AdVantage Point: Part I

PART I

After all the fanfare and commendations, after all the interrogations and pardons, after the short-lived reprieve and reassignments, nothing much had really changed. The time the crew of Voyager spent in the Delta Quadrant turned out to be nothing more than the longest deep space mission in Starfleet history.

Captain Janeway, glancing around the bridge, recognized the homogeny of time. Tuvok was at tactical, Harry at ops, Tom at the conn, and Chakotay beside her in the other command chair. All of them enmeshed in their tasks, working together to re-dock Voyager in another slip at the space station. "Yup, circumstances and situations could vary, alter, reoccur, or never occur, and time still gets its way," she thought.

Swiveling in her chair, she crossed her legs and stared intently at the wide viewscreen as though she could maneuver Voyager with the sheer force of her will. With the official portion of their latest mission over, she had decided to dock Voyager in a more concealed slip. This event marked the end of the first half of her first mission since being reinstated as Voyager's commanding officer. But this undertaking was twofold--the expedition to the space station near Quadra Sigma III to negotiate rights to a toranium mine, in advance of a more surreptitious exchange.

The first part of the operation had already been accomplished. She and the Federation representative, Envoy Hael had proved formidable partners in the negotiations. And now, two weeks later, the Federation had exclusive rights to the deep vein of toranium running through Quadra Sigma III and in exchange the colonists would receive three, large volume OH generators. Janeway hoped the exchange would prove mutually beneficial. A small, private smile graced her lips. "I know it has been beneficial for me," she mused, thinking of the Envoy again.

"We're in," Tom called out just as the mooring clamps closed around Voyager's hull with a metallic-sounding shudder.

"Good job, Tom. Everyone," she complimented.

With Voyager docked, Janeway stood with the goal of retiring to her ready room and completing this month's department reports. But before she could make her intentions known, the doors to the bridge opened. Turning to see who had entered, she spotted Seven coming down the stairs. Janeway tracked her until suddenly she was standing directly in front of her.

"Captain, the stellar cartography reports for five parsecs around Quadra Sigma III."

"Thank you, Seven," Janeway said pleasantly, taking the offered PADD. "You didn't have to bring them. I would have been happy to review them in Astrometrics."

"I--," Seven began and then let off. "It is not a problem, Captain. I was on my way to Engineering."

Turning to leave, Seven glanced at Chakotay, the two exchanging looks midstream. It was impossible to tell what passed between them, but it definitely riled the Captain's sense of curiosity. "Things are going well, I take it?" she asked quietly.

Chakotay leaned towards her, but his eyes remained on his console. "Yes, if I do say so myself."

She trawled for a little more information. "Seven is adjusting to the new scope of your relationship?"

This time he looked at her. "For the most part," he paused. "There are bumpy spots along every road."

"Oh?"

"Mmm . . . yes. She is great when we are alone, but sometimes when we are with other people, she regresses to, uh, Borg-like behaviors."

"Regresses?" she repeated sharply.

"Yeah," he confirmed with a slight nod of his head.

"Maybe 'regresses' isn't the right term," she offered tactfully. "It's not like she is reverting to a child-like state."

"That might be preferable," he mumbled, looking away.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Commander?"

He noticed the puzzled look she wore. "Maybe she is uncomfortable . . . in crowds."

The Captain smiled lightly at him and patted his arm comfortingly before getting up. "Well, I have reports to go over. . . . I'll be in my ready room."

ΩΩΩΩ

Sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee, she tried to concentrate on the department reports, but she kept coming back to her conversation with the Commander. "Did he really think that Seven could ever just stop being Borg?" she considered the question silently. Why was it even necessary? Surely he could see how Seven's background added to her individuality, added even to the very beauty of the young woman. Personally, she enjoyed Seven's distinctiveness and Admiral Janeway had upended time for her.

She thought of the Admiral, remembering how the woman seemed so like herself, indistinguishable from her in demeanor and posture, but yet so very different. It was apparent to the Captain that the Admiral had suffered a thousand losses, missed a thousand chances, and denied a thousand opportunities. She could never fulfill the longing of those lost moments, and the grief of that realization was never as apparent as it was when she looked at Seven of Nine for the first time after having watched her die.

Kathryn remembered that moment vividly. She and the Doctor were comparing her DNA to the Admiral's. Seven strode into the sick bay to deliver a report and she was caught in the Admiral's suddenly vibrant gaze. It was as though her world gravitated on Seven's face. You could feel the Admiral's joy--it was evident and evocative of a woman who had endured an existence of self-inflicted yearning and regret.

The Captain grasped the handle of her favorite mug and sniffed at the contents. "But I'm not that Kathryn Janeway," she said aloud, contemplating how different her life must be from the Admiral's. After all, at some point after passing by the transwarp hub, the Admiral had fallen in love with Seven. Her own feelings for the young woman were clearly not the same. "Mentor, advisor, friend? Certainly. Lover? Certainly . . . not."

Lost in thought, it wasn't until the chime sounded a second time that she heard it and remembered the appointment she had scheduled with a certain Astrometrics officer, who she had just been speculating wildly about. The chime sounding a third time made her jump nervously and she steadied herself by grabbing up a PADD and pretending to read it. "Come."

Seven stalked into the ready room and came to an immediate halt in front of the desk. Crossing her hands behind her back, she waited for the Captain to address her.

Looking up slowly from the PADD, Janeway took in the long line of Seven's body, her eyes finally coming to rest on the ex-drone's face. With a small shrug of her shoulders, she pushed aside all surreptitious thoughts of the young woman, which might have precipitated her natural tendency to flush with embarrassment. "Seven, thank you for coming."

"You are welcome, Captain," Seven responded with a small, inquisitive tilt of her head.

"I asked you here to discuss . . . the mission."

"I understood the negotiations were complete."

"Not quite," she responded, trying to reorder her thoughts. "Before I go into that though, I wanted to. . . ." she broke off. How could she bring up the subject, out-of-the-blue as it was? "Ah, I was just thinking about my first boyfriend."

Seven arched her eyebrow, giving the Captain a quizzical look. "Boyfriend?"

"Well," she reconsidered, "not boyfriend so much as first crush. His name was Timothy. I was six and he was eight, and oh, he was very sophisticated. . . . I adored him. . . . He was tall and all that wavy brown hair. Who could have resisted?"

Seven looked startled. "Captain?"

"Anyway, I followed him around the neighborhood, joining all the teams he joined and playing all the games he played," she paused and took a breath. "I played hard for him so that his team would win and he would be pleased with me."

"I take it, he was not."

"You would be correct. Apparently, I embarrassed him. Too competitive, I suppose. Regardless, I realized that I couldn't please someone like that and I had to be me, so to speak, and they would either accept me or not." She lifted her brows and eyed Seven, looking for a glimmer of understanding. "So, is there anything you'd like to discuss?"

Seven shifted uncomfortably. "Captain, I assumed you requested my presence to discuss an assignment."

Janeway paused for a moment, scrupulously inspecting her Astrometrics officer. "Dumb story, Janeway. What the hell was the point?" she asked herself. Recovering quickly, she came back to the real topic at hand. "Yes," she chuckled. "All right, the assignment. . . . Are you familiar with the Tox Uthat?"

Seven tilted her head to the side. "A palm-size crystal capable of stopping the nucleic reaction within a star. A Quantum phase inhibitor. Destroyed on Risa approximately 12 years ago--Stardate 43745.2."

"That's the one; however, apparently it was not destroyed. Unimatrix 6 has contacted Starfleet. Under the assumption that we would be willing to do some mutually beneficial trading, they are willing to deliver the device into our hands. Intelligence has it that the Pygorians are also trying to obtain the device, so we must be quick."

Seven rocked back on her heels. "Unimatrix 6? Am I to assume this is why I am being involved?"

Janeway smirked at Seven's no-nonsense response. "Yes, I can't think of anyone more appropriate to help the Federation moderate terms with a rogue group of disbanded Borg. Can you?"

Seven shuffled her feet and sighed. "No, Captain."

"However, if you would prefer not to accompany me on this mission, I certainly understand," she baited her, knowing well that Seven would never allow her to meet with the Borg without her being there.

"When do we leave?"

The Captain smiled earnestly. "Monday. 0700." Glancing down at her desk, she took in all the reports she still had to read over before her shift ended. When she looked back up, she was surprised to see Seven still standing in front of her. She grinned crookedly. "If there's nothing else, Seven, you're dismissed."

Seven, who was still contemplating a way to ask Janeway about her reason for telling her about her first crush, was caught off guard by the direct dismissal. Unclasping her hands, she pivoted towards the exit and just as she left, the Captain's head shifted back up and her eyes followed Seven out the door.

ΩΩΩΩ

Kathryn watched as Leyton stepped up to the line on the floor. Before throwing the dart in his hand, he struck a pose and tossed her a cocky grin. "Just throw it!" she barked, exasperation seeping out. But if the truth were known, this arrogance was yet another thing she liked about him--that and the distinguished lines of silver running through his dark hair.

Leyton Q. Hael was the primary negotiator and representative of a coalition of the Federation that sought the advance rights to assets located in isolated areas of the quadrant. Chief Envoy of Remote Region Resources was an imposing title for an imposing figure of a man. But Hael was more than just a protracted title. Conservative by nature but opinionated in his beliefs, he possessed a strong, educated, mind, idealistic aims, compassionate intent . . . "And he is certainly tall," she mused, running her eyes up his muscular frame. In every way, he seemed to be the companion Kathryn had longed to find. And yet there was something intangible about him. There were moments he seemed every bit the hallucination, a wonderful figment of her incredible imagination. She clamped down hard on the feeling she had that he might actually be a little too perfect. "Sabotaging myself again," she thought.

He threw the final dart, hitting the mark, and the scoreboard lit up, signaling the win. "Game, point, match, Player Two," the computer announced.

"Awe. . . ," Janeway protested disappointedly.

Leyton winked at her, his brown eyes sparkling playfully. "Don't worry, Katie, I'll give you the opportunity to even up the score. I know how you hate to lose."

"I do hate to lose, but we've tied up the board long enough. I think we can let some of the youngsters play now," she said, gesturing to the four crewmen who had been waiting anxiously for their Captain and the Envoy to retire from the dartboard. "How about you just get us a couple of ales and meet me over there," she said, gesturing to a table. He started to head for the bar, but she caught him by the arm and tugged him back. "And then we can discuss playing a round of Velocity. Now there's something I'm really good at."

Returning from the bar, he placed two bottles of Yridian ale and a glass with a lime in it on the table. "Didn't know if you take it straight."

She grinned lopsidedly at him as he sat opposite her. "Since you went to the trouble to bring the accompaniments. . . ."

"I thought so," he teased.

"Lots of people here tonight," she commented. "There's a bar just like this one on--"

His pinky finger tapping against the neck of the bottle caught her attention, and suddenly she knew why everything about Leyton felt peculiar. He reminded her of a certain holocharacter of which she had grown a little too fond. Her cheeks colored self-consciously and she had to remind herself that Leyton was a real person.

"Katie?" She glanced at him. Even his choosing to call her Katie, and the way he said it, reminded her of Michael O'Sullivan.

"Katie?" he said again, placing his hand on her arm.

She jumped at the contact. "Yeah?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You were saying?"

She concentrated on the sharp, deep-set features of his face, which was quite different from Michael's. "Oh, yes, I was just commenting that the bar is awfully busy . . . it seems that places like these always become the hub of activity on every space station."

"Not much else to do," he commented mildly, taking a large swallow of the ale.

"True."

He put down the bottle and inspected her. "Can I ask you something, Katie?"

Janeway regarded her companion with a look of complete astonishment. "O--okay," she stammered. "All right."

"A moment ago, you were just staring at me like I was a phantom . . . may I ask you what you were thinking?"

Relief flooded her features. "You remind me a bit of someone I used to know."

"Really?" he asked with a flirtatious smile. "And who would that be?"

"A bartender I knew in the Delta Quadrant." She smiled guilefully and took another drink.

"A bartender," he considered. "Did you like this bartender?"

"Well, let's just say, he was one of my weaker moments."

He smiled, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. "You know, I was a bartender."

"I didn't know that." But her mind mumbled that she did indeed know it.

"Uh, huh, it was during my 'I fancy myself a poet' period.

"A poet?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid to see where this line of questioning would take her.

"Yeah, just as I was finishing up a degree in interspecies relations. I worked at the local pub. Served drinks. Brooded. Quoted Basai Masters. Brooded." He chuckled self-reprovingly. "You know, poet stuff."

"And you gave it all up for the Federation. How noble," she teased.

Grinning, he shook his head. "Well, not exactly. One night there was a really bad thunderstorm. I mean, lightening was striking everywhere when I closed up for the night. Ran home being pelted by raindrops. Felt more like a meteor shower. The next day, when I came to work, the place was gone."

"Gone?" she asked incredulously.

"Yup. Nothing left but the stone front, the barstools, and the cement slab they were bolted to. Everything else had burned to the ground. . . ."

"Lightening need only strike once, I suppose," she remarked lightly.

ΩΩΩΩ

"You really didn't have to escort me all the way back to Voyager," the Captain threw over her shoulder as she pressed in the code to the door to her quarters.

"I don't mind if it means I can spend just a little longer with you," Leyton responded sincerely.

She blessed him with a knee-weakening smile. "Would you like to come in?"

He looked ambivalent for an instant. "Maybe just for a minute."

"All right then," she said, leading the way. Once inside, she pulled off her overcoat and threw it over the arm of the couch. "Can I offer you anything?"

"No. . . . Actually, Katie, I really can only stay for a minute. Tomorrow, I have an early meeting to attend, and well, I'm not completely prepared," he explained.

"Well, I certainly understand duty interfering with enjoyment," she replied agreeably.

His dark brows rose on his forehead inquisitively, hopefully. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

She turned and looked at him, her gaze softly scrutinizing. When she didn't answer, he put his hands in the pockets of his suit coat and looked down at his feet.

She moved closer towards him. Reaching out, she touched his arm. "Yes, Leyton, of course, I enjoyed myself. . . . Didn't you?"

He lifted his eyes and found hers looking up at him, and although, he didn't know exactly how she would respond, he grasped the point of her chin and guided her lips to his. The kiss was quick, soft, and reverent.

Kathryn smiled gently in return. "I guess that answers my question."

Leyton stared at her mouth for a second longer, before he managed to rip his eyes away. "I did have a good time," he acknowledged, turning to leave. "Thank you."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned and smiled broadly. "Yes, until tomorrow. Sleep well, Katie."

"You, too," she responded quietly as he left.

After the door closed behind him, Kathryn simply stared at it. She couldn't quite understand it, but there was something elusive about him, something that left her feeling mindful and yet peculiarly content. But why would that be? She searched for reasons, but couldn't find any. She wondered briefly if he snored. Experience told her that he didn't.

She shrugged her shoulders and proceeded into the bathroom where she slipped into her nightgown. Confronting her reflection in the mirror, she asked, "What's your problem . . .? Are you really so suggestible?" Picking up the brush, she ran it through her hair. "So he's a little like Michael. . . . You liked Michael."

She sighed loudly as she padded over to her bed and pulled back the covers. "He's thoroughly attractive, utterly charming, and exceedingly successful," she consoled herself with those thoughts. Her unease probably stemmed from the fact that she hadn't known him that long and it was still early in the relationship. That was it, she didn't know him well enough yet. As her head met the pillow, all thoughts of Envoy Hael vanished promptly from her mind.

ΩΩΩΩ

The pneumatic doors to the space station's only restaurant opened to admit Envoy Hael, his arm seated firmly around Captain Janeway's shoulders. Seven, who was sitting with Chakotay, Tom, and B'Elanna at a table in the middle of the room, resisted the urge to stare. She knew the Captain had been in romantic relationships before, but now confronted with it for the first time, she felt unusually flustered. Restraining her curiosity, she removed her attention from the two at the door, just in time to catch the conspiratorial grins on her dinner companions' faces. Then Chakotay stood, waving his arms to catch the attention of the couple at the door.

A dramatic sigh escaped Janeway's lips. "Should we pretend not to see them?" Leyton asked jokingly.

"How could we possibly miss them?" she chuckled.

As they approached the table, Janeway gave each of her crewmembers in turn a small teasing glare, her way of saying hospitably 'leave us alone or I will drop kick you into the brig'.

"Join us?" Chakotay asked with a small, knowing twinkle in his eye.

"Thank you for the invitation, but I think we will just take that small, quiet table at the back there," she said, tilting her chin and gesturing at a cozy table towards the back of the restaurant. "But you all have a nice evening."

The Envoy nodded politely before steering his dinner companion to a table against the back wall of the restaurant.

ΩΩΩΩ

"I think she really likes him . . . a lot," B'Elanna emphasized quietly, leaning into the table so that they could hear her better.

Tom snickered. "It's about time."

Seven leveled a look at him. "I mean no disrespect," he conciliated. "I just mean that it's good for her."

Chakotay grinned, and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. "All right, no more talk about the Captain's love life."

"Spoil sport," B'Elanna jeered.

He ignored her comment and instead changed the subject. "Still going through late night, marathon feeding sessions?"

Tom's eyes grew wide at the question. "Oh, no, why did you have to ask that?"

"What? I was curious," the Commander replied. "Why?"

"You just picked her favorite topic to rant and rave about," he explained, patting B'Elanna's arm condescendingly.

With a balled up fist, she hit him in the shoulder. "You, wait a minute. I don't rave like a lunatic about Miral's late night feeding habits."

"Whoa! I didn't say anything about a lunatic!" Tom defended himself.

As B'Elanna and Tom exchanged insults, Chakotay took the opportunity to engage Seven in a private conversation. "You're awfully quiet tonight," he remarked gently. "Are you all right?"

Seven smiled reassuringly if almost imperceptibly. "I'm fine."

Chakotay leaned over and pressed his lips softly against Seven's for reassurance. As in other situations, she focused on the mechanics, thereby diverting her emotional response to the kiss, or in this case, lack thereof. Pulling away slowly, she felt guilty as she met his dark eyes.

The Captain witnessed the kiss from a distance. Seeing Seven and Chakotay together was hardly a surprise, but Kathryn still felt a little shock register in her mind at their intimate display. She looked for any signs of discomfort from Seven, but didn't observe any. She didn't know why she expected to see unease or embarrassment, or why she was even more disturbed when she didn't. In her mind, she replayed the intimate gesture, unable to focus on anything except the way Seven's full, pink mouth yielded against her companion's.

"Katie?"

"Mmm?" She looked dazedly at Leyton, her mind just beginning to clear. "Yes?"

"You've scarcely touched your dinner. Is something wrong with it?"

She glanced at her plate. "No," she said, looking back out across the restaurant.

"If you really wanted to join your friends, we can," he tried again.

"No, it's all right. . . . I'm sorry, I'm just a little distracted tonight." He nodded at her. "How about I make it up to you?" That garnered a huge grin from him. "My quarters on Voyager?" she asked, smiling disarmingly.

He nodded enthusiastically, getting up to help her with her chair. As he followed her out the door, she tossed back mischievously, "I have some caramel brownies and some rather sobering coffee you'll just love."

ΩΩΩΩ

Seven had watched as Janeway and the Envoy left the restaurant. The night's events had proven rather disturbing and she felt the urge to follow their lead if only to escape the hostile looks B'Elanna was pitching at her from across the table. It had started out innocently enough. The petite engineer had expressed concern for Miral's nutritional intake. Seven had simply commented that adding a nutritional supplement to B'Elanna's diet would help ensure the baby's nutritional requirements were being met.

But once again, her intentions had been misunderstood. And every time she tried to explain, the obstinate Klingon interrupted her. Finally, she had just stopped responding and let B'Elanna fume at her. Sometimes if she was quiet for long enough B'Elanna would lose interest, but not this time.

B'Elanna crossed her arms. "I guess we know your opinion then."

"I was simply characterizing the nature of --"

"What good parents would do," she paused and glanced at Tom as he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Look here, Ms. Borg Perfection, what do you know about babies other than how to grow them in petrie dishes?"

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, removed his napkin from his lap, and pushed himself away from the table. "Okay . . . we should probably call it a night before there's bloodshed."

ΩΩΩΩ

As they exited the doors of the space station's restaurant, Chakotay grasped the slender length of Seven's upper arm. "Why do you have to do that?"

"To what are you referring?"

He pulled at her arm, stopping her so that she faced him. "The Borg thing. . . . You're always saying or doing something that just reminds everyone of the Borg."

"I offered to share my specifications for a nutritional supplement," she explained, her brow furrowing with confusion. "That is all."

"Yes, I know. But it was the way you did it."

"My method wasn't any different than--"

He cut her off. "It was condescending."

"That was not my intent. . . . She was asking for advice."

"She wasn't asking for anything. She just needed an outlet to talk about her anxiety as a new mother," he said with frustration. "But instead of listening, you pushed her like some Borg set on assimilating the conversation."

She glared at him. "I am Borg," she announced, and then a thought echoed a different sentiment. "Or you make me feel like one."

His voice followed her as she escaped down the corridor. "You're not. You're human."

ΩΩΩΩ

Returning to Voyager, she sought the comfortable silence of the cargo bay where she brooded over the argument with Chakotay. She could understand why he would be upset that she and B'Elanna had difficulty achieving compatibility. B'Elanna and Tom were good friends of his, and as he had explained before, he wanted to be able to spend time simultaneously with her and them. But B'Elanna had a disagreeable temperament and often, Seven believed, took offense at her very presence. To her mind, it seemed, the problem wasn't so much that she behaved like a drone as much as she didn't regulate her conduct aptly enough to accommodate sensitive humans, particularly half-Klingon ones.

B'Elanna's attitude towards her had only gotten worse since Seven had missed the baby shower. She had taken her non-attendance as a personal affront. Seven had later given a baby gift to B'Elanna in way of an apology. But the hot-headed Klingon barely glanced at the gift before she put it aside, voicing an acerbic 'unique.' Reanalyzing it, Seven should probably have avoided the situation altogether by giving the gift to Tom. Had B'Elanna really expected that she would attend? She was notorious for being painfully out-of-place at social functions and seeking to evade them.

The fact was, they were all too quick to blame her Borgness for her social transgressions instead of blaming her lack of experience. There was one person who was the exception, though. Captain Janeway understood Seven's unease even as she pushed her to overtake it and make the adjustment. She was obliging when Seven was most unnerved, providing a constant companion whom she could look to for support.

Thinking about the Captain, she remembered the conversation she had with her about her first crush. Her mind passed over the words--"Had to be me." Maybe the Captain could indeed provide some insight.

ΩΩΩΩ

Exiting the turbolift, she stalked the corridor until she was facing the door to the Captain's quarters. She wondered why she felt nervous about broaching this topic with Janeway. She and the Captain had often had late-night discussions and Janeway had made it clear that her door was always open.

Calming herself, she pressed the chime. From inside, she heard the unmistakable sound of the Captain's voice. "Come."

The pneumatic doors slid open and Seven strode in, coming to an abrupt stop a few steps inside the room.

"Seven!" Janeway said graciously. "What can I do for you?"

Seven turned towards Janeway, who was standing at the replicator with two wineglasses in her hands. Approaching her, she wondered at Janeway's disheveled appearance. A thought occurred to her that maybe the Captain was getting ready for bed. Ignoring these fleeting thoughts, she addressed her, "Captain, you offered to advise me regarding--"she left off at hearing footfalls approaching from behind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." Leyton offered a small, apologetic smile.

Seven caught Leyton in the periphery of her vision. He had removed his shirt and was only clad in pants and an undershirt. Embarrassment coursed over her. Of course the Captain would be busy. She and the Envoy were dating. Her throat seized for a moment, before she was able to express regret for having interrupted. "My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to intrude."

The Captain reached out, touching Seven's forearm. She realized what the situation must look like to the younger woman. "It's all right, Seven. You're not--"

Seven backed away. "We can have this discussion at another time. I will go now."

"Really," Janeway began. "You don't have to leave. . . ."

"An-another time, Captain," Seven managed, and with a short nod to Leyton, she left.

Janeway exchanged amused looks with her companion, and then she pointed at his undershirt.

Leyton grinned mischievously at her. "I suppose, I should have told her that I dropped coffee on my shirt."

She pressed her lips together in mock exasperation and nodded. "I think so."

ΩΩΩΩ

Janeway stepped from the back of the shuttle with a cup of coffee in her hand. Seven was still at the tactical station, even though the Delta Flyer was on automatic pilot and they weren't set to arrive for a couple of hours at the coordinates designated by the representative from Unimatrix 6. She watched her from behind for a moment, noticing that in addition to Seven's normally stiff posture there was a definite edginess to her; it flowed like an undercurrent, rippling up and down her spine.

With a few moments to think about it, she realized Seven had been virtually silent throughout the entire journey with the exception of the launch sequence and exchanging bits of tactical data. As a matter of fact, the young woman seemed to be doing her level best to ignore her. On top of that, Seven had scarcely looked at her since this morning. Janeway wondered if this strained interaction had anything to do with the embarrassing situation that had occurred the night before.

Seven was conscious of the Captain, standing behind her as she tried to focus on her task. But, once again, since encountering Janeway and the Envoy at the restaurant, she was consumed by images of the two together. She could still see the Envoy's large hands roaming over the Captain's body; the Captain murmuring her pleasure into his ear. The dreams that had come to shadow her day made Seven's body respond in decidedly immodest ways, making her feel affects she had only glimpsed at with the Commander.

Lost in thought, Janeway sighed softly, catching Seven's attention and bringing her out of another daydream. She opened her eyes, knowing she must try to distract herself from such intimate images, especially in the woman's presence. She glanced up from the Delta Flyer's tactical console, turning her head so that her profile was visible to Janeway. "What is being offered in exchange?"

"I'm sorry?" Janeway responded, perplexed and startled by the sudden inquiry.

"The members of Unimatrix 6 will use the acquisition of the quantum phase inhibitor to their advantage. They would not surrender a device of such significance without recompense," Seven explained.

Janeway flashed a crooked smile. "Medical techniques for the removal of Borg implants."

Seven nodded, acknowledging that information such as that would unquestionably be valuable to former members of the Collective.

Coming around the tactical station, she faced her Astrometrics officer. Looking into the large, pale eyes, somehow she felt the need to explain what Seven had obviously misinterpreted from the previous night. "Seven, about last night . . . what you saw--," she let off, shaking her head. "You weren't interrupting anything." She tilted her head down and looked pointedly at her, trying to convey her sincerity.

"You do not need to explain," Seven stated simply, dropping her eyes back to the tactical console thereby dismissing the conversation.

The Captain, thoroughly disappointed, moved away and sat at the helm, watching the stars streak by the viewscreen. She didn't know what she had hoped Seven's response would be, but dismissal certainly wasn't it. She felt a little consternation at having explained herself to her Astrometrics officer. "But then," she rationalized silently, "that was your choice. She didn't ask for you to justify your behavior. And why would she? She didn't tell you she was seeing Chakotay. Hell, I might not even know now if the Admiral hadn't informed me." Janeway felt the tinniest fragment of ire rise up inside of her at the thought that two of her closest friends hadn't bothered to tell her they were dating.

"Captain, we are being hailed."

ΩΩΩΩ

"We have no need for you to provide us with evidence. Seven of Nine is evidence enough," Principal Adjunct Utara said smiling with a scrutinizing eye at the ex-drone.

Seven shifted uncomfortably under the inspection. Janeway caught the unease and sought the Adjunct's attention. "Well, then, what do you require?" she asked suspiciously.

He faced the Captain, seeming a bit startled, and then he smiled soothingly. "Captain, truly, I do not require anything," he said, pausing. "Except maybe the company of two individuals. . . . You see, some of us are making the transition to individuality exceedingly well." He rocked back on his heels. "However, others are experiencing difficulty, and as the individual who is responsible for them, I take every opportunity afforded me to interact with other individuals, hoping that it will give me insight into these difficulties."

The way he kept emphasizing 'individuals' unnerved Janeway, but because she empathized with his predicament, she continued to listen.

"In a roundabout way, what I am saying, Captain, is that although you have the Tox Uthat and you are free to go, I would like for you to stay for dinner, and if you're comfortable with that, then possibly overnight. We have lovely accommodations." He pursed his lips, sensing her apprehension and he couldn't blame her. He was quite aware of how many times she had crossed paths with the Borg, and although, he did not consider himself a member of the Collective any longer, he knew everything about him, his crew, and his ship must be unsettling for her.

Janeway glanced at Seven to see how this invitation sat with her. Seven nodded her head only once, and so subtly that only someone thoroughly familiar with her would understand. It wasn't that she felt comfortable; staying a moment longer on the sphere was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew the Captain was duty-bound to help. The Principal Adjunct was in a way emitting his own distress call.

"We accept," Janeway stated.

ΩΩΩΩ

"These medical adaptations will be of great benefit. They will enhance our lives; free us. Just not having to spend as much time in a regeneration unit is well worth paying any price," Principal Adjunct Utara commented, gesturing his guests to their seats at the long dining table.

The Captain and Seven took the offered seats, one on each side of him. Glancing around the dining hall, the Janeway offered, "I noticed that you have made other enhancements as well."

He followed her line of sight, her eyes gliding over the jumble of objects in the room. "Yes, we actually have two individuals on board who seem to be making new careers out of embellishing our environment."

Seven's eyes poured over the room. "Indeed."

Utara smiled at her emphatic phrasing. "We encourage this kind of experimentation . . . with the exception of the areas where ornamentation would effect the efficiency of the ship."

Janeway nodded. "That's an equitable policy. We have the same guidelines on Voyager," she paused to explain. "That is, crew quarters, the mess hall, and other gathering places are considered social areas of the ship and can be, well, for lack of a better word, decorated . . . or rather, personalized."

"Personalized," he repeated, considering the term. Seven wondered if this expression would become the next catchword after 'individual.'

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Janeway asked the rather pointed question she had been holding for an opportune time. "I'm curious, Primary Adjunct, do you have a problem with abandonment?"

"Abandonment?"

"Yes. Members of your crew leaving to find their families or pursue other interests or--"

Utara interrupted. "Actually, Captain, we don't. Unfortunately, the Borg were efficient. Most of us don't have families or homes left," he reflected sadly. "Many are on other ships and are still not free of their Borg oppressors. We were lucky to be among the few that were able to break away from the Collective when the virus struck Unimatrix 0."

"And they, your crew, don't have any desire to leave and establish homes elsewhere?" she asked.

"For the most part, no. Much of the crew seems content to adapting themselves to this new situation. Although a few individuals have decided to leave. As to the future?" he asked, pausing, "I suppose that remains to be seen. . . . Many have expressed the desire to see their native lands. For some of us, however, that may prove impossible."

"How so?" Janeway probed.

"Some of our home planets lay in parsecs of Borg-infested space. Strictly speaking, no one wants to venture there. I'm sure you understand," he said with a commiserating smile.

"Certainly," the Captain said, catching Seven's look from across the table.

"Principle Adjunct, have you considered using the Borgs' knowledge of holoemitters to construct facilities in which the facsimiles of these planets could be reproduced?" Seven solicited.

"Holodecks?"

"Correct."

Janeway smiled approvingly at her. "Seven, what a wonderful idea."

She dipped her head to conceal the warm blush that flashed across her cheeks due to the Captain's open praise.

Utara was at a loss for words as he considered the idea for a moment. "I knew that interacting with you two individuals would prove beneficial!" he exclaimed as three ex-drones entered the dining hall, carrying an assortment of trays. "Well, on that note, it appears dinner is served."

ΩΩΩΩ

After a surprisingly suitable dinner, a young male drone with obvious medical adaptations led them down a series of brightly lit corridors. Stopping in front of an almost concealed door, he regarded Janeway and Seven. "We hope the accommodations will be suitable. We don't have a lot of guests," he explained as he pressed a panel on the wall and the door slid open. "We only have one guest quarters," he said, looking apologetic.

"That's fine," the Captain mollified the young man. "Thank you for your hospitality."

He smiled graciously as he left. "You're welcome."

When the door closed, Janeway grinned crookedly at Seven. "Polite. Everyone we've met has been so . . . pleasant, especially the Adjunct."

"Species 568. They tried to talk their way out of assimilation," Seven illuminated with only a hint at humor.

Janeway chuckled as she walked into the room. Thrusting her chin out, her smile grew wider. Like the eclectic dining facility, they had just come from, everything in this room had obviously been bartered for; there wasn't a trace of circuitry, green light, or dankness anywhere. If anything it was the antithesis of everything Borg. The room was round and garishly decorated. Dark orange and gold tapestries hung from floor to ceiling. And the ceiling was hidden completely by an off-white canvas, gathered like a tent at the highest apex in the center of the room. The entire effect was overwhelmingly and strangely Persian. "Maybe Lawrence will show up," Janeway chuckled, tossing a stray smile at Seven.

"Of Arabia," Seven added. The Captain looked surprised. "I saw it during one of Tom's Midnight Marathon of Movies," she provided in way of explanation as she reached out and pulled one of the tapestries aside.

Her curiosity peaked, Janeway stepped up next to her. Underneath was the normal infrastructure of a Borg sphere. "They must be trying to make their guests forget they are on a ship formally belonging to the Collective," the Captain remarked.

"Or maybe they are trying to make themselves forget," Seven offered.

Janeway looked up at her. "Could be."

Displayed centrally in the room was a large, plush bed. It looked much like a featherbed Kathryn had seen once as a child on a field trip to a restored 17th century farm. However unlike that bed, this bed was round and covered in decadent-looking pillows. "Round?" Janeway said aloud.

Seven, busy inspecting a metallic-etched plate hanging on the wall, glanced over her shoulder. "Did you say something, Captain?"

"Uh, yes, the bed. I was just saying it's round."

"Yes," Seven agreed, "an inefficient design."

Kathryn turned and looked at her Astrometrics officer. And then it hit her, she was going to have to share a bed, this round bed with Seven. Seeking to hide her alarm, she turned away, eyeing the only other door in the room besides the entrance. It wasn't really a door, though; it was more like an entryway with more rich cloth draped off to the side. Taking a few quick steps, she found herself in a bathroom. This room carried the outer room's motif, but it was brightly lit and inviting and gave her excuse enough to take a little time to get a handle on herself. "Seven," she called out, "I'm going to clean up before bedtime."

And just as she reached out to grasp the draping cloth, which would afford her some privacy, Seven leaned into the room, startling the Captain and making her jump nervously. "You will need your bag," she said, handing the Starfleet-issue duffel to Janeway.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Seven," she said, the embarrassed flush returning to her cheeks. Seven nodded and left, pulling the drape so that it fell across the doorway.

After convincing herself that Seven wasn't going to burst into the bathroom again, she disrobed and then stepped into the shower stall. Turning the lever, the shower sputtered to life, parsing her skin with . . . "Water!" she thought enthusiastically. "Good, old-fashioned water."

Warm streams of placid water flowed down, relaxing muscles in her body she never realized were tense. She pressed her palms against the ornately tiled surface of the shower stall, allowing the cascades to help her collect her reeling responses. The shower did its magic and soon she had her composure and also her reason for loosing it. "Had too much of that unique drink at dinner. Must have had alcohol-like properties."

Turning off the shower, she grabbed a towel from the niche in the wall. Wiping down her body, she became aware of how her muscles felt loose but her skin was markedly sensitized, and she had an odd, regretful thought about not having taken a cold shower. She chuckled to herself. "Yes, certainly an alcoholic effect," she mused, rifling through her bag and dressing in a simple nightshirt.

Stepping into the main room, she saw Seven perched on the edge of the bed. "Seven, didn't you bring something to sleep in?" she asked.

The question gave Seven pause or maybe it was the Captain's appearance. Janeway's skin, still dewy and flushed from the shower, lent the ordinary, white linen nightshirt she wore an appeal that was not at all lost on the blonde. "Yes," Seven managed finally.

She saw the hesitation etched clearly on the aquiline features. "You're welcome to wear that," Janeway said, referring to the biometrics suit. "But that material might not slide too well in the covers . . . uh, that is, you might be more comfortable in nightwear."

Seven stood, looking unconvinced. Her wardrobe wasn't exactly large and she wasn't used to wearing garments of the traditional sort, especially not sleepwear in front of the Captain. And then, there was the issue of sleep. She had tried it. She could do it, but it took a long time. The prospect of lying next to the Captain, listening to her breathe and sigh in her slumber, while she attempted sleep was going to be unconditionally troublesome.

ΩΩΩΩ

Janeway was settling herself under the bedcovers when Seven stepped in from changing. She was wearing a modest, silk shift in blue--it was the one the Doctor had recommended she use for sleeping. It had proven comfortable enough, but now with the way the Captain was gaping at her, she felt that maybe it was altogether inappropriate.

For Janeway's part, she wondered how many times, she was going to catch herself staring idiotically at Seven of Nine. "I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is?" her mind provoked. But if Janeway felt any discordance at admiring the young woman, she didn't allow it to infiltrate her consciousness.

What she did allow herself to acknowledge was the place that Seven held in her heart. From the second she made the decision to sever her from the Collective, she had known that she would be responsible for cultivating, guiding, and nurturing her growing individuality. And in the beginning, there had been something about the ex-drone that made her want to help. Along the way, that desire had grown into a need. Maybe it was Seven's astonishing intelligence, maybe her formidable strength, or maybe her innate humanness. Maybe it was that Janeway herself had been continuously challenged, stirred, and influenced by the beautiful woman. But whatever the reason, she was drawn to Seven and she felt the increasing need to know and understand her in a way no one else could.

Suddenly, Seven turned back towards the bathroom.

Janeway began to reach out, but stifled the impulse. "Where are you going?"

"I feel uncertain about this . . . experience. Maybe I will be more comfortable in the biosuit."

"Maybe I'll be more comfortable," Janeway considered silently. All ridiculousness aside, she should have been making her feel more comfortable instead of staring at her like . . . a 'fifteen year-old boy,' came to mind, but she brushed the thought aside. "Seven, you're fine. Just come to bed," she said, convincing her with a warm smile.

The Captain's smile radiated through her as she padded softly over to the bed. Looking down to where Janeway was now snuggled in the sheets, she wondered how she was to get into the bed without crowding her. The other woman seemed to read her mind and she rolled onto her side. "Okay now?" she asked softly.

Seven nodded once and slid into the bed, mirroring the Captain's position. For a long moment, the two just looked at each other, a strangely calming silence passing between them. Kathryn allowed her eyes to drift down her companion's form. Finally coming to rest at the end of the bed, where Seven's feet appeared to be dangling off the edge. "You can get closer. . . . I don't bite. . . . Not hard, anyway." Seven's eyes grew discernibly wider. "Oh, God! Why did I say that?" Janeway chastised herself silently.

When Seven recovered from her surprise, she slid closer, her eyes resting on Janeway's face, looking for some sign of when close was close enough. But if the sign came, she never saw it, until one long, silky thigh rubbed provocatively against her bedmate's. The Captain closed her eyes in an unconscious rejoinder, and Seven drew back, but only enough to conceal the quiver that blasted through her own body. Seeking to hide her response from Seven, Janeway kept her eyes closed and muttered, "Goodnight."

ΩΩΩΩ

Janeway hummed lightly against the backdrop of the classical piano piece she had selected for their trip back to Quadra Sigma III. Stretching her arms above her head, she linked them as she leaned back in her chair at the helm. She was in a remarkably good mood and feeling relaxed, too. "More missions like this one," she invoked like a silent prayer.

After the slight discomfiture of the night before, she had finally settled down enough to sleep and that she did--a deep, easeful slumber. She hadn't slept like that since she was a child, living in the sanctuary of her parent's home. "Ironic that it would happen on a Borg sphere," she mused.

Suddenly, Seven's voice broke through the lulling music. "Captain . . . there is an anomalous reading off the port bow. I am modifying sensors to compensate."

She moved up next to the ex-Borg and looked over her shoulder at the tactical viewer. "Is this heading accurate?"

Seven looked at the readout. "Yes." She met the Captain's perplexed look. "Although I cannot explain how we came to be at these coordinates."

Janeway glanced at the shuttle viewscreen. "Exactly where are we?"

"Two light years off our last position. An uncharted, M-class planet," she paused. "Captain, we've dropped--"

"Out of warp," she finished as a large, blue planet shimmered into view. "I can see that. But how's that possible?" Janeway gasped. "Get us back on course."

Seven tapped in a series of commands only to have the computer counter her actions with a repellant bleep. "Captain, the navigational controls are not responding."

Janeway took up her seat at the conn just as the shuttle rocked. "Inertial dampers are offline." She looked at Seven who was still leaning over the tactical station. "Seven, sit. I have a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better."

As though to emphasize her point, the shuttle quaked violently, throwing the Captain from her chair.

"Captain!" Janeway held her hand up to forestall Seven's help as she sat back at the helm.

"We are entering the planet's upper atmosphere," Seven shouted over the whine of the shuttle's engine.

Janeway's fingers flew across the viewer. "I'll shutdown propulsion. . . ." she called, and then she banged her fist against the console. "No response." Then she keyed in another series of commands. "Damn! The reverse thrusters aren't responding either. Any suggestions?"

"We could disrupt the subspace field coils."

"Don't have time. We're going to have to set her down. . . ." She met the younger woman's worried expression. "Seven . . . brace for impact."

End of Part I

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