This is the 19th in the Just Between series. It brings back a character which may or may not have deserved to be brought back but here it is in any event.

This story was posted during the first part of June, 1999, after the show had completed its fifth season.

To all my regulars and you know who you are, my thanks for your continued support.

Just Between Deceptions

G. L. Dartt

Regarding her Vulcan security chief with dark grey eyes, Captain Kathryn Janeway knew it had only been a matter of time before this issue needed to be addressed. The two Starfleet officers were sitting in the captain’s ready room, and she had just finished going over the list from the padd Tuvok had handed her as soon as he had walked through the door. She supposed that she must look a little shaken despite her best efforts to hide it.

“Are you sure?” She knew it was a silly question. He wouldn’t have offered the list to her otherwise.

He inclined his head, one elegantly angled eyebrow raising slightly. “They have the best chance at carrying out our mission successfully.”

Janeway took a breath and stared down at the padd on her desk.

“Lt. Paris?”

Tuvok tilted his head. “He’s a formidable pilot, possessing skills that may become necessary in convincing others that we are successful pirates. There has to be a reason we were able to ‘evade your pursuit’. Plus, his limited medical abilities could prove to be useful since we are unable to take either the Doctor or Sek due to their holographic nature.”

She nodded briefly. “Neelix?” She was surprised. The Delta Quadrant native was not one she would have thought the Vulcan would want along on this mission. The Talaxian and the Vulcan were complete opposites in demeanor and outlook, which provided some definite friction on occasion.

“Mr. Neelix is an accomplished pilferer. What better way to infiltrate a pirate enclave than with another?”

“I didn’t know you considered him a … pirate, Tuvok,” she said dryly.

“He has done many things very similar to these pirates in his effort to survive prior to meeting us. It is not a matter of judging him, Captain. Merely acknowledging his skills.”

“Lt. Ara?”

“She was a member of the Maquis, Captain,” Tuvok explained.

“I know who she is,” Janeway said with a touch of asperity. “I’ve always found her quiet … almost … well, timid. Not the sort I would choose for such a mission.”

If Tuvok were not a Vulcan, he might have smiled briefly at this point. Instead, he merely flicked his eyebrow again. “Captain, that ‘quiet’ exterior is exactly why I chose her. That appearance conceals a most accomplished tactical officer. I find her to be quite … satisfactory in her accomplishments. There is a reason she has been on my security force for the past five years, and has risen to be my third in command.”

Janeway tried not to react with surprise, and pursed her lips. “You know best, Tuvok.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he said, and if his tone was faintly ironic, neither of them chose to notice it.

Which brought the captain to the remaining two names on the list. Tuvok’s abilities she knew very well, and she was not surprised that he had chosen himself to head up this team. This would not be the first time he infiltrated a criminal organization, and in fact, their being lost in the Delta Quadrant all began when she took Voyager into the Bajoran badlands to retrieve him after he had infiltrated the Maquis, attempting to gain information on the rebel group. It was there that Voyager had been dragged across the galaxy by an entity known as the Caretaker, and the two crews, Starfleet and Maquis, had been forced to pool their resources as they made their long trek back to the Federation and home.

That left only the final name, and she tried to keep her voice steady as she read it off.

“Seven of Nine?”

Tuvok’s gaze remained impenetrable. “It came down to her or Lt. Torres. The lieutenant’s temper makes her an unreliable element, though it was actually her value as chief engineer to Voyager that forced me to leave her behind. The ship truly cannot afford to lose her whereas Seven is somewhat more … expendable.” He hesitated over that last word as if wary that Janeway’s very Humanness might cause her to react badly.

In truth, it was a near thing. She knew Tuvok was not being cruel or harsh, he was merely being logical in his assessment, but the words still struck her in the stomach as if they were blows from a fist.

“Tuvok, none of this group is expendable,” she said in what she hoped was a perfectly even voice, but thought probably held an edge of anger … directed not at him necessarily, but at the universe in general, she supposed.

“Yes, Captain.” He shifted slightly. “Seven’s physical strength gives her a great advantage, and her scientific as well as engineering knowledge will be invaluable. Plus, as a Borg, I can count on her to react logically and efficiently.” He paused. “But if you do not wish her to accompany us on this mission, I shall select another.”

Janeway shot him a look and rose from her desk, walking around it and him to mount the stairs to the upper level. She stared out at the stars streaking by, distorted by the warp field, and put her hands on her hips, trying to curb the fear rising in her.

“You can’t, Tuvok.” There was a ragged edge to her tone. “If this is the best team in your opinion, then how can I justify sending you out with anything less? We might as well scrap the whole mission instead.”

“That is always an option,” he allowed, having swung his chair around to regard her. She could see his reflection in the windows that loomed over the couch.

She breathed deeply. “That would be inappropriate. This isn’t about the mission. This is about me not wanting her to go into a situation where she could possibly be endangered, even though as a crewmember, it is no less her duty than any other person on this ship.”

She could hear his quiet respiration as he considered how to respond to that.

“It is logical to want to protect the beings we love, Captain.”

“I know, but is it logical to try to keep them from utilizing their abilities?”

“The mission does hold a great deal of potential for danger.”

“No less for you and the rest than for her.” Janeway bent her head, the churning sensation inside almost making her physically ill. “If I’m prepared to send you out to face such a task, then I must be prepared to send her. She is my crewmember.”

“She is also your spouse,” he said calmly. “It would be a difficult decision for any of us.”

“But it’s one that I have to make,” Janeway said harshly. “Otherwise, I’m not fit to wear these pips.” She rubbed her forehead fretfully, and then turned her head, glancing over her shoulder. “Assemble your team in the conference room, Tuvok. I want to debrief them. Contact the rest of the senior staff as well. They need to be there.”

“Understood, Captain.”

She stood for a few moments after he left, feeling the throb of the ship’s warp engines vibrate through her, and listening to the hum of the air reclamation unit, in an effort to compose herself enough to conduct this briefing just as she would any other. Finally, having steeled herself sufficiently, she left the confines of her ready room and crossed the bridge to the conference room that lay on the other side.

The large room seemed more crowded than usual, with the full complement of senior staff plus one security officer, the Bajoran woman, Ara Lerona. Janeway took her seat at the head of the table, with Commander Chakotay, her first officer on her right hand, Tuvok on her left. Next to the Vulcan sat the rest of his team though Janeway didn’t know if their positioning was accidental or on purpose. She didn’t think the crewmembers in question had been informed of their participation in the upcoming mission, though they certainly knew a plan was in the works. Voyager’s helmsman, Tom Paris sat easily, his arms across his chest, while beside him, the golden spotted features of Neelix looked a trifle anxious. Janeway decided that Lt. Ara, seated across from Neelix, must certainly know she was involved on some level. After all, she was not normally privy to these meetings at all. Yet Seven of Nine who was on the opposite end of the table, facing the captain directly, probably had no idea about her selection to the team.

To Ara’s left, B’Elanna Torres looked grim, as if aware she was being excluded, while the Doctor and Harry Kim filled out the rest of the staff. Without preamble, Janeway began the briefing.

“You all know that a plan has been designed in order to determine if there is some organizing factor behind the sudden increase of pirate attacks. Tuvok?”

Her security chief swung his chair around so that he was facing the rest of the group. “It’s been decided that an away team will disguise themselves as nomads and attempt to infiltrate their ‘community’. The following crewmembers have been selected to carry out this task; Lt. Tom Paris, Lt. Ara Lerona, Neelix … and Seven of Nine.” Janeway wondered if he had really paused for effect … or if she was just imagining it. “I will be leading the mission.”

“I want to impress upon you,” Janeway said, hoping she was not placing any more emphasis on this than she normally would, “that this mission is purely voluntary. If any of you are loathe to carry it out for any reason, there will be no censure for it. But I must also inform you that you were each chosen carefully as the best possible participants, and I’m reluctant to send out a less qualified team. We feel this is an important reconnaissance mission, and could have a significant outcome, not just for Voyager but for the sector itself.”

The selected crewmembers exchanged glances, then Tom nodded. “I’m in,” he said in his customary cocky tone. “Heck, it was my idea in the first place.”

“I’m ready for whatever you need me to do,” Neelix said, puffing his chest out.

Lt. Ara merely nodded briefly, and Janeway studied her covertly, trying to recognize the dangerous individual Tuvok had described in her ready room. Instead, she saw a tall, impossibly slender woman with raven black hair and dark eyes, a ridge crinkling her nose to spread off into an abbreviated ‘Y’ above her eyebrows. Her reserved demeanor made her look more like a librarian than a security officer, yet Janeway knew Tuvok would not have exaggerated her abilities.

Seven straightened in her chair. “I will comply,” she said simply.

If she knew that she had just stuck a dagger in her spouse’s heart, she gave no indication of it.

Janeway glanced around. “Comments, questions? Now’s the time to offer any last minute reservations.”

“I have one,” B’Elanna noted frostily. “Why wasn’t I chosen for this team? With all due respect to Seven, I have a lot more experience with situations like this from my time in the Maquis.”

Tuvok lifted his brow. “You were considered, Lieutenant, but it was determined that your engineering abilities are of more value here on the ship.”

Torres glared at him. “You mean Seven is more expendable than me.” She looked at the captain. “You agree with that?” Her tone was disbelieving.

Janeway felt anger flare and with an effort, she forced it down. It made her a bit incautious, however, and the words were out her mouth before she could stop them. “If we could be sure you would work with Mr. Paris without letting your temper get the better of you, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Startled, the crew looked at her and she knew she was letting her fear for her partner get the better of her. She favored them all with a force ten Janeway ‘look’ and they all dropped their eyes … all but Seven. She regarded Janeway with a disturbed expression in her face that the captain did not know how to respond to. Janeway took a deliberate breath and gentled her tone.

“Anyone else?”

Chakotay, perhaps sensing that the captain was on edge and possibly even guessing why, turned to Tuvok in an effort to slide over the awkward moment.

“What are the specifics of this plan?” Since he had helped design it, it was purely for the sake of the others in the room who were not yet privy to it. “What do you intend to do if there is someone organizing the nomads?”

As Tuvok went over the details, Janeway sat there, trying not to stare openly at her partner and wondering how she would get through the time it would take to carry out this mission. Especially since the away team hadn’t even left yet, and already she was barely hanging on by her fingernails.

Seven studiously concentrated on her console viewscreen as she went over the preliminary reports from Tuvok regarding the upcoming mission. She was pleased to have been included in the away team, yet anxious that she would not make a convincing pirate. She glanced up as the door hissed open, heralding the arrival of her partner who had been walking Jake, the couple’s Irish Setter puppy, around the ship. Janeway detached the leash from the dog’s collar, and he bounded across the room to greet his other mistress, tongue lolling happily. Seven petted him, scratching behind his ears as she watched Janeway immediately go to the replicator, programming in a request for refreshment. The arid scent of whiskey and soda drifted into the Borg’s keen nostrils, and Seven knew that meant her partner was upset with something, though the Borg was unable to determine what. Only that it had something to do with the staff meeting, and possibly with this upcoming mission. The captain had been monosyllabic ever since they had logged off duty, and had taken the dog out immediately after dinner, returning only now when it was close to their regular time for retiring for the evening.

Seven regarded the other woman surreptitiously as Janeway crossed the room and sat down on the couch, placing her drink on the coffee table after taking a substantial swallow from it. Picking up the book she had been reading in bed the night before, the captain began to stare at it, but Seven could tell the other woman’s mind wasn’t on the page. Instead, the marvelous blue grey eyes rarely moved, fixated on the archaic paper surface covered by ink markings, completely lost in thought.

Seven shut down her console and went over to the couch, sitting beside Janeway and slipping her arm around the smaller woman’s shoulders.

“What is wrong?” she asked softly, her lips against the captain’s temple.

“Nothing,” Janeway said in an odd sort of voice, extremely even as if she were trying very hard not to give anything away. “You should be preparing for tomorrow morning. You leave at 1100 hours, and there are a lot of things that need to be done before then.”

“I am aware of the departure time,” Seven said patiently. Deliberately she took the book out of Janeway’s unresisting hands, and placed it next to the half full glass of whiskey. She wrapped her other arm around the captain’s chest and pulled her close. “Tell me what is wrong.”

“It’s nothing that you need to hear,” Janeway said firmly.

Seven considered this. Clearly her partner was in full captain mode, trying to maintain that shell of command composure which was like a rock during times of crisis. The Borg had not realized this was a crisis, but perhaps Janeway knew something she didn’t. Which would make sense since she was so stubbornly refusing to respond to the Borg’s query.

Seven took a breath. “Tell me what is wrong or I shall tickle you until you do.”

Startled, Janeway turned her head to look at her, eyes wide with outrage. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Seven raised an eyebrow. Obviously, she would, or the threat would not have been made in the first place. She waited patiently as Janeway studied her face, then the captain frowned darkly.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” She regarded her narrowly, her jaw firming. “Seven, I’m asking you not to pursue this.”

Seven kissed her temple. “If I were just a crewmember, I would accept that. But I am not just a crewmember, I am your spouse.” She let her hand drop down to Janeway’s stomach though she went no further. Not yet. “Tell me.”

“You’re beginning to anger me, Seven,” Janeway tried.

Seven flicked her eyebrow again. “Acceptable. You are incautious when you are angry, and generally can be made to reveal things you would not when you are calm.”

Janeway stared at her, then was forced to look away as a small, involuntary grin touched her lips. “Damn you,” she said grudgingly.

Seven leaned forward, and nipped at the captain’s earlobe. “Tell me,” she hissed and dug her fingers in just a little.

Janeway jerked and grabbed her wrist. “Stop!”

“If you tell me,” Seven responded reasonably.

“God, you’re annoying,” Janeway snorted and tried to pull away. Seven tightened her embrace.

“Tell me.”

“Fine.” Janeway finally surrendered to the embrace. “Don’t tickle me. It really would make me angry and I don’t want you to leave tomorrow with that being your last memory of me.”

“My ‘last memory’?” Seven echoed. “Are you not planning to be here when I return?”

Janeway bowed her head. “Annika, this could be a very dangerous mission.”

Seven began to see where this was going now. “I will be very careful, Kathryn. Tuvok is an excellent team leader. He will not do anything that is reckless or rash. It would be far more worrisome if Lt. Paris was in charge.”

Janeway smiled despite herself, and took a deep breath. “I’m scared for you, darling. It isn’t rational, nor is it what I should be feeling as captain. I should be equally worried about all the people I’m sending out on this mission. But I look at you, and all I can think of is that I want you to stay here with me, where it’s safe. I keep second guessing myself, wondering if this mission is really necessary, if I shouldn’t just call the whole thing off.”

“Would you if I were not going?” Seven asked keenly.

Janeway hesitated, looking away. “No. It’s a viable plan, and I truly believe that for the good of the ship, as well as for the sector, we need to find out what’s going on.”

“What if you were going in my place?”

“That would be different,” Janeway said immediately, and shot a glance at Seven who was regarding her archly. She grinned sheepishly.

“In that event, I would be the one left behind waiting for your return.” Seven considered it. “I understand that of the two of us, you have the far more difficult role to play in this, Kathryn.” The captain leaned into her a little more, her head falling sideways to rest on the Borg’s chest, and Seven brought her hand up to tangle in the short, auburn hair, stroking it gently. “You must remember that this is not the first away mission I have been on since we have been together.”

“I know,” Janeway whispered. “But I’ve either been with you or it’s never been this potentially dangerous. I didn’t realize it would be this hard to send you out.”

“This is what almost stopped our relationship before it had progressed very far,” Seven noted worriedly. “I do not want that to happen again.”

She felt the captain’s arms surround her, hugging her tightly. “It won’t, Annika. Remember, I wasn’t even going to tell you about my concerns. You insisted.”

“I did.” Seven paused. “If you do not want me to go,” she said with difficulty. “I will not.”

Janeway straightened, looking at her soberly. “You’re the best choice for the job,” she said in an extremely serious voice. “I hate it, Annika, but you do have to go. It wouldn’t be fair to the others to keep you behind …” She dropped her eyes. “And it wouldn’t be fair to you. I can’t hold you back, darling. I can’t protect you from the universe as much as I want to. Your capabilities are immense, and it would be wrong of me to try to limit how you use them.”

Seven exhaled audibly. “It sounds like a most interesting mission, Kathryn. I would also not want to let another go in my place. It would be … inappropriate.”

“It would be,” Janeway agreed unhappily.

Seven pulled her closer. “I cannot tell you not to worry, Kathryn, because I know it would be futile, but I will return to you. I swear that on my honor.”

Janeway smiled wryly. “Is that Klingon honor?”

Seven blinked. “No, it is my honor,” she said, though she did realize she had gotten the vow’s phrasing from her conversations with B’Elanna. She looked thoughtful. “It is Seven of Nine honor.”

“Ah.” Janeway reached up to link her hands around Seven’s neck and rested her forehead against the Borg’s lips. “Then I’ll just have to use that to keep me strong in the days ahead.”

Seven kissed the smooth skin gently. “You can use the time to present Chakotay’s offer as a potential mate to B’Elanna,” she suggested. “Since neither I nor Lt. Paris will be here, it will be your best opportunity.”

Janeway groaned and Seven raised an eyebrow. The captain had been roped in by the brooding first officer to play matchmaker between him and the volatile chief engineer, and Seven knew Janeway was desperate to find a way out of her promise to Chakotay. The Borg hoped that Kathryn would be so busy with that, she wouldn’t have time to worry about her absent spouse.

“Try to cheer me up, why don’t you?” the captain murmured resentfully.

Seven’s smile widened, and her embrace became sensual rather than merely affectionate. “I can think of another way to ‘cheer you up’, especially if this is to be our last night together for some time.”

Janeway brightened a little at that. “I do hope you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“Are you thinking that we should now go to bed and make love for the rest of the night?”

Janeway’s face broke into a smile. “We don’t actually have to go to bed.” She leaned forward and kissed along the line of Seven’s throat, her hands slipping warm over the Borg’s body through the mesh outfit.

“Ah,” Seven breathed, feeling the tingles go through her as the lips trailed fire over her skin. “I will remind you that Jake has the unfortunate habit of trying to join us when we attempt to make love out here.”

They both glanced at the dog who was lying on his belly with his head up, ears perked, watching the couple alertly as if just waiting for his chance to intrude.

Janeway sighed and drew away. “You’re right.” She raised a rueful eyebrow. “Honestly Seven, once in awhile, I would like to be able to make love out in this part of our quarters. Just for the sake of having a little variety.”

“I know,” Seven said indulgently as she got up, taking Janeway’s hands, and using them to pull the captain to her feet. “Perhaps while I am away, I will think about different places and ways that we can make love. ‘For the sake of having a little variety’.”

Janeway wrapped her arm snugly about the Borg’s waist as they strolled into the bedroom, leaning against her. “I think I’m worried now.”

Seven raked her with a glance. “You should be,” she offered, and to her great gratification, generated an actual laugh from her spouse. She loved Kathryn’s smile, the way it lit up her face, the way it made her eyes sparkle a bright blue, even though tonight, they retained a dark shadow. Once in the bedroom, Seven undressed the captain with loving tenderness, wanting only to make that shadow go away, yet knowing full well it would remain until she finally made her way home once more.

“Do you know how much I love you?” Janeway whispered as they sank down onto the bed, their bodies entwined hotly. “How much I need you?”

“As much as I love and need you,” Seven told her sincerely, holding her tightly as she delighted in the feel of the wonderfully smooth, soft skin against hers. “Kathryn, I will be all right. Please be assured that I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Janeway impossibly, somehow snuggled closer. “I know, Annika” she responded in a small voice that indicated that perhaps she didn’t.

Seven stifled her sigh. She did not want her partner to worry needlessly while she was away, even though she knew if positions were reversed, Seven herself would be unbearable. It occurred to her suddenly that she did not at all envy the rest of the crew who would be left behind with the captain on Voyager.

She gently ran her hands down Kathryn’s back, tracing the bumpy ridge of spine, slipping over the definition of muscle as she sought out her partner’s lips, kissing her deeply, lingering over her mouth’s caress. It seemed very much a time for tenderness, the most loving of touches, and she slowed her stroking, trying to convey all the emotion she was feeling inside in the hopes that it would carry her partner through the next few weeks. Janeway seemed to somehow understand what Seven was attempting, and she responded in turn, sweetening her kisses, light, delicately passionate touches of her lips, her hands gentle on the Borg’s skin.

“Annika,” she breathed as Seven trailed down her throat. “I need to tell you … I’ve been putting it off …”

Seven did not pause in her caresses. “What?” she murmured, her lips brushing over the warm plane of Kathryn’s breast bone.

“I remember,” Janeway whispered, her voice shy as if not knowing how Seven would react.

“Remember what?” Seven said distractedly, nibbling her way up the slope Janeway’s right breast.

“Everything. My memories have all been restored.”

It actually took a moment for that to sink into Seven’s mind, and she stopped, her lips still fastened about a soft nipple, her eyes wide as she glanced up at her partner’s face. She abruptly released her touch and sat up in the bed, looking down at the captain.

“When did this happen?” she asked sharply. “How?”

“When my nanoprobes went critical,” Janeway admitted bashfully. “The memories just suddenly … returned. Completely.”

Seven felt a stab of anger and hurt. “That was more than a month ago. Why did you not tell me sooner?”

Janeway reached up and touched the Borg’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure it was permanent. I was worried that they were linked to the nanoprobes themselves somehow, and as my body got rid of them … the memories would go as well.” She hesitated. “I didn’t want to raise your hopes prematurely.”

Seven considered that. “Very well,” she allowed after a moment, but she was still not completely happy about it.

Janeway sensed that and reached up, sliding her arms about the Borg’s neck and hugging her tightly, pulling her back down onto her. “I’m sorry, Annika,” she mumbled into Seven’s neck. “Maybe I was afraid as well.”

“Of what?” Anger gave way to puzzlement as Seven held her partner close.

“Of losing who and what I’ve become.” The Borg could hear the ragged edge in the captain’s tone. “I like who that is. I didn’t want to … go back to that person that puts my career first and my personal life last.”

Seven kissed her gently. “That will not happen.” She paused. “I do not think you can return to that person, Kathryn, no matter what memories you have. You have learned too much, and have come to understand now what is most important to you and to us.”

“I hope so, darling,” Janeway replied softly. “Maybe I should have told you sooner. I tried a few times but something always seemed to come up.” She looked away, swallowing hard. “But I also know if I really wanted to tell you, I would have found a way.”

“As you did now.” Seven raised an eyebrow. “Before I leave.”

Janeway clung to her partner suddenly, pressing against her, burying her face into the hollow of Seven’s neck and shoulder and the Borg felt tears dampen her skin.

“Kathryn?”

“Just hold me, Annika,” Janeway whispered. “Don’t let me go.”

“I shall not,” Seven assured quietly, cradling her spouse safely in her arms. “Kathryn, I will return to you.”

“Always.”

“I can’t do this.”

Seven stared at the captain, and Janeway realized that she had actually voiced her thought out loud.

“You cannot do what?” Seven’s fork was held awkwardly in the air. They were having breakfast, though Janeway did not really feel like eating, and her comment had interrupted the Borg in mid-bite.

Janeway took a breath. “I can’t let you go on this mission.” Seven’s expression darkened, and she added quickly, “Not without me.”

Carefully, Seven put the fork down on her plate and regarded the captain with lowered brows, a furrow appearing between her eyes.

“You do not trust me,” she said, voice chilled.

“I do,” Janeway protested. “Absolutely … but I can’t stay behind while you are going into potential harm. Maybe I can’t protect you, but I can face the danger with you.”

Seven seemed somewhat at a loss. “It is your duty to remain on Voyager,” she said finally, after having searched for the words to counter this. “You are captain.”

“I know.” Janeway looked down at her bowl of cereal and shook her head. “I should be able to do this, Annika. I should be able to send you out just as I would any other crewmember, and stand by as you and the rest carry out this assignment. I should be able to rely on Tuvok as team leader to be able to get you all through this mission, and bring you out intact.”

“But?” Seven prodded evenly.

“I can’t. I can’t let you do this … not without me. I’m going to replace Tuvok as away team leader.”

Seven was astounded, the captain saw, and to be honest, Janeway was feeling a little squeamish about it herself. The only reason she was even considering it was because she knew, without a doubt, that she could not spend the next month on Voyager waiting to hear back from the away team, not know what they were doing or where they were at any given moment. She would simply go mad. Or drive the rest of her crew mad. Neither would do the ship any good, and she had to do what was best for the ship. That was her first priority. That she had somehow seized on this reasoning to justify her actions was somewhat convenient, but she refused to think about that.

“I do not agree with this.” Seven leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest as she regarded Janeway with a hooded expression.

“It’s my call,” Janeway said with a touch of asperity.

“I do not want you to do this,” Seven said with more emphasis.

Janeway stiffened her jaw. “Why not?”

“For three reasons,” Seven said precisely. “One; it gives the appearance that you have no faith in my abilities. Were I not going, this simply would not cross your mind. Two; it jeopardizes the mission. You are not the best choice for this, Tuvok is. Three; I will be forced to function at a lesser capacity.”

Janeway frowned darkly. “How would it force you to function at a lesser capacity? I expect the highest performance from you while you’re on this away mission, regardless of our personal relationship.”

“I will be forced to look out for you, protect you. Make sure that you are safe at all times, which would hinder my freedom of action.”

Janeway was outraged. “Believe it or not, Seven, I was taking perfect care of myself long before you showed up.”

“That is debatable.” Seven bowed her head, looking at the captain from beneath lowered brows. “It is not a matter of wanting to, it is a matter of having to. I could no more not look after you, than I could suddenly stop loving you.”

Caught by the unexpected tenderness of the words stated so matter of factly, Janeway was momentarily speechless. Finally, she fixed the young woman with a piercing look. “Then what is wrong with me wanting to come along to take care of you?”

Seven hesitated, considering that. “This is different.”

“How so?” Janeway pounced.

“Because…” Seven trailed off and looked stubborn.

Janeway spread her hands out. “Seven, I need to do this. I’m not going to try to keep you from danger. I don’t have the right to do that, but I won’t let you go alone. My place is at your side.”

“Your place is in command of Voyager,” Seven countered.

“Some things supercede that. This is one of them. Chakotay is more than capable of taking command, and Tuvok will be a good first officer for him while I’m gone. In fact, very often in the Apha Quadrant, I would be expected to carry out certain missions for Starfleet without my ship.”

Seven seemed stymied, her eyes flickering as she tried to come up with a way to counter that. “What do you know about being a pirate?” she finally blurted.

“As much as any Vulcan does,” Janeway responded and despite herself, she smiled. “Certainly as much as you do. Seven, I have carried out this type of mission before.”

“But you have not been specifically trained for them as Tuvok has,” Seven pointed out. She stood up, taking her plate over to the recycler where she deposited her dish and the unfinished pancakes. That was not a good sign. The captain could not remember ever seeing the efficient Borg waste food before. “Kathryn, this is incorrect.”

“This is a command decision,” Janeway said, stung.

“No, it is a personal decision.” Seven looked at her sternly. “It is not like you.”

Janeway pushed her bowl of unfinished cereal away, and stood up, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re wrong. It’s exactly like me.”

“I do not agree,” Seven repeated.

“I think we’ve established that,” Janeway said dryly. She touched her comm badge. “Janeway to Tuvok.”

“Tuvok here.”

“Please meet me in my quarters.”

“Understood.”

“He will not agree either,” Seven said archly.

Janeway stifled her sigh. “That doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision.”

For long moments, they stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch or break their gaze. Finally, the door chime sounded and Seven, being closer, turned around and answered it. The tall, dark skinned Vulcan entered with a brief nod to the Borg.

He looked at Janeway. “Captain?”

Janeway felt a muscle in her jaw jump. “Tuvok, I’m taking command of the away team,” she said abruptly, feeling incredibly awkward. Tuvok would not become angry, but she doubted he would be pleased. “This has nothing to do with your abilities. It’s a decision I’ve thought long and hard about, and I believe it’s best for Voyager that I do this.”

There was a long pause, both women looking at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow and held out a padd.

“The specs for the mission parameters. I suggest you follow the guidelines I set up for you regarding the outfitting of the team.”

Automatically, Janeway held out her hand, accepting the padd as she stared at her security chief with shock. “You knew?”

He tilted his head. “I … suspected. I did not believe after our conversation yesterday that you would be able to resist making such a decision.”

The captain felt oddly detached, as if she had been hit by a phaser set at heavy stun. It occurred to her that not even Seven could predict her spouse’s actions with this degree of accuracy, and Janeway wasn’t sure if she liked anyone knowing her as well as this.

“I do not understand,” Seven said flatly, regarding the Vulcan in something akin to astonishment. “You approve of this decision?”

He looked at her and it seemed that his eyes softened a bit, though Janeway allowed that perhaps her imagination was working overtime.

“Seven, the captain will not ask anything of her people that she is not prepared to do herself. I realize that there is a fine line between that, and giving the appearance that she is not able to rely on her crew. Sometimes it will be crossed and whether this is such an occasion remains to be seen. But I do know she is perfectly capable of carrying out this mission as well as I could.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Janeway said wryly, flashing a look at her partner who still did not look pleased. “Let’s hope the rest of the team thinks so.”

Tuvok’s body language indicated a shrug, without him actually going through the motion. “It is not anything that need concern them. The decision has been made.”

Seven shook her head. “I feel this is an incorrect judgement.”

Janeway grinned faintly. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she reminded her, and Seven flushed slightly. The captain looked down at her padd. “Tuvok, I’m not sure I have the same confidence in Lt. Ara that you do.”

Tuvok held up his hand, obviously prepared to argue this point. “Captain, I do recommend strongly that you take her. It’s my belief that she will prove invaluable.”

She held his eyes, gaging his sincerity, then dipped her head. “Understood.” She should be glad to make this concession, and leave it at that. She glanced at Seven. “We have a lot of preparations to make. I think we should get started.”

Seven’s eyes, which were still a bit dark, flickered briefly. “Aye, Captain,” she said stiffly.

Janeway glanced at Tuvok with an expression of frustration, and saw his eyebrow quirk in … amusement?

“Captain,” he said politely as he turned and hastily made his escape, leaving Janeway to deal with her less than happy spouse. Janeway glared after him for a few seconds, and then turned to her partner.

Seven was frowning as she cleared away the rest of the dirty dishes, placing them in the recycler. Every motion was one of abrupt precision, indicating just how displeased she was. Janeway observed her for a few moments, trying to come up with the right words to reassure her, to help the young woman understand why she was insisting on doing this. Finally, the captain realized there was absolutely nothing that would work at the moment, and decided to let it go for now. She drifted over to her work console to put in the necessary alterations to the duty roster, contacting Chakotay to inform him of the change in plans. Of course, he was far less reasonable about it than Tuvok had been, and by the time she had finished that argument, Seven had taken the couple’s dog, Jake, over to Samantha Wildman’s to be cared for in their absence.

Janeway made a few more notations in her log, and began a list of things she wanted monitored while she was gone, glancing up briefly when Seven returned to change into the ‘pirate’ outfit she had decided to wear. The Borg replicated some civilian attire for her spouse, and if she was still a little pointed in how she was absolutely not speaking to the captain while completing these preparations, Janeway decided that she would just have to live with it. Hopefully, the Borg’s pique would have worked itself out by the time they actually had to leave.

Seven left once more to rendezvous with the rest of the away team in sickbay where they were completing their ‘disguises’. Janeway knew that she would also have to alter her appearance, and she went into the bedroom, stripping off her uniform as she regarded the outfit Seven had laid out for her. It included heavy black trousers and sweater, a padded vest with a multitude of pockets, and stout combat boots. It was exactly like the outfit Seven was now wearing, and had worn a few months earlier to retrieve Janeway from an alien prison. The sight of it gave the captain an uneasy feeling, and she wondered if Seven was trying to make a statement of sorts with it, before deciding that was far too subtle for the forthright young woman. She had to believe that Seven had chosen this attire because they were the most efficient garments for the mission, and with an effort, Janeway shook off the memory of that time in prison as she pulled on the outfit. She took a few moments to secrete a few private items she hoped she wouldn’t need in the pockets, and left her quarters, heading for sickbay.

She could only hope that this mission would end up better than it was starting.

Seven regarded her reflection in sickbay, and was suitably impressed. Her white-blond hair had been shorn, clipped short to the back of her neck, while a ‘scar’ was added to her cheek, slashing down from her ocular implant. Another marred her brow over her right eye. She glanced over at Tom and Neelix who had also been cosmetically ‘roughed up’, though they were not dressed anything like Seven.

Tom had especially been daring, going with an embroidered red vest over a cream colored silk shirt, while his sapphire, flared trousers were tucked into black leather, knee-high boots. He had disruptors … disguised phasers … stuck rakishly into his bright red sash, and glinting in his right ear, a bright gold earring dangled from his lobe. A red bandanna completed the ensemble, covering his fair hair.

Seven thought the helmsman was enjoying himself far too much for what could possibly be a dangerous mission, and worried that he wasn’t taking it seriously enough, especially now that Kathryn had been included. Didn’t he realize that the captain could be placed in jeopardy? She eyed him narrowly, and decided that if he continued to be less than attentive to the seriousness of this situation, she would just have to have ‘a little talk’ with him. She didn’t know what that meant exactly, but it sounded suitably threatening when B’Elanna used it, so Seven decided that would be what she would say to him to garner his attention if required.

Neelix was dressed equally as colorfully as the helmsman, but since he always did, it was less noteworthy than Tom’s garb. The eyepatch the stocky alien sported proudly, however, was a clear indication he had allowed the helmsman’s attitude to influence him. Seven frowned. It was not wise to limit the Talaxian’s depth perception merely for the sake of appearance. She would certainly speak to him if the team leader did not. There was no way that she would allow a small detail like that to place the mission at risk. Or its members.

Neither of the men had seemed particularly surprised when the word came down that Janeway was taking over as team leader, but Lt. Ara had shot a sharp look at the Borg, and muttered something to the effect that the mission had just became a whole lot more difficult to carry out. Since Seven totally agreed with her, she couldn’t muster any sort of objection to the woman’s slightly sarcastic murmur. She glanced at the quiet brunette and offered a brief smile, blinking when she got a cool, almost cold look in response. That was not something that occurred with Seven often, particularly since she had married the captain. In truth, people had become a lot more comfortable with her, and when she offered a smile at them, she occasionally received surprise, a tentative smile back, but never a look of such disdain. This took her back abruptly to those early days when the main emotions she sensed from others were dislike and fear.

Seven reconsidered her assumption. In truth, it was not so much dislike she was sensing as much as antipathy, as if Seven held no importance whatsoever to Ara. Seven breathed slowly, intrigued by the anger which had risen within her. The look, she allowed, was very similar to how she, herself, had often looked at others in the beginning. She began to get a glimmering of why she had inspired such annoyance in the past, particularly from B’Elanna.

The cold gaze had also been dismissive, as if the Borg did not matter, that Seven as a living entity barely existed. There was a corresponding surge within Seven to prove that yes, she did matter, that she was important indeed, and she would show this Ara person exactly what she was made of. Seven was intrigued by this inner determination, and she contemplated it carefully. She remembered that Janeway had described similar feelings while growing up, that the emotions were part of what drove her to be as perfect a Starfleet officer as she could be.

Perfection was something Seven appreciated in all its forms, and she realized that perhaps she and Kathryn were more alike that she had previously allowed. She wondered if the Borg’s cold expressions had indeed, somehow caused Janeway to react more strongly to Seven in the beginning than perhaps she otherwise would have. If so, she was glad she had come on board with such an arrogant and presumptuous expression.

Not that her conclusion explained why Ara had reacted to Seven in the manner she had. It was a mystery, and very little remained mysterious to Seven for long. She was too adept at solving puzzles … even if it required ‘cheating’ at times.

She turned her head as the door opened, her heart thumping a bit faster as the captain entered. Janeway appeared even more petite in the combat outfit, like a child playing at being a soldier, but of course, no child could radiate the sort of presence and authority that the captain could simply by entering the room. Her dark grey eyes swept the away team, seeming to falter briefly as she took in Seven’s newly scared appearance, before shifting to rake over Tom Paris’s colorful garb.

“Mr. Paris?” she noted silkily, with dangerously hooded eyes.

He tilted his head, offering her a weak smile. “Traditional pirate wear.”

“For a holo-program perhaps. Tone it down.”

He hesitated, then nodded before he went over to the replicator to redo his outfit. “Aye, Captain.”

She did not speak to Neelix. She simply reached up and gently took off his eyepatch, tossing it casually onto the nearest biobed.

She paused in front of Ara, looking her up and down. The ex-Maquis was dressed in a simple brown tunic over black trousers. She appeared weary, beaten, almost cringing under the gaze, and Seven could see Janeway frown.

“Tuvok tells me he has the utmost confidence in you,” the captain said in the sort of tone that indicated she wasn’t exactly agreeing with that assessment.

“Aye, ma’am,” Ara said in a barely audible voice.

Janeway frowned at her, and opened her mouth as if about to say something. Seven wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. Ara made a move, and Janeway was bent backwards over the nearest biobed even as the Borg was responding belatedly, her left hand shooting out to intercept the woman’s wrist, preventing the keen tip of a blade pressing gently against the captain’s throat from going any further. For a few seconds, nobody moved, everything frozen as if held in stasis, then Seven pushed the other female back, away from the captain, surprised when it was not as easy as she anticipated it would be. It wasn’t that the woman massed more than was apparent, it was just that she had a way of moving her body that made it difficult to toss her off balance.

Shaken, Janeway regained her composure, straightening.

Ara held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Her voice was confident and much harder. “I was way out of line, Captain, but you underestimated me. You probably can’t afford to do that on this mission. I could have spent hours explaining why, but a demonstration was a hell of a lot quicker.”

Seven raised an approving eyebrow. “Efficient.”

Janeway rubbed her neck, frowning at the woman. “I would have appreciated a less dramatic demonstration,” she said, apparently deciding to let it go. This time.

“I apologize, Captain,” Ara responded evenly

Janeway glared, and then a grudging grin curled her lips. “Accepted.” She nodded. “Point taken, Lieutenant. I won’t make the same mistake again, and I suspect, neither will the nomads. Use the advantage of surprise wisely.”

“I always do, ma’am,” the thin woman said respectfully.

The Doctor, who had been observing this with an appalled expression on his face, cleared his throat. “If we’re all done baring our teeth at each other,” he said with disapproval, “can we get back to creating your disguise?”

“Sorry, Doctor,” Janeway said, not sounding particularly apologetic at all. “Do your best.”

When the Doctor had finished, Seven couldn’t put her finger on what exactly he had done, but whatever it was impressed her no end. Janeway suddenly appeared far harder and older than she had been, grey strands streaking the soft auburn hair that was combed straight back over her head. The crinkles around the her mouth and eyes were deeper, furrows etched into flesh that had been darkened, as if she had been exposed to ultraviolet radiation for a long period of time. There was a tiny scar disfiguring the previously clean line of her eyebrow, making it look perpetually arched, and somehow, her nose appeared slightly crooked, as if it had been broken and improperly set sometime in the past.

The captain regarded her reflection in the glass, tilting her head slightly.

“Nicely done, Doctor,” she said approvingly. “Perhaps your true talents lie in the theater.”

“I have my hands full with a crew who wants to play pirate,” he said, sniffing briefly.

She flashed him a grin. “Comes with the territory.”

The hiss of the door heralded the arrival of Chakotay who took in the sight of the away team with an impassive expression. His gaze lingered on Paris who had changed into a darker shirt and trousers, exchanging the bright red vest and sash for a far more subdued tunic, though he still had his earring.

“I knew you wouldn’t get away with it,” the first officer noted.

Paris’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll owe you the rations when I get back.”

Chakotay grinned a bit and looked at the captain.

“The Delta Flyer has been prepped and re-christened for the duration of this mission as the Jolly Roger.” He moved closer and lowered his voice though Seven could still hear him. The pair moved over to a more discreet part of the sickbay. “Are you sure about this?”

“The decision is final,” Janeway said flatly. Then she softened, and lay her hand on his forearm. “Take care of Voyager, Commander. It’ll only be a month.”

“Famous last words,” the first officer grumbled.

Janeway shot him a mischievous look before turning her attention back on her group, taking a deep breath as she prepared to address them.

“We will be lifting off at 1100 hours, and after the second phase of Operation Blackbeard goes into effect, we will no longer be in contact with the ship until the mission is complete. Our objective is to determine who and what, if anything, is organizing the nomads in this area, and increasing their aggressiveness. We shall meet on the hanger deck at 1045 hours. If there are any last minute details you have to go over, now’s the time. Questions?”

The team glanced at each other, but didn’t speak. Janeway nodded.

“I’ll see you all in the hanger deck.”

Seven lowered her head and headed for the door with the others, pausing as she heard a quiet ‘Seven’ murmured from the direction of the captain. She waited until the rest had left, and the Doctor had drifted into his office with Sek, his holographic medical assistant, obviously not wanting to be privy to this conversation between the couple.

“Captain,” Seven said politely, with no voice inflection whatsoever.

Janeway moved closer until she was only a mere breath away. “I can’t order you not to be angry with me, but don’t let it affect your performance as an officer.”

“I will not, Captain,” Seven replied stiffly. “I do not allow personal preferences to interfere with professional purposes.”

She saw the shade of hurt cross Janeway’s eyes, though it never changed her face at all and the younger woman instantly melted. It occurred to her that the phrase the Borg used so incessantly “Resistance is futile” should actually have been applied to this single, human female. It took so little for this ex-drone to cave in, she thought with disgruntlement.

“Kathryn,” she said with a sigh. “I simply wish for you to be safe. Is that so difficult to understand?”

“Not at all,” Janeway responded quietly. “In fact, that’s my reasoning behind wanting to go with you, remember? I can’t keep you safe, Annika, and you can’t keep me safe, so we’ll just have to be endangered together.”

Seven looked away, still not happy but realizing this was simply not an argument she was going to win, no matter what she did. Therefore, it made little sense to continue to show her displeasure with the captain. She exhaled audibly and bent her head, staring at the deck.

“You will listen when I tell you a plan of action is risky?” she asked hopefully.

Janeway smiled faintly and reached up, resting her hand warmly on the Borg’s neck, squeezing it gently.

“If you’ll listen when I tell you that I have to do it anyway.”

Seven glanced sideways at her, aggrieved. “You are a most difficult person to be involved with.”

Janeway tilted her head. “But you love me anyway.”

Seven frowned, couldn’t hold it. “Yes,” she said, her face abruptly soft. “Completely.”

Janeway flashed her one of those crooked grins and together, the pair of them left sickbay.

The soft beeps and chirps of the Delta Flyer surrounded her as Janeway found her seat aft of the cockpit. She took a quick glance around, seeing that her people were all in place, and then nodded at Paris who turned back to his board, initiating the launch sequence. Through the front transparencies, the captain watched as the white expanse of inner hull spun away. Paris lifted the vessel off the pad and revolved it in place until the large hanger exit came into view. The shuttle moved forward, a line of black appearing in the center of the great doors that slowly began to part, the bright sparks of stars beckoning in the deep backdrop of black velvet.

The sound of the decompression claxon muted and died out as the atmosphere left the hanger, and the force field framing the door came down, allowing the tiny ship clearance to leap into the awaiting night. Janeway felt a combination of nervousness and excitement flutter through her as the Delta Flyer finally left the confines of her mother ship, and took up its position fore of the teardrop saucer, initiating the first stage of Operation Blackbeard.

The intent was for the two vessels to travel through the sector, the Delta Flyer a short distance ahead of Voyager. When a pirate vessel was detected … presuming Voyager’s long range sensors were far more sensitive than the pirates … they would go into their ‘act’. Voyager would appear to be pursuing the small vessel, there would be an exchange of phaser fire, and with hopefully convincing skill, the Delta Flyer would somehow disable the larger starship enough so that they could ‘escape’. Janeway didn’t know how long it would take to come up with something using this ‘bait’, but she hoped the situation would progress quickly … she hated waiting around for things to happen.

The captain settled into her seat at the science station as the mock pursuit began, the ships maintaining a steady cruising speed of warp five. Time seemed to stretch interminably, and she wondered how long they would have to wait for a nibble. Or if she would fidget her way out through the hull before then. The tiny vessel’s walls began to close in on her, and she forced herself to breathe slowly, not allowing any of her apprehension to seep through her command shell.

She started abruptly as the comm system chirped.

“Voyager to Janeway,” Chakotay’s voice said. “We have contact. Initiating stage two of Operation Blackbeard.”

That would be the last communication sent, neither vessel wanting to risk that their intended prey might be monitoring the subspace channels as it came into range.

Immediately, she leaned forward, her eyes were fixed on the tiny viewscreen in front of her. In order to make this look as real as possible, Tuvok would be guiding Voyager’s attempt to ‘capture’ the Delta Flyer. Around her, she felt the anticipation swell in the tiny vessel.

“Report,” she requested briskly, fingers brushing over the touch pad as she drew up the readings of the Delta Flyer.

“Sensors are picking up a warp signature,” Seven said precisely from the ops station. “It is similar to the nomad vessels we have encountered before.”

“Go to warp six,” Janeway said crisply.

“Warp six, aye,” Tom replied smartly, the immediate acceleration pressing them back into their seats.

“Readying phasers,” Ara said professionally from her place at tactical.

“Lieutenant,” Janeway said, glancing over at her, hoping her voice did not carry the edge she was feeling. “Be very precise.”

The quiet woman hesitated, then dipped her head. “Understood, Captain.”

Janeway watched as Voyager initiated the evasive pattern that Chakotay and Tom had devised earlier, a dance between the vessels where they zigged and zagged impressively. From the bottom side of the ship, bright beams of ruby light lanced out, narrowly missing the tiny vessel ahead of it. The captain concentrated on her board and tried not to flinch every time a shot seemed destined to intersect with the Delta Flyer before it darted out of the way. Despite knowing every move was carefully pre-planned, it did not help her stomach at all.

“Voyager is returning fire,” Ara noted.

“Shield failure is imminent,” Seven related calmly. “On my mark.”

Janeway’s hands moved lightly over the board even as her shoulders tensed.

“Mark,” Seven said.

On the viewscreen, Janeway watched the phaser burst from the Delta Flyer cut through the larger ship’s shields to impact on Voyager’s hull in precisely the spot they had designated. The Intrepid-class starship immediately dropped out of warp at the exact second the phaser beam struck, disappearing from their sensors. She knew that there should have been a fairly impressive explosion of debris and escaping atmosphere from the manufactured hull breech, and noted that it would take some time to set this up again if it turned out that sensor reading had been wrong.

Of course, anyone monitoring this would assume that Voyager had just suffered some sort of structural damage that made them break off pursuit. At this point, Paris would lay in a series of evasive maneuvers which would cross and re-cross their warp signature, and then the tiny vessel would take off on another course altogether, coincidently in the very direction of the nomad vessel which theoretically would have been watching all this.

Janeway leaned back in her chair, satisfied with the situation so far. Voyager would now spend an hour or so at station keeping ‘making repairs’ then go after the Delta Flyer, tracking two ‘false trails’ before finally resuming course to the Alpha Quadrant. A few light years away from here, there was a nebula where Voyager would disappear, and where the Delta Flyer … assuming everything went according to plan … would rendezvous with them in exactly a month, which was the limit she, Tuvok and Chakotay had agreed would be the amount of time they could afford to pursue this.

She took a breath and deliberately put all thoughts of Voyager out of her mind. There was only the mission now, and for it to be successful, she needed to give it her full concentration. From here on out, she was Captain ‘Grace O’Malley’; having accepted a code name in the event that the reputation of Kathryn Janeway and certain of her crew had preceded Voyager’s appearance in this area of space. She hoped the rest would remember to refer to her by that … and she hoped that she would remember to respond to it when addressed by it.

She glanced down at Seven who was studiously monitoring the engineering station in front of her. The young woman had been tagged with the name of ‘Ann Bonny’, though the captain did not think the Borg understood why. The ‘Ann’ was close enough to Annika that Janeway thought she would remember to answer to it. She noted that the cosmetic adjustments to Seven’s appearance had given the young woman a very harsh look, a constant expression of sullen, brooding anger. She looked incredibly dangerous, which ironically, made her exceptionally desirable to the captain.

They never did make love the night before, Janeway thought wistfully. There were two or three abortive attempts before their caresses trailed off into clinging embraces, the couple realizing finally that sex wasn’t really what they necessarily wanted or needed. Instead, they ended up holding each other close, talking occasionally, but mostly just concentrating on each other, on the feel of their bodies close together, trying to imprint that sensation on their souls so that it would carry them through and bring them back to where they belonged. Seven even managed to get a little sleep, and Janeway had watched over her, cradling the blonde head against her breast, trying very hard not to imagine what could happen on the upcoming mission.

The captain eventually understood that if she was feeling that way before Seven had even left, she would never be able to make it through a month of waiting and worrying about her spouse. In the darkest hour before dawn, she made her decision. Seven would not go anywhere that Janeway could not be at her side. It was not a good command choice, she suspected, but it was the only one her heart would allow.

She stifled a yawn, the night of no sleep beginning to catch up on her. She tried to hide it before realizing that this was like a combat mission. They had no idea what lay ahead, and it behooved her to catch her sleep where she could so that fatigue would not cost her down the line.

She settled back into her seat and shot a glance at Lt. Ara … code-named ‘Mary Read’ … who was seated across from her. “Wake me in an hour, or if something happens.” She noted that the hard young woman looked at her approvingly, before nodding briefly.

Janeway closed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, allowing herself to drift off. She trusted that the rest of her team would also take naps as they needed, though she made a mental reminder to tell Seven to as well. Left to her own devices, Janeway had no doubt that the Borg would go without sleep for as long as she could. She’d make it an order if she had to.

She didn’t know how long she drifted in that half conscious state of twilight, resting, yet ready to come alert at an instant’s notice, but when she heard the low ‘captain’ from the woman next to her, she opened her eyes, feeling refreshed and energized. She was gratified to know that those tricks learned during her tour of planetside combat duty during the first Cardassian war came back so easily to her. It had been years but apparently, like riding a bicycle, the body did not forget.

She straightened and wondered if anyone had even noticed that she had been napping. The look Seven shot her over her shoulder, one of bemused concern, let her know that at least one had, and she made a note to teach Seven the trick of catching catnaps on the fly as soon as possible.

“Report,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the sour taste in her mouth as she got up and went to the front part of the cockpit. She needed some liquid soon. Coffee, preferably.

“That nomad ship has been playing hide and seek,” Paris said as she leaned over his shoulder, studying his readouts. “We’ve been ignoring them but he’s back there, staying just within our long range sensors though he ducks in and out of whatever dust clouds there are.”

Janeway nodded. “Sizing us up,” she said calmly. “Are we friend or foe?”

“What if he decides we’re ‘foe’, Captain?” Neelix asked, a little worriedly.

Janeway’s jaw twitched. “We’re pirates, Neelix. If he attacks, we’ll take his ship.”

Tom glanced up at her, a sudden light in his eyes, and she stifled her grin. He looked like a kid at Christmas. “Really?”

“Well, maybe I’d let them keep their ship rather than space them,” she modified to his obvious disappointment. “But they’ll learn not to tangle with Captain O’Malley of the Jolly Roger. That’s the reputation we want to be putting out. Nasty, but competent.”

“I’m sure it’ll only take one lesson,” Tom noted, turning back to his board with a wide grin.

She rolled her eyes slightly and looked back at the others. “People, stay on your toes, but I also want you to be aware that there’s no way of knowing when the next meal or chance for sleep will come up. If you have the opportunity for down time, take it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Understood, Captain.” Neelix looked around. “Does this vessel have a galley?”

Tom swallowed his grin. “No,” he said with a decided touch of relief in his voice. “We’re limited to emergency rations, and what the replicator can provide.”

“I will program the nutritional supplements,” Seven offered, and Janeway had to swallow her initial response. She didn’t think the rest were aware of it, but Seven was quite the chef, far better than their Talaxian cook, though the captain was not anxious to have that known to many people. Otherwise the couple would be besieged with dinner guests. They already had Chakotay showing up for dinner once a week, regular as clockwork, while B’Elanna came by for lunch every off day that coincided with theirs. Even Tuvok made a point of finagling invitations every fortnight in his very logical, Vulcan way.

Janeway was going to have to figure out a way around Seven’s generous offer.

“They’re making their move,” Ara said suddenly. “On an approach vector of mark one-one-seven.”

“Take your stations,” Janeway said, making her way back to her post. “Let’s not get anxious. Maybe they just want to parlay.”

Almost before the words had left her mouth, the ship rocked and she fell the rest of the way into her seat, landing with an expulsion of breath.

“They’re firing weapons,” Ara offered, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Evasive maneuvers,” Janeway barked, bringing up a schematic that showed both vessels as two tiny blips of light, the nomad in red, her Delta Flyer in green. “Return fire.”

Competently, her team set to work, Paris throwing the ship into an amazing set of evading courses that must have astounded the enemy. Janeway realized that the helmsman was truly in his element, and while the grin on his face as he flew was perhaps not proper in such a situation, she felt she understood it. Impassively, Seven monitored the engines, maintaining a close check on the power output, while a professional Ara readied the phasers and acquired a lock on the pursuing vessel. Neelix, sitting just aft of Tom, grabbed the arms of his chair and grimly hung on, his gold spots standing out even more from the suddenly pale skin beneath.

“Firing,” Ara barked. “Direct hit on their propulsion array. They’re dropping out of warp.”

“Circle back, Tom,” Janeway said crisply. “Let’s find out what we’ve netted.”

The alien bar was dingy and not well lit, the atmosphere filled with a thick, dank smoke from a variety of illicit dream sticks puffed on by a wide range of species. Seven’s eyes watered, and she had to blink away tears as a particularly pungent cloud drifted into the booth where she, Janeway and Neelix were sitting, waiting for their contact to arrive.

The ship that attacked them had fallen easily to the Delta Flyer’s superior technology, and the family group of nomads had been so grateful to keep their vessel, they were glad to share what they knew of other nomad families banding together. It wasn’t much. The most Janeway managed to get out of them … using every bit of subtle, experienced interrogation technique she was capable of … was that possibly if ‘Captain O’Malley’ went to a certain system, she might find out more. It contained a small red star, on the fringes of a dust cloud, somewhat off the beaten path of the sector’s main transport routes. They discovered this bar on a small space station orbiting the fifth planet, it was rumored that assorted nomad traders made port occasionally. Supposedly, deals of a less than auspicious nature could be made here amid the grungy booths and tables … not just by nomads, but by every illicit trader in the sector. The Federation crew had been coming here daily for the last two weeks, making pointed comments to the various patrons even as they tried to maintain a low profile.

Seven glanced around, noting the various species represented, recognized at least ten that had been encountered before by the Borg … in an alien penal facility where she had gone in to rescue her partner. There was even a Barellan tending bar, and she eyed him briefly, wondering if he knew what had happened with his home system’s infamous prison.

“Do you think this is the right place?” Neelix asked, somewhat nervously as he glanced around at the rough looking individuals. His hands cupped a mug of some vile brew, and Seven had yet to touch hers which sat in front of her, the fluid green and oily, completely unappealing. “Perhaps it’s time to move on.”

“The nomads believed that if we wanted to join up with ‘that bunch’, this was the place to start,” Janeway said calmly. “They didn’t know why the particular families were suddenly affiliating, but they thought we could make a more concrete contact here. In any event, it’s our only lead.”

Neelix subsided, but he did not look any more comfortable about being in this place. Seven wondered if perhaps it would have been best if the Talaxian had been left with the Delta Flyer. It was docked at the outermost ring of the station, and Paris had remained behind to keep an eye on it. The Voyager task force had alternated teams, having no intention of leaving their vessel unattended at this station. Lt. Ara, in the meantime, was off doing something unfathomable at the captain’s request. Seven didn’t understand why the security officer would have been sent out with no accompaniment, but clearly the captain had developed a confidence in the young woman’s ability to carry out the mission. The Borg wondered if she liked that, though she wasn’t sure why she was even thinking about it. Why should it bother her if the captain was sending Ara on errands? Seven’s place was by Kathryn’s side, and that’s exactly where she was.

“There,” Janeway noted in a low voice, alerting the other two. The captain was sitting with her back to the wall, having a full view of the room.

Carefully, Seven glanced behind her, watching as an alien wound his way through the crowd of people toward their table. He was rotund, with odd streaks of tan radiating from the point between his eyes and back over his forehead. His garments were a grab bag of shiny baubles and ragged leathers, but he seemed fairly benevolent. Still, she remained alert, ready to protect her spouse at the slightest hint of antagonism.

“O’Malley?” the alien wheezed through tendrils dangling from his mouth.

“That’s me,” Janeway said evenly, leaning casually back in her chair. “Are you Phestus?”

“Guilty,” he said, taking a seat in the remaining empty chair, shouldering Neelix aside somewhat.

Seven’s eyes narrowed and she kept a focus on his hands. All four of them.

He spread out the top two expansively, the bottom pair resting easily on the table. “I understand you’re looking for a way into the Alliance.”

Janeway’s eyebrow flickered. “Alliance? I was just curious if a person could acquire some assistance if one was to … say, interfere with a certain Cirrellian transport carrying a load of engineering parts to Tellus Four.”

His tendrils fluttered as an odd huff came out of him, and Seven realized belatedly that he was laughing.

“You’re ambitious, O’Malley, I’ll grant you that.” He eyed her, suddenly wary. “But then, I also heard you took on that Voyager vessel that’s been plaguing this sector. They’ve caused us a lot of trouble. How the hell did you get away?” His small black eyes were suspicious.

Janeway smiled slightly, a grin of confidence and just the right amount of cockiness. “I have a really good man at the helm. That advantage allowed us to run very far, very fast.”

“Guess that makes you a coward … running, I mean,” he said pointedly.

She did not change expression. “I’m still here. Those that don’t run when they’re outmatched aren’t around to argue about it.”

He stared at her a few seconds more, then laughed again, a harsh bark. “Smart call.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What would you say if I told you our running days were over?”

Janeway did not shift position, and Seven realized that the captain was acting now exactly like she did when she was fishing … a sport the couple enjoyed engaging in whenever possible. The captain was very still, very patient, yet ready to haul in her catch at an instant’s notice. The Borg was impressed.

“I would say,” Janeway offered gently, “Tell me more.”

She had tossed the line in, now she waited for the bite.

He hesitated, then lowered his head. “There’s a man among us, one who thinks if we stop fighting amongst ourselves and start organizing, we can go after bigger prizes.”

Janeway seemed to consider it a moment. “That’s an idea,” she said cautiously, playing out the reel. “But won’t that also attract bigger attention … from planetary war fleets?”

He nodded. “That’s good, O’Malley. You’re thinking. A lot of us don’t seem to be able to look beyond the hull of our ships.”

She ignored the implied compliment, taking a sip from her mug as Seven tried not to wince, and carefully set it down. “This … ‘new player’ does?”

“Oh yeah,” Phestus muttered. He glanced around covertly. “Kasha knows that only by sticking together can we live the way we should.”

“Kasha?” Janeway echoed. “Sounds V’Elanon.”

She had him hooked, Seven saw. Now it was just a matter of pulling him into the boat.

“Those fanatics?” Phestus snorted. “No, Kasha’s not V’Elanon. Don’t know what species he hails from, but he knows what he’s doing.”

“Glad to hear it.” Janeway paused. “What is he doing?”

“He’s gathering the best ships and captains among us,” Phestus said and now his voice had changed, became oddly proud and defiant … or a bit fanatical itself. Obviously, Seven decided, this Phestus was a true believer in the ‘cause’ of this Kasha. “Once we have all the supplies we need, we’ll take back what’s been stolen from us.”

“Which is?”

“Our homes, our right to go where we please without harassment,” he responded, looking at her with astonishment. “How could you have forgotten? You wouldn’t be here if you had a place in your own society.”

“Maybe I just got lost,” Janeway quipped. She held up her hand. “Sorry, I’m just looking for someone to help me tackle a freighter. I don’t want to get involved with a rebellion.” She looked at Seven and Neelix, nodding briefly. “Let’s go.”

Obediently, Seven got up as did the Talaxian, and without speaking, they followed their captain out of the bar, leaving behind a glowering Phestus. Seven was startled, and once they had exited onto the promenade, she moved to Janeway’s side.

“I do not understand,” she said in a low voice.

Neelix frowned. “I have to agree, Captain. It sounded like this Kasha fellow is who we wanted to find out about.”

“Oh, we do,” Janeway said easily. “But if I had jumped in eagerly, he’d know something was up. I’m just a pirate out to make a living, and if I had reacted in any other manner, Phestus probably would have killed us.”

Seven stared at her. “How do you know?”

“Didn’t you see the disruptor his companion was aiming at us?” Janeway asked, eyeing her.

Seven felt sick. “What companion?” Kathryn had been at risk and she had not even known?

“The one at the bar who pointed us out to him. No, this Kasha doesn’t want volunteers. At least, not like that. He wants to know exactly how he can buy me and that I’m practical about the kind of deals I make. Somehow I suspect, we’ll be seeing Phestus again. Or someone like him.”

Seven shook her head, feeling quite inept. “I still do not understand how you would come to that conclusion.”

Janeway reached out and patted her briefly on the small of her back. “Experience,” she reminded her. “I’ve done this before.”

They crossed out of the promenade and into the docking ring. Here, the traffic was lighter, and the large loading bays were dotted by stacks of containers and barrels, cargo intended for some unknown destination. This area was designated for the large freighters, and the Voyager crew had an extensive expanse of deck to cross before they reached the section where the smaller, privately owned vessels were kept. As they walked across the echoing docking ring, Seven spotted movement in the shadows of the cargo ahead of them.

“Captain?”

“I see them.” Janeway reached down, putting her hand on the phaser attached to her hip. “Be ready, people.”

There were six of them, coming out from various places in the piles of containers … all large, all quite nasty.

Janeway stopped as did Seven and Neelix.

“Gentlemen,” Janeway greeted evenly. “Problem?”

“You’ve been asking questions,” a stocky individual said. “The boss don’t like questions.”

Janeway shrugged easily. “Then we’ll stop. We’re just looking for some help on a job, that’s all.”

“This is Kasha’s territory. Only jobs to be done are what he gives out.”

Janeway sneered. “So rather than having to answer to the planets, we have to answer to him? I’m not impressed.”

“Then you’ll be dead.” He motioned. “Get ‘em.”

“‘Ann’,” Janeway warned. “Be gentle.”

Seven tried not to roll her eyes as she intercepted the first aggressor, not wasting time as she straight-armed him into a stack of containers that toppled impressively. The second she dispatched with back handed blow from her mesh covered left hand, and the third, she grabbed by the front of his shirt and his belt, heaving him up in the air and tossing him across the deck into the fourth and fifth attacker, knocking them all down into a heap.

This all happened very quickly, in a matter of split seconds, and before the leader of the thugs had quite known what was going on, he was the only one left standing, eyes rimmed with white as he stared into the drawn phasers of Janeway and Neelix.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Janeway told him. “But we’ll be the ones to end it if necessary. Tell that to this Kasha fellow.”

She fired between his feet, the ruby beam set to a level that cut a rather impressive, smoking line along the deck. He stared at her a moment more and then, as the rest of his men staggered to their feet, helped up by the others who weren’t in much better shape, he nodded shortly, and turned away.

They melted back into the shadows, and Seven waited until Janeway and Neelix had joined her.

“The second test,” Janeway said cooly, looking after their retreating figures. “Now he knows we can handle ourselves in a fight.”

“Was that ‘gentle’ enough?” Seven demanded.

Janeway flashed her a tight grin. “There were broken bones,” she noted critically. “I heard the snaps from where I was standing.”

Neelix goggled at her. “Seven, I didn’t know you were so … strong.”

“I am Borg,” Seven responded, and left it at that.

She was even more alert now, and constantly looked around as they finished their journey back to their ship. Paris was waiting anxiously, wanting to know what had taken so long, and cursed as Neelix filled him in on all he had missed.

“I’ve been going to that dive for two weeks and nothing,” the helmsman said. “When it’s my turn to stay with the ship, everything happens.”

“You’ll have your chance, Tom,” Janeway said, patting him indulgently on the shoulder.

Seven took a breath and sat down at her board. She was a little shaky, aware that she had done exactly what she was supposed to do, but still not happy about it. Kathryn had been threatened. The only way to make sure the same threat would not occur was to remove those that had endangered her. Leaving them alive was inefficient. She understood that it was the Federation way, that it was the Starfleet way, but sometimes, those behavioral patterns baffled her.

Janeway went to the board as it chirped, indicating an incoming message. It was from Ara, and Seven tried to figure out where the woman was from the background behind her serious features.

“I have the merchandise, Captain,” the ex-Maquis said. “But I’ll need help to get it back to the ship.”

Janeway nodded. “I’m sending Tom and Neelix to help you. Stay where you are.”

“I’m in section 5G.” Ara looked around. “Across from some kind of restaurant called the Final Nebula. You can’t miss the smell.”

“We’re on our way.” Tom glanced at Janeway, and the captain nodded.

“Be careful.”

“We will, Captain,” Neelix responded. The two men exited the Delta Flyer, leaving Janeway and Seven to hold the ship in their absence.

Seven glanced at the captain who had taken a seat in the pilot’s chair, and was looking through the transparencies into the small docking bay, her eyes following her two crewmen until they were out of sight.

“I do not understand,” Seven said, moving up behind her, leaning over her shoulder slightly. “What is this ‘merchandise’?”

“I heard that a certain, powerful nomad was looking to acquire a plasma injector,” the captain told her idly. “I wanted to get there first.”

“In the event that Kasha was that pirate? What if he is not?”

“Then I’ll have an extra plasma injector,” Janeway said with a slight grin, shrugging lightly. “But if it is Kasha, losing that part to me will make him take even more notice of us. We want him to know we’re around, and rich enough to outbid him … at least with small items.”

“Rich?”

“Convertible currency means that we’re successful pirates, Seven. I think he wants successful pirates in his organization.”

“He will ask us to join him, rather than continue to work at cross purposes with us.”

“That’s the theory, anyway.”

They were silent then, and suddenly, it was almost as if they became aware of their solitude at the same time, that this was the first time in two weeks they had been alone together, glancing at each other involuntarily.

“Oh my,” Janeway said, smiling briefly.

Seven took a breath. “Is this a matter of having an opportunity for ‘down time’?”

Janeway looked away, her cheeks turning a bit rosy. “We need to monitor the area around the Delta Flyer,” she said in a rather prim tone. “That’s the whole point to leaving at least one crewmember on the ship at all times.”

“I can set the computer to alert us if anyone or anything approaches within one hundred meters. We could monitor it from the aft compartment.”

Janeway considered it for a moment, looking at her partner with soft eyes.

“I suppose we could,” she allowed finally. “If you make it two hundred meters. I want plenty of warning if anyone approaches the ship while we’re … indisposed.”

Seven dipped her head, her eyes growing dark.

“I will comply.”

The fold down bunks in the aft compartment were narrow and uncomfortable, barely functional for sleeping, let alone lovemaking. Janeway brought one down, looking the situation over with a frown as she wondered how the hell they were going to manage this. She slipped out of her vest, glancing up as Seven entered the compartment.

“The alarm is set,” Seven said quietly, unfastening her own vest as she regarded her spouse. “I have missed you.”

Janeway grinned crookedly. “I thought you wanted to spend an entire month without me?” she reminded her playfully, dropping her vest onto the deck.

“I must have been malfunctioning,” Seven murmured, smiling faintly as she wrapped Janeway up in her arms.

Janeway snuggled into the embrace, feeling as if she had come home. For the past weeks, they had slept … the few times they had slept at the same time … in opposing bunks, being able to share only a look before they settled in, at most, a whispered ‘I love you’, the briefest of touches in passing. They hadn’t even been able to kiss, and the sensation of Seven’s lips on her own was like a flame touched to a wick, setting her ablaze. Janeway made a soft sound in her throat, hugging her partner tightly. The captain could certainly not fault her crewmember for her professionalism, but the woman had missed Seven so much that she could only imagine how bad it would have been remaining on Voyager without her at all.

“Wait,” she murmured as Seven started to tug her sweater over her head. “We can’t get undressed. Not fully. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“I understand,” Seven whispered, running her hands up underneath the sweater as she pressed the captain down onto the narrow bunk. “Though I have never done it with haste. I thought such an approach was considered less than desirable.”

“Oh, it is,” Janeway said huskily, breathing harshly as they huddled together on the thin sleeping pad. “Most of the time. But every once in a while, it can be fast and furious and still be wonderful.”

“Indeed.” The captain arched as the Borg pulled the sweater up enough to bare the small firm mounds, falling on them as if ravenous.

Well, it has been two weeks, Janeway thought deliriously, feeling those wonderful lips nuzzle at her breasts, the tongue swirling around the nipples, skilled, experienced … knowing exactly how to stimulate her. No one else in her history could make her react so quickly, so overwhelmingly. She whimpered, the pleasure surging through her, then she gasped as she felt Seven’s hands slide under the waistband of her trousers, pushing them down over her hips, the air cool on her thighs.

“Oh god, Annika,” she breathed as Seven’s fingers dipped into her wetness, rubbing over the hard little ridge, strong, then gentle, then strong again. She didn’t know where the Borg had learned that trick but it was getting the job done in double time, sending chills through her, rising, then falling. Suddenly, two long fingers were slipping into her, curling up to find the spot, pressing insistently, so firm, so quick … so sweet. She cried out when she climaxed, pulsating hard around the loving fingers, amazed at how very … efficient Seven had been. When Janeway demanded quick, then by god, that was what her partner gave her.

“Damn, you’re good,” the captain murmured, relaxing as the last of the shudders eased.

Seven kissed her gently, sweetly. “It is not as much fun this way, but it is acceptable.”

Janeway returned the kiss, worming her hands under her partner’s sweater, grasping handfuls of soft flesh, squeezing gently in that way she knew Seven liked to be caressed. Seven made a gentle sound, one of protest and bemused, Janeway regarded her, frowning slightly.

“Annika?”

“I cannot, Kathryn,” Seven said sadly. “Not like this. Not here.”

Janeway hesitated, then withdrew her hands and adjusted her clothes, pulling her pants back up, smoothing down her sweater. Then she wrapped her arms around her partner’s neck and hugged her close.

“I understand, darling,” she said gently, kissing her gently. “I’m sorry.”

Seven shook her head. “It is not necessary to apologize. I enjoy being with you no matter what we do.”

“I love you,” Janeway whispered. “So much.”

Seven brushed her lips over her forehead. “I love you too.”

Gently, Janeway kissed her, then deepened the kiss, drawing the woman’s breath into her, exploring her mouth sweetly as her hand moved from the Borg’s neck to slip under Seven’s shirt once more.

“Kathryn?” Seven murmured uncertainly when she was able to break away.

“It’s all right, love,” Janeway soothed, stroking her gently under her clothes. “I just want to touch your skin, that’s all. I accept you’re not in the mood.”

“Very well,” Seven replied, barely audible as she settled into her partner’s arms.

Janeway kissed her again, gently, softly, and began to gently run her nails over Seven’s back, scratching lightly. The Borg sighed and abruptly relaxed, wiggling slightly in pleasure.

“I like this,” she muttered.

Janeway smiled. “I know, my darling.”

The captain had always believed she had been a respectable lover, but it wasn’t until Seven that she had learned to really pay attention to the other person’s responses. It had taken time, but now she knew how to focus on her spouse’s wants and needs, how to find a way to please her and when one way didn’t work, she wasn’t hesitant about trying another. Nor, did it always have to be sexual. Having her back scratched was something that Seven adored without reservation, and Janeway was shamefully aware that she didn’t indulge this desire of her partner’s enough. It could be tedious for the person providing the strokes, but for the young woman receiving the attention, it was sheer bliss.

Seven buried her face into Janeway’s neck, snuggling against her, and the captain nuzzled the blonde hair, holding her close as she scratched and scratched until it was even enough for the Borg who was more than glad to luxuriate under this particular caress far longer than the average human.

“Thank you, Kathryn,” Seven whispered finally, drawing back a little.

Janeway altered her caress, using the flat of her hand to slide over the inflamed back, soothing the skin.

“You’re welcome, my love,” she murmured quietly. “I’m sorry I don’t remember to do this more often for you.”

“I know I can always ask,” Seven assured her. She hesitated. “I am glad you decided to become team leader.”

Janeway quirked her eyebrow. “You are?”

Seven lowered her eyes. “I know I was not pleased in the beginning, and truthfully, your safety still concerns me, but I try to imagine you not being here, you wondering how I am and in turn, my wondering how you are … it would have been unacceptable. You made the right decision.”

Janeway smiled. “I’m glad you finally agree.”

Seven hugged her. “I am distressed that I missed the weapon earlier. I cannot protect you if I am unaware of the threat.”

“It’s all right, Annika,” Janeway reassured her. “I had it covered. Let’s not forget, I couldn’t have handled those thugs nearly as well as you did. We’re all learning how to work together as a single entity. We’re here to watch each other’s backs … not just you and me, but the entire team.”

Seven nodded. “I understand.” She paused for a moment, the two women holding onto each other tightly, before adding wistfully, “The others will return soon.”

Janeway sighed. “I know.” Reluctantly, she loosened her embrace. “Let’s put the bunk back where it belongs.”

They stood up, straightening the sleeping pad and bedding before folding the whole thing back up into the wall so that there was only the smooth expanse of hull left to view. Janeway picked up her vest and pulled it on, then reached over and took Seven’s hand in her own. The Borg looked at her in vague puzzlement as the captain brought her hand up and kissed the wrist gently, inhaling the piquant scent that lingered on the young woman’s fingers.

“Wash up,” Janeway said quietly. “If I can smell me on you, so can everyone else.”

Seven flushed, then smiled briefly. “If you insist,” she said, indicating it was not something she entirely wanted to comply with.

“I do,” Janeway said, but she smiled as well.

Seven leaned over and kissed her gently, briefly capturing Janeway’s bottom lip between her own before disappearing into the ‘fresher. Janeway returned to the cockpit, feeling lazy and somewhat wicked as she studied the readouts. There had been no stirring on the dock during their brief interlude, and she started to worry about her people as time continued to pass. Real relief filled her as she finally saw the three crewmembers crossing the deck, Paris and Neelix bearing a container between them. Janeway unsealed the hatch, and looked keenly at Ara as she entered.

“Any problems?”

“Not at all,” the taller woman said, shooting her an odd look as she went aft.

Frowning, the captain found her helmsman. “You were gone longer than I expected,” the captain noted as he stored the container in the storage compartment.

Tom flashed her a careless grin. “Yeah, Neelix and I thought we should stop for a drink on the way back. I sure hope you and Seven took advantage of it.”

Dismayed, the captain stared at her helmsman as he closed the panel and made his way back to the cockpit. So that was why Ara looked at her so strangely, Janeway decided. The ex-Maquis probably thought the captain had requested that Paris and Neelix delay their return. Janeway couldn’t decide if she should be angry with the men’s presumption, or grateful for what was really quite a thoughtful gift. In the end, she couldn’t choose and still feeling a bit bemused, she wandered into the aft compartment where the table had been pulled down from the wall in preparation for the evening meal.

With a start, the captain realized that it was Ara’s rotation this night, the quiet woman programming the replicator with her selection, a Bajoran hasperat. Rather than have Seven do all the programming, Janeway had determined that it would be better if each team member took turns providing a variety from their favorite menus for the rest of the group. Seven meanwhile, at the captain’s request, stuck to bland, filling meals, which was exactly the impression Janeway wanted her to give.

“Was the exchange witnessed?” Janeway asked her crewmember.

Ara nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, setting Janeway’s teeth on edge.

No matter how many times she dropped the hint, Ara would not call her ‘captain’, only ma’am. Janeway thought that it was a subtle sort of insubordination but honestly, how could a captain get outraged by what was a perfectly acceptable form of address through the ‘fleet? It was ridiculous to order a senior lieutenant to address her by a certain designation. It was one thing to impress it on a green young ensign, but by having to go that far with this woman, Janeway knew that she would have lost the battle before she had even begun to fight.

“Excellent,” Janeway murmured. “You did good work, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ara responded politely as she set the plates out.

Janeway gave up and returned to the cockpit. Seven and Neelix were talking about the earlier battle, Seven explaining every move to the Talaxian who listened with fascination. Even Tom was listening, though he tried not to show it as he ran a navigational diagnostic through the controls … not because it needed it, but because if they didn’t keep themselves busy, this waiting would get the better of them.

There was a brief sound on the board.

“Incoming from control central,” Tom said, a definite note of excitement in his tone. “Rerouted from an unknown vessel berthed at the station.”

Janeway straightened, knowing that this might be it. It had taken a while before things started happening, but now they were falling into place fast.

“Put it through.”

Phestus’s ragged features appeared on the screen.

“For someone who doesn’t want trouble, O’Malley,” he said without preamble. “You’re certainly stirring it up.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You have a piece of equipment that was destined for Kasha. He wants it back.”

Janeway shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that. I need that part. That’s why I paid more than it was worth.”

“Kasha could make it hard for you.”

“Irrelevant,” Janeway said, pushing for all she was worth. “I need the part to make repairs. If I can’t leave this station, it’ll be hard enough without him even bothering with us.”

The alien paused, seeming to consider it. “You can get another one,” Phestus said finally. “We need it now. In return, not only will we offer you a substantial profit on the part you have, we agree to pay your berth fee for however long it takes you to find another, which we will also pay for.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow. It sounded as if Kasha had to be somewhere in a fairly big hurry. Would it be in her interest to delay him … or make the first gesture of conciliation?

“How ‘substantial’ a profit?” she asked cautiously.

Phestus brightened. “Twenty percent.”

“Seventy-five,” Janeway said flatly.

“Thirty-five,” he said, beginning to frown … if indeed, that’s what the twisting of those tentacles dangling from his mouth indicated.

“Sixty,” Janeway countered.

There was a pause. “Forty,” he said, seeming in real pain.

“Fifty,” Janeway said and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “That’s as low as I’ll go. It’s not worth it otherwise.”

He glared at her, then finally acquiesced, a sharp dip of his head. “Agreed. I’ll send a crew to pick it up.”

“Unarmed,” Janeway responded warningly. “I remember their last approach. We’ll be ready this time.”

“A misunderstanding,” Phestus said with unconvincing gravity. “They were only supposed to inform you about this being Kasha’s territory. They wouldn’t have harmed you.” He assumed an expression of outrage. “It wasn’t necessary that you beat them up.”

Janeway shrugged. “They got between me and where I wanted to go,” she said with careful disdain.

He stared at her. “Kasha is impressed with you,” he said finally, as if he didn’t particularly agree. “He wants to meet with you after he returns from his trip.”

“I may not be here,” Janeway said carelessly.

Phestus did not bite. “If you want help tackling that Cirrellian freighter, you’ll stick around. After all, your docking fees are being picked up by us.”

Janeway hesitated. “I’m not a patient woman. How long are we talking about?”

“No more than three days.” He smiled insincerely. “Surely you would welcome the extra repair time.”

She made a show of looking reluctant. “All right.”

“I’ll send our people down to pick up the plasma injector.”

The screen flickered as he abruptly cut the channel, and Janeway eased her chair around to look into the faces of her crew who had been eavesdropping avidly.

“And so it begins,” she said quietly.

Two nights later found Janeway, Seven and Ara in the same bar where they had first made contact with Kasha’s flunky. They had been making inquiries about Kasha, and since the rumor had spread that the mysterious nomad leader was considering them for his ‘organization’, people were a little more forthcoming, though not necessarily more helpful. Little was known about the pirate chieftain who rarely left his vessel, Kasha’s Pride, and used Phestus to do most of his negotiating. Depending on who one asked, Kasha was either this dashing, handsome male humanoid with a great deal of charm and grace, particularly toward females … or a dark, alien, very frightening, cloaked figure who’s very touch could bring death.

Seven suspected neither was true, and she wondered how information could become so distorted. But then, she had been hearing the most outrageous things about the Jolly Roger’s personnel while eavesdropping on brief snippets of conversation in the bar; stories of how its captain was a bit of a malicious pirate queen herself, with a brooding mechanical monster of a body guard who would destroy anyone who so much as looked at ‘O’Malley’ incorrectly. It had actually taken Seven some time to realize the ‘monster’ they were referring to was her.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Now that she understood the difference between being liked and not being liked, it gave her an odd feeling to be considered a ‘monster’ … particularly when she and Kathryn were walking the promenade, and various female aliens would place their children protectively behind them as if the Borg would suddenly snatch them up and do them harm.

Seven realized it … hurt, but she didn’t know what to do about it. It suited their purpose for Seven’s abilities to be feared for the sake of Kathryn’s safety.

She glanced over at Janeway who was deep in conversation with Ara. She was not jealous … not in that possessive way anymore … but it baffled her that Janeway was showing such an interest in the woman, especially since she had shown absolutely none toward the unassuming, hard-edged lieutenant in the previous five years. It also bothered her that Janeway seemed willing to send Ara on solo forays when she would not send Seven. Did Janeway consider Ara to be more dependable? Did she trust the ex-Maquis more than she trusted Seven? The Borg felt a little sick when she considered the last possibility.

Seven knew Kathryn’s interest in Ara wasn’t romantic at all. It was purely a professional regard, but Seven wanted the captain to have the same respect for her than she would any of her other crew. Instead, it sometimes felt as if Janeway was more tolerant of her than respectful. Seven knew that in the past, the captain had certainly put up with behavior from the Borg that she simply wouldn’t accept from others, and while in the beginning, that had made Seven feel special, now she was starting to wonder if it was not a measure of condescension on Janeway’s part. Perhaps the captain did not believe Seven could conduct herself adequately on away missions in the way other members of her crew could, and therefore made allowances for her in the same way Seven made allowances for Naomi’s lack of life experience.

Seven didn’t know where this was coming from, but it did occur to her that this was the most unpredictable and dangerous away mission she had ever been on. Janeway had always found a way to keep her from other missions of similiar complication, or found different, yet crucial tasks for her to do. Was it possible that the captain really didn’t trust her in this sort of situation? Was that the real reason the captain had decided to come along? To monitor her actions?

Seven discovered she was becoming a little angry, and she was forced to conceal her feelings as Ara nodded abruptly and got up, disappearing into the crowd. Janeway and Seven were alone once more and the Borg stared at her partner who was sipping her drink idly, the blue grey eyes sweeping the room keenly.

“Kathryn?”

“Grace,” Janeway corrected quickly. “In public, I’m always Grace O’Malley.”

“Yes,” Seven said, depression seeping through her. Perhaps she was not capable of performing as she should, after all. “I am sorry, Captain.”

The tone seemed to get through despite her attempt to hide it, and suddenly those sharp blue-grey eyes were completely focused on her.

“This isn’t the time or place,” Janeway said slowly. “But if there’s something that can’t wait, tell me now.”

Seven considered it, understanding what the captain was offering. “It can wait, but it is hurting me.”

Janeway studied her. “As soon as we’re back on the ship,” she promised in a gentler voice. “I hate it, but that’s the best I can offer here. Do you want us to go now?”

“It can wait,” Seven repeated, trying to interject a confident tone in her voice.

With an effort, she carefully contained the emotions that were swirling around her, isolating them and walling them off. It was not something she had done for a long time, but it was an accomplished skill developed when she had first been severed from the Collective, and was struggling with the unfamiliar and frightening feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. She did it now because the mission required it, her captain needed it and her own determination to succeed demanded it.

“All right?” Janeway asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Seven’s voice was cool, controlled. Efficient.

Janeway stared at her a moment longer, searching her face, then nodded briefly, apparently willing to let it go for now.

Willing to trust her.

Suddenly, the situation with Ara became clear. Janeway didn’t know the Maquis, didn’t understand her … didn’t trust her … so she kept testing her, making the test a little larger each time. Offered Ara her trust so that she would know where to stop. Janeway trusted Seven completely, believed in her and needed the Borg at her side.

Always.

Seven let out her breath as the worry and anger abruptly eased, forming instead, a warm spot in her center where she had walled the emotions away. Suddenly, she was very proud that she had managed to resolve this herself rather than having Janeway help her understand. Perhaps she was evolving after all.

“It does not hurt any more.”

Janeway looked at her oddly. “You’ll have to explain this someday,” she responded finally, in confusion.

Seven nodded. “After the mission.”

Janeway dipped her head. “After.”

Seven suddenly tensed as she noted someone entering the bar. Like her partner, she had developed the habit of sitting with her back to the wall and the two women had a clear view of the taproom.

“Captain?”

“I see him,” Janeway said, without pleasure. “He’s back a day early.”

Seven eased away from the captain’s side so that she’d have a clear space in which to move if necessary as Phestus and two other of his species moved toward their table. Janeway leaned back in her chair, assuming a deliberately casual expression, looking the aliens up and down with ill concealed boredom.

“I trust your trip was … profitable.”

Without being invited, he took a chair though the other two remained on their feet. Seven wondered if she should stand as well, then decided that she did not have to. She still maintained an advantage in speed and strength despite her sitting.

“Kasha wants to meet,” he said, ignoring her comment. “Right now.”

Janeway hesitated, then inclined her head in acceptance. “Let me contact my vessel, then Ann and I…”

“No,” he interrupted. “Now. And you come alone.”

“Unacceptable,” Seven said immediately, before Janeway could respond.

The captain looked at her and Seven held her gaze, unmovable on this.

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. “My second is correct. My crew needs to know where I am or they get … nervous.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Phestus said with a frustrated tone. He shifted and suddenly there was a gun in his hand. His companions had also drawn their weapons. “You will come with me now.”

Janeway blinked in bemusement. Obviously she had not expected weapons to be used in such a blatant manner in a public place, though it was clear that every one in the bar was carefully not paying any attention to the drama being played out in the corner. Seven had not expected it either, and every muscle tensed, ready to explode into action at the slightest opportunity.

“He just wants you,” Phestus insisted to the captain. “He didn’t say anything about associates.” He motioned with his gun. “Let’s go.”

Seven readied herself, then felt Janeway’s hand on her knee beneath the table, squeezing warningly. She glanced at the captain and Janeway’s eyes were dark as she stared back.

“Return to the ship,” she said in that unmistakable tone of command. “Let the others know where I’ve gone.”

Seven did not want to do this. She did not want to let Kathryn out of her sight for a moment, but the order was clear in Janeway’s tone, and Seven knew she didn’t have any choice.

“I will comply,” she said between clenched teeth.

She remained in her seat as Janeway got up and left with Phestus and one of his companions. The third one waited for a while, his gun stuck in his belt, but still prominently displayed for her benefit. Finally, as if having reached a predetermined time frame, he released the butt of his gun and motioned her out of the chair. Not quite understanding, she allowed him to escort her out of the tavern. He was leading her into an alley littered with debris before she finally realized what he was intending.

As he drew his weapon, her Borg enhanced systems kicked into overdrive, and she swept the gun from his hands. His eyes widened and he opened his tentacle-framed mouth to yell when she back handed him across the alley, slamming his body into the wall before he slumped to the ground, either unconscious or dead … she did not care which.

Seven was literally shaking with fury as she scrambled for the promenade, pulling out the communicator which had been concealed in one of her vest pockets.

“Seven to Delta Flyer, respond.”

“Paris here,” her comm badge returned in the helmsman’s voice. “Go ahead.”

“The captain has gone to meet Kasha,” she said, feeling sick inside. “Under duress. I was detained from following. Get a lock on her signal.”

“There’s too much interference to get a lock while we’re berthed,” his worried voice returned. “Do you know where she’s being taken?”

“Read to Bonny,” another voice broke into the communication channel. For a moment, Seven didn’t know what that meant, then she remembered the code names, realizing belatedly that she had been so upset that she had not used them when she contacted the ship. Ara was more cognitive of what was going on, and Seven felt another jolt of what might be shame if she considered it carefully.

“Proceed.”

“I saw the captain being escorted across the docks,” the ex-Maquis informed her. “So I followed. I saw which ship she was taken to.”

“Give me the location. I will rendezvous with you there.”

“Me too. Neelix is going to stay with the Jolly Roger.”

“Berth 20, Section 5,” Ara reported. “What’s interesting is that the berths on either side are empty. The station control must be catering to this guy, so take care.”

“Lt. Paris,” Seven said coldly. “Bring the compression rifles.”

“Understood,” Paris said grimly. “Jolly Roger out.”

Seven cut the channel and wound her way through the crowds on the promenade, forcing herself not to rush or knock people over in her anxiousness. She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally entered the docking sector and dashed across the decks where cargo was being loaded, avoiding the various vehicles moving the containers. A check of the number painted in the large alien digits on the hull indicated she was on Section 5, but only at berth 3. She had quite a way to go and with determination, she began to sprint along the access corridor.

She found Ara crouched down behind a stack of containers, hidden in the shadows. Paris was with her, and the pair were watching the hatch of a ship nuzzled up to the berth. The size of the umbilical indicated it was an extremely powerful vessel.

Paris handed Seven a rifle as she joined the pair.

“Status?”

“No sign of movement,” Ara said. “Not since she went in.”

“Maybe we’re overreacting here,” Paris suggested tersely. “After all, the captain did want to see this guy.”

“No,” Ara noted cooly. “He had her separated from her bodyguard. That was deliberate.”

“But sometimes captains like to talk privately,” Tom insisted, playing devil’s advocate.

“Then leave Seven in another room. Why make her stay behind entirely?”

“They tried to kill me,” Seven said flatly. “They wanted more than for me to remain behind.”

The two stared at her with horror, and then Ara’s jaw tightened as she looked at Paris with cold resolve. “You’d better get back to the Delta Flyer. Undock so that you can free up the sensors and the transporters. Be ready to move. They might hare out of here any time.”

Seven’s eyes widened. That was an obvious … and logical … assessment.

“I am going on board that vessel,” she said abruptly, standing.

Ara yanked her back down. “How?” she demanded with more logic less appreciated by the young Borg. “The lock is sealed. Besides, if they are up to no good, you trying to break in may be all the excuse they need to kill her.”

Seven shook her head, not agreeing. “Something has changed in their attitude. They found out something while they were gone.”

Ara looked frustrated. “But we can’t be sure what. We need to be ready to beam her out of there.”

Seven had been studying the ship with keen eyes. “What of the cargo hatch? Perhaps we can enter there.”

The Bajoran studied a few seconds, her expression one of careful consideration. “That’s an idea,” she allowed finally. She nodded at Tom. “Get back to the ship. Seven and I will sneak on board. We’ll signal when it’s time to transport us all off.”

“I don’t remember you being put in charge,” he resisted briefly.

“Just do it, Mr. Paris. I take responsibility.”

Tom glanced at her uneasily, then nodded. “Fine,” he grumbled and disappeared.

Ara shot her a look, one of faint approval.

“Let’s go get the captain.”

Janeway felt unease feather through her as she was escorted through the corridors of the ship. This didn’t feel right, and she regretted not insisting that Seven be allowed to accompany her. Despite all her greater experience and training, there was a part of her that just felt safer when the Borg was present. It was a sensation which had existed ever since she had looked up from the filthy deck of an alien prison, and saw her partner reach out to pull her into a warm, comforting and infinitely secure embrace, rescuing her from horror and pain … returning her safely to her ship and her home. It was not something she cared to recognize consciously, but it remained consistently strong within her.

She quirked an eyebrow as she was led into the lounge of the vessel, a lavish room decorated in what could be considered exceptionally bad taste. But then, what was she expecting from a group of pirates tasting an unexpected success … a militaristic discipline and Spartan restraint? She noted several more nomads lounging about the room while various subdued beings waited on them with extravagant food items. In the center of the room, on a dais, sitting in a high backed chair, a solitary masked figure brooded darkly as it waited for her approach.

All in all, Janeway thought it looked like nothing more than one of those cheesy holodeck programs, the type Tom Paris liked to run with oversized death rays and melodramatic characters. Yet, at the same time, she felt a prickling along her spine, the unmistakable sensation that her very life was in danger, though she was unsure from where it originated. She had planned to meet this pirate chieftain after all … why was she now developing reservations?

Carefully, she swallowed, dredging up the moisture from a too dry mouth, and focused her attention on the dark figure. He … or she … was dressed completely in black, from the polished boots to the cloak that flowed heavy from the shoulders. A shiny ebony mask covered the features, and the captain thought that whoever was behind it, they had a very overdeveloped sense of the dramatic. Perhaps Tom had been right in the first place. Perhaps they should have also dressed like imaginary pirates rather than the rag tag nomads they were trying to emulate.

“Captain O’Malley, is it?” the figure said in a male voice.

Janeway felt her heart began to hammer in her chest though she endeavored not to show it. The voice was familiar. She couldn’t place it, but whatever her memories were trying to tell her, the chill that went down her spine indicated the association was not a good one.

“You are Kasha?” she said formally, with cool control. Kasha? That name … something about that name … things started to gel in her mind.

Bad things.

“Of course, I’d much prefer to call you by your real name,” he responded smoothly, the words a caress that skittered through her liver. “Kathryn.”

Oh, this is bad, she thought.

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Captain Kathryn Janeway, of the starship Voyager. I believe you’re here to stop us, aren’t you?”

She was very careful here, acutely aware of the two large aliens flanking her, the disruptors they held on her. There was a vibration under her feet as the vessel powered up, jolting as it detached from the docking port, the sensation of acceleration transmitting through the deck and up her legs, and she realized how much trouble she was really in.

“I’m just trying to do my job.”

“You’re trying to interfere.” His voice was cold, chilling her to the bone. The rest of the nomads around him stirred uneasily, and she was conscious of belligerent stares being directed her way. “Just like you did before.”

He did know her, she thought dazedly. Though how, she didn’t have a clue. The mask concealed his features and muffled his voice just enough that she couldn’t identify it clearly.

“May I ask what gives you the impression we’re not who we say?” she asked delicately, digging for more information.

“We both know no one ‘escapes’ from Voyager,” he sneered. “Though I appreciate how hard you worked to give that illusion. Of course, I saw right through it, and I did so enjoy watching you perform your little ‘play’ the past few weeks. But now things are moving quickly, and I don’t have time for you, or your interference, so I’m bringing this charade to an end. I have much larger tasks to perform.”

Janeway exhaled slowly. She was in trouble, the sort that could leave her dead. “Well, since you have the advantage of me,” she said carefully. “Why not refresh my memory?”

He reached up and removed his mask. An angry scar ran down from the corner of his eyebrow to the corner of his jaw but she was still able to recognize the ruined features of Kashyk, late of the Devore Imperium. Though what he was doing here, light years away from the sector of space where he had threatened her and Voyager’s crew as he searched her ship again and again for the telepathic refugees she had hidden, escaped her at the moment. At the time, she had played him for a fool, even as he had tried to play her, pretending an attraction for him that she did not feel, encouraging his own in return. Even now, she felt the same emotion twist her gut, though her features showed only what she wanted them to show, calm impassiveness. Not the soul deep, weary disgust for having to deal with him on such a base level yet again.

“You’re a long way from home.”

“I have no home, thanks to you.” Bitterness laced his tone. “When Prax put in his report, he revealed everything, including how you deceived me. I was demoted and run out of the Imperium Guard.”

She wanted to smile, but sensed that would not be a good idea at all. “Is that when you picked up the souvenir?”

That was a sore spot for him in more than one way, she noted. His face tightened, flushed, the white scar standing out even more.

“I got this when I attempted to steal a vessel so I could escape my ‘demotion’.”

“Ah,” better to rule in exile than serve at home.” She glanced around at the unfriendly faces. “Do they know you are exactly the kind of oppressive military fanatic they wanted to escape from by giving up their homes?”

He glared, then forced himself to relax with a visible effort. “You won’t turn them against me, Janeway. They believe in me. They know I am as they are, homeless, friendless and unfairly persecuted.”

“And they follow you because…” she prompted.

“Because I can get them what they want. More weapons, more wealth and eventually, a home where we will be the ones to rule.”

Janeway studied her nails with deliberate discourteousness. “Ruled by you, you mean.”

“If that’s my destiny,” he allowed with poorly feigned modesty.

She remained carefully detached, casual even as she felt the keen edge of fear slip through her. He had been a formidable opponent when she had last faced him, needing every bit of deceitfulness and cunning she possessed. Now, the gloves were off and he would not be taken in by the illusion of her being attracted to him. Now he would recognize what had been in her eyes from the beginning … a complete and utter loathing for a man who preyed on the helpless, and terrorized the weak in the name of his imperium. He hadn’t changed, still luring others to his cause with false colors.

She could only hope Seven was now with the others on the Delta Flyer, coming up with a plan to get her out of here. They now had what they needed … proof that the nomads were indeed being organized and by whom. Stopping him would be a task left up to Voyager as a whole, as well as any planetary governments who would be alarmed by the knowledge of a military specialist being in charge of the pirates.

He was staring at her, as if knowing what she was thinking, as if he were able to read her mind. Ironic, she thought, considering the Devore’s telephobic tendencies.

He tilted his head. “Don’t think that Borg monster of a bodyguard will save you,” he said with what seemed honest pleasure. “I had her terminated as soon as we had you clear of the tavern. Even now her body is being stuffed into a disposal unit.”

She didn’t know how she controlled herself then, the horrific fear and terrible fury that raged through her. She kept her face impassive, her shoulders square, her eyes fixed squarely on his despised features. She still had a ship, still had crewmembers to take care of. The sheer devastation which shook her did not show at all. She would not allow it.

“What do you intend to do with me?” she asked flatly, once she was sure she could control her voice.

He smiled, and it was not at all pleasant.

“I intend to keep you here with me. Just as you offered to take me along on your ship. I trust that we will get to know each other … extremely well, Kathryn. On my terms, this time … not yours.”

He nodded to his bully boy who seized her in his four armed grab, his hands digging cruelly into her biceps and forearms, completely immobilizing her.

“We’re leaving this area of space,” Kashyk told her. “We won’t be back soon. I’m sure it won’t take more than a day or so for your people to find the Borg’s body, and realize you’re gone but in the meantime, we’ll be light years away.” He looked at Phestus. “Take her to the brig. I will have … use for her later. She’ll be the evening’s ‘entertainment’.”

A round of ribald laughter followed this witty verbiage, and a pair of four-armed aliens hustled her out of the lounge. She didn’t resist, knowing she was out-muscled and outgunned for the moment, wanting a better opportunity in order to make her move. Her heart raced within her, despairing at the news that Kashyk had arranged Seven’s death, that this had indeed been a trap right from the beginning, and she had waltzed right into it with all her arrogance and assurance that she knew how to play this game. A game that may have cost the life of her spouse.

If indeed he was telling the truth.

She took a breath as they dumped her into a stark room, empty but for a container and a single blanket. She realized a prisoner’s comfort was not high on the agenda for these people, and she checked the door by rote just to be sure they had locked her in. The tightness in her chest eased as it occurred to her that Seven was not particularly easy to kill; that just because Kashyk said that he intended to dispatch the Borg didn’t mean he had succeeded. One or even three of his nomads were not necessarily a match for the young woman.

Janeway also knew that Ara would be expecting to meet both Janeway and Seven in the bar before long. The errand Janeway had sent her on, of checking out this very vessel that had attracted the captain’s notice when it had berthed earlier in the day, would have been completed fairly quickly, and she would have returned to the tavern … assuming she hadn’t noticed Janeway being taken to begin with. Still, would she understand what was happening? If only the captain had a better sense of the Bajoran, comprehended her thought processes a little better. Janeway resolved that once this whole mess was finished, she would make an effort to better know the people on the lower decks. Just because it was easier to let things remain at status quo didn’t mean it was the best thing to do.

Janeway stood in the middle of the cell, trying not to let her apprehension get the better of her, believing that Seven and the rest would figure what had happened and come after her. She had absolute confidence in her people and accepted that all that was required of her was to do what had to be done in order to stay alive until then.

She carefully did not speculate what that might entail exactly. She had no illusions about what ‘entertainment’ meant, and knew that Kashyk would probably use her body in an effort to prove his power over her … probably after some good old fashioned torture and mayhem first. Not something to look forward to, but certainly not a concept which could be allowed to defeat her before she even began. After all, she had been captured by Cardassians when she had been a green ensign, fresh from the Academy, and these ragged pirates were no Cardassians. She had also fought Cardassian soldiers on a nameless planet in a police action that had all the viciousness of any major war, brought her ship across sectors populated by Kazon and Borg and Hirogen and Species 8472, had been thrown into an alien prison where vicious physical abuse was how several species chose to communicate with each other, including one Human starship captain.

Through it all, she had survived the brutality.

Kathryn Janeway had become very adept at finding ways to survive, and as long as there was breath left in her body, she would continue to do so.

She searched the room, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon … not necessarily for immediate use, but something to hold in reserve. Then she remembered the special items she had put in her vest before leaving Voyager. That seemed like years ago with all that had happened, and she began to search her clothes carefully, hoping that some of the items might have been overlooked in the fairly casual, sensor-assisted search of her that was carried out prior to her being imprisioned. The guards had relieved her of her communicator and phaser of course, as well as any metal or device generating an energy signature. But she had learned from her experience in the alien prison that sometimes there were ways around such high-tech scans. From concealed pockets in her vest, she drew items made of natural materials that did not show up on any advanced scanning device.

Wooden sticks with sulphur tips that, when struck, produced a flame. ‘Matches’ they were called and still worked as well in the 24th century as they had five hundred years earlier … though space ships generally did not like the concept of open flames. A rock, fitted to her hand, chipped at to make a rough cutting edge, acquired on a planet where she and Seven had been stranded for three weeks. In a fit of enthusiasm, Janeway had taught Seven the same survival skills that had been taught her in an eclectic course at Starfleet Academy, which included how to make various stone age tools. Seven had promptly made this stone knife, presenting it to her partner proudly, and Janeway had kept it ever since for sentimental reasons, even though its weight had dragged on her the entire time she had worn the vest. Now she might have a vital need to be thankful for its presence. Finally, there was a coil of Vulcan silk strand, impossibly strong and eminently suitable to be utilized in a variety of very useful … very deadly ways.

One should never underestimate the ability of Human ingenuity, Janeway thought to herself grimly. Primitive did not mean inefficient … or harmless.

She started as she heard a noise outside the door and knew someone was about to enter. She didn’t know if it was Kashyk, or just one of his bully boys sent down to soften her up for the main event, but whoever it was expected an unarmed woman. She was about to show them how mistaken that really was.

She wrapped the microfilament around her hands, pulling the line tight and took up a position next to the entrance, her lips drawing back from her teeth in a snarl of anticipation.

Seven and Ara crouched amongst the containers littering the cargo bay of the pirate vessel. They had managed to jimmy the lock for the cargo bay hatch that didn’t have the same sensors and security systems the main hatch did. It was a typical oversight in these old ore freighters, which this vessel was, despite its increased weapons array and propulsion unit. It took very little for Seven to utilize her implant to bypass the seal to provide them egress, and their only real fear was that the pirate vessel might normally run with the cargo bay depressurized. If that were the case, they were about to find themselves at a decided disadvantage in saving themselves, let alone the captain.

Vacuum was very non-nutritional, Seven noted and quickly sought out the access hatch to the rest of the ship. Ara, meanwhile, busied herself by prying open the various containers while Seven worked at the door seal. The ex-Maquis abruptly made a sound which attracted the Borg’s attention, and Seven looked behind her.

“Lieutenant?”

Ara motioned at the interior of the container. “Take a look at this.”

Seven hesitated, then took the moment to look. The container was filled with weapons; disruptors, grenades and various projectile launchers.

“This isn’t a pirate ship,” Ara murmured, looking around at the other stacks of similar containers. “It’s a damned arms runner. A lot of these are explosives.”

“Not something the nomads are known for.”

A sudden jolt shook them, and sickly yellow lights began to strobe. There was an unmistakable hiss of air as they felt motion beneath their feet, and they looked at each other in trepidation.

“They do run depressurized,” Ara said as they rushed back to the access hatch. “It’s going to get real thin and real cold in here before long.”

“I understand.” Seven worked on the hatch with renewed determination. It would do them little good if she set off an alert on the bridge that the door was being opened, but the fact remained that if she didn’t get it open soon, the two would be in far worse trouble.

Seven took a breath, brought her rapidly increasing pulse under control, and carefully bypassed the signal that went to the bridge. It made it appear as if the hatch to the cargo bay was sealed even as she pried the hatch open, a task made more difficult by the thinning air.

Ara was gasping as they stumbled into the corridor, and Seven was careful to close the hatch behind them. They took a moment to catch their breaths, then Ara motioned them into a small utility room nearby.

“We should stay here for a while until they settle down,” Ara suggested. “If we’re lucky, they’ll notice right away that the Delta Flyer has also undocked and is on their tail. While they’re distracted with that, we can find the captain.”

“They would not have left her with her communicator,” Seven noted, chafing at the delay as they concealed themselves in the tiny room. “We cannot track her using that.”

“Then we’ll have to do it the old fashioned way,” Ara said, then added at Seven’s uncomprehending look, “Door by door, trial and error.”

Seven nodded. They were silent for a while, feeling the vibration of the vessel leaving the dock tremble through the deckplates. She glanced at the other woman curiously. “May I ask you a question?”

Unlike most other people, Ara did not visibly wince at that, though she did seem to tense slightly.

“If you must.”

“Do you dislike me?”

An expression of what might be considered exasperation crossed the woman’s face.

“It’s hardly the time for this.”

Seven blinked. “I am not going anywhere, for at least ten minutes. Will this dialogue take longer than that?”

Ara heaved a sigh of annoyance. “Look, I’ve got nothing against you personally, Seven. All right? It’s just that you were brought on board out of the blue, and it seemed like the captain always gave you more preference, granting you an authority and privilege that the rest of us don’t have. It can cause resentment, especially down on the lower decks.”

Seven raised an eyebrow. ‘Lower Decks’ was a slang term used to refer to all those crewmembers who rarely had reason to work above deck four. They were mostly ensigns and crewmembers who lacked the necessary training and skills to advance; to be more precise, a good percentage of the Maquis. Of that group, only Chakotay and B’Elanna had moved easily into the senior ranks, and that was because they both had Starfleet experience.

“Do you feel I am incapable of accepting the responsibility granted me?” She was dismayed. It was one thing to feel that Janeway might not trust her. She had resolved that. It had never occurred to her that others doubted her qualifications. Her loyalty when she first arrived on Voyager, perhaps, but never her superior capabilities.

Ara shot her a wry grin. “That’s the hardest part about it. It would be easier if you were incompetent, and just being favored because of your personal relationship with the captain. It’s worse when you are better than anyone else in a lot of things.”

Seven frowned. “That is illogical. How is my being capable a source of resentment?”

“I never said it was logical,” the ex-Maquis noted. “That’s just how people are. They worked hard to get what little they’ve got. All your advantages seemed handed to you. The unfairness gets to some of us.”

“I was assimilated,” Seven reminded her. “Any one of you would be able to do what I do if you would simply allow the Collective to add your distinctiveness to their own.” She paused. “And of course, have a Starfleet captain sever your link eighteen years later.”

Ara shook her head. “That’s not what it’s about. You have a natural intelligence that the rest of us lack.” She seemed to think about it. “Maybe that’s why the captain’s so attracted to you. She’s a scientist as well as a commander.”

Seven considered that. “Do people also resent the captain for her mind?”

Ara shook her head. “That’s different. She’s the captain. She’s expected to be the ultimate authority, but you weren’t. You were just a Borg, an unemotional, unthinking drone. There are plenty of other reasons to resent the captain.”

“Do people resent the captain?” Seven asked, horrified.

Ara shrugged. “She did strand us in the Delta Quadrant.”

“Is that not preferable to a Federation penal colony?” Seven asked innocently. “Or dead if Voyager had indeed, returned as intended? The Jem’Hadar terminated every member of the Maquis they could find.”

Ara took a breath. “I know that’s supposedly what happened. Not all of us believe that. They must have missed some of the resistance.”

Seven regarded her steadily. “They did not.”

Ara stared at her for a moment, almost as if she was attempting to believe the words the Borg was saying. Then she dipped her head, sadness etching her face.

“Maybe you’re right. Prophets knew, Torres was broken up about it for a long time from what I hear.”

Seven searched for something to say. “I am sorry,” she offered finally.

Ara shrugged. “You didn’t know them.” A coldness edged its way back into her voice.

“No, I did not,” Seven agreed. “Yet, I understand the importance of interpersonal relationships, and Lt. Torres told me that the Maquis were like a family. I comprehend how it would feel to lose someone that close. And worse, be unable to do anything about it.”

Ara took a breath, not looking at the Borg.

“Let’s find the captain,” she said shortly, apparently not wanting to continue the conversation any further.

Seven hesitated briefly before complying with the suggestion, carefully sliding open the door and peeking through to the corridor beyond. It remained clear, and she nodded to the lieutenant. They crept quietly into the hall, and stealthily made their way to where it branched off further down. An access hatch was above them, and without speaking, Seven motioned that she was going to mount the ladder to check it out. Ara nodded, and as she kept watch, Seven slung the rifle over her shoulder and scaled the metal steps. Cautiously, the Borg lifted the cover and peered through the crack she created, discovering another corridor that also appeared to be empty.

Quietly, she eased open the grate, and lifted herself gracefully onto the next deck. Alertly bringing her rifle up into firing position, she looked around as Ara joined her. Ara gestured toward one end of the hall, suggesting that was the best direction to try. Since Seven had no real preference, she made no objection, following as the thin woman made her way toward the intersection where another corridor lay at right angles. Seven noted that unlike Voyager, which was maintained with the most conscientious Starfleet neatness, the corridors of this ship were dank and dusty, rust streaking the walls where moisture from condensation had dribbled downt he bulkheads. The deck was mostly clear, but where it met the hull, it was caked with grime and debris, left to float around during periods of null gravity, only to settle somewhere else later on.

Ara held up a hand as she peered around a corner, then held up two fingers. Seven had no clue what that meant and frowned at the Maquis. Ara rolled her eyes and stepped back, allowing Seven to take a peek herself.

Ah, Seven noted to herself. The two fingers meant the two nomads who were standing in front of a door some distance down the hall, almost as if they were on guard. It occurred to her that perhaps they were guarding something or someone. There was nothing to indicate that it was the captain, but what else would need that much security on this vessel?

She shot a look at Ara, nodding and they retreated a bit.

“Ideas?” Seven whispered in a barely audible voice. She had heard Janeway say that often when the captain was not sure what to do next.

“Hit them fast and hard before more pirates show up.” Ara eyed Seven measuringly. “If we use our rifles, sensors are bound to set off an alarm on the bridge. How fast are you? “

“Fast enough,” Seven said flatly. She handed Ara the weapon and unencumbered, tiptoed up to the corner.

The guards seemed relaxed, apparently not expecting any sort of interruption. In fact, they were leaning together, talking about a female they had seen in a bar they had frequented in their last port of call. They weren’t even looking Seven’s way, and the Borg took full advantage of their distraction, halfway to them before one looked over the other’s shoulder to see her coming.

She was aware that he opened his mouth, perhaps to cry out, but she was on them before he had the opportunity to utter a word, knowing that in a hand to hand struggle … where they each had four to her two … she would be at a decided disadvantage. She struck a blow to his temple that killed him instantly, the man slumping to the deck. The other wasted time fumbling for his weapon, and she reached out and casually snapped his neck, twisting his head like a container cap.

Ara stared at her with grim approval as she joined her a moment later.

“Efficient,” she said in an oddly cold voice.

“Thank you,” Seven said, accepting the compliment.

She examined the lock, then extended a probe from her implant to activate the seal. She handed Ara the rifle once more and opened the door, not sure what she would find as she entered the small room.

Something landed on her back, heavy and with a bite as a thin filament enclosed her neck, cutting off her wind. She staggered, the edges of her consciousness growing black, struggling for breath past the obstruction around her throat.

She bent forward in a desperate attempt to free herself, sending her attacker over her head to slam impressively onto the deck.

Janeway felt herself flipped over the large body she had grabbed, hitting the metal deck with an impact that drove the air completely out of her lungs. She felt something heavy land on top of her, and she looked up to see a wild eyed Seven of Nine straddling her. The Borg’s right fingers closing about the captain’s throat as the left mesh implant ripped at the Vulcan filament cutting into Seven’s neck. Janeway’s hands clutched rather ineffectively at a wrist that was completely immovable.

“Kathryn?” Seven’s gaze was confused, astonished, wheezing past the obstruction wrapped around her throat.

“Seven,” Janeway rasped, the exhilaration filling her with its power. “You’re alive!”

“Why did you attack me?” Seven gasped, finally managing to free herself of the cord.

“I didn’t know it was you,” Janeway retorted.

“Are you two done or would you rather be alone?” a second voice asked dryly from the doorway.

Janeway looked over to see Ara standing in the doorway, hefting a compression rifle, keeping watch for any replacements for the two guards who were slumped on the deck.

Seven got off the captain and helped Janeway to her feet, politely handing the Vulcan silk filament back to her. There was a red line burned into her neck where it had bitten harshly into the skin, and blood trickled slowly down her throat, though apparently Janeway had missed the jugular vein. Despite her aplomb, it was clear that the Borg had barely been able to pull the garrote off before it asphyxiated her. Janeway felt a little dizzy when she saw the blood, having to compose herself with an effort.

“Next time, knock,” she murmured, hoping the sarcasm would hide her shame and fear.

“Every time I break into a holding cell from this moment on.”

Janeway wondered where her partner had picked up that reciprocal sarcastic nature. It certainly wasn’t from her, was it? Had to be B’Elanna.

“Do you have one for me?” she asked, gesturing to the rifles.

Seven shot her a look. “Perhaps it would be best for you to remain unarmed, until you are more cognizant of who is rescuing you.”

“Give me the damned rifle,” Janeway growled, taking it forcibly from Seven who allowed it. She could swear there was a bit of a curve to the Borg’s full lipped mouth. “Where’s the Delta Flyer?”

“Presumably right behind us,” Ara said.

“You don’t know?” Janeway said, annoyed.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “We were forced to … improvise.”

When you walked into a trap and an attempt was made on my life was left unsaid, but Janeway felt it keenly. The captain was acutely aware that they were still in a lot of trouble, and she nodded briefly.

“We need to contact the Delta Flyer, but the nomads will pick up on our communicators. Options?”

“We could alter the signal,” Seven suggested as they stepped over the guards on the floor. “Make it a carrier wave attached to what would normally appear to be nothing more than antimatter emissions.”

Abruptly, Janeway became aware that the guards slumped on the deck were not unconscious, they were dead and that Seven had probably been the cause … the same Seven who was casually talking about carrier waves and antimatter emissions. The captain felt a little sick, and decided that she and Seven needed to have a long talk after they returned to Voyager. Just because one was capable of killing efficiently didn’t mean one always had to choose that option when carrying out a mission.

“Why did Kasha set this trap for you?” Ara asked, checking the power reserve of her weapon. “What set him off?”

Janeway frowned. “It turned out to be Kashyk of the Devore Imperium. He recognized me.”

“Kashyk?” Ara said, looking at her oddly. “That Cardassian wannabe? How did he get way the hell out here?”

Seven merely frowned.

“Apparently he was thrown out of the Imperium because of our deception,” Janeway said uncomfortably and changed the subject. “What’s the plan here?”

The other two stopped and looked at her.

“I thought you knew,” Seven said in a puzzled tone.

Janeway stifled the sigh. This was why she wore the pips after all.

“Let’s find someplace private to create that signal. It might give us the extra few moments that we need in order to contact Paris and Neelix.”

“The utility closet,” Ara suggested.

Seven nodded. “I concur.”

Janeway resisted the urge to roll her eyes and followed as the pair led the way to the far end of the corridor where the hatch was located. They were just opening the panel when a yell at the far end of the corridor let them know things were not proceeding according to plan. Disruptor fire lit up the hall, and Janeway pushed Seven toward the opening.

“Contact the Delta Flyer,” she ordered harshly. “We’ll try to hold them off.”

She and Ara took cover to either side of the corridor in the meager shelter of support beams as they raised their rifles and fired back. At least the controls were set to heavy stun, Janeway noted with a touch of relief. She ducked as a beam burned past her head, so close the tip of her nose tingled, and she snarled, aiming at the nomad who had fired the shot, pleased to see him fall under her blast.

From the hatch leading down to the next deck, she could hear Seven contacting the Delta Flyer, the Borg hanging from the ladder, the top of her head barely visible as beams of energy streaked inches over it. From the bits and pieces Janeway could hear, apparently the Delta Flyer could not lower its shields, the pirate vessel hammering away at it with its rather formidable weapons array.

“Tell them to improvise,” Janeway told the Borg when Seven relayed this information. The captain frowned as more pirates appeared, realizing that this was rapidly getting out of hand. Soon they would have to decide to either go down fighting … or surrender.

It was one thing to put herself in Kashyk’s hands. Janeway wasn’t sure how she would handle Seven being used as his own personal frustration reliever. Dark fury descended, and she increased her fire, increasing the settings a notch and aiming above the nomad’s heads at the ceiling, trying to bring it down on them. To her left, Ara seemed to understand instinctively what she was attempting, and concentrated her fire there as well.

There was an explosion, and debris suddenly rained down on the startled pirates, making them scurry further up the corridor. In the next second, a major jolt sent Janeway crashing to the floor, the rifle skittering away from her hand. Breathless, the captain wondered if she had accidently hit something more vital than she had intended.

She twisted frantically in an effort to either retrieve her weapon, or crawl back under cover. She was vaguely aware that Ara had also been knocked to the deck, and Seven had disappeared from sight, presumably having fallen from the ladder. The only good part was that the nomads seemed in equal disarray, collapsed in a pile at the furthest end of the hall.

“Captain, quickly.”

Seven’s voice floated up from the darkness below, and Janeway took a precious second to peer down through the opening. Seven was on her feet, looking at something unseen further down the hall. The Borg glanced at her, and before Janeway could object, the Borg reached up and snagged the captain’s vest, hauling her down through the hatch.

Janeway yelped, arms wind-milling as she dropped, landing on the deck at Seven’s feet with a solid thud. The Borg let her go to drag Ara down as well, and Janeway struggled to suck air back into her lungs, able to do no more than watch as the ex-Maquis dropped lightly down to the deck, landing on her feet, her phaser rifle raised and ready. Seven swiftly sealed the hatch behind her, and Ara fired at the controls for good measure just to make sure no one could follow them for the time being.

“Seven, what…” Janeway began when she was able to breathe again, but neither of the other two women were paying attention to the starship captain.

Disconcerted, she followed their gaze to where a glow in the end of the corridor had appeared, sparks flying as a cutting tool blazed through the hull. A thick, black smoke began to fill the corridor, and the captain was relieved that she was already close to the deck where the air was still relatively clear. It actually took a moment to realize what was happening and when she did, she wasn’t quite sure she believed it.

Lt. Paris must have slammed the Delta Flyer against the pirate ship, overloading the shields with his own, and using the magnetic docking clamps to attach his smaller vessel to that end of the larger vessel. Now, as the pirate ship was unable to fire at them, the weapons array simply not able to target anything on its own hull, the Federation members were busily cutting a way in … directly through the side of the ship.

It violated every protocol Starfleet had, broke every docking and shipping regulation that existed in every civilization Janeway knew. The damage incurred would leave a hole the size of an air lock in the vessel’s hull, exposing this deck, and any others not sealed to the ravages of decompression and vacuum once the Delta Flyer released its grip. It was the most illegal of techniques used to unceremoniously board another ship that did not want to be boarded.

In short, it was a blatant act of piracy.

Janeway was impressed beyond words.

The metal wall abruptly gave way, falling to the deck with a large clang, and the stocky form of Neelix appeared through the haze.

“Come on,” he yelled. “Tom can’t keep the Flyer steady for long. They’re already trying to demagnitize the hull.”

Janeway scrambled to her feet with an assisting hand from Seven. If the pirates succeeded in their attempt, the Delta Flyer would suddenly be repelled from the hull, and the three women would find themselves sucking vacuum very quickly. They all jammed into an airlock designed for only two people at a time, and Neelix activated the door, sealing them off from the pirate vessel. They were knocked around as a sudden jolt indicated that the pirates had finally reversed the polarity, repulsing the tiny ship clinging to their vessel.

There was no room for any of them to fall down, but Janeway still managed to slam her head resoundingly into the bulkhead, and when the stars finally cleared, she could see Ara favoring her right arm, while Seven bled profusely from a cut over her right eye. Neelix was also banged up, dark spots already appearing to complement the golden ones scattered over his face, but he maintained enough alertness to activate the inner door of the airlock, and they spilled out into the Delta Flyer’s aft compartment.

Moving quickly, but not gracefully, they dashed into the cockpit where Tom could spare them no more than a quick glance over his shoulder. Through the fore transparencies, Janeway saw the pirate vessel heel over, gases and what seemed to be fluids boiling from the wound in its side.

“I think you might have cut through something vital,” Paris noted to Neelix as the Talaxian dropped into the co-pilot’s seat just aft of the sandy-haired lieutenant.

“As long as they’re not shooting at us anymore,” Neelix mumbled, accessing his board.

Janeway dropped into the science station, and glanced at Seven who shook the blood out of her eyes as she activated the engineering console. Ara hunched over, using one hand to touch her pad in front of her. The captain regretted it, but she could give them no time to rest.

“Report,” she barked, her ears still ringing from the blow she took, her head aching with a sickening pain.

“The pirate vessel is damaged,” Paris said crisply. “Sensors indicate a loss of plasma fluid. A conduit must have gone just below where we went in, and our sudden detaching must have weakened the entire section.”

“There’s explosives in the cargo bay on that deck,” Ara noted matter of factly through gritted teeth. “If the cargo bay ruptures or plasma leaks into there…”

Janeway’s eyes widened.

“Get us out of here, Tom.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered. “Shields are down to sixty percent, and our phasers are gone. Warp drive is offline.”

“Rerouting sensor power to the warp engines,” Seven said distinctly from her post, her hands literally flying over the touch screen.

Janeway’s knuckles whitened on the arms of her seat, and she found she was staring at the pirate ship wallowing in space before her, drifting away far too sluggishly.

“Mr. Paris,” she said tightly through compressed lips, though she knew her crew was working as quickly as possible.

“Warp engines back online,” Ara barked, even as the captain could see the pirate ship begin to tear itself apart, great balls of light and energy engulfing the vessel, and reaching out in an expanding circle, hungrily seeking the tiny Federation ship.

“Warp three,” Tom yelled triumphedly as he threw his ship into warp drive, barely ahead of the concussion wave, and Janeway heaved a sigh of relief.

“Set course to the rendezvous coordinates.”

She offered a glance back at the spark that had once been a ship full of nomads. Many of them, despite their leader, had only been trying to find their way in the universe at what they considered the worst sort of persecution. Had they been so different from the Maquis? Or indeed, any group in history who felt they were only fighting for their piece of the pie? She felt very weary all of a sudden, and her glance suddenly intersected with Seven who was looking at her with concern.

Yet, Janeway imagined that she read something else in those pale blue eyes, a cold satisfaction of a task being completed in an acceptable manner, regardless of the lives lost. So long as they were other lives, and not any of the Borg’s immediate Human collective.

Janeway felt a chill go through her.

Disconcerted, she looked away and found herself caught by Ara’s dark eyes.

“Lieutenant?” she asked, a bit more harshly than she intended.

“Did we succeed?”

Janeway felt her heart thump. “We cut off the head,” she said flatly. “Do that and the snake dies.”

The ex-Maquis tilted her head slightly. “Or two more grow in its place. We may have just created a martyr.”

Janeway swallowed. “I don’t believe that.”

Saying it firmly so that her crewmember would accept it, so that it would be laid to rest, so that there would be closure. So that perhaps even she could accept and believe it.

If she only tried hard enough.

The stars were thin streaks of light distorted by Voyager’s warp field as the vessel resumed its course to the Alpha Quadrant, their dim illumination streaming through the large windows that dominated the blue sofa sitting beneath it. Janeway was standing by the coffee table, staring out the viewports pensively, her hands on her hips, her uniform crisp as it covered her tense frame. Seven raised an eyebrow as she ascended the short flight of stairs leading to the upper level of the ready room, carrying a padd and a deep curiosity about her partner’s disquiet.

In the reflection from the windows, Seven met the captain’s eyes.

“Seven,” Janeway said quietly.

“Captain,” Seven responded evenly. She lay the pad down on the coffee table, and linked her hands behind her back, tilting her head slightly as she regarded Janeway’s back expectantly.

“Have you finished your debriefing with Commander Chakotay? Or do you have another session?”

“He informed me it was complete. My report is there on your table.”

“Thank you.”

Seven waited, realizing that something was wrong. Something had been wrong ever since they had returned to the Delta Flyer, their rendezvous with Voyager, and a day filled with debriefings. It had to do with the pirates, and the fact that their leader had turned out to be Kashyk, and perhaps even how Seven had performed on the mission. More than once the Borg had caught the captain staring at her, a plainly worried expression on her face that she quickly covered up when she realized Seven was aware of her scrutiny.

Seven didn’t like it, but they hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, hadn’t had a spare moment for the young woman to pin down her partner and find out exactly what was going on.

“Is that all?” Seven prodded delicately.

Janeway inhaled slowly. “No. We need to talk, Seven.”

Seven raised an eyebrow. The Borg designation being used rather than her human one made her edgy. Obviously the ‘wrongness’ had to do with protocols and professional conduct. This was clearly a situation where she was Voyager’s astrometric’s officer answering to the ship’s captain; nothing more, nothing less. She wondered what she had done incorrectly. As far as she was concerned, the mission had gone relatively smoothly, and had ended most successfully, with the threat terminated. Apparently, Janeway did not agree.

Seven waited patiently, content to remain there all night if that was what it took for the captain to find the words to explain her reservations.

“We need to talk about your actions during the mission.”

“Indeed,” Seven noted. “They were unsatisfactory?”

Janeway hesitated. “Not in terms of outcome, but the method was not what I would like to see from a member of my crew.”

Seven considered this, going over in her mind everything that had happened. Belatedly, it occured to her what the possible problem was. “It bothers you that I killed the nomads who were guarding you.”

Janeway turned to face her, surprise warring with dismay in her gaze.

“I need to know why you acted as you did.”

Seven raised her head. “You believe that I killed them without provocation.” It was a conclusion, not a query.

Janeway studied her. “Did you?” she asked finally. “Did you kill them because you thought they had harmed me? Because they were holding me? Was this a matter of revenge, Seven?”

Seven blinked. “I was not even aware that they were guarding you. Lt. Ara and I only knew that we must check every room for your presence.”

“Then why?” Janeway asked simply.

Seven realized this was very important to the captain. “I took the situation into account, the fact that Lt. Ara and I were gravely outnumbered, that attempting to stun the guards with our weapons would set off sensors, and most importantly, that those guards could not be allowed to set off an alarm. Terminating them quickly was the logical conclusion.”

“You couldn’t knock them unconscious?” Janeway countered sharply.

Seven thought about it. “Perhaps,” she said slowly. “But it would have required me to pull my blows to a certain extent, and without possessing a greater knowledge of their species, I could not know by exactly how much. I might not have rendered them unconscious immediately, thereby creating a prolonged struggle with them, or allowing the possibility of one of them calling for help. That was something I did not feel Lt. Ara and I could afford.”

“Are you telling me that killing them was your only option?” Janeway insisted, and her voice was very hard. Yet, at the same time, Seven somehow understood this was not personal, not a matter of their private interaction, but very much having to do with her being this woman’s crewmember, of being Janeway’s responsibility as the Borg’s captain.

Seven regarded her steadily. “No, it was not my only option. I could have attempted to sever their spinal cords. They would have lost all control over their bodies, and been unable to call for help. Of course, if they were not immediately treated by qualified medical staff, they would have eventually died in any event … only more slowly … or at best, lived as paraplegics for the rest of their natural life spans.” She paused. “That seemed a somewhat … inhumane option.”

She was careful not to allow the irony touch her tone, but perhaps she did not succeed because there was a flash in those grey eyes, and Janeway’s jaw hardened.

“Seven, it is wrong to kill in the process of carrying out our duties.”

Seven matched her stare. “That is a fallacy. You have often killed in the carrying out of your duties. As have I. In each case, it was considered justifiable. What makes this different?”

Janeway took a moment, obviously searching for some way to counter this very accurate observation.

“It is easy to kill, Seven,” she said, her words clipped. “You’re right, we have killed in carrying out what could be considered our duty, and maybe it wasn’t always as justifiable as we’d like to believe. But what we must always remember that what makes us Human is the knowledge that we always have a choice. That although we can kill, today we choose not to.”

Seven raised her head. “What true difference does it make, Captain? Killing is killing … for whatever reason. What makes us ‘Human’ is not that we chose not to kill, but that we attempt to justify it when we do. Whereas supposedly ‘lesser’ creatures do not even consider the question. But then, they only kill to eat, or to survive, part of a naturally occurring food chain. It is only ‘sentient beings’ who kill for esoteric reasons like emotion or ideals. When a society’s emotions and ideals are in sync, then any killing the members of that society does is considered justifiable, be it war or lawfully executing a criminal. When it is not considered in the society’s interests, then killing is considered wrong.” She took a breath and pinned the captain with her eyes. “My society is Voyager. The nomads were a threat to you and to my crewmates. If I knew of a way to terminate the threat without killing those two individuals, I would have done so. I did not. I will not risk the existence of any of my fellow collective members, particularly yours, on an esoteric ideal. I can not. It is not in my nature.”

Janeway turned away, seeming unable to respond to such a flat statement. Her shoulders abruptly hunched as if warding off a blow, and Seven knew that the captain was struggling with something very deep and painful inside. It was not something that the Borg wanted to see, and certainly it caused her pain to know she had contributed to the captain’s dilemma, but she also understood that it was very much Kathryn’s nature. It was Janeway’s place to argue what was, to demand better, to expect more, not only from herself, but from everyone around her.

Seven wanted to reach out and wrap that small form up in her arms, to hold her until the turmoil and confusion went away … but she could not. It would be unacceptable in a way that was not entirely clear to her, but nonetheless understood on a very basic level.

“That’s a very convincing argument,” Janeway said finally. “In some ways, I can’t counter it.” She turned once more, looking Seven full in the face, her eyes dark and determined. “But I must. From now on, regardless of the circumstances, you will not kill another sentient being unless it is to prevent your own immediate death, or that of a crewmember. That is a direct order.”

Seven did not flinch though she wanted to. The tone in the voice was absolute. This could not be negotiated or clarified any further in any way, shape or form.

“I will comply,” the Borg responded.

Janeway stared at her a moment more, then nodded.

“Dismissed.”

Seven wavered briefly, then dipped her head and left the ready room. Despite the anger in Janeway’s eyes, despite the reprimand inherent in the captain’s voice, there was still a warmth spreading through the Borg. Whatever her previous doubts, Seven now knew that Janeway expected the same standard of behavior from her as she did the rest of the crew, and would accept nothing less. The order had been clear and concise, just as it would, had it been given to Torres or Neelix or Ara. Seven mulled over this new revelation with a faint smile as she instructed the turbolift to deposit her on deck four where she made her way to the Wildman’s cabin, where she retrieved Jake. She returned with him to her own quarters on deck three and fed him before changing from her blue-grey mesh outfit into a pair of silk pajamas, padding about her quarters in a pair of soft, silver-colored slippers.

She was debating over whether to create dinner or not when the door hissed open and the captain entered. For long moments they stood looking at each other before Janeway slowly crossed the room. Without hesitation, Seven took her in her arms and held her tightly, resting her cheek on the soft auburn hair, feeling the tenseness of muscles ease slowly.

“Do you wish to speak further about this?” she asked softly.

“No,” Janeway said and her voice was very husky, almost as if there were tears barely held back behind the words. “We have to leave it out there. At least, for now.”

Out there.

Out there was the rest of the ship, the rest of the universe, lying beyond the doors of this place, this home, this haven they had created. Out there, Kathryn Janeway was captain of Voyager, responsible for the lives of her crew, for the way they conducted themselves under her command, for the decisions they made. In here, she was just a woman who trembled in Seven’s arms, and tried very hard to keep from weeping in the aftermath of an away mission that, while not a complete failure, had not succeeded in the way Janeway had hoped. There had been no clear, well defined solution, only many choices of the ‘less wrong’ variety.

Seven had come to understand that as time passed, and they grew together as a couple, certain things could not be allowed to affect their life here in these rooms. It was not always easy to decide what that applied to, nor was it always completely clear to her why Janeway chose to isolate the particular parts of herself that she did, but this was clearly one of these times. Seven tightened her embrace gently. For long moments, they held on to each other, easing back into the familiarity of the room around them, to the sounds and smells of home and each other.

“What a mess,” Janeway said finally.

“The pirate threat has been neutralized,” Seven offered tentatively.

Janeway sighed, hugging her tightly. “But we didn’t accomplish it the way we should have. It’s not the Starfleet choice to go in and start blasting. We should have found a way to negotiate a peaceful solution.”

“Kashyk hated you,” Seven noted quietly. “Once he recognized you, it is unlikely that any peaceful solution was possible.”

Janeway was silent for a moment, considering that. “That’s a point,” she allowed finally, with reluctance. “Deceptions within deceptions. Once the masks were ripped off, there was no way to keep anything hidden. You are right, he did hate me with everything he was. I had made a fool of him … several times over.”

“He made a fool of himself. If he had dealt with you fairly from the beginning, you would have reciprocated in kind, and offered him a sanctuary.” She hesitated as a thought crossed her mind, the memories of that time returning, remembering how Janeway had pretended to be attracted to the man. She hadn’t liked it at the time, but she thought she understood it. Now she wondered if it had all been pretense. With a sinking heart, she pulled back, looking down into the beloved features. “Do you … regret your initial deception?”

Janeway studied her a moment. “Do you mean; could I have developed real feelings for him in other circumstances?”

Seven hesitated. “Yes.”

Janeway shook her head. “Never. Certainly, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in the beginning, but I never trusted him for a moment. We both know, Annika, without trust, there can be no true bond.”

Seven thought about it. “That does not exactly answer my question.”

A tiny grin quirked Janeway’s mouth. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t suppose it does. Annika, I might have been able to care for the person he could have been. I did see potential there, but whatever my feelings were, they were only about what he could have been. Regardless, there was always your place in my heart … and no one else could ever supplant that. The most that I ever would have felt for him would have been friendship, not what I was pretending to feel for him.”

Seven bent her head, trying to understand what Janeway was saying. “He truly believed you cared for him, that you were attracted to him.” Her eyes rose, meeting the captain’s squarely. “Have you ever deceived me in that manner? Have you ever manipulated me?”

Janeway exhaled. “That’s not an easy question to answer, darling,” she said, releasing her embrace and going over to the replicator.

“No?” Seven responded, surprised and hurt. “It seems merely a choice of responding either negatively or positively.”

Janeway took the glass of ice water that she had requested from the shelf, and sipped it slowly before turning around. She leaned against the counter as she looked directly at the Borg.

“Let me ask you the same question,” she said quietly. “Have you ever manipulated me?”

“No,” Seven replied promptly. “Never.”

“Are you sure?” Janeway pressed.

Seven stared at her, now a little less certain. Obviously the captain did not agree with her assessment.

“I do not believe so. Do you feel that I have?”

“Of course you have, Annika, from forcing me to eat and sleep regularly, to occasionally allowing yourself to cry when you feel it will affect me most. You also tend to ask me questions when I am at my most vulnerable, because you believe you will receive the best response while my defenses are down. In fact, remember how this whole mission started? You threatened to tickle me in order to make me talk to you.”

Seven was stricken as she considered what her partner had said. “You are correct. I have been manipulative.”

Janeway’s face softened and she put her drink down on the counter, coming over to the young woman once more, and slipping her arms around the slender waist.

“Annika, you have to understand,” she said softly as she looked intently up at her, “we all are manipulative in various ways, but mostly it is for benevolent or honestly felt reasons. Just as you do things to convince me to take care of myself, I do the same to you. Remember when I had the doctor remove ova from my reproductive organs to make sure you have options in the event I die? That was blatant manipulation on my part, and what’s more, you understood exactly what I was doing.”

Seven swallowed hard. “You did that because you love me.”

“Exactly, just as your manipulations are based on your love for me, Annika.” Janeway sighed, searching for the proper words. “I’m not saying it’s right, but it is very much a part of human interaction. What can be accepted and forgiven is a matter of individual decision, be it these small attempts at manipulating each other, to the deliberate deceptions I created to make Kashyk jump the way I wanted. I don’t know that I can justify my manipulation of him. Certainly, it had far reaching consequences, not only for myself, but for others that his bitterness has since touched. But if it meant that I would save those telepaths, I know I would do it again.” She rested her forehead against Seven’s. “I do promise you, my darling, I have never pretended to feel something for you that I don’t, and I would never attempt to manipulate you emotionally in order to cause you harm in any way. I couldn’t. It would destroy me.”

“I understand, Kathryn,” Seven whispered. “I promise you the same.” She pulled the captain close and kissed her. “I love you,” she added in a gentle murmur. “I am sorry if I disappointed you with my actions on this mission.”

Janeway shook her head. “You didn’t, Annika. You couldn’t. There are just some ramification from this mission we have yet to figure out, and it might take a while.”

Then she brightened slightly, and smiled.

“But we will,” she said in a voice that sounded completely certain.

“We always do, my darling.”

Epilogue

Lieutenant Commander Tuvok opened his eyes as the chime to his door sounded. He was sitting cross-legged in his darkened quarters, the thin flame from a meditation lamp the only illumination. He took a slow, deep breath, clearing his mind before he lifted his head toward the entrance to his quarters.

“Come in.”

The door slid open to reveal Lt. Ara, the woman standing patiently in the doorway until he nodded, inviting her in. She entered and, having done this many times before, lowered herself gracefully to the floor on to the cushion across from him. The lamp’s flame flickered briefly as the passage of her body disturbed the air, and shadows danced across both their faces.

“You conducted yourself adequately on the mission,” he said when she had settled.

The shadows in her face deepened. “Not in the beginning, sir. I allowed my feelings of envy and dislike to interfere with how I saw the others on the away team. I deliberately refused to call Janeway ‘captain’ for example, even when subtle hints were made.”

Vulcans did not smile, but it seemed that Tuvok’s eyes glowed a bit. “Captain Janeway is not known for her subtlety. You must have disturbed her indeed.”

“That was not my intent,” Ara said quickly, then bowed her head. “That is a falsehood, I did intend to disturb her.” She frowned briefly. “I don’t understand why.”

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “I believe you do.”

Ara looked up, meeting his gently inquiring gaze.

“Yes.”

There was a silence, then Ara swallowed.

“They do love each other,” she offered slowly. “More than I think we average crewmembers realize. It allows me to see the captain in a completely different light.”

“The captain and Seven’s love is very deep … almost spiritual. Were they Vulcan, it would be a bond only death could sever.”

Ara shook her head slightly. “Not even death.”

He considered that. “Perhaps.” He regarded her. “Now you realize why you have been in error.”

“Yes,” Ara said quietly. “I understand many things now.” She took a breath. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to reveal anything. Knowing does not always equate trust.”

He dipped his head in acceptance. “One day soon.”

“Soon.” She lifted her head. “Thank you for recommending me for the mission.”

“No thanks are necessary.”

She uncoiled gracefully from the floor. “When is my next lesson?” she asked, lingering at the door.

“When it happens. Lessons are learned when one least expects it.”

She considered that. “I understand. Good night, Tuvok.”

She left and Tuvok sat alone in his quarters.

Contemplating the flickering flame.

The End

Back to Season Two

On to Just Between Darkness & Light

For more information on the real Grace O’Malley, Ann Bonny and Mary Read, check out the following websites:

Defiant Women

Ann Bonny

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Epilogue