"They certainly left it until the last minute," Phoebe noted. "Millennium launches tomorrow." She glanced at Seven. "Will you be staying on the ship tonight?"

"No," Seven responded. "We will transport to the vessel tomorrow at 0700 hours. We will spend this last evening in our home in San Francisco."

"With that, I suppose we should be getting to it," Janeway said, with a touch of ruefulness as she rose to her feet. "I arranged a delivery from the Green Dragon which should be arriving soon for dinner." The rest followed suit, and the captain hugged her mother tightly. "I'd ask you to come to the launch tomorrow, but I know how much you hate crowds."

"Exactly," Gretchen said, standing back to enjoy a last look at her daughter. "Besides, I know how busy you both will be, so it's not as if we could have a proper good-bye ... not as today has been. Thank you for taking the time to spend it here."

Seven felt tears sting her eyes, and she hugged Phoebe, aware that farewells were a part of life, particularly the one she had chosen, but that didn't make it any easier. She collected a hug from Michael, and then one from her mother-in-law as Janeway made her good-byes to her sister.

"You take care of yourself, Annika," Gretchen whispered in the Borg's ear.

"I shall," Seven promised. "I will take care of Kathryn, as well."

"I never doubted that for a second," the older woman said, smiling through her tears.

There were more words of farewell, as Janeway and Seven made their way to the hovercraft parked outside, and the last view Seven had was of the three standing on the front porch of the farmhouse, Jake beside them, tail wagging vigorously as they waved good-bye. Seven swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, looking back until the house was no more than a dot in the distance, then she turned her face forward, feeling the wetness on her cheeks. Janeway reached over, navigating with one hand as she put her other hand on Seven's leg, squeezing it comfortingly.

"It'll be fine, darling," she promised gently.

"I know," Seven said huskily. "This particular moment is ... difficult, however."

She remained quiet for the rest of the journey to the transport station at Portage Creek, then on the walk from the San Francisco station. In the house, she looked around, feeling slightly lost, and Janeway took her hand, drawing her over to the sofa, sitting down with her.

"Darling, if this isn't what you want," she said intently, touching Seven's cheek with her fingertips, "say the word, and we'll stay."

Seven blinked, then shook herself as she forced her mind to start thinking clearly. "That would be ... extremely illogical," she said, chiding her spouse for the sheer outrageousness of the suggestion. "Not to mention highly impractical."

"I know," Janeway said seriously. "However, your happiness means more to me than anything, Annika ... even a starship. I don't care how much trouble it would cause for us to back out."

Seven regarded her somberly for a moment, gauging her sincerity, then abruptly smiled and leaned forward, kissing her gently. "Thank you, Kathryn," she said softly. "I will be happy on the Millennium ... for no other reason than you will be with me. I believe it is merely very hard for me to say good-bye to the people that I love."

"I know," Janeway said, resting her forehead against the Borg's. "Despite how it might look, it's not easy for me, either. Perhaps I'm more used to it, but never be ashamed for caring so much, my love. If it ever does become easy for you, then I'll know something's very wrong."

There was a chime at the door, and Janeway offered the young woman a final kiss.

"That's our dinner," she said.

While the captain dealt with the delivery, Seven went over to the fireplace and kindled the last wood blaze the couple would be able to enjoy for awhile. They could set up a holographic fire in their quarters, of course, but it wouldn't be the same. Deciding to consume their meal on the coffee table, the couple passed the biodegradable containers back and forth as they scooped out the various selections onto their plates. They could have replicated their last meal on Earth, of course, but it seemed fitting that they order specially prepared food from an establishment they had enjoyed so often while living in San Francisco.

Seven was pleased to discover some of her favorites ... sesame chicken, the restaurant's special blend of rice, and some spicy egg rolls ... among the selection Janeway had ordered. She could never determine how exactly the first two had been made, and of course, the Green Dragon's chef had refused to share the recipes. After all, what allowed a restaurant to flourish in a society where replicators were the norm were the unique and distinctive flavors of their dishes that no replicator could reproduce. However, she believed she had discovered how Janeway's favorite, shrimp supreme, had been made, and some time in the future, she was determined to recreate it, perhaps after Janeway had experienced a difficult day on the starship, and required a special taste of home.

"I will miss the food on Earth," the captain admitted, after savoring her first few bites.

Seven smiled faintly. "Perhaps not as much as others on board," she noted.

Janeway offered her a tender smile. "Not so long as you still like to cook," she agreed. She scooped up a forkful of shrimp. "Here, try this."

Seven accepted the bite, chewing the seafood thoughtfully. Yes, she decided, it was definitely the hint of chilli powder that gave it that tang.

"Very good," she said. "Evaluate this."

They swapped portions so that in the end, they both had tried everything, then cleaned up the containers and put them in the recycle unit. Shoving the coffee table aside, they brought some pillows down from sofa, then snuggled down together in front of the fire, Janeway leaning back against the Borg, her head resting on the young woman's shoulder. Seven inhaled her partner's fragrance, burying her face in the rich, auburn hair, her arms surrounding the older woman's torso.

"Tomorrow's going to be a very busy day," Janeway said softly.

"Yes," Seven agreed. "It is unlikely that we shall see each other once we report for duty ... at least not until the launch at 1600 hours."

"If I don't get a chance to say it, know that having you with me as my science officer makes my life perfection," the captain said, turning her head to look back at her.

Seven nuzzled her cheek. "I would not choose to serve on any vessel but the one you commanded," she assured her.

Janeway smiled, leaning closer, and Seven kissed her, the captain's lips tender beneath hers, parting to deepen the kiss as the Borg felt the touch of her spouse's tongue against her own. She exhaled slowly out her nose, cherishing the contact until finally, the captain drew back.

"It's getting late," Janeway said quietly. "We should probably go to bed ... get a good night's sleep."

"Yes," Seven responded, then hesitated briefly. "Or we could go to bed and make love."

Janeway arched her eyebrow. "A much better idea," she granted approvingly.

Seven smiled, and as Janeway banked the fire, the Borg gathered up the cushions and replaced them on the sofa before putting the coffee table back in its place. Hand in hand, the couple ascended the stairs to their bedroom where they undressed each other with slow tenderness before Seven finally lowered her spouse onto the bed, drawing the covers up over them.

The captain's body was warm and smooth against hers, gentle curves and firm muscle. Janeway had increased her attention to physical fitness since being back on Earth, and it had resulted in a leaner, more wiry frame. Seven thought she was incredibly beautiful, and dipping her head to nuzzle the soft brown tips of Janeway's breasts, she tired to convey how very deeply she cared. Aware of how much Janeway enjoyed Seven's attention to this particular area, how much this aroused her, the young woman maintained her attention until the captain's breathing was rapid and her heartbeat was a pounding rhythm of passion and demand.

Janeway's hands moved constantly through her hair, then down over her shoulders and arms, finally urging Seven back up so that they could kiss deeply. Sliding her hand down over Janeway's abdomen, the Borg raked through the thatch of thin auburn hair, pausing at the moist apex of her crease. Janeway moaned into her mouth, and Seven deepened her kiss as she gently slipped her fingers between the swollen lips of her juncture, parting them and touching the ridge, causing the captain's hips to arch against her. Wetness bathed her fingertips as she stoked luxuriously, providing her spouse with ever increasing pleasure until finally, she paused at the opening, circling it teasingly, dipping into yet more moisture as the captain's body welcomed her inside with a soft cry of delight.

"Oh, love," Janeway groaned, tearing her mouth away from Seven's, gasping for air as the Borg gently penetrated with one finger, then two, exploring the intimate recesses of her spouse with tender intent, while her thumb pressed insistently on the little nub that was firm and slick with arousal.

Seven buried her face in the captain's neck, immersed in her partner's moans and sighs of happiness, her arm flexing steadily as she probed inside as far as she could. Filled with a deep gratitude and wonder at being allowed this intimacy, at being granted the right to possess the captain in such a way, Seven recognized the profound vulnerability of her spouse in this moment of surrender. Janeway's cries accelerated, became louder, then the Borg felt that brief instant of perfection as her partner shuddered against her, the contractions gripping her fingers rhythmically as the surge overwhelmed the captain, leaving her helpless in Seven's arms. Lovingly, the young woman guided Kathryn through the climax, knowing when it was time to slow, and finally cease her touch, remaining still inside Janeway for long moments as her partner clung to her, seeking out the Borg's mouth in a kiss that seared through her with a primeval heat.

They kissed again, Seven slowly withdrawing from her partner, free to indulge her own desire now as she reached out to Janeway in her own demand for satisfaction. Janeway caressed her passionately, pulling her up over her so that she could use her mouth on the Borg's full breasts, and Seven threw her head back as she braced her arms on either side of the captain's shoulders. She felt Janeway's thigh come up between her legs, pressing provocatively against her juncture, and she rubbed against the firm muscle, her sensitive protrusion skidding gloriously along the smooth, satiny skin. Her moisture lubricated the passage as she rocked against the captain, striving for that ultimate moment, aided by Janeway gripping her buttocks tightly, pulling as the young woman pushed, increasing the friction. At the same time, she avidly teased the Borg's nipples with her lips and tongue which increased Seven's pleasure as she hunched frantically on her spouse. When the climax abruptly swept her up, she tried desperately to prolong it, savoring the sensation rippling through her before it gradually subsided. She quivered, her arms growing weak and unable to support her, and she needed the captain to accept her full body weight onto her which Janeway readily did, embracing the young woman fully as she eased them both over onto their sides.

Swallowing hard, Seven licked her lips, making a soft sound of pleasure and satisfaction as she pulled Janeway to her, hugging her closely while the captain's mouth traced over her neck and throat. There was no better sensation than those seconds of complete pleasure, unless it was this, the languid relaxation into warmth and adoring arms, surrendering to lips that nuzzled her sweetly ... drifting on a wonderfully husky voice that murmured joyful words of love and tenderness into her ear.

"Kathryn," she whispered, her eyes closed, lost in this moment of bliss.

"Mmm, right here, love," Janeway replied quietly, stroking her back lightly, fingertips tracing soothing patterns over the Borg's spine. "Good?"

"Excellent," Seven told her, lowering her head to regard her spouse. "I expect no less after all this time."

"It does become progressively better, doesn't it?" Janeway agreed happily, making the young woman smile.

Exhaling slowly, Seven rubbed her cheek against Janeway's temple as the captain settled against her, the women cuddling close in the center of their large bed. She could smell their lovemaking lingering on their flesh, a counterpoint to the fragrance of the captain's perfume and the soap she used in her bath. The soft whisper of her respiration was like a balm to the Borg, the warmth of Janeway's skin like the comforting heat of a fire after being out in the cold. There was no other place in the universe that Seven of Nine would rather be, nor any other person in the universe that she could imagine feeling so strongly or deeply for.

"What are you thinking?" Janeway asked after a while, reaching up to draw her fingers lightly over Seven's forehead.

"I am thinking about you," Seven responded honestly. "How much I love you. How much I need and want to be with you. How blessed I am to be loved by you and be able to spend my life in your presence."

"Ah," Janeway said, seeming unable to add much beyond that, visibly moved by the young woman's words, her love for Seven shimmering in her sapphire gaze. "Heavy thoughts to have just prior to sleep."

"It is the eve of the next stage of our life together," Seven pointed out, drawing her knuckles lightly along the underside of the captain's jaw, contemplating her beloved features with complete and utter adoration. "Acknowledging how exceptionally important you have been to me, and will continue to be, seems a reasonable way to contemplate my future."

Janeway smiled, the bright flash of teeth barely visible in the darkness, but her eyes were glistening as she cupped the young woman's cheek in her hand, regarding her with total devotion. "You still astound me with your romantic nature," she said softly. "You can move me to tears with just a few words. Who knew a Borg drone could be so ... poetic?"

Seven's lips curled in a small smile, then she gently touched them to Janeway's before continuing her train of thought, needing to share this with her spouse. "I think of where I am now, and compare it to that first moment of comprehension of being severed from the Collective, realizing I was truly alone for the first time in eighteen years..." She trailed off, searching for the words to put into comprehensive form. "Yet, I was never really alone. Even during those times when we temporarily lost sight of each other, all I ever had to do was reach out, and you were always there. With that knowledge, Kathryn, I believe I can accomplish anything as an individual."

Janeway tightened her embrace. "You honor me, darling," she whispered. She rested her forehead against the young woman's chin, closing her eyes. "Annika, I think that you were the special something that was missing in my life ... not necessarily to make it complete, but to make it beyond that, and worse, I didn't even know it was missing until I met you. You enhance me, make me reach for infinity, rather than just for the stars, and that encourages me to seek beyond the surface to see what lies below, not only in the universe around me, but in myself as well. With you beside me, anything I face is not an obstacle, but a challenge to savor and overcome because I know you will be there to share in the triumph. I love you. I always will. Please, don't ever let me go."

"I shall not, Kathryn," Seven promised. She hugged her lovingly, smiling. "I am glad we took this day for ourselves, even though it is not the normal protocol."

"I am, too," Janeway admitted. "It was important for us." She smiled gently. "That's another thing you've given me, darling. Before, I would have allowed myself to get so wrapped up in my command preparation, I would have overlooked the need to say a proper farewell to my family, or missed the opportunity to treasure what I'll be leaving behind. By your insisting we take this day of acknowledgment ... from our visiting Daddy's grave this morning, to spending the afternoon with Mom and Michael and Phoebe ... it will make what happens tomorrow far more significant. You've given me the chance to appreciate it fully. You always encourage me to embrace the future, my love, but you never let me forget my past. Thank you for that."

"You are welcome," Seven said. She glanced at the chronometer, realizing the hours left to them on Earth were slipping away quickly. "Kathryn, I know we should sleep..."

Janeway chuckled. "But you're too ... restless?"

"Yes," Seven admitted.

"I understand," the captain told her, pulling her closer, her hands tracing lightly over the Borg's body. "To be honest, I am as well. I didn't sleep a wink the night before Voyager launched, and somehow, I doubt I'll sleep tonight." She smiled impishly. "How fortunate that we can share our insomnia."

Seven smiled briefly, responding to the invitation implicit in her spouse's voice, but her thoughts were still occupied. "Kathryn, are we ready for what lies ahead?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

Janeway hesitated, then hugged the Borg tightly.

"Together, darling, we're ready for anything," she said sincerely. "I believe that with all my heart."

Dipping her head, Seven brushed her lips over her partner's temple. "Then ... I shall believe it as well," she said.

"Always."

Janeway opened her eyes, automatically checking the chronometer beside the bed, and determining how long she had before the couple was required to rise. She was actually surprised that she had managed any sleep at all, yet the presence of her partner wrapped around her from behind had always been conducive for a restful night. She remembered a time when she had found another person in her bed to be intrusive once any romantic encounter had ended. Now, she couldn't imagine sleeping without that warm, lanky form next to her.

She smiled as she felt the soft whisper of Seven's steady respiration against the hollow of her shoulder, where the young woman had tucked her head as she slumbered. The Borg's arms were wrapped snugly about the captain, while her knees nestled beneath Janeway's, pressing as much of her body against her spouse as possible. The captain tried not to move, wanting her spouse to get as much rest as possible before this busy day, and knowing that the instant she stirred, Seven would wake as well.

As she lay in the peaceful warmth of her partner's embrace, Janeway considered the tasks awaiting her, not the least of which was issuing a formal memo surrendering her command of Utopia Planitia to Admiral Nechayev ... or to Michael, now that Starfleet finally had a replacement for her ... and logging in officially as captain of the Millennium. There were also a few other formalities that had to be gone through for the sake of the Federation news teams, such as the unveiling of the plaque on the bulkhead of the bridge. Janeway mentally organized her immediate duties in order of importance, knowing that the more prepared she was for all she would face, the smoother things would go.

"Mmm, Kathryn?"

Seven's normally precise tones were a sleepy mumble, and Janeway smiled, reaching back to pat the Borg's hip. "Good morning, love," she said.

"Did you sleep at all?" Seven asked as she yawned, snuggling closer to her spouse.

"A little," Janeway said, turning her head to receive her good morning kiss. Then another, perhaps because Seven thought that such a special occasion warranted one ... not that the captain objected in the slightest. "You know, it's still a bit early. We don't have to get up immediately."

"Indeed," Seven said, her voice raising with interest.

"However," Janeway said, nudging her spouse admonishingly as the young woman's hand promptly slipped over the captain's right breast, cupping it invitingly, "we don't have quite enough time for that, either."

Seven hesitated, then subsided. "Unfortunate," she said. She paused. "After our duty shifts, perhaps?" she added slyly.

Janeway laughed, recognizing immediately where that came from. "Absolutely," she promised. "However, don't come onto the bridge and remind me of it later this afternoon, particularly in front of all the new crewmembers we have."

"Are you sure you will remember if I do not?" Seven prodded teasingly.

"I'm positive," Janeway said, nudging her once more.

Seven smiled and hugged her affectionately before releasing her to roll over and sit up on the side of the bed. "Shall I make breakfast, Kathryn?" she asked over her shoulder as she reached for her robe.

"I'm not really hungry, darling," Janeway protested. "The butterflies are starting to appear."

"'Butterflies'?"

"Nerves," the captain explained. "I always feel on edge when I'm about take command of a new ship. It's been years, but I'll probably be as nervous today as I was for my very first command."

"I understand," Seven said, as she paused in the doorway of their bedroom. "However, I do want you to eat, even if it is only a small amount. I will prepare something light."

Janeway eyed her rebelliously for a moment, then realized it wasn't anything she could argue about, throwing up her hands in surrender as she slipped out of bed, and headed for the ensuite where she took care of a few biological necessities. Afterward, she drew on her own robe and descended the stairs to discover that Seven had prepared waffles with a variety of fruit, along with juice and best of all, some hot coffee. The captain smiled briefly as she spotted the silver thermos on the counter.

"I can't believe you kept it," she said.

Seven shot her an amused glance. "I know what you need most for your starship command, Kathryn," she explained. She reached out and turned it to show the Starfleet insignia on the side, bordered by the words, USS Millennium, arching over it, along with the call letters underneath. "However, it was required that I have the inscription altered."

"That's what I love about you, darling," the captain said, leaning over to kiss her spouse. "Your attention to detail."

After breakfast, Janeway took a lengthy shower before turning the facility over to Seven, while the captain put on her uniform. As the Borg was finishing her preparations, Janeway stripped the bed, disposing of the bedding in the recycler, then retrieved the couple's bags from where they had been sitting in the closet, carrying them downstairs.

As she waited for her partner, she made a last check of the house computer, then went outside where she secured the cover on the hot tub, and made sure that the gates leading to the backyard were latched. Chakotay and Icheb would be moving in during the upcoming weekend, but she didn't want anything left to chance until then. Back inside, she discovered Seven gazing around with a certain, sorrowful expression in her eyes.

"Hey," the captain said softly, slipping her arms around the young woman's waist. "We'll make wonderful new memories on Millennium. It's not where we are, it's how we live while we're there."

"I know," Seven said as she responded to the embrace, turning to bury her face in the captain's hair.

Janeway held her tightly, comfortingly, granting this brief moment to allow the young woman to settle her final farewells to their dwelling in her mind, before finally releasing her.

"Let's go," she said gently, reaching down for her carryall, then retrieving and tucking the thermos under her arm.

Seven picked up her bag, slipping the strap over her shoulder as she left the house. Despite herself, the captain cast one look back at the rooms which had been their sanctuary for more than a year, then firmly shut the door behind them. She caught up to Seven on the sidewalk, and the couple did not speak as they strode purposefully down the street. Janeway was very glad to see no one stirring at the Johnson house at the end of the block, not wanting to have her ex-lover see her off this day. She did notice that Seven shot a peek at the house as they walked past, but again, the young woman did not say anything. The captain suspected that the presence of Mark Johnson was the one thing the Borg would not miss about living in San Francisco.

At the city's main terminal, there was a shuttle waiting for the captain, and while Seven stowed the bags, Janeway ran a quick check of the helm over the shoulder of the young ensign who had been dispatched to pilot them. He seemed quite conscious of her rank, and deciding he would be more comfortable without her hovering behind him, she moved to the rear of the compartment where she found a seat next to her spouse. She had barely sat down before the shuttle lifted off, the ensign pointing the nose squarely for the fourth planet from the sun, blasting out of the atmosphere as if the hounds of hell themselves were after him. The captain felt a certain relief when they reached vacuum where the buffering was lessened, and she glanced sideways to witness Seven offering her a slightly sardonic look.

"Is this what you meant about the 'dangerous' stage for a Starfleet officer?" the Borg asked quietly.

Janeway resisted the urge to laugh out loud as the pilot, oblivious to their comments, and perhaps making an attempt to further impress his important passengers, coaxed a little more speed out of the impulse drive.

"No, this is just the beginning," she said, making Seven raise her eyebrow. They sat quietly for a few more minutes, then Janeway leaned across the aisle to her spouse. "Once we're on board, I'd like you to take our bags to our quarters, then secure the science departments for departure," she instructed. "However, I want you on the bridge for the actual launch."

"Understood, Captain," Seven said promptly ... and professionally. It was just like old times, and Janeway felt a warmth spread through her, quieting her butterflies for the time being.

The sight of her new vessel in the fore viewport took Janeway's breath away, and she felt a tingle go down her spine. All the running lights had been activated, indicating that it was counting down to departure, and the glowing silhouette of the USS Millennium, the name and call letters emblazoned proudly on the underside of the saucer, were like a personal greeting sent out from the ship to its new mistress ... though Janeway would never share such a fanciful thought with her partner. Once on board hangar deck alpha, they barely cleared the pad before the shuttle lifted off  to return to Earth. The captain shook her head as the couple headed for the nearest turbolift. If such breakneck enthusiasm was what she could expect while dealing with all the new graduates on board, this voyage was going to be far more interesting than she had anticipated. On deck three, Janeway and Seven split up, the Borg leaving her spouse on the turbolift to drop off their luggage in their quarters, while the captain wasted little time in instructing the ship's computer to take her to deck one.

"Captain on the bridge."

It would probably be the only time this particular announcement was used by this particular crew, since Janeway preferred a much subtler and casual atmosphere among her bridge staff, but she smiled at Commander Ro who rose from the command chair. As third in command, the Bajoran was acting as first officer until the new exec came on board. In her case, it was as if she were simply continuing her role as Janeway's adjunct until further notice.

"As you were," Janeway said, though she dipped her head to acknowledge the formality. "Status?"

"Launch preparations are on schedule," Ro responded firmly. "The news team will be here shortly."

"Let me know when they get here," Janeway said, leaving the details in the tactical officer's capable hands. "I'll be in my ready room."

She managed to get quite a lot done before the unveiling of the plaque required her presence, and she thought it had gone well, satisfied as she read the words that would carry her ship into it's future. The quote at the bottom, etched beneath the registry and roster of ship designers and engineers, seemed fitting somehow, and she repeated it softly to herself as she returned to her office after seeing the Federation news people off her bridge.

"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

The captain wondered how prophetic it would be. What would they discover about the space they had only studied imperfectly before? What new civilizations would they finally meet face to face, and learn to know as those beings would learn to know her and the Federation? She was also cognizant of what the first part of the passage stated about love, and vowed to remember it as she shared her personal life with Seven of Nine, aware that their happiness as a couple was as important, if not more so, as anything they might accomplish professionally while on this new mission.

The hours passed rapidly as Janeway tackled the multitude of padds stacked high on her coffee table in the ready room ... last minute tasks that always seemed to pop up prior to the final departure of any starship, only worse because this would be the Millennium's maiden voyage. Most of the crew had reported in and settled into their duties, but both the senior helm officer and the first officer were to be picked up at DS9, the last port of call before the Millennium would activate the transition drive and plunge deep into the heart of unknown space. The captain had glanced over the personnel record of her new exec, familiarizing herself with the stark details of the man who would serve as her number one, but realized that they couldn't tell her the whole story. Until she actually met him, until they worked together, she wouldn't know if the special bond between captain and first officer would form strong and true ... or if it would turn out to be fractured and contentious for the entire tour of duty.

In any event, she reminded herself, picking up her mug and sipping the hot coffee gratefully, that was a concern for the future. There were too many other things demanding her attention, too many other tasks she had to accomplish before she had to deal with a new second-in-command.

The chime of the door to her ready room sounded, and she glanced up. "Come," she said, tossing aside another padd as she authorized the request it contained.

Commander Ro entered, her hands full of more padds. Ruefully, the Bajoran placed them on the coffee table, adding to the stack already there.

Janeway regarded them with dismay, then looked up at her tactical officer.

"Sorry," Ro said dryly. "I authorized all I could, but the rest require the attention of the captain herself."

Exhaling audibly, Janeway frowned. "Remind me why I'm doing this again," she demanded.

"Brain damage?" Ro suggested blandly.

Startled, Janeway offered a bark of laughter and relaxed, which she suspected had been the Bajoran's intention.

"If not that permanent, then one can always blame temporary insanity," she agreed, her eyes sparkling. "Anything else?"

"Not at the moment, Captain," Ro said. "Engineering reports that the impulse engines are online. Lt. Torres reports that 'anytime you're ready'."

Janeway smiled. "I suspect certain authorities would be upset if we left early," she said.

"Undoubtedly," Ro agreed. "T-minus two hours." She paused. "Have you had lunch, Captain?"

Janeway made a face at her. "Seven told you to remind me of that, didn't she?"

Ro flicked an eyebrow. "Does that mean you haven't?" she asked innocently.

Janeway rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hand. "You're dismissed, Commander," she said, noticing that the Bajoran smiled as she left the ready room.

As soon as Ro left, however, Janeway rose from the sofa and moved up the ramp to the replicator before she started in on the new stack of padds awaiting her attention. She knew it was just so her partner wouldn't be aggravated with her later, but she did it anyway, forcing the chicken salad sandwich down even though it was difficult to eat with the flutters in her stomach. When she finally left her ready room ninety minutes later, the butterflies had turned into full fledged luna moths.

Keeping her command mask rigidly in place as she took her place in the captain's chair, Janeway was conscious of the immediate leap in intensity among her crew as she took a long moment to survey her bridge. To her immediate right, the first officer's station remained empty, waiting to be assigned, while in front of that, the ops console was covered by Ensign Tarn, the young Academy graduate looking decidedly scared to be placed in a position of importance so quickly even though she had been preparing for weeks. The captain, in a fit of perversity, had decided to throw the young woman into the fray immediately, just as she had Harry Kim all those years ago, just to see how she'd perform. Meanwhile, near the front of the bridge on the starboard auxiliary stations, Counselor Kes monitored sickbay through her board, in addition to keeping an eye on the mood of the bridge staff. The Ocampa must have sensed Janeway's gaze on her, because she glanced back and bestowed a gentle smile on the captain.

In the center, directly between the captain and the viewscreen, Tom Paris reigned over the large navigational console, tickled pink at being able to take the new vessel out on its first flight. The new Wing Commander would not pull as much bridge duty as he had on Voyager ... that would fall to Lt. Nog ... but Janeway wanted her most experienced navigator at the helm while leaving the shipyards. To port, Commander Ro took her seat at the tactical station, her board lit up in preparation of launch, indicating that the tactical systems were online and active. Between the captain and Ro, against the railing, the science officer's post was located, holding a position of prominence on this type of vessel. Janeway glanced back as the turbolift door hissed opened and Seven of Nine entered the bridge. The Borg shot a glance at Janeway as she passed by her, offering a small smile as she took her station. The captain returned it briefly, then inhaled as she wiggled her shoulders a little against the chair back, determined to enjoy this moment to its fullest.

"All hands, this is the captain," she said, activating the ship-wide communications system. "We are about to depart Utopia Planitia. Secure for stations." She deepened her voice, injecting all the command persona and presence into her husky tones as she could muster. "This is the first step on what I believe will be a most glorious adventure. The space of all four quadrants await our exploration, expanding our knowledge exponentially, and I know that we will meet all the challenges that lie ahead in the best Starfleet tradition." She paused. "Our future lies here, in our new Millennium."

She paused, swallowing at the unexpected scratchiness in her throat, then inhaled sharply. "Engine room, prepare for warp once we clear the solar system. Stand by." Janeway looked over at Tarn. "Time to intercept?"

"Thirty seconds," the young woman said, a distinctive quaver in her voice that the captain graciously ignored.

"On screen," Janeway said. "Magnify to the fullest. It's a pretty tiny object."

The fore viewscreen flickered and cleared to show the backdrop of stars, and the framing of the dock around the vessel. From the front, the tether was being withdrawn, allowing the starship to drift free of the docking array. Ops isolated a tiny silver pinpoint with a frame, and magnified that section to fill the screen. Tumbling in the vacuum of space, a bottle of Dom Perignon was on a direct collision course with the front of the massive starship. The bridge crew fell silent as it closed the distance, the exterior sensors following it all the way in to the actual contact on the smooth surface of the vessel's hull, a minor explosion of glass and liquid that immediately boiled away into space.

A waste of a perfectly good bottle of champagne, Janeway thought idly, even as she was aware it was a tradition of launching various types of vessels that stretched back for centuries. The viewscreen altered to show the throngs of people on the dock, pressed against the viewports to watch the launch, while dignitaries and Starfleet brass conducted a ceremony which would be broadcast by the various news teams to the farthest reaches of the Federation.

Janeway was very glad she was in the relative quiet of the Millennium's bridge.

"Clear for launch," Ro ordered. "Release all moorings."

"Clearing for launch, aye, Commander," Tom said smoothly. If he was disturbed by the Bajoran's new promotion, he gave no indication of it in his voice. "All moorings away. Thrusters and impulse engines are online."

"Utopia Planitia Base Command clears us for immediate departure," Tarn said, her voice strengthening. "Switching over to McKinley Central Traffic Control."

"Mr. Paris, take us clear of the docking array," Ro instructed. "Maneuvering thrusters only."

"Aye, Commander," Paris responded, hands moving smoothly over the board. "Maneuvering thrusters only."

The massive ship began to move, though the only indication was the structure of the dock drifting away from them. It grew smaller, then shifted to the side as Paris turned the Millennium delicately, the smooth response unusual in such a large vessel, but then Tom was far from an ordinary pilot, able to draw phenomenal results from any helm under his control. Janeway smiled faintly in approval.

"We are clear of Docking Array Alpha," Tarn reported.

"One quarter impulse," Janeway ordered the helm.

"Aye, one quarter impulse, Captain," Paris said. "Clearing Utopia Planitia shipyards."

"McKinley has us on a central vector," Tarn managed professionally. "We have been cleared for warp."

"Warp engines are online," Paris reported.

Just then, Seven glanced over her shoulder from her science console, and Janeway was suddenly aware of all her life leading to this moment in time, to this special opportunity to explore space, and be able to share it with the person whom she loved with a passion and depth that still shook her on occasion. She thought of all she and her spouse had been through, of the obstacles their relationship had overcome, of the strength of their love which would carry them into this next stage of their existence, remembering that no matter what else happened, she would always have Seven of Nine by her side. That pale blue gaze of complete love and support warmed her, dissolving the butterflies as if they had never existed, and for a instant, it was as if she and Seven were the only ones on the bridge, sharing something that only the two of them recognized, a special acknowledgment of what this meant to them as individuals, as Starfleet officers, and as a couple bound together for eternity.

Just between us, the captain thought, keeping her eyes locked on those of her partner. She took a deep breath and gave the order that would launch them on this grand venture.

"Warp factor five, Mr. Paris."

"Aye, Captain," Tom replied smartly, programming in the highest speed Starfleet vessels were allowed to go while in Federation space. "Warp factor five."

"Engage."

The hum of the warp system echoed subtly through Janeway's body as the stars on the fore viewscreen blurred and began to streak, the USS Millennium leaping forward like an animal finally uncaged, racing for its  freedom.

Carrying them all toward a new future ... and a new frontier.

The End

Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self seeking, it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves.
Love never fails.

But where there are prophescies, they will cease;
where there are tongues; they will be stilled;
where there is knowledge; it will pass away.
For we know in part and we prophesy in part,
but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.
When I was a child, I thought like a child.
When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.

- 1 Corinthians 13: 4-13