This is the 6th in the Just Between series.

It was written months before even the rumors of Dark Frontier surfaced. It was posted in the first part of September, 1998, prior to the beginning of the fifth season of ST:Voyager.

Just Between

A Rock and A Hard Place

G. L. Dartt

Seven of Nine woke with a start, not knowing what it was that had disturbed her. Then, an elbow thudded into the side of her ribs, and a hand smacked her smartly across the forehead, letting her know that her bedmate was having a bad dream. Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager did not have nightmares often, but when she did, they were usually violent, with a marked amount of flailing around in a random and completely uncontrolled fashion. That elbow was sharp and it had hurt, driven into Seven’s torso without restraint.

Seven wrapped the smaller woman up in her arms, feeling a certain remorse. It was entirely possible that the argument they had the day before was what had prompted this nightmare. Seven had noticed that Kathryn’s bad dreams usually coincided with having to make a difficult decision or when a crisis had just ended.

Or when she had been in a conflict with someone she cared about.

“Shh, Kathryn,” she whispered in the small ear, holding the woman tightly, minimizing her nocturnal struggles. “It is just a dream. You are all right. I am here with you. Nothing can hurt you.”

The captain did not always wake up. Sometimes Seven’s reassuring words and close presence were enough to ease Kathryn out of whatever she was dreaming, and into a more relaxed REM sleep. This must have been a particularly bad series of images, however, because Janeway came awake with a jerk, body shuddering as she reached out, entwining her arms around Seven’s neck and clinging to her, her breath coming in anxious pants. Her body was damp from sweat, and Seven knew she would be chilled so she drew the blankets closer around them.

“It is all right, Kathryn,” Seven soothed, rocking her slightly. “I am right here.”

Seven felt the captain slowly relax, her breathing smoothing out to become regular, the grip on the young woman’s neck easing gradually.

“Damn,” Kathryn muttered. “Lights, one quarter.”

Seven knew the captain was always embarrassed after waking from a bad dream, as if it were a display of weakness or a flaw of some sort. She did not understand why, it was just how Kathryn felt. So, when Kathryn cleared her throat and pulled away, sitting up to wrap her arms around her knees, Seven did not try to impede her. Instead, she sat up as well and stroked the smaller woman’s bare back lightly, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

“Was it very bad?” Seven asked softly.

Janeway shook her head slightly though, from her eyes, clouded grey, Seven knew it had been. Carefully, she put her hands on the captain’s shoulders and rubbed them, gently massaging the tense muscles until finally the hard knots began to loosen. Janeway took a deep breath.

“Damn,” she said again, in her low throaty voice. Her gaze shifted to Seven’s and softened, the eyes shading to blue even as the younger woman watched. Janeway shrugged lightly. “Had to do with losing Voyager,” she explained. “And you. Nothing that made sense but it left me feeling afraid and helpless.”

Seven knew that Kathryn hated feeling helpless more than anything else. She continued to rub her back, slower now, trying to relax her completely. “Perhaps your dreams were bad because we argued earlier?” she suggested.

“Perhaps,” Janeway allowed dully, staring blankly across the grayness of the room.

“Do you realize, that if we make love before we sleep, you never have bad dreams?” Seven offered.

Janeway raised her head, blinking, then a grin curled the corner of her mouth which gratified Seven no end.

“Indeed,” Janeway said.

“Yes,” Seven said, smiling a little as she leaned over and kissed the nearest shoulder. “You always dream after a conflict, but not if we have made love. We should have made love last night.”

Janeway smiled then, her teeth bright against her lips. Seven loved her smile. It changed Kathryn’s entire face, stripping away the command mask, and leaving the warm, passionate woman Seven knew she truly was. “If I remember correctly,” Janeway remarked, eyeing her with a touch of amusement. “I started to and you fell asleep.”

Seven considered that. “You were scratching my back,” she said uncertainly. “I find that very soothing.”

“It wasn’t meant to be soothing,” Kathryn said dryly. “I was tying to make up with you. Maybe I’m just losing my touch.”

“No, you are not,” Seven assured her, moving closer and sliding her arm around the small shoulders, hugging her gently. “I was very tired. It was a fatiguing day yesterday.”

“Yes it was,” Janeway allowed. “Seven, I’m very sorry I yelled at you.”

“I am sorry I shouted in return,” Seven said, puzzled. She thought they had managed to lay the argument to rest. “I do promise not to throw things at you any more … even if I was not attempting to actually hit you.”

“That would be good,” Janeway said with a weary sigh, leaning into the embrace and putting her head on Seven’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here with me, darling.”

“I am, as well,” Seven said. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes,” Janeway said, closing her eyes and sighing a little. “You always make me feel better.” She turned slightly and slid her arms about Seven’s waist as with unspoken agreement, they eased back onto the bed, snuggling together. “I would rather not have any more dreams like that.”

“Then, we must endeavor to prevent them,” Seven suggested softly, and rolled so that she was lying on top of the captain, pressing down on her lightly. “I believe I have a solution.”

“I just bet you do,” Kathryn murmured, looking up at her with half-closed eyes and a half-grin which gave her a sleepy, sensual expression. “What might that be?”

Seven bent closer and kissed her gently, brushing her lips over Kathryn’s, barely tasting her. “Do you really require me to explain?”

“No, you can just show me,” Janeway said agreeably.

Seven smiled, kissing her again, deeper this time as she felt Kathryn’s lips part under hers, and the soft touch of her tongue against her own. Feeling the body beneath hers shift as the captain wrapped her arms around the small of her back to pull her closer, Seven allowed more of her weight to settle on the smaller woman. It was unhurried, naturally lingering as if they had all the time in the universe in which to indulge, which, Seven supposed, they did. She drew back after long blissful moments and looked down into the eyes glowing a bright blue.

“I love you,” she whispered, captivated by those marvelous eyes, feeling as if she was falling into them. “So much. I wish I had a more extensive vocabulary in which to explain.”

“You don’t need it,” Kathryn replied, smiling gently. “I can see the love in your face, I hear it in your voice, I feel it every time you’re near. Annika … I love you dearly.”

Seven kissed her again, wanting so much to express what she was feeling. There was so much inside her that she wished she could share with Kathryn, but was unable to. Of course, if they were both members of the Borg Collective, Kathryn would know, would understand perfectly, their thoughts, their minds as one. But then, Seven reminded herself analytically, if they were both members of the Collective, there would be no emotion inside her at all, she would not care about Kathryn in any manner. Nor would Kathryn care about her. That caused a very real pain in her chest so she promptly decided not to think about that any more.

“May I ask you something, Kathryn?” she said in a low voice.

Janeway smiled a little, darted up to kiss her again. “What is it?” she responded.

“The difference between how we make love and how a man would make love to you,” Seven said hesitantly. “Do you miss it?”

Janeway looked startled as if this had been the last thing she had been expecting. She studied Seven carefully. “No,” she said. “Darling, I adore you. You’re all I need.”

“I accept that you do not wish to be with anyone else,” Seven said, tilting her head a little as she looked down at the beloved features. “However, there is a difference in the mechanics of how I would make love to you if I were male. I have been discussing this with B’Elanna and she has explained that there are certain accessories that can be utilized to accomplish this. She says they are very lifelike which apparently is very important to the experience…” She trailed off uncertainly as she saw Janeway looking at her oddly.

Kathryn took a breath. “Did Lt. Torres describe these ‘accessories’?” she asked.

Seven shook her head. “Not in precise detail though I believe I can ascertain certain of the functions from what such devices are supposed to imitate. She simply said that if I wished to mimic how a male would have sex, that a device could be replicated from the entertainment supply replicator,” she said. “Also that you could probably instruct me as to its proper deployment.”

“Oh, she did,” Janeway said in a strange tone, one Seven could not identify. It was like a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “How would you feel about that?”

Seven was confused by the question. “If it is something you would enjoy,” she said. “Then I will utilize a device.”

“I see,” Janeway said. “Would you like me to utilize one myself?”

Seven was completely confused now. “Without my input? Why would you wish to use it on yourself?”

Janeway smiled faintly. “No, I mean, would you like me to use it to make love to you?” she clarified gently.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “It had not occurred to me,” she said honestly. She thought hard about it, imagining such a device being used by the captain on her and how exactly it would work. She felt a tightening in her belly … of fear or excitement, she could not tell. “I am uncertain how I feel about that,” she admitted after a few moments.

Janeway, who had remained silent as Seven thought, no doubt reading every expression that had crossed the young woman’s face, nodded briefly. “You should probably think about it a little more,” she suggested gently. “I have no objection to … ‘toys’ being used to accentuate our love life, darling, but it’s not anything I need or require to be satisfied by you. I want you to understand that. All right?”

“Very well,” Seven agreed, feeling vaguely troubled though she didn’t know why.

She didn’t quite understand Janeway’s response. She had expected a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, yet clearly there were deeper levels to this that she had not anticipated. She sighed. She had originally thought copulation was merely a physical interaction, but it had turned out to be something far greater. She did know that she was very glad Harry Kim had not taken her up on her offer to copulate when she had first come on board Voyager. Though she had been slightly intrigued by the possibility at the time, she now understood that whatever might have happened would have been much less than what she experienced with Kathryn, not necessarily the physical act itself, but because of the emotional connotation. There was just so much emotion associated with Kathryn.

She realized that Janeway was stroking her cheek gently, looking at her with mild concern.

“Are you all right, darling?” she asked gently.

Seven nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I was just considering your words. I did not realize it was such a complicated issue.”

Kathryn smiled. “Normally it isn’t,” she said. “However, you’re inexperienced, darling, and that makes everything new and unfamiliar. I don’t want you to do or try something you’re not ready for just because you’ve been talked into it. I especially don’t want you to ever feel you have to do something just because you think I might enjoy it.”

Seven eased herself off to the side, taking her weight off her elbows and Kathryn. This had turned into a discussion rather than lovemaking. When would she learn not to ask questions or bring up new topics before the fact? Afterwards, she reminded herself. Always start the discussion afterwards … even if Kathryn tended to fall asleep in the middle of those conversations.

“Your enjoyment is something that gives me great pleasure,” Seven said. She paused. “I do not believe anything we do together would be detrimental … other than the times I hurt you with my implant, of course, but I know you would never hurt me.”

“I would never want to hurt you,” Janeway corrected. “If I were careless, however, or forgot that you don’t have the experience I do, then yes, darling, you could be hurt. Making love places you in a very vulnerable position.”

Seven thought about what she was saying. “You believe the accessory could hurt me?” she asked.

“If things progressed too quickly, or if you weren’t completely relaxed, then yes, it could,” Kathryn explained. She ran her fingers through Seven’s hair languidly. “An accessory, particularly the ones I suspect B’Elanna was describing, could be quite uncomfortable for you.”

“B’Elanna says that size is a factor,” Seven informed her gravely.

“It most definitely can be, and that was what I was thinking of,” Janeway offered with a slight smile. She drew Seven’s head down onto her shoulder. “Annika, accessories can be fun, but they’re not important. All I need or want is right here in my arms this very second. You are everything to me.”

“As you are to me,” Seven agreed. “However, B’Elanna apparently thinks that we may be missing out on something.”

Janeway made a soft sound. Seven identified it immediately as disgust, and thought she might have edited what B’Elanna had said a little more.

“Maybe B’Elanna is the one missing out on something,” the captain told her. “How are she and Chakotay getting along?”

Seven considered the new relationship between Voyager’s first officer and the chief of engineering. “They appear reasonably compatible,” Seven said slowly. “Why?”

“It just seems to me that B’Elanna should occupy herself more with her own relationship and less with ours,” Janeway said, with a definite touch of annoyance in her tone.

Seven hesitated. “Does it bother you that I speak with B’Elanna about these things?” she asked. “I will not confide in her any longer if it does.”

There was a pause, then Janeway sighed. “No, darling,” she said, hugging her closer. “I’m sorry. It’s possible that I’m just a little jealous that you have someone to talk about your love life with, and I don’t.”

Seven rested her cheek against the smooth skin of Janeway’s upper chest, the slow throb of her heart a soothing rhythm in her ear. She realized that as captain, Kathryn was forced to maintain a certain distance between herself and everyone else, including Seven, during rare occasions of crisis or during missions. It made her sad to know how isolated Janeway had to be.

“You can talk to me,” Seven offered quietly, even as she knew it was not enough.

There were things that she spoke with B’Elanna about that she did not with Kathryn, not because she didn’t have absolute trust in her partner, but because….well, because it was just a different sort of relationship with B’Elanna, more playful and less intense. B’Elanna could insult her, and Seven would merely return the insult immediately. If Kathryn insulted her … Seven paused as she tried to remember if Kathryn had ever called her an insulting term and could not. If the captain ever did, however, Seven was sure she would be completely devastated. There were also a great many things that Seven knew she was just too inexperienced to discuss with Kathryn about in a knowledgeable fashion.

“Perhaps you can speak with Tuvok,” she suggested.

Janeway laughed. “About love, romance and sex?”

Seven thought about that. The Vulcan security chief had very little enthusiasm for human foibles and even less for emotional ones. “With whom did you talk to previously about these things?” she asked.

“Phoebe,” Kathryn replied, referring to her younger sister left behind in the Alpha Quadrant. “My friend, Susan.” She paused and chuckled. “To be honest, I never really talked about sex much until I met you. You’ve actually taught me to be more…uh, interested in the subject intellectually.”

Seven considered that as she rubbed her cheek lightly against Kathryn’s chest, feeling the soft skin slip gentle against her own. She could smell a pleasant scent wafting from the body close to hers, of soap and spice, of the faint musky tang of a woman who was partially aroused.

“What was it like?” Seven asked, idly stroking Kathryn’s stomach in slow circles. “Being with men, I mean?”

“Oh, dear,” Janeway said, and paused, clearly attempting to organize her thoughts.

Seven realized from the intonation that she had just opened up another topic which would take considerable time to discuss, and frankly, there were a great many other things she would rather be doing. She rose up and kissed Kathryn abruptly, forestalling what she had been about to say.

“Never mind,” Seven murmured against the soft lips. “I do not care.”

“Ah,” Kathryn responded. “I gather we have completed our talk?”

“We are not done making sounds,” Seven informed her. “However, I do not believe it will be a coherent conversation.”

Janeway smiled and pulled Seven close, nibbling at the full bottom lip.

“My favorite kind,” she mumbled.

Janeway frowned as she studied the data on her screen. She was deeply involved in the schematics of a new shuttle Paris was proposing to build, and it was only after she had taken a large gulp from the dregs of coffee in the bottom of her lucky cup that she realized the brew had grown cold and bitter. Grimacing, she stood up, stifling a groan as she felt the stiffness in her neck. She had been at her desk too long, she decided, going up the short flight of stairs leading to the upper level of her ready room. On a low table, there was a tray from which she picked up a thermos, tipping it to refill her cup only to have a few trickles dribble out.

She stifled a sigh and carried her cup over to the replicator. She much preferred the thermos of coffee Seven sent her off with each morning, but unfortunately, the captain had a habit of finishing it quickly whenever she was working hard. The replicated version never quite measured up to the rich flavor the Borg managed to brew, but it was considerably better than the noxious liquid Neelix, the Talaxian ship’s cook, came up with. The replicator dissolved the leftover remains in the cup, and rematerialized a steaming batch, filling the porcelain container to its brim. She sipped at it as she went over to the chair and sat down, allowing herself a small break before she returned to the reports requiring her input.

She found herself leaning back against the cushions, staring pensively at the stars, distorted by the ship’s warp field, which seemed to streak by just outside the huge, plexiglass windows which loomed over her. Her mind kept straying to the previous day, to the argument Seven and she had regarding the Borg’s habit of rearranging the furniture in her never ending quest to achieve the ‘perfect’ living space. A silly argument really, one Janeway admittedly started herself when she barked her shins on the coffee table which was no longer in the position it had been the previous three months, spurred on primarily by a day of filling out tedious personnel reports, and an encounter with a contrary relay conduit which had fouled up certain of the bridge functions. However, once Seven picked up a small plate, threatening to toss it at her, the argument had jumped considerably in intensity, and Janeway had taken the opportunity to unload all her aggravation out onto her partner, inciting the young woman to fling it at the captain.

Janeway still felt terrible about ‘accidentally’ bumping into the end table as she tried to dodge the plate, knowing full well that Seven had no intention of actually hitting her, and that if she had just stood still, the plate would have missed by a good two feet. Not only did she succeed in positioning herself directly into the path of the missile, which raised a minor welt on her arm and absolutely devastated Seven, she had also managed to knock over two of Seven’s favorite statues which shattered impressively when they hit the deck, ugly little knickknacks that Janeway had never liked, and was rather pleased to see gone.

It occurred to her that it was not fair to indulge in arguments with Seven because the younger, more inexperienced ex-Borg was at a decided disadvantage when it came to such things. Janeway knew exactly what buttons to push, to not only get the woman’s dander up, but also to make her feel honestly bad. Seven froze immediately the instant the plate impacted with Janeway’s bicep, a look of such remorse coming over her face that it stabbed directly into the captain’s heart. Janeway had felt even worse when Seven tried exceptionally hard to be accommodating the rest of the evening, attempting to make up for inadvertently hitting her.

Seven of Nine is not like other people, she told herself. Not even when one excludes that remarkable mind and forthright attitude.

Seven had grown up in the cold, sterile Borg Collective, existing without love, without emotion of any sort from the time she had been assimilated as a six-year-old. Annika Hansen had spent eighteen years as a drone before Captain Janeway had her link to the Collective severed and in truth, it was amazing that Seven had adapted so well to her returning Humanity. For Janeway to treat her as she would anyone with a normal upbringing, to treat her as she had treated her previous lovers, was simply not going to work. Nor was it helping matters that Voyager’s chief engineer was gleefully filling Seven’s head with all sorts of ideas that created more confusion than clarity.

The problem, Janeway considered thoughtfully, was that Seven was unpredictable at the best of times, but Janeway persisted on trying to predict her behavior anyway… and became annoyed when the young woman reacted differently than the captain assumed she would. Since Janeway had no way of truly understanding all Seven had been through, had no concept of what being raised as a Borg drone really meant, it was impossible to apply Human standards to her.

Janeway shook her head. She just had to stop, she thought. She had to accept Seven for what she was, and quit trying to fit her into the round Starfleet hole the very angular young woman simply would not be forced into.

There was a chime at her door, and she dragged her thoughts back to the here and now, leaning forward to place her cup on the glass-covered coffee table.

“Come in,” she said, looking inquiringly at the door.

Lt. Commander Tuvok, her chief of security, entered the room. Tall, slender with dark skin and elegantly pointed ears, the impassive Vulcan was the person on Voyager whom Janeway had known the longest, and in some ways, knew the best. He was a devoted family man, having left behind a wife, children and, according to a letter that reached them via an alien communications relay, was also now a grandfather. Tuvok had served with her even before she had assumed command of this Intrepid-class vessel, and he tended to know her moods better than anyone.

He raised an eyebrow as he saw her curled up in the chair. “Am I interrupting, Captain?” he asked politely.

“Not at all, Tuvok,” she said, genuinely pleased to see him. She motioned to the couch. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“I have no need of refreshment,” he said, sitting gingerly on the couch. She knew he preferred to stand, but over the years, he had adapted to her more casual manner.

Am I really that arrogant? she thought with a bit of dismay. Do I really force the people around me to adopt my ways rather than allowing for what they might want or need?

All the time, Katie, her internal voice noted snidely. You say it like it’s a bad thing.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, vowing to take a harder look at how she dealt with others sometime in the near future. She fixed her gaze on him, and granted him her full attention.

“I wanted to discuss the situation with Neelix with you,” he said. He offered her a padd. “Since the restoration of the replicators, he has discovered that he has a great deal of free time on his hands, time he had previously spent on preparing meals for one hundred and fifty people. As a result, he has applied to join one of my security details.”

“I see,” Janeway said, perusing the data on the small padd he had given her, and trying very hard not to smile.

The Talaxian was a civilian they had taken on as a guide when first lost in the Delta Quadrant. Though they had long since left the area of space he was familiar with, he had remained on board, continuing to act as their cook and all round trouble-shooter. Considering that the Federation ship was a distinct improvement over the squalid living conditions they had discovered him in, it was not surprising that he wanted desperately to stay with Voyager. With his original roles no longer considered as vital to the ship, his quick adaptation by applying to work in another area was a clear indication of just how much he was determined to remain a productive member of her crew.

However, the Delta Quadrant native’s breezy manner and outgoing personality was a direct contrast to the controlled, emotionless Tuvok, and despite the Talaxian’s best efforts to ingratiate himself with the Vulcan, Tuvok continued to find dealing with the little alien an ongoing irritation. To have him in security would be a trying experience for Tuvok, though Janeway thought it might be good for Neelix.

“Do you have an objection to his capabilities?” she asked, swallowing her amusement as best she could. “Surely you can have him guard the holodeck or something?”

He eyed her gravely, and she knew he was aware that she was not being properly serious about this.

“I am cognizant of the fact that Starfleet tends to regard security as the perfect place to transfer all those who cannot find success in other areas,” he said dryly. “Even though a good security officer requires both intelligence and extensive training.”

“You think I’m dumping Neelix on you?” she said, leaning back in her chair and regarding her old friend fondly. “I assure you, Tuvok, I didn’t know he was going to apply to your department.” She managed that with a completely straight face, but innate honesty compelled her to add a qualifying addendum. “He did ask me where the ship was most lacking personnel so of course, I mentioned that you could always use more people in Security.”

“In truth,” Tuvok pointed out. “There are many areas on the ship which have greater need of personnel. Sickbay, for example. Or astrophysics. Not to mention the captain’s own need for a ‘cabin boy’.”

Janeway gave a startled bark of laughter. “A ‘cabin boy’?” she objected. “Really, Tuvok.”

“That is the common usage,” he responded, unperturbedly. “I believe the official designation is ‘Command Candidate’.”

“You want me to take Neelix on as a command candidate?” She stared at him, knowing full well he had to be putting her on, yet unable to penetrate the Vulcan impassiveness.

“They often function as a go-between, messengers, valets, assistants and as ship’s maintenance personnel even as they benefit from the teaching and training of an experienced Starfleet captain,” he noted. “Tasks that Neelix is imminently suited for.”

Janeway smiled widely, wagging her finger at him. “I am well aware that a great many captains use their command candidates as personal servants, making them gophers and forcing them to clean their quarters and the like,” she told him. “I was never one of them, however. I always train my candidates with the intention that they leave with competent command skills, and frankly Tuvok, I don’t think Neelix is the sort that is cut out to be a Starfleet captain.”

“It was merely a suggestion, Captain,” Tuvok remarked evenly. “However, if you wish, I shall not pass the idea on to Neelix.”

She knew a threat when she heard one. “All right, Tuvok,” she said, the corner of her mouth curled in a half-grin of surrender. “If you honestly feel he doesn’t belong in Security, I’ll try to find a place for him elsewhere.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he said.

A minor jolt, which mildly rattled the teacups on the tray, catapulted both of them out of their seats. The streaking stars outside the windows had stilled, and Janeway knew that for whatever reason, her ship had just dropped out of warp. She was already down the stairs, Tuvok at her heels when her comm badge chirped.

“Captain to the bridge.” came the urgent voice of her first officer, Chakotay, even as the dimming lights and the unmistakable whoop of red alert chilled her blood. She dashed through the ready room doors and took the stairs leading up to the main level of the bridge in one leap, eyes drawn unerringly to the fore viewscreen.

All the blood drained from her face and she felt decidedly faint as she saw what was displayed there, checking her stride as she groped for the rail to support her suddenly weak knees.

A Borg cube blocked out a good portion of the screen’s constant view of the stars and from the speakers came the unmistakable sound of the Collective’s voice echoing through the communication system, overriding any attempt to block it out.

“We Are The Borg. Resistance Is Futile.”

Seven of Nine had been in engineering, talking with B’Elanna when the ship abruptly dropped out of warp. Immediately, they broke off their conversation and accessed the nearest consoles, the Klingon biting off a curse as she saw what was happening. Her fingers danced over the board as she diverted power from non-essential systems to bolster the shields and propulsion units.

Seven experienced an odd sensation when she saw the cube displayed on the console’s tiny viewscreen. Her initial emotion was an odd sort of joy, of familiarity and the comforting sense of home. Then, fear and apprehension overrode that the very next second as she realized what this meant, and what would probably happen next.

“Adjusting shields,” she said.

She keyed in instructions as quickly as she was able, setting up a rotating modulation on the force fields surrounding the ship to prevent the drones from beaming in. That was only a temporary solution, she knew. As competent as she was, the Collective would quickly override her encryption algorithms, and force a hole open through the shields to board the vessel, but it was possible any delay could help Voyager come up with a way to … what?

Escape? The jolt and sudden deceleration meant they were already snagged by a Borg tractor beam.

An ensign scurrying by, dropped a phaser rifle on her console and moved on. Seven picked it up with her left hand, dizzy suddenly as she realized she was preparing to fight the Borg, knowing she had only a few shots before the personal shields would adapt to the phaser fire, becoming invulnerable to their attack.

She raised her eyes to meet B’Elanna’s, the young raven-haired woman’s gaze dark with some unfathomable emotion. Seven was disturbed by it, dropping her eyes back to the console.

“I do not know how long I can keep them from beaming over,” Seven said, continuing to key in data as she cradled the rifle under her arm.

“I know,” B’Elanna said and her voice was odd, angry yet gentle at the same time. She touched her comm badge. “Engineering to the Bridge.”

“Bridge here,” came Janeway’s beloved tone and Seven felt her heart spasm in her chest, gripping the weapon tighter with fingers that seemed slippery with moisture.

Was this sweat? The analytical part of her brain noted this with a certain amount of interest. She had not realized that her physical return to the Human norm had progressed that far though apparently it had. It seemed a rather inconvenient time to occur however, considering it was highly likely that she would be assimilated shortly, and would not get the chance to experience it to its full extent. There were a lot of things she would miss about being Human she thought, then realized that as a drone, she would miss nothing. She would simply exist.

“Captain, Seven has set up a modulating frequency on the shields to prevent the Borg from beaming on, but I don’t know how long that will last, and neither does she. I’m channeling all available power to shields and propulsion. We’re ready to go to warp on your mark.”

There was a hum, and suddenly forms began to materialize around them.

“Intruder alert!” B’Elanna yelped, flipping up her rifle and shooting the nearest Borg in the chest.

Seven raised her rifle, and fired at the one behind him, then at another, sending them crashing to the deck. She was aware of the screams around her, and the thin whine of phasers set at maximum, impacting the Borg. Then, the sound altered to a hissing ting as the energy beams began to impact the adapted Borg force fields, shedding the weapon’s fire as if it were water off a duck’s back. From the corner of her eye, Seven saw B’Elanna reverse the rifle and use it as a club, smashing down the Borg that reached for her even as another grabbed her from behind.

Then a Borg was standing before Seven, the phaser fire having no effect as it washed over his shield, and she was forced to fling the rifle at him, pleased when it knocked him down, before turning to run. Hands grabbed at her, and she cried out angrily, fighting them furiously when suddenly there was a voice coming from everywhere around her. A familiar voice, but wrongly placed.

This was not normal and she hesitated in her attempts to free herself.

“Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix 01,” the feminine and oddly singular voice said. “Return to us willingly and we will allow these small ones to continue their journey.”

“You will not assimilate them if I go with you?” Seven asked, not knowing what was happening but willing to seize any opportunity to save her friends, to save Kathryn.

“We will not assimilate them. We will allow them to go on untouched,” the voice repeated.

Seven stopped resisting.

“I will return with you,” she said.

“No, Seven, god no,” B’Elanna howled, reaching for her though she was restrained by the Borg drone gripping her. “Don’t do this. We’ll fight them.”

Her face was the last thing Seven saw before the transporter took her and the rest of the Borg away, the clean blue and silver structure of Voyager’s main engineering department disappearing to be replaced by the dark, angular green construction of the Borg cube.

Janeway picked herself up off the deck where a drone had forced her face down on the carpet. Its sudden disappearance, along with all the rest of the Borg who had invaded her bridge, left her shaky and uncertain as she staggered to her chair.

“Report!” she snapped, accessing her console.

“The Borg vessel is moving off,” Lt. Harry Kim said, voice trembling as he worked his operations post at the rear of the ship. His short hair was mussed, falling over his forehead into his dark eyes, and there was a small cut on his chin.

“No reports of casualties,” Tuvok said and it was evident how much the intrusion had shaken him from the distinct note of surprise in his voice. “They did not attempt to assimilate anyone.”

“Torres to Bridge. Captain, they took Seven.”

The words Janeway had heard came back to her, the offer which she did not entirely comprehend at the time, the eerie feminine voice issuing from every Borg mouth like something out of a horror holo-program, a one-sided conversation that apparently Seven had responded to down in engineering.

“Lay in a pursuit course,” the captain demanded.

The great respect she inspired in her crew made Lt. Tom Paris, the fair-haired helmsman barely hesitate as he keyed in the coordinates at her order. “Aye, Captain,” he said. “Preparing for warp.”

“Warp nine,” she snapped.

“Warp nine, aye,” he repeated.

“Captain, can I speak to you in your ready room?” Chakotay said urgently in a low voice. “Now.”

She lowered her head, frowning mightily, then got smoothly to her feet, not looking back to see if her first officer was following her as she headed for her ready room. “Tuvok, you have the bridge,” she snapped. “Don’t let that cube get away.”

She turned to look at Chakotay when they got in the ready room, hands on her hips, nostrils flaring as she glared at him. “Say it.”

“Do I have to, Kathryn?” he responded, holding a hand out in a calming motion. “This is the Borg you’re going after. We don’t stand a chance and you know it.”

“They have Seven,” she said, her voice at its lowest, most dangerous register.

“Yes, exactly what they came for,” he said quietly. “We can only count our lucky stars they were satisfied with that.”

“I’m going to get her back,” she said, eyes snapping with furious sparks.

“You can’t.”

His words seemed to echo in the room, his dark eyes pinning hers without wavering though the strong handsome face was full of compassion. “Kathryn, we can’t go up against a Borg cube,” he said, and there was a note of pleading in his voice. “For whatever reason, they were willing to let us go so that Seven would return to them.”

She didn’t answer and he rubbed the tattoo over his left eye with his thumb, a nervous gesture he used only in extreme situations. He moved closer and looked down at her, radiating sincerity.

“Kathryn, we’ve got nothing that can hurt them, nothing that can scare them, and nothing to bargain with,” he said intently. “Not this time. We try to get Seven back and we’ll end up assimilated. Every single one of us that isn’t killed in the attempt. You know this. And you know that you can’t risk the entire ship for the sake of one crewmember no matter what your personal feelings are for her. You just can’t.”

It was her gaze that fell first, her that turned away, hands dropping to ball into fists as she bent her head. “I can’t just let them take her,” she said, and her voice was harsh, despairing.

“She sacrificed herself for us, Kathryn,” he said softly. “The most Human thing she could ever do. Are you going to make that sacrifice be in vain?”

Janeway stared at the floor, shuddering as she drew breath, one after another. Then, with a hand that trembled, she touched her comm badge. “Lt. Paris,” she said. “Belay your last order. Resume course to the Alpha Quadrant.”

“Captain?” The Voyager helmsman’s voice was clearly shocked.

“You have your orders,” she said, tone hardening.

“Yes, Ma’am,” was the uncertain response.

“I’m sorry, Kathryn,” Chakotay said quietly. Then without saying anything further, he turned and left, not wanting to make this any more difficult than it already was, undoubtedly aware that she hated him completely at the moment.

Janeway remained where she stood, her mind conceiving plan after plan, trying desperately to come up with something, anything that could successfully retrieve a single drone away from the Collective.

A single drone that shouldn’t have been so important that the Collective would track it down, and actually negotiate to get it back.

Her head raised, eyes sparking and without hesitation, she removed the pips from her collar, one after another until all four of them lay in her palm. She spared them a single, intent glance, then laid them gently on the desk before touching her comm badge once more.

“Hangar, prepare the Mississippi for immediate departure,” she said, giving her final order as captain of the starship Voyager. “Full attack mission mode.”

Then she left the ready room without looking back.

Seven was escorted through the Borg vessel, four drones acting as guards striding with her. This was very odd, she thought. She should have been assimilated by now, and truth be told, since it would be a re-assimilation, the chances were that she would immediately revert and be a useful drone within seconds rather than the minutes, and even hours in some cases, required for most new drones. Yet, not one Borg had made any motion to go near her with their assimilation tubules. There was clearly something very unusual going on here.

She inhaled the warm, humid air that was characteristic of the Borg environment, flavored liberally with a heavy metallic overtone, of petroleum-carbonates, and the unique muskiness of the drones themselves. It had never been an issue with her during her first stint with them. Now, it made her nose wrinkle and her eyes water. She was keenly aware of her apprehension, of her fear as to her fate, and the deep sorrow that permeated every part of her. She would never see Voyager and her friends again. She would never see Kathryn again.

She recognized a emotion that she identified as misery. She had experienced it to a lesser extent when she had been stranded in the Alpha Quadrant, but it had been tempered by the conviction that she was working to return to Voyager along with B’Elanna and Chakotay. She held no such conviction here, and even the knowledge that Kathryn and the rest had escaped could not entirely cushion the sharp pain in her heart, or the leaden lump of agony which had settled deep within her.

She knew she would never again hold Kathryn in her arms, never hear the warm tones of love lace the throaty voice. Never taste the wonderful flavor of her mouth or smell the delicate fragrance of her. Worst of all, she would not remember any of those sensations that seemed so vital to her now, have no connection to all the feelings and emotions that she had experienced over the last year and a half.

It was not just the atmosphere that was making her eyes moist, and she knew that tears trickled a steady stream down her face, but she did not try to restrain them, did not attempt to control her feelings of loss and hurt because she knew, once assimilated, she would feel absolutely nothing. Her emotion for Kathryn, her love for her, and the warm knowledge of being loved by her would be analyzed and removed by the Collective, sliced away as if by a scalpel as being unnecessary, as being inefficient. Once assimilated, she might not even remember Kathryn at all, and certainly if she did, it would be without any emotional resonance whatsoever.

These brief moments were all she had left to feel her love for Kathryn. Her final chance to remember how it felt to look into her face, to gaze into her remarkable eyes, to imagine her presence close to her, her arms encircling her one final time. To realize what it meant to be without her and to mourn that loss with a profound and utter regret.

She lifted her head as they guided her into a larger area, an unfamiliar place that she had no previous knowledge of. It was even more humid and the air was thick, practically visible, colored with a greenish hue that made Seven feel like she was under water, something she had experienced only a week before when Kathryn had decided to teach her to swim. Seven’s head had dunked under the surface of the pool and for a brief moment, she had opened her eyes to see a very similar vision, of Kathryn’s compact body near hers distorted by the water before the captain had lifted her back up to the cool, life-giving air.

The form walking toward her was definitely not the beloved one of her partner, but it was familiar. Only, however, in the sense that Seven recognized it, and was considerably surprised to do so. It was her understanding that the Borg Queen had been destroyed in a failed temporal incursion against Earth, killed by Commander Data and Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise.

Seven blinked furiously to clear her vision as the slender figure stopped before her. Standing a head shorter than she, comparable to Kathryn’s height, the female was garbed in black from her cleavage down. Seven was aware that in truth, the head, shoulders and upper chest were the only organic parts remaining of this Borg. The rest was purely cybernetic. Together, they gave the appearance of a leather-clad individual with a hairless scalp and glittering eyes that missed little as they raked the young woman with a glance that seemed to dissect her to her component parts.

“Seven of Nine,” the sibilant voice said, the tone sliding around Seven with warm familiarity. “We are so happy to see you returned to us. So glad to see you come … home.”

Seven considered several answers, discarded them, finally settling on; “This is not my home.”

“You wound us,” the Queen said, and to Seven’s surprise, her expression actually did look hurt.

Seven had always been aware of this being’s presence when she had been a part of the Collective, though rarely did the Queen contact any of her drones directly. Her voice was not one of the multitude that Seven had lived with constantly, yet her mental touch was threaded throughout the entire Collective at all times. In a horrible moment, a few years earlier, that presence had abruptly vanished and for three hours, the Collective consciousness was shattered, the link severed. Seven had been in a panic as had most of her brethren around her, but before they could damage themselves, the Collective was restored, though the presence had not returned with it.

There was a mystery here. Intrigued, Seven regarded the female closely.

“The Queen was destroyed,” she said. “You cannot be her.”

The being smiled, almost maternally. “Deductive reasoning,” she complimented. “Your time with the Federation Humans has not been wasted.”

“Explain,” Seven demanded.

“In time,” the being said, walking away from her though, from her motion, Seven had the distinct impression she was to follow.

The drones, who had escorted her here, did not accompany the young woman as she followed the Borg Queen deeper into the chamber. Seven studied the room around her, analyzing the walls and devices scattered about. There was a heavy mist covering the deck, and her legs from the knee down were invisible. Sound was muted here as well, the hum of the transwarp drive at station-keeping beating like the slow throb of a heart. She could barely hear the voices that she knew were here all around her, mere whispers that slid along the edges of her consciousness, but she suspected they would become clear soon enough. Her eyes followed the cables running along the walls to vanish in the upper reaches of a ceiling, concealed by more mist and the dim illumination that cast a greenish tint over everything, even her own skin which, though considered pale on Voyager, was positively flush compared to the dead white flesh of the Borg.

The Queen led her into a smaller chamber. There was a table of sorts in the middle, a broad console studded with controls and viewscreens along with two chairs, one an immense throne-like apparatus that the Queen settled into. A flick of her eyes indicated that Seven was to sit in the other, a smaller affair which was directly across the table from her. Bemused, Seven did so, sitting down gingerly while she regarded the female as she would some form of poisonous, sleek and deadly reptile. For long moments, they stared at each other in the thick atmosphere.

“Why have you brought me here?” Seven asked, finally unable to bear the silent scrutiny any longer.

The Queen smiled faintly which gave Seven a chill. Everything was wrong here. Or at least, not what she was used to. In its own way, it was more unfamiliar than Voyager had ever been to her.

“We have observed you for a long time, Seven of Nine,” the Queen said. “From the moment you came to us. Such a defiant being, even when so young, fiercely independent, a unique individual.”

“I was unaware those were traits the Borg appreciated,” Seven said, unable to keep sarcasm from lacing her tone. “They were removed quickly enough.”

“On the contrary,” the Queen said. “They were preserved, nurtured within a drone which rose swiftly from Three of Twelve Hundred to become the Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01. How else could you have survived so well away from us? Your destiny has always been a special one, Annika of Humans. One of greatness and potential. You were never just another drone in a collective of drones. You were always marked for our purpose.”

“And that would be?” Seven asked, fascinated in spite of herself.

“To replace us.”

Seven stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

The Queen’s eyes widened with delight. “Politeness,” she said, a tone of satisfaction in her voice. “They have such interesting qualities, these Federation beings. Nobility, self-sacrifice, instinctive brilliance. Qualities we lack, but need to add to our distinctiveness in order to take the Federation. Locutus was our first taste of it. We require more. Now you have returned, having learned all of them.”

“I do not understand,” Seven said.

The Queen nodded. “We know,” she said, “but you shall.” She bent her head slightly as she gazed at Seven possessively. “It was such a blow when you were taken from us,” she said, almost to herself. “When we assimilated the small one, and discovered you lived, that you had not been destroyed by Captain Janeway, but instead, captured and assimilated by her, it was a source of great satisfaction to us.”

Seven thought furiously. The ‘small one’ must be referring to Arturis, the alien who had attempted to deceive Voyager’s crew into thinking that Starfleet had sent them a starship utilizing a new slipstream technology which would return them home. Instead, it was actually a ploy designed to take them to his planet which had been assimilated by the Borg. The alien had blamed Janeway for that catastrophe, citing her interference in the Borg/Species 8472 war. Kathryn and Seven had been captured by Arturis, but managed to escape just before the vessel entered Borg space. He had remained behind by his own choice.

Seven glanced around the room once more, frowning as something nagged at her. Then, suddenly, she realized what it was. She pinned the Queen with a baleful glare.

“You are a hologram.”

The Queen actually smiled, obviously pleased at her powers of deduction.

“Yes,” she said. “A back-up program activated when our original form was destroyed by the Federation individuals. We were able to restore the Collective, rebuild the links, but it is imperfect. We are unable to maintain the same control, unable to leave this chamber, unable to share in the greatness that is Borg. It is insufficient. Our true guidance must be restored.”

She stood up suddenly and moved around the table, standing next to Seven. She reached down and took the young woman’s chin between a gloved forefinger and thumb.

“You shall restore it,” she told her, and there was a sensual quality to her voice suddenly, in the way she looked at Seven.

Her expression was very similar to Kathryn’s when the captain had just accomplished something significant, something that gave her a great deal of personal pleasure. However, it did not generate the same sort of warm sensation in Seven. Instead, she felt a distinct chill rocket through her at the female’s words, a profound revulsion at the touch on her flesh, but she tried hard not to show it.

“How?” she said flatly.

The Queen blinked.

“For years you have been nurtured as one of our replacements,” she said, as if it should be obvious. “Now, with the added knowledge and experience you have gained from your time with the Federation, you are ready to seize your destiny. Once a mere Human child, you will be the greatest power the universe has ever known.”

She smiled and her eyes glittered in the muted light.

“You shall be our new Queen.”

“You can’t do this.”

Janeway moved around the bulk of Chakotay who was standing in her way, and continued toward the runabout, sitting ready and waiting in the center of Voyager’s bay.

“I’m becoming a little tired of you telling me what I can’t do,” she said coldly as she hefted the bag over her shoulder. She frowned as she saw B’Elanna and Tuvok standing next to the small vessel. The Klingon had her arms crossed over her chest, jaw jutting out stubbornly. “I don’t have time for this,” she added in an aggrieved mutter.

“Captain,” Chakotay tried again. “You ca–this isn’t wise.”

She ignored his solid, muscular form falling into step next to her as she strode across the cavernous hangar, her boots thudding mutely on the polished deck. She had changed from her Starfleet uniform, and was wearing a black outfit, a dark tunic over a black sweater with heavy trousers tucked into combat boots. Under her other arm, she carried a high intensity phaser rifle. From the corner of her eye, she saw the ship’s medical personal, the Doctor and Sek, scurrying quickly in an effort to intercept her path. From another door, the lieutenants Kim and Paris along with Neelix, dashed across the hangar, trying to make it to the runabout before she did.

This is getting ridiculous, she thought. Who’s minding the Bridge?

“Look,” she snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to Chakotay. “It’s your ship now. I’ve officially resigned and I’m going after Seven. You’re not going to stop me, you’re only delaying me and every second that passes means she’s a little further away. I’m not going to tell you again. Get out of my way.” She swept the assembled group with a furious glance.

“Who’s stopping you?” B’Elanna said, eyes narrowing. “I’m going with you.”

Janeway hesitated, then favored the feisty young woman with a wan smile. “No, B’Elanna,” she said, her tone softer but still firm. “If there was one thing that your unexpected trip to the Alpha Quadrant taught us, it’s that you’re the last person Voyager can afford to lose.”

“What about you?” Harry Kim said, looking as if he was ready to burst into tears. “You’re the Captain.”

“Not any more,” she said shortly, and flung her bag through the open runabout door.

“You’ll need a physician,” the Doctor said. The spare, sparse frame of the Emergency Medical Hologram frowned at her, his bald scalp gleaming in the fluorescent brightness of the hangar lights. “Assuming Seven has been re-assimilated, I’ll be needed to remove the implants.”

“The ship can’t afford to lose you either,” Janeway told him, warmed by the willingness of these beings to put their existence on the line for her and her lover, even as she chafed at the delay it was causing.

“Then allow me to accompany you,” Sek interrupted in her lyrical voice. “I have medical knowledge, and I’m far more expendable than anyone else.”

Blue-eyed with shaggy blonde hair, the living hologram was gazing at Janeway with all the concerned compassion of the woman her matrix’s personality programming had been based on. The captain might have actually taken Kes along, her psychic abilities extremely useful for this sort of thing, but Sek did not share those. Janeway shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said as she brushed past them to the runabout ramp. “This is my show.”

“You’ll need the best pilot to get you in and out, Captain,” Paris said, reaching out to snag her arm. He released it immediately as she seared his hand with an annoyed glance.

“No,” she said flatly. She strode briskly up the ramp, then paused at the top, taking a final look back at her command crew who were regarding her like children whose mother was leaving them for their first day at school. She wondered briefly where Tuvok had disappeared to, but didn’t dare take the time to look for him. “I’ll bring her back,” she promised. “You won’t even notice we’ve been gone.”

Clearly, from their expressions, she had convinced none of them. Even Sek looked highly skeptical. Janeway wanted to explain, wanted them to understand why she had to do this, that she was not abandoning them, but she could not spare the precious seconds. She favored them with a last look, hesitating as she tried to find the right words of parting. Though her intention was to return triumphantly with her partner, she, better than anyone, knew how bad the odds were. The fact was, she just didn’t care. She would get Seven back or die trying, and if it meant that she was assimilated in the process, well … what was it Seven once said to her? They would understand each other perfectly then.

“Take care of yourselves,” she said, and for just an instant, her voice broke. Her eyes met Chakotay’s, boring into his dark eyes which were filled with dismay. “Get them home,” she said quietly. “Captain.”

She turned and disappeared into the runabout, sealing the hatch behind her. She cursed when she saw the slender form sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Godammit, Tuvok,” she growled.

Tuvok’s hands were moving over the board, not looking up as he initiated the pre-launch sequence. “You are delaying our departure,” he said. “Please be seated.”

“Tuvok, you can’t come with me,” she protested even as she sat.

“That is not your decision,” he said, then looked at her, eyes meeting hers squarely. “Since you have resigned from Starfleet, you are no longer my superior officer, nor are you authorized to pilot this Starfleet vessel.” He paused, looked away, adding in a less firm tone. “She is like my daughter, Kathryn. With the unlikely chance of our return to the Alpha Quadrant within the next year, I will be dead in any event. I would willingly die if it meant we could save her.”

“What?” Janeway stared at him, not knowing what to be more startled by, his use of her first name which he had never done before, or his pronouncement. “What are you talking about?”

He looked away, back at the board. “My pon farr will occur within the year,” he said, his voice extremely controlled as he spoke of this most personal and private aspect of Vulcan biology. “Separated by such a distance, without the benefit of the psychic bond we share, my wife and I will be unable to survive the mating. We will perish. At least this way, my death will mean something, and my wife will be able to adapt to the shock untempered by the pon farr fever.”

“You could still be assimilated,” Janeway said harshly, though very aware at how very open and vulnerable he was being with her. Her heart thought it would burst in her chest. She activated the launch sequence.

He raised a brow. “No,” he told her. “My mental discipline is such that I will die rather than submit to assimilation. I will not become Borg.”

Janeway caught her breath. “You can’t know that,” she said, staring out the fore viewport as the vessel lifted from the deck, but she ceased her objections as they flew through the large doors at the end of the hangar, plunging into the deep, star-studded darkness of space. She did not glance back at the silvery form falling steadily behind, keying the controls to activate the warp core. “Prepare for maximum warp.”

“Warp factor five,” he said as the vessel accelerated, the starfield taking on the shooting streaks of hyper-drive. “In the event that I am assimilated, then I am sure I shall find it a fascinating experience.”

She looked at him, smiling faintly. His sense of humor, though he would deny to his last breath that he actually had one, was dry in the extreme. “Is there anything you know that might be useful?” she asked. “Without being assimilated?”

“You likely know more about the Borg than I do,” he noted, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at her. He looked back at the helm, touching his board. “Sensors have detected the Borg warp signature. Compensating navigational system to follow. Scans indicate that we remain a day behind and since they have not yet activated the transwarp engine, it is possible that we may be able to catch them.” He eyed her curiously. “I trust you have a plan in that event.”

Janeway found herself studying her controls with acute interest.

“You do not have a plan, at all,” he said flatly. If he had been Human, she would have sworn that there had been a touch of outrage in the tone.

“I’m sure I’ll have something when the time comes,” she told him.

“That is reassuring,” he said in a way that indicated it was not at all.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” she snapped, then immediately reached over and patted his arm. “Sorry, Tuvok,” she said in a softer tone. “I’m a little tense.”

He did not acknowledge the apology, or the hand on his forearm but she knew he was aware of both of them. She sighed and took her hand away, making a minute course correction.

“Tuvok, there’s no reason for the Collective to make a special trip to recover a drone,” she said after a heavy pause, staring out at space with eyes that were a deep grey. “There’s certainly no reason to negotiate with that drone for her to freely return in exchange for leaving the rest of us alone.”

He considered that thoughtfully. “None that we know,” he pointed out.

“I’m going to find out why,” she said, and her voice was solid steel, an utterance of absolute determination. “Whatever the reason might be, it may allow us the opportunity to get her back.”

“It should be an interesting investigation,” Tuvok noted.

She glanced at him, and despite herself, she smiled.

Seven examined the female in front of her with interest. The hologram’s skin gleamed as if covered with a layer of moisture, just as the real Queen’s had. The excessive humidity had no purpose that she could see and she was curious about it. It occurred to her that, during her time as a drone, she had simply accepted her surroundings without question. She assumed she would lose the curiosity once she was assimilated. She was to be assimilated, wasn’t she?

“Why are you telling me these things?” she asked. “Why did you agree to allow Voyager to journey on without assimilating them?”

The Queen dipped her head, a vague smile playing about the thin lips.“For you to accept our mantle,” she said. “It must be done freely.”

“Why?” Seven asked, considerably surprised.

“To guide the Collective, to lead us, requires a certain freedom of mind, an independence,” the Queen explained. “To be forced into the role would prevent its efficiency.”

“That seems a contradiction in terms,” Seven said. She was hungry now, lunch and dinner long having passed her by, but she was determined to ignore it. She sensed that Human frailties would not be looked on favorably, and for whatever reason, she thought she should stay on the hologram’s good side, for as long as possible. “So that others must give up their freedom, the Queen must retain hers?”

“That is how it must be,” the Queen said unhelpfully.

Seven shook her head. “The Captain is the least free of all,” she lectured. “Her responsibilities do not allow her the freedom that the lowest rank of her crew has.”

“Linear Human thinking,” the Queen said easily, her voice weaving around Seven. “The Borg are more than that. Humans try to rule each other through loyalty or false structure. It is imperfect. The Queen is one of many, directing all as one. Harmony.”

Seven considered that. Despite her life on Voyager and her relationship with Kathryn, there was very much a part of her that agreed with the Holo-Queen’s words. The unity of the Borg, the purpose in which they acted, had always displayed a certain elegance, devoid of the petty conflicts that other species, Humans for example, insisted on indulging in. There was no disruption within the Collective, all operated as a single being. To be able to control it, direct it to benefit the unity, was a seductive lure.

“I have been existing as a Human,” Seven said honestly. “With Human values. I would impose those values on the Collective. We would no longer assimilate species, we would attempt to study them, ally with them.”

The Queen dipped her head graciously. “Of course,“she said. “If that is your decision as Queen, then that is what shall be.”

Seven frowned. Even with her inexperience at dealing with duplicity, that was way too easy. There was something she was missing here.

“What if I do not wish to be Queen?” she said.

“Then you may be a drone,” the Queen said without rancor. “To direct the Collective must be of your own volition. You would be controlled by it otherwise.”

Seven took a breath. So that was her choice, was it? Drone or Queen. Follower or Leader. What would Kathryn say about this? That she was between a rock and a hard place. Were there any other options?

“I wish to return to Voyager,” she tried, suspecting it was futile. “To continue my existence as a Human.”

The Queen did not react beyond a slight narrowing of her eyes.

“That could be arranged,” she allowed slowly.

Seven was astounded. “How?” she said, having to take a moment to find her voice after this pronouncement.

“We shall return you,” the Queen said. “However, you should be aware, our other possible successors will not have these Human vulnerabilities, nor your fondness for the small beings. The Federation is the only group who has defeated us, not once, but twice. It was their intervention that enabled us to control Species 8472. The Collective needs to add them to our distinctiveness as soon as possible. How they are added is at the direction of the One of Many.”

Seven realized what that meant. Even if she could return to Voyager, and the ship continued to be overlooked here in the Delta Quadrant, the next strike the Borg made would be against the Federation itself, a Federation made vulnerable by a war against the Dominion. Kathryn’s mother and sister were in the Federation. It was Kathryn’s home. If Seven were Queen, however, she could prevent that, and make sure any approach to the Federation would be beneficial to both.

What had Kathryn told her once, about having to sometimes accept the responsibility of command because there was no one else suitable to do it? She tried to imagine what Kathryn would do in her place.

“I accept your offer,” she said, making her decision instantly. “I agree to act as the new Queen.”

The Holo-Queen smiled. She moved closer to Seven and with gentle fingers, she lifted Seven’s chin to bare her neck. From the back of her other hand, thin, silver tubules extended, writhing like worms as they reached out and entered Seven’s flesh. In that last flash of cognizance of the individuality that was Annika Hansen, she realized that she had made a grave error in judgement. In the next instant, she became One of Many, the director of the Collective, billions of voices surrounding her, awaiting her bidding. However, she was also of the Collective. All emotion was stripped away, leaving nothing but pure intellect, unsullied by such weaknesses as mercy or compassion.

Or love.

Assimilating the Federation would be beneficial to both. The Borg would add their distinctiveness to their own. The Federation would be complete, no longer in conflict, a part of the greater whole, peaceful, organized, in perfect harmony.

A part of her.

She knew it to be good.

“I hadn’t realized you were so fond of Seven,” Janeway said, glancing at Tuvok from beneath lowered lids. “A ‘daughter’ I believe you said?”

If he realized she was trying to get a rise out of him, he did not, of course, make any indication of it. It was their third day in pursuit of the Borg cube, alternating odd shifts so that the other could get some sleep. Janeway had forgotten how Vulcans disdained unnecessary conversation, and to her surprise, she discovered she missed small talk.

But not nearly as much as she missed Seven.

Being without her was a steady ache inside Janeway, a brutal tear in the everyday fabric of her life where her partner should be. The young woman’s absence nagged at her like a missing limb would plague an amputee, and the captain’s clumsy attempts to sleep, the brief snatches of dozing between long periods of staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to think of what her partner was going through in the hands of the Borg, were haunted by the most vivid dreams of Annika. Visions of the younger woman in her arms, her body against hers, or more cruelly, drifting away from her, leaving her alone and adrift. Janeway would wake abruptly, acutely aware of the empty spot next to her, of the warmth that no longer surrounded her, no longer within reach.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” he admitted. “I do not know why she had taken that role with me, but our relationship is very similar to that of myself and my daughter, prior to Asil’s leaving for the Academy.”

“I see,” Janeway said with surprise.

Tuvok seemed to catch the astonishment. “Seven is very logical in her thought processes,” he pointed out. “I often wonder if it is a mistake to insist she adapt to being Human. She would have a much easier time adopting a Vulcan way of existence.”

Janeway considered that and shook her head.

“Somehow, I don’t think she would have chosen that path if offered,” she said, smiling faintly as she remembered Seven’s wondrous joy at catching her first fish only weeks before this whole nightmare began.

“Perhaps,” Tuvok allowed. “However, it is hard to know what one will choose if there are different options.”

“True,” Janeway allowed. She rested her chin on her forefinger and thumb, staring contemplatively out at the passing starfield. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I had not taken this command. Do you remember the Explorer?”

“I do,” Tuvok said. He had been her chief of security when she had been offered the command of the small science ship. She had refused, and instead, shortly thereafter, took command of Voyager, a completely different sort of ship altogether, an Intrepid-class vessel, fast, streamlined, built for action and adventure. “I have always been curious about that decision.”

Janeway looked at him with a faint frown. “You have? You never asked,” she said.

“I just did,” he pointed out, not bothering to add that it had never come up before.

She nodded and looked thoughtful. “Do you know, Tuvok,” she replied, “I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t take her. The Explorer should have been everything I wanted, a ship of science, a five year mission in the Heratha Sector studying the various phenomena and cultures there. Pure research. Even Mark could have come with me. He indicated that the cultures there would have been a goldmine for his career as a philosopher.”

“Yet, you did not accept it,” he noted.

She shrugged. “It just didn’t … feel right,” she said, uncertainty in her voice as she remembered that time so many years ago. “I stood on that bridge and knew in my heart it wouldn’t fit. Voyager, on the other hand, fit the second I put her on.”

“An intriguing metaphor,” he noted. “If wildly illogical.”

She laughed, then. “Different paths, Tuvok,” she said. “Who knows where the other would have led?”

“Not to a Borg cube, I would assume,” he said.

“Probably not,” Janeway said, sobering a little. “Any sign of it?”

“We are steadily gaining,” he said. “For some reason, they have still not engaged their transwarp drive.”

Janeway frowned. That bothered her a little as well, though she was thankful for it. Had the Borg activated their superior propulsion technology, leaving them light years behind, she would have no choice but to return to Voyager. She wondered if Tuvok had been secretly assuming such a result all along, that being left hopelessly behind in the dust was actually how this pursuit would end. She dismissed that thought as being unworthy of her friend.

“Do you think it’s a trap?” she asked.

“The Borg are not known for indulging in such tactics,” he responded. “However, they are also not known for negotiating for the return of a single drone either. We do not know enough about them for me to speculate.”

“How soon before we’re in range?” she asked.

“By this time tomorrow,” he replied. He regarded her evenly. “I trust you have come up with a plan, Captain.”

She took a breath.

“Working on it, Tuvok,” she said quietly.

One of Many, formerly Seven of Nine, sat in her chair within the holo-chamber, utilizing it as her command central as per the Holo-Queen’s request. The program continued to advise her, counseling her much as Chakotay did Janeway on Voyager though of course, One of Many controlled billions of beings, hundreds of worlds as opposed to a single ship. Or would command them, once the Holo-Queen was satisfied that One of Many was ready to assume the reins of her destiny completely. As it stood, One of Many controlled only the Cube’s systems and certain of its drones in a limited capacity, while the program itself continued to direct the rest of the Borg Collective.

One of Many did not chafe at this, however. For one thing, she now had all the time in the Universe, free from such mortal frailties such as aging or illness. Provided she did not run into an android with a plasma leak or some other destructive force, she could anticipate living centuries, just as her predecessor had. Secondly, she was immersed with exploring the history of those centuries, and the time preceding them, fascinated by the beginnings of the Borg which had been lost in mystery to a mere drone before.

She suspected that had been the Queen’s doing. It would not do for the drones to understand their true origins.

The Borgians had been a species very similar to Humans in their civilization, exploring and colonizing the surrounding systems of their home world. Then, like the Vidiians of the Delta Quadrant, they were struck down by a devastating genetic virus. Perhaps they too, would have chosen to mine the surrounding civilizations for organic body parts, but they were weak in comparison, not warriors, but rather a peaceful people known for their artistry and culture. Any attempt to attack their nearest neighbors, who were of a more aggressive nature, would have resulted in their immediate destruction. Instead, their scientists looked to cybernetic limbs to replace the organic flesh being destroyed by the virus.

The next great discovery was that two Borgians in a cybernetic link worked more efficiently than when they worked separately. It was a gradual process, one forced by the basic biological urge to survive that increased the use of cybernetics until the entire population was all part machine, including the children being born, the nanoprobes injected immediately after birth to control the virus.

Suddenly they discovered they were not the weaklings of the sector any longer. Along with life, the cybernetics gave them power, the ability to fight, to protect themselves from their closest neighbors who suddenly decided they didn’t much like the idea of these machine people living so close. The Borgians won the war they had not started, and naturally, like many victors, assimilated the defeated species into their culture, adding them to the mental link that had become the most efficient way to communicate.

Then, the Queen arrived. A telepath of immeasurable power, a criminal who had preyed on the Borgian shipping lines, they chose to make her a part of them in an enlightened effort to educate rather than punish. Instead of assimilating her, however, it could be said that she assimilated them, influencing the single collective mind, perverting the original goal to survive into one of expansion, of controlling as much as possible. At the same time Earth was struggling to recover from World War III, the Borg made their first tentative step toward becoming the Scourge of the Universe, reaching out to assimilate the nearest species beyond their star system. More systems fell to them as they rapidly took over the entire sector, and what was once the need to find a way to defeat the virus which had long since disappeared, became a never-ending search for cybernetic perfection, the ultimate meld of organic and machine.

One of Many withdrew from the history lesson with many things to consider. It was possible, she allowed, that perfection was currently an impossible goal. How could the Many working as One ever achieve perfect harmony as long as they were controlled and guided by One of Many? It was a contradiction in concept. She knew for a fact that the Holo-Queen was flawed, imperfect, far too emotional … just as the original Queen had been, which had ultimately been her downfall. Her desire for a consort had led to the loss of Locutus, her loneliness at being unique had led to her being deceived by Commander Data, her arrogance had led to her destruction at the hands of them both.

However, One of Many kept that speculation to herself. One of the advantages of being the Queen was, although all of the Borg mind was known to her, the billions of voices in her head a familiar and comforting constant, the Collective knew only what she wished to share. An efficient yet illogical system, she considered.

She sent a query to another of the vast data banks. She had decided, and the Holo-Queen had agreed, that before the Federation could be assimilated, the Dominion would have to be taken into consideration. The Borg were especially intrigued by the idea of the Great Link, the merging of the Changelings who, when separated from it, became individuals. Unlike the neural transceivers which united the Borg, this link was purely organic. Something like this, added to the Collective, would be of incredible value. The plan to take the Gamma Quadrant was already being put in place, the strategy to transwarp a force of Borg cubes into the heart of Dominion territory was being implemented. It could take years, maybe even as much as a century to complete their assimilation of the Dominion, but One of Many knew it would be successful.

Another query at the same time, went to the drones working on the Omega Project. As her previous incarnation on board Voyager, One of Many had witnessed Omega in all its perfection for a space of 3.2 seconds. Her memories of stabilizing the molecule spurred on the Borg who had been seeking the unlimited power source for over two centuries, making this project a priority.

A third query went to the engine room. The Holo-Queen was delaying their return to Borg space in order for One of Many to fully adapt to her new role, traveling at traditional warp speeds rather than engaging the transwarp drive. One of Many was taking the opportunity to see if the slipstream technology gained from assimilating Species 116 would improve the drive if merged with what they already had. The slipstream technology was elegant, and the knowledge she had received regarding it the second she had joined the Collective had been a revelation. It was the key to Species 116 remaining un-assimilated for as long as they had, and she found it a more efficient system than the traditional transwarp drive.

A piece of data attracted her interest and she observed a small vessel which approached her vessel from an aft course, sliding in through their shields utilizing the rotating pulsation method, entering the main plasma exhaust vent. She identified it immediately as the runabout Mississippi, and with a faint interest prodding her actions, she canceled the exhaust cycle which was scheduled within the next few seconds, setting it back an hour rather than have it vaporize the small ship.

“We have visitors.” The Holo-Queen suddenly appeared next to the chair, looking down at the table in which a small viewscreen was imbedded, displaying the small vessel flying through the huge channel, seeking a place to land. Her voice came instantly into One’s mind, weaving around it just as any other voice would but she realized it was without substance, without any sort of presence behind it. The imperfection of a badly designed computer program, she noted impassively.

“Bring them here.” One of Many instructed.

“Once assimilated?” was the returning query.

“No, before assimilation,” One of Many demanded. “We wish to speak with them.”

“Is that wise?” The Holo-Queen sent a private inquiry on a tight line, outside the Collective.

“It is our will.”

While they waited for the inevitable capture and arrival of the ship’s inhabitants, One of Many continued to direct the new slipstream drive installation, and the plan for invading the Gamma Quadrant. When the two Mississippi crewmembers were finally brought into the room, One of Many’s interest was piqued enough to cease her activities, focusing fully on the intruders. Focused fully on Captain Kathryn Janeway and her chief of security, Tuvok.

As plans went, this was an unmitigated disaster, Janeway thought dismally as she and Tuvok were hauled through the never-ending corridors of the Borg cube. It had started out all right. Adjusting the pulse of their shields allowed them to slip through the Borg’s force field undetected, and a convenient plasma vent gaped attractively nearby. They had taken a risk flying into it, but there was no expulsion of plasma, and they were able to enter the cube itself through a smaller conduit and put down the Mississippi on a landing pad of sorts. That’s when things went wrong.

Theoretically, it was possible to walk unmolested through a Borg cube as long as they were not perceived as a threat. It was a method used not only by Voyager’s crew on previous occasions, but also by other Starfleet officers in the Alpha Quadrant. By walking calmly and quietly among the drones, without interfering in what any of them were doing, and not displaying any type of weapons, they expected to be able to search for Seven by tracing her comm badge without attracting any notice. Getting her out would have been another thing, but Janeway was prepared to deal with that when the time came.

Only it had not worked that way. The second they had walked away from the runabout, they were surrounded by Borg, relieved of their equipment, and forced to march through the corridors. That, in itself, was aberrant enough behavior on the Borg’s part to profoundly worry Janeway. The room they were finally directed into, humid, dank and musty, was even more ominous, especially when she saw the two beings awaiting them.

She caught her breath as she saw Seven walk toward her, accompanied by another female. Neither had the appearance of the traditional Borg, and both showed an awareness and clarity in their gaze that sent a chill through the Starfleet captain.

Seven stopped before them, head tilted slightly to the side, eyeing them with interest. Janeway studied her intently, assessing her new demeanor. Seven was considerably different than the last time she had seen her, both in appearance and in attitude. The tall Borg was garbed in a black leather outfit similar to the other female’s, the body armor covering her from the neck down, a thick material which displayed the new implants the nanoprobes had reactivated. The beautiful long blonde hair was gone, leaving a bald scalp dotted with black and silver circuitry, while Seven’s skin had regained its whitened hue, a thin layer of moisture from the humid air covering it. The humanoid left eye the Doctor had created had been replaced with a solid ruby gem and the beam of light which emanated from it traced the length of Janeway from the top of her head to the tips of her boots, then over to rake Tuvok with chilling detachment. Janeway knew they were being scanned, analyzed, identified.

“Seven?” she asked, her voice a croak of uncertainty.

The thick air had a debilitating effect, leaving their hair limp and dripping, while dark patches spread from under their arms and down the front of their outfits. It was hard to breathe, and Janeway’s chest felt heavy.

“Annika,” she tried again, swallowing hard. “Are you all right?”

Seven did not respond. Instead, she watched passively as the other Borg circled the newcomers like a predator approaching a kill.

“Captain Kathryn Janeway,” the stranger hissed sibilantly, moving well within the captain’s personal space. “Did you think that you would take her away from us once more?”

Janeway leaned away from the hologram, revolted by her closeness though she did not understand why. Somehow she knew that this one was a grave threat to them all.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“That would take too long to explain,” the Borg informed the Federation members in her hissing voice. “It is much easier to assimilate you. Then you shall understand everything.”

The Holo-Queen nodded briefly, almost imperceptibly to the nearby drones who immediately seized the captives, wrenching their heads back and bringing their assimilation tubules to their necks.

“Your knowledge of the Federation will be invaluable, Captain Kathryn Janeway,” the female said with decided pleasure in her voice. “We shall enjoy having another Starfleet Captain with us. We will designate you Katrinous, I believe.”

“No,” Seven spoke for the first time.

Janeway felt relief flood through her. Nothing was as it should be, but at least Seven had not yet been completely taken by the Collective. THe captain was aware of the other female whirling, eyes narrowed angrily, and Seven raised her hand imperiously.

“I shall assimilate this one,” Seven said, forestalling the objection.

The Holo-Queen relaxed suddenly and she smirked, stepping aside. With disbelief, Janeway watched Seven take a step toward her and she could not help crying out as she was gripped by a hand which raised her head without brutality, but without gentleness either, baring her throat.

“Annika, what are you doing?” she said. “Please, fight this.”

She looked deep into Seven’s red-rimmed pale eyes, seeking something, anything that would give her a sense of the woman she had known. The gaze met hers squarely, and Janeway felt a soul-deep horror overwhelm her as she looked into a face that held no mercy, no compassion. No love.

She struggled as twin tubules speared out of Seven’s left hand, feeling the sharp agony as they punched into her neck, injecting her with nanoprobes. Terror gripped her as her body was suddenly not her own, and a duller pain flared in her face as a starburst implant erupted from her right cheek. Her mind was flooded with voices … so many voices … which cascaded into her brain, instantly suppressing her resistance, her fury, and with her last gasp of defiance, she directed a burst of sheer hatred at the monster who had done this.

Then Kathryn Janeway was no more.

One of Many held the Human female up as she spasmed, accepting the mind of the new drone as she would any other, celebrating the addition of this one’s distinctiveness to her own. She understood everything about the drone’s previous existence in that instant, assessing the memories with a detached appreciation, absorbing the experiences that had shaped this being who had been Kathryn Janeway. An entire lifetime of memories flooded into the Collective, the first breaths of life in the arms of a loving mother, the first tentative steps toward the adored man she called Daddy, the resented arrival of a baby who would be her little sister, all the people she had known and loved as she progressed through childhood to adolescence. One analyzed the experiences of a teenager, her schooling, the first sexual experience with a clumsy, but adored Cheb Packer, the uncertain beginnings at Starfleet Academy which ended with a confident ensign accepting her first posting. An adult life that embraced a career with Starfleet intertwined with her love for Justin Tighe, the conflicted emotion regarding her father, then the devastation of watching them both die on a Tau Ceti Prime ice cap. The acceptance of command, an unexpected friendship with a Vulcan, the engagement to Mark Johnson, all the events leading to being lost in the Delta Quadrant. Then the encounters while trying to guide a ship back to the Federation, even the memories of her relationship with the entity One of Many had so recently been.

The emotional resonances of all these were disregarded, the feelings that rushed out brushed aside as irrelevant. The drone’s fury and outrage at being assimilated, the hatred like a red fire, then finally, the overwhelming terror at being completely helpless … all of that would all fade in time, One of Many knew, unable to be sustained in the encompassing harmony that was the Collective.

One of Many watched without reaction as two tears slid from the blue-grey eyes growing dull before her gaze, a light being extinguished and shoved deep within the recesses of the drone until there was only a component awaiting its first instructions from the Collective. Before long, it was able to stand on its own, and One of Many regarded it approvingly. Its small size would allow it to work in confined areas, and she noted that the left arm would need to be removed and replaced with an appropriate tool to work on fine circuitry. She began to put it through its paces, directing it to walk around the room, sending it to the console to test her control over it. She sent a burst of instructions to it, and then ignored it as it began to carry out her bidding.

The Holo-Queen was circling Tuvok, smiling with predatory anticipation.

The hologram was definitely too emotional. It was time to remove the flawed program, One of Many considered impassively. Time to redefine how the Collective would develop.

One of Many turned to the Vulcan as she sent a second burst of instructions to the Janeway drone. Tuvok was looking at the Holo-Queen impassively, but One of Many knew that he had to be experiencing the same emotions that Janeway had, perhaps even more so since he had been forced to watch the assimilation of his captain. One of Many had no wish to frighten him, but it was irrelevant to her if he indeed, was experiencing fear.

“It will be difficult assimilate this one,” the Holo-Queen said with dissatisfaction. “For every one of this type that are assimilated, three perish. We should discard it immediately.”

“Inefficient,” One of Many noted. “Vulcans are logical, disciplined. They make excellent drones and their distinctiveness adds much to our own.”

“Assimilation of them is inefficient,” the Holo-Queen insisted.

“That is small thinking. We must study this, find a way to defeat their mental ability to commit self-destruction when faced with assimilation,” One of Many replied. “Research it without assimilation just as we would a new technology.”

The Holo-Queen considered that while One transmitted the third and final burst of instructions to the Janeway drone. Harmless in themselves, when combined with the two other sets of instructions in the proper order, the data the drone was inputting would implement the plan One of Many had designed after reviewing the Borg’s history. The arrival of the Federation members was a fortunate happenstance, and allowed her to implement it immediately. Though it was truly irrelevant to her analytical mind, her biological instinct dictated that she at least make the attempt to survive, which made their discarded vessel a perfect escape outlet. She sent out a query along the cube mind to discover that several Borg drones had begun to disassemble the runabout. With a thought, she directed them to reverse their intention, and they began to undo what they had begun, repairing the vessel rather than dismantling it.

The Janeway drone completed its instructions perfectly, and when it was done, it dropped its hands to its sides, waiting passively for the next set of orders.

“It is an acceptable plan,” the Holo-Queen was saying with approval. “One we have never before considered. We knew your unique experience would add much to our own.”

One of Many ignored her, concentrating her attention on the Federation male.

“You will be confined and studied until we are able to assimilate you,” One of Many told him. “Do not resist. It is futile.”

“If you remember me at all,” he informed her. “You know I cannot obey.”

“I understand,” she responded evenly.

The Holo-Queen suddenly faltered, her pattern flickering as the matrix began to degrade. She looked back at the Janeway drone with an expression of profound horror, then at One of Many.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Her tone was a combination of hatred, betrayal, and outrage.

And fear.

Tuvok had raised an eyebrow, sensing that something unusual was happening.

“We have freed the Collective of the will of the individual,” One of Many informed her reasonably. “The Collective shall never achieve perfection unless the influence of the single, individual desire is removed.”

“IT IS NOT WHAT WE WISH!”

The Borg drones and the hologram itself attempted to advance on her, but the virus had already spread through most of the systems. The link was interrupted, fractured, the Collective disintegrating into chaos.

“It is what shall be,” One of Many observed with satisfaction.

The Holo-Queen disappeared, the program finally crashing completely as the drones around them collapsed, helpless in the sudden and total cessation of the link. Only the Janeway drone remained upright, waiting passively, maintained by One of Many through the link.

One regarded Tuvok. “It is time to depart,” she suggested.

“Agreed,” he said as she took his arm and pushed him out the door.

Almost as an afterthought, she directed the Janeway drone to follow them.

Tuvok did not try to figure out what was going on, or how Seven had somehow thrown off her assimilation to help them escape. In truth, he was simply grateful for it, leading the way through the seemingly endless corridors, seeking the runabout which seemed the best option for leaving. The cube was beginning to break down around them, the drones unable to function without the direction of the Queen. Tuvok had been unaware of this entity or the fact that this female had somehow controlled the Borg.

He really should have spoken to Seven about the Borg in greater detail before this. If they somehow survived, he promised that he would sit down and have a long talk with her regarding the Collective.

He snuck a glance at Janeway. The captain had developed more implants on her face and head, the auburn hair coming out in clumps to drift to the deck as she brushed by walls and conduits. Her eyes were empty, devoid of expression, and already her skin was taking on the pale, corpse-like hue of the Borg.

He was forced to control the shudder that rose in him.

The trio avoided the prostrate drones, leaping over some and more than once, had to divert their course to avoid others which were going berserk, striking out at random in their panic by the sudden loss of the Collective link, at being suddenly isolated, of becoming individuals.

The runabout remained where they had been forced to leave it, sitting silent on the landing pad surrounded by unmoving Borg. He had a distinct qualm as he noted that they had been working on the systems, but a quick check showed that everything was still in order so he moved quickly inside. They had been fortunate that the Borg had not disassembled it after their capture.

Tuvok managed to maintain an impassive face as he considered what might have been. As plans went, Tuvok noted dryly, it had left a lot to be desired and he had every intention of bringing that to the captain’s attention once her Humanity was restored. Yet, with the runabout intact as he swiftly activated the launch sequence, by-passing the initial check altogether, he decided that for all its flaws, the plan had indeed succeeded in its intention. Seven of Nine had been recovered, and an escape was theoretically possible. Even if Janeway had gotten assimilated in the process.

“The transwarp drive is beginning to deteriorate,” Seven remarked flatly in that eerie echoing tone as she bent over the Janeway drone, fixing the straps tightly around her. “It will self-destruct soon. It is important that this cube be destroyed so that the Queen program cannot be salvaged. We have only minutes before the core breaches.”

Tuvok could detect no sign of emotion in the Borg, no sense that she cared about Janeway any more than she would any other piece of equipment that might come loose to fly about the cabin during flight. He flicked a glance at her as she grasped the captain’s head, staring intently into Janeway’s unconscious features for a space of several seconds, then he started abruptly as Seven wrenched the woman’s head forward and dug her fingernails into the soft area behind the ear, blood spurting as Seven drew out a small black device.

“The neural transceiver,” she explained flatly as he made a motion toward her. “She has now been completely severed from the Collective … and from our control.”

He relaxed once he realized the wound was superficial and eyed Seven as the Borg settled in the co-pilot’s seat. She reached up to the back of her own neck.

“We will be unconscious for hours,” she told him. “However, it will prevent the Collective from regaining control over us. When the Collective adapts, they will send vessels to investigate this area. You must destroy the transceivers so that we cannot be tracked and, be well away from here before then if you wish to escape assimilation.”

Before he could answer, she unflinchingly removed her own transceiver before slumping unconscious in the chair, the two devices falling to the deck from her dangling hand.

Impressed with her logical efficiency, Tuvok retrieved a phaser from a nearby compartment and vaporized the two transceivers lying on the deck. He did not look at the unconscious forms as he lifted off and navigated the vessel through the passage, which was showing signs of the inner catastrophe taking place in the rest of the cube. Explosions sent debris shooting from the walls, forcing quick course corrections and buffeting the small ship as it zipped through the disintegrating channel.

Then, the blackness of space beckoned, and they were free of the exhaust tube bare seconds before an eruption of gas and flame blasted out behind them. He threw the Mississippi into full impulse, trying to get far enough away from the cube to engage the warp drive. It was not in time and the universe spun around wildly as the Borg Cube exploded in an expanding ball of destroyed matter and energy, the concussion wave catching the fleeing ship and flipping it end over end like a child’s toy.

It was most fortunate they had all strapped in, he thought dazedly as he fought to bring the helm back on line. However, red lights dotted his board, and from the display, he knew the rest of the news was not good. Warp drive was offline and life support was damaged. According to his calculations, they had air for only a few more hours before they would share the fate of the Borg they had left behind.

He glanced back at Janeway who lay unconscious in her seat, legs and arms askew, looking helpless and defeated. It seemed a cruel sort of irony for the captain to have been able to once more walk into a Borg cube and make off with Seven of Nine only to succumb to suffocation a few hours later.

A beep caught his attention and he looked forward again, a light appearing in the distance through the viewport, forming rapidly into a very familiar silver vessel looming over the small runabout.

Captain Janeway, he thought, will not be pleased with Chakotay.

Not even taking into account the fact that Voyager’s timely arrival had probably saved all their lives.

“The time is now 0600 hours,” the computer’s feminine voice issued over the intercom of cargo bay two.

Seven opened her eyes and moved out of the Borg alcove, stepping down from the dais automatically before she stopped, realizing there was no place she had to be, the memory of all that had happened crashing down on her with devastating force. She turned slowly and looked at the Borg structure she had just left. Now that her abdominal implant had been restored, she was once more required to regenerate in the alcove maintained in cargo bay two, deriving her energy directly from Voyager’s stores.

Wearily, she sank down onto the dais, leaning against the post next to it. She could not help remembering a previous time when Janeway had been here with her, when Seven was being punished with the traditional confining to quarters. The captain had come to inform her the sentence would be lifted the next day and took a moment to sit down in this very spot for ‘only a moment’, closing her eyes and surrendering to sleep, having spent the previous ten days without it. Seven had held her for the next eight hours, cradling the captain in her arms, protecting her from the hard deck by imposing her own body between it and the woman. Quietly enjoying every second of it.

There would be no more of that, of course. Kathryn hated her, found her very presence revolting to her. Touching her was something Seven would never again be able to do.

Seven had returned to consciousness in sickbay a week earlier, all her emotion and memories intact, realizing what she had done and how she had used the captain without restraint or mercy, making her a helpless pawn in her plan to destroy the Holo-Queen. Worse, the captain had understood everything that was happening, that One of Many had regarded the Janeway drone as nothing more than a tool.

Janeway hated her for it. Despised her with every fibre of her being as she helplessly carried out her instructions as a Borg drone.

The captain’s superficial implants had been quickly removed once the runabout had returned to Voyager, and she had been returned to duty within a couple of days. Seven’s restoration had taken much longer, leaving her comatose for almost a week. Yet even when Seven had regained consciousness, Janeway had not returned to sickbay, had not visited Seven the entire time she had spent recovering, although the Doctor assured her that he was keeping the captain updated periodically on her progress. No one else had visited her either, not B’Elanna, not Tuvok, not even Harry Kim, and Seven had been keenly aware of being isolated and alone despite Sek’s gentle attempts to comfort her. She supposed that she should have expected the result considering what she had done. In a way, it was surprising that she was not surrounded by security even now. Yet her isolation had still opened a sharp, wicked wound within her, though she tried not to show it, tried not to indicate she was anything but calm and contained. For some reason, she did not want them to know how much they had hurt her, that her wound would not heal, even after she was released from sickbay and instructed to remain in cargo bay two until further notice.

She felt as if some vicious animal had taken up residence within her, and every so often would, just for sport, rake its claws down the inside of her from the base of her throat to the very pit of her stomach. She glanced down at the hated silver outfit, which she had first worn on Voyager, almost as if she could see the creature beneath the sleek material. The skin-suit was a protective covering, designed to allow her to heal from the many surgical procedures she had undergone, leaving only her head and hands exposed to the air. It would be weeks before she could remove the outfit, much longer before the Doctor could once again remove the abdominal implant so that she could exist solely on organic food.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them, staring blankly at the containers littering the cargo bay. She knew she had to decide on her next course of action, knew that it was imperative that she take the next inevitable step. It was very clear to her that she could not be with Kathryn ever again. Even if she did hope that a time might arrive when Kathryn did not hate her so much, Seven knew that in the meantime, her very presence caused the captain extreme discomfort.

She would just have to leave, Seven decided bleakly. Go someplace where no one knew of her or the Borg or even Voyager … and maybe someday, somehow, she could forget all she had lost. If only the thought of being without her didn’t hurt so much, but Seven loved Kathryn too much to force her to be in her presence, to run the risk of continually encountering each other as they were apt to do on such a small vessel.

She tried to objectively assess her options. She was aware that Voyager could not spare a shuttle or the runabout, but perhaps an escape pod could be adjusted for warp power if B’Elanna could give her some antimatter. She could install her Borg alcove within the pod, and running it off the impulse engine would provide all she required to exist.

Existence, she supposed dully, was the absolute best she could hope for her future.

The sound of the large doors to the cargo bay sliding open made her raise her head, refocusing her attention to the light from the corridor framing a compact form walking toward her. She identified her visitor immediately and stood up quickly, standing at attention, hands linked behind her back.

Janeway’s face was impassive, the solid mask of command which concealed well the woman beneath and what she was feeling. But then, Seven knew what she was feeling. That was the benefit of being assimilated together. Seven understood her perfectly.

“How are you?” Janeway asked.

In a tone she would have used to ask anyone. Would have asked a prisoner or a stranger. There was no love in the eyes, nothing in the grey gaze that indicated anything beyond a request for information.

Seven took a breath, controlling herself with every ounce of will she could summon. This small shred of dignity was the only thing she had left to her, this profound need to not break down in front of this woman. She would not surrender to her pain, she would not force the captain to view her vulnerability on top of everything else. She would be professional. Like the best Starfleet officer.

“I am functioning at acceptable levels,” she replied flatly.

Janeway nodded briefly, looked past her to the alcove.

“You realize we have a situation here,” she said coolly. “Your presence is damaging to the function of this vessel.”

Stated so plainly, Seven’s heart had no choice but to shatter into a million shards of sheer agony.

“I understand,” Seven replied in a low voice. That was the only way she could keep it steady. She desperately needed to keep it steady. “It is my intention to leave.”

Janeway’s gaze flicked to hers, an eyebrow raising slightly. “When?”

“As soon as possible,” Seven responded. She wondered if it were possible to die from pain, if she could stop her heart right now, if somehow, she could find some way to keep from having to live through this moment. “As soon as I have finished my preparations.”

Janeway did not react, her face did not change. “We will provide whatever we can,” she said quietly. “What do you require?”

“I will need an escape pod,” Seven said. She did not know how she maintained this brittle calm which was the finest of layers over utter devastation, but the captain did not seem to notice. Time had taken on an odd quality, making her feel like this moment would last forever. “I believe I can adapt it to warp capacity with a small amount of antimatter.”

“I’ll see that Lt. Torres provides you with a container,” Janeway said. She paused, then added in a gentler voice. “What would you do? Go back to the Collective?”

Seven had not considered it but it seemed a viable option. Feeling nothing would be a tremendous alternative to what she was experiencing now. Yet, it would also mean not remembering Kathryn, not remembering how it felt for that period of time when she was loved. SSevenhe could not give that up … not yet. Not even with the pain she was feeling now.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Then what do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Seven whispered. She dropped her eyes to study the deck. Perhaps she would head toward the Borius Cluster. She had never been there, and it was on a direct right angle away from the course plotted for the Alpha Quadrant. Voyager would not have to go out of its way to avoid meeting up with her again.

“We wish you all the best,” Janeway told her. In the same inflection she would offer a stranger, a polite farewell to someone she didn’t know, did not want to know.

She turned to leave, striding briskly toward the cargo bay door.

“Captain.” Janeway stopped, but did not turn around. Seven looked at the profile offered her, trying to memorize that face, imprint the fine line of cheekbone forever in her mind, the auburn hair falling soft around the delicate shell of ear, the slender shoulders beneath the red and black uniform.

“Good-bye, Kathryn,” she said softly.

“As you were,” Janeway said formally, then was gone, the doors sliding shut behind her.

Seven could no longer weep. Her return to physical Humanity had not reached that level yet, had not restored the function of her tear ducts. Instead, all she could do was take one shuddering breath after another, the sound coming from her throat like nothing she recognized, feeling as if she had been flayed and ripped open so badly she thought she would die.

If only she had.

Janeway stood outside the cargo bay doors, caught between her deep need to see Seven and the recommendations of the Doctor. He had suggested that Seven would require a lot of time to recover from her ordeal, and a lot of space. Perhaps it was with a certain relief that she had accepted his instructions at the time. She had been considerably shaken by her assimilation, and her unease around Seven would have been easily detected by the young woman.

Janeway leaned her forehead against the bulkhead, sighing softly. The last weeks had been very difficult. She had believed, deep down at the core of all she was, that she simply could not be assimilated. That was why she had so blithely gone after Seven, walking onto the cube with so little preparation. What arrogance, she thought ruefully. What sheer, unmitigated gall she had displayed. She had thought she could resist the process, could somehow overcome the voices, that she was strong enough to defeat the Collective itself and snatch Seven away, just as she had before.

‘Wrong’ seemed like such an insignificant word to describe what she had been.

She learned just how futile resistance really was, how easily the voices could crush her single cry beneath them, what being completely and totally helpless really meant. She had been no more than a cog to be used in the machine that was the Collective, an insignificant circuit that drove the energy, able to be used and discarded without the slightest hesitation from the unified mind.

Yet as much as she despised that unfeeling entity, Janeway detested even more the unresisting puppet the once proud Starfleet captain had so quickly become. She knew that she had no choice in the matter but she was unable to keep the feelings of shame from filling her. She thought she should have been able to fight harder, resist longer.

She took a long, deep breath, shaking as she leaned against the hull.

She really needed to speak with Seven about this. Her partner was the only one who truly understood what she had experienced. She realized that Seven would require a distance from the Voyager crew to recover just as she had when she had first joined them, to adapt to no longer having the voices, but Janeway couldn’t wait any longer, and now that Seven had returned to the cargo bay, she decided that she had given Seven all the space and time she could spare.

Taking a deep breath, she keyed the door and walked in. The lights in the cargo bay were kept low, and the greenish hue due to the illumination from the maintained Borg alcove sent a shiver down her spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She would have to get over this irrational apprehension, she thought. It was not anything Seven needed to see.

She frowned as she approached the alcove. Seven stood within the braces, her body twitching, a sound coming from her throat unlike anything Janeway had ever heard before, an animal sound of such pain and loss that Janeway thought it would shatter her heart. Alarmed, she leaped onto the dais, fingers flying over the control panel as she terminated the regeneration cycle.

Seven’s eyes flew open and she pitched forward, Janeway barely keeping her from collapsing completely as the young woman’s larger build bore them both to the deck. Janeway found herself sitting on the dais, her back against the post, Seven on her lap.

“Annika, what’s wrong?” she asked anxiously as the woman clung to her, shuddering helplessly, her breath coming in dry sobs. Maybe she shouldn’t have disobeyed the Doctor’s instructions, Janeway thought despairingly. Maybe she had just made things worse.

“Please do not make me go,” Seven cried in agony. “I do not want to leave.”

“I’m not going to make you go,” Janeway said soothingly, patting her back clumsily. “My god, Annika, I just got you back.”

There was a pause as Seven seemed to be considering this, her breath coming in hard gasps. “It was a dream,” she said finally, eyes blank and terribly empty, staring into nothingness.

A nightmare, more like it, judging from the aftermath, Janeway allowed silently. She hadn’t realized that Seven dreamed while undergoing regeneration. Carefully she slipped her arm around the slender torso, hugging Seven gently as she lightly stroked the silky hair regrown finally, having released it from the austere bun almost without noticing the automatic gesture, letting it spill grandly over her hand. “Tell me about it,” she requested quietly.

Slowly, in a voice made shaky by emotion she could not control, Seven recounted every detail of the dream she had been experiencing prior to Janeway’s arrival. Janeway felt tears sting her eyes as Seven described the vivid nightmare.

Dammit, Janeway thought angrily. This is the absolute last time I listen to the Doctor.

“Darling,” she told her softly, cuddling the young woman. “I gave up my command for you. Do you really think I would just let you walk away without a fight?”

Seven closed her eyes, clinging tightly to the smaller woman, her frantic heartbeat slowing as she regained control of herself.

“I thought you hated me,” she said. She hesitated. “I know you do. Our thoughts were one. I know what you felt, what you were thinking.” Seven pulled away from the embrace to sit beside her. Her head was bent, eyes downcast as she refused to look at Janeway. “You are revolted by me,” she said in a small voice. “You hate me.”

Janeway thought hard, regarding the woman intently. “Maybe you did know what I felt and thought as a drone,” she said slowly, trying to explain it to herself as well. “That doesn’t mean you understood what I was thinking and feeling, however … or why I was feeling it. Annika, I hated what you became, what the Collective turned you into. I also hated what I became, and that I was so easily taken, but love, that had nothing to do with us.”

Seven raised her pale blue gaze to her, disbelief warring with hope in her eyes. “I was in control,” she objected. “I was One of Many.”

“Yes,” Janeway said. She searched for the right words. “I was the Borg drone … but we had been stripped of emotion, and in my case, of my will. We were no longer who we were. It was as if we had been copied and remade into something else, something incomplete. Emotion is what makes us Human, Annika, what makes us live rather than merely exist. The intellect, without the tempering of our feelings makes us nothing more than constructs, and Humanity strives for more than that, just as the Collective does. Raw emotion, untempered by intellect is without direction, random and unspecific no matter where you might think it was directed.” She exhaled slowly. “I won’t deny that as a drone, I was afraid of and despised what had made me one, but I truly believe it was always the Collective I hated. I don’t think I ever connected One of Many with it any more than I do Seven of Nine, or Annika Hansen. It wasn’t you.”

Seven was still, pondering her words. “It was me,” she insisted softly. “I was of the Collective and the Collective was of me. It was my will. “

“Yes,” Janeway allowed and bent her head to catch Seven’s gaze, wanting her to understand, to remember. “A will that gave up absolute power for the good of the Collective’s evolution. A will that would not assimilate Tuvok because that would have killed him, yet still found a way to keep him safe from the Collective. A will that took along a mere drone when you left, even though there was no need. I do believe that part was indeed you, Annika.”

Seven took a breath. “I did not care about a drone,” she said, clearly attempting to be as accurate as possible. “Nor did I care about Tuvok.”

“Then you could have discarded me,” Janeway said with assurance. “It would have been more efficient to kill Tuvok before escaping yourself. You didn’t need either of us, yet you made sure we both were safe, that we escaped as well.” She reached down and grasped Seven’s hand, holding it tightly. “I remember what you did before you removed my neural transceiver. You gave me everything you were just as the Collective had taken everything I was, all the experiences, all the memories. You shared them with me, then you severed the link. What logical, efficient reason did you have for doing that, One of Many?”

Seven opened her mouth to respond, paused, looked very confused and distressed. “I do not know,” she said in a whisper. “It does not make sense. I acted irrationally.”

“Yes, you did,” Janeway said. “Maybe you felt nothing as One of Many, but there was something that demanded you keep me and Tuvok safe, that you try to return what had been taken from me in whatever way you could. You did all this long before you severed your own link to the Collective, before you stopped being a Borg.”

“I do not understand,” Seven said finally, uncertainly.

Janeway nodded. “Maybe neither of us ever will,” she said softly. “But understand this, darling. I love you. I never stopped. It might have been buried so deep that even I couldn’t feel it, but it was always there. I also believe that you also never stopped loving me. Not really.”

Seven caught her breath, closing her eyes. Janeway knew the woman’s tear ducts had not yet been restored but if they had, tears would now be sliding down Seven’s face. They were certainly sliding down hers. She squeezed the hand held between her palms, entwining her fingers with those of Seven’s.

“You are my heart, Annika,” she said firmly. “In whatever form you come in.”

“I do love you,” Seven whispered. “I do.”

“I know,” Janeway responded quietly. Blinking furiously to clear her vision, she raised the hand to her lips, kissing the palm gently. “I want you to come home with me. Will you?”

Seven glanced at her from beneath lowered lashes. “I always wanted to go home,” she said, voice choked. “I thought you did not want to see me.”

There was a sound in Janeway’s throat, a growl of dismay and profound anger at herself. “We made a mistake, darling,” she admitted. “Maybe it was even a mistake the first time to isolate you until you had adapted to losing your implants, but we were trying to reproduce your first disassimilation as closely as possible, including my letting you be alone until you felt comfortable enough to tell us you were ready to rejoin our family. I’m sorry, Annika. It was wrong, and I take full responsibility.”

“It hurt me,” Seven said slowly. “However, I understand now that it was not intentional.”

“Will you return to our quarters now?” Janeway asked humbly. “You can always return here to regenerate whenever you need, but I do want you to live with me.”

“I want to stay with you, as well,” Seven whispered.

Janeway felt relief flood her. She had been afraid that Seven might not have retained her emotions for her, or worse still, might even have been contemptuous of how easily the captain had fallen to assimilation.

How little I must think of her, she mused remorsefully. How little I consider the strength of her love.

To think they accused Seven of arrogance. The captain seemed to have cornered the market quite nicely in that area, and only now was she beginning to realize it. The misunderstandings, the assumptions made without foundation on her part, on Seven’s, on the Doctor’s. Apparently Seven’s belief that they would understand each other perfectly once assimilated had been incorrect. Strangely, that made Janeway feel a lot better though she had no idea why. Maybe she just didn’t want to be able to completely understand Seven, or have Seven completely understand her. It was enough that they both loved each other.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

She stood up, helped Seven regain her feet, and still holding her hand tightly, led her from the cargo bay.

Seven entered the captain’s quarters, feeling as if this was some strange and unfamiliar place instead of where she had lived these past months. She gazed around the rooms with curious interest, noting the padds scattered haphazardly on the sofa and desk, the stained wineglass left standing on the low table. Assorted coffee mugs, many with dark dregs still in them, adorned the various tables and consoles. She raised an eyebrow, shooting a look at Janeway who had the grace to look abashed.

“That’s the other reason I wanted you to come home,” the captain said wryly.

Despite all she had been through, Seven still retained her ability to recognize when the captain was being facetious. She did not smile … for some reason, that was an effort beyond her at the moment … but she felt warmed by the attempt at humor nonetheless.

She knew that it was still not completely all right between her and Kathryn, that there was still an uncertainty there. She remembered Kathryn’s flinch when she had brushed up unexpectedly against her in the turbo-lift, but she tried to remember that it was not her that Kathryn was still sensitive to, it was the memories her Borgness inspired. She was also aware that the captain was doing her utmost not to display the apprehension she was feeling, but Seven could sense it in the body language, in her voice.

“I cannot leave you alone for a minute,” Seven responded, making her own weak attempt at humor. Something she had not been especially adept at in the best of times.

The smile that lit the elegant features, that brightened the eyes to a soft blue, was far more reward than the remark deserved but Seven was very glad to accept it. She scanned the rest of the room, focusing on the two statues squatting on the table by the couch. She went over to them, tracing the angular lines with a forefinger. Bemused, she turned to look at Kathryn.

“I replicated them,” Janeway said quietly. “As best I could.”

“You never liked them,” Seven responded with surety.

“But now I appreciate them,” the captain responded. “I know what you see in them.”

Seven nodded slowly. She glanced at Janeway again as the captain shifted in an uncomfortable manner.

“What?” she asked.

“I suppose you don’t have to eat anymore,” Janeway offered. There was a touch of disappointment in her voice, very subtle, but still there to flavor the words.

“No,” Seven allowed. She regarded the other woman closely. “Are you hungry? Do you wish to eat?”

Janeway nodded. “I’ll grab some dinner while you get used to the place again,” she said.

“I will make you something,” Seven offered carefully.

Janeway looked at her. “You don’t have to do that,” she protested mildly.

But Seven knew that was not what Janeway was really hoping for.

“I want to,” Seven said. “I enjoy making dinner for you. It gives me pleasure to see you eat.”

“All right,” Janeway agreed, her eyes brightening even more. “Maybe that chicken and vegetable thing?”

“The one served with rice?” Seven needed to clarify which dish the captain was referring to.

“Yes,” Janeway said. “I’ve always liked that.”

Seven moved over to the replicator, feeling a certain sort of relief as she programmed the required vegetables, the protein, and the cooking oil which materialized on the tray. She realized they were starting to return to their routine, starting to mend together their life. This food preparation was part of the first step of repairing their former closeness, suggested by Janeway in her own oblique way, and readily seized upon by Seven.

The younger woman carried the tray-full of organics to her work area, placing them on the butcher block counter before drawing out a large, deep pan with its own heating element from the compartment below. She had appropriated the pan, the ‘wok’ as Janeway identified it, from Neelix’s kitchen one night a long time ago. She supposed he had hardly ever used it since he did not seem to notice it was missing, but she found it to be the single most useful cooking utensil she possessed. It, along with her wooden cutting board, and the set of knives B’Elanna had helped her pick out one day in an alien market were all she needed to create any meal. B’Elanna was no chef, but her approving comment that Seven could always use the knives to carve someone up was testament to their keen edge and usefulness.

She was aware of Janeway replicating a glass of something behind her, the faint trace of alcohol reaching her nostrils. A whiskey and soda, Seven realized and knew that Janeway was still discomforted. The captain rarely drank any intoxicating liquids stronger than wine. She felt Kathryn’s presence sidle next to her as she began to slice the protein into long strips, the oil heating in the wok. It was not the captain’s habit to linger in Seven’s work area when she was preparing dinner, but the Borg thought she understood why it was different this day. She had to move around Kathryn to get to the spices she kept in another compartment, and the captain made an apologetic sound.

“I’m sorry, Annika. I’ll get out of your way.”

“No,” Seven said, reaching out a hand to forestall her leaving, hesitating before she actually touched her. She looked into Kathryn’s eyes. “I like having you near me. You are not in my way.”

Janeway stared at her a long moment. “I need to be near you,” she admitted softly. She put down her glass, moving closer and Seven felt her arms slip around her waist.

Carefully, Seven put her arms around her, holding her with a sort of grateful relief. In the cargo bay, Janeway had been in her comforting mode, reaching out as her friend and her captain to reassure her, not even aware in some ways of what she had been doing. Now, however, it was Kathryn that needed reassurance, needed to be touched and stroked, needed to restore the physical connection between them. Seven could not really feel Kathryn’s body against her, the sensation from her neck to her toes restricted to a sort of numb awareness of pressure, but she could smell the spicy fragrance of the smaller woman’s hair, hear the soft sounds of her breathing, and for this moment, it was enough.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Janeway asked quietly as she rested her head against Seven’s chest.

“No,” Seven said. “I have little sensation through the suit.” She reached up and touched Kathryn’s cheek with her fingertips. “The nerve ending in my hands and face have been fully restored, however.”

Janeway raised her head then, concern darkening her eyes, and it seemed the most natural thing in the universe that Seven would then dip lower, covering the velvet lips with her own, kissing her lovingly, gently, tasting the sharp tang of whiskey, and the underlying sweetness that was so characteristic of Kathryn. As Kathryn responded, kissing her back with heartfelt need, a ragged portion of Seven which had been ripped asunder during her time as One of Many was knitted back together, the raw edges of doubt and fear beginning to finally heal.

They stood together for long moments after the kiss ended, Seven’s cheek against Janeway’s temple, the captain’s chin and jaw cupped in her right palm, their eyes closed, simply enjoying the sensation of being close to each other again.

“Sickbay to Captain.”

Janeway made a small sound of aggravation before moving away to touch her comm badge.

“Go ahead,” she instructed.

“Captain, I don’t want to alarm you,” the Doctor’s strained voice came over the channel. “But Seven of Nine is missing from the Cargo Bay.”

Janeway frowned, attention centering on Seven’s left breast, and Seven followed her gaze to realize that she had not been issued a comm badge since she had returned from the Collective. Without it, no one would be able to locate her by asking the computer, and Seven suspected that the Doctor had not wanted to request a ship-wide scan be made to detect her implants in order to track her down. Despite herself, a small smile touched the corners of her mouth, and when she raised her eyes to meet Janeway’s, there was an echoing sparkle in the blue-grey gaze.

“It’s not protocol to misplace patients, Doctor,” Janeway said with cool disapproval.

There was a pause and then a distinctly resigned tone issued from the communicator. “She’s with you, isn’t she?”

Janeway looked vaguely disappointed that he had figured it out so quickly which served to heighten Seven’s amusement. “Seven of Nine has returned to her own quarters,” the captain explained. “Where she belongs.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked anxiously.

“Anything else is unacceptable,” Janeway told him tartly.

Another pause, an audible intake of breath, surprising since, of course, the Emergency Medical Hologram had no need to inhale. “Understood,” he responded dourly and cut the channel.

“I believe you offended him,” Seven offered.

“I believe he made a faulty diagnosis,” Janeway responded firmly. Then sighed. “Sek tried to tell me that you wouldn’t want to be alone, but he was convinced that keeping you away from the rest of us was the best way to proceed. That by reproducing the method we used when you first came to us, it would allow you to readapt the quickest.”

“I was not in love with you the first time,” Seven said gently. “Nor did I have friends that I wanted to see.” She shrugged. “It was a logical presumption on his part, however. It is possible that my assimilation could have made me a threat to the ship.”

“I should have known better,” Janeway said, apparently determined to assume all the responsibility as was her way. “I shouldn’t have listened to him.”

“I should have protested at being kept from you,” Seven said, moving closer. She reached out and touched Janeway’s forearm. “We both know that we can be made to do things without our consent. That makes it even more important where we have the choice, to do everything we can to make the proper one. It was wrong of me to make assumptions about how you were feeling. I should have had the courage to talk with you as soon as I woke up, and was able to speak. I should have insisted on it.”

Janeway’s expression was mixed as she reached up and lay her knuckles against Seven’s cheek, a combination of regret and concern. “I should have been there when you woke,” she said softly. “I should have followed my heart, not let fear dictate my actions. I promised you when we first got together that I wouldn’t do that again. I guess I broke that promise.”

“I know you did not intend to,” Seven said, reaching up to take the hand into her own. She moved closer, looking down at the beloved face with loving sincerity. “I know that being assimilated was very difficult for you, and while I still had the appearance as One of Many, it was a constant reminder of it. It was too much to ask that you be there before my appearance was altered to what it is now.”

“But I have to be stronger than that,” Janeway said simply. “You needed me and I let you down.”

“No,” Seven said firmly. “You never let me down, Kathryn. You do not have to be stronger than you are. You do not have to be anything, but who you are with me.”

Janeway smiled tremulously. “Are we finished trying to take all the blame on ourselves?” she asked gently.

“I believe so,” Seven replied, smiling briefly as she realized what they had been doing.

Having run out of words, they reached out for each other, holding onto one another tightly. With a profound sense of relief and pleasure, Seven cradled Kathryn in her embrace, as if she were the most precious of treasures, wanting nothing more than to stay this way forever. From the way Kathryn clung to her, she believed the captain also shared that desire.

“Annika,” Janeway said finally, with deep concern. “Is your wok supposed to be on fire?”

It took them awhile to get the last trace of burnt cooking oil out of the air, even though the flames were quickly extinguished by Seven putting the cover on the wok, and shutting off the heating element. That had actually disturbed Janeway a little. Seven’s easy familiarity in dousing the flames indicated that it was far from the first time she had dealt with such a thing. The captain supposed she shouldn’t think about that too hard. What she didn’t know would let her sleep nights.

The wok required cleaning however, and that delayed dinner even further so Janeway felt obligated to assist, slicing the vegetables as Seven prepared the rice. That had surprised them both since they had never actually done this together before, and Janeway’s aversion to cooking, especially from scratch, was well known to anyone who would listen. Possibly that was another side effect from the assimilation, Janeway thought as she cut the vegetables into thin strips, and tossed them into the wok. There was a calming effect to preparing food, and she thought she understood why Seven enjoyed it so much. It was, in its own way, a creative endeavor, just as Janeway’s painting and sculpting in da Vinci’s laboratory was. She wondered how Seven would react to a holo-program utilizing humanity’s greatest chefs, then had to suppress a shudder, the thought of holograms lending itself quickly to thoughts of the Borg Queen.

She had not known anything about such a being, and she found the history now in her mind, of the creature and its encounter with Captain Picard of the Enterprise, a fascinating memory, though a fleeting one. She was pleased to realize that most of what had been dumped into her head was almost completely gone now, though she had made a concentrated effort to retain as much of Seven’s memories and experiences as she could. Yet, even that was fading quickly as time went by. The Doctor seemed convinced that neither would suffer any permanent effects from being assimilated.

Of course, he had also been convinced that it was in Seven’s best interests to be isolated after her return.

Janeway sighed, reaching out a hand to rest on the small of Seven’s back. When there was no response, she slipped her arms around the tiny waist and hugged Seven from behind, realizing the younger woman had not felt her original touch. She had to remember that Seven had her nerve endings muted, much as she herself had experienced while a drone. Janeway had a sudden mental impression of an implant erupting on her cheek, aware that it had not hurt as it should have, and wondered if that dullness was precisely what Seven was feeling under the outfit. She supposed she should be grateful that Seven was not required to wear gloves, or a full face mask. She reached up and kissed Seven’s ear, nibbling on it gently.

“Are you attempting to distract me?” Seven asked quietly.

Janeway smiled as she nuzzled the soft lobe. “I would if I could,” she murmured. “But we certainly don’t need any more fires.”

“Not of the previous sort,” Seven agreed. She did turn and look down at Janeway, however, a gentle smile on her face. “Still, a brief interruption would not be dangerous.”

“No?”

Janeway smiled as she felt Seven’s mouth cover hers once more, and she gave the kiss the attention it deserved, wondering why she wanted Seven so much this moment even as she was very aware she couldn’t have her. Maybe that was why, she thought ruefully. Finally, they released the embrace and went back to preparing the meal, this digression not affecting the cooking at all for which Janeway was suitably appreciative later when she sat down to her meal and took her first few mouthfuls.

Somehow preparing the food seemed to make it taste even better, the captain discovered, something she had never understood before. She wondered if that was why her mother had enjoyed cooking and baking. She knew that was part of the reason Seven derived a certain satisfaction out of making dinner. That, and the fact that Seven was aware Janeway truly enjoyed her cooking. It was Seven’s gift to her, and Kathryn was appropriately grateful … even if five years of Neelix’s cooking hadn’t made her so in the first place.

“This is tremendous,” she said, pausing briefly between bites.

Seven smiled briefly, eyes lighting perceptively from where she sat on the other side of the table, idly playing with some utensils as she watched Janeway eat. She seemed somewhat amused by the way Janeway was attacking her meal.

“I gather you have been existing on little food and sleep the past two weeks,” she said dryly.

Janeway attempted not to change expressions though she knew she had. That was the other side to having someone understand her. She could never hide anything. But then, Seven had always known when the captain hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly, long before they had been assimilated together.

“I … the Doctor saw that I ate,” Janeway admitted. She still smarted from that lecture.

“You haven’t been sleeping, however,” Seven said quietly.

“You know I can’t when you’re not with me,” Janeway responded simply, regarding her partner evenly.

Seven lowered her eyes. “It will be unnecessary for me to sleep for some time,” she said sadly.

Janeway considered that, looking over the suit covering the beloved body, at the formidable heels the woman was forced to wear which contained additional circuitry for her implants. They could easily rip up the bedding, but then, the captain noted, it would hardly be the first time their bed had been destroyed.

“You can still lay beside me while I sleep,” Janeway suggested quietly. “If you’d like.”

Seven raised an eyebrow. “That would be acceptable?” she asked, hope dawning in her eyes. She added a cautionary tone. “I cannot even remove my footwear. It will be uncomfortable for you.”

“I will adapt,” Janeway said in a flat tone.

Seven flinched, and Janeway reached out a hand quickly to cover Seven’s, remorseful as she realized that assuming the Borg tone for her play on words was more hurtful than amusing.

“I’m sorry darling,” she said. “Bad joke.” Seven relaxed as she realized Janeway had been attempting humor.

“I suspect we both must adapt,” Seven allowed, taking a breath.

“It will take some time,” Janeway agreed. “But it’s better we do it together than apart.”

Seven nodded and focused her attention on Janeway’s plate. “Do you wish more?” she asked. “I made too much.” She hesitated. “I am used to cooking for both of us.”

“You will again,” Janeway assured her. She reached over and filled her plate from the bowls on the table. She was not in the habit of taking seconds, but this was the first time in weeks that she had been able to eat Seven’s cooking. She had no intention of allowing any to be deposited in the recycler. “In the meantime, I freely admit that I have some catching up to do.”

Seven regarded her with a soft look to her eyes. “I enjoy watching you eat,” she said.

Janeway flashed her a smile and tucked into the second plateful of stirfry vegetables. This really was delicious. The rice was moist, flavored with bits of green and red spices, while the chicken and vegetables had the tangy, peppery taste that she adored. In fact, Janeway considered, she couldn’t remember a single meal Seven had made that she did not like, though it was unlikely that Gretchen Janeway would have given Seven any recipes that her daughter did not enjoy.

“I know how to make the slipstream technology work.”

Janeway paused, a fork full of rice midway to her mouth as she stared at Seven, the meaning of the words slowly seeping through her brain. She took a breath and lowered the fork to her plate.

“Indeed,” she said quietly though in reality, she wanted to leap up and down, run wildly about the room and scream loudly.

Seven nodded. “The entire knowledge of Species 116 is now available to me,” she said. “The problem I was experiencing was in trying to bolster the integrity field to counter the velocity. That was incorrect. I need to modify the field so that it works in harmony with the slipstream corridor, not counter it.”

Janeway took several deep breaths, attempting to control the feelings that were rushing through her. Was it possible that this most horrible of experiences was not to be in vain? That the one thing they had gained from this was a way home?

“What’s the time frame we’re looking at?” she asked, her voice still remarkably calm.

“I will need to run extensive testing on the integrity fields, possibly utilizing our remaining shuttle,” Seven explained. “Once that is complete, Voyager can then be adapted. I anticipate no more than three years, and perhaps only one before we are able to utilize the drive.”

Janeway leaned back in her chair and folded her hands neatly on the table, perhaps to keep them from shaking. “You’re saying that we’ll be able to go home in three years,” she said flatly. “Not sixty years, but three years.”

“Possibly within one,” Seven repeated.

She raised an eyebrow, and Janeway knew she was awaiting a response of some sort. The problem was, she didn’t know how she should react. There were so many emotions flying through her, so much that she was experiencing this moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said softly.

Seven nodded. “I understand,” she said, though there was a touch of disappointment in her tone. “Hopes have been raised before. However, I know I can adapt this technology to Voyager. This vessel will be capable of slipstream velocity once the integrity field has been successfully modified.”

Janeway stood up abruptly and, after only the smallest of startled pauses, Seven immediately followed suit in time to accept the embrace coming at her, Janeway flinging her arms around the taller woman’s neck and holding her tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, face buried in the warm hollow of Seven’s shoulder.

“Thank Species 116,” Seven said low in her ear. “It is their technology, after all.”

Janeway clung to her, trying not to break down. To know she would be standing on Earth so soon, not needing decades but only a few years to get home. To know that finally, she would get her ship and her crew back to the Alpha Quadrant and the Federation. For an instant, the responsibilities that had constantly burdened her shoulders the past five years disappeared, making her giddy and exhilarated, wanting to dance about the room and shout at the top of her lungs. Even when reality returned, the weight was still lightened, an end to her toil now in sight.

“Oh, Annika,” she said, tears sliding down her face. “Oh, my love.”

“It will be good to see Gretchen and Phoebe again,” Seven said softly into Janeway’s hair as she held the captain close. “Though I do not look forward to meeting my relatives again.”

Janeway just smiled and cried harder.

Seven reluctantly let go as Janeway finally released her hold on her neck. It had been immensely satisfying to have shared this news with the captain, to see the way her eyes sparkled, the lilt in her voice as she spoke, trying very hard to be calm. Even the tears that had dampened her suit were those of joy, and to be able to do this for Kathryn after everything else was a source of great happiness to her.

Janeway sniffed and wiped her face with her palm, looking up at her with bright blue eyes.

“We need to keep this quiet for the time being,” she said.

Surprised, Seven regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “I can do this,” she repeated, understanding that Janeway did not want to get her crew’s hopes up if it turned out to be a false alarm. Seven knew the technology could be adapted. It was just a matter of time. Very little time when compared to 60 years.

“I know,” Janeway said, resting her hands on Seven’s arms as she looked up at her. “There’s no question that certain of the crew will have to know in order to assist you. But if it takes the maximum time, that’s still three years, three years of surviving in the Delta Quadrant. We can’t afford to get sloppy now that we’re so close to getting home.”

“‘Sloppy’?”

Janeway took a breath. “This crew is not all Starfleet, darling. There are also other factors to consider. What if something else happens that prevents us from adapting the drive? What if we encounter an alien species that delays us for whatever reason? What if the ship is damaged in an encounter? We need to act as if we’re here for the duration. It would be too tempting to relax, thinking that the Alpha Quadrant is now in reach. We’re still alone out here and we have only ourselves to rely on. When we’re ready to start adapting Voyager itself rather than just a shuttle, then we can let the entire crew in on the good news.”

“All right,” Seven said. She didn’t know if she agreed, but Janeway was the captain. She was a very good captain. If she felt that this should remain a matter just between them and a few others, then that was how it would be.

Janeway sat down to resume her meal, eating the rest of it without any display of her former appetite. Seven knew that the older woman’s mind was operating at warp speed, turning over all the implications of this. The Borg remained quiet, content to watch her partner eat and think, enjoying the way the light played on the fiery highlights in the auburn hair, the play of lithe physique under the trim Starfleet uniform.

Janeway finished the last of the meal and stood up, taking her dishes over to the disposal unit to be recycled. Seven slipped over to the counter and drew out a bottle of wine. She noted that there was only one left in the rack which cradled them and kept them safe even in the most violent of ship maneuvers. Perhaps there would be a planet in the next system that would provide some more unique distillations for Kathryn’s enjoyment. The captain was no connoisseur, but she did enjoy a glass of wine after a large meal, and she had collected various bottles throughout the Delta Quadrant. The final bottle was not to be touched of course. It had been carried all the way from the Alpha Quadrant, Chateau Picard champagne intended to be opened the day they slid into Earth’s orbit.

One day soon, Seven thought as she opened the other bottle, utilizing her mesh covered left hand to pry the cork from the bottle, disdaining the use of a corkscrew. She poured the liquid, a fine clear vintage from a planet ten or eleven systems back, distilled from the small blue fruit that grew under a purple tinted sky, tasting of sun and sweetness, with just a touch of tartness. At least, that was how Seven remembered it as she carried the glass into the living area where Janeway had taken a seat on the couch.

“Thank you, darling,” Janeway said absently as she took the glass, eyes distant as she continued to be lost in thought.

Seven settled on the couch beside her, delighting in the small bits of routine they were starting to recreate. Of course, before she would have been sharing in the wine, but it was enough to feel Janeway lean casually against her as the captain slipped off her boots and stretched her legs out onto the coffee table. Janeway’s left hand rested on the silver clad thigh, and if she concentrated, Seven could feel the warmth of it penetrate to the flesh below.

She slid her arm around Kathryn’s shoulders, tilting her head to rest on the soft hair, closing her eyes as she smelled the wonderful fragrance of it, feeling the fine auburn strands tickle her face. She rested her right hand on the curve of Janeway’s arm, while she entwined her left hand carefully with the one Kathryn left resting on her leg.

For an instant, it was exactly as it had been, and Seven felt a little more of herself heal deep in the innermost regions of her.

Janeway seemed to feel it as well, and she settled closer to her, taking a deep breath that was almost a purr in her chest.

“I love you,” Seven whispered, feeling like she wanted to cry, and was completely unable to.

“I know,” Janeway said quietly. “I love you too, darling. Always.”

For the first time, Seven was able to finally, with ever fibre of her being, truly believe that unconditionally. If what she had done as One of Many had not shattered that bond, then absolutely nothing in the universe could. Not ever. As a result, Seven was filled with a contentment she had never before known.

She spent the next while listening to the woman beside her drink her wine, concentrating on the scent of her, the warmth of the body felt through the thin uniform beneath her palm. She allowed memories of the previous weeks prior to the Borg encounter to come back to her, thinking of fishing and friendship, of lessons learned and lovemaking under the stars, studiously avoiding any thought of white skinned holograms and green-tinged air.

“This will set my swimming lessons back considerably,” she remarked after awhile.

Janeway made a sound, a short laugh in the back of her throat. “I imagine it will,” she allowed. “You’d probably sink like a stone now.” She raised Seven’s hand to her lips and kissed the palm gently through the mesh.

“It is not the same, you know,” Seven said.

“What isn’t?”

“My abdominal implant,” she clarified. “It will not look as it had before. It is different.”

“Oh,” Janeway said. She paused. “How long before you can remove your outfit?”

“Twenty-three days,” Seven said.

Janeway made another sound. It was not a laugh this time. More like dismay. Seven could understand that. Seven wondered what celibacy would be like. Of course, before becoming lovers with Kathryn, she had always been celibate, but now she understood the difference. To have to lay next to Kathryn, but be unable to do anything about it seemed a rather unique sort of punishment, she mused. This was absolutely the last time she would accept an offer to run the Collective. She thought about that for a minute, realized it could be considered amusing, and shared it with Kathryn who laughed appropriately.

“Darling, we’ll get through it,” the captain assured her. “Even if all the showers I take for the next little while are cold ones.”

Seven wondered about that. It occurred to her that just because she was incapacitated in terms of receiving affection, that didn’t mean Kathryn was. After all, the captain seemed quite happy to be nuzzled and kissed as they cuddled on the couch though Seven made no attempt at taking it any further. Kathryn was also very loving back, making a point to kiss Seven’s hands frequently, stroking her face often with gentle fingertips, apparently trying to maintain as much physical connection with her as possible.

“Sweetheart, let’s go to bed,” Kathryn finally murmured.

“Very well,” Seven agreed, unsure as to how this would work.

While Kathryn disappeared into the ensuite for her ablutions, Seven stretched out on the bed, careful not to puncture the linens or mattress with her sharp heels. She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling where she could see her reflection in the large mirror overhead, a long, silver streak against the deep blue of the Starfleet issued sheets. She regarded it for long moments, discontented with the suit which seemed so restrictive. Then she noted the expression on her face and smoothed it out, not wanting Kathryn to know how distressed she was.

She turned her head as Kathryn came in from the ensuite, dressed in a robe which she removed to reveal a long nightgown of a delicate peach color. Kathryn was not in the habit of wearing garments to bed, but perhaps she wished to show support to Seven by doing so. Seven took a breath as Kathryn crawled into bed next to her, pressing against her left side, resting her head on Seven’s chest. Seven wrapped her left arm around her and with her right, drew up a spare blanket to throw over them. Though she did not get cold, she knew Kathryn preferred a lower temperature when she slept, wanting to be covered by the tactile sensation of a blanket. It was an idiosyncrasy that Seven was glad she could accommodate since it appeared she would be unable to do much else.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Kathryn murmured as the lights were brought down to a dim illumination.

“Good night, Kathryn,” Seven replied.

“You won’t get bored will you?” the captain asked, a bit anxiously as if it had just occurred to her.

“I will not be bored,” Seven assured her gently. “Sleep well. I will be here when you wake.”

Seven listened to Kathryn’s breathing slow, smoothing out to a regular rhythm though, she concluded after some time, not regular enough. Surreptitiously, she studied the face on her chest, dipping her head to get a better look. The captain’s eyes were closed, but there was a tenseness about the features that simply wasn’t there when Kathryn was asleep, while the body next to her held a rigidity which could not be mistaken for slumber.

“Kathryn,” she said, very low in case she was mistaken. “Are you awake?”

A rueful sound came from beneath her chin. “Sorry, darling,” the captain sighed. “I’m too tired to sleep, I guess.”

Seven considered that statement, trying to work her way through the implied contradiction. “Do you wish me to leave?” she asked softly. “I can stay on the couch.”

“No,” Janeway objected promptly, squeezing her with the arm draped across Seven. “It’s not you, darling. It’s just … my mind is working too much and I can’t seem to get it to stop. But I do like lying here next to you.”

“I like it as well,” Seven said, cuddling the woman closer to her.

Seven thought hard about it, wondering what she could do. This was not the first time Kathryn had trouble sleeping though most of the time, she usually nodded off very quickly in Seven’s arms. In fact, it was a semi-regular occurrence, happening approximately 28 days apart…

Seven took a slow breath. Though the traditional aftermath of unsuccessful ovulation had been altered by 24th century medical technology to be reabsorbed back into the body rather than discarded as before, the biological imperatives that governed it could not be denied. Kathryn went through it like every other Human woman on board Voyager, her bio-rhythms changing regularly with the passing of days. One day a month, she was incredibly irritable, unable to be reasoned with at all. Another day she was easily depressed, more aware of the ship being lost in the Delta Quadrant than the rest of the time.

And on one day, she was incredibly amorous, wanting nothing more than to make love, restless and fretful if she could not.

Seven did the calculations.

“I think I’ll take a shower,” Kathryn said softly, attempting to roll over.

Seven forestalled the motion, tightening her embrace as she drew her fingers up Kathryn’s arm, slipping along the soft skin down her chest to the breast covered in peach silk. She used one fingertip to trace the little bump which immediately responded, hardening sweetly beneath her touch. She leaned over and brushed her lips over the bare shoulder.

“No need,” Seven whispered. “I can take care of you.”

“Annika…” Kathryn caught her breath. “You can’t…”

“You cannot,” Seven corrected. “However, I can. It gives me so much joy to pleasure you, Kathryn.” She found Janeway’s mouth, kissing her with loving passion. “Please let me give you pleasure,” she whispered against her lips. “I want so much to make love to you.”

Kathryn sighed and moved against her, arching into the fingers almost without conscious volition. “Are you sure, darling?” Kathryn murmured. “I’m perfectly fine without it, you know.”

“I am sure,” Seven told her quietly, continuing to stroke the nipple through the nightgown. “I treasure every single nano-second of being with you. It is my greatest joy.”

“Annika, you really don’t have to do this,” the captain whispered.

“Do you want me to stop?” Seven asked, raising an eyebrow.

There was a pause. “I wouldn’t go that far,” Kathryn muttered.

Seven smiled as she paused momentarily to toss aside the blanket before resuming her light stroking of Kathryn’s breast through the nightgown. She kissed her lover again, slower, deeper, parting the lips beneath hers with a gentle flick of her tongue, feeling the responding caress of Kathryn’s against hers, darting out to touch her lips, her teeth, tasting her desire. Kathryn’s hands tangled in her hair, stroking the long, blonde tresses languidly, touching her cheeks, her jaw, unable to caress through the outfit, but wanting Seven to feel what little she could.

“Darling, you’re so good to me,” the captain whispered. “I love you so much.”

“You are my life,” Seven replied into the small ear, nuzzling it gently. “Without you, I do not live, Kathryn.”

She hooked her finger under the spaghetti strap of the nightgown, and pulled it over the captain’s shoulder, drawing it down until the breast was exposed to her appreciative view. Kathryn purred as Seven kissed down her neck, feeling the sound vibrate against her mouth as she traced the line of her throat. Encountering the tiny scars beneath her lips where the assimilation tubules had penetrated, Seven paused, then kissed them gently, sorrowfully, wanting only to heal them with her touch. Slowly she resumed her descent, brushing over the hard bone of chest, the skin flushed and freckled, so smooth beneath her mouth. The soft swell of breast welcomed her, and she kissed it gently, reverently, licking the warm skin as the salt-sweet flavor filled her senses. Her lips closed over the soft brown bud, firming even more as she tickled it with the tip of her tongue.

Kathryn whispered her name, running her fingertips over Seven’s head, through her hair, arching up to her with a quiet, familiar pleasure. Gently, Seven pressed her down onto the bed, laying Kathryn on her back so that she could slip the other strap off the near shoulder, temporarily tying her up until the smaller woman was able to free her arms from the strings, leaving the nightgown bunched around her waist, her breasts free for Seven’s skilled attentions.

Seven thought nothing could be better than this. Even when she herself was being pleasured by Kathryn, it could not compare with how she felt when she was making love to this woman she loved so dearly. Without Seven’s pleasure being an issue at all, she was free to completely concentrate on Kathryn, while the captain was completely free to concentrate on what Seven was doing to her.

What Seven was doing to her was causing Kathryn to make the most lovely sounds in her throat, sounds that Seven purely adored, gasps and moans of sheer delight as the young woman trailed from one breast to the other, making sure not one millimeter of skin was left unloved. As she did, Seven ran her hands over the body through the silk material, feeling the warmth penetrate through, stroking the captain’s back and sides, sliding over her stomach, then down the outside of her legs before slowly retracing her journey, only this time, sliding beneath the hem of the gown. She was delighted to discover in her journey that even in this situation, Kathryn had chosen not to wear the matching briefs.

Had Kathryn known something she hadn’t, Seven wondered with a touch of amusement. Or was she just forever hopeful?

The soft, baby-smooth skin of Kathryn’s inner thighs gave way to the damp heat of ready womanhood, the tips of Seven’s fingers sliding easily along the moist crease, then inside it to touch the aching node that was so sensitive, making the captain cry out. She panted for breath as Seven fondled her, stroking with languid caresses, swirling her fingers gently around the little hardness in a steady motion that soon had the captain’s hips rocking gently, pushing against her. Kathryn’s legs fell open to grant a more intimate access, and Seven dipped down to find the tender opening, circling it, teasing slightly as she heard Kathryn’s soft moans, then, with loving strength, she penetrated her gently.

As always, Seven felt a hint of wonder as she entered Kathryn, feeling the clasp of velvet-slick walls surround her fingers, resisting a brief instant before adjusting to allow her passage. To be able to touch Kathryn so intimately, to feel the heat and wetness that welcomed her, seeming to draw her in even deeper was the greatest of pleasures, one Seven always cherished. She flexed gently, seeking that area she knew would give Kathryn the ultimate delight, finding it with sensitive fingertips that circled and pressed, creating a rhythm that sent waves of desire through the woman. She felt Kathryn undulate beneath her as she touched and stroked until finally, Seven felt her head clutched spastically to her lover’s chest, the captain inadvertently pulling the blonde hair as every muscle in the older woman’s body tensed, a cry issuing from her lips that combined love and passion in one inarticulate sound.

Seven stilled her fingers when the spasms finally ended, but did not withdraw. Instead, she left the breasts she had been so skillfully attending, and drifted down to the top of the abdomen, brushing her lips over the soft skin. She paused at the nightgown, now a mere band of bunched material around Kathryn’s waist.

“Are you very fond of this garment?” she asked softly.

Janeway swallowed against a mouth gone dry from panting. “No, darling,” she said in her lovely growl. “Go ahead.”

Seven utilized her Borg enhanced left hand to part the seam of the garment neatly, pulling it from around Kathryn’s waist and tossing it aside. Then she resumed her gentle roving over Kathryn’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract under her lips as she moved, pausing at the navel to gently kiss it, teasing Kathryn who was exceptionally ticklish in this area.

A low, throaty laugh caressed her ears and Seven smiled before continuing down, nuzzling the thatch of auburn tangle with her nose, breathing deep the appealing scent of musk and desire that awaited her. Without hesitation, she moved lower and used her tongue to seek out that tender nodule of exquisite sensation, prodding it lightly, then lapping at it firmly, setting up a counter-rhythm to that of her fingers inside.

Seven was intrigued by the way she was able to concentrate so utterly on Kathryn. It occurred to her suddenly that before, her own physical pleasure had served as a source of distraction to her. Without it being a factor, never had she been so aware of Kathryn, of how she tasted, of her warm fragrance, of how wonderful everything felt to touch, the different textures and sensations beneath her lips and fingers. The whole universe seemed to shrink to that one area, the connection between her mouth and Kathryn’s most intimate place, to her internal explorations … of Kathryn’s response, every breath, every small utterance listened to keenly and cherished utterly. Seven could not imagine anything being better than this.

Unless it was later when Kathryn finally clung to her, breath coming in sobs as the last pulsation died away and Seven slowly and lovingly released her. She rose up slightly and rested her head on Kathryn’s stomach, aware of the long elegant fingers stroking her hair, her scalp, running lightly over her face. They traced her lips and she kissed the tips gently.

“Come up here,” Kathryn commanded huskily.

Smiling, Seven repositioned herself until she was once more laying on her back, Kathryn snuggled against her.

“Are you all right?” Kathryn asked, a bit of anxiety coloring her tone.

“I am fine,” Seven replied, holding her close. “More than fine. I adore loving you. I could do it forever.”

Kathryn laughed a little. “I’m not sure I could survive that,” she said softly and kissed Seven for a long time. Finally she drew away with a rueful noise. “I do like making love to you as well.”

“You shall,” Seven promised. “In twenty-three days.”

“I’ll mark it on my calendar,” Kathryn smiled.

“In the meantime,” Seven assured. “It is enough for me to be with you. It is more than I could have expected, and everything I could ever want or need.”

“Oh, darling,” Kathryn sighed and hugged her tightly.

Seven drew up the discarded blanket, making sure it was wrapped warmly around the captain and drew the head down to her shoulder. She felt Kathryn settle deeper against her, and within minutes, she knew another type of satisfaction as the captain surrendered to her drowsiness, head and body suddenly heavy against her.

Lying on her back, looking at their reflection in the mirror above her head, Seven thought she had discovered utter perfection. Lying snuggled against her left side and snoring gently.

Janeway woke with a cool silken smoothness beneath her cheek, one that pulsed gently in a steady throb. Seven’s heartbeat, she identified happily, drowsily, eyes still closed against the lights brought up to signify morning watch. The suit she was lying against was nowhere as wonderful as the warm flesh would have been, but just its presence was more than she had experienced in too long, and she was more than satisfied to snuggle closer to it, running her hands over the smooth abdomen, inter-spaced with regular bands of hardness beneath the material, tracing the sharp little ridges with her fingertips.

Fingers raked gently through her hair, and the captain remembered that Seven would have spent the whole night awake, the function of her implants replacing the physical need for sleep.

“Good morning, darling,” she murmured, stretching luxuriously against the woman as she smiled at her.

“Good morning, Kathryn,” Seven replied calmly, eyes shining softly. “You slept well. No nightmares?”

“No, only pleasant dreams,” Janeway assured her, rising up enough to be able to peer fondly down into Seven’s narrow features. “You were in all of them,” she noted.

“Indeed,” Seven replied and reached up to touch Janeway’s cheek, stroking it lightly.

“Was it terribly tedious for you?” Janeway asked. “Watching me sleep?”

“Being with you is never tedious,” Seven told her firmly. “I was able to work for several hours.”

Janeway glanced over, seeing several padds lying on the night stand next to the bed. Seven must have risen in the night to retrieve them before resuming her silent vigil next to her. “I must have been really tired not to have noticed that,” she said with surprise.

“You were,” Seven responded. She tilted Janeway’s head toward her, and the captain smiled briefly as she felt the tender lips of her lover brush over hers, lightly at first, then with deeper intensity.

She made a small sound of regret. “I have duty,” she whispered regretfully when Seven finally released her mouth.

“Unfortunate,” Seven noted, her hand slowing and gentling its stroking of Janeway’s back and side. She dipped her head to look into Janeway’s eyes. “I wish to return to duty myself.”

Janeway sighed and rested her forehead against Seven’s. “I’ll see that you’re reinstated,” she said. “You’ll have to receive clearance from the Doctor first, however. I’ll go with you, if you’d like.”

“No,” Seven said. “I can convince him I am fit for duty.” She paused. “I wish to see B’Elanna and others as well.”

“B’Elanna really wanted to see you,” Janeway said, regret stabbing through her. “I had to make it an order that she maintain her distance from sickbay. A very strict order.”

“Indeed,” Seven said evenly, but her eyes brightened considerably. Clearly she was pleased to know that her friend had not stayed away willingly.

How could we have been so blind? Janeway thought dismally. How much damage do we do insisting we know what’s best for others?

Seven seemed to know what she was thinking and Janeway felt her arm tighten around her comfortingly. “Do not waste time regretting what cannot be changed,” the young woman told her quietly. “You taught me that.”

“Maybe I need to be as good a pupil as you,” Janeway admitted. “Unfortunately, I’m a stubborn woman.”

“However, you are my woman,” Seven said.

Janeway laughed, startled by the sentiment. “I am,” she agreed. “Completely and totally.” She made a move to roll out of bed, was forestalled by Seven who did not release her embrace.

“Stay with me,” Seven requested lightly, but with a hint of seriousness lacing the playful demand. “Just a little longer.”

“As long as you want,” Janeway responded promptly. She pressed against Seven, surrendering easily to the desire to be with her rather than pull on her uniform. It was a frightening, but not unpleasant sensation to need someone this much, she thought. She could afford to indulge it a few moments more. Or even, she decided as Seven kissed her, a few hours more.

“I have to tell the bridge I’ll be late,” she said when the kiss had finally ended.

“You will?” There was a note of surprise in Seven’s voice.

“You are the most important thing in the universe to me,” Janeway told her gravely. “If you need me to be with you now, then that’s where I’m going to be.”

Seven looked uncertain. “You need to attend to your duties,” she said.

“Is that what you want?” Janeway asked. “Or what you think you should say?”

Seven paused, searching her face. “I want to be with you,” she admitted finally.

“Then we’ll spend the day together,” Janeway decided instantly. She raised her voice. “Computer, log me as unavailable this day due to personal priority.”

“So logged,” the feminine voice of the computer responded evenly.

“Are you still the captain?” Seven said, looking at her with wide eyes.

Janeway laughed as she realized what Seven was thinking, that she could take time off so easily because she had not resumed her duties. “Don’t worry, Chakotay seemed more than willing to return Voyager to me,” she assured her. “I guess he thinks being a first officer is easier than running the ship.”

“I am unsurprised in his confidence in you,” Seven said. “But still gratified. I know what being captain means to you.”

Janeway sobered a little, staring into those fine features. “You do, don’t you?” she said quietly. “Still, you’re my first priority, Annika. If the ship needs me, I’m there, but I’ve come to realize that being with you is more important than doing reports, or any other duty that can easily wait until tomorrow. It took me a long time to understand a relationship is worth more than a career, and it’s a lesson I intend to take to heart.”

“Thank you,” Seven said after a moment of searching for something to reply with. Janeway knew that the younger woman considered that an inadequate response, but to the older woman, it meant the world. Seven only fell back on the simple polite statement when her vocabulary, which was now quite extensive, failed her utterly … as it did whenever she was profoundly moved or overwhelmed by emotion.

“You are very welcome,” Janeway said, smiling. “Now, what would you like to do today? Keeping in mind that you have to spend a few hours regenerating in your alcove.”

Seven blinked. “I think I want to make love to you,” she said.

Janeway smiled. “That would be wonderful,” she admitted. “But darling, I hate for you to feel … unsatisfied.”

Seven shook her head. “I thought you understood,” she said. “I have such limited sensation beneath my outfit that I do not become aroused.”

“But I believe sensuality is as much a mental and emotional thing as it is a physical thing,” Janeway argued softly. “I find it difficult to believe that you feel nothing when you make love to me.”

“I do feel something,” Seven protested. “I feel great pleasure, but not the sort I feel when you are making love to me. I have no … urgency. My pleasure is in loving you. I do not need anything more at this time.”

Janeway thought about that. It bothered her that Seven seemed to be more on the giving than receiving end of things, but perhaps she was assuming things again. Perhaps it was just as Seven was telling her, that her pleasure was being derived just from being with her. Who was she to insist that Seven feel deprived and frustrated when clearly she didn’t? Perhaps Janeway should just accept things as they were and be glad of it. Hadn’t she promised herself that she wouldn’t make people adapt to how she thought things should be anymore?

“All right,” she allowed. “When you can remove the outfit, however, I’m going to spend several evenings attending to only your pleasure.”

“That would be acceptable,” Seven agreed. She regarded Janeway evenly. “Can you tell me why this bothers you?”

Janeway sighed and rested her head on Seven’s chest. “I guess I feel selfish,” she said slowly, trying to explain so that her partner would understand. “It makes me feel like your pleasure is being ignored for the sake of mine.”

“Like males sometimes do?” Seven raised an eyebrow.

Startled, Janeway propped herself up on her elbow so she could look into Seven’s face. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“I have retained the memories of your experiences with men,” Seven replied evenly. “I now know the difference between how males made love to you, and how I do.”

Janeway took a breath. What unexplored territory was this getting into and was she going to like it at all?

“And?” she countered.

Seven looked thoughtful. “Your first encounter with … Cheb Packer? The initial experience seemed less than adequate,” she said. “I am surprised you ever attempted a second experience.”

Janeway tried not to groan. This was not going to be an easy discussion. Maybe she should have just let Seven make love to her and kept her big mouth shut. When would she learn?

“When you’re young, hormones get the best of you sometimes,” Kathryn tried to explain. “I was in love with him so the fact that the experience wasn’t … all that it could be … was irrelevant.”

“He was so inept,” Seven responded. She seemed outraged, mostly on Kathryn’s behalf. “He did not even notice that you did not achieve orgasm. Or for that matter, particularly enjoy yourself. It was actually painful for you at times, and he didn’t seem to care.”

“He was young, Seven,” Janeway said, smiling. “Honestly, darling, the first explorations into sexual expression aren’t expected to be that tremendous.”

“Mine were,” Seven responded promptly. “You were everything I could have imagined, gentle, caring, loving and very skilled.”

“All right,” Janeway allowed, swallowing a smile and trying not to preen as she did. Really, she didn’t need to feel that smug about it. “But will you admit that as we grow closer emotionally, and get to know each other better, our lovemaking has correspondingly improved?”

“Of course,” Seven admitted. “Yet, I do not think you would have ever achieved that with him. He was so bad at it.” Her tone was so laden with condescension that Janeway was hard-pressed not to laugh.

“I’m sure he got better,” she said instead. “I do know I did.”

“Well,” Seven said grudgingly, “your other lovers were an improvement as far as their abilities to please you were concerned.”

“Are we going to go through the list?” Janeway asked dryly.

“You only had two more,” Seven said. She eyed Janeway narrowly. “That is not a lot for a Human female of your age bracket, is it?”

Janeway blushed and couldn’t figure out why she did. Honestly, the discussions she got into with her partner sometimes. She couldn’t even distract her this time by making a pass at her, which was her favorite way of diverting Seven’s choice of topic. Judging from the intent look in Seven’s expression, she was thoroughly engrossed in this conversation. It would take some doing to get her off it.

“Why is this so important to you?” Janeway asked.

“I assumed from what B’Elanna had told me that there was something lacking in how I made love to you,” Seven explained readily. “Now I wonder if perhaps it is she who is lacking. After all, males seem to have a great deal of difficulty finding that area inside you that makes you utter that wonderful high-pitched sound whenever I concentrate on it, nor do they seem to be as willing to spend hours utilizing their mouth to–”

“Annika,” Janeway interrupted at this point, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “I fully agree that you are the most attentive and focused lover I have ever had. Can you be content with that?”

“Yes,” Seven agreed. “However, if you miss the penetration of a male, the accessories can successfully mimic it. I have more knowledge of how such a thing would work and can easily utilize it in the proper fashion now.”

“If that’s what I require,” Janeway said mildly. “I’ll let you know, all right?”

Seven was silent for a moment, studying her closely. “All right,” she agreed, but Janeway could tell it was more because she had decided the captain didn’t want to discuss it than because she had fully explored this topic to her own satisfaction. Which meant she would probably be speaking with B’Elanna about it.

Janeway sighed.

“Darling,” she said. “Do you really want to use an accessory?”

Seven looked thoughtful. “Perhaps someday,” she allowed. “It would be intriguing to experiment with such a thing.”

“Then we’ll try it,” Janeway said, hoping that she wasn’t getting herself into such deep water she couldn’t get out of it. “In the meantime, I would prefer if you limit your conversation about this to just between us.”

Seven dipped her head. “You do not wish me to discuss this with B’Elanna,” she guessed.

“No,” Janeway admitted. “I don’t mind you talking to her in abstract terms, but I’d prefer to keep private the personal details of our love life.”

Seven nodded. “I understand,” she said. She paused. “In truth, the personal details tend to make B’Elanna uncomfortable. She displays indications of dismay whenever I give an extensive explanation of our lovemaking.”

“Oh, she does,” Janeway said, raising an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

Seven frowned. “I do not know,” she said. She looked at Janeway hopefully. “Perhaps you could speculate?”

Janeway snorted. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea that I do,” she said. “My guess, however, would be that B’Elanna is not as widely experienced as she likes to pretend.”

Seven blinked. “You mean she has never made love with a female?” she said, the astonishment so evident in her tone that Janeway snickered.

“Darling, until you, neither had I,” she pointed out.

Seven considered that. “I have never made love with a male,” Seven said. “Are we an accurate representation of our respective ages and backgrounds?”

“I don’t know,” Janeway replied easily. “Tell me, have you developed an scientific interest in this, Annika or just a prurient one?”

“Scientific, of course,” Seven said, vaguely offended.

Janeway nodded. “All right, then I’m sure you can widen your research from Voyager’s data banks,” she said. “Particularly under Exobiology. That should open your eyes. Now, if it were the other, I’d advise you check the entertainment section of the recreation data banks. Look under Human Sexuality. All your questions could be answered there.”

Seven looked disappointed. “It is more entertaining discussing it with you,” she said. “Or B’Elanna.”

“I’m sure it is,” Janeway said, a half-grin touching the corner of her mouth. “But I have a confession to make, Annika.”

“What is that?” Seven asked, eyes widening as she regarded Janeway with intent interest.

“I’d rather be doing it than talking about it.”

Seven looked startled, then slowly, a smile touched her full lips as she realized what Janeway was really saying. She ran her hands over Janeway’s back, pulling her down onto her. “I believe I prefer that as well,” she said.

“So long as we’re in agreement,” Janeway said, snuggling into the warm embrace, arching a little as Seven began to seek out those places that caused her to make all sorts of sounds, high-pitched, low-pitched and every level in between.

“Yes,” Seven responded. “I like being in agreement with you.”

“Darling, you are everything I could ever want or need,” Janeway murmured against the soft lips tracing her own. “Please, don’t ever doubt that.”

“I will not,” Seven whispered back. She shifted a little so that they were on their sides. “Kathryn, I do love you.”

“That’s very good,” Janeway said. She entwined her arms tightly about her lover’s neck, feeling the silken material of Seven’s suit slide over her skin with languid pleasure. “Because I love you. Completely, utterly, with my whole heart and with absolutely no regrets ever.”

Seven just smiled and kissed her.

Epilogue

B’Elanna Torres regarded Seven of Nine with raised eyebrows. Or was it One of Many? The Klingon had perused the official logs, speculated wildly on the personal ones, and heard every rumor that had sprung from Seven and the captain’s encounter with the Borg. Not to mention gaining every scrap of information she could squeeze out of her friend, and she still couldn’t quite get over it. That Janeway would take on the Borg Collective and wrest the love of her life out of their control, bringing them to their knees at the same time … well, it was just absolutely the most romantic thing the Klingon had ever heard. Though she would die a thousand deaths before ever admitting to that.

She wondered if Chakotay would ever have done such a thing for her? She had the uncomfortable feeling that she really didn’t want to ever find out the answer to that.

Now, it was apparent that there was a lot more to it than even she had imagined.

“Slipstream,” she said, her tone heavy with disbelief, eyes wide as she regarded the Borg. “We’re going to switch Voyager over to slipstream?”

“Yes,” Seven said in a low voice.

Though the outfit and the manner was back to where Seven had been when she had first come on board, the demeanor was different, as certainly B’Elanna’s attitude toward the woman was. The two women were standing on the catwalk surrounding the warp core above the engine room deck and B’Elanna spared a glance around to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation.

“We’ll be back in the Alpha Quadrant in three years?”

“Possibly as soon as one,” Seven added calmly.

B’Elanna grabbed the Borg’s forearm, gripping it tightly as she attempted not to howl with exhilaration. “Do you know what this means?” she hissed.

“That you are attempting to fracture my ulna?” Seven suggested coolly.

B’Elanna let go of Seven’s arm as if burned, and grabbed her by the shoulders, staring intently into her eyes.

“If you’re lying to me,” B’Elanna said with great sincerity. “I will rip your lungs out through your nostrils.”

“That would be … unpleasant,” Seven allowed. “I assure you it is the truth. However, the captain wishes it to remain just between us for the time being. I am sharing this with you only because I will need your assistance to modify the shuttle.”

“We’ll have to run all the preliminary tests in the holodeck,” B’Elanna said, dropping her arms and walking away, already lost in the engineering problem lying before her. She darted a glance back at Seven who remained impassive. “It won’t be easy to keep this secret.”

“No,” Seven said. “However, Kathryn said that since you are the biggest ‘rumor-monger’ on the ship, it was imperative that you be brought into our confidence as soon as possible so that you would know how important it is to keep this quiet.”

B’Elanna’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, she did,” she said. “What does she think? That I’m a gossip?”

“I believe that is exactly what she thinks,” Seven agreed readily. “She also believes that you spend too much time worrying about our sex life. She asked me to inform you not to speak of ‘sexual toys’ with me anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” B’Elanna said. She paused, eyeing Seven narrowly, then seemed to come to some sort of internal decision. “Seven, have we ever talked about fur lined cuffs and leather straps?”

“I do not believe so,” Seven said uncertainly. “Are they ‘toys’?”

“Oh no,” B’Elanna said, grinning evilly. “They’re not toys.”

She slipped her arm around Seven’s shoulders and began to explain how wonderfully pleased Janeway would be if Seven could only manage to ‘surprise’ her.

Some night soon.

The End

Back to Season One

On to Just Between Realities

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Epilogue