• Welcome to the first installment of the ST: Millennium series.  Like all Trek series which begin with a two hour premier, this is the first part of two which make up the 'pilot' episode (although, this does have an epilogue and is self contained.)

• This was first posted to the web on June 22nd, 2001.

Past Provocations I
G. L. Dartt

The clawlike Cardassian construction of Deep Space 9 hung majestically against a backdrop of stars as ships of various cultures, including that of the Federation, made the station their main port of call in the sector. Belonging to the Bajorans and run in association with Starfleet, it stood sentinel over the wormhole leading to the Gamma Quadrant, and still maintained its frontier reputation, even after years of supposed 'civilized' maintenance. It was rumored that one could still find deals of the shadiest nature in its bars and kiosks, particularly in the establishment run by an entrepreneur named Quark.

The Promenade was busy this time of day, filled with a wide range of species who went about their business with bustling intent. On the walkway overlooking the main level, a Starfleet officer looked down on the people thronging the various shops and bars and wondered if any of their unknown concerns were as exciting ... or intimidating ... as the challenge he was about to face.

"Commander Zar."

Turning his whole body rather than just his head because of his prominent neck ridges, Zar Tulek discovered the thin, reedy voice addressing him belonged to a small Ferengi male. To the commander's surprise, he was wearing a Starfleet uniform. Ferengi were the robber barons of the Alpha Quadrant, a merchant race with a set group of rules which were all directed to one ultimate goal; profit. It was surprising to see one of the snaggle-toothed, large-eared beings representing the Federation. On the other hand, Zar was hardly one to jump to conclusions. His unique background had dictated he face his own form of prejudice and misconceptions as he rose through the ranks of Starfleet.

"Yes?" he asked questioningly.

The young man seemed to falter slightly before visibly straightening his shoulders.

"Lt. Nog, sir," he introduced himself. "I understand you're the new exec on USS Millennium. I've been assigned to the ship's helm."

"I see," Zar said, not allowing his astonishment to show on his boney features. He wondered what kind of captain would willingly choose a Ferengi to pilot her vessel, particularly when the ship was a brand new, state-of-the-art Fast Explorer, boasting an experimental propulsion drive. Wouldn't a competent captain worry that the young man would take the opportunity to make some profit, specifically by selling the specs of the new drive to his brethren?

However, he was also aware that the ideals of the Federation were those of tolerance and acceptance ... otherwise, Zar would never have made it through the Academy, let alone served for as long as he had. Certainly, this young Ferengi would not be wearing the pips of a junior lieutenant unless there was far more to his abilities than what his surface appearance implied. If he wore the uniform, Zar reminded himself, that should be good enough for anyone, including himself.

"Sir, do you know when the Millennium will be arriving?" Nog prompted somewhat nervously when the commander didn't say anything further.

"I expect the vessel to dock by 1100," Zar responded shortly. He turned his attention back to the Promenade, dismissing the junior officer from his attention. Nog, however, did not take the hint to leave. Instead, he settled into the space beside the commander, leaning against the rail as if he had done it countless times before.

"Sir?" he asked, after a few moments.

"Yes," Zar responded, not particularly inviting Nog's continued companionship but not yet rebuffing it either.

"May I ask you a question?"

Zar's thin lips twitched. "I'm not Cardassian," he said.

"Sir?"

"I'm Bajoran."

That was obviously more than the Ferengi was prepared to accept, but apparently, the lieutenant didn't want to call the commander a liar. Zar sighed. The offspring of the Bajoran civilians and their Cardassian oppressors had not been welcomed by either people. Considered unpleasant reminders by both species of the Occupation, they symbolized actions which were an political embarrassment to one side, and a horrific violation to the other. Most hybrids had been killed out of hand. Zar Tulek had not, but neither was he prepared to share his long and complicated story of survival with a junior officer.

"I'm a hybrid," he allowed finally.

"Ah," Nog responded. "I see, sir. In any event, sir, that wasn't my question."

Zar blinked. "Oh," he said, feeling vaguely stupid. "What was, Lieutenant?"

"I was wondering if, when Millennium gets here, I'm expected to report directly to the captain, or if the comm officer would be sufficient on board a vessel this size."

"The comm officer will be sufficient," Zar explained with a sigh.

"Yes, sir. I look forward to serving with you, sir," Nog managed before hastily making his departure, apparently aware he had bothered his senior officer enough for a first encounter.

Zar did not look after him, returning his attention to the crowds below. Born on Bajor and raised on a colony not far from Betazed, Zar considered himself a citizen of the Federation, but there was no denying that his looks were predominantly Cardassian ... except perhaps to another Cardassian who would note the Bajoran influence immediately. To the rest of quadrant, however, Zar was one of them. The Cardassian Empire had brutally occupied the peaceful world of Bajor, had instigated war with the Federation not just once, but several times, most recently in the alliance of the Dominion. Despite wearing the Starfleet uniform, despite having proven that he had earned it several times over, his dealings with others over the years had grown no easier, simply because of his appearance.

He turned from the railing, moving over to the nearest viewport. It looked out onto the Gamma Quadrant wormhole, the swirl of color and energy a wondrous sight every time a ship entered or exited the spatial anomaly. After the Dominion's defeat, the Alpha Quadrant maintained a constant presence on the other side, keeping an eye on their former enemies. Meanwhile, Klingon vessels patrolled the former Cardassian Empire, keeping them under close observation, inclined not to let them rebuild too quickly.

Zar was conscious of the people who passed behind him, aware of the looks they shot his way. It didn't matter where he went in the Federation, he was always the object of scrutiny. He also expected to suffer it on the Millennium, but because the tour of duty would be a year or more, perhaps he could expect the wariness to lessen over time. He wondered if this assignment would grant him a command finally, or if it would be just another deadend posting. He had always needed to work twice, even three times, as hard to receive a fraction of the respect accorded other officers. All he wanted was to be judged on his own merits, and not on his genetic makeup. He had heard that Captain Janeway was a very good teacher when it came to command seasoning.

Let's hope she can get by the external appearance and accept me for who I am. But so far, he had met very few who could, even in the 'enlightened' Federation.

"Commander."

Startled, he looked sideways and saw a Bajoran colonel regarding him evenly. He had even sensed her approach. Tall, with a short shock of reddish hair, he recognized the commander of the station, Kira Nerys.

"Colonel," he replied politely. She wasn't responding to him as being a Bajoran, obviously, but he was interested to see that she wasn't responding to him as being a Cardassian either. However, the pity that ever so subtly touched her gaze made him stiffen in resentment. He didn't require anyone's pity.

"I wanted to let you know that the USS Millennium will be delayed," she said. "It's had to divert course to assist a vessel in distress, and won't be arriving until tomorrow at 0900."

He raised his chin. "I see," he said coolly. "Thank you, Colonel."

She didn't leave, however. Instead, she remained standing next to him, studying him covertly.

"Is there something else?" he asked, forcing himself to be civil.

"Which camp?" she asked.

"It's irrelevant," he said shortly, understanding that she was referring to the many internment camps the Cardassians had established to control the Bajoran citizens, and use them for forced labor. Where one had been incarcerated was often used as a form of identification by the survivors. "I left when I was one, smuggled out on a Bolian freighter by my mother who took me to live on the Federation colony, Verus Prime. I don't really remember much about Bajor or the Occupation."

She blinked, taken aback as she realized she had touched on a sore spot. "Sorry," she said, her tone gentle. "It's just ... I knew someone like you. Tora Ziyal. I know what she went through."

He stifled his initial response. He was a Starfleet officer, he reminded himself firmly. "If she remained on Bajor, her experiences were not similar to mine." He paused before adding reluctantly in an attempt to be fair. "Undoubtedly, they were far more difficult. In the Federation, while others saw me as Cardassian, once they discovered the truth, some would try to accept me for who I am rather than what they initially perceived. I doubt that she received the same sort of acceptance ... from either the people of Bajor or Cardassia."

Her face altered slightly, shame coloring her dark gaze. "You're right," she said. "It was very difficult for her. However, she was my friend, and I miss her."

He hesitated, sensing a tragedy behind her manner, but not wanting to pursue it. He'd had entirely enough aggravation in his own life, and didn't need to add to it by worrying about others and events about which he could do nothing, particularly when the colonel was speaking of this 'Tora Ziyal' in the past tense.

"Thank you for informing of the change in schedule for the Millennium," he said uncomfortably.

She stared at him a moment longer, and then dipped her head and left. He knew that she had been reaching out, and he supposed he should have been grateful for it, but he had been burned too many times by Bajorans in the past to fully trust them. He understood from where their resentment sprang, and why they would release it on him, either deliberately or on a subconscious level, but he was not prepared to indulge it now ... not the night before he was to accept an exec posting on the most advanced starship in Starfleet.

Commanded by one of the most enigmatic captains in the fleet, he added to himself with a certain trepidation. Kathryn Janeway had literally been out of contact with the rest of the Alpha Quadrant for seven years, yet somehow managed to keep her starship intact ... a small Scout type, Intrepid-class vessel designed for short range missions only ... and had also melded a varied combination of Starfleet officers, Maquis outlaws, and Delta Quadrant natives into a formidable crew. Upon Voyager's return, the personnel who had served under her had been snapped up by captains all over the fleet, and their experience and skills had caused Janeway's reputation as a captain who developed leaders, and not just officers, to spread throughout the Fleet.

If she was half as good as the rumors purported her to be, his education under her command would be invaluable in any future professional endeavors. The only question that remained was: could she get by his appearance?

Several padds littered the blankets around her as Janeway finished up a few details before going to sleep. Dressed in a slate-blue t-shirt and little else, the starship captain had tucked the bedding around her as she reclined against the multitude of pillows stacked behind her, her mind focused solely on the tiny viewscreen of the padd she was currently perusing. Sometimes, it seemed as if she would never finish all the work required of her position while she familiarized herself with her new crew and her new ship. It didn't help that their schedule had been thrown off stride by taking that detour to aid a vessel in distress. It was protocol, of course, but it meant that they would be arriving at DS9 a day late. She hated to be late with a passion, probably because she had once set out for a two-week mission into the Bajoran Badlands and hadn't returned to her home port for seven years.

A soft hiss from the outer part of her quarters caught her by surprise, and she glanced up, her concentration broken as she watched her spouse of more than two years cross the bedroom, heading for the ensuite on the other side. Seven of Nine shot her a brief nod of acknowledgment as she passed, her narrow features offset by cybernetic implants adorning her left eye and cheekbone, her long blonde hair drawn back in an austere bun. Brilliant and beautiful, the young woman radiated a demeanor of icy efficiency that tended to keep most people at bay. Two gold pips of a senior lieutenant adorned the blue collar of her Starfleet uniform, a promotion received shortly before leaving Earth, and predicated upon Seven's accepting the position of Millennium's chief science officer.

Janeway frowned as she glanced at the chronometer, noting the time, and then she looked down at the padds scattered around her, displeased even more by what they represented. She was still frowning when Seven joined her a few moments later, her lush, curvaceous body delectably revealed as she slipped naked between the sheets.

"Annika?" Janeway murmured. "I need to speak with you."

Seven, in the process of settling down onto the mattress after retrieving a pillow from the captain's pile, paused and regarded her. Undoubtedly recognizing both the expression on her partner's face, as well as the intimacy implied with the use of her Human identity as opposed to the designation granted her by the Borg, Seven turned, resting on her side as she regarded the captain inquiringly.

"Yes, Kathryn," she responded, her tones precise and cool. Her ice-blue eyes warmed perceptively, however, as she studied the smaller woman, and it was apparent that she was granting Janeway her entire attention.

"Where were you this evening?" the captain asked.

Seven blinked. "I was in conference with the civilian scientists with whom I will be working," she explained. She hesitated. "Why? I was on duty, not socializing." It was a bit defensive, as if she had detected some form of accusation in the other woman's voice.

Janeway exhaled, wondering if she had already started the conversation on a wrong note.

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching over to put an apologetic hand on her partner's forearm. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I guess I was hoping you had been socializing rather than working."

Tilting her head slightly, Seven looked puzzled. "I do not understand," she said.

"Annika, you and I both know that we can get lost in our duties, particularly when it's a new assignment and there's so much to do."

An eyebrow raised. "You feel I am working too hard," Seven said coolly.

"Not just you," Janeway said, motioning toward the stack of padds on the night stand. "As you can see, I also worked for hours after the alpha shift ended. We're both aware of how we've allowed ourselves get caught up in our professional duties to the detriment of our personal relationship in the past. We shouldn't allow it to happen again."

Seven's face cleared. "You are correct." Though the young woman had spent eighteen years as a drone in a hive mind collective, she had come a long way in her return to Humanity since Janeway had first met her five years earlier. She easily saw where this could lead.

Janeway sighed and leaned over, slipping her arms around her spouse as she relaxed against the side of the woman's six foot frame, nestling her head on the young woman's shoulder. "It's difficult to balance all our responsibilities, love," she said quietly. "There will undoubtedly be many times in the missions ahead of us when we'll be required to pull double, and even triple shifts. We need to avoid working extra hours when it's not necessary."

"I agree," Seven said quietly, running her fingers languidly through the captain's hair. "However, there is still much to learn about my new duties."

"I'm not arguing that point," Janeway responded. "However, this is an important thing for us to work out before it becomes damaging."

"Perhaps delegation?" Seven suggested, her arm warm around Janeway's shoulders. "I have decided that Lenara Kahn would be an excellent person to head up the civilian scientists. Structuring how the civilians will be working with the Starfleet scientists in the various departments will dispel the need for my personal supervision in various sections. Indeed, that was the task requiring my attention this evening, a meeting to outline her responsibilities."

"Oh," Janeway allowed, feeling somewhat inefficient. Seven, she realized, had already been addressing the solution to the potential difficulties. "You're several steps ahead of me, it seems."

Seven smiled faintly. Not particularly effusive in her emotions, the tiniest alteration of her expression tended to speak volumes to her partner, and the captain squeezed her admonishingly.

"All right. So I'm a little slow in recognizing the problem," Janeway admitted.

"Perhaps in attempting to solve it as well?" Seven prodded gently. "What were you working on this evening?"

"Departmental reports," Janeway said, a bit warily as she abruptly perceived a trap.

"Duties that are primarily those of the first officer?" Seven remarked with studied innocence.

"I don't have a first officer," Janeway reminded her.

"At the moment," Seven said. She squeezed the captain slightly. "Is it possible that you are already trying to make him less important to you since you know his posting is only temporary? Is that proper command behavior?"

Janeway started to reply, tensing stiffly before she forced herself to take a deep breath to compose herself. She recognized that the quick flash of anger was irrational, an instinctive reaction to her captain persona being questioned, even if it was by her spouse.

Seven lifted her head. "That was poorly phrased, Kathryn," she said quickly, obviously having sensed her partner's outrage through the alteration of the woman's body language. "I was merely attempting to make a point."

"I know," Janeway admitted, now slightly embarrassed at her reaction, or in this case, her overreaction. "That's why I'm taking a minute to answer it." She rubbed her cheek against the soft skin of Seven's upper chest, concentrating on the sensation of warmth, which allowed her to relax as she considered the question. "Do you really think that's what I'm doing?"

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It is possible that between you and Commander Ro, you will alleviate him of all his responsibilities?"

Now that she was forced to think about it, Janeway realized that she and the Bajoran tactical officer had been preempting a great deal of the first officer's duties in the guise of 'preparing for his arrival'. It had meant lots of extra hours for both women, and honestly, was not according the new officer any due.

"We just want to make the transition smooth for him," she tried.

"Leaving him with nothing at all to do is very smooth indeed," Seven pointed out dryly.

Janeway buried her face in her partner's neck bashfully. "All right," she mumbled, her voice muffled. "Your point is taken."

Seven chuckled, a small sound of amusement that reverberated through her chest, thrumming beneath Janeway's fingertips. Lifting her chin, the Borg instructed the computer to dim the lights, bringing them down to night standard, and the couple settled closer to each other.

"What do you think about Dr. Kahn?" Janeway asked, trying to make it sound like a professional query. Here in the warm haven of darkness prior to sleep, their conversations tended to be more intimate, the couple more open to each other emotionally, and the captain tried to take advantage of it whenever she could. "I know that you have a great deal of respect for her as a scientist, but she's never pulled starship duty before. Do you feel she'll adapt to the Starfleet system of doing things?"

"Yes," Seven said promptly. "She informed me that she greatly appreciates the organizational structure I put in place."

Janeway pursed her lips, wondering if she should pursue this. When she had first been introduced to the scientist, she had felt intimidated by Kahn's innate brilliance, particularly when Seven and the Trill subsequently lapsed into a technical conversation that quickly left the starship captain behind. Janeway wasn't used to feeling inadequate when it came to science.

"You really like her, don't you?" she said softly.

"Very much," Seven responded with enthusiasm, apparently unaware of the unease prompting the question. "Her experiences from having lived several lifetimes through her symbiont are very intriguing to me. In some ways, it is similar to being assimilated and having the knowledge of ten thousand species to draw upon. Also, her theories on wormhole variance frequencies is fascinating."

"Should I be jealous?" Janeway managed in what she hoped was a light tone.

Seven paused, obviously surprised. "She is a very attractive woman," she admitted after considering the question. She dipped her head, rubbing her cheek against the captain's. "However, no one will ever be as attractive to me as you are," she added in a seductive murmur, finally realizing that her partner was feeling uncertain.

The captain felt the heat rise in her face, embarrassed once more. "I'm sorry, darling," she mumbled. "I'm just being silly."

"Yes," Seven agreed fondly, "you are. However, I allow that a certain amount of jealousy on your part is ... flattering ... if ultimately in error."

Janeway smiled, relaxing as she snuggled closer, delighting in the warm curves of her spouse. "You're a very beautiful woman, Annika," she told the young woman. "Certainly, I'm not the only one who's noticed ... or is attracted to you."

"Indeed," Seven said, unimpressed by the compliment. "However, I am attracted only to you, and that is all that should matter."

"I suppose it is," Janeway agreed. She yawned, feeling drowsy as her day caught up to her. "I have been overworking. A comment like that deserves to be rewarded, but while the spirit is willing, the body is feeling rather weak."

"Perhaps we have been married too long," Seven noted. "Obviously, all the warnings that I have received from B'Elanna Torres regarding the tedium of matrimony were accurate."

Janeway poked her lightly in the side. "Don't tease," she protested. "I'm much too sleepy to match wits with you tonight."

"Ah," Seven said. "Too sleepy for lovemaking, too sleepy for conversation ... is this an indication of what I must expect in our future?"

The captain kissed her neck affectionately. "Not at all, darling," she promised. "Now that I realize how much I've been working unnecessarily, I'll be able to make more time for us. In fact, I just had a wonderful idea. After we arrive at DS9, why don't you and I make reservations for dinner tomorrow night at that restaurant on the Promenade?"

"Where we dined upon our return from the Alpha Quadrant?" Seven prompted.

"Yes," Janeway said. "It'll be fitting, don't you think? It will note our departure from the Alpha Quadrant, just as it did our arrival. We'll have a nice, leisurely dinner, go dancing at the club..."

"Initiate a brawl..." Seven interjected dryly.

Reminded of the incident which had occurred during their last visit to the station, Janeway was forced to laugh, rolling away from her spouse to put her hand over her eyes. "No," she said, her tone amused. "This time, we'll be on our best behavior and Colonel Kira will have no reason to hand us over to station security."

"Acceptable," Seven noted. "I have no desire to spend more time in one of the station's holding cells."

"So, it's a date?" Janeway asked.

"Yes," Seven said. "I will enjoy having dinner with you, as well as dancing. Perhaps we shall even be able to make love afterwards."

"Now you're just being sarcastic," Janeway protested. "I haven't been neglecting you that badly, have I?"

"We have not made love since the night before we launched from Utopia Planitia," Seven reminded her. "That was six days ago."

Janeway lifted her hand, her face altering as she glanced over at her. "So we haven't," she said with a touch of remorse. "I'm sorry, darling."

Seven shook her head. "It was not an accusation of any kind, Kathryn," she said. "Merely an observation."

Janeway slipped her arm underneath Seven's torso, pulling the young woman to her.

"I truly don't mean to ignore you, darling," she said softly, rolling over to nuzzle the Borg's throat. "I've just been a little busy."

"I know," Seven assured her. "We have discussed our tendency to overwork."

"Yes, but we haven't discussed our lack of physical intimacy," Janeway said.

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "It seems the sort of thing that will take care of itself once we terminate our tendency to overwork," she noted.

Janeway chuckled. "I suppose it will," she said. She paused, offering her partner a rueful expression. "I'm really tired tonight, Annika. I'm sorry."

Seven smiled and kissed her affectionately. "It is fine, Kathryn," she murmured. "I was merely teasing you."

"Honestly?"

"Yes," Seven assured her. She drew her into her arms, the women once more arranging themselves so that they would both be comfortable for sleep.

"I promise I'll make it up to you," Janeway muttered, yawning.

"I know you will," Seven said. She lifted an eyebrow. "In fact, knowing how well you can 'make it up to me' may leave me with the inevitable reminder to be careful what I wish for. You can be quite insatiable when you want to be."

Janeway didn't think that warranted a response, though a rather smug smile touched the corners of her mouth as she drifted off to sleep in her partner's arms.

Seven of Nine examined the sculpture at the small shop on the Promenade, mentally debating the merits of purchasing it. Her partner did not share her taste in art, and though a certain amount of personal space in their quarters had been allocated for the young Borg's collection, the wall cabinet wasn't that large, particularly when one considered they were about to depart on a mission that would not see them return to Federation space for more than a year. She would undoubtedly have the opportunity to discover many different types of artwork in the unknown space they were about to explore, and it would be inefficient to fill her limited area with items that were readily available in the Alpha Quadrant.

With a touch of regret, she placed the artwork back on the shelf and glanced around at the other display cases, checking over the remainder of selection before leaving the store. She dawdled along the Promenade as she window-shopped, discovering a certain small pleasure at doing so. She regretted that Janeway had not been able to get away to join her for an afternoon of leave, but that was the reality of being married to the captain of a starship. Janeway's time was limited, particularly while they were still in the preparatory stage of their mission, and what moments they could share were precious indeed.

She lifted her head as she heard a confrontation, and she turned to witness a Starfleet officer being challenged by a Bajoran in front of the station's temple. Her eyebrow lifted as she noted the officer was predominantly Cardassian ... species 3267 in Borg parlance ... which perhaps explained the antagonism directed at him, but he was also Starfleet, and at the moment, Starfleet was her Collective. A quick glance around determined that no one else assisting him, not even two officers from the Millennium who were looking on with crass fascination. She noted their identities with disapproval, and then moved purposefully toward the confrontation. Perhaps it was not her place to interfere, but since taking over as science officer for her new starship, she was more aware of being in a position of leadership, of feeling a sense of responsibility to others.

"State the problem," she demanded with authority.

Startled, both Bajoran and Starfleet officer turned to look at her, and belatedly, she realized that the Cardassian was wearing the three pips of a command officer, and thus, would hardly require the assistance of a mere lieutenant. However, she was committed now, and could not formulate a graceful way to withdraw. In any event, Janeway had once told her that if she assumed a position of authority, it was incumbent upon her to maintain that leadership unless someone formally relieved her of it. It was up to the senior officer to take command of the situation at this point, which he didn't seemed inclined to do. Instead, he was staring at her with a stunned expression, as if he had never seen a Borg before. For all she knew, perhaps he hadn't.

The Bajoran however, looked her up and down with more obvious appreciation, softening abruptly. Seven had noticed that her appearance sometimes had such an effect on men, particularly if they were much older. It had nothing to do with her abilities as either a Borg or a Starfleet officer.

"I can appreciate you're wishing to defend one of your own," he allowed grudgingly, some of the anger dissipating. "But can you truly claim this as one of your own?"

Seven regarded the other officer who continued to stare at her with an expression of bemusement and astonishment.

"He wears the uniform," she said calmly. "No one wears it who has not earned it. He is also one of 'your own', sir. He is partially Bajoran."

The older man blinked and looked dismayed, granting the commander another look, much closer this time, obviously picking out the subtle genetic traits in the officer's features that had escaped him initially. Seven knew that the Bajorans were no more fond of the hybrids who were the result of the Occupation than were the Cardassians, but the pity combined with embarrassment that appeared in his eyes was better than open hostility.

Though perhaps not to the Starfleet officer. He frowned as the man offered a gruff apology before going on his way, and his eyes were angry when he turned to the young woman.

"I had things under control, Lieutenant," he said stiffly.

Seven lifted an eyebrow, but was certainly not about to argue with him. "Yes, sir," she said politely.

He seemed about to say more, then hesitated, assuming a more neutral stance, linking his hands behind his back. He was quite tall, topping Seven by a few inches. "You are?" he prompted.

"Lt. Annika Hansen," Seven replied promptly. She still wasn't quite used to introducing herself by her Human designation, though that was how she was identified on the Starfleet roster. "I am chief science officer for the USS Millennium."

He lifted his chin with what most would perceive as arrogance, but Seven immediately recognized it as an attempt to hide his uncertainty. It was a gesture she had refined shortly after being severed from the Collective and forced to adapt to a ship filled with confusing and baffling Humans. Obviously, as a hybrid on a Bajoran station, this individual also felt the need to present an exterior shell of confidence that he perhaps did not feel internally. Seven was intrigued, feeling a certain kinship to him that she had not expected.

"I am Commander Zar Tulek," he said. "I'm your new first officer."

His eyes were almost challenging, and Seven wondered why. Was he afraid that she would react in some hostile way?

"Sir," she said formally. "I look forward to working with you."

He blinked, seeming surprised at her lack of emotional response one way or another. Seven was not entirely sure why. Neither species, 3267 nor the Bajoran species 3271, were of particular note to the Collective, though the first maintained great strength while the later included both endurance and discipline. However, there were many species that boasted those particular traits, and possessed unique characteristics as well. She knew a Bajoran well, of course, due to her association with Lt. Commander Ro Laren, but she had never discussed the Occupation with her at any length, and thus had no 'Human' response to his being Cardassian.

"Thank you," he said finally. He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "I am scheduled to report to Captain Janeway at 1400 hours."

Seven nodded. "You will find her an exemplary captain and a unique individual," she said, with a touch of pride. "Serving her will be a rewarding and beneficial experience for you."

He blinked, again surprised. "I ... see," he said. "You think very highly of her."

Seven resisted the urge to smile. "Yes," she said with complete honesty.

He regarded her closely. "You don't ... react as a Human," he said suddenly. He lifted his head minutely, shifting his eyes, and Seven knew he was studying her implants. "Is that jewelry?"

"It is a cybernetic implant, as is the starburst on my cheek," she explained. She lifted her hand, revealing the mesh covering the her fingers and hand. "I am ... was ... Borg, until I was severed from the Collective five years ago."

Now it was her turn to receive an expression of combined pity and embarrassment, though she took no offense at it. It seemed to be the traditional response whenever she revealed her dual nature. However, it was interesting to her that until she stated it clearly, most defined her as a Human with unusual taste in facial adornment. She did wonder occasionally at this apparent need to 'label' individuals, but she presumed it was some kind of adaptability trait used to guide one's responses to new and different situations. That the trait sometimes caused individuals to act in unnecessarily negative and hostile ways, such as the Bajoran who had just left, was an unfortunate side effect.

Her only objection was when people insisted on maintaining their preconceived notions, even after they had been proven inaccurate. Janeway said this was 'bigotry' and that it was a result of beings wishing to retain their ignorance and fear, rather than adapt to any given situation with intelligence. Still, it seemed to her that everyone nurtured certain biases. She, for example, maintained decidedly negative reactions to Species 8472, as well as Species 5174 ... the Hirogen ... and the Entharan, for which the Borg had yet to identify as a species. It was not enlightened, but it was true.

"You're the transwarp scientist," he said, seeming to remember something. "You worked with the Theoretical Propulsion Group at Utopia Planitia under Dr. Leah Brahms."

"Yes," she said.

He nodded, seeming to relax. "Then I must say, I look forward to working with you, as well," he admitted with what appeared to be honest enthusiasm. "I read your paper on Quantum Dynamics of Slipstream Enhancement to Warp Propulsion. I didn't realize that you were now serving on a starship."

Seven lifted her chin, her unconscious estimation of his intelligence taking an immediate upswing. Janeway had pronounced the paper somewhat 'dry' and difficult to get through for the average scientist, which was why Seven assumed she had never met anyone in Starfleet who had actually read it. She was aware of being  greatly flattered and pleased at being recognized because of her work.

"As the first officer of a vessel designed for deep exploration, you must have a background in sciences," she prodded. "Is it in engineering?"

"No," he said, and smiled faintly, which altered his features and granted him a softer, more approachable expression. Seven wondered why he did not smile more often. "I majored in biometrics and exobiology at the Academy. However, I did find the possible physiological and psychological side-effects of the slipstream conduit absolutely fascinating."

Seven nodded. "I have an interest in biometrics as well, though it is not the field in which I am most capable," she admitted. "I did include several theories in the paper, though obviously, my biometric research would not be as extensive as someone who has studied those fields exclusively."

He glanced over at a establishment across the promenade. "Lieutenant, since it's that time of the day, and I have a hour or so before I must report, may I buy you lunch?"

Seven was vaguely surprised, but realized it was an honest attempt to establish a friendly relationship with a new crewmember. Since she had nothing in particular planned until meeting with Janeway later that evening for dinner, she nodded.

"Thank you," she said politely.

He gestured toward the facility which turned out to be the bar belonging to a Ferengi named Quark. Seven was familiar with it, having patronized it on more than one occasion, particularly when a Bajoran orb accidently transported her, B'Elanna Torres, and Voyager's first officer, Commander Chakotay, to the Alpha Quadrant some years earlier. She had actually been arrested by the station's then security chief, Constable Odo, at the corner table. Still, such memories did not alter the fact that the food was usually quite good and the ambiance was ... invigorating.

She was aware of the looks directed Zar's way as the pair entered the bar and made their way to a relatively concealed table beside some framing supports. Deciding the scrutiny was similar to that she had experienced during her first weeks on Voyager, she again felt a sense of affiliation with the officer. They were both outsiders, and while she had managed to discover her place within the Federation ... professionally within Starfleet, and personally with her spouse and friends ... he apparently was still finding his way. She wondered if her experiences would provide her with the ability to assist him. If so, she was determined to become his friend in a way that others had befriended her when things had been so uncertain.

"What will you have?" he asked politely once they were seated and had brought up the menu on the padd embedded in the table.

Seven raised an eyebrow as she studied the menu. "I am unfamiliar with many of these dishes," she admitted, her experience with food primarily limited to Earth dishes that she prepared. Even while in the Alpha Quadrant, the captain and she had tended to visit predominantly Human restaurants, and Janeway's forays into 'alien cuisine' were decidedly Earth-based in their preparation. "Would you suggest something?"

He looked vaguely pleased at being asked, and reviewed the menu with renewed attention. "I would recommend the Kohlanese stew," he said. "It's Klingon, but not typical of their dishes, and difficult to do badly. It can be quite tasty when prepared properly."

Seven nodded. "That would be acceptable," she said. She lifted a brow. "We shall see if it has been prepared correctly."

He smiled, and again she was struck by a sense of there being an entirely different persona behind the angular and foreboding features. "I'll have the same," he said, and punched in the request.

As they waited for their meal, they discussed Seven's paper, and the Borg was intrigued to discover that Zar was an extremely adept scientist. She thought that Janeway would find him a very useful and accomplished officer, particularly in his adaptability to new ideas ... a trait she discovered when the conversation moved onto the transition drive used by the Millennium. Over their food, she suggested that he spend some time with B'Elanna Torres as well, the chief engineer undoubtedly having a great deal to offer the first officer regarding the actual function of the drive.

The time passed quickly, and both were surprised when Zar's comm badge chirped with a reminder that it was time for him to report to his new vessel. He promised to look Seven up again as soon as he had settled into his new position, his tone exceedingly sincere, and as she watched him walk away, the young woman was vastly pleased by how the encounter had progressed.

Confident that she had made a new friend, and assisted him in his adaptation to a new and unfamiliar situation, Seven decided that it had been a most productive day at Deep Space 9 ... unlike most of her other visits to the space station.

Lenara Kahn felt her palms sweat as she entered the habitat ring of DS9. Even after several lifetimes, it was difficult to face certain things in her past. Making an appointment to meet with Ezri Dax was one of them. Once, in another lifetime, they had been married, then later, they had encountered one another again and for a brief time, they had actually considered remaining together ... though it went against everything that was sacred in the Trill culture. Eventually, Lenara had determined that the price was too high, that she could not give up everything ... her status, her profession, her homeworld ... just to be with the person she loved.

In the years since, she had experienced several occasions when she regretted that decision most profoundly. Logic dictated that she had made the correct choice. Her heart, however, still ached, and later, upon hearing that Jadzia Dax had gone on to marry a Klingon Starfleet officer and was subsequently killed during the war with the Dominion, the regret had settled into a wound that felt as if it would never heal. Now she was to meet Dax's next host, the symbiont passed on to another female Trill when Jadzia had died, which was the way of their people.

Hesitantly, Lenara pressed the admittance chime near the door, waiting with trepidation until it finally opened to reveal Dax's new host. A great deal shorter than the statuesque Jadzia, Lenara towered over her, abruptly feeling awkward and ungainly. Ezri Dax looked more like a child than a woman, with short, black hair surrounding elven features, and dark eyes that appeared far too large for her face. Light brown spots, a physiological trait of the Trill, traced from her hairline down her temple and cheek, along the side of her neck until they disappeared beneath the blue collar of her uniform. A smile quirked one corner of her mouth, and for an instance, Lenara could see the hint of Curzon and Jadzia there, a devil-may-care sense before it disappeared and there was only the too young woman regarding her with very old eyes.

"Lenara Kahn," Ezri said formally. "It's so good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," Lenara said, and for a moment, the grief was so strong within her that it was difficult to catch her breath.

"Come in," Ezri said, motioning her into the quarters. Moving as if under water, Lenara drifted over to the couch and took a seat, not sure if she had been invited, but certain that she needed to sit down before she lost her footing. The smaller Trill took a seat opposite her, her hands resting on her knees, regarding her closely. "I appreciate that this is very hard for you. However, I realize this is something that is very necessary for you to resolve."

Lenara looked at her dazedly, belatedly remembering what she had read about the young woman. This was the psychologist speaking. Ezri, an assistant ship's counselor on the starship Destiny, had been chosen to be a host in an emergency joining when the Dax symbiont, which was on its way back to the Trill homeworld, had taken a turn for the worse. Lenara didn't want to talk to a counselor, she wished to speak with Jadzia, to see her one more time ... to apologize for making a choice that had left her aching and empty inside for the past five years. It horrified her to think that if she had only stayed with the other woman, had accepted the exile and condemnation that would have followed, that perhaps the beautiful young scientist would still be alive, would have been somewhere other than where she had met her death, though Lenara had no way of knowing that for sure.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake," she said, gathering her composure. "I thought ... I shouldn't have come here."

"Lenara, I understand," Ezri said, reaching out to touch her arm. "Jadzia and Torias, they both loved you, and certainly, Dax will always care for Kahn."

Lenara looked at the small hand on her forearm, and she wanted to be anywhere, but where she was. "Of course," she said, her tone devoid of inflection. It was hard, but looking at the young woman, seeing very little of what she had loved in Jadzia in the new host, she understood the true tragedy of the situation. It had been the scientist she loved, for whom she had developed the connection. It hadn't simply been a result of having loved Torias Dax as Nilani Kahn lifetimes earlier. Had it not been for the presence of the symbionts, she and the Starfleet scientist would have been wonderful together because they fit on some fundamental level.

Now it was too late.

"Thank you," she said in a distant voice. She had imagined this moment for so long, had envisioned it ending countless ways, but for some reason, she had never imagined it would end because she felt nothing for the person standing opposite her ... just an echo of a love and a decision that still cut deeply. For the first time she realized that Jadzia was really gone. She stood up, feeling somewhat in control once more though she suspected that was a false assumption on her part. "I'm sorry I imposed Ezri," she added. "I just ... I had to see you again."

"Lenara..." Ezri began, her dark eyes concerned as she observed the other woman closely.

"No, I'm fine," Lenara lied. She forced a smile, altering her features into a pleasant assurance she didn't feel. "I hope that you're happy now."

Ezri nodded. "I am," she said. She paused. "Do you remember Dr. Bashir?"

Lenara thought of the brash young doctor she had met, a handsome, if slight young man, and looking into the young woman's eyes, she understood why his name had been brought up.

"I'm very glad, Ezri," Lenara said with as much sincerity as she could muster. "I wish you all the best."

"That's all I've ever wanted for you," Ezri told her with apparent honesty. The young woman escorted her to the door, and somehow, Lenara maintained her frozen mask of graciousness until she was well away from the quarters.

She wasn't sure how she made it to the Promenade, abruptly finding herself walking amid a crowd of other beings, feeling completely and utterly alone. The part of her which was Kahn also sorrowed for what could never be, but it was the host part of her that truly felt the devastation of knowing it was completely over. Perhaps because it had been predominantly the host part of her that had made the decision so long ago. The symbionts, after all, had less interest in the rules and regulations their humanoid hosts demanded of themselves. By the same token, however, the symbionts also knew when it was time to move on. Their entire existence was of surviving, of finding other hosts and living yet another lifetime when required.

"Lenara Kahn."

Taking a deep breath, though it lanced her as a dagger would, Lenara turned to discover Seven of Nine regarding her with grave concern.

"Lenara, are you ... all right?" Seven asked when the Trill did not respond to her initially.

"I ... yes, I ... I'm fine," Lenara managed.

Seven stared at her. "I do not believe you," the young Borg said flatly. She reached out, putting her hand gently, but firmly, on the Trill's arm, and Lenara did not resist as she was led to a nearby kiosk where she was directed to a chair.

Seven took a seat opposite her, sitting with perfect posture, her hands folded neatly on the table top. "Explain," she demanded. Lenara looked back at her, finding it difficult to speak, and Seven seemed to sense that, her narrow features softening somewhat. "Would you care for something to drink?" she added, in an obvious attempt to be less obtrusive

"Yes," Lenara croaked. "Aldebaran whiskey."

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "I do not believe this facility serves intoxicants." She paused. "I could return to the bar and retrieve the drink for you."

That seemed to penetrate the fog clouding Lenara's mind and she shook her head. "No," she said, "I'm fine." She paused, inhaling slowly. "A raktajino will do. Hot with a measure of kava."

Seven nodded soberly and rose from her seat, moving over to one of the nearby station replicators. Punching in her identity code so that the cost could be deducted from her credit account, she requested the raktajino and a jumja tea for herself. Carrying both mugs carefully back to the table, the young woman resumed her seated position and regarded Lenara intently. She did not speak, perhaps comprehending that it was up to the Trill to communicate what was going on when she was ready.

Lenara sipped her drink, feeling the heat slide down her throat smoothly, radiating out to loosen the chill that had settled within her. The stimulant within the Klingon coffee also served to chase away the last of the cotton filling her brain.

"Being here on Deep Space 9 is not easy for me," she said finally.

Seven lifted a brow, but she didn't respond. Her expression was expectant, clearly prompting the Trill to continue. Taking a deep breath, Lenara did so, explaining about Torias amd Nilani, and the subsequent relationship with Jadzia, of how it was frowned upon to reassociate after acquiring new hosts, and how she had walked away, even though Jadzia had been willing to give up everything for her.

By the time she was finished, tears were staining her cheeks, and she wiped them away, embarrassed to be so emotional, yet feeling somewhat better for having talked about it at length. Seven had been an attentive listener, radiating a sense of empathy and understanding that seemed unusual for someone raised as a Borg drone. Lenara discovered she was glad that she had run into the young woman. She had always admired the young woman's brilliance. Now she was finding cause to be impressed with her kindness and compassion.

"I am ... sorry this situation has proven so difficult for you," the Borg said finally. "I cannot imagine what it was like to have loved someone so much, and be unable to be with them." She paused. "I think that it would be easier for you if it was truly death that had finished the relationship. With your species, however, you are burdened with the knowledge that part of the person you love lives on, yet in someone who does not necessarily feel the same for you."

"It's the reality of being joined," Lenara said bleakly. "I've certainly read of these situations, and it's one of the primary reasons to avoid reassociation." She sipped her raktajino, now cool and slightly bitter, making a face as she put it down. "I just never thought it would happen to me."

"I suspect no one does," Seven said reasonably. Her ice-blue eyes were gentle as they studied the Trill female. "Lenara, I am unfamiliar with the emotional repercussions of such things, but it is my opinion that you should ... let this go. I apologize if that sounds harsh. I do not mean it to."

"No," Lenara said, nodding. "You're perfectly correct, of course. I should have let it go five years ago. Indeed, I should never have allowed myself to entertain the idea in the first place."

Seven shook her head. "You cannot help whom you love," she said with certainty. "If you are very fortunate, that person will return that emotion, and you will have the opportunity to pursue a relationship together. You should never regret love, Lenara. However, you should not allow the inability to pursue that love to ... prevent you from living your life." She paused and looked rueful. "Kathryn would be surprised if she heard me say that."

Lenara didn't quite comprehend what had prompted the final comment, but she couldn't deny that the other woman's words made her feel better, though she didn't know why. Certainly, this was nothing that had not already been said to her many times before. Her brother, her friends on Trill, even her own conscience dictated that she move on, yet somehow, hearing it from Seven, listening to it stated in that precise, yet understanding voice, made it seep through. There was a lightening in her shoulders, as if an unseen burden had been given wings. Perhaps it wasn't even the advice of the young woman seated across from her that granted her this sense, but the memory of looking into Ezri's eyes and seeing no love for her in them, not as she had seen in Jadzia's gaze, not as she had dreamed about for five years. Perhaps her heart was finally listening as much as her head.

Jadzia was gone. Lenara had missed her chance. There would not be another. Somehow, she would just have to live with it.

She managed a wan smile.

"Thank you for listening, Seven," she said sincerely. "You're a good friend."

Seven nodded. "Thank you," she said gravely. "I wish to be a good friend to you. I respect you a great deal, Lenara Kahn, and it pains me to know you are experiencing emotional difficulty. I find that I wish to assist, though I am uncertain as to how."

"Just listening helped me a great deal, Seven," Lenara replied, smiling with more honesty this time.

The young Borg's tendency not to hide behind appearance was refreshing to the older scientist, particularly after spending so much time in the Trill Ministry of Technology, where her colleagues had the experience of several lifetimes to draw upon when it came to being obtrusive and posturing, of considering career positioning and acclaim to be more important than genuine respect for others in their field. Seven was none of that, her simple, and occasionally brutal honesty making it easier to deal with her as a person, though Lenara knew that not everyone in Millennium's science section valued it. It was undoubtedly why Seven had arranged for the Trill to be her liaison with the civilian scientists. However, Lenara was becoming aware that beneath that icy exterior and efficient professionalism lay a warm and generous heart. It simply wasn't shown unless it was required.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Lenara asked, deciding that they were in dire need of a change of topic, and thoroughly sick of granting her pain so much attention. She realized that she had been nurturing it for so long, it had become a part of her, like another limb, which made it an effort to amputate it.

Seven lifted her chin. "I am meeting the captain for dinner this evening," she said, her voice lightening as it always did when she talked about her spouse. Lenara greatly envied both women in how they still generated such ready and apparent emotion in each other, even though she didn't think they knew how obvious they were. "Until then, I am spending my leave exploring the station. I had hoped to meet with an ex-crewmate from Voyager, but I have subsequently discovered that she and her children are no longer assigned to this station."

"No?" Lenara prompted, surprised at the depth of disappointment in the young woman's eyes.

"She was transferred," Seven admitted. "Apparently, Samantha Wildman and her husband have separated. He must harbor a certain amount of resentment over the situation, because he was not especially forthcoming about her current whereabouts. I do not know where Naomi and Mezoti are."

"Naomi and Mezoti?"

"They are the children who were on Voyager," Seven explained. "I was ... am ... quite fond of them."

"I see," Lenara said. She paused. "You know, I don't have any children with this host, but I've had several over the course of my lifetimes."

"Do you miss them?" Seven asked curiously.

"I've been very fortunate," the Trill admitted. "I've never lost any while they were still young. All my children were grown with lives of their own when my host died. I never felt any urge to ... check up on them later." She paused, wondering why she was telling Seven this, then realized she was still trying to come to terms with why she had felt the desire to reassociate. Now that she had let go of the emotion, the intellectual part of her was beginning to dissect it, to place it into proper perspective. She wondered if other people thought this way, or if it was only because she was a scientist.

Or a Trill.

Whatever else, she was a product of several lives and it was time she started using that experience, instead of mourning something she could never have.

Janeway glanced up as she heard the chime of the door to her ready room. Originally, her desk had been on the upper level, and she had made an honest attempt to work with it up there, but ultimately, it made her feel uncomfortable. Shortly before reaching DS9, she had ship's maintenance redecorate, moving the circular sofa and coffee table onto the upper level where they were dominated by the large windows looming over them. Meanwhile, she felt cozy with her desk tucked into what was previously the conversation pit, the ramps rising around her and leaving her, and whomever was visiting, with a feeling of protection rather than intimidation. If it had made her office feel more like her last ready room on Voyager, that was simply a coincidence.

The person requesting admittance undoubtedly had to be her new first officer, and Janeway composed her face into a pleasant, if professional, expression, peering expectantly at the entrance. "Come," she requested.

She suspected that command mask slipped a bit as a Cardassian stepped into the room. The small image that had accompanied the personnel file had been fuzzy and slightly out of focus. Now she wondered if that had been deliberate on the part of Starfleet. Commander Zar's Bajoran extraction had been emphasized, while the connection to his father's people had been downplayed, so she had anticipated he would have more of his birthworld present in his physical appearance. It was an assumption that proved completely unwarranted. If there were Bajoran traits in the angular, boney features, they were not readily apparent to the starship captain. Taking a deep breath, Janeway stood up and extended her hand, offering a quickly manufactured smile of welcome.

"Commander Zar?" she queried.

"Yes, sir," he responded. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," she said, wondering what the hell Nechayev was up to now.

The admiral, who was also Janeway's immediate superior in this sector, had personally recommended Zar to this position, and it was indicated in his file that the imposing admiral had acted as his mentor during his long and varied career. Janeway knew that meant his qualifications were above reproach since Nechayev tended to deal with only the very best, but the admiral must have known how difficult it would be for Janeway to absorb into her crew an officer who looked like a Cardassian.

Janeway knew that growing up on Earth should have granted her more enlightenment than this. Yet, even with all her profound belief and faith in the ideals of the Federation, she had a purely visceral reaction to Zar's appearance, flavored by the fact that she had lost the best part of her father, a Starfleet admiral, in his constant dealing, with Cardassian encroachment. Later, as an ensign, she had fought Cardassians face to face during one of the conflicts between their empire and the Federation, and had even been captured by them on one extremely unpleasant occasion. She was keenly aware that Millennium's third in command, Lt. Commander Ro had, as a child, seen her father tortured to death by the Cardassians. Janeway's chief engineer, Lt. Commander Torres, was originally Maquis and had fought against the Cardassian presence in the demilitarized zone created by the treaty ... a treaty they had not honored. The rest of her crew was liberally spiced with veterans of the Dominion war who had fought against the Cardassians in some of the most bloody and vicious battles in recent history.

All in all, this was not going to be easiest challenge she had ever faced as a starship captain.

She hoped that none of her uncertainty and dismay showed in her features, but she suspected that something must have since his dark gaze developed a somewhat sardonic expression.

"Is something wrong, Captain?" he asked, and his tone was deliberately provocative, slightly challenging.

That was definitely Cardassian she thought to herself. That sly, insidious way they had of ferreting out a weak point in an opponent and trying to take advantage of it. It was practically second nature to them. Then she realized what she was thinking and buried it, embarrassed to be so influenced by old prejudices and ignorance. If she couldn't deal with it, how could she ever expect it of her crew?

"I was just thinking how potentially complicated this is going to be," she said honestly, noting that her ready response seemed to catch him off guard. She decided that he wasn't used to someone being so blunt, and immedicately decided that such honesty would be the best way to handle him. She found it ironic that Ro Laren also appreciated such straight-forwardness, and wondered if her first and second officers had more in common than was apparent at first glance.

"I ... uh, suppose it will be," he said, his voice a little less artful.

"Obviously, it's something that you've experienced in previous tours," she continued, watching him closely. "Did you find the adaptation most difficult on your part ... or for the rest of the crew?"

He blinked. "I think, probably, a little of both," he admitted. "First impressions can be powerful, and as you can see, the first impression of me is ... disturbing for a great many people in Starfleet." He eyed her narrowly. "Will that be a problem, Captain?"

Janeway considered it carefully. "Not for me," she decided finally. "I try very hard to look beyond surface appearances, and while I'm Human enough to experience difficulty now and again, it won't affect our professional relationship. I'll make sure it won't. There's no doubt in my mind that you wouldn't be assigned this post unless you were fully qualified."

"No, sir," he said, his dark gaze thawing perceptibly. "Thank you, sir."

"Captain," she corrected. "Ma'am in a pinch."

"Aye, ma... Captain," he said. He paused. "The rest of the ship, however, will undoubtedly experience a certain ... unease."

"I'm sure they will," Janeway allowed. "I'm also aware that certain members of such a large crew will simply not be able to adapt. However, that's their problem, and I'm more than prepared to grant them an immediate transfer off my ship. The standards on board my vessel are clear and I'll accept nothing less." He dipped his head respectfully, and she inhaled slowly as she realized her tone had become a little sharp. "In the meantime, I suppose now is as good a time as any to start testing that," she said. "I think a brief tour is in order, Commander."

He smiled suddenly, and Janeway blinked as his entire face changed. It was nothing like the sneering grins that most Cardassians she had encountered possessed. Janeway quickly gave herself a harsh mental shake, again reminding herself to stop perceiving him only as a representation of a species. He was her exec, and it was time to start treating him like one.

She rose from her chair and gestured toward the door. "Please," she invited.

She supposed the sideways glances on the bridge were to be expected , and she noticed that Ensign Tarn seemed particularly disconcerted at Ops. Deliberately, she led Zar over to the young woman, making that her first stop on the tour.

"Commander, this is our alpha shift operations officer, Elisa Tarn," Janeway said, regarding the solid, crimson-haired girl with mild amusement. "Ensign, this is Millennium's first officer, Zar Tulek."

"Sir," she said, trying not to stare at his features, yet at the same time, attempting not be obvious in looking away. It resulted in her eyes darting back and forth between him and the console until Janeway was almost dizzy.

Stifling a smile, the captain turned and gestured to the rest of the bridge. Since they were docked at the station, only a minimal support staff maintained tactical and one of the auxiliary engineering posts. She introduced Zar to those junior officers, pleased when they seemed relatively friendly, and then showed him the conference room and staff room before leading the way to the turbolift.

"Deck six," she instructed. She glanced at him. "Have you stopped by your quarters?" she asked.

"I had an ensign from the transporter room drop off my bags," he explained. "I came directly to your ready room."

"They're on deck three," she explained. "Aside from VIP quarters, yours and the captain's quarters are the only living arrangements set up there. I trust you're a quiet neighbor. Not in the habit of wild parties or anything?"

He smiled. "No, Captain," he said. He paused. "What's on deck six?"

"Sickbay," she said. "As I said, this is going to be a brief tour. I want you to meet our Chief Medical Officer, as well as our wing commander. I would introduce you to our security chief and science officer, but since neither is on board at the moment, I'm afraid you'll have to meet them later."

He nodded. "I've already met your science officer," he said. "On DS9."

"Indeed," Janeway said, lifting an eyebrow. She made a note to ask Seven about it later.

"I think the Millennium is very fortunate to have such a renowned scientist at that post," he added with measurable enthusiasm in his voice. "Lt. Annika Hansen could, in my estimation, have her pick of vessels."

Janeway felt absurdly proud at this assessment of her spouse, as if she had something to do with Seven's innate intellect and capabilities. The captain's estimation of the first officer went up a few notches. "She's very knowledgeable," she agreed lightly as they stepped off the turbolift and proceeded down the corridor. "A fine officer ... though she has been known to bend regulations now and again."

He frowned. "Is that something I should make note of?"

Janeway laughed. "No," she admitted. "It was just a comment. Seven's Borg background grants her a unique perspective at times. However, it doesn't affect her performance ... merely her attitude at times."

"I see," he said slowly. He paused. "She served with you on Voyager."

"Yes," Janeway said, and for a moment, her mind was back on the small Intrepid-class vessel, and the woman who had altered the captain's life so profoundly. As the captain indulged herself in the pleasant memories, they passed two female lieutenants who nodded politely at Janeway and experienced a distinctive double take with the first officer. Janeway suspected that would be the norm for some time.

"Captain," Zar asked suddenly, "What are your protocols on crew fraternization?"

Janeway wondered which of the ensigns had caught his eye. "Obviously, I can't be too rigid," she said. He glanced at her, and she lifted an eyebrow. "I'm married, and my spouse is a member of the crew."

"Ah," he said, blinking. "I didn't know that."

She wasn't surprised. Such detail wasn't considered an important factor in an officer's professional file, and few people had reason to access the personal record of a captain that deeply, not even someone who would be acting as her first officer. She was impressed that he didn't ask who the other officer was. That meant he automatically assumed the situation was such that it wouldn't be an issue in terms of how that person would conduct him or herself as a member of her crew, or how Janeway might deal with that officer on a professional level. Otherwise, Starfleet would have arranged it so the couple could not serve together on the same vessel.

"In any event," she continued, "as long as such relationships are conducted in a professional and discrete manner while on this vessel, I have no objection. Only if it affects the functioning of the ship should you or I step in to mediate the situation. After seven years in the Delta Quadrant, I've learned to keep my nose out of the crew's personal lives unless I have absolutely no other choice."

"I suppose being lost was a unique situation."

"Not so unique," she warned as they entered the medical center. "After all, Millennium is expected to officially perform the role that Voyager found itself doing by accident; exploring quadrants where no other Starfleet vessel has ventured. Most of the time, we'll be out of immediate communications range with the Federation."

He looked thoughtful as they paused just inside the gleaming, fully equipped medical bay. The ship's roster of medical personnel included a full staff of eight nurses and three doctors, two of whom were Starfleet while the other was not quite a civilian. Dr. Kate Pulaski, a statuesque woman with snowy hair, approached the two command officers, her keen blue eyes assessing the young man in the black and grey uniform.

"Oh, brother, Kathryn!" she exclaimed. "What are they trying to do to us now?"

Janeway glanced at Zar, wincing slightly even though she was very used to the medical officer's brashness. It was a decided difference from her last chief medical officer, though he had also possessed a bit of an irritating attitude at times.

"Dr. Pulaski, Commander Zar Tulek, our new first officer," Janeway introduced. "Zar, this is our CMO, and I'll warn you now, she's not in the habit of mincing words."

"Since she holds more seniority than both of us put together, I'm not surprised," he said without missing a beat, grasping the hand the CMO offered.

Pulaski blinked, and then grinned, obviously appreciating the sly if accurate comeback. "You must have had a hell of a ride to get to this point, Commander," she said. "I guess I need to brush up on my Cardassian anatomy."

"Only partially, Doctor," Janeway said.

"I was born on Bajor," he said.

Pulaski sobered a bit. "Ah, a hybrid," she said. "You're probably aware you have a unique set of medical possibilities to deal with."

"Most hybrids do," he agreed.

"Doctor Pulaski, I'd like you to consult with ... well, the Doctor, on this," Janeway said. "He's included an extensive subroutine on mixed species medicine."

"About ... him, Captain," Pulaski began, and Janeway felt the beginnings of a headache start to feather along her temples. "He really has to choose a name. I mean, we can't keep referring to him as 'the Doctor'. It's damned confusing. There are three of us here, after all, and we've all earned the title."

"Have you spoken to him about it?" Janeway asked meekly. In seven years, the Doctor had not picked a name on Voyager, but it hadn't mattered since he was the only one functioning as a medical officer. Here, however, he was the low man on the roster, and if Pulaski was coming to Janeway about this, then obviously, they had not settled anything between them. The captain could only imagine the intensity of those discussions, knowing both individuals to be strong-willed... one might even say, hard-headed.

"He's taking it under advisement," Pulaski said in an exasperated tone. "Honestly, Captain..."

Janeway held up her hand, forestalling the woman's next words. "He's your responsibility, Dr. Pulaski," she said firmly. "Deal with it." She glanced at Zar. "I think we should check out the hangars next."

"Of course," he said, his eyes bright as he observed all this. As they left sickbay, he looked at her. "I'm aware she's technically an admiral and I know CMO's enjoy a certain ... informality ... with their commanding officers at times..." he began delicately.

"However, Pulaski is in a class all her own," Janeway interrupted with a sigh, knowing where he was going with this. "Worse, she was my instructor at the Academy that grants her a certain advantage over me that is uncomfortable, to say the least. However, you know the personnel situation as well as I do, Commander."

Zar nodded, sobering slightly. The Dominion War had been costly, and Starfleet had been particularly hard hit. At the moment, starship rosters tended to be made up of very young, inexperienced crewmembers and older, extremely experienced officers, with few mid-range personnel in between. That particular level of age and experience had been expended in the worst part of the conflict, with Starfleet losing up to 1500 officers a day before the Romulan Republic had allied itself with the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Essentially, the better part of an entire generation of Starfleet was gone, sacrificed in the protection of the Alpha Quadrant.

"My only option for CMO was either choosing a doctor fresh out of Starfleet Medical, or luring an experienced senior officer out of semi-retirement," Janeway continued. "Given our mission, I wanted the latter, and I'll accept any attitude in exchange for the security of knowing the ship's medical needs are going to be taken care of competently."

"What about this ... 'him' you were both referring to?" Zar asked.

Janeway offered him a smile. "Oh, didn't you know?" she asked lightly. "We have a sentient being serving on board who happens to be a hologram, so as you can see, between Borg science officers and holographic doctors, you should fit in just fine, Commander."

Zar stopped in his tracks as Janeway continued on her way to the turbolift, doing her best not to laugh out loud at the expression on his face.

"Our new first officer tells me he met you earlier today."

"Yes," Seven responded, glancing across the table at her spouse. Around them, the subtle noise of the elegant restaurant provided a background hum to the couple's conversation. "We had lunch together."

"Lunch?" Janeway looked vaguely surprised. "He didn't mention that."

"He seems ... lonely," Seven said, picking lightly at her meal. "Much as I was when I was first severed from the Collective. I wished to show him that it would be easy to make friends on the Millennium."

"He'll probably be facing similar obstacles as you did in how the rest of the crew reacts," Janeway agreed, lifting her glass to sip her wine thoughtfully. "People will have to get past their initial perceptions. I admit, even I felt a bit of a jolt when I first met him."

"Because he appears predominantly Cardassian," Seven said knowingly.

"Frankly, I was expecting more Bajoran in his features," Janeway said. "Or, at least, for it to be more evident that he's a hybrid. Sometimes, I can't imagine what Nechayev has up her sleeve when she does things like this to me."

Seven smiled faintly. "Do you believe it was deliberate on her part?" she asked. "To aggravate you?"

Janeway eyed her narrowly, as if suspecting the Borg was somehow having a bit of amusement at her expense. "Let's just say I wouldn't put it past her to find the situation one she could exploit," she said finally.

Seven chewed her seafood slowly, savoring the delicate flavors. "It is probable she merely wished for him to learn command technique from the very best," she said. "What other captain would she choose?"

The corner of Janeway's mouth lifted in a crooked grin, looking pleased and flattered at the assessment. "You think?"

"I know," Seven said with conviction.

"Sweet-talker."

Seven smiled and took another bite of her dinner.

"I will say, he seemed quite taken with you," Janeway continued.

"Who?"

"Commander Zar," Janeway said. "He seems to think I scored a significant victory by luring the esteemed Lt. Annika Hansen away from the TPG."

"He read my paper," Seven said proudly.

"At least that's one person," Janeway offered glibly, and then flinched as Seven shot a look at her. "Sorry, my darling," she apologized sincerely, reaching over to touch the Borg's hand fleetingly. "Bad joke. I was teasing, and I shouldn't have when it comes to your professional endeavors. You certainly don't needle me about my captaincy."

"You have Dr. Pulaski for that," Seven noted.

"More true than you realize," Janeway said, sighing. She offered a vulnerable expression to her spouse. "In any event, my new exec obviously has good taste in science papers ... and in scientists."

Seven knew the captain was merely trying to make up for her previous ill-attempt at humor, but for the moment, she was willing to accept it. "I am aware it was a ... complicated paper," the young woman allowed. "Even Dr. Brahms found it difficult to follow."

"Still, for a first paper, it was impressive," Janeway said. "As you write more, you'll learn to make it simpler for the average layperson like me."

"You are hardly a 'layperson', Kathryn," Seven noted, trying her spring wine. "You are correct, however. I must learn to make my work more accessible to others. Otherwise, it will become lost."

"Well, Zar was impressed, so it must be accessible to him," Janeway said. She scooped up more of her Delavian lamb, chewing it with evident enjoyment. "Either that, or he's a better scientist than his file indicates. I guess it won't be too bad. Considering the eclectic crew I have now, what's adding someone who looks like a Cardassian going to do?"

"Shall I record that as 'famous last words'?" Seven prodded her sea bass delicately.

"Beast," Janeway said placidly.

Seven flicked an eyebrow at her, and Janeway smiled as they finished their meal. Later, after the immaculately garbed waiter brought coffee and dessert, the captain reached over and entwined her fingers with her spouse, this time, with more intimate intent.

"Shall we go dancing now?" she asked, her tone inviting.

"I would like that," Seven said readily, "but not on the station."

Janeway blinked, looking vaguely surprised. "Where did you have in mind?" she asked.

"The arboretum," Seven said, referring to the special garden Janeway had arranged next to their quarters on the Millennium. "We have been so busy since leaving Utopia Planitia, we have not had a chance to utilize it. If such a place is not enjoyed, it becomes inefficient to maintain."

"All right," Janeway said. "I suppose the computer can pipe music into there as easily as anywhere else on the ship." She squeezed her fingers gently. "I promise I'll spend more time with you, love. I miss being with you."

"I miss being with you, as well," Seven told her.

"Are you finished with dessert?"

Seven glanced down at her cheesecake that had yet to be touched. "No," she said. "Be patient, Kathryn."

Janeway laughed and leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee as the young woman consumed her dessert, and then motioned to the waiter to settle the bill once the Borg was finished.

"Sometimes, you can be too amorous, Kathryn," Seven noted as they strode back to the ship, the captain almost tugging her along by the hand.

Janeway slowed, and then stopped, regarding her partner bashfully. "I can, can't I?" she said ruefully. "I'm sorry. I should take the time to appreciate things, and not try to rush them." She tucked her arm in Seven's, resting her hand on the young woman's forearm. "Proceed."

Seven leaned over and deposited a kiss on the captain's temple, and with more stately grace, they continued on their way to the ship. Their quarters were dim, set for night watch standard, and the couple left them as they were, moving into the arboretum where starlight and the lights of the station poured through the large windows to illuminate the greenery with a silvery touch. Janeway instructed the computer to play a selection of music from her collection, and there, under the apple tree by the fountain, she moved into Seven's arms, fitting herself into the long lanky body as they began to dance.

"Hmm, you were right," she said after several blissful moments had passed. "This is much better than any club on the station."

Seven brushed her lips over her forehead. "I suspected it would be," she said. Inhaling deeply, she enjoyed the scents of the growing things around her, the roses that climbed a nearby lattice, the loamy fragrance of earth. The sound of the water tinkling over the artfully arranged stones made a pleasant counterpoint to the soft strings and sax in the background, and she could feel Janeway gradually relaxing in her arms, losing the tenseness that had been keeping the captain's shoulders square.

She had recognized from Janeway's body language throughout dinner that she had been keyed up for the evening ... too keyed up. Sometimes the captain approached her personal life the same way she approached her responsibilities for commanding a starship ... full speed ahead without regard for anything else. However, Seven knew that it was better for both women when Janeway could relax enough to give up that control, to surrender to her spouse, and allow the Borg set the pace. Since it had been so long since they had spent intimate time together, Janeway had still been in command mode, and only by bringing it here, as far away from the bridge atmosphere as possible, was she able to remember that it wasn't always necessary to be in charge.

"Sometimes I think you know me too well," Janeway murmured after another pause where they swayed gracefully to the music.

"You say that as if it is a bad thing," Seven remarked with amusement.

"No," Janeway said, smiling softly as she tilted her head back, looking up into her partner's face. Her eyes were a gentle blue, far from the steely grey glint they normally held. "It's just surprising to me. You always know when to slow me down, even when I don't recognize that need in myself."

Seven considered that. "When I am paying attention," she admitted with a touch of regret. "After our ... difficulties on Earth, I have made a point of observing you with closer scrutiny. It has become easy for me to see when you submerge too far into your command."

"I think you find it easier only because you have less intellectual stimulation on a starship," Janeway said somberly. "Without so much information bombarding you, you tend to concentrate on looking after me as your first priority. While I appreciate and love that aspect of you, is it fair of me to take up that much of your attention?"

"It is my choice to do so, Kathryn," Seven reminded her. "I enjoy looking after you. In fact, I believe that it is my true function on Millennium, rather than my role as a Starfleet officer. You care for the ship and the crew. I care for you."

Janeway's expression became vulnerable. "Is that fulfilling enough for you, however?" she asked.

Seven blinked. "I cannot imagine anything more fulfilling," she said. She paused, understanding that her spouse sometimes worried that Seven was being held back professionally by being married to a starship captain.

"Kathryn, I have been thinking about this a great deal during the past few months, and I have come to the conclusion that this is the best life for me. I know that you do not always believe this, but when I was pursuing a career of pure scientific research, I was never truly complete. I am aware that I said I was happy, I even believed it to a certain extent, but now I think that was only because I was continually told I should be, not only by you, but by the people around me at the TPG. There was a satisfaction in scientific discovery, yet inevitably that satisfaction was brief, leaving behind a ... an emptiness. I tried to fill it by immediately moving on to the next project, or pursuing different lines of research, but the end result was the same." She paused, straining for words to describe something that she wasn't sure she entirely understood herself. "Perhaps it is because of the type of person I am, Kathryn. You, as captain, seem to be able to compartmentalize yourself, focusing on many things at once while you command a starship."

"Juggling." At Seven's raised brow, Janeway elaborated. "It means having a lot of things in the air at once. You might say that's exactly what a starship captain does."

"Yes," Seven agreed. "You 'juggle'. Furthermore, you enjoy that method of problem solving. You seem to be able to work on several things at the same time, and grant them equal attention without losing yourself ... very often. Sometimes, as we are both aware, you can go too far, and put too many things 'in the air' at once, but normally, you thrive on the challenge. That is how I tried to be on Earth. I tried to compartmentalize all my professional responsibilities in addition to all my personal ones ... but, there were so many, Kathryn. There were my duties with the TPG, additional duties with Starfleet, requests to speak at various scientific functions, my correspondence with other scientists ... meanwhile, in my personal life, there was you, and Gretchen, and Phoebe, and my friends, and the children I wished to stay in contact with, but never managed, while at the same time, learning as much as I could about Earth and the Alpha Quadrant..." Her gaze became distant as she stared at the leaves of the tree, twitching slightly in the breeze of the air reclamation system. "I was no longer compartmentalized ... I was becoming fragmented, Kathryn."

"I see," Janeway said, her voice gentle. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I did not realize it was happening," Seven admitted. "Not until I was working on Millennium and evaluating my life over the previous year. Only then did I see how easily Section 31 was able to manipulate me. Anyone could have at that point. It was just one more influence in addition to the countless others requiring my attention."

"What's so different on Millennium?" Kathryn's gaze was intent on her spouse, encouraging her to continue, obviously wanting and needing to hear this.

"It is not necessarily Millennium, but any Starfleet vessel on which I serve," Seven explained. "Everything is in my immediate area on a starship. I can concentrate on one thing at a time, which is more in my nature. When I am on duty, I can focus only on the tasks required to carry out my responsibilities to the ship. When I am not on duty, I can focus on my responsibilities to you, and my friends who are only a comm hail away. My universe becomes ... much smaller, and I find that I prefer it that way." She paused, an expression of embarrassment crossing her face. "That is not how I should be, is it?"

"You are who you are, darling," Janeway told her reassuringly. "You're the one who has to decide what kind of life suits you best, not anyone else ... not even me. If my encouraging you to try to attempt so many things on Earth was wrong, then I'm very sorry. Besides, it's possible that I also like my universe to be smaller, which is why I'm a starship captain." She tilted her head. "I never looked at it this way before, but ... I wasn't completely happy and fulfilled on Earth, and I wonder how much of it was because so many things were beyond my control, leaving me feeling helpless. Certainly, I realize I can't truly control everything on Millennium, particularly in what we'll face on our mission, but it's obviously a more controllable environment for me."

"One in which you are the ultimate authority," Seven noted.

"Yes," Janeway said. She smiled bashfully and buried her face in Seven's neck. "Goodness, I don't think I'm supposed to admit that as a Starfleet captain, particularly to someone of a lower rank."

Seven nuzzled her hair. "I promise not to report you," she said.

Janeway laughed and kissed the Borg's throat lightly. "God, you make me think of things in a way I never would without you," she said. "That means so much to me. Furthermore, I can talk freely about them without worrying what it might make me sound like. I don't think there's another starship captain in the 'Fleet who has that advantage ... or that security."

"Actually, I think that is what a ship's counselor is for," Seven pointed out.

"Do you honestly believe I would ever open up to a counselor the way I do with you?" Janeway asked. "Even with Kes?"

Seven thought about it. "No," she said, smiling. "If other captains are like you, then you are correct; you are very fortunate to have me."

"I'll try not to forget it," the captain told her.

Seven pulled her closer. "This was a good discussion," she decided. "We need to dance more often in the arboretum."

"Funny, I thought we came in here for foreplay," Janeway muttered, nibbling at her chin.

Seven smiled. "That, as well," she agreed. She raised an eyebrow. "Is it not possible to do both?"

Janeway chuckled. "Well, for us, possibly," she said. "Serious discussions tend to make us feel emotionally closer to each other, and feeling emotionally close is very important for the physical aspect of our relationship."

"It makes it better," Seven agreed with certainty. She ran her hands over the captain's back, slipping them beneath the uniform tunic, feeling the warmth of her through her sweater. "Shall we retire to the bedroom, Kathryn?"

"I think that would be a wonderful idea, Annika," Janeway responded. "And next time?"

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"Let's just have a picnic in the arboretum rather than dinner on the station. It would be more efficient."

"Yes, Kathryn."

The Bajoran sun shone down on the lush emerald plain, the healthy crops stretching out before them as far as the eye could see. On a rise overlooking the carefully tended fields, Ro Laren sat on the boulder, feeling as if her breath was trapped in her lungs, her cheeks wet from emotion. She was only marginally aware of her spouse's hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"So this was where the Akorem Resettlement camp was located," B'Elanna Torres said gently.

Ro sniffed hard and nodded, her vision blurred as she regarded the area where she had grown up, the place where she had seen her father tortured to death before her eyes.  With help from the Federation, the Bajorans had reclaimed the valley for crops, covering the scars of old buildings and damaged soil with vegetation, and changing what had once been a place of despair and death to one of hope and new life. Initially, the security chief hadn't wanted to return, only relenting to the journey at B'Elanna's urging. She hadn't realized how much leaving her home so many years ago had affected her, but now, sitting on this rock of Bajor, breathing the air of her homeworld and looking out at the place where she had grown up, it was almost more than she could bear. She was unable to keep the tears from spilling down her face, feeling as if she were seven years old again.

She felt B'Elanna's arm slip warm and comforting around her waist as the Klingon perched on the boulder beside her, the engineer's dark eyes concerned.

"I'm all right," Ro managed finally. She wiped at her face. "I didn't realize this would affect me ... so deeply."

"I understand," her spouse said gently. Her hand rubbed the small of the Bajoran's back soothingly. "Do you want to leave?"

"No," Ro said. "This was important, Lanna. It was necessary I do this, though I didn't fully understand that until now."

"Then I'm glad I talked you into it," B'Elanna said quietly. The corner of her mouth quirked as she looked at her, but her olive features remained slightly concerned.

Ro managed a brief smile and took the woman's other hand, entwining her fingers with those of her spouse. The couple had been through a great deal, both separately and together, first in Starfleet, then in the Maquis, then on Voyager, then in the Alpha Quadrant. Now both served on the Millennium, and it would be some time before their vessel would be back to Bajor. Despite her emotional response, or perhaps because of it, Ro was glad she had taken the opportunity to return now, rather than later.

B'Elanna lifted her chin as she viewed the valley. Shorter than the Bajoran by almost a head, her body solid and muscular, the dark-haired engineer radiated barely contained energy, though it was no longer accompanied by the rage and unhappiness that had been so much a part of her when Ro first met her. Proud head ridges and olive skin denoted her mother's genetic heritage, though her father's Human traits were revealed in the soft planes of her face, and the curve of her jaw. Ro leaned over and gently kissed the line of that jaw, suddenly loving her so much it hurt.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said softly.

B'Elanna smiled, showing slightly pointed teeth. "You're welcome," she said. She took a breath. "Do you want to go down and see if there's anything left at all?"

"Maybe we should," Ro allowed, standing up and brushing some of the dust from the seat of her uniform trousers.

For the next few hours, the couple wandered over the valley, finding little that remained of the internment camp beyond a pile of stones here and there, or a few discarded pieces of building material. B'Elanna listened attentively, speaking little as the Bajoran shared her memories of the place, of things that had happened in her youth, not all necessarily bad, and by the time they had returned to the rise, Ro felt a kind of peace permeating her soul. Lifting her head, she offered one final glance at the greenery before turning and headed back to the hovercraft resting on its landing struts some distance away.

"What would you say to dinner in the city?" she offered over her shoulder. "My treat."

"I thought you'd never ask," B'Elanna replied amiably as she caught up to the Bajoran and slipped into the passenger side of the vehicle. "I wouldn't mind trying that timnance again."

"I'm sure we can find a restaurant which serves it," Ro said, pleased that her partner had remembered the Bajoran dish that she had introduced her to the last time they had been on DS9. "Afterward, however, we should probably think about returning to the station and our ship rather than staying another evening at the hotel. I have beta shift duty tomorrow night, and besides, I should meet our new first officer."

"What do you know about this guy?" B'Elanna asked as they lifted from the grassy turf and glided back toward the city in the distance, lights glittering in the approaching dusk. Silver trails above the distant skyline indicated the presence of the spaceport where they had left their shuttle, and the streaks of red over the western horizon indicated the lateness of the hour in this particular planetary time zone.

"Only that he was born on Bajor," Ro admitted. "His name is Zar Tulek, and from what Janeway has told me of his record, he he's had a slow rise to command, particularly in the past few years, which is very odd considering how fast and furious the promotions were happening during the war. He's been assigned to a lot of isolated and obscure posts."

"I wonder why?" B'Elanna asked thoughtfully.

Ro shook her head. "I don't know," she said. She flashed her spouse a grin. "Maybe I'll ask him."

"That would be good," B'Elanna said dryly. "Get off on the right foot immediately."

"Despite his list of odd postings, he's considered to be one of Nechayev's particular favorites," Ro added as they entered the city and she had to slow to allow for traffic. "The captain told me that the admiral has been his mentor from the time he was at the Academy."

The Klingon whistled soundlessly. "Means he's one of the best," B'Elanna said. "Which doesn't make sense when you consider his record."

"Being a good officer doesn't necessarily mean he knew all the political moves to make while working his way up," Ro said thoughtfully, looking for an explanation that would satisfy her. "Or that he will be especially likeable. It's doubtful he'll be anything like Chakotay."

"No," B'Elanna said, obviously thinking of Voyager's first officer who was currently teaching at Starfleet Academy on Earth. "But then, very few officers are."

Ro brought the hovercraft to a stop in front of their hotel and parked it. "I'll check us out and find out from the clerk which is the best restaurant in the area. Is there anything you need from the room?"

B'Elanna shrugged. "We replicated our uniforms, and all our toiletries were provided by the hotel," she said. "The towels weren't worth liberating."

"I shouldn't be more than a few minutes," Ro promised as she slipped out of the hovercraft.

Inside, the hotel clerk was busy with new arrivals, and the officer took a moment to glance around the lobby. She knew that a good percentage of the Bajorans who had left the planet during the Occupation had joined Starfleet, but it was a big organization, and Ro had seldom run across many of her people during her travels over the past few decades. It felt decidedly odd to be surrounded by them, to be distinguished from the crowd only because of her uniform, rather than her facial features.

"May I help you?"

Startled from her woolgathering, Ro looked at the clerk and lifted a brow. "I'd like to check out," she said, offering the key to the room. While he took care of the formalities, deducting the cost from her credit balance, she took another look around, realizing it would be some time before she would have the chance to be on her homeworld again. After retrieving the information on the best restaurant between the hotel and the spaceport, she left the lobby and returned to the hovercraft. To her surprise, B'Elanna wasn't there, and bemused, she stood beside it, searching the area visually.

Finally she spotted the Klingon striding briskly across the parking lot, and when B'Elanna saw her partner waiting for her, she hastily stuffed a small package into the inner pocket of her tunic.

"Sorry," the engineer said breezily as she flashed a brief smile at the Bajoran. "I meant to be back before you were."

Ro waited, but no further information was forthcoming, and she offered her partner an odd look as she activated the hovercraft.

"You're not going to tell me?" she asked finally as they glided away from the hotel.

"A girl has to have some secrets," B'Elanna returned, her face serene, and her partner knew she had to be content with that. From the engineer's expression, however, whatever the mysterious package had been, the odds were very good that it was in the form of a gift, undoubtedly to be revealed to Ro when she least expected it. It was one of the more charming habits B'Elanna had developed since their wedding.

The recommended restaurant turned out to be every bit as good as the clerk had indicated, and the couple ate their fill of Bajoran food prepared from organic ingredients, washed down with frosty bottles of ale from Kendra Province. Feeling as if they couldn't eat another bite less it made them explode, they tottered back to the hovercraft and started for the spaceport.

"Mmm, maybe I shouldn't have eaten so much," B'Elanna muttered as they approached the expansive space transport area. "I don't know that I'll appreciate liftoff."

"I'll make it as smooth as possible," Ro promised with a smile. They turned in the hovercraft to the rental kiosk, and then took a port pod to their shuttle. Inside, the Bajoran settled into the pilot's seat and began the activation sequence, acquiring a launch window from port control. B'Elanna stretched out in the co-pilot's seat.

"I think I may take a nap," she announced.

"Wait until we're at least clear of the atmosphere," Ro suggested as she initiated the engines and lifted off.

Once they were in space, B'Elanna lived up to her word and promptly dozed off, her face smoothing out into sleep. Ro glanced over at the Klingon fondly now and again as she navigated the vessel to DS9. The station had originally been in orbit over the planet, but had been moved near the Denorios Belt once the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant had been discovered. Now it was three hours away, and freed of having to concentrate fully on the helm as the automated navigational controls took over, Ro was left alone with her thoughts. The recognition of the emotions laid to rest by the day's visit to the internment camp made her realize how far she had come since then, particularly under the aegis and guidance of Captain Janeway. While on Earth, Ro had become involved with a covert operation for her previous captain, Jean-Luc Picard. In the course of it, she had been required to keep certain information ... in particular, data regarding danger involving Seven of Nine ... from Janeway, for whom she was serving as adjunct. It had left a division between the two women, both professionally and personally. The professional rift had been mended somewhat, with Janeway requesting that Ro serve not only as her chief of security on her new vessel, but also as third in command. The personal rift was somewhat more difficult to mend.  B'Elanna and Seven's friendship often threw the four women together in social situations, and though Janeway continued to treat Ro civilly, a palpable tension remained. Ro realized in the aftermath that Janeway had considered her a personal friend, independent of their spouses, and the Bajoran's actions had betrayed that friendship on a profound level. The captain might not allow Ro to ever get that close again.

Yet, Ro was determined to recapture the friendship, though she didn't know how exactly. Perhaps there was no one specific thing she could do to balance the scales between them. Perhaps it would simply be a matter of serving Janeway with the utmost honor and integrity for a period of time, proving to her that the captain's trust in the Bajoran was warranted on all levels. Eventually, Janeway might accept Ro back into her life on a personal level, instead of regarding the security chief as merely another of her officers, or as B'Elanna's spouse whom she had to tolerate in social situations for Seven's sake.

Inhaling deeply, Ro forced herself to occupy her thoughts with other things. A quick glance over at her sleeping partner provoked an uncharacteristically tender urge, and reaching over, Ro gently removed a stray strand of wavy hair from B'Elanna's face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. Her fingertips lingered gently on the engineer's cheek, delighting in the softness of her olive skin, and the Bajoran was rewarded by the faint curve of the young woman's expressive lips, the Klingon detecting her spouse's presence even in her slumber. Ro smiled and drew back, not wanting to disturb her beloved any further.

Knowing that the onboard computer would alert her to anything untoward, Ro uncoiled from the chair and moved to the rear of the shuttle, running some diagnostics on the engines just to keep herself occupied. Lithe, with a dancer's body, Ro was restrained from moving freely in the close quarters of the class four shuttle, and she felt a slight sense of claustrophobia. She forced herself to concentrate on the readings scrolling down the viewscreen, relieved when the computer finally chirped to indicate they were within range of Deep Space 9.

She returned to the pilot's chair as B'Elanna, disturbed by the sound, stirred, yawning and stretching as she brought her seat up from its reclined position.

"DS9, this is the Millennium shuttle, Heinlein," Ro informed the station. "We'll be docking directly with our starship."

"Understood," came the response from the DS9 operations. "Transferring traffic control to Millennium."

"Heinlein, we have you for approach vector gamma," the next voice said, and Ro thought she recognized Ensign Tarn. The gamma vector indicated that Ro needed to bring the shuttle into the hanger located in the lower, aft part of the vessel, at the rear of the teardrop-shaped engineering section.

"Acknowledged Millennium," Ro said crisply, altering course to comply with her instructions.

The massive vessel loomed before her, growing larger with every passing second until it filled their viewport. Bringing the shuttle through the open doors of the rear hanger, a brief flash in the corner of Ro's eye indicated that they had penetrated the protective force field that separated the atmosphere within the hangar from the vacuum outside. Had Millennium not known they were coming, or had the proper codes not been transmitted automatically by the tiny ship to the larger vessel, the force field would not grant them passage. If the encroaching vessel was lucky, the hangar field would be set for containment, and it would become stuck like an insect in amber with its power disrupted and taken offline, leaving the pilot trapped and helpless until a security team arrived. If Millennium's shields had been raised, however, the shuttle would have simply impacted on the invisible barrier, and exploded into a rapidly expanding ball of gas, organic material and machinery.

It was not a good idea to try to board a Federation starship if one didn't know what one was doing.

The shuttle dropped lightly on its struts onto the deck, within the area marked for the class four shuttles, and Ro shut down the engines, disengaging from the helm. With a smile, B'Elanna touched her shoulder.

"First one back to our quarters runs the bath," she challenged, and then was gone.

Laughing, Ro scrambled out of her chair in pursuit, though even if she lost, the evening still promised to be delightful.

Janeway opened her eyes, feeling the warmth of her partner wrapped around her, and smiling happily in the early morning hours. There was something about waking in her partner's arms that she didn't think she would ever tire of. Turning her head slightly, she could see Seven's face on the pillow next to her, the narrow features smoothed out in slumber, the golden hair mussed, tumbling about in sensual appeal. The Borg's arm was snug over the captain's chest, and her leg was draped comfortably over Janeway's thighs, her hips half on top of her spouse. With just a little effort, the captain was able to slip her hand carefully between them to touch the young woman, finding the little nodule and fondling it lightly, feeling it harden and grow slippery from the additional moisture automatically generated at the caress. It was a rare opportunity to love her spouse in this manner, not only because Janeway rarely woke up before Seven, but because the Borg tended to be a lighter sleeper in general. However, the previous night must have tired her out, and she didn't wake immediately, much to Janeway's gratification.

When Seven finally did stir at the subtle motion, it was mostly intuitive, pressing herself closer to the tantalizing caress as she reacted to the arousal rising within her. Janeway loved the young woman like this, all instinct and physical response, aware only of the sensation drawing her from unconsciousness, but not necessarily knowing where it originated from. Rather than analyzing the captain's emotional state or her own as she did while fully conscious, Seven instinctively reached out to satisfy the hunger within. It made this type of lovemaking more intense for Janeway. Seven wasn't as careful with her caresses, nor as controlled in her passion, and the captain found the raw desire charming in the extreme.

Moaning, Seven moved further on top of the smaller woman as she buried her face in the auburn hair, her respiration rasping harshly in Janeway's ear as she arched against the fingers plying her, spreading her legs wider to provide greater access. Her purely carnal behavior, her wordless demand for more, granted the captain a sense of being necessary to the young woman on all levels. She felt not only loved, but desired, lusted after hotly, something that Seven didn't always convey. Quickening the pace, Janeway reached around to tenderly probe the Borg's rear channel, working her finger in carefully until she was finally able to move in and out with perfect rhythm to the young woman pressing against the captain's fingers, which had become trapped between their pelvic regions. Janeway was barely able to flex them over the little ridge, fingertips brushing lightly over it in a teasing manner that must have inflamed Seven further, inciting her to undulate faster, groaning in pleasure.

When Seven finally began to shiver, to make little, inarticulate sounds of passion, Janeway became firmer in her penetration, moving deeper inside until finally, Seven lifted her torso, bracing herself with her arms, her head going back in a silent cry of delight. Her body was one great shudder of release, the channel squeezing Janeway's finger almost painfully, held for an instant of perfect rapture before Seven exhaled and relaxed, collapsing onto the captain. Janeway struggled momentarily for air, understanding and accepting it was part of the risk she took when she woke her partner this way, but still feeling squashed and not a little defenseless. Seven finally gathered enough of her composure to realize it wasn't just random pleasure she had surrendered to, but that there was someone squirming helplessly beneath her greater mass. Promptly, she rolled over onto her side, carrying the captain with her, which allowed Janeway room to breathe freely once more.

"Kathryn," Seven murmured as the computer provided the wake-up announcement in the background, indicating it was time for the couple to rise. "What were you doing?"

"Waking you for your duty shift," Janeway gasped, wincing slightly as she shook out her arm which had been squeezed mightily towards the end between their bodies, pins and needles lancing up and down it. She supposed she should be grateful it had ended as quickly as it had, or she'd have no feeling in her right hand whatsoever.

Seven's hand immediately began to smooth over the small breasts of her spouse, but the captain caught her wrist, grasping it gently, but firmly. "I'm fine," she said, bringing the limb up so that she could kiss Seven's palm. "I just wanted to pleasure you this morning. Besides, we don't have time." She leaned over, kissed Seven sweetly on the lips, then wiggled out of the young woman's grasp, leaving the Borg blinking sleepily amid the tangled bedding, a confused expression in her ice-blue gaze.

"You do not want to make love?" Seven asked, perplexed.

"I just did," Janeway countered with a grin over her shoulder as she headed into the ensuite. "Consider it my version of a 'wake up call' for you, darling."

Vastly pleased with herself, she activated the shower and stepped beneath the triple hydro spray that splashed warmly over her body. She was not especially surprised when she was joined a few moments later by her spouse. They didn't have to speak as Seven gently soaped her all over, washing her lavishly amid the lather and suds, and Janeway discovered that gratitude for a 'wake up call' didn't have to be verbal or even sexual, but could be quite delightful nonetheless.

Afterward, dressed in their Starfleet uniforms, the couple moved out into the living area where Seven prepared their breakfast; eggs Benedict with asparagus, which was one of Janeway's favorite dishes. Sipping from a mug of black coffee after she had eaten, Janeway eyed her spouse across the table, feeling pleasantly stuffed and quite content with her world, regardless of how small it might have become since taking command of the Millennium.

"What are your plans for the day?" she asked.

"I am meeting with Lenara to determine the allocation of computer time to the varied scientific departments," Seven explained as she rose from her chair and took their emptied plates over to the replicator to be recycled. "I must also arrange a training schedule for those civilians who may find themselves on away missions." She raised her eyebrow as she looked back at the captain. "You?"

"The ship's new helm officer reported yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to meet with him," Janeway explained. "I want him to be checked out on the auxiliary fleet, so I need to speak to Tom about that. The rest of the day will be taken up with making sure everything is taken care of that needs to be. When we activate the transition drive and leave the Alpha Quadrant, we can just pop back and pick up anything that we might have left behind. Activating the transition drive seems too complicated for that."

"I am aware of the demands of the transition drive," Seven reminded the captain with a certain dry humor. She busied herself at the kitchenette counter, preparing Janeway's thermos, a tall, silver cylinder that had survived Voyager and the Delta Quadrant, and would be accompanying Janeway to the bridge on Millennium. The captain rose and moved over to her, slipping her arms around her waist and nuzzling the Borg's neck.

"Have a good day, my darling," she murmured.

Seven hugged her tightly. "I shall," she said, smiling faintly. She bussed the captain gently and then went off to the bedroom to finish her remaining tasks prior to reporting to duty.

Janeway scooped up the thermos before moving over to the private turbolift access. A special command code allowed her to take the turbolift directly from her quarters to her ready room, though most crewmembers were unaware of that. It vastly entertained the captain to walk onto the bridge, seeming to appear out of nowhere to witness the expressions of consternation on crew's faces who had no idea she was even on deck one.

Dropping her thermos on her desk, she strode out onto the ship's command center, noting that a small male Ferengi was at the helm, with Commander Zar leaning over his shoulder pointing things out. This was undoubtedly Lt. Nog, and the two officers appeared to be getting along quite well. Janeway was glad to see it. Both would undoubtedly find things difficult in the beginning, simply because of the misconceptions and beliefs surrounding their respective species. Perhaps one day, we'll be evolved enough to take people on an individual basis every time, Janeway mused, rather than having to struggle to reach past surface appearances.

"Commander," she said.

Zar twitched briefly and the lieutenant started abruptly before rising to his feet, their reactions forcing Janeway to stifle a grin. The Ferengi only came up to the captain's nose, something that made the compact Janeway feel decidedly odd. She wasn't used to being taller than her crew. Most of the time, she was the one looking up at whomever she was talking to and developing a crick in her neck.

"Lt. Nog?"

"Ah, yes, Captain," he said, standing firmly at attention.

"Welcome to Millennium," she said, her eyes raking him up and down, assessing him keenly. "You have an impressive record, Lieutenant. I'm pleased to have you on board."

His eyes seemed to glitter. "Thank you, si--Captain," he said.

Janeway noted the self-correction and realized that Zar had informed him of her preferences. She liked that. It was a small detail, but she knew that a person who paid attention to the small things was usually someone who could be counted on to be prepared for the big situations.

"I want you to be checked out on our fleet vessels as well as the helm," she informed him. "Have you had any opportunity to visit the hangars yet?"

"I've studied the schematics of the ship and its auxiliary fleet," the young man responded in his high, piping voice. "But, no, Captain, I haven't yet had a chance to drop by."

She nodded. "I'll take you down and introduce you to Mr. Paris," she said. "He's the wing commander." She glanced at the first officer who retained the con. "If you need me, I'll be in Alpha Hangar."

"Understood," Zar said, dipping his head in acknowledgment, and moving over to the captain's chair where he settled into it with a certain satisfaction. Janeway, witnessing this just before the turbolift doors shut on her and the Ferengi, felt a tiny qualm at having a Cardassian sit in her chair, but reminded herself that it was merely an irrational bias prickling at her senses.

The ship's wing commander was lecturing to his pilots when Janeway and Nog arrived in the Alpha Hangar.  Many of those pilots were barely beyond the cadet stage, freshly graduated from the Academy. The captain and helmsman waited unobtrusively by the door as Janeway observed Tom Paris's indoctrination briefing with his squadrons now that the full complement was present, the last few officers coming aboard from DS9. Tom was not a particularly imposing figure, with his sandy hair, pale blue eyes, and boyishly handsome looks, but he was definitely older than most of the others in the cavernous space. On the viewscreen behind him, there was a display of vessel schematics for one of the new fleet vessels.

"In addition to the normal complement of class four shuttles, Millennium is the first Starfleet science vessel to carry an auxiliary fleet of support ships, just as a space station would," Lt. Paris stated in a clear, penetrating tone, pacing commandingly before the attentive group. Janeway smiled faintly as she remembered the brash young man she had liberated from a New Zealand penal facility all those years ago. Now, Tom carried his authority with dignity and even some grace. "There will be three squadrons, each consisting of six fighters, two medium shuttles, and a single science runabout. These vessels will be identified by their respective hangars, Alpha, Beta and Gamma. The first thing I want to draw your attention to are the KillerBee fighters. They're one-person ships, capable of achieving warp six, and will be utilized primarily for escort duty while the Millennium is traveling through what may be perceived as dangerous space. They're light on the stick, built for maneuverability and quickness, making them easy to crack up through overcompensation, though fortunately, their simplified design makes them easy to repair with replicator parts." He paused and fixed the group with an evil eye. "However, rest assured that anything which damages them to the extent that they need replacement parts, will probably damage you beyond repair should you not eject your cockpit escape pod in time. Nor would such incompetence be looked upon favorably by command. We don't need heroes here, we need people who know how to keep out of trouble and finish the job."

He put his hands on his hips, his light blue eyes steely in the refracted light of the hanger. "Only the very best of you will be assigned to these ships," he stated harshly. "I'm not necessarily talking about the best pilots either. Though you'll all be expected to be checked out in them, only those who display leadership and responsible behavior will be entrusted with them during actual combat conditions. Flying them will be a duty that's earned on Millennium, not accorded by what seniority, accomplishments or rank you bring to this vessel. Is that understood?"

There was a mutter of 'aye, sir' from the young officers, and Tom glared at them a few seconds longer before deciding he was satisfied. He activated the viewscreen, bringing up the next vessel. "These are the Tornado-class Medium Shuttles. Note the aerodynamic line of the cockpit and the wing shape. While I was on Voyager, we built something very similar to this and called it the Delta Flyer. They were all designed by my good buddy, Harry Kim, and are intended as all-purpose vessels for planetary and spatial anomaly exploration. They'll be doing the bulk of any alternative work while on our mission in the various quadrants. They are highly maneuverable in an atmosphere, and have even been known to submerge within a liquid medium." He paused again, purely for dramatic effect, and Janeway decided she was rather entertained by this. "I am greatly fond of this design," he continued, raising his voice only slightly, but it had the same effect as if he were shouting at the top of his lungs. "Any officer who damages one of these vessels, either through neglect or stupidity, will answer directly to me! Is that clear!?"

The 'aye, sir' was louder this time, and more devout. Obviously, Tom had them right where he wanted them. Janeway suspected it was due to the test runs and holodeck shakedown simulations performed while Millennium journeyed from Utopia Planitia to DS9. In every case, Tom Paris proved to be the best, most capable pilot the newcomers had ever met. This group respected that ... and him ... in a way that perhaps they wouldn't anything else, including the greater number of gold pips adorning his collar.

The viewscreen flickered again. "These are Hawk-class Heavy Runabouts with extended science modules," Tom said. "These are designed primarily for scientific missions, with full onboard computers and labs, and will be adapted as necessary by alternating between the attachments, which include exometric modules for planetary study, astrometric modules for deep space study, and medical modules in the event of an emergency. When one of these runabouts has a module attached, it handles like a rock and requires a strong pilot at the helm to maintain trim."

He paused and put his foot up on his chair, resting his forearm on it. "These vessels are under the direct authority of the chief science officer." There was a stir, a snicker or two, and he lifted his head, glaring at them. "I know that there is a general attitude among hotshots like you that perhaps science officers don't quite possess the 'right stuff'. I can see it in your faces. Let me enlighten you. The chief science officer on board this vessel is Lt. Annika Hansen. We knew her better on Voyager as Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01. Screw up under her command, and I won't even bother to intervene. I'll just let her deal with you." He paused. "Messing with a Borg is not only dumb ... it's futile. Remember that."

Janeway put a hand over her mouth and tried not to laugh. The captain decided that now was the time to be noticed, and she stepped out into the light, catching Tom's eye. The lieutenant lifted a brow and offered her a slightly sheepish grin as he realized she had been an audience to his briefing. "Captain," he said, while the rest of the group immediately straightened and tried to look particularly attentive. Janeway ignored them as was her purview, bringing Nog forward.

"Tom, this is Lt. Nog," she introduced. "He's our alpha shift helm officer. I want him to sit in on whatever briefings with your squads that can be arranged. I also want him checked out on all the support ships."

He dipped his head, eyeing the Ferengi narrowly. "Mr. Nog," he greeted in a noncommital tone.

"Sir," Nog responded. As a senior lieutenant, Paris ranked him, but not by much. However, as wing commander, Tom still remained Nog's superior when it came to the helm.

"Mr. Nog is a veteran of the Siege of AR-558, and served on DS9 during most of the war, acting as helmsman and operations officer for their Defiant-class warship," Janeway went on in a clear voice which immediately quelled the few looks being exchanged by the pilots, and forestalled any reservations Paris might have experienced dealing with a Ferengi. From the way his gaze altered ever so slightly from hers, Janeway knew she had been wise to bring it up rather than let the two officers work it out on their own. This saved time, and possibly some aggravation. Offering the two men a nod, she turned and left. She did not have to tell them she expected their best effort in finding a working arrangement.

That was simply understood.

"Lt. Hansen."

Seven paused, still not entirely used to being addressed in that manner, but having experienced it enough by this time to respond promptly to it. She lifted an eyebrow as Commander Zar approached from down the corridor, waiting as he caught up to her before resuming her course to sickbay, the first officer matching her stride for stride.

"Commander," she said politely.

"Are you heading somewhere in particular?" he asked casually.

"Sickbay," she remarked. "I am required to meet with the Doctor for my regular implant maintenance." She paused. "You?" she added, just to be polite.

"I'm on my way to the counselor's office. The standard visitation to update my psyche profile and establish our working relationship. You know how it is."

Seven actually didn't, but did not bother to say that, suspecting it would take too long to explain.

"Kes is an excellent counselor," she said, having spent several sessions with the being when she had been Sek, the hologram. "Her contribution to one's well being can be ... significant, particularly when one feels ... alone and uncertain."

He glanced at her, his eyes warming, becoming compassionate. "I'm sure it can," he said, his voice gentling. "It's obvious that Captain Janeway made a point of recruiting the very best officers she could find for this vessel."

Due to the inflection on 'best', Seven wondered if that was some form of an egotistical statement, referring to himself, or intended as a compliment, directed at her. Even now, it was still not entirely clear to her what people meant with certain vocal inflections.

"She did," Seven agreed.

"I was wondering ... if you're not doing anything particular this evening, would you like to have dinner with me on the station?" Zar asked offhandedly "I know this wonderful restaurant on the Promenade, and I would really like to continue our ... earlier discussion about your work."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I am unable to comply," she said honestly, though it pleased her that he was making such an effort to return her friendship. It was certainly more than she had attempted when she had first came on board Voyager. Of course, she reminded herself that he was a product of Federation culture, despite the sense of loneliness she sensed in him, and therefore, would have more cultivated more advanced social skills than she had possessed. "I am expected to dine with the captain this evening."

"Ah," he said, sounding quite disappointed. "Another time, perhaps."

She nodded, glancing at him. "I would enjoy that," she said with grave sincerity. "Our conversation over lunch yesterday was most stimulating."

"Yes?" he said, looking quite pleased suddenly, as if he had been afraid she had meant something else when she initially turned him down. "I look forward to more stimulating discussion with you in the future."

The inflection on the word made Seven falter a bit, though she didn't know why. There was the slightest intonation there that she thought was out of place. However, another quick glance at the first officer revealed no particular expression in his features, so she decided she was overanalyzing the situation ... a habit that Janeway had suggested she try to curtail a little while on Millennium. After the debacle on Earth, involving Section 31, Admiral Hayes, and the Orion Syndicate, Seven had become quite suspicious and withdrawn with everyone except her very closest friends and family. The captain had correctly pointed out that soon Seven would be placed in the close confines of a starship with a host of new acquaintances where she could not maintain that attitude without making herself, and perhaps others around her, miserable. It was therefore logical that she should attempt to be a little more open-minded about people, particularly her crewmates. She paused in front of the doors leading to sickbay, turning to look up at him with a raised brow.

"Perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow night in my quarters," she suggested, remembering that Janeway had plans to attend a diplomatic function on DS9. Seven had begged off, finding such events tedious, and as a result she had the opportunity to spend time with her new friend. It might also be a good idea to invite Lenara along as well, Seven decided, particularly since Zar seemed so interested in scientific conversation. "I am considered an ... acceptable cook."

His bright smile seemed far greater reward that the invitation warranted, and she wondered if she had been that grateful when people on Voyager had tried including her in social activities. She suspected not, but perhaps he felt more isolated than she had experienced at the time.

"It's a date," he said with apparent enthusiasm, and after wishing her a warm farewell, continued down the corridor towards the counselor's office. Seven stared after him a moment, wondering again at the choice of words, but realizing it was common usage, she dismissed it as irrelevant.

As she entered the medical center, she became aware of an argument going on between Dr. Pulaski and her friend from Voyager, the Emergency Medical Hologram. Based on a physical profile of Lewis Zimmerman, the scientist who had programmed him, the Doctor was a sparse figure, with dark eyes and a balding scalp. Fussy and agitated in nature, his personality occasionally took some getting used to, and Seven suspected that he and Dr. Pulaski in the same room were like Klingons and tribbles ... a most volatile combination.

"Will you quit calling me that? It sounds ridiculous." The Doctor was arranging instruments on a table, obviously preparing for his appointment with Seven.

Beside him, the snowy haired figure of the ship's CMO waved her hands in a gesture of exasperation. "I'll be glad to call you whatever you want," Pulaski snapped. "Just pick something and be done with it. Otherwise, it's Dr. Hologram for the duration. Ian, for short."

"Ian?" he demanded. "Where did that come from?"

"E.M.," she stated reasonably. "Run it together, it becomes Eium,which is a perfectly good name."

"But it's not my name," he protested.

"Then tell me what is," she demanded. "Or E.M. Hologram is going to be registered officially on the ship's roster."

"What about Louie Pasteur?" he asked.

"Let's be realistic," she countered. "How about Pat C. Zimmerman?"

"Pat C.?"

"Profoundly Aggravating Technology Concocted by Zimmerman," she said with triumph.

"I will choose my own name," he said frostily, proceeding to ignore her. Apparently, this was an ongoing argument they had experienced many times.

"Fine, but do it by the end of the day so I can record it officially," she said. She lifted a brow, no longer looking amused "That's an order, Doctor. No more kidding around. Either give me something concrete to send to Starfleet Personnel, or consider DS9 a good place to start looking for a new job."

She turned and left, the EMH inhaling deeply, though as a hologram, he truly did not need to breathe. Seven, who had been observing the confrontation with interest, made her presence known, moving across the deck to where the Doctor was frowning thoughtfully.

"Doctor, I am here for my appointment."

"Seven?" He blinked and looked at her. "Did you hear that?"

She nodded. "You must choose a designation," she said as she took a seat on the biobed in preparation for her exam. She paused, then added gently; "Such designations do make communication more efficient. I am sure that now when someone asks for the 'doctor' in sickbay, it is difficult to know to whom one is referring."

He nodded, looking resigned. "I know, Seven," he admitted. "It's just ... in seven years, I couldn't come up with the perfect name. Now I'm expected to come up with one by the end of the day, and whatever it is, I'll be stuck with it for as long as I'm attached to this ship, and probably, for as long as I work with Starfleet."

"That is correct," Seven allowed. "I comprehend that this is a greater decision for you than is apparent on the surface. However, it is also apparent that you no longer have the luxury of time in which to ponder its significance."

He sighed as he raised the probe, taking readings from her cortical node and her cranial implant around her eye. "How have you been feeling?" he asked, seeming deliberately to change the subject. She thought he was attempting to avoid what had to be done, but it was not her place to push him.

"I am functioning under acceptable parameters," she explained.

"What does that mean?" he insisted, scanning the medical tricorder which was configured to her specific physiology.

She resisted a sigh. "I feel healthy," she elaborated. "I had been overworking a certain amount, but I curtailed that upon reaching DS9. I even accepted leave yesterday."

"I'm impressed," he allowed, with a touch of sarcasm. He made some adjustments and began to carefully probe the nodes within her eyepiece. It was not painful, but neither was it pleasant, so she concentrated on the sickbay wall as he brought the nodes back into proper alignment. "What did you do on your leave?"

"I shopped," she explained, obviously surprising him somewhat, and she swallowed back her faint smile. "I browsed the shops on the Promenade before encountering Commander Zar. We had lunch together. After discovering that Naomi and Mezoti Wildman are no longer residents of DS9, I spent some time with Dr. Lenara Kahn."

"Busy girl," the Doctor noted. "What do you mean, the Wildmans no longer reside on DS9?"

"Apparently, Samantha and her husband became estranged, and she left the station with the children," Seven said. "I do not know where they went, and unfortunately, I do not have the time to find them before our mission commences."

"That's too bad, Seven," he said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I am, as well," Seven admitted with a touch of sadness. "I wished to see the children."

He glanced up at her, offering her a pat on her arm. "I'm sure they'll be sorry they missed you," he said gently. He put down the probe and took her left hand, running a scanner over the mesh. "So you had lunch with our new first officer. What's he like? I haven't had the chance to meet him." He paused, frowing. "I haven't had a chance to meet a lot of people yet. Somehow, being a civilian doesn't afford me the freedom I used to have as a Starfleet officer." He looked briefly outraged. "I'm not even allowed on deck one unless it's an emergency."

"No unauthorized crew are, Doctor," Seven said. "It was also that way on Voyager, though it was so small, perhaps we did not have as many crewmembers who were unauthorized. It was therefore, not as noteworthy."

"I never thought I'd be one of them," he grumbled.

"I'm sure if you asked, the captain would arrange a tour for you," she said.

"That's not the point, Seven," he said. "On Voyager, I was a crucial part of the crew. Here, I'm only a small cog in a much larger machine."

"Dr. Pulaski is the CMO responsible for the overall health of the crew," Seven pointed out patiently. "Dr. Spencer is in charge of exobiology. As the only civilian on the medical staff, you are required to carry out whatever duties they assign regarding Starfleet." She paused. "You knew that when you accepted this posting, Doctor."

"I know," he grouched. "I just didn't know it would be so ... stifling."

Seven did not point out that officially, his position on Millennium was a huge step up from merely being a computer program, activated only in an emergency, which had originally been the case on Voyager and what many in Starfleet still considered him to be. She supposed that was the nature of sentience ... to constantly want more from life. She merely raised an eyebrow, and observed him as he worked on the mesh covering her hand.

"Commander Zar is very intelligent and appears to be a capable first officer," she said, dragging the topic back to the question he had asked earlier.

"He's really Cardassian?" the Doctor asked.

"He appears as such," Seven admitted reluctantly. "He is also Bajoran, however." She paused. "Just as I am Borg, but also Human."

He flashed a look at her. "Point taken, Seven," he said. "I guess I'm just feeling a little out of the loop. I don't hear anything anymore. On Voyager, I used to know everything that was going on, almost as quickly as it happened."

She inhaled slowly. "We are not on Voyager any longer," she said.

He looked at her again, his eyes dark. "No," he said. "We're not."

She looked at him, feeling a great fondness for him. "Come to dinner tomorrow night," she asked him impulsively. "I know that you do not eat, but you can share the conversation with the rest of my guests. Commander Zar shall be there, and I will introduce you to him. Dr. Kahn may be there, and I shall introduce you to her, as well."

He glanced at her, then began to smile. "Thank you," he said, in a much gentler voice. "I would enjoy that."

"Acceptable," she said.

He finished his scan on her hand, and as he picked up another instrument which would analyze her internal implants, she wondered how Kes was dealing with the new first officer, and if she too, might be interested in coming to dinner the following evening. She made a note to stop by on her way from sickbay to invite the counselor.

Counselor Kes, a diminutive woman with short, shaggy blonde hair, appeared to possess eyes older than the stars. It seemed to Commander Zar that there was a great deal more going on behind them than anyone would ever know. Her ears were unusual, flowing back from the corner of her jaw to elegant points at the tips, more winglike than Vulcan or Romulan ears would be. Regarding her with a certain wariness, as he did all counselors, Zar rested his hands on his thighs, his jaw set firmly as he sat in the chair opposite her desk. He knew that a meeting with the ship's counselor was standard procedure whenever coming on board a vessel this large, particularly for senior officers, so he had scheduled it early just to get it out of the way. However, it wasn't particularly anything he enjoyed as a rule. It was always the same questions; how was he fitting in, did he feel as if he wasn't accepted, did he harbor resentment for the reactions of his crewmates? It was all very tedious and repetitive, but he had learned how to respond properly, and at least, in Millennium's case, he had a few positive things to reveal along with the few negative encounters he had run into.

"So you believe that Ro will have a problem with you?" Kes prodded gently.

"I introduced myself to the lieutenant commander on the bridge when she came on duty, shortly before coming here," he said dryly. "She said something not quite coherent, and promptly excused herself to speak with the captain. I could read between the lines, I'm afraid."

Kes smiled faintly. "Do you believe her Bajoran heritage will prevent her from working with you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know the woman, or what she's like in a situation such as this. I know my appearance gave her a hell of a jolt, but that's to be expected. I suppose I'll find out over the next few days."

"Do you have anything else to relate?" she prompted lightly. "I know this may be a difficult transition for you. I want to help."

"Actually, all things being equal, I'm rather ... impressed ... with Millennium," he offered honestly. "Most of the crew I've met seem willing to wait to see what kind of person I'll be, regardless of my appearance, just as they would any other first officer. It's not what I'm used to, but it's a refreshing change."

She raised her head. "I can imagine that it was difficult, looking as you do, during the more ... tense political times involving the Cardassians."

"It was," he admitted. "Usually, Starfleet would station me far away from anything sensitive, to protect me as much as themselves. It wasn't great for my career, but on the other hand, it allowed me to continue to function as a contributing Starfleet officer." He paused. "This recent period was the hardest. It's not as if I could be particularly useful to Starfleet Intelligence since I'm recognizable as partially Bajoran to the average Cardassian, and I've never been very good with playacting, making me useless as an infiltrator. At the beginning of the war, it was very difficult for most officers to work with me so I ended up being assigned to a space station, DS12, on the other side of the Federation. By now, the war isn't so much a factor, though a certain tension lingers. It's unfortunate, but that's the reality of the situation. I can resent it and allow it to drive me out of Starfleet, or I can try to overcome it, continuing to work hard to advance in my chosen profession. My own self-respect dictates I pursue the latter course of action."

"I understand," Kes said. She made a few notes in the padd on her desk. "I think you'll find that Captain Janeway is one of the best commanding officers at providing a stable and secure working environment on her vessel. I served with her on Voyager, and I know that a lesser captain simply couldn't have accomplished what she did in that situation."

"She is ... exceptional," Zar admitted. He paused. "She also seems to have gathered an extraordinary crew." For a moment, his thoughts were lost in an image of the chief science officer, the color of her eyes and hair, and the way Seven moved when she walked. He could scarcely believe the incredible fascination he had immediately felt for her. His pulse increased in his temples. He had seldom found such easy acceptance of him by anyone, let alone from such a beautiful woman, and it drew him to her like a moth to a flame. "I particularly look forward to working with Lt. Hansen."

Kes looked up sharply, almost as if she had detected something in his voice, and he wondered if his tentative feelings were apparent in how he had said the science officer's name. He hoped not. It was rare that he felt so attracted to a woman, and he didn't want to reveal it too quickly. He wanted to cherish this new and wonderful feeling.

"Seven of Nine," Kes said, and lifted a brow. "That's actually the name she prefers, and Seven is what she was called on Voyager."

"Seven," he repeated, tasting the word and finding it not quite suitable for the woman he had met the day before. She was warm. The name ... the number ... was cold and unfeeling.. "You served with her?" Trying not to sound too eager, he wondered if Kes would reveal any further details about the delightful young woman. "She's a very impressive scientist ... incredibly brilliant. I was fortunate enough to have lunch with her at Quark's yesterday."

Kes was staring at him, almost as if she was formulating some conclusion about him, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. Did she have some objection to him making friends so quickly ... particularly a friend with the potential of being more?

"Seven is a most remarkable individual," Kes said with what seemed to be genuine affection. "I think that the more a person gets to know her, the better they like her."

"Without question," he agreed. He hesitated, then added slowly, knowing this was the one place on the ship that he could say exactly what he was feeling and know it wouldn't go any further. "I think that perhaps we had an instant affinity; me because of my Cardassian roots, and Lt-- Seven, because of the assimilation by the Borg, both enemies of the Federation. As a result, we're both outsiders in a way." He tilted his head. "Yet, I found her quite approachable, completely unlike anyone else I've ever met."

Kes picked up her mug of tea and sipped it slowly, almost as if she were stalling for time, attempting to find the proper words. When she finally spoke, it was very gentle.

"What I like most about Seven is that what you see with her, is exactly what you get. There are no hidden agendas, no secret motivations behind her actions or words. If she wishes to be your friend, that is exactly what she will express, nothing more, nothing less."

He was suddenly struck by the thought that the counselor was trying to tell him something beyond what her words indicated, though he wasn't quite sure what it is. His puzzlement must have showed, because she seemed to sigh, folding her hands neatly on the desk in front of her.

"If she doesn't like you, you will also know that immediately," Kes continued in that same, careful tone, as if waiting for him to decipher something from it. "There's no mistaking what she intends in her interaction with you, not if you take her completely at face value, rather than imposing any personal intent upon her."

He exhaled, still confused.

"For example," Kes said, starting to make heavy work of this, and he wondered if he was being especially dense since he wasn't picking up what she was trying to say, "if Seven wished to pursue a romantic relationship with someone, there would be no confusion about it. She would tell that person immediately, without hesitation."

He blinked, finally beginning to catch the counselor's drift. He didn't think he had openly indicated his burgeoning feelings for the Borg, but it was clear that she had detected it, and was apparently trying to make it easier for him. He appreciated it, though he wondered if she was trying to discourage him from pursuing the scientist for professional reasons, or perhaps she was merely warning him not to get ahead of himself because the science officer was her friend.

"So you're saying that if she makes a ... friendly overture, that's exactly what it is," he said slowly. "She wishes to be friends and nothing else ... not at this time."

"Exactly," Kes said, sounding pleased and somewhat relieved

"However, if she did escalate a friendship to ... say, a romantic level, that would be readily apparent as well?" he asked hopefully, filing that away as something to watch for in the near future.

She took another sip from her tea. "It's not likely she would ever choose to pursue a romantic relationship with anyone other than her spouse," she noted evenly, with no apparent import, though the words impacted with the power of a bomb.

"Her ... spouse?" he repeated weakly, stricken to the bone. "She's married?" He wondered if he had ever been presented with a worse piece of news in his life.

Then Kes managed to eclipse the sheer awfulness of it by revealing exactly to whom Seven had given her heart.

"Captain Janeway and Seven celebrated their third anniversary only a month ago." She fixed him with an intent expression. "I've never met two people more in love, Commander. I'm sure that the longer you're on board, the more apparent that will become to you. It's quite refreshing, actually, to serve a captain who is so content in her personal life. I find it impacts favorably on her professional interaction with her crew."

Zar didn't quite understand why he hurt so much at the moment, but he did realize that the counselor had just done her best to guide him away from a potentially explosive situation, without putting him in a position either to confirm or deny what she might have thought.

"I'm sure I will find it different, as well," he managed after a moment. "Perhaps that's why I have this impression of this being a 'happy' ship, even this early into the mission."

"As goes the captain, so goes the ship," Kes allowed. She looked at him kindly, without pity, but with some empathy. "Captain Janeway is undeniably happy. So is Seven."

"I ... can understand why," he said softly, with honest regret for himself.

However, that tended to be the way of things for him, and certainly an honest friendship was nothing to disdain, even if it had paled in comparison to what he had hoped it could be. On one level, he felt almost betrayed, as if the lieutenant had led him on, yet, if what the counselor said was true ... and he had no reason to believe it wasn't ... then it was his own sense of isolation that had provoked him into seeing something in Seven's words and actions that simply didn't exist. It was a difficult admission, but Zar was not in the habit of deceiving himself, or of trying to make a situation easier on himself when it was clear that he had created the misunderstanding.

He supposed it was fortunate that it had been caught this quickly, before he had made a complete and total fool of himself. He was abruptly reminded of Seven's invitation to dinner the following night, and he could only imagine what would have happened had he shown up with the misconception that it had been some sort of romantic overture by the young woman. After all, when a female invited someone they just met to their quarters for dinner, where she would actually prepare the meal from scratch, it usually meant ... but as Kes had so subtly pointed out, Seven was not a usual person. Even if she hadn't been married, her invitation had apparently only been for dinner and discussion, nothing more. What would have happened had he gone in thinking something else?

Zar drew a shaky hand down his face, feeling a cold sweat break out over him. He'd experienced a lot of close calls in his lifetime. This seemed to him, to be one of the more deadlier ones for some reason.

Ro Laren's face was white as she entered the captain's ready room, the ridges on the bridge of her nose standing out in stark relief. It was apparent how extremely shaken she was by the fact she hadn't even requested admittance. The captain looked up from her work on her desk, checking her immediate outrage at being summarily interrupted ... something even Seven didn't do any more ... and contented herself with gesturing the Bajoran into a chair.

"I just met our new exec," the Bajoran said harshly.

"From the look on your face, I expected as much," Janeway noted. She picked up her mug of coffee and sipped it as she waited for her chief of security to continue.

"You told me he was Bajoran," Ro accused, her hands gripping the arms of her chair, as if for stability. This was not the tone one normally took with a superior officer, but it was a measure of Ro's disturbance that she obviously didn't care at the moment, and the captain decided to overlook it for the moment.

"I told you he was born on Bajor, which he was," Janeway corrected mildly. "Ultimately, what difference does it make?"

"He's a Cardie, one of..." Ro began hotly, and was immediately interrupted by the captain holding up her hand, her face hardening perceptibly.

"I will not have racial slurs on my vessel," Janeway told her, and it seemed that her voice chilled the room several degrees. The iciness in her tone served to cool Ro's anger a certain amount, and she swallowed visibly as the captain continued. "He's a hybrid, as much Bajoran as Cardassian, regardless of his appearance, but ultimately, that doesn't matter either. What does matter is that he is Starfleet, and he's the first officer of this vessel. I expect him to receive the respect due that position."

"I don't know that I can work with him," Ro warned.

"Well, you'd better decide quickly, because this is your last chance to transfer from this vessel before we begin our mission in the Delta Quadrant," Janeway said evenly. "I can have the paperwork done up in an hour."

That shook the security officer as well, she saw, but the captain didn't waver. If Ro couldn't adapt to a situation such as this, she wasn't anyone Janeway needed in her command staff. She didn't expect the senior officers all to be friends, but she did require that they all respect each other and be able to work as a team.

"I understand," Ro said finally, stiffly.

Janeway belatedly remembered that Ro had just returned from a visit to Bajor, the first time she had been on her homeworld since escaping the Occupation while still in her teens. It wouldn't necessarily have made it easier for the security chief to accept the situation had that not been the case, but the captain suspected the Bajoran was a lot more volatile at the moment than perhaps she might be otherwise. That was unfortunate, but the captain really didn't have the patience to indulge this beyond a certain point.

She took a breath, however, and softened her stance slightly. "I'm sorry, Laren," she said, in a gentler tone. "I appreciate that this adjustment may be more difficult for you and the other Bajorans on this vessel than for the rest of the crew. However, this is the way it is, and I'm sure if you get past surface appearances, you'll find he is a capable officer. That would be the case even if he were a full Cardassian. His record in Starfleet is above reproach."

"Why did it take so long for him to rise through the ranks?" Ro demanded.

Janeway lifted her eyebrow. "I think your attitude just gave you the reason," she pointed out. "I'm sure he had to work twice as hard to receive a fraction of the credit, particularly during the political strife with the Cardassians."

Ro took several, shuddering breaths, composing herself before she nodded. "Yes, Captain," she said tightly.

Janeway eyed her. "Is it necessary that I draw up transfer papers, Commander?"

Ro's dark eyes were clouded, but she shook her head. "No, ma'am."

"I also expect, in the future, for you to wait to be admitted when you wish to speak with me in my ready room," Janeway added casually.

Ro blinked, and the captain recognized that the Bajoran didn't know that was what she had done in her moment of shock, realizing it only now, after the fact.

"I ... yes, Captain," Ro said, her cheeks coloring. "I didn't ... I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Janeway took another sip of coffee. "I can't afford someone this easily shaken, Ro," she prodded harder. "Particularly not as my chief of security."

Ro's eyes cleared and her jaw tightened. "I understand, Captain," she said, her voice steadier. "I'm fine. I'll work with Commander ... Zar."

"That's all I require," Janeway said. She lifted a brow. "Dismissed."

As the Bajoran quickly made her exit, Janeway shook her head slightly, wondering if it would be that easy, or if there were greater problems that lay ahead of her as she attempted to bring the crew together in a functioning unit. And you thought combining Maquis and Starfleet was hard, she thought to herself. Now she had a senior staff that included not only a Borg science officer, but a CMO who treated the captain like a cadet, a Cardassian exec, a Bajoran security chief who possibly hated him, a Ferengi helmsman, and an Ops officer so fresh from the Academy, it was a wonder she knew her way to the bridge. Well, at least the latter was something she was used to, Janeway reminded herself with wry amusement, remembering how green Harry Kim had been those first months on Voyager.

She noted the time on the small chronometer at the corner of her console viewscreen, and proceeded to log off duty. She had promised to be home in time for dinner tonight, and she had no intention of missing that. She knew that as captain, her spouse would occasionally ... maybe even frequently ... come second to the ship and the crew. It was an unfortunate fact of life, but not one that Janeway was going to allow to dominate their relationship while on board the Millennium. A balance was achieved by taking every opportunity to put Seven first. That way, the times when the captain could not put a priority on her marriage wouldn't be as hard on either of them. It shamed Janeway to recognize how much she had put her partner on the back burner the past week ... and probably to a certain extent, in the weeks and months leading up to the launch of her new ship. The couple had enjoyed a second honeymoon during the winter solstice holiday break, but that had been six months ago, and since then, it had been rare to find quality time together, despite their best efforts.

Janeway also knew that being completely immersed in Starfleet, although it was their chosen profession, was not always good for them. The evening before, dancing in the arboretum, had been the sort of thing they needed to indulge regularly. Otherwise, they could find themselves drifting apart, and from painful experience, Janeway knew that was the absolute last thing either of them wanted.

She slipped out onto the bridge, rather than accessing the turbolift directly from the ready room, wanting the conn officer to know she was logging off duty. Ro glanced over from the command chair and nodded, her expression tight and unhappy, indicating that she was still smarting a bit from their previous conversation. Janeway sighed, but it wasn't something she could do anything about. This was a personal struggle that Ro would just have to work out on her own.

The turbolift deposited the captain on deck three and she strode briskly toward her quarters, her empty thermos tucked neatly under her arm. Seven was already there, sequestered behind the counter of their small kitchenette, preparing dinner. Janeway flashed her a grin as she dropped the thermos on the counter, and received a faint smile in return, a lift of a sandy eyebrow, and the warming of ice blue eyes that granted the captain a proper welcome home.

In the bedroom, Janeway stripped off her uniform, running it through the replicator to be recycled before placing the neatly pressed outfit on the sink counter in the ensuite. From her closet, she pulled on a simple, sapphire tunic and a pair of dark trousers. A quick run through her auburn hair with a brush finished her switch from starship captain to beloved spouse, and she returned to the living area in time to set the table, which was part of her domestic chores.

Except it wasn't there.

"What did you do with the table?" she asked dumbly, blinking in confusion. Normally it was tucked under one of the large windows that overlooked the fore part of the ship's saucer section, not far from a cabinet where the dishes and utensils were kept. Now, there was only an empty space in that part of their quarters, and she wondered how she could have missed it when she entered.

"I thought for this evening we could eat in the arboretum," Seven said. "Tomorrow I will request 'outdoor' furniture from ship's stores, but tonight, we will shall use the dining table."

"Seven, we've only been living here a week," Janeway protested mildly as she gathered up the necessary place settings from the cabinet. "You're already moving furniture around?"

Seven eyed her. "You object?"

"Am I going to come in late one night and trip over the coffee table?" Janeway wanted to know as she went through the open door to where the table had been moved to the mossy turf near the inside hull. She did have to admit, however, that the surroundings were a little more pleasant than the living area would be.

"Perhaps," Seven allowed, following her in with a casserole. She placed it on the table and regarded Janeway. "You must always be aware of your surroundings, Kathryn," she added gravely.

Janeway sighed at Seven's mock severity, causing the young woman to smile as the couple settled down for their meal, a corn, potato and beef mixture that was a particular favorite of the captain's. Janeway spent the first few bites simply savoring the taste, and reminding herself how fortunate she was to have her own personal chef looking after her for the duration of this tour of duty. Certainly, few other captains in Starfleet were as fortunate. Nor did they have such a lovely dining companion.

"Have you changed your mind about going to the party tomorrow night?" she asked hopefully, once she had removed the initial edge of her hunger.

"No," Seven said. "In fact, I have invited guests over for dinner while you are on the station."

"Ah," Janeway said, disappointed, but not really expecting Seven to have reconsidered. As much as she found diplomatic functions tedious, Seven was even more disdainful of them. "Who?"

"Lenara Kahn," Seven replied, making the captain frown briefly. The Borg noted it and smiled again, undoubtedly knowing what provoked such a reaction. "The Doctor, Kes, and Commander Zar."

Janeway raised her head, blinking. "You invited Kes?" she asked.

Seven eyed her. "Is there some reason I should not?" she asked evenly.

To Janeway, who remembered how wary and cold Seven had been to the Ocampa after she had merged back into her other self ... to the Borg, it had been as if Kes had supplanted Sek, destroying her ... this was a positive sign indeed. The captain had hoped that Seven would be able to resume the friendship she had shared with the psychologist before the incident, and had even nagged her about it at times ... which had only served to make Seven more stubborn about her antipathy toward the other woman.

"No," Janeway said, smiling. "None at all."

"I anticipate an enjoyable evening," Seven said, proceeding to consume her meal, eating neatly and efficiently, as was her habit. In the beginning, she had barely required organic nutrition at all, but as she physically adapted to being more Human than Borg over the years, she had gradually increased her dietary intake. Janeway knew that it was entirely possible that the implants that currently took care of any biological byproducts would eventually fail under the greater demand upon them, and Seven would be required to adapt even further, by disposing of waste material the old fashioned way. Janeway was not looking forward to such a transition, if indeed, it occurred. Seven would essentially have to learn how to go to the bathroom all over again, though the captain suspected the young woman would be easier to train than a child would be ... or even their previous pet, Jake, had been.

"How was your appointment in sickbay?" Janeway asked, reminded of it by her chain of thought. "Any problems?"

"No," Seven remarked. "I am functioning within acceptable parameters."

"I'm glad," Janeway said, scooping up the last bite, and reaching over to spoon some more of the casserole onto her plate. "Ro met Zar this afternoon, just after she reported for her duty shift. It did not ... go smoothly."

Seven regarded her. "You did not anticipate that it would," she allowed. "Do you believe she will be able to adapt?"

"I think so," Janeway said. "After all, despite his appearance, Zar doesn't act anything like a Cardassian soldier, so she, along with the rest of the Bajoran crewmembers, should be able to get past it." She paused. "She knows if she doesn't, she won't be able to serve on board this vessel."

"You said that to her?"

"Without hesitation," Janeway said. "The sooner she knows how things are, the quicker she'll be able to adapt to them."

"What of B'Elanna?" Seven asked.

"What about her?"

"She will also have a certain period of adjustment," Seven pointed out. "She is also more ... volatile ... than Commander Ro."

"The same rules apply to B'Elanna," Janeway said. "In fact, I expect Ro to be the one to keep her in line if it comes to that. After all, not only is she her spouse, Ro's also in charge of security. She's not going to let anyone disrupt the functioning of the ship. She knows I wouldn't tolerate it."

Seven considered that. "Was it similar to this when you were merging the Maquis and Starfleet crew on Voyager, Kathryn?" she asked.

Janeway chewed thoughtfully. "To a certain extent," she allowed finally. "Slightly different issues, but ultimately, it requires the same amount of compromise and tolerance." She laughed suddenly. "I think initially, I was more worried about how people were going to react to Lt. Nog as a Ferengi. Instead, his arrival has been completely overshadowed by all the ripples Zar has caused. I wonder if he's grateful for that."

"What is his personality?" Seven asked. "I have yet to encounter him."

"Pleasant," Janeway said, considering the young man who would be piloting the vessel. "Eager to please. Professional. I don't think there'll be any problems in that area."

Seven merely looked at her, and Janeway hoped that she wasn't sounding unrealistic in her optimism. Whatever occurred, however, she couldn't deal with it until it happened, so she put aside her momentary qualm and returned to her dinner.

Seven woke as she heard the door to her quarters hiss open, and then the soft footsteps of Janeway moving through the living area. There was a brief thump as the captain impacted with an unexpected piece of furniture and a series of muffled curses before Janeway appeared in the bedroom door, rubbing her knee painfully as she hobbled to the ensuite. Lying there in the darkness, a silver glow from the station and the stars illuminating the room, Seven listened to the familiar and comforting domestic sounds of the captain preparing for bed, feeling content and loved. Before long, the warm frame of her spouse was slipping between the sheets behind her, inching over to wrap her arms around the Borg's rangy form, her breasts pressing pleasantly against her back.

"Are you all right?" Seven murmured quietly.

"Why did you move the stools?" Janeway demanded, settling closer now that she knew her spouse was awake.

"I thought it was more efficient to have them on that side of the kitchenette counter," Seven responded reasonably. She paused, deciding it was prudent to change the subject. "How was the diplomatic function?"

"The usual," Janeway responded in a less aggravated tone, tucking her head into the hollow of the Borg's neck and shoulder. The palm of her hand rubbed gently over the young woman's upper chest. "Lots of Bajoran and Federation dignitaries, none of whom were particularly witty or charming. Colonel Kira was the only one I found relatively interesting to talk to so I spent most of the evening speaking to her about the Bajoran/Cardassian hybrids. Learned a few interesting things, but I don't know if any of it will be applicable in my dealings with my new first officer." She nuzzled the young woman's ear. "How did your dinner go?"

"It was ... interesting," Seven admitted. "I believe there was a misunderstanding between myself and Commander Zar. When he arrived, he apparently assumed that he was to be the only guest, and expressed surprise when Dr. Kahn, the Doctor and Kes appeared. Also relief."

"Relief?"

Seven frowned. "Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I think that he held certain trepidations about being alone with me." She paused. "Perhaps because I am Borg," she added sadly.

Janeway snorted. "Highly unlikely," she said. "After all, he knows better than anyone to look past surface appearance."

"Perhaps," Seven said, though she wasn't entirely comforted by the captain's reassurance. She sighed. "In any event, he and Dr. Kahn appeared to develop an amiable relationship. They spoke together extensively about Lenara's research."

"Did they, now?" Janeway said in a tone that was not particularly attentive. Seven smiled as she felt the captain's fingertips slip lower, down the slope of her breast to the nipple, which she circled with careful intent.

"Kathryn?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you require something?"

"Just making sure I'm not neglecting you," Janeway told her, biting gently on the Borg's earlobe.

"Ah," Seven said. "Apparently, I was correct."

"About what?"

"Being careful what I wish for."

The captain paused, rising up so that she could look at her spouse. "Is that a hint that you're not in the mood, my darling?" she asked wistfully.

Seven smiled, and shifted, rolling over onto her back so that she could look up at her spouse in the dimness. "Not at all," she said, reaching up with her fingertips, touching Janeway's cheek. "Just that sometimes I prefer things to progress at a slower pace."

"Have I been going too quickly for you in our recent encounters?" Janeway asked lightly, settling on her elbow, her chin propped her palm as she rested her other hand on Seven's chest.

"Not quickly," Seven said slowly, thinking about it. "More ... expeditiously. It is as if ... our lovemaking is one more thing that you are 'juggling' as you settle into being a captain again."

Janeway looked vaguely perplexed. "I certainly don't feel that way about it, Annika," she said. "I assure you, you have my full attention whenever I'm with you, particularly when it comes to making love."

"Very well," Seven said, accepting that. She knew her spouse would not dissemble about such a thing. She exhaled. "I am ... agitated ... and I am unsure why. I do not wish there to be any misunderstandings between us, Kathryn ... not as there were on Earth. I want you to know exactly what I am feeling ... even when it seems irrational or inappropriate. Even when I do not understand what is truly causing the feelings."

Janeway nodded. "All right," she allowed. She made slow circles with her fingertips over the soft skin of Seven's breast bone, an idle caress as she thought. "Is it possible you're still adjusting to being in space again, and translating that unease into our personal life?"

Seven thought about it. "Possibly," she allowed uncertainly. She studied the beloved planes and curves of her partner's face. "It is also entirely possible that I am feeling the lack of a ... 'weekend'."

Janeway smiled crookedly. "Ah, that I understand," she said dryly. "That regular periodic break is probably the hardest thing to give up when shifting from planetary duty. However, a starship just doesn't have the same rhythm, my love, especially for its captain."

"Yes," Seven said. She raised an eyebrow ruefully. "Perhaps I had forgotten what it is like to share you with a starship. Being a captain on Millennium is not at all similar to you being the commander of the Utopia Planitia shipyards."

"No, it isn't," Janeway said gently, regarding her with soft eyes.

Seven dipped her head, feeling herself flush, realizing that this was the core of her feelings of unease and disconcertion. "I have not adapted," she said shamefully.

"Perhaps neither of us has completely," Janeway said, leaning down to kiss her sweetly. "If I've shoved our relationship to the side a bit during this time, my darling, I'm sorry."

"No, I am sorry," Seven countered. "You have been wonderful, Kathryn. It is entirely my own trepidations. I thought I had fully understood and accepted the command part of you. Obviously, I have not."

"You have, love, more than anyone else could," Janeway told her with certainty. "However, it's not an easy aspect of my personality to live with, not all the time, and not even by me. It's not surprising that it's taking you some time to adjust to it again."

"I lived with it perfectly on Voyager," Seven protested.

"I might debate the 'perfectly'," Janeway said, grinning crookedly. "However, on Voyager, you didn't have the experience of knowing what it was like when I wasn't a starship captain. For the past year and a half, my role has simply been that of another Starfleet officer. The demand on me, the requirement of my position, the ... authority I wielded ... was less on so many levels. That's not the case anymore. Add on the fact that this vessel is more powerful, and has a much larger crew than Voyager, and you must realize that I will also be a slightly different captain on this ship. I will not be as personally close to the crew, and I will present a more commanding persona. That's just how it has to be."

"Yes," Seven agreed, considering it. "You have distanced yourself."

"Not from you," Janeway said, studying her soberly. "Never from you, and if you feel that I am, you must let me know immediately. However, that also places you in a far more delicate position than you were on Voyager. You're the chief science officer. You're no longer the 'outsider', with all the freedom that allowed, or even the ex-Borg drone who could get away with certain behavior in certain circumstances. There are many people on this vessel who, once they know you're my spouse, will be watching closely to see if you hold an unprofessional influence over me, or that I favor you in any way. Because of the ship's size, there will be a great many of the crew you'll never get to know well on a personal level, nor will they get to know you. Surface appearance will be all they'll ever be able to access, and that will determine their response to you."

"I understand," Seven said. She reached up and captured the fingers tracing her chest, squeezing them gently. "I can do this, Kathryn."

Janeway smiled. "I never doubted it for a moment," she said fondly.

Seven gazed at her, then slowly, she pulled the captain's head down so that she could kiss her. Janeway returned the kiss, settling onto the young woman's body, her curves soft and warm. There was no urgency about it, just a sweet passage of time as they kissed and touched until Seven was almost breathless. She knew her partner had taken her words to heart ... that if she had been expeditious in her approach before, she was determined not to be from now on. Janeway's caresses were slow and languid, her mouth tender and sweet, not demanding.

"I love you, Kathryn," Seven whispered, her chest hurting just because she felt so much for her partner at the moment.

Janeway traced her tongue lovingly along Seven's bottom lip, then drew back to look at her in the dimness, smiling. "I love you, too," she told her. "Always and forever."

Seven drew her knuckles along the captain's jaw, searching her face. Then, without saying anything else, she wrapped her arms around Janeway and rolled them over, kissing her as deeply and as ardently as she knew how. The captain reacted immediately, with her mouth, with her hands, with her whole body, as she returned Seven's caresses with passionate intent. The young woman wanted her partner so much, needing her with an irresistible demand, and Janeway encouraged her with both word and deed, whispering how much she loved her, how much she loved being loved by her. Moving down, Seven trailed along the captain's throat and chest, over the small breasts with nipples velvet soft and wonderfully responsive, teasing them with lips and tongue, then finally, burying her face in the intoxicating warmth between them.

Inhaling deeply, she lifted up, reaching out with her hand to draw Janeway's leg against her stomach, positioning her so that she could press herself against her, moist flesh on moist flesh, an intimate touch that sent chills of delight through Seven, leaving her barely able to control herself. Looking down into Janeway's beloved features, she undulated against the maddening sensation, forcing herself to keep it steady and rhythmic, not quickening as every molecule in her body demanded she do. Fixing her gaze on the blue-grey depths of her partner's eyes, she hugged Janeway's thigh to her while, with the other hand, she avidly caressed the captain's breasts, alternating restlessly between them, cupping them, tweaking the nipples lightly, kneading them with careful tenderness. Her respiration rasped harshly in her ears, twining around that of the captain's, both women gasping for breath as the pleasure built in steady waves. Stomach clenching, she watched as Janeway's eyes went out of focus, a cry ripping from the captain's throat as she climaxed beneath the young woman's insistent pressure, and Seven felt herself reach a peak, hovering for a brief instant of timeless anticipation, then dropping her into a spasm of uncontrolled shudders.

Catching her breath with difficulty, Seven slowly lowered herself onto the smaller woman, supporting most of her weight on her elbows and knees as she slipped her arms beneath Janeway's back, cradling the captain's shoulders on her forearms. Breasts, belly and mound pressed lightly onto the warm cushion of Janeway's body, and covering her mouth possessively, Seven kissed her until she thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen. Janeway cupped the Borg's face between her palms, returning the each kiss adoringly, both relaxing into the glowing warmth of each other with satisfaction and languid enjoyment.

"Oh, love," Janeway murmured lazily after a few moments. "What you do to me..."

Seven smiled, feeling boneless in the aftermath of her pleasure. "I love being with you," she replied quietly, feeling the captain's palms smooth up and down her back, slow circles of comfort and caring. Brushing her lips over the face beneath her, Seven offered brief touches along the cheeks, nose, and eyelids, then over Janeway's mouth, tasting her gently, tenderly. There was a sense of regret when fatigue finally tugged at her, and shifting, she moved over onto her side, tucking the captain up under her chin, hugging her to her chest as if requiring her warmth to keep the coolness of night away. Blankets were drawn up, making a cozy nest for them in each other's arms, and Seven listened to the soft sound of her partner's breath, wafting warm over her throat.

"We'll settle in, darling," Janeway promised quietly, an assurance in response to the conversation they had been sharing before their lovemaking. "It won't be so ... disconcerting for you once we've left the Alpha Quadrant and set course to explore the space around our exit coordinates."

"You are undoubtedly correct, Kathryn," Seven said, a yawn catching her off guard. She smiled. "Thank you for your patience with me."

"Always, my darling," Janeway told her.

With that promise the last thing she heard, Seven surrendered to the drowsiness drawing her down, content to fall asleep in her partner's arms.

Epilogue

Zar took his place at the first officer's station, as beside him, Seven of Nine attended the science officer's station. Behind the two stations, on the upper level of the bridge, Captain Janeway sat alertly in her command chair, her keen grey eyes maintaining a constant sweep of her senior staff. At Ops, Ensign Tarn kept her attention fully on her board, while Lt. Commander Ro covered tactical. Zar was vaguely amused to see that the Bajoran deliberately did not glance in his direction at all.

"Deep Space 9 clears us for departure," Tarn announced.

"Millennium has detached from docking pylon, umbilical away," Nog interjected.

"Aft thrusters," Janeway said. "Bring us to one quarter impulse, Mr. Nog."

"Aye, Captain," Nog responded obediently. "Clearing station traffic."

"Engineering reports warp engines are online," Zar reported.

Janeway checked the console on the arm of her throne-like chair, and glanced up. "Set a course for the transition launch coordinates, warp factor five."

"Aye, warp factor five," Nog responded eagerly.

Zar felt the hum of the warp engines reverberate through the vessel, a subtle vibration that always put a tiny tickle in his stomach, no matter how many times he had experienced it over the years. On the fore viewscreen, the stars began to streak in the characteristic pattern of warp, and around him, the bridge settled into the alpha shift routine. It would take approximately six hours to reach the coordinates where Millennium would activate the transition drive for the first time under actual working conditions.

Then they would be in another quadrant, one that Zar had never before seen, even if it was old hat for a few of the others on the bridge.

He could hardly wait.

The End

•  This is the second installment of the ST: Millennium series, the 'second half' of the pilot episode. It was posted July 6th, 2001.

• There is an accessory warning in effect for this story.

Past Provocations II
G. L. Dartt

"What's the worst thing that could happen?"

The captain was aware of Dr. Pulaski crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at her, and she resisted the urge to smile. The medical officer was a slight woman, though tall, with snowy hair and an imposing attitude. Pulaski had known Kathryn Janeway for a long time, and it accorded her a certain informality with the captain that perhaps other officers wouldn't have ... or try to exploit.

"Do you want a list?" Obviously, the doctor was more than a little exasperated with the captain's stubbornness.

"So I become a little nauseous," Janeway said, leaning over the coffee table as she poured herself a mug of coffee from a silver thermos. She lifted an eyebrow at her chief medical officer, an unspoken offer of refreshment to which Pulaski shook her head. "Where's the harm?"

"Plenty if you're not sedated for the jump," the doctor stated with authority.

Janeway tried not to sigh. The Millennium's experimental propulsion system had been designed by Dr. Leah Brahms, and built by the Theoretical Propulsion Group at Utopia Planitia, utilizing a combination of Borg transwarp technology, old Federation theories, and some of the same slipstream conduit technology which had brought Janeway's previous vessel, the USS Voyager, back to the Federation after being lost in the Delta Quadrant for seven years. It was capable of propelling a starship extravagant distances in a matter of minutes via a subspace conduit, entering and exiting at a prearranged set of coordinates, and granting the vessel the opportunity to explore unknown space that would otherwise take decades to reach at traditional warp. However, there was a tiny glitch when it came to using it ... at least for Humans of Terran extraction. It was the first time Janeway ever had cause to be annoyed at being from Earth.

"Furthermore, it's more than 'a little nauseous'," Pulaski continued. "According to all the reports I've read, your brain chemistry will be altered, leaving you with a blinding headache, disorientation, then finally, a debilitating nausea before lapsing into unconsciousness."

"I've suffered worse," Janeway said breezily as she faced the doctor, sipping her coffee. "You should have been there the morning of my wedding."

"No, Kathryn," Pulaski said flatly, refusing to be amused. "You haven't experienced anything like this."

Janeway paused for a second, detecting the edge in the other woman's voice. "Doctor, if I can't be alert and active when my starship attempts this maneuver, how can the crew respect me?" she asked reasonably.

"How much will they respect you when you toss your cookies on the bridge?" Pulaski countered immediately. "When you start to choke on it, when you start to lose control of the rest of your bodily functions..."

"All right," Janeway said, holding up her hand to forestall the gory details. "I hadn't realized it was that extreme."

"Of course you did," Pulaski said, tilting her head as she regarded her with pale blue eyes. "You read the same reports I did. You just refuse to believe it will be as bad for you, but Kathryn, every Human of Terran extraction on board this vessel must be medicated and sedated before we jump. I know you're the captain, but do try to maintain some touch with reality. Even you can't control everything."

That one stung, and Janeway straightened her shoulders beneath the greyish padding of her uniform. From anyone else, she simply wouldn't have taken it, but this woman had been one of her professors at the Academy, and had recently been dragged out of semi-retirement at the captain's request, accepting, for all intents and purposes, a demotion to do so. Still, as commander of the vessel, Janeway knew such an attitude could not be tolerated beyond a certain point. She just wasn't sure they had reached it yet, nor what exactly she was prepared to do when they did.

"Doctor, is it possible to treat the symptoms without rendering me unconscious?" she demanded.

"Don't you think I would have offered that option if it were available?" Pulaski asked reasonably.

Janeway eyed her. "Not if it gave you the opportunity to put me in my place," she said mildly.

Pulaski started to respond to that, hesitated, and then frowned as she regarded the captain. "No," she said finally, as if sensing that she had wandered dangerously close to a line she wasn't quite ready to cross ... yet. "There isn't. In order to survive the effect the transition has on Human brain chemistry with the least amount of damaging consequences, complete sedation is necessary."

"Why isn't Seven affected?" Janeway asked. "She's Human. Her parents were Terran."

"However, she was born on a frontier colony and raised on a starship, which altered her brain chemistry enough so that she's not Terran herself. We are as much products of the environment we spend our childhood in as we are of our genetics, Kathryn," the doctor said. "Even if that weren't the case, however, Seven's nanoprobes create a buffer that counteracts the effects of the jump." She lifted a brow. "I read your medical record. You had the nanoprobes once. I imagine if you ask her nicely, Seven would assimilate you again."

"You're not funny," Janeway remarked.

"I'm not trying to be," Pulaski said.

There was a chime at the door, and both women looked toward the lower level; Pulaski with obvious irritation at the interruption, Janeway with a bit of relief. "Come," she instructed.

The door slid open and Millennium's first officer entered the captain's ready room. Tall, broad shouldered, with predominantly Cardassian features, Zar Tulek hesitated briefly when he saw the captain wasn't alone.

"What is it?" Janeway prompted.

"We just received a communication from the USS Sullivan," he explained, moving up the ramp to the upper level where the women were, presenting a padd to the captain. "Apparently they have an officer who wishes to transfer to the Millennium, and they're willing to rendezvous with us long enough to do a transport before we reach the transition coordinates ... if you're agreeable, of course."

Janeway glanced at the tiny viewscreen, a wide smile spreading across her face as she read the name of the officer who wished to transfer to her command. She knew of at least one person on board who would simply be thrilled at the last minute addition.

"Do it," she said. "This is a proven officer whose abilities should come in handy in the upcoming mission."

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, shot a curious look at the doctor, then left, returning to the bridge where he was holding the conn. Janeway glanced after him, then focused her attention on Pulaski, who was watching her narrowly.

"So, has the Doctor chosen a name?" she asked, referring to the EMH who was serving as the third medical officer in sickbay.

"Don't try to change the subject," Pulaski growled, refusing to be diverted. "Kathryn, I need to know that you're going to be sedated before we make that jump, even if I have to personally be the one to administer it."

"I'll make the decision when it's time," Janeway said, putting her hand on the doctor's elbow and urging her toward the door.

"We'll be at the coordinates in four hours," Pulaski said. "It makes no sense to delay, particularly since sickbay is already busy preparing the others in the crew who require this medication." She paused. "Do I have to use my CMO authority here, Kathryn? It's a little early in the game for me to have to resort to that."

"Fine," Janeway said, annoyed. "Prepare a hypospray and have it sent to the bridge. I'll remain in my ready room and administer it before the jump ... or have one of the bridge officers do it. Will that satisfy you?"

Pulaski stopped, staring at her. "This isn't about command authority, Kathryn," she said. "I'm not kidding here. If you attempt to go through the jump without medication, and without being monitored, you could find yourself in a lot of trouble."

"Prepare the hypospray," Janeway repeated, her gaze steady.

Pulaski stared at her, then her lips tightened, and she left the ready room. Shaking her head, Janeway returned to her desk which was tucked away in the small nook created by the circular ramps leading to the upper level. She was sure the doctor was overreacting, exaggerating the effects of the jump, particularly since a great many of the crew, whom she considered to be perfectly Human, would not require the medication. She found it extremely difficult to believe that simply being born and growing up on Earth was the catalyst to provide such a result when combined with a transition jump. It was ridiculous.

When the hypospray arrived, she would quietly tuck the medication away for the next time, if she deemed it necessary. This time, however, she had every intention of going through the transition unaided. As captain, she couldn't allow her vessel to be deprived of its commanding officer simply because of some opinion sent down by some medical officer in Starfleet Administration who had never experienced deep space travel before. They always overcompensated when dealing with experimental technology. Janeway had a strong stomach, an iron constitution and a will that could bend duranium if required. She could handle it.

Her decision made, she began to go through some last minute preparations. In addition to sedating the percentage of the crew who happened to be of Terran extraction, it was important that the various departments be locked down for this trip which would carry them seventy thousand light years from their launch point. The drive was predicated upon having a precise set of coordinates at each end of the subspace corridor, and while the ship was within the transition stage itself, they would be unable to detect normal space around them, or rather, by the time the sensors detected it, they were already long past it. To activate the drive, the vessel had to reach warp 9.5 in an empty stretch of space prior to entering the corridor. Upon leaving the corridor, the engines needed a certain amount of time and distance to power down to prevent shaking the ship apart.

It seemed a great deal more complicated to operate than the slipstream drive had been, she decided, but on the other hand, the slipstream drive had not been very accurate, diverting them further away from their target coordinates the longer they were within the corridor. Such a hit-or-miss proposition was not the case with the transition drive, nor did it possess the other disadvantage of the slipstream drive, which was the unfortunate tendency to burn out the transwarp coils after only two or three activations, leaving the ship incapable of warp propulsion at all. The transition drive, although requiring a certain amount of preparation each time it was used, did not damage the coils at all, and could be activated as long as there was enough warp power to open a corridor. Not to mention the fact that it only took about thirty minutes to travel across the vast distances, while the slipstream drive had taken hours.

Ultimately, however, neither was useful for space exploration in itself. One could not really make scientific discoveries on the fly, and the sensors had only been advanced to the point where the crew would be alerted if there was something large waiting for them within the corridor itself. Not that they could do anything about it in that case, of course, other than have a few brief seconds to make their peace with their respective deities. Even if the sensors were somehow made sensitive enough to detect an obstacle sooner, the starship's course still could not be altered as it traveled from point A to point B ... not without severe damage to the structural integrity field, assuming they held together at all.

For everything, there was a tradeoff, Janeway thought. Though Millennium could leap unimaginable distances across space, it was only safe to do so because the computer had the precise coordinates already recorded by Voyager years earlier when it had been dragged into the Delta Quadrant by an entity known as the Caretaker. Any exploration from that point would have to be done the old fashioned way, and while Millennium would be able to record further safe coordinates as they explored using traditional warp, they wouldn't be able to make a jump to where they hadn't already been ... or rather, they couldn't do it with absolute certainty about what they would find. Without knowing what existed at a specific set of coordinates, the ship could emerge from transition into anything from a star going nova to the middle of a starship race.

As it were, they were still taking a risk with the upcoming transition jump. The farthest coordinates the Federation possessed was the star system containing the Caretaker's array. If that area of space now possessed a great deal of starship traffic, or something such as an asteroid happened to be passing by at those exact coordinates, Millennium wouldn't know it until it had exited at warp 9.5 ... and plowed through it, undoubtedly destroying themselves and whatever had been in their way. The vastness of space lowered the odds of such a thing happening, of course, but there was a certain gamble when trying something experimental. That appealed to Janeway as far as her more reckless side was concerned, but the responsible part of her found it a little nerve-racking.

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to be rendered unconscious during the jump after all, she thought. That way, she'd never know if it all went wrong.

"Bridge to Lt. Hansen."

Seven glanced up from her console in the lab on deck fifteen, tilting her head curiously as she heard the hail over her comm badge. She wasn't sure she liked being addressed by her Human designation, particularly in her spouse's voice, but she couldn't deny she was becoming more used to it the longer she wore the uniform of Starfleet.

"Seven here," she replied calmly. "Go ahead, Captain."

"Seven," Janeway explained, "we've just rendezvoused with the USS Sullivan in order to bring on board a last minute transfer of personnel. I need you to meet the officer in transporter room one."

Seven blinked, having no idea why she would be dispatched for such a task. It seemed outside the purview of her duties.

"Captain?" she responded uncertainly.

"Sorry, Seven, I can't spare anyone else at the moment," Janeway said. "This requires a senior officer."

"Yes, Captain," Seven said, deciding that made sense, knowing how busy it would be on the bridge.

Nodding at another scientist who was working at a console not far from her, she indicated that he was to join her. After checking with him to be sure he knew how to finish the task of securing the lab in preparation for the upcoming transition jump, she headed for the nearest turbolift, instructing it to take her to deck ten where the main transporter room was located. The transporter operator was apparently waiting for her arrival, glancing at her expectantly as she took up a position by the console.

Seven dipped her head, indicating she was ready, and then glanced at the dais, linking her hands behind her back as she waited patiently. The operator activated the controls, a mild hum rising as sparkles appeared over three of the circles on the transporter pad. Seven was surprised, distinctly remembering that Janeway had referred to only one new officer being transferred to their vessel. The sparkles coalesced into three figures, one tall, two a fraction of the size, and the Borg suddenly understood why the captain had dispatched her to greet the last minute additions to the crew.

"Seven!"

The surprisingly large form of Naomi Wildman sprang from the transporter pad almost before she had finished materializing, dashing across the deck to fling herself in the Borg's arms. Hugging her tightly, Seven listened to her babble and smiled widely as Samantha, now a junior lieutenant, stepped off the dais. The biometrics officer was carrying her two bags, and accompanied by her other daughter, Mezoti, a child who, like Seven, had been liberated from the Collective while Voyager had been in the Delta Quadrant.

"I didn't think we'd make it," the stocky blonde woman said, returning the Borg's smile. "I'm so grateful to both Captain Janeway and Captain Thorn in making this transfer possible."

"I am very glad to see you all," Seven said with great sincerity, reaching out with her free arm to hug Mezoti, less effusive than her adoptive sister but apparently just as pleased to see the woman who had acted as her mentor on Voyager. "I did not know you were being transferred to Millennium."

"Does that mean you won't have room for me in your science department?" Samantha asked teasingly as she offered her identification chit to the transporter officer to register her on the crew roster.

"You will always have room in my department," Seven told her. She was not as close to the mother as she was to the children, but she greatly respected Samantha's abilities. Lt. Wildman would be a fine addition to Millennium's biometrics department in a professional capacity, and an incalculable addition to Seven's personal life. Suddenly, her entire day was looking up.

Hugging Naomi one more time, she reluctantly released her hold on the girl, still somewhat shocked at how much she had grown in the time they had been apart. "I cannot visit with you at the moment as I would like," she said regretfully. "We are preparing for the transition jump, and I must finish my tasks before reporting to the bridge."

"We understand," Samantha said, receiving her chit back from the transporter operator who would have encoded it with her new orders, along with her cabin assignment. "We'll settle in, and as soon as things calm down a bit, we'll get together."

"That would be acceptable," Seven said, beaming as the trio headed off to find their quarters.

The smile stayed with her as she checked the time and moved quickly for the turbolift, knowing that she was required to be on the bridge by now. As Seven stepped off the lift, the captain glanced over her shoulder and grinned crookedly, undoubtedly pleased that the surprise she had managed for her spouse had been so successful. The Borg offered her a look of pure devotion, loving the other woman with a pure and sweet intensity, before composing herself to move over to her station where she resumed her duties for preparing for the jump. She was aware of the first officer glancing at her with an odd expression on his angular features, but he didn't say anything to her. She suspected he was wondering why she was so happy, but now was not the time to discuss it. She knew her new friend would understand once she had explained to him how much the arrival of Naomi and Mezoti meant to her.

It was only a few moments later that the Doctor arrived on the bridge. The Emergency Medical Hologram was a sparse figure beneath his long white lab coat, and he took a moment to look around the bridge appreciably after leaving the turbolift. Curious, the Borg looked back over her shoulder at him, surprised when he shot what appeared to be an apprehensive look at the captain before heading directly for the science officer's station. He was carrying a hypospray and another tiny box, a monitoring device of some sort.

"Instructions from Dr. Pulaski," he said, in a voice that was slightly louder than it had to be as he handed it to the young woman. "This is for the captain. You are to administer the sedative to her, and make sure the monitor is activated so that the bio-readings are transmitted to sickbay prior to the transition jump."

Bemused, Seven accepted the equipment, aware of Janeway, who was across the bridge at an auxiliary engineering station, turning to look sharply at them. The Doctor became aware of the glare as well, and he offered the captain a brittle smile.

"Don't shoot the messenger," he requested, before turning around and hastily vacating the bridge.

Seven, unsure what that was about, glanced at the captain. She was surprised to see a steel glint in her eyes indicating that Janeway was absolutely furious. That was when Seven realized her spouse had been contemplating going through the jump without medication. Had the young woman been aware Janeway was entertaining such a reckless idea, she would have confronted her spouse about it long before now. Part of the team performing the initial tests on the propulsion system, Seven had witnessed the full effects of what happened to Humans of Terran extraction who jumped without assistance. She would never allow her spouse to experience it.

As the science officer, Seven of Nine had absolutely no authority to demand the captain be placed under sedation if that wasn't Janeway's wish. As her spouse, however, she would have to insist upon it. Yet, to do so on the bridge would challenge the captain's authority, and not even a captain's spouse had the right to do that. In fact, perhaps a spouse had less right than anyone else, because of the conflict of interest involved. In contrast, the captain, with such a public announcement of her medication arriving, was placed in the position of having to openly refuse to take it in order to retain command of the ship through the jump. Janeway was no fool. She knew such a declaration would push her spouse into a position of challenging her directly which would not be good for either of them. Seven's regard for Pulaski's deviousness increased considerably.

The knowledge of the situation was exchanged in a single glance between them, then Janeway lifted her chin and glanced at Zar who was apparently unaware of the subtle undercurrents going on around him.

"Mr. Zar, you have the bridge," she said, her tone a little icier than it would otherwise have been. "Set course for the coordinates at warp 9.5, activate the transition drive, and take the ship through the jump."

"Aye, Captain," he replied, detecting her mood, and uncertain from where it originated. He offered Seven an odd look as he stood up from his first officer station, as if hoping the Borg could provide some explanation, and moved to the upper level, taking a seat in the command chair. Janeway strode briskly for the ready room door which was located at the rear of the bridge, between the two turbolift shafts. She did not look back at her science officer. "Lt. Hansen, you're with me."

Seven dipped her head and followed the angry captain into her office. Once inside, she lifted a brow as Janeway stomped up the ramps leading to the upper level and the sofa, waving her hands, obviously agitated and upset.

"I can't believe she did that," she said furiously. "Who the hell does she think she is?"

"Your CMO is responsible for the health of the crew," Seven said coolly as she preparedthe hypospray. "I cannot believe that you were prepared to attempt this jump without the proper medication."

Janeway turned and glared at her, suddenly provided with a nice target on which to focus her aggravation. "Lieutenant, I am perfectly capable of commanding this vessel without..." she began angrily.

"No, you are not," Seven interrupted, her own anger rising, leaving behind her professional role on the ship to become the woman's spouse. "I have seen, first hand, the results of the jump on Terrans, Kathryn. You could not continue to function while undergoing such debilitating physical reactions." Janeway blinked, surprised at the heat in her partner's voice. Seven sighed, softening. "I know it is difficult for you to believe without experiencing it yourself," she added in a gentler tone. "You find it hard to trust reports and papers that indicate it would affect you, but trust me, Kathryn." She held out the hypospray. "Take the medication. Please."

Janeway frowned, her brows lowered, her arms crossed firmly over her chest as she refused to accept the medical devices. "I know it might be trying for others to have me on the bridge during transition. However, if something goes wrong, the ship may need my experience. If I stay in the ready room during the jump..."

"Who will be assigned to stay with you?" Seven interrupted flatly. "Kathryn, the effects are such that you could conceivably lose control of all your bodily functions, something the medication is designed to prevent. Such a complete loss of motor function would leave you extremely vulnerable. You would require someone standing by in order to provide you with immediate treatment." She lifted her brow. "Who on this vessel would you trust to see you in such astate? The Doctor? He is the only physician on duty for the transition because both Pulaski and Spencer are Terran. Would you take him away from monitoring the well-being of the entire ship just to be at your side as you attempt to suffer the effects of a transition jump without medication? Myself? I am the officer most familiar with this drive. Would you have me leave my post on the bridge at such a crucial time in order to remain with you? Ro Laren? B'Elanna Torres? Is their presence at their posts not required, Kathryn?"

Janeway's respiration was heavy, her chest heaving, her eyes dark and grey.

"I'm being an ass, aren't I?"

Seven tilted her head. "You do not wish to relinquish control of your vessel," she allowed in an understanding tone. "Particularly since you have only read the reports and have not actually witnessed a transition jump. You believe in your heart that you are letting down the crew by handing over command to someone else during this delicate time, particularly since you do not know Commander Zar that well. However, Kathryn, there is simply no other choice."

"Every instinct tells me not to do this," Janeway said crossly

"Intellect tells you that you must, however," Seven countered evenly.

Janeway stared at her for a moment more, searching her face, demanding her assurance that the Borg was being completely honest with her. Seven did not alter her stern expression, and finally, the captain dipped her head and moved over to the sofa, stretching out on its cushions. Seven felt no triumph at her partner's surrender. Rather, she was saddened by it, knowing that she was the only one on the ship to whom the captain could relinquish her position of authority, and aware that Pulaski knew it, too. She sat on the edge of the sofa beside the supine captain and carefully strapped the tiny box to Janeway's arm, making sure it was activated. The bio-readings would be transmitted to sickbay where they would be monitored by the Doctor, along with the readings from the other medicated Terrans.

"This is such a ridiculous way to travel," Janeway grumbled.

Seven eyed her. "It is the reality of the transition drive," she said quietly. She raised the hypospray, and the captain held up her hand.

"No," Janeway said tightly. "I'll do it."

Seven hesitated, and then handed her the hypospray containing the medication. Janeway looked at her darkly, inhaling deeply as she lifted the device to her neck and activated it, a soft hiss reaching the Borg's ears as the contents were injected into her partner's bloodstream.

Immediately, Janeway's eyelids fluttered and her head slumped back, the hypospray dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers. Seven caught it before it fell, and found a light afghan which she draped over the unconscious form of her spouse. She leaned down and gently kissed Janeway on the forehead, despairing of the captain's stubbornness, even as she loved her dearly for it. It had caused her spouse such grief in the past ... and undoubtedly would cause her more problems in the future ... yet, dealing with it was part of Seven's responsibility to her partner. To remind her that, for all her indomitable will and great abilities, Janeway was still very much Human.

Shaking her head slightly, she left Janeway on the sofa, moving down the ramp to return to the bridge and her post where she was assigned for the upcoming jump.

Commander Zar glanced over as he heard the subtle hiss of the turbolift. Seven of Nine came onto the bridge after greeting the new arrival in transporter room one. Her narrow features were bright, a smile edging her full lips, and she looked entirely unlike the person he had come to know over the past few days. It was apparent that whomever she had met, it was someone very special to her on a personal level. Feeling a twinge, he savagely clamped down on it, not needing such a distraction at the moment. From the corner of his eye, he noted the Borg shooting a look at the captain. It was a gaze of pure and unadulterated devotion before Seven lowered her eyes and moved over to her science station in the lower level of the command deck which was euphemistically referred to as 'the pit'. The first officer's station was next to the Borg's, and he had an unobstructed view of the young woman as she worked. It made it difficult to concentrate on his own duties, and he had to force himself to turn his eyes back to his board.

Seven had been the first person he had met from Millennium ... not counting the helmsman, Nog, who, like Zar, had been waiting to report at DS9. Her easy and open acceptance of him had touched the hybrid's heart in a way he hadn't expected. Always scoffing at those stories with characters experiencing love at first sight, of meeting someone and experiencing instant chemistry and attraction, he was somewhat horrified to discover it happening to him. Seven and he had shared lunch on the station, talking for a couple of hours about her work which fascinated him almost as much as she did. Later, he had asked her out, and after an initial refusal, she had suggested that they get together for dinner in her quarters the next night.

Suddenly, the universe had been a much brighter place, and the struggles he had faced as the offspring of a Cardassian in the Federation seemed inconsequential. He could not wait for the mission to begin, knowing that he and the beautiful young woman would be serving together for a year, on a vessel cut off from the rest of the Federation which was bound to draw the crew closer regardless of professional protocols.

Then he discovered she was married, and that her invitation for dinner and scientific discussion had been exactly that and nothing more. Fortunate to discover it prior to showing up for the meal, he was further relieved to find that others had also been invited for the evening, preventing a potentially awkward situation. However, while he knew he couldn't pursue Seven romantically, it didn't mean his heart was registering the message as quickly as his head. Indeed, it seemed that every time he saw her, the emotion became more intense, despite his best effort to suppress it. Of course, after witnessing a few more looks like that from her to her spouse, any lingering infatuation would probably be cured, he decided, though it still hurt to know Seven would probably never offer him such an emotionally charged gaze.

Inhaling deeply, he concentrated on making sure all the departments were secured, and that the preparations for the jump were coming along smoothly. He was aware that about ten percent of the crew was of Terran extraction, including a few key officers, which meant they would be unavailable for the jump. Another five percent, though not Terran, were also being sedated, just in case. He glanced over at the captain, wondering when she was going to take her medication. For that matter, he wondered when she was going to turn command over to him as expected and retire to her quarters.

Time was growing progressively short, and it occurred to him that she might not intend to be medicated, despite the reports that such an action would be inadvisable. He frowned, wondering what he should do in that event. He knew he had the authority to question her actions, but he certainly didn't want to do it this early. They hadn't operated as a command team nearly long enough to have such a debate so soon. Was that the reason she wasn't going to take the medication? Because she didn't trust him to take her ship through the jump?

The arrival of the Doctor, apparently an EMH of some kind, prevented Zar from worrying about it further. The medication delivered to the science officer, along with strict instructions from the CMO on how to administer it to the captain, apparently forced the issue. Zar rose quickly to his feet as the captain addressed him, formally handing over command. From the look in her eyes, however, he could tell Janeway wasn't pleased. Did that have to do with him? Or was it simply because she hated to abdicate her command for anyone? For his own peace of mind, he decided to believe it was the latter, rather than think his captain might be having difficulty getting past his appearance in order to treat him as her proper second in command.

Lt. Hansen ... Seven, he reminded himself, a Borg designation that she preferred and that most of the rest of the crew called her ... accompanied the captain into the ready room as he took his place in the command chair.

He glanced around the bridge as he sank into the comfortable cushions, feeling the same sense of nervousness he always did at taking the center seat. Janeway would be totally unavailable for this jump, even if things went wrong, and it would be completely his responsibility as senior officer to handle things. Sitting in this center chair overlooking the bridge crew as a king would gaze upon his court from his throne, he felt slightly dizzy. In the past, Zar knew that there had been an attempt to incorporate the command position with the rest of the bridge, placing the chair in line with the first officer and counselor, bringing it down to the level of the other stations. With Millennium, however, Starfleet had gone back to an older style of design, where the command chair was separate and distinct from the rest of the bridge crew, elevated and positioned so that everything was in front of the captain, making it very clear who was in command.

He swallowed hard and told himself not to be nervous. He had been placed in varied command situations over the span of his career which meant this was nothing new. The fact that it was the largest ship to which he had ever been assigned, that this vessel boasted the NX in front of its call letters indicating it was an experimental vessel, that he had never been responsible for so many crewmembers in such a phenomenal venture, were things he tried very hard not to think about.

At tactical, Lt. Commander Ro Laren maintained her board, ignoring the change of command. She was Bajoran, and to this point, had shown little regard for the first officer. As the chief of security and third in command, she should be the one to act as his exec during this jump. However, she didn't appear to making any attempt to move into the role. The last thing they needed was a clash of personalities, particularly if things did not go as smoothly as planned. That meant that Seven, as science officer, would be the next obvious choice, and he suspected that they would work smoothly together. He reminded himself sharply that he had to be able to work with Ro Laren in the future, and the sooner he found out if they could both get past certain biases and reservations, the better it would be.

"Commander Ro," he said quietly. "If you please."

Ro started abruptly, glancing at him in what might have been surprise, but after only a slight hesitation, she dipped her head. "Aye, sir," she responded. She didn't even choke on the formal address, he was pleased to note.

Relinquishing her post to another crewmember for a brief moment, Ro strode gracefully around the bridge, her motion that of a dancer ... or an assassin. This was the typical last minute visual check on the other posts, and it seemed to him that her eyes were unnaturally dark, the brooding features frozen. Obviously, she was uncomfortable, but neither of them had much choice in the matter. It was not required that senior staff members like each other, but they did need to be able to work together. He made a mental note to try to get to know Ro better, to reach out in the near future to try to bridge the chasm brought on by political and cultural influences.

"What's the status with sickbay?" he asked, resting his hands lightly on the arms of the chair.

"Dr. Pulaski has transferred control of sickbay to the Doctor. ... to Dr. Lewis," Ro said, faltering over the name as she looked over Elisa Tarn's shoulder. Zar wasn't sure why, but suspected it had to do with an EMH taking on an actual name. He remembered some mention of it being an issue when he had met the CMO, and when he had been at dinner with Seven, the other guests had included the hologram. His choice of 'Dr. E.M. Lewis' had generated much discussion, and Zar had understood that the 'Lewis' came from his creator in some fashion. "He reports that the members of the crew requiring sedation are being monitored. He's also requesting that anyone else who suffers ill effects from the jump report to sickbay as soon as possible."

"Time to launch?" he asked.

"Two minutes," Lt. Nog reported from the helm. "USS Endeavor remains on a parallel course aft and starboard."

"Just make sure they stay out of the way," Zar muttered, dismissing the Starfleet science vessel. It would be Millennium's last direct communication with the Federation until they returned, and Starfleet had deemed it necessary that the Nebula-class vessel be present both to monitor the jump, and to see them off as a sort of honor guard.

From the corner of his eye, he detected a hint of motion, and he watched as Seven quietly took her place at the science station, her face composed and still. He wanted to ask if the captain had been sedated, and then decided that the Borg probably wouldn't be out here if Janeway hadn't. He touched the controls on the arm of his chair, accessing the ship-wide communications grid.

"All hands, prepare for transition," he said, and cut the channel.

"Engineering reports warp engines are at full," Ro said professionally, resuming her place at tactical. "Shields at maximum."

"Current speed is at warp seven," Nog reported.

"Let it loose, Lieutenant," Zar commanded. "Increase to warp factor nine."

"USS Endeavor wishes us good luck and godspeed," Ensign Tarn reported from Ops. Fresh from the Academy, this was the young redhead's first tour of duty, and she seemed a little jittery, her voice edged with nervousness. "They're reducing speed and falling off."

In contrast, the more experienced Nog was completely cool. "Increasing speed to warp factor nine." The Ferengi's hands on his helm were delicate but sure, and Zar could almost feel the power ripple through the ship as all the energy from the engines was channeled into the warp manifold.  "We are at warp nine. Increasing to warp nine point one."

"All systems remain optimal," Tarn said. "Structual integrity field at one hundred percent."

"We are at nine point two," the helmsman informed the commander in his high, piping voice.

"Activate transition drive," Zar ordered.

"Transition drive activated," Seven spoke precisely. "Energy coils are online."

"The coordinates have been set," Ro said smoothly. "Subspace corridor is forming."

"Nine point three," Nog said. "Nine point four."

There was a slight vibration, a hum, and on the fore viewscreen, a small distortion appeared, growing larger as they approached the jump coordinates.

"Nine point five," Nog announced at the same time that Seven remarked casually "Corridor has been accessed."

There was a minor jolt as the Millennium entered the subspace conduit, and on the viewscreen, the image of stars shooting past gave way to a circular tunnel of light and color, swirling in a morass of flickering illumination and flashes of energy. It was difficult to watch for very long, and even Zar found that he could not look directly at it for more than a minute at a time without becoming queasy.

"Structural integrity remains at ninety-seven percent," Tarn said. The young woman's jaw was set firm, and Zar could see her swallow convulsively now and again. Although of Human extraction, the young ensign was from a planet in the Argalis Cluster, and deemed immune to the effects of the drive. Zar wondered if that was wishful thinking on the part of the medical staff.

He frowned and looked around, noting that the genetically Human crew members who had escaped sedation because of their non-Terran brain chemistry, appeared vaguely ill. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, but there was a difference in how the ship was traveling that went beyond what he was seeing on the viewscreen, and what the sensors were telling him. It wasn't a vibration exactly, or a sound, but something different and tangible was present in this mode of travel, leaving him with a sense of uneasiness and a metallic taste at the back of his throat.

"Transition at five percent completion," Seven remarked. Zar wondered if that sudden terseness to her tone was because she was fully involved with monitoring the drive, or if she, too, was feeling the effects of the jump.

At five percent completion, that meant they had already covered 3500 light-years, well out of Federation territory at this point. Zar caught his breath, astounded at the reality of what they were doing, and feeling more than a little awed as well. Every minute that passed meant huge chunks of distance being eaten up, of passing by countless worlds, systems, anomalies, unknown and unseen. The tension on the bridge remained high, and there were no extraneous conversations, only terse reports of the vessel's progress.

"Transition at twenty-five percent completion," Seven announced.

"Engine room reports all levels are in the green," Ro said. "Targeting coordinates remain firm."

"Understood," Zar said, pleased. Everything was going as smoothly as he could have hoped, and the crew seemed to be withstanding the physical effects, even if it wasn't particularly pleasant. Fortunately, they only had about fifteen more minutes to go.

"Transition at fifty percent completion."

Zar inhaled. They were now 35,000 light years from the Federation, perhaps in Borg space at this moment. Were they detectable to the Collective? If so, it wouldn't take long to find out since the terrifying cybernetic beings possessed their own form of transwarp propulsion. However, the minutes continued to pass without incident, and he straightened in his chair.

"All hands, stand by for jump completion," he announced finally. The rest of the bridge crew became even more alert, if that were possible, and he glanced over at his acting exec. "Tactical?"

"All weapons are online," Ro said. "Phasers are standing by." It wasn't as if they would have time to use them, of course, should something nasty be waiting for them on the other side, but Zar was aware it provided a tiny, psychological sense of security. "Shields at maximum."

"As soon as we're clear and the conduit has collapsed, power down to warp six, Lt. Nog," Zar ordered.

"Understood, Commander."

"Approaching exit coordinates," Ro commented.

"Brace for exit," Zar said, his fingers tightening on the arms of his chair.

"Sensors detect no obstacles," Tarn remarked, though that was an afterthought. The sensors simply weren't fast enough to detect anything at this speed. By the time she said it, they were already past the farthest point the sensors could discern.

There was another jolt, the swirling colors and light on the screen dissipating with a bright flash that left the bridge crew blinking painfully. Zar made a note to have the viewscreen dimmed for any future jumps. Abruptly, they were back in real space, tearing along at warp nine, though as soon as they were clear, Nog immediately began to rein in the ship, fighting it slightly, as if it were a stallion finally running free and not anxious to slow to the pressure of the bit.

"Transition jump complete," Seven said, a touch of satisfaction in her voice. "Subspace conduit has collapsed."

"Exit coordinates verified," Ro said. "Millennium is just outside the Ocampa star system."

"Lt. Nog, set course for the Ocampa homeworld," Zar instructed. "It's the fifth planet."

He leaned forward in his seat, keenly interested in the area which had drawn a tiny, Intrepid-class starship across two quadrants seven years earlier. Would Millennium's voyage in the Delta Quadrant be as significant and exciting as that vessel's journey had turned out to be?

Head pounding like a hammer on an anvil, the nausea rising high and thick like acid in her mouth, Janeway awakened with a jolt. Gulping convulsively, she opened her eyes, blinking painfully as the lights of her ready room stabbed into her pupils like twin daggers. She put her hand over her face, wincing as she carefully sat up. She felt her stomach roll over, and every muscle felt as if it had been taken apart and put back together haphazardly, leaving her weak and drained. She hadn't felt this bad since her last hangover. Making a clumsy swipe for her comm badge, she missed it the first time before she finally managed to tap it on the second attempt.

"Captain to sickbay," she croaked.

"Sickbay here," came the cheerful tones of the Doctor. Apparently, he was enjoying the opportunity to be in charge while the other two medical officers were off duty.

"Doctor, I don't believe the medication worked," Janeway said. She stared dully across the ready room and tried to will her body to stop hurting, discovering that it had no more interest in obeying her orders than her partner did at times. She tasted bile at the back of her throat, and concentrated very hard on not vomiting, certain that the effort would cause her head to fly off her shoulders.

"If you're sitting up and talking so soon after the jump, then it worked," he said in that irritatingly sunny tone. "It obviously handled the worst of the effects."

Janeway gulped again. The worst of the effects?

"Doctor, I don't feel well," she tried again. "Is there anything you can give me."

"We already did, Captain," he explained. "What you're feeling is basically your brain chemistry settling back to normal, which will result in some lingering nausea and soreness. You'll just have to suffer through it, I'm afraid, and the symptoms should disappear on their own over the next ten to twenty minutes." He paused. "I really don't have time to chat, Captain. I have a few patients who, in retrospect, should have been sedated for the jump but weren't, and they're fully occupying my attention at the moment. It seems that all the Human crewmembers experienced symptoms to a certain extent."

"Understood," she said. "Keep me advised of the situation, Doctor."

Moving cautiously, she rose to her feet and tottered over to the replicator where she instructed it to provide a glass of ginger ale ... flat. She sipped the old fashioned soda carefully, pleased that one of her mother's favorite remedies proved immediately effective, her tender tummy quieting its complaints. Once she was sure that she was once again functioning with some alertness, she moved down to the lower level, feeling properly chastened. Obviously, Pulaski, Seven, and all those medical reports had not been exaggerating the effects of the transition jump on Humans, and she shuddered to think what might have happened had she stood by her refusal to be medicated.

She decided she owed Pulaski a bit of an apology, though that would probably give the CMO more ammunition to work with the next time they had a difference of opinion. She was very grateful that they would probably not have to access the drive again until it was time for Millennium to return to the Alpha Quadrant. That was a long time into the future at this point, and with any luck, perhaps Pulaski and her medical team would have come up with something more efficient to counteract the effects ... perhaps even one that would allow Janeway to remain functioning. She made a note to remind Pulaski to allocate a certain amount of resources into researching it during the mission.

Inhaling deeply, she straightened her tunic and strode out onto the bridge, the door of the ready room opening and closing with an inaudible displacement of air. She rather preferred being able to enter the bridge unnoticed, with not even by the sound of the door to announce her presence. It provided her with a private moment to survey her surroundings, checking the status of her staff. Zar was sitting in the command chair while the rest of the bridge crew appeared to be working attentively at their stations. On the viewscreen, a planet curved across a portion of it, the shimmer around the horizon indicating an atmosphere. It was an unappealing world, brown, dusty, a planet without any blues or greens to indicate water or vegetation. It was also chillingly familiar, and for just a moment, Janeway was back to that time eight years earlier when she first beheld it, the future uncertain, knowing only that she and her ship were in a great deal of trouble after having been dragged across the galaxy by an uncaring entity.

She set her jaw firmly. This time, she was here on her own terms, she reminded herself. There were things to do and an entire quadrant to explore, neither of which were getting done with her gawking at the planet and wallowing in nostalgia.

"Report," she said briskly, making her presence felt.

Zar stood up immediately, turning his head as he relinquished command to her with hardly an alteration of expression. She wondered why she had been so concerned about it, and decided it was just her subconscious need to always be in control causing her unnecessary ... and unworthy ... trepidation about the young man.

"The exit coordinates were accurate," he said as he stood beside her chair, hands linked behind his back. "We are now in orbit around the planet designated as the Ocampa homeworld."

"Any contact with them?" she asked as she took a seat.

"Not yet," he said.

Ro glanced over from her position at tactical. "The sensors aren't detecting any power signatures," she informed Janeway.

"Nor are the sensors picking up any life signs on the planet," Tarn volunteered.

"None at all?" Janeway lifted an eyebrow, thinking of the Kazon-Ogla who had maintained a colony of sorts on the surface. Apparently, they had finally surrendered to the reality of a world which possessed no nucleogenic particles in the atmosphere, making it impossible for the planet to produce clouds and rain.

"The Ocampa are located three kilometers underground," Seven explained to the young operations officer in a tone that indicated Tarn should have known. "Increase power to scans to compensate for a subterranean barrier."

Janeway made a note that the ensign had not briefed herself thoroughly on Voyager's initial mission. It wasn't required that Tarn do so, of course, but it would have been a mark of a good officer if she had. Of course, it was possible the captain and the Borg were expecting too much of the young woman on her first official alpha shift duty. Patience, Janeway reminded herself.

"Aye, sir," Tarn said in a subdued tone, and proceeded to run a few more scans.

"Sickbay reports lingering illness among the crew throughout the ship," Zar reported. "However, it isn't anything they're unable to handle. Doctors Pulaski and Spencer have returned to duty."

"Very good," the captain said. She took the opportunity to step down from her command chair onto the lower level where her spouse was working. Leaning over the young woman's shoulder, Janeway rested her hand unobtrusively on her upper back. Seven looked a trifle ill, her face paler than normal, with a certain tightness around her eyes. Janeway knew that even her partner had experienced a bit of the transition effect, despite her nanoprobes.

"The slipstream drive didn't affect the crew of Voyager like this," the captain murmured.

"Voyager's slipstream drive was not very accurate," Seven reminded her with a slight edge in her tone. "To create a subspace corridor where there is no drift and the exit coordinates are always precise, unaffected by spatial phenomena, the transition stream has to be many times faster, with a denser, more refined conduit. Those enhancements are undoubtedly the cause of the debilitating physical effects, though why they are hardest on Terrans is, as yet, unknown."

Janeway considered that. "No such thing as a free lunch, I guess," she said.

"Please, do not say 'lunch'," Seven begged.

Janeway glanced at her, smiled faintly at the unintentional humor, and patted her on the shoulder. "Sorry," she apologized. She moved over to tactical where Ro was concentrating on maintaining the shields and constantly scanning for the presence of any Kazon vessels coming to investigate the Millennium's sudden arrival in the Delta Quadrant. "Anything?"

"Nothing so far," Ro said.

Janeway nodded and moved across to Ops, passing behind the helm to which she only gave a fleeting glance, though she muttered in passing, "Well done, Lieutenant. You handled the ship admirably in the conduit."

"Thank you, Captain," Nog murmured in return. Not effusively grateful ... merely a professional acknowledgment of her approval. Janeway liked that.

Ensign Tarn did not look up as the captain paused by her console, but from the flush at the back of her neck, Janeway knew the young woman was aware of her. She resisted the urge to smile, remembering how nervous she had been on her first assignment. She recognized that this bridge crew wasn't the smoothly functioning unit she was used to on Voyager, but that would come with time.

"Report," she said.

"Sensors have detected the barrier, but nothing beyond," Tarn said. "As of yet, I'm unable to find any breeches in the field through which a transporter signal could penetrate."

"The barrier was decaying the last time we were here," Ro interjected, and Janeway turned to regard her, raising her eyebrow in interest. "However, the whole point to the Caretaker providing them with the last of his array's energy was to be sure they had the proper protection after he died."

"For approximately five years," Janeway said thoughtfully as she returned to her chair. "That's been exceeded, though it is possible the Ocampa found a way to extend their energy reserves and maintain the barrier's strength. It was certainly sealed up tight when we left."

"Without any tunnels to the surface, and no breeches in the subterranean barrier, it will be impossible to transport anyone down," Seven said, glancing back at the captain. "There is still no response to our hails."

"Captain, I am detecting a small fluctuation in the energy field," Tarn announced in triumph. "It's not very big, but I believe we can punch a transporter signal through it."

"Good work, Ensign," Janeway said with satisfaction. "Mr. Zar, lead an away team down there. See what's going on. Contact us as soon as you discover anything definite."

"Aye, Captain," Zar said. He paused for an infinitesimal second, mentally assembling his away team before tapping his comm badge. "Lt. Torres, report to transporter room one for away mission duty." He cut the channel. "Seven, Ensign Tarn, you're with me."

"I'll dispatch two security officers to accompany you," Ro said, receiving a nod from the Cardassian hybrid. The captain was pleased that Ro had thought to make the offer, but somewhat disappointed she hadn't offered to go. Patience, she reminded herself.  It wasn't just for the newcomers to her crew that the captain had to grant a certain leeway.

"Mr. Zar," Janeway offered mildly, "you might also want to take the Counselor. This is her homeworld after all."

"Of course," he said, dipping his head in acknowledgment of the suggestion as he headed for the turbolift, with Tarn and Seven in tow.

Just before they reached it, the Borg took a brief second to glance over her shoulder at the captain, a profound exchange of emotion with their eyes since neither knew what they would find down there. It was the reality of starship life that tragedy could strike at any moment, particularly when venturing into the unknown, but there was no hesitation from either of them. The significant look was necessary, however, regardless of who might notice it and what a lower ranked officer might think about it. It was a glance avowing how much Janeway and Seven loved each other, and that whatever happened, that devotion would never change.

Then the away team was gone, the turbolift door sliding shut with a subtle hiss, and Janeway resolutely turned her eyes forward, staring at the brown planet filling the viewscreen. She was reminded acutely of the last time she had seen this world, at what had been the beginning of a most remarkable adventure.

She assumed it would be the same in this case.

Seven lifted the tricorder as soon as she and the rest of the away team materialized in a broad plaza, the sound of a fountain burbling loudly in the still air. Beside her, Counselor Kes stepped forward, an expression of devastation on her elven features, and concerned, B'Elanna Torres reached out to put a hand on her shoulder in support. Both Ocampa and Klingon had served on Voyager together, and remained good friends.

"Kes?"

"I sense nothing," Kes said in a voice entirely unlike her own. It was bleak and empty.

Zar, his angular features somber, raised his tricorder. "Perhaps because there's nothing to sense," he said, frowning. "I'm not detecting any life forms above the level of insects."

Seven was curious as to why Kes thought she could 'sense' her people, since it was the Borg's understanding that all the young woman's psychic abilities had been 'burned out' when she and the holographic Sek had merged a year or so earlier. Had those neural pathways regenerated while Kes had served on the Enterprise? The science officer wasn't sure why it bothered her, but it did, as did the sense of desolation and abandonment that oppressed the away team. Not far away, the two security members that Ro had sent with them, Briggs and Graf, shifted uneasily, resting their hands on the phasers at their waist, their keen eyes constantly scanning their nearby surroundings. Briggs was a large man, dark-skinned and bald, while Graf was a statuesque woman with white blonde hair and pale eyes, both experienced officers and veterans of the Dominion War. They made a striking visual contrast standing there in the artificial illumination of the cavern.

"What now?" B'Elanna asked, glancing back at the first officer. Her tone was truculent, and Seven frowned as she looked at her friend. The engineer had been in a foul mood from the moment she had appeared ... late ... in the transporter room, and now she was regarding Zar with active dislike. It occurred to Seven that the Klingon, once a member of the Maquis, was not welcoming the new first officer with open arms. Such openly displayed antagonism from the engineer had not occurred since ... well, since Seven had first become a member of Voyager and the engineer had shown her distaste for the young Borg.

Zar frowned, looking at her. "Is there a problem here, Lieutenant?" he asked, leaning heavily on the rank.

B'Elanna glared at him, then lowered her gaze, apparently not ready to push it ... as yet.

"No," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Zar said, his voice becoming softer and more sinister, "I didn't hear you."

"No ... sir," B'Elanna said in a clearer voice, but the dark look she shot him was one of pure malice.

He stared at her, and then turned his head toward Seven, almost as if he didn't want to deal with the Klingon any longer. "Lt. Hansen, you take Torres and Briggs with you. Cover the city to the west. I'll take the Counselor, Tarn and Graf with me to cover the city to the east. Stay in touch and don't hesitate to hail if you spot anything out of the ordinary."

"What constitutes 'out of the ordinary'?" Seven wanted to know, surprised to have been placed in charge of her portion of the away team, since technically, the chief engineer had more seniority, but prepared to accept the responsibility.  B'Elanna, meanwhile, didn't look as if she cared one way or the other.

He grinned crookedly at the Borg, his boney features abruptly softening. "A life form," he offered. "Or some reason to explain why a world supposedly full of Ocampa appears to be deserted." He glanced up, looking at the large panels far above that simulated sunlight in this subterranean facility. "Is this on a cycle?" he asked, almost as an afterthought.

Kes lifted her head. "When I lived here, it was on a twenty hour rotation, ten hours of light, and ten of darkness," she said distantly. She looked overhead. "Judging from the 'sun', we have approximately four hours of 'daylight' left."

"If we find nothing, we'll meet back here in four hours," Zar said. He dipped his head at Seven. "Good luck."

She raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment, and moved toward the west, the rest of her team in tow. As they worked their way through the empty thoroughfares and echoing buildings, their mood grew progressively more tense. It was as if no one had ever lived here, as if the buildings and streets had sprung from the earth unassisted and were merely waiting for the first inhabitants. None of the interior rooms they searched held any clue as to what had happened to the thousands living in this subterranean cavern, only that the departure had been sudden and apparently unexpected. Items appeared here and there on the floor, covered in dust, indicating that perhaps a few beings had been up and about during that time, and had dropped them suddenly. However, there was no damage to the items, not as if they had been flung aside in an effort to flee. A check with the other away team indicated that they were coming across the same general evidence of desertion, along with the common conclusion that whatever happened, probably had done so at night when most of the populace was asleep. Seven terminated the communication with dissatisfaction, glancing around uneasily as they resumed their exploration.

Beside her, she was aware of B'Elanna moving guardedly, a disgruntled expression still on her face. Further back, Lt. Briggs brought up the rear, separated by a few yards as if aware that the other two officers might wish to have a private conversation.

"Lt. Torres," Seven began in a low tone, aware that they were on duty and that she should be more formal, "What is troubling you? The city?"

"It's not the city," the engineer replied shortly.

"What is it?"

"I can't believe having that Cardie around doesn't bother you," B'Elanna replied, shooting an outraged look at the Borg.

"'Cardie'?" Seven glanced at her, blinking slightly. "Are you referring to Commander Zar?"

B'Elanna looked away, unable to hold her gaze. Obviously, the engineer was aware she was behaving in an unacceptable manner, but seemed unable to help it. "Of all the people they could have chosen for first officer, why him?" she demanded angrily. "Didn't Starfleet know how hard it would be for the Bajorans and ex-Maquis to be cooped up with him for over a year? What did they think they're doing?"

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I am sure they expected the crewmembers to adapt," she said pointedly. "He is very qualified for the position of first officer."

B'Elanna shot her a look. "You sound as if you actually like him," she said in an astonished tone.

Seven nodded. "I do," she responded honestly. "He is quite intelligent and has a most acceptable personality. I do not understand why you object to his presence."

"He's a Cardie!" B'Elanna responded hotly, as if that were explanation enough.

"A Cardassian," Seven translated, finally understanding what the slang term was referring to. "However, he is also Bajoran, B'Elanna." She paused. "You dislike him for what he is rather than who he is, just as you initially objected to me because I am Borg."

B'Elanna stopped in her tracks, staring at her, before finally looking away, her face flushed. "That's different," she said lamely.

"I fail to see how," Seven remarked.

"Lt. Hansen?"

Both Seven and B'Elanna looked back at the security officer who was standing in front of double doors leading into a building that seemed much larger than the rest. He was looking up, his tricorder raised as he aimed it at the upper floors.

"Yes, Lt. Briggs?" Seven queried, slightly disappointed that the conversation with B'Elanna had been interrupted, and determined to pursue it further at some future time. Such antagonism toward the first officer on the engineer's part would not only harm her friend, but also the functioning of the ship. As a senior officer, it was part of Seven's responsibility to try to curb potential problems before they reached that stage, or worse ... as far as B'Elanna was concerned .... had to be brought to the attention of the captain.

"My tricorder is picking up organic remains," he said.

"I remember this place," B'Elanna interjected suddenly, her head tilted back as she regarded the structure. "It's the medical infirmary where Harry Kim and I were first transported by the Caretaker eight years ago."

"We should investigate," Seven decided.

The trio moved into the facility, moving through the double doors into an empty lobby and, beyond, into the corridors and up several flights of stairs, following the intermittent readings on their tricorders. Unlike other structures, there seemed to be some sense of a hasty departure here, some clues indicating disorganization and uncertainty, with several items smashed and broken, as if there had been a struggle of sorts to resist whatever had happened. In one of the larger rooms, which the away team identified as an emergency room, they discovered three corpses. Seven immediately tapped her comm badge.

"Seven to Commander Zar," she said.

"Zar here."

"Commander, we have discovered what could possibly be three Ocampa casualties within the medical facility," she said.

"Stay put. We're on our way."

"Are you sure they're Ocampa?" B'Elanna asked dubiously as she regarded the desiccated remains lying in the beds. Beside them, the equipment that apparently had been monitoring their vital signs were inactive, without power, though the lights and air circulation system seemed to be still functioning. The corpses had mummified in the dry, sterilized air of the hospital, and it was difficult to tell if they were female or male. Their tricorders registered them as Ocampa, however, two males and one female.

"It's possible they were on life support when the ... exodus occurred," Seven mused. "Without attendants to maintain the equipment, they died when the devices ceased to function."

"Which leads to the other question of why these patients weren't taken along when the rest were," B'Elanna said.

"If they were patients," Briggs offered, his dark face carved into an obsidian mask.

"What else could they be?" B'Elanna asked him.

"That's the point," he said with unusual gravity. "We just don't know."

B'Elanna stared at the young man, a few years her junior, and turned away. Seven saw the Klingon roll her eyes, and resisted the urge to smile at the Klingon's obvious exasperation.

"Do you have any ideas about what might have happened here?" B'Elanna asked the Borg.

"None," Seven admitted. "Perhaps we should search for some form of central processing facility. That may provide more information than our tricorders are able to discern at this point."

"That sounds like a good idea," the engineer agreed. "What if Briggs and I take a look for it, and you wait here for the Car-- Commander?"

Seven stared at her, fully aware that B'Elanna was merely looking for an excuse to avoid being in the presence of Millennium's exec, but allowing that it was still an acceptable idea on its own merits. She nodded after only a brief hesitation.

"Very well," she said. "Once I have conferred with the Commander and Kes about this discovery, I will join you."

"We'll see you then," B'Elanna said, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she took the security officer in tow and vacated the premises. It was obvious by her haste that she had no desire to be there when Zar and his team arrived, and Seven frowned, wondering how she could help her friend see that she was being unreasonable in her attitude toward the new exec.

She sighed, supposing that it would take as much effort as it had to soften B'Elanna's stance against a certain Borg who had arrived on Voyager with little warning. She lifted her tricorder and began to scan the area, hoping to discover more data before the arrival of the rest of the away team.

Zar eyed Counselor Kes covertly as the Ocampa led the way briskly toward the area of the city which seemed more residential than commercial or governmental, but he presumed she knew what she was looking for and didn't object. A diminutive woman, with shaggy blonde hair and ears that swept back in a style that made her appear as some elf or fairy from Terran myth, she seemed too fragile to be assigned to such a mission. Yet, he knew she was as capable as anyone, and he was glad that the captain had reminded him to bring her along. Seeing her homeworld like this had to be devastating, however, he decided, and hoped it would not influence the way she performed her duties on the away mission. As he motioned Tarn and Graf to accompany him, he decided that he just had to trust it wouldn't. They followed the counselor down the boulevard, through the eerily silent streets beyond, taking note of the lack of chaos, the tidy way the city had been left, almost as if the inhabitants had stepped out for the moment and were planning to be back at any moment.

"It was night when they left," Kes said at one point.

Zar nodded, having deducted that much himself. Only the beds in the various living quarters had been disturbed, and it was apparent that most had been sleeping when they had ... what, abruptly disappeared? Been disintegrated by some weapon? He ran some deep scans, trying to pinpoint any kind of transporter or weapons use, and only managed to detect an unknown particle trace. It could be from a transporter, but if so, it was of a kind that he had never seen before.

He was vaguely surprised when Kes led them to a small, single family dwelling outside the city proper, by the cavern walls where several gardens overgrew, unchecked by pruner's shears, the weeds as prolific as the cultivated plants. Here, Kes went quickly through the house, an expression of sorrow on her face while Zar accompanied her, leaving Tarn and Graf outside to explore the backyard.

When they came across the images of a younger counselor with two older people, Zar realized that this had been where Kes had grown up, and where her family had been living. He was annoyed that she would indulge herself in such a personal pursuit during an away mission. Frowning, he watched as she picked up the image, putting her fingertips on the smooth surface, an expression of deep sorrow on her face.

"This happened more than four years ago," she said suddenly.

He blinked. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

"Because both my parents were five years old when I left," she said, looking over at him with sad eyes that seemed far too old for her face. "Ocampa only live nine years at the most. When a home such as this becomes available, others move in immediately. There was always a waiting list."

He lifted his head, seeing immediately where she was going with this, pleased to know that it hadn't been entirely personal on her part to search this dwelling first. "Your parents were still living here, if the personal effects are any indication."

She nodded. "Ocampa remain vital until the final few weeks," she explained. "Death comes quickly. Therefore, whatever happened had to have occurred before their deaths. I was their only child. No one else would have kept these personal effects on hand."

"The Ocampa left this world before your parents reached age nine which would have been over four years ago," Zar said, reaching the same conclusion she had when she saw the image.

"Long before the five years that the Ocampa were supposed to have remained sealed within this cavern," Kes agreed. Gently, she placed the image back on the table, glancing around with eyes that were bleak and empty. "I had not expected that they would still be alive when I returned," she admitted. "However, I had hoped to visit their resting place, to speak with the elders about them ... to have achieved some form of closure with them. Now, I'm left with a feeling of ... incompleteness."

Zar dipped his head. "I understand," he said, voice rough with his attempt to be gentle. He wondered what it would be like to live for less than a decade, to know that one had only a brief time for their existence. Cardassians lived for well over a hundred on average. So did Bajorans. As a hybrid, he had the potential to live twice as long as either ... or only half because of his unique physiology, a risk he had accepted long ago. Still, even fifty years seemed an eternity compared to the Ocampa and Kes.

He raised an eyebrow. "Uh, if you don't mind my asking..." he began uncertainly.

She shot him a look as they left the home. "Why am I still alive?" she finished for him.

He nodded.

"A year after I had been with Voyager, we came across a female Caretaker named Suspiria who was monitoring another group of Ocampa," Kes explained as they joined the others. Zar saw that Tarn was looking more and more uneasy, as if the emptiness around her was becoming too much for her, and he made a mental note to keep a further eye on her. "The other Ocampa had developed their psychic abilities to the point where they could alter matter at a molecular level. It also increased their life span, with some individuals living almost twenty years."

Tarn blinked suddenly, and from her expression, Zar realized that the young girl didn't think twenty was all that long. Of course, to an Ocampa, that was more than twice as much life. It was all a matter of perspective, Zar reminded himself.

"What happened?" he asked, not familiar with that particular mission though he had tried to skim through most of the official logs from Voyager in an effort to know his new captain better ... not to mention the science officer.

"They taught me how to utilize my own innate psychic abilities," Kes continued. "They also asked me to stay with them, but I refused, and in the end, Suspiria took them with her when she disappeared from this continuum."

"Perhaps she came here and took these Ocampa as well," Tarn suggested.

Zar looked at her. "That's a good idea," he complimented, causing the ensign to look pleased, blushing faintly. "Not only possible, but perhaps probable." He turned back to Kes, continuing to pursue the conversation. "Is that why you're still alive and look so young? Because you made a deliberate attempt to increase your psychic abilities?"

"Perhaps," Kes said. "Or perhaps it was due to my merging with a technological being in Sek. I have no way of knowing how long I can expect to live at this point." She paused. "In truth, I was hoping to confer with some of the scientists here who specialize in Ocampa gerontology but, of course, that's impossible now."

The first officer nodded, and tapped his communicator.

"Zar to Seven," he said. He disliked using the name, finding it far too cold for the young woman he had come to know, but he appreciated that it was the form of address she preferred. "Status."

"We have yet to discover anything of note," Seven's cool reply informed him. "It appears that whatever occurred, did so while most of the population was asleep."

"That's our conclusion as well," Zar agreed. "It obviously happened too quickly for anyone to object, either. We've also determined that this ... disappearance ... had to have taken place more than four years ago, possibly even longer."

"Before the energy barrier was expected to come down," Seven said thoughtfully. "That may be why it is only now beginning to decay. With no demands on the power grid beyond the minimal illumination and life support, the reserves deposited by the Caretaker would have lasted a great deal longer than initially expected."

"Agreed," Zar said. He glanced around. "Continue the search. Contact me if anything else comes to light." Closing the channel, he gestured to the others. "Let's go," he instructed. "There's still some 'daylight' left."

The away team moved out of the garden along the cavern wall, following that in the hopes that perhaps something could be found that the main streets and thoroughfares could not provide. Instead, all they found were more overgrown gardens, and a large hydroponic area that was filled with dead rows of soil, unable to generate greenery without the care the more natural gardens could survive without. Zar was almost relieved when Seven contacted him to let him know they had found some bodies in the medical center.

"Stay put. We're on our way," he instructed before cutting the channel. "Come on," he said when he gathered the others who had been poking gingerly through the dead remains of the greenhouses. "Seven's found something in the infirmary."

Kes seemed to perk up at this, and he didn't have the heart to tell her it was only corpses that the Borg's team had discovered. It didn't take them long to make their way back to the central plaza, and from there, to the medical facility. Zar noted that there seemed to be more indication of a hasty evacuation in this building, or perhaps it was just that more people would have been up and active in a hospital through the night. He was surprised and slightly annoyed when he discovered that Seven had dispatched the chief engineer and the security officer to find the central processing unit. He would rather they had waited for him and his team, but he supposed in retrospect that the sooner they checked out that area, the sooner they would be able to leave the planet and return to Millennium. The surroundings were becoming oppressive, and he felt a strong desire to leave.

"Our scans have determined that these individuals died approximately six years ago," Seven said. "That is undoubtedly when the disappearance occurred as well."

"Six years ago," Kes repeated, astonished.

"That would have been shortly after your encounter with Suspiria," Zar said thoughtfully. He shot a glance at Tarn. "Your theory may be correct, Ensign."

Seven lifted a brow. "Theory?"

"Ensign Tarn suggested that perhaps the female Caretaker retrieved the Ocampa here, after taking her own group to a place of safety," Zar explained. "It would explain why everyone suddenly disappeared."

"But not why she left three Ocampa to die," Seven noted, gesturing slightly at the beds.

"If they were dying of natural causes, and were simply having their lives extended by medical intervention, it's possible that she considered them expendable," Zar countered, enjoying the verbal wrangling with her.

"On the contrary, the Caretaker was just that, an entity who cared for the Ocampa," the Borg responded coolly. "From the logs I have read, it was clear that she considered this species to be her 'children'. One does not leave a child to die."

Zar searched for a response, but a chirp on their comm badges forestalled it.

"Torres to Seven."

"Seven here," the Borg answered, even though technically, the engineer should have contacted the first officer. Zar decided to let it go for the moment. The antagonism of the Klingon would have to be addressed, of course, but the middle of an away mission was neither the time nor the place. "Go ahead."

"Briggs and I checked out the central processing unit of the city," Torres said. "I think you'll want to see what the recording logs picked up six years ago."

Seven glanced at Zar who nodded briefly. "We will join you shortly," she informed the engineer before closing the channel.

Before they left, Kes quietly covered the corpses with sheets, Tarn and Graf assisting her, and then stood for a brief moment, her gaze distant. Zar allowed it, holding Seven back when the Borg would have immediately departed the area, sensing that the counselor needed this moment. Seven glanced uncertainly at the blonde woman, and back at Zar, nodding briefly in unspoken understanding of his consideration. When Kes indicated she was finished, he led the way out of the medical facility and back into the city where the final two members of the away team were located.

In the squat building not far from the central plaza, Torres and Briggs had discovered a room filled with the equipment designed to monitor the function of the city utilities, including power and life support. It also contained the computer core which recorded the governing meetings of the ruling council. There were no such recordings after a meeting where the council debated about an unusual energy trace their sensors had been detecting. Had that been a precursor to the female Caretaker contacting them? Another entity swooping down to scoop up the populace and take them away? Some kind of natural disaster that struck without leaving a trace?

In some maintenance logs from the main power plant, which also ceased to be maintained beyond a certain time frame, B'Elanna chose the final series, and set it up on the main viewer. As Zar took his place with the others around the console, he was aware of the Klingon edging away in order to place the rest of the team between them. Whatever the young woman's problem, it was apparent that she had no interest in overcoming it or fighting it. He wondered if he could approach it as a matter of honor, though he wasn't sure how stringent she adhered to Klingon traditions and cultural mores. Of course, since the Klingons and the Cardassians had been at war not long ago, it was entirely possible that honor was the base of her antipathy, wanting to fight him and forcing herself to hold back. He made a mental note to go over her personnel file as soon as possible, before turning his attention to the log she and the security officer had found.

On the screen, an Ocampa was working at a console within some sort of main control room. It appeared to be a standard routine, some kind of shift worker monitoring the readings which maintained the output of the power plant. It went on long enough that Zar was starting to fidget, about to ask what the engineer's point was, when the worker abruptly altered his behavior. He looked up, almost as if he had heard something, his head tilted curiously. There was an odd expression on his face, a mix of uncertainty and rising trepidation, and then he simply disappeared in a brief flash of light.

Zar blinked, then inhaled slowly. "Good work, Lieutenant," he said, though he noticed that Torres seemed supremely unimpressed by his praise, even slightly resentful of it, totally unlike Tarn. "I think we've found what we've come for. Create a link with Millennium to upload the contents of these memory banks, as well as any others you can find. Perhaps taking a closer look at the recordings in our labs will determine something beyond what we're seeing with the naked eye."

"Already taken care of," B'Elanna said carelessly. "We uploaded the entire contents of the computer banks before you showed up."

Zar shot a look at her, but decided again that this was not the time to take her to task for her presumption. Instead, he nodded and tapped his comm badge. "Away team to Millennium."

"Millennium here," came the response. Nog, Zar recognized from the reedy tones. "Go ahead, Away Team."

"We're done here," he said as the rest of the team, not requiring any further instructions, gathered around him in the traditional transport positions. "Six to beam up."

"What do you think this means?"

Janeway regarded her senior officers expectantly as they sat around the large table in the conference room on deck one. On her right, Zar sat in the traditional first officer position, a sight that she was slowly getting used to, still affected by not seeing Chakotay there. On the captain's left was Ro Laren, and beyond her, Torres. Janeway suspected it was no accident that the two officers were presenting a united front as they stared at the exec. Not just a married couple, both women had been members of the Maquis who had fought against Cardassian influence in the Demilitarized Zone, and the captain knew there was still tension there. However, she was waiting to see how Zar handled it before she made any attempt to intervene.

Dr. Pulaski had taken her spot next to Zar, and next to her, Kes looked distant and unhappy, which was understandable considering her entire species seemed to have disappeared. Of course, Janeway wondered if Kes could still be considered an Ocampa, considering all that she had been through. Also present were Nog, and Seven, along with Ensign Tarn, whom Janeway had added at the last moment because she felt it was important for the young woman to gain some administrative experience by sitting in on the meeting.

Looking around at the gathering of her senior officers for what was really the first time, it struck Janeway that she had assembled a predominantly female staff on Millennium, with only two males for balance ... though perhaps she shouldn't find it noteworthy considering how many times she had been in a conference room where she had been the only female rounding out a senior staff that was predominantly male. Certainly, no one had ever taken notice of that. She supposed there was still a slight gender imbalance remaining in Starfleet and the Federation, and within herself as well, since she had made note of it.

However, what was really noticeable was that her senior staff held a larger representation of individuals who weren't Human than was true for most starships in Starfleet. Certainly, there were few vessels which could go so far as to claim a Ferengi and a Cardassian hybrid in its crew roster. Janeway was proud of that fact, though perhaps that sense of pride was, in itself, an indication of her own cultural biases.

"It is obvious that something transported the entire population from the interior of the planet," Zar offered when no one else seemed inclined to speak. "More detailed examinations of the scans indicate that the form of transport utilized the same form of tetryon particles that are associated with the Caretaker entity."

"However, just because we have such circumstantial evidence doesn't mean that it logically follows it was the female Caretaker," Seven responded quickly. "Little is known about these 'caretakers'."

Janeway regarded her first officer and Seven curiously. It was almost as if they were debating their points simply for the sake of the debate, and enjoying it greatly. She supposed it was a holdover from Seven's time with the TPG where scientific debate was extensive and argumentative, and Zar was apparently happy to indulge the Borg.

"The assumption was that there were only the two of their kind remaining in this galaxy," Janeway explained, drawing on memories of her experiences in the Delta Quadrant. "Their people, the Nacene, accidentally devastated the ecosphere of the Ocampa homeworld, and the male Caretaker, along with Suspiria, remained behind to take responsibility for them."

"That was why the Caretaker kept trying to find a mate," Ro offered. "Suspiria wanted nothing to do with him." She paused. "Of course, we only inferred that from what they said. There's no way to verify it."

Janeway pursed her lips. "Apparently, they're noncorporal extragalactic life-forms, existing as pure sporocystian energy traveling through subspace."

"Assuming it was this ... Suspiria," Nog spoke up. "Why would 'she' take them? And where?"

Kes took a deep breath. "The Caretaker was our ... guide, our mentor. It's possible that once Suspiria knew about us, she would have sought us out to protect us as she did her own group of Ocampa. She took them to a subspace domain known as Exosia. It's possible she took my people there as well."

"Then why not do that immediately?" Seven asked. "Didn't she already know of the male caretaker's demise when Voyager ran into her?"

"It might not be this 'Suspiria' at all," Pulaski added dryly. "Like Seven, I'm of the opinion that the evidence is somewhat circumstantial."

"However, it is a logical conclusion," Ro noted. She seemed a little disconcerted that she was agreeing with Zar's position that it was the female caretaker behind the disappearance.

"Uh, what can we do?"

Startled, Janeway glanced down the table at the crimson haired Ops officer who had raised an tentative eyebrow. "Ensign?" she prompted when Tarn seemed disinclined to add to her question.

Tarn blinked, straightening as she realized she was the focus of attention, and looking somewhat regretful of having spoken. "Just that ... well, what can we do even if it does turn out to be this Suspiria?" she asked. "There's no way to trace her, is there?"

Janeway frowned briefly, and glanced at Kes. The counselor looked back, then shook her head minutely. "No," the blonde said softly. "If I were at the height of my abilities, perhaps I could somehow ... track the Ocampa neural signature, but I cannot."

"Certainly, our sensors can't," B'Elanna offered, her first contribution of the meeting.

Janeway dipped her head in acknowledgment of the young woman's point. "You're correct, Ensign, there's little we can do at this point, except to hope we come across some mention of them in our future travels. In the meantime, we have a quadrant to explore." She glanced at Nog. "Lieutenant, set a course in the opposite direction away from the course Voyager plotted eight years ago. According to what we know of this area, that should take us out of the last of Kazon space in only a few days. Otherwise, as happened with Voyager, we'd be traveling through the bulk of it and that takes two years to traverse."

"That will also take us on a heading away from the Alpha Quadrant," Pulaski noted.

"That's the point of being out here, isn't it?" Zar offered.

"Exactly," Janeway said. She took a final glance around. "Let's get to it." The staff rose and began to exit. A quiet "Commander" held Zar back, the first officer sinking back into his chair to regard the captain steadily.

"Yes, Captain?" he asked.

"Anything I need to know about regarding the rest of the staff?" she asked, inviting him to confide in her.

"Nothing I can't handle, Captain," he told her evenly.

She held his gaze for a moment before nodding. If he thought he could overcome the antagonism directed at him that she was sensing from B'Elanna, as well as the continued stiffness from Ro, then it was his prerogative to handle it himself. "Very well," she said. "However, may I make a suggestion?"

He looked at her warily. "Go ahead."

"I suspect a lot of the problem is a visual one," she said. "Do you ever wear the traditional earring of your mother's people? I know it's not protocol to wear jewelry on duty, but as you can tell from my Bajoran crewmembers, I tend to allow a certain laxness in that area because of their cultural importance."

He blinked, surprised, and tilted his head. "That's a good idea," he allowed. "I should have thought of that, Captain. It would be a subtle but telling reminder of my true heritage."

Janeway shrugged lightly. "Glad I could help," she said. "In the meantime, I'd like to know a little more about your away mission. How did Tarn handle herself on the surface?"

"Still a bit uncertain, but she's coming along," he said. "I think it's a matter of confidence. Hers appears to be shaken a little. Honestly, it's not what I expected from someone who was rated so highly at the Academy, as well as winning Athlete of the Year four years running. Usually, that type has to be taken down a peg or two before they can perform well."

Janeway smiled and bent her head a bit bashfully. "That may be my fault," she admitted. "Shortly before Tarn was assigned to my command, she and I had a bit of a confrontation. She was as cocky as you would have imagined, and considered her athletic prowess as something that provided her with a superiority over others. I ... arranged a little footrace between her and our science officer. The cadet didn't realize Seven was Borg."

Understanding dawned in Zar's face, and not a little amusement glinted in his eyes. "Lt. Hansen, of course, defeated Tarn soundly."

"By several meters," Janeway agreed. "It was embarrassing. Then I revealed that the 'civilians' with whom she had been so cavalier were actually senior Starfleet officers ... and well..."

"I can see where she would have taken such a humiliating lesson to heart," Zar said. "Particularly about making unwarranted assumptions about her opponents, as well as how deceptive the belief was that she could handle herself in any situation."

"Perhaps I went a little far, however," Janeway allowed. "Especially if her confidence in herself has been shaken that much. She may think I'm waiting for her to collapse."

"That could be the source of her uncertainty," Zar agreed thoughtfully. "By being placed on the alpha rotation, she may think you're actually trying to push her into failing."

Janeway raised a brow. "Do you think she should be rotated back to the beta or gamma rotation?"

Zar paused, then shook his head. "Let me work with her a little, first," he said. "Rotating her back is always an option that can be utilized as a last resort."

Janeway nodded, pleased with his assessment. "Fine," she said. "In the meantime, you have the conn for the beta shift, Commander. I have a date for dinner with my spouse."

If there was a certain darkness that crossed his eyes at that moment, she didn't notice it as she rose from her chair and briskly headed out of the conference room. Seven, she saw, had already logged off duty and was undoubtedly in their quarters by now, preparing the meal. Janeway considered herself very fortunate to have someone who enjoyed caring for her so much, including making the effort to prepare her favorite dishes.

On deck three, she discovered Seven carrying dishes out to the other room which contained an arboretum, their version of a 'backyard'. Though they had a dining table in the living area where they ate breakfast and the occasional lunch together, the couple had lately developed the habit of eating 'outside' during dinner, enjoying the sense of nature, along with the piped in sound of birds and insects to complement the fresh fragrance of growing greenery.

The captain flashed a smile at her spouse, and went into the bedroom where she changed out of her uniform into off duty clothing comprised of a simple blouse and some pants. Her wedding chain containing an emerald stone, normally unseen beneath her uniform sweater, rested lightly in the hollow of her throat, and caught the light as she joined her spouse in the 'garden', her mouth watering as she saw the selection Seven had chosen for their meal.

"You're too good to me, darling," she noted as she took her seat and lay her napkin across her lap.

"Frequently," Seven agreed.

Janeway smiled and proceeded to dig into the pasta, tomato sauce and chicken. As she ate, she quizzed Seven about her perceptions during her time on the Ocampa homeworld, about the other members of the away team, and about the first officer ... something that the Borg would never have offered in an official capacity. Seven considered such imprecise and intangible information, such as how she 'felt' during her away mission, to be unsuitable to add to a report or share in a meeting. Here, in the sanctity of their home, however, Seven was more willing to reveal the irrelevant details that might indicate something the official reports had missed.

Another aspect to cherish about their relationship, Janeway thought fondly. Being married to such a trusted and keenly observant woman who was willing to confide in Janeway in a manner an ordinary officer wouldn't, Janeway had a finger on the pulse of her ship in a manner that was denied to other starship captains. Of course, if the couple ever had problems in their relationship, that could easily turn out to be a great disadvantage, but Janeway tended not to worry about that. Regardless of what else went on between them, Seven was the consummate professional outside the bulkheads of their quarters.

"I detected some tension from B'Elanna during the meeting," Janeway prodded gently. "Did something happen down there?"

Seven hesitated, reluctant to speak badly of her friend. "I believe she is experiencing the same ... apprehension about Commander Zar that she held regarding my arrival on Voyager."

"I thought as much," Janeway said lightly. "I'm sure she'll come around."

"Yes," Seven said with relief. "Commander Zar will handle it."

Janeway felt the corner of her mouth turn up. "Is that a suggestion for me to stay out of it?"

Seven regarded her for a moment. "Yes," she said finally, making the captain laugh.

"I guess you'll have to keep me too busy to get involved, then," Janeway told her casually.

Seven shot her a look so deeply lascivious that the captain felt her breath catch in her throat, abruptly realizing that her partner was more than in the mood for such a suggestion..

"That can be arranged," the Borg said in a husky tone. "Immediately after dinner if you prefer."

Janeway inhaled slowly, feeling the tingles shoot through her, amazed, as always, at how easily her partner could arouse her with just a word or a look, even after being together for so long.

"I think that would be ... a wonderful idea," she said, swallowing hard, and wondering if she could possibly wait until after dinner.

"Ohhhh."

Janeway arched, head thrown back, her body a perfect bowstring of complete satisfaction as she quivered helplessly from the intensity of her release. Mesmerized, Seven watched a droplet of sweat trickle down the captain's neck, and she lifted herself up, capturing it on her tongue, moving along the trail it had left on the tender throat, up over the chin to the open mouth which she covered in a searing kiss. The two women, sharing each other's breath, sank back down to the bedding in a loving embrace, and the Borg ran her hand over Janeway's back and sides, slick with perspiration as the captain settled onto her with her full weight, unable to support herself on weak arms any longer.

"Oh, darling," the captain whispered breathlessly, nuzzling into the Borg's throat. "I love you for this."

The corner of Seven's mouth turned upward. "Just for this?" she asked lightly as she hugged her.

Janeway laughed throatily, a deep chuckle of sensuality. "Oh, much more than this," she promised. "But for now, this is incredible."

Amused, Seven exhaled and closed her eyes, aware of how much Janeway cherished this permutation on their lovemaking. It was rare that the captain had the chance to penetrate her partner with the small, simulated penile device designated the Mini-Marvel 450™, but because the captain derived such pleasure from it, Seven made a point of including the variation occasionally. Feeling the small hardness lodged within her, the Borg squeezed her internal muscles lightly, granting her partner an erotic massage. Attached to Janeway's clitoris, sensors along the small probe transmitted stimulation to the captain's most sensitive flesh, offering her the sensation of actually being surrounded by Seven's warmth and wetness. Janeway groaned at the intimate pressure, lifting her head to regard her partner, her eyes darkening to blue, passion sparking in them once more.

"Darling?" Janeway said, sounding delighted and somewhat surprised. Aware that this was not her partner's favorite way of making love, she readily accepted and appreciated the offer to prolonge the encounter.

"Do you enjoy it, Kathryn?" the young woman asked coyly.

Janeway made a brief sound of agreement. "Very much," she said immediately. "It feels wonderful to be inside you like this. However, it's important for you to enjoy it, as well."

"I do. I ... it feels good to have you inside me," Seven replied honestly, though it required a certain amount of imagination and fantasizing to make it true. The captain tended to climax more times than did the Borg in such an encounter. Seven was always cognizant of their accessories being artificial, though over time, Seven was finding it easier to be pleasured by the devices. The incentive for her to adapt, of course, was Janeway's enjoyment of it, just as Janeway readily offered intimate caresses to Seven that the captain did not find particularly arousing for herself.

"Be that as it may, I'm still surprised you want to go again."

Seven hesitated. "Actually ... I had a somewhat different approach in mind," she said shyly. "One that I believe shall provide me with more pleasure than this does."

"Different?"

Seven put her lips next to Janeway's ear and explained in a soft voice what she had discovered while browsing a text her friend B'Elanna had suggested. She had acquired the book some time ago, but only recently had Seven taken the opportunity to study it in its entirety. The captain's eyebrow crept up her forehead, and she drew back to study Seven's face.

"Are you sure?" she asked seriously. "You'd be very vulnerable in that ... uh, position. It can also be very painful if it's not done properly."

"I trust you, Kathryn," Seven said somberly. "I know you will be gentle." She paused. "Unless ... you do not wish to ... I know it is not what you might prefer..."

"It's not about that, love," Janeway reassured her. "If it gives you pleasure, then it gives me pleasure. I'm just worried that it might be a bit much for you."

"If it is, then we shall stop," Seven said reasonably.

"Fair enough," Janeway said. She hesitated, tilting her head as she looked down into the Borg's eyes. "Ah ... how did you come up with this?"

Seven blushed. "Research," she said.

"Ah," Janeway remarked ... and smiled.

Seven returned the smile, then her lips parted as Janeway covered her mouth in a tender kiss that rapidly grew more passionate. It felt so good to have the captain's gentle weight bearing down on her, Seven thought muzzily, the sensation of soft curves over her own, the skilled hands that began to stroke her with easy familiarity, something that easily consumed her. Pressing up against the compact form, it was easy to imagine that the hard little presence within her actually belonged to Janeway, was indeed a part of the captain's body, an extension of her intimate flesh inserted into Seven's innermost regions. She almost regretted losing that connection when Janeway slowly withdrew, reaching down to use her hands on the Borg's sensitive folds. Respiration and heart rate increased measurably, the desire and pleasure rising with powerful force within the Borg, and she moaned as Janeway shifted onto her knees, hooking her arms beneath Seven's legs, spreading and lifting them, leaving the young woman open to whatever she might attempt.

The touch of the captain's fingers against her anus made the young woman gasp with pleasure, and she felt one seek entrance, carefully pushing its way past the tight circle. Exhaling a soft sigh of pleasure, she spread her legs wider as Janeway moved deeper inside, touching her in areas that no one else ever would, while brushing over the Borg's tender nodule with her thumb, manipulating it in a circular motion. Eventually, a second finger joined the first, filling Seven ... readying her for what would come, probing and turning to loosen the passage. As she continued to flex inside the Borg, Janeway used her other hand to fumble for the jar of lubricant which stood open on the night stand, retrieving some of the silky gel and slathering it over the device she wore. Removing her fingers, she moved over her, the firm head of the probe pressing cautiously against Seven's rear channel, the orifice grudgingly giving way to the gentle pressure. Abruptly, it was inside, invading her as the captain thrust slowly and carefully into her. Though it was supposedly the same size as the fingers had been, it felt much larger and more intrusive. There was a slight pain, but not enough for Seven to ask her spouse to stop.

Nonetheless, Janeway did, breathing heavily as she looked down at Seven, bracing herself on her forearms which cradled the Borg's legs.

"Are you all right, darling?" she asked.

"Yes," Seven moaned, arching beneath her. "Please, Kathryn..."

Janeway swallowed hard, her throat moving visibly, then pushed deeper inside until she was completely buried in her spouse. "Oh, my," she said with an expulsion of breath and an acknowledgment of her own desire and pleasure.

"Is it good, Kathryn?" Seven asked as she wrapped herself around her lover's body, pulling her close.

"Oh, yes," Janeway said, not moving as she savored the sensation. "It's ... different ... a little more textured somehow, and more confining." She managed a smile. "That's saying something with you. I think the muscles must be more powerful."

"I cannot ... control them as easily," Seven admitted, feeling herself flex involuntarily around the hardness, adjusting to its presence and making the captain exhale audibly.

"Is it enough to ... satisfy you?" Janeway whispered shakily into the Borg's ear.

Seven considered that, enjoying the sensation, finding it incredibly intimate, but not quite stimulating enough by itself. "Perhaps you could..." she breathed uncertainly. "Can you touch my clitoris..."

The captain shifted position slightly, rising to put her weight on her left arm as with her right, she reached down between their bodies and caressed Seven lavishly, her fingertips firm in the moisture, manipulating the hard little nodule. The sensation shot through Seven in a rush of pleasure.

"God, you're so wet," Janeway informed her.

"This feels ... it's wonderful, Kathryn," Seven responded, feeling as if her heart might actually pound its way out of her chest.

"Do you want me to move?" the captain asked, pressing deeper with the probe.

"No," Seven requested huskily. "Just ... continue to touch me."

Janeway raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything else, merely fondling her relentlessly, and before long, Seven was swept up in her pleasure, crying out softly as it shivered through her. Janeway cried out as well, though she sounded a little less enthusiastic.

"Yow!" she managed through clenched teeth, "That's really ... tight!"  She continued to caress the Borg, however, sending her into another level of delight, making her peak again.

Finally, slowly, Seven relaxed, the tremors of her orgasms still rippling through her as Janeway held her, kissing her sweetly. After several moments, the captain carefully withdrew, finding it more difficult than either of them had anticipated, and rolled over onto her back to detach the probe, before reaching up and placing it in the convenient compartment embedded in the headboard of their bed, the panel sliding shut with a soft hiss. Fumbling at the control pad, Seven activated it, and there was a brief glow and hum from within as the device was cleaned for the next use ... yet another convenient invention of the Ferengi who rarely missed an opportunity for profit. Janeway drew the blankets up around them, then gathered Seven up in her arms, holding the Borg tightly.

"Was it good?" she asked, her tone indulgent as she looked down at her with a smile.

"Oh, yes," Seven admitted happily, still throbbing pleasantly. "Thank you, Kathryn."

"Anytime, my love," Janeway said. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."  She tilted her head.  "Any soreness?"

Seven wiggled experimentally.  "No," she decided finally.  "You were very gentle."  She glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow.  "Did you enjoy it, Kathryn?"

Janeway hesitated. "It was a bit ... awkward, but that's always to be expected when trying something for the first time," she allowed. "I was a little uncomfortable near the end. You can squeeze very hard in that area, love."

Seven peered anxiously at her. "Did I hurt you?" she asked.

Janeway chuckled lightly. "Not really," she said. "It was just very intense." She nuzzled Seven gently, reaching down to cup her mound tenderly, possessively, her fingers brushing over the sensitive ridge, which made the Borg twitch involuntarily. "However, the pleasure I saw you experience was incredible, love. I can't wait to please you like that again."

Seven reached down to cover the hand, holding it against her as she relaxed, feeling the touch resonate through her. She knew her partner would not say such a thing unless she meant it. There was a give and take in their relationship on so many levels, the young woman mused silently, a balance achieved that came from mutual love and respect. Compromise and the willingness to explore different areas within their lovemaking was only a small part of their life together.

"Hmm, what are you thinking?" Janeway murmured, brushing her lips lightly along Seven's jaw, regarding her with a lidded gaze as she pressed against the young woman's body.

"Random thoughts," Seven admitted quietly. "Nothing specific."

Soft blue eyes considered that, then Janeway reached over and kissed her gently, sweetly, her lips tender. "I love you so much," she whispered.

Seven smiled. "I love you," she responded quietly. "Beyond love."

Janeway returned the smile, then dropped her head to the larger woman's shoulder, nestling her face into the hollow of Seven's neck. The Borg drew her closer, her arm snug around the captain's torso as the couple settled down for the night. Seven could feel the soft rush of her breath across her upper chest, the warmth of her body a comfort to her, and she was glad that she had taken the opportunity to seduce her partner after dinner. It had come to her attention recently that Janeway liked it when her partner was the aggressor at times, that she made an effort to show how much she wanted and needed her physically. The Borg vowed to do more of it, particularly since it led to such interesting and fulfilling explorations with her spouse.

"Annika?"

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"Pleasant dreams."

"To you, as well," Seven said fondly. "Good night, my Kathryn."

"'Night, love."

Silence descended, a smoothing out of their respiration as both women settled against the mattress in delicious languor and satisfaction. The sudden jolt that shook them in their bed less than twenty minutes later, and the strident sound of a red alert ringing through the ship, was a most unpleasant way to surface from such a deliciously dreamy state. Biting off a litany of curses, the captain struggled out of the linens, followed closely by the Borg.

The only good thing about it, Seven decided as they hastily pulled on their uniforms, was that it had not occurred earlier in the evening when both women would have encountered more difficulty in disengaging quickly from each other.

Wing Commander Tom Paris hesitated as he stood outside the quarters of the ship's counselor. He had heard what had happened on the planet, and was worried about his friend. This had to be devastating for the delicate female he had first met so many years ago on Voyager. Though he wasn't sure that he was anyone whom she would want to see at such a time, he still wanted desperately to help in some way. Tentatively, the sandy-haired man reached out to the controls, but before he could touch them, the door slid open, and Kes was standing there, regarding him with those large blue eyes.

"Tom?" she said.

Somehow, she must have sensed his arrival, he thought. Most people had assumed she had lost all her abilities when her Kes form merged with her holographic Sek form, but over the past year, they seemed to have returned, if only in a limited fashion. At least, that had been his conclusion after serving with her on the Enterprise-E.

"Hi," he said quietly. "I thought you might like some company." He half turned. "I can go, if you'd like. I don't want to disturb you."

"No," she said quickly, reaching out to put her hand on his forearm. The touch was gentle, inviting, and he couldn't resist the smile that appeared on her lips, feeling it warm him all the way through. "Come in."

Moving into the quarters, which were decorated in cool blues and aquas, he noticed the furniture utilized lines that evoked a sense of peace and calm, just as Kes did. He glanced at her surreptitiously as she went over to a counter along one bulkhead where bottles and glasses rested next to a replicator.

"Drink?" she asked.

"A fruit juice," he said. He had given up the harder stuff recently, including synthehol, discovering that it did little to make him feel better, and quite frequently, made him feel worse.

She apparently already had some juice chilled, pouring the golden liquid from a frosted pitcher into two tall glasses, bringing them over to where he had taken a seat on the sofa. She sat next to him, sipping her drink and regarding him expectantly. "How can I help, Tom?" she asked in her melodious tones.

"Actually, I came by to see if I could help you," he admitted. "I know that encountering your homeworld like that must have been very difficult. Did you want to talk about it?"

She blinked, looking surprised. "I ... I suppose I hadn't really thought about it," she admitted quietly. "Talking to someone, I mean."

"It seems to me that everyone comes to you whenever they have a problem," he ventured. "Whom do you turn to? I'm here as your friend, Kes. I'm more than willing to listen to whatever you might want to talk about."

"Thank you, Tom," she said. "That means a lot." She exhaled and leaned back against the couch, her eyes distant. "I guess I was putting it aside, not wanting to think about what it meant to have all my people missing, because once I started, then I'd realize I'm all alone now."

"You're not alone, Kes," he corrected her gently. "That's the absolute last thing you are."

She glanced at him, obviously touched by the words, but still somber. "I know that," she said. "But it's not the same. My people are gone, I have no idea where they are or what happened to them ... or even if they're still alive. When I decided to accompany Voyager on its journey back to the Alpha Quadrant, I always believed I would one day return home. Part of the reason I joined Millennium was the chance to see my people again."

"We may find them," Tom said encouragingly. "We'll be out here for awhile, and if I know the captain, she'll be searching for clues to their whereabouts the entire time we're exploring the sector."

Kes nodded, but she didn't say anything. It was obvious that she was still disturbed, and for a moment, Tom mentally debated putting his arm around her. It would only be a gesture of friendship, but he knew his reputation was such that it could easily be misconstrued. On the other hand, he decided, Kes would be the one person on the ship who would recognize it for what it truly was, and not be offended by it.

Deciding that it was worth the risk, he slipped his arm around her shoulders, and to his relief, she merely sighed softly and settled back against it. They sat in companionable silence for awhile, sipping their drinks and contemplating the low illumination of Kes's quarters. Tom could not remember feeling so comfortable with another woman, and he remembered how attracted he had been to her when he first met her all those years ago on Voyager. At the time, the young woman had been involved with Neelix, and while he might have considered that an unsuitable match, he never would make a move on Kes. When the relationship between the Talaxian and her ended, he was involved with B'Elanna. By the time that had broken up, Kes was gone, evolved into a higher plane of existence. When she returned, it hadn't been long before the ship was suddenly back in the Alpha Quadrant.

The pair, along with Neelix, had deepened their friendship while serving on the Enterprise-E, the three of them tending to socialize as a trio, perhaps because their experiences on Voyager had unified them in a unique way. However, Neelix had chosen to remain on the flagship while Kes and Tom accepted the posting on the Millennium. Tom was glad to be back with the people with whom he had shared his incredible journey, and even more pleased that Kes had come with him, both officers finding their new roles on the vessel vastly challenging.

"Have you finished assigning your pilots?" Kes asked after a bit, turning her head to regard him quizzically.

"I've made up the squadrons," he said. "We've gone through countless scenarios, we've run hundreds of hangar drills ... all that remains is to see how they shake down in an actual mission." He paused, smiling at her. "However, I came over so that you could talk about what's going on with you, not to discuss my problems on the flight deck. We can do that any time."

She smiled faintly, then blushed. "I think it's the counselor in me," she admitted. "It's easier to prompt other people to discuss their concerns rather than talking about my own." She took another sip from her glass. "I guess I don't know what I'm really feeling, Tom. It was so odd being down there, walking the streets where I grew up and seeing no one around, as if everyone had died. This was worse because they were just gone. I know that the captain and others feel that Suspiria came and took them away to a safer location, but that's just speculation. There could be a more sinister reason for their disappearance."

"That's possible," Tom said. "However, who would want to be rid of the Ocampa ... besides the Kazon on the planet?"

Kes shrugged, a little helplessly. "I don't know," she said. "I don't believe it was the Kazon. The technology used was far more advanced than what they have. Besides, if they were responsible, they would have moved into the area."

"They'd be a lot messier as well," Tom agreed, thinking about the species which inhabited this area of space. Originally the most culturally and technologically advanced people in this part of the galaxy, the Kazon had been conquered by the Trabe. Their conquerers had encouraged tribalism in their captives for decades, encouraging the various sects to fight among themselves, and making them easier to control. However, the Kazon briefly united to overthrow the Trabe, and regained the space going technology, though they were but a shadow of their original glory, no longer having the training, education or scientific knowledge to do more than merely use the ships and technology as tools. The competing tribes were very territorial, while the order of importance between the various sect holdings changed daily, making it unlikely that they would return to a true power.

In truth, Tom didn't even know if the Kazon were still traveling the area. When Voyager finally left their territory after two years of conflict and antagonism, the Trabe appeared to be making a come back. Without a central ruling body to keep the various Kazon factions from each other's throats, it was entirely possible that things had become worse for the warrior people whom Tom had always considered to be a less polished version of the Klingons, lacking the glory and honor of the Alpha Quadrant species.

He remembered the first time he had seen them, how the pitiful and ragged band of settlers on the planet's surface had been in direct contrast to the gentle and refined Ocampa. A sect had taken Kes captive, and the first time he had seen her, she had been bruised and battered, but still maintained the beauty and dignity she carried to this day. They had both been through a lot since then, and as he glanced over at her, he wondered if they would have the opportunity to nurture the friendship between them into something more. It had been something Tom was considering seriously as time passed, but as of yet, he did not have the courage to suggest it to her.

However, he wasn't getting any younger, he decided, and it didn't make sense to hold back forever. They were both single at the moment, and of all the people on the ship, she was the one who seemed to believe in him the most. Turning toward her, studying her elven profile with appreciation, he set aside his doubts. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, there was a subtle jolt to the vessel, almost as if it had hit something, and immediately afterward, the sound of a red alert and their comm badges ordering them to battle stations.

"Sorry," he said, scrambling to his feet. "I have to go."

"Of course," she said. They moved quickly for the door, but Tom hesitated briefly, reaching out to touch her arm.

"Kes, I ... would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?" he asked in a rush.

Startled, she glanced at him, then offered a shy and gentle smile. "I'd like that," she said.

Tom was considerably cheered as he raced for the alpha hanger located on the underside of the ship's massive saucer section. He knew that it was entirely possible that escalating the friendship to the next level was risky ... it always was when romance was involved ... but it seemed to him that life without risk wasn't worth living. That was part of the reason why he had accepted the position of wing commander on Millennium, even though he wasn't all that enthusiastic about shepherding a bunch of fresh Academy graduates through the bumps and lumps of learning how to be actual Starfleet officers. As he entered the hangar, he could see those young people staring at him, dressed in their Starfleet flight uniforms. More than a few displayed white faces and trembling hands. Apparently they were discovering that all the drills and preparations in the universe did not compare to the actuality of a red alert in deep space. The atmosphere was electric, and there was a great deal of shouting as support staff prepared the fighters for a possible launch.

"Squad leaders," he snapped in a voice that carried through the cavernous hanger.

"Here," came the cool tones of the leader of the beta squad. T'Shanik was a tall, slender Vulcan with dark hair and eyes, composed and completely prepared.

"Here, sir." Davinus Marcos said in a less firm voice. He was muscular and darkly handsome, originally from the Greek Isles on Earth, and possibly the best pilot on the ship ... after Tom, of course. Because of that, he had been assigned as leader of the gamma squadron despite the fact this was his first duty assignment.

"I want everyone in their ships, but don't launch until I give the word," Tom said. "Marcos, I want Willis and Dell to be your wingmen."

"Yes, sir," Marcos said, motioning at the two other officers who followed him as he headed for the gamma hangar at the rear of the vessel. It was unlikely they would have the opportunity to launch, but it was good practice for them to prepare as if they would.

"T'Shanik, take your squad and be ready for secondary launch," Tom said as he struggled into his flight suit. "The captain will give you the word if it's necessary to send out the second wave."

"Understood," she responded and nodded to the five other members of her squadron who followed her out, heading for the beta hangar which was located near the top and aft of the saucer section.

"All right, people," Tom said, taking the helmet one of the support crew handed him. "This is it. It's no drill. Millennium is under attack by unknown forces, and it's entirely possible that we will be her best line of defense. Man your fighters." He shot a look at two of the more inexperienced officers who had won a spot in his squad as they scrambled for their vessels which were being wheeled out to the launch deck. "Y'Nark, Pollis, you'll be my wingmen. We'll be the first launched, which means we'll be taking the worst of the fire. We'll launch in two wings."

Tom crawled up the ladder to the cockpit of his fighter, past the stenciled image of 'Lana Turner' which adorned the tiny vessel, and settled into the seat, fastening the restraints securely. A check of the chronometer indicated that from the time the red alert sounded to the time alpha squadron was prepped and ready to launch was ten minutes. He thought that could be much better, and made a mental note to run more drills in order to pare that time down.

As he and his squadron waited for the order to go from the bridge, he discovered that his heart was pounding and his adrenaline level high. This was what he had been waiting for all his life. What could be better than being in this cockpit, with a responsive vessel ready to obey his slightest touch, to forge out into the clean vacuum of space and take on those who would threaten all he held dear? His hands were slippery as he gripped the controls, and he forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths, wondering why Janeway hadn't already given the order to launch.

Starfleet, he thought wryly. It was just like any organization. A body works like hell to be ready, only to sit and wait until someone higher up gives the word. He just hoped the captain remembered she had an auxiliary fleet full of able-bodied officers who couldn't wait for their first chance to launch their vessels.

"Report," Janeway demanded as she exited the turbolift in a hurry, moving briskly across the bridge to take her place in the command chair. Seven was not far behind her, making her way immediately to the science station.

"Three Kazon vessels," Zar said crisply. "They were lurking in a gas cloud, which obscured their warp signatures, and came out firing. They seem to have been waiting for us."

"No response to our hails," Tarn said, her voice tense. Janeway could see the whites in the young woman's eyes, and to counter the heightened atmosphere on the bridge, the captain deliberately settled down in her seat, radiating an aura of tranquillity and competence in order to calm things down.

"I knew it was too good to be true when none showed up while we were orbiting the Ocampa homeworld," she noted coolly. "They must have detected us in orbit, and rather than confront us directly, they set up an ambush." She glanced around the bridge. "Status."

"Shields are holding," Ro Laren said. "Weapons are standing by."

"According to our sensors, the Millennium is far more powerful than they are, Captain," Zar explained as he took his post in the pit. "I wasn't ready to fire back just yet, even with the three of them attacking."

"Unfortunately, Commander, the Kazon aren't known for their diplomacy," Janeway said dryly. "They tend to shoot first and ask questions later. It's been my experience that first you have to get their attention before you can sit and discuss sweet reason with them. Commander Ro, please remind this group that it would be better to talk than fight. They seem to have forgotten how it works with Starfleet."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said, her hands moving lightly over the board. "Activating phasers. Targeting their weapons array."

"The flight deck indicates all fighters are prepared for launch," Zar reported, glancing back at the captain. "They're standing by for your orders."

For a second, Janeway stared at him blankly, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Belatedly, she remembered that her ship was carrying an entire fleet of auxiliary vessels, including eighteen KillerBee fighters designed to protect Millennium during a conflict. However, she was used to dealing with things on her own, without benefit of a lot of little ships flitting about the area and confusing matters. With a slight frown, she shook her head.

"Tell them to remain at station keeping," she said, leaning back in her chair. "I don't think we need to try overwhelming the Kazon with sheer numbers just yet."

He glanced back at her, his expression slightly clouded, as if he didn't agree, but he nodded his head and conveyed the message to the three hangar decks.

Looking up at the viewscreen which dominated the fore part of the bridge, Janeway studied the three massive ships which lumbered across the stardusted backdrop of space. Eight years earlier, Voyager had been a respectable match for the Kazon, though three vessels would have made things difficult for the Intrepid-class ship. The Millennium, constructed with the very latest in Federation weapons and shield technology, enhanced greatly by the cruel necessity of the Dominion War, was to Voyager what a hawk was to a sparrow. It was more than a match for Kazon vessels that were probably the same type that had patrolled the area eight years earlier. Ruby beams of phaser fire lanced out from her vessel to impact with satisfying force, punching through the enemy's shields and hull plating like a hot knife through butter, and destroying all their weapons capability, leaving them defenseless before the might of the Federation.

Janeway knew that her ship would undoubtedly encounter great obstacles while exploring the Delta Quadrant, as well as potential threats which would require all their advanced technology and skill to overcome, but for now, the captain was impressed beyond reason with her new vessel. There had been many times when she had felt vulnerable in the Delta Quadrant, always aware of Voyager's small size and how fragile a lone ship could be when facing an entire civilization like the Kazon. Millennium was a distinct change, leaving the captain with a sense of empowerment, ... even feeling vaguely like a bully ... as she watched the three Kazon vessels heel over and drift away, trailing gases and fire from their hull.

"Their weapons capability has been destroyed," Ro informed the bridge, with only the slightest trace of satisfaction lacing her tone.

"We're getting a response to our hails," Tarn announced from Ops.

"I'll just bet we are," Janeway muttered, straightening in her chair and raking her fingers through her hair in an unconscious and futile attempt to tidy it. "On screen."

To Janeway's surprise, the communication signal cleared to reveal not a Kazon, but a representative of the Trabe. Apparently, more things had changed in this sector than she had anticipated. She wondered how much of the change was due to the presence of a Federation ship which had crossed this territory years earlier, becoming far more involved in the politics and developing culture of the region than anyone, least of all her, had wanted.

"I am Maras, First Crim of the Trabe Republic," the man on the viewscreen announced, glaring at the Federation captain. "Why do you trespass within our space?"

"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Millennium," Janeway said mildly, though she disliked the officious little man at first sight. "We meant no offense. We merely came here to contact the Ocampa who lived in the star system we just departed." She paused. "I was under the impression that this area was dominated by the Kazon."

His face twisted. "We and the Kazon are at war, and have been for the past three years," he said. "This area of space is under dispute and no place for casual travelers."

"I thank you for the information," Janeway offered genially, as if his vessel had not just attacked her ship. Of course, since Millennium had proven to be superior in both fire power and defensive capabilities, it was probably in everyone's best interest to present a peaceful intent, particularly since no one else was. "However, I am curious as to how the Trabe managed to recover those vessels. The last time we were in this area of space, the Trabe were without technological support, and denied space travel."

Having defined themselves as not being allied with their enemies, the commander of the vessel seemed to soften slightly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're aware of the situation?" he asked.

"Only the history of the sector," Janeway said carefully. "I'm aware that the Trabe had become nomads, wandering through space, and denied the right to settle on a new world by the Kazon." She did not add that perhaps they had deserved it, considering how they had treated the Kazon when they had held the upper hand. The Trabe had even attempted to betray Janeway when she made arrangements for a brief cessation of hostilities between both peoples in order to discuss a plan of peace. The conference had turned out be a trap by the Trabe leader, an attempt to assassinate all the Kazon first majes gathered together in one place.

She still possessed a little ill will toward the Trabe for that incident.

"Despite a failed attempt to destroy the majes once and for all, the Trabe nonetheless took heart in the initiative of Mabus, our leader, and we were able to retake some of our larger vessels. It has been a difficult struggle, but one we are slowly winning. While the Kazon are divided and fractured, our people are united and strong. We will overcome."

Janeway inhaled slowly in the face of this rhetoric, determining that Voyager's influence in the region had not been entirely benign. She was aware that part of her mission to the Delta Quadrant ... though it wasn't common knowledge to most of the crew ... was to find out just how big an impact the Federation's previous incursion into the Delta Quadrant had created. It wasn't just Voyager who had influenced the local civilizations either, since Janeway knew of at least one other Starfleet vessel taken from the Alpha Quadrant by the Caretaker. The crew of the USS Equinox had conducted themselves in a less than exemplary manner. There had also been reports of several missing vessels in the Bajoran Badlands around the same time that couldn't entirely be chalked up to Maquis or Cardassian attacks. They might have ended up in this quadrant instead.

"I ... see," she said. "As I said, we're just passing through. We have no desire to interfere with your affairs." Any more than we already have, she added glumly to herself. She was already dreading how she would explain this development in her mission logs. She lifted a brow. "I don't suppose you know anything about the disappearance of the Ocampa?"

He lifted his head. "The species that lived beneath the Kazon Ogla settlement?" he said dismissively. "They're gone. They were gone when we destroyed the settlement."

"Yes," Janeway said with forced patience, not allowing herself to react to the implication that the Trabe had destroyed a defenceless colony of Kazon. "I know they're gone. Do you happen to know where they might have gone?"

"That is not our concern," he said. "They were weak. Only the strong survive. The Trabe are strong."

She bit down on her first response, and managed to maintain a cool expression. "We will continue on this heading for the next few days. Am I correct in believing that will take us out of the disputed sector of space?"

He nodded stiffly. "Yes," he said. "However, I would take care with any vessel that approaches you. Not all will be Trabe."

"Oh, you mean the Kazon will also shoot at us without provocation?" Janeway asked blandly, unable to resist. His gaze darkened, and she smiled sweetly at him. "We'll take care. In the meantime, perhaps you should be more cautious about whom you provoke. Not everyone will be as forgiving of misunderstandings as we are." Her voice deepened, became vaguely threatening. "Nor will we continue to be in the future."

He did not respond, cutting the channel, and she exhaled audibly, a little exasperated with herself for indulging her annoyance with him. It was obvious that her diplomatic skills were a bit rusty after a year and a half of running the Utopia Planitia shipyards, and she made a mental note to work a little harder at it next time. Just because she had been yanked out of the pleasant afterglow of a strenuous lovemaking session with her partner was no reason to take her aggravation out on an alien captain, despite his attempted ambush. Starfleet expected better of her, and she expected better of herself.

"The Trabe vessels are moving off," Ro said.

"Stand down from red alert," Janeway said. She was suddenly aware of feeling sticky and mussed beneath her uniform. Neither she nor Seven had taken time to clean up before responding to the bridge, and while Seven looked immaculate, as she always managed with little effort, Janeway just hoped none of her bridge crew would pass close enough to her to get a whiff of what she had been so enthusiastically enjoying with her spouse prior to being jolted out of bed.

"Standing down," Zar said, as the lights on the bridge brightened, and the crimson wash of the alert status disappeared. There was also a tangible relaxation of tension in the atmosphere, and Janeway saw a few crewmembers shake out their shoulders or rub their necks. It made her realize that she hadn't been the only one with slight apprehension about how they would operate during their first challenge.

"Good work, people," she said. "Lt. Nog, resume course out of Kaz --- Trabe space. Let's keep our shields up."

"Captain?"

Zar had risen from his post and moved close to her, obviously wanting to speak to her more confidentially than a normal tone from his station could achieve. Janeway tried not to squirm in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn't detect the undeniable traces of her love life. Somehow, it had been easier with Chakotay, her previous first officer acting almost like a big brother to her at times, and ready to tease her at a moment's notice. With Zar, she wasn't entirely sure how he would react to a married captain, or how she chose to handle that marriage.

"Yes?" she prompted, hoping that she could finish it quickly and get back to her quarters.

"We have three squadrons of fighters prepped and ready to go from the flight deck," he said. "I know we didn't need them, but perhaps this would be a good opportunity for them to run some escort duty. Not only would it give them something useful to do, it will prevent all that pent up energy from being released in ... inappropriate ways."

Janeway considered it. She had not really wanted to have the auxiliary fleet on her vessel, but it had been determined by the Starfleet brass that the Millennium would carry the same type of support vessels on this mission as a space station possessed. It was to offset the fact that they would be out of touch with the Federation, and might need the extra protection.

"That's probably a good idea," she allowed quietly. "Very well. Contact Mr. Paris and have him set up regular escort runs until we're clear of this sector of space. I'm sure he has enough people to keep up a full rotation of duty."

Zar nodded. "It'll keep them out of trouble," he agreed.

She regarded him. "Do you think that's something I need to look at?"

"Not yet, Captain," he said. "It's just ... I remember the problems we sometimes had with the pilots on DS12, and since these officers are undoubtedly cut from the same cloth, they undoubtedly have more energy than is good for them. Since their job is basically to stand by until they're needed, which is usually in a crisis situation, we're going to have to find ways to keep them busy the rest of the time, or suffer the consequences."

She nodded. "I'll leave it in your hands," she told him. "In the meantime, I'm returning to my quarters." She winced slightly at the reminder, hoping he wouldn't take it as an invitation to make some comment about her state of dishabille ... as Chakotay certainly would have. However, he merely dipped his head in acknowledgment, and stepped back as she rose from her command chair, handing the conn over to him.

Shooting a look at Seven who moved to her side, the couple left the bridge and headed back to their quarters, hoping to reclaim that golden glow that had been so rudely interrupted ... or at least, get some sleep before they were expected to report for duty the next day.

The Nexus, located on deck twelve, was packed this night, with the crew still agitated and energized from the ship's red alert, their conversations louder than usual, their gestures more animated. In the corner of the Millennium's central lounge where the crew gathered to eat and socialize, Ensign Tarn sat with her back against the wall and brooded about her actions during the battle with the Trabe, as well as how she had performed over the past few days. She thought she could have been more assertive with her responses to the captain, quicker to offer answers instead of more questions. She could have been more professional, taking the time to read logs pertaining to this area of space instead of appearing as someone with lax work habits and little ambition.

There was no question that being on the Millennium was a lot different than being at the Academy. There, Tarn had been respected, the top of her class and the one person the other cadets turned to for leadership. She had been pegged as the one most likely to succeed. On this starship, she spent most of the time feeling like a stupid kid, one whose presence was barely tolerated on a bridge full of adults, expected to fail at any minute. Morosely, she took a sip of her drink and wished she had never accepted this assignment, even though it was considered one of the more desirable postings in Starfleet.

"Tarn."

The ensign blinked and glanced up to see Marcos make his way across the room. The stocky pilot had attended the Academy with her, and was one of the few people on the ship she knew well enough to talk to beyond a superficial greeting. Accompanying him were a few other young people, including the ship's helmsman, all carrying drinks and bowls of snacks. Without asking, they plopped themselves down at her table, descending upon her like a tidal wave before she could avoid it. Part of her wondered if it was her company they were necessarily after, or the fact that the rest of the chairs at her table were unoccupied, making the location quite desirable in the crowded lounge.

"Elisa, this is Lt. T'Shanik, the beta squad leader," Marcos said, wasting no time in introducing his companions, gesturing first to the pretty Vulcan who offered a grave nod of acknowledgment. "Alexis Spencer is the xeno-specialist in sickbay." Spencer seemed a little older than the others, but that was to be expected considering medical personnel required four more years of training at Starfleet Medical after the Academy, and another period of internship at a ground or station-based hospital before being allowed to accept a shipboard assignment. That meant Millennium was probably Dr. Spencer's first deep-space duty as well. "You know Nog, of course."

"Actually, we haven't had much of a chance to talk," Nog offered politely, shooting a glance at the young woman who felt a little overwhelmed by all this company.

"Uh, no, we haven't," Tarn agreed. "The captain doesn't seem to be the sort to encourage small talk on the bridge."

"Do you find Captain Janeway to be hard-nosed?" Alexis asked curiously as she scooped up a handful of nuts from the bowl. She was classically rather than outrageously beautiful, a studious type with golden brown hair and an intelligent gaze. "I haven't had a chance to meet her."

"Neither have I," T'Shanik added. She regarded Tarn with level ebony eyes, her features delicate and impassive. "It's quite an accomplishment to be assigned to the bridge so early in one's career, and to the alpha shift in particular."

Had the young woman been anything but a Vulcan, Tarn thought she might have detected some envy in the even tones. However, since it was understood that Vulcans were above that sort of emotional weakness, the young Ops officer decided she was imagining things.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," she told her gloomily. "I think the only reason the captain assigned me there was to see how quickly I could screw up."

Nog frowned slightly. "I don't think that's how Captain Janeway operates."

"How would you know?" Marcos asked curiously.

"I hear things," Nog said with a certain authority, lifting his head. "It's important to know what your superior officers are like." Despite his relatively young age, the Ferengi brought more experience to the table than the rest of them because of his service on DS9 during the Dominion War, and they listened avidly to him. He took note of their attention, and elaborated further, his chest expanding almost as if he were attempting to make himself larger. "Captain Janeway is a fair captain, but she has a lot of crewmembers who served with her on Voyager. That will give them an advantage when it comes to advancing one's career. However, she didn't bring along her former operations officer, so that gives you the perfect opportunity to profit, Ensign Tarn. The spot is waiting to be filled by someone who can make the most of it."

Considering it, Tarn shook her head. "Making the most of it is the least of my worries," she said. "I just don't want to do something stupid. Otherwise, I'll probably end up scrubbing out plasma conduits on the gamma shift for the rest of my tour of duty."

"I think you're being too hard on yourself," Alexis said. "Every ship in Starfleet has new graduates operating on the bridge, simply because there aren't enough experienced bodies to fill the positions. I doubt very much that she wants you to fail. The only reason she would put you there is undoubtedly because she believes you have the potential to be successful."

"You don't know how much she dislikes me," Tarn told the doctor glumly.

"Why would she dislike you?" Marcos asked, as the rest of them all looked at the Ops officer with varying degrees of curiosity and uncertainty.

Tarn hesitated, and then told her new friends about her encounter with the captain and the Borg in a park in San Francisco several months before she had applied for the position on the Millennium. She didn't try to gloss over the details which showed her in a less than flattering light, despite how embarrassed she continued to be over her actions. Because of her honesty, she thought that all of them were looking at her with a certain empathy by the time she had finished, wincing sympathetically as she described how it felt when the 'civilians' that she had been dismissing so cavalierly were none other than Captain Janeway, and her spouse, Seven of Nine.

"That was unfortunate," T'Shanik noted calmly.

"You sure know how to make a first impression," Alexis agreed.

"They're married?" Nog said in surprise. "Seven and the captain?"

Marcos laughed as the others looked at the Ferengi with amusement. "You sound so disappointed, buddy," he said. "Did you really think you'd stand a chance with our science officer if that weren't the case?"

Nog dipped his head, his golden skin darkening, but he managed a bit of a rueful grin, revealing pointed teeth. "No," he admitted. "But it certainly makes appreciating Lt. Hansen a great deal more dangerous. Imagine what would happen if the captain noticed me doing it?"

"Hmm, leering at the science officer," Alexis said dryly. "I suspect that wouldn't go over well whether they were married or not." She glanced at Tarn and changed the subject. "You know, you're not the only one in a difficult situation. You ought to try working in sickbay for a few days. Pulaski is a real bear of a supervisor, and the fights she has with that sentient EMH have to be heard to be believed. I don't know why she authorized his assignment to her staff if she didn't want him around."

"Maybe that's just her way," Marcos suggested. "Besides, if you want a really tough taskmaster, you ought to be serving under Lt. Paris. He can make you feel two centimeters tall when you make a mistake, even if it's only in a simulation. Right, T'Shanik?"

The Vulcan lifted an elegantly slanted brow. "It is entirely possible that any mistakes made in the holodeck are not anything he wishes to see repeated in actuality," she pointed out. She paused. "However, it is ... illogical why he chose not to allow any squadrons other than the alpha to run escort. Nor do I understand why the captain refrained from dispatching us to deal with the attack on the ship."

Tarn, who was gradually feeling better as she realized she wasn't the only junior officer facing difficulty in her new assignment, shook her head. "The auxiliary fleet wasn't required," she told them with a touch of awe in her voice. "You should have seen it. Captain Janeway just leaned back in her chair and told Commander Ro to teach the Trabe a lesson. The security chief took out all three ships in about ten seconds. It's scary how advanced our technology is in comparison to theirs."

"That's probably how Voyager survived for so long in the Delta Quadrant," Nog offered. "The Intrepid-class vessels are primarily Scout ships, after all."

"Let's not forget the reputation of our commanding officer, either," Alexis offered, sipping her drink as the waiter brought over another round for the group. "Whatever else happens, we have it a lot better on Millennium than they did on Voyager."

"Not including those who didn't make it back," Marcos said, and for a moment, silence descended on the group, abruptly reminded that their choice of career was not the safest one to pursue in the Federation.

"Still, it's obvious that Janeway is a captain who knows how to get her people through the worst of situations relatively intact," Alexis insisted, breaking the awkward moment. "How many other captains could keep an Intrepid-class ship intact for seven years without backup? Maybe Picard on the Enterprise, but very few others. Look what happened to Captain Ransom and his crew while they were out here.  We should consider ourselves lucky that we have this assignment."

"Maybe you're right," Tarn said thoughtfully. Now that she was thinking about her situation in less pessimistic terms, she had to admit that things weren't so bad. She had even noticed that the first officer, as sinister as he appeared, seemed to be making an effort to boost her confidence, taking her along on an away mission and listening to her ideas. It had taken all her courage to speak up not only on the surface, but in the conference room, but in both cases, she had been listened to as courteously as any of the other officers by both he and the captain. Perhaps Janeway wasn't out to get her, after all.

Across the room, Lenara Kahn heard the cheerful chatter and good spirits of the young Starfleet officers in the corner, gazing over at them with a bit of envy. She vaguely remembered how it was when she was young, when her whole future lay before her like a shining jewel, just waiting to be seized. Many paths had beckoned, not the least of which was the option of joining to a symbiont, of hosting an alien life-form within her body and becoming one with it, experiencing the lives of all those who came before her. That had been her ultimate choice, her destiny, and by doing so, she had sealed her fate. Now she was old, as old as her symbiont, well over three hundred years. It didn't matter that her body was only thirty-eight, her mind was that of several lifetimes, but sometimes, the chatter of young people reminded her what it had been like, when she had known nothing, and had been blessed for it.

She sipped her raktajino and stared at the stars passing by the large windows which dominated this part of the lounge. She didn't know who had tagged the social center the 'Nexus', but the name had stuck, and someone had gone so far as to replicate a glowing sign to hang on the wall behind the bar. It flashed a glaring pink neon and provided the atmosphere with a sort of disreputable tinge, as if it were a station-side bar where it wasn't entirely clear she would be able to leave with all her credits, limbs or wits intact. The fact that it was located on a starship, where it was unlikely anything untoward would happen, did not alter the impression. Lenara wasn't sure how she felt about it. Kahn reveled in it. Together, they were content to drink their Klingon coffee and contemplate the unfamiliar stars passing by.

"Dr. Kahn?"

Lenara blinked and glanced over to discover Dr. Lewis regarding her uncertainly. As a hologram, he didn't need to eat or drink, but apparently he required company, and the somewhat plaintive expression on his face was the sort that only the hardest heart could deny. Lenara did not have a hard heart, and graciously, she lifted her glass.

"Doctor," she invited. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," he said politely and settled in the chair across the table from her. He looked at her drink with slight envy and she smiled faintly.

"It must be difficult to be unable to imbibe," she said. "Eating and drinking is such a social behavior, and one that's denied you."

"It's not easy being a hologram," he agreed. He tilted his head slightly. "You seem somewhat ... isolated yourself, if you'll forgive my saying so."

The two had become better acquainted at a dinner Seven had hosted their last night at DS9, and Lenara had been surprised to discover he was quite animate and rather charming. She had heard of the claims to his being sentient, and how he had actually gone to court to fight for his rights as a viable life-form, but she had not expected him to be ... well, so Human. Only the fact that he didn't breathe set him apart visually, and one actually had to study him closely to detect that.

"It takes time to adapt to new surroundings," Lenara admitted. "I guess all those years at the Trill Ministry of Science didn't do my socialization skills much good. I'm rather rusty at meeting new people and fitting in."

"Whereas I, on the other hand, have spent my existence on one starship or another in a support capacity," he agreed. "Believe me, you're not alone at finding it difficult to fill one's time while not on duty."

She lifted a brow, regarding him curiously. "I know you have no need of sleep," she said. "What do you do, just roam around the ship at night?" If he was taking any offense at what could admittedly be somewhat presumptuous questions, he gave no indication of it. Instead, she had noticed at the dinner that he seemed to enjoy talking about himself, and that continued here.

"I can turn myself off," he replied readily. "Certainly, my programming requires the occasional reset now and again, but I will admit, the nights do stretch on at times. I think that's part of the reason I developed so many interests beyond medicine. The longer I was activated, the more aware I became of a lack of ... of purpose. Sometimes I wonder why I exist."

"That's a question asked by a great many," Lenara said. She lifted her glass. "Maybe you'll find the answer on this voyage."

He nodded and she studied the dark depths of her beverage in the garish pink illumination. Perhaps she too would find a purpose on this voyage, and discover just what exactly had brought her out to the final frontier. Running from a doomed love shouldn't be the driving force in her existence. It was time she started running to something.

Whatever that might be.

Janeway groaned as she settled onto the mattress, and Seven looked over at her, wondering if something was wrong.

"Kathryn?"

"It's nothing," the captain responded to her spouse's concern, putting a hand over her eyes as she settled back against her pillows. "It's just that I had forgotten how a red alert can leave one so ... agitated and unsettled. I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight."

Seven reached over and wrapped her fingers around Janeway's wrist, pulling the hand gently away from her face. "Roll over," she instructed firmly, familiar with this problem and knowing exactly how to deal with it. "I will rub your back until you are relaxed enough to sleep."

The captain made a small sound of rueful pleasure. "Who will rub yours after I drift off?" she protested mildly.

Seven smiled. "I am perfectly capable of going to sleep without assistance," she said. "I am Borg."

"Of course you are," Janeway said dryly, turning over onto her stomach. "How could I ever forget that?"

"In the event you do, I shall remind you," Seven returned, straddling the captain's hips as her hands began to move over the smooth back of her spouse, fingers prodding gently at those spots that were particularly tight. There was a knot that formed just under Janeway's left shoulder blade whenever she had been especially active, requiring a tender touch to coax out. The captain groaned in heartfelt relief as the Borg probed it, manipulated it, and then finally soothed it away.

"Heavens, that feels so good, love," she murmured, her face resting on her forearms, a pillow tucked beneath them. She paused, obviously reveling in the relaxing sensation, a small smile curling the corner of her mouth. "You know, Annika, I'm getting too old for this."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "To be massaged?" she asked curiously.

Janeway made a small sound of amusement. "No, I meant I'm getting too old to pull a full duty shift, make wild, passionate love with you most of the evening, and then have to face a red alert. I'm not a lieutenant anymore."

Amused, Seven moved her palms in a rotating motion over the captain's spine. "Which do you wish to give up?" she asked dryly. "The wild, passionate lovemaking or the red alerts?"

"Definitely the red alerts."

"I suspect it is not something you have a choice about."

"No, I don't suppose it is," Janeway agreed lazily.

"Therefore we must curb the lovemaking for your own good," Seven concluded logically.

The captain's eyes flew open and she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at her spouse anxiously, as if afraid the young woman might actually be serious. After studying her face for a moment, she determined that Seven had only been joking, and she snorted briefly, settling back onto her forearms. The Borg smiled faintly and intensified the massage.

"We may have to curb it for the rest of the crew's sake," the captain said finally. "A part of me is queasy at the notion Zar somehow detected what we had been up to prior to arriving on the bridge."

"Indeed?" Seven said. "We are married, Kathryn. It is understood that such a relationship includes sexual interaction on our off-duty time. I fail to see why someone, least of all Commander Zar, would be either offended or surprised by that, or the fact that due to the immediacy of a red alert, neither of us were able to take the time to conceal what is and always will be a natural and normal expression of our love."

"Nonetheless, it's still a bit embarrassing to be offering every indication of it by how I smell or look," Janeway said. "I know I can't take a shower every time, but perhaps there is a way to ... cover up any obvious clues."

"Are you sure they were so obvious?" Seven asked, not sure why this was so bothersome to her spouse, but allowing that there were Human taboos and cultural tendencies which still gave her trouble on occasion.

Janeway hesitated, then sighed. "No," she said. "However, I must look for some kind of odor neutralizing agent that can be used to remove such traces quickly before I pull on my uniform." She paused. "Wasn't there something we used on Voyager when we were exploring new areas on the ship in which to make love?"

"There was a mist I discovered in the replicator menu," Seven acknowledged. "Apparently, we are not the only ones to have discovered this requirement ... which again leads me to question why it is a problem in the first place?"

"It just is," the captain insisted.

Seven lifted her head. "Ah, you mean it is a Human failing," she noted with deliberate provocation.

"Beast," Janeway said without rancor, not rising to the bait. Apparently, she was too relaxed at the moment to engage in an exchange of verbal jabs.

Seven did not feel particularly like a beast, but she did admit to a certain animal enjoyment in crouching over her spouse and rubbing her back ... not to mention the sensation of the captain's buttocks cushioning the tender area between her legs which tingled pleasantly as it moved over the smooth skin. As she did, she became aware of the aroma rising from her partner, the very fragrance that Janeway was apparently objecting to, a musky reminder of their previous lovemaking, made up of equal parts captain and Borg. The sheer headiness of it served to renew Seven's arousal, though how she was capable of it after their lusty interlude earlier was illogical. Perhaps, she reasoned, it had to do with the danger implied in a red alert. Though it had turned out to be a relatively minor incident with the Trabe, mild danger or excitement in one area easily translated into physical desire in the bedroom, particularly when the object of one's desires was lying so delectably beneath one, displaying a tantalizing length of elegant back and the soft curve of a breast that peeked out invitingly from between her torso and her arm.

Or perhaps it was being on a starship again, Seven mused. Lately, it seemed that she was more aware of her partner physically. She couldn't deny that there was something very attractive about Janeway being the most powerful person in their immediate world. That Seven was the only one allowed to see the captain's vulnerabilities, to be intimate with her in a way Janeway allowed with no one else, provided its own form of intoxication..

"Hmm, a penny for your thoughts, darling," Janeway muttered sleepily. It was an inquiry she had pursued frequently in the past few months, particularly after the couple had experienced difficulties in their marriage on Earth. Neither woman was willing to risk their relationship on assumptions that might turn out to be faulty in the long run. They tried to find out what the other was thinking or feeling whenever possible. Seven appreciated the effort, and lowered herself until her breasts were pressed against the smooth back, her face buried in the warm, auburn hair.

"How beautiful you are," Seven whispered huskily, nuzzling the delicate shell of the captain's ear, inhaling her scent deeply. "How much I want and need you."

Janeway made a sound of protest. "And you call me insatiable? What about sleep?"

"We have the rest of our lives to sleep," Seven said reasonably.

Janeway laughed low in her throat, and Seven drew her tongue lightly along the curve of her jaw, her hand slipping along the captain's side to prod lightly, questioningly, at the side of her breast flattened beneath her body. Groaning, half in dismay, half in pleasure, Janeway lifted slightly so Seven could slip her hand under her, covering the breast fully, feeling the nipple poke into her palm with rapidly hardening attention, squeezing it gently.

"While I may survive this mission, it occurs to me that I might not survive you," the captain muttered.

Seven continued her caresses, however, detecting no real resistance or opposition from her spouse despite her words, until the captain, squirming, indicated she wished to move. Lifting herself, Seven paused as Janeway rolled over onto her back beneath her, then settled down, able to kiss her mouth now and taking full advantage of that fact, tasting the sweet warmth and tenderness of her lips. She could feel the captain's leg come up between hers, the smooth skin of her thigh pressing insistently against her juncture, and she moaned happily into her mouth, pleasured by the tantalizing touch, undulating against it slightly.

Their desire was sharp, rising hotly, but required little to satisfy it. Seven shifted slightly so that she could touch Janeway, fingertips swirling over the tender nodule of sensation even as she felt the captain's hand on her, both moving quickly and rhythmically in mutual masturbation, not bothering to penetrate further, not needing anything more than this superbly sweet dance of fingertips over moist, intimate flesh. Their respective breaths rasped hard and fast into the other's ear, their sounds of pleasure abrupt, gathering speed until they both groaned in almost simultaneous delight, twitching as climax released the sweet stress, the flood of endorphins into the bloodstream chasing away the last of the lingering tension and apprehension from the red alert.

Blankets were pulled up, the lights brought down, and Seven exhaled in happy satisfaction as she held her partner close to her. There was no question about either's ability to sleep now, drowsiness dragging heavily at both of them, drawing them down into warm slumber. The last thing Seven thought was that she shouldn't have wasted time on the massage beforehand. Sometimes, it was just more efficient to acknowledge the physical benefits of lovemaking and utilize it accordingly.

Morning came too soon, however, and the captain grumbled and growled as she crawled out of bed, none of it directed at her spouse, but making it clear that Janeway was not entirely pleased with her late night. However, the young woman also knew the cure for that and, after pulling on her robe, she padded out to the living area where she activated the coffee maker and programmed a hearty breakfast menu into the replicator. She even set the table, and by the time the captain emerged from the ensuite, fully dressed in her uniform and somewhat more prepared to face a new day, Seven was able to hand her a mug full of steaming black coffee and sit her at the table where her meal awaited.

Only then did the Borg take her turn in the bathroom, showering thoroughly before pulling on her black outfit with the slate-grey shoulders, two gold pips adorning the collar of the sweater, shaded blue to indicate the science department. Janeway had been revitalized enough by the food and coffee to offer her spouse a smile as Seven joined her at the breakfast table, lifting a padd where the captain had been perusing the duty logs of what had occurred on the ship while the couple had been asleep.

"There's a trinary cluster a few light years away that looks intriguing," she said, her face smoothed out into the customary professionalism of her command role. "I think I'll have Millennium divert to spend a few days studying it."

Seven dipped her head in agreement, smiling as she saw the relaxation in her spouse. This was what Janeway should have always commanded, she thought to herself, a vessel dedicated primarily to scientific exploration and discovery. There was no question it was what Janeway wanted to do most, and to be able to share it with so many like minded people only made it better.

"What of the Trabe? Or the Kazon?" Seven asked, scooping up a spoonful of cereal. "That anomaly may still be in what they consider their territory."

"I think it's just outside their area," Janeway said. "In any event, we can take care of ourselves."

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "Yes. However, do not forget that there is always a reason why the territory of a species terminates at a specific area in space. One might wonder why neither the Trabe or the Kazon chose to expand in this direction."

Janeway grinned over the rim of her coffee mug. "Good point," she allowed. "I suppose we'll find out in the coming days."

"I suppose we will," Seven agreed. Janeway abruptly put her cup down and beamed at her. Curious, the young woman raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "What?"

"This is it, the beginning of our mission, Annika," the captain said, her eyes a brilliant blue. "The first step in what should be an amazing journey of discovery. Aren't you excited?"

Seven smiled, aware that her partner was indulging in a personal pleasure that she might not show to anyone else on the ship. "Very much so. We can go anywhere in the quadrant. Undoubtedly, we shall experience things that no one else has or ever will."

She raised her juice glass in an informal salute to her beloved spouse.

"That is definitely a future to look forward to."

Epilogue

The young Kazon was breathless as he rushed into the maj's quarters, and Jul Culluh regarded his son with a mix of exasperated fondness and the irritation of being interrupted by a youth who had yet to earn his name. The youngster was not of pure blood, his mother an alien from a quadrant so far away, it was beyond imagining, but he was being raised in the manner of his people, the Kazon-Nistrim, and none would deny that his quick mind boded well for his future.

"What is it?" the Jul demanded, leaning forward in his chair, brows drawn down.

"They're back."

Jul blinked. "Who?"

"The Federation," the boy said, barely able to conceal his excitement. "It is said that a vessel of their kind appeared in the same area as the destroyed Ogla colony and fought the Trabe."

"Fought the Trabe," Culluh said, surprised. He lifted his head. "How did you hear of this?"

"I heard Sanjur tell Burtan that the Kazon-Relora came across the damaged Trabe vessels and finished them off." The boy drew nearer, unaware in his excitement that he was being more presumptuous than even a son could be allowed with a Jul. However, Culluh overlooked it this one time, too intrigued by the news the boy was sharing, and wondering why it had not been brought to him by now. Certain heads would roll, he decided.

"What else?" he demanded.

"It's her," the boy said, speaking in a tone one normally reserved for demons and evil spirits of the night. "The female Jul."

"Janeway?" he said, his voice a mix of astonishment and something that couldn't quite be identified. "This vessel is Janeway's?"

"But it is not Voyager. It is a much larger ship ... and more powerful."

Stunned, Culluh leaned back in his chair and thought about this, as well as how it could be used to his advantage. The fact that he had always come out on the losing end with the female was not foremost on his mind. What was strongest in his thoughts had its roots in revenge and an acknowledgment of what the Federation's superior technology could do in this war which had begun partially because of Janeway's interference. Without her, the Trabe would not have regained some of their honor, daring to strike at the leaders of the Kazon. The fact that without Seska's influence, he would otherwise not have recognized the need to unite the various Kazon factions into a unified whole to fight the Trabe was irrelevant.

Janeway had started this mess, he thought darkly. She could damn well find a way to finish it, primarily by providing him with the technology to finish the Trabe once and for all.

"Send for my second," he told the officer on the other end of the communication channel, activated by the device embedded in the arm of his chair. "I require ... explanations. Set a course for the array system."

Leaning back, he lifted his head and smiled for the first time in years.

The End

•  This is the third installment in the ST: Millennium series. It was posted July 20, 2001.

• This story deals with sex and violence, and how they sometimes overlap ... there is, however, no sexual violence involving any of the characters.

• There is an accessory alert in effect for this story.

Delicate Diplomacy
G. L. Dartt

"Commander Ro."

The chief of security for the starship Millennium paused, a slightly pained expression on her face as she turned to face Zar Tulek, the vessel's first officer. Zar supposed he should be grateful the woman had waited for him, instead of pretending she hadn't heard him.

"Yes, sir," she said with careful politeness.

Zar noticed her eyes widened marginally as she saw the new adornment dangling from his right ear, similar to her own, and he stifled his smile. Taking on the cultural symbol of his mother's people had been the captain's idea, a subtle and delicate reaching out to those on the ship who had cause to fear and hate his father's people. The Cardassians were viewed with suspicion at best, outright hatred at worse, and this visual cue made it easier for the crewmembers he dealt with to remember he was also Bajoran, as well as a member of Starfleet and their first officer.

"I wanted to speak with you about the pilots on the ship," he said. "Please, walk with me."

With a brief hesitation, Ro dipped her head and matched him stride for stride as they walked through the expansive corridors of their starship. Tall and slender, Ro moved with a deadly grace, as a predator alert for its next meal would. Her short shock of dark hair and dark eyes provided her with brooding good looks, the Bajoran crinkles at the bridge of her nose making her appear somber, even when she was in a good mood.

Of course, Zar had yet to encounter the woman in a good mood. Ro was very conscious of the first officer looking like a Cardassian, and it created a distinct tension between them. However, it was something they were going to have to get past. Captain Janeway probably did not expect her senior staff to love each other, but she did did expect them to find a way to work together as a smoothly functioning unit.

"What about the pilots?" Ro asked coolly.

"I was wondering if there were any problems coming from that area," he asked. "Several young, ambitious and enthusiastic Academy graduates have been placed in a position where they spend most of their time sitting around and waiting for something to happen. When that 'something' does happen, it's incredibly tense and probably life-threatening. Stress builds up, and it may be released in the most unproductive ways."

"No problems so far," she said promptly, then added in what was obviously an attempt to be fair, "However, it's still early in the mission. There will be problems coming from that area, particularly since the captain seems unwilling to use them often."

Zar exhaled in relief. "You noticed that as well?" he asked.

Ro nodded. "I have, and it's to be expected," she said evenly. "The captain has never commanded a vessel like Millennium which carries an auxiliary fleet. It's possible she's not quite sure how to deploy them, not only in a confrontation, but also during normal operating procedure."

"Exactly," Zar said. "They can't be utilized in a manner that a space station utilizes them. For the latter, the object is to provide mobility and defense to a structure which is immobile and has limited defense capabilities. Millennium is far from being either."

"I hear Tom wants to fly regular escort," Ro offered. The longer they spoke, the more it seemed her manner was gradually softening toward the first officer. Zar made a mental note to thank the captain for her suggestion about the earring. "The problem is, those fighters can only go warp six at maximum, and they're only able to maintain it for an hour or two at most. Meanwhile, Millennium's comfortable cruising speed is warp seven. I can't see the captain holding the ship back just so Tom and his band can have something to do."

"Precisely," Zar said. "Yet, they have to have something to do between missions." He glanced over at the Bajoran. "I'd like to arrange a meeting between you, the captain and myself to discuss this further. Any ideas you could bring to the table would be very useful."

Ro blinked and glanced over at him. "Why me?"

Zar was surprised. "You're third in command. Besides, the function of the fighter wing is to protect the ship, and the other auxiliary vessels as they're dispatched, which falls under the pureview of the security chief. You have to be a part of any decision as to their deployment."

Ro looked vaguely embarrassed at missing what should have been obvious to her, and she shot him a look from the corner of dark eyes. "I understand," she said. "I'll give it some thought."

"Please," he said. "The sooner we can structure a way for these vessels and their pilots to operate, the better off we'll all be."

"Laren."

Both paused at the hail and they turned to greet the newcomer. B'Elanna Torres's face changed when she realized who had been walking with her spouse, an expression of overt dislike darkening her gaze. The ship's chief engineer was a hybrid, just as Zar was, though her unique physiology sprang from being half Human and half Klingon. The latter was displayed in the proud ridges on her forehead, the long, crinkly dark hair, and the barely suppressed power that radiated from her compact, muscular body. Her Humanness was apparent in the soft curve of her jaw, and the fact that her forehead ridges were not nearly as pronounced as a full Klingon's would be.

Zar was aware that the woman didn't like him, but he did not indicate it as he waited politely for the engineer to catch up to them.

"Commander," she said shortly, her voice tense.

"Lieutenant," he responded, both word and rank emphasized subtly.

Ro looked back and forth between them, a brief glance of assessment, and then lowered her head. "The Commander and I were discussing Tom's group of fighters," she offered in what seemed to be a deliberately conciliatory tone. B'Elanna detected it, blinking in surprise. "It's going to be hard to deploy those ships in a way to keep their pilots out of trouble. You haven't picked up on anything, have you, Lanna?"

Zar wondered briefly at the informality of first names, deciding that the two women must be friends, perhaps bound together in their mutual dislike of Cardassians since both Bajoran and Klingon had reason to fault the Cardassian Empire for past actions. From his perusal of their personnel files, Zar had discovered that Ro and Torres were both veterans of the Maquis, a rebel band who had fought the Cardassians even when the Federation had been involved in a temporary peace treaty with them, making them outlaws in the eyes of both. Now all of them ... Bajoran, Klingon, Maquis, Cardassian hybrid ... wore the uniform of Starfleet, and they were expected to get along.

Zar wondered if the universe was naturally perverse or merely the species within it, one moment bitter enemies, the next, allies as dictated by diplomacy and political happenstance. It was very difficult to keep track without a score card.

"No," B'Elanna said, looking vaguely confused as she regarded the security chief. "Not yet, at any rate, but then, they're unlikely to be in engineering much."

"However, you or your department might have run into something spirited in the Nexus."

B'Elanna stared coldly through him and deliberately ignored the query. Instead, she looked at Ro. "Seven and the captain invited us for dinner tonight."

Ro lifted her head. "I'll be there," she said.

B'Elanna offered a short nod to the woman, and still ignoring Zar, turned and walked away. Infuriated, the first officer required a few seconds to bring his rage back under control, not wanting it to influence his actions, which could affect all the progress he had made to date. It was not the first time he had been forced to bite his tongue at rude and antagonistic behavior as he rose through the ranks of his chosen profession, but it didn't get any easier with time.

"It's possible that our chief engineer requires a bit of an attitude adjustment," he said finally, in a low tone. "I may have to speak with Janeway."

Ro glanced at him, anger flaring in her own eyes, but apparently recognized that, as chief of security, it was part of her responsibility to handle such incidents. Hopefully, before they were brought to the attention of the captain.

"I'll speak with Lt. Torres when she gets home tonight," she promised tightly. "She'll be easier to deal with in our quarters."

For two senior officers to be sharing quarters, particularly when it was protocol for each to be assigned single cabins, made it very apparent that the two women were more than friends. He cursed the fact that Starfleet personnel files omitted certain details about an officer unless the information was expected to impact on his or her professional abilities. It had not yet been necessary for him to use his exec authority to delve into anyone's more private personal files where such information might be found. However, it was his experience that romantic ties did impact a person's performance, at least to a certain extent. It would be much more difficult for the security chief to deal with the chief engineer on security matters if they were involved on a romantic level. Perhaps he should speak with Counselor Kes, and get her advice as to how he should deal with all these unexpected and complicated ties binding together certain members of the senior staff. He was still getting used to the idea that the captain was married to the ship's chief science officer, a situation that had also caused him a certain amount of grief ... though that too was more personal than professional.

"Very well," he said shortly. "I'll leave it in your hands."

He nodded stiffly at her and walked away. It was still the first few months, he reminded himself. There was no point in getting ahead of himself, or feel that he wasn't making strides when in fact, he was. It was just so tiring to go through the same thing, posting after posting, to have to win over his crewmates when others, Humans, Vulcans, and even Klingons, tended to receive acceptance from the beginning. With them, they had to fail to lose respect. With Zar, he had to succeed before it would be granted.

Shaking his head, he entered the turbolift and instructed it to take him to the bridge. At least he had no problem with his captain. Janeway had made every effort to make him feel welcome, and the more he got to know her, the more he understood why others held her in such high regard. She was exceptionally competent, warmly compassionate, yet ready to defend her ship and crew with extreme force if necessary. Somehow, she managed to balance all those elements into a command persona that seemed to electrify the room by simply entering it. She also had a reputation for being a wonderful teacher in terms of command training. Certainly he had already learned a great deal simply from how she treated him. He hoped that the first time he acquired a first officer, he would treat that person with the same respect, trust and decency that she had displayed.

The fact that he was wildly attracted to her spouse was something he tried not to think about very often, and worked very hard at burying behind a mask of professionalism.

"Janeway to Zar."

Zar started, twitching slightly. It was almost as if his thinking of the captain predicted her hail. He reached up and tapped his comm badge. "Zar here," he responded.

"Commander, I need you in the conference room," she said. "Our guest has a task for us, and I'd like your input."

Zar blinked. The 'guest' was undoubtedly Maxis, a trader that they had encountered the previous day. Apparently, the alien merchant had dealings with Janeway and Voyager eight years ago, and appeared glad to see the return of the Federation to the sector. Zar knew that over the next month or so, they could expect to encounter others who knew of the Federation, especially since Voyager had shaken up the sector's status quo considerably when she arrived all those years ago. Hopefully, Millennium's encounters would shade more to the benevolent, like Maxis, rather than involving old acquaintances who were apt to shoot first, as the Trabe had.

"I'm on my way," he said.

Captain Janeway glanced up as her first officer entered the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the distinctive long neck and boney features of his father, Zar showed little indication of his Bajoran roots. It was making his assimilation into her crew somewhat challenging, and she would be glad when this initial settling in period was over.

"Commander, Mr. Maxis has been telling me about the Iboneb and the Okunda," she said, gesturing slightly at the alien who was seated across from her at the conference table. Maxis was wisp thin, with a face that seemed to hang over as a vulture's would. Back humped beneath his plain, tan tunic, his shoulders cradled his head rather than actually supported it, while his small eyes were a somewhat disturbing reddish orange. His movements were restrained, birdlike, while there was the slightest overtone of a hiss in his enunciation.

"Yes, Commander," Maxis said. "I have been doing business with the Okunda for years. They are a spiritual race, with a single religious faith influencing their culture ... somewhat dull, but overall, an extremely good people. Honesty, integrity and family values are more than just slogans to them. They truly live what they believe, holding themselves to the highest moral standards. Apparently, that's where they've run into a problem."

"How so?" Zar asked, taking a seat beside the captain and regarding the alien curiously.

"There is a moon orbiting the seventh planet of the nearby Iboneb system," Maxis explained. "It is rich in the ore that the Okunda refine for an element used in their planetary power grid."

"The Iboneb don't want to sell," Zar guessed.

"Actually, the Iboneb are more than willing to negotiate for the mining rights," Maxis offered, surprising the commander. "Unfortunately, when the two people sit down to work out a deal that will benefit both of them, the Okunda end up walking out of the negotiations because of something the Iboneb do."

Janeway lifted her chin. "Maxis isn't sure what it is exactly," she said, glancing at her first officer. "Only that whatever behavior the Iboneb display, it profoundly and deeply offends the Okunda on a spiritual and moral level."

Maxis leaned forward. "I believe that a representative from a less ... restricted culture may be able to mediate," he said. "That is why I brought this to your captain."

"Why don't you offer yourself as mediator?" Zar asked curiously.

Maxis spread his hands out. "Alas, I have a vested interest in this, having traded with the Okunda extensively," he explained. "The Iboneb would not consider me ... neutral. However, if I present your credentials, perhaps they would accept you as an objective third party."

Janeway lifted a brow. "You have no idea what it is the Iboneb do that so outrages the Okunda?" she asked.

Maxis shook his head. "The representatives I've spoken with seem unable to describe it, becoming extremely uncomfortable and inarticulate," he said. "Of course, for a morally rigid species as themselves, it could be something that is relatively insignificant to other species. For example, the Okunda can't speak of gambling, either, which could be considered a harmless past time on many worlds."

"It's possible we could help," Janeway allowed. "Certainly, the more species we encounter, the broader our tolerance is for other cultures. I would have no objection to mediating a treaty that would benefit both parties."

Maxis smiled widely, displaying a rather disturbing arrangement of dental array. "Wonderful," he enthused. "I shall present your offer to the Okunda immediately, and they will tender it to the Iboneb. There should be an answer back within a few days."

"Millennium will remain in this area in any event," Janeway promised. "Our science department is studying a spatial anomaly, and will require another week of gathering the necessary data."

"I look forward to working with you again, Captain Janeway," Maxis said, standing up, bowing slightly, then turning for the door. The security officer, standing unobtrusively just inside, immediately took up an escort to show the visitor back to the transporter room. After they were gone, Janeway looked at Zar.

"What could be so morally reprehensible that a spiritual people can't stay in the same room with them?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Zar looked thoughtful, however, giving the question all due consideration. "If what Maxis said about their cultural structures is correct, it may be something quite innocent," he suggested. "It may also be some behavior integral to the Iboneb."

"Something physical, perhaps," Janeway guessed. She rested her chin on her palm, elbow on the table. "That could cover a lot of things."

Zar grinned. "If it were I, there is one thing that would send me screaming out of the room with no questions asked."

Janeway felt a corner of her mouth turn up, sensing a playful tone in the voice, something she hadn't expected from the young man she was still getting to know. "Yes?" she prompted readily. "Go on."

"You won't like it," he warned.

"Try me," Janeway countered, piqued slightly by the challenge implicit in the inflection of his voice.

"If, while I was attempting to negotiate, the person across the table kept picking his nose and eating it," Zar offered, watching her expectantly.

Janeway's stomach did a flip flop. "Zar!" she said, outraged and made more than a little squeamish by the mental image.

He chuckled lightly. "You asked."

Janeway lifted her face, eyeing him briefly. "So I did," she agreed lightly. "I won't make that mistake again. Next time you tell me I won't like something, I'll believe you." Zar merely looked amused, and she shook her head. "However, as ... disgusting ... as that suggestion is, it's entirely possible to tolerate it, at least long enough to conduct a negotiation."

"Agreed," Zar said, sobering slightly. "Humans are so good at this sort of thing. You're highly adaptable, and able to accommodate a wide range of cultural diversity." He paused. "That's why I selected your species as my xeno-biology thesis at the Academy."

Janeway blinked, not used to being thought of as alien, but then, to Zar, that's exactly what her people would be. "Any conclusions?" she asked.

"Actually, I did draw one interesting conclusion ... though it wasn't particularly new," he said. "It went a long way in helping me understand your species."

Keenly interested now, the captain lifted her chin. "What was it?"

"Regardless of what type of culture exists on other worlds, in other species, Humans have already evolved a similar social structure in one form or another in their history, even if only on a small, tribal level," Zar said. "It's amazing. Your world is so multi-cultural, that even today, there's nothing that Starfleet has come across in the universe that Humans haven't already tried."

Janeway blinked. "That is surprising," she said. "Are you sure?"

"So far it appears to be a concrete theory," he said. "I have a continued scientific interest in it, and every time I come across a new civilization, I try to see if Humans have evolved similarly in one manner or another ... so far, I've always found a cultural match somewhere."

"That's amazing," the captain said, honestly fascinated. "I guess we'll see if the Iboneb live up to your theory ... or if they're the exception that proves the rule."

A few days later, Janeway and Zar had their opportunity to verify the theory, or at least, discover exactly who and what the Iboneb were. The Okunda had been suitably grateful for the offer of mediation, while the Iboneb agreed to give it a try on a trial basis. Obligingly, Millennium left the spatial anomaly they had been studying, and made the trip to the Iboneb homeworld, taking up orbit around the lush green and blue planet.

The captain hadn't known what to expect when the representatives from the mysterious species materialized on the transporter pad, but she was pleasantly surprised to find that they were Humanoid and appeared reasonably normal ... if 'normal' was the Terran humanoid standard, which Janeway, despite her best intentions, tended to use in her subconscious assessment of other beings. The only significant difference was the Iboneb hairline, which ran down to the bottom of their jaws, giving their hair an appearance of being mane-like, surrounding features where the jaw and nose were just slightly elongated, highlighting eyes that were dark and deep-set, solid colors of amber and green.

Their garments was intricate layers and folds draped over one another, a variety of colors in rich materials. Delicately crafted jewelry glinted gold, ruby and sapphire throughout the material, granting glimpses of wealth and luxury. Speaking with them as she took them on a tour of her ship, Janeway discovered they were delightfully polite and soft-spoken, with an articulate grasp on the advanced technological concepts that were being presented to them. Tranturi, the lead ambassador, was a beautiful female with flowing dark hair, who introduced her companion as Katar. Janeway noted that he was a most handsome representative of muscular development regardless of the species. Together, they represented a very attractive people, and one who appeared to carry themselves with consummate dignity. The initial impression was very much that the Iboneb were a highly cultured and evolved species.

Hardly the type to pick one's nose, Janeway thought sardonically to herself, as she finally led them to one of the more expansive and luxurious conference rooms on Millennium's second deck. After seating them at one end of the table, Janeway took the other end, with Zar at her right hand, and Lt. Nog, the ship's helmsman at her left.

The diminutive navigational officer was not a diplomat, and under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have been included in such a negotiation, but he was a Ferengi, and Janeway wanted his expertise with the deal at her side, ready to whisper in her ear anything that might escape her notice. She considered herself a more than capable negotiator, but nobody knew how to bargain like the robber barons of the Alpha Quadrant. Nog had been very pleased and flattered to be asked, and was now sitting attentively, aware that he would speak only to the captain, and in an unobtrusive manner at that. She had every confidence that he would handle himself professionally.

"We are pleased at your offer of mediation, Captain Janeway," Tranturi said as she regarded the starship captain expectantly. "Our negotiations with the Okunda have been suitably frustrating and mystifying. We are aware that we offend them in some way, but they are unwilling, or simply unable, to explain how." She tilted her head. "We have not had much experience with other species, so most of this is new to us, yet we truly wish to accomplish this deal, since it will benefit both our peoples."

"Your efforts are most admirable," Janeway said smoothly. "Few species would work so hard to accomplish a trade agreement. It speaks highly of your peaceful intentions."

"'Peaceful'?" Tranturi echoed. She glanced at her companion, frowning slightly. "I'm afraid the word does not translate."

Janeway lifted her head. It hadn't taken long for them to hit a snag, she thought ruefully, and she searched for a definition. "Kind, helpful to others," she elaborated. "Not warlike."

"Warlike?" Tranturi blinked. "What is ... 'war'."

Janeway exhaled slowly, and beside her, she was aware of Zar shifting slightly in his chair. She glanced at him, seeing that he wanted to say something, and she nodded, granting him leave to do so.

"Obviously, you have not been subject to the weaknesses of other species," Zar offered gently. He paused. "Do you have animals on your planet ... animals that prey on others for food?"

Tranturi nodded. "Of course," she said.

Zar hesitated, then asked carefully, "I mean no disrespect, but I would ask if your species also prey as they do?"

Tranturi's face cleared. "We are not vegetarian, but though we have hunted animals for food throughout our history," she said, "it is no longer necessary. Our technology provides all we require without eating meat."

"I understand," Janeway said. "However, in many species, including my own, we do not just compete with animals for food, territory and resources ... we have competed with each other, as well as with other sentient beings."

"Each other," Tranturi said. She hesitated, looking vaguely ill. "Yes, the Okunda explained this to us. The concept of preying on one's own species. It is a horrible concept, but we have managed to comprehend it."

"When that happens on a large scale, involving thousands in conflict with each other, we call it 'war'," Janeway continued. "It is an element that many species have struggled with throughout history. We have tried hard to overcome it, to find better ways to live."

"Yes," Tranturi allowed. "The Okunda had much conflict in their history, before finding their 'true path'. We do not necessarily agree with such a 'path', but we accept that for them, it is a better way to exist than how they did." She paused. "It is their evolution, just as we have evolved differently ... as you must have evolved differently. The Iboneb do not harm each other for any reason, be it for food, for territory or out of emotion. We have other ways of resolving disagreements."

Janeway exhaled, relieved. Perhaps this would be easier than she had thought.

"I envy you," she said. "Your people apparently managed to evolve without armed conflict. Unfortunately, in our experience, that evolutionary path tends to be the exception rather than the rule."

"So it seems from what we have learned so far," Tranturi allowed. She leaned forward. "Now that we appear to have achieved some common ground, Captain, perhaps we can begin negotiations for our moon. We prefer straightforwardness as much as possible."

"Of course," Janeway said graciously.

She proceeded to present the offer by the Okunda, an exchange of varied goods for the right to mine their ore, including a plant that the Okunda homeworld possessed in abundance which the Iboneb greatly prized for its usefulness in medicinal applications. There were minor disagreements on all the amounts involved, but the major sticking point was definitely the plants. Having access to such large quantities of it would supply the Iboneb's needs for decades, as well as provide enough spare plants to find ways, perhaps, to make it grow in a more controlled environment, thus providing long term benefits beyond the trade agreement. For every ton of ore the Okunda mined from the moon, they offered the Iboneb one hundred plants. The Iboneb wanted a thousand. Janeway was hopeful they would settle for five hundred, the highest amount the Okunda were willing to go.

As the negotiation grew more intricate and detailed, the Iboneb representatives began to show signs of stress, a tightening around the eyes, a certain inflection in Tranturi's voice. However, Janeway was greatly surprised when the ambassador abruptly stood up, her companion joining her. The captain frantically went over the last few minutes in her head, trying to track down what might have offended the diplomat so, and it actually took a few seconds to realize they weren't storming from the room. Instead, Katar reached behind Tranturi and pulled open the back of her skirt, while, at the same time, he opened the front of his trousers to display a modest, yet quite erect, penis. He moved behind the female Iboneb, and before the captain's disbelieving eyes, the two sexually copulated.

It only took about twenty seconds, but it seemed to last a lifetime. Beside her, Janeway was aware of Nog's jaw dropping in absolute astonishment, revealing pointed teeth, while on her other side, Zar's face became dark, infused with blood. A faint wisp of musk tickled the captain's nose, and her heart rate increased, perspiration breaking out on her forehead. She noted distantly that while she was becoming more agitated the longer the encounter went on, Tranturi was perceptibly calmer, continuing to negotiate even as she was ... 'serviced' was the only word that came to the captain's mind. When the Iboneb were finished, though Janeway wasn't sure it was to the point of orgasm, or if so, it was quite contained, Katar withdrew, arranging his garment neatly. Meanwhile, Tranturi wiggled slightly, shaking her garment back in place and resumed her seat as if absolutely nothing had happened, as if it had been a completely normal and natural occurrence ... which, possibly, for the Iboneb, it was.

Frozen, Janeway regarded them, finally figuring out what it was that had so offended the Okunda to the point where they could no longer remain at the negotiating table. Though how she was going handle it was another matter entirely.

As the chief science officer on the Millennium, Seven of Nine discovered that she held far more authority and responsibility than had been the case on her previous starship posting, yet had less demands on her time than had been the case with the Theoretical Propulsion Group. It was the same in her personal life. She didn't work as closely on a day to day basis with the captain as she had on Voyager, but at the same time, she was not as far away from her spouse as she had been on Earth, both working and living together on the same vessel, finding their way back to each other at the end of every duty shift. Working quietly at her desk in her office on deck ten, Seven decided that she rather enjoyed her new position.

"Lt. Hansen."

Seven paused in her work, becoming more familiar with responding to her Human name and Starfleet rank, but not as comfortable with it as she was with her Borg designation. Glancing up, she identified Lenara Kahn standing in the doorway. The civilian scientist was regarding the Borg expectantly, offering her a padd. Statuesque, with refined good looks and eyes that held more years than perhaps they should, Lenara was a Trill, a joined species hosting a symbiont that was well over three hundred years old. It provided her with an aura of great wisdom and strength, making the young Borg feel more secure just by being in her presence. By assigning Lenara as the liaison between her and the other civilian scientists on the large vessel, Seven also didn't have to worry so much that her Borg personality, with its emphasis on precision and efficiency, would cause hard feelings among the crew.

"Yes, Dr. Kahn?" Seven replied, accepting the padd. She scanned it quickly, finding the answer to her query, and then glanced up at the older woman. "These are the final readings for the radiation levels," she said with a certain confusion. "They appear to be leveling out, which is not what our established data predicted."

"Exactly," Kahn agreed. "Come with me." She moved out into the main science lab where an expansive work station took up most of one end of the large room. Seven paused momentarily in surprise before shrugging mentally and following. She was aware of other crewmembers in the room curiously looking over in their direction as Lenara brought up the same information on the console as was on the padd. "It's apparent that our initial scans were either flawed or something unusual is going on here."

"Agreed," Seven said. This was not the first time the two had worked together since becoming crewmembers on Millennium, and Seven felt a small sort of joy as they began to delve into the mystery, feeding off each other's data as well as the information coming in from the other scientists on the project. There was a pleasant synchronicity to their working together, one that Seven rarely found in other beings. The two women had little need to speak, almost as if they were reading each other's mind. It was very similar to how it had been in the Collective, Seven decided after awhile, except Lenara had a much better sense of humor than any Borg drone.

It took most of the afternoon, but they were finally able to track down the irregularity in the initial data, and subsequently created a new line of research that would keep the rest of the science department busy for days while the Millennium was in the Iboneb star system. Seven was left with a sense of satisfaction that she had not experienced for a long time, feeling as if she had been an integral part of a whole, rather than one element competing with others to arrive at a conclusion.

"That was fun," Lenara said with a lazy smile as she leaned back in her chair. Her hair had come slightly awry from her ponytail, and a few strands trailed wildly around her face.

Seven, still as neat as when she had started, lifted an eyebrow. "It was," she agreed readily. "It is rare that I am able to work with another so efficiently. I thank you for your contribution."

"We work well together," the Trill said. "It provides the crew with a good example when the chief science officer and the head civilian scientist can cooperate so smoothly. It allows them to know, without saying it out loud, that we expect the same cooperation from them."

Seven considered that, realizing it was correct. So pleased was she with the day's duty shift, that she decided to make the evening's dinner with Ro and B'Elanna a bit of a celebration.

"Dr. Kahn, I am hosting a dinner tonight..." she began.

Lenara looked regretful. "I can't, Seven," she said, putting up a hand to interrupt her. "I have a dinner date this evening."

"A ... date?"

Seven blinked. It wasn't that long ago that Lenara Kahn had poured her heart out to her on DS9 about a doomed relationship with another Trill. It seemed rather soon for her to be dating, but then, Seven's advice to her had been essentially for the scientist to try to move on with her life. She should be glad that Lenara was embracing that advice so quickly.

"I see," she said. "Do I know her?"

Lenara flashed her a grin. "Him," she said. "Dr. Lewis invited me to the Nexus this evening."

"Dr. Lewis?" Seven frowned. "You mean the Doctor?"

Lenara smiled. "I know he's a hologram, but he's very entertaining company, and he doesn't seem to mind watching me eat, even while he can't," she explained.

Seven decided that while she honestly liked both parties, and considered them friends, she was uncertain about this turn of events. One overriding concern sprang to mind immediately, aware of how easily the Doctor got himself into difficulties on a personal level.

"Lenara," she said. The Trill lifted a brow, obviously recognizing the change in inflection which made the conversation more intimate and private.

"Yes?"

"The Doctor may be a hologram, but his emotions and feelings are quite ... real," Seven said. "He is not always prudent in his judgement."

The scientist stared at her, then smiled faintly. "Are you warning me not to trifle with the good Doctor's affections, Seven?" she asked with good humor.

Seven exhaled audibly. "He would not thank me for doing so," she admitted. "However, he does have a failing of embracing new experiences to the point where he does not consider all the consequences, either to himself or others. I appreciate that you are not responsible for his actions, but you should be aware of this flaw so that you can take ... precautions."

"Not only for him but for myself as well?"

Seven regarded her, then dipped her head. "It would be wise."

"I'll be careful, Seven," Lenara promised. "I doubt that this is any more than two people sharing some time together as they adapt to new circumstances, but I'll keep your words in mind." She paused, then reached over and rested her hand on Seven's shoulder. "You really are a most compassionate person, Seven. It's kind of you to worry so much about your friends."

"If I am, I have learned it from Kathryn," Seven demurred modestly. "When I was first severed from the Collective, 'compassion' was a concept with which I was completely unfamiliar. She taught me how important it was to make it a part of my life, to live with it coloring everything I do."

"You've learned it well," Lenara complimented.

Her hand lingered briefly on Seven's arm, the warmth penetrating through her uniform, before she returned to the data streaming by on the console, beginning her next task. Before returning her own attention to the data which remained to be scanned, Seven regarded the Trill's profile for a few seconds, aesthetically admiring the symmetry of the spots that trailed from Lenara's temple and down her neck, where they disappeared into the collar of her lab coat.

Later, as Seven logged off duty and made her way to the quarters she shared with the captain, she wondered if Lenara was happy about deciding to accompany Millennium on its voyage. Certainly, Seven had done her best to convince the scientist that it would be a good idea, and it made the Borg feel responsible for Lenara's well-being. She reminded herself, just as she had expressed to the captain many times, that a superior officer was not responsible for one's personal happiness. That was assuming too much in the role, and she was determined not to interfere any further in whatever might happen between Lenara and the Doctor, or anyone else the scientist might develop an interest in.

In her quarters, Seven set the table. Normally, it was the captain's job; however she decided it would not hurt to have it accomplished ahead of time. Besides, with dinner guests on hand, Kathryn would be far more efficient at entertaining them while Seven finished preparing dinner than she would be managing minor chores. Once the china, napkins and silverware were placed properly, the Borg set a flowered centerpiece in the middle of the linen tablecloth, admiring the way it looked. The roses had been retrieved from the private arboretum which was located next to the captain's cabin, and not for the first time, Seven offered silent gratitude for having a partner so romantic and thoughtful as to have one constructed for her.

She programmed the replicator for rice and eggrolls, and then carried a basket of fresh vegetables she had acquired on her way home over to the small kitchenette. A starship crew normally had little use or opportunity for fresh, organically grown food, but there was a surplus of organic material in the biology department. Apparently, those crewmembers who had served previously on Voyager, as well as those officers who came from frontier planets, had requested a steady supply of organic material to supplement their diet, so biometrics, at Captain Janeway's orders, planted a variety of Terran vegetables and fruits in the large hydroponic section maintained on deck twenty-one. Seven found the garden very useful, almost like her own private farmer's market, and hoped that it would be maintained for the duration of their voyage.

She also wondered if a portion of her small arboretum could be turned into a small herb garden. She made a note to speak with Lt. Wildman about it the next time she visited Naomi and Mezoti. If anyone on the ship would know how to create such a thing, it would be the biometrics officer.

As Seven sliced the peppers, broccoli, carrots and water chestnuts, she wondered if her good friend, B'Elanna, had softened her opinion regarding the ship's first officer. Seven hoped to determine the Klingon's mood over dinner. If the engineer remained as obstinate and belligerent as she had been during a recent away mission, perhaps the Borg could come up with some way to divert her ... particularly before the captain was required to step in. Janeway knew about her chief engineer's recent attitude, of course, but it was off the record, limited to the confines of these quarters. If the captain was required to notice it officially, however, placed in a position of having to speak directly with the young woman about her conduct regarding the first officer, Seven knew that B'Elanna would be in trouble.

Seven looked up in surprise as Janeway abruptly entered their quarters, twenty minutes earlier than expected, looking greatly disturbed and agitated. "Kathryn?" she queried uncertainly, easily reading the signs of disconcertion in her partner's features.

Janeway paused, starting at her as if she had never seen her before, and then glanced over at the table which had been set for four.

"What's going on here?" she asked thickly, in a voice that was quite unlike her own.

Seven blinked. "I am preparing dinner," she said. "Ro and B'Elanna are coming over this evening. I informed you of it this morning before you went on duty."

"Cancel it," Janeway said shortly, in a tone that brokered no room for argument, before turning around and disappearing into the bedroom.

Seven bristled at the presumptuous decision, but she was also aware that Janeway was not in the habit of ordering such a thing under normal circumstances. Frowning, she touched her comm badge and contacted B'Elanna with an apology, both for the cancellation and the short notice, asking that the dinner wait for another evening. The Klingon sounded confused since Seven was not in the habit of altering plans at the last moment, but acknowledged the apology before the Borg cut the channel.

Then, feeling somewhat confounded herself, Seven put aside her knives and placed the vegetables she had already sliced into a container, activating a stasis cover which would keep them fresh. Wiping her hands on a towel, she followed Janeway into the bedroom, determined to discover exactly what was going on with her spouse.

Zar remained frozen to his seat as the negotiations finally ended. There had been no resolution on the actual signing of a treaty, but many of the small details had been hammered out, and future negotiations looked promising. The afternoon was considered a great success by the Iboneb, who also appeared pleased that the Millennium crew had remained present during the entire four hours, without so much as a break.

That wasn't because the Starfleet officers were able to ignore the Iboneb having sex every time the negotiation became strained, Zar thought painfully. In his case, it was because he literally couldn't move, hunched around his groin which raged with arousal, threatening to explode had he so much as reached down to adjust himself. Such a release would be immediate and the thought of taking such action, particularly in front of his captain, was unimaginable, so he suffered in silence, doing his best to concentrate on the negotiation rather than the brief interruptions of coital exertion indulged in front of him.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Nog. Janeway had risen when the Iboneb had, but the Ferengi remained in place, obviously in some misery. The captain, however, appeared in reasonable control as she showed the diplomats out of the room, handing them over to security officers who would escort them to the transporter room as a sort of honor guard, wishing them a gracious farewell and the hope that the next day's negotiation would be as equally beneficial.

Perhaps it was easier for women, Zar decided. Their arousal was usually not so apparent or physically debilitating, yet, for all that, he suspected Janeway had not been entirely immune to the display which went on before them. Color stained her cheeks, her chest heaved with increased respiration, there was a slight tremble in her hands, and her bluish-grey eyes had grown progressively narrow as she struggled to retain her composure in the face of the Iboneb's cultural idiosyncracies. Of course, those physical clues could also be the indication of great outrage, but in either case, Zar was astounded at Janeway's ability to continue her calm mediation throughout the meeting, finding diplomatic ways to appeal to the Iboneb in order to have them agree to certain concessions. It raised his estimation of the captain's capabilities to an infinite degree.

Once the Iboneb were gone, Janeway stood for a moment in front of the door which had closed behind them, inhaling deeply, her fist clenced at her sides, her head bent. Then she finally glanced back at Zar, who offered her a pained expression. A touch of what may have been sympathy crossed her gaze, and she inclined her head.

"I don't suppose you have a Human precedent for this?" she asked gratingly.

"I don't think so," he managed. "I'll look for it ... later."

She stared at him, and then over at Nog who had his head down, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Janeway's face immediately softened, as if she were a mother presented with a hurt child, but unable to do anything about that hurt.

"Gentlemen," she said unsteadily. "Whenever you're ... ready to leave, consider yourself dismissed from duty for the rest of the day."

"Aye, sir," Nog managed in a strangled tone. "Thank you, sir." Janeway didn't take him to task for his form of address which was one that she didn't prefer. Instead, she merely took another deep breath and moved hastily from the room.

Zar managed to repress his groan, the ache in his groin almost beyond bearing. Desperately, he tried to make sense of what was happening. Certainly, while the initial display of the Iboneb might have caused arousal, in addition to shock and consternation, the sheer repetitiveness of the alien copulation should have become, if not acceptable, then relatively boring after a certain amount of time. Yet, every time the Iboneb coupled, ranging from ten seconds to an entire minute, Zar's arousal grew accordingly. It had taken all his willpower and discipline not only to hide it, but to control it so that he didn't inadvertently relieve the pressure.

Nog hadn't been as fortunate, Zar noticed, as the young officer stood up, the front of his uniform trousers damp and stained. The young Ferengi was obviously deeply humiliated at that lack of control, his large ears flushed darkly as he moved gingerly over to the replicator at one end of the room where he requested a new uniform.

Zar swallowed hard. "It's all right, Lieutenant," he managed through clenched teeth. "You didn't ... indicate much." Indeed, except for a brief sound, a small groan early on that had barely caused an interruption, the young officer had remained still, even as he ejaculated within his trousers, apparently more than once.

Nog glanced at him, and then looked away, unable to hold his head up as he took the uniform from the replicator shelf. Zar obligingly turned around, his back to that end of the room as the young man replaced his clothes and disposed of the evidence of his lack of control. Zar felt great sympathy. He honestly didn't know if he could stand up yet, and it seemed that his erection was not easing in the slightest now that the Iboneb had left. Instead, it seemed to becoming more acute, throbbing with exquisite pain. It was all he could do not to give in to it.

"Uh, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," Zar responded, wishing that the Ferengi would leave so that he could take care of himself.

"Do you think the captain..." Nog trailed off uncertainly, shame coloring his tone.

"If she did, she would understand," Zar said. He turned his head slowly. "Dismissed."

Nog stared at him, and then flushed again, hastily exiting the room. Zar waited another moment, inhaling the air that still seemed faintly tinged by the scent of musk and mingled effluvia, and then managed to get to his feet, still hunched over like an old man, being very careful not to move unduely.

"Computer," he rasped, in a voice that shook audibly. "Status of holodecks and holosuites on board the ship. Are any currently unoccupied?"

"Holosuite nine on deck seventeen is currently inactive," the computer remarked in its bland, feminine tones.

"Site to site transport, from this location to holosuite nine," he said. "Command authorization Zar theta, one, orange, seven. Energize."

He felt the tingles of the transporter surround him, and when his vision cleared, he was in a black room which contained a grid of glowing gold lines. "Computer," he muttered as he reached down and gingerly adjusted himself in the uniform trousers, almost passing out from the sensation. "Activate general adult program for recreational sexual encounter."

"Program activated," the computer intoned as the surroundings altered to become a spacious bedroom with a large bed. Several candles surrounded it, their tiny flames dancing, providing a decidedly seductive mood. "Specify number, gender and species of partners."

"One," he managed, slipping off his tunic and dropping it onto the floor. "Female." He hesitated, and then added, "Human."

"Specify visual parameters."

He was ashamed, but his needs were strong, and the whole purpose of such a program in the holosuite was to indulge scenarios that he could never hope for in reality. He peeled his sweater over his head, not caring when he heard the pips pop off and fall to the floor. He eased off his pants, moving them carefully over the erection that sprang free, throbbing in the warm air, afraid to touch it. His garment was sodden from the emission weeping from his f'lar which ridged the base of the shaft, and knew he couldn't hold back much longer.

"Six feet tall," he said in a thick voice. "Blonde hair, blue eyes. Scandinavian features, approximately 27 years old."

The woman that materialized immediately reached out to him, programmed with all the varied sexual techniques the Federation had come up with, and designed to be as accommodating and pleasing as possible to whomever availed him or herself of the program. Enfolding the hologram into his arms with a groan, he buried his face into the flaxen hair, feeling the soft curves press against him, welcoming the way her hands moved over his skin which seemed inflamed with desire, inflaming his aching need for satisfaction.

"Computer," he gasped, the hologram's long fingers stroking him gently, coming perilously near where he wouldn't be able to control himself any longer. "Increase breast size, narrow the hips, and make the hair longer."

The adjustments were made as quickly as he requested them, and while the hologram wasn't a perfect match, not only because of the lack of cybernetic implants, but in the facial features themselves, any further adjustments would have been going too far, leading him into areas he knew he shouldn't go. For a temporary sexual surrogate, however, this was more than sufficient, and they stumbled over to the bed, falling onto it with the woman somehow managing to get beneath him in perfect position for him to enter her without hesitation. The sensation was exquisite, and he cried out as he plunged into the willing simulation of flesh, pressing his f'lar ridges frantically against her mound, his shaft buried deeply in the warmth and wetness.

He almost passed out when his orgasm erupted, not so much a release as an explosion of pent up energy that could no longer be contained. He knew he cried out Seven's name in those brief seconds of pleasure, and as he slumped onto the hologram, breathing heavily, shame colored his thoughts. The hologram's hands continued to roam over his back, and he closed his eyes, tears stinging them, the sense of emptiness in the aftermath like a physical pain within him. The immediacy of the burning need was gone, but a profound loneliness lingered, filling his chest as he rolled over onto his back, swallowing hard. Staring up at the ceiling, he didn't protest as the hologram began to trail down his body, her mouth moving over him with all the skill of any courtesan of ancient lore, sparking the desire that still lingered even after his release. He wanted to lose himself in pure physical pleasure for awhile, and not have to think about what he was truly missing..

However, he would trade a million of such technologically skilled encounters for one brief second of regard from Seven, a look that indicated she thought of him as more than just her first officer.

Afterward, fully sated, he showered in the holosuite, wishing his inner thoughts could feel as clean as his body. A new uniform was replicated by the holodeck, replacing the old, and he was able to retrieve his pips from where they had fallen, affixing them to his wine red collar, taking a final look in the mirror as he settled his shoulders beneath the slate-blue trim. It was amazing what a uniform could hide, he decided unhappily as he regarded his reflection, seeing only a competent Starfleet officer, and nothing of a man lost in a hopeless and forbidden love.

What would it take to get Lt. Hansen out of his heart? he wondered. Why was the emotion intensifying the longer he served on the vessel, rather than lessening in the face of her indifference to any feelings he might possess, and her undeniably happy and healthy marriage? Abruptly, the thought of Janeway being with Seven crossed his mind, the captain undoubtedly alleviating her arousal with the young woman at that precise moment ... though in Janeway's case, she would have the fortunate alternative of making love with a person who cared deeply for her, rather than merely seeking a purely physical release as he had with the hologram. The mental image that materialized was almost more than Zar could bear, and as quickly and thoroughly as he could, he put it out of his mind. It was not anything he should be thinking about, nor did it grant either woman any honor or respect.

Instead, he should be thinking about was what had caused this. Certainly, it couldn't be merely the visual stimuli of watching the Iboneb copulate. There had to be something else involved, something more subtle and underlying the obvious. After leaving the holosuite, he headed directly to sickbay. The Starfleet officers had not fled the negotiations as the Okunda had, but it hadn't been easy to remain either. There were to be future sessions before this treaty was resolved, and they needed to get a handle on this as quickly as possible. He did understand why the Okunda had such difficulty, however. For a spiritual people whose cultural mores included stringent taboos when it came to sexual behavior, watching the Iboneb copulate would have been more than merely disconcerting and inconvenient ... it would have been sinful in the extreme, particularly considering how it made them feel, assuming they had the same response a Human, a Ferengi, and a Cardassian hybrid did. Were they at a less peaceful and rational time in their evolution, the Millennium might be looking at a war rather than what was basically an incompatibility in cultures.

Now that he was able to think rationally, Zar came to the conclusion that it was probably more biological on the Iboneb's part than cultural. After all, a species had to be vulnerable to predators while mating, so if they had any choice about it, it's not something they would have evolved by choice. Instead, it seemed to him as if the Iboneb sublimated any stress into sexual interaction, rather than violence as most other species did ... as Humans and Cardassians did. As for why it was affecting the other species in the room so strongly, that was probably biological in nature, as well. There had to be some kind of agent which triggered such powerful responses ... perhaps a type of mental telepathy or empathy, drawing the others into the physical interaction.

No, he decided. He was being too complicated. It was probably something simpler, something more basic. Pheromones, perhaps. There was certainly a scent in the conference room, a musky odor that was not particularly strong or necessarily offensive, but still detectable. It was entirely possible it carried with it several biochemical elements that affected the Federation negotiating team.

All three doctors on Millennium's medical staff were present as he entered sickbay. Dr. Pulaski, a slight, yet tall woman with snowy hair, looked over at him from where she was speaking to the other physicians, her pale eyes narrowing as she read his features. She handed the padd over to Dr. Spencer, the young xeno-specialist, and moved quickly over to intercept him.

"Doctor, I need to speak with you in your office," he said urgently.

"Of course," she said, gesturing to the room set off from the main sickbay. He was aware of the other two physicians, Spencer and Dr. Lewis, the EMH, studying him curiously, but he didn't acknowledge it. He didn't want a lot of people to know about this, not only because the negotiations were delicate, but because he was still embarrassed over it, clearly as much a victim of his own cultural sexual taboos as the Okunda.

He took a seat in the chair provided, waiting as she settled into the high-backed leather chair that was not Starfleet issue. Obviously, she had brought it along as a personal indulgence when she accepted the position of chief medical officer on board the Millennium, having to be called out of semi-retirement to do so. Her eyes bright blue, and her head tilted slightly, she regarded him expectantly.

"Doctor, we may have a problem in the negotiations with the Iboneb," he said. As professionally as possible, he explained what had happened in the conference room, including how he had responded to what he had seen, offering his theory on what it might have been. The doctor listened attentively, lifting an eyebrow slightly when he summed up his 'treatment' of his symptoms in the holodeck by briefly saying that he had availed himself of an appropriate program.

"You're right, it may be pheromones," she agreed. "I'll send Lewis down immediately to take readings of the atmosphere in the conference room, as well as any ... DNA samples that may have lingered. As a hologram, he won't be affected by a bio-chemical agent. In the meantime, I'll need you to undergo a complete physical, as well as Lt. Nog."

"What about the captain?" he asked. "I think..." He paused. "It's likely she was also affected."

She hesitated, then lifted her head. "Computer, locate Captain Janeway."

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters," the computer said briefly.

"Is she alone?" Pulaski asked delicately.

"Negative. Lt. Annika Hansen is also present in the captain's quarters."

Zar didn't wince, but he wanted to.

"Hmm, it sounds as if the captain is being taken care of at the moment," Pulaski said evenly, and glanced at the first officer. "I think we can leave them to it. In the meantime, let's contact Lt. Nog and get a start on those physicals."

Janeway leaned against the shower wall, her hands bracing herself as the chill water washed over her body, still suffused with heat from what she had witnessed in the negotiation. She had never before considered herself much of a voyeur, even though she truly enjoyed observing Seven undress, or watching the Borg lose herself in the throes of pleasure, but to see other people ... complete strangers ... copulate had never seemed to be a particularly appealing prospect to her. Yet, it had been all she could do to control her own physical responses as the two Iboneb had sex in front of her. Even now, it was hard to think, to figure out what had happened to her. It was beyond merely being aroused ... she burned with overwhelming desire, the cold water doing little to ease the heat searing along her nerve endings.

The water abruptly turned warm, and surprised, she lifted her head, belatedly aware of a presence behind her. Familiar hands were suddenly moving over her body, her back, slipping lightly over her sides and stomach, stroking her with delicate skill.

"God," she groaned. "Don't ... please..."

Seven paused momentarily, perhaps in surprise, and then resumed her caress. "What is wrong, Kathryn?" she said softly, her fingers light, teasing and inflaming at the same time. "You are aroused."

Janeway exhaled. "Beyond reason," she managed, squirming beneath those wonderful hands.

"Then why do you not want to be touched?" Seven asked reasonably. "Why do you attempt to defuse your emotions with a cold shower?"

"Because..." Janeway said, her head going back, unable to keep from leaning back into the warm, gentle strength of her spouse, desire rising thick in her throat. "Because ... it's not ... it's false..."

Somehow she knew that was the key. There was something about this that wasn't right, that her feelings were induced somehow, and it was more than being turned on by watching attractive beings engage in sexual intercourse. Seven paused in confusion, holding her lightly.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked finally, in a quiet voice.

Janeway hesitated briefly, trying desperately to come up with a logical plan of action, but the demand grew too strong for her to resist, the touch of Seven's body too intoxicating, and she turned, wrapping her arms around her spouse, all slippery and sleek from the shower. "Love me," she pleaded helplessly as she clung to the Borg. "Oh, god, please, love me. Make it stop hurting."

Seven did not ask any further questions as she picked the captain up in her arms while commanding the shower unit to deactivate. Carrying Janeway from the ensuite into the bedroom, both women left a trail of dampness in their wake, water dripping from their bodies the entire way. The captain had her legs wrapped tightly around the taller woman's waist, groaning as her heat pressed against the smooth muscled stomach of her partner, undulating helplessly against the tantalizing sensation. Seven lowered her onto the bed as she kissed her possessively, pressing Janeway down onto the linens with the strength of her body, covering her demandingly. Reaching down, she touched the captain, manipulating the tender nodule skillfully, swirling over it as she drew out yet another wave of pleasure, penetrating the captain deeply with long fingers and maintaining the intensity, yet it still wasn't enough to sooth the ache inside. Janeway clutched at her, needing more, wanting to be ravaged unmercifully, breathing heavily in the Borg's ear.

"Use the wand," she ordered roughly.

Seven paused, surprised again, but did not protest as she reached for the compartment at the head of the bed, withdrawing the Wonder Wand 9000™, a versatile device designed by the Ferengi to imitate male genitalia of various species. For the couple, it added a bit of spice to an already satisfactory love life. In this case, it was a matter of Janeway requiring a greater physical exertion, of wanting this maddening desire to be sated by any means possible, including a forceful one if necessary. She reached out for her spouse as soon as the Borg had attached it to herself, wrapping her fingers around the simulated penile shaft, and directing the thick head quickly to her opening, drawing Seven into her without hesitation, welcoming the pain that accompanied the pleasure of being invaded so abruptly. The narrow features looked vaguely astonished, but Seven did her best to keep up, immediately moving vigorously within the captain who whimpered and groaned, urging her partner to a faster and harder effort as she angled her hips so that the head of the probe skidded over that spot inside her, making her shudder again and again from the sensation. Her fingernails dug into Seven's shoulder blades, raking the young woman's back, undoubtedly drawing blood as she frantically rose to meet the young woman's thrusts, their groins thudding together in a primeval rhythm. There was nothing of love about this, nothing of the feelings they shared as a couple, only the captain's lust, a desperate joining of motion and heat until finally, more through attrition than pleasure, the spasms swept Janeway up, exploding through her until she simply couldn't respond anymore, both need and body finally sated beneath the energetic, if somewhat confused, efforts of her spouse.

With the exhausted afterglow came relief, an easing of the smothering sense of need and urgency, along with the horrific realization of how she had used her partner in such a presumptuous way. Janeway wept, tears leaking from the corners of her closed eyes as she covered them with her forearm, not watching as her partner gently withdrew. Seven removed the device and placed it in the sterilizer to be cleaned before turning back to gather the captain up in her arms, holding her tightly.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered, "Explain ... please."

Voice choked, Janeway told her about what had occurred in the negotiations, and how it made her feel, how the need had taken over until she had been unable to resist it, the emotions and desires completely beyond her control. Being taken forcefully, like an animal, was the only thing that could sooth the savage passions within. Now there was only the humiliation of such weakness left, and a sense of shame that bit deep at her psyche.

"This behavioral alteration appears to be biological in nature, Kathryn," Seven noted quietly after the captain had finished speaking. Her expression was one of keen, analytical objectiveness as she assessed the situation dispassionately. The lack of emotion, the calm, rational analysis of the incident, helped Janeway calm the storm within, the captain able to take some form of comfort in the Borg's purely scientific approach to the situation. "Perhaps some form of empathy that triggered your physical reaction ... or possibly pheromones of some sort carrying a bio-chemical agent."

Janeway's tears slowed, her distress easing in her partner's embrace. "I did ... there was a musk scent ... not strong but detectable..." she said uncertainly.

"That may be the source of your responses," Seven said. She paused, cuddling her spouse closer. "Why are you so upset, Kathryn?"

"Because ... I used you, Annika," Janeway said bitterly. "I should have gone to the doctor, or been able to..."

"Control this?" Seven finished for her. She brushed her lips over her temple lovingly, pulling her closer. "You instinctively came home because you needed me, Kathryn, and you knew that I would take care of you. There is no shame in that. If our positions were reversed, and I were the one who required an easing of my pain, would you object to looking after me? Would you even hesitate in taking care of my needs?"

Janeway bent her head, pushing her face into the warm, comforting hollow of Seven's throat. "No," she whispered. "I'll always look after you, my darling, whatever it is you need."

"Then do not deny me the same opportunity to care for you," Seven told her reasonably. "However, you are correct in that you must contact the doctor. Obviously, there is some reason for you and the others to have reacted so strongly to a stimuli which does not appear to be that particularly arousing, beyond the initial shock of witnessing it. We must determine what that is so that it can be countered."

"Yes," Janeway agreed softly. "But right now, I want ... I need ... to stay with you." She shuddered, clinging to her spouse. "Hold me, darling ... please."

"I shall," Seven said, tightening her embrace.

Janeway huddled closer, seeking shelter within the warmth of the younger woman's arms, still feeling vulnerable. Seven sensed it and pressed as much of her body against the captain as possible, wrapping her arms tightly around her, entangling her legs, tucking her against her chest beneath her chin. Sighing softly, Janeway was finally able to relax, surrendering to the sense of security that only Seven could offer her.

"I'm sorry about dinner," she said finally.

"It is irrelevant," Seven assured her. "We can have dinner with B'Elanna and Ro at any time."

"Sickbay to the captain."

Janeway exhaled audibly, a sigh of resignation, and reached up to the head of the bed where the manual controls for the internal ship communications system for her cabin were located. Her comm badge was somewhere in the bathroom, hopefully still attached to her tunic where she had dropped it, but equally as likely to have popped off in her frenzy to undress, and now lost under the counter.

"Janeway here."

"Captain, are you all right?" Dr. Pulaski asked. "I have Commander Zar and Lt. Nog here in sickbay complaining of..." She hesitated briefly, then added delicately, "certain symptoms, and..."

"I'm fine, doctor," Janeway said shortly, cutting her off. She paused. "However, I ... need some time before I meet with you."

She could hear Pulaski inhale slowly. "Is Seven with you, Captain?" she asked in a too innocent tone.

"I am here, Doctor," Seven said calmly, before Janeway could answer.

"Good," Pulaski said. "It's probably what I would have prescribed for the initial symptoms anyway. Carry on." A touch of humor colored her tone at that last, and Janeway closed her eyes, angry and embarrassed. "In the meantime, I'll work with the Commander and Nog to figure out exactly what's going on. You should ... uh, probably take it easy for the rest of the evening. I'll have something to report by the morning."

Janeway wasn't sure she entirely liked that idea, or being left out of the process, but she honestly didn't want to leave Seven's arms. Almost as if the Borg sensed her ambivalence, she tightened her embrace.

"Stay," the young woman whispered low into the captain's ear where it could not be picked up by the communications system. "Let the Doctor find a solution with Zar and Nog. If they have difficulty, they will contact you further. Trust in your people, Kathryn. Trust in me, as the doctor does, to take care of you in the meantime."

Janeway glanced at her, studying the sincerity in the pale blue gaze, and then nodded briefly.

"All right," she agreed, then, in a louder voice, added, "Doctor, contact me as soon as you have anything."

"I promise," Pulaski said. "Sickbay out."

"This is very difficult," Janeway said after the comm channel was closed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Why?" Seven asked, honestly curious. "It may be ... inconvenient ... as far as dinner plans go, but it is nothing we cannot handle." She paused. "In fact, all crises should be so easily and pleasurably solved."

"That's not the point, darling," Janeway said. "I don't ... it's not anything..." She trailed off, not knowing how to explain her misgivings.

"You dislike having your physical responses be beyond your control," Seven finished for her.

"Exactly," Janeway said. She glanced at her. "Nor should you have to ... suffer my attentions at such a time."

Seven smiled. "I am hardly suffering, Kathryn," she said dryly. "Rarely are your 'attentions' ever unwelcome."

"What about your needs? It's not as if you ... enjoyed yourself."

"Kathryn, have you ever refused me?" Seven countered gently.

"I've put you off in the past," Janeway said, feeling ashamed again. "More than once because I was tired or not in the mood..."

Seven hugged her. "Never if my need was as immediate and acute as yours was this night," she assured her.

"You've never been this needy," Janeway said softly.

"I have needed you," Seven corrected. "Desperately at times. Furthermore, during those times, you never made me feel as if it were a burden on you."

"It wasn't," the captain protested. "It never will be." She reached up and cupped the Borg's face in her hands, eyes searching hers intently. "This is hard to explain."

Seven hesitated, then dipped her head. "Very well," she said. "I do not understand, but I shall do whatever I can to assist you, Kathryn. Just tell me what you need from me."

Janeway slipped her arms around her neck and clung to her.

"That's the thing," she said weakly. "I don't know what that might be."

Seven hugged her back for a moment, comforting her, and then reached down for a blanket, drawing it up over them. "Then rest now," she instructed, snuggling close. "Know that I am here for you."

Janeway wanted to discuss it further, but her weariness was profound, undoubtedly due to the strength of her emotional and physical release. She sighed and decided to take a nap, just to ease the drowsiness. Later, they could return to the outer area of the quarters for dinner, and talk about it further. Her eyes sliding shut, she didn't resist the sleep awaiting her any longer.

However, when she woke, it was early the next morning, having slept through the night. Jarred out of her slumber by a hail on the ship's intercom, she blinked uncomfortably, fumbling automatically for her comm badge that had somehow reappeared on the nightstand during the interim ... undoubtedly at Seven's instigation.

"Janeway here," the captain said groggily. Beside her, she was aware of her spouse rising to her side, Seven's blonde hair mussed and falling into sleepy blue eyes. "What is it, doctor?"

"I have some good news, and some bad news," Pulaski offered in a cheerful tone that seemed totally out of place this early in the morning.

"Go on."

"It's definitely pheromones," Pulaski explained. "Very strong, very effective on most species in the Federation, causing instant and total sexual arousal. Honestly, if you could bottle this stuff, you'd have the perfect aphrodisiac. The Ferengi would love it." She paused. "Well, Nog does hold certain reservations about it."

"The bad news?" Janeway prompted, a little irritable at the doctor's enthusiasm.

"I don't have a counter for it as yet," Pulaski said. "We're still working on it, of course, but it's possible we won't have an antidote for weeks, and in the meantime, everyone in the room with the Iboneb are vulnerable. Even utilizing a nasal filter won't prevent a person from being affected because these particular pheromones are so strong, they can be absorbed through the skin. Unless you intend to carry out this diplomatic negotiation in a full environmental suit, you'd better expect to experience such symptoms again."

Janeway was horrified. "What am I supposed to do?" she demanded. "We have another negotiating session this afternoon. I have to be there, even if Commander Zar and Nog don't."

There was a pause. "I'd advise having Seven stand by to ... handle things afterward," Pulaski offered unhelpfully.

Janeway exhaled in exasperation as the Borg, listening to the conversation intently, abruptly raised an intrigued eyebrow.

"That's not at all satisfactory, Doctor."

"It's all I can give you at the moment," Pulaski replied, unruffled by the tone in her commanding officer's voice. "We're still working on it. Sickbay out."

Janeway glanced over at her spouse who was still lounging on the sheets, a golden streak on midnight blue.

"This is unacceptable," she said in dissatisfaction as she rolled out of bed.

Seven smiled with lazy appeal. "On the contrary, Kathryn," she said softly. "I believe I will enjoy 'standing by' to attend to your needs."

"Oh my god," Janeway said, throwing up her hands in disgust as she stomped into the ensuite, convinced that the entire universe was conspiring against her ... or at least, this area of the Delta Quadrant.

Seven glanced over at the conference room door, wondering how the captain was handling herself. The meeting had been moved to the smaller confines of deck one, where the captain would be close to her ready room. Furthermore, the negotiating team had been altered, omitting Zar and Nog, but including the holographic Doctor whom everyone believed would be immune to the pheromones the Iboneb emanated. How he would react to the blatant sexuality on display in front of him remained to be seen. Seven believed it would depend on how the EMH approached it. As a medical officer, little fazed him. As a hologram striving to be Human, he was remarkably stuffy and conservative when he wanted to be. However, he would be taking surreptitious readings of both the Iboneb and the captain, and would bring the meeting to a halt if he thought it had gone beyond the captain's ability to handle it.

In the meantime, the rest of the crew, other than Zar, Seven and Nog, knew only that the captain was involved in delicate diplomatic mediation, and that no one was to enter the room without the permission of the captain. There was a part of Seven that wished the captain would not insist upon attending the negotiations herself, yet at the same time, the Borg greatly admired her partner's grit and determination. Most of all, Seven hoped that this meeting would complete the negotiations, and Janeway would not be required to undertake any further mediation in this situation.

Glancing back at Commander Zar sitting in the command chair as the ship remained in orbit around the planet, she was slightly surprised to catch his eye, as if he had been studying her for some reason. He blinked, startled, but then dipped his head in acknowledgment of the science officer's glance.

"It will be fine," he assured her softly, knowing the source of her unease.

Seven appreciated the attempt at reassurance, even as she was aware he had no way of knowing how the captain was doing. She could only rely on the Doctor's medical instincts to keep her partner safe, she decided, as she turned her attention back to her console. Until her partner left the conference room, there would be nothing Seven could do.

The next hour seemed to stretch for days, and both she and Zar glanced over as the conference room door finally hissed open. Talking a steady streak, the Doctor escorted the Iboneb over to the turbolift, his gregariousness twofold: first, by providing an entertaining escort for the alien delegation back to the turbolift, and second, by drawing attention to himself as Janeway quietly exited behind them and made a direct line to her ready room, not looking at anyone else. Seven remained at her station for a few moments, waiting until deck one was clear of ambassadors, and then stood up. Zar took that as his cue to issue a flurry of instructions to the alpha shift staff, and Seven went unnoticed as she made her way to the ready room located at the rear of the bridge.

She hesitated briefly, wondering if she should request admittance, and then realized that since Janeway and she had planned this, such formality would be unnecessary. She entered, looking around for her partner, and finding her on the upper level, standing before the windows, looking out at the stars and the curve of the planet her ship was orbiting. Janeway looked very small, vulnerable, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she were cold.

"Kathryn," Seven said softly, moving up the ramp. "Let us return to our quarters."

"No," Janeway said through clenched teeth, her jaw set. "I can control this. Just ... leave me alone."

Seven paused, annoyance rising swift and strong within her. Her partner's steel will and stubbornness were traits she respected greatly, but also despaired of because Janeway chose to exercise them at the most inconvenient times. She moved behind the captain, reaching out to put her hand on Janeway's shoulder.

"Kathryn, there is no need for you to suffer in this way," she said firmly.

"It's my decision," Janeway said. Her tone was harsh, furious, and that sparked Seven's irritation with her partner into actual anger.

"Kathryn," she said, tightening her grip on her shoulder in order to turn her around.

Janeway whirled, knocking Seven's hand away.

"I gave you an order," she snapped. "I expect you to obey it."

"I am your spouse," Seven said tartly. "You do not order me in matters like this." She reached out to take the captain's arms, gripping the biceps tightly. Janeway struggled to free herself, breaking the hold as she pulled away from the Borg, becoming visibly more agitated. Seven reached for her again, and that was when Janeway hit her.

It wasn't a particularly well-placed strike, but rather a roundhouse swing that glanced off her jaw and made Seven flinch to the side, more from the unexpected nature of the blow than from the actual force behind it. Startled, the young woman took a step backwards, regarding her partner as if she had never seen her before. Janeway stared back at her, completely frozen, her blue-grey eyes wide with horror, chin trembling.

"Seven, I..." she began, then her face crumpled. "Oh, god, I'm sorry. I don't know why..."

"You struck me," Seven said stupidly, completely astonished. She hesitated, and then turned to go, not knowing what else she was supposed to do. This particular situation had never occured before, and she lacked a point of reference on which to base her behavior. Clearly, her partner had been quite serious when she insisted that Seven not attempt to help her with the effects of the pheromones.

"No!" Janeway reached out for her, drew her hand back uncertainly, her expression one of shattered, inconsolable dismay. "Please," she whispered. "Don't go. Oh, Annika, please ... I'm so sorry ... help me, please."

Seven could no more deny a plea such as that from her spouse than she could stop breathing, regardless of the fact she could not understand why her partner was acting the way she was. Confused, she watched as Janeway sank to the couch, her arms pressed against her stomach as if it hurt, and hesitantly, Seven perched on the coffee table in front of her, though she didn't try to touch her. Perhaps she should not have attempted to touch the captain while she was so angry, she mused as she sat there. It had obviously provoked a reaction beyond Janeway's control.

"I am here, Kathryn," she said softly.

Janeway's head was bent, and she continued to tremble. "I ... I was so angry," she said in a weak voice, as if the paroxysm of violence had drained all the energy from her. "At you, at the situation ... I couldn't control this. I just ... I wanted to strike out ... you were a convenient target, but I only meant to shout at you ... I never meant... That's no excuse ... I have no right to ever lift my hand to you."

Seven lifted a brow. "You did not damage me," she said honestly, somewhat baffled by her partner's dismay. Indeed, due to her cybernetic enhancements and Borg skeletal structure, it was highly unlikely that Janeway could ever harm Seven physically in that manner, even assuming she used a blunt instrument. Janeway was wiry, but she was not particularly strong. She shifted her jaw briefly, evaluatingly. There might have been a mark, but the blow had been glancing. There was no lingering soreness.

Janeway's eyes lifted to meet her partner's. "That's not the point," she said, her gaze tortured. "I tried. It was despicable. I'm so sorry, darling. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course," Seven said readily, aware that she was not dealing with her partner under normal circumstances. The Borg tilted her head slightly, studying her spouse intently. "You are no longer sexually aroused," she concluded.

Janeway exhaled slowly. "No, I'm not." An expression of self-loathing crossed her face, disgust at herself coloring her tone. "The Iboneb channel stress and aggression into sexual activity. Humans tend to channel it into violence, as I've so aptly proven." She paused, still shaking, and Seven waited patiently for her to go on. "I was trying so hard to control this, Annika ...  I just made it worse. The more I tried to contain it, the angrier I became ... and the less control I had."

Seven hesitated, and then reached out, touching Janeway lightly on the back of her hand. "You are ... not yourself," she said softly.

"I am responsible for my own actions," the captain said stiffly. She inhaled deeply, her jaw quivering, her eyes dark and stormy as she raised them to meet Seven's squarely. "I will never strike you again, Annika, I swear. It was extremely disrespectful, the act of a coward, particularly since I know you would never strike me back. I'm so very ashamed."

Seven carefully raised her hand, drawing her fingertips lightly along Janeway's cheek. "You are being too hard on yourself," she told her. "That is as unproductive as resisting the desire was."

Janeway regarded her, and then dipped her head.

"I should have ... accepted your help," she admitted sorrowfully. "I should have accepted the fact that this was beyond my ability to control."

"That is, and always shall be, the most difficult thing for you to accept," Seven said lightly. "That you are not in command of a situation ... that you require assistance to do what must be done." She dipped her head, catching her partner's eye and offering her a small smile. "It is something that may never change with you."

Janeway hesitated, then allowed herself a wan smile, though her gaze was still dark and troubled. "I need to speak with the doctor. I can't afford to be so foolish again."

Seven frowned. "So this meeting did not end the negotiation?"

"No," Janeway said regretfully. "The sticking point is still the number of plants. I've lowered their demands to six hundred plants per shipment of ore, but I can't seem to persuade them to go any lower."

"Perhaps the Okunda would raise their offer?" Seven suggested.

"Perhaps," Janeway said uncertainly. "I'll contact them over subspace. Maybe I can convince them that the ore is worth that amount. After all, that particular plant is abundant on their world ... it's basically just a weed to them."

Now that her partner had calmed down, Seven took the opportunity to move over beside her, slipping her arm around her shoulders and drawing her to her. Janeway was stiff for a brief second, before exhaling audibly and relaxing into the Borg's body, leaning back into the embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Annika," she whispered again.

"I know," Seven said, aware that when Janeway was truly regretful, she would apologize over and over, as if she had to convince the young woman of her sincerity, whereas Seven usually accepted the apology from the beginning. The Borg had wondered many times why that was, but had finally concluded that it was just Kathryn's way, a part of her Humanity that did not necessarily make sense, but was part of who she was.

"I love you," Janeway murmured in a ragged voice.

"I love you, too," Seven told her. She tightened her embrace. "Why did you fight the desire so hard, Kathryn? Did you not want to be with me?"

"It wasn't that," the captain protested immediately. "It was ... I don't like being deprived of any choice in the matter. I want to be with you because I love you, Annika, not because I can't control my physical urges. I also don't want you to be put in the position of having to ... service me."

Seven blinked. "'Service' you?" she repeated blankly.

Janeway looked up at her, her eyes soft and assailable "I want you to be with me because you want to be, not because you have to be, or it's a duty of some kind."

Seven considered that carefully. She didn't think she understood what Janeway meant ... at least, not entirely, but she gathered it had something to do with the difference between making love and having sex, a distinction that the captain considered very important. Seven deemed it important as well, though being with Kathryn during this difficult period was not considered 'sex' in the young woman's opinion, it had more to do with comfort and caring ... of administering to Janeway's needs, just as she would if the captain were ill. However, Seven also allowed that perhaps the captain did not want to look at it in that perspective either, since she did not like appearing weak or vulnerable, not even to her spouse.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, Seven decided philosophically.

"Kathryn, I want to be with you because I love you," she said finally, hoping that would be enough to ease her partner's mind. "That will always be the case."

Janeway regarded her, then dipped her head. "All right," she allowed huskily.

"What do you need now?" Seven asked.

"I need to speak with the doctor, to find out how I can handle this better," Janeway said. 'What I want, however, is for you to hold me."

Seven put her other arm around her spouse, hugging her gently. "I shall," she promised. "For as long as you require it."

Zar regarded Pulaski in astonishment.

"Are you serious?" he asked, a touch of suspicion in his voice, suspecting the good doctor of teasing him. After all, when he told her his theory, she had smiled. "That's true?"

"Absolutely," the doctor remarked. "This cultural evolution has occurred on Earth, though perhaps not to Humans. However, bonobo monkeys share more than 98 percent of our genetic profile, making them as close to Humans as, say, a fox is to a dog ... which frankly, is closer to Human than either Bajorans or Cardassians are."

"Therefore, it's highly likely that some Terran tribe at one time, attempted this social structure," Zar said thoughtfully.

"Probably, but as you can imagine, it wouldn't last long surrounded by other tribes who chose the more traditional manner of channeling sexual aggression into violence," Pulaski said cheerfully as she worked at her screen. "For the bonobo monkey, however, it made the species remarkably docile, gentle and socially stable. Perhaps we should have taken a lesson from them. Did you know, there is a theory that all the war, violence and hatred in Earth's history can be traced back to sexual aggression? Either someone's not getting it, someone's getting too much from the wrong person, or someone wants to get some and doesn't know how."

"That seems somewhat ... harsh," Zar said. He wasn't used to others being so blunt about the failings of their own species ... particularly to an alien.

"Well, it is fairly simplistic," Pulaski allowed. "Obviously, any generalization is dangerous when applying it to a species."

"Still, this is fascinating information," Zar said. "Wait until the captain hears about it."

"Hears what?"

So involved had they been in their conversation, that neither officer had noticed the captain's arrival in sickbay. Zar glanced over at Janeway, who stood in the doorway of the doctor's office, noting the strained look around the eyes, the way she look faintly frazzled. Bemused, he wondered if continued exposure to the Iboneb pheromones created a buildup to the extent that even sexual activity could not completely defuse their effect. Certainly, if he had just spent the afternoon with Seven, indulging in physical pleasure, he doubted he would look nearly as unhappy as Janeway did.

"The Iboneb," he explained. "There's a Terran precedent."

She stared at him. "You're joking," she said flatly.

He smiled faintly. "Tell her, Doc."

Pulaski shot him a look, half amused, half exasperated, but proceeded to fill the captain in on the Bonobo primate.

"Sex, it turns out, is the key to their social life, as it appears to be with the Iboneb," Pulaski explained. "Bonobos become sexually aroused remarkably easily, and they express this excitement in a variety of mounting positions and genital contacts. Although other primates, such as chimpanzees, virtually never adopt face- to-face positions, bonobos do so in one out of three copulations in the wild. Furthermore, the frontal orientation of the bonobo vulva and clitoris strongly suggest that the female genitalia are adapted for this position."

Zar began to squirm as he realized the doctor was holding nothing back in the explanation, and wished he had not prompted her. Obviously, she was going to give the whole lecture, even though he himself would never have gone into such detail, particularly to the captain.

"Another similarity with Humans is increased female sexual receptivity," Pulaski continued, as Janeway regarded her seriously, nodding now and again. "The tumescent phase of the female's genitals, resulting in a pink swelling that signals willingness to mate, covers a much longer part of estrus in bonobos than in other primates. Instead of a few days out of her cycle, the female bonobo is almost continuously sexually attractive and active. Perhaps the bonobo's most typical sexual pattern, undocumented in any other primate, is genital-genital rubbing between adult females," Pulaski added. She paused. "You should appreciate that, Captain."

That was a little too much familiarity as Janeway's head came up, eyes dark, her jaw firming, and the doctor went on hastily, undoubtedly hoping to cover the ill-advised comment with a flood of further information. "Male bonobos, too, may engage in pseudo-copulation but generally perform a variation. Standing back to back, one male briefly rubs his scrotum against the buttocks of another. They also practice 'penis-fencing', in which two males hang face to face from a branch while rubbing their erect penises together. The diversity of erotic contacts in bonobos includes sporadic oral sex, massage of another individual's genitals and intense tongue-kissing. However, rather than leave you with the impression of a pathologically oversexed species, I should add that this sexual activity is very casual and relaxed. It appears to be a completely natural part of their group interaction. Like Humans, bonobos engage in sex only occasionally, not continuously. Furthermore, with the average copulation lasting 13 seconds, sexual contact in bonobos is rather quick by human standards."

"So are the Iboneb," Janeway said.

Zar nodded agreement. It wasn't the sort of conversation he would have preferred to have in the captain's presence, but the scientific side of him was fascinated. He tried to imagine what such a society would be like day-to-day, how their cultural and social mores would have evolved. Certainly, he would have welcomed the opportunity to study it ... were it not for the unfortunate side effects.

"Sex also appears connected to feeding, to make food sharing possible," Pulaski continued. "It's been observed not only in zoos, but also in the wild. Researchers have witnessed bonobos in Zaire's Lomako Forest engage in sex after they had entered trees loaded with ripe figs, or when one among them had captured a prey animal. The flurry of sexual contacts would last for five to 10 minutes, after which the apes would settle down to consume the food."

"Whereas most species would undergo ritual or actual combat, fighting for their share," Janeway offered in an oddly bitter tone. "Maybe the Iboneb should be offended by us."

Rather than noticing the voice inflection, however, Pulaski shot the captain an approving look, as if she were a cadet who had just gotten the answer correct on a particularly difficult quiz. Zar wondered what was going on with Janeway. She seemed extremely distressed and agitated, not fidgeting exactly, but her body language remained tense and uneasy.

"One explanation for the sexual activity at feeding time could be that excitement over food translates into sexual arousal," Pulaski explained. "This idea may be partly true, but I think you've nailed the real cause, competition. There are two reasons to believe sexual activity is the bonobo's answer to avoiding conflict. First, anything, not just food, that arouses the interest of more than one bonobo at a time tends to result in sexual contact. If two bonobos approach a cardboard box thrown into their enclosure, they will briefly mount each other before playing with the box. Such situations lead to squabbles in most other primate species ... including Human children ... but bonobos are quite tolerant, perhaps because they use sex to divert attention and to diffuse tension. Second, bonobo sex often occurs in aggressive contexts totally unrelated to food. A jealous male might chase another away from a female, after which the two males reunite and engage in scrotal rubbing. Or after a female hits a juvenile, the latter's mother may lunge at the aggressor, an action that is immediately followed by genital rubbing between the two adults."

"You suspect that the Iboneb culture is quite similar?" the captain asked.

"From what Zar has told me, they do seem to use sex as a stress reliever, as well as a way to avoid conflict," Pulaski said. "It's not the sort of behavior one tends to develop socially otherwise." She glanced over at Zar, a mischievous expression appearing on her face before she returned her attention to Janeway. "However, one thing is different. In the primate species, a visiting female tended to seek out the matriarchal leader and establish a bond with her, utilizing genital rubbing and grooming. I assume that didn't happen with you, Captain."

"I'm glad you find this so damned amusing, Doctor," Janeway said harshly, and Zar raised an eyebrow. The captain immediately regained her composure. "I'm sorry," she said in a more controlled tone. "I'm on edge."

Pulaski frowned and picked up her tricorder, rising from her chair to run a medical probe over Janeway to take her bio-readings.

"I'm not sure I like this," she said in a concerned tone. "You still have high levels of estrogen, adrenalin, and other hormones. An encounter with your spouse should have eased these levels considerably. Perhaps continued exposure creates a buildup of..."

"That isn't it," Janeway interrupted. She looked exceedingly uncomfortable as they both looked at her, and the first officer wondered if he should leave. "I ... had a fight with Seven."

Pulaski stared at her. "A fight!? What the hell for?" she echoed, then exhaled audibly, regarding the captain in annoyance. "Let me guess. You tried to resist this and all those enhanced hormonal impulses made it turn ugly, didn't it?"

Janeway looked down at the floor. "Seven understands," she mumbled. She lifted her right hand, revealing reddened knuckles, bruised and bloody. "I'm not sure I do. It was completely inexcusable."

"You hit her?" Zar blurted, taking a step toward her before he could stop himself, horrified beyond measure.

"I ... was out of control, and when Seven tried to calm me, I struck out instinctively," Janeway said woodenly. "That's no excuse, however. In my decision to fight this influence, I only ended up hurting another person. That it was someone I care for deeply only compounds my error ... and humiliation."

"Is Lt. Hansen all right?" he demanded sharply, feeling a rage burn hot within him.

Pulaski glanced at him oddly as she treated the captain's hand with a dermal regenerator. "It would take more than a punch to slow our Borg," she said dryly, her tone calming him down like a dash of cold water, and reminding him of his role as first officer ... not some outraged rival for a Borg's affections in a competition he had already lost. "She has a duranium skull, after all."  She turned her attention back to Janeway.  "I presume Seven moved her head away before you were able to make full contact?"

Janeway winced.  "I believe so," she said.

"Good thing," the doctor said.  "You'd have broken these knuckles, otherwise. In fact, we're all lucky she didn't decide to rip your arm off and beat you to death with it. She's certainly capable of it."

"Physically, maybe, but Seven would never do that," Janeway said sadly. "Even when I probably deserve it. She isn't subject to the same Human weaknesses I am."

"That's because she understands that you're a pig-headed, obstinate woman who doesn't know when to ask for help," Pulaski said, and only paused when Zar put his hand on her arm.

"That's enough, doctor," he said stiffly. "I'm sure that whatever happened, it's none of our concern." His anger wasn't entirely quelled, but he knew this was not the time or the place to indulge it. With an effort, he buried it deep within him, where it wouldn't affect him.

Janeway glanced at him, surprised. "Not at all, Commander," she said. "The doctor is quite correct in saying that I was being stubborn and foolish in my actions, rather than having the good sense to accept what was happening to me. I'm not going to hide it, and I'm certainly not going to make the same mistake again, assuming we don't yet have some counter for the pheromones."

"The data Dr. Lewis gathered should help a great deal," Pulaski said. "However, I doubt very much we'll be able to come up with something before tomorrow's meeting."

Zar inhaled slowly. "Captain, if you'd prefer to have me to handle the rest of the negotiations..." he began.

"No," Janeway said, cutting him off firmly. "I've gone this far with it. I'm hoping that it will only require one more session."

"I assume the air filter engineering rigged up in the conference room didn't help," Zar said.

"No, it didn't," Janeway said shortly, then looked back at Pulaski. "In the meantime, is there anything you can provide that will ... ease this. My head aches, my stomach hurts, and I feel generally ... out of sorts."

"Yes, I can," Pulaski said. "It's a prescription. Go home and make up with your wife ... if she'll have you. Then maybe, if you're properly humble, she'll even make love to you, which was the plan in the first place. It should ease the rest of your symptoms. Otherwise, you'll both continue to suffer the consequences of your actions, which is something you don't want. Even if you deserve to undergo a bit of misery, she doesn't." She frowned mightily at her, then stalked out of her office, as if not wanting to deal with such a troublesome patient any longer.

Zar studied the deck, wondering how they got it so shiny, and acutely aware of the captain doing a slow burn beside him. He suspected that if he said anything at the moment, some of that frustration might find its way onto him, and he decided that he would rather avoid it, if at all possible. Indeed, if Janeway hadn't been between himself and the door, he would have followed the doctor's example and vacated the premises.

"I think that I need to have a serious discussion with Dr. Pulaski one day," Janeway said finally, in a gravely voice. "Once I figure out what I can say that might actually get through to her." She swallowed. "Once I actually encounter a situation where she's the one that's in the wrong rather than me."

Zar didn't want to touch that one, either. Despite her actions, it was obvious the captain wasn't afraid to take responsibility for them, to do what had to be done to make it better, to face things even when they were personally humiliating to her. He didn't know if he had that same courage and understanding of himself. However, he did know that he couldn't continue to stand next to the captain like a lump and hope that she would ignore him. Instead, searching for something to say, he seized upon the other concerns he had been having.

"Captain, once this is over, we really need to sit down and work out how Millennium is going to deploy the auxiliary fleet," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as desperate for the change of subject as he felt. "Otherwise, we could find ourselves with an overly active department with little to do."

The captain stared at him, obviously taken aback by the comments, but also slightly relieved, as if the more prosaic needs of the ship were something that she could readily use as a counter to everything else she had been experiencing. She dipped her head, indicating he was to accompany her as she left sickbay.

"That's probably a good idea," she said seriously as they walked through the corridors. "Did you have something specific in mind?"

"I would like for us to get together with Lt. Paris and Commander Ro to work out specifically how this will work while we're in the Delta Quadrant," he explained.

"Why Ro?" Janeway asked with curiosity. She knew, as well as anyone, the Bajoran's continued apathy toward the first officer.

"The fighters factor into the ship's defensive capabilities," Zar said. "It's important she be involved in their deployment." He paused, and added reluctantly, "It's also a bit of a peace offering, an indication that I want to work with her."

Janeway nodded approvingly, eyeing his ear as if noticing the Bajoran adornment for the first time.

"Did wearing your earring help any?"

He shrugged lightly. "Too early to tell," he said. "However, I do think that our security chief is warming up to me a little. At least, she doesn't blanch anymore when I talk to her."

Janeway chuckled slightly, and Zar felt good that he had been able to ease her tension a bit. "Let's schedule a meeting for tomorrow morning," she suggested.

"Are you sure you want to do that with the negotiations in the afternoon?" he asked in surprise.

"Actually, I think it would do me good," she admitted. "Otherwise, I'll spend the morning worrying about how I'll control myself. This way, I'll be able to concentrate on something else."

He nodded. "Very well, Captain," he said. "I'll make the arrangements."

He watched as she walked away, and decided that he felt a little better about his unresolvable feelings for Seven. At first, he couldn't understand why the young woman would have married the captain, but now, as he grew to know Janeway better, he was beginning to understand that they were a good match. That eased his mind to a certain extent, as if he could now judge Janeway as being worthy of the young Borg, rather than feel that if he had only met her before the captain, Seven would have been much better off with him ... a conceit perhaps, but one that a person in love often held.

Shaking his head at his absurd and wandering thoughts, he left sickbay and headed toward the Nexus. Later, perhaps he would take another turn in the holodeck. He wasn't in the mood to be alone this night.

Janeway still felt disgraced and unworthy of her spouse as she entered her quarters, unable to look Seven directly in the eye. Though the young woman had said she fine with the situation, and had spent some time holding her in the ready room, Janeway believed that what she had done was unforgivable, and didn't know how she could make it up to her. Fortunately, Seven took one look at the captain as she walked in and, as she was wont to do on more than one occasion, read her mood perfectly, moving to her immediately. Not allowing her spouse to wallow in her self-castigation, she enfolded Janeway completely into her arms, holding her so tightly, the captain could scarcely breathe ... not that she was complaining. It was exactly what was required, and Janeway clung to the young woman as if her life depended on it, burying her face in the enticing hollow of her neck, inhaling her fragrance deeply as she surrounded herself with the warmth and strength of the young woman.

It was all right, she thought in relief. Seven really did understand, even when Janeway didn't.

Her emotions still on edge, the captain felt her chest grow full, tears stinging her eyes. This was such a safe place for her, a secure haven where she could be exactly who she was, despite her many flaws and quirks and unfortunate foibles which were fully accepted and even cherished by the young woman.

"I love you," Janeway whispered. "Don't ever doubt that, my darling."

"I do not," Seven responded. "It is fine, Kathryn."

Janeway snuggled closer, needing this reassurance desperately. She could feel Seven's lips brushing over her forehead, the Borg nuzzling her hair lovingly, showing her without words how much she cared.

Finally, Janeway lifted her head, looking up into the pale gaze of her spouse. "Can we make love?" she asked softly. "Not because we have to, but because we want to?"

Seven smiled faintly, her eyes glowing a brilliant blue as she leaned down, kissing the captain with a tenderness that defied description.

"Of course," she told her.

Gathering her up in her arms, Seven carried the captain, not into the bedroom as Janeway anticipated, but into the arboretum. Beneath the apple tree, spread out on the springy turf, a checkered blanket contained a picnic basket, along with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket. Seven lowered the captain to the blanket, then set both basket and bucket aside before lying down on her side next to her, her fingers stroking Janeway's cheek lightly, her pale eyes intent as she regarded her spouse.

"You had this planned," Janeway said softly, pleased. "Am I so easy to predict?"

"Not predict necessarily," Seven corrected. "I merely wished to do something ... 'normal' to offset what has been a very trying time for you. That you wish it, too, is merely a happy coincidence."

Janeway smiled, the darkness chased away by her spouse. She could not take back what happened in the ready room, but if she learned from it, put it into its proper perspective, then they could put it behind them as a most unfortunate, but ultimately isolated, incident.

Leaning forward, she kissed her, glorying in the soft fullness of the Borg's lips, the gentleness of her mouth, the sweetness of her taste. She felt Seven's fingertips on her cheek, the only other connection between them other than their lips, so delicate, so loving ... it was almost more than she could bear.

"God ... what you do to me," she said softly when they parted. "There is nothing else that can affect me this deeply ... least of all alien pheromones."

Seven smiled as she drew her hand down to the captain's tunic, easing down the fastening, pulling it open. She pushed it over her partner's shoulders, dropping it onto the ground, then shrugged out of her own, adding it to the pile which would provide a pillow of sorts for the couple. Then they kissed again, Seven pressing Janeway back onto the blanket, the scent of roses and apple blossoms fragrant in the captain's nostrils. They had never made love in the arboretum, and Janeway wondered why they hadn't. At the moment, she couldn't imagine a more beautiful or fitting spot to share how they felt about each other. She drew her hands through Seven's hair, loosening the long strands from the restrictive bun, draping them over her back.

Her body was warm, a pleasant heat that covered Janeway lightly, her curves soft and yielding against her. There was no urgency, no sense of demand, only a slow and gradual desire, rising within them as they kissed and touched, stroking and caressing with sweet tenderness. There would be one more day, Janeway knew, one more session in which the aftermath would consist more of burning physical demand rather than love, but for this day, for this moment in time, there was a devoted togetherness to remind her what really brought them to each other, a sharing of warm passion that would carry her through the desperate desire to the other side where the truth of their relationship remained.

Afterward, she lay on her back, eyes closed, basking lazily in the illumination of the lights which offered a simulation of sunshine. Seven lay quietly at her side, her head resting on the captain's stomach, her cheek warm against Janeway's stomach, the long blonde hair spread soft over the older woman's abdomen. Her breath brushed warm over the captain's skin, slow and steady, waffling the crinkly hair at Janeway's triangle, providing a mild, erotic tickle that made the captain smile.

"Darling," she muttered softly, reaching down to touch Seven's face. "Come up here."

Seven obliged, her lanky form easing up from its former sprawled out position, pressing against the captain's side. They kissed, slow and easy, their flavors mingled in a delightful exchange of moist tongues and tender lips.

"God, how I adore you," Janeway sighed once they had parted.

Seven nuzzled her. "The feeling is entirely mutual, Kathryn," she responded quietly. There was another kiss, then Seven drew back, regarding her with a pale blue gaze of devotion, along with the faintest trace of a smile. "Hungry?"

Janeway laughed, reminded sharply of her personal habits, and how much certain of them amused her spouse.

"Starved," she admitted. She stretched languidly, like a cat, as Seven pulled over the picnic basket and began to unload the treats she had prepared. Bread and cheese, warmed baby quiches, and a light pasta salad, with fresh strawberries and grapes for dessert.

Sitting up cross-legged, still gloriously nude, the two women consumed the repast hungrily, washing it down with a Bajoran spring wine, leaving them replenished and content. After cleaning up, Seven stretched out on the blanket as Janeway draped herself on top of her, head nestled on her shoulder, the Borg stroking her hair soothingly.

"You know, this ship has a great many advantages over Voyager," the captain murmured sleepily, the food and warm illumination serving to make her drowsy.

"The arboretum was a wonderful gift to me," Seven agreed.

Janeway exhaled and gazed distantly through lidded eyes, listening to the heartbeat of her spouse. "Darling," she said, unsure this was the time to bring it up, but needing to speak of it anyway.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"About what happened in the ready room," Janeway said. "I was completely out of line ... not only for my actions, but because I've been trying so hard to exert control in certain areas recently. It's as if I'm having trouble easing back into command. On one hand, I'm trying very hard to let my people do their work, but at the same time, I keep testing my limits, particularly when it comes to medical matters, about which I know little."

"Is it Dr. Pulaski?" Seven asked softly. "Are you trying so hard to counter her insolent behavior, you are overcompensating in anything that involves you and medical conditions."

"Probably," Janeway allowed with a sigh. "It's foolish, however, particularly if that results in my hurting you. Despite her attitude, Pulaski does know what she's doing, and she only pushes when it comes to medical matters. I would be remiss to ignore her advice."

Seven's fingers stroked the captain's cheek lightly. "Remember that you are free to ignore any command advice she might offer," she said. She paused. "Do you remember my insolent behavior when I first met you?"

Janeway chuckled. "How could I forget?"

"You overcompensated there, as well," Seven remarked with humor. "Initially, by arguing with me at every opportunity, and then by spending so much time with me that you fell in love with me. Must I be concerned?"

Janeway actually laughed out loud and raised her head to look down on the young woman. "Believe me, that's the last thing you need to worry about, my darling," she said, feeling better about things. But then, Seven had always been rather good at making things right for her. She leaned down and kissed her lovingly, feeling as if she were now ready for the next day.

However, before she dealt with the Iboneb, she had to attend the meeting with Paris and Ro that her first officer had set up. Sitting in the conference room on deck two ... wanting to keep the one next to the bridge free as maintenance crew in environmental suits sterilized it in an attempt to keep the pheromone levels from building up ... Janeway studied her people covertly. Ro was sitting away from Zar, of course, but she didn't seem as strained in his company as she had, and the captain decided that was a definite improvement. Tom Paris sat next to her, the boyishly handsome, fair-haired wing commander lounging in his chair as if bored with the proceedings. He had certainly regained a certain cockiness in his manner since taking over the fleet, and she realized that Zar's request was a timely one. She trusted Tom to keep a rein on his behavior, but she remembered how he had been when she first met him, and that arrogance was undoubtedly repeated in the pilots under his command, who didn't have the hard life experience Tom did to temper their more imprudent decisions.

"I think the problem is keeping the squad busy when they're not flying active duty," Paris allowed, his pale eyes intent. "I would like to set up more patrols, have the fighters running sweeps every day."

"That's not practical," Zar said. "Their top cruising speed is only warp four, warp six in a emergency. That would hold Millennium back too much."

"I'm afraid the commander is correct," Janeway said, supporting her first officer immediately. "We only have a year out here, after all, and I would like to explore as much as we can before our scheduled return to the Alpha Quadrant. Besides, those fighters are only to be used in an extreme case, when the ship has no other way to defend itself."

"They'll also be escorting the other vessels," Ro pointed out. "Perhaps in the future, we could emphasize more shuttle-to-ground missions rather than relying primarily on the transporters to send in away teams. I know it's not always the most efficient method, but it would keep them busy."

Janeway nodded. "That's a good idea," she said. "We'll keep that in mind during planetary missions. We might not always be able to go that way, but we'll do it when we can."

"That still leaves them with little to do between patrols while the ship is cruising," Paris said.

"That's why I think it would be a good idea to double up their assignments," Zar offered. "Instead of duties exclusive to the fleet department, we could spread the flight crew through the ship. After all, they're also here to learn about being Starfleet officers."

Ro hesitated, then nodded. "We could always use a few more bodies in security," she said. Janeway was pleased to see the attempt at conciliation on the Bajoran's part.

Paris frowned. "Security carries the highest casualty rate of any department," he said, then glanced at Ro. "No offense."

"More so than green fighter pilots who can fly into an asteroid at warp six?" she responded evenly. "No offense."

"I like the idea," Janeway said, forestalling the contest developing between the two. Despite the time that had passed, there was still a little edge between the two officers, undoubtedly because Ro had ended up with the chief engineer. B'Elanna had shared a tempestuous relationship with Tom prior to that. "I'll authorize the temporary transfers. If we keep posting them to different departments each rotation, it should keep them on their toes."

"You're essentially making them floaters," Paris said, a touch of outrage edging his tone.

Janeway considered that. "Exactly," she said. "Only unlike Ro on Voyager, they won't have the authority or experience to fit in right away. Instead, they'll be learning on the job."

"That may cause a certain disruption to smoothly running departments," Zar said thoughtfully. "I'm sure departmental heads, such as Lt. Hansen, will find it most inefficient."

Janeway smiled. "I'll talk to Lt. Hansen personally," she said. "I'm sure once I explain the situation to her, she'll find it ... acceptable." She shrugged lightly. "Besides, every department always needs more bottle washers and couriers."

"You're turning my pilots into gophers," Paris said, aghast.

"No, we're going to be turning them into well-rounded Starfleet officers, able to step in at any post on the ship ... within reason ... and be able to handle the duties required," Janeway responded, a touch of steel in her tone. "If they learn some humility in the process, so much the better. A little humility never hurt anyone."

She could only imagine the look on Seven's face at that remark, particularly coming from her. However, the one lesson she was learning from this mission was how important humility was, that she was only one person, and a rather fallible one at that.

"What I'll do is set a list of roster assignments," Zar remarked to the wing commander. "Two days on flight duty, two days on ship maintenance..."

"Yes, they should know how to fix the vessels if anything goes wrong," Paris allowed, approving of that much, at least.

"Then two days in other departments," Zar concluded, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I'll leave you to specify which pilot goes where, as well as schedule in their off days through the cycle." He eyed Paris who didn't seem pleased to have to work out a duty roster of that magnitude, but it was part of his responsibility as wing commander.

"What about patrols, however," Paris tried again. "We need to fly actual missions, not just limit them to the holodeck."

Janeway considered it. "Agreed," she allowed. "I'll arrange periodic stretches where Millennium will power down to warp four. I'll also want to run a series of drills at times to improve launch time performance."

"Thank you, Captain," Paris said. He studied her intently. "What about actual combat conditions?"

Janeway regarded him. "So far, we haven't come across a situation that warrants such, Lt. Paris," she said. "There is also the fact that if we do, we want those extra vessels to be a surprise, a tactic that will finish any battle once and for all. I don't want them flitting around otherwise."

"Captain, with all due respect, I think you're overlooking the potential usefulness of a fighter squadron," he said earnestly.

Janeway lifted a corner of her mouth. "Perhaps," she said. "I'll guess you'll just have to work on proving that usefulness to me, Tom ... beginning with how your people handle themselves in other areas of the ship."

Seven was relieved that the third session of negotiating had wrapped things up, producing a valid treaty that Janeway could take back to the Okunda to be signed. As the captain, apparently controlling herself quite well, made her formal farewells to the ambassador and her assistant, Seven quietly and quickly retired to their quarters. She trusted that Janeway would keep her word and not resist the feelings she had been suppressing, but the Borg was relieved nonetheless when she heard the outer door to their cabin slide open with a hiss. Garbed only in her robe, she waited for Janeway patiently, having made all the necessary preparations. She even felt slightly eager to begin her 'treatment' of the captain's problem.

Yet, as the captain entered the room, Seven saw that Janeway was still greatly troubled and dismayed by this necessity, her expression one of absolute misery. Her classic features twisted further as she saw that the panel at the head of their bed had been left open to reveal the compartment containing all their accessories. As she began to undress, her eyes did not meet Seven's, as if what they were about to do was shameful in some fashion. That was when the Borg realized she had approached the situation in a completely incorrect manner ... as a surgeon would an operation, with all her instruments prepped and ready, rather than as someone who was prepared to support her spouse in an awkward situation. It had been a grave error in judgement, and she altered her plan quickly as Janeway slipped out of her uniform trousers, dropping them to the floor. A wisp of musk reached the Borg from the undergarments, sodden with the captain's emissions, and she inhaled deeply, surprised at the sharp pang of desire within her. She had not expected to feel this much arousal for their encounter, but she allowed that the captain's pheromones had always been as effective on her as any alien bio-chemical agent.

Janeway, naked now, crawled onto the bed and stretched out, half on her side, turned away from Seven. Knowing that it was important to alter this encounter, which had started off so cold and mechanical, before it went much further, the young woman spent a few seconds formulating a new strategy as she slipped out of her robe.

She lay down behind Janeway, gently pressing her body full length against her, putting her arm around her waist and pulling her close. Janeway exhaled audibly and closed her eyes, swallowing hard, her throat moving as if she were preparing herself for an unpleasant experience. Seven reached down and pulled up a blanket, draping it over them, then, very tenderly, she kissed the captain's ear.

"I love you so much, Kathryn," she whispered, not moving. Instead, she allowed her partner to remember the Borg's body as a lover, rather than a tool to 'service' her. "You are everything to me. I could not imagine loving anyone else, for any reason."

Janeway started slightly, then opened her eyes, turning her head to look back at her.

"Annika?" she whispered, her voice choked.

Seven moved her lips gently along the line of neck, slowly, lovingly, as she started smoothing her right hand in slow circles over the captain's stomach. "You are so very beautiful, my Kathryn," she continued quietly, her voice soft and provocative.

"Oh god," Janeway groaned, half in despair. "Please, Annika ... don't tease..."

"I am not teasing you, Kathryn," Seven assured her, reaching up to cup her breast, holding it lightly in her hand, her palm chafing the hard protrusion of nipple gently. "I am loving you." She nuzzled her. "This desire you feel ... this need you are experiencing ... it is transitory, easily alleviated, but our love is for all time. I am not here with you out of duty or obligation, my Kathryn, I am here because I adore you so much ... being with you is a privilege I cherish greatly and shall never relinquish."

She slipped her left arm beneath the captain's body, feeling Janeway settle against her, the words serving to relax the captain even as she continued to tremble from the desire raging inside. Careful with the Borg mesh, Seven entwined her fingers with Janeway's hand, holding it as she would a precious treasure as she kissed the soft spot beneath the captain's ear, her lips moving lightly along her jaw.

"When I am with you," she continued in a sensual murmur, "you are the only requirement in the universe I have. Sometimes, I feel that I could live without breathing so long as I have you in my arms."

Seven left her caresses momentarily to reach up into their compartment, bypassing the penile accessories and retrieving the ben-wa balls which she had found so delightful on a previous occasion. They would be more appropriate than any of the others, she decided, allowing Kathryn to experience the penetration she so enjoyed, and perhaps required at this time, but without the need for a physical exertion on either of their parts. Seven wanted this to be gentle and slow, an experience of togetherness, not a display of wanton neediness beyond the captain's control.

Seven continued to whisper to her spouse, expressing how much she loved her, how much being with her was vital to her, how much she needed and wanted her as she carefully slipped her hand containing the small, silvery balls between their bodies. From behind, she eased them into Janeway, first one, then the other, tugging on the whisper-thin chain to make them start moving like quicksilver within the captain. Janeway shuddered, the sensation enough to send her over the edge for the first time, dulling the raging immediacy of her need and allowing her to concentrate on her partner, and the words Seven continued to use with great effect. The Borg wanted to provide Janeway with the assurance that she was safe here, that there was no need to be afraid to capitulate to her, no reason to resent her partner's caring for her. Instead, there was only love, a strength that cradled them both and wouldn't let either of them fall, a mutual experience of joyful sharing as Seven reached around and began to stroke her fingertip tenderly over Janeway's sensitive nubbin, not so much caressing her as worshiping her, paying homage to the woman she loved. Fondling her with care and tenderness, she slowly increased the attention as Janeway's respiration quickened progressively, small sounds issuing from her lips.

Tears trickled freely down the captain's cheeks as she surrendered herself completely to her partner's lovemaking, allowing it to both succor and heal her. The orgasms that finally swept her up were as much spiritual as physical, freeing her from the burning need inside her. For a long time, Seven continued to hold her in the aftermath, her hand cupping her possessively, surrounding her with as much of her body as possible, making it very clear that she was there and always would be whenever her spouse needed her.

"How is it," Janeway asked finally, her very breath a sob, "that you always know the right thing to do?"

Seven raised herself so that she could kiss the corner of the captain's mouth. "I imagine what I would require were our positions reversed and try to provide it," she responded. "I am not always correct, because we are different people, but sometimes it works perfectly."

"Perfectly," Janeway agreed in a whisper, and hugged Seven's left arm to her chest.

A few moments later, she wiggled slightly, uncomfortably, and understanding what that meant, Seven reached down and found the chain, tugging on it gently to pull the spheres from the woman. Catching them in her palm, she felt their heat from Janeway's intimate recesses, silky smooth from the lubrication and the captain's moisture. Smiling faintly, Seven handled them for a moment for the sheer sensual pleasure of it, then placed them in the device at the head of the bed and activated it, the subtle hum and flash indicating they had been sterilized for the next use, whenever that might be. After putting them away, and resealing the compartment, she wrapped Janeway up in her arms, knowing that her partner was still somewhat fragile, needing the physical presence of her spouse.

"Will both the Okunda and Iboneb benefit from this treaty?" she asked quietly after another period of quiet had passed between them, hoping that the change in subject might provide further soothing.

"Yes," Janeway murmured, huddled in the embrace. "It took a lot of convincing, but in the end, both sides settled on five hundred and fifty plants." She exhaled. "Despite the outcome, however, this was not the most pleasant diplomatic incident I've ever been involved with."

Seven hugged her. "You are so strong, Kathryn," she said with admiration. "Few beings could have accomplished such a treaty. It is possible that you have created an alliance that will strengthen both people for several future generations."

Janeway allowed herself a pleased sigh at her partner's compliment. "I hope so. I talked with Tranturi and her associate after the final documents were signed, and let her know why the Okunda might have found it difficult to be in the room with them. The Iboneb were astonished. They had no idea others found it difficult to witness such things, and promised that in the future, they would find a way to ... at least go into another room to deal with their stress." She smiled. "She was also quite intrigued by the fact that I was apparently suppressing my sexual drive as we finished up the negotiations. She had assumed because I didn't relieve it, I was experiencing no stress at all, which actually had increased her tension as the negotiations went on. I explained that Humans required both privacy and exclusiveness in sexual encounters, far more than the Iboneb."

Seven kissed her gently. "Was it very difficult, Kathryn?"

"Actually, it wasn't so bad today," Janeway admitted. "There was only one ... uh, stressful occasion just before they agreed to the treaty, and rather quick, so I wasn't as affected as I have been." She stroked Seven's forearms lightly, her features thoughtful. "I actually felt more tense than aroused when I came here, but I knew I didn't dare fight the urges again ... not after yesterday."

"I could tell," Seven said dryly.

Janeway managed a smile. "When I saw all those accessories laid out, I wondered what exactly you had in mind for me," she said with wry humor.

"I was merely preparing for all eventualities," Seven allowed. "However, I was guilty of concentrating more on the solution to the problem than how this was affecting you personally." She nuzzled her neck. "Kathryn, I know it is hard for you to acknowledge you need assistance, particularly when it comes to your command. Clearly, this was a professional, rather than personal, issue for you, and you feel you cannot allow so much familiarity from me in that instance. I am glad you finally allowed me to assist you."

"I shouldn't have fought you so hard," Janeway said soberly. "Not just ... physically, but emotionally as well." She winced when she said the former, and Seven knew that the captain's actions in the ready room would live with her spouse for a long time.

"You prefer to try the more challenging path," Seven said. "If there is an easy solution, then it must be wrong in your opinion. I do not think you will ever be able to change that about yourself."

"I'd hate to think I'm that ... obstinate," Janeway sighed.

Seven was amused. "More a matter of possessing great ... 'determination'," she assured her. "It was that determination that refused to give up a Borg drone so long ago, even when others insisted that was the proper thing to do."

"My instincts were right on that occasion," Janeway protested mildly.

"So they were," Seven agreed. "They are usually more right than wrong, which is why you insist on following them no matter what. That is not incorrect, Kathryn, merely ... aggravating, at times."

"One day, however, I'll be completely wrong," the captain said softly, her gaze distant and grey. "There'll be no excuses for me, no second chance, no way to fix what I've done."

"Perhaps," Seven agreed evenly. "In that case, know that I will still be there for you because I love you. It is that simple, Kathryn."

Janeway was silent for a moment, absorbing that, then shifted, turning over in Seven's arms to face her. Her eyes were still troubled.

"You keep telling me how strong I am," she said quietly. "However, it's you who so frequently has to be the strong one in this relationship. You put up with so much from me, Annika. How much is too much? When will I cross that line with you?"

Seven kissed her mouth, basking in her flavor. "There is no such line. No so long as we love each other and continue to find ways to work things through between us. However, it must always be a mutual effort, and that shall never change for as long as we are together."

"I promise," Janeway told her seriously, her dark gaze searching the young woman's face. "You also have to know how much your support means to me, even when it sounds as if I don't want it, even when I'm struggling against it."

"I do," Seven said. "I always will." She smiled, and kissed her again, lingering over her lips, pressing her body closer to her. "However, it is now I who requires your support," she added, her tone becoming more provocative.

Janeway blinked, surprised. "How so?"

Seven lifted a brow. "If you believe that I am capable of making love with you, and not becoming aroused, there is still much that you need to learn about me," she explained. She took Janeway's hand and placed it over her breast. "Now I am the one with need."

Janeway stared at her, then a slow smile spread across her face as she squeezed her grip lightly, a pleased look of sensuality and appreciation crossing her features.

"Indeed," she said huskily. "I'm just going to have to take care of that."

And spent the next few hours joyfully doing so.

Nog entered the lounge where he had agreed to meet his friends for dinner, still feeling somewhat disconcerted by his abortive attempt at being a diplomat. He had been so proud to be asked, and subsequently, so ashamed when he had failed to perform his duty adequately. Even though Janeway had taken a moment to pull him aside at one point after that first day, praising him for his professionalism in his one negotiating session, a part of him still wondered if she knew how little control over his responses he had actually possessed. That had distinctly lessened his role in his eyes. After all, both Zar and the captain had continued to carry on with the negotiations that first day without a hitch, and had not surrendered to their symptoms until after the Iboneb had departed the conference room.

If indeed, they had surrendered at all, Nog thought glumly. Perhaps they had simply overcome the feelings through sheer willpower, while he had been unable to generate any resistance at all. The only thing that made it even the slightest bit bearable was that it hadn't been too obvious when he slipped ... three times.

He winced as he crossed the lounge and took a seat at the corner table that he and his friends had unofficially claimed as their own. He couldn't even share his doubts about his professionalism with his compatriots. What went on within the confines of the conference room was to remain there. Though Millennium had asked for and received several large transmissions from the Iboneb regarding their civilization for the Starfleet xeno-biologists to study, it was to be kept quiet which elements of that culture certain members of the senior staff had already been exposed to. Nog supposed he could understand that. As a Ferengi, he readily saw the profit potential in the Iboneb pheromones, and as a Starfleet officer, he recognized how easily the species could be exploited and had to be protected. He did wonder, idly, if the bio-chemical agents in the pheromones were strong enough to affect Vulcans, perhaps triggering their seven year pon farr mating cycle.

The motivation for that curious, if less than honorable thought, was striding gracefully across the lounge at that moment, and Nog stifled a sigh as Lt. T'Shanik took a seat at the Ferengi's table, accompanied by Ensign Marcos. The slender, exquisite Beta Squad leader seemed less rigid than other Vulcans Nog had known. Perhaps her relative youth and the fact that she was attractive in an austere, dark way only heightened her appeal in Nog's eyes. However, he suspected that if T'Shanik was drawn to anyone, it would be the young Human male who sat down beside her. Muscular, with dark hair and eyes, Marcos was handsome in a way that Nog realized many females were drawn to. That he was charming and kind added to the package, and the Ferengi suspected that he would stand little chance in any competition that included the Gamma Squad leader.

Not that there was a competition, he reminded himself. He doubted T'Shanik recognized either male as anything more than background noise at the best of times.

"Nog, buddy, are you going to say hi?" Marcos said, prodding the Ferengi in the shoulder. Belatedly, Nog realized he had been sitting there, so lost in thought that he hadn't even acknowledged the arrival of his friends.

"Sorry," Nog offered, offering a snaggle-toothed grin. "Counting credits."

"Is that an expression?" T'Shanik asked, lifting an elegantly-slanted eyebrow.

Caught, Nog stumbled a bit. "Uh, yeah," he said. "It's sort of like the Human expression; 'wool-gathering'." T'Shanik still looked politely blank, and he fumbled some more. "It means to be so lost in thought, you don't notice what's going on around you."

T'Shanik tilted her head. "Illogical," she decided after a few seconds.

"Probably," Nog agreed.

The Vulcan blinked, as if she had been expecting some kind of argument, but did not pursue it any further, for which Nog was suitably grateful.

"Hey."

The trio looked up to see the rest of their friends arrive at their corner. Elisa Tarn, the operations officer, and Alexis Spencer, the Xeno-specialist from sickbay, provided a decided imbalance of female to male ratio in their group, but Nog rather liked it that way, particularly since the other two were just as attractive as T'Shanik in their own way. It certainly didn't hurt a Ferengi's reputation to be surrounded by beautiful women, regardless of their species.

"How long before we reach Okunda?" Spencer asked Nog as she tapped her order into the menu touch pad embedded in the middle of the table. The doctor was a little older than the rest of the group, but that was to be expected. Medical personnel required far more training before being allowed to accept a starship posting than did others like Tarn and Marcos, who were fresh from the Academy.

Ironically, Nog was the elder statesman of the group, though he wasn't much older than any of them, having served on DS9 for two years prior to accepting the assignment on Millennium. The others tended to look to him for guidance at times, and it was a rather new and exhilarating experience for him.

"In another day," he said with authority. As helmsman, he knew where the ship was most of the time, even while not on duty. "We should drop into orbit at approximately 1100 hours."

"Have you heard about the new assignments we're starting once we leave orbit?" Marcos asked.

"Who?" Tarn asked, regarding him curiously.

"Those in the auxiliary fleet," T'Shanik said coolly. "It has been determined that we do not have enough to do."

"They've turned us into floaters," Marcos added, a touch of disgust in his voice.

Nog was abruptly envious, and baffled by the pilot's obvious dismay at the prospect.

"What's the problem?" he demanded. "Being a floater is one of the best jobs on a starship."

"When one has the necessary experience and seniority to be appreciated within such a role," T'Shanik corrected him. "It is usually a position taken on by an officer undergoing command training, in order to shore up any deficiencies they might have before moving into a position of senior authority."

"For us still fitting into the uniform, it just means we're going to be glorified gophers," Marcos grumbled, sipping his drink from the round the waiter had just deposited on their table.

"'Gophers'?" Nog echoed, uncertain of the reference. He knew they were a small, Terran animal from his xeno-biology studies, but not much beyond that.

"Go-for padds, go-for biometric samples, go-for plasma scrubbers," Marcos explained.

"Ah, it's a pun," Nog said, delighted.

"I'm glad you're so amused by this," his friend said in a wounded tone. "But I suppose that being in the lofty heights of the senior staff, that's to be expected."

Tarn shook her head. "We are very much the junior members of that staff," she told him. "That's a lot harder than it looks. Generally, you have to watch yourself every moment so that you don't make a mistake."

Nog, for whom it was a little easier, but only because of his experience, nodded. "It's not even as if they get angry with you if you do," he said glumly. "That's because we're not expected to be that good. We're not even worth yelling at ... we just have more supervision for the next week or so whenever we do screw up."

"Not to mention extra assignments to improve our skills," Tarn added in a tone that indicated to all of them that she was the one who knew best.

Alexis glanced at her. "What happened?" she asked curiously, obviously detecting the martyred note in the operations officer's voice.

Nog eyed her as Tarn seemed disinclined to respond, and they all turned to him, since both worked on the bridge. "May I tell them?" he asked politely.

"I'd rather you didn't," Tarn said, sipping her drink gloomily. "Just know that I received a lecture from Commander Zar about it, and was assigned double shifts for the week after we leave orbit of Okunda."

"Fair enough," Marcos said. "We don't need details, but you should know, you're not the only one who ends up in trouble." He glanced a T'Shanik. "I thought Lt. Paris was going to burst a blood vessel when you flew your fighter into the side of the Millennium during the practice run in the holodeck this morning."

"Despite the severity of the error," the Vulcan admitted, "his emotional outburst did seem ... excessive."

Nog winced. "Still, it's better to do it in a holoprogram, than for real."

"You are correct." T'Shanik glanced at him. "I understand you were allowed to participate in the initial negotiating session with the Iboneb."

Nog inhaled slowly. "Yes," he said shortly. "It was ... educational."

"Dr. Pulaski is doing a paper on the Iboneb," Spencer said, and Nog felt a thrill of horror, having forgotten that she had been in attendance as a consultant during Pulaski's investigation into the pheromone phenomena. However, the young doctor merely dipped her head in his direction. "Apparently, the captain was very pleased with Nog's conduct, but decided that only she would deal with the subsequent negotiations."

"Why?" Tarn asked. "I never figured that out. The Iboneb seemed a nice enough people."

Spencer hesitated, as if realizing she had already said too much. "It was a very delicate negotiation," she offered finally. She glanced at Nog. "However, it may be that Nog will find himself taken along for diplomatic missions in the future."

Nog shrugged modestly, though he was pleased at the assessment. "The captain has a high opinion of Ferengi abilities. Higher than most Starfleet officers, though I'm not sure why."

"Because of her experiences in the Delta Quadrant," Alexis explained. "I was talking to Dr. Lewis about it, and he said that frequently, the crew of Voyager were required to barter for supplies and medicine. It probably gave the captain a decided appreciation for the art of negotiating ... for which we all know, the Ferengi are famous."

Nog blinked, surprised at this information but filing it away for future consideration. Who knew where unexpected profit could materialize from? That Janeway appreciated certain Ferengi customs could only work in Nog's favor, and it made him realize,
despite his initial misgivings, that he had made the correct choice in accepting this position.

Life was good, he decided finally, despite his humiliation earlier in the week, and took another swallow from his drink as he began to contemplate what he should order for dinner.

There was a visitor in her quarters when Janeway returned home after her duty shift, and she was less than pleased to discover it was Lenara Kahn. The captain knew that the esteemed scientist was rapidly becoming a good friend of her spouse, but she had never really warmed up to the Trill female, partially because Seven seemed so taken with her. The captain supposed it was also because she felt the slightest bit intimidated by Kahn, that formidable intellect a constant prick at Janeway's ego, deflating her more than once. Janeway had always considered herself a fine scientist, but Lenara Kahn was far and above the captain's capabilities ... just as Seven was. Worse, Janeway saw how Seven responded to that brilliance, drawn to it as a moth to a flame, greatly admiring the older woman.

However, the captain showed none of this, carefully arranging her face into a smile of welcome. "Dr. Kahn," she said graciously. "How are things going in the civilian science department? Have you adjusted to being on a starship yet?"

"It's different from what I'm used to, Captain," Lenara responded politely, "but I find I'm appreciating the adventure of it tremendously. Something new happens every day, unlike the Ministry of Technology on Trill."

The elegant woman was seated at the dining table across from Seven, the pair obviously deep in discussion over cups of what Janeway's nostrils detected as raktajino ... or Klingon coffee. Janeway loved her coffee strong, but the alien version was too powerful for her tastebuds, and she was slightly piqued that while she had never managed to entice Seven into liking the Terran brew, the Borg had been quick to embrace Kahn's beverage of choice.

"Lenara and I have been going over the findings from the xenometrics lab regarding the Iboneb," Seven explained as she stood up, gesturing slightly at the padds scattered over the table.

Janeway wondered if the young woman had also shared the captain's lack of control with the scientist, and felt something twist inside. Was Lenara looking at her with a slight contempt, as if unable to believe Janeway would actually strike her spouse, regardless of the external provocation? Why not? Janeway asked herself grimly. She could still scarcely believe it of herself.

"A most interesting culture," Lenara was saying, and Janeway forced herself to pay attention to the conversation. "I'm not a xenologist, of course, but I suspect that the information we gathered on them will keep that department busy for years, and we're not even through our first month of exploration. I hope that we in Astrometrics are equally as fortunate."

Janeway managed a small smile. "Believe me, if there's one thing the Delta Quadrant offers, it's plenty of spatial anomalies. If we run into half of what Voyager did in that first year, you will have more than enough to fill your plate."

Lenara shared a smile with Seven, a warm sort of familiar expression of expectant joy in scientific discovery which made Janeway grit her teeth. Honestly, she thought, why had Seven taken such a liking to the woman? If she had to develop friendships with the new members of the crew, why couldn't she have developed one with the Ferengi helmsman ... or better yet, Commander Zar, who was also a scientist. Why did it have to be with a devastatingly beautiful Trill woman who had lived several lifetimes?

"Will you stay for dinner, Lenara?" Seven asked.

Janeway discovered she was biting the inside of her cheek so she didn't say anything untoward.

"I'm afraid I can't," Lenara said graciously. "I'm having dinner with Dr. Lewis this evening."

Janeway resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Instead, she moved into the bedroom as Seven escorted the scientist to the door, the captain taking the opportunity to change from her uniform into casual clothes while her partner made her farewell to Lenara. As Janeway dressed, she allowed that her jealousy was probably irrational, but sometimes, one couldn't control how one felt. If she had learned nothing else from the incident with the Iboneb, that was something that had impressed itself upon her brain. Of course, how she dealt with such feelings was in her hands, and she knew such a decision required some very careful thought. Jealousy had a way of undermining the most stable of relationships, and she didn't want it to erode what she and Seven had so carefully built over the years. She knew she could always speak to Seven about it, of course, but they had already shared a discussion regarding her opinion of Kahn, and Seven had assured her that her jealousy was unwarranted. If the captain pursued it, it would only make Seven feel as if her spouse didn't trust her, and that wouldn't be good for either of them.

Exhaling in frustration, Janeway returned to the living area where Seven was gathering up the padds from the table and shifting them over to her work station in the corner. Without speaking, Janeway went over and began to set the table, opening the cabinet door containing the dishes and cutlery. On a starship, such things were an archaism, with dishes being replicated as easily as food, but both Janeway and Seven preferred a more Traditionalist approach to dining, including the Borg preparing meals from scratch. It made their quarters more of a home to them, an important element considering that their tour of duty on Millennium could last for up to five years. Janeway had learned during her time on Voyager how important it was for there to be a special place for the both of them to come home to, that within the confines of these bulkheads, they were not captain and science officer, but two women who loved each other dearly.

Which is why it aggravated her so much to have Lenara visit here, though she would not presume to tell Seven that. After all, it would be completely unreasonable for her to ask Seven not to allow her friends to come over, simply because Janeway was jealous of one of them.

"What is wrong?"

Startled, Janeway looked from where she was placing the dishes carefully on the table, restraining herself from slamming them down. Her deliberate motion must have become apparent to the young woman who regarded the captain intently from her place behind the counter of their kitchenette where she was preparing their dinner.

"Nothing," Janeway said, forcing herself to respond lightly. "Why do you ask?"

Seven eyed her narrowly for a moment. "I ... sense a certain ... uneasiness about you." Janeway knew how much her partner hated such imprecision while speaking, but obviously her behavior was disturbing Seven on a level that defied ready analysis. "Are you still suffering from the events of the past few days?"

"No." The captain hesitated, and then placed the wine glasses she had been holding. "It's ... just me," she elaborated reluctantly. "I'm feeling a little out of sorts this evening." She shrugged. "Irrational insecurities."

"Ah," Seven said thoughtfully, slicing through some tomatoes for a salad. "I presume you are referring to your apprehension regarding Lenara Kahn's feelings toward me."

Janeway abruptly realized how very tiresome it could be married to someone who could read her so accurately.

"Maybe," she said shortly.

Seven smiled faintly. "Lenara and the Doctor are developing a friendship."

"The Doctor?" Janeway blinked as she thought about that. She knew, as well as anyone, how far the holographic being had evolved since the time he had first been activated on Voyager all those years ago, but there was still a part of her that resisted the idea that he was truly a sentient being in all aspects. It wasn't something she liked to admit, or even really thought about until something like this made her face that she still put limitations on his existence. "I'm surprised that Dr. Kahn finds him all that interesting," she said finally, in a grudging tone.

"I am not implying that they are anything more than friends. However, the Doctor is very interesting. It is not surprising at all." It was both correction and rebuke, and Janeway felt her cheeks color slightly.

"You're right." She lifted her head and stared at her spouse. "I suppose I'm not giving him proper due ... or Dr. Kahn, either."

Seven lifted a brow. "Indeed," she said calmly. She tilted her head. "Why is that, Kathryn?"

Janeway glanced at her. With anyone else, she would have detected some meaning behind the innocent tone. With Seven, it wasn't as easy to tell. In the beginning, with the young woman so brutally straightforward, her intent had been so easy to determine that it actually hurt, but as Seven grew more into her humanity, she was beginning to take on quirks and habits
that sometimes made the meaning of her words more difficult to decipher.

"I guess we're back to my irrational insecurities," Janeway admitted finally.

"I suppose we are." Seven's features softened, became more affectionate. "You are the only one for me, Kathryn. I love you completely"

Caught, Janeway flushed furiously. "I know," she mumbled, abruptly ashamed of her pettiness toward her partner and her friends. "I'm sorry. I love you, too."

Seven smiled and resumed her dinner preparations as Janeway finished setting the table. The captain then moved over to the stool, where she perched on it to watch her partner work, relaxing, as always in this simple, domestic pleasure.

"We should be in orbit around Okunda by this time tomorrow."

Seven glanced at her as if wondering why this particular piece of information was relevant to her.

"I thought ... if the Okunda were agreeable, I could set up some shore leave, and we could perhaps find a restaurant for dinner," Janeway struggled on. "Maybe a little dancing, as well?"

Seven lifted a brow. "Are you attempting to ... 'make up' with me?"

Janeway offered a sheepish grin. "That is the best part about arguing."

Seven blinked. "Have we been arguing?" she asked blankly.

"Well, not arguing exactly," Janeway said with a sigh, "but certainly we've been suffering through a stressful period."

"Yes," Seven said. She finished placing the mushrooms in the bowl and began to toss the salad vigorously. "Apparently, Humans do use sex as much as violence to resolve stress ... assuming that was part of the 'making up' you envisioned."

Janeway felt that one strike deep, even though she realized that Seven, just from her tone, was not referring to the incident in the ready room, but rather, was making a scientific observation.

"There's a fine line," Janeway managed to agree in an even voice. "Perhaps if Humans had chosen the first over the second, as the Iboneb did, we'd have been much better off."

"Or perhaps Humans would be extinct by now. The Iboneb appear to have evolved in a culturally superior manner, but they are an extremely old civilization ... much older than Human civilization."

"Really?" Janeway said with interest, not having had an opportunity to study the information transmitted by the Iboneb.

"Yes," Seven said. "It is obvious that despite the turmoil aggression causes, it forces a species to evolve quickly. I spent some time studying some of the Iboneb artwork this afternoon with the xenology department." She paused. "It was what Lenara and I were discussing when you came in."

Janeway lifted an eyebrow at the explanation, but appreciated it nonetheless. "I see. What did you discover?"

"That their culture has changed very little in the past two thousand years. There appears to almost be a certain stagnation."

"Perhaps they simply evolve slower than other species," Janeway countered.

"Perhaps," Seven allowed. "However, while it was possible to do so when they were isolated from the rest of the quadrant, now that they have achieved warp drive, and have started reaching out to their neighbors, becoming part of a larger society within the sector that includes other cultures, that must change ... or they will be overwhelmed, either through assimilation or violence, by a more aggressive culture."

Janeway thought about that as she accepted the wooden bowl from Seven and carried it over to the table. From the heating unit, she could detect the fragrance of the main course still simmering, a casserole of some kind. "You could be right," she said finally, enjoying this discussion with her spouse. She may not have been on Lenara's level of scientific expertise, but she knew that Seven still enjoyed talking with her more than anyone else, and she held that knowledge close to her heart. "Certainly, conflict has always been the cause of accelerated technological advances ... as the recent Dominion War proved for the Federation. Millennium and Voyager are only a few years apart in development, yet the Millennium is much more powerful tactically, with vastly improved offensive and defensive capabilities."

"However, other areas of the ship have not been equally as improved," Seven noted as she sat down, using wooden utensils to gather some salad for herself, transferring it to her plate. She used only a bit of dressing while Janeway tended to drown hers. "I find it particularly notable in the science department. Certain sciences have been greatly enhanced with new equipment and computer resources, while others maintain the same structure and method of experimentation that Voyager did, a much smaller vessel that was not designed for scientific exploration."

Janeway chewed thoughtfully on a piece of lettuce. "Perhaps there isn't a better way of doing things in those sciences."

Seven fixed her with a look, and Janeway smiled. "In truth," Seven said, "I have already implemented great improvements since accepting this assignment."

"Ah," Janeway said. "Then I'm more fortunate than I realized to have you as my chief science officer."

"Yes. You are indeed."

That made Janeway chuckle, and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders, one she had not realized existed until it dissipated. The couple were obviously back to where they should be, and it granted her a peace she had been without since beginning the delicate diplomatic negotiations with the Iboneb.

A personal peace that was absolutely vital to her professional role as Millennium's captain.

Okunda proved to be a spectacularly dull planet in a great many ways. Their capital city was on a plain, dusty and unrelentingly flat, containing architecture and design that was generically ... some might say depressingly ... square and uniform. The inhabitants went about their business in a unobtrusive manner, with even the children in the parks maintaining a repressed approach to their play. Their clothing consisted primarily of robes in bland shades of brown and tan, devoid of any jewelry or adornment to enhance their appearance. Despite the problems the Iboneb had inadvertently caused, at least the species had known how to dress with an eye to the aesthetic, Seven thought as she pushed the food about her plate. The meal and the restaurant was as banal as her surroundings, without any spices or flavoring to grant it a uniqueness, though this restaurant was supposedly the best that could be found on the planet.

Seven wondered if spiritual pursuits truly required individuals to be deprived of external pleasures, or if there were other ways to achieve an enlightened development. If not, she decided she would rather indulge in a life less elevated and more prosaic. That was a revelation to her as she realized that the Borg, in their pursuit of perfection, also disdained creature comforts. She glanced around at the Okunda who surrounded them, all speaking in extremely subdued tones, lacking animation or obvious pleasure in their meals, abruptly realizing they were more drone-like than even Seven could be comfortable with.

"It's all rather awful, isn't it?" Janeway murmured quietly from across the table.

Seven glanced up to meet her eye, seeing the sparkle in the blue orbs and finding them to be even more beautiful and dynamic within such a drab environment.

"If the Iboneb inspire sexual desire, the Okunda terminate it," Seven said, making an attempt at humor.

Startled, as she always was when her partner made the effort to be funny, Janeway laughed merrily, the sound so unusual that nearby patrons glanced over before looking hastily away, disapproval clear in their faces. Seven lifted an eyebrow as she took note of their expressions, and then looked back at the captain.

"Would you object if we skipped dessert?"

"Not at all," Janeway said. She assumed a rueful expression. "I think dancing is out of the question, as well."

"I do not believe the Okunda consider it an acceptable indulgence," Seven allowed. She waited as Janeway finished her coffee ... or what passed for it on this world ... and rose with her as they left the restaurant. They were here as guests of the government, and while that meant anyone in a Starfleet uniform didn't have to pay for anything, there wasn't much available to them to take true advantage of the offering, even if Janeway were inclined to allow her crew such latitude.

They could take advantage of the evening, however, which was cool and rather pleasant after the heat of the day. The couple decided to take a stroll through the streets rather than immediately return to the ship. They began their walk holding hands, but after a few looks in their direction, extreme outrage and shock evident in the citizens, they quickly released their grip on each other, neither officer wanting to create a diplomatic incident. It was enough for Seven to know her spouse was by her side, and no one could raise any objection to them brushing against each other as they walked, apparently innocuously, but providing the Borg with a sense of physical connection to Janeway. Such restraint held its own form of appeal, and she wondered if either species, the Okunda or the Iboneb, understood the delight of anticipation.

"What are you thinking?" Janeway murmured as they paused before a shop window which contained artworks of spiritual significance. Seven found them unremarkable.

"The Iboneb," Seven said honestly. "To them, sharing physical pleasure is a very natural and normal form of expression."

"It is," Janeway agreed. "In contrast, I see nothing of a sexual nature indicated in any of the Okunda culture. To the Iboneb, however, sex is as natural as breathing."

"Yet ... I believe that also makes it impossible for them to be intimate. There is nothing intimate about breathing."

Janeway lifted her head, an expression of surprise ghosting across her blue eyes. "You're correct. There would be none of that type of intimacy with the Iboneb."

"While the Okunda consider intimacy to be so private as to be a sin to discuss it. Which is better?"

Janeway looked thoughtful. "I don't think either extreme particularly suits Humans for very long," she said. "In fact, while Humans have attempted both social structures within their history, they both contain a myriad of problems."

"They have?"

"There have been promiscuous groups of Humans who attempted to form communities without any sexual restrictions," Janeway said. She paused. "It didn't seem to work very well, perhaps because of that lack of intimacy you were talking about. Physical pleasure so casually given and received becomes meaningless, and ultimately, unfulfilling without genuine emotion to accompany it. By the same token, however, societies which make sex ... a natural expression of attraction and romantic love between adults ... into something shameful or sinful, eventually causes oppression, abuse, and harm. I suspect, as in all things, moderation is the key. Sex shouldn't be feared, or used as a tool of power, but it shouldn't be considered insignificant, either."

Seven nodded thoughtfully. "I think that you are correct."

"Why are you following such a line of thought?"

"I have been considering the aspects of our physical interaction," Seven admitted.

"I think our physical interaction is generally pretty healthy," Janeway said as the couple moved on, enjoying the cool evening air and the fragrance of the tree blossoms, even if there was little else to look at. "Were you concerned?"

"I am curious." Seven hesitated. "Is it healthy for us ... not to indulge?"

Janeway glanced at her and smiled. "Is that an indication that you're not in the mood for what usually happens after we have dinner out?"

"Are you?" Seven asked, rather than answer directly. She waited to hear what her partner's response would be.

Janeway chuckled. "Actually, I was thinking a little ... restraint in our love life might be a good thing for us over the next few days. There are ways of being intimate that don't include sex, after all, and after what we've been through, it might even be a nice change."

"An interesting concept."

"Perhaps it's a matter of having had too much for the wrong reasons in too short a time," Janeway added as they discovered their stroll had returned them to the transport coordinates, and the couple prepared to beam back to the ship.

"Our making love, you mean?"

"Were we talking about something else?" Janeway asked curiously as they took up their positions after contacting the ship.

Seven waited until the materialization had finished and they had stepped off the transporter dais before they resumed their conversation out in the corridor. Though a larger ship, with a respectably sized crew, it was quieter this time of rotation, with the lights dimmed to indicate night watch.

"We were discussing not having sex for awhile," Seven clarified, a bit too loudly as it caused a solitary crewmember passing by to glance over at her and the captain with a startled look, before hastily going about his business.

Janeway eyed her spouse with amusement as they got on the turbolift, and instructed it to take them directly to the captain's quarters. "Let me guess.You're even tired of talking about it."

"I realize that lovemaking can become ... mundane," Seven allowed as she moved across the living area to the kitchenette, retrieving a bottle of wine from beneath the counter, pouring herself and the captain a glass. There had been no wine or any other intoxicating spirits on the planet, merely water and an insipid sort of fruit juice. Janeway accepted the glass with an expression of appreciation, and sat down on the sofa. Seven settled beside her, slipping her arm across her shoulders.

"Speaking of how we feel should never become mundane, however." Janeway sipped the ruby liquid with quiet pleasure.

"No, it shouldn't."

There was a pause. "Annika, about what happened in the ready room..." the captain began.

"Kathryn," Seven interrupted, which was uncharacteristic of her, but deciding that this had gone on long enough. "There have been times in the past where you have deliberately hurt me with your words far more than a mere blow from your fist could ever accomplish."

Silence, then Janeway inhaled slowly. "I know," she said in a small voice.

"I am not saying that to hurt you," Seven said, regretful that she had not chosen her words with more care, but aware that she had to break through her partner's shell of guilt somehow. "I merely wish to place the incident into its proper perspective. You are putting an undue significance upon it that is unnecessary."

"It's just that ... such an action is reprehensible, Annika. I still feel very ashamed about it."

"That is obvious." Seven pursed her lips. "However, it is not something you have ever done before, and I sincerely doubt it shall be anything you ever do again. Even if you do, however, because of some unusual set of circumstances ... which this was ... then we shall work it out by discussing it rationally, and by understanding what caused it." She paused, seeking the words that would convince her spouse whose body had become stiff and unyielding beside her, indicating that Janeway didn't feel ready to hear this. "Kathryn, these pheromones caused bio-chemical reactions within you which could only be satisfied by a physical encounter, generated by either anger or passion. Once, and only once, did you choose anger to deal with your emotions, and you did not do so because you were aware of the outcome. When you realized how extreme your reaction could be, you subsequently did all you could to avoid a similar incident, even though merely having sex with me seemed an unsatisfactory solution to the problem in your eyes."

Janeway considered the Borg's words for long moments as Seven waited patiently.

"You're right," the captain said finally, in a soft voice. "I guess we all have lingering cultural influences that affect us. Violence toward a spouse is considered one of the worst taboos where I come from. I have such a hard time believing I am capable of it."

Seven tightened her embrace. "I comprehend that. However, it was not so much violence directed at me, as it was toward the situation. I do not say that to excuse the act, but to explain it. If you were truly a brutal person at heart, one who would attempt to use physical violence to intimidate or dominate me, Kathryn, I would not be with you."

"Yet, what I did was a brutal act."

"I am also capable of the most brutal sort of violence when provoked," Seven reminded her gently. "You, of all people, are aware of that, having witnessed it on more than one occasion. Certainly, you have not forgotten the Barellan prison, and how easily I gave in to my violent disposition when your life was endangered. I did not merely wish to terminate the beings who opposed me, Kathryn, I wished to hurt them ... far more than they hurt you." She brushed her lips over Janeway's forehead. "We are all capable of violence, Kathryn, if sufficiently motivated, or influenced by external elements. If we give into it, then yes, that is shameful, but it is also Human. What would be truly shameful is if we do not accept the consequences of such an act. As long as we strive to improve ourselves so that it will not occur again, it is forgivable."

Janeway exhaled. "I'm obsessing again, aren't I?"

"You are kind, and loving, and gentle beyond measure with me," Seven assured her. "Perhaps that is why this incident disturbed you so greatly. Yet, I recognize that you can be violent, Kathryn, as I am violent, and sometimes those impulses, which are natural to us, cause us to act in unfortunate ways. Not all your decisions are correct. Neither are mine. Together, however, we can always find a way to make them right."

Janeway settled closer, her head nestled on Seven's shoulder. "What would I do without you?" she whispered.

"I do not know," Seven said dryly. "Take out your aggravation on Commander Zar, perhaps? He appears capable of ... I believe the phrase is ...'taking a punch'. Remember when you went after Chakotay with a phaser because of the 'terror'? It is apparent the primary duty of the first officer to absorb the brunt of the captain's irrationality."

"Oh god." Janeway shifted to bury her face in Seven's uniform front. "I am a vicious little critter, aren't I?"

"It is not prudent to corner you," Seven agreed readily. "You respond quickly and competently to threats."

"You were never a threat to me, however," Janeway said, her voice muffled.

"In the ready room, I was," Seven said, thinking back to the incident. "I tried to restrain you physically, I tried to force you into doing what I believed you should be doing ... the episode escalated quickly, Kathryn. You must take into account all the elements contributing to the situation."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened," Janeway said, a touch of alarm in her voice as she raised her head to look at her spouse.

"I do not," Seven said firmly. "However, I do not blame you, either." She kissed her softly. "Cease this blaming of yourself."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes," Seven said.

Janeway lifted her face and pressed her mouth gently against Seven's. "Thank you, my darling," she murmured against her lips.

"You are welcome," Seven told her. She paused. "About our decision not to make love for a period of time..."

The captain lifted her eyebrow. "Yes?" she prodded expectantly.

"Could we begin such restraint tomorrow evening, instead?"

Janeway chuckled. "I believe that's a good idea," she said, and brought her mouth back to Seven, kissing her deeply.

Epilogue

As Millennium broke orbit from the Okunda homeworld, the mood was optimistic and bright, the crew content that they had completed their first mission successfully, despite the obstacles facing them. As the Federation vessel accelerated into warp, it did not detect the ship that lurked in the sensor shadow of the seventh planet, and once clear of sensor range, began to track the ion trail, pursuing it into warp.

Jul Culluh of the Kazon Nistrim did not intend to lose this prey ... not this time. One way or another, he would have his revenge on Captain Kathryn Janeway.

The End

•  This is the fourth installment in Star Trek: Millennium.

• It was posted to the net on August 3, 2001.

Defining Duty
G. L. Dartt

"How should we kill him?"

The comment, made flatly, without any attempt to lighten it, made B'Elanna Torres pause in the middle of her rant. The Klingon stopped in her tracks, regarding her spouse of less than a year in complete surprise.

"What?" she demanded.

Ro Laren, security chief for the starship Millennium, lifted an eyebrow and stared at the other woman without flinching. "Obviously, he'll have to be removed," she said evenly. "It should look like an accident, of course."

B'Elanna started to smile, hesitated as she decided her partner wasn't joking, and tried to find something intelligent to say. "You can't be serious," she said, putting her hands on her hips. A strand of long, wavy hair fell into her dark eyes, and she tossed her head, removing it from the facial features that boasted the ridged forehead of a Klingon mother, and the softer jaw and cheekbones of her Human father.

"Then what the hell do you want to do about this?" Ro snapped, abruptly angry. "Because I can assure you, it can't continue the way it has. If the captain has to step in here, Lanna, you can consider your career as chief engineer of the Millennium officially over."

B'Elanna started to speak, then stopped, surprised by the snap in the Bajoran's tone. Ro uncoiled from her chair, a slim woman who moved with deadly grace, a product of her advanced tactical training. Dark of hair and eyes, ripples on the bridge of her nose that denoted her Bajoran heritage, the woman was clearly irritated, and B'Elanna felt a little blind-sided. She had been fully involved in an outraged outburst about Zar Tulek, and was not pleased suddenly to have to deal with an opposing viewpoint. She had assumed her partner shared her opinion of the ship's first officer. In fact, she had been sure of it.

"What's going on here? You don't like the idea of him being posted here any better than I do."

"You're right, I don't," Ro admitted, lifting her chin. "The thought of someone who looks like a Cardassian being my superior officer, of actually having the assignment that would have been mine but for decisions I made in the last year, is almost more than I can bear. In fact, I made my displeasure very clear to the captain, and you know what happened next. I was offered a transfer, no questions asked, nor any leeway given, just as it would to any Starfleet officer who couldn't control personal latent prejudices. There's nothing more to do here, Lanna; it's over. It's time to adjust and move on."

"Just because we can't do anything about it right now..." B'Elanna began.

"No," Ro said firmly. "You have to understand, the security of this vessel is my responsibility, B'Elanna. That includes stepping in when a senior officer is acting in an insubordinate manner to the ship's exec."

B'Elanna exhaled slowly. "Is that what you're doing?"

"I'm putting it in terms you can understand," Ro said, her arms crossed over her chest, her brows drawn down. "Commander Zar is the ship's first officer. He's not going to go away, and this continued antagonistic attitude toward him only disrupts the smooth functioning of the vessel. So unless you want to kill him, there's no way around this." She paused, a muscle in her jaw twitching slightly, then added in a lower tone; "Besides, he's not such a bad guy."

B'Elanna felt her jaw drop. "What?"

Ro looked uncomfortable suddenly, glancing away. "You're not working with him every day, Lanna, like I am," she said in a more conciliatory tone, trying to explain. "That makes it easier for you to continue to see him only as a representative of the people we fought in the Maquis, of the conquerors who occupied Bajor and committed atrocities to those living in the Demilitarized Zone. I have to deal with the man, however, and that forces me to look at him as something more than just another Cardassian."

"He looks like one of them," B'Elanna said hotly.

"Yes, but he's not. He's as much a part of my people, as he is of them. More importantly, he's a Starfleet officer, and even if we can't respect him, B'Elanna, we have to start respecting the uniform."

"What if I can't?" B'Elanna said, emotion thick in her throat. "Those monsters slaughtered the Maquis, Laren. They're conniving, vicious bastards who can't be trusted as far as you can throw them..."

"Is that what you're going to say to Captain Janeway?"

The question, asked in an eerily calm voice, stopped the Klingon before she was able to get rolling on her second rant regarding the issue. Janeway was a formidable woman, a person whom few dared oppose. B'Elanna certainly wasn't about to.

"You think he'd go to the captain about me?" she asked in a smaller voice.

Ro swallowed. "He wouldn't have to, B'Elanna," she said. She moved closer and looked down into her partner's eyes, her expression dark and immovable. "It would be my responsibility to do so as chief of security."

B'Elanna was floored. "You wouldn't."

"Don't force me into a position where I'd have to, B'Elanna," Ro said gratingly. "Don't push it so far that I'm left with no other option than to choose between my loyalty to you and my loyalty to Janeway." She stared at her partner, her face softening, her tone altering to one of pleading. "You know I would choose you, Lanna, but is that what you really want for both of us? This continued animosity isn't accomplishing anything, and the eventual consequences would finish us both in Starfleet. In the end, it will all be for nothing. We're not fighting a Cardassian here, we're fighting a fellow officer. Even if we somehow found a way to win, we'd still lose. Deep in your heart, you know that."

B'Elanna met her steady gaze, searching her brooding features, reading the sincerity in the dark eyes. Frustrated, she turned away, her fists clenched at her sides.

"You don't know what it's like..." she began.

"I don't know what it's like?" Ro repeated incredulously.

B'Elanna caught herself. "That's not what I meant." She felt pain twist inside her. "Laren, they're all dead, and I wasn't there to fight with them."

She was speaking of the Maquis, an outlaw band of freedom fighters who had opposed the Cardassian tyranny even when the Federation and Starfleet wouldn't because of political necessity and an uneasy alliance forged with a treaty. Pursued into the Badlands by a Cardassian cruiser, B'Elanna, Ro, their cell leader, Chakotay, and other Maquis were caught in an energy pulse which swept them 70,000 light-years away, deep into the heart of the Delta Quadrant. There, they had forged an alliance with Janeway and her starship, the mixed crew taking seven years to return to their home in the Alpha Quadrant. While they were gone, the rest of the resistence group had been killed by the Cardassians and the Dominion, an alliance that subsequently plunged the entire quadrant into a war.

B'Elanna and Ro had missed that, as well. By the time Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, the Dominion had been soundly defeated, the Cardassian Empire lay in ruins, and those who had been their bitter enemies now required Federation aid to rebuild their homeworld.

"You had no closure, Lanna," Ro said gently. "Neither of us did. However, Zar isn't the enemy, and if we persist in making him one, it's only going to hurt us in the long run. I don't want to see you hurt."

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest, her heart aching. She felt her partner move closer until she was right behind her, putting her hands tentatively on the Klingon's shoulders. Head bent, tears of frustration and sorrow stinging her eyes, it was countered somewhat by the comfort of Ro's warm breath on the back of her neck.

"Let it go," the Bajoran whispered, squeezing her gently. "Please, Lanna."

B'Elanna exhaled and turned, surrendering to the embrace that surrounded her.

"I'll try," she allowed finally in a low growl. "That's all I can promise."

"That's all I ask," Ro said into her hair, holding her tightly. "You don't have to become friends with him, Lanna, just be ... professional whenever you run into him, all right? It's your duty."

B'Elanna slipped her arms around the Bajoran's slender waist and nodded, her face buried in the taller woman's shoulder. "All right." She wasn't happy about it, but for her spouse, she could do anything, even talk to a Cardassian as if he were worth the effort. The two women stood there for several moments, trying to find a peace in being together, while the rest of the universe seem to offer little.

"He's okay?" B'Elanna asked finally, in a quiet voice.

Ro nodded. "He can't help how he looks, Lanna. He doesn't act anything like ... one would expect from his appearance. He's smart, professional, and a hell of a lot more tolerant about everyone around him than we are about him." Her hand moved in slow circles at the small of B'Elanna's back, soothing her. "He was well within his rights to have you up on disciplinary charges. At the very least, he could have registered a complaint with the captain. Instead, he let me handle it."

"Okay, okay," B'Elanna grumbled, surrendering to the inevitable. "He's a real sweetheart. Good for him."

Ro chuckled, a low laugh of mild amusement. "I wouldn't go that far. However, he's been a decent guy as far as I can see. He deserves better than us using him as a convenient target for all the Cardassians we wish were dead, or better yet, had killed ourselves."

"Well, Seven likes him," the engineer allowed grudgingly. "I guess he can't be all bad."

"She's a pretty good judge of character," Ro agreed, speaking of the ship's resident Borg and science officer. The couple reluctantly released their embrace, and took a seat at the table in the dining nook of their quarters. "Apparently, he read her paper. Not only did he understand it, he actually liked it."

"Kahless," B'Elanna said, thinking of the scientific publication that her friend had written. Seven had been extremely proud of her effort, which was so advanced that even the Klingon, who was considered a genius in the engine room, couldn't follow it past the first page. "That definitely would have put him in her good graces."

"So, are you hungry?" Ro put her hands on the table top, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Shall we eat in?"

B'Elanna wrinkled her nose. "Let's go to the Nexus," she said, referring to the lounge on deck twelve which had become the social center of the starship. "I feel like having a crowd around me tonight."

Ro nodded. "All right. Do you want to change, or go as we are?"

B'Elanna glanced down, checking her uniform for conduit fluid or other effluvia. Starfleet ships were supposed to be pristine, but as someone who had worked with them for a long time, B'Elanna knew better, even in a new vessel such as the Millennium. Crawling around Jefferies tubes had a way of leaving varied types of residue no matter how many junior officers cleaned them, or how careful the engineer in question was. However, for once, B'Elanna hadn't picked up much in the way of dust or dirt over the course of her duty shift.

"I think we're fine." Ro Laren, of course, was immaculate, trim and neat in her black and grey tunic, the gold collar sporting three pips, two gold, one dark to denote the Bajoran's rank, one grade above B'Elanna's senior lieutenant status. The security officer offered her a small smile and held out her hand which B'Elanna readily accepted, rising from her chair. To her mild surprise, Ro didn't let go, instead, pulling the smaller woman to her, moulding her body to hers.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

B'Elanna felt her lips curl upwards in a grin of pleasure. "Why no, I don't believe you have."

Ro smiled and dipped her head, covering the Klingon's lips with her own. B'Elanna returned the kiss, allowing a bit of passion to deepen it, though not too much. There would be plenty of time for that later, after they returned home from dinner. Ro's tongue flicked her lips gently as they parted, a subtle acknowledgement of that unspoken promise.

"Are you sure you want to go out?" Her voice was suddenly husky.

B'Elanna laughed, low and deep. "It'll do us good to get out. Most people on the ship don't even know we're married. It's probably time we started showing them that neither of us are available."

Ro drew back, an odd expression crossing her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

B'Elanna patted the Bajoran on the buttocks before releasing her, turning for the door with a grin on her face. "Hey, I heard about Lt. Watkins in biometrics," she said playfully over her shoulder as the couple exited their quarters. "He's let it be known around the lower decks that he can't wait to put the moves on you."

Ro frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," B'Elanna said easily, enjoying the opportunity to tease her usually stoic spouse. She tucked her arm in Ro's, pressing against her as they walked through the corridors. "Of course, once he gets a load of who he'd have to go through to get to you, I'm sure that'll be the end of it."

The expression that generated on the Bajoran's face was worth a chuckle all the way to the lounge.

Her quarters were empty when Janeway came off duty, a huge disappointment since the captain had anticipated a leisurely dinner with her spouse, and perhaps a few romantic possibilities afterward. Instead, all she found was a padd lying on the kitchenette counter containing a note from Seven. It indicated that the young woman was out for the evening with her friends, and that the captain was on her own. That one of those friends was undoubtedly Lenara Kahn, a civilian scientist with whom Seven had been developing a dynamic friendship, had not been added to the note, but Janeway could easily read between the lines. Aggravated, the captain tossed aside the padd, ignoring her dinner which Seven had prepared and left under a stasis wrap on the counter. Striding angrily into the ensuite attached to the couple's bedroom, Janeway stripped off her uniform and pulled a navy sheathe from her closet. It was a garment that brought out her eyes, and showed off her compact body to its best effect. She added jewelry, including her wedding chain, and silver earrings that dangled provocatively from her earlobes, quickly brushed out her shock of collar-length auburn hair, and sailed out of her quarters on a mission to resolve this once and for all.

She really had no intention of displaying any of her jealousy to the young woman, but if Seven could resist her spouse once Janeway sashayed into the ship's lounge in the young woman's favorite dress, looking as devastating as she could manage in the short amount of time she had, then the captain would know for sure that a problem was developing and take it from there. That the problem might be solely that of Janeway's was not something she was prepared to acknowledge quite yet, though a small voice in the back of her head snorted in disgust at the captain's rather immature plan.

The captain stopped dead just inside the doors of the lounge, tremendously shocked. She hadn't been in this area of the vessel since Millennium had left Utopia Planitia, and she belatedly realized that a few of her more adventurous crewmembers had been hard at work creating a decidedly unique atmosphere within the ship's main social area, one she had never quite experienced on a starship before. Noise from a multitude of loud and varied conversations swept over her like a wave, underlain with a soft throbbing beat of some alien music, making it difficult to hear herself think. Overhead, the normal subdued lighting had been dimmed even further, making the large room dark, though she could see that it was packed with officers and civilians relaxing from their alpha shift or readying themselves for the gamma, filling the tables and chairs. She was astonished to see that a space had been cleared at one end of the room, where people were actually dancing vigorously to the unfamiliar music, including B'Elanna and Ro who seemed to be enjoying themselves tremendously.

I really do need to pay more attention to what's happening in every area of my ship, Janeway thought grimly as she began to work her way through the crowd. No matter how big it is.

Holding court behind the long counter along one side of the room that fronted the large replicators, there was an individual she didn't remember transferring onto her vessel. He was apparently acting as a combination host and bartender for the people crowding around and shouting drink orders at him. Initially, she thought he was a Bolian or Andorian, with the traditional blue skin; however, the rest of his features ... the emerald hair with purple streaks, the upswept eyebrows that gave him a perpetually inquisitive expression, the pointed ears similar to Vulcan physiology ... defied any species identification she attempted to make.

"Captain," he cried out in delight as his reddish eyes abruptly lit on her in the crowd. Spreading his arms wide in an embracing gesture, he motioned for her to come over. "Welcome to the Nexus."

A garish sign high on the bulkhead behind him, flashing an almost painful neon pink, backed up his claim as to the lounge's new designation, and Janeway inhaled deeply, wondering who had done this to her ship, and more importantly, how she would deal with him once she found him. She also wondered how she would locate Seven in this mob. A few people unobtrusively edged away now that they recognized who the dynamic redhead in the tight blue dress really was, freeing up a stool at the bar, and the captain was further surprised to discover the ship's counselor was present, taking in the ambiance over a drink.

"Captain?" Kes greeted her in her melodious tones. Her blue eyes were amused, large for her elven features which were surrounded by a shock of shaggy blond hair. "I'm somewhat surprised to see you here this evening."

"Not nearly as surprised as I am," Janeway muttered, shooting the counselor a bemused stare as she slipped onto the stool. She was still boggled at the transformation of her ship's recreational area. "I don't remember authorizing this kind of decor for the crew lounge."

Kes offered her a small smile. "I'm sure you wouldn't have," she said with uncanny accuracy. "Which is undoubtedly why it was never brought to your attention. However, the crew seems to enjoy it a great deal, and for those who prefer a more subdued atmosphere, there's always the civilian lounge on deck seventeen."

"What have they named that?" Janeway asked as a whiskey and soda she hadn't ordered was abruptly deposited in front of her, as if by magic. She shot an astonished look at the bartender who had already moved on to his other customers, wondering not only at the presumption, but how he had known what her favorite intoxicant was in the first place.

"It doesn't have a name," Kes informed her. "It's still just a lounge, very much as it was when the ship left Utopia Planitia. It does have a few additions, but not many."

"I'm relieved to hear that," Janeway said. She tilted her head at the bartender who was laughing and joking with a group dressed in casual clothing. She couldn't tell if they were Starfleet, or more of the civilian complement of her crew. "Who's our host?"

"Paryk?" Kes said. "He's from the Onias Sector."

"Near the Romulan Neutral Zone," Janeway identified. "His species?"

"They call themselves the Y'ngZai," Kes said.

"Civilian?"

"Yes," Kes said.

"What department is he assigned to?" Janeway asked.

Kes blinked. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

Janeway shook her head. The Millennium was such a large vessel, particularly in comparison to her previous command, that she was continually being confronted by complete strangers. Voyager had boasted a crew compliment of 141 ... 150 after the two crews, Maquis and Starfleet, had merged ... while this vessel carried eight times that amount. In fact, Seven's science section, including all the various departments, had nearly as many individuals on its roster as Voyager did, 148 people under the Borg's direct authority.

The captain was still getting used to those numbers, but it hadn't really been brought home to her until this night, sitting in the ship's lounge, looking around at people she didn't really recognize, but who easily recognized her, even in civilian clothes. Thinking of Seven, however, brought her back to why she had ventured out this evening, and she glanced around the room, searching anxiously for her spouse.

"I don't suppose you've seen Seven?" she asked the counselor.

Kes lifted her head, peering briefly through the crowd, then dipped her head, indicating a direction. "She's at her regular table," she said. "Over there, on the other side of the dance floor."

Regular table? Janeway peered in that direction, finally spotting Seven in a corner booth, surrounded by a group of people which, to the captain's surprise, included her first officer, Zar. There was also the ever present Lenara Kahn who was sitting next to the blonde Borg, leaning into her as they talked. The entire group appeared to be in deep discussion, with intent faces, though occasionally, there was an outburst of laughter. Seven would then produce that small smile she offered whenever she was truly amused by something.

Janeway's jaw tensed as she watched them, her back teeth grinding together, a decided tightness developing in her chest. She was completely unaware of the counselor observing her with a speculative expression on her face.

"I envy you, Captain."

Janeway blinked, and glanced over at Kes in surprise. "What?"

Kes's gaze was serene and thoughtful. "You and Seven," she clarified. "You have such a wonderful marriage, united in love, yet both understanding how important it is to have individual interests."

"Uh," Janeway responded brilliantly, but Kes didn't seem to notice, continuing on without pause.

"You're strong enough to realize that you can't be everything for each other, and you're secure enough in each other's love to find it in other places, with other people. You'd be surprised at how many couples never learn that. It can cause some extensive problems for some, usually because they've bought into the myth that both parties are supposed to be exactly alike, to be interested only in the same things, when in fact, we are all unique, which is part of what draws people together to begin with."

"I see," Janeway said, not entirely sure what the counselor was saying, but feeling it was important for some reason. "Is there a lot of problem with that on a starship?"

"There can be," Kes said, taking a sip from her glass. "But no more than in any other type of lifestyle. It's merely ... for lack of a better term ... Human. Everyone goes into a marriage convinced that he or she will be able to change the other person into who they think they should be, and instead, usually discover that such an intention is completely unfeasible. Those who can't get past that revelation often end up destroying the relationship."

"Indeed," Janeway said slowly, feeling a decidedly queasy feeling in her stomach as she finally recognized what she was doing. She wondered if Kes had been trying to convey that message in her oblique fashion, or if it had simply been a comfortable discussion over a drink with a friend.

Just as Seven was enjoying.

Janeway looked back over at her spouse's table, and for the first time, was able to see that in the company of the Trill, as well as with the other members of the group surrounding her, Seven could be all that she could be; a brilliant mind freed to explore all the universe had to offer. Seeing the light in her partner's face, and the sheer exhilaration the Borg was experiencing in the heady discussions with her fellow scientists, Janeway suddenly felt rather small, and ashamed that she had ever thought to deny her partner the opportunity to pursue her individual happiness.

Lenara Kahn was not a beautiful woman in competition with her for the heart of Seven of Nine, nor was she a threat to their relationship. She was someone who could offer the Borg an intellectual stimulation that her spouse simply couldn't ... no matter how much the captain might have wanted to. Once understanding had dawned, Janeway was gradually able to feel a corresponding sense of joy, stirred by the knowledge that her partner was truly contented on an intellectual level. Smiling ruefully, Janeway realized she had been so concerned that Seven would not find the required intellectual inspiration to fulfill her on board Millennium, she hadn't realized that Seven had already sought out and found exactly what she needed. Janeway had been worried over nothing, and furthermore, had caught herself up in a futile and impolitic jealousy of Lenara Kahn for absolutely no reason other than the captain's irrational insecurities, and her fierce sense of competition.

"The more I learn, the less I know," she said softly.

"Captain?" Kes prompted, eyeing her with interest.

Janeway shook her head. "Nothing," she said as she picked up her glass. Lifting it in a silent toast to Kes, which the counselor returned, as if understanding exactly what Janeway's thought processes had been, they drank to friendship, and the evening, and the simple fact that they were alive and alert and had a whole universe to explore.

After draining her glass, Janeway rose from her stool, offering Kes an affectionate nod of farewell before she swept out of the lounge, heading back to her quarters. It was so ironic to her that she had gone there with the intention of luring Seven away from her evening out, and now that she was returning home alone, it was with the fervent hope that Seven would be able to enjoy herself fully for as however long as she wanted. Somehow, Janeway had been reassured of the security of their bond, her jealousy giving way to a happiness that her partner had found a mind so much like her own in the Trill scientist.

"One of these days," she muttered out loud to herself as she entered her quarters, "I'm actually going to figure these things out before they need to hit me between the eyes."

The quiet surroundings of her cabin did not serve up any reply to her statement, but by now, she didn't really require a response. It was no longer lonely here in these familiar surroundings, filled with the images and items of her life with Seven. Instead, it felt peaceful, a sanctuary offered to the captain to be alone with her thoughts as she retrieved her dinner from beneath the counter, deactivating the stasis wrap which released the steam and heat of the casserole, filing the air with its mouth-watering scent. She ate her solitary meal with complete enjoyment, and after cleaning up, she retrieved a book and a tall glass of wine which she carried into the ensuite. Setting the items nearby, she drew a long hot bath, filling it with oils and bubbles, and pampered herself completely before turning in for the night.

She was asleep when her partner finally returned home, slipping quietly between the sheets to stretch out beside her on the mattress. The captain stirred only long enough to wrap herself around the lanky form as it joined her in the warm haven of their bed. Seven's familiar embrace was like a balm in the night, and unconsciously, Janeway's lips curled up in a smile of contentment as she was cradled by the woman she loved, and whom she knew loved her with an enduring commitment that would never end.

Nuzzled into the back of her spouse's neck, Seven inhaled deeply as she woke in the quiet moments before morning watch, wrapped around the captain as if she were the touchstone that kept her safe in the night. She smiled sleepily, enjoying the silky smooth skin against her stomach and breasts, the way the soft curve of buttocks fit neatly into her pelvis, their legs entwined in a glorious tangle as her arms fitted snugly about Janeway's waist. The Borg was fully prepared to accept the possibility that there were better ways to wake up, but she had yet to find any.

Janeway shifted in her arms, apparently awake already, or waking when Seven had, humming quietly in sleepy pleasure as she reached down to take Seven's hand and bring it up to cover her breast. Delighted by the implicit invitation, the Borg made a soft rumble of growing desire in her throat, kissing along the line of her partner's neck, feeling the throb of the captain's pulse beneath her lips. The tender protrusion of nipple grew stiff beneath her palm, and she smoothed over it in slow circles, causing her partner to shiver happily, her breath increasing audibly.

Reaching behind her, the captain ran her hand over Seven's hip and leg, caressing her lavishly with her palm, then reached back further to cup the young woman's buttock, grasping it to pull her closer. Seven exhaled slowly, feeling the tingles of anticipation ripple through her in response, pressing her groin against the soft curves. When the captain shifted, pulling momentarily away from her, the Borg didn't resist, knowing that Janeway was only turning over so that she could be face to face with her spouse in order to embrace fully. They kissed immediately, mouths seeking each other instinctively, without thought, a connection of lips and teeth and tongues tasting deeply of the other, bodies pressing together in sensual joy, warm curves that moulded and fit together, respiration gradually escalating as their hands moved over each other with supple skill.

Insinuating her thigh between Janeway's, Seven spread her legs, opening herself and her partner at the same time. Together, they reached down, touching each other in the heat and increasing moisture, fingers growing slick as they fondled tender flesh that firmed even as it grew more sensitive. Probing gently, they found entry into intimate recesses, moving naturally into a rhythm that fanned the fire inside, building the heat steadily. By this time, they had to leave off their kisses simply so that they could breathe, harsher, rasping, inhaling deep gulps of oxygen interspersed with groans and whimpers and subtle cries of quiet urgency as they surged against each other in wordless demand. Their fondling quickened, the peak dancing tantalizingly beyond them as a certain tiny desperation enhanced their caresses. Until, finally, they were there, the wave of ecstasy sweeping over them simultaneously, or at least, so close together that the seconds between were insignificant. The soft rush shuddered exquisitely through taut bodies, internal muscles clenching against long, probing digits inside until the pleasure spent itself sweetly, easing them back to themselves and each other. Still cupping each other intimately, they unwound into the languid relaxation of warm afterglow.

"Hmm, good morning, love," Janeway said finally, her voice throaty with lazy satisfaction.

Seven smiled. "Good morning, Kathryn," she said as she drew Janeway to her once more, tucking her beneath her chin in a warm embrace.

"How much time do we have?"

Seven glanced up at the chronometer embedded in the headboard, noting the time.

"Twenty minutes," she told her.

"Damn, just enough time to fall asleep again," Janeway mumbled. "Not enough time to enjoy it."

"Indeed." Seven knew exactly what she meant. "Do you wish to get up now?"

The captain snuggled closer. "No," she said, her tone softening. "I like it exactly where I am, thank you very much." She paused, and Seven could hear her swallow. "Talk to me, darling. Keep me awake until we're required to get out of bed."

Amused, Seven brushed her lips over temple. "What would you like to discuss?" she asked lightly.

Janeway yawned like a kitten and rubbed her cheek against the Borg's chin. "Whatever you'd like." She paused. "I popped by the Nexus last night. Why didn't you tell me it had been turned into a night club?"

"I did not see you there," Seven said, mildly surprised.

Janeway managed to convey the impression of a shrug without actually moving ... a phenomenon that amazed the Borg. "I only stopped by for a moment. Kes and I had a drink, and then I came home to spend a lovely evening with a book and the bathtub." She paused, wiggling so that she was closer to the young woman. "When did it turn into the equivalent of a stationside bar?"

"Not long after leaving Utopia Planitia," Seven explained. "I believe Lt. Paris was instrumental in the design concept behind the renovations."

Janeway made a small sound of exasperated amusement. "I should have known. It's obviously become quite the social center."

"From my observation, the crew appreciate it greatly. Even those that find it too ... stimulating ... do not object, they merely retire to the civilian lounge on deck seventeen."

"So I've been told. Perhaps you and I should go there for dinner some evening."

Seven considered that, hesitating. "It would not be as entertaining as the Nexus."

Her spouse chuckled. "All right, one night, we'll go to the Nexus." She yawned again. "How did it get that name, anyway?"

"I believe it was ..."

"Lt. Paris," Janeway said in perfect chorus with the young woman, and laughed again.

"Apparently, it had something to do with a vision he had one morning."

"After a night of imbibing, no doubt. Well, I have to admit, I've envisioned a few spatial anomalies myself after a difficult evening."

"You mean an intoxicating evening," Seven clarified.

"That, too." She was silent for a moment, her eyes sliding shut, and Seven nudged her.

"Kathryn?"

The captain opened her eyes, blinking sleepily. "Damn. I'd better get up."

Seven observed with complete enjoyment as Janeway stretched lithely before rolling out of bed, throwing the sheets aside to reveal her compact and naked form. Tilting her head, the Borg watched the capain walk into the ensuite, her eyes lingering on the way the muscles in the captain's buttocks and legs rippled and flowed together. Seven wasn't entirely sure why the way Janeway looked and moved appeared far more aesthetically pleasing than observing other individuals, regardless of her feelings for her. A body was a body, after all, which, in truth, was only the physical shell containing the essence of whom she loved. Yet Seven continued to find the captain's body completely absorbing. She adored watching it, touching it ... thinking about it during her rare idle moments.

Bemused, Seven stretched, and then rose from the cozy comfort of their bed. Retrieving her robe, she pulled it on before moving out to the couple's living area where she programmed a breakfast menu into the replicator and activated the coffee maker. She moved by a uniformed Janeway on her way back through the bedroom, the captain taking the opportunity to pat the Borg familiarily on her buttock in passing. Amused, Seven took a quick shower before pulling on her uniform and putting up her hair. Fixing two gold pips to her collar, she took a last look in the mirror to make sure she looked properly official.

Out in the living area, she joined Janeway at the table, gratified to see the captain had waited on breakfast until the Borg had finished in the ensuite. As they sat down, she offered her spouse a small smile, warmed as Janeway returned it, her eyes a soft blue.

"What do you have planned for today?" Janeway bit into her toast vigorously with her strong, white teeth.

Seven flicked an eyebrow at her. "Apparently, I am required to assimilate two pilots into my science section and assign them tasks in various departments on an interim basis. I must assemble a list of duties suitable for their skill level before they arrive next week."

Janeway offered a crooked grin. "Don't you hate it when administrative decisions from the bridge disrupt your smoothly running department."

Seven merely shot her a dark look, causing the captain to laugh. The Borg knew that the captain and Commander Zar had a good reason for dispersing the fleet pilots throughout the ship for additional officer training, but it didn't mean she had to like it. Trying to train personnel to work in the various science departments to which they would only be assigned a few days before being rotated to another section, would be difficult. It meant creating a training schedule of sorts for her current personnel that was flexible enough to incorporate newcomers at a moment's notice. Seven didn't do flexible very well, particularly when it came to science. She preferred things to be organized and clearly defined.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Janeway said, getting up from the table to retrieve another cup of coffee. As she poured the dark brew into her mug from the pot at the counter, she offered the Borg a somewhat mischievous look. "Besides, you should never achieve perfection, darling. If you did, what would there be left to strive for?"

"Maintaining that perfection," Seven said in the sort of voice that indicated that captain should have realized that.

That provoked a playful nibble on the back of her neck as Janeway passed behind her on the way back to her chair, and Seven smiled faintly as she finished her cereal.

"We have a mutual off day coming up," the captain said casually as she sipped her coffee. "Would you like to do anything in particular?"

Seven shook her head. "How we spend the time is irrelevant," she said, not quite paying attention to how that might sound. Then, as Janeway's face began to fall, added quickly, and with complete sincerity, "So long as I can spend each and every moment with you."

Janeway blinked, and smiled crookedly. "Sweet-talker."

Seven lifted a brow, but did not respond to the accusation which was a frequent one from her spouse, nor did she consider it an accurate assessment. She was rarely facetious in her comments to Janeway, particularly when it came to how she felt about her. Her emotion for the captain had only grown stronger the longer they had been together, and if perhaps they were not as quick to take note of it as they had been when they first entered the relationship, instead falling into a more comfortable interaction with each other, the love itself still burned with an unceasing energy.

After they finished up their breakfast and tidied up, they both returned briefly to the ensuite where they cleaned their teeth, made a final visual check as to their professional appearance, then returned to the living area. Janeway hesitated briefly by the private turbolift access that would carry her directly to her ready room.

"Darling?"

Seven, on her way out the door to start her day, paused and turned back. She was mildly surprised, though hardly displeased when her partner slipped her arms around her waist and kissed her soundly. Enthusiastically, Seven returned the kiss, holding the captain tightly.

"I love you," Janeway whispered, once they had parted. "Once in a while, I have the great fortune to realize exactly how much."

Seven nuzzled the starship captain indulgently, knowing that once they stepped outside the quarters, it wasn't the sort of behavior she could pursue.

"I love you, Kathryn," she said sincerely.

"Have a good day, my love. I'll be thinking of you."

"I shall be thinking of you, as well," Seven promised. Then, out of honesty, she felt compelled to add, "Not to the detriment of my duties, however."

Janeway laughed. "I'm sure."

The captain hugged her once more, and then released her to step onto the turbolift. Seven tilted her head as she watched the door slide shut, unsure what had prompted such an affectionate farewell from her spouse, but appreciating it, nonetheless. She headed off for the science department with a light heart, and the certainty that she was the most fortunate person in the quadrant ... if not the entire galaxy.

Davinus Marcos glanced over at his companion, T'Shanik, wondering if she was as uncomfortable as he was. If so, she would hardly show it, her Vulcan features impassive as she stood at easy attention with him in the office, awaiting the arrival of the ship's chief science officer. He supposed that he should be glad that he wasn't going into this alone, but the fact that they were required to take on these extra assignments still rankled. He had pursued the Millennium posting aggressively, with the understanding that he would be a pilot, not some glorified gopher for every ship department that required one.

Nor was he particularly looking forward to working directly for Seven of Nine. Rumours about the Borg science officer ran rampant through the lower decks, ranging from the absurd to the terrifying, not the least of which was that she had once assimilated an entire prison of alien criminals in order to rescue the captain. He had also discovered, through the gossip, that the two women were actually married to each other. Marcos wondered how a captain and chief science officer managed their professional life together when their personal life was also involved. More importantly, how much additional authority did that give Seven over other senior officers?

Ultimately, he supposed, it didn't matter. Seven was the section chief and was ranked over him and T'Shanik, regardless of anything else that might be involved. How much seniority that entailed was irrelevant at this stage of his career. As they waited, the young man took the opportunity to glance around the office. It was austere, without any frills or decorative touches to indicate what kind of person Seven was, which he supposed, was indicative enough. Beside a rather ugly little sculpture, there was a single image on the shelf running behind the desk, small and unobtrusive, in a silver frame. A closer glance revealed it to be Seven, the captain and some kind of animal, a dog with long, reddish hair, posed together on a grassy lawn. The captain was smiling, though Seven's features remained sober, and she was dressed in a form fitting outfit of blue and grey rather than a Starfleet uniform.

Outside the door, Marcos could hear the personnel working in the large main lab of astrometrics; talking, exchanging information, sometimes even loudly, with an infrequent burst of laughter. It didn't seem to be an oppressive work environment, but then, the Borg wasn't present, was she? It was entirely possible that the staff took their opportunities to be Human when they could, and immediately went quiet when their superior arrived. With a certain astonishment, Marcos realized that there was a small trickle of what might have been fear rippling through his belly. Was he actually frightened of this Seven of Nine? He had never encountered a Borg before, even one that had been severed from the Collective.

"Ensign?"

He twitched and glanced over at T'Shanik who was regarding him with a faintly raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Is something wrong? You appear ... unduly apprehensive."

"You're not?" he blurted before realizing that, of course, she wouldn't be, and even if she were, a Vulcan would never admit to it. However, to his surprise, she looked just the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

"I, too, hold certain apprehensions about this assignment."

He considered that, not entirely sure how he should respond. Not only was he surprised by her admission, but it also served to make him even more nervous.

"Why?" he asked finally.

She hesitated and began to speak, but there was the subtle sound of footsteps approaching, and they both became quiet, stiffening to attention. Seven of Nine was a majestic woman, tall, attractively proportioned, with ice blue eyes set in narrow features. Her blonde hair was drawn tightly back in a bun, giving her an austere look, while the cybernetic implants adorning her face, an eyepiece curving around her left brow, a starburst on her right cheek, were subtle reminders that they were dealing with someone who was no longer entirely Human.

"Ensign Marcos," she identified as she went around the desk. "Lt. T'Shanik."

The Borg settled gracefully into her chair, and regarded them much as one might regard a couple of not particularly interesting insects. It was uncertain whether she would choose to examine them ... or squash them.

"Yes, sir," both junior officers responded promptly.

"You are early."

Seven's diction was clipped, precise, devoid of any warmth or humour. Marcos felt a shiver go down his spine.

"Yes, sir," T'Shanik, the senior of the pair, said. "We wanted to be ready for our duty shifts."

Seven tilted her head. "How long did you await my arrival?"

"Fifteen minutes," Marcos said, thinking that their apparent eagerness to get started would gain points in their favour, and then wished he hadn't when those cold eyes moved over to assess him impassively.

"Then it was an inefficient effort," she told him. She looked back at T'Shanik. "As well as an illogical one. You could have been doing something productive in that time. Alpha shift begins at precisely 0700 hours, nor do I report for duty before that time under normal circumstances. It was not necessary for you to arrive any earlier."

There didn't seem to be much they could say to that.

"Yes, sir," they responded.

Seven regarded them again, and then lifted her head, looking at something beyond them. Marcos didn't turn around, but he felt the presence of another being enter the office.

"Dr. Kahn," Seven said, identifying the newcomer who turned out to be a Trill, statuesque with golden brown hair and wise eyes that took in the young officers at a glance. They were kind eyes as well, crinkled at the corners as if she found something amusing. Dressed in a lab coat over civilian clothes, rather than a uniform, Marcos wasn't sure of her position within the department, but it seemed to be significant since Seven was displaying a certain amount of respect for the older woman.

"These are our new additions?"

"Yes," Seven said. She hesitated, and Marcos could have sworn that for just an instant, the chief science officer looked uncertain. "Perhaps you have a suggestion as to what form of training would be most immediately useful for these particular officers."

To the two junior crewmember's surprise, the Trill laughed, a musical chuckle that ... astonishingly ... drew a tiny smile from the Borg. It was so quick as to have been possibly imagined, but Marcos was sure that he had seen it on the rigid features.

"What sciences did you pursue at the Academy?" Kahn asked the pair. Marcos suspected from the depth and penetration of her gaze that she was one of the special members of her species, hosting a centuries old symbiont inside her abdominal cavity. She had that timeless, calm aura that he had encountered in other joined Trill.

"Astrophysics," Marcos managed to say calmly. "Propulsion theory."

"Astrophysics and communications," T'Shanik added.

Kahn smiled again. "Would you have expected anything else from cadets who majored in navigation and tactical helm training?" she asked the Borg dryly.

Seven lifted her brow. "It would be the obvious selection," she agreed. She paused. "However, at the moment, there are no openings in Astrometrics."

"They're not going to be here long enough to pursue a career in it," Kahn reminded her gently, with a softened look at the other two to indicate that she meant no offense. Marcos didn't take any. He certainly wasn't there to become a astrophysicist. "I'm sure we could find something for them to do."

"The goal of this project was for these officers to learn the duties specific to the area they're assigned," Seven countered. "I do not believe we would be fulfilling our part to utilize them as..." she hesitated as she searched for the proper term.

"Gophers?" Kahn prompted.

Seven blinked, obviously not understanding the reference, and Marcos was reminded again that although the woman was initially Human, she had been assimilated by the Borg years ago, as a young child.

"I see your point," Kahn allowed with a bit of a sigh. "Our orders were clear, weren't they? Very well. Why not treat them as if they were going to join each department full time? How far they advance will be entirely up to them."

Seven seemed to consider that, then nodded. "Yes, that is acceptable."

Marcos was horrified, and beside him, even T'Shanik looked vaguely disconcerted. Of course, he realized that every science officer had to start somewhere, but he had a strong idea that he didn't have the slightest clue how to go about it.

"Uh, sir?" he offered hesitantly, and instantly, that laser gaze was focused on him.

"Yes, Ensign Marcos?" Seven asked with chill politeness.

"What would we be expected to do in that event?" he said, struggling on.

Seven's brows drew down, and she glanced at Kahn who offered her a somewhat impish expression to indicate she didn't really know either. "We shall begin with a tour of the various scientific facilities," the Borg decided finally.

Marcos and T'Shanik exchanged a glance of trepidation, but Seven was rising to her feet, striding purposely from the office, and the pair had no choice but to follow her. Dr. Kahn trailed behind, an expression on her face that indicated she expected this to be entertaining in some fashion. The Borg led them to one end of the lab where a large imaging system dominated one wall, with an advanced sensor grid which could scan space for light-years beyond normal ship detection.

"This is the main astrometrics array," Seven said flatly.

"Seven of Nine and another Starfleet officer, Lt. Harry Kim, actually developed the prototype for this lab," Kahn interjected at that moment. "Of course, on Voyager, the crew was unable to draw on updated and new Federation scans or charts, so they were required to make their own way through the Delta Quadrant. Starfleet repeated the techniques that were developed by Seven and Mr. Kim, and incorporated them into this array, giving us an advantage in exploring this unknown area of space."

Seven seemed content to allow the civilian scientist to elaborate, and Marcos wondered why, since as the Starfleet officer, Seven was clearly the authority in this section. However, Seven and Dr. Kahn appeared to work more as a team, as opposed to being two people from different spectrums, a decided change from any other Starfleet/civilian collaboration he had encountered to date. Certainly, he was aware that the science section had far more civilians working in it than any other area on the ship, and perhaps this was part of incorporating them into the chain of command. Even space stations did not seem to have this ease of synergy. Marcos knew that because, as a ten year old, he and his family had moved from Greece to Deep Space 3 where his father had worked as a systems analyst for three years. Young Davinus remembered well the division between civilian and Starfleet personnel that arose at times, elaborated loudly by his father on more than one occasion. All of them had been relieved and happy to return to Earth.

"I understand this array is far more powerful than the traditional ship sensors," T'Shanik offered.

"It is," Seven said. "Most spatial anomaly can now be studied in detail at a safe distance, without requiring the ship to enter it."

Marcos wasn't sure that was an advantage. He preferred the adventure of actually exploring such anomalies up close, anxious to fly his first mission into one. Of course, he hadn't had the opportunity ever to do it for real, but he had enjoyed the challenge of tests and obstacles offered on the holodeck that included varied spatial distortions and energy discharges.

After seeing the rest of the lab, which was extensive, Seven and Kahn led the younger officers to the turbolift which deposited them two decks down. There, they took a brief tour through the geometrics department, where various planetary environments were studied extensively, from the rocks and minerals in the earth, to the atmospheric conditions that surrounded them. On the same deck, xenometrics was a large series of labs devoted to the culture and history of the various alien civilizations they would come across in Millennium's exploration. At the moment, the entire staff was fully involved with data pertaining to the Iboneb and the Okunda, two alien races between whom Captain Janeway had recently negotiated a trade agreement.

They returned to the turbolift which lifted them one deck up to the biometrics department, which seemed as extensive as the astrometrics lab above. It was presided over by Lt. Samantha Wildman, a stocky, blonde Human who seemed delighted to see Seven.

"Lt. Wildman oversees the planetary studies, as well as working closely with both geometrics and xenometrics," Seven explained. "You will each be spending time in the various departments, but for now, you shall begin in astrometrics."

"We can always use new bodies, Seven," Lt. Wildman offered in a friendly tone. "Particularly during away missions that require extensive sample gathering and micro-scanning. I wouldn't mind you sending them my way next."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I promise to assign them to you during the next planetary scans, assuming they are scheduled for science duty at that time."

Marcos felt a little queasy, envisioning a series of away missions where not only would he have to ferry the scientists down to the planet's surface in one of the runabouts that flew like glorified rocks when the science modules were attached, but would also have to spend the rest of the time on the surface picking bugs out of mud and sticking them into tubes. He felt considerably depressed as Seven led the pair back to astrometrics and into one of the smaller labs where several people were working at flat tables containing star charts.

"For today, I shall assign you to Lt. Delaney," Seven said, motioning for one of the Starfleet officers to join them. "You shall assist her in creating the new navigational charts for this sector."

Marcos took one look at the woman he would be working with for the day, and abruptly decided that this assignment wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. Delaney was a blonde, buxom package of barely repressed sensuality who smiled easily and often, a decided contrast to the severe demeanor of her superior officer.

For every cloud, as his mother had said on more than one occasion, there was always a silver lining.

Janeway leaned back in her captain's chair and glanced around the bridge with a decidedly possessive air. The various shifts still weren't functioning as smoothly as she would like, but that was to be expected in a new command. A combination of crewmembers from Voyager, seasoned officers from other Starfleet posts, and a few wet-behind-the-ears junior officers fresh from the Academy, made up the bridge staff, and she was still getting to know some of them as they settled into their positions, particularly a few on the alpha shift with whom she was in contact the greatest percentage of time.

Over at tactical, Ro Laren worked with restrained energy, monitoring the rest of her security teams which were spread throughout the ship. Security was primarily dormant during this quiet stretch of space, but ready to spring into action at an instant's notice. The Bajoran had always been a bit of an enigma to the captain, even when they had served together on Voyager. Now, with the personal breech that had developed between them, the captain was less able to predict what Ro would do than before. The rift was something Janeway regretted profoundly.

Across from the security chief, posted at the Ops station, Ensign Tarn appeared to be having a small problem, a frown furrowing the space between her brows. The young woman was a pet project of the captain, posted to the alpha rotation despite Tarn's inexperience and lack of assurance. So far, however, Tarn was not working out as well as the captain had hoped after reviewing the young woman's outstanding performance at Starfleet Academy. Unfortunately, active duty  was different from being a cadet. Despite the best psychological profiling, all the simulations, and the stiffest challenges thrown at the cadets during the four year curriculum, there were still some individuals who survived the Academy only to fail during their first starship assignment. Of course, during the height of the Dominion War, cadets had been graduating with only two years of training at the Academy in a desperate attempt to fill the holes left vacant by the heavy casualties, but Tarn had been a recipient of the full four year courses. That doubled the disappointment Janeway was feeling about the young woman's lack of success.

From the corner of her eye, Janeway noticed Commander Zar rise quietly from his first officer's station and drift over to where the ops officer was working, obviously having detected the same hesitation with the young woman. If Tarn was becoming a disappointment, Zar was a most pleasant surprise. The captain hadn't known what to expect when she had met the young man who was to be her second in command during this tour in the Delta Quadrant. With a predominantly Cardassian appearance, the first reaction with him tended to be trepidation. Zar, however, was half Bajoran, a product of the Occupation on that planet, and considered himself a citizen of the Federation, having no particular loyalty to either of his parent's people.

Still, his appearance as one of the Federation's enemies ... the species most recently involved in instigating the Dominion war ... had made it difficult for Zar in his rise through the ranks. Janeway had been very pleased to discover he held no resentment or bitterness. She didn't know if she would have been as forgiving in his shoes, or as adaptable.

She watched as he appeared to assist Tarn in her tangle, whatever it was, leaving her looking more confident as he walked away from the ops station. Always a sign of a good first officer, Janeway thought. She caught his eye as he strolled past the auxiliary stations, and with a slight gesture of her head, brought him over to the command chair.

"The 'fleet pilots start their training in other departments today, correct?" Janeway asked.

"Yes," Zar responded in a low voice, recognizing that this was a conversation between the senior officers, and not for the ears of the rest of the staff. "Beta and gamma squads are dispersed throughout the ship, while alpha squad is undergoing training in their holosuite."

Janeway nodded thoughtfully. "Bring the ship down to warp four," she said. "Run a battle drill. Let's see what happens, and how long it takes."

Zar stared at her a few seconds, and smiled slowly. He knew as well as she did that it would be the last thing anyone would be expecting, least of all Tom Paris, the ship's wing commander. Janeway flicked an eyebrow at him, then settled back in her chair to watch the fireworks.

Zar turned and stood at attention beside the captain, linking his hands behind his back.

"Helm, bring the ship down to warp four," he instructed in a strong voice. "All hands, this is a red alert. Battle stations. Auxiliary fleet, all pilots to their fighters. Prepare to launch."

Janeway resisted the urge to grin like a fool as the lights lowered to a crimson tint, and controlled chaos broke out on her ship. Glancing around the bridge, she could see Tarn set her mouth and settle into her station, not even affording herself a glance back at the senior officers. That was an improvement, the captain decided. At the helm, the Ferengi, Lt. Nog, powered down from warp seven, his small hands moving easily over the board. At tactical, Ro spoke steadily and easily, gathering her security teams, and directing them to various positions throughout the ship, preparing to repel boarders if necessary.

"On my mark," Janeway said. "Prepare to launch fighters." She touched the controls on the arm of her chair. "Mark."

"Squadrons away," Zar said.

The captain's eyes were keen on the viewscreen, waiting for the first wave of fighters to appear. Beside her, her first officer was like a rock, not fidgeting as he awaited her commands. Additional personnel, including Seven of Nine, appeared from the turbolift, taking their stations on the bridge. Janeway offered her spouse the slightest of glances, just an acknowledgement of her prompt presence, and was hardpressed to stifle a smile. The expression on the Borg's face was definitely disgruntled when she realized it was merely a drill.

"Five minutes," Zar announced after a period that seemed interminable, but then, it always did when it was a red alert. Time either flew by so quickly, it was unbelievable, or it stretched on as if not to exist at all.

"Millennium could be dead in the water by now," Janeway noted impassively.

"Depending on the opponent," Zar agreed.

At seven minutes, ten seconds, the first two waves of fighters appeared, falling into formation at port and starboard, looking a little ragged as they maintained warp four with the Millennium. It took another minute before the other squadron finally showed up, taking a position in front of the starship. Their formation was better than the first two, but not by much.

"Somehow, I expected better after Mr. Paris's passionate speech about his fleet's usefulness to me," Janeway noted dryly.

"There is definitely room for improvement," Zar agreed.

"Indeed." Janeway paused. "I don't really mind the final squadron being a little late. After all, the pilots were scattered all over the ship, and it's to be expected that they wouldn't launch together, but surely there should have been a quicker launch for the first wave. The training facility is right next to the alpha hangar, after all." She studied the fighters, her brows lowered. "So far, I am not impressed."

"I'm sure Mr. Paris isn't, either," Zar offered, "especially considering it was the alpha squad that didn't show up until last. The other two squads were the pilots who had been dispersed throughout the ship."

Janeway shot him a sharp look. She couldn't tell which squad was which, but she allowed that her first officer could, and it didn't bode well for Mr. Paris. "Stand down from red alert ," she instructed. "Call them in, Mr. Zar."

"Standing down from red alert," Zar responded, the lights on the bridge coming back to normal.

"Have all department heads provide reports regarding the results of this drill on my desk by 0800 tomorrow morning," Janeway added as she rose from her chair. "Inform Lt. Paris that I wish to see him as soon as he's back on board. I'll be in my ready room."

"Understood," Zar said.

Janeway's command mask didn't falter until the door to her private sanctuary had slid shut behind her. She chuckled all the way up the ramp to the upper level where she retrieved the silver thermos sitting on the coffee table and poured herself a mug of Seven's special brew. It may not be an entirely professional attitude to take, but she truly enjoyed shaking up the crew now and again. A full drill hadn't been something she could indulge often the last time she had commanded in the Delta Quadrant, and it entertained her to compare response times with her previous ship to this advanced vessel. Surprisingly, Voyager rarely came up wanting in such comparisons, which meant there was still a lot of work for her to do with Millennium. Taking a seat on the curved sofa beneath the large windows which loomed over her, she put her feet up on the table and sipped her coffee with quiet enjoyment as she waited for her wing commander to make an appearance.

"That was a dirty trick," were the first words out of Paris's mouth as he entered the ready room, still wearing his flight uniform, his helmet tucked under his arm as if he had forgotten it was there. She could see the whites of his eyes, and his sandy hair stood up in sweaty clumps over his head, giving her insight into just how much effort had been required to launch the auxiliary fighter fleet as quickly as he had.

Janeway eyed him sardonically, a humorless smile playing about her lips.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she said silkily. "I'm sure any enemies will be far more courteous than I, and announce their attack well ahead of time so that you and your little fighters can be ready when they show up."

Tom stared at her, and then ran his hand through his hair, making it even more disarrayed, a rueful expression crossing his features.

"We were awful, weren't we?" he admitted, shame coloring his tone.

"What happened?" Janeway asked in an inviting tone, gesturing him to a seat.

He placed the helmet on the deck between his feet and shook his head at her offer of coffee. "The holodeck door jammed."

Janeway managed to restrain the snort of laughter, but it was difficult. Of course, if this had been for real rather than just a drill, her little voice reminded her, she would be far less amused at the situation.

"Two ensigns became excited and manually entered their release codes on the exit at the same time, temporarily jamming the locking mechanism." He shook his head. "That's no excuse. There was no discipline, and worse, I had left standing orders for beta and gamma not to launch until alpha did. Beta was actually the first squad ready to launch, but waited for me to grant them clearance." He exhaled audibly. "They won't make that mistake again."

Janeway studied him closely before nodding. "Am I to assume that this was an educational drill?" she asked with deliberate provocation.

His light blue eyes met hers squarely. "It was," he said steadily, though his cheeks flushed. "Obviously, we still have a lot of work to do. At least now, I know in exactly which areas."

She lifted her mug. "Excellent. I'll expect some improvement next time."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He glanced at her, and at the dip of her head indicating he was dismissed, he gathered up his helmet and left the ready room. She hailed the bridge, requesting that Seven and Zar join her, leaving Ro to hold the conn. The first officer handed her a padd containing the initial evaluation of the bridge crew during the drill.

"How did the civilians do?" she asked, eyeing Seven in particular. As chief science officer, the Borg had far more non-Starfleet personnel to deal with during an emergency than any other section of the ship, with the possible exception of the schools and play areas on deck fifteen.

The Borg lifted her chin. "There was undue excitement, preventing me from appearing on the bridge promptly," she admitted, a touch of dismay in her tone at such Human behavior. "Just as occurred when the Trabe attacked. There was little improvement." She tilted her head. "I will also note that the two pilots being trained in astrometrics left so quickly, they neglected to secure their boards properly."

"You'll have to allow for losing those particular officers during a red alert," Janeway said without any concession to her partner's outrage at such sloppiness. "They need to get to their posts quickly, and if that means they leave something running, then it's up to their fellow crewmembers in the science department to handle it."

Seven inclined her head. "Very well."

Janeway glanced at Zar. "I'm going to leave any future drills in your hands, Commander. Be sure to use them sparingly. We certainly don't want anyone to become complacent."

He nodded. "Yes, Captain."

Janeway lifted a brow. "A staff meeting will be scheduled for tomorrow morning to discuss what this particular drill has brought to light," she said. "I'll require a civilian presence there."

"I believe that Lenara Kahn has become the de facto leader of the civilians on the ship," Zar offered. "She holds the most authority within the chain of command thanks to Lt. Hansen's efforts, and the rest have responded to that by making her their official representative. I've already worked with her and Kes in creating a committee to oversee the educational schedule for the children on board the ship."

Janeway nodded. "Please inform Dr. Kahn that she is now officially the civilian representative."

Seven glanced at her briefly, almost as if in surprise that Janeway would be so quick to include the Trill scientist in what was a relatively sensitive position on the ship, particularly after her previous antipathy. However, Janeway knew it was important that the civilians not be overlooked in this situation. Despite the fact most captains on the larger vessels left it up to their first officer and ship's counselor to deal with any non-Starfleet personnel, Janeway wanted to have a more personal contact with them, feeling that it would make things go smoother, particularly during a crisis. She had to know in her heart that they would respond with the same loyalty and promptness that Starfleet officers would, and to do that, they had to believe they were a part of the process, not just considered super-cargo by the captain. A tiny, irrational part of Janeway might have preferred it not be Lenara Kahn with whom she had to deal, but that was the reality, and to be aggravated over it would be a waste of time.

"Dismissed," Janeway said, and as the officers left her ready room, she indulged in a brief look in her spouse's direction, just to enjoy how she looked as she walked away ... though it wasn't nearly as provocative as it had been when Seven wore those tight biometric outfits that had covered her like a second skin, and provided a clear view of the most delightful undulations.

Janeway stifled a wistful sigh at the memory, then returned her attention to the padd Zar had left for her, wondering how Ensign Tarn had performed on her first full battle drill in real space.

The edge of the knife sliced precisely through the green flesh of the pepper, releasing a scent that enhanced the dining experience. Seven inhaled deeply, savoring the simple joy of what she was doing, the pleasure in working with organic food to prepare a delicious meal for her spouse. There were few duties she performed that offered as much satisfaction. In fact, this was not considered a duty at all, but a much appreciated gift, both to herself and to the woman she loved.

"When are B'Elanna and Ro supposed to arrive?" Janeway asked as she came out of the bedroom, her hands at her left ear as she fiddled with her earring. She was dressed in a silk shirt and dark pants, simple yet elegant, her silver wedding chain glinting visibly within the open collar of her cream colored blouse.

"They shall arrive at approximately 1835," Seven told her, glancing up to offer her spouse a brief smile. She tilted her head. "You are very beautiful, Kathryn."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "Thank you, darling," she said. She leaned against the kitchenette counter where Seven was preparing the meal, reaching over to touch the Borg's cheek fleetingly with her fingertips. "You, of course, are exquisite."

Seven lifted a brow, aware that she was still dressed in her uniform. "Now, who is the 'sweet-talker'?"

"Every word is the truth," Janeway countered promptly. She glanced down at the vegetables. "Is there anything I can do? Did you want to dress before dinner?"

Seven hesitated, knowing well Janeway's ineptitude around the kitchen, but deciding that there was little time left for her to prepare herself before her guests arrived. She had to take the opportunity when she could. "Please, finish slicing the peppers," she requested as she handed her the knife. "Leave them on the cutting board. Do not place them in the wok."

"I think I can manage that," Janeway responded wryly, smiling as she moved around the counter to displace the young woman.

Seven strode briskly into the ensuite where she took a brief sonic shower and retrieved a more casual, civilian outfit for the evening. There was a time when her side of the couple's closet boasted few items, the young woman remembered as she began to pull on her garments. However, Seven's time on Earth and her development into Humanity had heightened her fashion sense, no longer considering what she wore as completely irrelevant. Now, she possessed as much clothing as Janeway did, though the captain was always quick to insist that the Borg actually had more at this point.

When she returned to the living area, she was greeted by her guests who arrived while the young woman had been dressing. Ro Laren was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, while B'Elanna had opted for a more dressy approach, with a skirt and vest made of leather, indicative of her Klingon heritage. Over the years, the hybrid had come to accept both sides of her genetic influences, taking the best parts of being Klingon and Human, while discarding the old fears and insecurities that had plagued her early life. Her temper was still close to the surface, but she no longer gave vent to it as easily, nor did she indulge in the type of behavior that only drew her into trouble ... her recent attitude toward Command Zar notwithstanding.

Janeway had supplied them with drinks and the platter of hors d'oeuvres that Seven had prepared, and now the trio were talking casually as the Borg joined them.

"I am glad you came. I apologize again for having to cancel our initial plans."

She glanced fleetingly at Janeway, remembering what prompted the cancellation. Her partner had been suffering from the unexpected effects of alien pheromones that made her crazed with lust. The evening hadn't turned out to be all that unpleasant as far as Seven was concerned, but it had been very trying for the captain. Nor were Ro and B'Elanna completely cognizant of why exactly they had been unable to come to dinner that night, and Seven suspected it should be kept that way. Rescheduling the dinner had taken some time, however, and it suddenly occured to Seven that the ease of interaction with her friends was less convenient on Millennium than it had been on Voyager, though still better than it had been while on Earth.

"It's all right, Seven," B'Elanna assured her. "Your cooking is definitely worth waiting for."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Thank you. However, I assure you, there will be a sufficient amount to consume. It is not necessary to compliment the chef in order to secure the larger portion."

B'Elanna blushed, Ro chuckled faintly, and Janeway shot a smile at her spouse for the attempt at humor. Satisfied, Seven moved over to her kitchenette to finish her preparations while the other three officers resumed their conversation. She continued to listen to the discussion as she cooked, occasionally interjecting comments to maintain her presence in the gathering. Most of the talk seemed centered around how their new vessel was performing, how different it was from their previous ship, and what they hoped Millennium would be capable of in the future. There were also a great many comments about the various crewmembers, and she realized that Janeway was taking the opportunity to gauge the atmosphere on the lower decks, particularly around engineering. At one time, Seven had been able to keep her partner up to date on such things, but her new position as chief science officer prevented her from performing any duties in engineering. In fact, she realized with a certain surprise, she hadn't even been in engineering except for a brief tour of the deck early on, before Millennium had left dry dock.

It was almost as if each section of the ship had defined itself along the respective lines of duty, Seven mused, and the personnel within each department aligning themselves with each other. It was not at all like the small Intrepid-class Voyager where duties and responsibilities overlapped and merged, with each member of the crew expected to fulfill many roles on the ship. It had made for a tight, family type atmosphere, whereas on Millennium, it was more professional ... and colder somehow. Seven supposed that on a vessel the size of the Frontier-class ship, only the fleet pilots assigned as 'floaters' would be able to move in and out of the various sections at will, and she wondered if that had contributed to Janeway formulating this particular plan of duty assignments. It could build bridges between the various departments ... science, security, medical, engineering, command, and the auxiliary fleet ... that would otherwise be lacking. If Voyager had been a village where everyone knew each other, Seven thought, Millennium was a city, with its own distinctive neighborhoods.

After she put the lid on the wok to allow the stirfry to simmer for a few minutes, Seven returned to the living area and her friends, taking a seat on the arm of the chair where Janeway was sitting, slipping her arm across the captain's shoulders. Waiting for a break in the conversation, she offered her new theory to the others.

"I'm afraid such division is to be expected on a ship this size, Seven," Ro remarked. "I mean, let's face it, you have almost as many people in the science section as made up Voyager's entire crew roster. I have the same in security, and B'Elanna has a full complement in engineering. We just don't have the time to concern ourselves with any other section over the course of the day, unless it's for professional reasons."

B'Elanna nodded. "Exactly. We even have our own lounges attached to the various departments, and if it weren't for the fact that the Nexus has turned into such a hot spot, there wouldn't even be that much social interaction."

Janeway assumed a serious mien. "I don't know that such division is healthy, however. I guess I owe Mr. Paris some gratitude for his efforts to bring the crew together."

"I wish I had seen your face when you first walked in there." B'Elanna offered the captain an impish smile.

Janeway lifted a brow wryly. "I admit, I was somewhat taken aback. I don't believe any vessel in the 'fleet has a dance floor in its main lounge." She shook her head. "However, I'm still a bit concerned. Even on Voyager, it was possible for a crewmember to slip between the cracks and become lost. I have to believe it will be easier on this vessel."

"In that case, each section chief will have to rely on the departmental supervisors even more," Ro said reasonably. "Make sure that each of us keep tabs on the mood of our people, as well as their performance."

"Is that efficient?" Seven asked.

"It means a lot more delegation," B'Elanna explained to the Borg. "I have three senior engineers under me, one for ship maintenance, one for engineering maintenance, and one for the engine room itself. Plus there are various shift supervisors under them. On Voyager, I personally supervised all that. I just can't do it here."

"I also have three assistant security chiefs reporting to me," Ro added. "One is in charge of internal ship security, one for external needs such as visitors to the ship, and a third who's responsible for overseeing any away mission requirements."

Seven blinked. She had thought herself inefficient for assigning four departmental heads to cover astrometrics, geometrics, biometrics, and xenometrics, not to mention making Lenara Kahn her chief liaison for the civilians within her section. Apparently, other sections on the ship required the same organizational requirements as science did. She began to feel less inadequate.

Janeway sipped her drink. "I know that the chain of command within such a large vessel requires more distance from the average crewmember than occurred on Voyager. However, I don't have to like it."

"Zar's pretty good at keeping track of things," Ro said. "I don't think you have to worry about that area."

There was a small silence as Janeway stared blankly at the Bajoran, obviously surprised to hear such a compliment coming from her security chief. Then, the captain's shock was compounded.

"She's right," B'Elanna said, supporting her spouse. "It took me awhile to warm up to the guy, but I have to admit, he knows his stuff. I don't think you're going to see many crewmembers fall through the cracks." She paused, and then added awkwardly, "I think he's really good at seeing when a person feels ... out of place, and knows how to dig out what's really wrong. He's already come to me about two officers who were having personal problems that the department heads were overlooking." She appeared vaguely rueful. "We managed to work it out."

Seven could only imagine how that encounter had gone, but then, lately in her visits to the Nexus, she had noticed that there had been less antagonism directed at Zar by either woman. Obviously, they had undergone a change of heart in recent weeks.

Janeway blinked and set down her glass. "Yes," she said quietly, looking very thoughtful. "I'm sure he would be very good in that area of personnel management."

Seven glanced at her spouse, and decided it would be a good time to start dinner, just to give Janeway time to adjust to this new reality where Ro and B'Elanna were actually supporting the first officer rather than finding him an offense to their sensibilities. Seven decided the captain really did miss a lot when she didn't spend social time with officers such as B'Elanna. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure how to alter this habit of her spouse, who had yet to develop a circle of aquaintences of her own within Millennium. Perhaps Kathryn was maintaining her distance from the crew a little too well.

Seven was still considering it after dinner had finished and their guests had made their farewells, all promising to do it again, very soon. As she prepared to retire for the evening, she looked over at her spouse who was seated on the edge of the bed, still dressed in her robe.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway glanced over her shoulder as she brushed her hair, granting her partner a warm look. "Yes, darling?"

"Is Millennium everything you hoped it would be?" Seven slipped between the sheets of their bed, supporting herself on her elbow as she regarded her spouse curiously.

Janeway didn't answer right away, drawing the brush absently through her hair, her eyes distant as she considered it, a half smile playing about her lips. "It's still a little early to tell. Certainly, there are disadvantages to commanding such a large starship, including the sense that I'm not able to be as close to my crew as I was on Voyager. However, so far, they're outweighed by the advantages."

"Explain," Seven requested as she settled back onto her pillows.

Janeway put the brush down onto the night stand, and stood up, removing her robe to reveal her compact form which was clad only in one of the Borg's t-shirts. Her hips and buttocks were left bare, somehow appearing more provocative than if she had simply gone without nightwear at all. Seven refused to allow the delectable sight to distract her, however.

"We're safer in this ship," Janeway responded, getting into bed and fluffing up her pillows before lying back against them. "I'm not as ... constantly concerned about how we'll get through the next challenge that comes our way. Our directives are different, as well, with scientific exploration a priority rather than merely getting the ship home in one piece. It grants me a greater sense of satisfaction. I also have something of the same sort of freedom I had with Voyager, the knowledge that I'm the one making the decisions out here, without the benefit of second guessing from above. I like that a great deal."

"Yet, there isn't the same kind of family atmosphere."

"No," Janeway said, reaching over and entwining her fingers in the Borg's left hand, taking care with the mesh. "However, our time in the Delta Quadrant was a unique experience, Annika. If we hadn't been lost, I assure you that such a close atmosphere would probably not have existed on Voyager either. I would have commanded the ship in the Federation with the same sort of distance that I do the Millennium."

Seven lifted her chin, surprised. "Indeed."

Janeway offered her a bit of a smile. "In fact, if you had been a science officer that came on board my vessel in that situation, I would never have fallen in love with you." She paused. "Let me rephrase that. I would never have acted on it, though I might have arranged a transfer for you."

Not sure she liked that concept, the Borg frowned. "You would not want to be with me?" she asked uncertainly.

"On the contrary, that's why I would have made arrangements to have you assigned to another vessel," Janeway said. "At least until we had built a personal relationship apart from our professional duties. It would have been difficult ... long distance relationships often are ... but it would have been the only way to do it in such circumstances."

Seven considered that. "Then I am glad I met you while you were lost in the Delta Quadrant."

Janeway rolled over, nestling her head on the Borg's shoulder. "So am I, my darling," she said, snuggling close as a smile touched her lips.

"So am I."

Lunch time at the Nexus was a great deal less crowded and rambunctious than it was in the evening, with the lights set for day watch and providing a less stimulating atmosphere in which to eat. T'Shanik lifted a brow as she observed the other diners in the lounge while she waited for Ensign Tarn and Dr. Spencer to join her. She had not expected to make friends so quickly on the starship, remembering how difficult it had been on DS12, but Marcos had immediately taken her under his wing. Ignoring the fact that she was ranked above him, he drew her into his circle of acquaintances, which included the xeno-specialist from sickbay and the Ops officer, and the Ferengi helmsman, Nog, as well. Today, however, it was the 'girl's time', as Dr. Spencer termed it, with only the female members of the 'group' having lunch together.

Though a Vulcan, T'Shanik did not share some of her people's dislike for the 'irrational' Humans and other emotional species. Her family, of course, would have been disapproving of her choice of friends, but since she had been doing a great many things to upset her family lately, including pursuing a posting on the Millennium, T'Shanik decided, quite logically, that there was little she could do about it. She found Humans to be very interesting companions, as well as an unending source of fascination

She did not smile when the other two women joined her, but she tilted her head respectfully in greeting, gratified to see them.

"Have you ordered yet?" Alexis asked, settling into her chair. A contained, elegant female with golden brown hair and level eyes, she was older than the other two. Medical personnel required far more training and planetary based experience before being allowed to apply for deep space duty, so this was her first starship assignment.

"Not yet," T'Shanik replied in her even tones. "I was waiting for you."

"Great," Elisa said, studying the menu. She was the youngest of the three, fresh from the Academy, but held a more significant position, that of a junior bridge officer.

T'Shanik would not allow herself to feel envy ... at least past that first recognition of the emotion rising within her ... but if she could indulge such a feeling, it would be very strong when she contemplated the young redhead. Ensign Tarn held a position in the command crew itself, assigned to the bridge, and to the alpha shift no less. T'Shanik would have applied for such a position had she believed that there would have been the slightest chance that such a junior officer would have been accepted. Which only went to show that Humans, for all their failings, were superior when it came to 'taking chances' and creating their own opportunities. It was a lesson that T'Shanik would not forget, and she had made a vow that the next time a position was open, she would apply, regardless of any logical reasons that might prevent her from obtaining it.

She supposed she was fortunate to have achieved the posting on Millennium that she had, and that it hadn't 'unfortunately' become unavailable to her. Her older brother and sister were not above pulling strings to guide T'Shanik's career, including an initial arrangement which saw the young Vulcan spend her first posting in the safe confines of a space station on the other side of the Federation throughout the entire duration of the Dominion War. T'Shanik's precipitous application and acceptance to Millennium had undoubtedly occurred before either sibling could prevent it, and she had barely reached DS9 in time to join the vessel before it departed for the Delta Quadrant.

"I think I'll go with the pasta," Alexis decided finally.

"Me, too," Elisa allowed.

Tarn was a follower, not a leader, T'Shanik thought suddenly, expecting better of the bridge officer. Then, she swiftly and automatically repressed the less than charitable thought. Though she occasionally felt rebellious against the restrictions her culture forced on her, she had been brought up as a proper member of Vulcan society. Repressing illogical emotion was as ingrained in both thought and behavioral patterns as breathing.

"I shall have the seafood salad."

Alexis glanced at her, a slight frown on her face. "I thought Vulcans didn't eat meat."

"Replicated sustenance, which is formed from bio-organic fungal material, is hardly consuming animal flesh," T'Shanik said dryly. "Regardless of how it is supposed to taste."

The doctor grinned faintly. "Finding ways to circumvent the rules, T'Shanik? You should fit in well here."

Tarn, who had just finished programming the women's selections into the menu embedded in the tabletop, glanced up curiously. "What's that supposed to mean? If there's one thing I've learned, it's better to go by the book." Her face grew long. "That way, if you screw up, at least you're not compounding it by breaking rules in the first place."

"Are you kidding? Captain Janeway is infamous for 'bending' regulations to fit her agenda," Spencer revealed. "I've been talking with Dr. Lewis, and he's absolutely full of stories of how things operated on Voyager in the Delta Quadrant. According to him, it was the 'Janeway or the highway' method of command."

Tarn shook her head in obvious denial. "Not from what I've seen. The captain's totally by the book."

"Well, she can't be entirely by the book if she's married to the chief science officer," Alexis pointed out. "Relationships between captain and crewmember aren't exactly forbidden, but such fraternization is against protocol and rarely occur, unless the circumstances are unique."

"The captain also placed an inexperienced officer at Ops," T'Shanik reminded the younger woman. "That is certainly not 'by the book'."

Tarn blinked, thinking about that. "You're right. I guess maybe she does do things a bit differently than how we learned them at the Academy. I hadn't looked at it that way."

"Maybe all captains are like that," Alexis said thoughtfully. "By the time they achieve that level of command, they've learned to be flexible."

"Not all," T'Shanik said, before she could stop herself.

The other two regarded her curiously, with expectant expressions, and she realized they required clarification.

"My ... brother is a starship captain," she said finally, reluctantly.

"Really?" Tarn's face was filled with bright interest. "Which ship?"

"The USS T'Kumbra."

Alexis raised her eyebrow. "That's an all-Vulcan vessel, isn't it? Captain Solok is your brother?"

"Yes."

"Wait, if Solok is your brother, that means you're related to Admiral Sitak." Tarn stared at T'Shanik as if she had never seen her before.

T'Shanik did not flinch, though she wanted to. "She is the eldest daughter of our family," she said formally, though she doubted either of the Humans realized the significance of that position, or the title.

"Why didn't you apply to the T'Kumbra?" Alexis asked.

T'Shanik quickly controlled the tiny ripple of horror that shivered through her at that thought.

"My family ... does not approve of my accepting starship duty. In truth, they did not even approve of my initial application to Starfleet, though they did not actively attempt to prevent it." Probably because they thought she would fail, she added silently.

"So what are you doing here on the Millennium?" Tarn asked guilelessly.

T'Shanik fixed her dark stare on her, and Alexis, watching this with interest, forestalled the Vulcan having to answer by putting her hand over Tarn's wrist in subtle warning. "I suspect T'Shanik was somewhat ... innovative in her application. Which leads me to repeat, you should do well on this vessel."

"Perhaps," T'Shanik allowed, though she was not entirely displeased by the doctor's assessment.

Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of their meals, delivered by Crewman Paryk bearing a large tray. T'Shanik briefly wondered which department the alien was assigned to. No matter what time she came to the Nexus, he always seemed to be behind the counter, serving drinks, providing food service, and generally being entertaining.

"Ladies," he said, placing the plates with a flourish. "Enjoy your meals. You should know that they were specially programmed by Lt. Morus from biometrics, who is an absolute whiz around a food replicator."

"Impressive," Alexis said dryly, earning a smile and a blown kiss in her direction from the young man who swooped up his tray and departed.

"Cheeky bugger," Tarn said with amusement as she watched the blue-skinned, lanky young man return to the bar.

"Civilians," Alexis noted carelessly as she speared her pasta with her fork.

"On the contrary, according to Dr. Irwin in geometrics, he is a crewman," T'Shanik corrected.

"I never see him in a uniform," Alexis countered.

T'Shanik lifted her eyebrow, the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "That is merely the information I've received," she said, not finding it worthy of discussion.

"In either case, he's certainly cheered up this place," Tarn said, digging into her lunch. "The Nexus wouldn't be the same without him."

"That's true," Alexis agreed.

After lunch, T'Shanik reported to beta hangar for ship maintenance, another addition to the new list of duties the pilots were expected to master. Somehow, when she applied for the pilot's position in the auxiliary fleet, she hadn't envisioned being jammed into a plasma vent of a fighter, cleaning out the excess exhaust residue. That was supposedly the job of the ground support team. However, the pilots were now supposed to know how to repair and maintain the fighters as well as fly them. In this, Lt. Paris was adamant, and while he had listened patiently to the various groans and moans regarding their assignment to other areas of the ship, even seeming to share their displeasure to a certain degree, he allowed absolutely no complaints about this duty ... not that T'Shanik would ever complain, of course. She could, however, allow a certain irritation to leak past her impassive features in the privacy of the dark tube she was in.

She supposed Lt. Paris had a point when he insisted that there might be an occurrence where a pilot would have to force-land the fighter and make repairs in order to return to the Millennium. It was her opinion, however, that anything that damaged the hardy little fighter enough to require it to go down, was usually beyond repair anyway, and the pilots would be better served by refreshing their planetary survival skills ... assuming they somehow survived such a landing in the first place.

She had entered the Academy with such high hopes, she mused as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn streak, not only for a stimulating and challenging career in Starfleet, but with the expectation that she would finally be away from her family who had monitored her every move on Vulcan. She had assumed that once she had proven she was capable of following in the footsteps of her esteemed older siblings, she would be free. Instead, those family members in Starfleet had utilized their respective positions of authority to make sure she was continually posted to mundane assignments where she would be safe. The entire quadrant had been at war for years, yet T'Shanik never saw a Changeling, or a Jem'Hadar or for that matter, a Cardassian. Unless one counted Zar who had also been posted at DS12, kept out of the way of the war, as well.

T'Shanik understood that part of her family's protectiveness sprang from the fact that she had been a 'late' baby, one born to a couple in their second century who had believed their fertility had long ended, despite the pon farr which still occurred every seven years. Decades younger than the rest of her siblings, she had been a very fragile lifeform, sickly at birth, with the very real possibility present that she could die at any moment. Even when she survived her first few years and became healthy, the solicitation for her physical well-being continued, eventually becoming oppressive. It was possible her family had not tried to forestall her application to Starfleet simply because they did not believe she would make it past the initial screening.

But she had, and made it through the Academy as well. It was with a sort of grim satisfaction that T'Shanik slithered out of the plasma vent, and stood next to it in her disheveled uniform as it was inspected by one of the maintenance crew. She had persevered, she thought, passing all the mental and physical challenges thrown her way. That her beta squad had been ready to launch first during the recent battle drill, long before alpha squadron had managed to free themselves of the holodeck, was something to be proud of, as much as she was capable of such emotion. With continued dedication and attention to duty, she was confident that she would eventually be recognized for being the competent and outstanding officer she was, finally ending up where she belonged.

On the bridge.

There were few things in life as absolutely delightful as waking up next to six feet of beautiful, blonde Borg. In fact, Janeway couldn't actually think of any as she opened her eyes in the wee hours before morning watch, lying half on her stomach with Seven sprawled deliciously against her, arm and leg draped heavily over the captain's back. A glance at the chronometer revealed that she still had some time before the couple needed to get up, and Janeway wondered if she had somehow set her internal clock to wake early in recent months. Making love in the mornings was becoming a pleasant habit on board Millennium, and a wonderful way to start the day, though on occasion, it actually made leaving the bed more difficult than if they didn't share physical intimacy.

She carefully reached behind her and drew her hand lightly along the thigh pinning her buttocks to the bed, stroking gently along the firm muscle. Seven stirred, her leg instinctively pressing down on the captain, her arm pulling the captain more under her, tucking her beneath the warm shelter of her curvaceous body.

Janeway wasn't able to do much in this position except enjoy the sensation as Seven's lips traced a searing trail along her neck, up to her ear. She quivered as the Borg's hands began to smooth over her back and sides, inciting her growing desire.

"Good morning, Kathryn," Seven murmured.

"Hmm, good morning ... ah, darling," Janeway responded, twitching slightly as the Borg's fingers traced over a particularly sensitive spot, as well as a few that weren't as sensitive, but responded to the attention nonetheless. She exhaled sharply as the tip of the young woman's tongue flicked her earlobe, then languidly traced over the curve to the soft spot at the hinge of her jaw. "Why don't you let me up?"

"I believe you are fine just where you are," Seven noted reasonably. "However, you would be more accessible on your back." With one easy motion, she flipped the captain over, and then used her left hand to capture the captain's wrists above her head to hold them in place. Her body pressed down on Janeway insistently, keeping her pinned to the bed.

Janeway laughed in a mix of surprise and delight, squirming mightily but unable to wiggle out from beneath the young woman who continued to caress her lavishly with a casual physical prowess that sent chills of excitement through the captain. That the Borg was much stronger than the captain was understood by both, but the few times Seven chose to display that superiority never failed to thrill Janeway on a primeval level, particularly in bed. The captain also enjoyed offering a certain amount of resistance to the Borg, keeping her legs tightly closed until Seven parted them with a strong but gentle knee, gasping as she felt the young woman's fingers touch her intimate flesh. Seven seemed to enjoy the game as well, her eyes a brilliant blue, the pupils wide and full as she fondled Janeway, fingertips swirling over the ridge, bathed in the heat and moisture.

"Do you like this, Kathryn?" she asked as she looked down at her possessively.

"You know I do," Janeway responded shakily, swallowing hard, her mouth dry from her increased respiration.

"What do you want me to do now?" Seven asked in a throaty murmur, slowing her caress, becoming teasing, touching her with only the lightest of contact.

Janeway groaned, aware that she was in trouble now.

"You know," she managed.

"Explain."

"You always complain that I talk too much in bed."

Seven tilted her head, evaluating her evenly. "Ah, did you wish me to stop entirely?" Her fingertips abruptly stilled on the throbbing nodule.

Janeway closed her eyes. "God, no," she exclaimed in a heated whisper. For a brief second, she wondered if Seven's teasing would go too far, if she would actually cease altogether, but slowly, with deliberate intent, Seven resumed her caress, a delicate stroke over the sensitive ridge that left Janeway weak.

"What do you want, Kathryn?" Seven demanded again, her lips next to the captain's ear.

Janeway exhaled, trying to come up with something coherent as it grew progressively difficult to think. How did she want this to proceed? There were several positions that could be utilized, not only here in the bedroom, but in the other rooms that comprised their quarters, including the ensuite and the arboretum. There were a multitude of accessories in the compartment in the head of the bed, adding a variety of enhancements to their encounter. Then, there was simply Seven herself, a delightful choice of fingers or mouth or both ... skilled hands and the most accomplished tongue Janeway had ever encountered.

"I want everything," she groaned, "but we don't have the time."

The Borg actually laughed, a low chuckle of amusement. "Fortunately, our off day is scheduled for tomorrow. We could save this moment until then."

"Don't even think it," Janeway warned, her hips undulating as she tried to press against Seven's teasing fingertips, urging her to a more forceful caress. "Damn you." Her breath left her in a moan as Seven's index finger carefully circled her opening, then eased inside, exploring her gently. "Yes ... a little deeper...."

Seven added a second finger, flexing within the captain before withdrawing, only to plunge back inside with slightly more force.

"Oh, yes," Janeway hissed, and closed her eyes. "God, darling ... please ... use your mouth..."

That required Seven to release her grip on the captain's wrists in order to trace a searing trail down her body, spending delicious moments at her breasts to kiss and lick the nipples before moving on, but at this point, both women were keenly aware that Janeway wasn't about to go anywhere. The captain's head went back, her mouth open in a silent cry as she felt Seven's mouth cover her, tongue dancing over her ridge as the Borg continued to probe inside with her long, elegant fingers. Janeway reached down, clutching Seven's head to her, wanting to prolong the sensation, but aware that the lingering foreplay had left her more than ready to respond to what her partner was doing. Then, suddenly, Seven found that special spot inside, pressing on it insistently, and there was no more resistance, no more hesitation, no more teasing, just desire and need colliding in one heavenly explosion of pleasure that shuddered through Janeway's body, leaving her weak and trembling in the aftermath.

The captain was certain she had cried out her lover's name in that moment of bliss, and perhaps added a few more instructions that undoubtedly did not make sense, and could hardly be utilized in any event. Seven was smiling faintly when she slid back up Janeway's body, her lips pungent, tasting of the captain's essence, salt-sweet and strong. The captain kissed her hard, savoring the evidence of her partner's love for her, feeling boneless and ready for sleep, though to leave her partner aroused, as she undoubtedly was, seemed the ultimate in rudeness.

Fortunately, the passionate kisses they were sharing served to rekindle the captain's desire, renewing her energy levels, and she was able to reach out for Seven with honest appetite. She recognized that it wasn't her best effort ... their lovemaking worked better when Janeway attended to Seven first, then could relax in the reciprocation ... but she granted herself an 'A' for effort, and certainly, Seven did not object, unless her cry of delight upon her climax was actually one of disappointment.

From the depth and passion of the Borg's kiss afterward, Janeway did not believe it was disappointment.

Both were relaxing in sated bliss when the lights came up and the computer announced the time was 0600 hours. Janeway sighed wistfully, reminding herself that she could always sleep in the next day if that was her choice, and rolled out of bed.

"Shower together, darling?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Is that an invitation?" Seven responded, uncoiling from the mattress like a goddess rising from the seas, causing the captain to repress a sigh of lustful regret that they couldn't spend longer with each other.

"A standing one," Janeway assured her as she activated the shower, programming it to be a little warmer than she normally liked, but a little cooler than Seven generally used. For the couple, it was the perfect temperature, a compromise between their natures, and in a way, a microcosm of their life together. Separately, they still had their own quirks and directives, just as strong as before they were together, but in each other's company, they tempered them, making allowances that they wouldn't for anyone else. It was what made their marriage work, not denying themselves and who they were, but respecting the other's idiosyncrasies.

At least, we try to respect them, Janeway thought with an idle grin as she stepped beneath the spray, wincing a bit until she adjusted to the heat. In the beginning, both had naturally been intent on making the other become who they wanted, but as time passed, they had come to understand that any changes would have to come from within, voluntarily. Everything else that couldn't be altered, they were gradually learning to accept.

"What are you thinking?" Seven asked softly as she drew a soft sponge over the captain's back and sides, then reached around to lather her front lavishly.

"Just us," Janeway said, smiling as she leaned back into the wet, warm embrace of her spouse. "How we've adapted to each other over the years."

"Indeed?" Seven prompted, brushing her lips over the captain's neck, making Janeway shiver.

"Yes," Janeway breathed, closing her eyes, then inhaled deeply before pulling away reluctantly. "Save a little for tomorrow, love," she added slyly, glancing at her sideways.

Seven lifted a brow, but she didn't object. Instead, she merely returned the captain's smile, and together, they finished their shower. Janeway dressed and quickly made her way out to the living area, accessing the replicator since it was her turn to make breakfast. She decided upon waffles, which both women liked, adding blueberries and cinnamon to Seven's, while hers had strawberries and cream.

Seven set the table, and activated the coffee maker as Janeway carried the loaded plates over to the table. As the pair sat down to enjoy their meal, Janeway picked up the padd that was awaiting her attention, an update downloaded from the main computer on what had occurred while she had been off duty, offering a check on the ship's status and some of the early reports from the night watch.

"So how are the new additions to your section working out?" She shot a look at her spouse over her glass as she sipped her juice.

Seven hesitated, and then lowered her fork which had been on its way to her mouth.

"It is inefficient. They clearly do not wish to be there, and that makes it even more difficult to train them in the duties required of an astrometrics officer."

"They don't have to want to be there, Seven," Janeway said reasonably. "It's your job to see that they are familiarized with what goes on there, not to make them like it."

"I am aware of that." A certain tenseness abruptly edged her tone, and made Janeway realize this was not going as well as she had hoped when she and Zar came up with the idea. "However, it is extremely difficult to train the pilots to work in the department when I only see them two days out of a rotation. Worse, on the next rotation, I am not assigned those particular officers, but two other pilots who were previously assigned to engineering or security. For example, by the time Lt. T'Shanik and Ensign Marcos, the first pilots assigned to the science section, return to astrometrics, they will have forgotten all they learned, which requires going over the material a second time. It is an inefficient endeavor."

Janeway regarded her, evaluating her partner's words, as well as the subtle emotion threading through them. It wasn't just annoyance, she decided. Seven was honestly upset that her section was being disrupted in this manner. Was it because the young woman had too much responsibility in her new position, and this added duty was the straw that broke her down? Or was providing the fleet pilots with additional assignments an idea that sounded better in concept than in actual execution? If the latter was the case, and Seven had arrived at the point of being angry this soon in the project, then Janeway could only imagine the moods of her more volatile section chiefs, such as B'Elanna Torres or Ro Laren.

"I want to make this work, Seven," Janeway said, schooling her voice to gentle reason, calming the Borg. "I intend to address this issue in the staff meeting this morning." She paused. "We're not doing this merely for the sake of keeping these pilots busy, I truly do want officers who can step into any department to fill vacancies. That's how we did it on Voyager, and it's how I want to do it on Millennium."

"It may not be possible to accomplish such a task on this vessel." Seven looked stubborn. "We all have greater responsibilities."

Janeway frowned. "Yes, we do, but perhaps we need to be a little more defined on what duties we are actually expecting everyone to perform."

Seven didn't look as if she agreed, her face troubled, but she didn't reply. Janeway resisted a sigh, realizing that she shouldn't have brought it up over breakfast.

"I'm sorry," she said with honest regret. "Ship's business should stay outside these doors. It's not fair of me to put you on the spot like this just because I have your undivided attention. Don't concern yourself with this until the staff meeting. It's certainly not your problem alone. Everyone will have to work together to come up with a solution."

"What if there is no solution, Kathryn?"

"Then we think of something else." Janeway reached over to put her hand on the young woman's, squeezing her fingers lightly. "I really am sorry to have brought it up in our quarters, Annika."

Seven hesitated, then and dipped her head. "Apology accepted." Apparently willing to let it go for the moment.

Janeway dipped her head, catching the woman's eyes in an evaluating glance. "Aside from this, is everything else all right, darling? Is being chief science officer working out for you? I'm not asking as your captain, but as your spouse."

Seven nodded, relaxing. "It is, Kathryn. I enjoy my new position. It is challenging, but not overwhelming." She paused. "I am irritated with this new responsibility because I do not see how I can make it work. That is frustrating. Perhaps my display of that frustration was ... excessive."

Janeway nodded. "I understand. We'll discuss it further at the meeting. I'm sure you're not the only one with reservations about the situation."

The table in the conference room on Millennium was shaped differently than the one Seven had grown used to on Voyager. It was rectangular with only slightly rounded corners. More functional, it allowed for more people to be seated around it. The room itself was also more efficient, containing two food replicators, which the young woman knew the captain appreciated because it meant Janeway could have her coffee, as well as something to eat when the meetings ran particularly long.

As this one apparently was. The senior staff had more than a few complaints about the 'fleet officers disrupting their smoothly running sections, particularly engineering, as stated loudly and at great length by B'Elanna who had every detail of her problems listed in a padd. Dr. Pulaski, representing the medical section, was not pleased by having officers underfoot without enough medical training to make them useful. Ro Laren was having a little less trouble finding duties for the pilots in her section, but she made it clear she had no intention of ever using them in an actual operation requiring security personnel. Seven maintained her own counsel, which she supposed she wouldn't do if she weren't married to Janeway. However, anything she said would be no different than what she had initially mentioned over breakfast, making such comments redundant to the captain, and ultimately, would add nothing to what Pulaski, B'Elanna and Ro were already saying.

"I'm rather surprised to discover my senior officers aren't more flexible," Janeway said, eyeing her staff sardonically. "We're talking about two or three crewmembers, four at the most, being added to the various departments. I can't imagine anyone not being grateful for those extra bodies."

"Those weren't your orders, however," B'Elanna protested heatedly. "You don't want these people used as green crewmen for the duration of the tour. I was under the distinct impression you want them trained for duties within the department. That means arranging schedules, as well as freeing up someone to teach them, which actually takes away personnel that I need. Because whomever I assign to them is always dealing with new officers every rotation, all that person becomes is a glorified babysitter. I don't know about the rest of the ship, but I can't afford to have an officer tied up like that."

"It's the same in sickbay," Pulaski said. The medical officer had actually come out of semi-retirement to accept the position of CMO on Millennium, and Seven was aware that she once taught Janeway at the Academy. It afforded the snowy haired woman with a certain leverage over the captain that Seven did not quite understand, but found fascinating to observe. "Captain, I can't train someone to be a medic when they only show up for a day or two every three rotations."

Janeway pursed her lips slightly, her hands folded in front of her on the table as she regarded them with lowered brows. "I've listened to all the reasons why this isn't working," she said in a sort of tone that Seven recognized immediately as her spouse being at the end of her patience with the negativity surrounding the topic. "However, the concept is sound, if faltering in execution. Give me ways that we can make this succeed."

A variety of expressions passed over the faces at the table, primarily dissatisfaction and dismay, but most were also aware that Janeway was not asking a rhetorical question. She expected them to come up with concrete suggestions to make this project a viable one.

"Do not alter the officer's assignment each rotation," Seven ventured, knowing that the awkward pause that followed the captain's demand had to be broken. "If the science section must have representatives from the fighter squadrons every four days, make sure they are the same representatives instead of sending those officers to another department. I want the pilots I've dealt with assigned exclusively to science. That will allow me to make measurable progress with them."

B'Elanna still didn't look happy, but she seemed to find this idea a little more palatable than trying to train the entire fleet in slow increments.

"I agree with Seven," she said grudgingly. "If we have to take on these new officers, at least make them the same ones every time. Y'Nark and Dell do seem to have some talent for warp core mechanics. Jenkins and Salter aren't too bad in quantum physics."

"I think that can be arranged," Janeway said. "Tom?"

Lt. Paris, who had been listening to the lack of appreciation for his officers with a somber face, nodded. "That would actually be easier when it comes to making a schedule," he said, a certain relief edging his tone. "Besides, this is really disturbing their concentration, Captain. They don't know what's expected of them in each department, and I can't tell them, because I don't know, myself. We've had more 'fatal' crashes in the holodeck this past week than in all the previous weeks combined." He shook his head. "That's not good for them. They start knowing on a gut level that the simulations aren't real."

B'Elanna stared at him. "They aren't."

Tom waved off the comment. "I know, but until now, they've treated them as real. Lately, there's been a certain sort of casualness they're displaying that I just don't like. Too many are sticking with the fighter as it goes down, trying to bring it back under control until it's too late to bail out."

"Take off the safeties."

Ro Laren's larconic tone sliced through the discussion like a Borg cutting edge through cable. Seven lifted an eyebrow, noting how the others in the room, most notably in the captain, stared at the security chief.

"I'm not sure I like that idea." A touch of sharpness edged Janeway's voice.

"Captain, if these pilots were on a space station, they wouldn't be training in a holodeck, they'd be flying actual patrols day after day, in real space conditions," Ro said reasonably. "A crash on a training run holds the same danger as a crash under combat conditions. A holodeck just can't match that, no matter how 'real' you make it seem. They don't care if they're 'killed' because there's no harm done. Program it so that they can actually break a bone, or bloody their nose, and they'll start paying more attention. It certainly works in security."

Seven knew that the security chief had a certain freedom that other officers of the ship didn't, just as the Chief Medical Officer did. She just had not known that taking the safeties off the holodeck without the captain's authorization was one of those allowances.

"Commander Ro's right, Captain," Paris said. "I was actually going to ask if you'd grant permission for me to take the safeties off, to make their training runs in the holodeck as realistic as possible."

"I don't know that I'd like subjecting those officers to that amount of danger," Janeway said, a tiny furrow appearing between her eyebrows. "You're making it possible for someone to die. These are only kids we're talking about."

"They'd be facing that danger if they were flying patrols out of a space station," Commander Zar said, glancing at the captain. "I think it's a good idea. Granted, it's damned hard to explain if someone manages to actually get themselves killed on the holodeck ... but it's just as hard to explain a fatality in a standard training patrol. As long as everyone's clear on the potential danger they're facing, I believe it would be useful."

Janeway regarded him for a few seconds. It didn't matter that the first officer, the chief of security and the wing commander all agreed on this, it would be her decision to make. She simply didn't like the idea. Seven recognized the captain's instinctual need to protect her crew, particularly the younger members, was warring with the knowledge that each of her officers had good reasons to support their arguments.

"I need time to consider that request," Janeway said finally. "I'll let you know by the end of the day."

"Aye, Captain." Paris seemed content to leave it at that for the moment.

Seven glanced over at Lt. Nog and Ensign Tarn who had been sitting in silence for the entire meeting, as if afraid to speak. She tried to remember how she had felt in her first staff meetings all those years ago, though in her case, she had never had any trouble speaking ... primarily because she was completely secure in her own knowledge, and somewhat contemptuous of everyone else's opinion. It was only in later years, in learning to temper her cold facts with allowances for the emotions of others, that she had become quiet, speaking only when required. She did not believe the junior officers were silent because of self assurance, however.

During a lull in the discussion, she pinned her gaze on Lt. Nog.

"Mr. Nog, you are of this generation of officers. What is your opinion regarding this concept of 'floaters'?"

The more experienced officers blinked, taken aback, though B'Elanna and Janeway produced brief smiles, both quite familiar with Seven's heavy handed method of carrying out an agenda. Nog, on the other hand, looked absolutely dumbstruck, and began to stammer.

"Uh, I think it's probably a good idea."

Janeway lifted her head, her expression softening. "I think what our science officer is trying to determine is what are the pilots feeling in all this. Certainly, we've heard from the section chiefs on it, but there are two parties involved. I may have forgotten that for a moment."

"I'm not involved in the project, Captain," Nog said, a touch of desperation in his tone.

"You've flown with them," Paris interjected. "If you weren't already assigned to the helm, you'd be in the same boat."

"You have my permission to speak freely, Lieutenant," Janeway added. "I'm not asking for any confidences to be broken. I would simply like to know how you would feel in their shoes. You, too, Ensign Tarn."

Nog and Tarn exchanged glances, and then Tarn seemed to gather up her courage.

"Overwhelmed," she said. "I know what's expected of me in Ops. I trained for it at the Academy, but even so, it can sometimes be ... more than I can always handle. To be abruptly taken from that duty and given additional assignments, say in security or science, which has a specialized training that I've never experienced, nor had any interest in pursuing, then I would start feeling lost very quickly."

"I might even grow resentful, Captain," Nog admitted, seeming to gain confidence from hearing the young woman. "I'd want a transfer out of the 'fleet as soon as possible, and into a department where my duties were clear."

"I believe that clarity is the key here, Captain," Kes remarked, the counselor's hands folded neatly on the table. Though her department was technically attached to sickbay, the counselor held a unique position on the ship and attended all staff meetings with Dr. Pulaski. "Not only for the pilots, but for the department chiefs as well. They need to have their duties and responsibilities clearly defined, and that will make it easier for them to accept both the necessity and challenge of the new scheduling."

Janeway slowly nodded. "All right, I'm beginning to see that perhaps we didn't set this up as well as we should have."

"That's my fault, Captain," Zar said immediately.

Janeway shot him a smile. "Actually, I was the one who gave the order to put this in place immediately without acknowledging all the consequences," she corrected him, not allowing the first officer to absolve her of the command decision. "Having an auxiliary 'fleet on the vessel is definitely a learning experience ... for all of us."

"There was no way of knowing the difficulties until we made the attempt." Zar leaned back in his chair. "It sounds fairly simple; absorb a few more bodies into various departments, give them tasks and keep them busy. In reality, it's allowed all of us to start appreciating the trained people we have, and realize how important it is for crewmembers to want to be where they are."

"Can we fix this, or do we start from scratch?" B'Elanna asked.

"I believe it can be rectified," Seven said. "Rather than assign the pilots to departments at random, work with each individual to determine where they are best suited."

"What if they all want to work in the science section?" Nog blurted, and then flushed, as if regretful for having spoken the thought out loud. Seven did not know why. It would be the preferable assignment for any truly intelligent officer.

"Then I will adapt to having eighteen extra officers in my section, distributed as necessary through the various departments. Since it would be a permanent assignment, it would be much easier for me to train and utilize them."

"The same with engineering," B'Elanna added. "If I know who I have and when I will have them, then I can train them myself, at least enough to monitor a plasma flow regulator."

"All right," Janeway agreed. "Talk with your people, Tom. Get their preferences for which extra assignment they'd prefer. Make it clear, however, that they will be expected to actually learn a role within that department, not just consider it a make-work assignment."

"I think they'll be happy with that. Or if not happy, then at least, a little more secure in what is expected of them."

Janeway exhaled and leaned back in her chair. "Now that internal ship matters are settled, can we return to our main mission?"

"We will be passing by a star system within the next week," Seven said, referencing her padd. "It is apparently uninhabited, but long range sensors have detected ruins of a previous civilization that xenometrics finds particularly 'intriguing'. They wish to send an away team to take further, more extensive readings. Meanwhile, a nebula four light-years away appears to be emitting an unusual radiation spectrum. Astrometrics wishes a closer look."

Janeway tilted her head. "I think we can allow a week or two for that," she said. She glanced at her helmsman. "Mr. Nog, plot a course to the star system in question. We'll begin preparation for simultaneous away missions."

"Aye, Captain."

The captain smiled, and Seven felt a certain pleasure resonate through her at the glint in her partner's eyes. Janeway was happiest when they could concentrate on the purpose for actually being in the Delta Quadrant, rather than the routine details of running the ship. Seven was content that she could be part of the process that provided the captain with such satisfaction.

Settling in the chair in his office, Zar began to skim the personnel reports. It wasn't possible to know each and every person in the crew on a personal level, but he could hopefully pick out any trouble spots. After the staff meeting the day before, the captain had asked him to keep a particular eye out for any individual that held the potential for ... as she put it ... 'falling through the cracks'. It was something that she seemed greatly determined not to have happen, even though he knew on a vessel this large, it was a lot more possible than perhaps she wanted to realize.

Still, her order was clear, and Zar also agreed that he didn't want to see promising personnel fail simply when a small amount of personal attention from a senior officer could have made all the difference in the world. He was also pursuing a similar line in the civilian records. Those he would pass on for Lenara Kahn's attention, though it was less likely to happen there. Civilians tended to come on board a starship with families, or a great deal of seniority. It was a different sort of support system for them. It was usually the individual Starfleet officer that ran into trouble, particularly when first starting out, away from all connection to family and friends, usually while on a first or second tour of duty. Being on a starship was different from any other type of position in Starfleet. There was an odd sort of isolation, along with the constant knowledge of being within the restricted limits of an artificial environment, surrounded by nothing but vacuum that could kill instantly. It made an officer quite aware of how fragile life support could really be. For a ship like Millennium, which possessed all the elements of a traditional starship, there was the added and disconcerting reality of being outside the friendly confines of Federation space, of being the only Starfleet vessel within tens of thousands of light-years, without support or backup from the rest of their organization.

As a result of the additional burdens placed on the crew, the requirements for being posted here were higher than average. No winnowing procedure was perfect, however, and with the lack of qualified people serving in Starfleet at the moment, it was more than possible that some might have slipped through who would find being on the starship too much to handle. The Millennium could always return to the Alpha Quadrant, of course, but it would require extreme circumstances for Janeway to give the order to abort the mission. One person becoming homesick certainly wouldn't do it, so it was up to officers like Commander Zar to ferret out any potential problems, and deal with them before they became difficult, or worse, an actual tragedy.

Fortunately, Millennium was well equipped for this sort of thing. They had a fully qualified ship's counselor, as well as a chief medical officer who held a degree in psychology, both of whom would look for such signs during routine examinations as part of their duties. Senior officers were also trained to look out for the unusual in the people that served under them. In structure, the ship boasted several holodecks, lounges and recreational areas for the crew's comfort, the designers aware that the standard tour of duty for the Frontier-class vessels would be longer than most. In addition, there were three sections of 'green space' in the central decks of the ship, to provide a sense of 'outdoors' that the holodeck wasn't quite capable of.

For Zar, it was simply a matter of running the personnel files through a program designed to detect certain key phrases, and to make a list of names based on certain probabilities. From there, he could take a closer look at their files and figure out if there was reason to pursue it beyond that. It wasn't a full-proof approach, but it would give him a starting point.

As the computer ran the search pattern, he took the brief opportunity to relax and perform some meditation techniques to clear his mind of extraneous thought, allowing him to focus better on his task. However, as they often did in recent weeks, despite his best efforts to bury the feelings, he found his thoughts drifting to the ship's science officer. It didn't help that Seven had become a regular visitor to the Nexus, accompanied by a group which consisted primarily of scientists and other acquaintances of the Borg, like Ro Laren, B'Elanna Torres, and Dr. Lewis. Zar had initially been surprised to see Lt. Hansen in that type of social setting, but wasted little time in becoming an active participant in those gatherings, overtly to become more approachable to the other officers like Ro and Torres, but in reality, to be able to enjoy the Borg's presence. Such outings were becoming the most stimulating and entertaining evenings of his life, and when Seven actually relaxed enough to offer her brilliant smile, Zar's chest filled with so much emotion, he thought his heart would break. He found it impossible to tear himself away, and he took every opportunity he had to see her, be it social or professional, no matter how hopeless his feelings were.

If he could never be her lover, he decided, then being her friend was something he deemed worthy of the effort. That his secret dreams were filled with erotic visions involving her, that his waking moments dwelled on the more idealistic remembrances of how she walked, how she talked, how blue her eyes were, was simply something he would have to get over. Loving her was a delicious hurt. If only he had met her before the captain had...

A beep from the computer indicated the search parameters had provided a list of probable individuals. It interrupted his futile fantasies, and he shook himself mentally. He knew it was past time to give up on his hopeless feelings for Seven, but sometimes the heart simply refused to listen to the mind.

Inhaling deeply, he brought up the list and studied it, trying to match the names with the faces, and wondering if he had any previous contact with the individuals tagged. One name surprised him, since the individual was the last person he would have assumed would show up on this list. This person was not a loner, nor someone who displayed anti-social traits. In fact, the reverse was true. The young man always showed up in the middle of whatever was going on for as long as Zar had known him.

Frowning, Zar began to delve into the file a little closer, wondering what it was that had triggered the computer to pull this particular name. As he did, he realized how little information was available, and when he finally realized why, he was absolutely horrified. What it implied was more than just discovering someone was not whom he had thought he was. It was the implication that both security and his own attention to duty had been inexcusably lax, that he had accepted things at face value as many did, and never went beyond that.

Of course, there was a certain amount of deception within the computer records themselves. Depending on who called up the record, they would find the individual listed either as a civilian or a Starfleet crewman. Because Zar had searched both rosters, the name had come up twice, which had been odd enough for the computer to take note, even though everything else, as far as the computer was concerned, was all right.

Zar reached for his comm badge, hesitating at the last moment. The captain was enjoying her off day, and furthermore, she was sharing it with her spouse, who had also arranged to take the time away from her regular duties. He was familiar enough with the ship's duty roster by this time to know how rare that was, and though he wished he was the one that Seven wanted to be with, rather than Janeway, he would never presume to interrupt their time together under normal circumstances.

Yet this couldn't wait. It was far too important to the security of the ship, and if he delayed in telling the captain, he suspected she would not be pleased. He could only hope that whatever the women were involved with, it wasn't anything too ... personal.

"Computer, locate Captain Janeway."

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters," the computer responded.

Zar winced. "Is she alone?"

"Lt. Annika Hansen is also present in the captain's quarters."

Zar said a nasty Bajoran word for which there was no Federation standard translation. However, there was no getting around what he had to do, and picking up a padd, he composed a brief report about what he had found, what he suspected had happened, and his suggestions for a course of action. Then he rose from his chair, closed his tunic which he had loosened as he carried out the search, and left his office. The turbolift carried him down to deck three, and he passed the door of his quarters as he headed to the captain's cabin at the end of the corridor. Hesitantly, Zar touched the door controls, requesting admittance. There was a pause, and finally, a response came over his comm badge.

"Yes?" Janeway's tone was less than welcoming, but not as foreboding as he had expected.

"I am truly sorry to disturb you on your off day, Captain. However, I've discovered something that you really need to know. It's ... rather urgent and isn't really the sort of thing I can explain over a communication channel."

There was a pause, as if Janeway was considering it carefully.

"Very well." Her tone was now resigned. "Come in. We're in the arboretum. That's the door to your immediate right."

Obediently, Zar accessed the entrance, the door sliding open with a subtle hiss, glancing around briefly to get his bearings. He had been here once before for dinner, but his state of mind that evening had been such that he had not taken in a lot of the details. Now he noticed the framed pictures that lined the shelves beneath the windows, captured images of family and friends of the captain and her spouse, as well as the various pieces of artwork that were scattered over the tables and desks. Incredibly intricate, Zar realized that many people would have found the tiny sculptures ugly, but he found them charming. He wondered which of the women was the collector, or if they both pursued it as a hobby. The decor in the living area was simple but homey, as well as incredibly neat. The kitchenette to his immediate right wasn't something found in most starship quarters. There was a plate of what looked like sweets of some kind resting on the simulated woodgrain counter.

Despite his desire to make this visit to the captain's quarters ... to Seven's quarters ... as professional as possible, he couldn't resist a glance to his left through the open door into the bedroom, before wishing he hadn't. It was clear that the bed had recently been utilized, the linens tangled and spilling off the mattress onto the floor, a pillow resting forlornly on the carpeted deck. Suddenly uncomfortable, a strange sort of pain stirring in his chest, Zar quickly looked away and searched for the door Janeway had described before he entered. He hadn't realized there was a green area attached to the captain's quarters, and he inhaled deeply as he entered the arboretum, appreciating the fresh scent of grass, trees, and flowers which bloomed in profusion. To his left, large windows looked out at the stars streaking by, distorted by the refraction of the warp bubble surrounding the ship. There was, however, no one immediately in sight, and he frowned as he lifted his head.

"Captain?"

"Over here, Commander," came Janeway's clear voice from the far side of the relatively large space. "Behind the trees."

Zar's boots crunched on smooth, rounded pebbles as he made his way along the path leading past two lush apple trees and around a rock formation that contained a small fountain. There, he faltered as he saw the captain standing by a hot tub, dressed in a fluffy robe, her feet tucked into slippers. The ends of her auburn hair were damp, and she had obviously just vacated the bubbling water. A flush rose to his cheeks as he saw Seven still lounging in the tub, apparently unconcerned about being seen by their visitor in a state of dishabille. She inclined her head slightly, regally, as a monarch would, acknowledging his presence, but not deigning to speak, perhaps because he was not here to see her, but the captain on official business. He couldn't tell if the young woman was completely naked, though he suspected she was, and for a moment, he actually forgot why he had come.

As a member of Starfleet, he was used to a certain co-ed casualness while off duty, particularly in areas of recreation. Certainly, there did not appear to be anything going on that required privacy, but Zar had never expected the couple to be this relaxed with him. He supposed it was an indication of trust, that the captain was displaying her comfort level with him, allowing the first officer to see her in the informal atmosphere of her home. He should have been flattered, but the sight of Seven looking so incredibly soft and appealing as she leaned back against the smooth rim of the tub, her blonde hair piled casually on her head to reveal the elegant line of her neck, condensation from the heated water making her skin glisten with a golden glow, took Zar's very breath away. His knees unsteady, his ability to speak severely curtailed, not to mention any attempt to regulate the steady and constant rhythm of his cardiac system, it was all he could do not to make a complete and total fool of himself.

Janeway regarded him with a puzzled expression. "What's this about, Commander?" she requested. Her blue-grey eyes flickered a bit impatiently as he stood there, his mouth moving, but nothing particularly coherent coming out of it.

He managed to gather his scattered wits, gulping as he tore his eyes away from Seven in order to focus his attention on the captain, holding out the padd meekly.

"Um, it's one of the crew," he said. "Or rather, he's not really one of the crew."

Janeway stared at him, and then at the padd, scanning the report quickly. Her face went through a variety of alterations, obviously having difficulty believing what she was reading before she finally looked up at him with a laser gaze.

"Is this even possible, Commander?" Her voice was equal parts astonishment and annoyance.

"There's no other conclusion to make," Zar said, reluctantly. "The file doesn't belong there."

He very carefully did not look in Seven's direction again, though he was aware that the Borg was regarding them with an intrigued expression, obviously wondering what was happening. Zar clarified it for her.

"We have a stowaway on board."

"How could this happen?"

Janeway tugged fretfully at her hastily replicated uniform as she and the commander strode down the corridor. She was truly regretful to have to interrupt her time with Seven, but not nearly as sorry as the individual in question was going to be once she got her hands on him. She didn't know which upset her more, that someone would presume to do this on her vessel, or the fact that he would choose be discovered on the first off day she had shared with Seven since their mission had begun.

"I'm not sure," Zar replied. "It appears he came on board the day of Millennium's official launch. Since then, he's just been ... well, making himself useful. The civilians think he's a crewman, while the Starfleet personnel think he's a civilian."

"This is unbelievable. How, in this day and age, could someone stow away on a Starfleet vessel? Shouldn't the computer have detected him?"

"On a ship this size, with the percentage of civilian crew, it obviously wasn't as difficult as we might like to think, particularly if he had registered his presence with the computer while the ship was still within the Alpha Quadrant." Zar felt a molten stare come his way and flinched, astonished at how much the captain could pack into a mere glance from those dark and stormy eyes. "In any event, he's here now. The question is, what are we going to do with him?"

"Throw him in the brig," Janeway said instantly.

Zar hesitated at the door to the lounge on deck twelve to allow her to enter first. "I don't think it's that simple." He paused, shooting a look at the green skinned young man behind the bar. "These things rarely are."

That served to calm Janeway down slightly, but she was still furious as she headed for the counter where Paryk was holding court with a group of off duty engineering officers.

"Mr. Paryk, a word with you," she said, her voice so chill, it lowered the ambient temperature in the room. The engineering crewmembers took one look at her and quickly found other places to be. They weren't all from her former command, but clearly those who were had filled in those who weren't on just what it meant when the captain was in the kind of mood she was in .... as well as how prudent it was to be out of her vicinity.

"Yes, Captain," he said, his reddish eyes curious as he glanced back and forth between her and the first officer. He must have read something in their faces because his promptly fell. "You found out."

"Did you really think we wouldn't?" she asked harshly.

"I thought ... I hoped ... it wouldn't be this quickly," he admitted as dismay and shame altered his normally pleasant features. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to come with you."

His obvious contrition dampened her annoyance and outrage. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't someone who suddenly looked younger than she had initially perceived him to be, ashamed as if he had been caught by his mother doing something very personal to himself.

"What were you thinking?" Despite herself, her voice gentled slightly as she slid onto the barstool.

"I wanted to explore the galaxy." He was unable to meet her eyes. "To go where no one else ever had, to be a part of something so grand and wonderful as the Millennium."

Stymied, Janeway shot a look at Zar who seemed equally baffled.

"Why not apply through normal channels?" the first officer finally asked.

"I'm not a scientist or a teacher." Paryk spread out his hands. "I'm certainly not a family member. There were no civilian positions available for anyone with my abilities."

"Which are?" Janeway wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know.

"I'm a bartender," Paryk replied promptly. The captain supposed she should have figured that out for herself. "I worked on Mars at the Starcatcher Bar & Grill. I used to listen to the engineers and crewmen from Utopia Planitia, who came into the bar after their shifts. All they talked about was the ship they were building, the vessel that was going to visit all four quadrants. The more I heard about it, the more fascinated I became until finally I ... I just wanted to see it. I talked to some friends at Utopia who managed to get me on board that last day so I could take the tour. I was part of the group of reporters who covered the unveiling of the plaque."

"You didn't just take the tour, however." Janeway stared at him coldly. "I don't remember seeing you on the bridge, and with all due respect, yours is the sort of face I would remember. You had to have left the group before they reached deck one."

Paryk hung his head. "I honestly didn't mean to stow away, Captain. I wanted ... I slipped away for just a minute to see what else there was on the ship that the tour wasn't going to offer, and before I realized it, the ship had launched ... and well, it was too late to leave."

"The Millennium took several days en route, and then spent four days docked to DS9," Zar said in a arid voice, very much as a Cardassian soldier would possess when trying to intimidate a prisoner. "Not to mention the two days to the launch coordinates escorted by the USS Endeavor. You could have come forward at any time and passage back to Mars easily arranged. Staying with the ship until it transitioned to the Delta Quadrant was deliberate."

Paryk studied the top of the bar. "I didn't want to leave." His voice was very small and quiet. "That first day, I sort of wandered around, until some guy in engineering asked me to help him move some equipment and I just ... I began helping out wherever I could. When they began to redo the crew lounge, I volunteered to assist in the construction." He paused. "After all, I was one of the few people who didn't have any regular duties that required my presence so I was able to fill in a lot."

Janeway fixed him with a baleful eye and he hastily continued. "When the Nexus was finally complete, I ... well, I moved behind the bar. Finally, I had a place on the ship where I actually belonged."

"Where do you live?" Zar wanted to know.

"Crew quarters on deck twenty-two," Paryk dared to glance up. "I'm rooming with three other crewmen. I don't take up much room, honestly, Captain."

Janeway blinked, honestly astonished, and she and Zar exchanged dark glances.

"How did you get yourself registered on the crew roster?"

Paryk inhaled deeply. "I'd rather not say."

"Someone helped you," Janeway guessed, her anger rising once more. "Someone who knew you didn't belong on board this vessel, yet arranged for the computer to overlook your presence as an intruder once we left Federation space."

Miserably, Paryk stood there, shoulders slumped, but he didn't respond to the captain's accusation.

She lifted her head. "You may not realize how serious this is, but the person who helped you probably does. I want the name."

"No, ma'am," he said, in a determined if respectful voice. "I know that you probably have to throw me in the brig, but this was entirely my deal. No one else was involved. I take full responsibility."

She stared at him furiously, and then looked over at Zar. "Contact security. Inform them that we have a breech."

"Commander Ro is going to be most upset." Zar eyed her sardonically.

"She should be. She's head of security. Make it clear that I want the name of whoever added this man's identity to the computer records."

"Captain..." Paryk began, and she froze him with a look.

"I'm sure a few days in the brig will jog your memory." She slipped off the stool and strode briskly from the lounge, hoping to be able to salvage some of her day off with Seven.

"Captain."

She waited for Zar to catch up to her in the corridor outside.

"Captain, would you reconsider?"

Astonished, she stared at her first officer, unable to believe what she had heard.

"What?"

Zar exhaled and looked around at the traffic which was heavier in this part of the ship than in other sections, filled with crewmembers on their way to the lounge. He obviously preferred a more private location in which to present his case. "Can we talk for a moment?" he asked in a reasonable tone. "Discuss this further before any final decisions are made?"

Janeway frowned, annoyed that this was becoming more complicated by the moment, but finally nodded, realizing that it was his job to present other views to her if he felt she was acting imprudently. He motioned her into a nearby room which turned out to be an auxiliary conference room for this level. There were all sorts of similar nooks and crannies in Millennium, spaces for guests to discuss protocol in private, convenient to the lounge, yet not holding the importance of the large diplomatic conference rooms on the upper decks.

The captain found a chair and sat down, her arms crossed over her chest. "Go on," she instructed, in a voice that indicated that she was not particularly ready to hear an opposing view.

"Keeping this man in the brig until we can return to the Alpha Quadrant just doesn't make sense." Zar took a seat across from her. "He's listed in the roster as a bartender. Why not keep him there?"

"Because the Millennium was never assigned a bartender." Janeway's tone was pure ice.

"It wasn't designed with a night club, either, but that's what we ended up with."

Janeway lifted her head. "Damn," she said, suddenly having a very good idea who would have been inspired to add such a job description to the crew roster. It would fit his sense of humor, not to mention his sense of fair play once he had heard Paryk's sob story. Plus, he had just served on a vessel that boasted its own unique bartender. "You think our esteemed wing commander had a hand in this?"

Zar's boney features were shadowed as he dipped his head. "It had occurred to me," he admitted. "It does take a certain amount of departmental authority to be able to add personnel to the computer. Not just anyone can do it, and Mr. Paris is one of the few in a perfect position to do so. If he and Paryk were renovating the lounge together, they might've become friends."

"This is far more serious than I thought." Her expression was grim.

"It doesn't have to be," Zar said, holding up his hands. "Let me check the guy out, make sure his story is true. If it is, then honestly, Millennium won't be harmed by having a bartender on board. It won't be necessary to blow this out of proportion."

"What we have here is a deliberate falsification of records," Janeway said coldly. "That's not the sort of thing we can overlook, even if Paryk does turn out to be nothing more than a bartender." She leaned forward, staring at her first officer intently. "I might also remind you, Commander, there is an equal chance he could turn out to be a fugitive from justice, or a shapeshifter from the Dominion, or someone working for the Romulans, intent on ferreting out Federation secrets on board a prototype vessel. Then it's moved beyond just a foolish if innocent prank on someone's part ... like the still in biometrics ... to full-out treason."

"In that case, we should proceed equally as carefully," Zar said in a rational tone. "Look at it this way, Captain. Throwing people into the brig can do all sorts of bad things to morale, particularly when the person in question is a charming sort of rogue, who is very popular with the crew. If he is only a bartender trying to better himself in a somewhat unorthodox manner, then you'll be shown as a most generous and understanding commanding officer to allow him his dream, one everyone will be glad to go along with. However, if Paryk is not merely a bartender, but something else..."

"Yes?" Janeway prompted, staring at him expectantly.

"Then we lull him into a sense of security while we keep an eye on him. Besides, we have no proof that it's Mr. Paris who 'hired' him for his lounge project, and certainly, Paryk isn't talking. It may be someone else entirely who falsified the records, someone with a lot more to hide, and for more insidious reasons. Taking Paryk into custody would only drive this person further underground."

Janeway was suddenly mindful of a Starfleet cartel known as Section 31, a chill shivering down her spine. She didn't know if Zar was aware of the covert intelligence group, but if this was more than what it appeared on the surface, then her first officer was correct in suggesting they move with a little more circumspection. She studied her exec closely, evaluating how much she had come to trust him in the short time they had known each other, searching her heart and mind, weighing her instincts against her intellectual caution. If this was Chakotay, would she have any hesitation in following his advice? If her chief of security was still Tuvok, would she have complete faith that he would be able to handle this in the best manner possible? Could she offer Zar and Ro the same faith in their abilities that she had their predecessors?

"Very well," she said finally. "You go back and tell Mr. Paryk that you were able to use your considerable charm to calm me down, and convince me that this wasn't as serious as I initially wanted to make it. In the meantime, alert Ro as to the situation, and have her do a complete and thorough investigation. I need to know who altered the computer records regardless of the reason why. Then, I can made a decision on what I'm going to do about it."

"Understood, Captain." Zar hesitated. "You think I'm charming?"

Janeway snorted. "Don't let it go to your head," she said, amused, and somewhat pleased that he had attempted to defuse some of the tension with a joke. She liked a healthy sense of humor in her first officer. God knows, he would need it dealing with her ... just so long as he didn't tease her about her love life.

However, Zar gave no sign that he was even interested in the fact that she and Seven had been relaxing in the hot tub when he had been forced to interrupt them, and Janeway supposed she should be grateful for that. Indeed, he seemed most uncomfortable to find that captain and science officer in what was obviously a less than professional position. She decided that he simply didn't like to see his captain as appearing so Human.

Yet, Human she was, and as she left Zar to return to her quarters, her footsteps quickened, hoping that Seven had not yet lost the mood the couple had so carefully been building before ship's business had intruded on their private time.

A golden illumination flickered about the bedroom, the tiny flames of a multitude of candles casting their glow over the bed which had been remade with silken sheets and replicated rose petals. Seven wasn't sure if she was going a little far with her preparations, but on the other hand, the interruption required a little something special to smooth over it, and return the couple to their initial enjoyment of the day.

Dressed in her crimson robe, Seven felt the silken material slip delicately over her body, sliding over her nipples in a most stimulating way, causing a tingle to radiate through her entire body. Hearing the outer door to their quarters hiss open, she turned to see Janeway appear in the doorway of their bedroom. The captain paused, glancing around the room, and then crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe as a half smile curled up one corner of her mouth.

"What's all this?"

"Preparations." Seven eyed her provocatively.  "I did not wish you to lose the 'mood'."

Janeway's smiled widened, and she tilted her head appreciatively.  "I doubt that would be possible after seeing you." Her voice turned husky. "You are absolutely beautiful, my love."

Seven lifted a brow, pleased. Though her partner was still dressed in her uniform, she assessed her with analytical thoroughness in return. "So are you."

Janeway shook her head. "Sweet-talker."

"No," Seven said, moving closer to her partner until she was a mere breath away, though she didn't touch her. It was enough for the women to feel the heat radiating off each other. "I was not being facetious." She paused, her face close to her spouse, struggling to find the words. "You are so appealing to me in your uniform, so powerful and authoritative. Yet I am always aware of how vulnerable you are beneath it, how privileged I am to be granted access to a part of you that you share with no one else. The sight of you in your uniform only enhances that feeling."

Eyes shading to blue, Janeway lifted her face. "Ah, so you really do like how I look in my captain's pips."

"Very much." Seven's voice was a mere whisper.

Janeway leaned into her, lips seeking and finding the Borg's as they kissed, a slow, languid, melting kiss of pure devotion. Then another, deeper, slower, yet hotter, passion rising. Seven's arms came up to enfold the captain in a tender embrace, holding her body tightly to her own. There was no need to hurry, no need to rush, just a quiet intimacy of having complete faith in their love for each other.

"Hmm, I rather like you in this robe," Janeway said throatily as they finally parted, looking down to evaluate the cleavage Seven displayed. Her hands slipped over the Borg's back, warm through the silk material.

"As much as the black one I once possessed?" Seven asked, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. She began to undress the captain, unfastening the black and slate-grey tunic, pushing it off over her shoulders.

Janeway laughed low in her chest. "The one that absolutely failed at concealing your more appealing physical attributes?" She obviously enjoyed the memory. "I'm not sure. This one covers more, but it teases, whereas the other was more blatant."

"It does provoke differing emotions in you," Seven allowed, helping her partner off with her sweater, catching a couple of pips before they could fall to the floor. She retrieved the other pair from the collar and placed all four, along with the comm badge, on the night stand.

"Arousal?" Janeway stepped out of her boots and trousers, tossing them casually to the corner of the room.

"Yes. However, you have never attempted to forcibly remove this garment as you did with the black one."

"That's because I ended up ripping the black one to shreds, which is why you don't have it anymore," Janeway said reasonably as she tugged at the tie holding Seven's robe closed. Once it was open, she slipped her arms inside it, circling the young woman's waist and molding her naked form to Seven who inhaled sharply at the delicious sensation. "I certainly don't want you to lose this robe in the same fashion."

"You have been restraining yourself all this time?" Seven loved how Janeway's curves pressed into her own, basking in her warmth and soft skin.

"Every millisecond." Janeway was exaggerating, Seven suspected, though it was a flattering assessment of how she looked while wearing the robe. "You're so incredibly appealing in it that it's all I can do not to pull you into bed the instant you put it on."

"That must make the mornings particularly difficult whenever I make breakfast wearing it." Seven nibbled along the captain's jaw.

"You have no idea." Janeway's head went back as the Borg suckled at her throat.

Seven smiled and nudged her partner over to the bed. It was unhurried, a slow dance of sensuality as they kissed once more, their caresses becoming more sultry, less constrained, with Janeway somehow removing the Borg's robe without Seven actually being aware of it. The sheets welcomed them, sliding smooth over their bodies as they rolled languidly over the mattress, touching and stroking with an easy rhythm that grew more ardent with each passing moment until finally it was less romance and more sweat and tears and cries of pleasure along with shudders that could not be resisted.

Afterward, they lay in the tangled sheets, with Seven carefully picking away the rose petals sticking to the captain's skin, discarding them onto the floor where she intended to clean them up later. Janeway regarded her with mingled tenderness and amusement.

"It must be like making love on the beach," she noted wryly. "More romantic in theory than in actuality."

Seven lifted a brow as she retrieved a petal from a particularly sensitive crevice, wondering how it had managed to work its way into there. "I believe you are correct."

"Thank you for this day, darling. I'm sorry I had to interrupt it."

"You are the captain," Seven said, knowing that was explanation enough. She hesitated. "What did you decide about the 'stowaway'?"

Janeway inhaled slowly. "I'm allowing Zar to handle it."

Seven stared at her, aware that it wasn't the whole truth and the captain sighed.

"I can't tell you anymore than that. Please don't ask me, love. Don't pursue it on any other level, either."

"Very well," Seven said, recognizing that Janeway couldn't talk about it for some reason, and accepting that it was something regarding the ship that she simply didn't need to know at this time. She and her partner had reached enough of an understanding in their professional lives that she had complete faith that Janeway would not keep anything relevant from her, particularly if either of them were directly involved. She was content to let it go. It was her duty as Janeway's crewmember, as well as her spouse.

Janeway smiled, reaching up to cup Seven's cheek in her palm. "I adore you."

The Borg leaned down and kissed her sweetly, the captain's lower lip between her own, touching it gently with the tip of her tongue. Sometimes she needed to display her love non-verbally because, often, she found words inadequate to convey the depth of her emotion. Janeway seemed to understand, because her face was soft and vulnerable when they parted, eyes glistening slightly in the lowered illumination.

"Remember when I once told you that the 'honeymoon' for our marriage was over?"

Seven, who had an eidetic memory, nodded. "I do."

Janeway drew her fingertips along the Borg's cheek. "I was wrong," she huskily. "That, or we've just begun another stage in our marriage, one that's even better than the previous stages."

Seven smiled. "I believe our life outside these quarters is conducive to our personal interaction. We are both fulfilled in our duty, and in our positions, Kathryn. That supplements our personal time together in a way that, perhaps, we do not recognize consciously."

"Are you fulfilled, darling?" Janeway asked, a touch of wistfulness in her voice.

"Very much so. Furthermore, I know you are finally happy, commanding a ship of science. That enhances my own well being."

Janeway smiled. "It might not last, you know ... this contentment."

Seven nodded thoughtfully. "It is inevitable that we shall encounter further challenges that impact on our personal lives. However, that knowledge only means that we must cherish the time we do have when everything seems perfect."

Leaning forward to kiss her nose lightly, Janeway hugged her. "You're a very wise woman, Annika."

"I must be," Seven responded evenly. "I married you."

A startled laugh, though a pleased one, issued from the captain. "I could debate the wisdom of that, but I'm glad you think so."

Seven settled closer to her spouse, delighting in the warm skin pressed against her own, putting her head next to the captain's on the pillow, nestling against her neck. Janeway tilted her head so that her cheek was resting on the top of Seven's hair, her arm slipping around the young woman's shoulders to pull her close. They were silent for a while, a comfortable pause of companionship and love, both appreciating the moment. It was rare that they had the time to truly be together, and Seven acknowledged again how important it was to arrange these mutual off days. They made love when they could, but it wasn't the same as being able to spend time immersing themselves in each other, leaving the rest of the universe behind.

"So, are you up for that dinner at the Nexus I promised you?"

"That would be acceptable," Seven paused. "However, it requires us to rise from bed, shower, dress and go out. Is that what you really wish to do?"

"I have to admit, I'm a little curious to see how the crew will react to seeing us as a couple as opposed to just our positions on the ship," Janeway admitted slowly. She dipped her head to catch Seven's gaze. "Perhaps it's not a good idea."

"Then we should find out now. If it does not discomfort the crew unduly, we will increase our future outings together." She leaned closer and kissed her spouse. "In any event, I would like to see you participate in more social excursions, Kathryn."

Janeway blinked, surprised. "You would?"

Seven nodded gravely. "You require recreational time as much as anyone on the vessel. Certainly, the crew would benefit from the knowledge you are that 'Human'. Indeed, it may be even more important for you to make such a display on Millennium, since so few in the crew will have a chance to know you on a personal level."

Janeway considered that. "I guess I hadn't thought of it that way. Heaven knows, there have been things going on with the ship that I'm the last to find out. That certainly isn't a good trend for me." She dipped her head. "Shall we?"

Seven exhaled, a little regretful at leaving this cozy nest, but looking forward to taking Janeway out onto the dance floor in the lounge. They had never attempted to dance together in the manner that the crew did in the Nexus, where the music was fast and loud rather than slow and romantic. She wasn't even sure the captain knew how to dance in that manner.

An hour later, she discovered that not only did Janeway know all the steps, she performed them with enthusiasm and no little skill. Seven wondered when the captain had a chance to learn such dance techniques. Furthermore, her partner's endurance was apparently capable of keeping up to the rest of the participants, including those new Academy graduates half her age whom Seven often noticed were staring at the captain in absolute amazement. Janeway laughed when her spouse shared her observations while they were taking a breather at the bar.

"I learned all those moves when I was fifteen and in high school. Always remember, darling, popular culture has a circular nature. What belonged to one generation tends to recur in future generations of young people." She paused and took a long swallow from her glass of lemonade, the sides frosted. "Which only means I've been around long enough to see the turnover. I guess I am old."

"Not at all." Seven frowned at the self-deprecating tone. She hated to hear her partner criticized ... even when it was Janeway doing the criticizing. The captain detected her disgruntlement and leaned over, kissing her lightly on the mouth, mollifying Seven, and undoubtedly shocking the surrounding crewmembers who had been unaware the captain and chief science officer were even involved. Seven paid the varying expressions no mind, touched as always by Janeway's public display of affection, which occurred only rarely.

"Captain."

Both Janeway and Seven turned to the counter as Paryk leaned across it. The bartender offered the captain a white rose.

"Thank you for your compassion," he said, bestowing a charming smile upon Janeway. Seven unconsciously moved closer to her spouse, unsure of what this was about, but detecting a certain wariness in the captain.

However, while Janeway hesitated briefly, she finally accepted the flower and offered a bit of a charming smile in return. "Don't make me regret it, Mr. Paryk." Her tone was one of clear warning.

"I won't," he promised in an earnest tone.

Janeway stared at him a moment, and then dipped her head before she turned back to her spouse, tugging on Seven's hand to lead her back out onto the dance floor. Seven wanted to ask what that had been about, but she realized Janeway would tell her when it was required. For now, the evening was young, the music lively, and the most perfect person in the universe was her partner.

That was more than enough for anyone to be content.

Epilogue

"Did you see how many vessels the mother ship carries?"

The tone was a combination of apprehension and disbelief. Jul Culluh preferred to view it as craven cowardice. However, his second-in-command was the best of a very limited selection. While Burtan wasn't the brightest warrior the Kazon-Nistrim maj had to deal with, he was better than Sanjur, who had met with an unfortunate encounter with Culluh's disrupter after concealing certain information about the arrival of the vessel they were pursuing.

"There was never any intention to confront Janeway directly," he said scathingly, causing Burtan to look away. The younger Kazon knew better than anyone that Culluh's temper occasionally got the better of him, resulting in severe inconvenience for those who disagreed with him, up to and including the ultimate inconvenience of being slain out of hand.

Culluh leaned forward in his throne-like maj chair, linking his hands in front of him and squeezing, almost as if he already had them around the throat of the female he despised. "We must find a weakness and exploit it. Fortunately, I know what Janeway's greatest weakness is."

Burtan knew the words and concepts were those originally put forth by the alien female, Seska, a devious one who had joined with Culluh years ago and produced an heir before dying in an attempt to take the Federation ship, Voyager. Prior to her, Culluh was powerful, but reasonable, a person who understood when and where to chose a battle ground. Now, he was completely irrational, obsessed with this Janeway, who had returned to Kazon space with a larger, more powerful vessel. Burtan feared Culluh's mania would doom them all. Already, their ship was far from the borders of Kazon territory, warping deep into unknown space. Yet Culluh insisted on pursuing the ship, never pulling close enough to be detected by the sensors, but always sticking to the vessel's ion trail.

Sanjur had protested, suggesting that the Federation vessel would have no interest in helping the Kazon-Nistrim, nor would they be able to take such a powerful ship. He voiced the opinion that chasing after this Federation vessel was a waste of time and resources, that it would not help the Kazon against the Trabe. Sanjur's remains currently drifted in the flotsam of their last discharge, space debris that would float forever in the vacuum of the Delta Quadrant.

"Great Maj, how shall we exploit this weakness?" Burtan asked cautiously.

"By waiting for the right opportunity," Culluh said. "When it arises, we shall strike without hesitation."

Burtan wanted to ask how long that would take, if the maj had intentions of chasing this vessel to the end of the quadrant. But he didn't.

He may not like his life all that much, but he did like living. Shutting his mouth tightly, he dipped his head in a respectful bow and backed out of the maj's room, leaving Culluh to contemplate his grandiose schemes of revenge. Burtan just hoped it wouldn't end up destroying them all.

The End

•  This is the fifth installment in the Star Trek: Millennium series.

• It was posted to the net on August 17th, 2001.

Mission Maneuverings
G. L. Dartt

There was a subtle excitement permeating the atmosphere of Millennium, a sense that there was something very special going on. It was always that way when a major away mission was being planned. The fact that two missions, one planetary and one astrometric, were about to commence at the same time, left the Frontier-class vessel abuzz with speculation on which personnel would be assigned to which project. Of course, before that was decided, a preliminary survey mission had to be conducted for both. Who would be chosen for those was currently occupying the attention of the ship's first officer, Zar Tulek.

A tall man, half Bajoran but with an appearance that was primarily Cardassian, Zar was discovering he really liked his new assignment, and he had settled into the exec position like pulling on a comfortable old coat that he had owned for years. Part of that easy adjustment was due to his commanding officer. Captain Janeway was an amazing woman, and he felt privileged to serve with her.

The doors to her ready room slid open, and he entered the large, two-tiered room which comprised the captain's private sanctum. Janeway was seated behind her desk on the lower level, half turned away as she perused a padd. She was aware he was there, of course, since she had granted him admittance, but whatever she was working on obviously took priority for the moment. He quietly took a seat and waited until she had finished, taking the opportunity to observe her purely as a male assessing a female. Rich auburn hair framed classic features, and the neat and compact body held more than a little aesthetic appreciateion for him, despite the fact they were different species. He was keenly aware of the energy that radiated from her, part command authority, part sheer personality. Her eyes were an unusual blue-grey color, shading to fully one or the other depending on her mood. He hadn't worked with her long before he had learned to detect the telltale markers; a dark, stormy grey which denoted anger or aggravation, a brilliant sapphire that indicated enjoyment and excitement, the sort of dull slate whenever she was being evasive.

Fortunately, it seemed her eyes tended more to the blue spectrum than grey for the most part. He wondered occasionally if it was due to her personal life, which seemed much fuller than the average starship captain. There was no question that she was generally a happy captain, and that made for a happy ship.

"Commander," she said finally, turning to face him fully. Her eyes were an even shade, midway between blue and grey, calm, alert, ready for whatever came her way. "What's the status on the away teams?"

"I've already determined the roster for both." He handed her a padd that she studied keenly.

"Hmm, for the astrometrics mission, you have Lt. Nog piloting the Delta Wing, with Dr. Kahn, Lt. Delaney and Dr. Lewis. The planetary mission includes you piloting the Delta Sky, with Ensign Tarn, Dr. Spencer, and ... Seven?"

"You sound surprised, Captain."

Janeway blinked. "I suppose I am. Lt. Wildman is in charge of biometrics. Astrometrics is more Seven's specialty. Why would you assign her to the planetary survey and leave Wildman on the ship?"

"Actually, it was at Lt. Hansen's request, Captain." Zar did not reveal how his day had immediately brightened when the Borg science officer had asked to go on the mission he was commanding. "Lt. Wildman will be overseeing the outfitting of the biometrics module for the subsequent groundside mission. Meanwhile, Lt. Hansen believes the spatial anomaly is ... I believe her word was 'unremarkable'... and the initial scans can easily be dealt with by Dr. Kahn and Lt. Delaney, though Seven intends to lead the follow up mission. In the meantime, she indicated that she enjoys participating in biometric excursions whenever she has the opportunity."

Janeway nodded, glancing back at the padd. "That's true. Any excuse to go groundside. Sometimes, she's worse than Jake used to be."

Zar frowned, confused. "Captain?"

Janeway lifted her head and offered him a small grin. "Jake is ... was ... our dog. We left him on Earth with my mother when we accepted the Millennium."

Zar nodded in understanding, though there was a certain twinge in his chest. Even since he had come on board the new Frontier-class ship, he had been harboring a secret and decidedly intense infatuation for the science officer, who happened to be the captain's spouse. He had no intention of ever pursuing it, of course, but the familiar way the captain spoke of Seven, the easy inclusion of her while commenting on their life together, caused the most unpleasant sensations to occur in the vicinity of his heart.

"Are you sure about Ensign Tarn?" the captain asked, oblivious to his inner turmoil. She was referring to the young operations officer who, until this moment, had not been performing up to expectations.

"It will do her some good. I think all she needs is enough experience to regain her confidence."

"I hope you're right." Janeway did not look convinced, but that was as far as it went. "What about security?"

"We shall, of course, be accompanied by the full complement of officers. However, I left the actual pairings to Commander Ro. She promised to have the names to me by the end of our duty shifts today. Our scheduled departure is for 1300 tomorrow afternoon."

Janeway handed back the padd. "Very good, Commander. While the away teams conduct the initial survey, the rest of us will be preparing the runabout modules for the more extensive follow-up studies. The Raven will be outfitted with the astrometrics module, while the Sparrow will take on the biometric labs." She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. "Is there something wrong, Commander?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, Captain,. I was just wondering at the various ship designations."

Janeway smiled. "The Tornado-class medium shuttles are Tom Paris's baby. He helped in the initial design while on Voyager, and they're all named for the original Delta Flyer. As for the heavy runabouts, the bird names seemed a natural since they're Hawk-class." She paused, and her eyes grew thoughtful. "It was Seven who asked if the alpha runabout could be called the Raven, which was the name of her parent's ship, the vessel where she spent the early part of her childhood. Since that ship will primarily be assigned to the missions the chief science officer would normally command, I authorized it."

The Cardassian was surprised at the revelation, but cherished it as yet another small piece of information about the Borg that he hadn't known. "The other two? The Sparrow and the T'kini?"

"Again, I left them up to the scientists who would normally be commanding the missions to which they'd be assigned. Lt. Wildman and Lt. Lui of biometrics and geometrics respectively, settled on the Sparrow for some reason. T'kini is a result of the vote taken by the xenometrics department. Apparently, it's a Vulcan bird of some kind."

Zar regarded her. "You are remarkably lenient in some areas."

Janeway lifted a brow. "That surprises you?"

He considered it. "I didn't expect it. Not when it comes to ... things like naming shuttles or redecorating the crew lounge."

Janeway pursed her lips. "It may be an offshoot of my time on Voyager. I learned that by making the crew feel that various parts of the ship are theirs to do with as they please, they tend to develop a certain loyalty that perhaps they wouldn't otherwise feel. It grants them a sense of ... well, possession for lack of a better term."

"The vessel becomes more than just a starship, it becomes their home," Zar said, eyeing her keenly. "At a crucial moment, an individual might abandon his workplace, but he will strive to protect his home to the bitter end."

Janeway's expression grew serious. "It's very important that a crew believe in their captain, Zar." Her voice deepened, as it did whenever she was offering him a piece of command advice that he might not have otherwise learned to this point. Frequently, he hadn't. "There will be times when crewmembers will be asked to remain at their posts even while the ship comes apart around them. They will do their duty only if they have complete faith that their commanding officer will save them. The last thought they should have in the event of their death, is a profound surprise that you didn't." She inhaled slowly, her eyes steady. "At the same time, as captain, you have to believe that no one is expendable, that there is no such thing as an acceptable loss."

Zar blinked, opened his mouth to respond, and was stopped by Janeway raising a hand.

"I know," she said ruefully. "What they teach at the Academy is a little different. They tell you that, as captain, you always have to maintain a distance for just that reason, that people will die because of an order you gave. It just doesn't work like that in reality, Zar. You'll lose people, yes, but don't ever accept it. Be infuriated, be saddened, but don't accept the death of a crewmember as being necessary. Life, particularly that of someone who believes in you, should never be that insignificant."

Zar was troubled, but he nodded. "All right," he said slowly. He paused. "However, doesn't that make it difficult if..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"It should be difficult," Janeway said, a touch of bleakness edging her gaze. "It should be the most damned difficult thing there is to being a starship captain. If it isn't, then you have no right to that extra pip."

Looking in her eyes, he saw that she was no stranger to that difficulty ... and that it had grown no easier over the years despite its familiarity. She didn't just consider the people on this ship her crew, she made them a part of her family. He wasn't sure he could be that kind of captain, but there was no doubt in his mind that the taking on of such a burden was part of what made her such a great leader, and why so many officers had fought for this assignment.

"Yes, Captain."

She stared at him, and suddenly relaxed, looking slightly abashed "I realize that went a little off the topic."

He hesitated. "It was important that you impart that lesson to me."

She nodded. "Yes, it was."

"I appreciate it." He paused. "Sometimes, my previous commanding officers seemed ... uncertain that I would pursue a starship command of my own."

That was a nice way of saying that a few of them hadn't believed he could manage to rise that far in Starfleet, so they rarely bothered to offer advice or nuggets of wisdom the way Janeway did. From the way her face altered, he knew she understood what he really meant.

"This may sound odd, Zar, but you don't really choose to be a starship captain, it chooses you," she said, not unkindly. "My father once told me that."

"He was also in Starfleet, wasn't he?"

Pride kindled in her eyes. "An admiral."

Zar wondered what it was like to have that kind of relationship with a father. He had been close to his mother until her death, but he had never known the Cardassian who sired him during the occupation of Bajor, and for obvious reasons, he had never asked for details. However, sometimes he wondered what kind of person he would have been had his father not been a soldier from an invading army.

Perhaps not as lonely, he thought philosophically, and much less determined.

"He must be very proud of your accomplishments."

The gaze grew a little sadder. "I'm afraid he never had the opportunity to see me become captain." Janeway's voice grew a little husky, as Zar wished he had kept his big mouth shut. However, though it was obviously still a bit painful, her father's death must have occurred quite some time ago because in the next moment, she managed a smile. "I think he would have been proud, however."

"I'm sure he would," Zar said lamely, not knowing if it was appropriate, but needing to say something. He gripped his padd tightly. "Is there anything else, Captain?"

She lifted a brow, abruptly seeming amused as if recognizing his discomfort. "No," she said, not unkindly. "Keep me updated on your departure schedule."

"Yes, Captain," he said, and made his escape.

So many hidden depths to his commanding officer, he thought painfully as he exited the ready room onto the bridge. Depths that when he discovered them, made him like and respect her more.

Why did he have to be in love with her spouse? A smile touched Seven of Nine's full lips as she entered her quarters, spotting her partner stretched out on the sofa, sleeping peacefully. Apparently, the captain had wanted to wait up for the young woman who had been working double shifts this rotation in order to prepare for the upcoming missions, both of which heavily involved personnel from her science section. Janeway hadn't quite made it, however, a book resting on her lap, still open to the page she had been reading, while a blanket was draped casually over her legs. Her head had fallen awkwardly against the crook where the arm met the back of the sofa, and in her slumber, she looked years younger, and far less intense than she did while awake.

Seven's heart filled with tenderness as she regarded her, knowing that she could never love anyone as much as she loved this single individual ... this woman who appeared so fragile at times, yet seemed comprised of sheer strength and iron will. Moving quietly, the young woman moved to the living area, bending over the sofa as she carefully eased the book from beneath the captain's fingers. However, she wasn't careful enough, and Janeway stirred, the blue-grey eyes opening, muzzy at first, and then clearing as she realized who had awakened her. She smiled lazily, reaching out to touch Seven's cheek with her fingertips.

"Hello, darling," she murmured. "I've been waiting up for you."

"So I see," Seven noted. "You fell asleep." She slipped her arms beneath the captain, one to support her shoulders, and the other beneath her knees, lifting her up in a strong embrace with only a minimum of effort.

Janeway made a brief sound of protest. "I'm perfectly capable of walking into the bedroom, you know," she said, frowning at the Borg.

Seven paused, eyeing her with slight amusement. "Do you want me to put you down?"

Janeway blinked, and then smiled, slipping her arms around the Borg's neck and snuggling down into her embrace. "Hmm, I wouldn't go that far." Brushing her lips over Seven's neck, she kissed her earlobe. "You're right, I enjoy it when you do this."

"Indeed," Seven said with a certain satisfaction. Appreciating the playful nibbles and kisses, the Borg carried her toward the bedroom. "You did not have to wait up for me, Kathryn."

Janeway nuzzled her cheek. "Yes, I did," she told her huskily.

Seven turned her head and their lips met, a gentle kiss at first, then deeper, more lingering. The Borg actually paused briefly in the doorway, to fully appreciate the oral exchange, before resuming her passage into the bedroom. The couple prolonged the kiss intently as Seven lowered the captain to the bed before easing down on top of her. In a warm embrace, they continued to kiss for several minutes, slow, melting kisses accompanied by caresses that gradually ... surprisingly ... gentled into more of a drowsy togetherness, rather than flaring into the passion they initially expected.

"Damn," Janeway whispered finally, looking up at Seven with a soft vulnerability. There was honest regret in her tone.

The Borg smiled down at her. "I am weary. You are weary. Sleep is naturally the more attractive option for us at the moment."

Janeway chuckled. "Are we getting old, love?"

"I think not. Away missions frequently require much of our energy. With two upcoming, there is twice as much for us to do."

"So there is," Janeway agreed ruefully. She exhaled audibly, almost a sigh, and then patted Seven affectionately on the shoulder. "We might as well get ready for bed."

Mildly amused, Seven rolled off her spouse, and together, they went into the ensuite where they made their preparations for the night, removing their uniforms and replicating fresh ones, placing them on the sink counter for the morning before taking the time for their other ablutions. Back in the bedroom, Seven let down her hair, unpinning the austere bun and allowing the thick, golden mane to spill down her back. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she examined the nails on her toes, noting critically that they would have to be trimmed. A tiny task, but one that was inconvenient. This physical maintenance was a result of her steady progress back to the Humanity she had lost to the Borg. Some of her body's adjustments were the type that she could easily live without. She frowned mightily as she reached for the clippers in her night stand and proceeded to attend to her feet. Janeway, already tucked between the sheets, reached over and put her hand on the small of the Borg's back.

"Darling?"

Seven blinked at the sudden warmth at the base of her spine and looked over. "Kathryn?"

"You seem ... annoyed." The captain's level eyes were shading to grey, not worried necessarily, but clearly focused on the Borg. "Is anything wrong?"

Seven considered the question as the clippers worried at a particularly tough part of the nail on her large toe. "No," she said. "I was merely thinking that becoming more Human has its disadvantages. I am weary after only a week of double shifts. There was a time my endurance and energy reserves were much greater than they are now. On Voyager, for example, I could work for periods of 80 hours or more before requiring regeneration."

Janeway lowered her head back to the pillow, cushioned on her forearm tucked beneath it. Her expression was very thoughtful. "That was before the removal of your abdominal implant. You absorbed your energy directly from the ship. Now, you're more Human than Borg, and subject to the same limitations the rest of us are."

Seven offered her spouse a wry look "I was unaware you acknowledged any physical limitations for yourself."

Janeway grinned, not the least bit embarrassed to accept such implication of her own failings. "I'm the captain. Besides, we're not talking about me." She sobered slightly. "It is just about your being Human now, isn't it, love? You're not experiencing anything out of the ordinary?"

"I am fine," Seven assured her, wishing that the Doctor had never told Janeway that Seven's being assimilated a second time and at such a young age the first time, could result in certain consequences impacting on the young woman's health over the passage of time. It occasionally made the captain more concerned than was necessary. "It is merely ... I was able to accomplish more when I was not subject to Human frailties such as fatigue." She put the clippers back in her night stand, and reclined on the smooth sheets, stretching out her lanky six foot frame beside her spouse. Pulling the blankets up to her chest and bringing down the lights with a brief order, she tilted her head. "It is more efficient to be Borg."

Janeway moved over until she was snug against Seven's side, nestling her head on her lover's shoulder. "Perhaps, but you have to admit, what you've lost physically is more than balanced by what you gain emotionally as a Human."

Seven slid her arm around the captain's torso and pulled her close, kissing Janeway's forehead. "That is true. I have gained far more than I have lost." She paused. "Still, it would be useful at times to be able to remain active for days without requiring sleep."

"It would be equally useful if we could fly," Janeway murmured sleepily. "Or could read minds. We are what we are, darling."

The Borg considered that. "What are we, Kathryn?" Seven was honestly curious as to what the captain's response would be.

A soft sigh was her only reply however, and Seven glanced down to see her partner had drifted off to sleep. Smiling, she rested her cheek against the soft mat of Janeway's hair, and closed her eyes, relaxing against the familiar cushion of her bed, allowing her own weariness to pull her down into comforting darkness.

She woke to Janeway's hands and mouth soft upon her, teasing her awake and drawing her from unconsciousness to growing arousal. She made a sound, surprise and desire combining as she felt the tip of the captain's tongue trace a delicate trail around her left nipple, and she brought her hands up to tangle in the shock of auburn hair, holding Janeway's head to her.

"Kathryn," she whispered, her lips drawing back from her teeth in a pleased smile.

Janeway hummed quietly in response, but didn't interrupt what she was doing, moving over to Seven's other breast, offering it the same loving attention. Seven inhaled deeply, shivering as the sensation rippled through her, tingles radiating from each nipple. The captain's own breasts brushed over her abdomen, the firm points dragging tantalizingly against Seven's skin as Janeway's body flexed and moved in her lovemaking, weight shifting to her knees so that she could bring her hands into play over the Borg's hips and thighs, urging them apart. Seven obeyed quickly, spreading her legs wide and bending her knees as the captain settled between them, tracing a delicate path down her stomach before her warm breath flowed over Seven's intimate region, making her cry out softly in anticipation.

Then there was the tender touch of Janeway's mouth, soft and sweet upon Seven, a long, slow, agonizingly aching stroke of tongue from just below her moist opening to the apex of her triangle. The Borg exhaled in a rush, a groan of demand and delight, and the caress was repeated, another long, lingering lick of passionate precision.

"Oh, Kathryn." Seven could barely think, finding it hard to even breathe with any regularity. It was so easy for her partner to strip away all her defenses, to remove her intellect with just a touch, and leave only the basic Human need and want. She quivered as Janeway altered the stimulation, circling the center of Seven's pleasure, prodding it with the tip of her tongue as if to encourage more sensitivity, then fluttering over it with restrained skill. Seven could feel the captain's palms resting on the inner skin of her thighs, spreading her partner open as far as she could, and when the tongue suddenly speared into her, the young woman bucked and cried out. Janeway did it again, then went back to teasing her nodule, manipulating it with more firmness now, hastening the tempo to increase the sensation.

Seven removed her left hand from the captain's head, feeling her body slip beyond her conscious control. Reaching above her head, she wrapped her fingers around a metallic bar, gripping it tightly as the captain continued her assault on her senses. Janeway's hair was soft around her other hand, slipping between her fingers, and Seven had to force herself not to tug on it encouragingly as joy seared along her nerve endings.

For too long, she remained in this plateau of pleasure, the captain keeping her suspended, before finally, Seven felt one of Janeway's long, elegant fingers enter her, slipping slowly into the heat and moisture, pushing deeply inside until it brushed over that spot within her. Another digit probed at the other orifice, urging it open, then entering with exquisite care so that the Borg felt filled by her partner, completely possessed by her.

Climax did not lift her up so much as it descended upon her, shuddering through her body with the strength of a tidal wave, the young woman unable to resist the overwhelming sensation any longer. Metal squealed in protest as it was twisted out of shape, and from the Borg's mouth, a sound of complete surrender and ecstasy was released, a name that meant everything in this incredible moment of physical pleasure.

"Kathryn!"

Drifting in the languid afterglow, Seven opened her eyes to find her partner had crawled up on top of her, the blue-grey gaze regarding her with fond amusement. The Borg smiled and let go of the metal bar so that she could cup the captain's cheek with her palm, taking care with the mesh.

"Kathryn," she said huskily, completely vulnerable and open in this moment of bliss.

"Darling, Annika," Janeway said, her voice that warm, reverberating trill that sent shivers down Seven's spine. "Did you really think I would let you go off on an away mission without a proper good-bye?"

"I ... had my doubts," Seven admitted, inciting a low laugh from the captain. She lifted her head, finding Janeway's lips, kissing her deeply, tasting her own mild flavor on the older woman's tongue.

Janeway settled comfortably onto the Borg, pressing the entire length of her body against Seven, yet despite the closeness as Seven slid her hands over her spouse in familiar patterns, there was nothing of Janeway's regular response to her touch. She altered the caresses to those of soothing adoration rather than desire. It was almost as if in satisfying her partner, Janeway was satisfied herself, not requiring anything further.

"Kathryn?"

"I'm fine, love," Janeway said between tender kisses. "I just ... want to ... hold you..."

Seven wrapped her arms around the captain and hugged her tightly. She knew Janeway was not entirely comfortable with sending the Borg out on away missions, even after all this time, and perhaps this was her way of dealing with it. In any event, the young woman was glad to indulge her, kissing her back with all the love and devotion she could transmit through her lips.

The computer announced the time, bringing up the lights to indicate morning watch, but neither woman moved or hesitated in their loving exchanges of lips and murmurs, or the slow strokes of their hands over each other. It was finally Seven who had to break the pleasant interlude, drawing back from her partner reluctantly.

"I have duty, Kathryn, as do you."

"I know," Janeway said, smiling briefly, though Seven thought it seemed a bit forced. The captain slipped off of her and sat up on the edge of the bed, the lovely length of her back displaying interesting muscles as she moved. Unable to resist, Seven reached out and drew her fingertips along the defined spine, featherlight on her skin.

"Kathryn, I will be all right." Her voice was soft. "It is only a scientific mission."

"I know," Janeway said, shooting a look over her shoulder. "We've worked this out long ago, darling. Away missions are very much a part of our profession, more so for you on this vessel than for me. I have every confidence in your ability to take care of yourself."

"Yet, you worry," Seven said simply.

Janeway hesitated. "I do," she agreed finally. "I always will. It doesn't change anything. We both have our respective jobs to do."

Seven wanted to pursue it, but she could tell from the way her partner immediately rose from the bed that she did not wish to continue the discussion. Perhaps it was just as well, the Borg thought as she watched Janeway stride easily into the ensuite. Seven could not alleviate the captain's reservations with words, any more than the captain could keep Seven from worrying when Janeway was involved in a situation that took her away from the Borg. For the couple, it was just a matter of doing what they had to do until they were together again. In this instance, it would be the captain with the harder task.

She would have to stay behind and wait. Janeway eyed Seven covertly as the Borg finished her preparations for her mission at her work station where she packed several items into a bag. Despite her brave words, the captain was far from settled with the away mission in her own mind, the apprehension rising like a sickness in her chest. This was the hardest part about being married to another Starfleet officer, particularly one under her command. It had almost tore them apart before they began, and grew no easier no matter how long she and her spouse had been together. She may have learned to hide the greatest part of her trepidation so that Seven, even with all her sensitivity to her partner, could not detect it, but the fear still remained, deep inside the captain, like a black hole eating away at her. It would not stop until Seven was back on the ship, back in her arms, back where she belonged.

The captain glanced down at her mostly uneaten breakfast, and forced herself to pick up her spoon, scooping up some cereal that she ate mechanically. She would have preferred toast and coffee, or nothing at all, but that would have been a clear indication of her unease. A part of her ... the logical, hard part, the captain part ... knew she was being completely irrational, that her fears for her partner were totally unfounded. If there was anyone on the ship who could handle herself in a dangerous situation, it was Seven of Nine. Janeway had been witness to that on more than one occasion, from a prison in an asteroid belt, to an ice field on a remote planet where death walked on all fours. Certainly, if Janeway were accompanying her, she would feel completely safe, knowing that Seven would protect her and keep her from harm.

But that was the problem, of course. She wasn't going with her. She would be staying on Millennium, presenting a command mask to her crew while inside, she grew more agitated and disturbed, knowing that her partner was involved in a potentially hazardous situation, and unable to do a thing about it.

Sometimes, Janeway thought darkly, being a starship captain was the worst thing in the universe.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling?" Janeway lifted her head, hoping that she hadn't been so lost in her bleak musing she had missed part of the conversation.

"I must report to the science lab," Seven said, coming over to take a seat beside the captain, rather than her normal chair across from her. "I may not see you again before I leave."

Janeway nodded soberly. "I know." There would be no chance for any further personal farewells, in any event. Outside their quarters, they were not partners, but captain and crewmember. "Take care."

Seven stared at her, and then leaned forward to kiss her sweetly. "I love you, my Kathryn."

"I love you, too, darling." Janeway forced a smile. "Go on. It's not as if you're going away for a year. It'll only take a few days to finish the preliminary survey."

"Yes," Seven said. "Remember to eat regularly while I am gone."

"I will." Both knew it was a pledge Janeway was unlikely to keep.

Seven smiled faintly at her partner's immediate ... and completely insincere ... promise, then rose from her chair. Picking up the bag, she slung the strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. Janeway restrained herself until the Borg was almost there, the panel actually hissing open for Seven's passage, before she scrambled to her feet.

"Wait!"

Seven paused, turning back, and the captain flew into her arms, clinging to her tightly.

"I know I'm being silly," Janeway muttered into the comfort of her partner's throat, surrendering completely to the warm embrace. "I just can't help it."

"Not at all," Seven said softly as she held her close, nuzzling into her hair. "You feel as I would if our positions were reversed. This is the first mission into unknown territory that either of us has been on since Voyager. The mission to the Ocampa homeworld was brief and uneventful. Preliminary away missions are far more risky."

"Be safe," Janeway whispered, feeling frail and absurd, but desperately needing this moment of weakness in her partner's arms. "Oh, my darling, please ... be safe."

"I will," Seven assured her.

Janeway lifted her head, and they kissed passionately, with all the depth and intensity one kiss could manage before the Borg finally released her spouse. Offering a final smile, she walked briskly away, confidence radiating in every stride, and the captain watched her go, hand on her chest, feeling rather like a character from one of the books she enjoyed, the delicate damsel left behind as her love strode off to battle. She was profoundly embarrassed to discover Zar, whose quarters were also on this deck, was standing near the turbolift at the end of the corridor. The first officer was not looking in the captain's direction, indicating a deep interest in the nearest bulkhead as the Borg joined him, but the very intensity of his regard of the blank wall was quite suspect. Undoubtedly, he had witnessed the melodramatic farewell between the women, and Janeway felt even more foolish, if that were at all possible.

She stepped back from the doorway, allowing it to slide shut, and returned to the dining nook, picking up her bowl of cereal and taking it over to the replicator where she recycled it. Then she moved into the bedroom, finishing her preparations for her duty shift before using the private turbolift access in the living area to go to her ready room.

She spent an hour catching up on her morning paperwork, and trying to avoid her first officer, until she was certain of her composure. When she finally went out to the bridge, she felt back in control, more confident in her ability to conceal her trepidation over her partner. Zar gave no indication he noticed anything out of the ordinary, his actions exactly as they were the day before, natural and competent.

Shortly before 1300 hours, he took his leave of the bridge after some last minute instructions from her, and the captain settled into her command chair, maintaining the role she was expected to fulfill while her crewmembers carried out their missions. The launch from Millennium was smooth, both delta shuttles away without wasting any time, one heading for the inner worlds of the star system near the coordinates where the vessel had taken up station keeping, while the other warped toward the spatial anomaly which was a few light years away. The Millennium would remain where it was, equal distance between the two as it prepared the heavy runabouts for the subsequent week long studies utilizing the science modules.

The captain kept an eye on that task taking place in two of the hangar decks, even as she carried out the regular duties required of her. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly, and she thought she should be a great deal more optimistic about things as the end of her duty shift rolled around. Unfortunately, she was then expected to return to her quarters where Seven wasn't, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

After leaving the bridge, she wandered down to deck twelve, stopping briefly outside the doors of the main lounge which had been redecorated under the aegis of Lt. Paris, resulting in an ambiance very similar to that of a station-side nightclub. She decided she wasn't in the mood for the kind of loud energy the Nexus boasted, and moved on, a vague thought of finding someplace quiet driving her, though she didn't know where that could be. It was almost an accident that she found herself outside the civilian lounge on deck seventeen.

She hadn't been to this part of the ship since before leaving Utopia Planitia, and she entered with some trepidation. If the crew lounge had been transformed so radically, she could only imagine what this lounge, which was left totally up to the civilian population to decorate as they wished, looked like. To her pleased surprise, however, she discovered it was very tasteful and subdued, far more to her liking than the crew lounge. The only new and unusual addition was a grand piano on a dais at the far end, at which an older gentleman quietly played some Chopin. A few of the tables were occupied, but no one offered more than a passing glance at her entrance, despite the fact it was unusual for senior Starfleet officers to visit the civilian areas of the ship, just as it was unusual for the civilian populace to find themselves on the upper decks. Apparently, the attitude was if the captain of the starship wanted to have a quiet drink in their lounge, she was more than welcome.

Unlike the facility five decks up, this was entirely a matter of serving one's self, and the captain programmed in a whiskey and soda in one of the large replicators lining one side of the room. She carried the glass over to a corner table, taking a seat and sipping her drink slowly, allowing the subtle buzz of the synthehol to settle the unpleasant edge of her nerves. The replicated beverage would provide her with all the relaxing benefits of the intoxicant, with none of the unfortunate side effects, including the depressant properties of the original.

"Captain?"

Janeway inhaled slowly. It seemed sheer providence that the only person on the ship whom she could tolerate seeing at the moment was the very person who had suddenly appeared next to her table.

"Kes," she said, lifting her glass. "Join me?"

"Thank you, Captain," the ship's counselor said, taking a seat opposite the captain. A diminutive woman, with shaggy blonde hair framing elven features containing deep blue eyes that seemed too large for her face, the Ocampa was one of the few people on Millennium whom Janeway could truly call a friend. Indeed, she had known the young woman even longer than Seven, having met her in the Delta Quadrant not long after Voyager had been transported there.

"You weren't looking for me, were you?" Janeway asked dryly.

Kes smiled faintly. "Actually, I find this a soothing place to be when things are tense.". She paused. "Is there a reason I should be looking for you?"

Janeway felt as if she had given too much away. "No, I have no need of a ship's counselor."

Kes chuckled. "Even if you did, I would know better than to attempt to approach you in that capacity." The dry tone caused the captain to flush and offer up a rather sheepish smile. The Ocampa tilted her head. "However, I can always be your friend, Captain."

Janeway inhaled. "That's true. You are one of my dearest friends, Kes." She studied her drink contemplatively. "It also occurs to me that considering the role you now play in Starfleet, and after all we've been through together, you're probably entitled to call me Kathryn by now."

Blinking, the young woman stared at her, obviously caught off guard. Of course, Kes wasn't really that young anymore, Janeway noted, feeling a certain surprise that she hadn't noticed it prior to this. The Ocampa were a short lived species, with a life span that lasted only nine years. With all that Kes had experienced in her evolution, it was entirely possible that she would greatly extend that, but at the moment, she looked to be in her late thirties, maybe even in her early forties.

Janeway's age.

The captain shook her head. She knew the woman facing her had only been alive for nine years. It was just one more amazing thing in the multitude she had encountered since joining Starfleet.

"All right ... Kathryn," Kes said, a touch uncertainly. "Thank you."

Janeway shrugged, slightly embarrassed, not for the first time, that her rank made the use of her name such an unusual and awkward thing. On the other hand, it granted the mere utterance of it ... particularly by a certain Borg in the throes of passion ... a certain intimacy and power. She appreciated that aspect in a way that she did not care to examine too closely.

"So why are you so ... was 'tense' the word you used?"

Kes shook her head. "It involves Tom. He and I ... we're embarking on the initial stages of what might become a romantic relationship."

Janeway lifted her chin, surprised. She hadn't seen that one coming, but on the other hand, she hadn't really kept up on her crewmembers during her time on Earth. Kes and Tom had served together on the Enterprise, which had obviously created a bond of some kind. That bond continued to evolve with their new posting to Millennium.

"I see. Second thoughts?"

"Third and fourth," Kes admitted. "I like Tom a great deal, but is it fair to become involved with him when I have no idea what lies ahead ... how long I might live? He says that it's not a concern of his, but it is of mine."

Janeway nodded soberly. "I understand." She was aware that, to a certain extent, such concern also applied to her relationship with Seven. Though the young woman was fifteen years younger than the captain, her assimilation had left deep scars and caused certain damage to her body, though little was visibly apparent on casual inspection. The captain remembered how shocked she felt when the Doctor had passed on that piece of information to the couple not long after they had been married. It was not something either woman dwelt upon, but it did come up occasionally, particularly for Janeway. She took another sip from her drink. "You know what you would tell me, Kes. It's the time you have together, not the time you don't."

Kes smiled. "I suppose you're right."

"Tom's a big boy," Janeway added. "He's not a fool, either. If he says it doesn't bother him, then I'm sure he means it." She paused. "Let me try something Seven is very good at when it comes to me. If your positions were reversed, and it was Tom with the uncertain future, would you disregard the opportunity to love him?"

Kes stared at her. "No, of course not." She smiled suddenly. "You know what's truly ironic, Cap-- Kathryn?"

"What?"

"I believe it was Sek who taught Seven that trick."

Janeway laughed, thinking of the Ocampa's previous holographic incarnation. "The more we learn," she said idly, raising her glass.

"The less we know," Kes finished for her. She tilted her head. "What of you, Kathryn? What led you to this part of the ship."

"The ambiance," the captain said dryly.

"Ah," Kes said, and waited.

Janeway hesitated, then exhaled audibly. "I ... worry about Seven ... when she's away."

Kes nodded. "You didn't on Earth?"

Janeway considered that. "No." She lifted a brow. "Maybe I should have, considering what happened with Section 31, but, no, I didn't. On a starship, however ... it's just very difficult. This is the first potentially hazardous away mission for either of us since leaving Voyager. The last one Seven was on ended up blinding her." She paused, the memory a harsh one, her throat closing as she studied the table top. "She's a formidable individual, a capable Starfleet officer, and an accomplished scientist. I have no reason to be so concerned. Certainly, as captain, I cannot grant her an importance on this vessel beyond that of who she is, regardless of our personal relationship."

"Nonetheless, she's also the person you love," Kes said sympathetically. "No matter how professional you are, Kathryn, that will always take precedence."

"Even as her spouse, I have to grant her more credit than I'm doing."

"I think you are granting her every credit. It's natural to worry about loved ones. It's ... Human. Furthermore, you're educated in the realities of away missions and the life of a Starfleet officer. You can't ignore it." The counselor paused. "However, you can prevent it from controlling you."

"Can I?" Janeway was troubled as she lifted her glass to find it empty. "I'm not so sure."

"I am," Kes said, her gaze steady. "You are a most formidable individual, yourself, Kathryn Janeway. Would Seven have been won by anyone unable to believe in her?"

"I hope not." Despite herself, Janeway smiled.

"I would absolutely hope not." The delta ships were unlike any type of shuttlecraft Zar had encountered before. They were roomier, for one thing, and provided several stations where personnel could do their work. That made it possible to include additional people on an away mission, as well as carry out that mission in greater comfort. The controls for piloting them were a little unusual as well, but were quick and responsive. Zar found the vessel a joy to fly.

Behind him, at Ops, Ensign Tarn worked studiously, her young face serious and intent. Zar knew that this might be the young woman's last shot at fitting into the role she was expected to play on Millennium. The captain was on the verge of requesting that Zar rotate Tarn back to the beta or gamma shift, placing someone else with more experience on the bridge for the more crucial alpha shift. He really didn't want to do that. Tarn had the intelligence, talent and ability to do the job. It was just a matter of getting her to believe in herself. He thought that perhaps the young woman had never really failed before, living with the complete and total confidence of ignorant youth. Her personnel file had revealed someone who came from a highly respected family on a planet with a paradisaical type of ecosystem. Accomplishments came easy, with Tarn succeeding wildly at everything she had ever attempted, including her attendance at Starfleet Academy. Yet, one learned from one's mistakes far more than one's successes, and for some reason, she had managed not to make any significant ones. It had been her many and varied abilities that had carried her so far, of course, but there had also been a tremendous amount of timing and sheer, unadulterated luck involved.

That luck ran out one day in a park in San Francisco when young Tarn made several key errors in judgment. The first consisted of badly misreading a situation and the people involved. The second came in the form of assuming that because she had things completely under control until this point, they would always be under her control. The third... Well, the third came in the form of a redheaded starship captain named Kathryn Janeway. Zar could only imagine where Tarn's sense of confidence ... based on such a faulty perception of her life to that point ... had been after the incident. It wasn't even that the encounter had been so catastrophic in itself. It was simply the power and enlightenment of the lesson taught by a woman who knew how to drive home a message better than anyone Zar had ever met.

Tarn had received that message loud and clear, and it had shaken her to the very core of everything she had ever believed about herself. The first officer thought that if it had come earlier in her life, the girl would have adapted easier. Her momentum to that point carried her through the last few months at the Academy, and allowed her to graduate with honors, but it was on the Millennium that the first serious cracks and chips in her personal foundation began to appear. It was Zar's job to find a way to help her rebuild herself, this time, basing it on something solid and real, rather than on what was primarily illusion.

"Dr. Spencer, how long have you had this interest in alien archaeology?"

The voice was Seven's, and Zar had to force himself not to turn around. She and the other woman were seated near the rear of the cockpit, Seven at the engineering station, Dr. Spencer just behind her at a console where the medical officer covered the science station. As he stared resolutely forward, his eyes pinned to his instruments on the helm, the first officer was hard pressed to shake the image he had witnessed earlier of the science officer and the captain saying their farewells in the door of their quarters. Of course he had known they were married, but that was the first truly unguarded demonstration of their relationship that he had seen to this point, probably because they had been completely unaware they had an audience.

The achingly devoted expression he had seen in Janeway's features, the undeniable adoration with which Seven looked down at her, the sheer aura of love and passion that radiated from them as they stood together in the doorway, embracing tightly... Seeing them in that display of unexpected vulnerability was like a dash of cold water to his senses, forcing him to perceive both women in a completely different manner than he had until that moment.

Seven wasn't just married to someone else, she was in love with that someone to the exclusion of anything and anyone else. The captain simply didn't have a younger, exceptionally beautiful spouse; she was bonded to someone for whom she would give up everything if it was required, including her Starfleet career, her command, her ship. It was almost beyond love, beyond marriage ... it was a unification, a joining of hearts and minds that nothing could sunder. Zar really hadn't understood that before, but after seeing that embrace, it seemed his heart finally, irrevocably, got the message, despite how much it hurt.

"Approaching the outer ionosphere of the planet," Seven announced, interrupting the first officer's train of thought.

Zar inhaled deeply and straightened in his seat. "All hands, prepare for entry into the planetary biosphere."

"Main escort is maintaining formation," Tarn announced. "The other two fighters are peeling off."

Zar sighed. It was important to involve the new fighter squads in missions, including them whenever possible, but it felt excessive to have three fighters shepherding them to the planet. One ship, piloted by Ensign Marcos, would escort them all the way to the surface where it would also land, while the other two would fly patrol in orbit around the planet until the team had landed and set up camp. Once the away mission officially began, they would return to Millennium until it was time to escort the shuttle back. Zar didn't think all this escort was particularly useful, but he supposed it gave the pilots some actual flight time, and that was always important. It also provided the away team with an extra body in the form of Marcos, who would remain on the surface with them.

He turned his attention back to his own helm. The intention was to do several passes over the largest set of ruins which had initially attracted Millennium's attention, mapping the region extensively. Then they would settle on a landing site and set up a base camp for those who would subsequently follow. It wasn't their purpose to study the ruins in any detail ... that would be left to the runabout with the xeno-archaeologists. It was their job to scout the terrain, to determine there were no surprises that the ship's long range sensors had not detected. That was what made preliminary away missions so exciting ... and so dangerous.

Zar supposed he didn't blame Seven for wanting to come along, even though biometrics was not her specialty. A spatial anomaly was studied with instruments from the interior of a vessel. Planetary missions required a scientist to get her hands dirty, to walk around on the actual surface of where she would be working. There was a certain sense of adventure to it that space missions didn't quite match.

The two security officers, seated in the rear of the cockpit, peered out the side windows in fascination as the shuttle descended through the white mist of clouds, revealing the curve of the green and blue planet beneath them. It was M-class, quite Earth-like, and temperate in climate. There were no lingering traces of radiation, and the ruins appeared to be pre-industrial, perhaps an agricultural society. Why the civilization had died out, however, leaving no traces of intelligent life on the planet, remained unknown, and it was hoped that the ruins would reveal the answer to the mystery.

After several passes over the city large enough to have housed up to ten thousand in its heyday, the Delta Sky descended to a clearing located near the center of the ruins, settling onto its landing struts which bit deep into the layer of top soil deposited over a more solid surface beneath. Possibly paving stones of some sort, Zar mused as he shut down the ship's engines. Nearby, the fighter also landed, its cockpit facing in the other direction. For several moments, Seven and Dr. Spencer ran extensive bio-analysis scans, making sure that there were no viral or bacterial agents in the atmosphere or surrounding bio-matter that could prove harmful. Meanwhile, Zar secured the shuttle, and Ensign Tarn contacted the Millennium, updating the ship on their current status. The security officers, Prell and Tannic, were checking their equipment which included type-two compression rifles, their faces somber and impassive.

Zar eyed them briefly, aware that Ro would have assigned very competent officers to such a mission, but still wishing he knew them a little better on a personal level. It would make it easier to gauge how much to trust them in varied situations.

He glanced over at Dr. Spencer. Barely into her thirties, the young woman was the xeno-practitioner on board the ship, the doctor who specialized in the care of alien physiology ... alien meaning anyone not of Terran genealogy ... and who held degrees in Cardassian, Bajoran, Vulcan and Klingon general medicine. Golden brown hair framed her intelligent features, and her dark eyes were focused intently on Seven as the two discussed the readings from their scans. Zar realized abruptly that she was a very attractive woman, and he wondered why he had never noticed it before.

"Commander?"

Zar looked over at Tarn. "Go ahead."

"Millennium requests that there be another update once we begin to set up the base camp, rather than wait until this evening."

Zar blinked, wondering why the captain was being so stringent, and if it had anything to do with the fact her spouse was on the away team. Then he decided that since this was the first preliminary away mission for Millennium, not to mention involving Tarn and Marcos, new Academy graduates, it made sense that Janeway would be a little more 'by the book' than usual.

"Inform them that we will check in at that time, and again prior to night watch."

"Commander, all readings indicate that it is safe to exit the Delta Sky," Seven said.

Zar dipped his head. "Excellent. Contact Mr. Marcos and have him meet us outside. Seven, you and Ensign Tarn are with me. Dr. Spencer, remain behind to monitor our progress."

The first officer noticed the look of dissatisfaction that crossed the doctor's face, but that couldn't be helped. Someone had to stay with the ships in the event that things were not as placid as they seemed. If Janeway was paying particular attention to the regulations on Millennium, she undoubtedly expected him to do the same on the planet's surface. Once the crew was more used to working with each other, more familiar with everyone's quirks and limitations, then certain protocols could be relaxed.

The security officers were the first outside, stepping down onto the spongy turf lightly, weapons at the ready as they fanned out to cover the area. Zar knew such an approach to away missions was partially a leftover from the Dominion War. Starfleet officers were far more aware of their surroundings, and more apt to expect danger, even in the most peaceful of surroundings.

The away team followed, waiting briefly for Marcos to join them, and proceeded across the clearing, phaser in one hand, their tricorder in the other. The air was humid, thick with the scents of vegetation and earth, and a bit warmer than was comfortable for many Humanoid species. Zar found it quite invigorating. Around the clearing, which appeared to be a central plaza of some sort, the remaining structures were covered in vegetation, dotted with blossoms in a variety of colors, offering a plethora of competing fragrances. There were bits of movement, flashes of silver and dark, which the tricorders revealed to be insects and small animals of some sort.

"Mammals, reptiles, typical fauna for this type of planet," Seven said at one point.

Zar glanced over at her. "Anything of particular note?"

"The winged creatures possess a toxin that could prove damaging to certain Humanoid nervous systems under unprotected circumstances." Seven studied her tricorder intently. "However, it is nothing that our standard inoculations cannot resist."

Zar nodded, and they continued to scan the region, moving over to the closest building. This close, they could see it was made of stone fitted together in unique patterns, a hexagon shape rather than square or rectangular. It was repeated in other buildings, and undoubtedly provided a clue as to the type of people the builders were, but further investigation would have to wait.

"There is no indication of any larger predators in the area," Seven added. "However, long range scans do detect animal dens deeper in the city."

"They're probably nocturnal predators," Zar said. "We'll set up a perimeter for the evening."

The first officer fell behind a little, where Tarn and Marcos were walking side by side. They were a little too close, he noted critically, bunched up when they should be covering more ground.

"Spread out," he instructed, and the pair of young officers abruptly put more distance between themselves. "We want full coverage. Are any energy readings detected?"

Tarn looked at him, surprised. "Are you expecting any, Commander?"

He flashed her a tight grin. "We won't know until we check, Ensign. Never assume. Just because it looks primitive, doesn't mean it was."

"Yes, sir," she said, hastily readjusting her tricorder.

There wasn't any form of advanced technology. Zar had already scanned for that, but it didn't hurt to remind the youngsters not to take things at face value. Marcos was also adapting his tricorder to scan within a higher bandwidth. Sometimes, Zar wondered just what the Academy was teaching these kids nowadays.

He conveniently forgot that on his first away mission, he hadn't set his tricorder to scan for anything below a certain size, in the belief that large predators were the primary danger. It was a minor mistake that resulted in a tiny lizard taking a nasty nip out of his knee when he stumbled across its nest. For these officers, how they conducted themselves in alien surroundings wasn't yet second nature to them, each action still having to be consciously considered and implemented. It wasn't surprising that some things were forgotten in the tension and excitement, but that didn't mean they shouldn't feel stupid when it was pointed out to them.

He took another look at the security officers who continued to walk gingerly through the ruins as if they were deep in the heart of enemy territory. In a way, that wasn't much better than how the new officers were handling the away mission, and he drifted over to Prell.

"At ease, Lieutenant, don't fire at anything before you know what it is you're firing at."

"Yes, sir," the Bolian replied shortly.

"Heavy stun only."

"Aye, sir," the security officer said, adjusting the setting on his compression rifle, which had been set at maximum. Zar should have specified the setting before they left the shuttle, he knew, but he had forgotten how quick security officers were on the trigger, particularly after the Dominion War. He wondered how long it would be before Starfleet officers were used to the simple, straightforward, scientific missions again, rather than always expecting an ambush by an unknown enemy.

Of course, it never hurt to be cautious, he reminded himself. One never knew what could happen on an away mission. Or when. Seven inhaled deeply as she stood in the clearing, listening to the sound of insects in the thick foliage, and the sound of the nearby stream rushing from a break in what was once a huge fountain in the center of the plaza. With the preliminary scans complete, it was now time to set up the base camp for the science mission that would spend the next two weeks studying the ruins in closer detail. Zar had chosen the part of the plaza which fronted the largest building, perhaps an administrative structure of some kind. Seven approved of his choice, determining that it was where she would have set up camp had she been in command.

What had made this civilization extinct? she wondered as she surveyed the area. Had the Borg been through here, plucking the inhabitants from their world, leaving too few to successfully propagate the species? It seemed unlikely, considering these ruins appeared pre-industrial. Unless the species had been telepathic, the Borg would find little distinction in such a primitive culture. Nor did Seven have any memories pertaining to this particular world.

Had it been biological, a series of plagues perhaps? If so, there was no longer any indication of it, nor was it the sort that was harmful to the Starfleet officers with their advanced medical protection. A biological agent also didn't explain why there had been no survivors. It was rare that a plague completely wiped out a people ... a civilization, perhaps ... but not an entire species. Of course, without knowing what kind of beings once lived here, it would be hard to say what diseases they would be susceptible to.

Perhaps a solar flare, or meteors raining from the heavens? Yet, there was no indication of that type of catastrophic end. The buildings were damaged of course, but it appeared from visual assessment to be a result of the ravages of time, not an environmental disaster. It was a mystery, and while Seven had not initially been impressed with mysteries after being severed from the Collective, she had developed a fondness for them in later years. Solving them provided such a delightful satisfaction, regardless of what method it took to uncover the secrets ... even if it involved a shortcut. Kathryn had once told her that she was the sort who would read the final chapter of an Agatha Christie novel before ever trying the book. Seven supposed that was significant in some manner, but since she had no idea who this Christie person was, she could not respond to the comment.

"Lieutenant?"

Seven turned her head to regard Marcos who had his arms full of compressed habitat packs. "Ensign?"

"Is there anywhere specific we should set up?" Seven noticed that the ensign had removed his flight jacket, leaving him clad in a tank top that showed off a muscular build. His skin was brown, glistening with sweat in the humid, jungle air, and while the Borg's tastes tended to compact redheads, she had enough life experience to appreciate the fact that to other Humans, he was aesthetically pleasing in both looks and build. Tarn certainly thought so. The young operations officer had difficulty keeping her eyes off him as she worked at the communications array, updating the team's progress with Millennium. Seven noticed that Dr. Spencer and Tannic, who were setting up a sensor grid around the space designated for the camp, also gave Marcos more than a passing glance now and again as the young man walked across the plaza.

"The living habitats should be set up around the perimeter," Seven instructed. "They will surround a central work area."

"Aye, sir," he said, moving off to place the packs in the appropriate areas.

Seven returned to the shuttle where she retrieved more equipment from the rear compartment. The sun was sinking on the horizon, casting long shadows across the ground and the team hoped to be finished before full darkness. Discovering that there was indeed paving stone beneath them, they had used their phaser rifles to burn the debris and top soil away, leaving them with a flat, even surface with which to work.

The water gushing from the broken fountain was pronounced pure enough to drink. Rising from some natural spring set deep within the ground beneath the city, its availability and purity meant the Starfleet officers would not have to carry it in from outside. Certainly, Seven had been on less comfortable away missions, and she decided she was very satisfied with these arrangements. She knew Lt. Wildman, who would be heading up the follow up mission, would also be pleased.

Once the living habitats ... small, one or two person domes that expanded into shape from their initial packages when activated ... had been put in place, two large structures, intended for field labs and a makeshift mess, were set up in the center. Once they had set, Seven immediately moved into the nearest one containing the portable food replicators. She programmed a substantial meal for the rest of the team who had been working hard and were glad to break for the night.

Zar smiled widely at her as he entered the dome and took a seat eagerly at the table she had set up. "If I believed you were willing to do the cooking on a regular basis, I would assign you to all my away missions."

Seven lifted an eyebrow at him, but did not respond to his gentle teasing or compliment, beyond a faint smile. She had grown very used to his sense of humor over the past month or so, encountering it often in the Nexus when she indulged in social interaction with her crewmates. The other officers, however, looked disconcerted and vaguely uneasy as they entered the dome, directed to their chairs by the Borg.

"Something wrong, Ensign?" Zar asked Marcos as the young pilot stared at the pasta put in front of him as if never having seen food before.

"I, uh ... no, sir," he said. "I just thought ... I didn't think we'd be eating this well on an away mission."

"Anytime a person can get away from field rations, they should thank their lucky stars," Tannic said, digging into her spaghetti with relish. "This is fantastic, Lieutenant."

"You have a remarkable touch around a replicator, Lt. Hansen," Dr. Spencer offered in an approving tone.

"I enjoy preparing meals," Seven said, though she was greatly pleased at the response. Cooking was one of her favorite hobbies, and being complimented on it somehow meant far more than any compliments directed at her scientific abilities. Perhaps because her scientific abilities came naturally to her, while she had been forced to learn food preparation through trial and error.

"Isn't KP duty beneath..." Tarn began, and then trailed off, appearing sorry that she had spoken.

Zar eyed her narrowly, though there was some amusement on his boney features.

"You weren't about to say such a task is beneath a chief science officer, were you, Ensign?"

Startled at the thought, Seven regarded the young woman, realizing from her flush that the first officer had guessed correctly. "I do not understand such perception," the Borg said honestly, remembering how the crew of Voyager had sometimes treated Neelix with less respect than he deserved. Certainly, he had found far more appreciation for his skills on board the Enterprise. "Nutrition is crucial for continued survival. Good food, prepared properly, results in heightened morale among those who consume it, yet I am often told that it is considered a 'lesser' task. I do not understand why since few Federation citizens are capable of programing a replicator to take advantage of its full capabilities. Even fewer are able to prepare meals from organic materials."

"It's a subtle prejudice," Zar said. He buttered a roll with every evidence of enjoyment. "Perhaps there is a belief that anyone can learn to cook if they wanted to, yet when you encounter truly unique and well prepared food, you realize what a fallacy that is. It takes incredible skill and talent to accomplish this sort of masterpiece in the middle of a jungle on an away mission."

"Why would anyone learn to cook in this day and age?" Tarn asked hesitantly. She wasn't trying to be snide, Seven realized. The young ensign was honestly confused.

"For many reasons," Seven said, not prepared to share the most important one which involved her spouse. "Sharing food is a very basic Human social interaction. It is one of the first I encountered after leaving the Collective. As a result, I subsequently learned as much as I could about it, since eating, itself, was not a natural behavior pattern for me."

"My mother loves to cook," Marcos piped up. "You should try her souvlaki, Seven."

"I would enjoy that," the Borg remarked politely as she felt a small smile touch the corner of her lips. She had not added that the most intriguing thing about her research into food, its sharing and its preparation, was how it softened the barriers between people, allowing for further understanding and tolerance. She was not unaware of the rumors flying about the lower decks about her, nor was she insensitive to how most new officers reacted while in her presence, particularly when it came to her Borgness. Nothing was as quick at making people more comfortable with her than discovering she did something so natural ... so Human ... as cooking.

Prior to this, Marcos had always referred to her as Lt. Hansen. His voice had been filled with odd inflections indicating fear and trepidation, and he acted very uneasy around her, particularly while working in the astrometrics lab during his shipside rotation. Now, suddenly, he was treating her as a fellow crewmember, respectful of her rank, but no longer frightened by her Borgness. It was all because he had seen her with new eyes, with a new perception. Seven prepared food. His mother prepared food. His mother was not a threat, therefore Seven must not be a threat.

Seven made a note to discuss this with Kathryn to find out if her assessment of the situation was correct.

The rest of the meal heightened the sense of companionship, with the team becoming quite loquacious before it was over. Zar even unbent enough to reveal a little about his background, including what it was like growing up looking as he did in a Federation colony, as well as his adventures at Starfleet Academy. Meanwhile, Dr. Spencer spoke of her childhood in New Hampshire, and Marcos expressed his feelings for Greece, and growing up by the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean. It was a very congenial evening, and when they retired to their respective habitats for the night ... with the exception of the security officers who set up a precautionary watch in addition to the alarm grid ... Seven was quite satisfied that her meal preparation had brought the away team closer together, thus making them a more efficient unit.

However, as she crawled into the Starfleet issued bedding, she found herself missing her partner with an painful intensity. Lying together in the warm darkness, they could discuss Seven's perception of the evening, their conversation sparking new insights and understanding for the younger woman. Alone, Seven's sense of accomplishment lessened, and she curled up in a ball, loneliness a ache in her midsection. She and her spouse had spent few nights apart during their marriage, and of those, even fewer were voluntary. She didn't like having a bed to herself, and she wished that she had some way to contact her partner, for no other reason than to wish her good-night, to tell her that she loved her ... and that she missed her.

She wondered if Janeway was feeling the same. She suspected she was. A certain part of her devoutly hoped she was.

Forcing herself to concentrate on several relaxation techniques the captain had taught her, Seven finally managed to clear her mind enough to drift off, though her dreams were filled with dark scenarios where she was lost and alone, unable to find her spouse, knowing Janeway was just around the corner, just beyond that wall, but never able to reach her. It made for a restless night, and when the first beams of sunlight penetrated the morning haze, slipping into her habitat to fall across her sheets, she was more than eager to roll out of the tangled bedding and start her day. Concentrating on scientific pursuits made it easier to be without her spouse, and she made a note to not volunteer for this type of duty any more, despite how much she enjoyed planetary missions. It occurred to her that she enjoyed the outdoors most when her spouse was there to complain frequently, and at length, about its disadvantages.

Breakfast was a matter of every officer for himself, taking turns at the replicator to program a meal, though Marcos did suggest in his most charming voice that he would be extremely grateful if Seven would program his. At which point, both Tarn and Spencer teased him so unmercifully about being technologically challenged, that he did not repeat the suggestion, and confused, Seven decided not to oblige him. After they had finished eating, and Zar had transmitted a updated status report to Millennium, he, Seven, and Prell took their tricorders to do another reconnaissance of the area, this time to choose the most interesting sites for the science team to examine since they would only have a limited amount of time to do the follow up excavation. Marcos, Tarn, Spencer and Tannic remained at the base camp, cataloguing the samples taken the day before.

Prell took the lead, the Bolian pushing through the foliage as they moved deeper into the city. Swarms of insects danced around their heads, not biting because of the repellent they had prudently put on before leaving the camp, but still making a nuisance of themselves, buzzing around ears and eyes and mouth. Frequently, Seven had to shake her head to dislodge them, to disrupt their pattern in a futile attempt to make them leave. It was a part of nature that she did not appreciate, and she could easily understand why the captain so intensely disliked this aspect of outdoor activities.

They were working their way through a low building, examining the carvings uncovered after Prell had sliced through a particularly stubborn tangle of vines, when they heard sudden explosions and shots coming from the general vicinity of the city plaza. It was unmistakably phaser fire, interspersed with some sort of heavier disrupter blasts.

Startled, Zar and Seven glanced at each other, and then the first officer slapped his comm badge.

"Zar to base camp," he said urgently. "Report."

There was no answer, and Zar looked particularly grim. "The channel's being jammed," he said, drawing out his phaser. "It's some kind of ambush."

Seven also drew her phaser, clipping the tricorder to the fastening on her uniform. The pack in which she had been storing samples was left on the ground, knowing that they had to travel quickly, and that she could easily retrieve it later ... assuming there was a later.

Their response was already too late. She had barely straightened from doing this when a flash of light erupted from the underbrush, catching her high on the chest and slamming her down onto the ground.

Apparently, the ambush had been planned for more than the campsite. Janeway woke in an empty bed, and for a moment, she wasn't sure where she was or what had happened, only that something was missing. When she realized what it was, she put her hand over her eyes and stifled a sigh. It had been a tremendous effort to try to sleep, requiring, in the end, for her to retrieve one of Seven's T-shirts which she put on, positioning herself on the Borg's side of the bed so that she could smell her on the pillow, wrapping her body around it completely. It was a poor substitute, of course, but it was enough to finally allow her to drift off.

You need to be more mature than this, she told herself sternly. It astounded her that as their marriage progressed, the less easily Janeway adapted to their separations. It was almost as if the longer Seven was a part of her life, the more necessary she became to it. Janeway didn't like to think of herself as being so dependent on another person, yet she could not deny that she had grown very used to having the young woman around, not merely as her lover and spouse, but simply at having her presence involved with the every day aspects of life. When that was missing, it was as if a part of Janeway became damaged, like a lack of fresh lubricant in a machine. The captain could still function, but it wasn't nearly as smooth or as easy as when Seven was on the ship, only a comm badge signal away.

She hated not having Seven on board her vessel, Janeway realized. It felt wrong, in a way that she perhaps shouldn't feel considering they were both Starfleet officers. There was no question that Seven was the one way to bypass the captain's defenses. She was Janeway's most profound weakness.

And greatest joy, her little voice prodded her. If you didn't love her so much, you wouldn't miss her so when she's away.

The captain certainly couldn't argue with that, and as she rolled out of her cold, lonely bed, she hoped that her duties would keep her busy enough that she wouldn't remain as conscious of her spouse's absence as she was while in their quarters. A quick shower later, Janeway pulled on her freshly replicated uniform, and then wasted several minutes trying to find her pips ... she had no idea why they went missing so easily without Seven there to keep track of them ... before finally replicating new ones. Out in the living area, there was no breakfast waiting for her, nor fresh brewed coffee filling the air with its intoxicating fragrance. There was no kiss good morning, no one to talk to about her upcoming day, and no one to share with her what was going on in the science section.

You'd better keep that girl very happy, Katie, her little voice told her wryly as the captain programmed some toast and coffee into the replicator. There's no way you could live like this for very long should she decide you're not worth the trouble any more.

Janeway made a face of agreement as she sipped her coffee, choking down her toast, more so because she knew she had to eat than from any kind of appetite. She was relieved to step off the turbolift into her ready room, still carrying her half finished mug of coffee, because on deck one, it wasn't so constantly apparent who wasn't present.

She walked out onto the bridge, discovering that she was a little early for her shift. That didn't prevent her from checking with the comm to see if either of the missions had sent an early update, even though she knew it would still be dark in the part of the planet the away team had set down. However, there had been no new communication, and she made the officer covering Ops promise to inform her the second the morning update came in.

The turbolift door hissed open and the alpha shift filtered out to start their day, relieving the gamma shift who headed off, laughing and chattering, undoubtedly headed to the Nexus for dinner. Janeway, reminded of another concern beyond the current away mission, motioned for Lt. Commander Ro, her tactical officer and acting first officer in Zar's absence, to join her in the ready room.

"Yes, Captain?" Ro said once the two women were inside the confines of Janeway's office.

Janeway took a seat behind her desk, gesturing toward the chair opposite her. Ro hesitated, and then sank down into it, sitting alertly, shoulders square, her dark eyes focused on the captain. The Bajoran was a dynamic woman of barely restrained energy, her every movement effused with a sort of deadly grace. She had been the obvious choice for the position of security chief when Janeway discovered her old friend, Tuvok, had refused the position.

"Paryk," Janeway said shortly, referring to the young man currently working as the ship's resident bartender. It was a role that hadn't existed when Millennium left the Alpha Quadrant. The charming young rogue had stowed away, and it was Ro's job to make sure he was what he said he was: a bartender with a sense of adventure, as opposed to being something a great deal more threatening.

"So far, it's on the up and up," Ro reported. "I've talked with several people who served on or near Mars, and visited the bar he claimed to have worked at. They all remember him. The details he's given of his homeworld are also accurate."

"They would also check out if he was an enemy agent," Janeway said seriously.

Ro nodded, allowing the point. "Yes, they would. It's conceivable that he could have been placed in the bar on Mars to pick up information from the patrons who worked at Utopia Planitia. It's also conceivable that he then would have been instructed by his superiors to stow away on Millennium before it left."

Janeway eyed her narrowly. "But you don't think so."

Ro leaned forward. "No." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "It's too complicated and uncertain, Captain. A Romulan or Breen agent would be more ... subtle. They would have come on board as a civilian engineer or a technician, someone less suspicious, as well as possessing a way to transmit any information they have back to the Alpha Quadrant. A Dominion shapeshifter, meanwhile, would have simply replaced someone who already belonged here, an individual without close ties, taking care to avoid being the center of attention where something might be noticed."

"What about Section 31?" Janeway asked sharply. Her last encounter with the covert Intelligence group still rankled, leaving her with a sense of unfinished business, particularly when it came to Seven of Nine.

"You and I both know if they wanted to infiltrate Millennium's crew, they wouldn't use a civilian bartender," Ro said soberly. "It would be a Starfleet officer with all the necessary clearance and access to sensitive areas. Someone who wouldn't draw any attention at all."

Janeway stared at her, then finally looked away. "Damn," you're right."

"I'll keep my eye on him, but so far, Paryk seems to be exactly who he says he is. He's too clumsy and obvious to be anything else in my professional opinion."

"What about the crewmember who helped him fool the ship's internal security?" Janeway knew that had irritated the Bajoran as much as it had the captain.

Ro exhaled audibly. "It appears Commander Zar's suspicions were correct. There was an addition made to the personnel files not long after we left Utopia Planitia, and not long after the renovations on the Nexus began."

"So you knew about the renovations."

Ro paused, appearing vaguely uncomfortable. "The final decor of the ship's main crew lounge has always been at the discretion of the captain of the ship, not that of Starfleet Administration," she said evasively.

"The discretion of the captain," Janeway repeated. "Who usually knows about it as it is going on."

Ro inhaled deeply. "Do you want me to spy on them for you, Captain?" she asked seriously, not challenging, but honestly needing to understand the ground rules. "Come to you with every little breech in protocol and minor bending of the rules which every crew is subject to? Tell you about the still in biometrics, and the various gambling pools that go around the ship, and the various romantic liaisons that go on between senior and junior officers?"

Janeway considered that. "Of course not. I trust your judgment as my security officer, just I trusted Tuvok to know when not to come to me with certain information. Tampering with personnel files is not a minor infraction, however."

"No, it isn't," Ro said ruefully. "Certainly I was aware that Mr. Paris was fully involved with the alterations going on to the lounge, as were several other ... uh, senior officers. Had I known he would go so far in order to 'hire' a bartender, however, B'Elanna and I would have stopped him."

Janeway pursed her lips. "It was definitely Tom, then."

"I traced it back to him." Ro lifted a brow. "I guess Guinan impressed him a lot during his tour on the Enterprise, and he figured we needed a bartender as well.  He admitted his culpability freely when I asked him."

"But he hasn't admitted it to me," Janeway said coldly.

Ro hesitated. "He will, if that's what's required, Captain. Is it?" She frowned, her gaze dark and intent. "It's a question of how serious this is. At the moment, it isn't. If he comes to you with a full confession, however, then you're going to have to acknowledge it as his commanding officer, rather than have me deal with it unilaterally. Sort of like what happened with Harry and his alien girlfriend back on Voyager. When an officer has to step in officially, putting details on record and having to report the incident to a superior officer, then things can become very complicated very quickly."

"I agree," Janeway said sternly, "but I still want to know what's happening on my ship, Commander. Certain decisions must be mine, regardless of whether they're too small to inform Starfleet about. This one is dangerously close to being a very serious violation."

"I understand," Ro said somberly. "What do you want to do?"

Janeway hesitated. "Advise Mr. Paris that it would be a good idea to refrain from entering the Nexus, or any of the holodecks for the next fifteen days. He can take his meals and recreational periods in his quarters."

Ro blinked, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said, probably as aware as Janeway regarding how much of a punishment that would be, particularly when the ship was at station keeping, and there was little for the regular crew to do while the scientists indulged themselves to the fullest.

"Also inform him that this is the last piece of free advice he will receive from either you or me," Janeway added evenly. "The next time he becomes ... innovative ... in his behavior, it won't be off the record."

"Yes, Captain."

"Dismissed."

Ro rose, but she didn't leave right away. Instead, she lingered as if wanting to say something, and Janeway frowned at her. "Yes, Commander?"

"Uh, B'Elanna and I are going to the Nexus tonight," the Bajoran said awkwardly, obviously not used to issuing such invitations. Undoubtedly, B'Elanna had put her up to it before the women had left their quarters in the morning. "You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

Janeway hesitated, wondering why such an invitation would be proffered, and then realized that the personnel who had served with her on Voyager knew well her mood when Seven was away. Probably, they were going to attempt to head it off at the pass. She appreciated the gesture, even as she bristled at the implication that without her spouse, she was a figure of pity.

Aren't you? her little voice needled.

"Thank you, Commander, but I think I'll enjoy a quiet evening at home," she said with what she hoped was the proper amount of graciousness.

Ro dipped her head. "If you change your mind..."

"I'll meet you there." Janeway dipped her head, indicating that the security chief was really dismissed this time.

The captain stared after Ro long after the door had slid shut behind her, discovering that there was a distinctive pattern forming with her crew, though she wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not. To most of her officers, she was the captain, aloof, distant, the ultimate authority. To those who had served with her on Voyager, however, there was a special warmth there, the sense of family still lingering. She was going to have to decide how she was going to handle it. Certainly, she didn't want to push away her friends, yet at the same time, such familiarity might confuse those officers who did not ... and could not ... know what it had been like in her previous command. There might be jealousies, resentments, and the sense that she was in some way, favoring those officers who had served her longest.

She leaned back in her chair and considered it carefully, wondering if there was anyone she could speak to about it. If she were in the Alpha Quadrant, she would arrange for a friendly dinner with another captain, or Admiral Nechayev, or even her new step-father ... her contemporaries within Starfleet Command. Here in the Delta Quadrant, there was no one with a superior amount of experience who could give her advice ... very much as it had been while on Voyager.

She hesitated as she suddenly realized that assumption was incorrect. There was one person on board who was technically more senior than she, someone lured out of semi-retirement at Janeway's request. Furthermore, this person was in a perfect position within the chain of command to advise the captain, assuming Janeway was willing to take the advice. In fact, the captain would be depriving herself of a viable and valuable resource if she didn't avail herself of that person.

That didn't make it any easier, however.

Janeway exhaled audibly in the quiet of her ready room. Did she really want to go to Pulaski with this? Tarn cowered in the underbrush, wishing she had never left Millennium ... or better yet, had never left the Federation. She could scarcely believe that she had once fantasized about a life of adventure as a Starfleet officer, had always believed that she was the sort of person who could explore and seek out new worlds. No one had told her that those new worlds had such a harsh way of biting back.

She nearly screamed when someone thrashed through the bushes next to her, and her breath was a sob of relief when Marcos abruptly landed next to her.

"You all right?" he asked tersely as he crouched, his dark eyes rimmed with white, peering back in the direction of the camp site. There was a phaser in his hand which waved around aimlessly, lacking a target at which to fire.

"Yes," she said, forcing herself to get a hold on herself. Shame rose as she realized her phaser was still attached to her tunic fastening. She retrieved it, hoping he hadn't noticed. "You?"

"We shouldn't have run," Marcos mumbled, his olive skin growing even darker.

"We were ordered to." Tarn gulped for air as her heart slowly subsided its rampaging pace. A brief memory slipped across her mind, of Lt. Tannic firing at the aliens bursting through the sensor grid, of creating a break in the circle of attackers, yelling at the younger members of the away mission to take advantage of the opening. Then the security officer had fallen, cut down by the blasts of the invaders, though her sacrifice had granted the others enough time to escape.

"We need to hook up with Commander Zar," Marcos said, his chest heaving.

"Where's Alexis?"

Marcos looked suddenly stricken. "They caught her. I looked back and saw her trip. By the time she managed to get to her feet, there were two of them on her."

"Who are these people?" Fear was thick and acid in her throat.

"I don't know. They must have some kind of dampening technology, or our tricorders would have detected them on the planet."

"We need to find some help." Tarn was able to find her courage again, unsure of where it had been until now. Perhaps it was knowing that she wasn't alone, now that Marcos was there, that had allowed its return.

"I'm open to suggestions." Marcos glanced at her sourly.

"We can sneak back to the Delta Sky," Tarn said, thinking out loud and half hoping he would talk her out of it, or had a better plan, possibly one that allowed them to hide until someone came to rescue them. 'The comm system can be boosted, and we can contact the Millennium from there."

Marcos considered it for a long moment. "First, we better determine what's going on. I think if we circle around, we can make it into that building on the ridge, the one that overlooks the plaza. That will give us a place to observe, hopefully without being spotted."

Tarn was struck by a sudden thought. "They might be able to detect our life signs."

Marcos frowned, then hauled out his tricorder. "I'll set up a dampening field."

"Where'd you learn that?" Tarn stared at him.

"The day I was assigned to security," Marcos replied shortly as he worked quickly. "I guess the captain had the right idea, farming us out to other departments. You pick up quite a few tricks when you don't limit yourself to a single area. Ensign P'Nek showed me and T'Shanik while he was giving us the tour of the department. He had just learned it, and for lack of anything else to do, taught us how to fool sensor readings. It's scary how easy it is if you know how."

"Do you think that's what our attackers did?"

Marcos shook his head. "If they did, they're a lot better than a Starfleet security detail. Even though I learned to set up a dampening field, I was also taught that there are several ways to scan through it if you know what you're doing."

"What's to keep these guys from doing that?"

"Nothing," he snapped, suddenly furious. "Would you rather I not try?"

Taken aback by his sudden anger, which she instinctively knew arose from his own fear, she shook her head. "No," she said softly.

There was a pause. "Sorry," he said shortly.

"It's okay."

She kept quiet as he finished the programming on the tricorder.

"There," he said finally. "I've set up a short range dispersion field. It should deflect any sensors aimed at us to the area around us. Fortunately, there are enough bio-signs in the jungle to confuse the readings. We should appear as more low level non-sentient readings."

"Now what?"

"Follow me. We need to keep moving, prevent them from triangulating on us."

The pair began to snake their way through the undergrowth, using the rubble as cover whenever they could. The air was very still, and they could hear the voices of their pursuers carrying over the distance, obviously not concerned about concealment any longer. Tarn wondered if that meant she and Marcos were the only two away team members left unsecured ... or alive.

It felt like days for them to cover the distance though it only took an hour, moving like the prey they were, constantly aware of their surroundings. The heat was oppressive, and the bugs seemed determined to bypass the repellent they were wearing and lunch on them, even though their biology was incompatible. The sounds of their pursuers would fade and strengthen at regular intervals, starting to sound angry, and it gave them hope as they finally made it to the structure they had targeted. One of the few buildings that was still intact enough to make it reasonably safe to enter, it had stone stairs leading to a second and third floor, though the rock was crumbling. They were even more careful here, knowing that to be cornered in a building where the exits were limited could prove deadly.

Tarn was dizzy from the heat and adrenaline as they cautiously took up a vantage point on the second floor, peering through an opening that looked out over the plaza and their vessels.

"Damn," Marcos breathed.

She did not reply, feeling a sense of renewed despair wash over her. Two of the alien warriors had dragged in the other three members of their away team. They tossed Prell's body casually aside next to Tannic, and Tarn knew that meant he was probably dead. Seven of Nine was also manhandled roughly, but when they threw her down to the ground in the center of the plaza, both Zar and Dr. Spencer immediately went to her, crouching over her protectively as the medical officer began to treat her with the materials at hand, which were limited to what she was carrying. For some reason, though the aliens had stripped them of tricorders, phasers and communicators ... the last worrisome because it indicated the invaders knew what the equipment was ... they had left the doctor with a small field medical kit.

"Who are these people?" Marcos said softly, his voice thick with rage.

"I don't know," Tarn whispered back. The aliens presented visages stern and ridged in a similar style as Klingons, though they seemed to lack that warrior race's presence and sense of discipline. These beings were less conscious of their personal appearance, their hair sticking out wildly, while their clothes were ragged and made up of mismatching pieces. Tarn swallowed hard as she saw one of them rip off Prell's tunic and hand it to another, obviously their leader, who pulled it on over his bare chest, wearing it not as a piece of clothing, but as a display of his victory. He then went over to the captives and spoke to them. Zar rose to his feet and the conversation went on for some time. Tarn wished they were close enough to hear what was being said, though from what they could see, the discussion apparently did not go well. After several minutes, Zar was forced back down on the ground.

Both young people jumped when a hail came over their comm badges, and it was all Tarn could do not to automatically reach up and activate it, which would have immediately given away her position.

"This is Jul Hayrum of the Kazon-Nistrim," the unfamiliar voice said. "We know you are hiding in the jungle. Surrender yourselves, and you will not be harmed."

"The Kazon," Marcos whispered. "I though we were out of their territory."

"If you do not surrender, I will order my warriors to kill you on sight rather than just attempt to capture you," the voice went on. "You have five minutes to respond."

Tarn exhaled shakily. This explained how these aliens knew about their equipment. They had encountered the Federation before, and from what she knew of them, they would do exactly what they said they would.

"What should we do?" she asked in a small voice.

Marcos looked grim, his face drawn as he peered down into the plaza, watching as the Kazon carelessly tore apart everything they had spent the previous day building. He jerked his head, indicating they should leave the vantage point and return to the jungle.

"Give me your tunic and comm badge," he said shortly once they had reached ground level. "Also, your tricorder and your phaser."

"What? Why?"

He glanced at her. "I'm going to turn myself in," he said. "But first, I'll climb one of the trees that overhang the swamp a few meters behind this ruin, and throw your tunic in the middle of the bog. Then I'll circle around before surrendering. When I am captured, I'll show them your equipment and say I took it off your dead body. The footing is really bad around here, and perhaps they won't want to get close enough to see that it's only clothing. Even if they do, that will give us more time. While I occupy their attention, you sneak onto the Delta Sky and contact Millennium. They shouldn't have too many warriors guarding the shuttle."

"How can I get by any warriors if you take my phaser?" Tarn did not want to do this.

"I need your equipment to verify my story," Marcos argued. "If they see the weapon, which is your best protection, then they'll think I'm telling the truth. Long enough for you to get inside the shuttle. Once inside, you can barricade the hatch, and contact the ship."

Tarn felt panic trickle along her spine. "Why don't you sneak onto the shuttle?" she said. "I'll surrender. You have more security training than I do."

His eyes were very dark. "I'm not an operations officer," he reminded her. "If they're jamming the comm signal, you're the only one with the skill and training to break through it."

Tarn exhaled. There was no other choice, she realized. Moving as if in a daze, she handed him the requested equipment, and stripped off her tunic.

"Good luck," he whispered tensely as he faded into the thick vegetation.

She suspected she'd need more than that.

She didn't try to circle back the way they had come, instead, moving along the ridge which gradually descended to the level area near the shuttle. She knew Marcos would delay answering the hail of the Kazon leader for as long as possible before turning himself in. He might even make them come to him, implying that he was injured and unable to move.

She still couldn't believe it had come to this, that she would be the one on whom the rest would be dependent for rescue. It terrified her in a way that she had never felt before, yet, at the same time, she felt an odd sense of determination. Her crewmates were counting on her. She couldn't let them down.

Finally, peering anxiously through the vegetation, she was close enough to see the shuttle and fighter through the undergrowth of jungle. Unfortunately, the warrior at the delta shuttle had been joined by another Kazon who was apparently guarding the fighter, and they did not look at all distracted. Instead, they looked grim and very alert, hefting heavy rifles as they peered in opposite directions, obviously ready for anything. She glanced briefly at Marcos's fighter, contemplating that as an alternative possibility, knowing that its comm system could also be used. She discarded it immediately. Not only was the cockpit at the front of the vessel the only way in and out, requiring the entire top to lift up to grant access which would certainly be noticed, the large, transparent viewports lining the front and sides made the interior clearly visible to the outside. The delta shuttle was her only option.

She stared longingly at the hatch of the Delta Sky behind the nearest Kazon guard, aware that the shuttle might as well have been kilometers away rather than only meters. As long as the hatch was guarded, there was no way into the shuttle

Or was there?

Think, she demanded silently, her breath heavy in her chest. What do I know about the delta class shuttles? Every member of the bridge crew had been briefly checked out on the new design, even though they might never have the opportunity to actually fly one. She cast her mind back to the day she had taken a brief turn at the helm, along with some other junior officers, not long after Millennium had left Utopia Planitia. The vessel's helm had been decidedly different from the average class four shuttle, more streamlined and containing oddly shaped controls.

Think, damn you, she ordered herself once more. Wasn't there a panel on the floor?

She had actually asked about it, wondering if it was some sort of storage compartment. The boyish wing commander, Tom Paris, whose reputation made him seem more approachable than most of the senior officers, had grinned and said something about needing more than one way to get out of a crash.

If that panel had been an escape hatch of some sort, then it undoubtedly exited beneath the shuttle. If she could crawl beneath the ship unseen, perhaps she could access it and enter that way.

Trying not to think about what would happen to her if she got caught, she began to worm her way through the underbrush, trying to get behind the shuttle and away from the view of the Kazon warriors standing next to the hatch. "Seven?" Zar demanded as Dr. Spencer pressed a makeshift bandage over the Borg's wound. "Speak to me." He was supporting the Borg's head and chest as the doctor worked, his angular features greatly concerned as he peered down into her face.

Seven assessed the alien figures who were moving about the campsite and casually rummaging through the Federation equipment with a sort of contempt born of not knowing exactly what they were looking at. "Species 329," she said in a low voice. "Kazon. A most unremarkable species."

"I thought we were out of Kazon territory," Zar objected, relief evident on his face that she had responded. In truth, concentrating on speaking coherently took Seven's mind off the spreading numbness of her extremities and the heaviness in her chest.

"We were. Obviously, they followed us here." The Borg winced as the doctor tried to stop the bleeding that was more a weeping of fluid rather than a gush of crimson. It was serosanguinous, Seven thought dazedly, indicating that the disrupter burn was deep and serious, third degree perhaps. The dressing had a center of dark blood and a crusty ring of yellowy serum on the edge, bugs buzzing near it in the oppressive heat despite the alien physiology. It didn't seem to hurt very much, and she knew that was the most telling thing in itself. "It is disturbing that they were able to ambush us, however. The technology required to hide them from our sensors is beyond what we believed they possessed. It is unlikely they would have developed it in the ensuing years since Voyager was last in their territory."

"Maybe they bought it," Zar suggested. "Or stole it."

Seven lifted a brow, allowing that either suggestion was equally possible.

"Lt. Hansen, please remain still." Dr. Spencer's face was drawn, though Seven noted approvingly that the young doctor appeared to be controlling her fear very well. There was a small bruise under one eye, and she was disheveled, obviously having been treated roughly in her capture. "This is a very serious wound."

"My nanoprobes are preventing my lungs from filling with fluid," Seven told her. "The Doctor will be able to repair this type of damage once we return to the ship."

"That's assuming we make it back to sickbay." Spencer's tone was tart, equal parts fear and anger. "Remain still and conserve your strength."

Seven hesitated, then nodded. "Very well," she said, acknowledging the young doctor's authority in this. She glanced away from Spencer, and studied the first officer. Zar looked very concerned, though of course, as leader of the away mission, he would feel responsible for all the crewmembers under him. She had seen such a sense of responsibility in her spouse too often not to recognize it in another.

She blinked as the sun jabbed painfully into her eyes. The three surviving members of the away team had been forced into the center of the plaza, watched closely by several Kazon warriors. There was no protection or shade here, and the young woman knew that it would grow very warm as morning turned into afternoon. Their captors did not seem to care about the comfort of their prisoners, however, nor those who had been killed in their initial ambush. The bodies of the two security officers had been dragged casually aside, stripped of all their equipment ... even items of their uniforms in some cases ... and insects began to congregate as decomposition progressed. A Kazon warrior, obviously the leader, had appropriated Prell's tunic, pulling it on over his bared chest, ignoring the scorch marks of the disrupter blast and the bloodstains where the Bolian had bled briefly before dying. It was not the garment he wanted, Seven realized, but the trophy of his enemy.

"Where are Ensign Marcos and Ensign Tarn?" she asked, her voice harsh. She was thirsty, and felt a trickle of sweat run down from her temple. That indicated that her nanoprobes were so involved in dealing with her injury, regulating her body temperature had been granted a lower priority. Her cranial implant was allowing her Human systems to deal with the heat, which they attempted to do in their less efficient way.

"We don't know," Zar said in a low voice, his dark eyes keenly following every move that the Kazon were making.

"They ran into the jungle," Spencer explained, having finally secured the dressing to her satisfaction, though her expression remained gravely concerned in a way that Seven suspected did not bode well for her. "I tried to follow, but I wasn't able to make it." She paused, her voice echoing the horror of that time. "Tannic drew the fire to herself, giving us the chance to escape."

Zar glanced at her. "That was her job," he said with a touch of sharpness to remind her that this was not the time to mourn. He leaned closer to the two women. "That may give us an advantage. Their forces will be split between holding us and searching for the other two."

Seven lifted a brow. "I am afraid that I am not functional," she said reasonably. "You must leave me behind in any attempt to escape."

From the expression on his face, she could tell this idea did not appeal to him at all, though surely he must have known there was no other option.

"I'll have to stay behind, as well," Spencer interjected calmly. "That wound can't be left unattended."

Seven lifted her chin, feeling a twinge of dizziness waft through her. "That is unnecessary."

"I'm not leaving you alone with the Kazon, Seven. You're my patient." Spencer forced a grin. "Dr. Pulaski would have my head, if I did."

Zar frowned. "I'm not leaving either of you behind," he said, in a tone indicating that was the end of it as far as he was concerned, giving a little pat of emphasis to the Borg's shoulder. Seven eyed him, thinking such stubborn presumption must be a trait unique to command officers. Janeway assumed the same officious note in her voice when she didn't wish to be argued with.

"You."

The Starfleet officers turned to the Kazon leader who was staring at Zar. Carefully, the first officer eased Seven to the ground, stripping off his tunic and using it as a pillow for her in lieu of his lap. A flare of anger appeared in the Kazon's eyes at the time this required, obviously recognizing the challenge inherent in how long it took before Zar rose to his feet to face the warrior.

"I am Commander Zar Tulek of the USS Millennium. Why have you attacked us?"

"Your captain knows," the Kazon said. "I am Hayrum, of the Kazon-Nistrim, first attack leader and representative of Maj Culluh. You will be used as hostages in exchange for the technology we require to defeat the Trabe."

"Our captain will never agree to such an exchange," Zar said simply, with the assurance of his position.

"She'd better, or you'll all die," the Kazon responded.

"If you wanted to use us as hostages, why kill the others?" Zar demanded.

Hayrum lifted his head. "We know which of you are valuable and which aren't." He gestured contemptuously at the dead bodies. "We know your 'security' detail is expendable."

Zar's face altered, becoming very ugly, and Seven knew he must be feeling a great rage. However, when he spoke again, his voice was calm, and she was impressed with how he was able to control his emotions.

"You've made another error in judgment, then. To Captain Janeway, we're all expendable. She will not risk her ship for a few individuals."

Seven knew that was a lie, but she wasn't about to correct him. She suspected that Zar knew it was a lie as well. Unfortunately, it appeared that Hayrum also recognized it for an untruth.

"Janeway will deal with us. She has before. She is very protective of her crew, enough that she may give us what we require." He paused, studying the first officer intently. "You're like her, aren't you?"

Zar frowned. "Like Janeway?"

"No, like her ... Seska."

Zar looked blank, obviously not recognizing the name. Seven supposed he wouldn't. After all, the Cardassian woman, who had disguised herself as a Bajoran and infiltrated Chakotay's Maquis cell before they all ended up on Voyager, had been killed long before Seven had come on board. There was no reason for the first officer of Millennium to know who she was.

"Seska?"

"Maj Culluh's woman. The mother of his son and heir."

"She was Cardassian," Seven murmured in a low voice.

Zar glanced at her, frowning, and then back at the Kazon. "I don't know her. Is it important?"

He shook his head. "Only to warn me. If you are as devious and treacherous as she, it would be best to double the guard on you." He took the communicator from his tunic, offering it to Zar. "Call in the others. So that we do not have to hunt them down, and perhaps kill them in the attempt."

Zar shook his head. "I will not."

Hayrum stared at him, half lifting his hand as if to strike before finally lowering it. "Very well," he said tightly. "Sit down."

Zar hesitated briefly, but as the other Kazon took a step toward him, the threat inherent in their body language, he sank down to the ground beside Seven and Alexis. He never took his eyes off the Kazon leader who returned the comm badge to his chest, attaching it before tapping on it to activate it, clearly familiar with how it functioned.

"This is Jul Hayrum of the Kazon-Nistrim," he stated in a clear voice. "We know you are hiding in the jungle. Surrender yourselves, and you will not be harmed."

There was no response, nor was it likely the Kazon expected any immediately. His eyes narrowed and he spoke again. "If you do not surrender, I will order my warriors to kill you on sight rather than just attempt to capture you. You have five minutes to respond."

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. The rest of the warriors also seemed to be waiting, a silence descending on the plaza like a shroud. The hum of the insects was the only sound in the oppressive heat, with the birds apparently deciding to take the afternoon off. The five minutes passed with agonizing slowness, then Hayrum, an angry expression on his face, touched the comm badge again.

"If you do not reply immediately, we will kill the wounded member of your party," he said flatly. He drew out his disrupter and aimed it in Seven's direction. The Borg was disturbed when both Alexis and Zar moved in front of her protectively, shielding her with their bodies. It seemed illogical to die themselves in order that she should not, and she wished she were strong enough to object.

Fortunately, this action of the Kazon provoked an answering hail.

"I'm here," Marcos' voice came over the comm badge. "You won't kill me if I surrender?"

"You have my word," Hayrum said, looking pleased with himself. "What of the other?"

"She's dead," Marcos said, his voice shaky. "I found her body in the bog. She must have been hit by your weapons fire and made it that far before she collapsed." Seven saw Zar close his eyes briefly, a flash of pain crossing his face, and Alexis stared at the ground, tears quietly slipping from beneath her lids.

The Kazon frowned. "I do not believe you."

"Look, I have her equipment," Marcos said. "I took it off the body. I'll show it to you when I come in."

Hayrum hesitated, obviously uncertain at this turn at events. "Surrender immediately to the nearest hunting party."

"All right," Marcos promised. He paused. "It may take a while. I've gotten turned around in the jungle. Give me a few minutes to find your people."

"Shout out to my men," he instructed impatiently. "If you surrender, they will not harm you."

"Agreed. I'm coming in."

Moments passed ... five, ten, fifteen, twenty ... then from the edge of the jungle, three figures appeared, including a Starfleet ensign who held his hands high over his head. The Kazon warrior escorting him immediately lifted a bag, indicating it held equipment taken from him. While one of the warriors dragged Marcos over to the rest of the captives, the other Kazon officer offered the bag to Hayrum, opening it to show him the communicators, phasers and tricorders.

"You found the body?" Hayrum demanded, seeming somewhat mollified at the appearance of the weapons.

"He showed it to us," the Kazon said. "We saw the body from the ridge, but we didn't go down into the bog. The insects are very thick in that area and the footing is very treacherous. I didn't believe it necessary to risk losing a warrior to the quicksand when everything useful had already been retrieved." He waited somewhat nervously, Seven thought, obviously unsure whether he had conducted himself properly in his leader's eyes.

Hayrum eyed him for a long moment, and then nodded, much to the warrior's relief. "It's unlikely he would have this equipment unless the female was dead," he said. "They are not like us. The females are warriors like the males, and would not give up their weapons unless they were dead. Call in the other hunting party. Tell them we have all the surviving hostages."

Seven exhaled slowly, feeling a sadness at the death of yet another member of the away team permeate her chest, remembering well the arrogant young woman who had displayed such difficulty adapting to Millennium. Beside her, Marcos sat silently, a cut over his left eye bleeding slightly, the line of crimson trickling down his cheek. Absently, he wiped the blood away, and Seven was unsure why a look of what might have been triumph appeared in his eye before he lowered his head in apparent sorrow at the loss of his friend. Janeway glanced up in surprise as she heard the chime at her ready room door. She hadn't been expecting any visitors. In fact, all she was really doing was killing time until the next update was transmitted by the away teams. She hoped to be able to talk directly to Seven for a few minutes, even if it were nothing more than a conversation about the planet and what the away mission had discovered. Surely, a captain could speak to her science officer without appearing too unprofessional, or generating too much objection from the bridge crew. The opportunity to look at her beloved's features, and to listen to her precise tones because being without them was torture, was merely incidental.

"Come," she said, putting down the padd she had been perusing. She lifted her brow when Tom Paris walked in, wondering if the disconcertion she felt while Seven was away had caused her to forget an appointment.

"Captain," he said, ascending the ramp to the upper level. "I need to speak with you."

"Of course." She placed the padd and her mug of coffee onto the low table in front of her. "What can I do for you?" A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she raised her hand. "Certain things will not be discussed," she added in a warning tone, assuming he would know what she was referring to. "Not unless you want to go on record."

Tom hesitated, having the grace to look shamefaced. "No, I understand, Captain." She motioned him to a seat which he sank into gratefully. "I'm here about the 'fleet."

Janeway resisted the urge to sigh. "What now?" Honestly, she thought, that auxiliary group of vessels was becoming a bit of an annoyance ... or rather, their pilots were.

"You haven't gotten back to me about taking the safeties off the holodeck." Leaning forward, Tom had his hands resting on his knees, looking at her intently. Obviously, this was not something he was going to let go, and she felt another prickle of annoyance. She thought she had made herself clear not long after the issue had been brought up in a staff meeting.

"I told you my decision. It isn't something I want to see at this time."

"I was wondering if it was possible that times could change."

Janeway suspected that her eyes were shading to grey. Seven often told her that the captain's moods could be easily determined simply from the color of her eyes ... assuming the person speaking to her was as perceptive as the Borg.

"I'll inform you if they do." She frowned at him.

He stared at her, and then exhaled audibly, a sigh of frustration and aggravation. "Captain, permission to speak freely?"

She hesitated, and dipped her head stiffly, granting him that leeway.

"With all due respect, I don't feel you're utilizing the fleet to its best advantage."

"Since there really hasn't been an opportunity to use them at all, then I don't think you can honestly say that," Janeway said mildly. "We've provided you with escort missions whenever possible."

"But never in any conflict. I'm starting to think that even if an opportunity does arise, you won't take advantage of our capabilities at all," he blurted, and immediately looked abashed, knowing there was a difference between speaking freely and crossing the line into insubordination. "Captain, it's obvious that you have some reservations about our role here on Millennium. I'm not sure why, but I do believe it's something that needs to be addressed."

"Are you in that much of a hurry to see one of your pilots killed?" Janeway asked sharply, regretting it immediately because she had spoken without thinking. She was upset that she had revealed to the wing commander her personal biases and their influence on her decision.

Tom looked astonished. "Of course not. That's why we need practice in the holodeck without the safeties, so they can learn how not to get killed in actual combat situations."

"You can't deny that the attrition rate is higher for Starfleet pilots than any other department, including security." It was clear that dancing around the subject had provided no concrete solutions, but perhaps making her position clear regarding the nature of 'disposable' resources would allow him to back off what was obviously very important to him. "The very nature of such a fleet implies that there will be casualties in any conflict. That type of fighter is almost designed to be expendable." She leaned forward, fire in her eyes. "No one on this vessel is expendable, Mr. Paris. I don't care what department it is."

He drew back a little, obviously surprised by the heat in her words, but not prepared to surrender either. "Captain, each one of us knew the risks when we accepted the posting."

"We all accept a certain amount of risk simply by pulling on this uniform. That's understood. However, there comes a time when the risk is deemed unacceptable. Sending young people out in those vessels to sacrifice themselves for the larger ship isn't something I'd care to indulge. Starships have always managed to handle themselves in conflicts without the need of auxiliary vessels. Millennium is certainly capable of doing the same."

"It's not a matter of replacing Millennium's defenses, Captain," Tom argued, "it's a matter of supplementing her because we're so alone out here. How many times in the Delta Quadrant, during the seven years we were lost, could we have used some extra help at crucial times?"

"Be that as it may, we still managed to make it through without such help," Janeway said stubbornly. "I fail to see where Millennium, a larger, more powerful ship than Voyager, designed for deep space missions, couldn't get by without requiring the services of a fighter squadron."

Tom looked incredibly frustrated, but the captain wasn't about to allow any leeway in this. She wasn't about to lose a crewmember simply because of some idea formulated by a paper pusher in Starfleet Administration who thought it would be a good idea to drag these vessels along. She didn't mind the supplemental delta shuttles and science runabouts ... those were already proving very useful ... but those fighters were meant for one thing, and one thing only. She may have had no choice about bringing them with her, but she had the final decision on how they were utilized, including not using them at all, if that was her inclination.

"Captain..." he began.

"No," she said. "I appreciate that you feel your training requires a certain amount of danger, but no other department requires that kind of autonomy other than security. If your people require that kind of sharpness, have them apply to Ro's department where they'll receive such training, but don't expect me to allow those officers to fly simulated combat missions in the holodeck where they can be killed. It's ludicrous."

"But, Captain..." he tried again. This time, however, it was not Janeway who interrupted him. Instead, a hail came over the captain's comm badge from Ro Laren.

"Bridge to captain." She sounded anxious.

"Go," Janeway said shortly.

"Captain, we're receiving an emergency hail from the planetary away team. It's Ensign Tarn. The away team has been attacked. They have casualties."

Janeway felt all the blood drain from her face, but she didn't pause to let the shock hit her. Instead, she was halfway to the door, not even sure how she had descended from the upper level of the ready room.

"Set a course to the planet, maximum warp," she snapped as she strode through the door and out on the bridge before she had finished giving the order over her comm badge. Tom was not far behind her, his face equally as anxious as he peered at the fore viewscreen where the bruised features of Ensign Tarn looked out frantically, a very frightened expression on her face.

"Report."

Tarn seemed to take a breath, composing herself. "Our base camp was attacked by a squadron of what appear to be Kazon warriors," she said, trying to offer a concise and clear account to the captain. If Janeway hadn't been so dismayed, she would have approved at the sudden competency the young woman was showing. "Tannic and Prell were killed in the initial ambush. Commander Zar, Dr. Spencer, and Lt. Hansen have been captured and are being held in the center of our base camp. Lt. Hansen appears to be severely injured. Ensign Marcos and I escaped the initial attack, but in order for me to contact the ship, Marcos created a diversion, allowing himself to be captured." She glanced away for a second, looking frightened again, before gathering herself. "I encoded this message, and have tried to obscure it by using the background radiation of the planet as a carrier wave, but I'm not sure how long I can remain secreted. They may detect the transmission."

"We're on our way, Ensign. Hang on. Secure your position if you can. Don't attempt any form of rescue of the hostages on your own."

"Understood." Tarn looked tremendously relieved.

The transmission was cut, and the captain immediately sank into her command chair. Ro Laren interrupted once more from her tactical station, revealing that the day that had started off badly, was only becoming worse.

"Captain, we've receiving another hail ... audio only ... from the Delta Wing. They're under attack from a Kazon vessel, a cruiser. It appears to be a two pronged assault designed to draw us away from the planet in order to secure their hostages. The shuttle is attempting to evade the Kazon ship by hiding in the anomaly, but fears it is only a matter of time before they are captured or destroyed. They are requesting immediate assistance."

For a terrible, frozen moment, Janeway paused as she absorbed this new information, aware of every member of the bridge crew turning to her, knowing exactly what this meant and awaiting her next order. The Millennium could go to the aid of one or the other, but not both at the same time. Janeway's heart, her soul, demanded she immediately speed to the aid of the planetary away team ... to her partner who was injured. The cold, analytical captain part of her determined that the Millennium had to assist the Delta Wing, to deal with the Kazon warship which was the main threat, and undoubtedly the source of the ambush on the away team. The Kazon on the planet appeared to want their hostages alive. The shuttle in the nebula appeared to be nothing more than a target to be destroyed. It was a decision a captain should not have to make, one she had prayed that she would never have to make ... to choose between her partner's well-being and the well-being of her other crewmembers ... but somehow, she always knew it would come to this one day.

"Captain," Tom said at that moment, his voice urgent and pleading as he stared at her intently. "Dispatch the alpha squadron."

Blankly she looked at him, and then swallowed hard. Of course. The fighters. They could aid the Delta Wing while Millennium went to Seven's rescue ... except they couldn't, she corrected herself bleakly. They would be untried pilots going up against what was obviously a war ship. They would stand a much better chance against the smaller force on the planet while Millennium took care of the Kazon mother ship.

"Launch your squad, Mr. Paris," she ordered harshly, every word a sound ripped directly from her heart. "Secure the planetary mission. Millennium will go to the aid of the Delta Wing."

"Aye, ma'am," Tom snapped, rushing to the turbolift. On the way, he slapped his comm badge and issued the order for his pilots to man their fighters.

Janeway didn't hesitate. "Helm, as soon as the fighters are away, set a course to the nebula."

"Understood," the lieutenant at the helm said. Janeway didn't know him well, a Lt. Hawkins, but she was aware that Zar wouldn't have assigned him to replace Nog during the Ferengi's absence if he weren't capable.

She wondered if she looked as sick as she felt. She was putting the life of her partner in the hands of someone else while she headed in the opposite direction. It went against every fiber of her being on a personal level, but there was no other logical choice on a command level.

"Fighters away," Hawkins reported. "Setting course for the spatial anomaly, maximum warp."

"Engage," Janeway snapped.

In her heart, she offered a prayer to the unfeeling gods of the universe who, up until this point, seemed less than interested in making life easier for her.

Please, please, let her be safe. Don't take her from me. "Stealth mode," came the order over the comm system as T'Shanik guided her vessel into orbit around the planet. The plan was simple. While four of the pilots beamed down out of sight of the base camp, utilizing distortion fields around their life signs, the remaining two members of the squadron would pilot the empty fighters by remote control, and set up a basic attack pattern. At a predetermined time, the fighters would swoop down over the base camp, firing at the ruins, and hopefully, creating enough confusion to allow the ground team to overwhelm the enemy and retrieve the hostages.

The Kazon were not the only people who understood the advantages of a two pronged attack.

T'Shanik was surprised to have been chosen to accompany the alpha squad, since she nominally filled the role as the leader of the beta team, a secondary position. However, one of the pilots assigned to the alpha hangar was in sickbay recovering from a fall taken during a security exercise during his shipside rotation, and Lt. Paris had selected her to round out the squad. She wasn't sure to be appreciative or apprehensive at being dispatched to the ground unit, believing that the fly-by would be a better display of her skills, but she accepted the necessity of her orders.

She set the autopilot and unfastened the harness securing her in the cockpit. Making a last minute check of her equipment, she made sure her compression rifle was set to heavy stun, and that her hand phaser and tricorder were securely fastened to her uniform tunic. When the signal came from Lt. Paris, she inhaled deeply, and activated her emergency transporter, though in this case, the coordinates were not for escape, but to set up an assault on the enemy.

The first thing she noticed when she materialized on the planet's surface, was the temperature. It was probably the first time she had felt comfortably warm outside her quarters since joining Millennium. There was too much oxygen in the air, of course, and the humidity was more than what she preferred, but unlike the rest of the team, she relished the heat. She inhaled deeply, and looked to Lt. Paris who was leading the assault team. His boyish features were very stern as he regarded the other three.

"No talking from here on out," he said in a low tone. "Hand signals only."

T'Shanik firmed her shoulders and lifted her rifle alertly, waiting patiently for the next move. When the wing commander moved out silently, she and the other pilots followed, moving cautiously and silently through the jungle. Starfleet pilots were rarely used as assault troops, and security officers were rarely used as fighter pilots. T'Shanik thought that perhaps she would make a suggestion that there be more overlap in those areas, particularly if the fighter squadrons were to be used as a military detail in the future.

She felt a certain flutter in her midsection as Tom abruptly put his fist up, indicating they should stop. She clamped down on the feeling automatically, channeling the emotion into calmness. The wing commander settled easily onto his haunches, peering through the foliage. The other three followed suit, and from this vantage, they could look down on the base camp, having taken up position on the ridge. From the relatively peaceful scene, it seemed that the Kazon had not discovered the presence of Tarn in the shuttle, nor discerned the transmission sent from the Delta Sky. T'Shanik wondered if the operations officer was aware of the rescue party in the jungle, or the fighters overhead, awaiting their cue. If she had, the Vulcan hoped Tarn had the sense to keep her head down and not interfere in what would be a carefully timed assault.

The pilots waited in the oppressive heat, taking in all the details of the scenario before them. There were ten Kazon, two near the Federation vessels, including the fighter belonging to Marcos. T'Shanik could see the pilot seated in the center of the dusty plaza, his shoulders slumped, appearing defeated. Near him, Dr. Spencer leaned over the supine form of Lt. Hansen, obviously keeping a close monitor on her, while Zar sat cross-legged, eyeing his captors keenly. The Cardassian hybrid was undoubtedly waiting for an opportunity ... any opportunity ... to change his situation.

The prisoners were not talking to each other, undoubtedly because they were being watched very closely by three Kazon who kept a close monitor on them. Another Kazon, distinguished only in his bearing and how the others treated him, stood nearby. He was speaking animatedly with the remaining five warriors, gesturing toward the Federation vessels, and T'Shanik suspected that they were attempting to figure out a way into the ships which would have been sealed against casual entry.

Some distance away, two bodies were stretched out by the ruins of a fountain, almost black now from the insects that had settled on them. T'Shanik was grateful the breeze was blowing away from them. As she watched, something alien and small scuttled from the edge of the jungle and approached the corpses. The Kazon next to the shuttle must have noticed the movement because he turned and fired, burning the small creature down before it could find cover. He killed it not because he was trying to protect the bodies, the Vulcan knew, but because it amused him to have destroyed the life form. He laughed, and his partner offered him a nod, perhaps a testament to the first guard's marksmanship.

Tom had taken his tricorder from his waist and placed it on the ground, splitting his time between it and the plaza. When a light suddenly flashed on it ... the sound having been carefully muted ... they all tensed. That was the coded transmission sent by Millennium. The vessel had engaged the Kazon cruiser in the nebula.

Tom swiftly reached out and tapped some commands into the device, sending a message to the fighters in orbit overhead. T'Shanik gripped her rifle, palms suddenly moist, much to her dismay. Acute embarrassment over such a physical display of emotion filled her. She may be young, but that was no excuse for allowing her sense of expectation and danger to get the better of her. She immediately used stronger repression techniques, bringing the feelings under control as the seconds ticked by. Above, she knew that the squadron would be moving into formation, taking a low, swooping dive into the atmosphere toward the area on the planet where their brethren were being held.

Tom thrust his fist into the air, catching the landing party's attention, and pointed at the western horizon. Coming toward them were three black specks, tearing so swiftly through the atmosphere that they would be overhead before the sound of their passage reached their target. Crimson flared from the pulse cannons on each side, bolts of energy flashing as they poured into the ruins, cutting a swath of fire and explosions in their wake. The Kazon ducked, confused and frightened by the sudden and unexpected attack, and T'Shanik noticed that the prisoners also hugged the ground, the doctor throwing herself protectively over her patient while the two male Starfleet officers instinctively used their bodies to shield the women.

The three ships stopped firing as they passed overhead, not daring to risk hitting anyone in the plaza, and began again on the other side of the clearing, destroying the buildings in a tremendous display of destructive power. It was loud, it was brash, it was shocking, and would undoubtedly appall the xeno-archaeologists on Millennium beyond measure. Best of all,it was confusing as hell to the Kazon who cowered on the ground, not even having enough time to raise their rifles as the swiftly moving fighters screamed by. Barely had the first triad departed the area, heading east, when the second wing streaked in from the north. Flying in a "V," the manned ship bracketed by the two unmanned vessels, they fired at the ruins in a cross pattern.

When the air attack was at its peak, the ground team moved. Barely had the second wing of fighters passed overhead before Tom, T'Shanik and the other two were plunging down the ridge, rifles set to heavy stun, firing as they went. The Kazon, completely baffled by this time, fell before the phaser fire that swept over them. T'Shanik found her breath coming quickly, her throat feeling full as she aimed precisely at the two guards next to the Federation vessels and cut them down without preamble.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over, and silence descended upon the plaza. T'Shanik glanced quickly around, made sure there were no other enemies with whom to deal, and moved over toward Alexis and the other Starfleet officers. As she drew nearer, she could see the bandages layered over Lt. Hansen's chest, the dark eyelashes of her closed lids standing out in stark relief against her pale cheeks. The Borg did not look good, T'Shanik decided, and she wondered if they had been in time after all.

"Lt. Paris," Zar greeted, rising smoothly to his feet and dusting off his uniform. "A most timely arrival. How did you know we were in trouble?"

"Thank Ensign Tarn," Paris said, gesturing to the shuttle. The hatch slid open and Tarn leaped out, a big smile on her face as she trotted over to a dumbfounded Zar and Spencer.

"Marcos said you were dead," the first officer exclaimed, shooting a sharp look at the pilot who looked faintly embarrassed.

"Well, I may have exaggerated her condition a little," Marcos admitted in a sheepish mumble. He jerked his head at the heavily stunned Kazon crumpled in heaps around the plaza. "For their benefit, mostly. I knew if I could make them believe there were no more hostages to be found, Tarn might have a chance to contact the ship."

Zar nodded somberly, looking at both junior officers. "Strong work," he said sincerely. "From both of you."

They had the grace to look bashful at this praise coming from their superior, and T'Shanik was grateful she wasn't Human, for she would surely be rolling her eyes at this point.

"I'm so glad you're not dead, Elisa," Alexis said tersely, "But Seven is going to be if we don't get her back to the ship."

"Of course," Zar said, seeming to straighten as he regarded the wing commander. "What's the status of the ship?"

"Millennium had to rendezvous with the Delta Wing," Tom explained quickly. "They're under attack from the Kazon warship and needed immediate assistance. Janeway sent us to secure the planet since she couldn't come herself." He shot a worried look at Seven. "Don't think that didn't bother her, either. She knew Seven was injured."

T'Shanik wasn't sure he should be sharing such personal details about the captain with the first officer, but it certainly wasn't her place to chastise the wing commander. Feeling uncomfortable, she kept her eyes steady on the nearest group of Kazon, making sure none of them would recover prematurely from being stunned.

"We need to get Seven back as quickly as possible," Zar decided. "Ensign Marcos, Ensign Tarn, assist Dr. Spencer in transferring Seven to the Delta Sky. Lt. Paris, you and your pilots secure the Kazon prisoners in order to transport them to the Millennium. They should all fit in the shuttle's rear compartment."

"What will you be doing?" T'Shanik heard Tom ask as she moved with the other pilots to disarm the Kazon prisoners and make sure they were tightly bound with security restraints.

"I need to secure..."

The voice faded beyond earshot as T'Shanik noticed her friends carefully transfer Seven of Nine to a stretcher, lifted into the air by all three junior officers, and carried to the delta shuttle. It appeared that for some reason, the three were now taking a proprietary interest in the Borg, beyond the average regard for a senior officer. She wondered if that was a result of their time together on this away mission. She would have to ask one of them the next time they were all gathered at the Nexus. There was no doubt that this mission would provide a great source of conversation over the next few weeks.

From the corner of her eye, the Vulcan noticed the job that Zar had taken on himself, of retrieving stasis bags from the shuttle and carefully placing the dead bodies of the two security officers into them. The Cardassian face seemed a mask of frozen rage, yet at the same time, his bony features held a touch of profound sorrow and loss. She wondered if he had chosen to carry out the unenviable task because he felt in some way responsible. She was aware that many senior officers took it as a personal affront when they lost crewmembers under them. At least, other Humanoid officers did. She doubted her brother held such illogical beliefs.

The shuttle lifted off as soon as the prisoners had been stuffed into the rear area, kept under guard by Marcos. Tom Paris took command of the ensign's fighter, lifting off from the surface, while the other pilots were beamed directly back to the cockpits of their vessels still in orbit overhead. T'Shanik found herself materializing at the controls of her vessel, and she drew her fingers over the touch pad, allowing herself to experience a certain satisfaction at her performance on the mission. Regardless of what else happened, she had discovered that she could handle herself well in a tense situation, and do well under trying circumstances.

Her family would undoubtedly be surprised. Janeway gripped the arms of her command chair tightly as she stared at the viewscreen, eyes scanning restlessly. If there had been a way for her ship to go faster, she would have found it, even if she had to get out and push. At maximum warp, hours became minutes as they sped to the rescue of her crew, and she tried her best not to think of the crew she was leaving behind on the planet ... or of one crewmember in particular.

"Status?" she demanded tersely.

"Five minutes to nebula," Ro announced quietly.

"Red Alert. Raise shields. Charge phaser banks. Load all torpedo banks, full spread."

If Ro was surprised that the captain was going in loaded for bear, she didn't indicate it. Besides, it was safe to assume the Kazon knew they were coming since they had arranged this little diversion. The hail from the planet had been heavily coded to avoid their detection. The hail from the shuttle had been a general distress call, with no attempt made to jam it at all. Let the Kazon think the Federation vessel was falling for their ruse. She merely hoped they would be unprepared for how strong a reaction she was preparing for them for being so presumptuous as to threaten her crew. Still, she did have to play this carefully, knowing it required a certain amount of timing and strategy. It would not do to simply go in and blow the Kazon vessel to hell and back ... much as she might want to.

"Moving into weapons range," Ro announced. "The Delta Wing remains intact, flying evasive pattern theta."

"Helm, position us between the Kazon ship and the shuttle," Janeway ordered, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes narrowing. "Lower the aft shields once we're in position, and allow the shuttle to dock with us in the gamma hanger deck. Keep the fore shields toward the Kazon vessel."

"Captain, the Kazon have ceased fire," the operations officer replacing Ensign Tarn said. Expectantly, his hand hovered over the controls to return the hail, anticipating her response. "They're hailing us."

Janeway's jaw tensed, a muscle jumping along the side. "I'll just bet they are."

"Captain?"

"Destroy their weapons array, Commander Ro," she said flatly. "Then, disable their engines."

Ro glanced up at her once, a flicker of her eyes to indicate her brief surprise at the captain's unwillingness to receive what was obviously an attempt at negotiation on the part of the Kazon, but she didn't object. "Aye, Captain."

Phaser fire lashed out from the Federation ship, raking along the underside of Kazon cruiser, creating a silent explosion of gases and venting plasma.

Janeway felt the blood sing in her ears. "Operations, send an encoded message to the fighters. Let them know we have engaged the enemy. Tactical, keep the Kazon busy until the Delta Wing is on board."

"Aye, Captain."

"Understood."

If the Kazon were shocked at the Federation approach, perhaps believing they would have settled on talking first, which was the norm for what they knew of Starfleet, they quickly got over it. Ponderously, the vessel turned toward the Millennium, and emerald light sparked from the fore part of the bow. Millennium shuddered slightly as the Kazon energy weapons impacted stoutly on the shields, hammering away at them in an attempt to break through.

"Commander?" Janeway wasn't prodding exactly, merely reminding Ro of what her initial orders were.

The Bajoran didn't respond, but there was a furrow on her forehead, just above her nasal ridges, undoubtedly indicating a certain annoyance as she tried to pinpoint the weapon array. Janeway appreciated that such a small target required a little more delicacy than simply unloading their entire phaser banks on the enemy in a desire to demolish them, but she did expect more accuracy from her tactical officer than this.

"Weapons array disabled," Ro said a split second later, an eyebrow lifting in triumph. "Targeting engine room."

Again, the ruby beams from Millennium lanced out to impact on the Kazon vessel, making it shudder visibly on the viewscreen. Janeway tried not to imagine the chaos within, the possible death and destruction. Despite how careful the Federation ship was trying to be in crippling, rather than destroying, the vessel, chances were that internal conduits were bursting, plasma was leaking, and debris was being tossed about. There would be casualties, no matter how much the captain wished to avoid it. However, she was satisfied at this moment that they would be Kazon casualties rather than members of her crew.

"The Kazon engines are offline," the operations officer announced. "They are maneuvering on thrusters only. They're hailing again."

"Any word from the planet?" Janeway asked tersely.

"No, Captain."

"Target their cargo bays," she instructed.

Ro obliged, shooting randomly at what they hoped were uninhabited cargo bays on the underside of the vessel. This would wreck havoc with the Kazon vessel's supplies, but hopefully no one would be killed. By this time, they would be in chaos, wondering why their hails weren't being answered, and why the Federation phasers continued to make Swiss cheese of their underbelly.

"The Delta Wing is on board," Ro announced. "They report all secure." She had barely finished with this announcement when there was a beep from the operations station.

"Captain, we're receiving a hail from the Delta Sky. They've left the planet and are on their way to rendezvous with us, escorted by the alpha squadron," the Ops officer reported abruptly. "No further casualties, though there is a request for sickbay to prepare to receive wounded." There was a pause. "Lt. Hansen is critical."

Janeway wasn't even aware that she had risen from her chair, but she had, fists clenched at her sides.

"Captain, the Kazon vessel continues to hail us."

For a brief second, Janeway was not entirely in control. She wanted to eradicate these beings, to bring an end to the threat which had harmed the woman she loved. The words to destroy the Kazon cruiser hovered on her lips, so strong she could taste the bile from them in her throat, but then she forcibly relaxed her hands.

"Cease fire," she said in a husky tone. "On screen."

The screen flickered, adjusting from the black depths of space and a battered starship to the familiar, and very unpleasant, features of Maj Culluh of the Kazon-Nistrim.

"Janeway." It was more an oath than a form of identification.

"I assume you have some reason for attacking our shuttle," she responded coldly, wasting little time on preliminaries.

He stared at her, hatred like a red haze over his eyes, but then he seemed to gain control of himself, no doubt thinking he had an ace up his sleeve. "Janeway, you may have superior weaponry, but you do not hold the upper hand." He leaned forward. "You will surrender all weapons, replicator technology and supplies to us."

"And why would I do that?" Janeway asked dryly, keeping a tight rein on her temper.

"Because we have your people on the planet. I have it on the personal authority of my best soldier that he has secured your entire away team. In exchange for their safe return, you will provide us with what we need to destroy the Trabe."

She lifted her chin.

"No deal," she said flatly.

He blinked, a slight uncertainty shading his eyes. "Janeway, are you not understanding what I am saying? We have your people. We will kill them if you do not cooperate."

Janeway lifted a finger. "Do you know what the problem is with space, Culluh?" she asked. He stared at her, and she offered a humorless smile as she eased back down onto her command chair, leaning back against the cushions and crossing her legs in a display of casual authority. "It's so vast and expansive that accurate and timely communications are often a problem. For example, I have no doubt that the message you received from your warrior pertaining to the situation on the planet actually took place some time ago."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that the most recent information I received has my people on their way back to Millennium," she said. "The question we are actually dealing with is how much you wish to surrender to have me return your ten warriors who are being held in the shuttle's aft compartment."

She was human enough to take a savage pleasure in the expression that abruptly appeared in his features, at the way his jaw tightened, at the subtle shadow of fear and uncertainty that crossed his eyes. She didn't speak, merely waiting for him to absorb the information, to understand that the daring assault he had attempted upon her and her people had utterly failed.

"What do you want?" he spat finally.

"The assurance that you are not going to trail us through the quadrant while we attempt to conduct scientific research," she said with icy disgust. "The understanding that confronting us will only result in your defeat, as it has so many times before." She paused, inhaling for a moment, once more swallowing back her anger. "Be aware that I no longer have the time, nor the patience, to deal with the Kazon as I did years ago, Maj Culluh."

"Are you going to destroy us?"

Janeway suddenly felt weary.

"That would certainly be a solution of sorts, wouldn't it?" she said in a rhetorical tone, causing Ro to turn around and look at her oddly. Janeway gave herself a mental shake. "No, Culluh, we are not going to destroy you. However, I also have no intention of looking over my shoulder for the next year or so, either. There is also the matter of how you were able to avoid our sensors, both in following us and on the planet." She straightened in her chair. "I am going put a security detail on board your vessel, Maj Culluh. You will cooperate with them to the fullest extent of which you are capable. They will go over your vessel piece by piece, making sure we have a full comprehension of any technology you now possess that you did not eight years ago. We will then assist in rebuilding your engines, and once that is complete, we will program a course setting into your navigational array, and send you back to your territory. You will not attempt to tamper with that course selection."

"I'm supposed to give my word to you? I will not negotiate for those who failed on the planet. You may kill them."

Janeway was about to respond when there was a movement behind the Kazon, and the next thing she knew, two Kazon had jumped upon the maj, bearing him to the ground. Astonished, she and her bridge crew watched, wondering what was going on. There were shapes moving, difficult to make out at this angle of focus, then finally, another Kazon took the chair in which Culluh had been sitting.

"Captain Janeway, I am Maj Barton," the newcomer said. He was much younger than Culluh, but appeared more intelligent. Janeway wasn't sure why she thought that, other than the fact that he referred to her by her rank, indicating a measure of respect.

"Maj Barton," she said, inclining her head. "Would you care to explain what happened just now."

The young Kazon took a deep breath. "We have followed Culluh far from our space because he is our maj," he said. "He promised that we would be able to secure technology that would aid us in our battle against the Trabe." He paused. "We believed in him. We can no longer afford to do that."

"Are you going to attack my ship now?" she asked mildly.

"No, we will cooperate with your stipulations. We are also prepared to negotiate for the return of our warriors."

"Why should I deal with you?" Janeway asked, not quite prepared to accept this at face value. "How do I know you're any more reasonable than Culluh?"

"Because I will begin the negotiation by offering you Culluh's head." Barton made a motion over his shoulder where Janeway could see two Kazon holding Culluh between them, having forced the older man down to his knees. One of the soldiers had a long knife, not quite a sword, but certainly long enough to do what was required.

Janeway was horrified to discover a certain, primitive, rather dark of part of her was somewhat anxious to see Culluh's head hit the deck. Her better self immediately rejected that concept.

"No," she said firmly. "I have enough useless items of my own. I don't require another."

She was aware of yet another odd look shot her way by Ro, and she resisted the urge to display her teeth in a bloodthirsty smile. Obviously, she wasn't quite in command of herself, but the thought of Seven being injured at the hands of these people, at the young Borg even now fighting for her life while Janeway wasted time with these primitive individuals, had made her responses a little more instinctive than if this had been less personal.

"Which piece of him would you prefer?" Barton was baffled.

Janeway did smile then, and she suspected it wasn't pleasant. "None," she said. "He's your trash, Barton. You deal with him. I do not wish to know about it. What I do want is your assurance that you will stand down all weapons and shields, and allow a boarding party to inspect your ship."

"Agreed, Captain Janeway." He glanced over at the warriors awaiting his bidding, and then back at her. "We surrender."

Janeway shot a glance at her security officer. "Commander Ro," she said silkily. "If you would please attend to this matter personally?"

"Of course, Captain," Ro said, rising from her chair. She moved toward the turbolift aft of the bridge, and Janeway centered her attention back on the Kazon displayed on the viewscreen.

They really were a most unattractive people, she thought. "Barton, my chief of security will be leading the away team. They will be fully armed and prepared for any kind of resistance."

"We understand, Captain. We shall not resist."

The screen flickered back to space and the vessel.

"They have dropped their shields," the Ops officer noted.

Janeway noted. "Very well," she said. "As soon as Ro and her team are ready, beam them over to the Kazon bridge. Once they have the vessel secure, inform Lt. Torres that we will require an engineering team to inspect the ship from stem to stern."

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway felt the sickness reappear in the pit in her stomach, or had it ever really left? Perhaps she had only been able to put it in the back of her mind while dealing with the Kazon.

"ETA of the Delta Sky?"

"Twenty-three minutes," the helm responded.

"As soon as they're in range, transport the injured directly to sickbay," the captain managed calmly. "Don't wait for them to dock."

The woman in her wanted to scream, of course, to turn the ship around and meet the shuttle, but she had to deal with the Kazon first, keep the ship present as the security force beamed over, make sure that the Kazon would not attempt any future threat to her ship and crew.

As much as she hated it, being there for Seven would have to wait a little longer. Seven wasn't sure when consciousness finally allowed her to surface, but when it did, the first thing she noticed was how much her chest hurt. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, discovering an unfamiliar ceiling above her. It looked vaguely like the ceiling in Voyager's sickbay, which she had cause to familiarize herself with on more than one occasion, and she supposed that this was the Millennium's medical center. The last thing she remembered was being carried from the plaza to the shuttle. The movement must have overwhelmed the last reserves of her nanoprobes, and she had undoubtedly passed out.

Moving her eyes carefully to the right, she brought into focus the compact form settled in a chair next to the biobed. Janeway had her head bent, supported by her elbow on the arm of the chair, a hand covering her eyes as she rested, her shoulders slumped. Seven felt her heart twitch, knowing that once again, she had terrified and dismayed her partner by being injured on an away mission. Perhaps, it was not so surprising that the captain was so ambivalent about her partner being selected for these duties.

"Kathryn."

At least, that was what Seven attempted to say. What actually came out was a incoherent murmur, but it was enough to rouse the captain who had obviously been drowsing. Janeway started and sat up straight, bringing her hand down to reveal eyes that were dark and stormy.

This is not promising, Seven decided.

"Annika." Janeway leaned over her, searching her face anxiously. "How do you feel?"

"There is a pressure in my chest," Seven said honestly.

"That's the gel pack immobilizing you as the flesh regenerates," Janeway explained. "Try to relax. Resisting it will only cause you pain."

Seven considered that before making a concentrated effort to ease back onto the cushion beneath her, realizing that she had tensed around her wound as soon as she woke. Once she had stopped unconsciously pushing up against the restraint, the pain she was feeling dissipated, and she was left with a general sort of numbness in the region.

"The Kazon?"

"Dealt with, and sent on their way," Janeway said shortly. "Apparently in the years since we last encountered them, they've managed to come up with a sort of cloaking technology, one sophisticated enough to blind sensors, both in space and on the planet."

Seven blinked. "How?"

"Do you remember the 'Think Tank'?" Janeway asked.

"The group that attempted to recruit me?"

"Yes. Apparently, while they were in the area curing the Vidiian phage, they also made a few deals with the Trabe and the Kazon. They provided the Trabe with the weapons needed to start a true rebellion. Then, they gave the Kazon a little better defensive technology. Perfect sparks to instigate a full-out conflict."

"I wonder what the Kazon and the Trabe were required to offer them in return? The 'Think Tank' always demanded something unique and precious."

"I don't know," Janeway said pensively. "However, I'm sure it cost both races far more than they knew or wanted at the time."

Seven exhaled slowly, letting go of the Kazon problem for the moment. "I was badly hurt."

"You were," Janeway agreed gravely. "It was closer than I would like to think about, my darling. The Doctor and Pulaski were barely able to stabilize you when you returned to the ship. If it weren't for Dr. Spencer being there on the planet, they wouldn't have had that much of an opportunity."

Janeway was trying to be factual and professional about what she was saying, but the Borg could see the quiver in her jaw, and heard the slight difficulty the captain had with her words as she spoke. Seven nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the seriousness of her wound, noting the oddly hollow feeling she always experienced when her nanoprobes had been pushed to their absolute limit. Were she still a drone, the Collective would have deactivated her and used what remained for spare parts. She looked at her partner, and once more, she realized how very badly and thoroughly she had frightened her spouse.

"I have failed, Kathryn."

Janeway blinked. "How so, my love?"

"I did not keep my word," Seven whispered. "I did not remain safe."

"Nonsense." Janeway leaned down and kissed her forehead very tenderly. "We'll discuss the away mission later. Now, you have to concentrate on getting better."

"What is the status of the science projects?"

"Lt. Wildman has taken care of the planetary mission," the captain explained. "I put the spatial study in Dr. Kahn's capable hands.  She's supervising the astrometrics lab in your absence."

Seven was surprised at the last, especially considering Janeway's past attitude toward the civilian scientist, but then, the captain had been warming up to Kahn in recent weeks. She attempted to rise, temporarily forgetting that she could not, and immediately felt the pain and pressure through her chest again.

"I cannot function like this," she said, dissatisfied.

"You're not supposed to," Janeway told her, her tone slightly scolding as she used her hand on Seven's other shoulder to push her back down on the bed. "Not for two more days."

That was worst of all, Seven supposed. Staying in sickbay was probably her least favorite thing to do, and to be conscious of it for two whole days ... it suddenly occurred to her to wonder how long she had already been in the medical center. She eyed the captain, noting the dark shadows beneath the blue-grey eyes, the hint of strain at the corners of the sensitive mouth.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

Janeway hesitated, and Seven felt a pang of uncertainty. "Dr. Pulaski and the Doctor held you in stasis for ten days. Not full stasis, but one which slowed your metabolism down to the point that your nanoprobes could recharge, then once they were fully active, that's when you were released and the doctors began regeneration on your burns. You were allowed to wake up naturally." She paused. "I'm so glad to see you, my darling."

"Oh, Kathryn," Seven breathed, knowing what this period of uncertainty and fear would have done to her spouse.

Janeway grinned crookedly. "I won't say it was easy, because it most certainly wasn't. However, I much prefer it to the alternative." She laced her fingers in Seven's, holding her hand tightly. "Darling, whenever there's an ambush, will you please stop leading with your chest? This is about the fourth time you've been shot there."

Seven tilted her head, evaluating the tone. It was not entirely facetious on Janeway's part. There was a hint of honest pleading underlying the light words.

"I will try, Kathryn." She paused. "However, my chest is so prominent, it is difficult for most enemies to miss."

Janeway exhaled slowly, not smiling at this attempt at wit, but she did squeeze the Borg's hand again. "I love you, my darling. I can't lose you."

Seven squeezed back. "I know, Kathryn," she said, honestly sorry to have put her partner through this. "You will not lose me."

The captain regarded her for a moment, then leaned down and rested her head on the Borg's stomach, not responding to Seven's promise, but perhaps her silence was eloquent enough, the young woman thought. With her right hand, the Borg gently stroked the auburn hair, comforting her partner with her touch, reconnecting them on a physical level. There would be repercussions from this, she knew. Janeway would be hesitant about sending her out on another away mission, particularly right away. That would be a problem because Seven, as chief science officer, was required to go on away missions. It was part of her job description. Of course, the captain wouldn't be blatant about it, but she would find a variety of ways to keep Seven on board Millennium. It would be up to Seven to either defy or circumvent those attempts, not because she wanted to challenge her partner's authority, but because it was important for both of them to be able to perform all the duties required of them by Starfleet to the fullest of their abilities.

She smiled faintly as she glanced down at her spouse, drawing her fingers over her temple, then lightly down the captain's cheek to her mouth, feeling Janeway's lips move over the tips lightly. Despite her current immobilization, it provided her with a decided tingle, a spark of desire that could not be fulfilled at this time. She sighed slightly in frustration, and carefully moved her fingers away.

"When I am released from this bed, Kathryn," she said softly, "I intend to make love to you for hours."

Janeway smiled, a fully genuine one this time. "Oh, my," she said happily. She eased up Seven's torso, being extremely careful not to place any pressure on her, and covered her lips. Seven doubted her breath was all that fresh after ten days in a stasis chamber, but she returned the kiss eagerly and deeply. It was not merely passionate ... in truth, it held only a restrained passion because of Seven's injury ... but it was healing and loving, and exactly what both of them needed during this very fragile time. Seven wished they had kissed sooner.

It went on for some time, both women becoming fully involved with the process, before someone discretely cleared his throat. Slowly, Seven released the kiss, and glanced over to see Commander Zar standing a few feet away, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Janeway offered her first officer a brief, completely unrepentant, grin.

"Sorry, Commander," she said, and Seven wondered how long he had been standing there. "Is there something you required?"

"Just the daily update on the ship status," he said, handing Janeway a padd, and Seven realized that meant the captain had been hovering around sickbay a great deal in recent days, running the ship from there as much as she could. The thought warmed her. "I also wanted to stop by and see how Lt. Hansen is doing," he added, shifting his head to regard the Borg, offering a smile which altered his craggy features considerably. "It's good to see you awake."

Seven returned the smile weakly. "I am much better, Commander," she said. "Thank you."

"I'm very glad, Seven," he said with sincerity. He glanced back at the captain. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

"No," Janeway said, holding up her hand. "It's fine." She sank back into the chair by the bed and began to scan the contents of the file. Seven listened quietly as the two senior officers began to discuss the various items concerning the ship, feeling an odd sort of contentment ... not physically of course, but spiritually and emotionally. Despite what had happened to her on the planet, she was back where she belonged, at the side of her beloved. Nothing else mattered.

After they were done, Zar took his leave, wishing the young woman a speedy recovery. Seven liked the Cardassian hybrid a great deal, but she was glad he had left, preferring to be alone with her spouse. He wasn't even out the door when Janeway was back at her side, their hands entwined as she bent her head next to Seven's.

"Where were we?" she muttered huskily.

"I believe I was explaining how I was going to make love to you once I have been released from sickbay," Seven said, putting her eidetic memory to good use.

"Oh, yes," Janeway said, a half smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "I remember something to that effect." She settled closer to the Borg, pulling the chair over with her so that she wouldn't be required to lean over her. This also allowed her to rest her head on the pillow next to Seven's. "Where? The arboretum?"

Seven lifted an eyebrow.  "You really are most incorrigible."

Janeway merely looked satisfied at the appellation, just as she always did, and Seven was certain that things would be fine from now on, regardless of what discussions they would be forced to have about future away missions.

She was home.

Epilogue

Zar left sickbay, refusing to look back at the couple who had resumed their full attention on each other, their heads close together as they murmured so softly that no one else could hear, touching fingertips in a sensual connection. They were so unified in their love, it almost hurt to watch them ... not because he resented it, but because he envied them. He recognized that Janeway possessed Seven's heart so completely ... to the point where he believed the captain was the only person the young woman would ever love. Meanwhile, Seven held the captain totally under her spell, breaking through that command persona with an ease that was so natural and so caring, Zar wondered if he would ever be so fortunate as to have that kind of relationship in his life.

Inside, he felt a final letting go, a sense that whatever he had felt for the young Borg, it had eased and was now turning into the honest friendship first offered by the young woman. After ten days of watching the captain spend every spare moment in sickbay, at witnessing the deep and profound love shared between the two, no lingering infatuation could maintain any kind of fantasy in the sheer reality of their relationship. Now, both his heart and mind were content to be friends with the two women. Indeed, he was an extremely fortunate individual to have such people as Janeway and Seven as a part of his life, professionally and personally.

He didn't realize he was smiling until he saw Lenara Kahn walking toward him in the corridor. The Trill returned his smile tentatively, as if uncertain if it were meant for her or not.

"Dr. Kahn," he greeted politely, stopping briefly. She paused as well.

"Commander," she said. She dipped her head in the direction of sickbay's door, a few meters behind him. "I was on my way to see how Seven was. I hear she's regained consciousness."

Zar shook his head. It never failed to amaze and mystify him as to how quickly news traveled on a starship. "How?" he asked in a baffled tone.

Kahn lifted a brow. "I was in the Nexus, and Dr. Spencer came in shortly before I left. I overheard her tell her friends that Seven would recover fully."

"She is alert and responsive at this point," Zar agreed. He hesitated. "However, the captain is with her at the moment."

There was understanding in the Trill's eyes. "Perhaps I'll stop by later, then. I certainly wouldn't want to disturb them."

Looking at her, seeing the elegant spots that trailed down the woman's face and neck, the distinguished bearing she radiated without conscious intent, Zar realized he had never really taken a close look at the Trill before, despite all their countless encounters in the Nexus where scientific discussion and social discourse flowed freely. He wondered why he was suddenly noticing her now, but he certainly wasn't adverse to what it might portend. If there was one thing he had learned over the past month or so on Millennium, it was that anything was possible if one just took advantage of the opportunity.

"Lenara, would you care to have a cup of raktajino with me in the civilian lounge? Perhaps even some dinner?"

She blinked, then looked at him, also with what seemed to be new eyes, and from the way her brow lifted, he thought ... he hoped ... she wasn't displeased with what she saw.

"I'd rather like that, Tulek." She him a bright smile, one that warmed the dark eyes perceptibly. He offered his elbow, and with only a brief hesitation, she took it, her hands cool on his forearm through his tunic, a characteristic of Trill physiology.

Cool hands, warm heart, he thought wistfully. Feeling much better, he escorted the beautiful Trill to the nearest turbolift, already contemplating the possibilities.

The End

•  This is the sixth installment in the Star Trek: Millennium series.

• It was posted on January 15th, 2002.

• There is a wand warning in effect for this story.

Altering Aspirations
G. L. Dartt

Stars, their light distorted by the warp bubble surrounding the starship Millennium, streaked by the windows looming above Ensign Tarn, providing a dramatic backdrop to the upper level of the ready room. On the first level, in a cozy nook that surrounded a workstation and desk, a compact woman perused a padd, her auburn hair falling easily about classic features. Captain Kathryn Janeway radiated command authority even when she was leaning back in her chair, her chin resting on her palm, and apparently lost in what she was reading. She didn't seem aware of the new arrival, yet  Ensign Tarn knew she had to be. After all, an ensign would hardly have entered the captain's ready room without the proper clearance which had come in the form of a cool, but polite 'Come' when she had pressed the admittance chime.

As she waited patiently to be noticed, Tarn wondered what Janeway wanted to see her about. Could it have been her performance on a recent away mission? If so, then Tarn had nothing to worry about. The young woman had performed beyond expectations, both her own and certainly her superiors' who had begun to despair of the young woman who displayed little of the promise initially indicated at Starfleet Academy. Tarn had found the transition from classroom scenarios to active duty difficult, and made a great many mistakes in her duties at Ops during the alpha shift.

That was a thing of the past, she thought confidently. She had found her old form on a jungle planet where she had saved the rest of the away team from a Kazon ambush. Finally, she was becoming the Starfleet officer she had always known she could be, the one everyone expected she would become.

Finally, Janeway looked up, placing the padd gently on the smooth surface of the desk. Her eyes were soft and grey, though Tarn thought she detected a hint of steel within.

"Ensign," she greeted. "Please, have a seat."

Tarn relaxed slightly from her stance of attention, and gratefully sank into the chair offered. Sitting alertly, her eyes steady on the captain, she waited for Janeway to speak, hoping that perhaps her recent efforts would result in personal acknowledgment, perhaps even an official commendation by the most senior officer on the ship.

"Ensign Tarn, I've decided to rotate you to the beta shift where you can receive more seasoning without the demands of serving with the primary alpha team."

If the captain had reached out and backhanded Tarn across the face, it could not have been more shocking to the young woman. Being on the alpha shift, despite the additional pressures and stress, was a mark of achievement and something that accorded an officer a certain stature. Only the best were assigned to the alpha team who not only worked under the captain's direct authority, but were also called to the bridge during any tense situation. To be rotated off meant that one couldn't cut it, that it would be better for all concerned if the officer in question was serving in a less vital position.

"But..." Tarn stuttered in shock, and then closed her mouth with a snap. One did not question a superior officer in situations like this. One especially did not question the captain when one was only an ensign.

"Yes, Ensign?" Janeway prompted evenly. "You have something to say."

Tarn hesitated, and then lifted her chin stubbornly. "I realize my initial performance was less than adequate, Captain. However, I believe I've shown definite improvement over the past two weeks."

"Yes, you have," Janeway agreed. "As a matter of fact, your performance lately has been outstanding. The difference has been most remarkable."

Confused, Tarn stared at her. "Then why..." she began, then stopped again. It was not her place to demand that the captain justify her decisions to her. It wasn't the place of anyone on the ship to demand the captain justify herself, except perhaps the first officer or, in some very rare instances, the chief medical officer.

Janeway offered the young woman a compassionate expression. "Ensign, there's no question that the actions conducted on your recent away mission have allowed you to resume your duties on the bridge with more confidence and ability ... the same confidence and ability you displayed through most of your time at the Academy. That's not the issue here."

"It's not?" Tarn stared at her in bafflement.

"No." Janeway paused, as if seeking the words to explain to the young woman. "You react to success very well, Ensign Tarn. You feed off it, build on it, become better for it."

Tarn inhaled. "Yes, Captain," she said, wondering what was wrong with that. How else was she supposed to respond? One would think the captain would approve of her measurable improvement in such a short amount of time.

"However, you react to failure in precisely the opposite manner." Janeway lifted her head, those grey eyes assessing the young woman keenly. "It's extremely important for a Starfleet officer to be able to treat both failure and success in exactly the same manner, with professionalism and competence. You're not at that level, yet, and I'm afraid the only way to reach it is through time and teaching. You'll gain both on the beta shift."

Tarn opened her mouth to disagree, but realized that was the last thing she should do. Instead, she nodded stiffly.

"Yes, Captain," she said woodenly.

Janeway seemed about to say something else, but dipped her head instead. "You'll find your new schedule on your work station. Dismissed."

Feeling as if she had been pummeled, Tarn rose to her feet and left the ready room in a daze, wondering how she could go from the top of the world to the bottom of the heap so quickly. A dry, cynical part of her noted that she was lucky she hadn't been rotated back to the gamma shift, or off bridge duty altogether. It didn't make it any easier, however.

It just wasn't fair, she thought fiercely as she returned to her post at ops, barely acknowledging the other officer who gave way to her. She was vaguely aware of the first officer, Zar Tulek, eyeing her from the command chair as she punched the commands into her touch-pad with unnecessary vigor, furiously blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. If only she weren't stuck on a vessel that was on a year-long scientific mission. She'd love to be able to demand a transfer, to show Janeway she didn't need to be on this ship regardless of how prestigious it was. However, that wasn't an option. She was stuck on the Millennium, and it was up to her to prove she could succeed.

If the captain wanted her to react to setbacks in the same way she did success, then by all the entities that people worshiped, she would show her, Tarn vowed silently. She'd show all of them. By the time she was done, they'd be begging her to come back to the alpha shift.

She was certain of it.

***

Zar Tulek, Millennium's first officer, shot a look at the young officer at ops who was barely concealing her upset and dismay. He knew full well why the captain had called Tarn into the ready room. He hadn't agreed initially, believing that the young woman was finally coming into her own, but now it appeared that the captain had been entirely correct. While the ensign had improved immensely since the away mission on the jungle world, it was clear that she really hadn't learned anything about herself. That was unfortunate, but it was very much a trait of the young. Only time and experience allowed officers to mature, and Janeway was wise in thinking Tarn needed a bit of time away from the intensity of the alpha shift. He wondered if the young woman realized how significant it was that the captain took the time to personally address the ensign's assignment. Normally, it would be his domain. It was likely that Tarn was completely unaware of the command attention being accorded her and he made a mental note to subtly point it out to her.

He shook his head slightly, and turned his gaze back to the front of the bridge. The fore viewscreen that dominated that area was tuned to the external sensors scanning the space ahead of them, granting the sensation of flying through a black sea punctuated by shooting stars. The ship was on a course headed deeper into the Delta Quadrant, exploring space that had never before been charted by Federation ships, boldly going where no one ... at least, no one from Starfleet ... had ever gone before.

There was no way of knowing what lay before them, what alien civilizations and cultures awaited their discovery. This was why he had joined Starfleet, he mused quietly ... this unquenchable thirst for knowledge and new adventures, he possessed. Had he been born in another place and time, he might have had to be content to pursue more limited ventures, become a research scientist perhaps, or some sort of adventurer. However, Zar had the good fortune to have been born at a time when all of space was available to be explored. Better still, had been taken by his mother from a world that hated and feared the people who had sired him, to a Federation colony where he had been able to pursue his dreams.

It hadn't been easy. Zar was a hybrid, half-Bajoran, half-Cardassian, with the latter dictating his appearance, though not his development and personality. The Cardassian Empire had been one of dominance, of conquest, of a cruel and harsh occupation of worlds that possessed the resources they needed. His appearance still provided him with unexpected obstacles at times, but he was at a point where he could overcome them, if not exactly with ease, then with a skill born of long practice.

His eyes chose that moment to settle on Millennium's security chief, and a wry smile touched his thin lips. Ro Laren was someone who personified that type of obstacle. A tall, dark-haired Bajoran, Ro had actually left Starfleet at one point to fight with the Maquis, a band of rebel fighters who had taken the conflict to the Cardassians even after Bajor had been freed. Ro had been less than pleased to discover that her superior officer looked like one of the very people she had been fighting all those years ago, and still hated on so many levels.

Ro was married to the chief of engineering, B'Elanna Torres, who had also been a member of the Maquis at one time, and for some reason, the Klingon had been even more hostile to Zar. It had taken much longer for B'Elanna to accept his presence. Zar occasionally wondered if that was because B'Elanna had fallen into the Maquis on her own, rather than seen her homeworld under brutal occupation, or lost it altogether when the Federation had ceded the planets in the Demilitarized Zone to Cardassian authority. Sometimes, 'born-again' rebels approached the whole thing more fanatically than those who really did have good reason to hate the Cardassian Empire.

Fortunately, over the past months, all three, Klingon, Bajoran and Cardassian, had found a middle ground, and currently, were able to work together smoothly. Zar supposed that was a reflection of their captain who found ways of bringing the most unusual individuals together. She had done it with Voyager, her previous command, when it had been lost in the Delta Quadrant, and now, she was doing it again with Millennium, a vessel that allowed her to return to this particular area of space on her own terms.

He settled back into the command chair and wondered what it would be like to hold it for real, as opposed to just covering it while the captain was otherwise occupied. Despite the progression of his career being frozen by previous senior officers, Janeway had welcomed him graciously, and under her tutelage, he was learning a great deal about starship command and what it took to earn that extra pip. By the time this mission was complete, he felt sure he would be ready for his own vessel.

Assuming Starfleet would finally accord him that ship.

Seven of Nine knelt on the smooth bedspread, hovering over her partner with growing anticipation. The starship captain was lying face-down on the couple's large bed, two pillows tucked under her stomach to elevate her hips and buttocks, her head turned to the side to reveal a face flushed with rising passion. Languidly, Seven ran her hands over the smooth back, caressing Kathryn's silky skin with her palms, gently exploring the curves of her torso. A small smile curled one corner of the captain's mouth, her eyelashes throwing soft shadows over the fine curve of her cheek.

"That feels so good," Janeway said softly, a flash of white teeth appearing as she smiled lazily.

"It shall feel better," Seven assured her seriously.

She lovingly stroked the rise of the captain's buttocks, grasping the flesh briefly to grant a loving squeeze before slipping her palms down the back of Janeway's legs. Seven was aware how much Janeway enjoyed this slow, steady arousal, the tender worship of her body by her partner. There was also a certain amount of surrender involved for the steel-willed captain. In this position, she had given herself completely over to her partner, assured that she was in safe and protective hands, knowing that she would experience only enjoyment in what Seven chose to do.

Seven enjoyed it as well, appreciating the sense of dominance it granted her, the knowledge that she was in control, that she was the one determining both the pace and timing of their lovemaking. Inhaling deeply, the Borg leaned down, her lips brushing over the supple muscle and bone of the captain's back, the tip of her tongue slipping out to trace a delicately light trail down the defined spine.

Janeway inhaled sharply, a gasp of delight at the sensation. Seven's keen ears accepted the sound for the appreciation it was, the acknowledgment of her skill at loving her spouse. Her hands grasped the captain's buttocks again, massaging them lavishly as her lips paused at the small of Kathryn's lovely back, feeling the warmth radiating from the slight depression here, a wisp of tantalizing womanly scent reaching her nostrils. Smiling briefly, Seven placed her hand at the juncture of the captain's legs, her fingertips brushing lightly over the wetness, feeling the velvet heat that seared along her nerve endings, and provoking a heartfelt groan from her beloved partner.

"Oh, god," Janeway breathed.

Seven repeated the caress, firmer this time, her fingers seeking out the little nub slippery with moisture, and circling it with tender intent. There was no question that Kathryn was ready for what the Borg planned next ... more than ready.

With a sweet kiss to Janeway's left buttock, Seven straightened, leaving her fingers where they were at the moment as she used her other hand to reach for a jar of lubricant. She dipped into the silky gel, scooping up a generous amount and using it to slather the device protruding from her groin. The Wonder Wand 9000 was a Ferengi-manufactured, completely adjustable and realistic 'accessory' designed to mimic male genitalia of over one thousand alien species, including Human for which the parameters were currently set. The couple found it a delightful enhancement to their sexual interaction, adding a certain amount of spice to an active and energetic love life.

Janeway tended to enjoy penetration more than Seven, occasionally wanting and needing more than even the young Borg's long, elegant fingers could provide. For Janeway to be filled ... to have a sense of being taken completely ... Seven found the device to be an acceptable tool. Sensors arrayed along the exterior transmitted sensation directly to where the device was attached, making it feel as if Seven's clitoris had been extended 15 centimeters, allowed her to feel as much pleasure as the captain did in this type of encounter.

Janeway squirmed beneath Seven's teasing fingertips, her breath coming rapidly now, aware of what her partner was doing and unquestionably anxious for her to continue. She spread her legs wider, granting the Borg a much appreciated vision of intimate flesh, a glimpse of pink and shining moisture in darker recesses that beckoned with irresistible attraction. Seven required a nanosecond to compose herself, to slow her response so that she did not become overanxious and hurry what should be savored. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the artificial penis, shivering at the tingles that emanated from the contact, and resisting the urge to stroke it further. Instead, she guided the mushroom head to the opening welling moisture, and dipped it into the heat and wetness before moving it down to rub the rounded tip over the captain's swollen nodule.

Janeway cried out softly as her fingers dug into the bedding, her hips rising to offer more of herself to her partner. Seven dallied over the caress, relishing the way it felt to tease Janeway this way, using the device to stroke the captain once, twice, three times with lingering enjoyment before carefully finding the opening once more. Janeway arched back, engulfing the head of the penile probe before Seven could move, and the Borg offered her own moan of desire as she felt the heat surround her clitoral extension, drawing her in.

Supporting herself on outstretched arms, Seven began a lengthy thrust into the waiting warmth, slowly lowering her body onto Janeway's back, feeling her breasts pressing against the soft skin wet with perspiration. She was careful not to put her whole weight on the smaller woman, but she knew Janeway liked the sensation of being covered. She entered her fully, the entire length of the penile probe swallowed by the hot, silky walls of her partner and Seven inhaled deeply. Fighting for composure, they remained in this position for several, salacious seconds, with Seven savoring the sensation of sweet joining, of being inside her spouse in this intimate unification.

Beneath her, Seven could hear the soft mutters of her partner, a verbal attempt to convey what she was feeling, at the delight she was experiencing. It was hearfelt, if rather incoherent.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered into her ear, a loving benediction falling from her lips, a beloved name that encompassed so much for her. "My Kathryn."

She reached up with her left hand, finding Janeway's, entwining her fingers with her own in a connection that was nearly as intense as the joining of their bodies. She was extremely careful with the Borg mesh on the captain's more vulnerable skin. Slipping her other hand beneath Kathryn's body between her pelvis and the pillows, she found the captain's ridge which she began to massage with tender ferocity. At the same time, she slowly withdrew, a cautious pulling back that felt every millimeter of the intoxicating flesh surrounding her, stopping short of pulling out altogether. She hesitated for a split second, just long enough to enhance the anticipation, then reversed her motion, pushing inside, probing into Kathryn's interior recesses and burying herself as deeply as she could.

Seven expelled her breath in a short, explosive sound, a grunt of pleasure that captain echoed in a wordless demand for more, arching up against the Borg, her buttocks a heavenly cushion for Seven's groin. Delicious seconds passed as Seven once again cherished the sense of being inside Kathryn, her body so damp and hot against hers, the way the smaller, compact form felt beneath her.

"Damn it," Janeway exhaled through clenched teeth. "Don't tease, darling." She lifted her head imperiously. "Do it."

Seven chuckled, knowing it was an order as much as a plea, and one that she was more than willing to obey ... just not immediately. She ground her hips against Kathryn with tantalizing pressure, teasing her and reminding her again just who was in command of this particular interaction. Janeway panted, squirmed, and generally made it known that while she appreciated, as much as the next person, a lover who took her time, there were occasions when she didn't want to wait. She wanted it hard, she wanted it fast, and most of all, she wanted it NOW.

Finally, Seven relented, pulling back once more, then thrusting inside just a little more forcefully, her fingers swirling rapidly over Janeway's ridge which seemed larger, yet more elusive with every passing second. The captain uttered a sound of pure appreciation, urging her on, offering encouragement that frequently came in the form of vulgarities that she had learned to curb in other areas of their lovemaking. Seven didn't mind. The words added to the experience and enhanced her own pleasure as she focused on creating a strong, regular, yet gentle rhythm that provided the most pleasure to Kathryn. It wasn't entirely easy to maintain it. Her own desire was rising, sweeping her up and spreading through her in steady waves as she thrust. The volume and frequency of their groans intensified as did their pleasure, and then suddenly, Seven felt that magic around her, that flutter of involuntary pulsations as Janeway shuddered beneath her. It was all the young Borg needed, and she surrendered to the delight she had been holding at bay until she was sure her partner had reached her peak. She thrust a final time, jerking spastically against her partner, helpless in the passion that caught her up, shook her, and finally let her go.

For several moments, there was only the sound of their breathing, the golden relaxation into the boneless aftermath. Seven lowered her head, burying it into the auburn hair, extremely vulnerable in how much she felt for the woman beneath her, holding her protectively while at the same time, needing Kathryn's strength, reaching out for her presence. Kissing the smooth skin of the captain's neck, she nuzzled her face into the cozy hollow of the Janeway's throat and shoulder, immersing herself in her warmth and fragrance.

Finally, Janeway wiggled, indicating that she wanted to move, and Seven obligingly withdrew, rising to her knees as she removed the device and placed it in the compartment built into the headboard which sterilized it with a flash of ultraviolet radiation. Janeway rolled over, moving the pillows which had supported her up to the head of the bed and making a cozy nest into which she welcomed Seven, drawing her down into her arms.

They kissed, a slow, languid, melting kiss of love before Seven settled against her, half covering her, arm and leg draped over the captain's body, her head resting on the pillow next to Janeway's.

"That was wonderful, darling," Janeway said softly. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Seven returned. "I enjoyed it equally."

"It's fun to try different things, isn't it?" Janeway murmured, a smile curving her lips as she closed her eyes. Her right hand traced slow patterns over Seven's back, her arm wrapped around the Borg, pulling her close. The fingertips of her left hand trailed aimlessly over the younger woman's biceps and forearm, the caress soothing and infinitely loving.

Seven blinked. "It was not a new position for us. I have made love to you with the Wonder Wand in this manner before."

"I meant just using the accessory," Janeway elucidated. "I like that you have no problem with my wanting it on occasion."

Seven kissed the captain's forehead lovingly. "It gives you pleasure. I am also pleasured by it. Why would there be a problem?"

"You'd be surprised," Janeway muttered sleepily. "Some people read too much into using accessories sometime."

"I am not 'some people'."

Janeway smiled. "No, my love, you're not. Far from it."

Seven nuzzled her for a few moments, and settled a little closer. "I understand you made some changes to the bridge crew," she prompted gently, knowing that her spouse could be less guarded in her comments just before she went to sleep.

Janeway immediately grew reserved. "Hmm, do you really want to talk ship's business right now?"

Seven considered it carefully. "I was merely curious, Kathryn." She paused. "Why do you not wish to discuss it?"

Janeway smiled. "It's not that I don't want to discuss it. I know that you've grown closer to a few of the junior officers since your away mission together, including Ensign Tarn. I even recognize that perhaps you feel a certain personal interest in what happens to them. However, this was a command decision, darling, and frankly, none of your concern as chief science officer."

Seven frowned, stymied. "Elisa has performed efficiently since the away mission."

"Yes, she has. However, it's not always what's on the surface that prompts command decisions, darling." She paused, and then reached over, patting Seven on the stomach. "Annika, trust that I know what I'm doing even when you don't understand it. Isn't that what you ask of me?"

"I trust you completely." Seven exhaled slowly. "Very well, Kathryn, I will not pursue this with you."

"Thank you, love," Janeway muttered, fighting a losing battle against her drowsiness, though truth be told, she was not fighting very hard. Seven watched with slight amusement as the captain's eyes slid shut and her breathing smoothed out. Gently, she brushed her lips over Janeway's forehead, a kiss of devotion and honest affection for the woman in her arms.

She would have to find out the details another way, she decided. Perhaps from Zar. For whatever reason, she had noticed that the ship's first officer had a difficult time keeping things from her when she pressed him. With only a minor effort, she would be able to determine the real reason for Tarn being rotated back to the beta shift.

Janeway entered her starship's medical center with some trepidation, though a quick glance around the gleaming confines of sickbay revealed that there wasn't anyone present other than the chief medical officer.  The snowy-haired Pulaski could be seen in her office through the transparencies that lined one wall. She seemed intent on whatever she was working on at her computer terminal, and the captain took the opportunity to observe the older woman whom she had lured out of semi-retirement to accompany the vessel on this voyage to the Delta Quadrant.

Pulaski had been one of the captain's professors at the Academy, presiding over one of the more difficult and challenging courses a young Kathryn Janeway had ever experienced. They had stayed in touch in the years since, excluding the near decade that Janeway had been lost in the Delta Quadrant with Voyager. When it came time to choose a chief medical officer for her new command, Janeway had immediately thought of the older woman. Despite the fact it had meant a demotion of sorts, returning to a starship after a stint in the upper echelons of Starfleet Medical, Pulaski had agreed. There had been occasions that Janeway wondered if she had made a mistake, but overall, there was a sort of comfort in knowing that the ship's medical needs were being looked after by the experienced, tough, and very brilliant woman.

"Kate?"

Pulaski 's light blue eyes warmed as she saw the captain standing in the doorway, but she made grumpy sound, as if greatly offended at being interrupted. Janeway ignored it, moving across the office to take a seat in the low-backed chair opposite the doctor.

"Where is everyone?"

"Doctors Lewis and Spencer are out to lunch," Pulaski said, tapping her touch pad to log off her task, turning her full attention to the captain. "I have no idea why Lewis went since he doesn't eat. I don't have a nurse rotated onto the alpha shift at the moment."

"Oh."

Pulaski's eyes narrowed as she assessed the captain. "What's up, Kathryn? You're not here for a voluntary checkup, I know that."

Janeway, who tended to avoid routine physicals like a Kazon avoided bath water, offered a sheepish smile. "Actually, I'm here to get your advice."

Pulaski blinked, obviously surprised. "On a medical matter?"

Janeway shook her head. "No." She paused, and took the plunge. "As much as I hate it, I have to acknowledge the fact that, technically, you're the only person on board who is a peer in terms of rank."

"Because I hold the rank of admiral, even though I accepted this assignment as a commander."

"I would be remiss if I didn't avail myself of your experience, Doctor."

Pulaski grinned crookedly. "That must have hurt."

Janeway started to reply, stopped, and then dipped her head in acknowledgment of how well the medical officer knew her.

"It did, but I have to accept that I hold advantages on Millennium that I simply didn't have on Voyager. It's up to me to exploit them."

"That includes an off-the-record review of your command performance to date?"

Janeway managed not to flinch. "Something like that."

Pulaski considered that, then shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, you're doing fine, Kathryn. Was there something specific that you were unsure about?"

Janeway hesitated, and looked away from those penetrating blue eyes. "I worry sometimes that I'm unable to be consistent in my treatment of the crew."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm not sure I treat everyone the same." Janeway sighed, leaning back in her chair. "That those who served on Voyager hold a special place with me, and are accorded preferential treatment because of it."

"I'm sure they do," Pulaski said, then held up a hand as the captain's face clouded. "That's to be expected in any situation, Kathryn, particularly in a new command. You know those particular individuals well enough to trust them, and thus, grant them more authority than you would someone you're just getting to know."

"It's not fair, however."

Pulaski shrugged. "Since when is the universe fair?" She linked her fingers and rested her hands on the desk in front of her. "Kathryn, I'm sure you have difficulty at times knowing when to draw the line. Take the recent situation with Tom Paris, for example."

Janeway raised her chin. "You think I was too lenient on him," she said, realizing with a sinking sensation that the incident with the Nexus and the ship's new bartender was starting to make the rounds.

Pulaski shook her head. "I don't know. It's not my call to make. However, I would ask you if it had been Ensign John Doe from deck twenty who had 'hired a bartender', would you have handled it 'off the record'?"

"I don't know." Janeway squirmed. "It depends."

"It always depends," Pulaski said gently. "Let's not kid ourselves, Kathryn. We all have certain personnel who work for us who have proven their abilities over time, and have earned a certain leniency when they tiptoe over the line. Certainly, as captain, it's your prerogative to treat individual members of your crew however you decide. However, if it concerns you how it looks to the crew as a whole, then you have to decide how far you're going to take it. In that event, you'll either have to treat your trusted, senior officers as you would anyone else on the ship ... or better yet, accord the officers you don't know the same trust you give those who served with you on Voyager."

"Logically, that's how it should be," Janeway agreed.

"In reality, that's not how it will work, however." Pulaski spread her hands. "You have more faith in those who served with you on Voyager. You should. They've had the necessary time to earn that faith while others haven't. The crew is just going to have to accept that."

"Nonetheless, in situations such as the incident with the crew lounge, I should have looked at Tom as just another crewmember." Janeway looked inside herself and wasn't pleased at what she saw.

Pulaski lifted a thin brow. "Live and learn," she said calmly. "You'll do better next time." She tilted her head slightly. "It's okay to make a mistake now and again, Kathryn. That's Human."

"A starship captain is supposed to be a little more than that," Janeway noted dryly.

"Bullshit," Pulaski said coarsely, surprising her captain. The older woman reached beneath her desk and pulled out a tall bottle filled with golden liquid, causing Janeway to raise her eyebrow.

"A little early for that, don't you think?" Janeway offered, though she leaned back in her chair and regarded the doctor with a slight glint in her eyes.

Pulaski merely regarded her sardonically as she poured each of them a glassful. "Just enough to get the blood stirring. It's purely medicinal." She put away the bottle and slid the small tumbler over to the captain.

Janeway picked it up and took a cautious sip. It went down easily, but when it reached her stomach, it was as if something had exploded, radiating tendrils of fire throughout her body.

"Whew," she said, blinking back tears. "What is this stuff?"

"Ranalian whiskey," Pulaski said. "I picked up a couple of bottles before we left the Alpha Quadrant."

"Smooth," Janeway choked.

Pulaski grinned at her. "It's also traditional. Whenever a doctor finally has the captain come to her for advice, a toast is in order, regardless of what time of the day or night it is." She paused. "I'll bet the hologram never poured you one."

Janeway considered it. "Actually, he did once. Late in our journey, just after Kes returned and merged with Sek, he and I shared a moment. Everyone was shook up by that one." She shook her head at the memory.

"I'm surprised," Pulaski said. "Maybe I've underestimated him."

Janeway regarded her. "Perhaps you have. Heaven knows, I certainly did in the past."

"So how's your love life?" Pulaski asked cheerfully, changing the subject since she obviously wasn't prepared to discuss the EMH at the moment.

Janeway fixed her with a look. "That doesn't fall into the category of CMO/Captain confidentiality. And it's none of your damned business."

Pulaski lifted a brow. "Just checking, Kathryn. I worry sometimes, particularly after that incident involving the Iboneb."

Sobering, Janeway inhaled deeply. "That was a difficult time," she admitted. "We worked through it."

"That's all you can do," Pulaski said sagely, then laughed again, slightly bitter. "Though I'm the last person you should be asking about relationships. Mine haven't exactly been the most successful over the years." She paused. "Nor was I ever involved with a Borg."

"Seven is more Human than Borg now." She hesitated. "Perhaps too much so."

Pulaski eyed her narrowly. "Want to explain that one?"

"Have you ever accessed Seven's medical records?"

Pulaski nodded. "As CMO, it's incumbent on me to know any problem areas that might arise with the crew."

Janeway regarded her whiskey. "Problem areas," she repeated painfully. "That's one way to put it."

"I'm aware the Doctor told you about the potential for future complications. But it's only a potential, Kathryn. Why are you suddenly so worried about it?"

"It's not suddenly," Janeway allowed. "It's more a case of my concern progressively building over the past couple of years. Every time she's hurt, I wonder if that makes her more vulnerable for something in her cybernetic systems to go wrong. Or worse, in her Human organs. They were so damaged, Kate. Half of them were replaced or transplanted. Her brain has been so interfaced with her cranial implant that God only knows what could happen if that began to malfunction. Even with today's medical advancements, what the Borg did to her can never be repaired."

"We keep an eye on her, Kathryn," Pulaski assured her. "Worrying about it achieves nothing, and besides, there's no certainty that something will happen, only that it might. The odds are probably equal in you falling down an access ladder and breaking your neck."

"I'm afraid the odds for Seven aren't that good," Janeway said gloomily.

"Have you talked to the hologram about this?"

"He just tells me that I'm worrying about what might happen when I have more than enough to worry about as captain, none of which has anything to do with Seven."

"He's right," Pulaski said. "Much as I hate to admit it." She inhaled slowly, her eyes dark as she sought the words that would reassure the captain about her spouse. "Kathryn, if you're not careful, you'll spend so much effort and energy being concerned about something that may or may never happen that you miss all the wonderful things going on in the present. Don't do that."

"Believe it or not, I do realize that," Janeway said. "I know I have to cherish each moment I have with her. It's just that, occasionally, I'm reminded of how vulnerable she really is beneath the Borg enhancements."

"This is all stemming from the recent away mission where she was injured," Pulaski decided knowingly. "Kathryn, the Borg enhancements may have left Seven with permanent damage to certain areas of her body, but the nanoprobes are also what kept her stable long enough for us to save her from that disrupter blast. For every curse, there is a blessing, and vice versa. Her assimilation may contribute to her demise in the long term, but that Borg technology is what usually saves her in the short." She lifted her glass. "There are no guarantees for any of us, particularly in Starfleet, so frankly, she has it better than a lot of us."

Janeway shook her head. "That doesn't stop me from worrying."

"Of course not," Pulaski said in a practical tone. "The only one who can stop it is you. Accept the things you can do nothing to change, Kathryn. Let it go."

Janeway took another sip from her drink, a longer one this time, enjoying the way the heat spread through her body. "Easier said than done."

"For you, I can see that," Pulaski agreed evenly. "However, it doesn't accomplish anything except add pressure to Seven, who must be aware of your concern."

Janeway sighed. "She is," she admitted. "She's told me in no uncertain terms that she will not allow it to prevent her from doing her job."

Pulaski snorted amusement. "I would have loved to have heard that discussion."

"No," Janeway said, still stinging at the memory of the conversation a week earlier which had, at times, become somewhat heated, "You wouldn't."

Pulaski just laughed and took another drink. Janeway, lacking anything else to do, followed suit, glad that she had come to her old mentor, but aware that it really hadn't reconciled anything in her mind. It left her to wonder; was she as alone on Millennium as she had been on Voyager?

Dressed in a skintight, blue recreation outfit, her short shock of dark hair pushed back by a wide headband, Ro Laren warily eyed the five opponents circling her. They were obviously preparing for a coordinated attack, and she balanced lightly on the balls of her feet, ready to deflect it. She knew inexperienced officers had difficulty in carrying out such an assault without getting in each other's way, thus granting a small, but possibly crucial, strategic advantage to the Bajoran. Her lips pulled back in a sort of feral grin as she abruptly lunged at the closest body, going from the defensive to the offensive in a split second.

Ensign Davinus Marcos yelped in surprise and jumped back, a decidedly inefficient form of defense that Ro immediately pounced on, lashing out to catch the stocky, dark-haired young man in the chest with a well-placed heel, propelling his leap backward into a helpless sprawl on the deck. Before he had even hit the ground, the Bajoran had turned and grabbed the next officer, flipping him over onto his back in front of the third person who obligingly stumbled over him. Ro wasted little time in rushing the fourth ensign, careful to keep him between her and her last opponent, using his body as a shield even as she disabled him with a chop across his torso and a stunning snap kick to the stomach.

That left the best for last. Unlike the rest of the fighter pilots undergoing security training, T'Shanik had not lunged into the fray blindly. Instead, she had coolly analyzed Ro's attack, and had drawn back, putting some cautious distance between her and the Bajoran. Ro never underestimated Vulcans, having served under Lt. Commander Tuvok in her previous posting, but neither did she over-estimate their abilities. She simply remembered that while T'Shanik was physically stronger than the Humans already dispatched by the Bajoran, and had the ability to make decisions logically in the heat of the moment, which made her dangerous, T'Shanik wasn't a trained security officer. She could not be goaded into an emotional mistake, but she could be outmaneuvered into a physical one.

"I'm waiting, Lieutenant." Ro eyed her provocatively. "Are you refusing the test?"

"Not at all, Commander," T'Shanik offered politely, moving cautiously. "I am merely choosing my moment just as you have taught me."

Ro grinned wolfishly. "Sometimes the moment chooses you, Lieutenant." Without any further hesitation, she lunged at the young woman, sweeping her legs from beneath her and knocking her to the deck. Before T'Shanik could recover, Ro was straddling her, knees pinning her shoulders to the ground, immobilizing the Vulcan. Then she looked around at the others. They were standing in a semi-circle, having recovered in time to witness the final member of their group go down. They were watching with slack-jawed intensity, sweat streaking their faces.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Ro demanded.

"Sir?" Marcos queried, the only one brave enough to do so.

"Why are you standing around?" Ro regarded them with no little disgust. "The mission was to capture and secure me."

The others looked at each other uneasily, and made a belated move toward her, obviously not anxious to be put on their backs again, but intent on obeying the order. Before they moved very far, however, Ro had drawn a small hand phaser from where she had concealed it in an inner pocket of her outfit, and aimed it at them.

"Too late. You should have made sure I was unarmed before we began."

She would have laughed at their expression of consternation if it weren't so clear that none of them had a clue what they were supposed to do next.

Correction. One of them did. Ro felt faintly stupid as T'Shanik, using a move the Bajoran couldn't remember ever encountering before, somehow wiggled into a position that granted her some slight leverage, and her musculature managed to do the rest, heaving Ro off her and onto the deck. Quickly, T'Shanik seized Ro's right arm, keeping her from utilizing her weapon.

"Assist me," she demanded of the others standing around in shock. To give them credit, they did their best, leaping onto the Bajoran with enthusiasm, if not much competence. Ro allowed herself a brief second of pleased surprise, and then proceeded to make their task as difficult as possible, utilizing judicious applications of her elbows, knees, hands, feet and on one occasion, her teeth, to discourage them.

In the end, however, she was overwhelmed by the five of them working as a unit, which was exactly what she had hoped would happen. Together, directed by T'Shanik's orders, they pinned Ro to the deck, one on each limb, while the Vulcan pressed the phaser against the Bajoran's forehead.

"You are defeated, Commander Ro," T'Shanik said.

Ro grinned crookedly. "I might debate that, but for now, we'll agree. Well done, people. Release me."

Two of the officers from the pilot group that Ro was training started to release the Bajoran's arms, but were stopped by the Vulcan. "Belay that," T'Shanik said calmly. "Commander Ro, have we secured your surrender?"

The Bajoran stared at her, then nodded sourly. "Very well, I surrender."

The young people hesitated, looking toward the Vulcan, who considered the Bajoran carefully and finally nodded. They looked slightly nervous as they released the Bajoran who rose gracefully to her feet. She glanced around at them, and then at T'Shanik.

"That was very well done, Lieutenant," she complimented. The Vulcan inclined her head in acknowledgment of the praise, but did not react any further. Ro was less pleased as she turned her attention on the other pilots.

"Our encounter with the Kazon should have taught you the importance of knowing how to take care of yourself," she said sternly. "We discovered that in certain instances, the fighter squadrons may be the first wave in a ground assault. That requires more training than the basic Starfleet techniques. My question is, why is T'Shanik the only one who seems to be able to grasp this concept? She's clearly been practicing since our last session. The rest of you haven't." The group looked uncomfortable and glanced either at each other or at the deck. Ro resisted a sigh and lifted her hand. "You're dismissed. Report here tomorrow and we'll go over the basics one more time."

They seemed relieved that the day was over, and all but T'Shanik wasted little time in vacating the gym where they had been training. Ro eyed the remaining pilot curiously as she picked up a towel and mopped the sweat from her brow, wondering what was up with the junior lieutenant.

"Something on your mind, T'Shanik?"

"I require your assistance, Commander," the young woman said, and if she were not Vulcan, Ro would swear she was a little nervous about what she was about to say.

"Regarding?"

"I understand there is an opening on the alpha shift for an operations officer."

Ro was surprised. Whatever she might have thought T'Shanik was going to say, this was not it. "They're actually rotating officers in and out of the position at the moment."

"Is it possible they will settle on a permanent placement?"

"Anything's possible," Ro agreed. She tilted her head, draping the towel around her neck and hanging onto it with both hands as she studied the young Starfleet officer. "Are you thinking of applying?"

"I am."

"Why?"

A thin eyebrow rose at the flatly uttered question. "I wish to serve on the bridge," the Vulcan said. "In order to do that, I require a recommendation from a senior officer."

Ro nodded slowly. "Why didn't you ask Tom?" she asked, referring to the wing commander who was T'Shanik's immediate superior.

A faint trace of dissatisfaction ghosted over T'Shanik's narrow features. "I discussed the matter with Lt. Paris, and he indicated that he would prefer I not apply for such a position at this time."

Ro grinned. "Didn't want to lose you," she translated. "I don't blame him. I'm half tempted to recruit you for security, myself. Consider it a compliment, Lieutenant."

"I do not require 'compliments'," T'Shanik predictably said. "I require a recommendation from a senior officer."

Ro considered the request for a moment as T'Shanik waited patiently. "Why do you want to be on the bridge?"

"I believe my talents are best suited for that position."

"Do you have any experience in operations?"

"Yes, I acted as an operations officer on DS12."

Ro pinned her with a sharp glance. "Why did you apply to the fighter squadron?"

"There was an opening for a lieutenant," T'Shanik said evenly. "It was the last position available and seemed the best opportunity to join Millennium."

Ro was silent for a long moment as she considered the request before finally nodding. "Fine," she said. "If you want to apply for the position of ops officer on the alpha shift, you can use my name as the recommending officer. I'll be glad to offer my support."

"Thank you, Commander."

Vulcans did not smile, of course, but Ro was certain she detected a certain glow in the young woman's eyes, and she felt amused. She dipped her head in dismissal, which allowed T'Shanik to leave, undoubtedly to immediately tender her application to Commander Zar. Ro wondered if she'd be hearing from Paris in the near future. She doubted he'd be pleased that she had recommended T'Shanik for a departmental transfer, particularly since he hadn't.

She shrugged minutely. What Tom Paris did or did not want was not really her concern, and it would be that way regardless of the fact that he had once been involved with Ro's spouse. Leaving the workout area, she headed for the locker room where she showered and changed into her uniform. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her office on deck twelve, going over security reports before gratefully logging off at 1600 hours. She was discovering that being security chief, particularly on a vessel this large and devoted primarily to science, was not nearly as exciting as being assistant security chief on Voyager. She guessed that was how it was supposed to be. Instead of personally handling problems, she was delegating authority, dispatching the necessary personnel to any trouble spots, yet still required to do the paperwork. She wondered if it had been worth accepting the promotion.

Strangely dissatisfied, she entered the quarters that she shared with the chief of engineering. B'Elanna would undoubtedly be working late, and that knowledge left Ro feeling a little unsettled as well. She slipped off her tunic and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair before sinking down onto the sofa. Head back, staring a the ceiling, she tried to pin down what was bothering her. Could it have been T'Shanik's carefully controlled eagerness in taking the next step in her life? Was it possible that the youthful energy was wearing on the Bajoran?

Was Ro getting old?

She smiled crookedly, shifting her shoulders as she felt a twinge, undoubtedly from her tussle with the pilots. There had been a time when she had been a pupil rather than the teacher, and she wondered if perhaps she simply wasn't missing those simpler, more active days. There had been less authority, but on the other hand, there had been fewer responsibilities. Besides, lacking authority had never kept her from doing what she had wanted to do.

What was she missing? What was it that she felt she needed and didn't have?

The subdued hiss of the door interrupted her musing and she lifted her head, glancing over to see her spouse enter the quarters. Shorter than Ro, with a more solid build, B'Elanna Torres offered her a smile of welcome.

"Hey, lover," she greeted, immediately moving over to the couch and dropping onto the other woman, kissing her with restrained ... for B'Elanna ... enthusiasm. "How was your day?"

Ro wrapped her arms around the Klingon's body, pulling her down on top of her, snuggling into her comforting weight.

"Not bad," she said quietly.

B'Elanna hesitated, then lifted her head, her dark eyes studying her partner closely.

"What's wrong?"

Ro blinked. "Did I say anything was wrong?"

A smile lifted one corner of B'Elanna's expressive lips. "I know you."

Ro returned her gaze, and smiled slightly herself. "I'm not sure," she admitted finally. "I'm just feeling ... a little out of sorts. I've been sitting here trying to figure out why."

"Any conclusions?"

Ro shook her head. "None." There was a pause. "It's possible I'm just suffering from an overload of administrative duties. The only action I'm seeing is in the gym, and that's not how I envisioned my life to be."

B'Elanna nodded slowly and rolled off the Bajoran, sitting up on the other end of the couch. Linking her fingers behind her head, she looked thoughtful.

"I think I know what you mean. I spend all my time supervising my engineers. I haven't been able to rip apart anything on my own for more than a month." She pursed her lips. "We both need some action. We should assign ourselves to the next away mission rather than delegating it to someone else."

Ro lifted a brow, eyeing her in amusement. "Not exactly protocol."

B'Elanna cast a sideways glance at her, a decided glint in her eyes. "Since when have we ever done things according to protocol?" she asked.

"Good point."

Ro linked her fingers over her abdomen and felt considerably better about things. Her partner was undoubtedly correct in assessment regarding their lack of active duty in the past few months. Accepting the next away mission would probably surprise and disturb a few people on Millennium, but the two women had to have their share of excitement once in a awhile, or they would stagnate in their positions as department heads. Besides, what good was it to be of a rebellious nature if they never let loose?

"Hey."

B'Elanna nudged Ro with an elbow. The Bajoran's smile grew wider, believing she detected a decidedly lecherous note in that poke.

"What?"

"Are you really hungry, or can dinner wait a few minutes?"

Ro assumed an expression of disappointment. "Only a 'few minutes'? Is that all you're good for now that we're married?"

She heard the expected growl and abruptly, B'Elanna was on top of her again. This time, there was less playfulness and more intent in the other woman's body and mouth.

"A few minutes can last a lifetime if they're done right," the Klingon rumbled, nipping lightly at Ro's bottom lip after she had thoroughly kissed her.

"Indeed," Ro said a little breathlessly, a warm glow rising within her. With a throaty laugh, she grasped B'Elanna's arms and rolled them over, the couple falling to the floor with a muted thump. It wasn't the most comfortable spot in their quarters, but it was a horizontal surface, and for the newly married couple, that was all they required

Janeway was already home by the time Seven of Nine finished her shift and made it back to their quarters. The captain had several padds spread out over the coffee table, as well as a plate containing the remains of a snack. From the brown crumbs, the Borg suspected it had been a few of the brownies she had left under a stasis wrap on the counter. Seven inhaled slowly, realizing that time had slipped away from her and that it was much later than she had thought. Moving quietly, she slipped across the room and settled on the sofa next to her spouse, regarding her as she worked. Janeway had offered her a brief smile on her entrance, but returned immediately to her own pursuits, her greyish eyes absorbed in the reports on the tiny viewscreen.

Seven didn't say anything. She merely watched her, studying the curve of a classic cheekbone and the way the rich, auburn hair fell lightly about Janeway's face. Finally, it seemed her scrutiny penetrated the captain's concentration, and she glanced over at the Borg, her gaze faintly puzzled.

"Darling? Is something wrong?"

Seven shook her head. "No." She took a breath. "I am ... I love you."

Janeway smiled. "I love you, too."

Seven exhaled audibly, and leaned over. Initially surprised, Janeway obligingly lifted her arms out of the way, granting the younger woman access to her lap where Seven nestled her head, closing her eyes as she felt the warmth of the captain's legs beneath her cheek. Perhaps she just needed the physical contact, she decided, the knowledge that her partner was there, solid and warm. She wanted to be close to her partner, the actual connection of touch granting her a peace that nothing else could provide. Not a voice over a communicator, not the knowledge that she was only a few decks away; just the simple reality of Janeway herself, present and immediate.

Seven closed her eyes as she felt her partner loosen the fastenings that kept her long, blonde hair under control, releasing it to fall around her head. The captain's fingers stroked through it slowly, a soothing caress of tenderness and caring.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong, love?"

"Nothing is wrong," Seven said. She slipped her arm around Janeway's knees, hugging them. "Occasionally, I require your touch in the same manner that I require nutritional supplements. It is an essential need."

Janeway considered that, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "I see," she said. "Do you want me to stop working?"

"No. Continue. It is enough merely to touch you."

Feeling better, though she wasn't sure why she had been feeling uncertain and frustrated in the first place, Seven settled closer to her spouse. Janeway hesitated for a moment, and then picked up her padd again, resuming her perusal of it, this time with Seven's head in her lap. The Borg closed her eyes, drifting in a comfortable place of warmth and love, feeling the day's stresses and demands drain away from her.

"This is interesting," Janeway said quietly after some time had passed.

She had not been sleeping, but Seven still required a bit of effort to return from her pleasant haze to the sharp edges of the here and now.

"Kathryn?"

"Zar has passed on an application for the alpha shift," Janeway explained. "Apparently, Lt. T'Shanik wants a transfer from the fighter wing to Ops."

Seven inhaled deeply and rose from the warm shelter of her partner's lap, sitting up straight and shaking out her shoulders. "I do not know T'Shanik as well as the other junior command officers." She lifted a brow. "Are you considering it?"

"Ro is her recommending superior," Janeway said thoughtfully, "which is odd since Tom is her immediate senior officer." She scanned the information on the padd. "She seems qualified enough as far as abilities are concerned. Of course, as Tarn proved, being on the alpha shift requires more than just ability. There are intellectual and emotional demands that some young officers have difficulty handling."

Seven forced herself to be fair. "As a Vulcan, T'Shanik will react to stressful or dangerous encounters without emotion. She performed adequately on the last away mission."

"Yes, she was one of the pilots chosen for the rescue and recovery team," Janeway agreed. She leaned to the side, propping her elbow on the arm of the sofa and resting her chin on her thumb and forefinger. "She has ops experience from her time at DS12, though from what I understand, the station wasn't exactly a hotbed of activity."

"Kathryn?"

"It's on the other side of the Federation, away from the Klingons, the Romulans and the Cardassians," Janeway explained. "I'm not even really sure why there's a station there, other than the fact it forms part of the early warning system in the event of a threat from that direction. It also supplies and services the Starfleet deep space vessels exploring that area of the quadrant."

"It sounds ... tedious."

Janeway chuckled. "It probably is. I wonder if that's why T'Shanik wrangled a transfer to Millennium. If so, then I'm not sure I need her on the alpha shift. The last thing I need is someone who is only there for the adventure."

"As Tom Paris was?" Seven asked innocently.

Janeway blinked, and then grinned. "Touché. However, I think between my security chief, my chief of engineering and my first officer, that fills my quota of wildcards. Not to mention my science officer."

"She is still Vulcan," Seven reminded her.

"True." Janeway waved the padd absently with one hand. "Do you think I should give her a chance?"

"Have you not given 'chances' to others on previous occasions and been amply rewarded?" Seven offered her partner an arched brow, which made Janeway smile.

"Some rewards were certainly greater than others," Janeway said lazily, eyeing her spouse with warmth and no little humor.

Despite herself, Seven felt her lips curve upward in a smile. Her arm slipped about the captain's shoulders and drew the compact body to her, hugging her as she sought out her lips. Janeway responded immediately, her mouth sweet and responsive to the Borg, full of promise, though restrained as if there were some reason to wait.

"Kathryn?"

"Hmm, you sure you don't want dinner first?" Janeway pulled back, regarding her with lidded eyes, a teasing glint gleaming in their bluish-grey depths.

"Dinner can wait," Seven said with certainty, making her spouse laugh throatily.

They kissed again, and Seven's hands roamed freely over Janeway's body, loosening the uniform tunic, pushing it off her shoulders even as the captain helped the Borg remove her own garments. There was an abortive move toward the bedroom, but desire got the better of them and they ended up on the sofa which, in the end, proved more than sufficient for their needs.

"Well," Janeway said finally, blowing a strand of perspiration-soaked hair from her face. "That was fun."

Stretched out next to the captain on the yielding cushions of the sofa, feeling quite pleased and satisfied with herself, Seven smiled. "It was."

Janeway laughed, and glanced over at her. "Now can we eat?"

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Was I keeping you from that?"

The captain nudged her. "Beast."

Seven did not lean over and nip her, but she made a motion in that direction, causing Janeway to yelp and shy away, slipping off the sofa to fall with a soft thump onto the carpeted deck. Seven watched her with interest as the captain rose to her feet, rubbing her rump.

"Are you injured?"

"Funny," Janeway said in a tone that indicated she didn't find it amusing at all as she turned and headed for the replicator. A small discoloration marked where her fundament had contacted with the deck, and Seven studied it intently as the captain programmed dinner, watching how it flexed and flowed in the swell of buttock. The amount of time it took to completely examine the anatomical area was just to be sure it wasn't a serious injury, she assured herself. It was certainly not anything prurient.

She smiled briefly and rose to her feet, scooping up the couple's scattered clothing and carrying them into the bedroom where she deposited them in the equipment replicator, recycling the uniforms for morning. Then she pulled on a robe and picked up Janeway's, carrying the garment out to the living area where the captain had placed the meal ... soup, salad and sandwiches ... on the table. Janeway accepted the terrycloth covering with a small smile, wrapping herself in its fluffy folds before sitting down.

Seven regarded her food evenly. It seemed a fairly straightforward selection. Certainly nothing that the captain could inadvertently mis-program as had happened in some of her more extravagant attempts. The Borg still didn't know how Janeway had managed to burn a pot roast on one occasion, since replicators were specifically designed to prevent that sort of thing.

The Borg tried the soup cautiously, then had a few bites of salad. The sandwich was fairly mundane, but edible.

"I hate it when you do that."

Seven looked up, startled.

"Kathryn?"

"You always test the food when I make dinner," Janeway said in an exasperated tone. "As if I had put poison in it or something. I do know how to program a replicator. "

"Indeed. I seem to remember a meal in which you offered me small items that tasted of fastening compound."

Janeway lowered her brows and offered her a dark look. Seven returned it blandly, amused by her partner's pique.

"Escargot are supposed to taste like that."

"I see. Perhaps you could explain why they did not 'taste like that' in the restaurant we visited in Paris."

Janeway abruptly threw a piece of lettuce at her, and Seven could no longer suppress the small snicker that bubbled up from her chest. It was so much fun to tease Kathryn at times, more so because Seven was the only one on the ship who could. She also believed it was good for her partner, affording Janeway the opportunity to be playful and more honest in her emotions than she could with anyone else. Janeway could be open with Seven because she knew that no matter what, the Borg's feelings for her would never alter, nor would it affect their professional interaction. It offered the captain a freedom that few other starship commanders enjoyed.

With that in mind, Seven threw the lettuce back. She wasn't entirely clear on the purpose of pelting each other with organic material, but she was perfectly willing to participate, particularly when it made Janeway laugh in that bubbling way that could only be described as a 'giggle'. Seven found it charming, a sound that was rarely evoked in the controlled, naturally reserved captain. However, once the croutons started to fly, Seven deemed that their play had escalated beyond the reasonable standards of safety. One could possibly lose an eye, after all.

When she made that pronouncement, however, it made Janeway howl with laughter, and become even more determined to target the Borg with assorted bacon bits. It was required that Seven chase the captain around the table, pick her up and carry her to the bedroom in order to bring the salad hostilities to an end. She dumped her partner onto their bed and stood looking down at her, her head tilted, wondering if her solution would be enough, or if she would be required to do something further. The captain returned her regard with a combination of amusement and lasciviousness.

"Take off your robe."

Seven lifted an eyebrow.

"Again?"

"You're not tired, are you?"

The Borg thought about it. "No," she said. She paused, deciding that it must be the time of the month when her partner was unusually 'active', requiring more than her share of attention. "I am not tired at all."

She did wonder if they would ever get to finish dinner, however, as she slipped out of her robe and let it drop to the floor with a soft hiss of silken material.

Janeway woke up with Seven curled up next to her, the heat from her body like the golden glow of fire in the darkest of nights. Except, of course, it was no longer night. A blurry glance at the chronometer set in the headboard informed the captain that she only had twenty minutes until the computer offered its irritatingly bland wake-up call. She considered her options and decided that as much as she might want to, waking her partner up for a romantic encounter wasn't what she wanted, especially when she saw how peacefully the Borg was sleeping.

Besides, she reminded herself wryly as she slipped from the cozy bedding, didn't you have enough last night?

In the ensuite, she showered quickly and pulled on the uniform that had been replicated for her the previous night. Squaring her shoulders beneath the grey and black padding, she quietly made her way out to the living area where she replicated a bagel and coffee. She carefully did not look at the debris scattered over most of the dining area, or the unfinished soup and sandwiches sitting on the table, congealed and cold. Otherwise, she'd be required to do a certain amount of straightening. Scraping away a piece of wilted lettuce which had adhered to her boot, she munched on the bagel between sips of life-restoring caffeine as she entered the turbolift. It carried her up to the captain's ready room, the familiar surroundings welcoming her like an old friend.

She supposed she could have waited for Seven to be up and around, possibly even sharing breakfast with her spouse before she headed off for the science labs, but the captain felt unusually energetic this day. She wanted to get an early start on her duty shift, tackle the rest of the reports waiting for her attention, and perhaps spend the afternoon conducting a tour of the ship. There was still certain areas of the large vessel with which she was unfamiliar, and personnel whom she didn't know. She had no intention of letting any opportunity pass where she could learn a little more about her crew.

The low chime of a yellow alert and a terse "captain to the bridge" a short time later interrupted her planned pursuits. A thrill of anticipation shot through her, laced with a certain amount of healthy apprehension as she rose quickly from her desk. Out on the bridge, a subtle current of electricity crackled in the atmosphere, the same sort of excitement that Janeway was feeling. She dipped her head at her first officer as she headed for the command chair which sat above and separate from the rest of the stations.

"Report."

"Long range scans have detected something odd," Zar replied as he settled into the first officer station. Behind them, the turbolift doors opened and those officers from the alpha shift not already on the bridge spilled out, heading for their stations. The slender form of Seven took her place next to Zar in the 'pit' while Ro Laren quickly relieved the ensign covering tactical.

"Could you be a little more specific?" Janeway asked dryly.

Zar shot a look at her over his shoulder. "Not at all, I'm afraid," he admitted ruefully. "It doesn't match anything we have in our data banks, nor do the sensors offer enough understandable information for us to take a guess. That's why I called the yellow alert ... just as a precaution."

Janeway nodded in approval. "Seven, can you decipher what the sensors are telling us?"

The blonde head of her spouse and science officer bent over her station, intent on the data streaming across her screen. "This..." she began, paused, then started again. "The readings are very unusual, unlike anything I have ever seen before. The energy wavelengths fluctuate in unnatural patterns."

"Unnatural?" Janeway queried, frowning at the uncertainty in Seven's tone.

Seven inhaled and turned back. "This data allows no logical conclusion," she explained as best she could. "They defy what are considered the natural laws of time and space."

"A temporal anomaly?"

"No, it is not consistent with any temporal anomaly ever encountered by Starfleet."

"What about one never before recorded?" Ro asked.

Seven shook her head, looking vaguely frustrated. "No. Although there are some readings which are consistent with temporal flux, there are others that do not exist within a temporal disruption. The two types of readings simply cannot exist at the same time. It is ... impossible."

Janeway knew how much the Borg did not want to use that last word, but clearly, it was the only one that would work. Intrigued, the captain looked at the fore viewscreen which showed a panorama of shooting stars.

"Are we close enough for a visual?"

"Coming into range now," Nog said from his helm position.

"On screen. Drop to impulse. Magnify."

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway felt the subtle little shudder vibrate through her vessel as it dropped out of warp. Few would have noticed it, but she was attuned to Millennium enough by now to detect such minute alterations in both the sound and feel of the ship. Eagerly, she waited to see what, if anything, would be revealed on the large screen before her. Her jaw loosened, but didn't quite drop as she squinted at the object that appeared, and then she had to look away as her eyes protested.

"Can you clean that up?"

"Negative," the lieutenant covering ops said, deliberately staring at his touch pad and not at the thing on the screen which squirmed and shifted in a fuzzy display of stomach-turning pyrotechnics.

"Captain, I believe ... it is a ship," Seven said.

"A ship?" Janeway echoed in disbelief. Her eyes drifted back to the screen, and was forced away again as her stomach threatened to crawl its way up her throat.

"Yes," the Borg said, head bent. "It seems to exist in all regions of space -- normal space, hyperspace, subspace and hyper-subspace -- at the same time."

"Is that possible?" Zar asked in wonder.

"No," Seven said. "Nonetheless, it does."

"Captain, I've been working on some of these readings on the communications channel," Ro said. "I think we're detecting a distress call."

"Profit knows, I'd be distressed on a ship like that."

Janeway heard the murmur from Lt Nog, but since it obviously was not meant for public consumption, she ignored it.

"Can you hail them?" the captain asked, wondering who ... or what ... 'them' might be.

"I have no idea," Ro said honestly. "I've sent out a reply on every band I can think of, but there's no way of knowing if it's being received." Normally, it would be ops looking after the communication, but with an untried officer at that post during a yellow alert, Ro was handling that task as a tactical procedure.

Zar lifted his head. "Can a transporter send a signal through?"

Janeway felt a flicker of interest. Beam over to the vessel? Would the interior be anything like the exterior?

"I ... don't know," Ro answered. "It shouldn't work, but with this... I'll try sending a probe."

"Good idea," Janeway seconded. "Do it."

The Millennium crew waited as the Bajoran retrieved a sensor probe from stores and transported it into the vessel. There was a terse silence as the moments passed and data began to stream into their various stations.

"This is unbelievable," Nog muttered.

Similar expressions of disbelief and uncertainty echoed throughout the bridge. Janeway frowned as she studied the readings on the small screen attached to the arm of her chair.

"Is this accurate?" she asked.

"Apparently, the interior of the vessel is of standard humanoid design," Seven replied in a tone that didn't sound completely certain. "There is an area located on the upper part of the vessel that corresponds with a bridge. The distress call appears to be originating from there."

What she didn't add, Janeway noted, was that the upper part of the vessel, at least on the outside, appeared to randomly shift places with the bottom and the sides on a regular basis. Inside, however, the readings were steady.

"Earth-type atmosphere," Ro reported. "Within 97%. Interior structure is composed of substances standard for a Federation cargo vessel."

"It's just the outside that's weird," Nog said. "Propulsion seems to be standard warp and impulse drives fueled by dilithium and deuterium."

"It's possible the exterior is fake," Ro offered.

"Some sort of illusion, set up to confuse sensor readings?" Janeway asked curiously.

"Perhaps," Ro said. "It could be some sort of defense measure. How do you target weapons on something that is neither here nor there?"

"Can we beam an away team over?" Zar asked. He had the same data on his station, of course. The question was to get the opinions from the rest of the bridge crew who may have had different ways of interpreting the data.

"Yes," Ro said. She hesitated. "We receiving a hail from the vessel, data stream only. They request our assistance in..." She frowned. "Realigning the oogle fluxtran."

"Excuse me?" Janeway eyed her security chief oddly, as if she had just grown another head.

"I'm sorry, Captain, that's what it translates to," the Bajoran explained. "I'm not able to get a visual or audio link. Just a request over and over to assist in mechanical repairs."

Zar stood up. "Captain, I think we should send over an away team."

"I agree," Janeway said, also standing. "However, I'll be leading it."

She was amused to see the expression that crossed Zar's boney features, matching that on Seven's face as the Borg turned around, staring over her shoulder at her spouse.

"Captain, may I speak to you a moment in your ready room?" Zar asked after a brief pause of shock and dismay.

Janeway smiled widely at him. "No, there's not going to be any discussion about this." She glanced around the bridge. "Seven, you're with me." There was no need to ask about a security detail. Ro had already risen from her seat at tactical, moving toward the rear of the bridge. It was understood by all concerned that if the captain was about to leave her vessel, the security chief would be the one assigned to her protection. "Zar, you have the bridge."

"Captain..." he began, obviously unwilling to let it go. She shot him a look and he subsided. The line between a first officer's duty to protect the captain and actual insubordination could sometimes be thin indeed. Zar was having difficulty tiptoeing along it at the moment, and Janeway's expression convinced him that he had taken it as far as he could. "Aye, Captain," he said in a resigned tone, knowing when he was beaten.

She offered him a smile. "You can't have the fun all the time, Zar," she said by way of a parting reassurance as she stepped into the turbolift. From his facial features, she knew he wanted to argue that point at length. "Assemble the rest of the team in transporter room one. I'll need a medical officer and an engineer."

The doors slid shut on his dismayed assent, and she resisted another smile as the turbolift began to descend.

"Captain," Seven began. "If I may..."

"Unless you have something scientific to offer, Lieutenant," Janeway interjected pleasantly, "you may not." She paused. "Be grateful I'm bringing you along rather than leaving you on the ship."

Seven inhaled slowly, her eyes dark and unhappy, but she didn't say anything. Janeway knew that was only because of the uniform and the fact they were both on duty. She could expect plenty to be said the second they returned to their quarters and shut the rest of the ship out, but she had accepted that necessity when she made the decision to lead the away mission. She did want to tell her spouse that she felt a great deal better about Seven's presence on the away mission on this occasion because she was there to watch her back, but she didn't think it would go over well.

In the transporter room, Janeway was greeted by the bright face of B'Elanna Torres, the studious features of Lt. T'Shanik, and the less than enthusiastic mien of her Chief Medical Officer.

"Dr. Pulaski?"

"Kathryn, we really need to talk about this," Pulaski said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm too old to be running around on away missions."

"Then why are you here?" Janeway asked as the others on the team gathered the equipment they thought might be required, from engineering tools to tricorders.

"Protocol." Pulaski almost spit out the words. "When the captain is insane enough to want to lead the away mission, then the CMO has to go along to make sure the best medical care is available." She paused. "What are you doing, Kathryn?"

Janeway eyed her, then grinned. "Doctor, this is how it always used to be; forging into the unknown, boldly going ... the captain was always first into any situation, along with his or her senior officers. You know that."

"However, there's a reason that's now the exception instead of the rule," Pulaski grumbled. "More often than not, the captains and senior officers who made a habit of being on the preliminary away missions were dog meat."

Janeway wanted to laugh out loud at the consternation in her CMO's tone, but she didn't. Instead, she patted the doctor on the arm. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," she told her kindly. "Delegate it to one of the other medical officers."

Pulaski snorted. "Leave you to wander around down there without my services? Lewis would never let me hear the end of it."

Janeway wondered when the Emergency Medical Hologram's opinion had become so important to Pulaski, but didn't pursue the point. "All right, people," she said as she took her place on the transporter pad. "Let's do this." She nodded at the transporter operator. "Energize."

Materializing in a room very similar to the one she left, though much smaller, Janeway stepped off the raised dais and glanced back to meet the startled eyes of T'Shanik. The captain supposed the Vulcan would find it a source of personal dishonor that she had lost enough composure to display her shock. Janeway had no such disinclination.

"Where the hell is the rest of the away team?" she demanded in outrage.

"What the...."

B'Elanna Torres took a step and fell flat on her face. The surface underfoot was slick and smooth, similar to wet ice and offering little in the way of traction. Milky white, it was shot through with dull streaks of blues and reds, as if some type of dirt or debris had been trapped within as it formed. The carryall containing all her engineering equipment promptly shot across the surface as she lost her grip on it, disappearing into the gloom that surrounded the area where they had materialized. It wasn't quite fog, since that was comprised of water vapor and there was little moisture here, but neither was it smoke. It was thick, however, and cut their visibility down to only a few meters in any direction. There was also an odd smell in the air, dry and slightly arid, though it was not so strong as to cause them difficulty in breathing.

"Are you all right?" Ro helped her partner up, her feet instinctively spread to distribute her weight and maintain her balance.

"What happened?" the Klingon demanded breathlessly, dark eyes darting around in alarm and surprise. "Where's the captain and the rest of the team?"

"I don't know." Ro drew her phaser from her tunic, looking around alertly. Once B'Elanna was back on her feet, the Bajoran released her arm and tapped her comm badge. "Ro to Captain Janeway." She paused. "Ro to away team. Anyone, please respond." Silence greeted her hail, and she tapped it once more. "Away team to Millennium."

"It's transmitting over my comm badge," B'Elanna determined, looking down at her chest. "They appear to be working properly."

"But there's no way of knowing if it's transmitting to the communicators of our missing crewmembers," Ro said grimly. She pulled out her tricorder and began to scan the surrounding area. "We're definitely not where the probe is. In fact, according to this, we're on a planetary surface."

"That's what I'm detecting as well," B'Elanna agreed, frowning as she thumped her own tricorder as if the physical intimidation would somehow change the readings to something she would like better. "However, the sensors can't detect which star system we're in. It's almost as if the range stops abruptly about four hundred meters up."

Ro's brows were drawn together. "The density of the cloud cover may be responsible," she said. "I'm detecting unusual particles in the air around us. They may also preventing a hail from reaching Millennium ... assuming it and we are still in the same area of space."

B'Elanna knelt down, scanning the slick surface beneath her. "This isn't ice," she said, moving her tricorder slowly over the flat material. She placed her hand against it. It was cool, but no cooler than a floor or ship deck would be. "I'll be damned if I know what it is, however. The elemental composition doesn't make any sense."

Ro looked around. "I know the readings are telling us we're outside on the planet's surface," she said slowly, "but I feel as if we're in a large room. There's no wind, no sense of being outside at all."

"I know." B'Elanna exhaled uneasily, and lifted her tricorder to scan the surrounding area again, trying to enhance the readings with more extensive and detailed sensor programming. However, it still indicated that the couple was located on a large plain beneath a dense, planetary atmosphere. She grunted briefly in surprise as something caused her tricorder to give a series of beeps. "I'm reading an energy source, approximately six-point-five kilometers from this position. It wasn't there a second ago."

Ro glanced at her. "I'm detecting it as well. We should head in that direction. Perhaps something is preventing us from communicating or detecting the other team members, but if they're here and they detect the same energy readings, they'll probably head for it."

"I agree." B'Elanna took a step forward, skidded slightly, and for a frantic second, it took her arms waving wildly about until she was once more balanced precariously.

Ro glanced at B'Elanna. "Can you walk at all?" she asked worriedly.

B'Elanna very cautiously took another step, doing her best to compensate for the slick surface under her boots. "Slowly," she said. "Very slowly."

"Hmm," Ro said, not pleased at their lack of mobility, but having to deal with the situation as it was. "We'll take care. First, we need to retrieve your equipment."

"It landed over there," the engineer said, gesturing with her arm.

Ro followed behind B'Elanna as the Klingon minced her way through the murk, searching for her carryall. The bag had skidded much further than she had anticipated, and she was about to believe it had disappeared altogether before she finally saw the dark lump through the dimness. She unwisely hastened her pace as she saw it and ended up closing the rest of the distance to it on her behind, colliding with it as she slowly slid to a stop.

Ro was not smiling as she made her way more slowly over to where B'Elanna was sitting on the ground, but there was a faint glint of amusement in the Bajoran's gaze. A low growl rumbled up from the Klingon's chest and Ro made a visible effort to maintain a straight face.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," B'Elanna grumbled. "Just fine."

With a tricorder in one hand and her phaser in the other, Ro could not help her spouse up this time. Instead, she kept watch as the Klingon scrambled to her feet, her eyes peering keenly through the murk. Abruptly, she raised her phaser. "What was that?"

B'Elanna, sliding the strap of the carryall over her shoulder, glanced at her. "What was what?" she said as she checked her tricorder. "I'm not reading anything."

"I thought I saw something," Ro said tersely, slowly turning in a circle. "A movement of some kind."

B'Elanna slipped her tricorder back into the loop on her tunic and drew her phaser. The pair settled quickly and instinctively into a position of defense, back to back, facing out as they scanned the surrounding area. B'Elanna didn't even think about her spouse positioning herself at her back. There was just the sensation of warmth against her tunic that let her know there would be no danger from that direction. She need only concern herself with the 180 degree arc in front of her.

There. A shadow ghosting through the mist, a brief flicker of motion that made the hair on the back of B'Elanna's neck rise. She raised her phaser, trying to target it through the fog.

"There," she said in a quiet tone, carefully controlled. "To my right going around."

"Tracking," Ro said tightly as she picked up the motion. There was a pause, then the ruby beam from the security chief's phaser lanced out. There was a sound, a brief squeak as if in surprise, and then silence.

Breathless, the two women waited. Time passed with agonizing slowness as they tried to pierce the murk with their senses, ears straining to detect any further sound, eyes blinking rapidly as they peered anxiously through the gloom. Finally, Ro reached back, tapping B'Elanna on the hip to indicate she was going to move. The Klingon slowly turned as Ro moved away, covering the Bajoran with her phaser as Ro stepped gingerly toward the area where she thought she had last seen the movement. B'Elanna saw the blurred form of her partner stop and look down at the surface, studying it intently. Then Ro glanced around once before making her way back.

"Nothing," she reported as she joined the engineer. "There are marks. Someone ... or something ... was there, but they seem to be gone now."

B'Elanna hesitated before nodding. That was the sense she had as well, that whatever it had been was gone, swallowed up in the fog as if it had never been. Whether she could trust that or not, she wasn't sure, but she did trust her partner's keen instincts as a security officer.

"Let's go."

B'Elanna started to and promptly fell again, the soles of her boots unable to find secure footing on the slick surface. She bit off her curse and dug into her bag, determined to fix the problem.

"What are you doing?" Ro asked as B'Elanna brought out a variety of small fastenings and bolts, testing them against the surface. Those that marred the perfection of the polished white were put aside while the rest were tossed back into the equipment bag.

"Finding us some traction," B'Elanna said shortly. She studied the results of her testing closely, selected a handful of fastenings that offered the best results. Alternating her attention between the Klingon and the surrounding gloom, Ro stood guard as B'Elanna slid off her boots and attached the tiny metal bits to the smooth soles with another tool she drew from the depths of her bag. When she was finished, she stood up and walked several paces, finding her footing had improved immeasurably.

"Good work," Ro said approvingly.

"Take off your boots," B'Elanna said, feeling rather pleased with herself.

After the engineer had rigged Ro's boots, the pair resumed their journey, following the mysterious energy readings on their tricorders though the deepening gloom.

"I think it's getting dark," B'Elanna said after a kilometer or so had passed.

"I think so, too," Ro allowed. She glanced to the slightly brighter glow in the distance. There was no way of knowing if it was originating with the system's primary star, or simply a light source of some kind, but she eyed it as she would a sun, judging how much 'daylight' they had left. "It could be our imagination however."

"Do you think we'll have to stop for the night?" B'Elanna asked. "Visibility is bad now. It'll be impossible in the dark."

"We should arrive at the coordinates soon," Ro said. "The problem is, what are we going to discover at this location, and how much time will be required to deal with it?"

B'Elanna nodded uncomfortably. "I understand," she said. She paused. "Do you think the rest are all right?"

"There's no way of knowing," Ro said. "However, since we're relatively unharmed, we might be able to go with the assumption that the rest of the team is also fine."

"Or we might be the only survivors."

Ro's jaw tightened. "Or we might be the only survivors," she agreed evenly.

The confirmation hardly comforted the Klingon, and her expression assumed a grim seriousness as they continued to plod through the unchanging and terribly tedious landscape. Their boots made scraping sounds as the fastenings bit into the smoothness beneath them, unpleasant to the ear and serving to make the journey more irritating. B'Elanna, who was gravely worried about her friends and crewmates, tried not to let it get the best of her, checking the growl that kept rising in her throat.

As they closed in on the energy readings, they began to see something through the mist, a darker area against the murk. They slowed, spreading out a little as they raised their phasers, their strides becoming shorter, more cautious. Moving closer, they discovered it was a structure of some kind, an obelisk rising from the smooth ground for several meters, disappearing into the mist above their heads. It appeared to be made of some black marble, polished with a subtle glow that seemed to come from within the stone.

"The energy readings are definitely originating from here," Ro said quietly as they slowly circled it. The base, tapering as it rose, was perfectly square, approximately six meters wide.

"No sign of entry," B'Elanna reported tersely. She scanned the monument intently, running through every sensor procedure she could think of, assimilating as much data about the structure as possible. "No indication of its function or purpose. No sign that any of our crewmembers have been here."

"Any idea what the energy readings are?" Ro asked, standing back a little and remaining on guard as B'Elanna examined the obelisk.

"Not a clue," the engineer said in frustration. She had never felt so baffled by something in all her life. It wasn't that the technology she was facing was more advanced than she could figure out ... it was so different that it didn't seem like technology at all. Were she more superstitious, she'd have called it magic. What it really meant, of course, was that her tricorder simply lacked the necessary programming to decipher the information it was gathering.

She found a panel on one side, a small rectangle set into the stone. Only the faintest line indicated its presence and it was the chance trick of the light that allowed her to detect it. The tricorder had not picked it up at all. She focused her attention on it, trying to figure out why it was there, and what made it different from the rest of the stone. Her tricorder useless, she put her hand against the smooth surface, chill beneath her skin, and felt a very subtle vibration against her fingertips. When she withdrew them uncertainly, the rectangle began to glow brighter than the rest of the monument.

"What's happening?" Ro demanded, moving closer.

"Damned if I know," B'Elanna answered, almost absently as she touched it again. There was a brief flash of light, a jolt that crackled up her arm and knocked her back. She lost her footing on the smooth surface and stumbled to the ground, landing on her backside.

She shook her head woozily, blinking in confusion as Ro knelt next to her, peering into her face anxiously.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so," B'Elanna said after a moment. Odd concepts and procedures raced around her mind, colliding and bouncing off each other like some mad billiard game, making it difficult to think clearly. Eventually, her brain started to sort them out, to put them into some kind of coherent order. "I think I just accessed the instruction manual."

"The what?" Ro's eyes were dark and concerned as she stared at her partner.

"The manual for this thing," B'Elanna said, using her hands to lever herself to her feet. She was dimly aware of Ro's hand under her elbow, helping her the rest of the way up. "I think it just gave me the schematics for the obelisk as well as what I'm supposed to do."

"What's that?"

"Realign the oogle fluxtran."

Ro blinked. "That's what the distress call said. What does it mean?"

"I have no idea," B'Elanna admitted, "but somehow, that manual taught me how to do it, and from what I also picked up from the information it dumped in my head, it's going to take awhile. I'd better get started before we lose what little light we have."

And she set to work, removing the panel easily now that she knew how, and pulling out the tools she needed from her carryall. She hardly noticed Ro's stunned expression, or the dark edge of fear that was beginning to taint the Bajoran's eyes.

The readings on her tricorder did little to comfort her, and Seven felt a tiny tremor go through her. There was no way of knowing where the rest of the away team had transported to, or even if they had survived the transport that had deposited the Borg and the doctor on this uninhabited beach. Beneath their feet, sand shaded from a rust red to a dusky blue, making a colorful progression down to where the waves of a yellowish ocean crashed against the shore. Overhead, the sky, faintly tinged with gold, brooded with greyish clouds, and the air was heavy with salt spray, carried by the wind that whipped their hair and stung their cheeks.

"I don't suppose you have any idea where we are?" Pulaski asked, gazing about gloomily.

Seven eyed her. "No. These are the coordinates of the unknown vessel, but clearly, this is not a starship."

"I think I figured out that much. How did we end up on a planet?"

"Unknown," Seven said, studying her readings.

"Could this be a holodeck of some kind?"

Seven did several scans which were designed to determine just that theory.

"No," she said finally. "This is a natural planetary surface."

"So where are the others?"

Seven began to feel annoyed with the doctor, but she controlled it, shoving it deep inside her. This was no time to let her emotions get the better of her, particularly since she recognized that most of her irritation actually stemmed from her fear over her partner's whereabouts.

"Unknown. The scans detect no intelligent life-forms other than ourselves."

Pulaski was silent for a moment, absorbing that. "What do we do now?"

Seven lifted a brow in surprise. "You are the ranking officer," she said, unsure why the CMO was unaware of that.

Pulaski made a face. "Perhaps officially," she said, "but I haven't been on an away mission since I left the Enterprise. That was more than a decade ago. You're the one with the recent experience, and I'm more than glad to leave this show in your hands."

"Very well," Seven said, finding the argument logical, as well as reasonable. She checked her readings once more. "I am detecting an energy source approximately five kilometers due north. We must determine what is causing it."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Pulaski said. She lifted her chin. "After you, Lieutenant."

The coastline curved to the south which meant the two women would have to cut inland once they reached the jagged rock formation some distance down the beach. It looked vaguely like one Seven had seen before, on another beach on another planet in another quadrant. It triggered a memory of her and the captain kissing beneath an alien sun, and worry for her spouse rose sharp and acid in her throat. She tried to shove it aside, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, the sand dragging at her ankles as she and the doctor trudged down the alien shore. When they closed on the rock outcropping, Seven began to look for a break in the jungle that crowded the beach. She detected an opening where a small stream trickled into the ocean, and decided that would be their best route for penetrating the interior. She did take the time to wonder why it seemed as if she was always slogging through dense vegetation during away missions. At this point, it was becoming very tedious.

The jungle closed in around them, making the air seem even thicker and harder to breathe. Their uniforms snagged on thorns and vines, while around their heads, tiny insects swarmed, although they did not bite, perhaps because of the difference in biologies. Seven was grateful for that much, since the away team had not prepared for planetary conditions. Then it began to rain, fat droplets falling from the sky into the foliage overhead and dripping down onto the Starfleet officers with splattering intensity.

"Damn it," Pulaski muttered. "I can't believe I volunteered for this. I must have been out of my mind."

Seven decided that did not warrant a response. Instead, she shook her head to dislodge the beads of water on her face, finding the rain a refreshing change from the oppressive heat on the beach as she continued forging a path through the thick vegetation. There was a tiny bit of relief when they reached what appeared to be a trail of some kind, and the going became easier. Seven became wary, however. Anything that could cut this large a trail through the jungle was probably something that the pair wanted to avoid. She listened intently, her Borg-enhanced hearing pitched to as wide a decibel range as possible to make sure they would not be surprised by the approach of any creature.

Pulaski slapped her neck, killing a particularly persistent bug, and muttered a curse. "How much further?"

At this pace, it will take us approximately four point three hours," Seven said, trying to inject some encouragement in her voice.

Pulaski groaned and Seven glanced back at her. The doctor's grey hair lay limply in damp curls about her face which was bright pink with exertion. Seven was reminded that the CMO was much older than she, and probably did not possess much in the way of endurance. When they came to a stream, the young woman paused, bending down to scan the clear water with her tricorder. Pulaski, her breathing accelerated, leaned wearily against a tree.

Seven lifted a brow. "My scans indicate that this water is safe for Humanoid consumption. We will rest here for fifteen minutes."

"Thank God," the doctor said and slumped onto a rock next to the cheerfully burbling brook, reaching down to scoop up a handful of water which she drank noisily.

Seven eyed her worriedly a few moments before moving away to take more readings of their surroundings. The rain had settled into a steady downpour, and Seven began to find it uncomfortable. She decided that whatever the energy reading proved to be, she would build some kind of shelter at that point and spend the night. It was clear that the doctor simply could not tolerate any kind of sustained exploration over terrain this rough.

For a moment, she allowed thoughts of her partner to fill her mind, her concern filling her chest in a most unpleasant manner. She had not wanted Janeway to lead this mission, and her fears had proved justified. There was simply no such thing as a standard away mission when the captain was involved. Seven was not of the belief that her spouse courted trouble, but it certainly had a way of finding the dynamic redhead.

In spades.

Seven drifted back to the small clearing by the stream, noting that the doctor seemed to be breathing a bit easier. Pulaski was huddled against a boulder, using a large leaf taken from a nearby tree to cover her head and try to keep the rain off. Seven knelt beside the older woman, regarding her steadily.

"Doctor, can you continue?"

She considered the possibility that she would have to move on without the medical officer, just as protocol dictated. For some reason, that thought made her very uncomfortable, and she decided that she would not follow such procedure even if the situation required it. Starfleet rules and regulations were one thing. Reality was something else, and Seven knew that she could not leave Pulaski behind. If necessary, she would carry the doctor, though that would lessen the chances of the successful completion of their mission, whatever it was at this point. Seven supposed that finding the source of the energy readings was merely the first step in returning to Millennium, which was her ultimate goal, and she would do that with Pulaski, or perish in the attempt.

Janeway would expect no less of her. She certainly expected no less from herself.

Pulaski managed a small smile. "I'm coming," she said in a grating voice. "Just give me another minute."

"I will spare you another three," Seven said calmly. "However, we must move on at that point. Any longer, and you will be in risk of contracting hypothermia if you remain still. Activity will keep you warm."

"Who's the doctor here, you or me?" Pulaski grumbled.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It is my understanding that doctors make the worst patients. I now comprehend where that saying originates."

Pulaski tilted her head, her smile widening. "Was that a joke?"

Seven dipped her head. "A small one."

"Good for you," Pulaski said, and reached out a hand. Obligingly, Seven grasped it firmly and helped the doctor to her feet. Pulaski grunted involuntarily, but when the Borg turned to enter the jungle once more, the doctor followed readily enough. This time, however, Seven maintained a slower pace, conscious of her responsibility to her companion. It would mean that they would not reach the coordinates in her initial estimated time of arrival, but they would reach them eventually, and Seven determined that was all that was truly important.

"I bet you're sorry that of all the members of the away team, you got stuck with me," Pulaski said some time later. They had been toiling up an incline, grasping at the branches around them to aid in their climb. At the crest, Seven halted for another rest period.

The Borg shook her head. "On the contrary, doctor. I am the best equipped to take care of you. If necessary, I am capable of carrying you the rest of the way."

Pulaski looked vaguely alarmed at the suggestion. "Let's not," she said. "I may be old but I'm not so decrepit yet that I need to be carried like a child."

Seven was puzzled. "Why does the concept disturb you?"

Pulaski stared at her. "It just does, Seven. No one likes to feel helpless, and as one becomes older, it becomes a more tangible reality."

"Indeed," Seven said, considering it. "Is it not an irrational fear?"

"Perhaps." Pulaski lifted her chin. "However, I remember you being confined to sickbay not so long ago as we completed the treatment for your encounter with the Kazon. You did not make the best patient yourself."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgment of her impatient demeanor at the time.

"Kathryn doesn't like being helpless either," Pulaski continued in an even tone. "She never has."

"No, she does not," Seven agreed readily. "She struggles greatly against any indication of such perception."

"That's why she doesn't like you going off on away missions, you know," Pulaski said, studying the Borg narrowly. Seven wondered what sort of information the doctor was attempting to elicit from her, detecting an uncommon interest in her expression. "She feels helpless remaining on the ship while you face all the risks."

"I am aware of that. However, it is my duty to conduct away missions as chief science officer. Occasionally, such missions may prove dangerous."

"I just wanted to be sure you understood why the captain becomes so ... contrary ... when you're required to leave the ship."

"Contrary," Seven repeated, tasting the word and finding it appropriate. It made her feel amused. "That is a good description of why she insisted on leading this mission. She believes that her physical presence will somehow insure my safety." She exhaled. "In some ways, it is not necessarily a measure of her love for me. Such protectiveness is often an indication of her need to control her surroundings."

Pulaski chuckled. "Kathryn does like being in control. That's probably why she became a starship captain."

Seven knew the older woman was a good friend of her spouse, but she was starting to become uncomfortable at sharing so much personal information about Janeway.

"In any event, it is her nature to be as she is." Seven smiled, a brief upturn to her full lips. "I love and accept her nature."

Pulaski smiled faintly. "I can take a hint," she allowed. "I just ... Kathryn and I have talked, and I wanted you to know that she's aware it's a problem. She can't always keep her instincts to protect you in their proper perspective, but she does try."

"Are you concerned that it would cause an irreconcilable difference between us?" Seven asked dryly. "It will not. I knew who Kathryn was when I married her. Certainly, she has improved greatly in the time we have been together, and I trust that she will improve in the future. Her sense of protectiveness does not adversely affect my feelings for her. Indeed, on occasion, they intensify such emotions."

"All right," Pulaski said, holding up her hands in surrender. "You know best."

"I appreciate your concern."

Pulaski rolled her eyes. "I don't why I bother," she admitted. "I'm the last person who should meddle in someone else's relationship."

Seven was about to ask why she did, then, but hesitated, realizing that perhaps that was better left unspoken. Tact was not her strongest trait, but she was learning. She supposed that she should simply be grateful that Janeway had someone she could talk to about her personal life, even if that meant Seven would be forced into uncomfortable conversations with them. Certainly, Janeway had experienced her share of confrontations with Seven's friends, from Tuvok to B'Elanna, who seemed unable to keep from voicing their opinion about the couple's marriage. Perhaps that was what friends were for.

"We must continue," she said.

Another hour brought them to another clearing. In the center, a large, black obelisk stretched into the sky, like a finger pointing to the heavens. Intrigued, Seven ran scans over the surface as Pulaski wearily found a nearby boulder, taking the time to rest as the Borg carried out her investigations.

"Be careful," she suggested.

Seven glanced at her, finding the comment mildly irritating, before returning her attention back to the smooth black surface, searching for a break in the material. She finally found a small panel on one side, and without hesitation, she placed her hand against it. The resulting jolt knocked her off her feet. When she came to, Pulaski was kneeling over her, peering down into her face anxiously.

"Are you all right, Seven? What the hell kind of dumb-fool stunt was that, anyway?"

Seven did not answer as she gingerly sat up. Her mind was filled with a wealth of new information about the structure looming above her, as well as the situation in which they had found themselves.

"Fascinating," she said, much to the doctor's great bemusement. "Absolutely fascinating."

"We are in a building, Captain," T'Shanik informed Janeway as she stared at the open doorway through which daylight glinted. There was no surprise in her voice, but the captain knew she had to be as shocked by the discovery as she was.

"So it seems."

The captain glanced down at her tricorder, annoyed and disturbed to see that it wasn't functioning. In fact, the device, along with their communicators, had not worked since materializing in the small transporter room, although the phasers seemed to work normally, as a brief test on a wall proved. Lacking any other information, the two women had set off to explore their surroundings, searching for the crew of what they thought had been a starship.

Featureless halls had led to small, deserted rooms which offered no clue as to who or what had built and operated the construct. Instinctively traveling upward in an attempt to find the bridge, they had instead found the building's main floor. Large windows ... the first they had encountered ... fronted what was apparently a lobby, and through the transparencies, the captain could see a clearing lined with fruit-bearing trees. Beyond a small, rectangular patio, the manicured grass was a deep emerald, lush and inviting, dotted randomly with what appeared to be octangular paving stones similar to those in the patio. It was quite beautiful, sparkling with dew even though the low cloud cover did not allow much sunlight to brighten the inviting green.

"There were no planets in the vicinity of Millennium," T'Shanik offered. "Obviously, the transporter malfunctioned."

"Or the ship's sensors did," Janeway agreed absently as she cautiously approached the doorway and peered out at the emerald expanse. At the far end, rising like a monument of some kind, a slender, black structure rose into the sky. "Perhaps it was always a planet within the energy readings and we merely interpreted it to be a vessel."

T'Shanik did not look as if she agreed with the captain, but she did not say anything. Janeway glanced around the lobby, trying to find some indication of who might have owned the building. The walls and single counter were constructed of something with the properties of white metal or stone, hard and cool to the touch. Within the milky surface, there were streaks of red and blue, almost as if an imperfection in the processing had allowed something to become trapped within a liquid medium as it hardened, sealing in the streaks of color for all eternity. Above the door, there was a line of engraved symbols, perhaps writing of some kind. Without thinking, Janeway raised her tricorder, momentarily forgetting that it was no longer working, as she attempted to scan the etchings. To her surprise, it gave an obliging beep and began the scan.

"Our tricorders are working now," she announced with a sense of relief. Swiftly, she tapped her comm badge. "This is the captain. Away team, please respond."

T'Shanik lifted her tricorder, peering at the readings uncertainly. Janeway tapped her communicator again, realizing with a sinking sensation that although it sounded as if it were working now, there was no answering signal. The rest of the away team was not responding.

Or could not respond.

Swallowing hard, Janeway composed her features into a stone mask of command and joined T'Shanik in the doorway. Her worry for her partner and the others on the away mission was placed to the back of her mind, shoved aside by her command presence which prioritized with brutal efficiency, not allowing any personal concern to interfere with what needed to be done.

"Captain, there appears to be some kind of barrier encircling the planet," the young Vulcan reported as she slowly stepped outside, turning in a circle. "However, my tricorder has scanned the planet's surface and has not detected any of our crewmates."

"I have the same results," Janeway said, frowning as she joined her on the patio. "These readings are odd, though. I don't know that we can rely on them.

"Captain! The entrance." There was the faintest trace of anxiety in T'Shanik's voice.

Janeway whirled and was horrified to see that the door to the structure had slid silently shut behind them. Immediately, both women rushed to the entrance but there was no automated response, nor was there any indication of admittance controls. The captain didn't curse, but only because she had a junior officer in her presence. Had it been Seven accompanying her on the away mission, she would have muttered a string of invectives that would have singed the air around them. She did allow herself to slap the smooth stone before she exhaled audibly and turned from the door. She gazed at the obelisk at the far end of the lawn.

"Perhaps we should check that out." As she began to step forward off the pavement that fronted the structure and onto the grass, T'Shanik's hand snagged her arm, barely in time to tug her violently back onto the patio.

Shocked, not only at the unexpected and most presumptuous touch between a junior officer and a captain, but at the sheer fact that a Vulcan would actually choose to initiate that physical contact, Janeway stared at T'Shanik.

"My apologies, Captain," the young woman said, dropping her hand instantly. A slight trace of distaste crossed her expression, though Janeway did not take offense. Vulcans were psychically sensitive, and physical contact, particularly with Humans, was actually painful to them, resulting in a rush of uncontrolled emotion being transmitted to their senses. It required a very disciplined Vulcan to tolerate contact with other species, and even among those who were close friends with Humans, it took a great deal of acceptance from them to allow casual touch.

"Lieutenant?"

"It is the vegetation, Captain," T'Shanik said, tilting her tricorder slightly so that Janeway could see the readings on the tiny viewscreen. The captain felt an icy chill go through her, and she glanced back at the manicured lawn that no longer looked so inviting. Suddenly, it seemed as if the sky had grown darker, and the slight breeze that had been blowing from the forest, carrying the scent of growing things, felt very damp and unpleasant.

Janeway looked around and found a small twig near her feet. There were absolutely no loose branches or fallen leaves where the grass grew, she noted sickly as she knelt by the edge of the stone. She placed one end of the twig against the green, and there was an immediate sound of sizzling, smoke wafting from the wood. She dropped it quickly, the twig falling onto the grass where it bubbled and hissed and finally dissipated, leaving no trace.

"Acid of some kind," she said quietly, noting the small, clear droplet exuding from the tip of each blade of grass. Not dew after all, she determined. It also explained the carefully manicured appearance of the lawn where no debris could remain. She straightened gingerly, careful to step back from the deadly lawn which, she noted, surrounded the small haven of patio in all directions for several meters. It even ran along the sides of the building, preventing them from going in that direction.

"Our boots might be able to withstand it for a period of time, but I wouldn't like to rely on that theory." She looked at the trees, wondering how they managed to survive, and then realized that the turf around their trunks was a darker shade of green. Perhaps it was a different species of grass, preventing the acidic version from reaching the trees, or perhaps the trees themselves exuded some form of sap, a counter to the acid, neutralizing it and the grass, allowing it to grow around them but in a harmless form. In any event, she didn't think she could get close enough to find out.

She lifted her tricorder. "I'm detecting unusual energy readings from the obelisk. I want to get over there. Suggestions?" She raised an eyebrow at the young woman.

"Perhaps the paving stones?" T'Shanik offered blandly.

Janeway grinned faintly and stepped carefully onto the nearest stone, then onto the next one, the young woman a step behind. On the eighth stone, there was a sound from the obelisk, a sort of grinding as if from a mechanism that had not been used in some time. Janeway stopped, peering in that direction. A subdued glow appeared in a slot near the tip, then abruptly, a bolt of energy was launched in the general vicinity of the two women.

Janeway let out an involuntary yelp as she whirled, intent on returning to the building behind them, hoping to find some sort of cover there. T'Shanik was already running, jumping from stone to stone as the bolts impacted the ground around them, sending up divots of turf and dirt to sprinkle them with a deadly rain of acid-bearing vegetation. Just before she reached the patio, T'Shanik slipped and put a foot into the grass. Silently, the Vulcan lunged the final distance between her and safety, falling and rolling on the pavement as she wrenched off her boot and tossed it away from her. It skidded to a halt against the wall of the building, bubbling and hissing as a thin, grey smoke wafted from it.

Janeway managed to avoid the grass, but she provided a mad twisting dance when she reached the patio. Ripping off her tunic, she used it to brush away the pieces of turf that had impacted her, and then did the same for T'Shanik. Belatedly, she became aware that the covering fire from the obelisk had ceased as soon as they had returned to the patio. Breathing heavily, Janeway looked at the tall spire of black which now seemed so unobtainable, anger stirring dully in her midsection.

"It appears we're not welcome," she said harshly. She did allow that either the shots had been a form of warning or the aim had been incredibly bad. Had any of the bolts actually hit the officers, it would undoubtedly have been with fatal results.

T'Shanik stood quietly beside her, one foot bare, studying the lawn that appeared deceptively peaceful once more, though it was now scarred in places from the attack. "Captain, there are symbols on certain of the paving stones."

Janeway squinted briefly. "So there are," she said, uncertain what the young woman was getting at.

"Is it possible that there is a pattern?"

"A pattern?"

"Yes," T'Shanik said, withdrawing her tricorder once more and tapping on the controls. "The weapons system did not activate until you stepped on the eighth stone. It is the first one with a symbol engraved into it. The stones we used to that point were devoid of any markings."

Janeway frowned, staring at the stones in a new light. "There are three stones in that area with symbols. I stepped on that one because it was closest to where I was going."

"Perhaps it was the incorrect choice."

"From the result, I'd have to agree," Janeway said dryly. She paused. "What would have been the right choice? There are a lot of stones out there, many with symbols."

T'Shanik hesitated, as if considering something, then touched her tricorder again. "It is possible that the symbols above the door were instructions of some kind," she said. On her screen, a view of the alien writing they had scanned in the building appeared, looking faintly Egyptian to Janeway's eyes, though the similarity was more the captain's mind striving for an identification rather than there being any real resemblance.

"There are sixteen symbols," the Vulcan continued as she studied her readings. "There are sixty-four stones on the lawn with varying symbols. There are another sixty-four which are blank. They appear not to trigger the weapons array, at least, not if the symbols to that point have been chosen correctly."

Janeway blinked, then smiled. "You might have something there. Stay here while I try out your theory."

"With all due respect, Captain," T'Shanik objected coolly, "I should be the one to attempt the crossing. I am more expendable."

Janeway frowned. "There is no such thing as an 'expendable' crewmember on my vessel."

T'Shanik looked vaguely surprised, raising an eyebrow. "Indeed," she said. "However, Captain, I am younger and faster than you, as well as superior in visual acuity."

It was not the least bit tactful or polite, but it was logical. For an instant, Janeway was reminded of her partner and felt a smile lighten her eyes. She didn't really like the idea of someone else taking the risk, but T'Shanik was correct. Of the two of them, the Vulcan was the better choice to make the initial crossing.

"Very well," she said after a few seconds consideration. "Be careful."

"I shall, Captain," T'Shanik promised.

"Wait on any further investigations of the obelisk until I join you."

"Yes, Captain."

Janeway was not entirely pleased with the response, but then, there was little about this away mission that she was liking at the moment, so she kept her mouth shut and watched as T'Shanik ventured once more onto the stepping stones dotting the deadly lawn. She found she was holding her breath as T'Shanik reached the trio of stones that had stopped the women previously. The young Vulcan hesitated, glancing at her tricorder, and then cautiously stepped onto the stone to the left of the one Janeway had chosen. The captain released her breath in a rush when nothing happened. T'Shanik glanced back at her briefly, and stepped onto another stone, this one blank.

Janeway wondered if one could avoid the stones with symbols altogether, and then decided that there was probably some sort of sensor detection that would prevent that. Besides, the blank stones grew farther apart the further one ventured into the meadow. It would become very dangerous to attempt a leap from stone to stone without falling onto the deadly grass or activating the weapons array by unintentionally steping on an incorrect symbol.

The path T'Shanik was required to take was hardly a direct one, meandering all over the lawn. Which was sort of the point, the captain imagined. At times, the Vulcan was actually headed back toward the captain before being able to find the next stone symbol and continuing on the winding route to the obelisk. Finally, she reached the pavement surrounding the base of the obelisk and looked back at Janeway.

The captain raised her hand in acknowledgment and stepped onto the first stone. Referring to her tricorder often, taking care to step in the direct center of each octagon, well away from the blades which bordered the edge, she made her way across the lawn. It was not particularly difficult in terms of physical exertion, but it was time-consuming, and the need to maintain perfect balance was nerve-wracking. She was sweating by the time she reached the sanctuary of the monument, and she decided that she could live without away missions in the future.

"There is a panel on the side of the structure," T'Shanik said. She lowered her eyes when the captain looked at her. "I did not scan its location, I merely noted it visually."

Janeway bit off a laugh and studied the smooth, matte black surface. "So there is," she said. She could barely see it. "It may be an opening of some kind. However, these readings are completely undecipherable. I have no idea what they mean."

"Perhaps a manual inspection," T'Shanik suggested, reaching out to touch the panel before the captain could stop her.

At least she waited until Janeway was there, the captain thought resignedly as she grabbed the young lieutenant who immediately collapsed, barely preventing her from pitching backward onto the nearby grass. Slowly, Janeway lowered T'Shanik to the pavement, despairing of young Starfleet officers who were either too uncertain of their abilities or far too certain of them for their own good.

T'Shanik blinked, unsure what had just occurred. It appeared that she was lying on her back, and she had a brief second of disorientation as she could not remember how she got there. Her mind was quite busy filing and sorting an astonishing store of information that had flooded her brain the instant she touched the panel. She shifted her eyes and watched as Janeway examined the obelisk. T'Shanik noticed that the captain was careful not to come in physical contact with the structure. Gingerly, the Vulcan sat up, the motion alerting Janeway that her junior officer had regained consciousness.

"Are you all right?"

The captain knelt next to her junior officer, peering into her face with stern features. T'Shanik felt slightly ashamed to have displayed such weakness, then felt more shame at being ashamed. She inhaled slowly, drawing the breath into her center, calming her emotions.

"It is an instruction manual, Captain."

"A what?" Janeway stared at her as she helped her to her feet.

"When I contacted the panel, information about this structure and what I must do was communicated to me through some sort of neural interface."

"What is it exactly that you're expected to do?" There was a somewhat alarmed tone in Janeway's voice.

"I am required to align the oogle fluxtran." T'Shanik stood up, reaching out for the panel to open it ... now that she knew how.

"Meaning?" Janeway held up a hand to stop the young woman, preventing her from reaching the obelisk.

T'Shanik hesitated, and then looked at the captain. "I ... lack the necessary terminology to explain. Perhaps if you assimilated the manual?"

"Touch the panel and be knocked flat, you mean?" Janeway asked. "Then wake up with some unusual ideas? I think I'll pass." Her eyes were narrow as she regarded the lieutenant, her brows drawn together. "Let's just slow down here a moment, Lt. T'Shanik. Explain to me what just happened."

T'Shanik wanted to start the repairs, aware that they had to be completed as quickly as possible, though unsure how she knew that. She felt a small sliver of frustration that the captain was delaying her, but she also understood her commanding officer's concerns.

"When I touched the panel, it activated a kind of instruction manual for this device," she said. She paused, searching for the proper words. "We are in a vessel, Captain."

Janeway blinked, clearly disbelieving. "We are?"

"Millennium's initial sensor readings were correct," T'Shanik said, speaking quickly because she knew time was of the utmost importance. The others were in position and already beginning their part of the project. "This is a freighter transporting cargo to another galaxy."

"What kind of cargo?"

T'Shanik frowned, her fingers curling in her need to access the obelisk's interior mechanism. "Planets."

Janeway was stunned. "Planets?"

T'Shanik wondered if repeating things was a Human trait, or merely a personal one with Captain Janeway. "Apparently, there is a disruption in the oogle fluxtran, and there needs to be a simultaneous alignment in order to maintain the containment fields around the worlds in the ... the vessel's cargo bay is what I believe would be the closest term."

"What happens if containment fails?" Janeway asked, her brow furrowed as she tried to keep up with the Vulcan's explanation.

"The worlds will lose their atmospheric covering," T'Shanik said, in the sort of tone that indicated it should be obvious. Actually, it was obvious ... to her, at least. "Captain, time is of the essence. The rest of the away team pairings are now in position at their repair stations. We must carry out our own required modifications now."

"How do you know this?" Janeway asked in exasperation.

T'Shanik blinked. "I just do," she said finally, knowing it was insufficient, but unable to express it in better terms.

Janeway's mouth pursed, as if she were tasting something very unpleasant. "I have to tell you, Lieutenant, I'm not very comfortable with this type of 'knowledge.'"

T'Shanik inhaled slowly. "I understand, Captain. Certainly, it is less than precise, nor is it scientific as we know science to be. However, I believe we are dealing with technology far beyond our own. We can hope for a time to study it further, but it is my belief that I must begin the alignment soon, or we will be unable to help."

"Help whom? And why do they require us to fix their problem?"

"I have no terms to describe those that operate this vessel, but it is my understanding that they can only pilot the vessel, they cannot conduct repairs."

"But we can, even though they're so far advanced." Janeway was blatantly skeptical.

"Apparently." T'Shanik glanced at the panel. "Captain, time is growing short."

Janeway crossed her arms over her chest, looking decidedly unhappy. However, she also seemed aware that their options were limited. Their only other choice was not to help at all, but since the away mission was initially dispatched to provide assistance for the distress call Millennium received, it would be counterproductive to delay. T'Shanik could easily see all these thoughts in the captain's expression as she came to a decision. Most Humans, even those who were as naturally reserved as Janeway was, were easy to read if one had studied emotions.

"Very well," Janeway said grimly. "Do what you have to do. Keep up a running commentary, however. I may not understand it, but I would like to hear it."

"Actually, Captain," T'Shanik said as she opened the panel with a few taps to a hidden control board, "you will be required to assist."

"How?"

T'Shanik heard the howls drawing closer as she slipped her hands into the interior of the monolith, seeking out the proper crystals that needed fine-tuning prior to alignment.

"You will need to protect me from the draven."

"The what?"

"The natural predators of each world are disturbed by the energy emanations that occur when the repair panel is opened," T'Shanik said patiently. "It draws them as if the obelisk was a wounded prey; therefore, it is necessary that you dissuade them in any attempt to interfere with the repairs."

"Wonderful," Janeway growled as she drew her phaser from her tunic. "You tinker and I fight, is that it?"

"Yes, Captain."

T'Shanik turned her attention to her repairs as behind her, she heard the thin whine of phaser fire. She did not turn to see what the captain was doing, or even what draven might turn out to be. It was an all-purpose word, it seemed, meaning 'creature of the night,' and was applicable to any large predator that a planet boasted. Instead, she felt herself marveling at the elegance of the technology before her, delighted by the sheer efficiency and simplicity of it. Yet, at the same time, she was ever aware of its complexity. So advanced was it in comparison to the Federation, it might as well be considered magic. Although her instructions were clear in terms of what she had to do, she had no idea why she was doing it, or what each action might lead to until it was completed. The knowledge was isolated, without context in the larger sense of things, but perhaps that was the way of many things. After all, many people in the Federation knew how to fly a shuttle. However, very few could build one, or even repair one which had malfunctioned, without assistance. That's why they all came with instruction manuals.

"Damn."

T'Shanik heard a muffled curse behind her, another blast from the captain's phaser. It was obvious that there was more than one predator prowling the perimeter, and Janeway required all her Starfleet marksmanship to keep them at bay. T'Shanik knew others on the away team were undoubtedly dealing with their own predators on their respective planets.

"Lieutenant?"

"I've almost completed my part of the alignment, Captain," T'Shanik said evenly, her hands moving with sure precision. Then, with a final flurry of commands, she finished, stepping back as the panel slid shut once more. This time, she could not see even the slightest hint of an outline where it had been. It was as if the monolith had covered it over, hiding its secrets once more.

"Captain?"

"If you're finished, Lieutenant, you might want to give me a hand?" Janeway's voice was tight.

T'Shanik turned and drew out her phaser, firing at the dark creature that flowed across the grass toward them. It had six legs with a like number of eyes, and long flowing hair seeming to ripple over its muscular body as if a separate entity altogether. There were seven others, circling the lawn where the captain was keeping them at bay, firing at the ground in front or to the side of them with a disruption setting which set up minor explosions of turf and dirt. It did not kill them but it did frighten them, forcing them to shy away momentarily. T'Shanik added her fire to the mix, and was relieved to see that the animals were no longer as intent on reaching the Starfleet officers now that the repairs had been completed. They began to back off, making a few, final half-hearted lunges in their direction, but apparently were coming to the conclusion that they had better things to do. One suddenly loped away, heading for the forest, then two more followed. Finally, the rest melted into the trees and silence descended upon the glade.

Janeway exhaled and lowered her weapon, her keen grey eyes sweeping the area alertly. "I don't suppose you have any information about what we have to do now?" she asked with just a hint of sarcasm coloring her tone.

T'Shanik placed her weapon back in her tunic. "We must return to the place we materialized," she said, suspecting her answer irritated the captain. However, she had the knowledge, and it was illogical not to utilize it. "The door to the structure should be open."

Janeway lifted her chin, peering in that direction. "So it is," she said, surprised. She glanced at the stones. "I guess the next question is, do we return in the reverse order of symbols?"

"That would be a logical assumption, Captain," T'Shanik said politely.

Janeway stared at her, and suddenly flashed a grin, a brief glimmer of white between thin lips, before striding for the nearest paving stone. The journey back across the acidic lawn seemed to take longer, the pair wearied by the battle at the obelisk. Once, T'Shanik was required to grab the captain, putting a warning hand on Janeway's arm when she overbalanced in her step, coming perilously close to the deadly blades.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the captain said, somewhat breathlessly once she had regained her footing.

"You are welcome," T'Shanik said, finding the expression of gratitude illogical. After all, she would hardly have allowed her captain to fall into danger, but she had learned to utilize such pleasantries in her dealings with alien species. It saved a great deal of time by avoiding tedious misunderstandings.

Eventually, they returned to the safety of the patio and entered the building. Janeway hesitated at the counter, looking it over curiously, particularly at another line of writing which graced the surface. "Make sure you scan this room thoroughly, T'Shanik," she instructed. "I would like to know all I can about our mysterious hosts."

"Yes, Captain," the Vulcan said, scanning the area once more, using every level of energy spectrum. She did not believe it would allow them to understand the alien technology any better, but perhaps she was underestimating the Federation scientists.

"You handled yourself well out there," Janeway complimented a few moments later, as she conducted her own scans of the room.

T'Shanik glanced over, unsure of what response that required, and finally dipped her head in acknowledgment when the captain looked at her.

"I understand you've applied to the alpha shift."

"Yes, Captain."

There was a pause as the captain continued to scan the counter, and then she gestured at the lieutenant. "Come on," she said. "It's time we found the transporter room." Striding through the doorway to the hallway beyond, Janeway sought out the stairway which led down into the lower levels of the structure. "Explain to me why you would be more suitable on the bridge than in the fighter squadron."

T'Shanik thought this was an odd time for an evaluation, but decided the captain knew best. She considered many responses, wondering which one would be most logical. In the end, however, she kept coming back to the truth ... the real reason she wanted the position.

"For the first time I am choosing my own path in life," she said quietly. "Logically, you must be aware of my record, my background and my career to this point. Any comment I could make on those areas would merely be redundant. What I do not know is what I am capable of achieving. What I want is a chance to prove my potential as a Starfleet officer, not only to my superiors, but to myself, as well."

Janeway eyed her briefly, and then nodded and said no more.

The room where they materialized appeared different when they entered, a glowing light emanating from the walls. There was also a quiet hum, and Janeway frowned as she glanced around.

"Lieutenant?"

T'Shanik already had her tricorder out. "Fascinating," she said. "It appears to be a device similar to an Iconion gateway."

Startled, Janeway looked at her, but a haze was forming on the platform. "Captain," T'Shanik said urgently. "I do not believe we have a great deal of time in which to consider this. They clearly wish for us to leave."

"So much for First Contact," Janeway said shortly, but she took a breath and stepped up on the dais with T'Shanik not far behind.

The Vulcan felt a wrench, unlike their transporter system, but when her senses cleared, she and the captain were back in Millennium's transporter room. The rest of the away team were also present, blinking and appearing confused. T'Shanik felt something in her hand and looked down at it uncertainly, wondering where it had came from.

A miniature version of the obelisk, no more than six centimeters high, lay in her palm, feeling warm as if containing some internal energy. Somehow, T'Shanik knew it was a token of gratitude.

Payment for services rendered.

"As away missions went, it was one of the most confusing I've ever been on," Janeway admitted, her chin resting on her forefinger and thumb.

After a day or two of debriefings following their return to Millennium, the senior officers had finally gathered in the main conference room for a final assessment of the situation, though they were left with far more questions than answers. The captain was seated at the head of the table, in her customary spot, while Seven settled back between Dr. Pulaski and Commander Zar. There had been a time when she seated herself across from the captain during staff meetings, assuming a certain privilege that she and Janeway chose not to indulge on Millennium. Both were too aware of Seven now being a Starfleet officer, and the position she held within the chain of command. It was important that their personal life not appear to impact on their professional one ... at least, not any more than they could control under normal circumstances.

Also present in the meeting were Lt. T'Shanik and Lt. Nog, representing the junior officers. Seven wondered if the former presence was indicative of a decision Janeway had made or if T'Shanik was there merely because she had been a part of the away mission. Seven eyed the young woman curiously, assessing her appearance and presence. The young Vulcan displayed more assurance than Tarn, and if she were chosen for the ops position, she might possibly have more success than the younger, less experienced ensign.

"I'm still not clear on what it was you did to repair the vessel," Commander Zar said. The vessel had disappeared not long after the away team returned to the ship, ignoring all hails and requests for additional communication. It left no propulsion trail nor indication which direction it had gone. B'Elanna was of the opinion that it hadn't gone in any direction at all. It may have simply 'jumped' to its destination, just as Millennium used the transition drive in a more primitive fashion.

"I doubt we could explain it," B'Elanna offered dryly. Beside her, Ro glanced at her, a small frown furrowing her brow.

"Only those who actually carried out the repairs received any information on the alien vessel," the security chief said.

"And it's fading quickly now," B'Elanna added. She glanced across the table at the Borg. "Seven, T'Shanik and I recorded as much as we could remember into the ship's database, but most of it doesn't make sense. When I read the report, it uses terms that I understood when I was conducting the repairs, but which hold no context for me now."

"Lt. Torres is correct," Seven said. "Normally, when I assimilate information, it remains stored within my cortical implant. This did not. I am left only with impressions that were formed at the time as to the purpose of the vessel and its crew."

"The rest of us only have what we were told since none of us were able to access the manual," Janeway said. She frowned. "Perhaps I should have tried."

"It wouldn't have worked, Captain," Ro said. "I did try, but nothing happened when I touched the panel. It didn't even give me a jolt. Then the draven appeared and I was too busy to try again."

Pulaski snorted. "Speaking of which, I'm glad they were fairly small in our area," she said. "I hadn't fired a phaser in years."

"You frightened them successfully," Seven assured her.

"Well, see, that's the thing, Seven," Pulaski replied seriously, staring at her. "I was actually trying to hit them, not scare them."

Seven raised an eyebrow as around her, the rest of the officers smiled.

"I am curious," T'Shanik interjected coolly.

"Yes?" Janeway invited. Seven was reminded that Tarn had always been hesitant about offering her opinion during a conference. Obviously, T'Shanik was not so reticent.

"Were we all on the same planet? Or were we all on separate worlds? My impression was that we were on separate worlds, but there is no evidence to support that."

There was a pause. "I'm with you," B'Elanna said. "We were on separate worlds."

"However, each area we were in was remarkably similar," Seven noted. "Our scans determined that the building where the captain and Lt. T'Shanik materialized was constructed of the same material that made up the ground where Commander Ro and Lt. Torres materialized."

"The beach sand also possessed the same elements," Janeway said, glancing down to check the padd lying on the table in front of her. "The blue and red coloring. It's possible we were on the same planet ... just far apart from each other."

"If that were the case, our tricorders or communicators should have been able to detect the rest of the team," Ro said. "However, the scans seemed to terminate at the barrier which surrounded the planet." She glanced at the others. "That seems to support a separate planet theory."

Zar shook his head. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea that this 'freighter', if it was indeed, a starship of some kind, was actually transporting a planet," he said, leaning back in his chair. "To think they were transporting more than one is ... well, hard to believe."

"Not at all," Nog offered. The rest looked at him and the helmsman dipped his head, suddenly appearing embarrassed. "It is every Ferengi's dream to be capable of dealing in whole planets. Perhaps we haven't yet come up with a way to transport them to a customer but the concept is sound." He trailed off and for a second, a gleam of pure avarice shone bright in his dark eyes.

"Are you saying these are Ferengi on a galactic level?" Pulaski asked, seeming amused. "Someone puts in an order and they deliver a planet to the spatial coordinates specified?"

"A larger concern might be where they are getting the planets," Ro pointed out in a darker tone, her narrow features serious. "Is it possible that the original inhabitants of those worlds didn't want them transported?"

"It's equally possible that the original inhabitants were the ones arranging the move," Pulaski countered. "Perhaps their world was threatened by a nova, and a change of neighborhood was indicated."

"Or perhaps they are worlds devoid of intelligent life and are simply being taken to be colonized, rather than the colonies going to them," Janeway added with a smile. "The truth is, we're speculating on nothing more than impressions and assumptions. We have very little in the way of fact. Even our scans are so nebulous that any interpretation is still possible."

"What about those?" Zar was referring to the small replicas of the obelisk with which every member of the away team had returned. The crew had taken to calling them souvenirs for lack of any better term, and one lay on the table in front of the science officer.

Seven straightened as the attention of the senior officers turned in her direction. "The science department has run every scan and test conceivable on the artifacts," she reported, picking it up and displaying it. "We still cannot determine what material they are constructed from, nor if they perform any function beyond simply being. It is not inconceivable that they are... a form of payment for our assistance."

"Better payment than most away missions provide," Pulaski said dryly. "Usually, all an officer is left to remember the experience by is the scars." She glanced at the captain. "By the way, when can I have mine back? I know just where I'm going to put it in my quarters."

Janeway looked startled. "Doctor, this is alien technology we're dealing with, perhaps the only clues that we will ever have regarding their existence. I have every intention of having the science department examine them thoroughly."

Pulaski shrugged. "I have no objection to that," she said. "I just want to know when I'll get my gift back." She paused. "They were given to us, after all. It seems ungracious to study them as if they were biology samples. It might even offend them if they found out about it. Gifts are meant to be cherished.

Janeway stared at her, then exhaled slowly. "Should the science department be unable to determine anything further from their research ... well, we'll discuss it further at that point."

Pulaski smiled faintly. "Fair enough."

Seven wondered who would win that discussion. Normally, she would choose the captain, but from the time she had spent with the doctor in the forest, she had discovered that there were depths in the crusty doctor that weren't readily apparent. Certainly, Pulaski possessed an endurance and toughness that Seven had not expected.

The officers spent a few more hours speculating and brainstorming over the curious mission before the captain finally dismissed them. Before exiting the conference room, Seven noticed that Janeway asked T'Shanik to stay behind. As she entered the turbolift and requested it to convey her to deck three, she wondered if the captain was going to give the young Vulcan her decision, and what the consequences would be.

She changed out of her uniform and into a simple pair of trousers and a t-shirt before returning to the living area of her quarters and her small kitchenette. Retrieving several organic ingredients, Seven decided to make one of her more involved meals. It was something she hadn't had much of a chance to do lately. The further into the year-long mission of exploration that the Millennium journeyed, the busier the science section became. Seven knew that allowing the small domestic tasks fall to the wayside was the logical thing to do when the demands of her duties became intense, but she was also aware that by doing so, she was allowing her professional life to take over her personal one. She might not be able to constantly offer her partner special parts of herself ... as providing home-cooked meals did ... but when she did have the opportunity, she needed to take advantage of it.

The expression on Janeway's face when the captain walked through the door, inhaling the fine herbs and spices that went into the preparation of her favorite dish, was well worth the effort Seven had made. The Borg smiled at her spouse as she drifted over to the kitchenette counter where Seven stood putting the finishing touches on the casserole, perching on the wooden stool for the first time in what seemed months.

"This is wonderful, darling," Janeway said, her eyes shading to a bright blue. "What's the occasion?"

"I love you," Seven told her seriously, reaching over to touch her cheek fleetingly with her fingertips before returning to her task.

Janeway looked extremely pleased. "I love you, too," she said, settling back onto her stool. She linked her fingers together and rested her hands on the counter top, studying the Borg intently. "It's been a full day."

"It has," Seven agreed. She finished the last layer of potatoes, sprinkled it with paprika, and then slid the casserole into the heating unit. She activated it, then turned back to her partner, leaning over to rest her elbows on the counter, her face only millimeters away from Janeway's. "Kathryn, why did you lead that away mission?"

Janeway flinched a bit. "You didn't like that, did you?"

Seven exhaled, trying to find the proper words and present them in the proper manner. "Kathryn, it is entirely your prerogative to join whichever away mission you wish. Certainly, I am aware that you require a certain amount of active duty to supplement your normal routine as a starship captain. However, I am concerned that you did not choose to lead this mission because you wanted a change, but because you were attempting to protect me."

Janeway lifted a brow. "Suppose I were to tell you that wasn't the case at all?"

Seven hesitated. "I am not entirely certain that I would believe you," she said finally.

Janeway's eyes flashed angrily for a second, and then she snorted, a rueful laugh that made her lower her gaze. "What if I did go along to keep an eye on you? It's not as if it worked out that way, and the lesson learned is that no matter how much I might want it to be otherwise, there is a great deal that I'm not in control of. Even in my part of the mission, I was reduced to nothing more than serving as a part of a security detail when T'Shanik ... a junior lieutenant, mind you ... carried out what had to be done. Believe me, darling, I have been properly humbled."

Seven tilted her head, eyeing her narrowly. "I tend to think that is an inaccurate evaluation as well," she said dryly. "You are not the sort that is easily humbled."

The corner of Janeway's mouth curled in a grin. "Who said it was easy?"

The chime of the heating unit interrupted what Seven might have said next. She paused, then reached for the protective hand coverings, putting them on before removing the steaming casserole from the interior cavity. Janeway took the opportunity to slip off the stool and move over to the storage compartment containing their dishes and utensils, setting the table quickly with a skill born of long practice. By the time she was finished, Seven had retrieved the crusty bread from the replicator, the bottle of red wine which had been breathing for an hour, and a bowl of salad, placing them all on the table.

When the couple sat down, Janeway immediately served herself, showing no indication of wanting to pursue the conversation. Seven considered it briefly, and then let it go for the moment. She had worked hard on dinner, and had no wish to spoil it by pursuing a discussion that held the possibility of becoming heated. There would be plenty of time for that after they had finished the meal.

Janeway glanced at her once, a dark flash of assessment as if she knew exactly what Seven was up to, but she seemed quite willing to go along with it, digging into a healthy portion of casserole, along with a generous serving of salad. Seven found herself relaxing as the meal progressed, choosing to bask in the couple's togetherness rather than dwell on things that could be addressed at another time.

"This is excellent, love," Janeway mumbled at one point. "As always."

"Perhaps it is wisest to limit home-cooked meals. The rarity allows us to appreciate them more."

"True." Janeway picked up her glass and sipping her wine.

Seven smiled at her and concentrated on finishing her meal, smaller than the captain's, but equally as filling. The night was young, and once their discussion was complete, there would be time for resolution, reconciliation and restful recreation.

She did so appreciate restful recreation.

"The time is oh six hundred hours."

The computer's bland voice jolted Janeway out of her sleep, and she groaned as she realized she had forgotten to cancel the wake-up call the previous night. Ship protocol dictated that members of any away mission were accorded two days leave after the mission and debriefings were complete. She had planned to sleep in this morning but her oversight had prevented that. Furthermore, if she didn't deactivate it, the computer would attempt to wake the cabin's inhabitants twice more, increasing in decibel level each time. Forcing herself to move, she reached up to the panel set in the bulkhead next to the bed and manually overrode the computer's instructions. Then, grumbling incoherently, she rolled over and wrapped her arms around the lean, lanky form of Seven who had also awakened at the disturbance.

"Kathryn?"

"Mmm, go back to sleep, love," Janeway murmured, pressing into her partner's smooth back, burying her face into the golden hair at the nape of Seven's neck.

Seven stretched slightly, but obligingly settled back onto the mattress, apparently quite willing to extend the night's slumber further into morning. Janeway, however, was unable to recapture the sleep which seemed so desirable a few moments earlier. She contented herself with the pleasurable haze of drowsiness, delighting in the sensation of Seven's soft skin beneath her cheek, the silkiness of her flaxen hair against her face, and the Borg's warm strength filling her arms. Of course, it didn't take long before her hands began to roam, stroking lightly over the firm body, a slow celebration of touch and togetherness.

The previous evening, the couple had talked amicably at length, not really deciding anything other than that Seven was going to go on future away missions and Janeway was going to worry about her when she did. However, just having the conversation went a long way in easing both their minds. Seven promised to be more prudent in her choices during such missions, and the captain promised not to interfere, either by trying to keep her science officer from going or by tagging along. By the same token, however, Seven also acknowledged that Janeway needed to go on her own missions occasionally, despite the Borg's reservations. All in all, it was one of those little irreconcilable differences with which they both had to live. It was just a matter of bringing it up now and again to see if anyone had changed her mind in the interim.

"Mmm, Kathryn?"

Seven's voice was sleepy, wonderfully sensual in the early morning light, and Janeway smiled as her caresses became more specific. Pressing into the lanky form, she nuzzled the young woman's neck, humming happily.

"I thought you wished for me to sleep?" Seven captured the roving hands, trapping them against her abdomen.

Janeway wiggled against her. "I changed my mind," she muttered. "Do you object?"

Seven paused, teasing, and Janeway squeezed her tightly, rolling over, trying to gain a more advantageous position. Seven responded with a subtle snicker, and for the next two moments, the two women wrestled for control. When their efforts ceased, Seven was lying face down on the bed, the captain on top of her but with her arms trapped beneath the Borg whose fingers were wrapped firmly around the captain's wrists.

"This isn't going to work," Janeway said, laughter burbling up from her throat. "But I bet you're not sleepy anymore."

Seven, of course, could easily break this hold, but only if she harmed the captain in the process. She turned her head so that she could peer at her partner over her shoulder.

"Release me."

Janeway laughed again and nudged her thigh between the Borg's, parting her legs. "I think not," she said, which set off another bout of squirming. To Janeway's amusement, Seven managed to get her knees and elbows beneath her body and rose from the mattress, the captain clinging to her in grave danger of falling off her back. She knew if she did, Seven would immediately pounce, and then it would be Janeway who would be helpless. Not that such a scenario would necessarily be a bad thing, but she was certainly going to make Seven earn it.

Seven toppled, both she and Janeway falling onto their sides amid the tangled bedding. Quickly, the Borg continued her roll, and suddenly, the captain found herself with a significant mass on top of her, squashing her into the mattress. Her breath was expelled in a whoosh, but stubbornly, she tightened her grip, not allowing Seven to escape. Spots were appearing before her eyes and darkness edged her vision before she finally relented, acknowledging that she had lost this one by letting go of her embrace. Almost immediately, the weight went off her, and when her vision cleared, Seven had turned and was looking down at her with a mix of concern and exasperation in her bright blue eyes, her body now resting on the captain with only the lightest of pressure.

"That was a most imprudent move, Kathryn."

Panting, Janeway grinned. "Maybe, but it was fun." She slipped her arms around the blonde's neck and pulled her down for a lengthy kiss which served to make her breathless once more. The sensation of Seven's soft curves resting on her was heavenly, and the taste of her lips made it difficult to think clearly.

"Mmm, shall we spend the day in bed?" she asked coyly when they finally parted.

Seven presented a rare glimpse of her strong, white teeth in a brief smile, her blue eyes sparkling. "That would be pleasant," she said. There was a pause. "Have you considered that this is why I wish to be assigned away missions ... the intensity of your welcome upon my return?"

Janeway chuckled. "Consider it doubled when I also go on the mission," she said throatily. "Perhaps you have a point. Certainly, I appreciate your presence a great deal more after I've been deprived of it for a period of time."

Seven leaned down and kissed her again, her mouth tender and sweet upon the captain's, the tip of her tongue reaching out to touch Janeway's lips, flicking over them gently.

"I love you, Kathryn."

"Oh, darling, I love you too," Janeway said, her expression suddenly vulnerable as she cupped Seven's face in her palms. They kissed again, melting into each other as their desire grew. The chirp of the communicator made Janeway twitch and curse into her partner's mouth.

"Mph-dammit."

Seven smiled and drew back, reaching over to pick up the golden comm badge lying on the nightstand, handing it to the captain. Janeway eyed her darkly, but she accepted it and activated the channel.

"This is the captain.

"Captain, I'm sorry to bother you on your day off," Commander Zar said.

Janeway bit her lip to prevent herself from asking why he had in that case. Instead, she inhaled deeply, mentally counted to ten, and calmed down. "What is it, Commander?"

"We're picking up a communication from a nearby star system. They're sending a diplomatic envoy out to greet us."

Janeway paused. "A First Contact situation?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She looked up into Seven's serene gaze. "Commander, is there any reason you can't handle this?"

There was a silence. Perhaps Zar was surprised. "Uh, no Captain. I mean, yes, I can handle it."

"Then, I'll leave it in your hands, Commander," she said. "If you have any problems, I'm just a hail away."

"Yes, Captain."

Janeway cut the communication and smiled at the expression on Seven's face. "You have something to say?"

Seven blinked. "I am surprised. This is not like you."

Janeway laughed lightly. "Maybe not, or maybe I'm just taking the lessons about giving up control to heart. Besides, Zar needs to be pushed now and again, just as we all do. This will be good for him, and I can always step in if it becomes difficult."

Seven considered it, then dipped her head. "I am always learning new things about you, Kathryn."

Janeway lifted her chin. "Good."

Seven's eyes darkened in amusement, leaning down to cover the captain's lips with her own, kissing her deeply. Her caresses became more ardent, her long-fingered hands stroking with more intent, making it clear to the captain that her desire for play was over and her desire for Janeway was rising with every beat of their hearts.

Janeway responded, surrendering completely to her lover with her hands, her mouth, her entire body. To hold her, to love her, to be with her in all ways was all that the captain could think of, and when they finally came together in that exquisite moment of simultaneous ecstacy, it was both healing and reaffirming, a shared moment of love and passion that left Seven limp on the bed and the captain sprawled over her, the pair somehow having switched positions at some point during their lovemaking.

Janeway exhaled slowly as she rested her head on her partner's shoulder, her heart finally slowing its mad pace. "That was lovely, darling."

Seven's arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Janeway felt the Borg's lips brush over her forehead. "It was most pleasant."

Janeway smiled at the assessment and closed her eyes, snuggling close to the warm body next to her. "We should probably start thinking about breakfast," she suggested hopefully.

Seven hugged her again. The captain suspected she was amused. "It is actually closer to lunch at this point." There was a pause. "May I ask you a question, Kathryn?"

"Go ahead."

"Have you made a decision regarding Lt. T'Shanik's application?"

Janeway chuckled. "You really are incorrigible, love," she said. "You've taken these young officers under your wing, haven't you?"

"Not 'under my wing'," Seven said thoughtfully. "Not as I did with Naomi and the children of the Borg. However, I have become friendly with them, and I have an interest in their lives. T'Shanik's application to the bridge does not only affect her. She is a member of the same closely knit social circle that includes Nog, Ensign Marcos, Dr. Spencer and ... Ensign Tarn."

"Ah, you think there's going to be some personal tension there should T'Shanik end up taking over Tarn's position."

"Am I incorrect?"

"It's somewhat irrelevant," Janeway offered. "It's not as if you can do anything about it if there is, and certainly, I'm not basing any personnel decisions on who is friends with whom."

"I was not suggesting that you do, Kathryn. Merely explaining the basis of my interest in your decision."

"I see," Janeway said. She hesitated, then rubbed her cheek against the smooth skin of Seven's chest. "I gave T'Shanik the assignment. She's going to have to prove herself, of course, but I think she'll work out." There was a moment while she considered it further. "In fact, this may also be good for Ensign Tarn. It sets another challenge before her, and how she deals with it will determine what kind of Starfleet officer she will become."

Seven did not respond to that, remaining silent, and Janeway rose to an elbow so that she could look down at her. The young woman's face was slightly troubled. "What?" the captain prodded gently.

"It has occurred to me that every time I alter the chain of command within the science section, I also disrupt lives and possibly even friendships."

"Perhaps," Janeway agreed. "However, it's irrelevant." She smiled. "In fact, there was a time when you would have considered it completely irrelevant. Why does it concern you now?"

"Should it not?" Seven studied her intently.

Janeway considered how to answer that. "No," she said finally. "It shouldn't. I'm not saying you should entirely ignore the personal dynamics of your junior officers because that has a bearing on how they may work together, but it cannot overly influence any decision you make. Ultimately, it is not your responsibility to decide how others will deal with it. There's a job to be done and it's up to them to do it in whatever manner you stipulate as their superior officer. If they can't, then you do not make allowances for them. You replace them with someone who can do the job. It can seem harsh at times, particularly to certain individuals, but it is truly the most efficient way." She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm lecturing you on efficiency."

Seven's eyes grew thoughtful. "It is difficult to balance compassion for others and efficiency as a senior officer."

Janeway sighed. "I suppose it comes with experience. As you gain more, you'll learn the correct ways to balance it. Sometimes you won't balance them correctly, but that's all right, too. That's where the experience comes from." She placed her hand against Seven's cheek, cupping it tenderly. "You're becoming a very good Starfleet officer, Annika. I think you're learning to balance your Human compassion and your need for efficiency quite nicely. Don't ever worry about that."

"However, you will inform me if I lose that balance?"

"Of course," Janeway said. "That's my job as your commanding officer."

"Who informs you?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway laughed and kissed her. "That, my dear, is your job as my wife."

"For always."

Epilogue

Ensign Tarn stepped off the turbolift and headed for ops, her face carefully composed in a sort of frozen mask. She discovered that her back teeth were grinding and she forced herself to stop, remaining impassive as she took the station from T'Shanik. The Vulcan's cold features did not reveal how her first day as a bridge officer had gone, but Tarn somehow suspected she had been fine. She was sure there was a hint of self-satisfaction in the dark eyes, a tinge of condescension in the way T'Shanik explained what needed to be attended to first on the beta shift.

"I have it," Tarn said shortly, when it seemed T'Shanik was explaining too much. "I am familiar with this station."

T'Shanik hesitated, eyeing her keenly. "Of course. My apologies."

Tarn ignored that, focusing her whole attention on the console. T'Shanik hovered for a moment, as if she wanted to say something else, but then the Vulcan left, urged over to the turbolift by Nog who was waiting for her. The pair were undoubtedly heading for the Nexus to celebrate T'Shanik's promotion and her first day on the job.

Tarn's job.

Tarn felt the anger rise hotly within her again, and she forced it down into a cold ball at the pit of her stomach. Apparently, when she had lost her position on the alpha shift, she had lost her friends as well. They all worked days, and when they gathered socially after their shift, she was usually on duty. Though initially supportive when she first lost her post, it hadn't taken long before they were encouraging T'Shanik to apply. Tarn felt betrayed, particularly by Marcos who, although expressing sympathy for Tarn, seemed more than willing to push the Vulcan into taking a bridge slot. None of them seemed to care that Tarn would be unable to win her spot back if T'Shanik was successful there.

Nog's opinion that it was a matter of the better officer winning out did not go over well with the young woman. Perhaps it was just as well she didn't see them much anymore.

Feeling abandoned, Tarn began running the diagnostics that the alpha shift had left for her, and tried to come up with a plan that would prove she was the better Starfleet officer.

Better than T'Shanik at any rate.

The End

•  This is the 7th installment in the Millennium series.

• It was posted on February 15, 2002.

Difficult Decisions
G. L. Dartt

She woke before the computer signaled the beginning of morning watch, and sighed softly, rolling over to wrap her arms around the warm form beside her. Snuggling close, she let her mind drift in a determined attempt to go back to sleep before she was actually required to report for duty. However, her motion must have disturbed her partner because she shifted until she was facing her, and suddenly, there were lazy hands stroking over her body, caresses designed to incite and inspire delight. A growl rumbled up in her chest, half pleasure, half exasperation, but she responded quickly enough to the stimuli, blindly pulling the woman to her in a powerful embrace.

"Did I wake you?" Ro Laren asked.  Her lean whipcord of a body, all fine wire and steel, was a pleasant heat, intoxicating and alluring. Dark of hair and eyes, there were ripples on the bridge of her nose that denoted her Bajoran heritage. B'Elanna Torres found them almost unbearably cute.

Reluctantly opening one eye, B'Elanna glanced at the chronometer. There was time, but only if she skipped breakfast. Well, she thought, I can always live without eating.

"Wasn't that your intention?" she muttered, feeling her spouse nip at the soft skin of her neck before Ro licked the tiny hurt soothingly, the combination of pain and caress sending chills through the Klingon hybrid.

"Actually, yes," Ro admitted huskily.

B'Elanna laughed, a low sensual chuckle that abruptly cut off in surprise when Ro, with an interesting application of leverage, rolled both women over until she was lying on top of the Klingon, making it clear that she was to be in charge for this particular encounter. B'Elanna resisted the idea for a split second before surrendering utterly to her partner, her body catching fire beneath the Bajoran's strong hands and ardent mouth. Gasping as Ro's teeth raked over her nipple, B'Elanna arched as the sharp edges offered delicate sharpness against the tender flesh. Ro glanced up at her, smiled wantonly, and did it again before moving over to the other breast to repeat the caress. B'Elanna squirmed as she felt the Bajoran's fingers reach down between them to stroke through the dark thatch at the apex of her legs to maniupulate the Klingon's dual clitori. Bucking beneath the powerful caress, B'Elanna grasped at Ro, wordlessly demanding more, and the Bajoran complied, rising above her as she fit them quickly together, the sensation of Ro's f'lar touching her wetness causing the Klingon to howl from the sheer pleasure of the contact.

The trigger for a Bajoran woman's sexual stimulus, the f'lar were extremely sensitive ridges at the juncture of Ro's legs, lined with tiny orifices that produced lubrication during arousal. Possessing four, one more than average, they made the security chief far more sensual than her reserved demeanor indicated. Ro pressed them tightly against the Klingon in one of their favorite lovemaking positions, the sensation incredible as they rubbed over B'Elanna's more human-like anatomy, the wet friction producing a heat that could not be resisted. B'Elanna glanced up, witnessing an expression of total abandon appear on Ro's face as she undulated forcefully against her. In this moment of vulnerability, secure in the privacy of their quarters, the security chief held nothing back, and the Klingon was tremendously excited by the emotions displayed so openly by the Bajoran.

Increasing her motion in response to her lover's need, she reached up and cupped Ro's small breasts, massaging the nipples with their accompanying ripples with more tenderness than Klingons were traditionally known for. Part of the joy of inter-species coupling was finding the right things that worked, even when such caresses would be considered too weak to the other.

Ro responded to the caress with an incoherent sound of delight, her hands gripping B'Elanna's shoulders tightly as she pushed frantically against her, somehow finding a perfect rhythm as desire and passion threatened to consume them completely. For an instant, it seemed as if it would escape them entirely, and they quivered for a breathless second at the peak. Then B'Elanna cried out loudly as she plunged into the warm abyss, clutching at Ro urgently, hanging onto her as they jerked and shuddered and finally collapsed onto the bed in mutual satisfaction.

They lay motionless for several minutes, with B'Elanna keenly aware of the Bajoran's weight on top of her, pressing her heavily against the mattress. There had been a time when the Klingon would have resisted this sense of being pinned down and promptly pushed the woman off her as she had pushed others away in the aftermath. Ro, however, she hugged to her even more tightly, having discovered that this was not an imposition, but was, instead, comforting in some odd way, making her feel loved and protected.

Theirs wasn't a perfect relationship, the Klingon knew, but because it was based on a mutual respect and love born of much trial and error, it was very, very good. It had taken awhile for B'Elanna to realize the 'perfect' relationship didn't really exist, even though she had believed it of the captain and the Borg. It was only after she realized that the marriage was treated as a constant work in progress by both Janeway and Seven that B'Elanna understood what she needed to pursue in life. Fortunately, she and Ro had stuck together long enough for both of them to reach that conclusion.

"Mmm, that was good," Ro murmured finally, recovering enough to nuzzle into B'Elanna's neck.

"Very good," B'Elanna agreed. Her hands slipped lightly over Ro's back, tracing her spine in an aimless, but pleasurably lazy caress. She eyed the chronometer again. "You know, we really need to get going."

Ro groaned quietly, but obliged by slipping off the Klingon and rolling over until she was sitting at the edge of the bed. Raising her arms above her head, she stretched like a big carnivore, indolent but with restrained power, her muscles clearly defined beneath her smooth skin. B'Elanna watched the display with a quiet pleasure.

"Do you want me to make breakfast?" Ro asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Do we have time?" B'Elanna was surprised.

"If we shower together," Ro invited, rising to her feet and gracefully crossing the bedroom to the ensuite.

B'Elanna didn't require a second invitation and threw back the covers, scrambling after her. Minutes later, beneath the cascade of warm water, Ro Laren kissed the Klingon, their nude bodies slick and wonderfully slippery. That incited actions that did little to advance the cause of preparing for duty, causing another significant delay that did not include breakfast. It was a breathless and somewhat hungry B'Elanna Torres who finally made it to main engineering twenty minutes late for the beginning of her shift. She glared warningly at a few of her crewmembers who had looked up at her tardy appearance, daring them to mention the lapse, then glanced around the room which was her domain. Extending above her for four decks, the dual power cores, separated by an ivory cooling tower, dominated the room, throbbing with contained energy as the ship slipped through space at the easy pace of warp seven. It afforded B'Elanna the same chill of anticipation and excitement that it always did when she entered her engine room, knowing that she was the one in charge of all that power.

Janeway may be in command of the ship, she thought with an internal grin, but I look after the stuff that makes it go.

"Chief?"

B'Elanna turned to see Ensign Laura Martin standing there with a padd, undoubtedly filled with reports needing the lieutenant's attention before the shift supervisor could log off duty. The Klingon stifled her sigh and accepted the padd, scanning the information held there.

"How are things?" B'Elanna asked quietly as she worked her way through the gamma shift data. Martin was someone the engineer was keeping her eye on, pegging her for a possible promotion from the transition core supervisor to the beta shift warp team. A robust woman, Martin was highly intelligent, with a talent for ferreting out phase variances, and a sense of knowing exactly what to do in a crisis. Her long, brownish-blonde hair, held back in a french braid, framed pleasantly rounded features that were pretty rather than beautiful. The constant twinkle in her dark eyes gave evidence of her dry sense of humor.

"It was a busy night," Martin responded. "During a manual inspection, the transition coolant tank's transwarp seals were displaying signs of progressive degrading. I had the seals completely replaced and then ordered a complete re-calibration of the transition drive's computer system, which took most of the shift. I had to pull some warp technicians off their duty."

"That's fine," B'Elanna said approvingly. "Even though we're not currently using the transition drive, we need to keep it well maintained, and I expect both teams to work together as a unit. This drive is our ticket home when the mission is over. Otherwise, we'll spend seventy or eighty years out here in the Delta Quadrant just getting back to Federation space."

"We're all aware of that, Chief," Martin said dryly.

B'Elanna cocked an eyebrow at her, trying to figure out if the other woman was teasing her or not, then decided it was unlikely. Though engineering tended to be a little looser than most departments on the ship, there was still the Klingon aspect of their chief that prevented a great many officers from daring to become too familiar with her. B'Elanna had yet to decide if she liked that or not.

"I'd like to take a look at the seals," she said finally, handing the padd back to Martin. Obediently, the woman followed as B'Elanna led the way to the section where the problem had originated. As Laura stood by patiently, the Klingon painstakingly went over the area twice before she was content it had been taken care of properly.

"Make a note in the log," she said. "Good work from your team. I'm curious why the beta shift didn't notice the degradation during their routine inspection, however."

"Maybe it wasn't visible until our shift," Martin responded. "As it was, we were lucky Valdez caught it."

"Maybe," B'Elanna said, not entirely satisfied with that explanation, but accepting that it was possible. She noticed that Martin was fidgeting, and realized that she had kept the gamma shift supervisor longer than she should. The Martins had a five-year-old son named Bobby. If Laura didn't log off duty soon, she would miss seeing him before he went off to school. "Okay, I've got it from here." She was about to say more when a sharp snap drew her attention, then the immediate shrill tones of an alarm filled her ears. With disbelief, she recognized the warning of an imminent plasma breach in the warp conduits.

"Clear the area," she shouted automatically, even as she knew that was the incorrect order for this particular vessel. Sprinting toward the source of the sound, with Martin only a step behind her, she was aware of surplus engineers and technicians heading rapidly for the exits, while others, drilled in this particular emergency, stayed at their posts, remaining at the consoles scattered through main engineering. Frantically, they began the necessary procedures to shut down the warp core and shunt the plasma away from the primary warp manifold, continuing to input commands even as a large visible crack developed in the main conduit and began to spew corrosive and radioactive green plasma onto the main engineering deck.

"Chief, look out!"

B'Elanna faltered in her run, slowing as she glanced around for the cause of Martin's warning. Then she left her feet as someone tackled her, the pair skidding across the deck. The leading edge of the plasma burst through the conduit and splashed down around them, burning their skin. B'Elanna held her breath, trying desperately not to inhale the toxic fumes as they skidded away from the deadly green puddle spreading out over the deck. Time seemed to slow down, and as she glanced down at herself, she could see the outer layer of her skin start to peel away in long strips beneath the smoking gaps in her uniform.

Then darkness claimed her, and it was a relief because then she didn't have to feel the searing pain she knew was about to hit her.

Captain Janeway strode briskly into USS Millennium's sickbay, her level eyes shaded to a dark stormy grey. A quick glance around determined that all three doctors, Lewis, Spencer and Pulaski, were fully occupied in directing their respective medical teams as they handled the multitude of casualties being carried in from all over the ship. Frowning, the captain positioned herself next to the CMO's office, staying out of the way as she waited. As much as she needed a progress report on her crew's injuries, she didn't want to interrupt until there was a break in the urgency permeating the medical center. She also needed this moment to gain her own bearings, to reflect on what had happened to her ship and what she immediately needed to do about it.

It had been so unexpected. One moment they were cruising at warp seven through the Delta Quadrant, expanding the Federation's knowledge of this area of space so far away from their home port of Earth, and the next, they had dropped completely out of warp. Not the usual dropping out of warp where the ship powered down in swift but measurable increments to impulse power, but rather, torn completely out of the warp bubble and dumped into normal space like a drunk being ejected from a station-side bar. The ship's internal integrity dampers had been stressed to the limit as it prevented the crew of the great starship from smashing into formless blobs against the bulkheads from the abrupt change in velocity. Even so, many in the crew had been tossed about violently, some sustaining serious injuries from impacting with assorted immovable objects.

Janeway had been sitting quietly in her command chair when it happened ... as opposed to pacing alertly around the bridge or working in her ready room, which was normally how she spent the alpha shift. It was a fortunate happenstance because an unexpected force field snapped up around her chair, holding her firmly in place. Janeway had remembered reading about the protective shields which had been installed around every station on the bridge, and meant to be activated during a violent, uncontrolled ship maneuver. It was why all the bridge stations on Millennium ... including ops, tactical and the auxiliary posts ... required the operators to be seated rather than standing, but this was the first time the captain had actually experienced the modification. Nor was she entirely sure it was such a good idea because, for several ludicrous moments in the immediate aftermath, no one on the bridge could move, literally immobilized in their seats until the computer had deemed the ship was safely drifting in normal space and not about to undergo any further ill-advised maneuvers.

The captain appreciated that there was something to be said for bridge officers not being catapulted wildly about the command center during an unexpected jolt, but there was also a need for freedom of motion during a crisis. She decided that she would put a maintenance team on it to look into all the ramifications.

Assuming she had any spare personnel left in engineering, she reminded herself grimly. Millennium's engineering crew had not only experienced injuries from the sudden uncontrolled drop from warp, but had also suffered severe burns from a plasma leak when the main conduit ruptured. Janeway didn't know what had happened and needed answers quickly, but unfortunately, the person best equipped to provide her with them was one of those currently being treated.

Yet, the captain understood that B'Elanna had still been very lucky. Janeway wasn't sure of the details, but apparently, one of the engineering crew, using her own body as a sort of shield to protect the chief, had saved the Klingon from the full brunt of the plasma spill. At the moment, Zar Tulek, Janeway's first officer, and the ship's chief science officer, Lt. Annika Hansen, were supervising the repairs to the engines while at the same time, trying to figure out what happened.

"Doctor." Janeway called out as the snowy-haired Pulaski left the patient she had been working on. The tall, elegant woman looked weary, though a contrary spark ignited in her blue eyes at being made to pause in her duties.

"Does it have to be now, Kathryn?" she snapped as she moved over to the captain, motioning for her to enter the office before her. "I have a sickbay full of casualties, in case you hadn't noticed."

Janeway allowed for the exhaustive nature of the work the medical officer had been performing and did not snap back. "I need your report," she said quietly, pinning the doctor with an authoritative look. "When can I expect it?"

Pulaski hesitated, and then dipped her head. "All I can tell you at the moment is that we have seven dead," she said shortly. "Three more are critical. The rest of the burn victims should be fine, assuming there are no complications during the post-op recovery. The blunt trauma cases are all back on their feet."

"Lt. Torres?"

"She'll be back on duty before the week is out," Pulaski said. "She's currently in a regeneration tube having assorted parts of her skin and lungs regrown, as well as healing from a concussion."

"Can I speak to her?"

"The patient is better off sedated while undergoing this type of regeneration," Pulaski said, shaking her head. "You won't be able to talk to her for a few days."

Janeway nodded briefly. "Send the casualty list to my ready room," she said, turning away, conscious of the letters she had to write to the next of kin and not looking forward to it.

"Captain."

Janeway turned back, raising an eyebrow as she saw the expression on Pulaski's face. The doctor looked oddly determined, but reserved at the same time, obviously uncertain as to what kind of reception she would receive to her next words.

"Unless something miraculous happens, I'm going to lose those three critical patients," she said. "It's not a matter of if...only when, and it's going to be very soon."

Janeway caught her breath at the bleak certainty in the doctor's voice.

"I understand," she said, somehow managing an even tone.

"This ship doesn't have the necessary equipment to deal with burns this severe," Pulaski went on. She glanced up at Janeway. "However, the specialized plasma burn unit at the Starfleet Medical facilities on Europaea Prime does."

"Europaea Prime is in the Alpha Quadrant," Janeway said stupidly, not immediately comprehending what the doctor was implying. Then she firmed her mouth, a muscle jumping sporadically in her jaw. "You want the ship to return to the Federation," she said flatly. "Abort our mission here in the Delta Quadrant."

"It's a matter of life and death, Kathryn," Pulaski said, frowning at her. "If we can get these casualties to the proper facilities within the next couple of days, they might have a chance of surviving."

"I appreciate what you're saying, Doctor," Janeway said, keenly aware of her responsibilities to Starfleet and feeling cornered by her CMO. "However, as difficult as this is, I cannot justify ordering our return."

"Kathryn..." Pulaski began.

"No," Janeway said, interjecting more firmness into her tone. "First of all, it takes upwards of a week to properly prepare the ship and crew for a transition jump. Second, we're out of communications range of Starfleet, which would mean any return would occur without advanced warning to the Federation. That not only puts this vessel at risk, but any vessels that might be in the area of the exit coordinates. Third, and ultimately, we all knew and understood the risks of this duty when we accepted it. I don't want to be harsh, Doctor, but the mission cannot be aborted for the sake of a few individuals."

Pulaski's face underwent a myriad of expressions, none of which were pleasant, before she finally dipped her head. It wasn't any sort of agreement, Janeway knew, so much as a surrender to what was required of them.

"I will issue an official report," Pulaski said with brittle sharpness. "I intend to make it clear to Starfleet that I do not agree with your decision."

Janeway nodded, acknowledging the anger in the doctor's tone though she could not afford to indulge in it. "I understand, Doctor," she said, her tone clipped. "You do what you must. So will I." She turned and left sickbay, feeling the burden of command weighing heavily on her shoulders.

What does Pulaski expect of me? she thought resentfully.

Surely the doctor knew that what she was asking was impossible. The Europaea Prime system was located in one of the most densely trafficked sectors of the Federation. Even if Millennium could bypass most of the safety procedures in setting up the transwarp drive, making what was considered an 'emergency transition', the exit coordinates would have to be situated in a less populated sector. That would probably put Millennium so far away from the Federation's inner systems, it would take too long, utilizing traditional warp, to reach the medical facilities before the critical cases died. That was assuming that their warp drive would be repaired within the next few hours, which was not at all a certainty.

No, she thought unhappily as she strode briskly down the corridor, heading for the turbolift, there's no other choice. Starfleet certainly wouldn't accept any other decision from her. There was room for compassion, but there was also the required adherence to duty, and this was definitely a case of the latter. It didn't make Janeway feel any better inside, of course, but she had to be content that she had made the correct command decision. Stepping into the turbolift, she instructed it to take her to main engineering, wanting to get a first hand look at the damage her ship had taken. It bothered her tremendously that there had been no warning, no hint of trouble from engineering before the ship lost its warp drive, no indication that there was a malfunction. Things like that just shouldn't happen, and it made the captain considerably uneasy.

Main engineering was a flurry of activity. The environmental controls were set to ship standard, but the various equipment required for repairs of this nature tended to put out excess heat. There was also a great deal of physical exertion going on, and many of the crew had discarded their tunics and sweaters in order to work in their brief undershirts. As Zar Tulek came toward her, alerted to the captain's presence by a sharp-eyed crewmember, Janeway was struck by the prominent bone ridges in his shoulders and broad chest which were normally concealed by his uniform tunic. The Cardassian had never looked more alien to her, and she supposed it was because she had never seen that much of his body before.

Beyond him, on the catwalk above the main level, Janeway could see her science officer directing the repairs. Seven, of course, was in full uniform, looking completely cool and collected and not at all bothered by the environment.

"Captain."

"Report," she asked, frowning as she saw an entire section of conduit being lifted into place by four straining engineers.

"There were ruptures in the main and secondary plasma relays," he said succinctly. Close to six-foot-six, he towered over Janeway, and the captain felt a crick start to develop in her neck as she looked up at him. It was the same thing that usually happened with Seven, her spouse topping her by about six inches, and Janeway inevitably ended up staring at the Borg's rather prominent chest which, although exceedingly pleasant, wasn't necessarily polite. Janeway was struck by the odd thought that perhaps she should requisition a box to carry around with her in order to stand at eye level with her senior officers.

"How did it happen?"

"We're not sure yet," he said, his angled features appearing even more severe. "The truth is, it shouldn't have happened at all. Regular maintenance is designed to prevent just this sort of thing, and I can't believe that Torres runs so sloppy an engine room that defects in the conduit walls were overlooked long enough to cause a rupture."

"She doesn't," Janeway said with certainty, anger stirring in her chest. "You're saying that someone sabotaged the conduits."

Zar looked troubled. "Not exactly," he said slowly. "Captain, you know as well as I do that weird things can happen in space. I'm not ready to start pointing fingers or call a red alert just yet, although I expect Commander Ro's report to indicate we have a larger problem than just a plasma breach. I called her in as soon as I realized the nature of the damage."

Janeway inhaled. "Where is she now?" she asked. She had been slightly surprised not to see the Bajoran in sickbay with her partner, but upon further reflection, was reminded that Ro was just as dedicated to duty as any of her senior officers, despite her occasional rebellious tendencies.

"She's in the engineer's office, going over the gamma shift roster." There was a pause. "How is Lt. Torres, Captain?"

Janeway lifted an eyebrow, remembering that not so long ago, the engineer had loathed the first officer. However, the two, Cardassian and Klingon, had somehow resolved their differences and now were, if not friends, then at least no longer blood enemies.

"She's recovering," Janeway said shortly. "I'll want a full report when you're finished here, Commander."

"Understood, Captain."

She dipped her head and headed for the chief engineer's office, needing to speak to her security chief.

Seven had been aware of the captain's visit and subsequent departure from engineering. Even after years of marriage, the Borg still felt a little lift in her chest at knowing Janeway was in her immediate vicinity, a subtle sense of functioning better. However, the couple had been too busy to speak, nor would Seven approach the captain unless Janeway requested her presence or the science officer had a report to make. They were both on duty, and their interaction as captain and crewmember was quite different than how it was when they were alone together. At the moment, the captain was undoubtedly on her way back to the bridge, confident that Seven would adequately supervise these repairs.

The Borg focused her attention on replacing the damaged piece of conduit with a new section. From her initial visual inspection of the damaged section, which had been set aside for further examination by security, it appeared that a defect had developed in the inner casing. The force of the plasma moving through the tube was enough to further rupture the weak area and, finally, to allow the plasma to spill through. However, the real mystery was what had caused the defect in the first place. It was certainly not a normal happenstance, nor should it have gone unnoticed with regular tricorder scans long enough for the plasma to burn its way through. Seven took a moment to retrieve a tricorder from a nearby compartment and examine the damaged section closer, intrigued to discover evidence of a transporter signature that was steadily fading, along with some undetermined trace element that was unfamiliar to her. It appeared to be dissipating even as she did a second, more extensive scan.

"Seven?"

The Borg glanced up to see Ro Laren approaching, accompanied by two more security officers. Seven wondered if the strain that appeared around the Bajoran's dark eyes was a result of her investigation, or the fact that her spouse was in sickbay. If so, then the Borg knew how she felt. She was good friends with B'Elanna, and regretted that her duties prevented her from visiting her friend in the medical center. For Ro, who was deeply in love with the engineer, it must be even more stressful.

"Commander, you should investigate this," Seven said coolly, handing the security chief her tricorder with the readings.

Ro stared at them, and quickly ran her own scan, her lips thin. "Good work, Seven," she said in a clipped tone, "if you had taken any longer or waited for us, we might have lost these traces."

"I am unsure what the readings indicate," Seven said, referring to the dissolving elements. "I am not familiar with that particular chemical compound."

"I am," Ro said tightly. However, she did not elaborate, even when Seven offered her a quizzical look. "Seven, I want my people to go over every millimeter of the affected areas. I realize this will delay the repairs, but it's critical we complete our scans as soon as possible."

"Of course," Seven said, dipping her head. "I shall redirect the engineering teams to begin work on the warp manifold seals which were compromised during the accident. It should not delay the repair project itself."

Ro shot her a look, almost as if she were about to say something, then shook her head. "Thank you, Seven."

"You are welcome," Seven said. She motioned at the technicians who had been waiting for further instructions, indicating that they should tackle the warp seals next.

"Seven?"

The Borg paused, about to follow her repair team, glancing back over her shoulder at the Bajoran. "Yes, Commander Ro?"

"How long until we have warp drive again?" Ro asked.

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "Assuming there are no unforeseen delays in the repair schedule, I anticipate returning the engines to full warp capacity in seven days."

Ro nodded soberly. "Understood," she said. "Thanks, Seven."

Seven wondered what Ro was thinking. It was obvious to her that the Bajoran had formulated certain conclusions as they had talked, but Ro seemed unwilling to share them with the Borg. Seven briefly debated whether to be offended by that, and then decided that Ro would not be a very good security chief if she was forthcoming with everything she knew or suspected, regardless of how curious Seven was. She would just have to exist without knowing, the Borg decided as she returned to directing the repair crew, setting them to work replacing the warp manifold seals.

It was quite late when she returned to her quarters, dismissed by Commander Zar who informed her that he had little use for a science officer who worked herself so hard that she would be unable to function. Seven did not agree with his assessment, remembering a time when she was capable of working around the clock for days, but she could not defy orders from a senior officer, as much as she might want to. On Voyager, she would have considered it. On Millennium, she had no choice. Slightly disgruntled, she entered the captain's cabin, surprised to see that Janeway was still awake, seated at the work station by the far wall, her gaze intent on the computer screen.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway blinked and looked up. She had been so involved in what she was doing that she obviously hadn't heard her spouse enter. Seven lifted an eyebrow, frowning as she wondered what had the captain so occupied.

"Hello, darling. What's the status with the warp drive?"

"It remains offline," Seven responded, moving closer to Janeway and putting her hands on the captain's shoulders, looking over her head at the data displayed on the screen. "The repair teams remain on schedule, and we should have full function in six more days." She paused. "Kathryn, why are you studying the transition drive schematics?"

Janeway exhaled audibly. "It's my understanding that the ship should be traveling at warp 9.5 as it accesses the transition corridor, right?"

Seven dipped her head. "That is correct."

Janeway tapped the touch pad in front of her, her fingertips light on the smooth surface. "What about an 'emergency transition' utilizing a single power core?"

Seven lifted an eyebrow, feeling a certain qualm shiver through her. "What is it that you wish to know?" Having worked on the drive during her time on Earth with the Theoretical Propulsion Group laboratory, Seven of Nine was probably the only transition propulsion specialist on the vessel, despite B'Elanna Torres' familiarity with the engines.

"It's theoretically possible for a ship to access the corridor by activating the transition drive and raising the energy output to the same level that the warp engines put out at 9.5, right?"

"Theoretically," Seven agreed slowly, not sure she liked the direction of this conversation.

"So if I wanted to, say, return to the Alpha Quadrant within the next couple of days, even if we don't have both cores online, then it could be done."

Seven hesitated.

"Darling?"

"It is theoretically possible," Seven admitted. She squeezed the shoulders lightly, feeling the delicate, narrow bones beneath her fingers. "However, theory and reality are not necessarily the same thing."

Janeway looked up, tilting her head back until her bluish-grey eyes intersected with Seven's. "Indeed," she said flatly. "Explain to me all the ramifications of an emergency transition."

Seven released her hold and moved over to the sofa, sitting down gracefully, her hands folded neatly on her lap as she observed her partner. Janeway left the work station and moved over to join her in their living quarters' conversation pit, taking a seat opposite her on the smaller couch.

"To activate the transition drive without the simultaneous activation of both power cores would compromise the cooling system which maintains the integrity of the transition coil," Seven explained, studying her partner intently as she tried to determine why the captain wanted this information. "It would undoubtedly result in an overload that would completely destroy the coil's internal structure. Second, assuming that the energy output of the transition drive could be raised to the level of warp 9.5 utilizing only one power core, which is unlikely in my opinion, such concentrated power could rupture the antimatter containment field of both, resulting in a explosion that would completely destroy the ship and everything else within a light year. Third, the velocity of 9.5 was determined to be the most efficient method of accessing the corridor without placing undue stress on the ship's integrity field. To enter a subspace corridor at a lower warp, or at impulse, could compromise the shields, exceed the capacity of the inertial dampers, and result in a total shearing of the vessel's hull, which would shatter the ship completely."

Janeway, who had sat still for the entirety of the technical explanation, jumped to her feet, pacing about their living quarters animatedly, raising an elegant finger as if to emphasize her points.

"What you're telling me is that if we could get the transition drive running hot enough on one core to form a subspace corridor and somehow bolster the integrity and containment fields to prevent breaches, the transition coil would still be destroyed, making any such jump a one-way trip."

Seven did not quite wince at the gross oversimplification of the risks involved, but it was very close. "That is correct." She tilted her head, her ice-blue eyes narrowing. "There is also the problem of maintaining precise entry and exit coordinates while traveling the corridor at a slower velocity, as well as the much greater physical toll extracted from those possessing Terran DNA. Being in the transition corridor for an extended period of time would impose stress that no medication could counteract. An 'emergency transition' would be so damaging physically and psychologically that there could be a casualty rate of up to 25%."

Janeway stopped and put her hands on her hips ... never a good sign in Seven's opinion ... staring at the science officer with dark grey eyes.

"Approximately a third of the crew suffered some effect of the transition jump," she said in a tone that indicated she was having great difficulty with the figures Seven was presenting to her. "That was almost 400 officers and civilians who had to be sedated. You're telling me that an emergency transition, even with medical preparation, could kill about 100 of them?"

"That is the casualty rate estimated by the TPG in such an instance," Seven admitted. "Of course, an 'emergency transition' is very much a theoretical concept, Kathryn. It has never actually been performed." She paused. "Captain," she corrected herself, sensing that this was not a personal discussion despite the fact they were in their quarters with an agreement that ship's business should normally be left outside their doors. "Are you contemplating using such a transition as a kind of escape procedure?"

Janeway's brows drew down, her expression one of great unhappiness. "I just want to have all the angles, Seven. It's imperative that I know just what this ship can and cannot do in certain circumstances."

Seven hesitated. "The circumstances would be very dire to risk an 'emergency transition', Captain. The ship would have to be on the verge of total destruction. It would be a matter of 'last resort' only."

Janeway nodded. "I get it," she said, her tone slightly grating. "It's not something to do lightly. I should have examined this before now." She was silent for a moment, her expression one of deep thought. "Is there any way to speed up the repairs of the warp drive, perhaps take some shortcuts in bringing the engines and second power core back online?"

Seven frowned. "If certain protocols were bypassed, then the warp drive could be brought online in four-point-five days," she admitted unhappily. "However, that would mean compromising certain aspects of its normal operation which could result in a fatal malfunction at a critical time. It would be highly inadvisable, Captain. In my opinion, the ship would, again, have to be in grave danger of being destroyed for you to order it." She inhaled slowly. "Why are you asking me these things, Kathryn?" By deliberately using her name, Seven attempted to bring the conversation back to a more personal level.

Janeway's shoulders slumped then and she looked so weary that Seven rose in alarm, moving over to enfold the captain into her arms. "What is wrong, Kathryn?" she murmured against the rich, auburn hair. The woman suddenly seemed very small and fragile in Seven's embrace, very vulnerable in a way that was not normal for Janeway.

"Three more crewmembers are going to die," the captain explained raggedly. "Pulaski can't save them. She just doesn't have the equipment or the personnel. However, the burn unit at the Starfleet facilities on Europaea Prime does."

Seven pulled her closer, cuddling her as she would a child. "I comprehend now," she said softly, knowing how much every crewmember's life meant to the captain, and how much it hurt her to be unable to do anything to prevent a death, or in this case, three. "Kathryn, the potential risk to the ship and the rest of the crew is far too great for us to return to the Federation under these circumstances."

Janeway hesitated, then nodded. "I agree," she said. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're absolutely correct. Even if I were prepared to accept the professional consequences of prematurely ending our mission here in the Delta Quadrant, I can't justify the risk to my ship. I'm completely out of options."

And Seven knew that angered and frustrated her spouse most of all.

"I am sorry, Kathryn," she said.

"So am I," the captain said softly, clinging to Seven, needing the comfort and security of her spouse in a way that she could never accept from anyone else.

"Damn it, so am I."

Zar sighed as he saw the figure waiting in his office on deck two. Ensign Tarn was the bridge operations officer for the beta shift. Once she had held the position on the alpha team. Those crewmembers worked directly under the captain and were called in during any crucial situations. Such a posting granted officers a certain prestige to match the demands of their greater responsibilities. Tarn, however, hadn't been able to cut it, suffering the indignity of being rotated off the alpha shift to the less demanding beta shift. Worse, she had been replaced by one of her peers who was handling her new duties with remarkable skill and composure. It was a situation that undoubtedly stung the pride and esteem of a young Starfleet officer who had graduated at the top of her class from Starfleet Academy only a year earlier. Tarn had been very used to succeeding, but on Millennium her failures far outweighed her accomplishments.

"Ensign, may I help you?" he said as he moved around her to his desk, where he sat down and hoped this wouldn't take too long. He had planned to stop by his office for only a few moments, just long enough to drop off some reports before heading down to engineering, but obviously, his morning was not working out as planned.

Of course, he was the one who had established the 'open-door' protocol for his office, he reminded himself. He had wanted it clear that any crewmember could stop by to talk to him any time. Nor had such a liberal policy imposed an undue burden on him. The offspring of a Bajoran refugee and an occupying Cardassian soldier, Zar's appearance was primarily that of his father's people. The Cardassians had been bitter enemies with the Federation for several years, and the wounds, both physical and emotional, were still evident in many of Millennium's officers who had fought in the most recent war instigated by them. Most of the crew remained leery of the first officer and rarely sought him out as a confidant or mentor. Tarn, however, had been thrown in close contact with the first officer on the bridge and had lost her wariness of him.

"Commander, I wish to apply for extra duty," she said, sitting up straight. A tall girl, Tarn had long red hair held back in a ponytail and bright blue eyes that conveyed an intelligent personality. A willful one as well, he knew, both arrogant and self-assured...except when she ran into an obstacle. Then she became sullen and uncertain. He was pleased to note that there was a definite spark of contrariness in her gaze at the moment, a sort of defiance which cheered rather than offended him.

"I see. Do you have a particular preference?"

"I want to apply to the fighter squadron as a substitute pilot. Failing that, I want to spend time on a security detail."

He eyed her dubiously. "In addition to your duties on the beta shift?"

She looked vaguely annoyed. "The beta shift is not as demanding as the alpha assignment."

He swallowed back a smile. There was actually a touch of antagonism in those words, and Zar was glad to hear it. He had been afraid this latest setback to Tarn's career would finish her as a Starfleet officer, but it seemed, as Janeway had hoped, that she was responding to the challenge.His respect for his commanding officer rose yet another notch.

"Very well," he said calmly. "I'll check with Lt. Paris and Commander Ro to see who requires additional personnel."

Tarn looked vaguely disconcerted, as if she had expected resistance and had her arguments marshaled, only to have no need of them. He wondered why, then decided that she probably thought that losing her place on the alpha shift meant the senior staff had completely washed their hands of her. He remembered a time in his own youth when everything was black and white, where if it wasn't one, then by necessity, it had to be the other. Only time and experience taught him the many shades of gray that truly existed in life, and that it was never as bad as he always expected it to be.

"Thank you, sir," she said belatedly.

"You're welcome." He paused. "Is there anything else, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir, I wish to know if--"

The door to the office hissed open, and she stopped in surprise. Zar frowned, wondering who was in such a hurry that they wouldn't first request admittance, blinking when he saw Lt. Peter Martin standing in the doorway.

"Commander, I need to speak with you. Now."

The normally pleasant young man looked haggard, his eyes reddened and swollen, his sandy hair in disarray as if he had not taken the time to comb it. Zar wasn't surprised. He knew Martin's wife was one of those who had been critically injured and would probably not survive. Her husband was undoubtedly devastated by the knowledge. Zar wondered what could be more important to Peter that he would be in the exec's office rather than with Laura during her final hours.

"Ensign, if you'll excuse us?" he said calmly.

"Of course, sir," Tarn said. She brushed past the geometrics officer with an expression of discomfort on her face. Zar wondered if it was because she didn't know what to say to the man who was obviously grieving, or if she was upset that her meeting with Zar had been interrupted. He preferred to believe that it was the former, despite how insular and self-centered the young, and particularly Ensign Tarn, could be.

"What is it, Peter?" he said.

"You have to go to the captain," Peter said, not taking the seat that Zar offered with a motion of his head. "You have to convince her to order our return."

Zar blinked. "Return?"

"We need to get to Europaea Prime," Peter said, every word edged with pain.

"Europaea Prime? In the Alpha Quadrant?" Zar wished he could stop repeating everything the officer said. He felt blind-sided, as if everyone else on the ship knew what was going on except for him.

"They specialize in plasma burns. In fact, the whole facility is dedicated to the research and development of new treatments for those type of injuries."

"Hold on a minute," Zar said, holding up his hands to slow the intense young man down. "Let's start at the beginning. What's this about the Europaea Prime facility?"

"When I was at the Academy, my roommate was Kevin Lawrence," Peter explained painfully. "He went on to specialize in plasmatology and thermal epidermatology. I've kept in touch with him all these years, and in his last letter before we left the alpha quadrant, he told me all about a new breakthrough they had made in plasma burn research at Europaea Prime. I know they'll be able to help Laura." He gulped for air. "And the other two," he added belatedly.

Zar inhaled slowly, the ramifications slowly becoming clear to him as he considered the officer's request. "Peter, there's no guarantee that they would be able to help her where our doctors can't," he said.

"We have to try, dammit," Peter shouted, his voice echoing in the small confines of the room. His fists were clenched and his stocky body was a coiled spring on the verge of being released.

"Lieutenant!" Zar spoke sharply, trying to calm the young man. For a minute, he wasn't sure his tone had penetrated the fear and pain which were driving the officer's actions, then Peter seemed to collapse, slumping down in the chair as he stared at the commander.

"We have to try," he repeated huskily, his eyes lost and frightened.

"It's not that simple, Peter," Zar began. "Our warp engines are down..."

"We have the transition drive."

"Which requires the warp engines to function."

At least, Zar thought that was the case. The truth was, how the transition drive actually worked was a mystery to most of the crew. They understood some of the theory and all the preparations that were made prior to making the jump from the Alpha Quadrant, but he suspected that they weren't entirely sure about the mechanics of it. While he understood the connection between the warp engines and the transition drive on a theoretical basis, it wasn't clear to him why the ship had to be going warp 9.5 before the subspace corridor could be accessed. He didn't even know if a transwarp conduit could be created by just using the transition drive. He supposed Seven would know since she had helped design and build it, and decided to ask her as soon as he had a spare moment.

However, that didn't tell him how he should deal with Peter Martin right now.

"Lieutenant, I'm not sure what you're asking is possible, even if the captain would be willing to abort our mission and return prematurely to the Federation," Zar said awkwardly.

Peter leaned forward, his hands trapped between his thighs as if he were afraid that having them loose would result in him doing something unfortunate with them. "She's going to die, Commander."

Zar stared at him helplessly, seeing the profound pain in the other man's eyes. "I understand," he said softly. He swallowed hard. "I'll bring this to the captain's attention. That's all I can do."

"Thank you, Commander," Peter said, the relief and gratitude evident in his expression.

Zar felt horrible. He had offered the young man a hope, and it was entirely unlikely that there was any hope at all. Furthermore, he was ashamed because he knew he was essentially passing the buck, putting the decision to destroy Peter's hope fully on the captain's shoulders.

If only he knew more about the transition drive and how it worked. He had meant to discover everything about the experimental propulsion system while serving on Millennium, but time had slipped away from him since coming on board the vessel. Instead of engaging in a hopeless and futile crush on Seven of Nine, including showing up every evening in the Nexus so that he could see her in social surroundings, he should have been occupying himself with reading the engineering manuals.

"I'm very sorry about Laura," he said soberly.

Peter shook his head as he stood up. "Don't be," he said harshly. "She did her duty. Now make sure the captain does hers."

He left the office without being dismissed. Zar didn't call him back, sitting silently in his chair for a moment as he tried to regain his bearings. He could only imagine what it was like to love someone dearly, to see them in pain and know they were going to die, yet believe that there was a possibility they could be saved. Peter was being remarkably composed, Zar decided, though he could see trouble looming. Even if the transition drive was accessible, and could be used to return Millennium immediately to the Federation, he did not believe any starship captain would abort an assigned mission for the sake of one individual or even three of them. It just wasn't done. Every Starfleet officer on board had understood and accepted the risks when accepting the posting on the prototype vessel.

On the other hand, Janeway was not like other starship captains, Zar reminded himself. She was known for unconventional command technique, and she had told him on one occasion that no one on her vessel was expendable. Of course, that could have been slight hyperbole on the captain's part, and what was offered in casual discussion was not necessarily practical in real application. Zar shook his head, feeling it ache as he leaned forward to punch in a formal request to see the captain as soon as she had a free moment. He suspected that this would require a certain amount of her time, and he didn't want to try to catch Janeway in a spare moment between all else that was going on. This was a conversation for her ready room, and not something to be brandied about in main engineering or in a corridor where passing crew could overhear. It was a potentially explosive situation that could involve the entire ship before it was over.

He rose from the chair and headed for the turbolift, hoping that the captain wouldn't delay in requesting his presence. The sooner she was aware of what was happening, the better.

"How does Mr. Martin know about Europaea Prime?" Janeway asked, her grey eyes steely as she regarded her first officer. The two officers were seated on the upper level of the captain's ready room, and while she presented an aura of assurance, she was far from feeling comfortable.

"Apparently, he's friends with one of the research physicians," Zar said, tilting his head as he sat stiffly in his chair. "He's quite familiar with the work being carried out at the facility." Janeway was considerably relieved by his words, fearing that the CMO had gone behind her back to Martin, and slightly ashamed that she had thought so little of Pulaski. "You already know about this, Captain?"

"Dr. Pulaski suggested that Europaea Prime might have the equipment and personnel to deal with the more severely injured cases currently in sickbay." Janeway leaned forward to pour more coffee into her cup. "I told her that aborting our mission to return to the Federation at this time would be impossible."

Zar absorbed that quietly. "Is it?"

Janeway exhaled as she picked up her mug and sipped the dark liquid slowly. "I'm afraid so, Commander. We just don't have that option." She felt a very real pain in her chest as she told him that.

"You once told me that no one is expendable."

She looked up sharply at him, resentful of her words being thrown back in her face. He raised his hands in surrender, an expression of compassion softening his boney features as he regarded her. "I'm not trying to be offensive here, Captain, honestly. I'm just trying to understand how you're reconciling this in your own mind. I think I've come to know you well enough to realize you must hate everything about this situation."

"You're right. I do," she said gratingly. She paused. "I've already looked into returning, Commander. I thought that maybe we could make a transition jump into the Bajoran Sector near the Badlands which has little in the way of ship traffic. I could dispatch a shuttle with the injured to DS9 where they could be transferred to Europaea Prime. Meanwhile, the Millennium could return to the Delta Quadrant without anyone being the wiser."

Zar nodded in apparent understanding. "That way, you wouldn't have to answer to Starfleet about aborting the mission for the sake of a few crewmembers. It would only be a minor interruption in our exploration of the quadrant."

Janeway took a breath. "Seven tells me that an emergency transition jump would be a one-way trip," she said. "If we ever had to use that method to return to the Federation, assuming we survived it, the ship would be looking at a long stay in dry dock at the nearest Starfleet facilitiy. I couldn't justify doing that unless it was the most extreme of circumstances. Starfleet would take my commission, and rightfully so."

Zar lifted a brow. "Forgive me, Captain, but I doubt that professional consideration is your number one priority in making this decision," he said.

Janeway snorted. "Don't kid yourself. I'm not about to surrender my command so easily. I just got it back." He regarded her with steady dark eyes, and she sighed. "If the option were available, I might consider accepting the professional repercussions," she admitted. "However, it's not. The potential threat to the ship is too great to order an emergency jump to return under these circumstances. Unfortunately, by the time we get our warp drive back online, the injured will most likely be dead."

"What about stasis chambers?"

"I asked," Janeway said, shaking her head in negation. "The progression of this type of radiation damage is not slowed by the stasis fields. They'd go in but they'd never come out." She paused. "It would be a less painful way to die, however."

"Is it really that big a risk to the ship?" He looked oddly dissatisfied. "I don't know as much about the transition drive as I should."

"Neither do I," Janeway said unhappily. "I'm only starting to learn about its capabilities. I'm afraid I was regarding it as a sort of security blanket, a drive that could pop us out of trouble at a moment's notice and bring us back again unscathed, and I'm afraid that's just not the case." She repeated to him what Seven had told her could happen if they attempted to use the transition drive without both antimatter cores operating at full capacity. "It's just too big a risk," she concluded. "I can't order it."

He hesitated, as if contemplating his next words very carefully. "There are some who will say that you've risked the ship under similar circumstances."

"They'd be wrong," Janeway said flatly.

Zar blinked, obviously surprised. "Captain, I've read Voyager's logs. There was more than one instance where you clearly risked the safety of the entire ship in order to rescue one or two crewmembers. For example, the incident where Lt. Paris and another crewmember named Neelix were kidnapped by an alien species."

"The Spurnge," Janeway clarified.

"There was another time when you went after the Borg," Zar continued tentatively. "With all due respect, Captain..."

"Don't you understand, Zar?" Janeway interrupted him. "The ship was never at risk."

He stared at her as if she had just grown another head. "Captain?"

She exhaled, searching for the words to explain this. "Zar, I realize that in hindsight or from observing the situation as an outsider, it might appear that I was risking the ship unduly, but that wasn't the case. I never placed my ship or crew in a situation that we couldn't handle. Therefore, there was never really a risk."

He lifted his head, a skeptical expression in his eyes. "That seems a somewhat simplistic way of looking at things, Captain," he objected.

"It is," she agreed, "but at the same time, it's the absolute truth, Commander. I don't know of any captain who had taken his or her ship into a situation believing in their heart that they wouldn't find a way to get out of it. Even in what turns out to be suicide missions, I honestly believe that the captain goes in with the confidence that he or she is going to pull off the impossible, and if they don't, it's just because they didn't come up with the right solution at the right time. No captain resigns themselves to what others might consider the inevitable. It just isn't done."

"You're talking about the Kirk Phenomenon," Zar said, obviously recalling his classes in Psych 101 at the Academy. "The captain believes it, so they find a way to make it happen." He frowned. "They shade the odds in their favor. They cheat."

Janeway smiled widely. "If you prefer to look at it that way," she said. She sipped her coffee. "You mentioned the Borg, and my going after them to rescue Seven." At his nod, she lifted a brow. "I resigned my commission and took a shuttle after the Borg Queen, or rather, what turned out to be a hologram of her. As it were, I was damned lucky that Seven was able to rescue both myself and Tuvok. However, Voyager was never at risk because I wouldn't put her at risk. Myself, however, is a different story." She took a breath. "Zar, there's a fine line in command, particularly during a crisis, and sometimes you cross it, either by doing too much or too little, but you never cross it believing you'll be sacrificing your ship as a consequence."

She sobered. "I'm certainly not going to cross it now. I accept it when Seven tells me that, at the least, a hundred people will die if I make an emergency transition jump back to the Federation. I accept it when she tells me that a jump like that might destroy the ship. It's a truth that's lodged itself into my mind, into my heart, and into my soul. I fully acknowledge that there may come a time when the sacrifice of 100 individuals is necessary for the sake of the other thousand or so. There may even come a time when I'll have to weigh the potential destruction of an emergency jump against certain destruction if I don't order it. This isn't the time or place. I want to save those poor souls suffering in sickbay, but I won't kill anyone else in my crew to do it. I can't. I wish the circumstances were different. I wish I had the option of only risking professional suicide. As it stands, I will not order our premature return to the Federation, Commander. "

Zar exhaled audibly, clearly shaken by her words, or perhaps he was just accepting the inevitability of the situation. Janeway knew how he felt, having gone over all the arguments with herself several times before arriving at her final decision. It didn't make it any easier to accept, however.

"What if it were Seven lying in sickbay right now?" he asked softly.

That struck Janeway with the force of a phaser blast. Dumbfounded, she stared at him, feeling as if she had been ambushed by the officer she had trusted.

"Forgive me, Captain," Zar said seriously, leaning forward in his chair. "I'm asking you because I know others will ask it. I just wanted you to consider your answer ahead of time. I'm truly sorry to bring it up, but better me than someone else."

She stared down into her coffee cup, not at all happy with what she was feeling but allowing that Zar was only covering all the bases. She would be able to deal with this better if she acknowledged all the consequences ahead of time. She wasn't going to fool herself into thinking that this decision wasn't going to get around the entire ship in one form or another, and many on the lower decks wouldn't understand the reasons for it. Not that she really had to justify it to anyone, not even Zar at the moment, but it could still cause a certain amount of dissension. Some would believe that the ship had the option of returning home to save those casualties and the captain just didn't choose to exercise it.

For a sad, terrifying moment, she allowed herself to imagine that Seven was the one lying in sickbay with such terrible burns, on the verge of death and with only a faint hope of salvation in the form of facilities thousands of light years away in the Federation. Of course, Seven's nanoprobes would undoubtedly make her chance of survival much greater than most, and her Borg implants gave her a greater immunity to radiation, but Janeway was aware that she was just skirting the issue and not facing it head on.

Come on Katie, she said to herself harshly. What if Seven were the one dying in these circumstances? What would you do?

The answer, when it came, did not make her feel any better. In fact, it made her feel sick, lying heavily on her heart and stomach, and she wasn't sure if it was because of what she knew she would do or that she could make such a decision in the first place.

"Under the same circumstances, I would not risk the ship," she said bleakly. "Seven would die."

He made a small sound, one of astonished dismay. She knew how he felt, but she could no longer avoid this knowledge, could no longer shake this certainty that if it truly came down to it, she would sacrifice her partner's life for the good of the ship. She had never believed it of herself, or rather, she had never allowed herself to actually face the possibility before, but now she was confronting it, and the truth was hard to bear. How many times had she told Seven that she would give up everything for her?

Janeway swallowed against the lump in her throat. She would sacrifice a great deal, she thought. Her happiness, her career, even her own life if it meant Seven's well-being, but in this moment of clarity, Janeway knew she would not give up the lives of the crew for whom she was responsible. She would not risk the starship she commanded for the life of her spouse. She couldn't. It would violate everything she was, both as a Starfleet officer and as a human being.

And the knowledge was like a brand on her heart. She sat in cold contemplation as Zar quietly dismissed himself and left the ready room, murmuring something about being needed in engineering. She didn't lift her head to watch him go. There was little else she could say at this point.

Oh god, she thought, her chest full. How can I ever tell Seven this? How could I ever let the woman I love know that she comes second to my ship and always will?

Seven of Nine entered sickbay, hoping to see B'Elanna for a brief moment before reporting for duty in engineering. She knew it was illogical since the Klingon was undoubtedly still unconscious, regenerating in a clear gel solution designed to heal plasma burns. She had just wanted to visit her friend personally and reassure herself that B'Elanna was all right, or as all right as she could be considering her injuries.

She was not surprised to see Ro Laren sitting quietly next to the tube containing her spouse. The security chief looked weary, as if she had not been sleeping a great deal. Seven suspected that was due more to B'Elanna being injured than the stress of her current investigation. The impression that Seven had of Ro was that she took her professional life in stride, quietly and competently carrying out her duties, but when personal emotions were involved, she tended to have difficulty. Ro did not display her feelings easily, but those she had were both deep and passionate. Seven thought the two of them, Borg and Bajoran, were similar in that manner.

"Commander Ro?" Seven spoke quietly.

Ro jerked slightly, as if she had been so involved in her thoughts, she had been unaware of Seven's approach. That was unusual enough that Seven paused briefly in surprise before moving around the tube to look down through the clear plexiglass to the sedated Klingon within. B'Elanna looked very young and vulnerable, her prominent head ridges standing out in sharp contrast to her skin that seemed grey rather than the olive shades it normally possessed.

"What is her progress?"

"She should be waking soon," Ro said, her voice unnaturally quiet. Obviously, the injury to her partner had struck her harder than most realized. Seven wondered if she should speak to Janeway and suggest that perhaps another officer be put in charge of the investigation until B'Elanna had recovered. She discarded the thought as quickly as it surfaced. Even if Janeway overlooked the violation of protocol and did not issue Seven a much-deserved lecture on tampering with the command structure, the Borg thought she knew Ro well enough to understand the Bajoran would be furious over such inappropriate interference.

"Is she in pain?"

Ro shot a sharp look at the Borg, almost angry, and then seemed to realize that Seven was not being as insensitive as she sounded. The Borg was just not always as tactful as she could be in certain circumstances.

"I don't think so," she said, schooling her tone to gentleness. "Dr. Pulaski tells me that the medication blocks the nerve endings so that she doesn't feel a thing, but she has to be unconscious so that she doesn't move during the healing process."

Seven nodded. "That is unfortunate," she said. "It would be helpful to speak with her regarding the repairs. I do not possess a comparable skill with the warp engines, nor are the remaining assistant engineers as helpful to me as I had anticipated."

"That's not a surprise," Ro said, half prideful, half exasperated. "B'Elanna has a real gift, Seven, but I don't think she's very good at passing it on to those who work under her. They can do their jobs, but they don't have her instinctual flair for the engines, nor are they as capable as she is at taking charge."

"It is not possible to pass on talent," Seven said regretfully, reminded of a few officers in her section who seemed, to the Borg, to be quite slow and limited in their abilities. However, except for Lenara Kahn and a very small number of the other scientists, few beings possessed Seven's innate brilliance. She supposed it was the same for B'Elanna. There was a small pause as both women regarded the slumbering Klingon in the tube, sharing a moment of affection for her. Seven glanced at Ro. "How are you, Commander?"

Ro managed a weak smile. "I'm getting by, Seven," she said. "Thank you for asking."

"And the investigation?" Ro's face abruptly closed up, and Seven lifted an eyebrow. "I am merely curious, Commander," she added hastily. She wondered what was making the Bajoran so defensive. What had she found out that caused her to be reticent with Seven, who was as much a friend to her as anyone on the ship?

The only reason would be because what Ro had discovered was so sensitive, only the captain or the first officer could be privy to it. Seven did not like that thought. It meant that there was something going on that could prove as dangerous as Section 31 on Earth had been. Seven still shivered internally when she thought about how close she had come to being recruited by them, how close she had been to violating everything Janeway had taught her about ethics and morality.

"Seven, the investigation is proceeding as expected," Ro said unhelpfully.

"Indeed," Seven remarked and let it go lest she force the security chief into the uncomfortable position of telling her to go mind her own business. She glanced around the sickbay and recognized Peter Martin, one of her science officers, who was sitting next to the bed of yet another patient. Seated next to him was Kes, the ship's counselor, undoubtedly making an attempt to help him feel some hope in what was an admittedly hopeless situation. With a shock, she realized that one of the critical patients whom Janeway had claimed were going to die was the officer's wife. In all that had been going on, she hadn't actually checked the casualty list. Peter and his wife had a son whom Seven had met on various occasions when he came to visit his father in biometrics during class trips, a cheerful little boy who had utterly charmed the Borg.

"I did not realize that Laura Martin was one of the casualties."

Ro lifted her head, following the Borg's gaze. "Yeah," she said. She swallowed hard. "You know, she saved B'Elanna's life. If she hadn't tackled her out of the way of the main spill, B'Elanna would have been burned far worse than she was. The radiation might even have penetrated to her internal organs as it did with Laura. It doesn't seem fair somehow."

Seven took a deep breath and headed for the CMO's office. Inside, a tired-looking Dr. Pulaski looked up as the Borg entered the room.

"Seven?"

"Doctor, would my nanoprobes assist in this situation?" she asked hastily. "I could increase the production of my cranial implant and you could bleed off the excess to inject into the most damaged patients. It is a procedure that was performed on Voyager and the Doct---Dr. Lewis is familiar with it."

Pulaski's face underwent a myriad of emotion before she finally settled on a sort of weary patience. "I appreciate the offer, Seven. However, I doubt very much that assimilation is the answer."

Seven was stung by the comment but she didn't let it stop her. "I am not suggesting assimilation. It is simply an--"

"Seven, what happened when there were accidents of this nature on a Borg cube?" Pulaski asked bluntly, cutting the young woman off before she could finish her thought. "What happened to those drones who came in direct contact with the radioactive plasma?"

Seven hesitated. "The nanoprobes repaired the damage."

"All of it?"

The question took Seven off guard. "Not entirely. The epidermal searing was repaired."

"What did the Collective do with those drones who sustained excessive organ damage?"

Seven had difficulty meeting her eyes. "They were...deactivated," she admitted in a whisper.

"So even nanoprobes can't repair this kind of damage," Pulaski pointed out, sounding somewhat kinder than she had at the beginning of the conversation and slightly regretful. "Seven, as I said, I truly appreciate the offer, but in these circumstances, it would be...well, futile."

Seven felt helpless. It was not a pleasant feeling, and she understood why Janeway railed against it so much. "Doctor, is Laura Martin going to die?" She suspected the answer but she still needed the CMO to confirm it.

Pulaski opened her mouth to answer, paused as if reconsidering, and dipped her head. "Yes. The radiation has caused a degenerative disintegration of her respiratory system. We just don't have the equipment on a starship to grow all the necessary organs to replace those that are being destroyed, and even if we did, we don't have the time to grow them before the progressive cell destruction becomes fatal. We're too far away from a Federation biometric bank where sufficient amounts of compatible genetic material could be transported in time to save her."

Seven sat down slowly in an available chair. "The Martins have a son," she said softly. "His name is Bobby."

"I know." Pulaski returned her attention to her computer screen, suddenly brusk. "Is there anything else, Seven? Aren't you helping out in engineering?"

Seven blinked, then nodded. "Yes, Doctor," she said, rising to her feet. "I must report immediately." She hesitated. "You will inform me if there is anything I can do to assist you."

Pulaski nodded. "I promise, Seven," she said, not looking up. "Thank you."

Seven exited the office, heading for the door, and was in the corridor when a voice hailed her. Surprised, she stopped and waited for the man who was sprinting after her. Peter looked much different from the officer she was used to seeing around biometrics. His uniform was rumpled and stained, as if he had not changed it since this tragedy began. Hair awry, eyes bloodshot, there was a faint odor emanating from him that was unpleasant, indicating he had not bathed in some time.

"Lt. Martin," she said. She knew her voice was cool and contained even though that was not how she was feeling. It was difficult for her to always indicate how she truly felt. Her spouse and closest friends understood her reticence and were able to get past the coolness to what she really meant. She could not expect such understanding from one of her scientists, particularly one with whom she worked only rarely. "I am sorry about your spouse. This is a most unfortunate situation." She looked for something else to say, something that would be helpful. "Please consider yourself excused from duty until further notice. I will speak to Lt. Wildman personally."

"You mean, until Laura is dead?" Seven flinched and he immediately looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant to say." He raked his hands through his blond hair, making it even more disarrayed. "I appreciate the time off. I want to be with her until...until..." His voice broke and Seven felt very uncomfortable.

"Take as much time as is required," she said lamely.

He nodded jerkily, then peered at her with eyes brimming with moisture. "Has Janeway given the order to return to the Federation?"

Seven remembered the night before, how long it had taken Kathryn to get to sleep, and how restless that sleep had been. The captain may have accepted that returning to the Alpha Quadrant in time to save the remaining casualties was not an option, but that didn't mean the acceptance came easy. The Borg did not understand why Peter was oblivious to the reality, then thought that perhaps he was unaware of the difficulties involved. Certainly, the captain had been unfamiliar with everything that went into the safe utilization of the drive, so it was not so difficult to believe that a biometrics officer would be equally as uneducated.

"I do not believe the captain will give such an order," she said, and held up her hand as he began to protest. "It is not because she did not consider it," she added, realizing that it was probably more information than he should have about Janeway, but deciding it was necessary to be that forthcoming with him. "It would be an unwise procedure." As she explained all the ramifications involved, his face became more and more bleak. It produced an ill feeling at the pit of her stomach, but it was imperative that he understand why Janeway had made the decision she did.

However, when she had finished, all he did was look at her with burning eyes. It was as if he had not believed a word she said. As if he could not believe it.

"Lt. Hansen, if you were the one lying in there waiting to die, we'd already be back in the Alpha Quadrant," he said flatly. "She's not going to risk her career for some nobody in engineering. We all know it would be different if it were someone she loved."

He turned on his heel and returned to sickbay, leaving Seven considerably astonished and completely disconcerted by a viewpoint that was so different from what she considered reality.

Ro entered the captain's ready room, spotting Janeway on the upper level where she was pouring herself a cup of coffee. The Bajoran gathered that the captain was expecting a lengthy discussion because she had a thermos and a large sterling silver teapot on the coffee table. Ro wished she had more to give her commanding officer as she ascended the ramp that led to the conversation area dominated by large windows. Outside, the stars remained static against the black backdrop of space, as if the ship wasn't moving at all, though in truth, it was progressing at full impulse while the warp engines were being repaired.

The captain regarded her intently, waiting until the Bajoran had taken a seat opposite her in the chair backed against the rail and refused the tea she offered. "Report."

"Someone transported an explosive device into the warp plasma conduit," Ro told her. "It detonated as soon as it finished materializing. The compound was dilithium-based, radiating an energy discharge that masked both the transport signature and the compound itself. In the Maquis, we used a similar sort of compound on Cardassian ships to cause breaches in their warp cores. The compound, which comes in a form similar to clay or plastique, is difficult to come by but it can always be dealt for on the black market if enough credits are involved. Its value lies in how quickly the trace signatures disappear, and if you're not looking for them within hours of the explosion, they're very easy to miss. We're extremely lucky Seven did a scan as soon as the damaged section was removed, and that she was curious enough about the readings to pursue it. Otherwise, we might have chalked it up as an inexplicable, but freak accident."

"I see." Janeway's face was still, carved from stone. "This is a Maquis trick?"

Ro shook her head. "We used it, yes, but so did a lot of other organizations, including the Orion Syndicate." Janeway looked alarmed and the Bajoran held up her hand. "I'm not suggesting anything," she added. "I'm just telling you that it is accessible to a lot of agencies, including Starfleet if they wanted."

"What are you suggesting?" Janeway asked.

Ro exhaled slowly. "We traced a transporter signature around the same time to a shuttle in the Gamma Hanger. However, the internal sensors did not detect any unusual activity in the area. It's possible the shuttle was only used as a relay, and that it was activated from another station on the ship, possibly even with a delayed timing sequence."

"In other words, you've lost the trail," Janeway stated, eyeing her narrowly.

"At the moment, we're checking various leads," Ro said defensively, embarrassed at how little progress security had made to date. After all, this was a closed environment. There were only 1200 people on board Millennium, and only so many places for a perpetrator to go.

Janeway frowned. "I see," she said, and Ro was left with the uncomfortable feeling that she did. The captain was silent for a moment, her expression one of deep thought. "Have you checked the alibi of our 'bartender'?"

Paryk was a stowaway on Millennium, coming on board at Utopia Planitia and finagling his way onto the ship's roster as a bartender, a position that was not listed in the ship's personnel deployment. So far, he appeared to be exactly what he said he was, an ethically questionable, yet quite charming individual who just wanted to visit the various quadrants with the prototype vessel. The captain and security chief retained their suspicion of him, however, not at all ready to accept him at face value or forget about how he had arrived on the vessel.

If only he were the prime suspect, Ro thought ruefully. That would make everything so much easier.

"I checked it out immediately," she said. "Paryk was where he usually is, behind the bar at the Nexus serving brunch. There was no trace of a transporter signature originating from that section of the ship."

"He could have disguised it," Janeway objected. She was still offended that Paryk had not only stowed away, but that he had also charmed Tom Paris, the ship's Wing Commander, into helping him remain on the ship. The captain had dealt with the situation in a manner that did not necessarily reflect protocol, and had opened herself up to a certain amount of criticism around the lower decks ... something she was keenly aware of.

"He could have," Ro agreed. "So could someone else. We need more to go on, Captain."

Janeway started to speak and was interrupted by a hail over her comm badge. Ro settled back in her chair as the captain responded.

"Janeway here."

"Captain, this is Dr. Pulaski." The CMO's voice was cold, and not at all pleasant, but then, what she said next explained that to a certain extent. "Ensign b'Renth passed away at 1123 hours."

b'Renth had been one of the critical cases. Ro saw a bleakness in Janeway's eyes before she covered it up with her command mask.

"Understood, Doctor," the captain replied shortly. "Janeway out."

There was a brief pause, then Ro leaned forward. "Captain, about my report," she said, wanting to move on from this unpleasant moment as quickly as possible.

Janeway inhaled deeply. "What do we have?" she asked, accepting the necessity to move on. "Why would anyone commit this form of sabotage?"

"If we knew that, we'd know where to look for them," Ro said. She paused. "It's possible that they needed Millennium to make an immediate return to the Alpha Quadrant."

Janeway stared at her. "Explain," she said, sounding very much like her spouse in that moment.

"The truth is, spilling that plasma would have created a feedback flow into the warp manifold that would have been irreparable," Ro said. "On most ships, the engineers evacuate the engine room entirely during a plasma spill, waiting for the area to be swept clean before going back in to determine the extent of the damage. No one would have been hurt, but the traditional warp engines would require a complete replacement. Someone may have assumed that the only option left for Millennium at that point would be to use the transition drive to jump back to the Federation."

"That's insane," Janeway said tightly. "Utilizing the transition drive without the power from the primary warp core is incredibly dangerous."

"I know that, and so do the engineers, Captain," Ro said. "That's why B'Elanna's people stayed at their posts to divert the feedback flow from destroying the primary warp manifold. That's why so many were burned. However, I don't think everyone knows how the transition drive works. In fact, I think most crewmembers assume it's just a secondary drive designed to pop us back to the Alpha Quadrant whenever we need it."

Janeway exhaled slowly as she considered her security chief's words. "You're right," she admitted finally. "Even I thought that to a certain extent. Obviously, we in the senior staff haven't been as knowledgeable as we should, relying on B'Elanna and Seven to be our experts, nor have we educated the larger part of the crew in the reality of how this new propulsion system works. It's similar to how people react to the warnings issued during every inter-atmospheric shuttle flight about what to do in an emergency. No one really listens, nor do they really accept the extent of the consequences if something does go wrong." She sighed. "Those that do probably don't fly. I'm afraid it's the same attitude here, and that needs to be rectified as soon as possible."

"In any case, if that was the reasoning behind this sabotage," Ro continued, bringing the conversation back on topic, "that eliminates practically everyone who works in engineering. They know how necessary both warp cores are in the performance of a safe transition jump. That's undoubtedly why so many stayed at their posts even as they came in direct contact with the plasma."

"Did you know how necessary it is to have both cores?"

Ro nodded. "B'Elanna filled me in." She paused, her face thoughtful. "Not specifically, you understand. You just pick up certain things from each other when you're married. After all, she originally helped install the system while we lived on Mars, so I got to hear about every aspect of the drive." She lifted an eyebrow. "In turn, I'm sure she has a lot more inside information about security than the average engineer."

"But not every spouse knows what you do," Janeway said fretfully, a troubled expression in her greyish eyes. "Peter Martin, for example, seems to think we should be able to pop back to the Federation immediately. His wife certainly didn't fill him in on the details of how dangerous the transition drive could be without both cores."

Ro shrugged. "Not everyone has an interest in their wife's career. And not everyone spends dinner talking shop as B'Elanna and I often do."

"That's possible." Janeway bent her head, looking somewhat weary. "If going back was the reason behind this attack, then why now? Our scheduled return is only in a few months."

"Assuming there is some kind of infiltrator on board, either from the Orion Syndicate or Section 31 or the Romulans or just someone with their own agenda, something must have happened recently to make them want to go back now," Ro said thoughtfully. "Something that the ship has encountered lately perhaps?"

She hesitated, unsure whether to bring it up but deciding that sharing it might give her a handle on something that had been bothering her, even if it was to have Janeway dismiss it out of hand. "Captain, this may be nothing, but a week ago, Seven reported that the container of 'souvenirs' from our encounter with the 'planet freighter' had been accessed without authorization. It wasn't really a break-in, just the panel showing minor signs of tampering, as if someone without proper clearance had tried to use a few simple tricks to get past the security seal. It could have been nothing more than mere curiosity on someone's part, and certainly, if it hadn't been Seven who discovered it, it probably wouldn't have been mentioned to us at all, but now I wonder."

"You think there's a connection?"

"I don't know," Ro said slowly. "Nor do I know why I suddenly thought about it, but that was a very unusual away mission, Captain."

"It was," Janeway agreed. "The artifacts are very unusual as well, comprised of elements we still can't identify." She put down her coffee cup and stared at Ro. "They're the sort of things that the scientists in Starfleet can't wait to get their hands on. I suspect that may be true of other organizations for less benevolent reasons."

Ro shook her head. "Still," she said fretfully, "it doesn't explain why now. As you said, we're going back in a few months anyway. Why is it so pressing that we return now?"

"I'm sure we'll find out," Janeway said. "Which concerns me greatly. What if this unknown tries again?"

"I've stepped up the security teams in all the departments," Ro said. She paused. "It might have been a one-time attempt. It's possible that once it's made clear how much damage could have been done, it will scare them off."

"I don't want them scared off, Commander, I want them found so I can deal with them."

Ro did not flinch at the steel in the captain's voice, but she suddenly felt a minuscule bit of pity for whomever it was that was behind this accident. Janeway's tone did not bode at all well for them. It was the same sort of tone she had once used when dealing with an officer off the USS Equinox. Ro didn't think the captain would have let the Ensign Lessing die in Voyager's cargo bay, but on the other hand, she didn't have any real reason to believe that Janeway wouldn't have, either.

"I understand," she said. "I'm doing everything in my power to make it so."

Janeway contemplated her for a few moments, then nodded, a swift dip of her head. "Very well," she said. "I'll leave this in your hands. Keep me updated periodically." She held up a hand as Ro started to rise from her seat, accepting that as a dismissal. "Before you go, fill me in on B'Elanna. How's she doing?"

Ro felt a warmth inside her. Janeway was not a standoffish captain, and she had a personal interest in her crew, some more than others. The volatile engineer was someone for whom the captain had always held a soft spot.

"She'll be fine," Ro said softly. "Pulaski says she should be awake by this time tomorrow."

"I'm glad," Janeway said. She tilted her head, the eyes altering to a blue shade of compassion. "What about you? How are you dealing with this?"

"Me?" Ro was surprised. "I'm fine." She stood up. "Captain, I'm going to find out who did this. Count on it."

She descended the stairs, her mood one of sheer determination.

You're damned right I'll find him, Captain, she thought as she exited the ready room, an image of her spouse lying in that regeneration tube foremost in her mind. For my own sake as much as yours.

Janeway stared down at the door which had hissed shut behind the Bajoran, wondering at what she had seen in the Bajoran's eyes. She had every confidence that Ro would track down the saboteur. The only question would be if there would be anything left of him or her when the Commander was finished. That captain didn't exactly blame her for that. If it had been Seven lying there....

She inhaled sharply, bringing her thoughts under control. Rising from the sofa, she moved down to the lower level where her desk was situated, calling up the security files on her computer. After a few moments perusal, she left the ready room and went onto the bridge. Commander Zar was in engineering, of course, while Ro was hot on the investigative trail, so she supposed she shouldn't be surprised that the operations officer had been left holding the conn. However, Lt. T'Shanik had joined the alpha shift only a few weeks earlier, and it made the captain blink when she saw the Vulcan in her command seat.

Well, she thought. Zar knew the personnel best. She did note that he had never left Tarn in that position. He must have had more faith in T'Shanik's abilities. That, or the Vulcan's level of command experience was greater than her record indicated.

"I'll be in astrometrics," she said as the slender, dark-haired T'Shanik rose to her feet at the captain's appearance. "Have Lt. Hansen meet me there."

"Aye, Captain."

In the turbolift, Janeway tried not to fidget as it descended. In astrometrics, she nodded politely to Lenara Kahn, who was supervising the department while the chief science officer was down in engineering, and went into Seven's office.

As she waited for her spouse, she glanced around, realizing that she hadn't been here for awhile. The decor had not really altered. On the shelf behind the desk, there was still the sculpture that Janeway, even after considering Seven's taste, had deemed too ugly to tolerate in their quarters. The image on another shelf was of the couple and Jake, their pet Irish Setter, taken on a planet in the Delta Quadrant during their time on Voyager. They had spent a shore leave there, enjoying the surf and the sand. Those had been such carefree days, it seemed, in comparison to what she was now responsible for.

She was suddenly bemused. When she started looking at being stranded in the Delta Quadrant, 70,000 light years from home, and with no one to rely on during the long and dangerous journey home but a small Intrepid-class vessel and 150 varied and unusual crewmembers, as being 'carefree', she knew she was in grave danger of losing all perspective. She exhaled audibly and reached out, touching Seven's face in the image, loving her deeply and hoping that it would be enough as they traveled through their life together.

"Captain?"

Janeway turned to see her spouse framed in the doorway. The Borg no longer wore the form-fitting outfits that she had on Voyager, replacing them with the uniform of a Starfleet science officer. Was that what made her suddenly expendable to the starship captain? Janeway had difficulty swallowing the thought back.

"Seven," she husked, pausing to clear her throat and dipping her head at the door. "I need to speak to you privately."

Seven moved into the room, the door hissing shut behind her. "Computer, secure the door to my office, authorization code theta blue, zero five slash two zero."

"Authorization code accepted. Door is secure."

Seven took a seat behind her desk and regarded Janeway curiously. "Is there a problem?"

"I could give you an entire list," Janeway said dryly, "but for now, I need you to put the artifacts from our away mission to the 'planet freighter' in a safe place, and program a Borg encryption code on the lock. It should be accessible only to you, me and Commander Ro."

Seven blinked. "That will make it extremely difficult for my personnel to continue their examination of the artifacts," she protested.

"I understand that, but I need those artifacts secured," Janeway told her. "I'm sorry that your people won't be able to pursue their research, but the scientists at Starfleet Command will just have to continue it."

Seven frowned, obviously puzzled. "Captain, does this have anything to do with the tampering I recently detected?"

"It might," Janeway said. She pinned Seven with a somber look. "Darling, this is one of those instances where I'm giving you an order with the expectation that you will carry it out with no questions asked. Not yet, at least."

Seven returned her gaze for a moment, studying her eyes, before she nodded briefly. "Very well." She was still not happy about it, but obviously accepting, if not the necessity of the order, then Janeway's need to issue it.

A moment passed and the captain realized that she was just sitting there, staring at her spouse. "I don't want you to tell anyone about the encryption code either," she managed finally. "Just that the artifacts have to be secured until our return to the alpha quadrant. If there are any further attempts to access them, you are to contact security immediately."

"Yes, Captain."

Janeway hesitated, strangely reluctant to leave.

"Kathryn?"

The word was soft, as if Seven wasn't sure this was the time or place to be informal with the captain but obviously sensing something in her spouse's manner. Janeway felt a tightness in her chest, knowing that she couldn't afford to talk with Seven so long as they were both on duty. She wanted to be in their quarters, where it was safe and private and no one could walk in on them. Where she could be who she was without this command mask acting as a barrier between them.

"Over dinner," she said shortly. There was enough conveyed in that short phrase for Seven to understand that there was something troubling Janeway but that it could wait for a later, more appropriate time. The Borg dipped her head in silent acknowledgment, apparently content with that. Janeway wondered how accepting the young woman would be once she heard what the captain had to share.

Abruptly realizing that she had called Seven away from engineering for something that probably could have been communicated over a secure channel, Janeway decided to get a progress report as well, so that her visit to the science section was more along the lines of official business rather than her need to spend a few moments in the presence of her spouse. "Give me an update on the repairs."

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "The repairs continue on schedule. The estimated time of completion is three days from now."

"Are you still needed down there in a supervisory position?"

Seven shook her head. "I have thoroughly examined the transition drive and there was no harm done to it beyond superficial cosmetic damage to a few consoles. Commander Zar is more than capable of overseeing the final repairs on the warp engines, and truthfully, I have duties in this department which require my attention." She paused. "It is unfortunate that B'Elanna and both assistant chief engineers were incapacitated. The beta shift supervisors are not as adept as perhaps they should be in assigning repair priorities."

Janeway considered that. "Once B'Elanna has recovered, I'll drop a word in her ear about bringing her other supervisors up to code," she said seriously. "In all fairness, you shouldn't have been the one to oversee the repairs. Someone in engineering should have been placed in that position, but I wanted you to oversee the project. Your work with Leah Brahms gives you a knowledge of the transition drive and its connection to the warp engines that others don't have." She paused and added in a softer voice, "I needed you there, Seven. I didn't know the other assistants or their capabilities, and I didn't have B'Elanna around to tell me which one would be suitable. I couldn't waste the time finding out." She didn't know why she felt she needed to justify her instructions to Seven. Perhapsbecause there were so many other things she couldn't explain.

"I understand, Captain," Seven said. She tilted her head. "You have not reconsidered your decision to return to the Federation?"

Janeway blinked. "No," she said, wondering why Seven was asking. "We can't risk it, and frankly, by the time the warp engines are back online, it'll be too late to worry about it."

"What if it is not?"

Janeway expelled her breath with a short sound of surprise. "What do you mean?"

"What if the casualties survive that long?"

Janeway felt pain start to radiate along her temples. "Then I guess I'll have to review my options at that time."

Seven nodded, as if this answer had been what she expected. Janeway decided that she had better get back to the bridge before the science officer offered her anymore difficult questions. That had always been one of Seven's most annoying...and oddly endearing...traits for as long as the captain had known her. Right now, she wasn't prepared to deal with it.

"I'll see you at dinner," she said, rising from her chair and hastily making her escape. As she walked through the corridor leading to the turbolift, she tapped her comm badge and informed Zar that she had taken Seven off the repair assignment and released her back to the science section. He didn't make any objection, so she knew Seven had been correct when she said she wasn't needed down there any longer.

In the privacy of the turbolift, Janeway leaned against the wall and reached up to the back of her neck, massaging it gently in an attempt to get the stiffness out of it. This was such a large ship, she thought wearily. There were so many people counting on her to make the right decisions at the right times. She remembered her eagerness for a larger challenge after Voyager, for a vessel with more responsibility, but at times she wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have returned to what she knew. Maybe she should have resumed command of the Intrepid-class vessel rather than holding out for what she considered the bigger and more desireable prize.

She closed her eyes as she breathed slowly and steadily, shoving the incertitude and insecurities deep inside herself, just as she had so many times before. It was almost second nature to her, stifling the doubts before they gained an inescapable hold on her emotions. She could deal with them later, face them when duty no longer demanded her attention. Then she could work them out in her own heart and mind, hopefully with the help of her spouse. Her shift would only take a few more hours, she thought. Surely she could survive until she could be with Seven in the safe haven of their quarters.

What an advantage I have, she thought gratefully. How many captains could walk through the door of their cabin and find shelter in the arms of someone who loved without restraint, offering her complete and total support both personally and professionally? How many knew that no matter what happened, there was one person on board their vessel who understood perfectly the burden command placed upon them, and who stood by, ready to lighten it just with their presence.

How could you ever think to sacrifice that? she asked herself bitterly.

She had her command mask fully in place by the time she stepped onto the bridge. She faltered for a brief second, taking a step toward her ready room before changing her mind and angling toward her command chair instead. T'Shanik immediately rose and moved to the ops station to relieve the ensign there, not requiring anymore than that to relinquish the conn to Janeway. The captain mulled it over as she settled into her chair, regarding the Vulcan through lidded eyes. On one hand, that was how Janeway handled the exchange of the conn with her more senior officers, a well-choreographed dance of professionalism that did not require any formalities between experienced personnel, but on the other, T'Shanik was a junior lieutenant and new to the alpha shift. It bordered on presumption in the young lieutenant's conduct. Yet, Janeway reminded herself, T'Shanik was Vulcan, and their demeanor while attending their duties was not the same as would be evident in another species under similiar circumstances.

Janeway wished Tuvok was there. She missed her old friend desperately at times, not because Ro wasn't a perfectly capable security chief, but because Janeway had valued his opinion so greatly, both as a member of her senior crew and as her friend. She could ask his opinion of T'Shanik and discover how much of her attitude was just that, attitude, and how much was simply the difference between Vulcans and Humans in performing her duties.

T'Shanik was very confident, she decided. Perhaps it was time to see if that confidence could be shaken. As she leaned back in her chair like a queen on a throne, the absolute ruler of all she surveyed, Janeway set to work devising a plan to see if T'Shanik could be taken down a notch. If it kept the captain from thinking about other things, like the two remaining casualties in sickbay waiting to die, and what this situation had taught Janeway about her own priorities when it came to her ship, then that was all to the better.

Sometimes one just had to forget her immediate problems for awhile in order to gain a proper perspective on them.

Seven rested her chin on her forefinger and thumb, unaware it was an affectation she had acquired from her spouse. Her eyes were narrow as they stared at the door that had closed behind the captain, a frown drawing down the corners of her mouth. Something was bothering Kathryn, she knew. Something beyond the concerns of the ship and the recent accident. Something that undoubtedly had to do with Seven ... assuming she knew Janeway as well as she thought she did.

The soft chime requesting admittance shook her out of her thoughts and she straightened in her chair.

"Enter."

Lenara Kahn slipped through the door, and without waiting for an invitation, sank gracefully into the chair where Janeway had been sitting only moments earlier. A statuesque woman from Trill, Lenara had been one of those special individuals who had been surgically joined to a symbiont. Although she looked to be in her late thirties, possessing a classic beauty with elegant spots that traced down from her temples to disappear beneath the collar of her lab coat, she actually possessed the experience of over three hundred years. It showed in her soft brown eyes and the calm, timeless aura that surrounded her.

"Are you back to the science section or just visiting?"

"I have returned to my duties here," Seven confirmed. "Lenara, I am required to secure the 'Freighter Artifacts'. Would you please gather them up from the lab and bring them here. I have orders to secure them until our return to the Alpha Quadrant."

Kahn blinked. "You can't be serious?" Seven lifted an eyebrow and the Trill lifted a hand. "Of course you're serious. Why do we have to secure the artifacts?"

"I have my orders," the Borg said evenly.

Kahn sighed. "All right.". She paused. "What did the captain want?"

Seven felt one corner of her mouth twitch upward. "Are you attempting to elicit the information by essentially asking the same question in many different forms in the hope that I will eventually become confused enough to respond more truthfully than I should?"

Kahn stared at her, then her mouth twitched as well. "That was a highly successful approach," she said ruefully, "in the first few months I was here."

"Yes," Seven said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that she had fallen prey to it so many times before she realized what the Trill was doing. It was a useful verbal trick and she had added it to her own repertoire. However, she doubted she would ever wield it with the masterful subtlety that Kahn had managed over several lifetimes. She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so intrigued?"

"Some rumors are starting to float about the labs," Kahn said seriously, "which means they're already running rampant on the other decks." Seven stifled a sigh. The speed with which gossip and innuendo flew about the ship never ceased to astonish her. If there had been a way to harness that speed, there would be no need of warp engines or transition drives. Starfleet vessels would be intergalactic explorers rather than merely plodding about the four quadrants making up the Milky Way.

"Elaborate."

"Well, the biggest speculation is that three of the most seriously wounded are going to die," Kahn offered. "There's no way to prevent it."

"That is, unfortunately, true," Seven said somberly. "It is my understanding that one has already perished." She had been present when Zar announced the death of Ensign b'Renth, a cheerful quantum specialist from the Argaya system, the news casting a pall over the repair teams. She had actually been glad when she received instructions to meet the captain, escaping the stifling sense of grief permeating main engineering.

"There's also talk that Janeway is refusing to return to the Alpha Quadrant where they could receive proper treatment."

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "You know that is incorrect, Lenara," she said sharply.

Kahn held up her hand. "I know. I'm aware how critical it is to have both cores online when activating the transition drive. I'm also quite clear in my explanation when responding to these rumors...for those willing to hear it. However, there are those who are too stubborn to listen, Seven. They don't want to know that the captain has little choice in this situation."

"No, she does not," Seven agreed quietly, thinking that was what frustrated Kathryn the most, her lack of options.

"Besides, it's not as if she'd do it, even assuming she could order a transition jump," Kahn added casually. "If a starship returned to its home port every time there were casualties, nothing would be accomplished."

Seven blinked. "That is rather harsh," she said mildly.

"I'm only speaking the truth," Kahn said, raising an eyebrow, and Seven wondered how much of the gentle host was speaking and how much of it was the more pragmatic symbiont. "We all knew what was involved when we accepted this posting. This is a science vessel on a deep space assignment. We're in the frontier, having the opportunity to boldly go where no one has gone before. Sometimes explorers get their nose bloodied by poking it into the places they do, but that doesn't make them turn tail and run home."

"Perhaps it does if you possess the 'nose' in question," Seven pointed out. "Or were the one emotionally invested in the individual with the 'bloody nose'."

Lenara considered that. "Point taken. However, I have no idea why some people actually expect the captain to abort the mission. It was a tragic accident, yes, but to quit before we complete our assignment is not what I would expect from the pioneer spirit the civilians on this vessel brought on board. It's certainly not what I would expect from Starfleet officers who know where their duty lies. You sound as if you actually would consider returning, Seven. That surprises me."

Seven thought about the grief and deep-seated pain she had witnessed in the eyes of Peter Martin, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the woman he loved perished. She understood and respected Kahn's take on the situation, but she also believed that she understood Peter's insistence on trying to save his wife. Certainly, Seven would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to save her partner, regardless of the consequences. Of course, she was Borg, and did not approach her responsibilities and emotional ties in quite the same manner that others did.

"What would you order?" Seven asked idly, honestly curious.

Kahn shrugged lightly. "I'm not in charge, of course. However, a few of my previous hosts have commanded vessels, and I don't believe any of them would issue the order to abort the mission for anything less than a class one emergency."

"What if it were someone you loved, Lenara? What if it had been your spouse who had been injured and could be saved only if you pursued a course of action that could threaten the survival of the ship?" Seven did not like that scenario, but it was the one Peter had presented to her, so she passed it on to her friend.

Kahn blinked. "Ouch." Seven was unsure why the Trill was indicating physical pain. "I guess that would make it a lot harder decision." She paused and shot a look at Seven. "Do you believe Janeway would choose differently if you were the one in sickbay right now? I don't think anyone would blame her for that."

Seven shook her head. "Kathryn would not make such a decision," she said with complete certainty. "She would perhaps be more...inventive...in pursuing her options. She would undoubtedly become more desperate in her attempt to find alternate solutions, but ultimately, I do not believe she would risk her ship for me."

"You seem pretty sure of that," Kahn said, frowning slightly.

Seven considered that. "She is, and always has been for as long as I have known her, a true proponent of Starfleet with all that entails," she said calmly. "She would not risk her ship for personal gain which, truthfully, my life would be to her. She would attempt to change the rules, of course. She would willingly sacrifice her own life in exchange for mine, but no, she would not sacrifice her ship for me."

Kahn shook her head. "You seem so calm about it."

"Should I not be?" Seven asked, honestly confused.

"I thought Janeway loved you." Kahn's tone was slightly argumentative.

"She does. What does that have to do with her making a command decision regarding the safety of the ship?"

"My god, Seven." Kahn raised an eyebrow, and Seven tried to understand what was causing such precipitant outrage in her friend. "That's rather cold."

Seven stared at her blankly. "Why?"

"Because when you love someone, you should put them first."

Seven lifted a brow. "You did not," she pointed out. "You chose your professional reputation and your ties to your homeworld over your love for Jadzia Dax." She realized that had been a rather poor choice of argument when she saw the expression on Kahn's face. "I am sorry, Lenara," she added hastily and with honest regret. "It was not my intention to offend you."

The Trill took a couple of deep breaths. "You didn't," she said, which was patently a lie in Seven's estimation, but the Borg was not about to argue it any further. "You're right; sometimes decisions are made based on things other than love and commitment to a life-partner, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't hurt deeply."

"Nor would the captain be unharmed if she were forced to make a choice between my life and the continued existence of her ship," Seven said, suddenly understanding the Trill's objection. Her rational assessment of the situation had made it appear that the captain would make a decision in the same manner ... that it would be easy for Janeway ... when in fact, the exact opposite was the case. "Indeed, it would hurt her in ways that I suspect I am, as yet, incapable of imagining, but she would still choose the survival of her ship over my life. That is who she is, both as the commander of Millennium and as a Human. I understood and accepted her nature when I married her."

Seven found it intriguing that this was the second time in as many months that she was explaining to someone that she embraced Janeway totally, accepting all her personality traits, as if they, with all their greater life experience, were completely unaware of what a romantic relationship required of the participants. Perhaps that was why both Pulaski and Kahn had a history of failed or tragic romances. However, she did not share that thought with the Trill.

She lifted her chin. "Lenara, I believe that Kathryn loves me as she has loved no one else, and to lose me would damage her greatly in many ways and on many levels: emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. However, it would not destroy her. I am the one who would be destroyed if she were suddenly gone from my life. I am the one who could not go on without her at my side."

She smiled briefly, aware that this could be considered a 'romantic' aspect of her bond with her spouse, the aspect that others sensed and were attracted to, that they admired even though they did not completely comprehend what it meant. For it to be understood, she needed to present the other side of such an all-consuming love, the side that the captain had come to recognize in Seven and occasionally despair of.

"I am the one who is incapable of choosing the 'greater good' over Kathryn Janeway's well-being," Seven continued evenly. It had taken a while for her to understand that truth about herself. Originally, it had been a certainty born of instinct and something she presented without thinking, but then, as time progressed and she was exposed to other viewpoints such as Janeway's, she questioned it, waffling on exactly what she would do in such an event. Lately, however, she had become more comfortable with who she was. She would never be fully Human, despite what her partner might want for her. She was learning to know the other aspects of herself, and accept them as fully as she did Janeway.

"I am the one who is incapable of making the correct choices under emotional duress when her life is at stake. Lenara, I am Borg. Kathryn comprises the largest part of my personal Collective. I would willingly, and immediately, terminate the life of every individual on board this vessel, including yours if need be, if it meant saving hers. That is why I shall never be a starship captain. My nature is such that I could not be trusted in such a position to do what is 'right'. Kathryn can. She will do what is best for a crew who depends upon her abilities for their continued existence regardless of any personal cost. She will make the difficult decisions in the difficult situations that so many others cannot. The crew knows this, despite any rumors or gossip in which they may temporarily indulge. That is why they will follow her to the ends of the galaxy if that is where she chooses to lead them."

She felt the corner of her mouth lift slightly, vaguely amused at the expression on Kahn's face, and very proud of her spouse in a way that many others could not understand.

"She is the Captain."

Ro touched the controls of her tactical station lightly, keeping a close eye on the security teams she had dispatched throughout the ship. She supposed others might wonder why she had come to the bridge while there was an ongoing investigation, but she had needed the break. There was a soothing familiarity about covering her station that afforded her the chance to mentally catch her breath and organize her thoughts. Certainly the captain seemed to understand, not offering Ro any more than a slight raise to her eyebrow when the Bajoran stepped onto the bridge and relieved the ensign covering tactical.

Janeway held court in her command chair, leaning back in her seat as she radiated that quiet aura of confidence that made working on the bridge so easy while she was there. The alpha crew were inspired to match that professional competence, to conduct themselves in a manner that would make her proud. Ro was always aware of it, but it amused her nonetheless. She had witnessed it in very few other captains. Picard of the Enterprise was one.

The Bajoran was curious why the captain kept eyeing Lt. T'Shanik with such a speculative expression, suspecting that Janeway had something in mind for the Vulcan. Ro had served with the captain long enough to know that a junior officer did not want that keen eye turned on them for any length of time, although T'Shanik currently seemed oblivious to Janeway's scrutiny.

Ro wondered if she should warn the young Vulcan. After all, she was the senior officer who had recommended T'Shanik for the position of alpha shift operations specialist. It would not reflect well on the Bajoran if Janeway managed to find some flaw in the Vulcan's performance, particularly since she had performed so admirably up until now. Besides, if there was one thing Ro wouldn't wish on anyone, it was a session with the captain and her 'you've disappointed me' speech. Those cut right to the bone and Ro still winced when she thought of similar versions she had received from the captain over the past few years.

The slight hiss of the turbolift door sliding open alerted the Bajoran of a new arrival, and she immediately turned her head, looking over her shoulder to see who had entered the bridge. She rose immediately to her feet when Peter Martin, along with his five-year-old son, exited the turbolift. There was an expression on the man's face that made Ro uneasy, though the little boy looked absolutely thrilled at being on the bridge ... an area of the ship that was strictly off-limits to most people, especially the children.

Ro quickly moved to intercept Martin as he approached the captain, imposing her body between his and Janeway's.

"Hey, Pete," she said, keeping her voice nice and easy, for the sake of the child as much as needing to keep the situation under control. "Lose your way?"

His face was rigid with anger. "I want the captain to tell my son what's going to happen to his mother."

Ro was aware of the captain moving over to flank the security chief. Janeway offered a warm smile of welcome to the child, and then, in the next instant, pinned the geometrics officer with a force ten look that would have incinerated a five-star admiral, let alone a junior lieutenant.

"Mr. Martin, it's obvious you have something to say to me," she said in a tone that would terrify Ro if it had been directed at her, and the Bajoran was not the sort to be easily terrified. "I suggest we take it into my ready room where we can discuss it in private. There is no need to involve your son in this. It's an additional trauma that he simply doesn't require."

He hesitated, fury and guilt at using his son as a weapon warring for dominance on his face, and then he dipped his head jerkily. "Fine," he said gratingly.

"Lt. T'Shanik, if you would please grant our young visitor a tour of the bridge?" Janeway said, glancing briefly at the Vulcan at ops who looked vaguely alarmed at this assignment. "Then return him to deck two. I assume he would normally be at school at this time."

To T'Shanik's credit, however, she rose promptly to her feet. "Aye, Captain," she said, once more completely composed as she moved over to take charge of the young boy who, if not entirely oblivious of the tension radiating from the adults surrounding him, seemed willing enough to go along with the lieutenant, eager to see the rest of the bridge.

Ro escorted Martin and Janeway into the captain's ready room, waiting until both were seated before whispering a quick request into her comm badge to send some backup to the bridge, just in case she needed it. Then she slipped a mini-probe from the inner pocket of her tunic and surreptitiously scanned Martin, making sure he had no weapons. Both actions took only a few seconds and neither of the pair noticed the security chief's precautions. Assured she had the situation under control, Ro linked her hands behind her back and took up a position within arm's reach of Martin, prepared to subdue him at an instant's notice if it became necessary.

Janeway folded her hands neatly on the smooth surface of her desk and granted the grieving young man her complete and undivided attention. Ro noted that the captain had assumed a physical position of power, however, establishing her authority and separating herself from Martin with her desk. The Bajoran was glad. She would have been more concerned if the captain had chosen to take this confrontation to the conversation area on the upper level. Ro did not want the captain within striking distance of Martin's fists. Theoretically, he could lunge across the desk and get in one good shot, but that would require the Bajoran to be napping.

Ro did not feel the least bit drowsy as she regarded the opponents staring at each other.

"Why haven't you ordered our return to the Federation?" Martin husked. "My wife is going to die."

"I am aware of that, Mr. Martin, and I am sorry." Janeway was extraordinarily controlled, completely composed. "However, even if it were possible, this vessel cannot abort its mission, nor risk its existence, simply for the sake of a few individuals who were fully capable of understanding the risks that putting on a Starfleet uniform entailed. You dishonor the casualties, including your wife, by coming here in this manner. You dishonor the engineers who made the ultimate sacrifice in protecting this vessel. They understood perfectly what they were doing when they remained at their posts even as the plasma spilled around them. They understood the sacrifice they were making for the sake of their ship, which would have been placed in an untenable position had the damage to the primary warp core been more extensive. They did it because they knew a transition jump could not be executed safely without those warp engines. Yet, you expect me to disregard their sacrifice. You expect me to attempt an ill-advised and extremely hazardous emergency jump which would risk everything that they gave their lives and health to prevent, all for the sake of treatment for your wife that may or may not prove successful, even assuming we got to it in time."

She leaned forward. "You don't have that right, Lieutenant," she said, the sharp edges of her words flaying him. "Neither do I."

Ro caught her breath. Janeway was certainly not pulling any punches with the young man, but then, perhaps that was to be expected. There were plenty of others on the ship who would offer Peter Martin their unconditional support, showering him with sympathy and comfort in the upcoming months, including the ship's counselor. Janeway, however, was his captain, and it was her job to make sure he understood the reality of the situation. He might end up hating her for it, but he was far from the first officer to do so, nor would he be the last. Command was not a popularity contest. It was about making the hard decisions when no one else could.

When no one else wanted to.

"In recognition of your grief, and the understandable mental stress that you are going through, I'm going to overlook this breach in protocol, Mr. Martin," the captain continued flatly. "However, I will grant you only this much allowance. Any further disruptive behavior, and I will be forced to take appropriate measures." She lifted her head, her eyes a dark, thunderous grey. "I expect that you would rather spend the immediate future in sickbay rather than being held in confinement. Correct?"

Martin was silent for a moment, almost as if he were still in shock, then he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said uncertainly.

"And you would rather spend the rest of our mission being a full-time father to your son as opposed to seeing him on a rare visits to the brig," Janeway added. "Bobby is going to require all of your support, Mr. Martin. You can't afford to let him down like this."

"No, sir," Martin mumbled, definitely subdued now. "I'm sorry, sir."

Ro lifted an eyebrow. My, Starfleet soaked right to the bone marrow, didn't it? she thought sardonically. However, her natural leeriness of Starfleet indoctrination did not lessen her respect for the captain, a respect that had increased after seeing how Janeway dealt with the biometrics officer. The captain had neatly defused his anger and made him think beyond his immediate concerns to those of his son and his crewmates. That would help in the healing process. His opinion of Janeway was irrelevant. He would never know the personal torment the captain had gone through over this, a torment that Ro had managed to glimpse at times, and recognized only because she had come to know her captain so well.

"Mr. Martin, I need your--" Janeway began and was interrupted by a hail that came over Peter's comm badge.

"Sickbay to Lt. Martin."

Peter went white as he touched his comm badge. "Martin here."

"It would be a very good idea if you came to sickbay as soon as possible."

Ro recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. Lewis, the Emergency Medical Hologram who had served with both Ro and Janeway on Voyager. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and Ro saw Janeway close her eyes briefly.

"Understood." Peter looked at the captain, looking very young, very afraid, and very unsure what he was supposed to do next.

"You're dismissed, Mr. Martin," Janeway said with a gentleness that undoubtedly went unnoticed by the biometrics officer. She glanced at Ro, and the Bajoran unconsciously straightened. "Commander Ro, please escort the lieutenant to the medical center."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said and waited until Peter rose to his feet, putting a hand on his elbow, both to guide and support him. He seemed oddly calm, though surely he knew why he was being summoned to the ship's sickbay. The Bajoran nodded shortly to the captain and the pair left the ready room.

Peter was silent as the turbolift descended, and he faltered in the corridor just outside sickbay. Ro had to propel him through the doors. Inside, both Dr. Lewis and Dr. Pulaski converged on the young man, taking him in hand as they drew him over to the tube containing his wife. Ro followed quietly, hearing the tortured rasp coming from within as the woman fought for every last breath. As far as the Bajoran knew, Laura Martin had not regained consciousness since the spill and that was a mercy granted her by the doctors who had blocked the pain of her terrible wounds. Now it was obvious that they could do no more for her and she was finally slipping away.

Moving like someone who had aged decades in the last ten minutes, Peter leaned over the tube. At his gesture, Pulaski drew back the shield and he reached in, touching the woman's seared features. The gel had been able to regenerate most of her outer flesh, but could do little for her internal organs but slow her demise.

Time seemed to stretch unbearably, each moment, each second measured by the labored breathing, the watchers expecting each one to be the last. When it finally happened, when the chest fell and rose no more, there was a complete and utter silence. Then Peter made a sound that wasn't entirely human, one of utter devastation as he fell over the tube, clutching at it as if he could embrace the woman within, his body trembling as if he could no longer think or weep or even breathe. Ro swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly against the tears stinging her eyes.

Belatedly she became aware of another sound, a thumping in a nearby tube as someone made it known that they were awake and not very happy about it. Hastily, Lewis moved over to that area of sickbay, opening the shield to release a chain of weak Klingon curses into the air. Brushing quickly at her eyes, Ro motioned with her head at the security guard standing by the door, indicating he should take her place monitoring Peter Martin. He hastily moved forward to flank the grieving widow, and Ro strode rapidly over to the tube containing her spouse, looking down at B'Elanna who looked back at her with wide eyes.

"What's going on?" The Klingon's voice was a croak, rusty from disuse.

"What's the last thing you remember, Lanna?" Ro asked quietly, aware of the sobs finally beginning behind her, half muffled as Peter buried his face in his hands. She tried to ignore them, concentrating on the sight of her spouse, healed and whole after what seemed an eternity.

"Uh, we started the day wonderfully," B'Elanna said, her voice very tentative as if aware she was only guessing. Her eyes flickered rapidly back and forth as she tried to determine where she was and what was going on. Her range of sight was severely limited by the walls of the gel container surrounding her, but obviously, she could hear the sound of weeping in the background and it disturbed her.

"That was almost a week ago," Ro told her. She reached down and touched B'Elanna's cheek with her fingertips, stroking her jaw with her thumb.

Then, as the Klingon's eyes clouded in sorrow and the pain of resurfacing memories, the Bajoran filled her in on all that had happened to her, the crew of Millennium and the chief's beloved engines over the past few days.

The smokey depths of whiskey glinted golden in her glass. There was no soda to cut it this night, no tempering mix to lessen its impact as it slid down her throat to land hotly in her stomach. Through the viewport next to the conversation area, she could see the stars etched sharp against the velvet blackness of space, undistorted by atmosphere, hanging in frozen stillness as the ship plodded along at impulse. Seated in her quarters, dressed in her t-shirt and uniform trousers, her tunic and sweater tossed negligently across the sofa cushions, she contemplated her situation unhappily.

A saboteur was still at liberty on the ship. The final casualty of the plasma spill had finally died. There was a memorial service to prepare for. Janeway winced away from that, needing to think of something else. The warp repairs were almost finished, she reminded herself firmly. That was a great relief. Hanging about in space like a lame duck like this, they might as well have a target painted on their hull, demanding someone pop by and shoot at it.

Janeway took another healthy swallow from her drink, feeling it burn all the way down, and she embraced the numbness that it so aptly provided. The sound of the chime at the door was unwelcome, and she looked over at it resentfully, wondering who would be intruding at this time of night. She didn't want to see anyone other than her spouse. Seven, however, was still wrapping up a few things in her science department after having fallen behind in her work, and would not be arriving home until later in the evening. Besides, she would hardly require permission to enter her own quarters.

The chime sounded again, louder, more insistent, and Janeway resisted the urge to fling the glass in its general direction. Instead, she placed the glass gently on the coffee table with a deliberateness born of a need to belie the effect of the alcohol on her system. Standing up, her head swam momentarily before her vision cleared and she was able to move to the door, intent on getting rid of whomever dared beard the captain in her lair at a time like this.

Pulaski regarded her with eyes that seemed as blurry as Janeway's. The doctor's uniform looked vaguely rumpled, unlike the normally crisp attire she sported the rest of the time.

"Doctor," Janeway said, leaning in the doorway, indicating she was not at all eager to allow the medical officer entrance.

"Don't be petty, Kathryn. Just let me in," Pulaski said, brushing past Janeway as if she wasn't there. The captain staggered back, bumping into the curved wall containing the private turbolift access before she regained her balance. She glared as Pulaski made herself at home on the sofa next to the discarded uniform tunic and picked up the bottle which stood sentinel on the coffee table. "Bring me over a glass while you're up."

Janeway ground her back teeth together as she retrieved another tumbler from behind the counter of the kitchenette, carrying it over to the conversation pit where Pulaski accepted it and filled it to the brim. She had already refilled the captain's, and Janeway picked it up sullenly after she sank into the chair, observing the doctor from beneath lowered brows.

"What do you want, Admiral?" she said, leaning heavily on the rank with bitter irony.

"I'm here to apologize," Pulaski said, leaning back against the sofa and sipping her drink neatly.

Janeway stared at her, considerably surprised. "You?" she managed finally. "Apologize? Has hell finally frozen over?"

"Very funny," Pulaski grumbled. She glanced at the bottle. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Obviously, not enough," Janeway decided after another healthy swallow. "Otherwise I never would have let you through the door."

Pulaski winced. "I suppose I deserved that." She paused. "I'm sorry, Kathryn." Janeway thought she might actually mean it. "I shouldn't have tried to pressure you into returning to the Alpha Quadrant."

Janeway waved her hand. "You weren't the only one. It's a moot point. We couldn't return safely anyway."

"So I've come to understand." Pulaski contemplated her drink. "Why didn't you just tell me all the problems associated with returning rather than give me that spiel about our mission and adhering to duty."

"It wasn't a spiel," Janeway said. "I do have a responsibility to Starfleet, Doctor, whether you like it or not. We all do."

Pulaski pursed her lips, looking troubled, and then nodded. "Fair enough, Kathryn. You're right. I'm still pushing and I don't mean to. I'm out of line."

Janeway blinked woozily and wondered when she had fallen into this odd little parallel universe where the doctor was actually being respectful of her and her position on the ship.

"Okay," she murmured.

The two women sipped their drinks for another long moment. Pulaski inhaled audibly, heralding another pronouncement and Janeway mentally braced herself.

"Kathryn, it's very difficult to have a patient and know there are methods to save them, but that you lack the capability or the equipment to do so. It's something that's happened to me more than once and I'll never get used to it. I was very angry and very frustrated and I suppose I took a certain amount of it out on you. That was small of me."

Janeway released the breath she had been holding. "I understand, Doctor," she said softly. "I know about anger and frustration very well."

"But you don't take it out on anyone," Pulaski said, "except possibly yourself."

Janeway's head sank between her shoulders. "Well, you might want to ask Seven about that sometime," she said ruefully. "She gets the brunt of it, occasionally." She thought about it further. "In fact, she puts up with a lot from me. Sometimes I wonder if I could survive this role without her being here to constantly support me."

Pulaski nodded. "As long as you know and appreciate it, Kathryn."

"I do. Believe me, I do."

Pulaski glanced at her, apparently struck by the sincerity of the tone. There was another pause as they finished what was in their glasses and refilled them. Just what I need right now, Janeway thought sardonically, a drinking buddy.

"Have you spoken to Kes lately?" Janeway asked. "Is she keeping an eye on Peter Martin?"

"She's looking out for all the families and friends of the casualties," the doctor assured her. She dipped her head. "That was a good thing you did for him, Kathryn. You could have thrown him in the brig, particularly after all the trouble he stirred up around the lower decks. He needed to know the hard truth, and you managed to get it through to him. I know others might not comprehend what a favor you did, but I do. He needed someone to slap him hard so that he could get his act together."

Wow, an apology and a compliment all within ten minutes. Janeway decided she rather enjoyed this bizarre parallel universe.

"I just said what had to be said. I'm just sorry it came to that." Janeway paused. "I'm sorry it happened at all."

"It was an accident, Kathryn. It wasn't your fault."

Janeway, aware that the knowledge it had been sabotage was limited to the top officers in the senior staff, didn't say anything. She merely took another sip from her glass and tried not to let the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind get enough of a grasp to take a full bite.

"So how much longer are we going to be out here?" Pulaski asked, waving her arm and accidentally spilling some whiskey from her glass.

"Another three months. Our return is set for the same coordinates that we left from, and the area has been cleared of ship traffic for a period of three days on either side, just in case we're a little early or a little late."

"We could return sooner if we wanted, though," the doctor insisted.

"If it's necessary," Janeway said in a noncommital tone. She lifted her glass, studying the stars through its amber depths. "Doctor, I don't want to leave the Delta Quadrant before we've finished what we set out to do. Besides, it's not as if we're completely out of contact with Starfleet. We do activate the transition drive every month and dispatch a probe through the subspace corridor with a communications packet. If Starfleet isn't able to respond because they have no way of knowing where we are, only where we've been, that doesn't mean they've forgotten about us."

"Is that what you felt on Voyager?" Pulaski asked idly. "That you had been forgotten?"

Janeway cast her mind back to those early days in the Delta Quadrant when she had been so lost and alone. She didn't even have Seven during those first few years. It was such a change when the young Borg came on board and turned Janeway's universe upside down. She still did at times.

"It was difficult in the beginning," Janeway admitted. "It seemed like I was facing a tough decision every day, sometimes every hour. This mission has been a relative pleasure cruise in comparison. I had momentarily forgotten that." She snorted, not quite a laugh but still amused at herself. "You know, earlier I was thinking about those days with the benefit of rose-colored glasses. I actually termed them 'carefree' in my mind."

"Those kind of memories always seem easier in hindsight," Pulaski agreed. "Sometimes I have to really concentrate on how I was feeling at the time rather than the fact that, somehow, I managed to survive whatever craziness was going on." She laughed. "I'm making it sound as if you're as old as I am. Kathryn, you've still got a lot of aggravation ahead of you, things that will make the past week seem like a walk in the park."

"Do try to stop cheering me up, Kate," Janeway drawled. "I don't think I could bear any more positive energy."

Pulaski chuckled and Janeway laughed, their intoxication turning a minor amusement into a moment of hilarity. So lost were they in their mirth, they did not notice the door sliding open on the other side of the cabin. Belatedly, Pulaski caught sight of the new arrival and made a decided and visible effort to straighten up, putting her glass down on the table and groping about her tunic in obvious search of something. Janeway slowly realized that the two women had an audience, and she swivelled around in her chair, nearly falling out of it as she saw Seven standing next to the kitchenette counter, her hands linked behind her back, regarding the captain and the doctor as she would an unusual pair of specimens in her lab.

"Darlin'," Janeway slurred, paused in embarrassment, and rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet. "You're home."

Since that was readily apparent, the Borg did not deem it worthy of comment. She merely lifted a brow. Janeway heard a hiss and turned, too late to see what the doctor had done, but assuming she had injected herself with the hypospray she was holding in her hand.

"Stay still," Pulaski ordered.

Surprised, Janeway did so as the doctor reached over and applied the medical device to the captain's neck. Suddenly, Janeway was abruptly and shockingly sober, the effects of the alcohol swept away as if they had never existed. The change of perspective, from the oddly pleasant fog to the razor-edge sharpness of complete awareness, was disconcerting in the extreme. The doctor nodded briefly at Seven as she passed her on the way out of the captain's quarters, taking the opportunity to escape. "Take care of her, Lieutenant. She's in a hell of a mood."

Janeway issued a sigh of relief at the lack of wooziness and the headache that had been creeping along her temples. Then she looked at Seven, remembering all she had learned about her priorities during the recent crisis, and wishing that she had retained the comforting cushion of intoxication. The Doctor had done her no favors, she decided thoughtfully. She guessed that meant that Pulaski was back to normal, and that Janeway wasn't residing in some odd parallel universe after all.

Seven tilted her head slightly as the doctor exited the captain's quarters, the door hissing shut behind her. Standing in the middle of the living area, she regarded the captain who looked vaguely guilty, undoubtedly due to the mostly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table beside two dirty glasses.

"I'm sober," Janeway said to forestall the Borg's expected comment, reaching up to rub her neck where the doctor had injected her. "The doctor gave me anti-intoxicant."

"So I gathered," Seven said. Her keen eyes swept up and down her spouse's body, displeased when she saw the creased trousers and the t-shirt. She knew well the dark emotions the captain had to be feeling to be dressed like that, not to mention the fact that she was indulging so liberally with hard liquor. Yet, despite that, Janeway did not seem particularly depressed...merely out of sorts. Perhaps Pulaski had succeeded in helping the captain stave off the morass of despair that occasionally struck her, most notably when she had lost members of her crew.

"Would you care for something to eat, Kathryn?"

Janeway nodded. "I guess I'd better," she said. She swallowed visibly, the muscles in her throat convulsing. "I'm dry."

"Water," Seven suggested evenly.

Janeway shot her a look and grinned sheepishly. "Ice water," she agreed as she picked up the bottle and carried it over to the cabinet in the wall where she sealed it and put it away. She retrieved her water from the replicator, moisture beading on the sides of the glass which she tipped back thirstily, draining it. She replicated another, and then moved over to take a seat on the stool located in front of the counter.

Seven knew the captain was observing her closely as she gathered together the ingredients for a salad, slicing and chopping them into small pieces before tossing them in a large wooden bowl. Janeway sipped her water quietly, occasionally picking out a mushroom or a piece of lettuce to chew on as she watched. The silence was deafening, Seven thought and suddenly realized how the saying may have originated. The lack of conversation pressed in on the young woman like a shroud, and it was clear that whatever Janeway had to say to her, she seemed incapable of finding a way to start. Seven tried to wait patiently, granting her spouse the space to find the words until, finally, the tension was too much for her.

"Kathryn, what is--"

"Annika, I need to tell yo--"

They stopped, looking at each other in surprise. Janeway smiled ruefully.

"Proceed," Seven requested.

Janeway started to speak, paused, and then looked confounded. "I wish it were that easy," she said. "I don't know how to tell you about what I discovered about myself recently. It's very difficult to find the right words."

"Just tell me, Kathryn," Seven said gently. "Even if you utilize language that is less than tactful, you know that you can tell me anything, regardless of how it may sound."

Janeway blinked rapidly, as if there was something in her eyes. "I don't know, Annika," she said softly, looking away. "This revelation came as a huge shock to me, though maybe it shouldn't have. I guess I just hadn't wanted to think about it until now." She paused. "I've put you second so many times," she added bitterly. "I hate myself for it."

Seven did not possess any telepathic abilities, but the conversation she had shared earlier with Lenara Kahn and the ramifications of the recent event which was still impacting the crew, afforded her a possible insight into what her partner was having such a hard time saying.

"You are having difficulty with the knowledge that you would let me die rather than order a premature return to the Alpha Quadrant," she said, deciding it had been an accurate guess when Janeway's head snapped around to gap at her in complete astonishment, her mouth dropping open slightly. She offered the captain a brief smile. "It is all right, Kathryn. I understand why you have the priorities that you do. I accept it completely."

Janeway managed to find her voice. "How?" she husked. "How can you just accept it?"

Seven lifted one shoulder briefly, the closest she could come to a shrug at this stage of her development. "To do otherwise would be illogical," she said. "I have known this about you since I was taken by the Borg Queen and you came after me." She reached up and touched the captain's neck, feeling the pulse throb beneath her fingertips. "You were not wearing your pips then, nor did you bring your ship, even though that would have been the more logical method of dealing with the Borg." She paused. "Disregarding how futile the entire attempt was in the first place." She smiled gently. "I know I am worth your life, Kathryn, and I am greatly honored by that, but I am not worth your vessel, nor would I ever wish to be."

Janeway bent her head, a muscle jumping in her jaw, her eyes dark and uncertain. "I wish..." she began.

"I do not," Seven interrupted flatly. "If you could make such a choice, Kathryn, then you could not be a starship captain. You would not be my captain." Her face softened and her voice lowered as she allowed her emotion to warm its normally cool intonation. She raised her hand to cup the captain's cheek. "I love that part of you, Kathryn. I love the ability you have to think beyond yourself and your immediate needs and desires to what others need, particularly those who rely on you. You can see the big picture and make your decisions accordingly. You can do the right thing even when it is personally painful and difficult. Not everyone can. You are very special."

Janeway inhaled deeply. "I don't know what to say."

"Do not say anything." Seven half shrugged again. "It is unnecessary."

Janeway stared down at the counter, her expression still one of unhappiness, and Seven didn't hesitate. She immediately put down her knife and went around the counter. Janeway barely had time to look up before Seven had swept her off the stool and into her arms, holding her close.

"Oh, Annika," Janeway whispered, clinging to her, her voice muffled from where she had buried her face into Seven's chest. "I love you with all my heart. I really do."

"I believe you," Seven assured her, feeling her tremble. "Being true to who you are does not preclude what you feel for me. It never will."

"How can you be so understanding? I don't even understand this."

Seven smiled. "I am Borg."

Janeway drew back, looking up at her with soft blue eyes. "That doesn't explain it."

Seven brushed her lips over the captain's. "Yes, it does," she said. "Whether you like it or not."

Janeway did not respond, dropping her head back onto her partner's chest, but Seven felt her relax, the tension that had kept her body taut slowly releasing its grip. The Borg nuzzled into the captain's hair, basking in her fragrance and warmth. How long they stood in the embrace was irrelevant, but eventually, Janeway drew away and Seven let her go, regarding her closely. The captain seemed all right, however, more like herself, and the Borg returned to behind the counter to resume her meal preparation.

Janeway hesitated, and then moved over to the dining area to set the table and choose a wine to go with the salad and leftover casserole Seven had popped into the heating unit to warm. There wasn't much conversation over dinner. Janeway was still thoughtful, lost in her own musing, while Seven was content to grant her the necessary space and allow her to come to grips with all that had happened. Sometimes being a good spouse was not so much a matter of knowing what to say, but of knowing when there should be nothing said at all.

After cleaning up, Seven went out to the arboretum attached to their quarters, finding a certain kind of solace in the serene surroundings of flowering plants, apple trees and water flowing in the stone fountain skillfully arranged in a rock formation. There was a large oaken swing-chair placed along the inner hull, bracketed by sculptured bushes, and she sat down on the thick cushions, inhaling the refreshing scent of rich earth and growing things. Before long, Janeway came out to join her, sitting down quietly next to the Borg and leaning back against the carved wooden slats. Seven slipped her arm across her shoulders, pulling the captain to her in warm and comforting embrace, the seat swinging gently beneath the women as they enjoyed this touch of nature in their high tech world.

"This reminds me a little of Mother's farm," Janeway said finally, after a long pause. "You remember sitting on the front porch watching the corn grow?"

Seven nodded. "I do," she said softly. She turned her head and kissed the captain on the temple. "Do you miss Earth, Kathryn?"

"Sometimes," Janeway admitted, her gaze distant as she looked across the arboretum to the stars shining through the viewports lining the outer hull. "Particularly after a week like this one has been. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give it all up. Just accept an administrative position and go home every night to you on our own front porch overlooking the pond." A corner of her mouth twitched upward in a semisweet smile. "Sound good to you?"

"It sounds ... tedious," Seven said dryly. "You would enjoy it for approximately as long as you enjoyed your last administrative posting at Utopia Planitia. After six months, it was a matter of controlling your impatience until your new vessel was ready." She hugged Janeway gently. "One day you will be able to walk away, Kathryn," she predicted quietly. "One day, when you have done and seen all that you can, when the universe holds no more surprises for you, and you have nothing left to offer as a captain, then it will be time. That time is not today, however."

Janeway chuckled, slightly rusty as if she had forgotten how to laugh. "Your expert opinion, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain," Seven said. "My expert opinion."

Janeway laughed again, easier this time, leaning into Seven as she rested her head on the Borg's shoulder. Seven wrapped both arms around her, cuddling her close as she pushed off with her feet to put the swing in motion again. It was a restoring end to a complicated day, and both women took full measure of this quiet togetherness, enjoying it immensely until it was finally time to call it an evening.

Crawling into the bed after her ablutions, finding a comfortable position to snuggle up against her spouse who welcomed her into her arms with open joy, Seven was not surprised when the captain immediately sought out her lips. The kiss was wonderfully deep and lingering in the warm darkness as the captain's hands caressed the Borg lightly, adoringly. Janeway needed this healing, Seven suspected. Each of them did in different ways, and she was pleased to both give and receive the pleasurable comfort of a physical joining.

This particular type of lovemaking was extremely slow and gentle, a quiet celebration of delight that basked in the intimacy of their desire and the cherished familiarity of each other's touch. Kathryn's hands and mouth were tender, building the yearning in Seven with steady skill even as the Borg loved her in return, pressing against the heat of her body with a delicate, sweet passion. It grew to encompass them, their respiration quickening, both women increasing the intensity of their caresses as they came together. Wordless demands of pleasure, muttered instructions and incoherent moans filled the night until finally, ecstatically, they surged against each other, the mutual peak throbbing deliciously within them before it released them to the golden afterglow.

They lay together in the cozy comfort of their bed with Janeway on her back and Seven draped partially over her, though enough on her side so that there was little weight upon the captain. Janeway's arm was curled around the Borg's neck, her leg tangled with Seven's, and their heads were so close together on the same pillow that Seven could feel her love's breath waft soft over her face. Janeway had a small smile curving her lips, a lazy expression of contentment, and Seven could feel the slow, steady throb of the captain's heart beneath her forearm where it rested on the smaller woman's breasts.

"Annika." A whisper, soft in the night.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"I love you."

Seven snuggled closer. "I love you," she assured her.

"Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight, my Kathryn. Pleasant dreams."

Seven closed her eyes and let herself drift off, knowing that no matter what else happened, she had all she truly needed to survive right here in her arms.

Epilogue

They gathered in the engine room. It seemed fitting that the memorial service would be held here, where the damage still showed in the dark scars on the otherwise polished bulkheads, and the faint arid tang in the atmosphere hinted of the toxic plasma, lingering in every breath they took. In her dress uniform, B'Elanna stood at attention, flanked by both transition and warp team supervisors who had survived the burns they sustained as they remained at their consoles, diverting the plasma back-flow away from the warp manifold. There were gaping holes in the formation behind them, however, the alpha crew leaving respectful spaces in their line to honor fallen comrades. Scattered around the upper catwalk, the beta shift stood at attention, ready to report for duty after the memorial service. There was one more empty spot displayed in the grouping of the gamma shift who stood off to the side, a glaring reminder of where the supervisor of the transition team no longer stood.

I kept Laura too long, B'Elanna thought, blinking rapidly. She should have been on her way back to her quarters to see her son off to school, but I was late and she had to wait while I checked over the transition drive transwarp seals. Why couldn't I have just accepted that the gamma shift had conducted the repairs correctly? Why did I keep her so long after her shift while I inspected it?

She was aware of her spouse watching her closely from where she stood with a group of security officers. Ro was keenly aware of how much the chief engineer blamed herself, and had done her best over the past few days to make her understand that it wasn't her fault. That sometimes, things just happened, and wishing one's actions had been done differently was a futile waste of time. That if the Klingon truly needed to find someone to blame, then she needed to save it for whomever had sabotaged the plasma conduit.

B'Elanna would be glad to, but she didn't know who the culprit was, and until she did, she would just have to bear the burden of guilt. That was just the way it had to be.

The chief engineer lifted her head as the honor guard made its way to their position in front of the towering warp cores, the dual towers reaching four decks above them where the connection at their summit was lost in the shadows. There were ten officers in the honor guard, one to represent every casualty, each carrying the flag of the worlds that the dead had called home. Two of the flags boasted the green and blue colors of Earth.

In front of them, the captain, the first officer and rest of the bridge staff arranged themselves around the single photon torpedo draped with the flag of the Federation. The silver cylinder was empty. The casualties had a variety of funeral requests in their wills that would be honored, from being cremated in the crackling energy of the warp transfer unit at warp nine, to being transported back to their home planets where they would be interred in the customs of their species. The torpedo was nothing more than a symbol, a solitary casket to be launched into the cold vacuum of space on a lonely trip to final immolation in a G-type star warming a nearby system.

Janeway took her place at the head of the torpedo and cleared her throat, her husky words being transmitted throughout the vessel by the ship's comm system.

"There's no way to choose a hero," she began. "There is no way of knowing ahead of time who will step up when they're needed. There is only the aftermath when we who are left look back and say, those individuals, those singular beings, they were the heroes. They were the ones who did what needed to be done."

She placed her hand on the cylinder, gently, as if there was someone very beloved inside.

"Throughout our history, there have always been heroes. Often, they are the ones who pull on a uniform everyday, be it to serve in planetary law enforcement, or to be called when disaster strikes, from fire and earth, to water and wind, to the treachery produced by others. They step forth and face whatever is thrown at them because if they do not, no one else will. Millennium's engineers pulled on their uniforms one week ago, little knowing what was about to happen, but when disaster struck, they did not falter. They knew the price asked of them, but more importantly, they knew the price if they did not answer. It was as simple as them doing their duty, and as complicated as making the choice between their own well-being and the well-being of every other soul on this vessel. They are the heroes."

She raised her head, swallowing visibly. "We are in their debt. They died so that we may live. We will never forget."

She stepped back and Commander Zar stepped forward. "Honors, hup."

The honor guard straightened at attention, and for what seemed an eternity to B'Elanna, the entire crew of the USS Millennium observed a moment of silence.

At the end of the minute, six engineers stepped forward, the Klingon among them, and took hold of the torpedo, lifting it to their shoulders. With stately grace, they carried the cylinder to a spot in front of the doors leading from main engineering and set it on the temporary transporter grid placed there. Janeway nodded briefly at the officer standing by a console. The ensign touched the controls and the torpedo was transported into the forward launch tube located underneath the saucer section.

Ro Laren stepped to another console and brought up the tactical display, activating the weapons system.

"Launch sequence engaged," she announced.

Janeway paused a brief second, then dropped her head. "Fire when ready."

No one could hear the sound of the torpedo being launched, but B'Elanna could imagine the streak of light as it catapulted from the ship, heading for its final fiery destination. Reverently, the crew dispersed, those on the alpha and gamma shift headed to the Nexus and the civilian lounge where post-memorial gatherings would take place over food and drink. The crew representing the beta team dispersed to join the rest of their staff already at their posts, to continue their duty shift.

B'Elanna stood silently for a moment more, but despite what she felt...despite what everyone was feeling...life went on. That was just how it was. She turned around, slipping off the dress tunic in order to replace it with a standard uniform jacket.

"All right," she said, her voice reaching every area of the cavernous room. "Let's finish bringing those warp engines up to full power. We've got places to go."

The End

•  This is the 8th installment of the Millennium series.

• It was posted on April 19th, 2002.

• Readers have asked me about this particular plot before, and I always put them off because it was something I didn't intend on dealing with until much later in the series ... if ever. However, I've recently come to the conclusion that I'm moving so far away from this version of J/7, it's unlikely I'll ever return to them beyond Millennium #10. Because of that, I've decided to start wrapping up as many dangling threads as possible in the final three stories I have left on the drawing board.

Collective Comprehension
G. L. Dartt

There were figures moving about her, barely discernible in the murky emerald illumination. The air was thick, hard to breathe, laden with moisture and a heavy metallic tang that left an acid taste at the back of her throat. She turned, uncertain why she was where she was, but suddenly ... unreasonably ... afraid of what she might see. In an alcove dripping tubes and cables of unknown function, someone stood waiting for her, had been waiting for her for some time. Frowning, she moved closer until she could make out the features.

What she saw sent a flash of horror and sorrow through her and served to jolt her awake.

Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and now chief science officer on the starship Millennium, opened her eyes in the darkness, the aftermath of her nightmare resounding in physical form via an increased circulatory pace and a lingering sense of dread and dismay. For several seconds, she lay quietly in the bed she shared with her spouse, trying to regulate her respiration as her heart pounded in her chest. Behind her, she could feel the solidness of her partner and captain sleeping peacefully, the warmth from Kathryn Janeway's body radiating out to Seven and easing the chill that had filled the young woman's being.

Briefly, Seven debated rolling over to embrace that form, to seek refuge in Kathryn's strength, but instead she chose to slip from between the sheets. There was no reason to disturb her partner's slumber, she decided as she drew on the silk robe hanging from a nearby hook. Not for something so nebulous and illogical as a nightmare. Moving into the outer room of their quarters, she could hear the constant hum of the warp core vibrating subtly through the bulkheads as it propelled the ship through this sector of the Delta Quadrant. From the dim illumination of the emergency lights running along the base of each wall, she navigated through the furniture, past the small kitchenette to the door leading to the arboretum.

This was a small place of greenery in Seven's starship world. The large room was filled with flowers, shrubs, a few dwarf apple trees, and even a small fountain burbling in an artfully designed rock formation beneath the spreading branches of the trees. Seven perched on a nearby stone ledge, languidly trailing her fingers through the liquid medium, enjoying the play of cool wetness on her skin.

It had been some time since she had experienced dreams of the Collective. She wasn't sure what had prompted such a disturbing series of visions this night, and she tried to remember what she had seen in the alcove ... why it had left her so distraught. The harder she tried to pin it down, however, the more fleeting and elusive the image became. Not that dreams of the Borg Collective weren't sufficient on their own to produce a decided sense of unease, she admitted silently. Assimilated at age six from her parents' ship, Annika Hansen had spent eighteen formative years as a drone, part of a interlinked Collective with no will of her own. She still boasted several cybernetic implants as physical reminders of that time, as well as a mindset that was significantly different from that of her crewmates. It had been five years since she had been severed from the Collective, and there was still a great deal to learn about being Human, though a part of her understood that she would never again be fully Human, not as her spouse was. It was simply something Seven had come to accept in herself.

Exhaling slowly, she felt herself begin to calm, the combination of sound, smell and sight of the water and growing things working their soothing and pleasant spell upon her. Despite considering herself a technical being, and spending most of her existence in a highly technological society, Seven had discovered she loved the outdoors, finding solace in its sense of aliveness. This space had been authorized by Janeway during the ship's construction, using her position as commander of the Utopia Planitia shipyards to her personal advantage on one rare occasion in order to add her own changes to the ship design for the captain's living area. It had been one of Kathryn's more thoughtful Valentine's Day gifts, and every time Seven availed herself of it, she was reminded of how much she loved her spouse ... as if her eidetic memory needed the reminder.

The final resonances of her dream drifted away, and Seven decided she had allotted enough time for this imprecise activity. Whatever her dreams might have portended or indicated about her current state of mind, she would not decipher it here and now. It was enough that she had found a measure of peace in these placid surroundings. Returning to the bedroom, she slipped out of her robe and crawled between the linen sheets of Starfleet blue. She tried to move as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake her partner, but Kathryn stirred anyway, wrapping her arms around the young woman and plastering herself to the Borg's back. At first Seven thought it was the instinctual seeking out that the captain was prone to exhibit when her sleep was disturbed, not really waking, just reaching out for physical contact, but then she heard the words, muffled but distinct.

"What's wrong?"

Seven put her arms against Janeway's and pressed them to her abdomen in an approximation of a hug. "Nothing," she said softly. "Go back to sleep."

There was a pause and for a moment, Seven thought Janeway was going to pursue the obvious dissembling, but finally the captain settled against her back and her breathing smoothed out. Seven relaxed as well and closed her eyes, trying to follow her partner's example. It was elusive, however, so the Borg contented herself with lying awake in the dark and listening to the familiar and comforting sounds of her partner; the steady rhythm of her heart and breathing, the soft rush of blood through her veins, and the tiny gurgles of her digestive system. The temperature of her skin, slightly lower than Seven's, still provided a warmth that surrounded her, making her feel as if she were drifting in the safest place in the universe. It was a fallacy, of course, a concept based on emotion rather than on logic, but Seven accepted it.

Eventually, the combination of comfort and security worked on her enough for her to slip into slumber, though she wasn't sure when or how it had happened. She knew she had slept only when she was drawn from that place of unconsciousness by the sensation of hands moving over her body ... familiar, loving hands that knew exactly how to arouse her, except that she wasn't really in the mood to be aroused. She made a soft sound of protest, moving away slightly, and the caresses immediately stopped.

"Darling?"

"I am sorry, Kathryn."

"Don't be." Janeway rose to an elbow and looked down at her, blinking through strands of mussed auburn hair. An older woman with classic features and lovely blue-grey eyes, she gazed at Seven with concern. "I just wanted... well, you know what I wanted. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have awakened you."

"No," Seven said, reaching for her and drawing the captain's body close to hers in a warm embrace. "I am ... it is irrelevant."

Janeway hugged her, brushing her lips over Seven's temple. "Is something wrong, love?" she asked quietly. "You had a restless night."

Seven shook her head, not wishing to be dishonest with her spouse, but not feeling ready to speak about the dreams of the Collective, of being Borg, of walking through a cube and seeing in an alcove the figure of...

Of what? Perhaps who? The answer stubbornly remained beyond her reach.

"Not now," she requested softly.

Janeway hesitated, then hugged her again. "All right," she said in a reasonable tone. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No," Seven said with more firmness than perhaps was necessary. She felt the subtle flinch and pulled her partner closer in mute apology. It seemed that the distraction of her dreams was deeper than she thought for she felt incapable of even the most simple communication without producing misunderstanding. "I need time," she added in a quieter voice.

"I understand," Janeway said. She hugged the young woman again, finding her mouth and kissing her gently, her breath sour from sleep. It was not something that Seven found objectionable, however, and she kissed the captain back with tender regard before finally releasing her. Janeway rolled out of bed and padded naked into the ensuite attached to their bedroom while Seven watched her go with aesthetic appreciation. Shortly thereafter, the young woman heard the hiss of the hydro-shower. The thrumming of water against the walls of the stall unfortunately did not drown out the grating, wildly off-key version of a song the captain liked to sing while showering alone.

Tuning out the painful rendition as best she could, Seven retrieved her robe and moved out to the kitchenette where she started the coffee maker and programmed the captain's breakfast into the replicator. She placed it on the table just in time for Janeway's exit from the bedroom. The captain offered her a warm smile as she sat down to her meal, and Seven returned it before heading off to complete her own ablutions.

In the ensuite, Seven chose the sonic stall rather than the hydro version. She enjoyed the sensation of warm water over her body, but a sonic blast was quicker, more efficient and was actually better at cleaning the Borg implants still scattered over her body. As she stepped out of the stall, her eye was caught by her reflection in the large mirror stretching over the sink counter. Lifting her head, Seven assessed her form dispassionately, starting from her thin, somewhat bony feet and moving upward. Her legs were long, responsible for most of her intimidating height, with a silvery mesh that ran from her right knee and spread out over her thigh. There were faint scars adorning her torso, whisper-thin lines of white that traced the path over her stomach and ribs where her abdominal implant had once existed. A small starburst was imbedded just beneath Seven's left collarbone and another adorned her right cheek at the hinge of her jaw, beside her ear. A heavy cranial implant arched over her left temple, hiding her eyebrow and framing a blue eye that matched the other. It was not organic, however, and was tied directly into her ocular implant. Turning, she glanced down the long line of her back to dual starbursts set into the matching dimples just above her buttocks, bracketing her spine. Her right biceps boasted the largest of the starbursts, and her left hand was covered by a glove-like mesh.

Although her limbs were considered expendable, all the cybernetic devices in her head and torso were vital to her continued well-being. If any one of them sustained a critical malfunction, she would quickly die, assuming no medical miracle could be wrought by the Starfleet doctors currently serving on the ship. It was only a possibility, but one that the couple had lived with since Seven had been severed from the Collective a second time. Ironically, it was a much easier concept for Seven to accept than Janeway.

The implants would be with her for the rest of her life. She was Borg and nothing could change that. Was that what her dreams were attempting to tell her? If so, it was unnecessary. Seven had already accepted that fact. Even if the implants could somehow be removed and replaced with organic tissue, she still could not alter the conditioning and cultural imprinting that had taken place over eighteen years as she grew into an adult. It was far more influential on who she was as an individual than her Human genetics would ever be.

Dismissing her thoughts as inefficient speculation which did little to start her day, she reached for the uniform waiting for her on the sink counter. With a minimum of extraneous motion, she drew on the undergarments, a sports bra, socks and skintight shorts that reached to mid-thigh, before stepping into the black trousers. Over a slate-blue sweater that boasted two golden pips on the collar, she pulled on her black uniform tunic, fastening it up the front and settling her shoulders beneath the padded gray accents. With a familiarity born of long practice, she swept her long blonde hair up into a French twist, pinning it neatly in place, and then took a final look in the mirror to determine that she appeared acceptable as a Starfleet officer.

Out in the living quarters, she programmed in her own breakfast and carried it over to the table. Janeway had finished eating and was now sipping from a mug of hot coffee as she studied a padd containing the night-watch report downloaded from the ship's main computer. This was a routine that the couple had settled into easily on board Millennium, and Seven hardly noticed it as she consumed her small bowl of cereal. She was aware of Janeway glancing up at her periodically, however, the captain's lips parting as if about to say something, but each time, Janeway would seem to check herself and resume her concentration on the padd.

Seven gave her spouse full marks for granting the Borg space to figure out what was bothering her, especially since she knew how difficult it was for Kathryn to refrain from immediately trying to 'fix' whatever was bothering the young woman. However, Seven suspected that there was little the captain could do.

After all, how could Janeway fix what was wrong when Seven didn't know what was wrong or even if there was something there that required 'fixing'?

Janeway glanced up at her spouse as Seven rose from the table and proceeded to tidy up the breakfast dishes before reporting for duty. The captain knew something was distracting her partner, but for the time being, she was willing to wait until Seven was prepared to talk to her. However, if Seven's air of bemused unease continued, then Janeway would make a concentrated effort to draw out whatever was bothering her.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Seven would confide in one of her friends before she came to Janeway. The captain accepted that this might be a situation where a friend could help Seven more than a spouse. For a brief moment, Janeway was put in mind of the cold, aloof Borg drone who had first come aboard Voyager all those years ago, contrasting it with the person with whom she currently lived. Seven still presented a cool demeanor to most around her, but for those who took the time and effort to get past it, they discovered someone who was capable of displaying the most remarkable kindness and patience, accepting people completely for who and what they truly were. Janeway had been the first to make that effort to get past the Borg shell to the woman beneath, and in the process, ended up falling in love with her. Since that time, Seven's circle of friends had expanded exponentially, first on Voyager, then on Earth, and now on Millennium.

Janeway dropped her eyes back to the padd she had been perusing, reaching out to pick up her mug to sip the hot, flavorful coffee within as she scanned the information Lt. T'Shanik, the ship's operations officer, had retrieved during a recent away mission. It was a detailed report, including comprehensive schematics, of the alien culture's planetary waste disposal system. The captain had found the information hidden amid the vast amount of cultural data gathered by the rest of the away team and had been hard-pressed not to laugh. After all, it had been her request to the senior officers to have the Vulcan pursue certain tasks in order to test her resolve and attention to detail.

The captain realized that some might think it unkind of her, or even cruel, but space was an unforgiving environment, and starship duty was probably the most demanding a Starfleet officer could face. Only the very best could carry the rank and responsibilities of a bridge posting, and the sooner the individual understood and was prepared for it, the better it would be for all concerned. Janeway had never actually reached this intense 'hazing' stage with Ensign Tarn, T'Shanik's predecessor. It had been clear from the start that Tarn did not react nearly as well to negative experiences as she did positive ones. However, it was imperative that a Starfleet officer, particularly one assigned to the demands of the alpha shift, be able to take both success and failure in stride. Janeway had hoped that Tarn would find herself quickly, but it hadn't turned out that way. Sometimes, the captain thought, as she leaned back in her chair, the real training for an officer didn't start until they had actually left the Academy.

Janeway needed a good ops officer during crisis situations, one she could trust without question or second guessing. When Tarn failed to fill the role properly, the captain had been forced to recognize that failing immediately and rectify it with a replacement. She knew that she had been a great deal more lenient with Harry Kim during his time on Voyager, but not only was that a much smaller vessel, she also didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. The ship was lost in the Delta Quadrant, far away from the Federation and any Starfleet replacements. The situation afforded the young man the time and opportunity to recover from missteps, and Harry had subsequently turned into a fine officer. It was unfortunate that Tarn had been denied the same opportunity to grow into her position, but that was the harsh reality of Starfleet duty. Millennium's initial mission only lasted a year, and Starfleet Command expected results from Janeway and her crew in a way that had not been present during her previous command. If Tarn couldn't cut it, then that was too bad.

So far, T'Shanik was proving to be a more than adequate replacement. Janeway wondered why the Vulcan had been stuck way out in the middle of nowhere on Deep Space 12 in her previous posting. Usually an officer with family in Starfleet outshone his or her peers from the first, having a leg up simply because they had been exposed to the Starfleet way of life prior to entering the Academy. Yet T'Shanik, whose older brother and sister were a starship captain and admiral respectively, had instead been shuffled off to obscure and insignificant postings, kept far away from anything that could prove her true mettle. Initially, Janeway had suspected it was because T'Shanik wasn't particularly competent, and had been reluctant to add the Vulcan to the crew roster. She had finally approved it only because Tom Paris, the ship's Wing Commander, had needed one more pilot to fill out his fighter squadrons, and T'Shanik's qualifications as a junior lieutenant had been the best of a poor selection of remaining available officers. It was an unfortunate reality in the wake of the Dominion War which had devastated Starfleet from top to bottom. Sometimes, a senior officer had to settle for a warm body if nothing else. Yet, to everyone's surprise, T'Shanik had not only aptly filled the role, she had excelled, rapidly rising in the space of only a few weeks to become the leader of the beta squadron.

When T'Shanik, along with the rest of the pilots, had been assigned to additional duties all over the ship, the reports on her continued to be glowing, coming from officers who were not easily impressed, such as Ro Laren and B'Elanna Torres. When she applied for bridge duty in the wake of Tarn's transfer to the beta shift, Janeway took a chance based on Ro's recommendations. So far, the captain had not been disappointed, though oddly, she was a little piqued that T'Shanik was doing so well. It seemed that absolutely nothing phased the young officer, and Janeway wasn't sure if that was due to T'Shanik's abilities or her Vulcanness. It was possible that T'Shanik was under tremendous stress and just wasn't displaying it.

In that case, Janeway needed to know that as well and before they returned to the Alpha Quadrant. Again, perhaps it might not have been fair to T'Shanik to put her through the wringer like she was, but fair was usually not part of the deal when becoming a Starfleet officer. She wondered what other distasteful and onerous task she could have the young Vulcan complete. On the other hand, perhaps this latest one was enough, she decided. T'Shanik had accomplished it with the same aplomb with which she had carried out the rest. Janeway should be satisfied that she was the ops officer she needed.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway lifted her head in time to receive a gentle kiss from her spouse, the Borg's lips lingering upon her own for a few seconds. Encouraged, the captain reached up and put her hand on the back of Seven's neck, holding her in place for yet another few seconds, prolonging the pleasurable contact as long as she could. Seven allowed it, even encouraged it by cupping Janeway's cheek with the warm palm of her hand before finally drawing away.

"Have a productive day."

Janeway smiled. "You, too, my darling," she said, gazing fondly at her spouse. She hesitated, suddenly struck by an idea and seizing upon it immediately. "Lunch?"

Seven blinked, lifting a brow slightly in surprise. "If you wish."

"Do you?" Janeway felt suddenly uncertain, searching the ice-blue eyes intently.

"Of course," Seven responded in a tone that wondered why the captain would have to ask. "When?"

"I'll stop by astrometrics at 1300 hours," Janeway promised. She snagged Seven's hand and squeezed it. "I'm looking forward to it."

Seven offered a tiny smile, one that barely curved her lips but indicated more than the most effusive expression from anyone else. "As am I," she responded sincerely.

Janeway watched as the young woman strode purposely from their quarters, her eyes lingering on the flow of Seven trousers around her buttocks, suppressing a sigh. Even after all this time, the very sight of her spouse in motion was enough to encourage the most delightful longings and desires in Janeway. It was a shame they hadn't been able to indulge those desires earlier in the morning.

Perhaps if she could figure out what was bothering Seven, such disappointment wouldn't occur again. Had she been neglecting her lately? Janeway readily recognized that an unfortunate side effect of being in command was that her ship and crew often took priority over her personal life, but she had made a concentrated effort to show Seven that she still loved her deeply and passionately while on Millennium, so that couldn't be it. Still, it wouldn't hurt to come up with something a little special for lunch, something beyond just stopping off at the Nexus, despite the eclectic charm of the crew lounge on deck twelve.

Finishing up the last of her coffee, Janeway took the mug over to the replicator where she recycled it, and then picked up the silver thermos waiting on the counter before moving over to the private turbolift access. A few seconds later, she was stepping off the turbolift into her ready room where she deposited the thermos on her desk along with the padd. Strolling casually through the doors leading onto the bridge, she was gratified when her appearance startled the bridge crew who had not even known she was on deck one.

Sinking gracefully into the command chair, her bluish-grey eyes swept the bridge which spread out around her in a multi-level design. Her chair was on the upper level which swooped down via ramps to the ops and tactical station. The deck dropped another step to a central bottom level, nicknamed 'the pit', containing the first officer station, the science post and the helm. This was a bridge design that hearkened back to the old starships where the captain was kept separate and distinct from the rest of the crew, and located conspicuously in a place of honor and authority, reigning over the command crew like a queen in her court.

Janeway appreciated the sense of power it accorded her more than she would ever admit to anyone, even to Seven who would have understood and accepted it completely as just another part of her beloved captain's nature.

Janeway's first officer, Commander Zar Tulek, rose from his station and stood before her, his eyes on a level with hers thanks to the depth of the 'pit' and the height of the command dais. A Cardassian/Bajoran hybrid, his features were bony and ridged, undeniably alien, yet his dark hair and eyes made him handsome in some odd way, even to those who had reason to distrust Cardassians on sight. She inclined her chin in a royal manner, indicating that she awaited his report.

"We have to go over the personnel reports," he said succinctly, and smiled faintly at the way her face immediately fell.

"It can't be a month already," she said plaintively, more hopeful than certain.

Personnel updates were a necessary evil of command, requiring attention once a month and utilizing information gathered from the ship's department heads regarding the deportment of various crewmembers serving under them. It was a regular assessment of the crew, maintaining a current record of the crew's behavior, including which individuals were line for a promotion or a transfer or even the rare disciplinary action on occasion. On a ship the size of Millennium, that meant over seven hundred officers that the captain needed to acknowledge every month, even if it was nothing more than to place a check in the 'satisfactory adherence to duty' box for those who hadn't drawn specific attention, either positive or negative, from their superiors.

Zar didn't respond. He merely offered her a significant look that indicated that neither of them had any choice in the matter. Of all the officers on the ship, he knew better than anyone how little she liked this tedious task. After all, he was the one assisting her with it, thus having a front row seat to all her complaints and biting commentary regarding its necessity. Under normal circumstances, it was a task she could carry out on her own, but since Zar was in line to receive a command of his own one day, she had thought it important that he know what he was letting himself in for, and had drafted him not long after they had left the Alpha Quadrant.

"Fine," she said grumpily, rising from her chair and heading back into her ready room, not looking back to see if he was following her. It was assumed that he was. "Let's get started on them immediately, Commander. I have a lunch date I don't want to be late for."

She didn't feel at all queenly now.

Ensign Elisa Tarn strolled into the Nexus, hoping to pick up a late lunch before preparing for her beta shift. Even though it had been almost a month, she was still not used to her new assignment. It seemed an awkward schedule to her, her duty starting just as the alpha shift was headed off and not ending until most of the crew, including her particular social group, had gone to bed. She had yet to make any friends on the beta crew, and while a part of her realized it was mostly her own doing, maintaining a coolness that discouraged others from reaching out to her, she wasn't quite ready to do anything about it yet. Despite knowing how illogical it was, she resented the fact that her friends from the alpha shift didn't make more of an effort to maintain their relationship with her.

She was understandably surprised, therefore, when she saw Ensign Davinus Marcos seated at what was considered 'their' table. Hesitantly, she approached, feeling an uncertain twinge in her chest when he looked up and spotted her. Extremely handsome with black, wavy hair, he possessed dark eyes yielding depths that Tarn could not help falling into whenever she looked into them for more than a minute.

"Hey," she said shortly as she took the seat across from him. For a horrified second, she wondered if she should have waited to be invited, but he didn't seem to indicate he found anything odd in her joining him. "You're not on duty?"

"It's my off day," he said, offering one of those casual half grins that never failed to cause her respiration to catch. "So I thought I'd take the opportunity to catch up with you. We don't get to see as much of you now as we'd like."

Like that was her fault, she thought briefly, but managed to force back the flash of bitterness that accompanied it. She also wasn't particularly fond of the 'we' as opposed to the 'I' she was hoping to hear. She wondered if he was referring to the group, which included Lt. Nog and Dr. Spencer, or if it meant he and someone specific ... like T'Shanik whom Marcos liked in a way that he didn't display with anyone else. Whether T'Shanik returned that interest was hidden behind her impassive Vulcan features and constant reticence. Tarn didn't know how much that played into her resentment of the other woman, or if she just disliked the fact that T'Shanik seemed to do everything better than Tarn, regardless of what it was.

"I've been busy," Tarn said shortly, keying in her selection from the tabletop menu. It would transmit the request to the large replicators behind the bar and be brought to the table by one of the waiters who now worked the ship's lounge. Within only a few minutes, her plate of pasta and the accompanying garlic bread were placed before her.

"I hear you're also pulling extra duty with the fighter squadron," Marcos continued as he dug into his selection, a light salad.

"I'm on gamma shift ground support," Tarn said. That had not been what she had anticipated when she came up with the idea of requesting extra duty from Commander Zar. She had envisioned herself in the cockpit of one of the fighters, but Lt. Paris had assigned her to maintenance. She had wanted to quit after the first day, but sheer stubbornness kept her scrubbing the plasma residue from the fighters exhaust conduits when many others would have walked away. "I pull a few hours in the hanger after my shift tonight."

"Hey, all the extra duty adds up," he said as he poked his fork into his lettuce. He paused. "Listen, I know it's hard to be transferred to beta but it'll work out. You're a great officer and you'll be back on the alpha shift before you know it."

Tarn eyed him sardonically, but she didn't want to argue with him. "Sure," she said. She paused. "So what's going on with you and the gang?"

"Oh boy, where to start," Marcos said, and began to relate all the little adventures that had befallen Tarn's friends. It was a entertaining recounting of the past few weeks offered up in the young officer's charming and humorous style, making her laugh more than once. However, it also left her with the unmistakable sense that, despite Marcos' words, her friends weren't really missing her at all. They were far too busy dealing with all that was going on, from Nog's post at the helm to Spencer's place in sickbay where she was the chief xeno-specialist to T'Shanik's ops posting on the bridge.

Tarn knew she could apply for a transfer to the alpha shift and probably get it, but it wouldn't be on the bridge. Pulling duty on deck one was not something she was prepared to give up. That was where all the action was, where the important things happened. If she couldn't be at the heart of it, then at least she was present as backup if a crisis occurred on the beta shift ... even if it meant that she was T'Shanik's backup. So far, that had not happened, but Tarn would be ready if it did.

In her fantasies, she envisioned T'Shanik failing miserably at a crucial moment and Tarn stepping in to take over, saving the ship and earning the captain's undying gratitude. That would show everyone, especially the Vulcan.

"Listen, we should all get together the next shore leave."

Tarn resisted a snort of aggravation. "Beta and alpha shifts don't have the same leave rotation," she reminded him.

"You can always ask for an alternate leave rotation," Marcos said, frowning slightly. "All it takes is a request to your superior."

"Yeah, well, I'll think about it," Tarn responded. She didn't know why she had to be the one to make the effort to alter leaves. Why didn't her friends offer to accept beta? "Besides, who knows if we'll get shore leave again before our return to the Alpha Quadrant."

"True enough," he agreed. "It's only a month and a half away." He poked at his salad, glancing at her occasionally from beneath amazingly thick dark lashes.

"I can't wait," Tarn muttered.

Marcos appeared disconcerted, as if not expecting the sort of attitude he was getting from his friend. The rest of the meal was consumed in awkward silence before Marcos offered a puzzled goodbye and made his exit. Tarn watched him leave, wanting to call him back and apologize for her disposition but unable to find the words. Even if she could, she didn't know if she could have forced them past the obstruction in her throat that was making it so difficult to eat. Desolately, she took a few more bites of pasta, and then pushed the plate away, her head bent as she stared at the tabletop.

"My, someone seems down."

Startled, Tarn glanced up to see Paryk standing next to her table. The Nexus bartender dropped into the seat recently vacated by Marcos, folding his hands neatly on the table as he studied her closely with bright crimson eyes. Blue skinned with emerald hair, Paryk was somewhat unforgettable once met, and had become a sort of mother-hen to the ship's crew, particularly the younger officers.

"I'm okay," she muttered, dropping her eyes.

"Oh, you don't fool me, Ensign," he said. "You don't look all right at all."

She frowned. "What business is it of yours?"

"None at all," he said reasonably. "Except you're bringing my clientele down with your gloomy face."

Tarn glared at him. "Fine," she said, unexpectedly hurt by the comment. "I'll leave."

"Hey," he said, his face softening as he put a hand out to forestall her rise to her feet. "Don't do that. I'm sorry. I was just kidding." He offered her a sympathetic expression. "Why not tell Uncle Paryk all about it."

Before she realized what was happening, she was doing just that, the words spilling from her in a torrent. She was aware enough to cringe at the self-pity and childishness edging her words, but she couldn't seem to stop. Despite that, however, Paryk's expression didn't change, maintaining that compassionate, understanding air that encouraged her to keep talking.

"Worst of all," she finished, "the captain hates me."

"I doubt that very much or she wouldn't have given you the opportunity in the first place, or kept you on the bridge team at all," Paryk said reasonably. "It would have been too easy to transfer you down to transporter room three and out of her sight completely."

Tarn considered that. "I suppose so," she allowed grudgingly.

"You have it pretty good, you know," he continued. "You have every opportunity to get your position back, if not on Millennium, then on another ship, if you just apply yourself."

"It would serve Janeway right," she said bitterly, "if I requested a transfer."

Paryk looked at her in astonishment. "I can't see where it would bother the captain at all." His patience was finally eroding under Tarn's determined effort to be disagreeable. "She needs people she can count on to do their duty, no matter what the circumstances." He inhaled slowly. "That's what she got when those engineers stayed at their posts during the plasma spill. If you can't do that ... if you're not prepared to understand that ... then she'd be just as glad you were gone and so would the rest of us."

She flinched, taken aback by his words.

He was looking at her with narrow eyes and nodding slightly. "I get it now," he said suddenly. "Everyone's been going out of their way to help you out. Even I came over to see if you could use a shoulder. I didn't realize that you're being too damned self-centered to realize what was going on. Maybe it's because you've had it too easy your whole life. Maybe it's because you expect special treatment because of the position of your family on your homeworld, but it's past time that you started seeing the other side of it."

He leaned forward, face and voice suddenly hard. "You're a spoiled brat, Tarn. You must have some kind of ability or people wouldn't be wasting their time with you at all, but ultimately that won't be enough if you don't start getting your act together. This is life and death out here, princess. It's not that bucolic little world you call home nor is it the Academy where controlled conditions let you shine. This is real life and it rarely gives you second chances."

Tarn was so shocked, she didn't wonder how he knew what kind of planet she came from or how well she had done at the Academy.

"My friends..." she began weakly.

"Won't tell you what you need to hear," he said flatly. "They like you. I, on the other hand, am finding you less likable the more I get to know you."

Anger sparked.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

"Nobody," he said, unfazed by her sudden fury. "I just tend bar. That makes it easy for me to see when people are so wrapped up in feeling sorry for themselves, they're not doing their job. You're not doing your job, Tarn, despite all the extra hours you're pulling on the gamma shift."

"I've had no complaints," she spat.

"What makes you think you'd hear them if they were offered. It's all about attitude, Ensign." He pinned her with a crimson gaze. "Tell me, Tarn, would you put your life in your hands? If not, then why do you expect others to?"

He rose from the table and strode back to the bar, obviously washing his hands of her. Tarn remained in her seat, thinking over his words and wondering for the first time how much she really wanted to be a Starfleet officer.

And why.

"These findings will have the Federation astrophysicists in raptures," Lenara Kahn said as she studied the readings streaming across the screen. "I don't think there's anything quite like this in the Alpha Quadrant."

"Which is why Starfleet dispatched the Millennium to other quadrants," Seven reminded her calmly. "To seek out new discoveries such as this anomalous star."

The two women were working together at the largest work station, going over the data from a spatial phenomena that the Millennium had spent the past week studying. Seven touched the controls, bringing up another line of research that she and the Trill found particularly intriguing. The young woman was extremely comfortable interacting with her companion, one of the few people on the starship who could match the Borg's innate brilliance. A statuesque woman with attractive spots that traced from her temple down the side of her neck to disappear beneath her collar, Lenara was one of the few 'joined' members of her species, her body containing a symbiont which granted her the knowledge and experience of all the previous hosts ... almost three hundred years of it. The two women, Borg Starfleet officer and Trill civilian scientist, often worked closely together on research that was far too esoteric for many of the other scientists in Seven's department. Seven also liked Lenara a great deal on a personal level, counting her as one of her closest friends on board the ship. Because of that closeness, she decided she would discuss the nightmare that had so disturbed her the night before. Perhaps Lenara Kahn's wisdom would help her discover what it was about the dream that had left her feeling so distressed.

She parted her lips to speak when a motion at the door caught her attention and both scientists looked up from their work. Seven was slightly irritated at the interruption, though the irritation disappeared when she saw who it was.

"She's undoubtedly here to see you." Lenara's voice was tinged with amusement and what might have been a touch of envy. "Although it looks like she's brought enough to feed the entire lab."

Seven blinked as the captain crossed the astrometrics lab toward them bearing a large wicker picnic basket. Rising quickly, she reached out to take it from her, surprised when Janeway drew back, refusing to give up her weighty burden.

"I have it," Janeway told her, panting slightly from her exertion as she gestured with her head toward Seven's office. "Let's set up in there." She offered a brief smile to Lenara who returned it politely before turning back to her research.

Seven raised an eyebrow but readily led the way into her office where she swiftly began to clear her desk. Since it was usually barren at the best of times, holding only a small desktop computer station and a few padds containing information of whatever she was working on at any given moment, it took little effort to have it completely bare by the time Janeway staggered in and placed the basket on the smooth surface.

"Thank you, darling," the captain said with a touch of relief, opening the lid and pulling out a red and white checked cloth which she spread over the desk. "I hope you're hungry."

"I had not anticipated a picnic," Seven said with honest pleasure. It had been some time since her partner had surprised her in this manner. It took her back to those days on Voyager where the two women were learning to love each other all over again after Janeway had lost her memories. The sensation of warmth that filled her chest made her realize how much she missed those simpler if more dangerous times when all they had were each other. "I expected we would lunch in the Nexus."

"This is more private," Janeway said as she spread out the various containers and items of food.

Seven lifted a brow. "We require privacy?"

Janeway shot her a glimmer of a leer. "One can always hope," she said, her tone dropping huskily as she placed a vase with a single blood-red rose in the center of the desk before depositing the now emptied basket on the floor. Seven was unsure if the captain was serious or not, but a thin jolt of anticipation rippled through her abdomen at the implication.

Settling down in the chair behind the desk, Seven reached out to snag a croissant, spreading some soft cheese over the fluffy white interior. The yeasty bread was still warm within its crusty shell, as if fresh from the oven, and the cheese held a smokey tang that tantalized her tastebuds. Finding the captain's choices for their meal quite acceptable, she looked across the desk and offered her partner a small smile.

"Very good," she complimented.

"I know what you like," Janeway responded.

Perhaps it was the slight wink, a bare tremor of her eyelid that nonetheless conveyed all sorts of things that Seven liked, or the intonation in the captain's voice, but again, Seven was surprised to feel a chill of desire shiver through her. Not because she didn't find her partner desirable ... she did, often at the most inconvenient times ... but because she thought that her distraction over her nightmare had temporarily dampened such feelings. It certainly had earlier in the morning when Janeway had been interested in romance, but now, sitting across from the captain made Seven acutely aware of Janeway's physical presence and the privileges accorded her regarding that presence.

"So what were you working on when I came in?" Janeway asked casually as she scooped a bit of potato salad onto a paper plate and began to eat.

Seven proceeded to describe the anomaly and the lines of research it had incited, observing the captain closely as she spoke. A couple of times she caught the blueish-grey eyes glazing over slightly, and realized she had become too technical in her discussion, forcing herself to backtrack and simplify the explanation somewhat. The captain was a formidable scientist in her own right, but her real brilliance lay in her command ability rather than in the heady pursuits of theoretical research.

"You've been working hard the past few days," Janeway noted when Seven finished.

"It has been fascinating work," Seven told her honestly.

"Do you suppose that's why you're having trouble sleeping?"

"That is not why I could not sleep," the young woman responded before she could stop herself. "I had a nightmare."

"Ah." Janeway looked smugly triumphant at having ferreted out the truth so easily. "What kind of nightmare?"

Seven firmed her mouth and stared disapprovingly at the captain who gazed back at her expectantly, completely unrepentant about her sly method of getting around her partner.

"It was about the Collective," the young woman said finally, feeling resigned to the inevitable. "It was ... I was on a Borg cube, surrounded by drones. I think I was a drone as well, but I was conscious of emotion and of being individual at the same time. For some reason, I was compelled to walk toward an alcove. There was someone regenerating within, someone I knew..." She trailed off. The vision was still foggy and imprecise. "Someone had been assimilated and it horrified me."

"Me?"

"No," Seven said firmly and was mildly amused by the trace of disgruntlement that crossed Janeway's face at not being in her nightmare. "It was someone important to me, however."

"B'Elanna?"

"No."

"Ro?"

"No."

"Naomi?"

"No."

"Mezoti? Icheb? Lenara Kahn? Tuvok?"

"No, not any of them," Seven said. She shook her head. "I cannot remember who it was, Kathryn. Badgering me will not alter that."

Janeway caught her breath. "I don't mean to badger you," she said quietly. "I'm just ... I'm trying to help. It's not like you to be up walking the floors because of a dream."

"I was not walking the floors. I simply spent some in the arboretum to settle my thoughts," Seven corrected. She eyed the captain measuringly. "As soon as I did, I returned to our bed. It was not so terrible, Kathryn."

"No?" Janeway considered that. "It's been awhile since you've dreamed about the Borg. What do you suppose triggered it?"

Seven lifted a brow. "Unknown," she said. She paused. "It is irrelevant, Kathryn. I am allowed to have the occasional bad dream."

Janeway inclined her head kindly. "Of course you are. Certainly if anyone is entitled to bad dreams about the Collective, it's you. I just wonder why now after so long without them?"

Seven shrugged minutely, a bare raise to her shoulders. "Is it so important, Kathryn?"

"If it bothers you, then, yes, it is of the utmost importance to me," Janeway said, reaching across the desk and taking Seven's hand, entwining her fingers carefully with the silver mesh covering the young woman's left hand. Her eyes were warm as she regarded her spouse intently and Seven felt that slight tingle again. She allowed herself a smile and squeezed the captain's hand gently.

"I am all right, Kathryn," Seven said softly. "It was a dream, nothing more."

"All right then," Janeway said, returning the squeeze before she released her grasp to settle back into her chair. "If you're that sure, I'll let it go, but you'll tell me immediately if you experience another one." Seven hesitated and Janeway pinned her with a look. "Seven?"

"Yes, Kathryn, I will tell you," she said ruefully.

Janeway looked vaguely triumphant again, and Seven wondered if she needed to remind her spouse of the boundaries necessary in their relationship. Just because they were married did not mean Janeway had to be involved in every single aspect of Seven's life, any more than Seven needed to be involved with the captain's. Of course, Seven allowed that this was personal and not professional. She supposed she should be grateful she had such an attentive partner, particularly since their roles on the ship sometimes took them away from each other.

After they finished their meal, Seven helped Janeway repack the basket with the various containers now emptied of their contents. Seven noticed that Janeway had left the crystal vase on the scientist's desk.

"Do you remember when I had one delivered to astrometrics every morning on Voyager?" Janeway asked fondly as she nodded at the rose, noticing Seven's curious look. "Neelix did it first thing so that it would be waiting for you when you arrived for your duty shift."

"I remember," Seven said. "You always denied that you had made such an arrangement when I tried to thank you." She settled back in her chair and reached out for the captain's hand, tugging slightly to invite her onto her lap. Janeway appeared surprised by the gesture but moved willingly enough into the young woman's embrace, wrapping her arms around Seven's neck as she nestled against the Borg. Seven gazed into her partner's eyes, losing herself in their bluish depths. "You are exceedingly romantic for a starship captain."

Janeway smiled. "You've always inspired me."

Seven glanced at the chronometer set in the wall above the door to her office, judging how much time they had left on their lunch break. "Do I inspire you now?" she asked lightly as she allowed her hands to roam over the compact form in her arms.

Janeway looked even more surprised, but vastly pleased at the same time, and took her own quick glance at the chronometer before turning back to regard her spouse. "I'm in no hurry to return to those personnel reports," she allowed dryly. She pressed closer to Seven, molding her body against hers. "What did you have in mind and how badly is it going to violate protocols?"

Seven kissed her softly, an open-mouthed kiss that both were reluctant to end. "I am still on Starfleet probation for at least another six months," she reminded the captain quietly, resting her forehead against Janeway's. "I cannot afford to violate any protocols."

"Then I guess I won't report this."

Seven kissed her again, feeling her loins contract. Physical interaction outside their quarters was not something either had indulged on Millennium, not even when Janeway had experienced side effects while mediating a trade deal between the Iboneb and the Okunda. Seven wasn't sure why she was attempting to precipitate such an encounter now, but at the moment, she found the touch of her partner's mouth and body intoxicating and exceedingly difficult to resist.

"Annika?"

Seven found that her respiration was unusually intense.

"Yes?"

"You need to seal the door."

Seven felt another thrill of desire as she realized Janeway was willing to go along with her unspoken question. Making an effort to clear her throat, she addressed the ship's computer. "Computer, seal the door to this office, authorization code theta blue, zero five slash two zero."

"The door is sealed," the computer's feminine tones responded evenly. Seven didn't believe anyone in her department would dare interrupt when she was having lunch with the captain, but sealing the door's access code added a certain layer of safety. Not that she was feeling particularly safe at the moment, which undoubtedly exacerbated her desire.

"You know that this is totally inappropriate," Janeway whispered as she helped Seven remove her tunic and sweater, letting them drop carelessly to the deck.

"Without question," Seven agreed as she pulled off the Starfleet issue bra, inhaling sharply as Janeway's small breasts were revealed. The captain's nipples were already hard, protruding proudly from their brownish circles, and Seven immediately leaned forward, covering the left one with her mouth, teasing it with the tip of her tongue.

Janeway, straddling the Borg, arched against her with sensual pleasure as Seven alternated between each pert little bud, her arms hugging the Borg's head to her chest. "So why the hell did we wait so long to do this?"

At this point, Seven was unable to respond verbally, and in any event, she recognized it as a rhetorical question. She intensified her caresses, reaching up with her right hand to fondle whichever breast she was not attending. Utilizing some Borg-enhanced strength with her other arm, she somehow arranged the captain onto the desk, tugging down the dark uniform trousers without ever losing the contact between her mouth and Janeway's breasts. Then the captain was leaning back on the cool surface, her elbows supporting her as Seven traced a searing trail down her abdomen and to the juncture between her legs. Leaning forward in her chair, the young woman eagerly covered the heat and wetness with her mouth, unsurprised at the cry that rippled from the captain's throat at the contact.

She was also unsurprised at how quickly Janeway peaked, knowing that the illicitness of being in the scientist's office was arousing far beyond this familiar caress. She felt the surge of pleasure ripple through the captain, delighted by the flutters around her tongue and the soft rush of moisture as Janeway shuddered, helpless in her release. Seven smiled as she nuzzled the tender flesh gently, kissing it softly a final time before she pulled away. Janeway reached out for her and Seven gathered her up in her arms, the couple settling back onto the chair, kissing deeply in the aftermath.

"Mmm, that was absolutely lovely, darling," the captain murmured, reaching down between them to slide her hand beneath Seven's uniform trousers. "Now let me..."

Seven closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the support of the chair as she felt Janeway's fingers on her. She had become incredibly aroused at pleasuring the captain, and now Kathryn's fingers moved easily in the moisture that had been generated by that stimulation, rubbing over the hard little nubbin of nerves with increasing pressure. Occasionally she dipped lower to Seven's other orifices, penetrating briefly before returning to her original caress. Spreading her legs wider, Seven found the captain's weight a wonderful pressure on her as the fingertips swirled and circled, lifting her deliciously higher with every stroke. At precisely the right second, Janeway's mouth sought out and found hers, the kiss capturing Seven's cry of pleasure as climax abruptly caught the Borg with unexpected strength.

For a moment, they remained as they were, collapsed in the chair, Janeway sprawled languidly over her partner with her hand still cupping her intimately, her head falling forward to rest on Seven's shoulder. Seven held her close, feeling that combination of vulnerability and protectiveness, needing to be close to Janeway just as the captain needed her. Several moments passed before they reluctantly started to pull themselves together.

"That was not at all how I expected lunch to go, but I'm not complaining," Janeway muttered as she redressed, grinning crookedly as Seven politely handed the captain her uniform tunic. Fortunately, there was a private head attached to the Borg's office, and the couple were able to tidy up the more obvious signs of their intimate interaction.

Seven, feeling wonderfully mussed inside, though her outward appearance had quickly assumed its cool shell of composure, made some final adjustments to the captain's collar, making sure all four golden pips were present and accounted for. "There are risks when you use lunch as a cover to elicit information from me," she told her quietly. "Sometimes you will discover far more than you anticipate."

Janeway reached up and kissed her lovingly. "That's what we're out here for," she said lightly. "The discovery."

Seven merely smiled and ordered the computer to unseal the door.

Janeway wasn't sure what had prompted such an unusual dalliance over lunch but she certainly wasn't about to nurture any regrets about it. She just hoped her expression was not overly smug and satisfied as she returned to the bridge. Pleased to note that she wasn't even late, at least, not enough to warrant a mention, she offered Zar a smile as she entered the ready room. Placing the picnic basket next to the turbolift access, where she intended to pick it up on her way back to her quarters after her duty shift, she ascended the ramp leading to the upper level.

"Was Seven surprised?" he asked politely as she joined him. A plate with a few crumbs and an empty glass sat on the coffee table, indicating that he hadn't left for lunch as she had, working on the remaining personnel reports through the break.

Not as much as I was, the captain mused but didn't let the thought reach her face. "She was," Janeway said coolly. "She likes picnics."

A trace of something ghosted over his dark eyes before he handed over the next padd. She thought it might be envy or something close to it, and hoped that he would take a lesson from it. Captains could be fulfilled on many levels, not just professionally, and it provided a balance that was sometimes vital to her in her command. She hoped it might prove to be vital to him sometime in the future, as well.

"Tarn, Elisa," he said, indicating the identity of the next crewmember to be assessed. The bridge officers generally were saved for the last, and Janeway was pleased at how far her first officer had progressed in her absence. Tarn was the last of those officers serving on the evening and night watch shifts.

"She has such potential. If only she'd learn to exploit it on a continuous basis rather than when she's pushed to the limit, she'd actually be a fine officer. I wanted to be able to bring her back to the alpha shift before our return."

"She's getting better," Zar pointed out. "It's still possible."

"I hope so," Janeway said. She paused. "Do you think I was too demanding of her in the beginning?"

"Perhaps neither of us were demanding enough," Zar said thoughtfully. "I know I probably granted her more allowance than I should." He shook his head. "It's just that when she's good, she's extraordinary. Quick to respond in a crisis, tends to make the right decision instinctively, takes command naturally..."

"Yet when she's bad during daily routine, she verges on the incompetent," Janeway agreed with a sigh. "Somewhere, there should be a happy medium but she doesn't seem able to find it." She scanned the file. "However, she does appear to be thriving on the beta shift. Her performance levels have increased significantly and she's accepted a lot of extra duty. That's promising."

"It is, but the attitude still isn't quite what I'd like to see," Zar said seriously. "She doesn't mingle with her crewmates."

"There's no rule that says she has to be voted most popular on the shift," Janeway pointed out dryly.

"No, but the fact that she isn't more social is indicative of something," Zar explained. "She was very popular at the Academy, after all, and quickly developed a close group of friends on the alpha shift. Obviously, she has the communicative skills to fit in with most groups, and if she's not trying now..." He trailed off, his expression perplexed.

Janeway sighed. "Okay, keep an eye on her," she said and made a note in the file, a check by the 'satisfactory adherence to duty'. It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad. In fact, it was the usual rating for most Starfleet officers, and far better than the 'unsatisfactory adherence to duty' rating that could easily drop to the formal reprimand level. But until Tarn received three 'superior' ratings in a row, she would remain where she was.

"Okay, we're on the alpha shift," Zar announced, bringing up the final group of senior bridge officers in alphabetical order. "Hansen, Annika."

Janeway resisted an urge to snicker. Seven's Starfleet record was a wild combination of reprimands and commendations, incorporating all her time on Voyager even when she wasn't officially commissioned. There was a large red probation flag on it as a result of her actions with Section 31, and a separate blue-flagged award for conduct above and beyond the call of duty stemming from the same incident. They didn't cancel each other out, but it was indicative of Seven's no-holds-barred approach to Starfleet. Janeway knew hers looked just as bad, though her personnel record wouldn't be assessed by her sector superior until the end of the current mission.

"Being her spouse, you know I can't make any notations; I can only recommend. You make the final notation and have Dr. Pulaski sign off on it," Janeway reminded him, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Of course," Zar said. He paused and glanced at her. "Any recommendation?"

Janeway considered it. "Well, I don't believe she's accomplished anything of particular note since last month," she said. At least, not professionally, she reminded herself privately and stifled the surge of delight that flickered through her at the memory of their passionate lunch hour. "I'm sure that the same rating is perfectly acceptable."

"Right," Zar said and placed a check beside the 'superior adherence to duty', one below the commendation level and one above the 'satisfactory' Tarn had received. It was Seven's standard rating, and honestly, something she took a certain pride in though she would never admit that to anyone other than her spouse. Actually, she had never admitted it to her spouse, either, but Janeway knew her well enough by now to understand how Seven regarded this professional acknowledgment of her skills and conduct on Millennium. The one month she had received a mere 'satisfactory' rating had made her almost impossible to live with in the subsequent weeks until she had brought it back up.

"Nog," Zar prompted.

"Maintain his rating unless there's something you want to add." Zar shook his head and made a note in the padd. He lifted the next padd.

"Ro, Laren. Shall I maintain hers as well?"

Janeway considered it, then nodded. "All right," she said. "Though if she doesn't soon find our saboteur, I may have to drop that a notch."

Reminded of the incident in engineering that had cost ten lives the previous month, Zar sobered. "Has she discovered anything at all?"

"She has some leads she's tracking down," Janeway said slowly. "Or so she claims."

"You don't believe her?"

Janeway blinked, then shook her head. "Of course I do," she said. "However, she may be somewhat ... optimistic in her assessment of those leads. Until she gives me a name of a suspect, I'm not sure how close she truly is."

"It's hard to believe anyone could do such a thing," Zar said, shaking his head.

"I don't think whoever planned the bombing expected it to have as devastating a result as it did." Janeway got up and moved over to the replicator where she programmed in coffee, black. She had long since finished the thermos that Seven sent her off with every morning. Sipping the thick dark liquid in quiet enjoyment, she returned to the chair facing the sofa, her back to the lower level of the ready room.

"It has to be someone who knows about plasma conduits and explosives," Zar speculated, his eyes distant as he went over the incident in his mind.

"That should narrow the field," Janeway said, unsure if she was trying to convince him ... or herself. She inhaled slowly. "Let's finish this. Who's next?"

"T'Shanik."

"Overall, I'm very pleased with her work," Janeway said as she scanned the departmental notes regarding the young woman's performance. "Very little phases her, and she's carrying out her tasks with remarkable equanimity."

"Especially the report she made on the Kruna sewage treatment system," he said lightly, tilting his head as he regarded her.

"Especially that," Janeway said, swallowing back a smile. She fixed him with a look. "That was a little more than even I would have assigned her. That was just plain nasty."

He shrugged. "You wanted her composure tested which is what the assignment accomplished," he said. "Shall we make her posting to the alpha shift ops a permanent one? She seems to have passed her probation period with flying colors."

"A good idea," Janeway said, putting in the necessary instructions and adding a check in the 'superior adherence to duty' box. "She's obviously the best choice for the position. I'm just sorry I didn't know that when we left DS9."

"It takes time for things to shake down."

She lifted a brow, unable to argue with that. "Is that all of them?"

"Except for mine," he said dryly. "I'll leave that one for you."

She picked up the padd. "Just for helping out with these, you should receive a commendation."

He returned the grin she threw his way. "I'll settle for last month's rating," he said. He hesitated, his expresion sobering as he regarded her. "Captain, if I haven't said this before, I want you to know how very much I appreciate your guidance over the past few months. This is the first posting where I felt I've truly learned something about commanding a starship."

Janeway was too experienced to blush, but she was pleased nonetheless.

"You've been an exemplary officer, Commander. You're going to make a fine captain."

"No one else had ever told me that," he said, his dark gaze intent. "Except Admiral Necheyev."

Janeway lifted her chin, interested. "She mentored you, didn't she?"

"She was one of my professors at the Academy," Zar explained. "For whatever reason, she seemed to take a liking to me and offered to be my student advisor. That early belief in me is probably what got me through the Academy and gave me the inspiration to stick with it when things got tough."

"Necheyev doesn't mentor just anyone," Janeway told him with some certainty. "She demands the best, both of herself and the officers with whom she associates. If she believes in you, Tulek, it's because you've earned it. Don't ever doubt that."

"Thank you, Captain." His eyes were warm, and Janeway wondered why she had ever been put off by the Cardassian appearance. Zar was actually quite handsome in a rugged, alien sort of way. She hoped whomever ended up with the young man would be deserving of him. She began to go over potential suitors in her mind before deliberately stopping such speculation, knowing that her inclination for matchmaking was not anything she needed to revisit on Millennium.

She opened her mouth, ready to dismiss him when the illumination suddenly darkened around them, dropping to a reddish hue. She was already out of her chair and rushing down the ramp to the doors, Zar a step behind her, when the announcement came over the ship's comm system.

"Red alert, all hands to battle stations. Senior officers to the bridge."

T'Shanik was holding the conn, and if she didn't appear relieved at the appearance of the captain and first officer, it was probably only because she was Vulcan.

"Report," Janeway snapped as she took her seat. The viewscreen dominating the front of the bridge didn't show anything other than a normal starfield edged with the multi-colored aurora of the spatial phenomena. For a brief second, the captain wondered if T'Shanik had finally cracked and done something completely inappropriate.

"Sensors are detecting the formation of a Borg transwarp field," T'Shanik said as she returned to ops.

Well, that's certainly worth a red alert, Janeway decided.

"Helm, plot a course out of here, maximum warp," she ordered. "Use the anomaly's aurora to mask our passage."

"Captain, the radiation from the stellar anomaly we're already in orbit around could serve to completely mask our emission signature if we move closer to its center," Lt. Nog suggested even as he keyed in the captain's instructions. "It's possible we'd never be detected if we stay where we are, whereas our going to warp may attract their attention."

"But do we really want to stick around any place the Borg have decided to visit?" Zar wanted to know as he sat down at the first officer station. The doors on either side of the bridge hissed open to allow Seven of Nine and Ro Laren to step out of their respective turbolifts and take their stations.

Janeway hesitated. On one hand, the Millennium was a far more powerful ship than Voyager. The little Intrepid-class vessel had held its own with the Borg on more than one occasion. It would also be very interesting to know what had brought the Borg to this particular area of space. On the other, it was best to avoid encountering the Collective if at all possible, especially if whatever was coming through that conduit was after the Federation starship for some reason. The Collective would love to assimilate a prototype Fast Explorer ... if they were at all capable of such emotion.

"Captain, it is a sphere," Seven said, running the readings from the sensors through her station. "Not a cube."

"Move closer to the anomaly," Janeway instructed, making her decision. "Channel power to the shields to compensate for the increased radiation." She leaned forward in her chair, every sense alert.

"Let's see what brings the Borg by this particular neighborhood."

There were only a few suspects on her list and Ro Laren didn't feel that strongly about any of them. It was actually quite embarrassing. This was a closed environment, a starship with only 1200 people and only so many places to go. It should have been relatively easy to determine who had transported an explosive device into a warp conduit and caused a devastating plasma spill which resulted in the death of ten people. Instead, it seemed the trail was growing colder the longer it went on, lessening the chances she had of actually discovering a solution to the case.

The Bajoran felt like a complete failure and was beginning to wonder why she had ever accepted the assignment of chief security officer. If she had really wanted to serve Janeway, she told herself scathingly, she should have gone to Vulcan and convinced Tuvok to come back. She wasn't half the officer he was.

Lost in self-recrimination, she almost failed to notice the exit of her current suspect from the Nexus. Rising to her feet casually, Ro followed her quarry, careful to maintain a distance between them. The Bajoran suspected that he was only returning to duty after his lunch break, but she followed him anyway in case he did something blatantly criminal, like sneak off to a lab where all sorts of illegal equipment were stashed and proceed to build an explosive device that would grant Ro the necessary evidence to arrest him and finish this miserable exercise once and for all.

However, the young Bolian merely returned to the transporter room on deck nineteen which left Ro to put a grudging note in her padd and move on. The security officer she had posted nearby would tell her if the suspect left his post for any reason, and there were other possibilities to investigate. Noting how close she was to the lower decks, the security chief instructed the turbolift to take her down to the ship's main engineering.

Inside the cavernous rooms where two warp cores towered four decks high, Ro went in search of the chief engineer. B'Elanna was in her office, an unusual occurrence for the Klingon. As Ro sealed the door behind her, Torres looked up from her work, her lips pursed as if she were about to blast the person who dared disturb her. A solid woman, with dark hair and eyes, and a ridged forehead denoting her maternal heritage, B'Elanna's outburst was immediately aborted when she saw it was her spouse of slightly more than a year. Instead, she offered a ready smile, revealing slightly pointed teeth. Such was her volatile nature that B'Elanna could go from anger to pleasure in the space of a split second.

"What's up?"

"Official business," Ro said shortly, sinking down in the chair opposite the dark-haired woman. "I need to go over the list of beta shift crewmen on duty that night."

B'Elanna frowned. "Why?" she protested. "I thought we agreed that an engineer is the one person who'd know what the results of a plasma spill would be."

"Maybe we're wrong," Ro said, not budging. "Or maybe we're giving this guy too much credit. Maybe he meant to strand us in the Delta Quadrant and didn't quite get it right. Can you just get me the list, please, and not make this so difficult."

B'Elanna clouded up, instantly ready to argue, but taking another look at her spouse, she seemed to realize the frustration level present in the Bajoran. "All right, I'll get it for you."

Ro resisted the urge to close her eyes as she waited for her partner to retrieve the necessary data, knowing that if she did, she ran the risk of drifting off. She had been working steadily on the case, becoming more focused and obsessed the longer it went on. Right now, she was operating with about four hours of sleep from the previous night, getting up early to run surveillance on a gamma shift ensign from maintenance, having discovered that he had connections to a family who were rumored to be involved with the Orion Syndicate. It was a tenuous tie at best, but at this point, Ro was checking out every minuscule lead, regardless of how futile it seemed.

"Why do you want to look at this again?" B'Elanna asked quietly as she handed Ro a padd.

Ro blinked and shifted in her chair in an effort to dredge up some shred of energy from an internal reserve that had already been emptied, looking over the list with blurred eyes. "I'm just having a hard time believing that they missed the signs of degrading in the transition coolant tank's transwarp seals."

"The gamma shift caught it."

"Yeah, and spent all shift replacing them. I'm wondering if that wasn't set up as a distraction to keep them from noticing anything else."

B'Elanna looked alarmed. "Like what?" she asked sharply.

"Maybe whatever the plasma leak was intended to cover up."

B'Elanna stared at her, then her face softened. "I think you're making this too complicated, Laren. You're grasping at straws." Her tone was gentle, even if the words were not.

Ro felt a flare of anger. "Don't tell me how to do my job."

B'Elanna opened her mouth to respond, then paused. "I'm not," she said with deliberate evenness. "But you're tired. Beyond tired. What kind of clear thinking are you capable of right now?"

Ro wanted to retort hotly but she lacked the energy. And truth be told, she lacked the justification. Her partner was absolutely right, as galling as it was.

"I need to find this bastard," she said, the words difficult to say. "I can't let the captain down." She swallowed hard. "Not again."

"I know," B'Elanna responded, reaching across the desk to take the Bajoran's hand. "Laren, you'll find him. I know you will. So does the captain. Just give yourself a moment to get your bearings. Take an hour off. It might give you the distance needed to be able to see things clearly."

Ro inhaled deeply. "Maybe you're right." It was a grudging admission.

"I always am," B'Elanna said firmly. She paused, her head tilted slightly as she studied her partner, then she continued, her voice lowering persuasively. "Listen, Laren, that couch is pretty comfortable. Why don't you stretch out for a few minutes and catch a few winks. It's amazing what a power nap can do for you. I'll make sure no one comes into the office."

"Sleeping on duty is a court martial offense," Ro said weakly.

"When an officer has pulled as much duty as you have over the past few days, no one will object. And if they do, they'll have to answer to me."

Ro ran out of protestations and didn't resist when her spouse came around the desk, pulled her from the chair and led her over to the sofa lining one wall. B'Elanna cleared off the various bits of spare equipment and padds that had been littering the cushions, dumping them onto the deck before she pushed the Bajoran gently down onto the welcoming surface.

"Sleep," she instructed firmly, unfolding a spare blanket and tossing it over Ro. "I'll wake you in an hour."

But it wasn't the chief engineer who prodded the security officer from unsconsiousness less than forty-five minutes later.

"Red alert, all hands to battle stations. Senior officers to the bridge."

Ro cursed, but she had no choice. Winning a brief tussle with the blanket that had tangled her limbs, she rolled off the sofa and landed on her feet, tossing aside the covering without pausing to see where it landed. Out in main engineering, she sprinted for the nearest turbolift and instructed it to take her to the bridge, wondering what the hell she was expected to face this time.

Seven frowned as she studied the readings on her board, not entirely comfortable with the captain's choice to remain in the area, but not yet ready to offer any particular objections. Still, she knew better than anyone that the Borg were not anything with which to trifle, and lurking in the concealment of an anomaly's radiation discharge just to see what they were up to was not something she would recommend under normal circumstances.

"Phasers are online," Commander Ro noted at her post at tactical. Seven glanced at her, thinking that the Bajoran looked weary. "Photon torpedoes are loaded into both aft and fore tubes."

"Good," Janeway said, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes sparking. Seven knew that the captain, despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, was enjoying herself tremendously. "Ops, what are our little friends doing now?"

"The sphere appears to have laid in a course to a nearby star system," T'Shanik said. "They're on a direct heading to the third planet."

"What information do we have on that world?" Janeway demanded, a trace of anxiety suddenly entering her voice.

"It is an M-class planet," Seven said. Geometrics had ran full scans on the nearby star system while astrometrics had been occupied with the spatial anomaly  "Ninety-nine-point-eight percent water. It is inhabited by aquatic lifeforms who have developed a pre-warp civilization comparable to Earth's industrial period of the late twentieth century."

"Damn," Janeway said, straightening suddenly in her command chair. "They must be going to assimilate them."

"This is a sphere, not a cube," Seven corrected, glancing back at her. "They are undoubtedly on a scouting mission."

"Meaning what?" Zar asked, looking over at her. His station was right beside the science console.

"Meaning they will evaluate the planet to determine its suitability for future assimilation," Seven explained. "After acquiring an adequate sampling of the species and their technology, it will be determined by the Collective whether they are worthy of being added to the Borg's perfection." She paused, evaluating the data the sensors were detecting. "It is my opinion that they will find them unsuitable. Aquatic lifeforms are difficult to adapt to the Borg's atmospheric environment, and their technology is most unremarkable."

"Lucky for them," Nog mumbled at the helm.

T'Shanik lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me, sir, but could you define what the Borg consider an 'adequate sampling'?"

Janeway glanced at the Vulcan, apparently in approval, and then turned her attention toward the science officer, obviously wanting to know the answer to that as well.

Seven considered it. "I would speculate that the major city located in the northern hemisphere would be of sufficient size," she said calmly. She was abruptly aware of a profound silence that fell over the bridge. With the possible exception of T'Shanik, who appeared suitably fascinated by Seven's explanation, the rest of the crew, including the captain, stared at her with something akin to horror on their faces.

"Ops, what is the population of the city in question?" Janeway asked sharply.

"Sensors detect approximately three-point-five million biological entities," T'Shanik reported.

"We have to stop this," Zar burst out, half rising from his seat.

Janeway motioned him back down impatiently, her eyes never leaving Seven's. "You're telling me that the Borg have to assimilate three million people before they figure out their biology and technology probably isn't worth their time?"

Seven dipped her head. "That is correct."

"That's unacceptable."

Seven blinked. "Captain?"

"We have to stop this, Seven."

"Captain, we cannot."

"Why not?" The tone was growing colder with every utterance.

Seven tried to find the words that would convince Janeway, particularly when the captain had that determined look in her eyes. "The only way to stop the sphere from carrying out its instructions would be to destroy it."

"That would be a bad thing?" Nog offered.

Seven glanced at him briefly before dismissing the comment. "Assuming Millennium is capable of destroying or disabling the sphere beyond its ability to repair itself ... which is unlikely ... the Borg will dispatch a cube to determine the reasons for the sphere's sudden removal from the Collective. That could take another decade or so, depending on the availability of vessels and the priority of expansion in this sector, but when the cube does arrive, the Borg will conclude that the species on the third planet is somehow responsible and will assimilate the entire planet in an attempt to discover the nature of the threat and eliminate it."

Again, there was a horrified silence.

"So we have to sit here and do nothing while the Borg assimilate three million people?" Ro said, just to clarify for anyone who wasn't paying attention.

Seven tilted her head. "I would suggest continuing our mission rather than remaining to observe," she offered reasonably. "The longer we remain, the greater the danger of the sphere's sensors detecting us."

Janeway's face went still, and Seven decided that she had said something wrong. She did not sigh when the captain rose to her feet, but she wanted to.

"I want all senior officers in the conference room," Janeway snapped. "I'm not prepared to accept that this situation is beyond our ability to influence."

Of course she didn't, Seven thought in annoyance. The captain had never truly respected the power of the Collective, not as Seven thought she should. As she rose impassively to her feet and followed the captain into the large room located just off the bridge, the young woman wondered how much difficulty this particular situation would pose. Zar hesitated long enough to access the comm system and instruct the beta shift to report early for their duty shift.

"Suggestions?" Janeway demanded, seated at the head of the large conference table as she looked sternly around at her senior staff. "Opinions, recommendations?"

T'Shanik lifted her brow. "Are there any alternate options, Captain?" she asked logically. "Lt. Hansen's assessment of the situation was quite succinct."

"There are always options, Lieutenant," Janeway told her firmly.

Seven knew that wasn't true but Janeway certainly liked to think it was.

"Tactical?"

Ro frowned, her narrow features serious. The ridges on the bridge of her nose wrinkled as she thought. "Millennium has a significant advantage in both weapons and shields compared to Voyager, but there's no way of knowing what new technology the Borg have assimilated since the last time we ran into them," she said.

Zar shot a glance at Seven. "Lieutenant, it's my understanding that when you were assimilated a second time, you ended up destroying a holographic queen and deleted the program that would reactivate any replacement. Yet Voyager ran into another queen when an attempt was made to steal a transwarp coil. Was that a hologram as well?"

"No," Seven said shortly. "Despite my success at deleting the holoprogram, obviously, the Collective had some form of backup system in place that was beyond my reach." She paused. "The new queen displayed the exact same personality as the original. It is possible that any drone who becomes queen is imprinted with those particular traits while being activated, so it is always as if it is the same queen."

Janeway raised an elegant finger. "Let's not get lost in irrelevancies," she said. "Unless the queen happens to be on that particular sphere, we shouldn't have to worry about her."

"However, the second we attack the sphere, the Collective, and therefore the queen, are going to know that the Federation is back in the Delta Quadrant." Ro lifted her chin. "It's bad enough to be designated as a threat by the Borg, but if I remember correctly, the queen has personal issues with you and Seven."

"Commander Ro is correct," Seven said, greatly alarmed by the new concern the Bajoran had presented. "It is even more imperative that we not interfere with the sphere. If our presence is detected, the queen will dispatch a cube immediately to this sector rather than wait for one to become available."

"Are you that frightened of the queen, Lieutenant?" Zar asked.

Seven glanced at him, surprised by the question. "I respect the power and threat of the Collective," she said in a tone that indicated only an idiot would not.

Janeway shook her head. "What did Arturis call them? A force of nature. Like a tornado on the horizon, it's best to get out of the way." She inhaled deeply. "I don't like that option. It means that three million beings will suffer the consequences."

"It's better than the billions of others that live on the planet," Nog offered. He was becoming more comfortable about speaking up in meetings. That confidence showed in the way he carried himself, his small shoulders square while his lumpy features were calm and intent. "What good is it if we keep a single city from being assimilated now only to have the Borg return a few years down the line and assimilate the whole planet? Where's the profit?"

"We could warn the planet of what's coming," Ro said. "They could use that time to prepare ... or evacuate."

"The Prime Directive prohibits contact with pre-warp species," T'Shanik pointed out.

Janeway's features altered subtly. Seven knew that meant the captain had been reminded of an unpleasant reality; undoubtedly the fact that she answered to Starfleet Command in a more immediate fashion than she had on Voyager. Otherwise, Seven doubted that the Prime Directive would be much of an issue to Janeway. Her adherence to it tended to be of a somewhat haphazard nature.

"What if we could ... I don't know ... fool the sphere," Zar offered slowly. "Convince it somehow that the planet isn't worth assimilating before they take a whole city."

"This is how the Collective acquires information," Seven told him. "They are not like Starfleet who studies a species before deciding they are worth having as a part of the Federation." She felt oddly defensive for some reason, though she didn't know why.

"Can't they acquire the information differently?" Zar countered.

At one time, Seven had believed such a thing possible when she was contemplating the offer to become the Borg queen. She thought that once she was in charge, she could change the Collective's mandate, alter its method of interaction with the rest of the galaxy. Unfortunately, once she became One of Many, she was no longer concerned with Human sensibilities, and despite its brutality, she discovered this was the most efficient method the Collective had to add to its perfection. Incorporating millions of minds would enable the Collective to fully assess the alien species. Besides, it was entirely possible that with enough attempts, the aliens could eventually be adapted to breathe air with cybernetic implants rather than gills. It might take hundreds of thousands of casualties for the Borg to find a way, but if they managed even one adaptation, it would be considered a success because it would lead to the assimilation of billions of minds. For the Collective, it was the only correct way to do things. But how could she explain that so that the rest could understand? Of course, even if she could, that didn't mean they would accept it.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she almost missed the rest of the discussion.

"It sounds like you have something specific in mind, Commander," Janeway said. "Please, share it with the rest of us."

"It's pretty insane, Captain," Zar said reluctantly.

"Just discussing an attempt to stymy the Borg could qualify for insane," Janeway pointed out.

"True," he said. He took a deep breath. "If a person is not considered a threat, he or she can pretty much walk around a Borg sphere unmolested, right? I've never done it, but I've read that other Starfleet officers have."

"That's true," Ro said. "Personnel from the Enterprise were the first to attempt it."

"Is it possible that one person could go onto the sphere, somehow get into their main computer and plant the information that this species isn't worth assimilating?"

Janeway tilted her head, regarding him doubtfully but considering the idea at the same time. "You mean, convince them that they've assimilated the data without them actually doing it?"

"Something like that."

Seven felt Janeway's eyes fall on her. "Seven?"

It was as if the weight of the world was suddenly on her shoulders. It was up to Seven to tell the captain that Zar's outrageous speculation was completely impossible and their only option was to leave as quickly as possible. Janeway would rely completely on the young woman's familiarity with the Collective and abide with whatever she advised, even if she didn't like it.

The problem was Seven thought she saw a way it could be done. She suddenly wished she was more Human. She would choose this moment to lie.

"In my cortical node, there is a ... 'memory' ... a section of data where the Borg assimilated a similar aquatic species that subsequently proved unsuitable as drones," she admitted reluctantly. "If that data was adapted by the doctor to incorporate the information we have on the species on the planet and the modified data was then added to the main plexis of the sphere's central system, it is possible the sphere would accept it as current data and move on."

She saw the captain's expression, saw the hope and pride that blossomed in her eyes and wished she had lied. She knew who would be required to go onto that sphere to carry out the mission even if the captain didn't.

And what the risk would be when she did.

"Are you insane? Do you know what being assimilated a third time could do to Seven?"

Pulaski stared at the captain with accusing eyes as she stood in the middle of sickbay, clearly not pleased at the task the captain had set before her staff.

"I'm not suggesting that anyone be assimilated," Janeway said impatiently, wondering why her CMO chose to be contrary at what seemed to be the most inconvenient times. Just once she'd like to bring something to Pulaski without having to argue about every aspect of it. "Just answer the question. Can you adapt the memory?"

"Yes, but only within the cortical node itself, Captain," Dr. Lewis said worriedly. He had been brought in as the expert on Borg physiology. "Seven will have to go over to the sphere and connect directly to the central plexis in order to upload the data. It might not be assimilation, but it could be the next best thing if the connection is detected by the sphere. Then it would become a two-way connection and Seven would be drawn back into the hive mind. It would be automatic, and done so quickly, no one would be able to break her free before it happened."

Janeway felt the information impact like a blow to the midsection. "This wasn't mentioned before," she said, outraged. Beside her, Seven lifted a brow and Janeway turned to her, searching the ice-blue eyes. "Why didn't you say something?"

Commander Zar was frowning. "The captain's right, Lieutenant," he said. "I expected this to be some form of remote upload to the central plexis. At the very least, I would be the one to go over there and transfer the data."

"That would not work," Seven told him without taking her eyes off the captain's. "You lack the ability to program the necessary data into the central plexis in a way that will not reveal what you are doing. A direct neural interface is the only way to implant a false scenario that would deceive the Collective."

"You're not going to risk yourself in this manner," Janeway snapped, angered at her spouse for her omission and, absurdly, at Zar for ever coming up with the idea in the first place.

Seven met her gaze squarely. "So you will sacrifice three million lives to save mine?" she asked in an eerily calm voice. "That is not a decision you can make, Captain. Despite the risks involved, the commander has offered a viable solution to the problem of the Borg sphere, one that I am perfectly capable of carrying out."

"Seven, it doesn't have to be you that does this," Zar said in an increasingly desperate tone. "We'll come up with another plan."

"The Borg will begin the assimilation process soon," Seven told him. "We do not have the time. We must proceed with the mission now, or abort it completely." She paused, her attention solely on the captain. "I am a Starfleet officer. I have not always comprehended what that means, but in this instance, I do. I must protect the helpless if I have the opportunity. You cannot order me to do anything else."

Janeway felt that strike right to the bone, to the very core of all she was. The woman and the captain within her had been in conflict many times before but never to this extent. All those previous incidents, the times where she had been forced to make professional decisions that went against her personal desires, seemed to have been mere flights of fancy. Indeed, her conflict had usually been based in imagined fears. This one was real and as solid as the deck beneath her feet.

Look at her, Katie, her little voice chose that moment to insert snidely. Isn't this what you've always wanted her to be? Well, now you've got it. Seven is every inch a Starfleet officer, prepared to carry out her duty no matter what the cost.

In this case, the cost could be her being assimilated again, drawn back into the Collective, and there would be no turning back. Seven could not be rescued from a third assimilation. It would be too physically devastating to her, too catastrophic to her frailer Human systems. She would have to remain a Borg drone until she died.

"I can't allow this," Janeway said, her voice a ragged shred of its normal command tone.

No one responded to that statement. It was a delicately balanced moment, one on a knife's edge of decision that would resonate forever. Furthermore, it was one of those especially rare times when everyone in the vicinity realized the significance of the moment. It went beyond a woman's feeling for her partner, beyond a captain's regard for her officer. It was what wearing the uniform was all about. Seven had obviously already made her decision about what that meant to her. She had every intention of going into the bowels of that sphere and connecting with the central plexis. Now it was Janeway's turn to put into actual practice what she had discovered about herself only a few weeks earlier.

Janeway swallowed. "But I guess I have to," she added, as if she had intended to finish the statement that way all along. "Dr. Lewis, perform the necessary adaptations." She suddenly felt very cold, very distant from everything that was happening. Her command persona was completely in charge. "Lieutenant, you'll be accompanied by Commander Zar and Commander Ro. They will operate as your support team and cover the perimeter while you're in the link."

Then, unable to watch as the Doctor began to perform the necessary alterations to Seven's cortical node, she moved over to the other side of sickbay, staring at the bulkhead as if she could somehow find some sense of sanity to what was happening. She was vaguely aware of a presence approaching her from the back, stopping just a stride behind her.

"Are you sure about this, Kathryn?" Pulaski asked in a low voice. "Even if she's only partially drawn back into the Collective through the neural connection, the damage could be significant and probably irreversible."

"We all have our duty, Doctor." Her voice was cold.

"That's not what this is about, Kathryn."

Janeway wanted to laugh, except she was afraid that if she did, she wouldn't be able to stop. "That's exactly what this is about," Janeway said tightly. "If Seven is not able to do what she's capable of doing, then she cannot serve Starfleet nor can she serve this ship."

"What about you?"

"Me?" Janeway inhaled. The air tasted like ashes. "I'm her captain."

Pulaski shook her head. "I'll never underestimate the Human capacity to justify the craziest actions," she said. "Seven doesn't really want to do this, you don't really want her to do this, no one on this ship would expect either of you to do this... So why the hell are you doing it?"

"Because if we don't, three million people will be assimilated."

"So what? I don't know any of them," Pulaski said plainly. "Neither do you. Even if I did, I wouldn't sacrifice my wife for them."

Janeway lifted her chin, still not looking at the chief medical officer. "We wear this uniform for a reason, Doctor."

"Those are just words, Kathryn, semantics..."

"No," Janeway said, turning finally to pin Pulaski with her ultimate command glare, the strongest she was capable of projecting. It could singe the paint off bulkheads. It was even capable of making Pulaski take a step back. "They're not just words, Doctor, they represent our life, Seven's and mine. It's easy to talk about what the uniform means in the abstract. These are the times when we have to wear it in reality. If you can't understand that, then you know nothing about me, or what Starfleet is."

"In any event, I have every intention of completing my mission without being assimilated," Seven said, having come in on the discussion at the end. She faced the captain. "I am ready."

Janeway looked over at Lewis. The EMH appeared as worried as his holographic features were capable. "Doctor?"

He made a show of exhaling. "I've added the sensor data to her node," he said. "She was able to meld it with the section of memory that is most similar to this situation. By uplinking it directly into the plexis, it should be perceived as the sphere's experience in this star system."

Janeway faced her partner. "Are you sure?"

Seven dipped her head. "Yes," she said. "This will work."

"You can't know that," Pulaski grumbled. "You're only hoping it'll work."

"This sort of thing doesn't offer a lot of guarantees," Zar said quietly. He shot a look at Seven. "We should go."

"You and Ro head for the transporter room," Janeway managed calmly. "I need to have a word with Lt. Hansen." She glanced at Pulaski. "Doctor, if we could borrow your office?"

"Be my guest," Pulaski invited grumpily, gesturing with a hand.

In the small office, Janeway darkened the transparencies that looked out onto the rest of sickbay, granting the couple some privacy. As she turned to Seven who stood at attention, her hands linked behind her back, regarding her coolly, she faltered. She opened her mouth, then closed it as she realized that she had absolutely nothing to say, and even if she did, it was unlikely she could have uttered it with any coherence.

Seven tilted her head. "Captain?"

Janeway just shook her head, her arms dangling weakly at her side, drinking in the sight of Seven as if she could keep her there in front of her forever by the sheer strength of her gaze. Seven smiled faintly, as if realizing that her spouse was at a total loss and reached out to her, enfolding her into her arms.

"Kathryn," she said softly, her breath ruffling the auburn hair.

Janeway took one shuddering breath. "This is very hard," she managed finally, her voice muffled into the front of Seven's uniform tunic.

"Yes." Seven held her very tightly.

"The hardest ever."

"Yes."

Janeway was finally able to move, to wrap her arms around the Borg's waist and cling to her as if she were going under for the third time.

"Oh god, Seven."

"It will be all right, Kathryn."

"It better be," Janeway whispered. "Dammit, Annika, you'd better come back to me intact."

"I shall endeavor to do just that," Seven promised. She paused. "I wonder if this is what my dream was about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I somehow sensed the approach of the Borg, and my subconscious translated that awareness into a dream," the scientist said thoughtfully. "It is possible there is still some subtle link between me and the Collective."

"I don't need to hear this sort of speculation right now, Seven," Janeway told her seriously. "If you're already linked in some way, then you absolutely can't go over there."

Seven drew back and looked down into her partner's eyes.

"You can order me to stay, Captain," she said softly. "I will obey."

"Is that what you want me to do?" Janeway demanded tightly as she stared at her. "Do you want me to take that step? I will ... in a second. Just say the word, darling. Tell me you're not prepared to go over there."

Seven regarded her closely, and then finally shook her head. "It would cost us both too much," she decided. "There are too many lives at risk, Captain. These aliens are not members of the Federation, and it is even possible that they could become enemies at some future date, but they are sentient beings. We have the opportunity to prevent a significant number of them from being assimilated into the Borg Collective." Seven bent her head. "That is worth my life, Kathryn. It must always be worth my life, for no other reason than for the millions I did assimilate."

Janeway felt her breath catch, the sob lodging in her throat though she refused to allow it to rise any further, swallowing it back with an effort. Carefully, she released her embrace and took a step backward, separating herself from her partner.

"Carry on," she said huskily.

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway did not watch Seven leave. She didn't dare because the words trembled on her lips to call her back, and it was taking all her willpower not to surrender to that weakness.

Zar materialized inside the close confines of the sphere, his first encounter with the Borg Collective on a personal basis. He had not served on any of the vessels involved at Wolf 349 nor had he been anywhere near the sectors of Federation space where the Borg had made subsequent incursions. All his information regarding them was second hand, and he wasn't sure what he expected ... except it wasn't anything like he had imagined.

It was dark, the illumination far lower than anticipated. Extremely humid, the air was heavy with metallic overtones, possessing the unpleasant scent of acidic compounds and, ironically, unwashed bodies. He found it difficult to breathe, gasping at his first few inhalations, and started abruptly when he saw motion from the corner of his eye. He whirled, his phaser rifle rising into firing position. Ro checked it with a hand on his forearm, holding the weapon in place, muzzle pointed at the grated deck as a drone moved past the new arrivals in his path, ignoring them completely.

"Easy," the Bajoran advised quietly. "Don't make yourself noticeable, particularly this early in the mission."

Zar was embarrassed at his reaction. "Of course," he said tightly. "Thank you, Commander."

"This way," Seven said, checking her tricorder as she started off down a corridor.

It was tight quarters, with the heavy metallic walls seeming to press in on them, dripping with conduits and tubing beneath a low ceiling braced with heavy beams. It was hard on the six-foot-six Zar who was forced to keep ducking the structural framework. Occasionally, a thin stream of escaping gases spurted out of odd little vents, surprising the Starfleet officers and making them even more jumpy.

It really was like an insect hive, the Cardassian hybrid thought with a stifled shudder. Like cybernetic ants in some subterranean hell.

The worst were the drones, their pale skin slick from the humidity, their eyes blank and inhuman as they moved about in eerie silence, performing unfathomable functions, even though they did not offer any threat to the Federation members. At least, not yet. The fine hair at the back of Zar's neck ridges was standing on end, and he could feel his f'lar ridges retract into his body in an instinctive fear reaction every time he passed one of the automatons.

He occasionally glanced at the women moving beside him. They appeared completely composed, as if they were out for a stroll in a park. Seven was obviously very familiar with such surroundings, and while Ro did look as if she was on patrol in enemy territory, she always looked like that; moving with a deadly grace, her dark eyes surveying her surroundings alertly. Zar felt like the only one out of place on this mission, and he wondered at his audacity. Had he really thought he could find his way through this warren of tight corridors and mystifying turns to the central plexis and do what only Seven could possibly accomplish? He would be lucky if he didn't run into a support beam and brain himself. In fact, he probably would have by now if it hadn't been for Seven and Ro leading the way.

The accounts he had read of Starfleet's rare opportunities of exploration through Borg cubes had not conveyed how enclosed the environment was. Zar was horrified to realize he was feeling a decided sense of claustrophobia, and hoped to hell that he was never assimilated. He'd rather be dead than have to work in the close confines of these surroundings.

"This way," Seven murmured as she turned down a corridor that seemed even smaller than the previous tunnels. Here they could only walk in single file rather than two or three abreast, and Zar discovered he was crouching slightly, his rifle held in a ready position despite Ro's previous warning.

The trio exited into a small room which seemed positively spacious after the corridor leading into it. Zar breathed a sigh of relief and straightened, moving his head to stretch out the kinks in his long neck as he looked around avidly.

There were lighter green lights flickering about on the walls around them, while in the center, a pillar reached into the shadows above. Zar could not see a ceiling, but it could be just beyond his fingertips when he stretched his arm up, or run all the way to the top of the sphere. The darkness was too intense for him to be able to determine which.

"This is where I will interface with the plexis," Seven said, her long fingers tapping out a sequence of commands on the touchpad.

"We'll stand by," Ro promised, taking up a position next to the young woman.

Zar took up a position on the other flank. "Before you do that, is there anything we need to know, Seven?"

"Do not interfere with any drone that may enter this space," Seven said, "unless it appears to be heading directly for us." She paused. "You must maintain a neural scan on me. If my brain patterns begin to overlap the wavelengths of the plexis, you must vacate immediately."

"We can't do that," Zar protested.

Seven turned to him with a fierce look. "You must," she demanded. "It means that I have merged with the interface and have been assimilated by the Collective. Trying to break me from the link at that point will only cause a reaction from the sphere and accomplish nothing. I will be Borg once more and you will be nothing to me but beings that require assimilation. Worse, the Collective will know everything I do. You would have little time to return to Millennium and inform them as to what has happened."

Zar swallowed hard. "All right," he said, not liking any of this. How could he have come up with such an insane plan? If Seven was lost, the only captain he had ever respected would never forgive him. Prophets knew, he would never forgive himself.

Seven took a breath and looked at Ro. "In the event of my assimilation, please leave my phaser rifle on overload. That will give you enough time to be clear of the force fields surrounding the plexis and be beamed out before it explodes."

"That will kill you, Seven," Zar blurted.

"I think that's the idea," Ro said quietly. She put her hand on Seven's shoulder. "You have my word, Annika."

Seven dipped her head. "Thank you, Laren," she said gravely. She turned her attention to the pillar. "Proceeding to uplink to the plexis."

She raised her left hand and placed it against the touchpad. From the mesh covering her hand, two tubules erupted like metallic worms, withering briefly before plunging into previously undetected orifices. Seven's head went up and her eyes went blank as the fingers of her other hand began a wild dance of motion over another section of the pillar, inputting instructions quicker than seemed humanly possible. Zar could swear that there were numbers and symbols flickering in the iris of her left eye, looking very much like a tiny computer viewscreen.

Belatedly, the first officer lifted the medical tricorder and began to scan the young woman, keeping it on a low level energy output to prevent detection from any of the sphere's internal sensors. Time passed with agonizing slowness as Seven communicated with the plexis, uploading the information about the aliens and their technology, merging it with the central databanks and leaving the sphere with the impression that it was currently assimilating the aquatic city and its inhabitants. The data filtered through the system along delicate threads, altering information and readings, leaving only the knowledge that the technology of these aliens was nothing particularly special and that the aquatic beings had completely failed to adapt to assimilation. The cybernetic respiratory implants were unable to take over the function of their gills, and this species was not currently worthy of assimilation nor likely to be any time in the future.

Zar's mouth was dry as he panted in the thick air. Sweat dripped steadily into his eyes and he blinked furiously, shaking his head to clear his vision. He didn't dare take his attention from the tiny screen of the tricorder, afraid that he would see the two signals start to overlap. It seemed that on a couple of occasions they did start to move together, and when he glanced at Seven at those instances, her face had stilled and her fingers had paused in their rapid motion. His heart would leap into his throat, but each time the signals hesitated, then moved back to their original position, as if Seven had deliberately fought her way back from the Collective through sheer willpower.

For all he knew, that was exactly what happened.

Finally, the tubules withdrew, disappearing back into Seven's flesh as if they had never existed, and the Borg sagged weakly against the pillar. Ro put out a supportive arm, holding the young woman upright until she managed to regain her feet.

"It is done," she said shortly.

"Time to leave," Zar said. "Let's go."

He took over supporting Seven as Ro took the point, using the scientist's tricorder to lead their way out. Seven managed a few steps before sagging again. Without hesitation, Zar threw the phaser rifle over his shoulder and swept the young woman up into his arms. There had been a time when he would have been thrilled to feel Seven's body against his, her arms entwining about his neck. Now, all he was concerned with was getting the hell out of this sphere and back to the clean, bright lines of the USS Millennium.

It seemed to take twice as long to get back to their beam-out point as it had to travel to the central plexis. At the juncture of the corridors, Zar carefully released Seven, supporting her as she tottered unsteadily against him.

"Contact the ship," he instructed Ro. "Let them know the download was accomplished." As the Bajoran nodded, he became aware of Seven abruptly stiffening next to him. Concerned, he looked at her, startled by the expression on her narrow features.

"What is it, Seven?" he asked worriedly.

Seven seemed unable to answer, her lips moving but no sound coming out. There was a sudden noise, a clunk of some sort, and the illumination around them altered.

Ro frowned. "I think the sphere is getting ready to move," she said worriedly. "We'd better get out of here."

"Not yet," Zar said, raising his hand as he stared at Seven. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"That drone," Seven managed, staring into an alcove.

Zar followed her eyes, squinting as he finally managed to locate a somewhat diminutive Borg regenerating in the shadowy confines of an alcove. "What about it?"

"It is my mother."

Ro made a brief sound. "Oh prophets."

Zar wasn't sure if the Bajoran was cursing or praying.

"Are you sure?" he asked, thinking it an idiotic question even as it left his lips.

"No," Seven said honestly. "However, she is Human and there is a certain recognition on an instinctual level." She paused, looking pained. "She greatly resembles my mother."

Their communicators chirped insistently. Ro glanced down at her tricorder. "Commander, Millennium is preparing to transport us back. The sphere is powering up its engines in preparation of breaking orbit. We can't stay here."

"Stall them for a minute." Zar looked at Seven. "Can we take this drone with us without causing any of the others to react?"

Seven blinked, appearing stymied for a second. "I do not know," she said doubtfully. "However, even if they do not react, the drone certainly will once it materializes on board Millennium."

"We'll need to sever her link to the Collective immediately," Ro advised tightly. "Otherwise, all this has been for naught. The Borg may not have been disturbed by us strolling about on this sphere, minding our own business and staying out of their way, but any drone suddenly dropping out of regeneration on a Federation ship is bound to catch their attention. It'll be like stirring a branch into an anthill." She paused. "Or rather, like knocking over a gigantic hornets' nest."

Zar was not reassured by the image. "We'll have to move quickly then, won't we?" He glanced at Seven. "Can her link be severed on Millennium?"

"If a level ten force field is placed around her as soon as we materialize," Seven said with a marked lack of enthusiasm, "that will prevent any signal from getting through until the cranial transceiver can be surgically removed."

Zar wasn't entirely sure this was a risk the captain would approve of them taking, but he was in command of the away mission. He had make certain decisions on his own. Taking a step closer to the drone, he placed his hand firmly on her arm and tapped his comm badge.

"Millennium, four to beam directly to sickbay."

"What's going on over there?" Janeway demanded. She paced about the bridge like a predator, padding up and down the various levels with unceasing intensity.  If she didn't growl, it wasn't because such a noise wasn't already residing in the back of her throat. She just couldn't afford to release it.

"The lifesigns read steady," T'Shanik reported in her even tones. "The sphere remains in orbit around the planet."

She had taken over the tactical station during the red alert status in the absence of Ro Laren, and although the captain wished she had a more experienced bridge crew, she discovered she was glad the Vulcan was there. It offered an odd sort of familiarity that comforted her. With three of her senior officers over on the Borg vessel, only T'Shanik and Nog were from the alpha shift, while the rest of the stations were covered by the beta crew.

At ops, Ensign Tarn lifted her head. "Captain, I'm receiving a hail from the away team," she said tersely. "The uplink was concluded successfully and they've arrived at the beam-out point."

Janeway felt the tension of her shoulders ease marginally. "Excellent," she said. "Get a lock on them. Make sure the resonance field is maintained to mask their signature and be prepared to beam them out as soon as Commander Zar gives the order."

"Captain, the sphere is powering up," T'Shanik announced. "It's breaking orbit and heading out of the system."

"Get the away team out of there."

"Commander Zar is requesting a delay on the beam-out, Captain," Tarn said.

"What?" Janeway stormed over, looking down at the ops board as if she could crawl through it and seize her first officer by the throat. "Why?"

"I don't know, Captain."

Janeway hesitated for a brief instant. Was someone injured? Worse, had Seven been sucked back into the Collective and the first officer was indulging in some last minute attempt to rescue her? She felt her heart pound in her chest. The ship could not afford to lose its first officer and chief of security ... even if it had already lost its chief science officer.

"Instruct Zar that there's no time left," she said in a tone devoid of emotion. "Tell him to prepare for immediate transport."

She walked back to her command chair, feeling oddly as if her head had become detached from her body. As she sank down into the cushions which molded themselves to her body, she stared at the viewscreen which had an image of the sphere speeding out of the system. It was all she could do to resist the urge to scream.

"Don't let the sphere get beyond transporter range, Lt. Nog," she said tightly. "Move out of the protection of the radiation cloud if you have to."

"Understood, Captain."

"Captain, Commander Zar is requesting a transport directly into sickbay," Tarn said suddenly. "He said there's four to beam up."

Janeway blinked. "Do it," she said. What the hell?

"We have them," T'Shanik announced. "Captain, a level ten force field has just been activated in sickbay."

"The Borg vessel is accessing a transwarp corridor," Nog announced almost at the same time.

"Get us out of here, Nog," Janeway said, confused but aware that her first priority lay with the safety of her vessel.

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway literally quivered in her chair as the ship ducked back into the band of radiation and gases that surrounded the spatial anomaly and granted them obscurity to the sphere's sensors.  She wasn't sure what was going on down in sickbay but a thousand scenarios flashed through her mind, all of them bad. Was the force field in sickbay to protect the ship from an assimilated Seven of Nine? Janeway felt sick. Would she have to release Seven back to the Collective for her own survival ... or could she do the unthinkable and make the decision to terminate the drone as Seven would undoubtedly want in whatever Humanity was left to her.

And why the hell had four people beamed back?

"The Borg sphere has entered the transwarp corridor," T'Shanik said calmly. "Sensors detect its departure. The corridor is collapsing."

"Activating warp drive," Nog said. "Course laid in."

"Warp factor seven," Janeway snapped. "Engage!"

"Warp factor seven, aye, Captain."

"No sign of new transwarp signatures or Borg vessels in pursuit," T'Shanik said.

"Wonderful." If Janeway's tone was slightly ironic, no one on the bridge had the tactlessness ... or the rank ... to notice it. She vaulted from her chair as if launced from a cannon, and strode rapidly for the turbolift. "T'Shanik, you have the bridge. I'll be in sickbay."

"Yes, Captain."

Janeway fidgeted as the turbolift descended, terrified of what she would find in the medical center. Would Seven be lying on a biobed, her skin shading into that mottled whiteness as ugly, metallic implants erupted all over her body, that long glorious blonde hair falling out in clumps onto the deck? The mental image was so strong that Janeway faltered as the turbolift doors opened, her legs suddenly unable to work properly. Bracing a hand on the bulkhead, the captain stumbled from the lift and managed to walk down the corridor to the doors leading to sickbay. She inhaled deeply just before she went inside, steeling herself for what she would face. No matter how much the woman inside her might be devastated, the command mask would remain firm and steady.

The shimmer of a force field temporarily obstructed her view, and she had to narrow her eyes to peer through it. Pulaski, Lewis and Spencer were surrounding a biobed, its contents obscured by their bodies. Shouting orders at each other, they worked frantically over the unseen form, operating with an urgency that did little to reassure the captain. Nearby, Lt. Commander Ro stood alertly, her phaser rifle raised and aimed at the bed, clearly prepared for a threat of some kind to erupt from that direction at any moment. Janeway took a quick glance around and detected Commander Zar off to the side, his tall form seeming to cringe away from the slightly smaller figure of Seven who was arguing fiercely with him, outrage radiating from every centimeter of her glorious body.

Janeway felt her knees go weak again.

She wasn't quite close enough to hear what was being said over the commotion going on by the biobed, but from the set of Seven's features and her shoulders, she knew that the young woman was upset and not shy about letting Zar know it. Somehow finding some mobility again, the captain moved toward them, feeling as if she were in a fog, relief pouring through her in such a strong rush that it threatened to overwhelm her.

"I don't understand, Lieutenant," Zar was saying, looking considerably disconcerted at Seven's ire. "You can't actually be telling me that we should have left her there."

"That is exactly what I am telling you," Seven said in that chill, unforgiving tone that left a body feeling as if it had been flayed alive by a thousand tiny icicles. Janeway had experienced it more than once, and did not envy anyone subject to that frigid blast of disapproval. "It was an unacceptable risk. The drone was irrelevant to the mission."

"I don't believe that for a minute," Zar responded. "And furthermore, I don't think you believe it either."

"You would be incorrect," Seven snapped. She opened her mouth to say more, her pose and attitude straying alarmingly onto the side of rank insubordination to a superior officer.

"Lieutenant," Janeway snapped, cutting her off. She didn't know what had Seven so annoyed, but there were certain lines she couldn't cross on Millennium. Both Zar and Seven appeared startled at the captain's appearance, as if their argument had been so heated and immediate, they hadn't been aware of Janeway's approach. The captain fixed her eyes on her first officer.

"Would you mind telling me what's going on here?" she asked with cold politeness.

Zar took a breath, glanced once at the Borg science officer, and then offered the captain his full attention. "The mission was successful, Captain," he reported in a neutral voice, completely unlike the tone he had been using with Seven. "The neural interlink was made and the false memory sequence implanted without incident. The sphere powered up and moved out of the system shortly after we vacated the central plexis and made our way back to the beam-out coordinates."

Janeway took a glance over at the biobed. An arm dangled over the side, covered in black and displaying tubing and metallic mesh. "What's with the drone, Commander?" she asked, a touch of sarcasm lacing her tone. "Did you require some kind of souvenir from your first encounter with the Collective?"

Zar straightened his shoulders. "An identification was made, Captain," he said, vaguely offended. "I couldn't leave a Federation citizen behind."

Janeway blinked as she considered that. Had the inconceivable occurred? Out of all the millions of drones in the Delta Quadrant, had Zar, on his first mission to a Borg vessel, recognized an acquaintance or perhaps even a loved one? The odds were almost beyond calculation but stranger things had happened. She supposed she couldn't blame him for his actions. Under the circumstances, she probably would have done the same thing. Hell, she had done the same thing, and she didn't even know Seven at the time. She just understood with a bone-deep certainty that she had to rescue her.

"I see," she said evenly. "You decided to rescue this drone, even if it risked the mission. What about the threat to Millennium?"

"That was considered, Captain," he said smartly. "However, I believed that our crew was capable of handling it. It was a command decision and I stick by it."

She kept her eyes on his for a long moment before finally inclining her head in a brief nod. Looking back at Seven, her face softened. "Lieutenant, do you have anything to add?"

"It was a foolish gesture, based on emotion and Human foibles," Seven said tightly, glaring at Zar. "You are weak."

"Seven!" Janeway was appalled and realized that this situation must have the young woman considerably more upset than she first thought. No matter how strong her familiarity with the Borg and the very real danger they posed, she shouldn't be acting like this. Perhaps being linked to the Collective, even if it was only peripherally, had shaken her more than anyone had anticipated, including the young woman. "That's enough."

Seven shot her a dark glare, and then subsided. "Yes, Captain."

Janeway shook her head and turned to look at the biobed. The doctors appeared more relaxed, less frantic with their motion as Ro Laren used a hand phaser to destroy a bloody metallic device that had been deposited on the tray.

The cranial transceiver, Janeway decided. Now that the drone was severed from the Collective and could not transmit any kind of signal indicating its whereabouts or its situation, the real work could begin. The level ten force field dropped and a new one was raised, a biofield needed to maintain a sterile area for the doctors as they resumed their operation.

"Captain," Ro acknowledged coolly as soon as she finished destroying the Borg communications device. "The mission was a success."

"So it seems," Janeway said. She looked the Bajoran over, noting how weary she looked. Perhaps someone else should have been assigned to go over to the sphere, but there was no one else on the ship that the captain trusted enough to watch over Seven's well-being in such a situation.

"Get some rest, Commander," Janeway said kindly. "You can delay that other report I requested for a day or so."

Ro looked as if she were about to argue, and then subsided with a brief nod. "Yes, Captain."

Now I know she must be tired, Janeway thought in dismay. That, or the Bajoran had absolutely nothing to report regarding the investigation.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Ro?" Janeway asked.

"What security measures do you want put in place regarding Seven's mother?"

"Seven's what?"

Seven stood in sickbay, looking down at the drone who was lying so helpless and small on the biobed. There was an uncomfortable familiarity to the entire situation that forestalled any emotional resonance within her.

"Are you certain this is not another member of Species 343?" she demanded, thinking of the Mimic who had fooled her before.

"According to the good EMH, apparently not," Pulaski responded curtly as she and her staff worked to remove the rest of the drone's surface implants before placing her in a regeneration cubicle where she would be injected with special nanoprobes designed to restructure the internal systems and begin her adaptation back to Humanity.

Lewis lifted his head long enough to shoot the CMO a poisonous look before glancing over to where Seven and the captain waited outside the force field. "The equipment on this vessel is far more sensitive than any on Voyager, Seven," he assured her. "And this time, we knew what to look for. The genetic tests were conclusive. This is unquestionably your mother."

Janeway's hand was on the Borg's elbow and she squeezed lightly. "This is so unbelievable."

"The odds of such an occurrence are ... astronomical," Seven agreed faintly.

She wasn't sure what she should feel. She had essentially gone through this before, and it seemed somewhat redundant to experience the myriad of emotions a second time. What little she did feel lacked intensity. It was unreal, as if it were happening to someone else rather than to her.

Pulaski stepped away from the table, said a few words to the other doctors in a low tone, issuing further instructions, and then moved toward the observers, pulling off the surgical hat and mask that had covered her snowy hair.

"In my office?" she requested, an invitation rather than a summons.

The two women followed her inside and the doctor dropped into her big leather chair, regarding them with a touch of sardonic humor. "The drone is progressing nicely," she said. "I anticipate having most of the surface implants removed tonight and the more intrusive ones over the next few days. Unlike Seven, who grew up around her implants, making them more crucial to her vital organs, this drone was assimilated as an adult and thus will not have the same dependence on them. I believe we'll be able to free her completely."

"How long?" Janeway asked.

Pulaski spread her hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "A few days, perhaps a week. Commander Kes may provide a more educated opinion on that." She glanced at Seven. "It's my understanding that the patient has been assimilated for a long time?"

"For more than twenty years," Seven said woodenly. "She is my mother, Erin Hansen."

Pulaski nodded briefly. "So I was told, but things were moving quickly and I didn't get all the details. Lewis seemed more concerned at doing molecular and sub-atomic scans to determine her identity than he was at filling me in."

"It's not the first time we've encountered this," Janeway said shortly.

"I gathered that, as well," Pulaski said. "In the meantime, there's not really anything that you can do here. Certainly, she won't be communicative or mobile for a few days. You should go back to your quarters and get some rest. Frankly, Seven looks about out on her feet." She paused and leaned forward as if suddenly struck by a thought. "Are you experiencing any aftereffects from being linked to the central plexis, Seven?"

Seven blinked. "No," she said. At the time, it had been a mentally and physically exhausting task, but now it had faded into the background.

Pulaski regarded her with concern. "Nonetheless, I want you to come in for a full physical tomorrow," she ordered. "Just to be on the safe side. I'd order it for now but the fact is, Spencer and I are both tired, and the EMH is going to be busy with the drone for most of the night. It would be better to do it tomorrow after we mere Humans have had a good night's sleep."

"That's a good idea," Janeway said, rising to her feet. "Doctor, keep me informed of any new developments."

Belatedly, Seven followed the captain out of the doctor's office and into the corridor outside sickbay. She felt somewhat detached from herself as the turbolift carried them to deck three and their quarters, moving on automatic rather than through conscious effort. After she took a seat on the sofa, Janeway perched on the plexiglass-topped coffee table and peered anxiously into Seven's face, reaching out to take the Borg's hands into her own with a warm grip of support.

"Darling?"

"The person in my dream," Seven said dully. "It must have been my mother."

"Perhaps," Janeway allowed. "I don't think it matters now." She paused. "How are you feeling?"

Seven shook her head. "I am ... unsure. Very little at the moment."

"This is a very stressful time," Janeway allowed. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to see your mother on that sphere and realize you had a chance to rescue her."

"That was Commander Zar's decision," Seven corrected flatly. "I would not have brought her back."

Janeway blinked, then looked disturbed. "You mentioned that in sickbay but I guess I didn't pay as much attention to what it meant as I should. Why not?"

"Kathryn, my life is here with you," Seven said intently. "You, Gretchen and Phoebe are my family, my immediate collective. The others on Millennium and Earth, the people I care for make up the rest of my peripheral collective. I would not imperil that for anything or anyone, not even the parent who bore me. Bringing her back with us could have invalidated the entire mission and endangered the ship by drawing attention to it. The Borg would not care about the whereabouts of a single drone, but they would be greatly interested in the ship's technology surrounding it. The drone should have remained where it was."

"Annika, she's your mother."

"That is irrelevant," Seven said stubbornly.

Janeway just stared at her, then shook her head in obvious denial of the young woman's defiant stance. "I remember how torn up you were after that mess with the Mimic," she said in a very gentle tone. "I know in your heart that you would have rather lived the lie that she was your mother than for me and B'Elanna to have uncovered the truth. Now suddenly, you expect me to believe that you have no interest at all in your real mother lying down there in sickbay? That you could care less that Zar had brought her back from the sphere when you beamed out? That, in fact, you were opposed to it?"

"It is not that simple, Kathryn," the Borg said, searching for the words that could convey her sense of dispassion toward what was happening. "I came to terms with my feelings toward my mother after the incident with the Mimic. Furthermore, I dealt with the resentment I held toward my parents when I met with their alternative selves the last time we encountered Captain Johnson and Dr. Hansen. In some significant way, I achieved closure with both myself and with them. Now, it seems that I am expected to develop some kind of bond with this being, but I do not believe it is possible for me to feel anything. It is as if I have already used up all the relevant emotion long ago and there is nothing left for the presence of my real mother."

Janeway squeezed her hands lightly. "It's a little early in the game to be reaching such a conclusion, Annika," she said kindly. "The fact is you don't know this woman. The Mimic was only an idealized version of what your expectations, desires and fantasies wanted a mother to be. Meanwhile, the Erin Hansen of the alternate universe was never assimilated and is also a completely different person. Give yourself a chance to become familiar with whomever it is that's lying in sickbay right now. Then you'll have a better idea of what you can or cannot feel for her." She offered a bit of a crooked smile. "And Annika, no one is expecting anything of you. Not your crewmates, not your friends, and certainly not me. If you're expecting something of yourself, then perhaps there's a connection forming already, whether you want it to or not."

Seven leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest. "I do not wish to discuss this any further," she said with cold determination.

Janeway started to speak, paused and then dipped her head. "It's your call. In any event, I doubt that I can say anything now that I didn't the last time we went through this. All I can say is that I'm here for you, darling. I'm always going to be here for you, no matter what else happens."

Seven softened and felt some of the chill inside her thaw a little. Janeway sensed it and closed the distance between them, moving from the coffee table to the sofa where she wrapped her arms tightly around the young woman.

"I love you, Annika."

Seven huddled into the embrace, wrapping her own arms around the smaller, more compact Janeway. "I love you, too, Kathryn," she said huskily.

They sat for several moments on the sofa and Seven managed to find comfort in the captain's physical closeness.

"How bad was it?"

The question surprised the Borg who had been thinking of many things, the thoughts and emotions chasing each other around in her head like an Irish setter after a ball.

"Finding my mother?"

"No, linking with the Collective again," Janeway said softly. "That's becoming lost in everything else that's going on."

Seven became quiet, thinking about it. "It was ... seductive, Kathryn," she said finally. "There is a peace in not having to think for one's self, to always know one's place and be surrounded by others of a like mind. I understand that the concept is very frightening for most individuals, particularly in Starfleet, but for me, who grew up with it, there will always be an aspect of the Collective that is very attractive. On two occasions during the link, I was strongly drawn to the perfection that is the Borg. It was not so much that the plexis attempted to pull me in as it was my own internal desire for order and discipline reaching out to it. The hive mind is home to me in some fundamental way that I do not entirely understand."

"Yet you've told me more than once that you hate the Collective and what it forced you to do as a Borg drone." Janeway appeared honestly perplexed, drawing back slightly to look her partner in the face.

"I know." Seven sighed. "I cannot explain the dicotomy, Kathryn. Perhaps it is possible to despise a thing, yet be irrevocably drawn to it at the same time. Even as I was attracted to the Collective, I had Ro promise me that she would see to my termination should it pull me in. "

Janeway considered that for awhile, obviously not liking the concepts inspired by Seven's explanation but attempting to evaluate them with an open mind. Seven drew the captain closer. "It is somewhat like your command, Kathryn," she explained. "You will always need to be a part of Starfleet. In the same manner, I will always be Borg. I know that is difficult for you to comprehend."

Janeway exhaled audibly. "It's probably more along the lines of something I don't want to comprehend," she admitted. She shook her head. "It frightens me to know how strong a hold the Borg still have on you, Annika. Not just physically through your implants and subsequently, your health, but in the very way you think. It influences your actions, sometimes blatantly, sometimes subtly. To know that connection will always exist in one form or another, that the Collective will always possess some part of you, is extremely hurtful to me."

Seven pressed her cheek against Janeway's temple. "As hurtful as knowing how strong a hold Starfleet sometimes has on you," she agreed quietly.

Janeway closed her eyes. "Touché. In any event, it's hard to accept."

"Can you?"

"I pretty much have to, don't I?" Janeway said carefully. "This is who you are. This is who you've always been. I think I've always recognized it even if I don't like it much. I've fought it in the past, and I'll probably struggle with it in the future, but maybe that's part of the process, as well. Whatever happens, however, I'll never want you to be anything other than who and what you are."

"I wish the same for you, Kathryn."

They held each other a while longer, and then, reluctantly, Janeway stirred. "Time for bed," she said, rising to her feet and reaching down to offer a hand to the young woman.

"Agreed," Seven said wearily, allowing the captain to pull her to her feet. Arms wrapped firmly about the other's waist, they moved into the bedroom where their bed and a certain peace awaited them.

Janeway woke before her spouse, opening her eyes in the dim illumination cast by the running lights on the hull outside the viewport above their bed. Beside her, Seven still slept, wrung out by the events of the previous day, shadows staining below her eyes. Janeway rose carefully to her elbow, propping her head on her palm as she studied her spouse. Seven was on her back, head turned slightly to the side, her hands resting lightly on the blankets covering her chest. Random strands of blonde hair trailed across her cheek, and her full lips were slightly parted, a flash of white appearing between them. Six feet of wonderful body, long-legged, full-hipped, generously breasted, sprawled over the bed and seeming to take up far more space that it should be capable of.

She was so beautiful ... inside and out, Janeway thought. Why did the universe have to keep coming up with new ways to hurt her?

Between one breath and the next, Seven was awake, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal pupils that expanded in the low illumination until they were black pools filling her eyes.

"Did I wake you?" Janeway asked, reaching out to touch the young woman's cheek, stroking the silky skin lightly with the ball of her thumb as her palm cupped Seven's ear warmly.

"No," Seven said shortly. "My rest period had ended." Her gaze shifted to the chronometer above the bed, noting the time, and then back to Janeway's face. "You were watching me as I slept?"

Janeway grinned crookedly. "One of my favorite pastimes." Her thumb inadvertently strayed too close to the starburst at the hinge of Seven's jaw and the young woman instinctively flinched, still sensitive to having her implants touched, even after all this time, and even by her beloved spouse. The captain waited until Seven had settled before running the back of her thumbnail along the metal ridge with delicate tenderness, knowing the kind of trust she enjoyed to be so intimate with the young woman.

"I enjoy watching you, as well," Seven told her. There was a pause as they stared at each other. "You are remarkably lovely in the morning, Kathryn."

Janeway smiled broadly. "With my messy hair and crusty eyes and dried drool on my chin?"

Seven eyed her with cool assessment. "Yes."

That incited a laugh and Janeway leaned down, covering that full mouth with her own, kissing her deeply. Seven's arms slipped around the captain's neck, holding her close as she returned the kiss, her tongue slipping out to caress Janeway's bottom lip. They fully indulged the moment before finally parting, regarding each other with lazy appreciation. Janeway's heart rate had increased significantly, and little tingles radiated through her.

"Is my mother really in sickbay?"

The question caught Janeway off guard and she needed a second to recover, her passion dampened but not extinguished.

"Yes," she said carefully, studying her spouse.

"I ... thought it was yet another dream."

Janeway lifted a brow. "Did you really?"

Seven lowered her eyes. "I hoped it was another dream."

"It will be fine, darling," Janeway said seriously. "Everything will work itself out."

"How can you be so sure?"

The captain tilted her head. "I can't," she admitted honestly. "But you're strong and I'm with you every step of the way and nothing's beaten us yet, so I can't believe this will either."

Seven thought about that and it seemed that the declaration cheered her. "Thank you, Kathryn."

Janeway stroked her cheek. "You're welcome." She stared at her, allowing her thumb to trail down Seven's neck, drawing it along the lovely line of her throat, over the soft hollow at the base then smoothed over the smooth plane of her chest. Pushing aside the bedding, the fingers continued on their lazy path into the warm valley between Seven's breasts, pausing as Janeway checked her partner's response to her caress.

"Why did you stop?"

Janeway smiled as she realized no objections were forthcoming. "Just appreciating the moment."

As she cupped the full breast, holding the soft weight of it in her palm like a cherished treasure, she leaned down to kiss her partner, initially a mere brush of her lips over Seven's, then capturing her mouth possessively. The Borg made a pleased sound in her throat, her arms tightening on the captain's neck, holding her close in an indication that Seven was fully enthusiastic about Janeway's nonverbal suggestion as to what they could do to pass the time. A small part of the captain did wonder if Seven's enthusiasm was partially a matter of her needing a diversion, but Janeway didn't let it stop her from intensifying her caress, seeking out the nipple and rolling it between her fingers, squeezing it lightly, teasingly. It hardened immediately and Seven pressed into the captain's hand, wanting more.

Janeway complied, lifting her head from the Borg's lips only to lower it to her chest, her mouth closing over the other nipple, ravishing the rosy bud with tender intimacy. Seven uttered another pleased sound, her arms holding the captain's head to her, her fingers raking through the auburn hair in mute encouragement. Janeway's hands, meanwhile, were stroking the young woman over her stomach and hips, fingers raking briefly through the thin, blonde hair at the apex of her legs before running lightly along her thighs. Every caress was as tender and as loving as Janeway knew how to make it. Seven required more than passion at the moment, she needed caring as well, the sense that she was being cherished as well as desired.

When she finally urged the young woman's legs apart, dipping down to touch the heated moisture between them, Seven responded with a soft cry, her hips arching up to eagerly receive the caress. The silky wetness flowing over her fingers was an inducement Janeway could not resist, and she quickly moved her head down to the source, turning her body to reach the heady combination of scent and taste. That was all the invitation Seven required and she seized Janeway's hips, pulling her over on top of her with little effort and burying her face between the captain's thighs.

The captain made an involuntary yelp of surprise and appreciation before returning to her feast, her attention sorely divided between pleasuring her lover with her mouth and at being pleasured in turn, Seven's tongue dancing over her with increasing intensity and demand. It was difficult to maintain her focus, and only from long practice was the captain was able to bring Seven to that place of readiness, that breathless edge of release even as Seven did the same for her. Janeway could feel the muscles of the young woman's thighs trembling beneath her hands, felt the incipient spasms lance her own groin before they were swept up in mutual rapture. She moaned happily into the vulnerable flesh as she shuddered from the delightful pulsations, feeling her partner respond in similar fashion, jerking spastically against her mouth.

Timing was everything, she thought indolently as she kissed the inside of Seven's thighs, the two women relaxing against each other in the blissful aftermath. Moving lazily, they rearranged themselves so that they were curled up in the center of their bed, snuggled into each other as if seeking warmth from the chill of the night.

Janeway's head rested on the Borg's shoulder, her arm and leg draped over the lanky body with possessive comfort. Seven's arm, wrapped around the captain's shoulder and back, held her tight to her side, her right hand tracing aimless patterns over Janeway's forearm. Occasionally, Janeway would feel Seven's lips brush the top of her head or her temple, and she closed her eyes, feeling loved and secure and like the most fortunate being in the entire universe.

"The time is 0600."

Janeway growled a bit at the back of her throat at the computer's announcement, but she did not resist the call to duty. When she felt Seven stir beside her, she raised onto an elbow and put her hand on the Borg's chest, keeping her on the pillows.

"You're off duty, remember?" she told her. "Take the day and relax, darling. Heaven knows, you've earned it."

"What of you?"

Janeway smiled. "I didn't go on the away mission," she reminded her.

Leaving Seven to lounge a little longer on the bed ... she was really becoming much better at giving herself time off ... the captain slipped from between the sheets and headed for the ensuite. After a quick shower, she dressed in her uniform and strode purposefully into the living area where she discovered Seven had not remained in bed after all. Dressed in a silky crimson robe, the young woman stood behind the counter, filling a thermos with hot coffee. A full breakfast waited on the table, and Janeway sank down in the seat, feeling pampered and somewhat guilty at how much Seven did for her at times.

"I thought you were going to relax," she said as she started in on the eggs and bacon, alternating with healthy bites of toast.

"This is relaxing," Seven told her in a reasonable tone. She sealed the thermos and placed it at the end of the counter where Janeway could pick it up on her way to the turbolift. Moving over to their workstations, she picked up the padd which had been programmed to download the night watch reports and brought it over to the captain before retrieving her own breakfast from the replicator.

Janeway scanned the information on the padd briefly, noting that there was nothing of particular interest other than the fact that the Doctor had finished removing the last of the drone's nonessential implants and had placed her in a stasis chamber where the specialized anti-assimilation nanoprobes would finish the job.

"Don't forget you have a physical in sickbay today." She decided she wouldn't bring up her partner's mother until Seven was ready to.

"I remember," Seven said. She glanced at Janeway, as if expecting more. Janeway flashed her a smile and tackled her breakfast once more.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling?"

"What do you intend to do with my ... with the drone?"

Janeway shrugged lightly. "The same thing we did with you. Get her started back on the road to Humanity. It'll be up to her how quickly the journey will be."

Seven nodded. "Kathryn, the Erin Hansen I met in the alternative universe did not display the same personality that the Mimic did."

"That doesn't surprise me," Janeway said. She was trying to be very careful with this. Seven had a look in her eyes that meant she could go either way when it came to her reaction to her mother. Janeway didn't want to push her into formulating any kind of internal conclusion before she was ready, and before the Borg had the chance to gather more information. "It's entirely possible the Erin Hansen in sickbay will be unlike either of them. Her life experience was considerably different after all."

Seven considered that. "You are correct." She paused. "I am ... frightened, Kathryn."

Janeway put down her last bit of toast and got up from the table, moving around it to reach her partner, slipping her arms around the young woman.

"It's okay to be afraid," she said quietly as she held her. "This really is uncharted territory despite your previous encounters with Erin Hansen, and it's good to mix a healthy bit of fear with all that curiosity and anticipation. It's just your common sense influencing your judgement. The key is not to let any one emotion dominate you."

Seven sat stiffly for a moment, then relaxed in the captain's embrace, leaning into her slightly as if seeking comfort. "I must try to maintain a balance in this situation."

"I'm sure you will," Janeway assured her. She checked the chronometer and hugged Seven once more before releasing her. "I have to go," she said, bestowing a kiss on the young woman's cheek. "Have a good day."

"You, as well, Kathryn."

"If you need to talk to me, come and find me, no matter where I am or what I'm doing," Janeway added over her shoulder as she picked up her mug of coffee in one hand and the thermos with the other.

"I shall," Seven promised. A beat. "Captain?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Janeway paused at the turbolift, looking back at her partner.

"I do not believe you would consider it a worthy trip to the Delta Quadrant if you did not bring back a spare drone or two."

Surprised but gratified at the unexpected joke, Janeway laughed.

"You may have something there," she told her, glad to see the flash of humor reasserting itself with her partner. The turbolift doors slid shut and she stared at them blankly as it carried her to deck one.

Only one more month before we're scheduled to return home, she thought. What else could happen?

Epilogue

Janeway gave her the bridge, Tarn thought morosely as she carried her tools through the gamma hanger after finishing the last of the fighters that needed cleaning. Not only that, the captain had handed the conn over to T'Shanik as casually as she did to Zar, obviously having complete faith in the Vulcan's abilities. A complete faith that had never been offered or shown young Tarn. After more than a week, it still stung.

Maybe if you had earned it, a little voice inside her prodded unmercifully, the captain would have some faith in you.

Shying away from that uncomfortable thought, Tarn stowed her tools and was about ready to head for her quarters when a member of the gamma squad hailed her.

"Before you go, Ensign, can you bring me down a copy of the latest astrometric charts for this sector?"

Tarn thought ungraciously that he could easily get a copy from one of his teammates or from the alpha or beta squad but she didn't argue. After all, she was the one who asked for extra duty, and if she was only being used as a gopher, she supposed it was no different than the way the pilots had been used in other departments on the ship not so long ago.

"No problem," she lied.

It wasn't far to the labs from the gamma hangar and Tarn made good time. There were few people around during night watch, the ship maintaining a sort of planetary cycle even though it was unnecessary while in space. The gamma shift tended to be populated with nocturnal species and those officers who either liked night shift or weren't ready to undertake the more crucial tasks of the other two watches. There were rarely any civilians around, and definitely no children running about. It made for a quiet ship since the larger percentage of crew was fast asleep. Even the illumination was kept at lower levels in the corridors during the hours between Oh hundred and Oh six hundred.

The decks containing the science departments were particularly deserted, and Tarn unconsciously hurried her step as she entered the empty astrometrics lab, moving over to the console where the navigational charts were plotted. As she downloaded the latest versions into a padd, she was surprised to hear a sound coming from another part of the lab.

Curious, she tucked the padd into her tunic and moved over to the far end of the lab. In a smaller room, a probe had been set up in anticipation of bearing a communications packet back to the Federation. Once every month, Millennium would open up a transition conduit and launch the probe which carried all the ship's updated logs, scientific data and current location. If Starfleet didn't know where its Frontier-class starship was at any given moment, then at least it had an idea of where it had been and what had happened to it in the previous month This was the last scheduled probe launch before the ship's return to the Alpha Quadrant.

Tarn stepped into the room, frowning when she saw the open panel at the side of the probe. It looked to her like someone had been tampering with the system, either deleting the data carried by the probe ... or adding to it. She took another step and abruptly became aware that she wasn't alone. She turned and was relieved when she saw who it was. Her lips parted, about to ask what he thought he was doing there since there was no real reason for him to be lurking about astrometrics at this time of night.

The blow took her on the side of the head, plunging her into darkness. She wasn't aware of being scooped up and flung over a shoulder, her weight borne easily as she was carried through a nearby corridor to the closest escape pod. She didn't notice the gloved hands which skillfully bypassed the control panel, preventing any signal of the pod being accessed from reaching the bridge. She had no way of knowing she was being dumped onto the acceleration couch and strapped in tightly with the harness. She didn't see the face that peered through the transparency of the door which had closed on her, or the mix of profound regret and unhappiness on the features as the launch sequence was initiated.

Nor could she feel the crushing acceleration as the pod shot off into the unending, uncaring darkness of space, blasting away from the oblivious Millennium which warped contentedly on its way, unaware of a lost crewmember falling further and further behind with every passing second.

The End

•  This is the 9th installment of the Millenium series.

• It was posted to the net on December 27, 2002

• This is one of the hardest stories I ever had to write, not because of the content, but because for the past few months, my good friend, my beta reader, and a person I love dearly has been slowly failing from inoperable lung cancer.  Susan became my beta reader during the second installment of the Counselor series.  She visited me several times in Nova Scotia, and during those weekends, we would swap ideas about J/7 to the extent that when she left, I'd launch myself into another ten or so installments.  She became an integral part of my life.  A great deal of joy has gone out of writing J/7, though I stick to it because she enjoyed it so much.  Regardless of what happens in the near future, I know she's always going to be looking over my shoulder, offering ideas.  This and so many other stories are dedicated to her.

• Thanks to Jay who stepped in to help beta this story.

Tenuous Ties
G. L. Dartt

She wasn't sure what drew her from sleep. Rising up onto her elbows, she opened her senses to the ship, gauging the ebb and flow of the crew, trying to pinpoint what had been altered enough to cause her to wake. It had not been a death, a fact for which she was truly grateful. The incident in engineering that killed ten crewmembers not long ago, seven of them immediately, had literally flattened her and left her lying on the deck in her office for well over an hour before she finally managed to regain her senses and make her way to sickbay. What she was experiencing now was more of a subtle disturbance in the fabric that made up the crew, triggered by a brief flash of fear and pain that clutched futilely at her mind before fading entirely.

Beside her, Tom Paris lay on his back, his sandy hair tumbling boyishly over his brows, his right hand resting limply on his smooth, bare chest as he slumbered peacefully. She smiled fondly and brushed a flaxen strand away from his eyes, gently so as not to disturb him, and then slipped from between the sheets. Finding a robe draped casually over a chair, Lt. Commander Kes pulled it over her diminutive form and went out to the living area of her quarters. The remains of a meal littered the small dining table, and two nearly empty wine glasses rested on the coffee table by the sofa. She spent a few moments tidying up, depositing the dishes in the recycler before she moved over to the mat spread out beneath the large viewport dominating the outer bulkhead. Outside, the stars seemed to streak by, distorted by the warp bubble of the ship, the black depths of space a cold comfort on this night. In the reflection of the plexiglass, she noted that her shaggy blonde hair was mussed. Self-consciously, she raked her fingers through it to straighten it, brushing it over the wing-like ears that swept up gracefully from the corner of her jaws, terminating in delicate points.

She lit a small lamp, and sank down onto the mat in a Vulcan meditation position. Closing her eyes, she deepened her breathing and cast her mind out, seeking some reason for her lingering unease. Touching lightly on the consciousness of the crew, she tried to determine what was missing, regretting that she no longer boasted the abilities she once had. Unable to pick out much from the mental buzz, apart from the few individuals with whom she had served on Voyager, Kes explored further, reaching out to those she knew best.

The captain and Seven were in their quarters, finally asleep, but unsettled. Thoughts of the Borg Collective and Seven's mother plagued the science officer, drifting through her dreams like wraiths. Janeway responded to Seven's restlessness with a deep concern darkening the threads of her subconscious as she cradled her partner protectively. A few decks below, Ro and B'Elanna lay curled together like children in the night. Lingering anger, determination and a sense of guilt colored their nocturnal visions and laced them with lightning, a storm raging beneath the surface of their slumber. In the ship's medical center, the Doctor's thought patterns were clean and cold, tinged with that unique compassion as he kept watch over his newest patient. Kes smiled faintly at this, recognizing that the EMH was indeed sentient, for how could she sense his thoughts otherwise?

Finally, on this deck, Tom slept peacefully, his subconscious warm with satisfaction and continued need for his lover. Yet deeper in his mind, his dreams were riddled with the fear of abandonment and the normal insecurity about her feelings toward him.

Despite all these uncertain emotions, Kes detected no real turmoil, nothing that she could pinpoint as the cause of her disturbance. She was forced to conclude that these were not the source of her sudden awakening. She opened her eyes and regarded the flame, annoyed that she lacked the ability to be more precise than that. There were so many on board this vessel that needed her counseling skills, yet were reluctant to avail themselves of her. It had once been in her capabilities to soothe all hurts, to ease all tensions ... to control all minds.

She smiled bitterly to herself. When she had been so powerful, easing the thoughts of those around her had been the last thing on her agenda. She had been far too occupied with being overwhelmed by her situation and resenting those who had helped guide her there. In any event, such controlling of minds, despite her need to ease the suffering of those she loved, would be just as wrong as the pain she had caused when the wild energies burned within her, consuming what little remained of her soul. Had she not managed to merge with Sek, her other half, she undoubtedly would have self destructed in a most spectacular fashion.

Knowing she could do no more, she leaned forward and blew out the tiny flame, rising gracefully to her feet and returning to the bedroom. For a moment, she stood in the doorway looking down at the man she had allowed into her heart. There had always been an attraction between herself and Paris, though neither had dared act on it. When first encountering him on Voyager, she had been involved with the Talaxian, Neelix, and to her knowledge and beliefs, Ocampa mated for life. She shouldn't even have entertained such temptation, and perhaps it was an indication of her aberration that in the deepest of her thoughts, she did wonder about what it would be like to join with Tom. It had occurred to her, more than once, that she was a mutation of some sort, a freak of nature who was able to access powers unknown to other Ocampa. She had even considered that she might be the next step in the evolutionary chain of a species that had been nurtured and developed by the Caretakers. In her merging with her other half, which had been stabilized in the form of a hologram, she had become an even stranger lifeform, unique unto herself.

She had no way of knowing what kind of existence that merging would provide for her. She was already ten years old, as old as most Ocampa could hope to achieve, and while she appeared to have reached the equivalent of a Human in her late thirties or early forties, Kes could tell that the process had stalled. In fact, she wasn't even sure if it was truly a result of physiology. Her clients tended to respect those older than themselves, equating age with wisdom, so it was entirely possible that, somehow, her unusual abilities had arranged her appearance of middle age as nothing more than camouflage for the sake of her profession.

There was so much she didn't understand about herself, she thought soberly. So much that she still had to learn. She missed Guinan, the bartender serving on board the Enterprise. The mysterious woman had acted as a sort of mentor to her during her assignment on the flagship, and Kes desperately needed that counsel at times. There was no one on Millennium who could provide her with the same guidance and advice.

There was a soft sound from the bed, an exhalation of breath as Tom turned over, his arm reaching across the bed, almost as if he were seeking her out in his sleep. She tilted her head as she regarded him. He was not perfect, she admitted to herself honestly, and while he had outgrown many of the faults that had caused him to break up with B'Elanna Torres, the ship's chief engineer, he was still limited in some ways. However, he possessed a good heart, often capable of acts of kindness and courage that could be surprising in their intensity. So much of his personality had formed as a result of his upbringing. Kes wondered why parents did not understand the profound effect they had on their offspring. Still, people had to be responsible for themselves, despite their background, and it seemed that on Voyager, Tom had learned that lesson and was becoming better at it each day.

He had told her that it didn't matter where her path would lead, or even how short it might be. He would love and cherish her in whatever time they could share. He also pointed out that as the ship's Wing Commander, he might actually be the one with the shortened life span. She remembered the earnest expression in his eyes, the sincerity in his words as he sat across from her, holding her hands.

"No one had any guarantee in this life, Kes," he said. "Everything is uncertain. We can always play it safe, always keep our hearts in a box. We won't get hurt, and neither will anyone else because of us, but we won't really be living, either."

She couldn't argue with that, and in the end, when he had reached out to her, she reached back, knowing only that she cared for him deeply and being alone was no longer what she wanted for herself.

Smiling faintly, she tossed aside her robe and slipped into the bed next to him, drawn to his warmth. Not quite awake, he nonetheless reached for her, wrapping her up in a strong embrace, but a gentle one, with an instinctive need to protect and cradle her. Closing her eyes, she settled next to him gratefully, and put aside the tiny, nagging doubt that something was wrong.

Pain lanced through her temple, and groggily, Elisa Tarn opened her eyes, the lids gummy from unconsciousness. It was frighteningly dark, with only a scattering of lights blinking steadily in the board in front of her. It took a few moments before she dazedly realized she was strapped into the pilot seat of a vessel of some kind. She could hear the soft hum of an impulse engine, higher in pitch than the warp engines of a starship. She lifted her head, wincing as the pain throbbed with the same rhythm of her heart.

Had she been in an accident? Has something happened to Millennium? Slowly, the memories trickled back, filtered through a haze of horror and disbelief.

She had been sent to astrometrics for charts. She had encountered someone who didn't belong in that part of the science labs, particularly at that time of the evening. When he saw her, he had immediately attacked, knocking her out. He must have stuffed her in this escape pod and jettisoned it. But why? And what had he been doing there in astrometrics during the gamma shift when it was supposed to be closed down for night watch?

Groaning, she reached up to feel the lump on her forehead, just below her hairline. It was tender but there didn't seem to be a break in the skin. She wondered what kind of weapon he had used. It certainly wasn't a phaser. Being stunned was a great deal more pleasant than this.

Blinking painfully, she regarded the board in front of her and then raised her eyes. The blast shield was closed, and Tarn had to grope for a switch to lower it, revealing a viewport. The large curve of a planet filled her vision, and she realized that the escape pod had powered down to a quarter impulse, beginning its descent into the atmosphere. Once launched from the main vessel, these escape pods would automatically seek out the nearest M-class planet, unless overridden by the pilot. Tarn's unconsciousness had prevented her from taking control of the navigational system while in space, and she knew it would be imprudent to try such a thing now. Unfortunately, once on the ground, the small pods were not designed to take off again. Wherever she was headed, she was going to be stuck there until someone came to rescue her.

Would someone come? She wondered dismally how she had traveled this far without Millennium retrieving its errant pod. That meant no one had missed her. Tears of frustration and fear stung Tarn's eyes, but she blinked them back, reaching deep inside herself for the discipline and comfort of her Starfleet training.

Concentrate, she scolded herself. There was no time to worry about things she had minimal control over, such as whether Millennium would find her or not. She had to focus on the here and now, do what she could not only to survive, but somehow improve her position so that she could see to her own rescue. She reached out and tapped the controls, unsurprised when the comm system proved to be offline. It was obvious that whoever had set this up had no intention of making it easy for her.

She blinked painfully. Who was she kidding? She knew exactly who had set this up. She was just having a great deal of difficulty believing it.

What was he thinking, she thought as she settled back in the pilot's seat, bracing herself for touchdown. What was his purpose? She suspected he had been tampering with the communications packet that was transmitted to Starfleet once a month. Either by removing certain information, or adding to it, but she didn't know why. What frightened her the most was that she may have discovered something beyond mere tampering, something worth killing for because, certainly, launching her into space in an escape pod was not done for the sake of her continued well-being. It was possible he only sent her off alive because killing her would have taken too much time, and undoubtedly, would have left evidence that security would have detected.

She caught her breath as the pod descended below the cloud cover and she had her first good look at the planet where she could expect to be for some time ... if not for the rest of her life. It didn't seem promising. There were no signs of civilization, lowering her chances of being able to send any kind of communication requesting assistance. The vegetation was sparse on the land she was flying over, the soil stark and black, while in the distance, she could see smoke or vapor rising from the surrounding mountains. That indicated the area was seismically active, but the fact that the escape pod was preparing to make a landing there meant it was the best of what must have been several undesirable choices. Tarn suspected that simple survival would be her top priority, with little resources left over for seeking a rescue of sorts.

Looking ahead, she saw a glint and realized it was a lake of some kind. The escape pod had sought out the most inhabitable and hospitable environment in the area, and Tarn braced herself for the impact. It wasn't bad, as these things went, but it was still a jolt, her teeth snapping together so hard, she was briefly afraid that she had chipped one.

For long moments, she sat in the pilot seat, staring through the viewport at the lake spread out before her. The pod had landed on a rise, presumably above any high water mark, offering Tarn a good view of the valley around her. Stunted trees, their bark black and gnarled, poked up from wisp-thin strands of grass, while large boulders, cracked and shattered, littered the area. Tarn took a deep breath and rose from her seat, moving back to see what she would have to work with.

She was relieved when she tracked down the medical kit in its customary compartment. Retrieving the tricorder, she scanned her body and carried out the instructions issued by the device. Using the dermal regenerator, she healed the cut on her head and eased the pressure from the slight concussion she had suffered. She also administered a full spectrum antibiotic hypospray, not only to prevent infection, but also to protect her from any alien microbes that might lurk in the planet's environment.

Feeling much better, she took stock of her provisions. She knew she could utilize the pod for a shelter for as long as she needed it, since it appeared to have landed in as protected a spot as any in the vicinity. The escape vessel was designed for six people with emergency rations for approximately six months. Various tools were provided, from shovels and axes to fishing tackle and snares. More advanced tools came in the form of tricorders, a few hand phasers and three phaser rifles. She activated the emergency homing beacon, uncomfortably aware that a vessel would have to be in orbit to detect it. The sabotage of the comm system was a more damaging blow than was apparent at first consideration.

She decided that her survival would be assured for the near future, assuming she was careful and there wasn't anything out there that wanted to make her a meal. She ran a thorough check of the atmosphere and determined that there were no poisonous elements in the primarily oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. The sulfur content was a little higher than she would have liked, but she suspected the volcanic action was responsible. It took little research to realize that there had been a major eruption on this world in the last few decades, probably on the scale of Krakatau on Earth. It was quite apparent that so much ash and debris had been thrown into the air that no growing season had occurred in the next year, and the growth of vegetation had been so severely affected that it was only beginning to recover.

Tarn hoped that meant there would be no further eruptions ... at least, not in the near future. She debated whether to go outside, conscious of how close the walls of the escape pod were and how cramped her quarters were. A quick glance outside revealed that the sun was much lower in the sky than when she landed, making it late in the day. She decided she would remain inside for the night, and explore her surroundings further when she had full daylight.

In the meantime, she activated one of the bunks on the rear wall, letting it drop open and making it up from the linens provided in another compartment. After that was complete, she took a seat in the pilot's chair and activated the onboard computer, instructing it to record. For the next hour, she recited the facts as she knew them, from the time she had been instructed to go to astrometrics to retrieve a chart, to this very moment, including the identity of her attacker and her speculation about why he might have been tampering with the communications packet. She knew she needed to get it all down while the details were fresh in her memory, as well as make a permanent record in case something happened to her. She filed it under as many security seals as she knew, which admittedly, weren't many, and hoped that whoever found it, in the event she didn't have a chance to present it directly to the captain, would be someone on the side of Starfleet.

By the time she was finished, the sun had set and darkness had crept across the bleak landscape. She did not activate the internal lights, choosing, instead, to sit in the dim illumination as she stared out through the front transparencies and watched a moon rise over the horizon. A second one, not much larger than the first, rose twenty minutes later. She wondered how much their gravitational pull affected the planetary crust, perhaps causing the seismic instability of the planet.

Concentrating on scientific puzzles kept her from thinking about her situation, and how very alone and afraid she felt.

Kathryn Janeway lay in the darkness just before morning watch, staring at the dim shadows of the bedroom around her. Cradled in her arms, Seven lay in restless slumber, the young woman twitching occasionally as she responded to dreams that were undoubtedly verging on nightmares. The captain hoped her presence was comforting, but somehow she doubted it. There would be little that would comfort the Borg at this point. After twenty-three years, Seven's mother, Erin Hansen, had been rescued from the Collective, and now her daughter was trying to come to terms with that new reality. Janeway wasn't sure what the outcome of the situation would be, but she knew her beloved spouse was in for a difficult time in the interim.

She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the top of her partner's head, rubbing it lightly along the soft cushion of Seven's hair. Slowly, she became aware that the young woman was murmuring something, talking in her sleep. It was a behavior that the starship captain had never encountered before with the young Borg. Barely audible, Seven spoke aloud, and the captain had to strain to detect exactly what she was saying.

"No ... Mama ... no ..."

Suddenly, Seven jerked, a convulsive movement that instinctively caused Janeway to tighten her embrace, trying to stem the uncontrolled motion, though Seven's greater physical strength made that futile. At best, Janeway was only able to hang on until her partner had stilled.

"It's okay, darling," she said quietly, hoping her voice would penetrate the fog of sleep. "I'm right here. Nothing's going to hurt you."

Seven blinked in the dim illumination, her eyes muddled, wide and fearful. It took a few seconds before she focused on her partner, and a few more before the frightened expression gradually left her narrow features.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway brushed her lips over Seven's forehead. "Bad dream?"

Seven exhaled and pressed closer, turning so that her face was tucked into the hollow of the captain's throat, her voice slightly muffled.

"I was dreaming of the day my parents and I were assimilated."

Janeway felt a very real pain in the vicinity of her heart, but she tried to keep her voice calm. "That's perfectly understandable, considering what's going on."

"It may be understandable, but it is not pleasant," Seven replied shortly.

Janeway kissed her. "No," she agreed softly. "I don't suspect it is."

There was a pause, a brief moment in which the young woman clung to her spouse, and Janeway was glad to indulge the protective embrace, holding her comfortingly, though disturbed at this blatant display of neediness from her normally strong and excessively composed spouse. Yet, as much as Janeway wanted to 'fix' this, to find a way to make it completely right, it was beyond her abilities, both as captain and as Seven's partner. The most she could do was offer her full and unconditional support, and be the shelter that Seven would undoubtedly seek when things became too complicated for her.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes, love?"

"How must I respond to this?"

Janeway pulled her closer.

"You'll know when it's time," she said as reassuringly as she could. "Try not to analyze it too much, Annika. This is something that you'll probably have to figure out as you go along, based on Erin's responses to you. Besides, I don't think any daughter really knows how to deal with her mother, no matter what the circumstances. Mothers always have a way of surprising you. Just remember how adaptable you are. That's one of your strengths."

Seven was silent for a moment, then seemed to relax marginally. "I will try," she said. Her tone was uncertain, but her body had lost the tautness it had displayed since waking from her dream.

Janeway nuzzled her lightly. "I know you will."

The lights came up with the announcement from the computer heralding morning watch and Seven pulled away, sitting up on the side of the mattress. Janeway rose to one elbow, reaching out with her other hand to draw her fingertips soothingly down the long, elegant length of Seven's bare back.

"Darling?"

Seven glanced over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"I'm here for you," Janeway said intently, meeting that pale blue gaze squarely. "You can come to me at any time, no matter what else is happening."

Seven tilted her head. "Even during a red alert?"

Janeway smiled faintly, but her tone remained serious. "Even then," she said, though that was unlikely and they both knew it. It was the thought that counted, however, and Seven's icy blue eyes softened.

"Thank you, Kathryn."

Rising gracefully from the bed, Seven reached out and picked up a crimson robe, drawing it over her body and concealing it from view. She did not look back as she entered the bathroom, the door sliding shut behind her, and Janeway slumped back onto the pillows, rubbing her eyes tiredly with her fingers. She wondered why, of all the spheres in the Collective, Millennium had encountered the one containing Seven's mother. The irony of it was too painful to contemplate.

She sighed and forced herself to roll out of bed. Disdaining her robe, she padded naked into the ensuite where the vibration from Seven's sonic shower set her teeth on edge. Ignoring it as best she could, she stepped into the stall next to the sonic unit, activating the hydro controls and luxuriating under the rush of warm water that erupted, splashing over her body and drowning out most of the vibration from next door. She shampooed her hair lavishly, rinsed it and shut the unit down, stepping out of the cubicle to retrieve a large, fluffy towel from the rack beside her. As she briskly dried herself off, she watched the ever efficient Seven, already dressed in her uniform, putting her long, blonde hair up in a tight bun. As the Borg fastened two golden pips onto her collar, she met Janeway's gaze in the long mirror over the sink counter, appearing slightly bemused by the scrutiny.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway flipped the towel back onto the rack to dry and moved over to the counter where a uniform was pressed and ready, a pair of boots resting neatly on the floor beneath. As she began to dress, she looked over at her spouse.

"I'm a little worried about you, love," she said, trying to keep the words light. "I don't mean to nag you about it, however."

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "I understand, Kathryn, but I will adapt to this situation as I have so many others," she said before she exited the bathroom.

Janeway should have been content with that, but she wasn't. Sighing, she finished dressing and followed her partner.

Out in the living area, Seven had already prepared breakfast, not bothering to ask the captain what she wanted, merely replicating some waffles, bacon and toast automatically and putting them on the table. Janeway didn't protest, accepting the choices as she sat down at the table, though she had been more in the mood for an omelet. As she forked into the offering, she scanned a padd containing reports from the beta and gamma shifts.

There wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The starship continued its exploration of the Delta Quadrant. Sensors hadn't detected anything unusual in the space around or ahead of them. Later in the day, the ship would pause momentarily and create a small slipstream conduit. A communications torpedo would be fired into it, the probe exiting near the Bajoran Badlands and DS9 where Starfleet would recover it. It was the last communication packet scheduled to be sent. Next month, the ship would be returning home to the Federation, its year-long mission of exploration ended.

Janeway wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it. On one hand, it would be good to be home for awhile, to be in familiar space and able to connect with family and friends. On the other hand, there was still so much to explore in the Delta Quadrant, and she felt a familiarity with it that perhaps another captain would not. She didn't know what Starfleet had in mind for their next assignment, but a large part of her hoped to return to this part of space, to continue this venture into the deeper regions of the unknown.

Of course, it might be beneficial for Seven to go home and spend a month or so in Indiana, she mused, sneaking a glance at her partner. Seven's relationship with her mother-in-law was deeply devoted, and Janeway suspected that Gretchen's level-headed approach to any situation would be far better for Seven's peace of mind at this time than Kathryn's inherent desire to make things right. Not to mention Phoebe's ability to make the young woman laugh. They were as much Seven's family as they were Kathryn's, and Seven probably needed that sense of connection right now.

Perhaps more than she needed one with the woman lying in sickbay. Though there was undeniably a connection there, no matter how much Seven tried to deny it, it was far from a typical bond between mother and daughter.

Seven rose from the table and put her dirty dishes into the recycler, running them through before replacing them in the cabinet set in the wall. Moving over to the counter, she mechanically prepared a thermos, placing it next to the door for Janeway to pick up on her way out, and then returned to the bedroom to finish her preparations. The captain knew the domestic routine the couple had in place was extremely soothing to the Borg. It was soothing to Janeway, as well. It gave her the sense that things were normal, that everything was completely under control, especially if she didn't think beyond the moment.

Janeway shook her head ruefully and finished up her breakfast, lingering over her coffee as she completed her scan of the night watch reports. She raised her head as Seven dropped a kiss on her forehead on the way out to the science department. A little later, the captain exited the turbolift on deck one, the thermos tucked snugly under her arm, and glanced around her ready room briefly before placing the coffee on her desk. She felt the familiar surge of confidence as she stepped out onto the bridge.

This was her domain, Janeway's ultimate place of power. She still felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach when she moved over to her command chair and settled into it, surveying her surroundings possessively. Perhaps she shouldn't be so affected after all this time, but it was equally possible that if that tiny thrill left, it would be time for her to leave as well. Perhaps that was why her counterpart in another universe, Kathryn Johnson, had lost her captaincy before desperately doing everything in her power to get it back. It was even possible, Janeway mused idly, that in yet other realities, her other selves had walked away from starship command for good after returning Voyager to the Alpha Quadrant, though she found that hard to imagine.

This was the only reality that mattered, however, and here, Janeway knew exactly who she was and what she wanted, in no small part because of the influence Seven of Nine had exerted on her life since being severed from the Collective. No matter what else happened between her and spouse, Janeway would always be profoundly grateful to Seven for that.

"Captain?"

Janeway blinked, chasing away her uncharacteristic flights of fancy, and focused her attention on her first officer, Zar Tulek, the Bajoran/Cardassian hybrid. Even though her chair was on the upper deck, as opposed to the pit where his station was located, he was tall enough that they were at eye level as he stood before her.

"Good morning, Commander," she said. "Anything I need to know?" They were speaking in low tones, and the rest of the bridge crew politely and professionally ignored the conversation between the two most senior officers on the ship.

"We need to take a moment to go over the latest security reports," he said. "Then I need your input on the bridge protective shield project."

Janeway nodded. A new modification in the ship's integrity field had individual force fields snapping into place around the bridge stations during unexpected or violent ship maneuvers. It was designed to prevent injury to those officers guiding the vessel, but, unfortunately, it also restricted the crew's freedom of movement at times when such abilities might be crucial. She had assigned a maintenance team to check out possible alterations of the modification, but since Zar needed her input, it was obvious they had run into a problem of some kind.

"All right," she said. "I'll schedule a meeting for eleven hundred."

The two officers went over a few more minor details before Zar went back to his station and Janeway settled in to supervise the alpha shift. A little later, she retired to her ready room to work on departmental reports before taking the meeting with Zar and the head of the maintenance team. Lunch was eaten at her desk and she used the rest of the afternoon to work on her own projects. She didn't contact Seven, nor did Seven contact her, but Janeway did occasionally check with the computer and determined that while her partner had spent most of the day in the science labs, she had visited sickbay on three separate occasions. To no avail since a hail to the medical center revealed that Erin Hansen remained unconscious. The captain knew that would do little to ease Seven's mind, and she anticipated another restless night from her spouse.

At the end of her duty shift, she and Zar went over the next day's duty roster as the alpha crew was relieved by the beta. Because the shuffle of officers entering and exiting the bridge made for very crowded conditions, both senior officers preferred to wait until the shift change was complete before taking their leave. It took a few moments after the bridge had cleared before anyone realized something was amiss, and it was T'Shanik, the ship's chief operations officer, who brought it to the attention of the senior officers.

"Captain?"

Janeway lifted her head and look over at T'Shanik who remained at tactical, obviously requiring some assistance. Zar followed her gaze and frowned.

"That's odd. Normally, Tarn is here to relieve her post early."

"Yes," Janeway agreed. "Hoping to impress us." She was not being sarcastic, merely honest about the young ensign's desire to reclaim her posting on the alpha shift, and hoping to accomplish it by a continual display of enthusiasm and professionalism. "This isn't like her at all."

The two officers moved over to T'Shanik who looked faintly bemused as she studied her operations panel. "I have attempted to contact Ensign Tarn several times," the young Vulcan explained. "There is no response to my hails, and deeper investigation reveals that her lifesigns have not been detected by the ship's internal sensors since oh one fifteen hundred hours."

"What?"

Shocked, Janeway leaned over the young Vulcan, peering at the data over her shoulder. "It says here that she's in the science labs."

"At least, her comm badge is," Zar agreed sagely.

The captain raised her eyes to meet the Cardassian's. "Commander, have a security team meet you there and find out what happened."

"I'm on my way."

As Zar strode briskly in the direction of the turbolift, Janeway looked back a T'Shanik. "Do you have any theories about this, Lieutenant? I know you and she are friends."

T'Shanik lifted a thin dark brow. "We are not friends," she said calmly, but with certainty. "We merely interacted within a social setting on occasion."

Janeway stared at her for a moment, surprised by the sharp...for a Vulcan...words. Despite her familiarity with Vulcans, she was the first to admit that she didn't entirely understand them. "If you think of anything, inform Commander Zar immediately. In the meantime, have Ensign Westlock relieve you."

"Aye, Captain."

Frowning, Janeway turned and looked back over her bridge. She had no idea what Tarn had managed to fall into now, and a sense of deep foreboding filled her mind. Whatever it was, the captain doubted very much that it meant good things for her ship.

Erin Hansen had been only thirty-six when she was assimilated, with a beloved husband and a six-year-old daughter. After twenty-three years, she seemed to have barely aged at all. A side effect of assimilation, Seven knew, though hardly one that would recommend it as a way to prolong one's youthful appearance. She found it difficult to breathe evenly as she looked down at this stranger who was her mother, the slender form curled up under the sheet in a fetal position, as if she were a child. It looked unnatural to Seven who was seated in the chair next to the biobed where sensors maintained a steady monitor on the woman's lifesigns.

"Seven?"

Startled that she hadn't detected the other's presence ... a clear indication she was seriously distracted ... Seven looked up to see Dr. Lewis. Originally the Emergency Medical Hologram installed on Voyager, the computer program had achieved sentience and, eventually, Federation citizenship, now serving as a civilian physician in sickbay. He and Seven had known each other for a long time, and she valued his friendship greatly.

"Doctor," she said, watching him as the sparse man leaned over Erin, scanning her with a medical probe and glancing over the results reading out on the console nearby, though he made no move to straighten the woman or otherwise reposition her in the bed so that it would be easier to scan her. "Why is she still unconscious? It has been more than a week."

He shook his head. "I'm not sure, Seven," he admitted quietly. "She's been through a terrible trauma. There's bound to be unforeseen consequences."

Seven pondered the words. "Are you saying that there is no medical reason for this?"

He put away his tricorder and focused his attention on the Borg, his dark eyes intent. "I'm saying that medical science doesn't know everything. This is completely new. No one, to my knowledge, has ever been assimilated for this long as an adult. The psychological repercussions..."

"This is a mental aberration?" Seven interrupted, appalled. She wasn't sure why that was so horrible to her ... except perhaps that she didn't understand it which made it frightening in the extreme.

"You need to speak with Kes," he advised with a sigh. "I can only look after the physical deprivation that your mother is suffering. The ship's counselor has taken over the rest of her case."

Seven began to respond and then paused as she heard the doors to sickbay hiss open. Turning her head, she felt a decided sense of relief when she saw it was the captain. It was so strong, in fact, that she didn't even mind that Janeway was accompanied by the ship's counselor. She didn't have the fondest of feelings for Kes, though she was much less antipathetic to the Ocampa than she used to be. She rose to her feet and felt warmed when Janeway immediately slipped her arm around her waist, holding her spouse comfortingly as she looked down at Erin with a compassionate expression.

"Kes has been telling me that Erin may take a long time to recover."

Seven blinked and stared accusingly at Kes who had the grace to look guilty. "I'm sorry, Seven, I should have spoken with you first," she said in a soothing tone. "The captain stopped by my office on her way to sickbay, and we've been discussing your mother's case."

"Why has this happened?" Seven demanded, a pressure building in her chest. "What is wrong with her? Why does she not wake?"

Janeway squeezed her tightly, stemming the rush of words as she tried to ease Seven's anxiety. "Let's take this into Pulaski's office," she suggested quietly. "Kes can fill you in."

Leaving the Doctor to look after his patient, the three women moved into the CMO's office. Transparencies looked out into sickbay, and Seven stood before them, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at her mother, waiting for the ship's counselor to answer her questions. She was aware of Janeway resuming her place at her side, hugging the Borg comfortingly.

"Erin is in a kind of catatonic state, Seven," Kes told her in a sympathetic tone. Seven did not want to look at her. She was angry with the counselor, as if this was somehow her fault, even though she knew it was illogical. "It's the result both of being assimilated and then of suddenly being severed from the Collective over twenty years later. Erin doesn't want to wake up. She's not prepared to deal with reality yet."

"Others did not develop this mental aberration after being severed from the Collective," Seven said tightly. She felt barely in control, wanting to scream,  to strike out at random. "There are many case records on file where assimilated Federation citizens experienced a quick recovery after being rescued from the Borg, including the captain."

Kes lifted her eyebrow. "They hadn't been joined to the Collective mind for nearly as long as Erin. It was easier for them to remember their previous lives, to regain their sense of self and resume their existence as individuals. Even then, Seven, most of those victims still experienced psychological side-effects for a significant period of time afterward, from nightmares to mood swings to actual psychotic episodes. The physical healing is actually the easiest part of the recovery."

"Yet, Seven was also assimilated for an extended period of time," Janeway pointed out, "She didn't take this long to regain consciousness." Her expression, as she stared through the transparency, was one that combined pity and horror in equal measure ... perhaps because she could easily imagine her partner as that slight form lying in the room if only the circumstances had been different.

"Seven is unique," Kes explained patiently. "First, she was assimilated as a child and grew up in the Collective. Those individuals who were raised as Borg, such as 'Hugh' from the Enterprise and the Borg children recovered during Voyager's journey, are far more adaptive than adults. Secondly, Seven was tapped as a potential replacement for the Borg queen, which provided her a different type of experience within the Collective."

Seven lifted her chin. "I remember..." she said haltingly, "the holographic queen said that my independence had been nurtured by the Collective rather than eliminated. The program was written so that the queen retained a certain individuality after being activated."

"As a mere drone, Erin Hansen was not subject to that 'nurturing'," Kes said. "She was completely absorbed into the hive mind, her individuality wiped away completely. After more than twenty years of having every emotion brutally suppressed, of thinking only of what the Collective did, there's very little left to fall back on." She reached out and put a comforting hand on Seven's arm. "Don't get me wrong, Seven, it's not hopeless. Millennium simply lacks the proper facilities for that sort of long-term treatment. There are many places in the Alpha Quadrant where she can receive the necessary care and attention. It's entirely possible that Erin will eventually reclaim some part of her life."

"There are no guarantees of that," Seven said flatly.

Kes hesitated, then inclined her head. "No, there aren't."

"We should have left her with the Borg. That was my initial decision, but it was overridden by Commander Zar."

Disturbed, Janeway looked at her spouse. "Seven..."

"No, Kathryn," Seven said coldly, staring at the being who was her mother. "What is she now? She cannot comprehend, she cannot respond to stimuli, she cannot even feed herself. She is less than an animal."

Janeway started to respond, an outraged expression on her face, before she stopped and caught herself. Tightening the grip on Seven's waist, the warmth of her arm penetrating the Borg's uniform tunic, she regarded the young woman steadily. "She's a human being, Seven," she said softly, in her most persuasive tone. "Erin may not be aware of her individuality now, but with time, she may regain it. You have to give her that chance. It wasn't wrong to remove her from the Collective."

Seven pulled away from her spouse. "I suspect if it were Gretchen in there, you would think differently," she said, her voice quivering.

Janeway absorbed the comment without flinching. "Mother would fight for her life. It may not seem as if Erin can at the moment, but we can't tell. We have no way of knowing what's going on inside her mind, in her subconscious ... in her soul. You can't expect so much of her so soon. It's not fair to her, and it's definitely not fair to you."

"None of this is fair," Seven said angrily.

"No, it isn't," Janeway said gently. "It would have been wonderful if Erin had adapted to being severed from the Collective as you did, or even as the Mimic pretended to do. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. However, your mother might resume her life one day. It will simply take more time than any of us anticipated."

"What if she must spend the rest of her existence like that?" Seven spat, gesturing at the transparency. "How is that better than being a Borg drone? At least, as a member of the Collective, she was functional, she contributed to the perfection of the whole."

"You're speaking about quality of life, Seven," Janeway said sternly. "While a cog may contribute to the whole, if that cog is sentient and, on some level, conscious of being a cog, is that not some kind of hell? Where's the quality, then? I was assimilated too. I know there is some measure of awareness there, a sense of sheer helplessness that is impossible to change. It was unbearable, and I was assimilated for less than a day. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be helpless for 23 years. I will say this; regardless of how long it took me to recover, I would rather be dead than be returned to that state." Her voice had grown harder the longer she spoke, edging into the coldness of command. She must have become aware of it because she caught herself once more and resumed her patient expression.

"Seven, I know this must be hell for you. I know it's far more difficult to stand by and watch helplessly when someone you love is so vulnerable, but darling, there are options back in the Federation, and we'll be returning there in a month. Grant yourself the hope and the possibilities those options can provide."

Seven swallowed hard. "Why must I place her in a facility?" she said, turning her head and looking directly at Kes for the first time. "Why can I not take care of her?"

Kes took a step closer. "You lack the necessary skills to treat such a condition," she said carefully.

"I could learn."

"Yes, you could," Kes agreed evenly, "but the time it would take wouldn't benefit your mother. I want to begin treatment immediately. As next of kin, I require your permission." She paused and put her hand warmly on the Borg's shoulder. "Seven, you can still contribute to her care. You need to visit her often, to speak with her about yourself and how much you care for her. It may not seem as if she can hear it, and she may not respond to it on any visible level, but it is entirely possible that she does realize you're there."

"Kes is right," Janeway said quietly. "You may not be able to provide the solution, darling, but you can certainly contribute to it. You're not a failure because you can't fix this."

Seven exhaled slowly, not wanting to accept her partner's advice, but unable to deny the validity of it. Was that partially the cause of her deep distress? That she could not determine a course of action that would immediately solve this problem? Was she so much like her partner in that way? Or was it because there was a part of her that wanted to interact with Erin Hansen again, to get to know her as she had while encountering other versions of her? Had she developed a bond with her mother, despite herself, over the past seven days?

"Let's go home," Janeway added, studying Seven and undoubtedly seeing the dismay and confusion in the young woman's face. "We'll talk about it further. Nothing has to be decided this very minute."

Seven hesitated for a few seconds before nodding reluctantly. "Very well," she said unhappily.

Seven did not speak as they returned to their quarters on deck three. Inside, she took a seat on the sofa and gazed out the viewport at the stars streaking by, not really seeing them. Janeway busied herself at the work console, speaking in a low voice to someone for several moments before finally moving over to join the Borg on the couch. They sat in silence for a time holding hands, their fingers entwined warmly. Despite her misery, Seven was impressed with how much the captain was containing herself. Undoubtedly, Janeway was full of all kinds of suggestions and advice about how to handle the revelations about Erin, but she did not offer any, allowing Seven the space and time to work this out.

Yet, that didn't feel like the right thing at this moment. The pressure in her chest remained, a tight ball of distress and uncertainty. And anger. Why would Janeway not help her with this decision?

"What would you have me do?" she finally prompted.

Janeway shook her head. "That's not for me to say," she said quietly. "Just know that whatever you decide, I'm with you one hundred percent."

Seven lifted her chin, but did not look at her partner.

"Even if I decide to return her to the Collective?"

"It looks as if someone was tampering with the communications packet."

Zar frowned as he looked at the ship's chief engineer who was going over the readout from her tricorder. B'Elanna Torres was a Klingon/Human hybrid, short and solid with a high, ridged forehead framed by a dark mane of thick, wavy hair. Her personality ran the gamut from the cold mathematical precision of an engineer to the flaming temperament of a true artiste, making for a volatile combination. After a shaky start, the two, Cardassian and Klingon, had achieved a working relationship and even a certain civility toward the other, but Zar knew it was unlikely that they would ever be friends.

"Do you think it was Tarn?"

B'Elanna shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I think information was added to the packet, and it appears to be threaded throughout the entire data stream. It would take a communications expert to do it. Or to spot it if you weren't looking for it."

"Tarn is a communications expert."

B'Elanna finally lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "I know, but that doesn't explain why she's disappeared."

"I don't think she disappeared voluntarily."

Zar and B'Elanna glanced over as Ro Laren appeared in the doorway. The ship's chief of security looked angry, the Bajoran ridge at the top of her nose more pronounced than usual.

"What did you find?" Zar demanded.

"This." Ro handed the first officer a communicator badge. It appeared to have been ripped from someone's tunic, rather than simply removed. There was a shred of black cloth caught on the back fastening. "My guess is that Tarn interrupted whoever was tampering with the probe and they panicked. The nearest bay is empty. The evidence indicates she was placed into the escape pod and launched into space during the early part of the gamma shift while the science labs were offline for the night."

"Why didn't the ship detect the launch?"

"The system was bypassed."

"Do you think she's dead?" Zar tried not to think of the bright young ensign as a lifeless corpse.

Ro considered it. "Perhaps, but there isn't any indication of blood or violence. A phaser couldn't be used without leaving some residual trace, even if the body was disintegrated." She paused. "Launching an escape pod with someone in it, dead or alive, only draws attention to the area. That's why I think whoever did it, panicked."

"Why leave the comm badge behind? To leave her ID marker on the ship so it would seem as if she were still around?"

"I don't think so. If the assailant knew about it, it would be easier to put it somewhere else on the ship, away from the science labs. I think it was missed by Tarn's assailant. It was lying on the deck, at the base of the doors to the pod bay. It may have been torn from her tunic as she was placed in the escape pod. It's too bad no one had reason to hail her before this."

Zar felt a little guilty. For the ship's cycle to go through a couple of duty shifts before an officer was missed was bad, but not as bad as it could have been had Tarn not been assigned to the bridge. Millennium was large enough that there were a few crewmembers who could disappear for days before their absence was noticed.

"I need to speak with the captain."

He moved over to the nearest console and activated the internal ship's communication system. He hoped he wasn't interrupting Janeway, whom he suspected of being with Seven. The captain had probably gone to sickbay as soon as she left the bridge. Otherwise, Zar was pretty sure the captain would be down in the science labs with the rest of them, overseeing the investigation personally.

It took a moment before Janeway responded. Behind her, he recognized the unmistakable surroundings of her quarters in the viewscreen.

"Janeway here."

"Captain, we believe we have some answers, but also more questions." He filled her in on all they had discovered.

"Does this have anything to do with the sabotage in main engineering?"

Zar glanced at Ro who frowned at the question. The Bajoran thought about it for a second, and dipped her head marginally.

"It's possible, Captain," he admitted. "It would be an odd coincidence if it doesn't."

Janeway nodded. "Our first order of business is to track down our missing crewmember. Commander, I want you and Torres to take one of the delta flyers and find that escape pod. Paris can pilot. No one's better at finding navigational traces than Tom."

Zar raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Captain? That leaves the ship without its first officer, its chief engineer and its wing commander. Don't you..."

"Tulek, I don't know who's behind this," she interrupted in a low voice. "Except that it's someone in my crew. I'm left with utilizing only the people I know I can trust. If that's limited to the senior officers at the moment, then the ship will just have to get along without you for awhile."

Zar exhaled, warmed by the compliment that included him in that select group, even as he worried about the implications.

"All right, Captain," he said. "We'll depart as soon as possible."

"Let me speak with Ro."

Zar gave way to the Bajoran, moving over to B'Elanna.

"You heard?"

"I did," the Klingon said. Her face was serious, but there was a small glint of humor in her dark eyes when she glanced sideways at the Cardassian. "Not exactly an away team I would choose."

"Maybe that's why she chose us," Zar allowed easily. He waited until Ro had finished with the captain and then drew her aside. "Commander, do you have this under control?" He gestured around him, indicating the lab, and to the larger extent, the ship itself.

"Oh, yes." Ro's eyes were dark pools of anger and determination. "I'll take care of this. By the time you return, Commander, I'll have the culprit in custody."

Zar wondered at that, but he didn't say anything further. He knew how frustrating this situation had been for the Bajoran. If sheer willpower could solve the case, he had no doubt it would have been wrapped up in a day. Unfortunately, desire and hard work didn't always uncover a criminal. Sometimes it took catching a lucky break of some sort.

He glanced over at the Klingon. "Torres, you're with me."

"Right behind you."

Of course, she wasn't. She took a brief moment to say good-bye to Ro. The security chief and chief engineer were married, and both women knew this could be dangerous for the other. Zar waited by the door until the couple was finished, and then strode briskly through the corridors to the Alpha Hangar with the Klingon matching him stride for stride. Tom Paris was already waiting by the Delta Sky.

"Want to fill me in?" Paris demanded as he stowed a bag in a compartment next to the door after the away team entered the shuttle.

"We've lost an officer," Zar said shortly as he took his place at the tactical station behind the pilot's chair, activating the board as Paris began his pre-launch sequence. "Last night, one of our escape pods was launched, completely undetected by ship's sensors. We need to find it. We believe Ensign Tarn is inside."

Paris frowned, glancing over his shoulder, but he didn't ask any further questions. Undoubtedly, he would wait until they were in space to hear the rest of the story. Zar glanced over to B'Elanna at the operations station beside him. She offered a small nod in acknowledgment of his unspoken question. "We're set here," he instructed Paris. "Let's go."

"Millennium has granted us clearance to depart," Paris responded, his hands moving over his helm with the delicacy of a pianist with his instrument.

Zar felt the slight hum of impulse engines as the vessel lifted off its landing bay, turning gracefully in the air and drifting toward the end of the hangar. Large doors opened to reveal the dark backdrop of stars, shimmering slightly through the force field that held vacuum at bay. There was a tiny jolt as they slipped through the energy barrier, and then they were clear of Millennium, floating alone in space as the larger ship moved away. Tom immediately set a course to backtrack the starship's trail, bringing the navigational sensors online. Activating the warp engines, he prodded them higher with consummate skill until the flyer was traveling at full velocity. It would take nearly a day at warp seven to reach the spot where the escape pod had apparently been launched. Then, they would begin the painstaking task of tracking the tiny pod's ion signature to the nearest, M-class planet.

Zar hoped that Tarn was safe and would remain out of danger. He didn't want to be going after the remains of the young ensign.

"So what's this all about?" Paris asked, his eyes keen as he surveyed his console.

"We believe that Ensign Tarn interrupted someone tampering with the communications probe last night," Zar said shortly.

"Tampering how?"

"It looks like someone added a whole lot of information to the data stream," B'Elanna explained. "But it was in an encrypted pattern, disguised as part of the program. Like a secret communication of some kind. I didn't have time to decode it before we were ordered to find Tarn."

Tom shook his head. "Why would someone do that?"

It occurred to Zar suddenly that not all the senior officers were aware that the incident in main engineering was not an accident, but rather sabotage caused deliberately by persons unknown.

"It may have been a communication intended for someone other than Starfleet Command," he confided. "Data being passed on to a third party without Starfleet being the wiser. It may have been happening since we left the Alpha Quadrant."

"You mean someone's been spying on us? The Romulans?"

"Could be the Breen," B'Elanna said. "Heck, it could even be the Orion Syndicate."

"Or Section 31." Paris's face became grim and Zar frowned, wondering at the comment. He couldn't remember the captain ever mentioning something like that.

"What's Section 31?"

He was aware of B'Elanna and Paris turning to stare at him in surprise. The helmsman's face cleared first. "I forgot, not every knows about them," he said thoughtfully. "And that it's classified."

Zar tilted his head. "Lieutenant?"

Paris and B'Elanna exchanged glances, and then the Klingon shrugged. "Might as well tell him. I always thought the whole classified nature of the thing worked against Starfleet anyway. The more people know about the bastards, the less room they have to operate."

She took a breath, and for the remainder of the journey to the sector where Tarn had been ejected into space, she explained about the covert operatives in Starfleet's organization.

And the trouble they had caused the captain and Seven in the years prior to Millennium's launch.

"Contact me as soon as you have anything new."

"I will, Captain," Ro said, her dark eyes intent.

Janeway reached for the controls, paused, and dipped her head. "I know you'll solve this, Laren," she said somberly. "I have complete faith in you."

Perhaps it hadn't needed to be said, but there was undoubtedly a lift to the Bajoran's shoulders, an alteration in that fierce gaze as the captain switched off the viewscreen. There was such fine line with subordinates, Janeway mused. Sometimes a superior's encouragement could make all the difference. Knowing when and where to use it meant the difference between getting the most out of a crew and having them offer less than their best effort. With officers such as Ro Laren, who was so enigmatic, it was an accomplishment of note when a captain was able to use her position of authority correctly.

Feeling inordinately pleased with herself, she turned around only to have the sense of satisfaction immediately disappear as she saw the expression on Seven's narrow features. Somehow Janeway doubted that any amount of encouragement would solve the problem facing her now. Moving over to join Seven, who was staring distantly out through the viewport, Janeway quietly sat beside her on the sofa and took the Borg's hand into her own, gripping it tightly, though she didn't say anything. A wealth of comments and suggestions crowded her mind, but she didn't allow any of them to spill out. As much as she wanted to help, this was Seven's mother, and Seven's decision regarding the situation. A starship captain may appear omnipotent at times, but when it came to family, blood had to take priority over rank or the chain of command.

"What would you have me do?" the young woman asked finally.

Janeway shook her head. "That's not for me to say," she told her, though she regretted passing up the opportunity to voice her opinion. "Just know that whatever you decide, I'm with you one hundred percent."

"Even if I decide to return her to the Collective?"

The captain thought she had every contingency covered. That one surprised her, and she had to forcibly restrain herself from responding hotly. One thing marriage had taught her was how to curb that quick tongue of hers when it came to touchy issues. The pain she had caused her partner over the years with words spoken in haste had impressed prudence in her soul in a way that all the lessons her parents and teachers had tried to instill simply hadn't managed. Once she was sure both voice and facial expression were under control, she reached up and took Seven's chin between her forefinger and thumb, turning her head toward her so that she was looking into the icy blue eyes.

"Is that really an option?"

Seven's jaw firmed. Janeway could see a muscle twitching in the side of the long, elongated neck. "It is," she said in that tight little voice she had been using more and more since this whole situation had begun. "Certainly, it is an option you would have been forced to consider had I had been assimilated a third time during my last mission."

Janeway's lips pursed as she thought about that. "If it meant your survival..."

"It may mean my mother's survival," Seven interrupted stubbornly. "Certainly her continued function as a useful contributor to the whole."

"You're mother is physically recovering from her assimilation," Janeway objected. "She may even recover mentally. A third assimilation would have been the last for you." She paused. "My only other choice would have been not to return you to the Collective."

The starkness in her voice was evident to Seven, as was her meaning. A blonde eyebrow rose sardonically. "That is certainly another option."

Janeway was furious. Seven was pushing her buttons, and there was even a part of the captain that understood the young woman was doing it deliberately, but it didn't make her temper run any less hot.

"You're not going to terminate your own mother!"

She rose to her feet and stalked about the room as Seven watched her with lowered brows from her place on the sofa. There was the faintest trace of a satisfied expression around the Borg's eyes, a sort of smugness that she had managed to provoke Janeway into a response when the captain had so clearly wanted to remain objective. Janeway didn't know what she was more annoyed with; the situation, or Seven trying to pass on a decision that only she should make.

"Do you want me to tell you that I'm taking your mother back to the Federation no matter what you want?" she demanded, glowering at the young woman. "That I'm making it an order?" She paused. "Or do you just want to be angry at someone, and I'm convenient?"

"You said this was my decision to make," Seven said coldly. "Erin Hansen would be more useful in the Collective. She is not useful now."

Janeway paused and considered her responses, knowing which one would be effective. That was the other side effect of their being married for so long. She knew how to slice through that glacier logic in a way no one else could.

"I guess I'm lucky my recovery from my assimilation didn't take too long or I'd be back with the Borg. I just didn't know how easily you give up on people." Her tone was cutting, almost cruel, as she put her hands on her hips and favored the young woman with a hard glare.

It shattered the composure Seven was stubbornly maintaining, and not for the first time nor undoubtedly, for the last, Janeway felt like a complete heel. However, it was part of her commitment to her partner. To say the harsh things when they needed to be said, just as Seven forced Janeway to look at herself when she was being overwhelmed with a situation with no easy answers. Her heart ached when she saw Seven's head lower, the narrow shoulders slumping. She stood her ground, however, until she saw the tiny tears tracking down the young woman's cheeks. That was all that was needed to bring her over to the sofa in a rush, gathering her partner up in her arms and holding her close.

"Darling, I'm sorry. I'm just ... I'm trying to demonstrate that you have choices, that there are many options for you to pursue. But it's not up to me to make the choice of what to do for you."

"It will be too late to return her to the Collective once we return to the Alpha Quadrant," Seven said in a choked voice. "That option must be considered immediately."

Janeway took a slow, measured breath. "All right, that's fair," she said, knowing the Borg had forced her hand. It was so difficult to remain objective with Seven, especially when she was hurting. "As your spouse, I'm prepared to stand by any decision you make; however, as a Starfleet officer and captain, I cannot condone the return of a Federation citizen to the Borg Collective. It would cost me my command." She cupped Seven's cheek in her palm. "I've told you many times in the past that I'm prepared to give that up for you. Is this how and why you want me to do it?"

Seven hesitated. Obviously, it was an unfair question, but then, Janeway knew it was important for the Borg to start considering the long term consequences of all her options. Right now, the young woman was still in a little bit of shock, trying to make quick decisions in a crisis; unsurprising since that was how she'd been taught over the past five years. It was the nature of their life in Starfleet to make quick decisions based on the information at hand. However, it was equally important to know when to step back and take it one thing at a time. Seven was reacting mostly on instinct and emotion at the moment, rather than with rational consideration, despite what she might think she was doing.

"No," Seven said finally. "Very well. I cannot return her." Janeway heard her breath catch. "I can terminate the drone."

Janeway thought that only with Seven would this even be discussed. It was times like this that the captain was reminded how alien the young woman was, how different her thought processes were compared to Humans. It would be natural for Janeway to want to wipe out that part of her personality, to demand that Seven react to situations in a way that did not allow for her Borg conditioning. In fact, Janeway had even tried to curb the behavior in the beginning, but Seven's personality and strength of will had been so strong that she had failed. Janeway was grateful for that failure. The Borg part of Seven was integral to who she was, and was, indeed, a part of why the captain loved her so much. While it meant dealing with the occasional unfathomable viewpoint from the young woman, it also allowed Seven to accept Janeway's nature in a way that no other could.

Seven raised her head, her eyes brimming. "Is that something you will object to as well?"

Janeway shook her head. "I'd rather you offer your own reason not to find that option preferable."

Seven considered it, her pain evident. "Termination is always a solution of sorts," she said finally, in a quiet voice. "However, it is also an ultimate solution. There are no more options once it is implemented."

"Exactly," Janeway agreed. She felt her anger drain away as if it had never been, knowing how much of it was from her sense of helplessness about the situation. With a wry appreciation for how easily her partner could provoke her when she set her mind to it, she kissed the Borg gently on the forehead, and hugged her. "Darling, give this some time."

"I can always terminate her later." Seven agreed.

Janeway bit her lip, irritated by Seven's bloody single-mindedness, but she wisely didn't respond.

"However, if I choose treatment for her, it must begin immediately," Seven continued. "The counselor was quite clear on that. It is why I cannot learn to look after Erin myself."

Janeway tightened her embrace. "It wasn't only a matter of timing, Seven. Assume that you had the necessary training. What would that mean?"

Seven blinked. "I do not understand."

"Are you prepared to give up your life to look after your mother? It might be what's required in this case, a lifelong commitment to take care of her needs. For those who do it for a living, it doesn't have the same emotional and psychological drain that it does for a family member."

Seven exhaled slowly. "I had not considered that."

"I know," Janeway altered her voice into its kindest and most gentle register. "You're not thinking clearly at the moment, darling. I know you believe you are. I know you're attempting to assess this rationally. I'm afraid that you're just too close to it at the moment."

"It is my responsibility to look after her," Seven said, her narrow features pained and confused. "She is my family, just as you are. Families look after one another."

"That's true," Janeway allowed slowly, as the words impacted on her in a way that she didn't think Seven had intended. That was what families did, and it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't been recognizing that. "However, sometimes you need to accept that you can't always do that. Sometimes, it's best to let others, who are more qualified, handle the situation."

"That is abdicating my responsibility." Seven glanced at the captain, her features troubled.

Janeway pursed her lips. "I admit that for some people, that's exactly what it is, but for others, sometimes it's the only way. Not only for the best interests of the person involved, but also for the rest of the family as a whole." The captain paused, searching for the proper words. "I'm not saying you should place your mother in a facility, Annika. I'm not even saying you shouldn't learn how to care of her and do so for as long as it takes, if that's what you really want to do."

Seven frowned. "You're not?"

Janeway exhaled. "No," she said, her thoughts finally becoming clear. "I'm just saying that there's a lot involved here, and we don't have to make the decision right this minute. We have the time to research all the possibilities and consequences of any action we finally decide upon. In the meantime, we'll do all we can for Erin. Let Kes begin treatment, and we'll visit as much as we can. In fact, if you really want to be with your mother on a more continuous basis, I'll place you on off-duty rotation. I'm sure the ship can get along without its chief science officer for the remainder of the mission."

Actually, Janeway wasn't entirely sure about that last one, but she was willing to give it a try if that's what Seven needed.

Seven shook her head. "No." She hesitated. "I need to remain on duty."

Janeway didn't show her relief. "All right." She glanced at the chronometer. "It's late. We've been wrangling with this for a couple of hours, and we still haven't eaten. I think we should have dinner and let this go for a little while. It might help our perspective."

Seven resisted for a moment, her body stiff in Janeway's arms, but gradually, she relaxed. "Agreed." she whispered, much to the captain's relief.

As the couple rose from the sofa, Janeway realized that she could not remain the objective observer that she thought she should in the beginning. This was decision they both had to make. She had to accept the fact that Erin was as much a member of the captain's family as Gretchen was of Seven's. The only thing the captain had to be careful of was that whatever they decided, it had to be arrived at jointly, completely as a couple and not merely as she influencing Seven's choice.

Seven wasn't sure why Janeway had summoned her to the ready room, and found it difficult to care. Her mind was crowded with thoughts of her mother and what her ultimate fate would be. Though Kes had begun treatment of Erin at Seven's request, the Borg was aware it could always be terminated should another option prove itself more viable. Yet, the situation still felt so unfinished, as if she hadn't done all she could do. A great deal of anger remained within her, though she wasn't sure from where it stemmed. The only bright spot in the entire situation was when she had convinced Janeway to assist in the process. The Borg needed help in this, from someone she knew would be as emotionally invested as she. That way, she didn't feel so alone.

So responsible.

She lifted an eyebrow when she realized the captain wasn't the only one in her office. Ro Laren sat in the chair in front of the desk, her face impassive as the captain gestured the science officer into a second chair. Seven sat down, feeling slightly disgruntled at being taken away from her duties. She had fallen behind during her occupation with her mother, and she had planned to spend the rest of her shift catching up.

"A few nights ago, Ensign Elisa Tarn was placed in an escape pod and launched from Millennium," Janeway began without preamble, once Seven was settled. "It's believed it was involuntary and a result of her interrupting an attempt to tamper with the communications packet initially scheduled to be transmitted yesterday. An away team was dispatched to retrieve her."

Seven blinked. She knew something had been going on, but her personal concerns had prevented her from being as informed as she usually was.

"We think this is connected to the incident in engineering," Ro added.

Seven glanced at her. "And the tampering with the planet freighter artifacts?"

Ro almost, but not quite, winced. "Actually, that turned out to be Dr. Pulaski," she said in a tone that indicated more than a little annoyance at the discovery. "Apparently, the good doctor decided she wanted her souvenir back one night and attempted to bypass your security code. She didn't mean any harm."

Seven shot a look at her spouse. "Does this mean the science department can resume our research into the artifacts?"

Janeway seemed less than interested in scientific pursuits at the moment. "That's not why I asked you here."

"With B'Elanna on the away mission, we need someone to decrypt the message added to the communications packet," Ro broke in, not waiting for the captain to finish her thought. Seven wondered at that, and at the expression that crossed the captain's face. "I just don't have anyone in security who is comparable to you and B'Elanna in deciphering encryption codes."

Seven worked that out, a vague interest stirring as she realized why it had to be a security officer rather than just anyone in operations. Why it had to be someone who could take care of her or himself in a dangerous situation. "If I were to accept this task, would the vessel at large be aware of it?"

Ro regarded her with what looked like respect. "The information that you're working on the message would be leaked to the entire vessel," she confirmed.

Seven now understood why the captain was displaying that particular expression. It wasn't outrage at being interrupted by Ro before revealing the details in her own time. It was because she didn't want her spouse involved in this operation, but didn't feel she had much choice in the matter.

"You are hoping that the saboteur will confront me in an effort to prevent the decryption of the hidden message."

"You don't have to be so cheerful about it," Janeway said. There was a dryness to the captain's tone, an attempt at humor, but her eyes were dark and stormy. "In any event, since we think that Tarn interrupted the culprit, it's possible the saboteur is now running scared. By letting it be known that you're decrypting the communications packet, it's possible he might panic completely and make a fatal mistake that leads to his capture."

"We're going to add to that pressure by releasing the statement that the pod was retrieved and Ensign Tarn was found dead," Ro added.

Seven lifted her head, alarmed. "Was she?"

"We hope not," Janeway said, "but we won't be sure until Zar and his team track her down. Our saboteur won't know how the away mission is progressing, however."

"In the meantime, I will act as 'bait'."

Janeway offered a bleak look. "For what could turn out to be a very dangerous fish."

"You'll be perfectly safe, Seven," Ro countered reassuringly. "You'll have a security officer guarding you at all times. No one will be able to get near you without us knowing about it. Besides, despite what's happened, I don't think this guy is a cold-blooded killer. I think what happened in engineering went farther than anticipated."

"Which is the only reason I'm even contemplating this plan," the captain said with a touch of ice in her tone as she glanced at her security chief.

Seven considered it. It sounded like a viable strategy. Plus, it would take her mind off her problems for a certain amount of time. She wondered if that was the real reason her partner was allowing it. "What must I do?"

"It looks as if added data stream has been threaded throughout the main body of the message," Ro explained. "It has to be untangled before it can even start to be decrypted."

"What if no one attempts to hinder me?"

Ro shrugged. "Then you'll decode the message. Besides, when they find Tarn, I'm sure she'll be able to give us an identification on her assailant."

"Assuming she is still alive."

Ro offered a steady gaze. "Assuming she's still alive," she agreed. "However, I don't want to count on that, or wait for the amount of time it will take for the away team to retrieve Tarn. I want to find this guy now, before he hurts anyone else."

Seven appreciated the streak of practicality that ran through the Bajoran. It was almost Borglike. "I shall begin immediately."

Ro glanced at Janeway. "Anything to add, Captain?"

"I believe it's been covered," Janeway said shortly.

Seven stared at her. This wasn't like Janeway at all. Obviously, she was so anxious to put some plan ... any plan ... into action that she wasn't even going to fuss about Seven being involved. That or the captain believed it was absolutely safe and would keep the Borg occupied. Seven decided that either reason was valid and it shouldn't stop her. The captain inclined her head to dismiss both her officers. "Carry on."

Ro left Seven in the lab with the communications probe and the Borg set to work immediately. It only took a few minutes before she made an interesting discovery and she thought it unfortunate that Ro and the captain hadn't called her in before now. The investigation might have proceeded much quicker.

The Borg tapped her comm badge. "Seven to Lt. Commander Ro."

"Ro here. Have you found something, Seven?"

"The algorithm used to encode the message is not new. It is the same one used by the Orion Syndicate to disguise communications traffic at their colony on Noiro."

There was a pause. Seven wasn't sure if it was disbelief or merely surprise. "Are you sure?"

The Borg lifted a brow. "It is the same one I encountered while tracking down the Syndicate's homeworld during the incident with Section 31. It will not take me long to decrypt the message once I have untangled it from the data stream."

"That's excellent, Seven. Let me know as soon as you have anything else. I'll inform the captain."

Seven cut the channel and resumed work on the packet, carefully separating the tiny bits of code scattered throughout the data stream and bringing them together to form a coherent pattern. It was painstaking work and took several hours, the time passing without the Borg noticing, her concentration absolute.

It was the sound of the transporter hum that jolted her out of her reverie and made her step back. Remembering the explosive transported into the plasma conduit in engineering, she reacted immediately, taking a step toward the door before realizing that it was security sealed against intrusion and she probably didn't have time to override it manually. Instantly, she lunged for the meager shelter behind a nearby work station. Huddled in a fetal position, arms wrapped around her head, she waited for the explosion to snuff out her life, considerably surprised when, after a few seconds, nothing further happened. She waited a few seconds longer, and then gingerly lifted her head, peering over her shoulder at the communications probe.

A silvery bubble rested placidly on the torpedo casing, quivering slightly, as if disturbed by air currents, but otherwise did not move. Cautiously, Seven reached down and picked up her tricorder that had landed on the floor beside her as she dived for cover, and scanned the bubble curiously as she waited for security to arrive.

The readings were odd. There was no indication of explosive compound. Instead, the silver bubble was completely organic, composed of biogenetic material in a compound that looked vaguely familiar but did not contain toxic material of any kind. Intrigued, Seven rose from the deck and moved closer until she was standing over it, intensifying her scans. Her face mere centimeters away as she examined the silvery surface with her eyepiece, it belatedly occurred to her that security should have responded to the unauthorized transport by now. It was possible that they hadn't detected it, and she reached for her comm badge.

At that instant, the bubble popped.

She blinked and jerked backwards, holding her breath. The inside of the bubble was filled with liquid that spread briefly in a silver puddle over the torpedo casing before evaporating entirely. In seconds, there was no visible sign that it had ever been there. She rechecked her readings, worried suddenly that she was dealing with some form of biological weapon, but there were no hints of a virus or infective agent. Just an incredibly high amount of perfectly natural hormones wafting through the air of the lab like pollen on a breeze...

Seven was forced to inhale. The scent was strong, provocatively musky, a delicious fragrance that spread warmth throughout her body. She felt her nipples harden pleasurably against the fabric of her undergarment, protruding through the material of her sweater. A flood of moisture dampened her uniform trousers and she was suddenly, achingly aware of what she needed next.

The door took only a few seconds to bypass and the security officer posted outside looked at her in surprise.

"Sir? Is there something you need?"

She ignored him, moving past without so much as a glance in his direction. She was vaguely aware of him slapping his comm badge and speaking with someone else, but it didn't hinder her as she moved quickly through the science section to the nearest corridor. In the turbolift, she utilized command codes that she shouldn't have but did due to her relationship with the ship's captain. The turbolift opened into the ready room and Seven stepped off, searching eagerly for her spouse.

Startled, Janeway looked up from her computer console. "Seven?"

The Borg crossed the room in a rush, reaching out for woman she loved, consumed with a fiery passion. Seizing the captain by the tunic, she hauled Janeway across her desk, scattering the desktop console, the knickknacks and the vase full of flowers.

"Seven, what are you doing? Stop this!"

Seven ignored the order and the futile struggles of the woman in her arms. Kathryn liked to struggle occasionally. It was part of their play. Conscious only of the incredible desire raging within, she pinned Janeway to the desk, her right hand immobilizing the captain's wrists above her head, as with her left, she methodically began to tear away the obstructing uniform.

"Seven, listen to me. Please, darling, listen to me."

Seven blinked, hesitating. The voice somehow penetrated the lustful haze, and she looked down into the beloved features to find Kathryn's eyes were stormy thunderclouds of grey, making Seven suddenly feel uncertain. There was something here she didn't understand, didn't fully comprehend. The color of the eyes meant something, but she couldn't quite grasp it. All she knew was that she wanted and needed her spouse with an overpowering compulsion.

"Darling, let my hands go," Janeway whispered softly, persuasively. "Please, Annika. I want to be able to touch you."

Seven smiled. She didn't realize it was a terrifying smile, feral and possessive. Releasing the captain's wrists, as much to grant freedom to her right hand to roughly paw at her spouse as it was to comply with Janeway's wishes, she resumed her removal of the captain's uniform. It actually took her a second to realize that instead of returning her passion, Janeway had tapped the Borg's comm badge ... her own lost somewhere with the scattered remains of her tunic ... and was quickly speaking into the activated channel.

"Security to my ready room."

Enraged, furious beyond reason, Seven reared up, backhanding the captain across the face and sending Janeway over the desk to collapse against the wall. The Borg was about to go after her to inflict further damage when she heard the door hiss open behind her. She whirled to face this new threat, lips drawing back in a snarl as Ro Laren, flanked by two other security officers, burst through the entrance. The Bajoran's face was stone, dark and unforgiving as she surveyed the room and what had been going on. Her hand lifted, a phaser glowing red at the tip as it was aimed directly at Seven.

The captain staggered to her feet behind the desk, a hand raised to her mouth where blood trickled, her other flat on the desk to support herself. Her uniform hung in tattered shreds around her body, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

"Don't hurt her, Commander," she ordered sharply.

Then, the ruby energy bolt hit Seven and she knew no more.

"I'm picking up a distress beacon."

Tom's words were welcome to the rest of the away team and they tensed in expectation. The Delta Sky had tracked the faint traces of ion trail to this habitable but rather inhospitable world in a star system a few light years from where the pod had been launched from Millennium. The fact that the beacon had been activated was a hopeful sign that Tarn was still alive.

"Take us in, Mr. Paris." Zar leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes restlessly scanning the readings rushing across his board.

"The beacon's signal is erratic," B'Elanna announced. She frowned. "I'm not sure I like this."

Zar shot her a look.. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm having trouble isolating it. It's moving."

He blinked. Moving? Escape pods generally didn't move once they had landed. "Try a triangulation," he suggested. "It's possible the seismically active nature of the planet is distorting our readings."

He left his spot at the operations console and moved to the seat just behind the pilot, peering through the viewscreen as the shuttle began to descend through the atmosphere. Grey, dirty clouds grudgingly gave way to reveal a dank and dark world, covered in ash and pumice, smoke rising fitfully from a variety of rents in the earth.

"A nice slice of hell down there," Paris muttered.

"Set up a search pattern," Zar ordered. He glanced back. "Lt. Torres?"

"I'm still having trouble pinning down the signal," she said, frowning as she poured over her console. "Can you go lower?"

"There's a lot of ash and debris in the air," the helmsman warned. "I don't want to clog any of the intake vents."

"Do your best," Zar advised. "Continue to fly in space mode. I know the ship won't handle as well in these atmospheric conditions, but the shields will protect the hull."

The ride was rough, buffeted by air currents and what appeared to be a snowstorm. It took a moment for Zar to realize the soft gray flakes were not snow but rather ash and debris from an erupting volcano. In the distance, there was a crimson glow from lava fountains erupting from the side of the nearest mountain. Horrified, the officer stared out the front viewport as the shuttle swooped low over a lava field that had spread for miles over the desolate landscape. Dark ripples glowed red on the edges as the field crawled inexorably down the slope into a lake that steamed violently as the searing heat reacted with the water, evaporating it instantly.

"Commander."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant." Zar dreaded what he would hear.

"The signal from the distress beacon is originating from beneath the flow," B'Elanna said in a voice devoid of inflection. "It is moving approximately two feet per minute. The escape pod appears to be maintaining structural integrity, but it has to be well over 250 degrees Celsius in there. Those pods are designed tough, but it won't last much longer."

"Life support?" Zar knew that even if the pod's bulkheads were temporarily holding their own against the unimaginable heat surrounding it, the interior had to be little more than a furnace at this point. It was unlikely there was anything left alive.

There was a brief pause. "Off line, Commander."

Zar swallowed hard. "What about the computer?" he continued. "Can you download any information from the data banks?"

B'Elanna ran her hands over her board, but her head was shaking even as she did it. "Nothing," she reported shortly. "The only thing still functioning is the distress beacon and it's degrading even as we speak."

Zar firmed his jaw. "Scan for organic matter. Maybe we can retrieve a body, if nothing else."

B'Elanna boosted her scans. "No trace, Commander. There's nothing organic left."

Zar lifted his chin, his eyes brightening, and Paris glanced over his shoulder as he turned the shuttle into another pass over the site. "Could any remains be cremated from the heat?"

"Possibly," the Cardassian said. "But I'm hoping that Tarn managed to get out before the lava flow overtook the pod."

"We can't hail her," B'Elanna reminded him. "Her comm badge was torn off on Millennium."

"I know," Zar said, settling back in his seat and accessing the nearby console. "Lt. Paris, widen the search grid and look for traces of humanoid lifeforms. Lt. Torres, backtrack the flow of the lava and extrapolate which direction she may have mapped out an escape route."

"She could be injured," Paris offered. "Possibly unconscious. The heat is playing havoc with our sensors, disrupting their sensitivity. There's no way we can detect a solitary thermal signal from anything living."

"Torres and I will have to beam down and do a ground search."

"In that?" B'Elanna shot him a look of pure disbelief.

"You're not afraid, are you?"

The Klingon opened her mouth, paused, thought about it and finally offered him a tight-lipped grin. "My Human side is too damned smart to let my Klingon side fall for that one. Try again, Commander."

He grinned. "Fair enough, but we still have to do a ground search. It may be Tarn's only chance."

B'Elanna sighed. "Fine," she said, not at all pleased, but recognizing the futility of further objections. "We're going to need re-breathers. There's a lot of ashfall."

The engineer had not been exaggerating. As they materialized on a rise some distance from the edge of the lava flow, Zar was struck by the sheer thickness of the air. The ash, though appearing light and soft, was actually gritty and granular as it drifted down from the sky, building up on the ground beneath their feet and making it difficult to walk. It clung to the transparent shields covering their faces, making it necessary to wipe them every few minutes. Zar's breath rasped loud in his ears as the crackle of fire burning the remaining vegetation, and an incessant rumbling from the distant volcano, surrounded the officers.

"Which way?"

B'Elanna lifted her tricorder, squinting in the dim illumination. Zar knew it was the middle of the day and that there was a sun up there somewhere, but at the moment, it might as well have been midnight. The lights strapped to their wrists barely pierced the darkness surrounding them.

"There." The Klingon lifted her arm and pointed toward the hills that loomed forbiddingly in the distance. Looking back over his shoulder into the valley, Zar could see the search lights from the Delta Sky as it made another pass over the lava field, hoping to detect something with its more advanced sensors as well as acting as a sort of beacon to the fleeing Tarn, assuming she was close enough to see it. "It's the only direction she could have headed and expected to survive."

Bending his head in a futile attempt to protect his face shield from the flying ash, Zar hefted the breathing pack strapped to his back and began to trudge in the direction the Klingon indicated. Every fifteen minutes, they would receive a hail from Paris, who kept the away team current with updated seismic activity. Not that anything could be done about it, but at least Zar and B'Elanna had some warning when an aftershock was about to occur and were able to flatten on the ground before the shuddering of the earth flung them down.

Fissures and cracks had appeared in the landscape, and what few trees were scattered through the area had been flattened by the force of the blast. Zar knew the escape pod would have protected Tarn against the initial eruption and pyroclastic flow. The operations officer would undoubtedly have used the limited transporter on board the pod to beam herself as far as she could. That wouldn't have been very far if most of the power on board had been taken up with life support and shields holding off the heat around it.

"Commander."

Startled, Zar nearly tripped over his feet and barely managed to maintain his balance on the slippery slope. He scrambled up beside the Klingon who grimly uncovered a backpack in a pile of rocks, where it had been covered with a thick layer of ash.

"Why would she leave that behind?" Despite his words, Zar was elated at the find. It meant that Tarn had made it this far.

"Maybe it was weighing her down and speed was more crucial than the supplies it held," B'Elanna speculated.

Zar was about to respond when a dead silence fell upon them. It was so abrupt a change from the constant roar they had experienced up until then that the two Starfleet officers could only stare at each other in total bemusement. Then suddenly, B'Elanna shoved the Cardassian to the ground as something screamed through the air above them..

"Duck!"

He landed heavily and curled up in a ball as something exploded not far away. Heat crisped the outside of his tunic and he rolled, putting out the areas of his uniform that were suddenly smoldering.

"Lava bomb," B'Elanna identified as she helped the first officer to his feet. Some of the Klingon's hair had been scorched along one side, making her look vaguely lopsided, but the transparent shield from her re-breather had protected her face. "Not much wonder Tarn was making tracks."

"We'd better clear the area as well," he said, ducking as yet another ball of molten rock shot by overhead and impacted several meters away.

B'Elanna checked her tricorder again. "I'm detecting some lifesigns. Approximately two kilometers north by northwest. Humanoid. It has to be Tarn."

"Let's go, Lieutenant."

"Delta Sky to Zar."

Zar tapped his badge. "Go ahead."

"Commander, the sensors are detecting another eruption." Paris's voice was considerably worried. "It's a different mountain along the same chain, approximately twenty kilometers to the north of you. It's going to blow any moment."

Zar wanted to curse. "That's the direction we detected lifesigns, Lieutenant. Beam us two kilometers north. We need to find her and get out as soon as possible."

"Understood."

Alerted to the sound of another incoming lava bomb, Zar's head jerked up in time to see one headed directly for where he and B'Elanna were standing. He opened his mouth to yell something, though he wasn't sure exactly what, when the dissolving sensation and sparkles of dematerialization surrounded him.

He shut his mouth with a snap as the two officers rematerialized elsewhere.

"That was close," B'Elanna muttered.

"Timing is everything in this business, Lieutenant," Zar said, somehow managing an even tone though his heart was pounding so hard against the wall of his chest that he was surprised it hadn't slammed its way through.

Following the readings on the engineer's tricorder, they stumbled in the direction of the mountain, dark and foreboding as it loomed over them. Fortunately, the air wasn't as thick here, a southwest wind prevailing as it blew the ash away from them, leaving this as a protected haven. Zar knew that was an illusion. There was already smoke rising from the sides of the mountain face. This small valley would be in the direct path of any pyroclastic flow. A nearby riverbed provided a perfect channel for a lahar. In seconds, this entire area could be destroyed.

They found Tarn tucked against the lee-side of a log, as if she had run as far as she could and could run no farther. Almost invisible, obscured by the thick layer of ash and debris piled over her body, she had her head tucked into a hollow made by her arms. A piece of cloth was tied around the lower part of her face in lieu of the equipment allowing B'Elanna and Zar to breath normally.

"Is she alive?"

"Barely," B'Elanna responded as she knelt over the comatose officer. "We have to get her back to the ship."

Zar slapped his comm badge. "We have her, Mr. Paris. Three to beam up."

"I'm not very pleased with this, Commander."

Ro lifted her chin, her face impassive. Janeway could see the shadows in the Bajoran's eyes, however.

"No, Captain. For what it's worth, neither am I."

Janeway could have pursued it, but she realized a large part of her anger was generated by the fact Seven was involved, as opposed to any other crewmember. She had to be careful to separate what was professional outrage and what was personal torment. Until she did, there was no reason to take it out on her security chief, especially since the captain had authorized the plan in the first place. She had simply believed that her spouse wouldn't be in any danger. Not only was Seven remarkably good at taking care of herself, Janeway had expected that security would have the area blanketed. Obviously, both she and Ro had underestimated their foe.

Or overestimated him. It occurred to the captain that whomever they were dealing with was a bit of a coward. He didn't go for face-to-face confrontations, the situation with Tarn notwithstanding. He liked striking from a distance, lurking in the shadows.

She resisted the urge to sigh and settled behind her desk. It had been restored to the condition that existed before Seven made her impromptu raid, except for the vase of flowers that had shattered on the deck. A damp spot still lingered in the rug, though Maintenance had cleared away the slivers of glass and battered roses.

Janeway wished she could be restored as easily. She had replaced her uniform, but her body ached with a multitude of little hurts, and her jaw continued to be sore. She supposed she should be glad Seven had used her right hand to slap her. Had she used her left, the captain probably wouldn't be sitting here to worry about it.

"We believe it was a distilled form of Iboneb hormones mixed with Deltan pheromones, artificially enhanced and contained in some kind of 'endocrine cocktail', invisible to normal sensors."

Janeway set her jaw. "I'm not as concerned about what it was as where it came from and how it was transported into the communications lab without your security measures detecting it."

"Our equipment was calibrated to detect a transport of a sentient being. They were even keyed to anything explosive. This was neither," Ro explained. "I can tell you is that the same type of disguised transporter signal was used to transport the pheromone bomb as was used with the explosive device in engineering. It was relayed from the Alpha Hangar and originated in an auxiliary transporter room on deck twenty-seven. I have a security team down there now going over it. If our saboteur left anything behind, we'll find it."

Janeway regarded her steadily. "Has it occurred to you that the culprit may be a security officer?"

"Immediately, Captain," Ro responded flatly. "I went over every one of the personal records of my officers a week into the investigation. While there are specific individuals capable of carrying out the operation in engineering and also of disguising a transporter signal, none of them have this level of encryption knowledge, nor the ability to create a 'pheromone bomb'. "

"Could we be looking at more than one suspect? A conspiracy of some kind?"

"I don't think so, Captain."

"Why not?"

Ro paused, looking vaguely disturbed. "It just doesn't have that 'feel', Captain."

Janeway lifted a brow. "I hope you're not conducting the entire investigation based on hunches and speculation."

Ro's skin darkened as she flushed. "No, Captain. The problem with this investigation is the lack of evidence pointing to any particular motive. Without a motive, it's very difficult to figure out who would be doing this. It's clear that the last two incidents were predicated upon the first, but why did the first happen? Why would anyone want to force a return to the Alpha Quadrant when we're returning anyway next month. It doesn't make sense."

Janeway considered that. "The pheromone bomb was an intricate and delicate piece of work. Very few people on the ship could manage it."

"Biometrics." Ro eyed the captain narrowly. "I've already started running through their files."

Starfleet officers had two levels of personnel files in the computer. The main file contained achievements prior to attending Starfleet Academy, the academy transcripts, and a history of service within the ranks, along with any personal notes from superior officers pertaining to their position. Their private, personal file contained everything from family and medical history to the most recent psychological evaluation. The first was accessible to anyone who held a security rating above five. The second was accessible only to the captain, the first officer, the CMO, the ship's counselor, and the chief of security.

Privacy on a starship was at a premium. People lived in such close quarters that it was easy for conflicts of interest to occur if strict guidelines and protocols weren't followed. It was a delicate balance between respecting the rights of the individual and protecting the security of the ship. For Ro to be accessing the most personal and intimate details of the biometrics department was a huge step, especially since she hadn't come up with evidence implicating a specific person or persons. As captain, Janeway would have to justify this invasion of privacy by her security chief to her superiors, but unfortunately, at this point, she didn't see that she or Ro had much choice.

"Do whatever you have to." Janeway pinned her with a level ten glare. "Keep me updated."

Janeway stared after the Bajoran long after the door had slid shut behind her. There were so many places the captain needed to be right now. Seven was in sickbay, and Janeway wanted to be with her spouse, to be there when she woke, to comfort and reassure her. Another part wanted to be with Ro, assisting in the investigation minute by minute and personally tracking down this monster who dared attack her ship and her crew. She needed to be with the away team, rescuing Tarn and making sure the girl was safe. A part of her even wanted to be with Kes, demanding a full report on the progress of Seven's mother and tossing around ideas as to possible treatments. Then, there was simply handling the day to day tasks of running a vessel the size of Millennium, which kept Janeway busy enough without all this extracurricular activity.

Their mission was almost over, but it seemed like everything was happening at once. Shaking her head, she rose from her chair, logged off duty and headed for the turbolift.

One thing at a time, she reminded herself. Let's get this done one thing at a time.

The lift deposited the captain on deck eight. Sickbay was quiet and Janeway glanced around, wondering why Erin wasn't present. Dr. Pulaski spotted the captain through the large transparencies and moved alertly out of her office. The CMO's lined features appeared weary, her slender form almost frail, but her pale blue eyes were keen and her voice retained the sharpness of a knife's edge.

"Nice bruise. Seven nailed you pretty good. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

"It is," the captain replied mildly, ignoring the provocation. "Where's Seven's mother?"

Looking vaguely disappointed at not generating more of a response, the CMO gestured to the rooms at the far end of the medical center that were used for isolated or private cases. "Erin's been moved to more secluded accommodations."  Peering through the one-way transparency set discreetly in the wall, Janeway could see Erin lying on the bed, still stubbornly unconscious, but at least, she had uncurled from that frightened fetal position. She looked almost normal, in fact, as if she were merely sleeping peacefully. Pulaski touched the controls set beneath the observation port and suddenly, Janeway could hear a steady and low hum of whispered conversation from a multitude of sources.

"What is that?" Frowning, she glanced at the doctor.

"Kes has recordings of Seven's voice set on a loop, mixed in with the constant chatter of the ship's communications grid," Pulaski explained. "It provides Erin with 'voices'. It's not the Collective, but it may give her the impression of being in a safe place until we can return to the Alpha Quadrant and she can receive more intensive care. As you can see, it's already had some positive effect."

Janeway blinked. "Good idea," she said, impressed. She wondered why they hadn't thought of that on Voyager after Seven had originally been severed. It might have made the young woman's transition a little easier. Feeling guilty, the captain turned to look at her spouse lying on a biobed in the middle of the medical center. Seven looked so young and vulnerable that Janeway felt her chest hurt. "How is she?"

"We're keeping her sedated until the nanoprobes have a chance to clear her endocrine system of the increased hormonal levels. Once they've returned to normal, she'll probably wake up naturally."

Janeway inhaled deeply as she drifted over to the bed. Seven's narrow features appeared troubled, even in unconsciousness. The captain didn't blame her. There was a part of her that was still profoundly shaken by the incident in her ready room, at how easily the physically stronger Seven had placed Janeway in a position where all she could do was scream for help. It was humiliating, and frightening on a level that she had not expected ever to feel with her beloved partner.

"There didn't seem to be any attempt on her part to control this, Doctor." Janeway's voice was low with a thread of uncertainty. "It was as if she didn't care. She came after me with no hesitation, no restraint in her actions. I'm not sure what would have happened if Ro hadn't arrived to stop her. I certainly couldn't."

Pulaski looked grim. "That's not surprising, Captain. Even if Seven was aware of what was happening to her, her endocrine levels were more than fifty times what you were exposed to with the Iboneb."

"Fifty!" Janeway blinked, remembering well how helpless she had been in fighting the burning desire that had been incited by the Iboneb, an alien species that utilized sexual interaction rather than violence to resolve disputes. For Seven, it must have been completely overwhelming.

"Captain?"

Janeway turned to see Kes striding gracefully toward her. Despite her wariness of psychiatrists in general, the captain felt a distinct sense of relief and comfort when she saw the Ocampa. "Kes, can you tell me what effect this incident will have on Seven?"

Pulaski discreetly drifted away to her office, and Kes drew the captain off to the side, away from the biobed and presumably, Seven's hearing.

"I think this will be difficult for her, Kathryn, but since she's already experienced a similar situation from the other side, it will be easier for her to adapt than if she had been exposed to it without warning. She will undoubtedly feel a certain amount of guilt regarding her behavior toward you, but she has to realize it was beyond her control. She could no more prevent her actions than you could while under the same influences."

Unbidden, Janeway reached up and touched her jaw.

"You might want to have that treated," Kes added delicately. "I don't believe Seven will benefit from a visual reminder of her actions. If you'd like, I could handle it."

"Please." Janeway remained still as Kes found a dermal regenerator and treated the bruising on the captain's face. Her thoughts were disturbed. "Kes, Seven seemed unusually angry and agitated even before this incident. I'm very worried about her."

Kes turned off the medical device and dropped it onto a nearby tray. "Is that so surprising, Kathryn? Seven's relationship with her parents will always be colored by her assimilation."

"Perhaps, but Seven came to terms with her parents when we encountered the alternate universe version of them." Janeway paused, frowning. "At least, she says she did."

"She probably believes it," Kes agreed easily. "However, while a person may understand what happened, and even accepts why it happened, that doesn't mean she's completely all right with it. Kathryn, Seven lost eighteen years of her life to the Borg because of what she perceives as her parents' arrogance and neglect of her well being. These people abandoned her. They handed her over for assimilation, probably the most extraordinarily painful and frightening thing that could happen to a little girl. The Hansens certainly didn't intend it, of course, but that's essentially what happened. A child doesn't forget, not in her heart and certainly not in the innermost part of her subconscious. It's perfectly natural for Seven to be angry about the situation, especially now that she's been handed a responsibility she never asked for and probably doesn't want ... to care and make decisions for her mother's well-being in a way that she doesn't believe Erin cared for her."

Janeway considered what the counselor was saying. "But Seven has such a naturally loving personality beneath all that Borg conditioning..." she began.

"Were that not the case, it might be a slightly easier situation for her," Kes stopped the thought before Janeway had finished pursuing it. "Seven's been witness to exceptionally loving and nurturing relationships between parents and children, from Samantha and Naomi, to you and your mother. She's even participated in them as a parental figure to One and the Borg children, and as a cherished daughter-in-law to Gretchen. A part of her feels that's how it should be between her and Erin, but her subconscious cannot forget that this person profoundly hurt and betrayed her. Put simply, she doesn't trust her mother, and to a certain extent, she doesn't respect her as an individual."

"How do I help her?" That was the most important thing to Janeway.

Kes smiled. "You won't like it."

Janeway's eyes narrowed. "Try me."

"Be there for her," Kes said. "Help her understand that it's okay to be angry and hurt by this situation with her mother, but it doesn't mean that she can't make the right decision when it comes to Erin's future well being. Unfortunately, there's no magic solution to this, Kathryn. There's no one correct course of action that will make everything turn out all right in the end. All Seven can do is find a way to handle it as best she can. She'll need your unconditional love and support more than ever."

Janeway's mouth firmed. "She has it. She always will." She dropped her eyes. "I still feel guilty, however."

If Kes was surprised at the revelation, at the captain confiding in her to this extent, she managed not to show it. She had learned over time that the only way to reach her captain, was to be nothing more or less than her friend and keep any professional agenda out of it.

"In what way?"

"I guess I'm as resentful about Erin's return as Seven. I don't want my wife to give up her life ... our life together ... to look after her mother. I know it's selfish, but I'm afraid that Seven will do what she has to in order to care for Erin, regardless of the personal cost. She's that kind of person."

"Yes, she is," Kes said gently. "That's why she feels so unfairly burdened by this decision. She has responsibilities and commitments to other people in her life."

"I don't want that to influence her," Janeway said honestly. "I don't want my desires to be why she makes her decision."

Kes patted the captain on the arm. "Kathryn, Seven will take your concerns into consideration. She loves you. You're her family, far more than Erin is at the moment. Your needs will come first with her, even in place of her own at times. That said, you still need to be honest with her about your trepidations. She needs to know how you feel, not as an added burden, but so that she can make an informed decision. That honesty will help her in the long run."

Janeway exhaled. "You realize that's absolutely no help at all," she said crossly.

Kes laughed and was about to respond when the women were interrupted by the sudden shift of sound in the biobed readings, indicating that the patient's status had changed.

Seven was finally waking up.

Seven was conscious, but she didn't want to open her eyes. She suddenly understood why her mother was so leery of returning to reality. The memory of the actions that led to her latest visit to sickbay made her feel ill inside, and Seven wondered what possible reason there would be for her to want to wake up.

"Annika?"

Kathryn's voice was soft and coaxing, urging the Borg from the warm darkness. Shame and horror filled the young woman in equal measure. How could she have acted in such a manner? What was wrong with her?

"Darling, it's all right. I'm right here."

Seven opened her eyes a slit. "Kathryn?"

Janeway smiled gently, her eyes a soft blue as she leaned over her spouse, her palm warm where it cupped the Borg's cheek. "I'm so glad you're all right."

Seven was confused. She couldn't understand how her partner could be so casual about what had happened. Certainly, she had done less reprehensible things and received more censure for them.

"Kathryn ... the ready room..."

"Shh, it wasn't your fault, darling. Do you remember the lab where you were working on the communications packet?"

Seven swallowed, memories crowding into her mind. "Something materialized. It was an organic compound of some kind."

"It was a 'pheromone bomb'," the captain explained, "based on the Iboneb Effect. Only it was far more powerful than what I was exposed to."

Seven sat up, horrified. "Kathryn, I struck you. I tried to force you..." She trailed off, a sick sensation filling her chest.

Janeway grasped Seven's shoulders, staring her in the face. "That wasn't you," she said with complete conviction. "You weren't in control of your responses, any more than I was when I struck you while under the influence of these pheromones. It was an isolated incident, Seven, nothing more."

Seven wondered if Janeway had felt as wretched in the aftermath of that incident as the Borg did now. If so, it was not surprising that the captain had found it necessary to apologize profusely and repeatedly. She lowered her head, closing her eyes, and was surprised to feel her spouse's lips on her forehead, kissing her lovingly.

"Annika, I know how bad you feel," Janeway said firmly as she hugged her. "Believe me, I totally understand. I was in the same place, remember? Unfortunately, this seems part and parcel of being in Starfleet. Unconventional things will happen to us on occasion, but there's absolutely nothing we can't handle as long as we face it together. I need you to let go of what was nothing more than an aberrant incident caused by outside influences. There are too many demands on our time right now to grant it any further attention. We need to move on."

Seven lifted her head, peering into the depths of her beloved captain's eyes, evaluating the sincerity, the certainty that this was not an incident that would damage their relationship either in the short term or in the long term. Could it be so simple as acknowledging the factors contributing to the incident and putting it behind them? Seven inhaled slowly. She had not blamed Janeway for any of her actions during the encounter with the Iboneb. She had to accept that Janeway would be equally as tolerant and forgiving of her weakness.

"Very well, Kathryn," she said in a low voice. "I will attempt to 'move past it'."

Janeway's mouth softened and she hugged the Borg again. "I love you. With all my heart and soul, I love you, Annika.. I always will."

Seven felt a melting inside her as her guilt and shame dissolved under the unconditional devotion of her partner. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, even though it was only a few weeks, she felt as if she was finally thinking clearly. "I love you, my Kathryn," she whispered fiercely, returning the embrace. "Forever."

There was a subtle clearing of a nearby throat and the two women separated. Seven glanced over to see the ship's counselor watching with interest and she flushed slightly.

"I'm glad to know you've recovered, Seven," Kes said formally. "I also wanted to let you know that Erin is showing small signs of improvement since treatment began. There's every reason to have hope."

Seven felt bombarded by the information, but she nodded politely. "Thank you, Counselor."

Kes seemed about to say something more, but instead, she hesitated, inclined her head, and departed in the direction of her office, leaving Janeway and Seven alone.

"Was the assailant captured?"

The captain looked grim. "No, and unfortunately, he succeeded in preventing the decryption of the message. Right now, the lab is impregnated with pheromones and has to be sealed off from the rest of the ship until we can send in a decontamination team."

Seven frowned, puzzled. "However, that is merely a stopgap measure, is it not? Once the room is cleared and a level ten force field erected to prevent any further unauthorized transport, then I can finish decoding the message."

Janeway moved away, more so she could pace in agitation as opposed to needing distance from her spouse. "It's all stopgap, Seven," she said with angry dissatisfaction, fists clenched. "We'll retrieve Tarn in a few more days. We'll decode the message after a few more days. Ro will have finished examining the biometric personnel files in a few more days..."

Seven tilted her head. "One must then wonder," she offered slowly, "what happens before those 'few days' have passed."

Janeway stopped, staring at her wildly for a few seconds as she absorbed the meaning of the Borg's words. "You want to explain that?"

Seven swung her legs over the edge of the biobed and stood up. "I had a thought, but it is nebulous, Captain. Please, continue the discussion until I have isolated it."

Janeway lifted a brow, recognizing that her spouse was utilizing a speculation technique that she had learned while with Leah Brahm's TPG. Seven normally used it while pursuing theoretical scientific research rather than for criminal investigations, but the captain appeared willing to accept that it could be useful in this case. "Did you retrieve anything from the message packet before you were interrupted? Ro told me it was an Orion Syndicate code."

Seven considered it. "It was the same one used by the Noiro colony to disguise their communications traffic. Obviously, there are ties to the syndicate involved here."

"Which is not good news," Janeway said, hands on her hips. "They have several reasons not to like us at all."

Seven blinked and looked at her keenly. "Kathryn?" Bluish-grey eyes rose to meet hers. "It is assumed by everyone that the initial incident in engineering was not intended to be as serious as it was."

Janeway nodded. "I think the saboteur didn't realize how vital the warp engines are in the operation of the transition drive. Why?"

Seven shook her head, still having difficulty pinning her idea down. "Why would someone want the ship to return early?"

Janeway shrugged. "Because they needed to pass on something to their boss, in this case, the Orion Syndicate," she suggested. "Because something was discovered that they thought the Syndicate needed to know immediately."

"Like the Iboneb?"

Janeway shrugged slightly. "This 'pheromone bomb' was obviously developed from the data we retrieved during that mission. It holds the potential to be a devastating weapon or even some kind of recreational drug, and it's possible our saboteur, assuming he's the same person who developed it, wanted to pass it on to the Orion Syndicate as soon as possible."

"Suppose it was simply the return itself that was important."

The captain crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you mean?"

The thought was fleeting, but Seven pursued it doggedly. "What would happen if the plan had worked as you believe the saboteur intended, and the ship had returned prematurely to the Alpha Quadrant? "

Janeway inhaled slowly. "I suppose there would be an investigation carried out by Starfleet to determine the cause of the plasma leak."

"We barely detected evidence of sabotage, and that was purely a matter of timing. Suppose Starfleet had not found any evidence of sabotage and was forced to rule it a 'freak' accident. What would it mean to the ship and the crew? What would it mean to you?"

"I'm not sure." Janeway looked vaguely impatient with the direction of the conversation, but she took a seat on the biobed and made a visible effort to give it some thought. "It could have appeared that there's some unknown flaw or malfunction present in Millennium's warp plasma flow conduits. The ship might have been regulated to a dry-dock for further inspection."

"Would such an accident reflect badly on B'Elanna?"

Janeway lifted a brow. "Maybe. If there was no evidence of an obvious cause, it's possible that Starfleet might look to the chief engineer as being neglectful in some manner." She firmed her jaw. "I wouldn't have allowed it, of course."

"But the perception might have persisted, despite your best efforts."

Janeway looked reluctant. "Perhaps."

Seven linked her hands behind her back and studied the deck. "What of you?"

"What about me?"

"How would an early return to the Alpha Quadrant reflect on you? I know there were many other captains considered for this command, supported by other factions in Starfleet Command."

Janeway blinked. "I guess ... well, it never looks good when a captain has to abort a deep space mission, regardless of the reason. It would have been a trifle embarrassing, but certainly no more than that. Not enough to lose my command, but I'll grant that there might have been a few questions raised in the upper echelons of Starfleet Command about my ability to lead this kind of mission."

Seven lifted her head, pinning the captain with a look. "It would be more than embarrassing had you made an emergency transition jump, Kathryn."

Janeway spread her hands, unimpressed. "That never would have happened," she said mildly. "You made the risks of such a decision more than clear to me."

"The risks were very high." Seven strolled over to the window that offered visual access to her mother's room, staring through it without actually seeing the interior. "Even had we stabilized the integrity fields and improved our shields, we still would have lost an unacceptable percentage of the crew. Perhaps our saboteur, rather than not knowing the outcome of his actions, instead was fully cognizant of the medical impact an emergency transition jump could have. Perhaps that was exactly what he expected and planned for you to do."

Janeway exhaled audibly behind her. Seven knew she was trying to understand where the Borg was going with this. "I can't see any captain risking that much just to return to the Alpha Quadrant."

"Indeed?" Seven lifted a brow. "Are you not the captain who is reputed to be more than simply determined? Who is known to have risked everything to return to the Alpha Quadrant by utilizing an experimental and risky propulsion system?" Seven's face grew cold. "We almost lost our chief engineer. We did lose nine members of the alpha shift, which is comprised of the very best engineers the ship possesses. We were very fortunate not to lose more. In any event, had their courage been less and they had evacuated rather than remained, repairs to the warp engines would have been impossible because the plasma would have reached the warp manifold. Indeed, it was barely stopped in time. An emergency transition jump would have been our only option."

The Borg could easily see the captain's reflection in the window as Seven's train of thought finally became clear. Janeway swallowed, the words coming hard. "Even though the procedures were established for an emergency of that nature, it still took a special kind of courage for those officers to remain at their posts as the plasma spilled. It wouldn't necessarily have been expected of anyone, no matter what the protocols dictated." She jumped off the bed and strode across the room. Seven saw her coming and therefore, was not surprised when the captain took her arm and urged her around until they were face to face.

"You think that this was intended to force me into using an emergency transition jump." There was pure steel in her tone. "I would have returned with a horrific casualty rate and Starfleet would have been left with disturbing questions about the practicality and viability of Millennium and its transition drive."

Seven nodded slowly. "Perhaps before the next 'few days' have passed, an emergency transition jump is exactly what will be required."

Janeway's face went completely white.

Ro stared at the file on the viewscreen and found it difficult to catch her breath. How could Starfleet have missed this? How could she have missed it? She slapped her comm badge.

"Captain, I need to see you immediately."

"That's good, because I need to see you. I'm on the way to my ready room. Meet me there."

Ro downloaded the information onto a padd and left her office, heading for the nearest turbolift. On the bridge, T'Shanik rose from the comm, an eyebrow cocked inquiringly as the Bajoran crossed the upper deck without even glancing at the Vulcan. Her request for admittance was granted immediately and she entered the ready room, faltering a bit when she saw Seven standing in front of the desk. The memory of the last time she had seen her was very clear in her mind, the imposing Borg standing over the fallen captain, whirling to face Ro and the security team, ready to attack, her face a mask of twisted rage.

"Seven," she managed evenly.

"Commander Ro." Seven eyed her briefly and lowered her voice. "Thank you for stopping me."

Ro blinked, surprised by the comment. "I'm sorry we didn't detect the transporter signal in time," she replied. "We let you down, Seven. Our sensors didn't perform up to expectations."

"I would like to discuss that with you," Seven said eagerly. "I believe that certain enhancements to the sensors would prevent any future..."

"Seven." The captain's voice was quiet, but it quelled the Borg's enthusiasm immediately. Seven glanced at Ro, indicating that she would pursue the technical discussion at some future time, and the women took a seat. Janeway pinned Ro with a look. "Commander."

Ro wordlessly handed over the padd. Janeway read it, the corners of her mouth and eyes tightening visibly.

"How can this be?"

"I didn't get it from his file, I got it from hers. A passing mention of her father-in-law during a psyche evaluation. I think it was missed by Starfleet because his file has nothing at all regarding it, just data pertaining to his maternal family. If I hadn't gone over the files of the victims again, looking for some connection, no matter how tenuous, I never would have found it."

Janeway suddenly looked old. "Damn."

Seven was looking back and forth between them uncertainly, clearly baffled by the conversation. Ro inhaled deeply. "Peter Martin took his mother's name when he applied to Starfleet," she explained to the Borg. "His father's name was never mentioned."

"How is that relevant?"

"His mother's name is Cathy Martin," Janeway said in an eerily detached tone. "She was Cheb Packer's first wife. They also had a girl, Chandra. I never made the connection with Peter, however."

Seven appeared stunned. "Cheb Packer? The same man who was your first lover? The man who was a member of the Orion Syndicate and kidnapped you?"

"Ironically, it's starting to fit in a way I don't much like," Janeway said grimly. "Seven came up with a theory, Commander."

Seven blinked, still reeling from the news of her officer's ties with one of her more hated enemies, but she quickly recovered at the captain's prompting and filled Ro in about her speculation as to the real reason behind the sabotage in engineering. The Bajoran shook her head after she had finished.

"It makes sense," she said unhappily. "If he wanted to humiliate you, Captain, and ruin your career, this would have been a perfect way to do it. I doubt Starfleet would have assigned you another command after bringing home a Terran casualty rate of 25%."

"He took an awful risk," Janeway said. "It wasn't simply a matter of losing so many crewmembers to transition psychosis, a jump could have destroyed the ship entirely. Besides, he and his family are Terran."

"He killed his wife," Seven interjected in a chill tone. "He deprived his son of his mother. It is possible he will consider it worth any cost to destroy you, Captain."

"Laura wasn't supposed to be there," Ro reminded the Borg thoughtfully. "B'Elanna was late that day and kept Laura a good while afterward. She should have been back in her quarters when that bomb exploded. Besides, while it's entirely possible he knew about the casualty rate for an unsupported transition jump, which is available in the biometric specs, he still might not have known about all the engineering requirements, or the threat to the ship's structure." She glanced at Janeway. "And he and Laura weren't Terran, Captain. Although he claims Terran citizenship, he was actually born on Risa during one of Packer's business trips, and raised on Xanthras III where Laura is from."

"But why would Peter hate me that much?" Janeway said, obviously baffled. "Cathy divorced Packer when Peter was only a tottler. From what I understood from my mother, it wasn't a pleasant parting. I don't believe Cheb had much contact with his children after that."

"Peter may still have felt a great loyalty to his father." Seven paused, her face very still. "The ties between parent and child can be very strong regardless of the circumstances, not to mention, exceedingly ... complex."

Ro looked at her, wondering whether she was talking about Peter ... or herself. "Seven could be right, Captain. There's no way of knowing what connection Martin may have made with his father after he grew up. It's possible that they've been working together for some time. Peter might even have joined Starfleet at his father's bidding. Then, there's the disturbing thought that this could be a professional vendetta, something for which the Orion Syndicate is infamous. You and Seven were instrumental in destroying their homeworld and striking a severe blow to their operations. He could just be fulfilling a contract."

Janeway looked vaguely pale. "I'd rather think it was personal, that he hated me for killing his father or because Seven and I were instrumental in the financial downfall of the Packer Shipping Lines. Cheb had old fashioned ideas and as his eldest son, Peter would have been in line to inherit both wealth and power. In any event, there's enough there for you to bring him in for further interrogation."

"I'll attend to it personally, Captain."

Janeway dipped her head. "We also need a sweep of the ship. Seven's worried that he isn't finished. He may attempt further sabotage."

Ro caught her breath. "I'll put all my security teams on it immediately, Captain."

The Bajoran didn't wait to be dismissed, leaping from her chair and exiting the ready room. On the bridge, she immediately moved to her tactical console, shouldering aside, with little formality, the ensign covering it. She immediately dispatched several security teams to run a sweep through the ship, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Then she requested the location of the biometrics officer.

"Peter Martin is in his quarters," the computer recited quietly.

"Seal the door," Ro instructed. "Authorization Ro Laren, twenty-four green."

She reached into the nearby compartment, retrieving a phaser rifle. She was aware of T'Shanik's odd expression as she crossed the bridge to the turbolift, hefting the weapon gingerly. She knew she should call for backup of some sort, but she wanted to take this guy on her own. Martin owed a great deal for the pain he had caused the crewmembers of Millennium, not the least of which was the terrible guilt B'Elanna had experienced after Laura had died as a result of saving the chief engineer's life. Ro also had something to prove to the captain. In her mind, she had made a mess of this investigation from beginning to end, and bringing in Martin on her own seemed like the only way to restore her honor. The Bajorans were a little like the Klingons in that way. B'Elanna would understand Ro's reasoning, even if no one else did.

Ro paused outside the door of the Martin's family quarters, taking a moment to prepare herself. If he had tried the door during the time it had taken for her to travel down to this deck, he'd know something was up and be ready for her. Again, she considered calling for additional security but stubbornly resisted the idea. If she couldn't handle one puny science officer, then she wasn't much of a security chief.

She took a breath, overrode the entrance controls and lunged through the door, weapon at the ready.

It was empty.

Martin's comm badge was lying in clear sight on the table, and the Bajoran bit off a curse. She made a quick sweep through the rooms, disturbed when she realized that all personal effects had been removed. She activated her comm badge.

"Computer, locate Bobby Martin." Children on starships this size had bio-neural transceivers injected in their right wrist rather than issued a comm badge, which studies had proven were easily misplaced during play. The tiny sub-dermal devices gave a mild warning tingle if a child entered a restricted zone, and also made it easy to locate a child quickly if he or she wandered off. Ro doubted that Peter would have had the time or inclination to perform minor surgery on his son just to remove it.

"Bobby Martin is currently in the Gamma Hangar."

Ro's curse was much louder. "Computer, site to site transport on my mark, this location to the gamma hangar deck. Engage."

She materialized on the main landing pad of the hangar, emptiness stretching for several meters around her. In their alcoves, the various support vessels for the starship crouched in the lowered illumination, their bulky shapes barely discernable in the darkness. Some instinct, honed of years in a Cardassian internment camp, Starfleet training and the Maquis, set off warning tingles at the back of her neck. She sprinted for cover, barely ahead of the phaser blasts that burned ugly streaks in the smooth deck. She ducked beneath the protective shelter of a heavy runabout, peering across the grayness of the hangar.

She tapped her comm badge for backup, wincing as feedback squealed through it. Some kind of dampening field was in place. My, my, she thought. Biometric officer, transporter expert, and communications specialist. Not much wonder the Orion Syndicate had snatched him up.

"Martin, there'll be a security team here in three minutes," she shouted. "Give yourself up before it's too late."

There was a pause and then, finally, a response. "I don't think so, Commander." Ro tried to determine the direction of the voice, but the hangar was so large that sound was distorted, echoing in the cavernous space. "If you had a team, they would be here with you right now."

Ro was humiliated to have to agree with him. She always knew her damned pride and that cursed streak of independence was going to get her into real trouble someday. She wondered if this was finally the day.

"It's all over, Pete. We know all about your ties to Cheb Packer and the Orion Syndicate."

There was a pause. Surprise? Shock? Or was his just stalling for time?

"Commander, I suggest you make your way into one of the shuttles. I'm leaving and I'll probably disrupt the containment field when I go."

Ro exhaled. "Tell me something, then," she yelled. Silence, and for a minute, she didn't think he would reply.

"What?"

"This thing with Janeway. Personal or professional?"

Another pause, longer this time. "The Syndicate does have a contract out on both Janeway and the Borg," he replied, confirming Ro's worst fears. "But I was more than glad to accept it for my own reasons. Now, either take cover, Commander, or get used to breathing vacuum."

Ro didn't think being sucked into space was anything she wanted to try. On the other hand, she couldn't very well stay hidden in the shadow of the T'kini. She tried to think. What would a fugitive want as an escape vehicle?

The heavy runabouts were the largest, but the science vessels currently had modules attached to them. It would take hours and a full ground crew to remove the mobile labs. Besides, when they were attached, the runabouts were ungainly, difficult to handle, and not particularly comfortable for traveling long distances. The fighters, meanwhile, were just that; one-person ships designed for speed and agility, with no room for amenities. That left the Tornado-class medium shuttle, or the delta flyers as they were better known, named for their predecessor on Voyager. The Delta Speeder was parked not far from where Ro was crouching. Nothing moved there. The Delta Wing was on the other side of the hangar, and Ro couldn't see it from her vantage point.

Taking a breath, the Bajoran uncoiled and began to sprint along the circumference of the main landing pad, using the parked vessels for cover wherever she could and staying low the rest of the time. At any moment, she expected the flyer to light up, its running lights activated, its pre-launch sequence initiated. The huge hangar doors would begin to separate, an alarm pealing loudly to warn those who were in the vicinity to clear the area. At that point, Ro knew she could duck into one of the fleet vessels, but she would lose her quarry in the faster flyer unless she took one of the fighters after him. The Bajoran grimaced. The speedy ships were reputed to be very tricky to handle, and without the necessary training, she'd probably crash into Millennium before going very far.

But nothing happened and she wondered at the delay. As she came in sight of the Delta Wing, she realized that Martin wasn't quite ready to leave. He was tossing various supplies frantically into the cargo space underneath the shuttle, hampered by the fact that he had to hold a phaser rifle in one arm. Obviously, he was planning on taking his chances in the Delta Quadrant.

Ro wondered why he thought that would be better than remaining on Millennium, even if it meant serving time in the brig. She suddenly had a very bad feeling about the whole situation and stepped out into the light, her rifle raised and aimed directly at the feverishly working scientist.

"Martin," she barked.

Startled, he dropped the heavy container of ration packets he was trying to wrestle into the compartment, belatedly swinging his rifle into place.

"Don't do it," Ro told him coldly. "You may be pretty good, but I'm better."

He looked over the barrel of his weapon, his face shaded an odd green, sweat oozing greasily down his face. "Don't come any closer."

Ro deliberately took a step toward him. "Put it down," she told him in a steady voice. "Despite everything, Pete, I don't think you're a killer. You went out of your way to put Tarn in an escape pod."

He blinked. "She isn't dead?"

"We lied," Ro shrugged.

He licked his lips nervously. "No one was supposed to die, not her and not in engineering. They were all supposed to leave."

"And the transition jump? You must have known what that would do to a percentage of the crew."

"It would be Janeway who killed them, not me."

Typical rationalization, Ro thought. Just keep him talking and maybe I can get that rifle away from him before he does have to kill someone face to face ... like me.

"But it's really all about Janeway and Cheb Packer."

His face hardened. "He was my father. She destroyed him and everything he'd built."

"You're a father, too, Pete. What's your son going to think?"

"He'll understand why I did it," Martin said.

"Including killing his mother?"

"That was an accident!" Peter's voice raised hysterically. "She shouldn't have even been there. She wouldn't have if it hadn't been for your damned wife."

Ro decided she shouldn't continue that line of conversation. While her weapon was set to heavy stun, she doubted Martin's was. She noted that his finger was loose on the trigger, and with her own beginning to squeeze, she knew it was time to end this. They could discuss the details after he was tucked snugly into the brig.

She was completely unprepared when Martin abruptly rushed her, swinging his weapon wildly. The stock slammed into her arm, knocking her weapon away and driving her back. Struggling with him, she yanked his phaser rifle away as she collapsed, flipping him over her head and sending him through the air to land heavily on the deck. She wasted a few precious seconds switching the new weapon over to stun before flipping up the barrel and firing at the scientist who had staggered to his feet.

Nothing happened, and dumbfounded, Ro realized the power pack had been drained. That's why he had rushed her. He must have used the last ergs of energy while shooting at her on the landing pad. Before she recovered from this unpleasant surprise, he bulled into her, knocking her over and closing his hands around her neck. She struggled, trying to pry the grasping fingers from her throat. She landed in a bad position, and he was using his greater body mass to the best effect. Feeling herself start to black out from the pressure, she applied a unique twist of leverage, knowing her back was going to pay for it later. Perhaps desperation lent an unnatural amount of strength to the throw. Martin cartwheeled through the air, landing awkwardly. There was a sickening crack, and he didn't rise again.

Gasping for breath, Ro rolled painfully to her feet and staggered over to the crumpled form. Peter's eyes stared sightlessly into the air, his neck set at an unnatural angle. He had impacted on one of the shuttle's landing struts, caving in his right temple. A tiny trickle of blood ran from his mouth and ears, pooling briefly on the deck.

"Damn it." Ro was disgusted with herself. She had handled this badly from beginning to end. She wouldn't blame the captain if she immediately found herself a new security chief. Another thought suddenly made the Bajoran's blood run cold, and Ro moved quickly to the hatch of the shuttle. She didn't know where the child was, and it made her sick to think that he might have witnessed her killing his father, particularly since revenge appeared to be such a family tradition.

Ro let her breath out in rush, relief flowing liquid within her when she found the boy sleeping peacefully on one of the pull down bunks in the rear compartment. Leaving Bobby there, she returned to the main cabin where she disengaged the signal blocking communications, wondering why Martin had been in such an all fired hurry to leave Millennium. Judging from the supplies he'd been loading, he had been planning for a long term disappearance. It would have taken some time to set up.

The escape attempt couldn't have been because he believed Ro was suddenly on to him.

"Janeway to Ro."

Ro blinked and tapped her comm badge. "Ro here."

"Has Mr. Martin been secured?"

Ro stared at the body through the viewscreen, her mouth tight. "Oh yes, Captain, he's secured."

"Then get down here to engineering. We have a bigger problem."

Janeway swallowed hard as she looked at the explosive bio-organic gel lining the underside of the warp manifold, wired into a detonation device that was counting down with inexorable steadiness. According to the illuminated readout, they had about three hours. It wasn't a lot of time.

"Look familiar?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Seven said imperturbably. She scanned the region with her tricorder as she knelt within the Jefferies tube. "It is the same compound that was used to destroy the geothermal power plant in the Noiro colony. Apparently, both Section 31 and the Orion Syndicate purchase their illicit weaponry from the same source."

Janeway wasn't sure she appreciated the irony and shifted uncomfortably on the metal mesh beneath her.

"What do you intend to do, Captain?" Seven asked, turning her head to meet Janeway's eyes.

Panic? Janeway didn't say it, but the thought was certainly foremost in her mind as she crouched on her hands and knees in the close confines of the conduit.

"Captain?"

Janeway glanced over her shoulder to see her security chief's head poking through the hatch. "Nice of you to join us, Commander Ro," Janeway managed in an even voice. "Mr. Martin?"

Ro pursed her lips. "There was a struggle." She paused. "I take full responsibility."

Janeway stared at her a moment, evaluating the pain and dismay behind the cool words, recognizing the pinched look around the dark Bajoran eyes that had already seen so much needless death.

"Unfortunate," the captain noted mildly. "I was hoping he'd be able to give us some idea on how to remove this mess without blowing ourselves up." She took a moment to evaluate what was facing them, trying to come up with a course of action. Taking a breath, she looked back at her security chief. "Clear the area. Seven and I will attempt to disarm the detonation device."

Ro hesitated, looked as if she were about to protest, and then disappeared. Janeway looked back in time to see Seven frown, peer at the readings of her tricorder, and then again at the explosives decorating the underside of the warp manifold. Janeway didn't like the expression on the Borg's face, and she liked it even less when Seven revealed what she had discovered.

"Captain, these explosives have been extended into the conduit leading to both wrap cores. This will not force an emergency transition jump. This will rupture the antimatter containment fields entirely and destroy the ship." She dropped her head and looked directly into the captain's eyes, her ice blue gaze clear and brilliant. "I highly recommend that the crew be evacuated to safe haven and separated from the ship. Millennium can be placed on automated station keeping while I attempt to disarm the detonator."

Janeway opened her mouth to protest and then paused. If what Seven said was true, then she had a responsibility to her crew and couldn't waste precious time debating about it. She would need every second of those three hours to move over a thousand crew to safety. Under normal circumstances, she would have remained on Millennium with Seven and had her first officer take charge of Safe Haven, but with Zar, the chief engineer and the ship's Wing Commander, on an away mission, that had depleted Janeway's senior staff. She would have to command the complete evacuation herself. She wavered for another second, and then tapped her comm badge.

"All hands, this is the Captain. We are currently in a Condition Red. All senior officers to the secondary bridge. All alpha shift crewmembers to auxiliary stations. All other personnel report immediately to safe haven. Fleet pilots to your vessels and prepare for immediate launch."

She shot another look at her spouse. "We'll take up a position a half million kilometers from the ship," she told her.

"Two million kilometers will be necessary in order to remain clear of any blast radius," Seven corrected immediately.

Janeway absorbed that. "Fine," she accepted. "Two million, but I'll leave a delta flyer in the vicinity to beam you out if you can't shut this down. Go to warp as soon as you're aboard."

Seven nodded. "Take care, Kathryn."

"You too, love." Janeway didn't like this, but she knew where her duty lay. Nor would it be the first time she found herself in the position of relying completely on Seven's unique abilities to save her ship. She crawled out of the tube, slipping awkwardly through the hatch. The engine room had been cleared, and Ro Laren was left alone at one of the consoles, switching the last of the systems over to automated command. She looked up as the captain arrived. "Why are you still here?"

"Permission to remain with Seven," Ro said formally. "I might be able to help her. My advanced tactical training included several courses on explosive disarmament."

Janeway hesitated and inclined her head. It wasn't protocol, but every instinct rebelled against abandoning Seven entirely. If she couldn't be here, then Ro was probably the only other person besides B'Elanna that Janeway would trust to keep her Borg safe.

"Don't let her stay too long," Janeway instructed. "If there's no hope of disarming the detonator, then get the hell out of there."

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway didn't look back as she rushed out of engineering and headed for the auxiliary bridge located a few decks below the main command center. Millennium had been designed with a 'safe haven', based on an idea constructed in much rougher form on Voyager. All the auxiliary stations were located within a cylinder that rested snugly in the center of the starship's saucer section. A multi-deck, heavily armored survival vessel, capable of velocities reaching warp six, the entire crew could board it and escape in safe, if cramped, quarters from their doomed starship. It didn't even have to be to the nearest planet. Unlike escape pods, the survival vessel was designed so that voyages of a reasonable length could be undertaken, though it wasn't necessarily considered a true starship.

Janeway tried not to consider the fact that if Seven and Ro were unsuccessful, she and her crew would face much the same situation that she had several years earlier with Voyager; either settle on a planet or attempt to travel tens of thousands of light-years back to the Alpha Quadrant using traditional warp. Janeway couldn't see herself settling for the colonization option. There was every chance another Frontier-class vessel would be launched to rescue them when they didn't return as scheduled, and she wanted to be in space at least trying to get home when it came looking for them.

Her face set in its firmest command mask, she entered the cramped confines of the auxiliary bridge. The illumination was dim, awash in crimson, and she took her seat in the command chair. It was jammed between the first officer's seat, which was empty, and the counselor's chair where Kes was already working at her console. Lt. T'Shanik covered operations while one of Ro's assistant security chiefs manned the tactical post, the stations at port and starboard respectively. At the front part of the small bridge, so close that Janeway could reach out and kick the back of his chair if she so chose, Nog activated the helm, preparing to detach the vessel from Millennium.

"Report."

"The evacuation is proceeding according to schedule," Kes said, studying the viewscreen attached to the arm of her chair as she acted as the interim first officer.

For the next hour and a half, Janeway was kept busy with making sure her crew was transferred to the new ship and settled into their crowded cabins. At any moment, she expected a hail from her partner, telling her that the bomb had been disarmed and they could abort the evacuation. As time grew short, however, and there was no communication from her spouse, Janeway realized with alarm that she was running out of options.

"Helm, prepare to disengage from Millennium."

"Aye, Captain," Nog responded promptly as his gnarled hands moved over the compact helm. Lights spread over the various stations around them as the vessel activated its own power core rather than running off Millennium's warp engines. "Detaching umbilicals. Impulse engines are coming on line."

"Initiate separation."

There was a tiny shudder as the vessel quivered within its berth, and then a larger one as the airlocks sealed, the final connections with Millenium were severed, and Safe Haven detached from the mother ship.

"Thrusters only," Janeway instructed. "Take us clear."

She wrapped her fingers around the arms of her chair and tried to project calm and assurance as the vessel shivered and shook. On the fore viewscreen, a quarter the size of the one that graced the bridge of Millennium, she watched as the surrounding bulkheads began to slide upward.

"Captain, we're being hailed."

Janeway exhaled in relief. It was too late to abort separation, but at least they wouldn't have to travel too far. "Seven?"

"Uh, no, Captain, it's the Delta Sky," T'Shanik replied. "They're requesting permission to dock." She paused. "Correction, they request information about our situation."

Janeway felt the stab of disappointment sharp within her chest. "Fill them in and tell them to stand by," she instructed. "Leave Lt. Paris and the Delta Sky in position to take on Seven and Commander Ro if necessary. Beam everyone else onboard once we're clear of Millennium."

She set her jaw and leaned back in her chair as her new ship finally slipped clear, leaving Millennium cored, a gaping hole running through the center of the saucer section all the way up to deck five. It made the starship look gutted, fatally wounded, and Janeway had to repress a shudder of horror.

"Set a course two million kilometers away."

Janeway felt a surge press her back into the chair as the ship lumbered away from where Millennium drifted in vacuum, abandoned and alone. Around the survival vessel, the auxiliary fleet fell into formation, five delta flyers, three heavy runabouts, eighteen fighters and a host of class four shuttles. It was very organized, but Janeway still felt as if she were leading a ragtag fleet away from the promised land. She felt personally humiliated, a complete failure on so many levels that it defied analysis.

She looked up as the only doors to the bridge slipped open, the hiss loud and harsh. Commander Zar moved adroitly to his chair and settled in beside the captain.

"Ensign Tarn is in sickbay. She regained consciousness when we were halfway back." He paused. "I guess you know Peter Martin shoved her into the escape pod."

"That's the least of what he's done," Janeway said shortly. She frowned. "Where's B'Elanna?"

"She volunteered to help Ro and Hansen." He tilted his head. "I saw no reason to deny the request."

Janeway nodded. "She might do more good there than here." She studied her first officer's face. He had a very odd expression altering his boney features. "Commander?"

"You know, we had a good view of Safe Haven leaving the ship," he said. He hesitated, as if searching for the proper words. "It was ... uh, quite impressive, Captain."

Janeway frowned. "I'm sure it was," she said. It may have been a magnificent sight, but the captain had more pressing matters concerning her. "If Seven can't complete her mission, we're going to have to carefully consider our options."

Zar nodded, sobering. "I can't recommend the planet Tarn visited," he said. "It may have been M-class, but it nearly killed her, and us too. The seismic instability is extreme."

"I'd rather find a planet a little closer to the Alpha Quadrant," Janeway admitted. "Assuming we choose colonization."

Zar blinked. "Are you contemplating a journey back," he asked in a low tone. "In this?"

"It's another option," Janeway told him.

"The auxiliary fleet isn't designed for long voyages," he reminded her.

Janeway exhaled. "I know. We may have to leave some of the heavy runabouts behind. Maybe the fighters as well, though they are now our best means of defense." She stopped. The conversation was depressing her and it wasn't really necessary to have it right now. She looked at the viewscreen where the silvery outline of her starship hung like a Christmas ornament against the sparkling backdrop of space. There was still time.

If only Seven came through as Janeway prayed and hoped she would.

A shudder ran through the entire ship, making the two women, Borg and Bajoran, jerk their hands back from the delicate work they had been doing.

"Safe Haven has been launched," Ro noted. Sweat was beading on her forehead, and she took the opportunity to wipe it away with the sleeve of her uniform.

Seven lifted a brow. "I believe you are correct." She glanced at the detonator. "We do not have much time left." The last two and a half hours had flown by as she and the security chief attempted several methods of disarming the bomb without setting it off, but to no avail. They hadn't blown themselves up, but by the same token, they hadn't stopped the advance of the timer by one second.

Once the shuddering had stopped, Seven and Ro resumed their inspection of the internal mechanism that lay exposed to the stuffy air of the Jefferies tube. It had taken this long to remove the casing of the detonator, and Seven wasn't sure there was enough time left to thoroughly scan the interior, let along come up with a way to bypass it.

"Hey."

The sound of the chief engineer's voice nearly caused Ro to fall over and Seven to draw back her tricorder quickly for a second time. The women looked over at B'Elanna who had her head poking through the hatch. The Klingon absorbed the irritated looks, a sheepish expression crossing her face.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"What are you doing here?" Ro demanded.

"I was in the neighborhood." B'Elanna crawled the rest of the way into the tube. "Tom's standing by with the Delta Sky to beam us out of here if necessary. Rather than wait with him, I thought I'd be more useful here." She eyed the device they were working on with interest. "Nasty."

"It is," Seven agreed coolly. "Any suggestions?"

"Tried bypassing the chronometer circuit?"

"Immediately."

"Tried putting a force field around the transmission signal?"

"There is a scrambler pulse in place."

"Tried running a repeater function through the timer?"

"Yes." Seven lifted her chin. "B'Elanna, we have tried everything we could think of. There is no point in restating the obvious methods of disarmament, and we have also considered all the less obvious methods. Commander Ro has much experience in this as a result of her tactical training.."

"I hate to admit it, but this is a work of art," Ro said with grudging admiration. "Martin thought of everything this time."

B'Elanna tilted her head. "I suppose picking it up and throwing it out the nearest airlock is out of the question."

Seven stared at her. "There is, of course, a motion sensor within the device." She should have been more angered at her friend's inappropriate attitude toward the situation, but truthfully, her mind had been running desperately around in circles, and B'Elanna's humor, as ill timed as it seemed, served to calm and refresh her. She inhaled slowly, looking back at the device as new ideas bubbled to the surface.

Radical ideas.

Seven was not, by nature, a radical person. It may have seemed to others unfamiliar with her background that she was unorthodox, but the truth was, Seven's Borg conditioning made her as logical as a Vulcan and as precise as the most conservative scientist. Years of exposure to both her spouse and B'Elanna, had taught her to consider imagination as vital a source for solutions as technical knowledge and research, but it wasn't natural for her to fall back on that unless there was no other choice.

There was no other choice.

"A merged energy pulse," she said.

Both Ro and B'Elanna shot astonished looks at her. "What?" Ro was frankly skeptical. "Seven, that requires a lattice of energy patterns that are so precisely spaced, there's no room for error. We're more apt to advance the detonation than stop it."

"I don't think we have the equipment to set up the attempt, either," B'Elanna added helpfully.

Seven lifted a brow. "We are running out of time. There are only fifteen minutes left."

"We still have time to beam to the flyer," Ro said seriously. "In fact, the captain made me promise to bring you back. If this doesn't work, we could destroy ourselves, and the Delta Sky as well."

Seven lifted a brow. "I insist on attempting it," she said. "You must transport out of here and have the Delta Sky withdraw to a safe distance. The risk is entirely mine."

B'Elanna snorted. "And tell the captain we left you behind? Do the words 'fate worse than death' mean anything to you?"

Ro studied her tricorder. "Seven, I honestly don't think you can make this work. It would be futile."

"It must work," Seven said simply and began to adapt a spanner. What she hoped to do was burn out the various energy pathways running through the device simultaneously. It had to be absolutely at the same time. If any one of the crucial relays was not destroyed or lagged even a fraction of a nanosecond in its destruction, then the device would send the signal to the neurogenic triggers laced throughout the explosives, causing it to explode. It was definitely a measure of last resort.

Ro exhaled audibly. "Then I'll do it, Seven. You and B'Elanna beam out of here." Ro shared a long look with her spouse.

"Unacceptable." Seven did not look up from her adaptations. "You lack the ability to make adjustments this precise."

B'Elanna held the look from her spouse, eyes speaking volumes. "I agree with Seven."

Ro swallowed hard. "You go, then. At least one of us will be safe."

"Without you? You're being foolish."

"You are both being foolish," Seven said calmly.

"So what else is new?"

Seven lifted the spanner, eyeing it in the muted light of the Jefferies tube. Such a simple device, yet it could save them all. Had her adjustments to the field's alignment been exacting enough? Had her cortical implant provided the necessary microscopic precision to make such finite alterations in its programming?

It would have to be enough.

"I am ready," she announced.

Ro and B'Elanna exchanged looks, and then the Bajoran nodded. As senior officer, she had to give the order. "Go ahead."

As Seven carefully put the spanner in exactly the right position, she noted that the other women reached for each other, their hands entwining firmly. A part of Seven wished Janeway was there with her to hold her hand as well, though another part was content that the captain and her crew were safe and far away.

She took a breath and applied the spanner as thousands of tiny energy beams, precisely aligned, lanced out from the tip of the device and burned through the detonator's interior.

"Uh, Seven ... the timer changed." There was a note of panic in B'Elanna's voice. "You advanced it."

The numbers flashed with cold efficiency.

Five. Four.

Seven blinked as B'Elanna and Ro flattened to the metal mesh deck of the Jefferies tube, their arms covering their heads.

Three. Two.

B'Elanna made a small sound in the back of her throat.

One.

"Curious," the Borg said calmly, a few seconds later, conveniently forgetting how she had reacted in the lab when the pheromone bomb had materialized. "Do you truly believe that covering your heads and hiding your eyes will somehow protect you from total annihilation?"

Ro was first to raise her head when the expected explosion did not materialize. "It was instinct, Seven," she said as she sat up. She eyed her. "Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't react in a similar fashion, no matter what your conditioning."

Seven lifted her shoulder slightly in a shrug. "I knew it would work."

B'Elanna was hyperventilating, hugging her knees as she leaned against the nearest bulkhead. "One of these days, Borg, you're going to be wrong."

Seven lifted a brow. "Perhaps you will even be there to witness that, my friend," she allowed. She paused. "However, I doubt it."

"What, that'll you'll be wrong or that I'll be there to see it?"

Seven considered it. "Both."

She made some further adjustments to her tricorder and placed it very carefully on the detonator. "Computer, utilizing the adapted transporter beam, transport all explosive compound, neurogenic triggers and detonator to a location five hundred thousand kilometers off the port bow. Fire phasers and destroy it."

Sparkles and the hum of a transporter surrounded the women as the computer complied with Seven's request. There was a brief pause, a moment of calm, and then a subtle shudder ran through the ship. The three women looked at each other and the Klingon managed a toothy grin.

"We should contact the captain, though if that didn't tell her things were all right, nothing will."

"Delta Sky to away team."

Ro touched her comm badge. "Go ahead, Paris."

"Relayed from the captain," Tom said. "Strong work, everyone."

"Understood," Ro said. "Confirm Millennium is secured. Tell them to come on home."

"On our way."

The three women crawled out of the Jefferies tube and Seven was relieved to be in the spacious surroundings of main engineering. B'Elanna made a beeline to the nearest work station, bringing the ship's engines back online, and Seven took a moment to relax the tension that had tightened her shoulders. As she shifted them, she glanced over at Ro who was leaning somewhat weakly against the railing that bracketed the dual warp cores.

"Commander,"

"Yes, Seven?"

"What of Bobby Martin?"

Ro's eyes were sad. "He was asleep the entire time, Seven. After ... dealing with Martin, I contacted one of Bobby's teachers. He's with her on Safe Haven." She bent her head. "I didn't mean to kill his father."

"Lt. Martin undoubtedly left you with no choice, Laren," Seven offered with as much comfort as she could. She flicked an eyebrow. "Bobby will be better off without a parent who is so destructive."

"Perhaps," Ro said, and then shrugged, as if attempting to move out from beneath such a burden. She even managed a laugh, more bitter than humorous, shaking out her arms as she changed the subject. "Prophets, I'm still shaking. I guess I'm getting a little too old for this."

Now that she had a moment to think about it, and how close it had been, Seven clasped her hands tightly behind her back, perhaps to prevent them from trembling. "It was a most ... harrowing experience."

"Well, I have something that will cheer you up," B'Elanna said over her shoulder as she gestured at her console. "I've set up the sensors to record Safe Haven's approach vector. Come take a look at this and tell me what you see."

Bemused, Seven and Ro joined the engineer who was bent over the viewscreen. At first, all that was visible was a tiny pinprick of light in the darkness of space. It gradually came closer, surrounded by smaller lights, resolving into an entire fleet of ships homeward bound. As soon as they were in range, the auxiliary vessels immediately broke off and headed for their respective hangars, leaving Safe Haven by itself.

Seven lifted a brow. She had never actually seen the emergency ship that normally resided within the heart of Millennium. Separated from the starship, it was a long, fat, cylinder-shaped vessel, painted battleship gray, with a rounded, slightly larger top where the auxiliary bridge and senior quarters were located. The main body of the ship was lined with raised bulges randomly located where various conduits and cables ran throughout the hull. At the rear of the vessel, short, stubby nacelles, attached directly to the thick base, powered the heavily armored survival vessel.

The women watched as it maneuvered into place beneath the Millennium, taking considerable time to slip back into its berth within the starship, slowly thrusting into the opening beneath the saucer section to completely fill the large, gaping cavity.

"Oh, Prophets," Ro said, leaning over B'Elanna's shoulder. She snorted, tried to restrain it, and then suddenly started to laugh, as much in relief from the end of their ordeal as in amusement. The engineer, meanwhile, was giggling so hard she could barely speak.

"Isn't that positively obscene?" she whooped between gurgles of laughter. "We noticed it when we were returning from the away mission. We arrived just as it was pulling out of the ship and none of us said a word, but I know we were all thinking the same exact thing. Zar must have turned ten shades of red. I didn't even know a Cardassian could blush, let alone that hard. And Tom looked positively green. I'm sure it was from envy. I can't imagine who in Starfleet Command would have designed it to look like that."

Seven lifted her chin as she abruptly recognized the source of B'Elanna and Ro's mirth. She wondered if the captain was aware of the similarity. Somehow, she did not believe so.

Safe Haven bore a passing, if incredibly gigantic, resemblance to the Wonder Wand 2000.

Epilogue

Kes sat alone in her quarters, legs crossed beneath her. The ship was safe and had resumed its course deeper into the Delta Quadrant, going as far as they could before they were scheduled to open up a transition conduit and return to the Federation. Martin's death had shocked the crew, particularly when the details had come out, but most were adjusting well, and peace had resumed on the lower decks.

Far more entertaining to the crew was the knowledge of what masculine body part Safe Haven resembled when detached from the mother ship. Speculation abounded as to whether it was some form of deliberate joke on the part of the engineering design team at Utopia Planitia, somehow slipping it by Starfleet Command, or something that had happened accidentally with all the alterations that naturally occur during a major starship construction. However, none of the crew indulged in such speculation within earshot of the captain. Janeway's temper was decidedly suspect regarding the topic ever since B'Elanna made a visit to her ready room after their return and offered up a visual display of Safe Haven's triumphant docking to Millennium.

Kes supposed that the thought of coming so close to having to captain such a vessel 75,000 light years back to the Alpha Quadrant was most unpalatable to Janeway.

Aside from that, things were quiet on the starship. They were quiet in the quadrant.

They were even fairly quiet in the galaxy.

Kes lifted her head, frowning.

It was gone.

That threat that had send her unerringly back to her other self, that had caused her to undergo specialized training by Guinan, the enigmatic bartender, to combat it, was gone, snuffed out as if it had never existed. Something else must have confronted it there in the bleak reaches of far space and somehow defeated it. Kes and her still fragile abilities would not be required now or at any time in the future. She felt relief and ironically, a little disappointed, as if she had been cheated of some glorious fate, though a part of her was sardonically amused at such hubris. If it had been as bad as Guinan had predicted, they might not have prevailed. It was just as well something else had taken care of it with most sentient beings in the galaxy never even knowing it had been there.

Kes wondered if she would ever discover what it had been, why it had been heading for the Alpha Quadrant, and what had removed it from consideration. She supposed she'd never know. Not all knowledge was there for her to uncover.

And not all stories had the opportunity to be told.

The End

•  This is the tenth installment of the Millennium series and the end of the first season.

• It was posted to the net on January 31st, 2003

• An accessory alert is in effect.

• Dedicated to Susan Mullarky, who continues the fight.

Prospective Paths
G. L. Dartt

Their computer banks were full, their science section had more data than they could possibly research for the next ten decades, and their navigational system contained detailed charts of space the Federation had never before encountered. There was even a Borg drone recovering from assimilation in sickbay. All in all, it had been a most eventful mission, but Kathryn Janeway, captain of the starship Millennium, was happy to be giving the order to head home. As much she loved her command, her ship, and her crew, it would be good to be back in the Federation, if only for a little while.

She was especially happy that her spouse of a few years would be able to spend time on Earth. The last few months had been particularly difficult, and Janeway hoped that some time in Indiana would help heal the young woman who was still dealing with the emotional repercussions of finding her mother alive after twenty-three years of being part of the Borg Collective. Unlike Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix One, Erin Hansen had not been as fortunate in regaining her individuality, and remained in a catatonic state that only attentive care from Federation specialists stood a chance of treating.

As Janeway stepped off the turbolift into her quarters, she faltered briefly in surprise. Soft music played melodiously in the background while a multitude of candles, scattered about the cabin, added to the warm and provocative atmosphere. Standing at the kitchenette counter, Seven looked up from the last details of her meal preparation, her expression unusually soft and inviting. She was dressed in a silver, silken garment that revealed a respectable amount of cleavage and even more of the long, lovely legs that made up most of the young woman's intimidating height.

Janeway paused momentarily, staring at her spouse in bemused admiration before offering a bit of a crooked grin, raising her index finger in emphasis.

"I bet you thought I forgot," she accused.

Seven tilted her head marginally to the right, amusement warming those icy blue eyes. Her long blonde hair cascaded gloriously around her narrow, attractive features where metallic glints from the implant around her left eye and starburst on her right jaw caught the reflection of candlelight. "I thought no such thing, Kathryn," she protested mildly. "I know you have improved greatly in the time we have been married."

Janeway laughed and moved over to her spouse, drawing Seven away from her meal preparation and into her arms where she embraced her tightly.

"Happy Anniversary, my darling," she murmured, raising her face to Seven who obligingly kissed her.

"Happy Anniversary, Kathryn. I love you so much."

Janeway hugged her. "The feeling is entirely mutual." She kissed her again and reluctantly released her. "Do I have time to change before dinner?"

"Of course," Seven said. "As always, I have laid out your clothes."

"Hmm," Janeway said, moving toward the bedroom. "How do you know that I don't have something else in mind?"

Seven lifted a brow. "I do not." She paused. "Do you?"

Janeway shot her a coy look over her shoulder. "Wait and see."

The captain entered the bedroom, ignoring the navy shift draped across the bed. It was Seven's favorite outfit for her spouse, but Janeway had been planning her anniversary for some time. She may have possessed a horrid track record when it came of remembering Seven's birthday, with only a two for six ratio, but she was much better at remembering the day the couple had been married. Which was ironic because she had been terribly hung over that morning and could barely count her toes, let alone appreciate the special day. Thank god the Doctor had administered an anti-intoxicant in time for the ceremony.

From the back of the closet, the captain retrieved a container that she had stashed during the ship's last diplomatic away mission in the Delta Quadrant. The fashions on Terris Four were a bit daring, but quite appropriate for what Janeway hoped would be a perfect anniversary. In previous years, there had usually been a party thrown for them by their friends and family, but this time, Janeway and Seven were limiting the celebration to only themselves. The crew was just too busy preparing for the upcoming transition jump to be distracted by an event that, truthfully, was only significant to the captain and the chief science officer.

Janeway took a quick shower, added some perfume and cosmetics, and finally dressed in her special outfit, evaluating her appearance in the large mirror over the sink counter. The dress was designed to enhance Janeway's physical attributes in a manner that wasn't exactly befitting a starship captain. It was cut up to here, and plunged down to there, while giving the impression that Janeway might possibly be somewhat less than hard to get this night.

The captain moistened her lips with a touch of nervousness as she took in the final effect. Goodness, how can it reveal that much without actually revealing anything?

In any event, the bright glow of appreciation in Seven's eyes was well worth the effort. Janeway smiled as the Borg met her in the living area, extended her arm and formally escorted her to the table located in the garden ... actually an arboretum filled with flowering bushes, dwarf apple trees and even a fountain. It was set with fine china and crystal, located in the fragrant shade of the apple tree that was in full blossom, starlight streaming through the vast viewports lining the hull to grant everything a silvery touch. Nearby, varied dishes, covered with metallic domes, waited to be savored.

"This is lovely, darling," Janeway murmured as she sat down.

"So are you," Seven whispered as she drew aside the captain's hair to brush her lips over the back of her neck. It provoked a pleasurable shiver that ran down Janeway's spine. Even after four years, the young woman could still turn Janeway's knees to jelly with just a touch. She watched as Seven slipped into the seat opposite, waited until she settled, and picked up her wine glass. The ruby depths glinted slightly from the candles flickering in the center of the table.

"To you, my love," Janeway said, her throat suddenly full. "Marrying you was the best thing I've ever done. You're my heart."

Seven's eyes glowed, and she clinked her glass lightly against the captain's. "To you, my Kathryn. From the beginning, you are the perfection always sought and finally achieved."

Deeply touched by the Borg's words, Janeway blushed faintly and took a brief sip of her wine. Dinner proved to be several courses, each one more elaborate than the first, and it was clear that Seven had truly outdone herself in her meal preparation. Janeway relished every bite, the couple lingering over their food as they laughingly shared remembrances of those special times on Voyager, their year and a half on Earth, and the previous year on Millennium. It was wonderfully lighthearted, with both women deliberately shying away from any topic that might darken their evening.

Relaxing over dessert and coffee, Janeway with her special blend, and Seven with her raktajino, the captain was struck by how far her spouse had progressed on her road back to Humanity from her time as a drone in the Borg Collective. It thrilled the captain to know how much further they could expect to travel in their life together, and what wonderful discoveries awaited them.

"Are you looking forward to seeing Earth?"

Seven lifted a brow, a tiny curve at one corner of her full mouth. "It will be good to see Gretchen and Phoebe again," she admitted. "I have missed them greatly this past year. I have missed Jake, as well."

Janeway smiled as she thought of the Irish setter that the couple had raised from a puppy, but had been forced to leave behind with the captain's mother after accepting the posting to Millennium. Yet, there were no regrets. The Frontier-class starship had proved to be a most worthy command, and the vessel itself was a dream, specifically designed for exactly the sort of missions Janeway loved best. Despite knowing that she would be accorded leave upon their return, as possibly as long as six months, Janeway was anxious to discover where their next assignment would take them. Millennium's prototype transition drive offered the ship the opportunity to travel further and faster than any other starship had ever managed. The entire galaxy was there to be explored, and Janeway was determined to see as much of it as she could.

"What are you thinking?" Seven's head was tilted slightly so that her ocular implant was angled toward the captain.

Janeway smiled. "About our future," she said. "We're not even home yet and I'm already planning where our next mission will take us."

Seven was not put off. She knew her partner's nature very well and fully accepted it. Starship command was as much a part of Janeway as her rich, auburn hair and the bluish-grey eyes that altered shades, depending on her mood.

"In the meantime, will we be staying with Gretchen in Indiana?"

Janeway pursed her lips. "I sent a letter to her in the last communications packet." Every month during the past year, Millennium had paused long enough in its exploration to create a tiny transition conduit and fire a communications probe through it to the Federation. The previous month's transmission had been delayed slightly because of an incident with a member of the Orion Syndicate, but eventually, the torpedo had been launched. "However, there's no way of knowing if she'd like having us as house guests for that long."

Seven looked vaguely surprised. "Would it be an imposition, Kathryn? She was so disappointed the last time we refused her hospitality."

"You know she adores you, darling," Janeway pointed out, "but she is married now and has Michael to take into account." She sighed. "It's too bad we gave our house to Chakotay and Icheb. I wonder if I could persuade them to give it back."

"Such a request would leave them without a home," Seven pointed out. "It is an unacceptable demand, Kathryn, particularly since our stay on Earth may only be temporary."

Janeway shrugged lightly. "Well, if you want to look at it that way," she agreed placidly. She paused. "Any ideas?"

"Perhaps we could utilize an away mission habitat and place it near the pond at the farm in Indiana." Seven stared at her with an expectant expression. "I know how much you enjoy cohabitation with nature."

"With the ducks and the frogs, not to mention all those mosquitoes?" Janeway laughed and lifted her coffee cup, peering at her spouse over the rim. "Quit teasing me, or I may forget to give you your present."

Seven's eyes lit up. Even after all this time, she still exhibited a childlike wonder at gifts, perhaps because she had been forced to forgo such things during her eighteen years with the Collective. "I too, have a gift for you."

Janeway blinked. "Darling, this dinner was a most wonderful gift," she protested mildly.

Seven ignored the comment, and drew out a small, neatly wrapped box from somewhere beneath the table, reaching over and placing it before the captain. Janeway eyed it with gratification. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed receiving presents as well, though not nearly to the same extent that Seven did.

"I'll open it in a moment." She rose from the table. "Wait here and I'll find yours."

Returning to the interior of the captain's cabin, Janeway retrieved the large, gaily wrapped gift she had been concealing in a cabinet next to her work station for the past month. She suspected that Seven had found it at one time or another during the occasions when she periodically altered the furniture layout of their living quarters, but the captain was also aware that the Borg would respect what it represented and refuse even to touch it. The contents would still be a complete mystery to the young woman.

Seven wiggled slightly as the captain placed it on the table in front of her. Janeway chuckled, knowing that the Borg wasn't even aware of that delicate little shudder of enjoyment she displayed when presented with a surprise. As the captain resumed her seat across the table, she regarded her partner fondly, pleased beyond measure that she was able to provide her partner with this time of happiness. It was a relief to know that Seven could still recognize and accept the joyful moments, despite her current turmoil.

"You go first," Janeway urged.

Seven hesitated, shooting her a look that combined excitement and anticipation in equal measure. Janeway sipped her coffee with quiet pleasure as the young woman carefully unwrapped the box with delicate precision. The Borg's blue eyes grew even more brilliant as she opened the top and drew out the first item resting upon several smaller, similarly wrapped packages. There was a time when Janeway's primary gift would have been civilian clothing since the Borg would not indulge in replicating them herself, content with her skintight biometric outfits. However, during their time on Earth, or perhaps it was simply because she wore a Starfleet uniform now, the young woman had greatly expanded her sense of fashion. Now she boasted more outfits on her side of the couple's closet than did the captain. In fact, Janeway had noticed recently that her half was becoming progressively more cramped and now consisted of only about a quarter of the space.

Seven definitely did not need more clothes.

She did enjoy art, however. Janeway painstakingly inspected every alien market her ship came across, constantly aware that for whatever reason, Seven's and her taste in sculpture was diametrically opposed. This particular carving had been discovered on a tiny world in a sector Millennium traversed midway through their mission. Spotting it in the merchant's booth, Janeway had immediately pounced on it, believing it to be the single, most ghastly thing she had ever encountered ... which was saying something considering the eclectic Delta Quadrant collection that already graced their quarters, particularly in the cabinet that lined one bedroom wall and Janeway was forced to look at before she closed her eyes for sleep.

"Kathryn, it is beautiful," Seven exclaimed as she examined the carving with pleasure, drawing one fingertip lightly over the intricate lines.

Janeway wisely held her counsel. "There's still more to open."

Offering the captain an affectionate look, Seven carefully set the small statue to the side and peered into the box, drawing out another parcel that proved to contain several cooking utensils. They were grotesquely alien, but could be used for a variety of things. At least, Janeway hoped they could. If not, Seven could always stick them on the wall behind her kitchenette as yet another decorative, if hideous, display of alien artwork.

"They are quite unique, Kathryn." Seven's eyes were wide with delight.

Janeway grinned crookedly. "That they are, love."

Seven dived back into the box. Janeway had discovered over the years that it was far more enjoyable for the both of them when the captain to provided the Borg with a lot of little items in one gift, rather than trying for a single, extravagant present. In contrast, Seven had mastered the art of making their special day such an event of monumental proportions from beginning to end for Janeway that her actual gift to the captain was something of an afterthought.

Not that Seven didn't always know the perfect thing to present to her spouse.

"Oh, Seven." Janeway lifted the necklace from the velvet padding, holding it up to catch the flickers of candlelight as she examined it with delight. "It's absolutely breathtaking." Fortunately, Seven was as cognizant of Janeway's tastes as the captain was of hers.

"Do you truly like it, Kathryn?" Seven asked anxiously.

"It's exquisite, darling," Janeway said. She eyed her spouse speculatively. "Just as you are."

Seven blushed faintly and offered the captain a searing look that told her that the best presents were yet to be unwrapped this night. Janeway could hardly wait to get to them.

Seven held the compact form swaying in her arms and decided that as anniversaries went, this was one of the better ones. Dinner completed, and the dishes cleared away, the couple had returned to their quarters and were dancing gracefully to the soft music surrounding them. This was an activity that both women enjoyed tremendously, perhaps because it led so easily to yet other physical activities. Eyes closed, Seven inhaled deeply, breathing in the wonderful scent of her partner's fragrance, a combination of perfume, fresh soap and womanly essence. The warmth of Janeway's body moving provocatively against her was like coming home to a safe and cherished place. She even enjoyed the sound of Janeway humming along to the music in her ear, though the captain's ability to find a proper key was lacking at the best of times.

This emotion grows stronger every year, Seven realized with some amazement. Perhaps not as overpowering in its intensity, nor as extreme in its response as when she first fell in love, but it most certainly became deeper and more solid with every experience they shared. Kathryn was so much a part of Seven at this point; it was as if she were as necessary as continued respiration. Without her, the Borg's essence would probably cease to exist.

Her arms tightened subconsciously at the thought, and Janeway let out a soft grunt as the air was squeezed from her lungs. Seven immediately eased her grip. "I am sorry, Kathryn," she apologized.

Janeway laughed, a husky chuckle that skittered up Seven's spine. "I love when you hold me tight," she murmured. Her hands slipped down the Borg's back, tracing light patterns over her skin.

"I love you," Seven whispered.

Janeway sighed and lifted her face, seeking out her partner's mouth and kissing her with tender regard. Seven prolonged the kiss, the tip of her tongue slipping out to part Janeway's lips and granted immediate entrance to taste the captain's wonderful flavor. Emitting a soft sound from the back of her throat, Janeway molded her body to Seven's, kissing her back with ready abandon.

Seven could happily spend the rest of the night just as they were, kissing deeply and dancing in the moonlight, but she was keenly aware of Janeway's growing desire and responded in kind. Continuing their dance, she guided them unerringly to the bedroom, pausing only when they had reached the side of the bed. Never losing connection with her lover's mouth, she drew back the covers, revealing silken sheets of a deep midnight blue. Meanwhile, Janeway's hands moved over the young woman, seeking out the fastenings of her dress and skillfully removing it by pushing it down over her shoulders to let it fall to the floor. Undergarments quickly followed, leaving the Borg naked to Janeway's appreciative gaze.

Seven, on the other hand, was quickly stymied by the captain's outfit. She started in one area and quickly discovered it didn't unfasten that way. Her second attempt in another area was no more successful than the first. Bemused, she drew back.

"I do not know how this outfit is removed."

Janeway blinked, the mood slightly broken as she started to help. Unfortunately, though the captain had obviously donned the garment in the first place, she had no more success in removing it than had Seven.

"This is ridiculous," Janeway muttered as she tugged and pulled at various places of the clothing, wiggling in frustration as it defied her at every turn. She frowned and lifted her chin. "Remove it, Seven."

Seven lifted a brow, understanding well what that order meant. "Are you certain, Kathryn? It is a most beautiful outfit and not the sort that can be easily replicated."

"It served its purpose." Janeway offered her a look that could have seared the paint off the bulkhead. "Do it."

Seven inhaled slowly, and with a certain applied pressure of her left hand covered in a Borg mesh, she very carefully tore the dress from Janeway's body, leaving it in tattered shreds on the deck. It gave her a certain twinge in her chest to do so, more for the painful memory it inspired than any regret at the destruction of the garment, but Seven was working very hard not to entertain any dark emotions this evening. She deliberately forced everything else from her mind, concentrating only on the reality of being here with her partner, loving her so much that it almost overwhelmed her.

"Finally." Janeway exhaled with relief as she reached for Seven.

Seven returned the embrace, glorying in the sensation of the captain's smooth skin against her own. More as a result of long practice than natural grace, they managed to slide between the sheets without any further interruption of their heated caresses. Seven rolled them over so that she was on top, resting on the captain with a light pressure, enough to cover her body with her own, but not so much that it felt restrictive. Janeway's fingers raked through the Borg's hair, holding her head to her as they kissed and kissed until Seven thought she had lost track of her senses. She never grew tired of this interaction, never wearied of this body, never felt as if their intimacy had become mundane or overly familiar. It was always a cherished experience to be able to touch her captain, to run her fingertips over the smooth skin and seek out those places she knew gave Janeway the most pleasure.

The joy of tasting Janeway never palled either, the captain's lips so responsive to her own. Seven delighted in surrounding a velvet soft nipple with her mouth, teasing it with the tip of her tongue until it ached with sensation. Depositing feather light kisses along each slope and curve, she caressed hither and yon, exploring every familiar path to that intimate juncture, until finally, she opened her mouth wide, allowing the musky moisture quicken on her tongue like the finest of wines. Her tongue danced and darted, lingering over the tender flesh, swirling provocatively as the captain bucked and moaned. So many private nooks left to explore, the Borg mused wonderingly, so many sensations she could still provide with her mouth.

And her fingertips. Seven touched the wet opening, entering slowly, probing so deeply at times with her long fingers that she was amazed. Knowing well her lover's mood, she moved firmly within Janeway as she flicked her tongue, drawing out the pleasure until the captain cried out and clutched at Seven's head, holding her tightly to her juncture as she shuddered helplessly in her release.

Janeway moaned and swallowed, licking her lips, then reached down for her partner, urging her back into her arms. They rolled over languidly, reversing positions, and it was Seven's turn to tremble beneath the captain's hands, to utter involuntary sounds as Janeway stroked and fondled and loved her with exquisite skill. Just as Seven knew the captain, Janeway knew exactly what her Borg liked and responded to, though that never prevented her from attempting something new now and again. She liked to tease, too, bringing Seven to the brink before pulling back, tormenting her in the best sort of way until finally, mercifully, she granted the young woman the release she so desperately craved.

In the afterglow, Seven reclined on her back, feeling her respiration and heartbeat slowly return to normal. Beside her, Janeway snuggled close, head resting on the Borg's shoulder, her body curved against Seven's so tightly, it was hard to determine where one woman left off and the other began. They lay in companionable silence for some time, listening to the other breathe, feeling safe and cherished and beloved. Slipping her hand over the Borg's right breast, Janeway toyed idly with Seven's nipple, circling it lightly, not necessarily to arouse, but simply because it felt so pleasant to them both.

"This was a wonderful anniversary."

Seven smiled faintly into the darkness. "They must only become better from here," she promised quietly.

Janeway hummed happily, settling closer. There was a pause. "One of us has to go blow out all those candles before they activate the ship's fire suppressant system."

Seven lifted a brow, suspecting she knew which of them it was going to be. To her considerable surprise, however, the captain stirred first, deposited a kiss on the Borg's mouth, and wiggled out from between the sheets. Seven dozed in cozy contentment until Janeway finally returned, diving energetically into bed as if trying to escape capture by some unnamed threat, startling Seven awake. She was laughing as she snatched at the covers, causing the Borg to quickly snatch them back. The pair wrestled briefly for supremacy before finally settling down in the center of the mattress, cozily wrapped up in each other's arms.

"You are incorrigible, Kathryn."

Janeway, tucked under the Borg's chin, tightened her embrace and bit lightly at Seven's neck. "Always," she muttered. She sighed. "Two more days, darling, and we'll be back in the Alpha Quadrant."

"Yes." Seven circled her metal clad fingertips lightly at the small of Janeway's back, activating them so that they vibrated gently. She considered what it meant. "We shall lose crewmembers."

Janeway made a sound of agreement in the back of her throat. "Not as many as happened with Voyager after our return to the Federation, but yes, we'll be losing our first year officers to other postings while we take on second year personnel from other ships. We'll also be receiving a whole new crop of fresh graduates."

"Can the first years not remain on board Millennium if they wish?" Seven asked, thinking of the friends she had made among the junior officers.

"I'm afraid that in the beginning, you go wherever Starfleet determines you're needed. It's normal for an officer to serve in a wide variety of positions during the first few years of their career."

"I did not," Seven pointed out.

Janeway lifted her head and smiled at her spouse in the lowered illumination, the white flash of teeth barely visible. "I think we can agree, my darling, you're a very special case."

Seven perked up with interest as Janeway shifted further, slipping a leg across the Borg's groin and lifting herself until she was straddling her. Obviously, the captain was still amorous, aggressively so, meaning that her hormonal time of the month had coincided nicely with their anniversary. Obligingly, Seven rose as well, arranging the pillows behind her back so that she was reclining against the headboard, her face only inches away from Janeway who took the opportunity to kiss her with lingering passion.

"Could you not request that some of the first year officers remain?" Seven persisted as she lazily stroked the captain, running her fingertips teasingly over those small, wonderfully proportioned breasts.

Janeway arched under the caress, resting her hands on Seven's shoulders. "I could, but I'd only do that if an officer looked particularly promising. I thought Tarn might be one of those special cases, but apparently I was wrong. She never fulfilled the promise she had, and obviously, I gave her more than she could handle in the beginning."

Seven, who knew how much Janeway hated to be wrong about anything, smiled faintly and slipped her hands down the captain's torso. The captain sipped air audibly between her teeth.

"Hmm, love, could we talk about something other than the ship and the crew?"

Seven eased her right hand between them and touched Janeway lightly, making her twitch and press closer.

"Such as?" The Borg eyed her expectantly, knowing how much verbal interplay contributed to her partner's arousal.

Janeway threw her head back and smiled. "I think you know."

Taking a deep breath, the musky scent of their lovemaking strong in her nostrils, Seven fondled the tender flesh, moving back and forth over the little ridge that became firmer with each delicate stroke. Janeway moaned happily and leaned into her partner, resting her head on the Borg's left shoulder. Arms tight around Seven's neck, she nuzzled into the long blonde hair, and pressed herself rhythmically against the swirling fingertips.

"Mmm, that's absolutely lovely, darling."

"You are so easy to please," Seven noted dryly.

Janeway laughed huskily. "I'm easy, period, particularly when it comes to you." She kissed Seven, a moist, open-mouthed kiss. "Tell me, darling ... oh, heavens ... is there any place on this vessel ... god, that's good ... that you would like to make ... ah, ah, oh ... um, love before we return?"

Seven lifted a brow. "We were not as adventurous on Millennium as we were on Voyager," she allowed thoughtfully.

"Well, we managed ... ah, that one time ... oh my ... in your office." Janeway trembled.

"Yes, but on Voyager, we made love in the holodeck, in the auxiliary room beneath the saucer section, on your desk in the ready room..."

Seven suddenly froze, reminded again of the incident that had occurred only a few weeks earlier. It was still a very painful and sensitive subject for the Borg, despite her knowledge that the captain had completely forgiven her for the attack prompted by a 'pheromone bomb'. Janeway immediately sensed the disruption of their intimacy, reining in her passion as she cupped the Borg's face in her palms. Kissing her with sweet tenderness, she soothed away the dark thoughts that had temporarily invaded their togetherness.

"I love you," the captain murmured against her lips, "so much, my darling. When you touch me, when you make love to me, it makes me feel so complete. It excites me so much to think about our being like this in different places, even after all these years of being married. You are and always will be my ultimate fantasy, Annika."

Seven swallowed hard and resumed her caress, moving her fingers lightly in the captain's moist heat.. "We could always attempt the bridge," she suggested in a low voice, attempting to recapture the mood, not just for the captain, but for herself. "Your command chair is at the perfect level for me to use my mouth on you."

Janeway shuddered lightly. "Yes, love, what a delicious thought."

With her left arm, Seven pulled her spouse closer, putting her mouth next to the captain's ear. "It will counteract the detrimental effects of a transition jump, Kathryn. You could lean back in the captain's chair as I consume you, preparing you for the upcoming journey to another quadrant." Janeway's hips began to undulate once more, and Seven could feel a renewed rush of moisture bath her fingertips. She quickened her motion, fondling the nodule with greater intent. "Can you feel me tasting you, Kathryn? Can you feel my mouth on you as around us, the bridge crew strive to carry out your bidding, your ship readying itself to take you wherever you wish to go. You order the transition drive to be activated as I slip my tongue into you." Seven did her best to match action to word, pushing two fingers into Janeway, the clinging walls closing around them tightly.

"Oh, god ... Seven ... that feels so good..."

Using her thumb, Seven manipulated the swollen nub, rubbing it firmly.

"You put your hands in my hair and hold my head to you tightly, even as you demand more power from the warp engines. Your ship plunges toward the slipstream conduit that has been opened, moving faster and faster."

Janeway licked her lips, her breath coming hard in Seven's ear, guttural groans of accelerating pleasure.

"The ship enters the conduit, eager to do your bidding, even as I strive to maintain your arousal. I will carry you through this jump, Kathryn. Your desire will protect you against the effects of the drive. The faster the ship travels, the more pleasure I give to you."

She could tell her partner was close now, responding to both the touch and the sound of her voice describing the fantasy.

"Come for me, Kathryn," she whispered hotly. "We're almost through the jump. Come for me."

Janeway trembled, perspiration breaking out over her as she strived to reach that pinnacle, her breath coming in a rasp.

"Come for me, Captain."

The use of her rank pushed her over the edge, as Seven knew it would. Wonderful flutters surrounded the Borg's fingers as Janeway jerked and moaned, helpless in her release. Cradling her, still intimately joined to her, Seven acted as an anchor while Janeway slowly gathered herself in the aftermath of her climax.

"Damn, if only I could make a transition jump like that rather than sprawled out unconscious in my ready room," she muttered finally. She paused, tensing abruptly. "That isn't really an option, is it, Seven?"

Seven laughed, a sudden expulsion of amusement. "No, Kathryn. It was only a fantasy." She drew back and looked at Janeway expectantly. "I am curious, however. Would you allow me to pleasure you on the bridge if that was truly a viable alternative to sedation?"

Janeway laughed. "Let's just say I'd have to grant the idea serious consideration," she admitted as she wiggled on her spouse.

Amused, Seven gently and lovingly withdrew from her spouse, the two women sliding back down the bed where they snuggled together amid the tangled sheets. Janeway reached down and cupped Seven suggestively, her middle finger pressing deliciously in the Borg's wetness, fondling her lightly.

"Darling?"

Seven smiled, responding to both touch and suggestion. "Slowly," she requested as Janeway's fingers moved gently against her. "I wish to prolong our evening."

Janeway laughed huskily, moving her mouth close to her spouse's ear as she stroked her with lazy delicacy. "So tell me, darling ... what would you like your fantasy to be?"

Seven swallowed hard and told her, invoking the image of the geometrics lab on deck ten and a piece of large mining equipment that vibrated in a most intriguing manner when activated. The Nexus was practically empty this evening, not a normal state of affairs at all. The ship's crew lounge was usually jumping, with loud music and energetic motion on the dance floor at the far end of the room. Zar, Millennium's first officer, decided that as they moved closer to the return to the Federation, the crew was saving their excess energy for recreational pursuits at home.

Across the table, Lenara Kahn, a civilian scientist, seemed to catch his thought.

"It's quiet tonight." She was a beautiful woman, statuesque, with golden brown hair and delicate spots that traced down from her temple to disappear beneath the collar of her tunic. A joined Trill, the wisdom and experience of her symbiont shone through her gentle eyes, making the Cardassian/Bajoran hybrid feel very young at times.

"The crew's been busy," he said as he picked up his glass and sipped the wine. "Perhaps they're too tired to play."

She smiled. "It's been my experience with Starfleet officers that the harder they work, the harder they play."

He returned her smile but didn't respond. A part of him vaguely wondered if she was flirting with him. They had begun a tentative relationship a few months earlier, spending time together whenever possible over lunch and dinner, but they hadn't reached the intimate stage. Nor were they likely to at this point, Zar decided with regret. While he had every expectation of receiving a new posting upon their return to the Alpha Quadrant, Lenara would most likely remain with Millennium.

"Ready to head home?" Lenara added, prodding her pasta as if unsure she was going to finish it.

Zar shrugged lightly. "It's been an interesting year."

Lenara abruptly lifted her head, studying him keenly. "You like it here," she said with certainty. "You don't want to move on."

"A part of me doesn't," he responded honestly. "This is the first posting where I've actually been happy. The crew respects me, if for no other reason, in some cases, than because the captain and the senior officers do. I've made some really good friends, and Janeway is the best commanding officer I've ever served. She's taught me so much about what it means to be a starship captain."

"So don't go," Lenara said reasonably. "Request a permanent assignment as Janeway's exec."

"I've seriously considered it." Zar broke apart his bread and spread some butter over it, more for something to do with his hands than because he was still hungry. "I doubt very much that I'd find another captain who would accept me as readily as she does."

"But..."

Zar blinked. "But?"

"It sounds like there's a 'but' in there somewhere."

That was part of the reason Zar liked Lenara so much. Whether it was the symbiont or just a natural gift of her host, she was exceptionally perceptive.

"But," he continued, "I'm worried that I may be drawn to that decision because I am so comfortable here."

"I'm unaware of any rule that says you can't be happy in your position."

"I know, but 'comfortable' could be the first step toward stagnation," Zar said seriously. "I've been fighting for respect and acknowledgment my whole career. Should I be satisfied with only an initial taste? I've always wanted my own command."

"Are you sure they'll offer you one?"

Zar sighed. "Not at all," he admitted. "That's why I think I'll speak with the captain and sound her out about remaining on board as her first officer." He shrugged suddenly. "It's possible she won't even like the idea."

Lenara looked thoughtful. "I don't think that would be the case," she said. "From what I've heard, she's very pleased with your work. I wouldn't plan on talking to her this evening, however."

Zar blinked. "No?"

"It's their anniversary."

"Excuse me?"

"Seven told me that it's their anniversary today," the Trill elaborated patiently. "I don't believe either of them would want to be disturbed." She quirked an eyebrow at the first officer. "Hard to take, isn't it."

Zar experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not sure what you mean." He was very afraid that he knew what she meant only too well.

Lenara shrugged. "I doubt you're the only one on the ship who's ever entertained thoughts about Seven." She paused to take a sip of her wine. "In fact, were she not so obviously besotted with her wife, I might be a little tempted to become closer to her, myself. She has such an incredibly brilliant mind."

Zar was speechless, finding it hard to believe he was suddenly having this conversation.

"Nor is it just her mind or those voluptuous physical attributes," Lenara went on in a tone that was difficult for the Cardassian to pin down. Was she teasing him? "It's the combination of looks and brains, coupled with an innate innocence and vulnerability simmering just below an icy, professional exterior. Who wouldn't be attracted?"

"Uh," Zar began, and stopped when he realized he had nothing else to contribute.

Lenara began to laugh, and with some relief, Zar began to laugh, as well. There was nothing like humor to put things into perspective, including his futile crush on the ship's science officer. "How did you know?"

"Three hundred years of experience," Lenara offered. "I tend to pick up on emotional vibrations that others would overlook. It wasn't hard to figure out why you suddenly started participating in the science department's evenings out. It certainly wasn't for the technical discussions."

"Prophets, was I that apparent?"

"Only to me," Lenara offered. "Definitely not to Seven. Otherwise, I'm sure she would have mentioned it to me." She dropped her napkin on her unfinished meal, put her elbows on the table, linked her fingers and rested her chin on them as she looked at him. "She never did."

Zar exhaled. "I moved past it, but I admit, it took a while." He took a restorative sip of wine. "Besides, even if I were the sort to dare interfere in an ongoing relationship, there's no way to disrupt the one between the captain and Seven. It's far too ... solid."

A wry twist touched the corner of her mouth. "That it is." She eyed him contemplatively. "So, what are your plans for the rest of the evening, Tulek?"

The commander tilted his head, not entirely sure he was reading her correctly. "I'm free," he said carefully.

Lenara offered him a smile, a rather predatory one. "Why not join me in my quarters for a nightcap?"

He wondered if her sudden increased attraction to him was because he was going to be leaving the ship, or because he had told her that he might not. She seemed to detect his hesitancy and she leaned forward. "There's a Trill saying, Commander: if you can't be with the one you love, then love the one you're with."

"That's a Trill saying?"

Lenara's smile widened. "I just said it, didn't I?"

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, but quite pleased, he returned the smile and finished his wine. Rising from his chair, he courteously offered his arm. "I'm very honored, Lenara," he told her. They didn't look back as they exited the Nexus.

Zar started the next day with a much greater esteem for Trill experience and a sort of bittersweet understanding that the exceedingly pleasant evening offered no expectations for either of them. Lenara made it clear that it was an encounter between friends who would remain as such. Still, Zar did regret that it had happened so late in the mission. He might have moved past his crush a lot sooner.

At the first opportunity, he asked to see Janeway in her ready room. Fortunately, a lull had occurred in the feverish preparations for the transition jump, and the captain was able to grant him a moment, leading him into her office. Taking a seat in the conversation area located on the upper level of her ready room, Janeway offered him some tea before settling on the sofa with some coffee from her ever present thermos. She appeared tired, fine lines edging her eyes and mouth, and he wondered if the preparations were taking more out of her than she would admit. She looked physically uncomfortable as well, shifting slightly on the cushions as if sore.

"What's on your mind, Commander?" Evaluating him keenly, she sipped her dark beverage with quiet pleasure.

"Captain, I've been thinking seriously about remaining on board Millennium," Zar said, leaning forward in his chair. His large hands dangled easily between his knees. "Of requesting a permanent posting."

Janeway blinked, and a smile spread across her face. "That would be wonderful, Tulek. You've become a marvelous first officer." She paused, and a mischievous expression crossed her face. "Not to mention the fact that Nechayev's diabolical plan to saddle me with a new exec every mission would be nicely foiled. I can't expect to be as fortunate in officers two years running."

Zar smiled. "I doubt very much that driving you mad is the reason behind the Admiral's decision." He paused. "Not entirely." She laughed, and he regarded her with something akin to affection. "You're an amazing teacher, Captain Janeway. I've learned so much about commanding a starship over the past year, more than in my entire career to date."

Janeway sobered. "Ah, starship command," she noted, holding up an index finger. "We can't overlook the fact that, thanks to the war, Starfleet is in desperate need of commanders for their vessels." She reached over and put her hand on Zar's arm, the warmth penetrating his tunic. "You'll make a wonderful captain, Tulek. As much as I would love to have you stay on board, you have to look at all your options. You may be offered your own starship rather than merely another exec position. It'll be a chance to make your mark in Starfleet in a way that perhaps you won't have by staying with us."

Zar resisted a sigh. "That's why I wanted to speak with you, Captain. I'm torn between doing what I want, and what feels comfortable, and doing what's best, not only for myself, but for Starfleet."

Janeway nodded, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Why not wait and see what's waiting at home," she suggested. "Certainly, if it's just a transfer to another post, I'll fight to make your assignment here permanent. But if they offer you a ship of your own, I can't, in good conscience, hold you back. My father once told me that the best of the best should be in command. That's you, Tulek."

Zar offered her a grateful look. "You're making this very easy for me, Captain."

Janeway smiled. "Well, I don't believe in limiting anyone's options." She favored him with a mock stern expression. "Just be sure you guide my ship home safely tomorrow or the deal's off."

Zar returned her grin and dipped his head, recognizing the audience was at an end. As he stood up, he cleared his throat. "I understood yesterday was your anniversary, Captain. Congratulations."

Janeway's smile widened and her eyes grew very bright. "Thank you, Commander."

"No celebration?"

A faint color rose in the captain's cheeks. "Oh, Seven and I celebrated." Her tone was oddly ironic and wryly amused in a way Zar didn't quite understand. The corner of her mouth quirked. "Four wonderful years of marriage and it only gets better with every passing day, Commander."

Zar managed a smile. "I envy you," he said honestly.

Janeway walked with him down the ramp to the lower level, slapping him companionably on the back. "All you have to do is find the right person, Zar, and you'll have everything I have."

Zar wondered if it would ever truly be that simple, especially since the 'right person' was already taken. Janeway rolled over on the couch in her ready room, her head pounding, the sour taste of bile lingering at the back of her throat. The effects of the transition jump had not eased in the slightest, not even with the new combination of sedatives and muscle relaxants tried by the ship's medical staff. In fact, it might even have been a little worse. Weakly, the captain tottered over to the replicator and programmed in a flat ginger ale, sipping at it until her stomach settled a little and she felt ready to face the bridge. She never liked this abdication of her command, but she no longer held any illusions about the necessity for it. Being unconscious was the only way for a Terran to face a transition jump. Even those Humans born on other planets, with differing environmental adaptations to their physiology, had difficulty coming through it unscathed, though not all had to be sedated.

The viewscreen at the front of the bridge revealed familiar stars and the welcoming escort of a Federation starship that the captain immediately identified as the USS T'Kumbra. Janeway had expected a Starfleet vessel to be in the vicinity of the exit coordinates, waiting to greet the returning Millennium, but she was surprised to discover it was the all-Vulcan starship. Captain Solok wasn't the sort of experienced captain who would find it logical to be assigned such a relatively minor escort duty.

Janeway slipped into her captain's chair, Zar relinquishing it to her without so much as a glance, the exchange quick and easy. As Janeway surveyed her bridge, the dark head of Lt. T'Shanik covering operations caught her attention, and it occurred to her suddenly that perhaps Solok had reason to request the assignment. T'Shanik was his youngest sibling, and from what the captain had gleaned from the young woman's personnel file and subsequent conversations with her, Janeway had the distinct impression that there was a little tension there ... at least as much as Vulcans were apt to display.

She would have to keep an eye on that, she decided. T'Shanik had turned out to be a fine operations officer, and Janeway wasn't about to give her up, family be damned.

"Report," she said, pleased when her stomach stayed where it was. A part of her thought that the jumps grew progressively harder to recover from, and she wondered if there was some kind of limitation on it. Would she know it was time to retire when her body could no longer withstand the stresses of a transition jump? She couldn't imagine settling for an Alpha Quadrant assignment or an administrative desk job, not after tasting the true explorative joy of going where no one had gone before with a ship as powerful as Millennium.

"All systems nominal," Zar said from the first officer station he assumed. "The jump was perfect."

Seven shot him a look. She was slightly pale, perhaps even a little ill. Though her nanoprobes enabled her to maintain her composure through a jump, it still made her nauseous. Janeway wondered if she shouldn't insist on the Borg being sedated as well.

"That is incorrect," the Borg told the first officer coolly. "There was a three-point-five phase variance within the slipstream integrity flow." Obviously, Seven still hadn't forgiven Zar for overriding her wishes and severing her mother from the Collective. She wasn't exactly angry with him, just piqued that his command decision on the sphere had subsequently caused her such emotional turmoil, and she displayed it with an even more exacting Borg demeanor. Janeway was quite familiar with the mood. Zar appeared considerably disconcerted at the frosty attitude emanating from the science officer.

"I stand corrected," he said mildly.

"You are sitting. If such imprecision is maintained..."

"Seven," Janeway said in a low, warning tone, amusement warring with command discipline in her voice.

Ice blue eyes briefly peered reproachfully at her over a slender shoulder, but the young woman subsided and returned to her duty.

Janeway lifted her chin. "Ops?"

"The USS T'Kumbra offers its welcome and has fallen into position seven thousand meters off our port bow," T'Shanik stated. "It will escort us to Deep Space 9." The Vulcan's tone was a little more defined than normal, and Janeway's eyes narrowed. Definitely some kind of problem there. "Engineering reports transition drive secure, warp engines online."

"Standing down phasers and torpedo bays," Ro announced from her post at tactical, shutting down the weapons array that had been activated while the ship was making the jump. Not that it would have done any good, of course, but the psychological benefits of thinking one was ready for anything that might happen was always good for the crew.

"Course to DS9 plotted and laid in, Captain," Nog offered.

"Very good," Janeway said. "Warp factor five, Lieutenant. Engage."

She felt the slight surge vibrate through the soles of her feet as the warp drive kicked into gear and the ship leaped forward, their escort keeping pace. It would take a few hours to reach DS9, and Janeway chafed slightly at the restrictions placed on her ship. It had been discovered that frequent warp travel damaged subspace, and, as a result, a 'speed limit' of warp five had been established within Federation space. Millennium, with its newer technology, did not cause the same damage, but until most of the vessels in the Federation had been upgraded, the moratorium would remain. Starfleet vessels were expected, as a courtesy to all those civilian vessels, to keep to warp five unless it was an emergency.

In the meantime, that left Janeway with little to do, having caught up on all her administrative duties prior to the transition jump. She glanced at Seven.

"Lt. Hansen, that three-point-five phase variance; what's the problem?"

Seven half turned in her chair to look back at the captain. That was the only disadvantage to this current bridge layout. Officers either kept their back to the captain as they replied to her queries, appearing slightly rude, or they were forced to look away from their consoles. Still, Janeway preferred this design, especially since the command chair was a distinct and separate entity, dominating the bridge simply by its placement.

"It is most likely the result of the damage sustained by the power cores in the sabotage," Seven replied. "It represents no danger at the moment, but left unchecked, it could cause a shift in the stream, altering the exit coordinates."

"We could end up God knows where," Janeway translated. She lifted a brow. "Good thing Millennium is up for an overhaul now that we're home."

"A full ship-wide diagnostic and maintenance upgrade should correct the problem," Seven agreed.

Janeway offered her a smile and, since no one was looking, blew her a kiss. Seven's eyes widened disapprovingly at such behavior on the bridge, and turned back to her board. Resisting a chuckle, Janeway leaned back in her chair. She was surprised at how exhilarated she was to be home, even though a part of her couldn't wait to start exploring the unknown again. Perhaps it was a leftover from her experience with Voyager where their eventual return home was always an uncertain prospect. She was simply more sensitive to it than other captains would be in her place.

Once docked at DS9, Janeway no longer had time to sit back and muse. During the trip to the space station, a flood of communications had been transmitted from Starfleet, ranging from new orders to various members of the crew, to updating the senior officers on what had happened in Federation during their absence. Arrangements for leave was undertaken and Janeway was issued several invitations to drop by the other vessels in port and to visit the station to accept Colonel Kira's personal welcome home. A diplomatic soiree was also scheduled for that evening, requiring Janeway and all her senior officers to attend. Seven tried to demur once the couple had returned to their quarters.

"Oh no, you skipped out on the one just before we left," Janeway told her as she pulled on her dress uniform. It was the same outfit in which she'd been married, and it always put her in a good frame of mind, despite how little she enjoyed formal functions. "You have to be there at my side tonight, darling, just so I'll have someone to talk to."

Seven's arms were across her chest, looking absolutely spectacular in her whites. "You always have someone to speak with, Kathryn. That is the reason I am adverse to attending. I am frequently left alone while you converse with various dignitaries and admirals. It is tedious."

Janeway paused long enough in her preparations to hug the Borg and brush her lips over her cheek. "Nothing could be tedious with you present," she murmured reassuringly. She drew back and smiled. "Besides, the entire senior staff is expected to be there, not just you and I. I'm sure with B'Elanna and Ro lurking about, you three can find yourself some trouble to get into somewhere."

Seven wavered. "Very well," she said grudgingly. "I wish to visit with my mother first, however."

Janeway nodded. "That's fine," she said. "I have some last minute tasks I need to attend to as well. Let's meet at the air lock on deck fourteen at 1800 hours."

Seven dipped her head. "I will comply."

Janeway took the turbolift back to her ready room. The ship, docked to the station, sounded different than while in space, the constant hum of the engines and life support no longer audible, replaced by a slightly different vibration as the vessel fed off the umbilicals leading to DS9. Through the large windows dominating the captain's office, the solid arch of a pylon loomed, while small worker pods and space-suited engineers darted merrily around the station and its attending vessels. Frequently, another ship would either arrive or depart, sometimes through the nearby gamma quadrant wormhole in a spectacular display of light and color that spread across the sky.

It was 1753 hours when the captain was interrupted by the admittance chime. She frowned slightly, checking the chronometer, but settled into her chair behind her desk.

"Come."

She was surprised when Ensign Elisa Tarn entered. Junior officers were not in the habit of bearding the captain in her den. It was Zar's job to deal with anything that arose with them. This had to be of the utmost importance in the girl's mind for her to bypass the first officer.

"Captain, do you have a minute?"

Janeway was curious enough not to dismiss the girl out of hand. "I can give you five," she offered. "No more." Even so, she knew she would be late meeting Seven. It took at least five minutes to make her way to deck fourteen.

"That would be fine," Tarn said, taking up a position in front of the desk, hands linked behind her back, posture so straight it made the captain's back ache.

"At ease, Ensign," Janeway said mildly. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir." Tarn sat gingerly in the chair across from Janeway and peered intently at the captain. "Sir, I am tendering my resignation."

Janeway blinked. "I see," she said slowly, displeased.

"Not for the reasons you might think," Tarn added quickly. "It's not because of my tour of duty here. It's just that..." She hesitated, then plunged in. "I thought I knew what to expect from Starfleet. I was wrong. I didn't really understand how I had been looking at things until I was thrown into that escape pod. I was so busy trying to get what I wanted and needed from Starfleet, I didn't come to grips with what Starfleet wanted and expected from me. If I had been more aware of what was happening instead of dwelling on my personal grievances, I never would have ended up on that planet. Before I accept another assignment, I have to be certain that this life is the right one for me."

Janeway inhaled. "Are you sure this isn't really to do with losing your position on the alpha shift?"

Tarn smiled. "I'm positive, Captain," she admitted, and the look in her eyes revealed that she was actually telling the truth. "I wasn't ready for that shift. I'm not even sure I was ready for this ship. I still have so much to learn, not only about being a Starfleet officer, but about myself."

"I suppose that's the first step ... realizing what you don't know."

"I believe I've finally figured that out." Tarn dipped her head. "I want to thank you for your patience, Captain. I know you offered me a wonderful chance. I just wanted to let you know this had nothing to do with you. It's completely my undertaking."

Janeway lifted her hand. "I once told you that success and failure should be treated exactly the same. I want you to reconsider this decision, Ensign. I don't believe you'll be any richer for leaving Starfleet, and I know Starfleet will be the poorer for losing you. If not for yourself, then please, for me, don't make any final decisions until we're back on Earth and have been debriefed by Starfleet Command."

Tarn hesitated, and then dipped her head. "Very well, Captain."

Janeway nodded. "Dismissed." As she watched the young officer leave, she made a mental note to speak with Zar at the diplomatic function about what they could do to prevent Tarn's resignation. It would be a shame for Starfleet to lose such a promising officer, and she was sure that by putting their heads together, she and Zar would find the perfect solution. Seven peered through the transparency at the woman lying in the biobed. Her mother had not regained any kind of conscious awareness since being severed from the Collective weeks earlier. She occasionally opened her eyes, but, otherwise did not resist being moved for the staff when they washed her or changed the bedding, nor did she offer any response to stimuli. For Seven, it was exceedingly disturbing. Erin Hansen appeared less than Human, and even less than a Borg drone. She was almost less than sentient, and it weighed heavily on the young woman.

"Seven?"

The young woman turned to meet the light blue eyes of the ship's counselor, Kes. The Ocampa was also wearing her dress uniform, the stylized snowy outfit cut to her slender form, making her appear even more petite.

"Counselor." Seven inhaled slowly. She had been warming to Kes over the past few years, but since the Ocampa had taken over treatment of Erin, Seven had regained her wariness and distrust. The Borg wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because she didn't really understand what Kes did or what sort of results she expected to achieve with Seven's mother. To Seven's mind, Kes' efforts were insufficient, though everyone the Borg had talked to regarding the issue had counseled patience, even B'Elanna for whom the concept seemed totally foreign.

Seven found it very hard to be patient.

"Have you considered the institutions I recommended?" Kes had provided Seven with information regarding potential care facilities on Earth. There were, of course, many institutes throughout the Federation that could provide the necessary care, but Seven had specified her spouse's home planet, in the event the couple chose to remain close by throughout Erin's recovery.

"I have," Seven replied. She took a breath. "I would prefer a facility in San Francisco or Indiana."

Kes nodded soberly. "You still want to be an active participant in your mother's care."

Seven nodded. "It is my responsibility."

"I could debate that," Kes said quietly. "Certainly, your mother did not share that sense of obligation."

Seven felt a thread of anger stir in her chest. "I am not my mother," she said coldly.

Kes regarded her. "No, Seven, you're not," she said very gently. "However, that doesn't mean you have to act as you think she should have acted, as opposed to what's best for you."

"I do not understand."

Kes reached over and put her hand on Seven's arm. The Borg did not pull away, but she stiffened at the touch, and the counselor dropped her hand. "Seven, there's no way of knowing how long Erin's recovery will take. Don't put your life on hold. No one wants that."

Seven took a last look at her mother, feeling very uncomfortable. Sickbay suddenly felt very oppressive. "I promised to meet the captain," she said, needing to escape. "Please, keep me updated on my mother's progress."

She did not look at the counselor again as she fled the room, her thoughts in turmoil. Moving hastily to the turbolift, she instructed it to take her to deck fourteen. No one was there when Seven arrived at the airlock, and with a brief sigh, the Borg took up a position to the side of the corridor, linking her hands behind her back as she waited for the captain. Janeway arrived some ten minutes later, slightly out of breath from her dash from the turbolift.

"Sorry, darling, I had a visitor just before I logged off." Janeway tilted her head. "How's your mother?"

"Unchanged," Seven said shortly.

The couple stepped through the lock and walked down the short tunnel to another air lock, where a round, rust-colored door of Cardassian design rolled back to grant them entrance into the station itself. Traffic within the docking pylon was light, but up on the docking ring, conditions grew considerably more crowded. Many species made DS9 a regular port of call, and the varied sights, sounds and even scents that assaulted Seven's senses made her feel uneasy.

"The counselor told me that I must not put my life on hold while my mother recovers," Seven said abruptly as the couple exited onto the Promenade. Janeway shot a look at her and took her arm, drawing the young woman off to the side where an oval viewport looked out onto the area of space containing the wormhole.

"Tell me more."

Seven hesitated. "We are expected at the function," she reminded.

"The party can wait," Janeway said firmly. "Talk to me."

Seven found herself looking out at the colorful swirl of light and energy as the wormhole was accessed by a departing vessel, the image lingering on her retinas even after it collapsed into a bright point before completely disappearing.

"I have spoken to Kes about my mother's future treatment, and which institutions would offer the best care. I specified Earth, and the counselor believes that both the facility in Brisbane, Australia, and the Starfleet facility in Atlanta, North America would be capable of providing the necessary medical staff and advantageous surroundings. There are treatment centers in both San Francisco and Indiana, but they are not of the same quality, either in personnel or in administrative structure."

Janeway nodded. "I see," she said quietly. "Why San Francisco and Indiana, specifically?"

"So that I could remain close by," Seven said. "I believe that is why Kes gave me that advice. She indicated that there is no way of knowing how long Erin's recovery will take." She found it difficult to breathe, forcing herself to take measured breaths. "She clearly believes I should not participate in my mother's recovery."

"I don't think it's that, Seven. I think Kes just wants you to do what's best for yourself." Janeway was leaning against the nearby bulkhead, the silvery illumination from the viewport softening her classic features.

"Erin is my mother, Kathryn," Seven said raggedly. "I must take care of her."

The captain nodded. "If that's what you have to do."

Her voice was unnaturally even, and Seven stared at her, feeling hurt and confused. "Why will you not advise me in this, Kathryn? You said that this must be our decision as a family, yet you refuse to tell me what you think is best."

Janeway exhaled audibly and glanced out the viewport, her eyes growing distant as she crossed her arms over her chest. "There's a fine line between my supporting any decision about your mother, and my influencing you into a decision that suits only my needs, Annika," she said quietly. "I want desperately to do the former, while assiduously avoiding the latter."

Seven frowned. "Your needs are very important to me, Kathryn."

"I know, darling. Believe me, I know. That's what I'm so afraid of." Janeway pursed her lips, pausing, and Seven attempted to wait patiently, knowing her spouse was searching for the right words.

"Do you remember the baby we rescued from the Borg?"

Seven blinked, confused by the apparent shift in the topic. "What does that have to do with our current situation?"

"Do you remember how much you resented my making the decision to return the child to her people? Even though we spoke about it, argued about it, in the end, you felt that I totally disregarded your opinion and made the decision completely on my own. That wasn't the case, but as captain, I also had to do what I believed was best for the child." Janeway inhaled slowly. "I'm afraid that here, if I offer too much of my viewpoint, if you utilize what I want and think as part of the reasoning behind your decision, that sometime in the future, you may find cause to resent me again." She swallowed visibly. "That would rip out my heart."

Seven considered that carefully. "I think I understand," she said finally. "But I need to know your opinion, Kathryn. You are a part of my life. I cannot make such a decision on my own without your input. It must be our decision as a family unit."

Janeway nodded. "I know. It's just difficult for me to know where the line is." She turned to face the Borg fully. "If you want the truth, I don't want our life to alter, Seven. I'm the happiest I've ever been, both professionally and personally, commanding Millennium and having you as my science officer." She spoke quietly, but Seven could detect the passion beneath the words. "If you choose to look after your mother, you'll have to accept a planetary assignment, assuming you stay with Starfleet, which might not be the case. You certainly wouldn't be able to remain on active duty, nor would you be able to ship out with me."

Seven lowered her head, her gaze shuttered as she realized what that meant. "You would leave me behind," she said softly. "Or give up command of Millennium to remain with me." She was keenly aware of how much her ship meant to Janeway. "Neither choice is acceptable. It would then be you who would find cause to resent me."

Janeway took a breath, a hint of moisture in her eyes. "Now, do you understand why I'm so reluctant to give you my opinion?" Her voice was touched by huskiness. "I want the decision to be based on what's best for you and your mother, not what's best for me. Not even what's best for us."

Seven felt sick. "Oh, Kathryn, it must be the best decision for all of us."

Janeway reached over, putting her hand at the small of the Borg's back. Seven could feel the warmth penetrate her dress tunic. "Darling, I love you so much. I love our life together. I would be lying if I said I'd be happy if you decided to stay near your mother in order to care for her, but I can't, in good conscience, ask that you not. You have to do what you believe is right, and whatever that is, I'll be right there with you. I promise, there'll be no resentment on my part, regardless of your decision."

Seven crossed her arms over her chest, knowing her partner could promise no such thing. "This is so complex."

Janeway moved closer, turning her touch into a full embrace despite the fact they were in a very public place, slipping into Seven's arms and easing the Borg's tense body language. "I know, and I don't mean to make it more complicated for you, darling. The last thing I want is to be part of the problem, rather than the solution. Consider this: we'll move your mother into the very best facility we can find, whether that's on Earth or somewhere else in the Federation. Then we can decide what we need to do for ourselves after that. All right?"

Seven felt as if she were only delaying the decision, and perhaps she was, but she greeted the suggestion with no little relief. "Very well, Kathryn," she said. "I believe the Stockholm Institute is the best choice. It may not be the most renowned in the Federation, but it is considered the best on Earth. I honestly believe that being on her homeworld would be beneficial to Erin."

Janeway nodded. "Then, that's what we'll do," she told her in a reassuring voice, her embrace strong and comforting. "We'll make the arrangements first thing tomorrow morning. Everything will be in place by the time we return to Earth."

Seven squeezed her spouse, burying her face in her auburn hair, oblivious to passing pedestrians who tended to take a second look at two Starfleet officers, one of who was a captain, embracing lovingly in the corner of the Promenade. "I love you, Kathryn."

"I love you, too, my darling. I promise; we'll find a way through this. It may not seem like it now, but I know we'll make the best decision for everyone concerned, including your mother." Janeway gave her a final hug and drew back, looking up at Seven with warm eyes. "Trust me."

"I do, Kathryn," the young woman said with great sincerity. "I always will."

Janeway glanced sideways as a particularly indiscreet Bolian gaped at Seven and her. Color rose in her cheeks. "I think we need to move along, Lieutenant. We're providing too much of a show for the station's inhabitants."

Seven hesitated but, feeling better about things, offered her arm. "Yes, Captain," she said, gladdened when Janeway promptly accepted, nestling her hand into the crook of Seven's elbow.

"Have I told you how wonderful you look in your dress uniform?" Janeway said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood as they entered the habitat ring where the party being held in one of the large conference rooms.

Seven managed a bit of a wan smile. "Every time I am required to wear it," she said. As they entered the decorated room, she lowered her head so that she could add confidentially, "However, I believe its true appeal stems from how much you enjoy removing it at the end of the evening."

Seeming surprised at the attempted humor but considerably gratified, Janeway offered her a soft, vulnerable expression. "Will you let me after this is over?"

"Perhaps," Seven promised lightly.

As the Borg had predicted, her spouse was soon forced to leave her side, drawn away by Zar, some alien diplomats, the station's senior staff and several other starship captains. Seven retrieved some food, along with a glass of champagne, and found Ro and B'Elanna off by themselves in a corner, eyeing the proceedings with sardonic humor. The Klingon and Bajoran were as antipathetic to these events as Seven but, together, they could always find something to amuse themselves.

Seven was in dire need of some amusement ... anything that would take her mind off problems that seemed insurmountable, even with Janeway's support. The party was an ambitious one, Dr. Kate Pulaski recognized. Not bad for a space station stuck out here at the edge of the Federation, but still not the sort of event she enjoyed. There was too much talk and not enough entertainment. Millennium's CMO was standing by the buffet table, not quite participating in an energetic discussion between an envoy from Betazed and Dr. Julian Bashir, the station's handsome chief medical officer. From the corner of her eye, she saw Janeway and Seven enter the room, and she wryly wished that she had also used command privilege to be fashionably late. Though she bore the three pips of a commander, Pulaski actually held the rank of admiral, accepting a temporary demotion to ship out on Starfleet's only active Fast Explorer.

She was debating whether she would extend that assignment another year. She wasn't as young as she used to be, and there were a few times during the past months where starship duty had been a burden rather than an adventure. It wasn't pleasant to watch patients die, knowing that her ability to help them was restricted by the distance to the nearest Starfleet medical facility and the limited selection of equipment available on a starship. It weighed heavily on her at times, as she knew it would on any doctor.

"Kate?"

Pulaski turned and smiled as Ezri Dax approached. She had known Curzon Dax rather well, one might even say intimately, and she truly enjoyed his company. If the symbiont and personality now came in the form of a diminutive, dark haired young woman, that was just part and parcel of befriending a Trill. She recognized the host immediately from Bashir's description of his girlfriend who would purportedly be joining them later. Millennium's CMO had not mentioned her previous encounters with the symbiont's previous host. It would have been a bit awkward for DS9's resident doctor, all things considered.

"It's good to see you again, Dax," Kate said smoothly. "You're a counselor now, I hear." She paused. "Shorter too, but not by much."

Ezri laughed as she hugged her. "You haven't changed a bit, Kate."

Bashir blinked. "You know each other?"

"As Curzon," Ezri explained. "Kate and Dax had some ... interesting times." The slightest hint of a leer in her tone was pure Curzon, and Bashir actually needed a second to recognize what she meant. Pulaski had been right. It was awkward, and the young doctor looked decidedly uncomfortable. Kate shot an admonishing look at Ezri who didn't look the slightest bit repentant, which was also pure Curzon.

"I'll tell you what I couldn't believe," Ezri continued. "That you accepted starship duty again. I thought you had pretty much retired."

"I had," Pulaski said. "Not everyone gets the chance at a new body when the old one wears out." Ezri grinned, and Pulaski raised her glass slightly. "I was talked into it by a previous student."

"Janeway," Bashir identified in his modulated voice. "I understand she's quite a captain."

Pulaski's lips twitched. "Well, don't tell her I said this, but she's probably the best I've ever served with. I doubt anyone else would have talked me into going off into the great unknown this late in life."

"Too late, I heard it."

Kate exhaled audibly and turned to face her commanding officer. Janeway looked faintly smug, and the doctor was annoyed.

"Eavesdropping again, Kathryn?"

"If I didn't, I'd never hear anything good from you," Janeway remarked as she accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter. "Particularly about me."

She appeared about to say more, but a dignitary from the Nurtari sector touched her arm, attracting her attention. Pulaski watched her for a moment. Sometimes it seemed like there was as much bureaucracy to the job of starship command as actual leadership. Fortunately, Janeway was as adept in diplomacy as she was in military tactics and scientific endeavors. She was a well-rounded commander, and such captains couldn't be underestimated.

Pulaski wondered how Janeway would react when the doctor told her she probably wouldn't be shipping out for a second year.

Across the room, feeling rather uncomfortable being at such a function, T'Shanik concentrated on maintaining her Vulcan impassiveness. Since she and Nog were members of the ship's alpha shift, they were considered 'senior staff'. She wondered if the Ferengi felt as out of place as she did, but she doubted it. He had served on DS9 for so long that he knew many of the people attending the function, not only the station's ranking officers, but the other Ferengi who were catering the affair. Indeed, one was actually his uncle and was currently occupying his full attention, speaking with the young helmsman avidly. Nog would be remaining behind on DS9, getting an early start to his leave, rather than journeying the rest of the way to Earth with Millennium.

T'Shanik drifted over to Commander Ro, hoping to speak with the security chief who had sponsored her appointment to the bridge, but the Bajoran was in conference with the ship's chief engineer and science officer. T'Shanik was hesitant about joining such rarified company, though she lingered near them in the hopes of being considered part of the group. A motion caught her eye and she looked across the room, a sudden twinge developing in her chest.

Solok strolled briskly across the room, and T'Shanik searched frantically for an avenue of escape. There wasn't any readily available, and with a sort of resigned annoyance, she waited as he approached her location. He was tall, reed-thin as so many Vulcan males were, with severe features beneath the dark crown of hair. Penetrating dark eyes centered on her with a laser keenness, leaving little doubt that he had attended this party specifically to see her.

He greeted her in Vulcan, and for a moment, just for contrariness sake, she was about to respond in Federation standard. Repressing the urge, she dipped her head respectfully.

"Hello, brother. You are well?"

"Quite," he said. He looked her up and down in cold evaluation. "You?"

"Very well," she said. T'Shanik did not bristle under what could be considered somewhat insulting scrutiny, but it was only because of the years of mental discipline. Switching away from Vulcan, she lifted her glass. "I had not expected to see the T'Kumbra awaiting our return.."

"I requested the escort assignment," Solok told her, ignoring her subtle discourtesy. "I bear a message from our sister."

This was worse than T'Shanik had expected. Admiral Sitak was a formidable woman, more authoritative than their mother in many ways. If she was involved, the youngest member of the clan had no hope of defying her. The family had never condoned T'Shanik's joining Starfleet, but once she proved capable of passing the requirements, they had done their best to keep her in inferior postings, ostensibly to keep her safe, but actually, because they believed her weak and potentially embarrassing to the family honor. T'Shanik hadn't actually countermanded their wishes by applying to Millennium, but she had done it in such a way that it was fait accompli before they could stop it or make any objection that she couldn't refute.

"Sitak has found your performance to be satisfactory," he said, surprising T'Shanik. For a brief second, her spirits rose before his subsequent words brought them crashing down as he switched to Federation standard. "I am arranging a transfer for you to the T'Kumbra. It will not be a bridge position, of course, but serving with an all Vulcan crew will be of considerable benefit to you."

T'Shanik suspected it was hopeless, but she tried anyway, straightening her shoulders. "I am content where I am."

Solok did not hesitate, ignoring her words as if they had never been uttered. "You can begin your duties immediately, Lieutenant. I am very pleased to have you on board my vessel."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Captain." The voice was calm, but an underlying core of steel threaded through it, unmistakable and immediately recognizable.

Solok blinked, the Vulcan equivalent of starting abruptly. T'Shanik managed not to react that much, but she did feel her knees go slightly weak in relief.

"Captain Janeway." Solok turned to regard the compact Human with a certain kind of wariness. Obviously, her reputation had preceded her.

"Captain Solok," Janeway said calmly. She glanced at T'Shanik. "You're not anxious to leave Millennium, are you, Lieutenant?"

"No, Captain," T'Shanik responded, pleased when her voice was completely even. "I am quite satisfied with my post."

"There you have it." Janeway offered a polite smile to the Vulcan captain. "I'm not approving any attempt to raid my crew, Solok. I went through that the last time I was here, and I'm not about to have it happen again. You'll have to find your own operations officer."

Solok shot a look at his sister, and then back at the captain. "I'm afraid you don't understand, Captain. This is a family matter."

"Oh, I'm quite aware that T'Shanik is your sister," Janeway said pleasantly. "However, unless she specifically asks for a transfer from my command, I'm holding onto her. And with all due respect, Captain, you just don't have enough pull to take her without my authorization."

"Perhaps, I do not, Captain," Solok agreed. His words were mild, but the meaning was clear. T'Shanik needed all her mental discipline not to give into the anger that rose within her, reining it in with an iron control.

Janeway's smile widened, completely unperturbed by the comment. "I'm sure Sitak will understand," she said with cool disdain for his sister's position. "I'll speak with her personally, if necessary. Or I'm sure Admiral Nechayev and a few friends of my father could convince her how serious I am about keeping my officer. They know that when I decide to fight for something, I inevitably win."

Solok lifted an eyebrow, but did not respond.

T'Shanik felt a tiny pain in her temple. Translating all the inflections involved, she concluded that Janeway had threatened to pull more powerful strings than even the Vulcan family was capable of drawing upon. Just to keep T'Shanik on Millennium? She wasn't sure how to react to that, but it made her feel warm in a way that she had not before experienced.

Solok inhaled slowly. "This is not the end of it, Captain."

"As far as I'm concerned, it is."

His dark eyes flashed, but he inclined his head and without looking at his sister, turned stiffly and headed for the exit. With her head tilted and a tiny curl forming on the right side of her mouth, Janeway watched him go,. T'Shanik discovered she was grasping her glass tightly and carefully eased her grip before it shattered.

"Captain, I..." she began.

Janeway held up a hand, forestalling her words. "Lieutenant, this is not the first time your brother and I have ... disagreed. He should have known better than to try something so clumsy." She lifted her chin, glancing at the Vulcan. "However, I apologize if I caused any further ... inconvenience within your family situation by stepping in like that."

T'Shanik swallowed. "You are not the cause of any inconvenience," she admitted quietly. "Thank you, Captain."

Janeway offered her a half smile. "As I said, Lieutenant, I have no intention of giving up my operations officer. It took too damned long to find you."

The captain moved away, leaving T'Shanik to contemplate her champagne in bemusement. Nog abruptly appeared at her side, almost causing her to flinch.

"What was that all about?"

T'Shanik wondered how she should answer. "The captain was merely confirming her confidence in me," she told him.

Nog tilted his head, his large ears framing his knobby face, considering that, but to T'Shanik's relief, he appeared willing to let it go. Instead, he gestured toward the buffet. "Have you tried the snail juice?"

"It is unlikely I ever will," T'Shanik assured him.

"Come have a drink with me, anyway," he said, offering a snaggle-toothed grin. "I'll introduce you to my uncle."

T'Shanik suspected that she should not feel as elated as she did. It was positively un-Vulcan. However, she would never forget the look on her brother's face during his confrontation with Janeway. Finally, she had seen someone put a dent in that aura of superiority Solok possessed and imposed on everyone around him. She'd cherish that image for a long, long time. "I'm sorry, darling. You know how the first few days after returning to port can be."

In the viewscreen, Seven's narrow features looked vaguely dissatisfied, but the Borg did not object. Behind her, the couple's quarters on Millennium were clearly visible. "I understand, Kathryn."

Janeway felt guilty, but this was a part of the job she couldn't avoid, as much as she might want to. "Beam down to Indiana without me," she told her partner. "I know that both Mother and Phoebe are dying to see you. I'll catch up with you as soon as I'm finished with the Admiral. I promise I'll be there in time for dinner."

Seven brightened at this suggestion. "Very well, Kathryn. I will tell Gretchen you will be late, however, just in case."

Janeway managed a wry smile. "Believe me, darling, she'd expect it in any event."

The captain disconnected the communications channel and turned back to Zar who had been waiting patiently by the communications kiosk. The San Francisco Transport Center was bustling with a sea of Starfleet uniforms mixed in with the civilians. Large transporter pads dominated the area, the sound of materialization a constant hum over the roar of the crowd. Outside, monorail trains utilizing magnetic fields carried those who were distrustful of molecular teleportation to other areas on the North American continent. On the gigantic landing fields surrounding the center, interplanetary shuttles took off and landed with monotonous frequency, bearing passengers to and from the other planets in the solar system, or to the gigantic space stations orbiting Earth where the great starships were berthed.

Janeway caught her breath. After a year in space, it was difficult to get used to the seething masses of people. As she and Zar wormed their way to the large windowed entrance leading to the nearest city street, she thought she understood well Seven's antipathy to large groups.

Of course, they could have beamed directly to Starfleet Command, but since the Dominion War, when the administrative buildings had been destroyed by a Breen attack, an officer had to present a good reason for bypassing the security net. Janeway had wanted a taste of home before her meeting with Nechayev, but now she was regretting that decision. Surely, she and Zar would have been granted authorization to transport directly to the admiral's office rather than go through the transportation center.

Once on the sidewalk, the press of people lessened, and Janeway inhaled the salt tinged air of San Francisco with decided relief. Nearby, the bay sparkled blue in the afternoon sun, reflecting light onto the white buildings that were almost blinding in their brightness. The walk to Starfleet Headquarters took about ten minutes. Beside Janeway, Zar strolled easily, taking everything in and calmly absorbing the various double takes that came his way. It wasn't often one saw a Cardassian in a Starfleet uniform.

"I had forgotten," he said at one point.

Janeway glanced at him. "The scrutiny?"

"Exactly," he said, his voice tinged with wry humor. "On Millennium, it pretty much disappeared after the first few days. I actually grew used to being just another officer on the ship."

Janeway patted him companionably on the arm. "Perhaps one day no one will cause such disturbance when they walk down the street anywhere in the Federation."

Zar tilted her head. "Oh, I don't know, Captain. I'd hate to live in a society that's so homogenized that nothing can cause a stir. I may not like the constant double takes, but I'm honest enough to admit there are times when I actually get a kick out of it."

Janeway shot him a grin as they entered the plaza that fronted Starfleet Headquarters, bordered on either side by a six-foot marble wall. In the polished white stone, the names of all those Starfleet officers who had lost their lives in the Dominion War were engraved. Janeway had personally known more than a few of those names, and passing through here was always a moving, yet disturbing experience. It was a relief to enter the spacious, sunlit lobby of Starfleet Headquarters and take a lift to the floor where Admiral Nechayev's office was located.

The sector chief was a diminutive woman, with blonde hair streaking gray and keen eyes set in Slavic features. She radiated barely contained power like a warp core reactor, always on the verge of raining destruction down on whomever crossed her. Seated behind a desk that appeared too large for her, the admiral motioned Janeway and Zar to a seat.

"Welcome back," she said, her cool, modulated voice making Janeway tense as it often did. She had forgotten how much the admiral affected her. "I've been going over the reports, and it appears that Millennium's first mission was a resounding success."

"If you consider having an agent from the Orion Syndicate infiltrate the crew a success, then I suppose it was," Janeway said dryly.

Nechayev leaned back in her chair, fingers pressed together at the tips as she regarded her. "The contract imposed on you and Lt. Hansen remains a bit of a problem," she allowed coolly. "Ever since we received the last communications packet, Starfleet has made a point of clamping down on all Syndicate operations, including those on border worlds that had previously been overlooked. Ongoing searches of vessels and raids of various companies with any ties to the Syndicate are making it very clear to allied planets that we expect more vigilance from them when dealing with these criminals. In short, we're letting it be known, in no uncertain terms, that to threaten one of our own is to attract nothing but the most extreme trouble. There are already indications from our sources that the Syndicate wants to retract the contract. Until it's confirmed, however, Starfleet Command has decided that rather than the normal layover, we're sending Millennium back out as soon as the ship has undergone inspection and a level ten diagnostic on all systems. By the time you return from a second mission, Starfleet will have finished their dealings with the Orion Syndicate once and for all."

Janeway blinked, surprised. "Thank you, Admiral," she said slowly. "But I don't want to deprive my crew of their accredited leave. They need that time off."

"Starfleet understands that, and anyone not wishing to accept the new mission will not be censured," Nechayev said in the sort of voice that indicated there was no room for negotiation here. "I will advise, Captain, that while you and Lt. Hansen are on leave, you should remain alert. It's unlikely the Syndicate would dare to strike so close to the central worlds at this time, but they have before."

Janeway straightened. "I understand, Admiral." When she realized how seriously Starfleet was taking this, she became slightly frightened, not for herself, but for Seven. "Lt. Hansen is on her way to Portage Creek..." she began, and stopped when the admiral held up a hand.

"We know. Starfleet Intelligence maintained a trace on her from the time she left the ship," Nechayev explained. "Commander Patterson has made arrangements within the Indiana Agricultural Park, but it's very subtle. You won't even notice the increased security."

Janeway sincerely doubted that, but she didn't say anything. There didn't seem to be too much else to say.

"Returning to your mission report, Captain," Nechayev continued, "there's the matter of the fighters. Why are you so determined to have them removed from your ship?"

"As I made clear in my report, they didn't turn out as useful as we'd hoped."

"You mean, as I hoped," Nechayev said dryly. "Why do I have my doubts that you gave the fighters and their pilots a fair shake, Kathryn? Your distaste for their presence was clear from the beginning."

Janeway firmed her jaw. "They can't even fly escort for Millennium, Admiral. They're far too slow at warp six, and frankly, we didn't encounter many situations that required their use in combat situations. It's my opinion that the vessels are just taking up space on our hangar deck, and wasting valuable personnel who would be better suited in other departments."

Janeway was aware of Commander Zar watching the wrangling between captain and admiral with ill-disguised fascination.

"Apparently, Starfleet Command agrees with you, despite my objections," Nechayev said with a touch of sourness. "The fighters are being removed even as we speak." Janeway was careful not to allow any hint of triumph show in her face, knowing that even when she thought she won a battle with this woman, inevitably, she lost the war. Nechayev looked down at her padd. "Which brings me to the matter of your first officer." Her eyes rose to pin Zar in a steel gaze. "You've requested a permanent assignment to Millennium. This is the first time you've ever balked at a transfer."

Zar glanced briefly at Janeway from the corner of his eye. "It's the first time I've felt this comfortable."

"Well, don't get too attached, Zar. Starfleet has other plans for you."

Janeway opened her mouth to protest, and then for some reason, she paused. She should wait to see what those plans were before she started any fight to keep her exec, she decided.

"Three months ago, there was a skirmish on the Romulan border," Nechayev said. "Captain Lydia Bedford was severely injured, but both she and her ship survived to make it to the nearest port." Janeway blinked, recognizing the name instantly. Nechayev wasn't changing the subject; she had something specific in mind.

"The ship has undergone a complete overhaul, but Bedford's recovery will take a great deal more time. It's uncertain whether she'll ever be well enough to step back into the command chair. The decision was made to replace her."

Zar looked bemused, as if uncertain what the admiral was talking about. Janeway was nodding slowly. In a way, it was an ironic twist on the adage, 'what goes around, comes around.'

"You've been tagged as that replacement, Zar," Nechayev said. She reached into her desk and drew out a box, flipping it open to reveal a single pip gleaming golden in the muted light. "Report to your ship, Captain."

Zar didn't seem to know what to say, staring at the pip and then, the admiral, as if he suspected some kind of cruel practical joke at his expense. "Sir?"

"Not just any ship," Janeway finally spoke, her voice laced with pride. "They're giving you Voyager, Tulek."

Nechayev rose from her chair. "Much as I'd like to stay and celebrate, I have other commitments," she said. "Kathryn, I'll be contacting you soon on the particulars of your upcoming mission and the new exec who's being assigned to you. In the meantime, enjoy your leave." She flicked a glance at Zar. "Congratulations, Mr. Zar. I wish there could have been a more formal ceremony for this, but nowadays, Starfleet can't spare the time. Be aware that you'll need to find a new CMO. The previous one was killed in the attack that injured Bedford. You're also going to need an operations officer. Voyager is currently in orbit around Tellus Three. There's a transport ship departing from McKinley Station at 0800 tomorrow morning. Be on it."

She swept out, leaving Janeway feeling as she often did after an encounter with Nechayev; as if she'd been pummeled, only with all the bruises on the inside. The two officers sat there for a few minutes in contemplative silence, absorbing the news.

"Well, I guess I won't be late for dinner after all," Janeway finally managed. She glanced over at the Cardassian who looked as if he'd been stunned by a class two phaser. She reached over and nudged him. "Voyager's a good ship, Captain. She'll take damned fine care of you."

"I can't believe it."

"Believe it," she said. "It's not how Starfleet did things in my father's time ... or even when I made captain, but the honor is still the same, Tulek."

"And the responsibility," Zar said. He swallowed and looked at her, his dark eyes pleading. "Am I really ready for this, Captain?"

Janeway lifted a brow. "If I didn't think you were, Tulek, I wouldn't have recommended you for your own command."

He blinked. "You did that?"

"Don't think it was easy to make that decision, either. I hate having to break in a new exec." She exhaled audibly. "I'm not saying it's going to be a piece of cake, Zar. You're going in where the crew's already established. That's not easy at the best of times."

"Let alone looking as I do."

Janeway pursed her lips. "I won't lie," she said, not unkindly. "That'll be the same obstacle it's always been, but you'll overcome it, just as you have every other challenge placed before you. I believe in you."

There seemed to be an easing in the set of his shoulders. Not much, but still detectable to Janeway who had been a little worried he'd give in to his jitters. She stood up to reach across the desk, retrieving the box. "Here," she said, waiting until he stood up before taking the pip and fixing it to his collar. At six foot six, he towered over the compact Janeway, and she had to stand on tiptoe to pat him on the shoulders and straighten his tunic. "You look terrific ... Captain Zar."

Zar's face changed at the appellation. "Hearing that is going to take a little getting used to." He paused. "I need Tarn and Spencer, Captain. I don't have time to find anyone else."

Janeway affected a look of mock outrage and slapped his chest stingingly. "I knew it. Not a captain for two minutes and already you're raiding my crew." She lifted a brow. "Spencer will make a fine CMO, but as we both know, Tarn's not even sure she wants to be in Starfleet. She promised not to make a final decision until we reached Earth, but she may have already tendered her resignation."

"I'll talk to her, Captain, and convince her to accept the posting on Voyager," he said.

"And say what?"

He offered her a smile. "I fill her in on exactly what it's like to be a Cardassian in Starfleet," he said, heading for the door. "Then I'll show her just what perseverance can get a person." The lush fields of Indiana stretched to the horizon, the corn stalks waving gently beneath the bright summer sun. Seven leaned on the railing of the front porch and inhaled the country air deeply, feeling a sense of peace descend upon her. It was ironic. Janeway spent so much of her life in space, and preferred to live in San Francisco while on Earth. Seven, for whom home was wherever Kathryn was, still felt a bone-deep connection to the farm that surprised her with its intensity ... or perhaps it was just the connection to the people who lived there.

Sitting nearby, Jake watched the Borg with unusual intensity. Seven had been vaguely surprised the Irish Setter had remembered her. The cranial capacity of a dog was not very large, offering little room for memory storage, yet he had bounded up to her immediately when she stepped off the shuttle at Portage Creek, dancing around her in unrestrained excitement for several minutes, as if he had desperately missed her. Now, he refused to move more than a few feet away, no matter where she went or what she was doing.

She turned her head slightly as the screen door opened and Gretchen stepped onto the porch, bearing two glasses of cold lemonade. At her gesture, Seven joined the Janeway family matriarch on the swing chair, accepting the glass and taking a sip of the tart liquid, letting it rest on her tongue. Jake scooted over and curled up at Seven's feet.

"What's troubling you, Annika?"

Seven lifted a brow, swallowing as she turned her head to regard the statuesque, snowy haired woman. "Why do you believe something is wrong?" she asked, honestly curious.

"I think I've come to know you quite well, by now," Gretchen said kindly. Her brilliant blue eyes studied the young woman with affection. "Tell me about it."

Seven had not intended to burden her mother-in-law with her problems, but the gentle invitation could not be resisted. Before she could stop herself, the entire story had spilled from her lips: from finding her mother on a Borg sphere in the Delta Quadrant, to the difficult decision she had to make about Erin's future. Gretchen listened patiently, nodding now and again to encourage her, reaching over to rest a hand comfortingly on Seven's forearm at the most emotionally taxing parts.

"I can't tell you what to do, Annika," Gretchen said quietly when Seven had finished. "I can only offer another side of it. I know if I were in Erin's place, I would want my daughters to do what's best for them as much as for me. To remain nearby on the off chance that I might reestablish my connection with reality would be too much to ask. No mother I know would demand or expect it of her children."

Seven felt a lightening on her shoulders, but the better part of the burden remained. "Yet, I am her family, Gretchen," she said painfully. "If I am not nearby, then my mother has no one. It is my responsibility to take care of her."

Gretchen offered a smile. "Annika, I thought you had an eidetic memory. You never forget anything."

"That is correct."

"Then how could you forget that you're not her only family? Mr. and Mrs. Erickson, Erin's parents ... your grandparents ... are still very much alive, along with Erin's brothers and sister. Don't you think your assuming too much of the responsibility?"

Seven stared at Gretchen, absolutely shocked. She couldn't believe that she had forgotten about the maternal line of her family, not to mention the Hansen side who would undoubtedly also feel some need to be involved. She had never been close to her blood relatives scattered around Earth, perhaps because every time she encountered them, all they seemed to want to speak about were Erin and Magnus. As a result of the distance she maintained, she felt only Gretchen and Phoebe were her true extended family. Still, she couldn't believe that she had discounted the Ericksons' existence so easily. What was wrong with her?

"I had ... not considered that factor," she admitted slowly. "Gretchen, this is not even my decision to make."

"Not entirely," Gretchen agreed. She slipped an arm across Seven's shoulders and hugged her, just as she would, the Borg knew, one of her own offspring. "Annika, it's clear to me that this has you so tied up in knots, you're not thinking clearly. I also know in my heart that Erin loved you dearly and will again. Just give her the time to heal. When she does return to herself, she's going to be so proud of the woman you've become: a renowned scientist, a valuable Starfleet officer, and one of the loveliest people it's my privilege to know."

Seven felt a lump in her throat. Praise from this individual meant so much to her.

"She will be proud of me?"

"Absolutely," Gretchen said. "But you have to keep living that life, Annika. You can't give it up for her. She would be horrified if you did."

"You do not even know her."

"No, but I know you. No matter what the Borg did, they couldn't change the basic nature inside you, Annika. That's kind and brilliant and warm and loving. You had to have acquired it from somewhere, and I believe it was during the first six years with your mother and father. Your parents made mistakes, Annika. God knows, we all do. We're only Human. But I'm absolutely convinced that they loved you with all their hearts, and if they had the slightest inkling that you'd be harmed in anyway, they never would have gone within a hundred light-years of the Collective."

Seven wanted to believe her. There was a great deal of speculation and fanciful extrapolation in the elder woman's advice, none of which was based on proper scientific investigation, but Seven still wanted to believe that what her mother-in-law was saying to her was true. Gretchen seemed to sense it, and with a prescience that came from knowing when she had said enough, she kissed Seven on the temple and rose from the chair.

"I'm going in to start dinner," she said. "You wait here for Kathryn. I'm sure she'll be along shortly."

Seven doubted it, but she was content to sit on the swing, sip her lemonade and mull over Gretchen's advice. She realized she had not handled the situation with her mother with her normal analytical precision. Janeway had told her spouse more than once that she was too close to the problem, that she was reacting emotionally rather than rationally, but Seven hadn't believed her. She supposed Kathryn had been right all along, but she didn't know if she'd let the captain in on that little revelation.

A low hum attracted her attention and she looked down the long lane as a land speeder swept through the gate and up the graveled driveway. Beneath the chair, Jake stood up abruptly, ears pricked, but he didn't move from Seven's side. Easing to a stop near the garage housing Gretchen's hovercraft, the vehicle settled onto its landing struts as the noise of the engine died away. Janeway slipped out of the pilot's seat and strode jauntily across the lawn toward the porch, a smile lighting her face as she spotted her spouse on the chair.

Seven tilted her head slightly as the captain mounted the stairs and greeted the dog, scratching his ears enthusiastically. Then she casually leaned against the railing and pinned her partner with an expressive gaze that Seven couldn't quite identify. They stared at each other for a moment, and the captain's smile widened.

"This is such a pretty picture." Her voice had a certain husky note in it that the Borg recognized immediately. "You on the porch waiting for me, sipping lemonade on a beautiful summer day."

Seven lifted a brow. "What gives you the impression I was waiting for you?"

Janeway laughed and swung around, settling onto the chair next to her. "Who else?"

"Perhaps I am merely enjoying the fresh air."

"Ah." Janeway nodded and pushed off with her foot, initiating a rocking motion. Her eyes were a bright blue, strands of auburn hair blowing free in the breeze as a tiny grin curled one corner of her mouth. Seven thought that must have been how Kathryn looked as a child on this swing, all gangly elbows and knees as she sprawled over the cushions ... unbearably adorable.

"You're different."

Seven blinked, so lost in her contemplation of her spouse that the captain's words startled her. "Kathryn?"

Janeway turned her head to look directly at the Borg, studying her face. "Over the past few weeks, you've had this little furrow between your eyebrows. Even when you thought you were relaxed, even when we made love, it was always there." She reached up and touched Seven's brow with a gentle fingertip. "It's not anymore."

Seven blinked, bemused that she had displayed such physical evidence of her inner turmoil. Of course, Janeway knew her better than anyone and would detect such minuscule alterations in demeanor, just as Seven always did when it came to the exact shade of Kathryn's eyes.

"Gretchen and I had a most interesting discussion regarding my mother," Seven allowed after a moment. "She was able to point out factors that I had not taken into consideration." She shook her head. "I have been such a fool, Kathryn."

Janeway flinched and dropped her hand, her fingers closing around Seven's wrist, holding it tightly. "No," she said firmly. "Never that, my darling."

Seven shook her head, half smiling. "Do not be so sure, Kathryn." She tilted her head. "The Ericksons?"

Janeway stared at her, and then closed her eyes. "My God, I never thought..."

"How could I presume to make a decision about their child without their input? I am ashamed of my arrogance."

"Not arrogance, darling. In the Delta Quadrant, we had to make the decisions. We were all the family Erin had." The captain paused, her fingers warm on Seven's wrist. "I'm just glad that the burden is shared here on Earth."

"They have not even been informed that Erin has been returned," Seven said regretfully. "I must rectify that immediately."

"It's quite early in Helsinki, darling. Wait until later tonight. There's about a seven hour difference between here and Finland."

Seven considered that. "Then I shall have to remain awake until midnight."

Janeway brought the Borg's hand up to her mouth, brushing her lips over Seven's knuckles lightly, and then turning it to kiss her palm lingeringly. "I think I can come up with a few ideas to keep you awake."

Seven smiled. "In that narrow bed with your mother and Michael just down the hall?"

Janeway made a face. "Dampen my mood, why don't you?"

Seven lifted her chin, realizing that Janeway had not been late, that in fact, she had been early to arrive. "Were you unable to meet with Admiral Nechayev?"

"Oh, there was a meeting." Janeway lifted Seven's arm so that it was around her shoulders and, the young woman obligingly pulled her close. "It just didn't run as long as I anticipated. Not that the limited duration kept the admiral from packing as much information into it as she could." As they sat and rocked, Janeway filled her partner in on the amazing revelations that had occurred at Starfleet Headquarters.

Seven frowned. "We are being monitored?" She looked around, almost as if she expected to find an intelligence officer lurking amid the corn stalks.

"Not exactly," Janeway said. "Starfleet's just keeping tabs on us." She took a breath. "Patterson apparently had the farm's communications system upgraded to alert Starfleet instantly if anything untoward happens, as well as increasing security measures in the park. I know it has to be a fairly serious threat if Mother allowed that much technology to be installed in her home. It might be wise for us to spend the remainder of our leave here in Indiana."

Seven nodded in agreement, more pleased at the idea than she let on. To have Gretchen nearby comforted her in a way so profound, it touched levels of her subconscious that she wasn't even aware of. "I have not asked if we are allowed to spend the night, Kathryn, let alone our entire leave. Perhaps you are being premature."

Janeway smiled. "You're right, I'd better speak to Mom."

"Perhaps we can stay at Phoebe's," Seven suggested. "She has been spending a great deal of time in Paris over the past six months. Her latest showing is so successful that she has acquired a loft in the city. She will be here for dinner, but she is returning to France immediately afterward."

"Wow, I'm impressed," Janeway said, obviously meaning it. "Her career must be going very well." She leaned over and kissed her partner gently, her mouth soft on the young woman's. "And it works out rather well for us, giving us some necessary privacy."

"Always beneficial."

Janeway laughed. "Things seem to be coming together nicely, Annika."

Seven smiled and lifted her chin, considering the ramifications of the captain's meeting with Nechayev. "Captain Zar," she said, tasting the words to see how they felt and what the Cardassian's new promotion meant. She guessed she would miss the first officer, despite the annoyance she had displayed toward him toward the end of their mission. She even felt slightly guilty at indulging in that emotional display. "Was he happy?"

Janeway shrugged. "It all happened so fast," she admitted. "He was gone before I had a chance to say good-bye. I didn't even wish him luck." She shook her head. "I suppose that's the way of it now in Starfleet. I wonder if I'll ever see him again."

"You will." Seven hugged her. "I do not know if anyone else will say this to you, Kathryn, but I shall. You did a wonderful job. You provided Starfleet with another qualified and competent captain. You should be very proud."

Janeway grinned, pleased at the praise, though technically, it wasn't Seven's place to offer it. "Thank you, darling."

Gretchen chose that moment to poke her head through the door. "Ah, there you are, Kathryn. I need a potato peeler."

Janeway sighed and glanced at Seven. "She's not talking about a device, you know. She actually means me."

Smiling faintly, Seven rose from the chair, reaching down to help Janeway to her feet. "We must earn our keep, Kathryn," she said quietly. "Particularly if we intend to remain on the farm." The dining room of the Peach Palace was quiet, with most of the lunch crowd long gone. In the corner, with little interest paid to them other than by the waiter assigned to their table, Dr. Lewis and Kate Pulaski lingered over their meal. Actually, Pulaski lingered. The hologram, incapable of ingesting food, watched her with an intensity that made the good doctor feel ornery, causing her to order far more than she normally would just to indulge in something he couldn't.

"I still don't see why you needed me along," she said as she finished her pasta.

"It certainly isn't for your company," he told her.

She grinned, unperturbed. He was almost as sarcastic as she was, and that had gone a long way in her liking him ... not that she would ever admit that to him. It was rare that Pulaski had someone who would stand toe-to-toe and refuse to back down, and their fights during those first days on Millennium were considered legendary among those on the lower decks. Eventually, they had achieved a basic sort of understanding ... they reserved their disagreements for private and attempted to show a united front to the rest of the crew. No one was really fooled, but it had cut down on the gossip to a certain extent.

"So when's your lawyer supposed to show up?" Pulaski took a sip of coffee and started in on her dessert. She was undoubtedly going to regret eating this much, but it was fun to go into raptures about the taste of the food, knowing all the while that Lewis couldn't experience it. It annoyed him, which was vastly entertaining to her.

"She said she'd meet us here. My God, have you no patience?"

"Your God? I never perceived you as the religious type."

Lewis glared at her. "It was an expression."

Pulaski shook her head sorrowfully. "You shouldn't take a deity in vain if you're not serious about it. At least, know when you're blaspheming."

He frowned, his mouth twisted, which meant he was temporarily stymied by the comment and was unable to come up with a properly scathing response. She smiled faintly and took another bite of her peach cobbler.

"Doctor?"

Both medical officers looked up, but it was apparent the newcomer was addressing Lewis. He smiled and rose to his feet.

"Samantha. Thank you for meeting me here."

The woman who sat down at the table was small and boyish, with a short shock of dark hair and wide, elven-like eyes. She looked far too young to be a lawyer, yet Pulaski knew she had a formidable reputation. She had been in the courtroom the day Sam Cogley had won the doctor's freedom from Starfleet. Now, it seemed, she was doing her best, at Lewis's request, to arrange his reinstatement.

"Did it clear?" Lewis was anxious, almost quivering in his chair. Pulaski resisted a snort of derision and took another sip of coffee.

"It's completely above board, Doctor," Samantha said, handing him a padd with the letter confirming his commission to Starfleet, along with several other legal documents that reassured him that there would be no unwarranted interference from Starfleet Medical in any way, shape or form regarding his programming or his practice of medicine. "Congratulations, Doctor. You're a senior lieutenant."

Pulaski blinked as Samantha handed her a small box. "I thought you might want to do the honors, Admiral."

Flipping open the lid, Pulaski eyed the two golden pips sardonically. "He's not even dressed properly," she pointed out. "What am I supposed to do? Stick them in his neck?"

With a flicker, the Doctor was suddenly garbed in a Starfleet uniform, changing from the simple shirt and trousers he'd been wearing. Pulaski jumped at the unexpected transformation and frowned at him.

"Don't do that in public," she scolded. She glanced around, relieved when no one appeared to have noticed. Sometimes, she would momentarily forget that he was a hologram, and then he would deliberately do something irritating to throw it in her face. "Do you want people to think you're a Changeling? Or worse, that I'm actually having dinner with one?"

Samantha tilted her head, evaluating the medical officer. "Are you a bigot, Dr. Pulaski?"

Pulaski shot her a look. "I'm a realist," she said. "I know Human nature, and the war is still fresh in a lot of people's memories, as is their paranoia over the Dominion. People might decide to react before they think, and frankly, I don't want to get caught in the crossfire. He's immune to phaser fire. I'm not."

The hologram stared at her, a provocative smirk on his lips. "Admiral?" he prompted. "I'm waiting for my official commission." He stood up, his posture one of attention, hands at his sides.

Exhaling audibly, Pulaski also rose to her feet. "Fine," she groused. "At least you won't be able to hide behind your civilian status any more. When I give you an order, lieutenant, you'd better damned well jump to it."

Picking up the pips, she fixed them to the EMH's collar, wondering if they'd fall on the floor the next time he attempted a transformation. Yet, she could not deny being a little touched by the glow in his dark eyes. "Well done, Doctor," she said grudgingly. "Welcome back into the fold." She paused. "You're probably going to regret it, of course."

He smiled. "Only the part where I have you as my immediate superior."

Pulaski resumed her seat, waving the comment away with a flick of her napkin. "That's not anything you need worry about," she told him. "I don't plan to be shipping out again anytime soon." She eyed him with a wry grin. "Who knows, if you play your cards right, Lewis, you might end up as Millennium's CMO. I bet the captain would be glad to have you. At least, she'll be used to your limitations and be able to plan accordingly."

His features underwent a remarkable change, and she wondered if she had finally managed to offend him.

"You're not coming with us?" His voice actually sounded a bit stricken, and Pulaski wondered what the hell was wrong with him. It was almost as if he were going to ... miss her or something. An odd sort of tension began to build between them as they stared into each other's eyes.

Samantha, looking back and forth between the two, chose that moment to interrupt. "Uh, I don't suppose either of you has any news about Ro Laren?"

Pulaski blinked, not only at the change of subject, but at the clumsiness of it. "Ro? What about her?" She looked at the young woman and saw her squirm slightly.

"I was .... ah, just wondering how she is. Is she still in Starfleet? Still a security officer? Is she still ... involved with Torres?"

While the Doctor began to fill the lawyer in on their recent mission to the Delta Quadrant, Pulaski shook her head and finished her dessert. It had been such a strange little moment there with Lewis, and it disturbed her more than she cared to acknowledge. She made an effort to put it out of her mind.

Unfortunately, it stuck with her, popping up at odd moments when she least expected it. Standing on her balcony, a few nights later, looking out over the lights of Atlanta, Pulaski sipped her brandy and wondered what she had seen in his eyes, worrying at it as she would a particularly difficult set of symptoms. The chime of her apartment door interrupted her chain of thought, and she put the glass down on the patio table, rising to her feet. She was surprised when she recognized the woman standing on the other side of the door.

"Seven? What the hell are you doing here?"

The tall blonde inclined her head politely, not at all put off by the doctor's abruptness. "I wish to speak with you," she said in that cool, modulated tone of hers.

At the end of the corridor, loitering by the lift, Pulaski spotted another figure. "Who's that?"

Seven glanced briefly in his direction. "A Starfleet security officer," she said dismissively, as if his presence were of absolutely no consequence. She turned back to Pulaski. "May I come in?"

The doctor, feeling more than a little bemused, stepped aside to allow the Borg to enter her small, one bedroom apartment. She had always felt a little uncertain around Seven, not because she was afraid of her, as so many on the lower decks were, but because she couldn't quite get a handle on her personality. It made the doctor wary. On one hand, she recognized that Seven's haughty demeanor was partially that of her Borg conditioning and not necessarily reflective of the true person within. At the same time, however, Pulaski detected a sense of icy resolve that ran deep, the sort of unstoppable determination that could make Seven a formidable danger if she felt threatened, or more importantly, if those she loved were threatened. Pulaski recognized in Seven the temperament of an assassin, one who could terminate a lifeform without hesitation or regret. Yet, there had to be a great deal more to her than that, for no other reason than because Janeway loved her without reservation. The captain wasn't the sort to give her heart to someone who was anything less than a noble and honorable person.

Gesturing toward the glass doors leading to the patio, the doctor dug out her little used social skills, trying to knock the rust off them. She didn't, as a rule, have many guests.

"Take a seat anywhere, Seven. Can I get you a beer?"

Seven glanced at her, an eyebrow arching slightly. "No, thank you, Doctor," she said politely. "I have no need of intoxicants at this time."

"Okay." Pulaski took a seat in the cast iron chair near the balcony railing. "What brings you by?" She suspected Seven was not the sort who appreciated small talk.

"I am here to discuss your decision," Seven said. "I do not wish you to resign your position as Millennium's chief medical officer."

Pulaski blinked. "How do you know about that?"

Seven linked her fingers neatly on her lap. "Dr. Lewis contacted me yesterday," she explained. "He wants you to remain as his superior officer, perhaps because you are aware of his unique nature and can adapt to it."

"Why did he call you?"

"Actually, he contacted Kathryn, but she was unavailable. I took the message and decided to speak with you personally. I have my own reasons for wanting you to remain on Millennium."

"You do?" Pulaski stared at her. "I don't see what they could be. Lewis is responsible for your implants, and any qualified physician can take care of the rest of your medical needs."

"I am aware that any reasonably qualified doctor is capable of doing what you do in sickbay."

"Thank you," Pulaski said in an ironic tone.

Seven ignored the inflection. "It is not for me. It is for the captain's benefit that I am here."

Pulaski snorted. "If you think Kathryn is more willing to come to me for medical matters than any other doctor, I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken."

"It is not your medical expertise that is required. It is your seniority and history with the captain. You must be aware that Kathryn can speak with you in a way that she cannot speak with anyone else on the vessel. You share a special bond with her."

Pulaski laughed, surprised at the comment. "I infuriate her, Seven. We're always disagreeing. What kind of bond is that?"

Seven nodded. "She requires such confrontation."

Pulaski eyed her curiously. "I doubt she would agree with you."

"Yes, she would," Seven said with absolute certainty. "Perhaps she would not admit it to you, but I believe she knows herself well enough at this point to admit it to herself. She needs your wisdom and guidance, even when it appears she has no intention of following it. She even needs your obstinacy."

Pulaski looked doubtful. "She does?"

"You are her mentor and her friend, Doctor. She is not quick to allow many to be that close to her." Seven paused. "Is starship duty so onerous?"

"It's not that, Seven." Pulaski paused, searching for the proper words to convince the young woman. "Out there, so far from the Federation, can leave a doctor feeling hung out to dry. I can't refer a patient or call in a specialist when I'm baffled by a case. I have only limited equipment in sickbay, and no way to transfer a patient to better facilities during an emergency. Ultimately, I know I'm going to lose patients because of it."

Seven nodded. "I understand, Doctor. However, while any doctor who accepts the posting to Millennium will face the same restrictions, only you can assist Kathryn when she requires professional advice. Only you can offer an evaluation of a peer. Only you can be her confidante even when she is required to be the captain. Are you prepared to deny her that advantage because of your personal trepidations about the upcoming mission? Fears, I might add, that may or may not prove to be accurate."

Letting her breath out in a huff, Pulaski stared at the young woman. "You don't mince words, do you, Seven?"

Seven shook her head. "No, I do not." She lifted a brow. "Will you stay, Doctor?"

Pulaski tilted her head. "Let's just say you've convinced me to think about my decision a little further," she said slowly. "A person could get used to having such a unique position on a starship."

She smiled widely. "Imagine being able to drive a captain crazy as part of the job description." Janeway slipped out of her shoes and propped her stocking feet up on the coffee table, sipping her coffee with quiet pleasure. A small fire crackled merrily in the hearth as outside the walls of Phoebe's house, a summer storm raged, the rain beating against the windows as lightning flickered and thunder boomed periodically. From the kitchen, the captain could hear Seven cleaning up after their lunch. Curled up in various parts of the living room, Phoebe's two Irish Setters, Maggie and Rufus, slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the tempestuous weather outside.

It was the sort of domestic bliss that made the captain wonder if perhaps space was really where she wanted to spend her life. Of course, she knew her wanderlust was far too strong to be pacified for long by these rare, perfect moments on Earth, but perhaps Janeway cherished them all the more because of it.

Seven walked into the living room, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, her hair loose and falling about her shoulders. Jake was at her heels, never far from the Borg's side ever since her return. Janeway was glad to see Seven had regained the relaxed if precise poise she had enjoyed prior to her mother's discovery on that sphere, content that Erin was now safe and secure in a facility not far from where her family lived in Finland. The young woman made a point of visiting often, and in the process, was learning to know her entire family, beginning the first tentative overtures of truly becoming close to them.

"Come here, darling," Janeway invited, patting the cushion beside her.

Seven offered a brief smile and settled on the sofa next to the captain, her long, lean form golden in the flickering firelight. Jake settled down next to the other two dogs. The couple was quite comfortable in this home, and Janeway was truly grateful to her sister for allowing them to live there during their leave. Of course, they had subsequently discovered that the reason Phoebe remained in Paris had less to do with her very successful showing, and far more to do with a young man, another artist, who was currently sharing her loft. Neither Janeway nor Seven were quite sure where that was leading, but in the meantime, they enjoyed the comfort of Phoebe's home, taking care of her dogs in her absence.

Janeway lay her hand companionably on Seven's thigh, her shoulder nudging against the Borg's, feeling lazily content "Penny," she said softly.

"For my thoughts?" Seven finished, lifting an eyebrow. "Nothing specific. I enjoy being here with you, Kathryn."

"I always enjoy being with you," the captain assured her. "Wherever we are." She exhaled slowly. "No more doubts about leaving Earth?"

Seven shook her head. "No," she said. "My mother is being adequately cared for, and she has loved ones close by. Both Nana and Papa insist I pursue my career in Starfleet."

Janeway smiled. Seven no longer stumbled over the names her grandparents insisted she call them, and at this point, they were even uttered with a bit of warmth. If nothing else came of the terrible fate that had befallen Erin, at least her daughter and parents had forged a bond because of her sudden reappearance.

"I think they're right," she said quietly.

"Of course you do," Seven said placidly. "Their opinion is in complete accord with your own."

Janeway snorted laughter. Her spouse had started reaching for humor more and more recently, even during the times when she was stressed. In fact, now that Janeway thought of it, especially during those times. It was as if Seven had finally recognized that humor could balance a situation, help her maintain an even keel when the ground beneath her feet felt so uncertain. It was a charming addition to her personality, and the captain was warmed by it. Seven might never entirely lose all her implants or her Borg conditioning, but she was inexorably making progress on her path back to Humanity.

"Quit teasing and put your arms around me," Janeway instructed.

Seven smiled and complied, pulling her spouse close to her. Janeway settled happily into the embrace, leaning her head back against Seven's shoulder. She could feel the Borg nuzzle into the top of her head, resting her cheek against the auburn hair. The slender yet powerful arms were warm across the captain's chest, and Janeway felt safe and secure. A particularly loud crack of thunder was even more jarring because of that sense of coziness, making her jump and almost spill her coffee as the dogs lifted their heads, ears pricked.

"Whew, what a nice day to stay inside," the captain remarked.

"Yes," Seven murmured, brushing her lips over the curve of the captain's ear, and then down the line of her neck. "Perhaps to indulge indoor pursuits?"

Janeway felt a pleasant little tingle radiate through her body. "Why, darling," she said, her voice dropping huskily, "whatever did you have in mind?"

Seven tightened one arm,while with the other, she took Janeway's mug from her and placed it on the end table. "I think you know," she said as she reached back and began to unbutton the captain's western-style shirt.

Janeway smiled happily and helped her partner undress her, shrugging out of the garment and dropping it onto the floor. Turning around, she noted that Seven's nipples were already stiff, protruding through the thin material of her t-shirt. The sight sent a rush of desire through the captain, and she quivered slightly as she tugged the shirt off over Seven's head, along with her bra. The Borg fell back onto the couch, and Janeway looked down at her topless spouse with possessive anticipation. Dropping her hands to Seven's waist, she fumbled with the buttons on her jeans, finally unfastening them and grasping the waistband firmly to draw them down over the slim hips, bunching them around the Borg's knees. Seven was wearing a delicate pair of panties, a white triangle covering the blonde thatch of hair, the sight more erotic than if she were completely nude. Janeway stopped Seven as she reached down to remove them.

"Leave them on," she instructed huskily.

Seven looked vaguely amused, but obeyed, lying back as Janeway leaned down and kissed the silken material, feeling the soft mat of hair beneath her lips. She glanced up at Seven, offering a wicked smile and dipped her head once more, lips parting to...

The sharp rap at the door nearly prompted a heart attack in the starship captain. Janeway fell off the couch in a frantic effort to grab for her shirt and pull up Seven's pants at the same time, terrified beyond reason that it was her mother and that the knocking was merely a gesture of politeness before Gretchen came barging in. Casually, Seven shook off the captain, leaving Janeway in an awkward sprawl over the carpet as the Borg rose gracefully from the cushions. Drawing up her jeans in one smooth motion, Seven fastened them and retrieved her t-shirt, pulling it on with a coolness that the captain could only envy and never emulate. Janeway scrambled to button up her shirt, first having to waste time turning it right side out, all thumbs as the fastenings stubbornly resisted her. She pushed her bra under the sofa with her toe, while Seven's bra was quickly stuffed under the nearest cushion. Janeway sat down on top of it, looking wildly at her partner who was already at the door.

Seven glanced back briefly to see that her spouse was reasonably presentable, and opened the door. Janeway only had a clear view of the Borg from this angle, and she blinked at the profound surprise that appeared on the young woman's face.

"Tuvok."

Startled, Janeway rose to her feet, belatedly tucking her shirt into her trousers as the Vulcan, who had served as her chief of security for seven years on Voyager, entered the house. Rain beaded on the shoulders of his uniform tunic, his close-cropped hair dripping rivulets down the side of his dark features. He assessed the captain and Seven dispassionately, though Janeway thought there might have been a bit of a twinkle in those brown eyes as he took in her disheveled state.

"I apologize for arriving unannounced, Captain," he said in his evenly modulated tone.

Janeway stared at him, her mouth moving, but no sound coming out. Tuvok regarded her quizzically, a dark brow raised at an angle, politely waiting for her to find her voice. However, it took another large crack of thunder to jolt her into coherence.

"My God, come in, get dry." She gestured toward the sofa, hesitated when she saw a brief flash of white beneath the cushion, and instead guided him to the large armchair by the fire. The Vulcan appeared not to notice anything was amiss as he sat down, head tilted curiously as the two dogs, Maggie and Rufus, sniffed the hem of his trousers warily. They knew he was alien, but were unsure whether he was friend or foe. Jake, of course, was quite familiar with the Vulcan and ignored him entirely. Janeway shooed the animals away, glancing at Seven who shrugged lightly and disappeared in the direction of the hallway.

Shaking her head in bemusement, Janeway took a seat across from Tuvok on the sofa, trying to unobtrusively stuff the bra back into concealment. "What brings you all the way to Earth?" she asked. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's so good to see you again."

"Thank you," he responded. "I am gratified to see you, as well." He glanced up as Seven appeared beside him and offered a towel. He thanked her graciously, using it to dry his hair and face while the Borg returned to the kitchen, undoubtedly to see to refreshments.

"What's going on, Tuvok?"

He folded the towel neatly and placed it on the arm of the chair. His dark eyes centered on the captain's. "I had business with Starfleet Command in San Francisco," he explained. "I've been assigned to the operation intended to bring down the Orion Syndicate."

Janeway blinked. "Oh," she said. The Vulcan had conducted his share of undercover operations for Starfleet Intelligence over the years. She wasn't sure why he was filling her in on this particular assignment unless it was because of the contract on Seven and her. "You'll be careful, of course."

"Of course," Tuvok said. "However, that is not why I chose to visit you in person. While on Earth, I received a communique from Commander Ro." He paused as Seven reappeared, bearing a tray with mugs of steaming tea and some cookies. Sometimes, the Borg was so domestic, it seemed impossible to believe that she had been a drone only a few years earlier. "She inquired as to whether I was interested in resuming my position as your chief of security."

"What?"

Tuvok eyed her. "I take it that she has not discussed this with you?"

"Not at all," Janeway said. She glanced at Seven. "Darling, have you heard anything about this?"

Seven shook her head. "Not directly." She paused thoughtfully. "This may have to do with the incident involving Peter Martin. The last time we had lunch, B'Elanna mentioned that Laren feels she mishandled that investigation. She is somewhat concerned about Laren's current confidence in her abilities."

Tuvok rested a cookie incongruously on his knee, the napkin a stark white against the black of his trousers. Seeing him sip his tea, Janeway felt a sense of unreality slip over her.

"Wait a minute, let's back up a second," she said, raising an index finger. "What did Ro say to you?"

"She believes I would better fill the position of Millennium's chief security officer," Tuvok said. "Regarding the investigation Seven mentioned, Ro filled me in on the details. It is my impression that she feels her performance was less than adequate."

Janeway raked her fingers through her hair. "Honestly, Tuvok, I have no idea where this is coming from," she said, confused. "I thought she did a fine job. She tracked down Martin, stopped him from escaping and later assisted in saving the ship from being destroyed. What more did she expect of herself?"

"Perhaps to have accomplished those things in a more timely and efficient manner?" Seven suggested quietly. "She wishes very much to please you, Kathryn."

Janeway glanced at her, thought about it for a few moments and inclined her head. Turning her attention back to Tuvok, she offered him a smile. "Thank you for coming to me about this. I'll certainly look into it."

"I was certain that you would, Captain," he said. He paused. "And you? Have you encountered any incidents?"

"With the Syndicate?" Janeway shook her head. "No, we've been staying pretty close to home. When we do travel out of the park, Michael ... Commander Patterson ... has arranged for security personnel to accompany us at all times. It's inconvenient, but I've had to accept the precautions imposed by Starfleet."

Tuvok tilted his head, staring at her. "I am gratified to hear you're being so prudent, Captain, though I will admit, somewhat surprised, as well."

Janeway blushed, knowing full well what he meant. Seven had a small smile curve the corners of her full lips.

"In truth, Kathryn is currently operating under a much higher authority than Starfleet Command," the young woman told him.

When Tuvok looked inquiringly at her, clearly expecting further enlightenment, Janeway exhaled audibly. "Mother told me that if I put myself, or worse, Annika, at risk because of my foolish pride, she'd personally make sure there was nothing left for the Syndicate to even bother about." She met the Vulcan's eyes, seeing the glint of amusement in them.

"That's a threat even I wouldn't dare challenge." Seven lay on the bed, naked but for her underwear, perusing a padd as she waited for her partner to finish her ablutions in the small bathroom attached to the guestroom. When the captain came out, she was wearing one of Seven's blue t-shirts, the garment too large for her as the sleeves fell down over her elbows and the hem modestly, yet provocatively, draped about her hips. Finding that the planetary climate served to dry out her hands, Janeway rubbed them together, working moisturizer into the skin. Seven could detect the faint odor of the lotion from across the room.

As she slipped onto the bed, Janeway reached over and stroked the white triangle of Seven's panties with appreciative interest.

"Did you wear these for me, darling?" Her voice was husky.

Seven glanced at her briefly, lifting a brow. "Why would I do that?" Seven wasn't a very good liar, but she had adapted to the art of answering a question with another question. Of course, Janeway always knew what it meant when Seven suddenly started to dissemble, so she merely grinned wickedly at her. Taking a breath, the young woman resumed her attention on her padd, trying to ignore the woman in the bed next to her.

Janeway laughed, a low, throaty chuckle. Seven affected not to notice when the captain leaned over further and kissed the inside of the Borg's left knee, then nibbled gently along the tender skin of her inner thigh. She couldn't help but pay attention, however, when the captain crawled up over the Borg's torso, knocking aside the padd and insinuating herself into Seven's embrace.

Seven eyed her indulgently. "Do you require something, Kathryn?"

Janeway leered elegantly and kissed her, a full mouthed, luscious kiss. "On the contrary," she growled. "I think it's you who wants something. First, after lunch, when you were all over me, and now, tonight, wearing those cute little briefs."

Seven attempted to sigh. It did not impress the captain who reached down and tugged at the panties.

"You don't play hard to get very well, love," she informed her as she deftly peeled the underwear down the Borg's long legs, with Seven helpfully lifting her hips to facilitate their passage.

"Was I playing 'hard to get', Kathryn?"

Janeway just laughed as she settled on top of the Borg. Seven smiled, accepting the passionate embrace with enjoyment and returning it with equal intensity. "I thought you would appreciate my panties."

"Mm, I do, love," Janeway assured her between the long, lingering kisses. "I had visions of removing them with my teeth."

Seven drew back briefly. "What happened?"

"It was the 'heat of the moment' sort of thing this afternoon," Janeway explained. "Now I just want you naked."

"Ah," Seven said, not entirely understanding her spouse's reasoning, but willing to go along with it. "What of you?"

Janeway sat up, straddling the Borg as she pulled off the t-shirt. "Easily rectified."

Seven immediately reached up and covered the captain's breasts, toying with the soft brown nipples. Janeway smiled and briefly leaned into the caress, but slipped away after only a minute.

"Kathryn?"

"Relax, love," Janeway purred as she moved lower onto her with sensual intent. "We'll get to me ... eventually."

Seven smiled and relaxed onto the mattress, allowing her partner to set the pace of their lovemaking. She had been feeling amorous all day, as frustrated by Tuvok's timing as the captain, though she was not apt to display it as overtly as Kathryn. To compound the Borg's frustration, Tuvok had stayed for supper, and had not left until late in the evening as he and the captain spent hours reminiscing about their shared service in Starfleet. Seven did not begrudge his need to visit with the captain, nor Janeway's need to visit with him, but there were a few times when she wondered if he somehow suspected her arousal and was deliberately overstaying his welcome in order to delay her gratification.

Fortunately, her patience had not been in vain. Janeway apparently sensed that Seven required special consideration this night, and proceeded to caress and stroke her with the utmost skill and loving attention. Her mouth was a tender benediction, light on her skin, moving over swells and curves to incite the most wonderful desire within the Borg. Seven closed her eyes, her head lolling on the pillow, her hands tangled lovingly in her partner's hair. Squirming slightly as strong hands parted her legs, she felt the warm breath waft over her intimate flesh, sending a chill of erotic anticipation through her.

Janeway did not continue the caress as expected, however, and Seven opened her eyes as the captain rose briefly from her body and reached for the drawer in the table next to the bed, pulling out the Mini-Marvel 450 and a jar of lubrication. To the Borg's surprise, however, the captain did not don the penile probe, but rather, kept it in her hand as she trailed down the young woman's body, kissing and nipping with renewed intent. This time, Seven was rewarded with the sensation of Janeway slipping between her legs and tasting her avidly, tormenting the Borg with teasing flicks from the tip of her tongue, covering her sensitive nubbin of flesh with lips of pure velvet, tugging on it gently. Seven groaned, arching as she felt the rounded head of the lubricated accessory probe her opening, gradually easing inside the heat and moisture. It remained for a moment within the wetness, filling her as Janeway's tongue moved over her with greater intensity.

Then the probe was removed, only to press against Seven's body again, seeking entrance into the lower orifice, causing the Borg to shiver with delight. Lifting her left hand from Janeway's head, Seven reached above her to grasp the brass headboard. Metal screeched as the small pain of initial insertion past the restrictive band of muscle gave way to the pleasure of penetration into the channel. Internal muscles flexed and adjusted to the intrusion as the captain's mouth intensified the Borg's need, driving her ever higher with every stroke. Seven realized the captain had far more control by using the accessory manually, quickly finding a complementary rhythm between her slow, gentle thrusts and the feverish manipulation of her tongue and lips. The combination was intense, and Seven felt the rush of sensation cascade through her, her hips jerking spastically, her peak rushing through her with exquisite joy.

Seven barely had time to savor it, however, before Janeway, her need acute, urged the Borg over onto her stomach. Crouching on her hands and knees, Seven felt the captain position herself so that she could attach the device without having to withdraw it from its intimate resting place, the end of the device closing around her clitoris. It transmitted sensation to it from sensors aligned along the abbreviated shaft. Reaching around to Seven's front, Janeway began to caress her nodule fiercely, demandingly, as with her other hand, she grasped a warm handful of breast, squeezing with unrestrained delight. Seven shuddered as the caresses impacted on flesh that was still too sensitive from her previous climax, feeling overwhelmed by being taken so quickly. Moving vigorously within Seven, Janeway sought her own pleasure as she thrust against the soft cushion of buttocks, muttering words that were both loving and profane. Urged on to a second, more intense orgasm, Seven realized through a haze of pleasure that the captain had finally reached her own, crying out in utter abandon as she buried herself as deeply as she could within the Borg.

Seven collapsed on the bed, breathing hard as Janeway slumped heavily onto her back. The Borg didn't know why she enjoyed this permutation of their lovemaking so much when previously, she had assiduously avoided penetration. She could not deny, however, that it was exciting to her in a way that other forms of lovemaking were not. Not that it was anything she would care for on a regular basis. It always left her feeling vulnerable, vaguely unsettled and slightly sore, but at the moment it was happening, it was all she wanted or desired. She needed the captain to possess her like this on occasion and, on some levels, she suspected that Janeway needed it as well.

The captain inhaled deeply and rose, finding her strength again. Resting her palms on Seven's hips, she slowly and carefully withdrew, pulling the probe stickily from the Borg's intimate channel. Seven lay passively on the bed, throbbing pleasantly in time to her heartbeat as Janeway found a soft cloth and gently wiped away the excess lubrication from her spouse, and then wiped down the accessory. After putting it away, Janeway drew the covers up around them and curled around Seven, embracing her from behind.

"All right, darling?"

Seven sighed. "Oh, yes, Kathryn. You love me so well."

A soft chuckle, husky and deep. "I'll admit, I'll never completely understand why you enjoy it so much, but I absolutely love doing it to you."

Seven lifted a brow. "I do not know either," she admitted drowsily. “I suspect it is because I have more nerve endings present in that part of my body than in others.”

Janeway, undoubtedly reminded of how the Borg had mutilated her spouse and left her lacking in certain areas, pressed against Seven, hugging her with wiry strength.  “We’ll have to find new ways of exploring that aspect of your sexuality,” she offered quietly.

Seven was surprised.  “I am unsure there are any further permutations to explore.”

Janeway laughed huskily.  “You’re not challenging me, are you, darling?”

Seven shivered, either in apprehension or pleasure at the thought.  “I do not believe it is wise to challenge you,” she admitted. "I do know, however, that you are the only one I would trust enough to be so intimate with me."

"I would certainly hope so." Janeway kissed her on the temple, and then moved lower, dropping her head to kiss Seven's shoulder blade. "Is there anything else you need, darling?"

Seven made a small sound of amusement. "That was quite sufficient."

Janeway bit the point of the Borg's shoulder. "I mean, in general," she explained, her voice warm with laughter. "Is there anything that you've ever wanted to try that I haven't provided?"

Seven considered it. "I cannot imagine anything that we have not attempted, Kathryn.We always share our most secret fantasies and desires. If I do, however, you will be the first I inform."

Janeway drew her fingers up Seven's arm. "I'll hold you to that," she whispered.

Seven forced her eyes open, though her lids were growing heavy. "Why, Kathryn? Is there something you have considered that you are hesitant about discussing with me?"

Janeway shook her head. "No, love," she said thoughtfully. "Communication in the bedroom has never been one of our failings."

"What of outside the bedroom? Is something troubling you?"

"Not specifically," Janeway said. She paused. "Tuvok is so proud of his youngest son. He talked about him practically all night."

Seven nodded slowly, lifting a brow at the change of subject, and wondering where her partner was headed. "He is a most attentive parent."

Janeway nuzzled her softly. "It makes me wonder. We used to speak of having children all the time. Now, it's a topic that rarely, if ever, comes up. Why is that?"

Seven blinked. "I ... it has not seemed relevant recently," she admitted. "We shall have children one day."

"I know, but when is that 'one day'?" Janeway lifted up, urging Seven around so that she was lying on her back and the captain could look down at the expression on her face. "It's so strange, darling. I was always the one hesitant about the concept of having children, but now I find myself thinking about it a lot, particularly since returning to Earth. You, however, seem to have completely forgotten about the idea."

Seven looked into the bluish-grey eyes, reaching up to touch the captain on her cheek. "I have not forgotten, Kathryn."

Janeway turned her head, kissing the tips of Seven's fingers. "Then please, talk to me, darling. Tell me what's going on with you."

Seven inhaled slowly. "I am afraid," she admitted. "As I understand more about Humanity and what it means to be a mother, particularly after finding my own, I am frightened that I shall not make an adequate parent. I can be as self-absorbed in scientific pursuits as Erin Hansen ever was. Indeed, that preoccupation is why I drew back from the idea of having children during our previous residence on Earth. My interest in my profession has not lessened since that time. I enjoy being your science officer, Kathryn, and I enjoy our life in Starfleet. When I was contemplating the possibility of giving it up to look after Erin, I was resentful. It disturbs me to think that having children could provide the same sense of resentment. I once believed that having children was all I wanted, but now, I am no longer so certain. If so, I am afraid that I could not offer a child the proper attention and care he or she requires. I refuse to offer less than my best to any offspring we create."

Janeway seemed about to speak, paused, and thought about it. Seven watched her face, detecting the slight alterations in muscle and skin that indicated more about her thought processes than she suspected the captain was aware.

"I was about to say that you'll make a wonderful mother, Annika," Janeway said finally, quietly, "but I didn't want it to sound like false reassurance or just an idle comment. I want you to know that it's something I utterly believe with every fiber of my being. I know that Mom believes it as well, and you can't ask for a better authority on the subject than that. But I also know that it's natural to have doubts. I have them, too. After all, I'm more my father's daughter than my mother's." She hesitated, her jaw moving as if tasting the words she would say. "We can't expect to be perfect parents, Annika. No one can. What we really have to discover is: do we want children in our lives right now, and will we love and care for them to the best of our ability."

Seven tilted her head. "You are still a starship captain, Kathryn. Do you really believe you could fit offspring into your life?"

Janeway regarded her. "You mean, if you're not the principal caretaker? I guess that's what we've been assuming all along, but now that I understand how important your position as chief science officer is, we're going to have to change that assumption."

"I do not want to give up any part of my work, Kathryn." Seven told her honestly. "Not yet."

"Nor do I want to give up any aspect of my command," Janeway admitted with a touch of sadness. "Is it possible for both of us to compromise so that we both can give a little more? Be equally responsible for their upbringing, which is the way we should have been thinking all along?"

"Would it be enough?" Seven drew her partner closer, her left arm slipping around the captain's waist.

The starship captain considered it carefully. "Probably not." Janeway hugged the Borg to her and sighed quietly. "This is probably the wrong time to be having this discussion in any event. The incident with your mother is still too fresh, we're being rushed back into space before we're completely ready, and the threat of the Orion Syndicate still hangs over us. I guess it's a bit much to ask that we do our family planning at the moment."

Seven studied her spouse. "You have obviously been thinking about this, Kathryn."

"Well, you know how domestic I become once I'm home." Janeway smiled, leaning down to kiss her sweetly. " I think I forget sometimes that this is not really our life, nor do we want it to be. Once I'm back in space, it becomes very much about my ship and crew. I'm so fortunate to have you as my spouse. You understand me and what's required from both of us, but I can't expect a child to possess the same kind of understanding." She settled down next to her partner, resting her head on Seven's chest. "I'm sorry, love. It was unfair of me to bring it up."

Seven hugged her. "We need to discuss such issues on a regular basis," she assured her. She paused. "Are you disappointed in me?"

"Of course not. You deserve to pursue a career in science as much as I do with my command. I'm glad that you can consider all the consequences before deciding upon a course of action. I'm even more grateful that you can be honest about how you feel, not only to yourself, but to me." Her eyes grew distance. "It's a lot to ask of a child to understand why his or her parents can't be there when things become frightening or uncertain. I need to remember that."

Seven nodded soberly. "In a crisis, we are always on the bridge, Kathryn. We are not able to be in our quarters, comforting and reassuring the child that he is safe. We cannot always leave our posts to be there when he is unhappy or disappointed. Who becomes responsible for the child then?"

"A nanny? Perhaps one of the ship's teachers?" Janeway rubbed her cheek lightly against the smooth skin of Seven's chest. "You're right, Annika. A child deserves better. Our child deserves better."

Seven exhaled. "I did not always understand that on Voyager. I do, now." The couple was silent for awhile, lost in their own thoughts. "One day, Kathryn. One day we will be able to let go of duty and turn that dedication to a family."

Janeway snuggled close. "You're right, love. One day, we really will have it all." The controls of the shuttle were responsive beneath his hands, but not as enjoyable to manipulate as the joysticks installed on the delta flyers. That had been part of his contribution to their construction, appealing directly to his pilot's sensibilities, as he knew they would others. Tom Paris was proud of that, and he was proud to have served on Millennium as its wing commander, leading the contingent of seventeen fighter pilots and teaching yet another generation the fine line between thrills and skills.

That was a thing of the past, however. Word had come down that the fighters were being removed from the Millennium. The official line was that the squadron hadn't reached its full potential, but Paris knew that wasn't the case. They had managed to operate to the full extent of their abilities. However, when their launch vessel was more powerful, and possessed a faster cruising speed than the fighters, acting as a protective escort, which was generally a fighter squadron's primary mission, was simply not an option. Paris understood that, but the disappointment still lingered.

Now, he was the position of having to make a decision for himself, one that would affect the rest of his life. His skills no longer required on Millennium, he needed to make a choice from all the offers that had poured in after their return to the Alpha Quadrant. The trouble was, none of them were really tempting. To take over a fleet on a starbase could only prove tedious. Paris was as much an explorer as he was a pilot. Having to remain on a planet or space station, only launching to run patrols or experience the occasional skirmish with a vessel up to no good, wasn't what he wanted for himself. Yet, accepting one of the helm positions on another starship didn't really appeal to him. After piloting vessels that touched space in all four quadrants, having to plod about the Federation, or even extending the boundaries within the Alpha Quadrant, just didn't have the same lure as sitting on the bridge of a Frontier-class explorer.

Then, there were personal concerns. He had made a lot of mistakes in his life, had let love slip through his fingers because of neglect or seeking some ultimate thrill that didn't really exist, all at the expense of his lovers, including B'Elanna Torres. He wasn't about to repeat that behavior. He and Kes, the ship's counselor for Millennium, were embarking on a relationship that could prove to be everything he had ever wanted or needed in his life. However, Kes wasn't going anywhere, her position on Millennium quite secure. It was up to Tom to find a way to stay with her.

That was why he was headed for the cornfields of Indiana. If there was one person who could give him advice on what he should do, it would be the captain.

To his dismay, as he descended through Earth's atmosphere, instructions were issued over the comm system, preventing him from implementing his flight plan. Apparently, shuttles and transporters were prohibited in the Brown County Agricultural Park, and he was diverted to a small city on its outskirts called Portage Creek. He had never visited the captain at the family home, though he had heard about it. A Traditionalist community, they limited technology wherever they could, farming and living off the land in the way of their ancestors. Paris certainly had an appreciation for history and tradition. He loved old things, particularly old machines, but while he freely indulged that fascination in holodecks and museums, or replicated antique devices to decorate his own home, he did so while still enjoying all the comforts of the 24th century. He had no idea why someone would want to live like that full time.

He landed the shuttle at the Portage Creek Transport Center, shutting down its engines and securing it against unauthorized access, even though this was Earth, and hardly necessary. Ingrained habits died hard, however. Crossing the tarmac, he inhaled the muggy Indiana air, tainted liberally with the metallic scent of environmentally friendly shuttle exhaust. Inside the cool, air-conditioned confines of the terminal, he found the nearest clerk, a fresh faced young woman with golden brown hair and hazel eyes.

Unconsciously, he offered a boyish smile. "Hi, there," he greeted. "I'm trying to get to the Brown Agricultural Park. Where can I find a hovercraft?"

The smile she was displaying faded somewhat. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't help you. You need to visit the Starfleet kiosk on the upper level. Go left until you reach the third set of turbolifts on the right. That will deposit you directly in front of their offices."

Paris blinked. That was unusual, but he inclined his head politely at the young woman and followed her directions. Starfleet generally wasn't involved with planetary transportation, particularly on Earth. He couldn't imagine what a Traditionalist community had to do with them, other than the fact that Janeway happened to be staying with her mother who lived there.

The officer manning the desk upstairs was nowhere near as attractive as the young woman downstairs. Sighing silently, Paris approached the young man, his smile no longer boyish. He wished he was wearing his uniform, rather than a short-sleeved blue shirt and tan trousers. Two gold pips would facilitate matters greatly, particularly with this Ensign.

"Yes, sir," he said politely, glancing up as Tom approached. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, I'm Lt. Tom Paris, Wing Commander of the USS Millennium. I'm trying to get to the Brown County Agricultural Park." Paris faltered again as he saw the guarded look appear in the young man's dark eyes. "Would you mind telling me what's going on around here, Ensign?"

"I'm sorry, sir, could you step back here and verify your identity?"

Paris stared at him, but when the young man indicated the instructions were not the sort that could be argued with, he shrugged and did so. However, he was considerably surprised when the verification process he was forced to undergo included everything from a retinal check to a full body scan. Tom wasn't all that familiar with a Traditional lifestyle, but surely it didn't require all this just to visit.

"What the hell is going on here, Ensign?" he demanded again.

Another officer appeared, this one sporting a rank above Tom's. She was pretty, but imposing, her dark brown hair tied back tightly, granting a severe cast to her features. Tom took one look and knew she was Starfleet security.

"That will be all, Ensign Graves," she said quietly. "I'll handle it from here." She nodded at Paris. "I apologize for the rather extreme procedures, Lieutenant, but we have an operation in place. I'm Lt. Commander Carol Atwood."

"Tom Paris," he said shortly. "But you know that, or you should, by now."

She smiled faintly. "Yes, we do. What is your purpose in visiting the Agricultural Park, Mr. Paris?"

"I'm planning to visit my commanding officer," he explained, frowning as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Captain Kathryn Janeway. She's staying with her mother."

"Indeed. And why do you want to see her?"

Paris blinked. "That's ... uh, kind of personal, if you don't mind."

She stared at him for a moment and then smiled. "Of course," she said. "You can find a hovercraft in the parking garage on the sub-level."

"Wait, aren't you going to tell me what's going on?"

She handed him a navigational chip. "Please drop this off here when you return the vehicle." A rather blatant way of telling him that she wasn't, and that, furthermore, his presence was no longer required or particularly welcomed.

Paris knew better than to object, but that didn't prevent him from fuming over it all the way to the Janeway homestead located about fifty kilometers inside the boundaries of the park. Tom was greeted by three Irish Setters as he stepped out of the land speeder, and he stood still as they sniffed him, unsure as to how friendly they were. Seven of Nine appeared on the front porch, and the pilot was slightly taken aback at how incredible she looked, her hair down, her voluptuous figure garbed in a light, summer dress that left her shoulders and those incredibly long legs bare. Paris had never begrudged the captain her capture of the young woman's heart, but he was man enough to regret that he would never have an opportunity with the stunning Borg.

"Hey, Seven."

"Tom Paris," Seven greeted, gesturing at the dogs who promptly obeyed her, retreating from the Starfleet officer. "I am pleased to see you."

He grinned. The Borg would never say anything she didn't mean, and it flattered him. "Thanks. The captain around?"

"She is down by the pond," Seven instructed, pointing across a cornfield.

Paris could make out a grove of willow trees on the other side. He used them as a navigational marker, grateful that the corn was still at a height that allowed him to see over it and keep them in sight. Before long, he was jumping over a deep drainage ditch that separated the cultivated field from one that had been left fallow. Insects launched into the air as he walked through the long grass, grasshoppers, butterflies, and other unidentifiable species making way for his passage. Next to the still waters of a picturesque pond, he discovered the captain leaning against a tree, reading a book. She glanced up when he was only halfway across the meadow, shading her eyes with her hand. A smile crossed her face and she stood up, brushing off her denim pants.

"Tom," she said with obvious enthusiasm. "What brings you by?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your leave, Captain," he apologized as he reached her.

She waved it off. "To be honest, it's starting to become a trifle boring," she laughed. Paris was struck by how young she looked, dressed in a light shirt that had the sleeves rolled up, revealing wiry and tanned forearms. "I'm looking forward to getting back to my ship. What about you?"

Tom exhaled. "That's actually why I'm here, Captain," he said. "I've been fielding a lot of offers, and I'm not sure what to do."

Her bluish-grey eyes sparked with interest. "I see," she said. "Nothing stands out?"

She gestured at a boulder shaded by the willow tree, and Paris took a seat on it while she sat down on another large stone nearby. She was instantly composed, he noticed. This might as well have been her ready room rather than a grassy meadow beside a pond where ducks glided serenely. He was always impressed by that aura of command. "Not exactly, Captain," he admitted. "I've actually come to ask a favor. I want to remain on Millennium."

Her face sobered. "Tom, you know the auxiliary fleet has been restructured. The ship no longer needs a wing commander." She reached out and patted his forearm. "You also know how much I value your skills, but I can't use you as a helmsman either. Even if I were prepared to transfer Lt. Nog from the alpha shift, you're still Terran. The transition jump simply doesn't allow for it."

"I know, but Captain, you can still use a good helmsman for the beta and the gamma shifts," he said. "Not to mention a pilot for all those away missions. As good as Nog is, you know he doesn't check out as well on the delta flyers as I do. I helped design the things, after all. Then there's all that time I spent in sickbay on Voyager. I can still operate as a medical assistant."

Paris realized a pleading note had crept into his voice, and he shut up before it became worse. Janeway was regarding him with a slight frown edging her mouth.

"Tom, you're asking for a demotion," she said, in case it wasn't clear to him. "You could be chief helmsman on any vessel in the fleet. I know for a fact, Picard would love to have you back on the Enterprise."

"I know, Captain, and believe me, I'm proud of that assessment," he said. "But I don't want any other posting. I want to stay with Millennium."

She exhaled, staring at him as if she had never seen him before. "What's this really about, Tom?"

He straightened his shoulders. "Kes," he admitted. "I don't want to be separated from her. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to stay with her. If that means a demotion, then it's something I'll gladly accept."

She blinked. "Seriously?"

He nodded. He hadn't been more serious about anything in his life.

She propped her elbow on her knee and supported her chin between her forefinger and thumb. Her eyes were grey, but he was glad to see a definite blue tinge around the outside of the irises. "You'd need to be stripped of a rank, Tom, moved back to a junior lieutenant. That's not something easily done, especially since you're in line to be promoted to Lt. Commander on your next posting." She grinned suddenly, almost mischievously. "You'd have to earn a demotion."

He nodded. "I know, Captain. That's why I want to tell you all about how I slipped Paryk onto the roster so he could be the bartender in Nexus."

She knew all about it, of course, but it had never been formally brought to her attention. To do so meant she would have to make an official report to Starfleet Command and place a reprimand in his permanent record. There was a brief pause as the captain stared at him, her jaw firm. Then, she inclined her head slightly, granting him the invitation to go ahead. Paris smiled widely as he explained every security protocol he had breached in order to allow the enthusiastic, but somewhat unqualified civilian to remain on Millennium after stowing away.

That smile never left his face as he and Janeway returned to the house where the captain used the communications system to contact Starfleet Command, informing them of the sudden confession of the Wing Commander, his subsequent fall from grace, and the captain's demand that he remain her problem to deal with as she saw fit.

Epilogue

The cold red planet of Mars was no longer cold and not even particularly red anymore. Extensive terraforming had provided a temperate climate, though a little lower in air pressure than Earth, while the rusty soil was covered with emerald vegetation. It was somewhat like being at a high elevation, and Janeway had to adjust her respiration accordingly in the thin air. The gravity also remained light, and she felt as if a running jump would launch her into space. She didn't attempt it, however. Running in this atmosphere, when unused to it, could see her pass out and hit the ground before she managed to cover twenty feet.

Stepping off the land shuttle from Marsport, Janeway looked up at the large buildings that housed the lower ranks of officers assigned to the base, as well as those transients who just needed a place to stay before shipping out again. It was a far cry from the lavish, lakeside home Ro and B'Elanna had enjoyed when the couple had been posted here prior to reporting to Millennium. The captain wondered if they weren't already wishing they were back on board the starship. Of course, considering what Tuvok had told her, it was possible that neither woman had any intention of returning to Millennium. Janeway was both aggravated and slightly hurt that they hadn't come to her to discuss what was obviously a bit of a problem.

She found their name on the listing in the lobby. There were several cadets and lower ranked officers in the halls, and she had to keep acknowledging their respectful nods, grateful that Starfleet didn't have a tradition of saluting. If it had, by the time she reached the floor containing Ro's apartment, her arm would have fallen off. As it were, she had a slight kink in her neck from inclining her head. She supposed she shouldn't have worn her uniform, but then, she wanted it to be clear that she was here in the capacity of Ro's senior officer.

She touched the chime on the outside of the door, waiting impatiently. She supposed she should have called first. It was possible the women weren't home. She had barely considered the thought when the door hissed open and she saw B'Elanna on the other side. The Klingon grinned widely, displaying sharp edged teeth, as she stepped aside, gesturing grandly.

"Come in, Captain," she said, obviously glad to see her. "It's not a palace, but it keeps the rain off."

Janeway smiled as she entered. It wasn't as small as she had anticipated, even boasting a tiny balcony through glass doors, but it was decidedly space efficient, with a single, medium sized room pulling triple duty as kitchen, dining and living area. It was entirely possible that the couple's quarters on the Millennium were significantly larger. At least they had a separate bedroom. Janeway could see it through the door to her right.

Ro Laren, sitting at a work station in the corner, hastily rose to her feet. The Bajoran was dressed in a sapphire tunic and dark pants, her short shock of dark hair held back from her forehead by a blue headband. She moved toward the captain with a dancer's grace.

"Captain?"

"Commander," Janeway said shortly, her emphasis on rank indicating this was not a social call. She glanced at B'Elanna. "I would like to speak with my security chief, if I could. I realize it's an imposition and this is your home..."

"No, it's all right," B'Elanna said, frowning slightly as she glanced back and forth between them. "I was ... ah, going out anyway." She retrieved a light jacket from the bedroom and disappeared out the door. Ro watched her go, seeming somewhat bemused, and then looked back at Janeway.

"Yes, Captain?"

Janeway regarded her, a muscle jumping in her jaw. "Tuvok came to see me."

Ro closed her eyes. "Ah," she said. "I had assumed when he told me he was on a new assignment, that would be the end of it."

Janeway shook her head. "He worries about you." She inhaled slowly. "Why didn't you come to me immediately?"

Ro straightened her shoulders. "Until I found a replacement, it didn't seem fair."

"I'm the one who decides about personnel, Commander, not you." The whip of command was in Janeway's voice now, and she was pleased to see that it still stung, the Bajoran wincing visibly. "Why do you think a replacement is required?"

"You know how I handled the investigation into the sabotage." Ro's jaw was rigid. "The suspect practically had to attack me before I figured out who it was. Seven had to uncover the tie to the Orion Syndicate. Zar and B'Elanna had to rescue Tarn." Her fists clenched. "I was useless."

Janeway considered her response. "If I thought that, I would have been the first to tell you. It was a team effort, Ro. It's supposed to be like that. If there was any mistake made, then it was mine by placing the entire burden of the investigation on your shoulders rather than calling on my entire senior staff from the beginning."

"It was my job to find the saboteur!"

"You did."

"Not soon enough."

Janeway lifted her index finger, finding a chair and taking a seat. She thought it was time to lessen the intensity permeating the room. "So, it's a matter of failing to live up to expectations. The question is, whose expectations are we talking about here, Laren?"

Ro stared at her, her features the slightest bit confused, as if uncertain what Janeway was doing. The captain knew that keeping the Bajoran off balance was the best way to handle her, to remind her that despite her vast experience, when it came to Starfleet, she was still somewhat of a novice. "Captain, as chief of security, the safety of the crew and the ship is my responsibility."

"And it's my responsibility to know the capabilities of my officers. This was a criminal investigation. I don't expect my chief of security to be a detective."

"Tuvok is."

Janeway shrugged. "So he is. It's one of his strengths, as a matter of fact. Yet, one of his weaknesses is that he's absolutely terrible in bar brawls. He inevitably swings when he should duck and I usually have to drag him out by the hair." Ro frowned in confusion and Janeway suppressed a smile. "Don't you, see, Laren? I don't expect you to be all things as a security chief any more than I expected him to be. Nor do I want you to be an imitation Tuvok. I just want you to be the best Ro you can be."

Ro stared at her, her face like stone. "What if that's not good enough?"

"Then I'm that one that decides that, not you," Janeway said coldly. She tilted her head. "Are you tired of serving me, Commander? Do you want to transfer off? I can arrange it. I don't need anyone on my vessel who isn't prepared to give me her best."

Ro bent her head, unable suddenly to look Janeway in the eye. "I had hoped, in the event Tuvok accepted the position, that I could remain as his assistant."

Janeway shook her head. "It doesn't work like that, Laren," she said, not unkindly. "You can't go backward. You can only move forward." She decided not to tell anyone about Tom Paris just yet. Of course, the young man was still moving forward where it counted the most; in his personal life.

Ro's mouth twitched, as if she were tasting something unpalatable. "Yes, Captain."

Janeway's voice gentled. "It's not a failure to ask for help."

Ro's dark eyes came up to meet the captain's, flashing slightly, and despite her best effort to restrain it, Janeway was forced to laugh. "All right, I admit that perhaps I'm not the best person to be offering that piece of advice, but that's a flaw that only starship captains are allowed. When you earn that fourth pip, then you can play the lone wolf and get away with it."

Ro looked bleak. "Do you really believe I'll ever see a fourth pip?"

Janeway settled back in the chair, crossing her legs elegantly as she regarded the Bajoran. "Do you know why I like you, Laren?"

Ro blinked, obviously confused at the apparent change of subject. "Why?"

"Because you make mistakes," Janeway said. "Sometimes, really big ones, but you never let them stop you. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and fling yourself into the fray once more. Best of all, I never feel that you give anything less than your best in whatever you're doing. It might not always be the proper course of action, or even what someone else would do in the same situation, but it's always your best. I don't want to see you back away from that unique quality. I think you're doing that here, and if that behavior is what you've learned serving under my command, then you've learned the wrong lesson."

"Captain..." Ro's voice was unsteady.

Janeway stood up abruptly. "Think about it," she said shortly. "Be there at the tactical station when it's time to ship out. Otherwise, send your replacement and make sure they can handle the job. In either case, nothing more will be said about it. It's completely your decision."

Before the Bajoran could respond, Janeway swept out of there, the door sliding shut behind her. She wasn't sure if what she said had penetrated the other woman's insecurities, but she hoped that Ro would manage to untangle herself from all her doubts. In the meantime, the captain had a lunch date with a beautiful woman, and she wasn't about to be late.

She ran into B'Elanna in the building lobby. The engineer had been hanging out with a few of the base personnel, swapping stories when she saw the captain come off the lift. She immediately intercepted her.

"What's going on, Captain?"

Janeway eyed her judiciously. B'Elanna wasn't just her chief engineer, she was Seven's friend. That gave her a certain responsibility toward her. "Did you know that Ro contacted Tuvok to take over her posting on Millennium?"

From B'Elanna's expression, she had her answer before the Klingon could open her mouth, and she held up her hand. "Far be it for me to offer advice about a relationship, B'Elanna." Somehow, Janeway was not surprised to see the same expression in the engineer's eyes that she had seen in Ro's; that the captain might think she was fooling someone, but it wasn't anyone standing right in front of her. She wondered if it was wise for her crew to come to know her so well. "It might be a good idea to have a talk with Laren. The sort of talk that Klingon stubbornness won't let go until it's resolved."

B'Elanna stared at her, and then dipped her head in acknowledgment, heading for the lift with a determined set to her jaw. Janeway didn't know if it would do any good, but she figured she had done her best here, and now it was time to let events take their course. That was the other aspect of dealing with Ro. Not only did Janeway have to keep the Bajoran off balance, she was never entirely sure how it was going to turn out in the end. Such uncertainty was not how the captain normally liked to operate, but there was something about dealing with Ro that intrigued her. Standing there, she realized she had absolutely no idea whether the Bajoran would be there at tactical when it came time to break orbit from Earth.

In either case, the captain would be surprised, and she supposed that was the real reason she kept after the enigmatic Bajoran, kept trying to mould her into the officer she thought she could be. Ro Laren was such an exquisite challenge, and when it came right down to it, there was nothing Janeway liked better than a challenge.

Seven was waiting at an outdoor table at a café in the center of Marsport. Janeway paused on the walkway as the Borg came into sight, taking a moment to simply appreciate the vision that was her spouse. Nor was the only person to do so. The captain could see at least ten others in the vicinity, only eight of them male, who were observing the icy beauty with undisguised fascination, including the security officers who were shadowing the couple. Janeway did her best not to swagger as she finally approached the table and bent over Seven, kissing her on the mouth with a touch of possessiveness.

"Hello, darling," she said as she slipped into the seat opposite the Borg. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Seven lifted a brow. "For you, this is punctual."

Janeway laughed and raised her hand, signaling the waiter. Seven regarded her with brilliant eyes. "Did you speak with Laren?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Janeway flashed her a smile. "I don't know. She'll have to make up her own mind as to whether or not she's ready to continue with Millennium. I've done all I can."

Seven lifted a brow. "That is ... unlike you."

"Darling, if there's one thing I've learned over this past year, it's when to leave things alone. I just wish the officers would come to me when they're having doubts."

Seven looked inscrutable. "Sometimes, other influences must be brought to bear to solve the problem, and you may never know anything about it."

"Perhaps," Janeway said carelessly. "I tend to find out eventually, no matter what."

Seven did not respond to the comment, looking instead at the waiter who had arrived to take their order. She selected a light pasta salad while the captain went for a heartier soup and sandwich. While they were waiting for their meal, Janeway leaned back in her seat and regarded her spouse with marked intensity. Seven became aware of it and lifted a brow.

"Kathryn?"

"I absolutely adore you, my darling. You know that, don't you?"

Seven blinked. "I do. I love you, Kathryn."

"We'll always be together, won't we?"

Seven eyed her, recognizing that an unusually sensitive moment had occurred with her spouse. Janeway wasn't quite sure why it had descended upon her, but both women had learned to indulge such instances when they occurred.

"Yes, Kathryn. Our two paths shall always be as one."

Janeway smiled.

"That's all I needed to know, darling. In fact, that's all I'll ever need to know."

The End