• This is the 37th installment of the Just Between Series.
• Lots of technobabble in this one, and I want to thank Elisa and Marco for their help in figuring it out. Anything that might be improbable or incorrect (in Trek terms) is purely my error.
• This was posted on June 9th, 2000.

She wasn't sure what had disturbed her.

Frowning, Captain Kathryn Janeway of USS Voyager looked up from her work, glancing around her ready room. Nothing seemed out of place in the captain's sanctuary with its decor of blues, greens and silvers, designed to soothe one's mood and provide a place for reflection. The compact woman inhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair, tilting her head slightly as she listened closely to the constant sounds which hummed beneath the surface; the warp engines maintaining a steady throb, the low level communications hum channeled through her console to keep her in contact with the rest of the ship, even the almost nonexistent hiss of the air filtration system.

Nothing unusual there, either. So why did she suddenly feel like something was wrong?

She stood up, leaving behind the departmental reports for the moment, moving to the upper level where she peered through the viewports which lined the bulkhead. The stars, distorted by the warp field, flashed by like signposts on this journey back to the Federation. Lost in the Delta Quadrant for the past six years, Janeway had been responsible for seeing her ship and her crew home, and in that time, she had become very good at trusting her instincts.

She tapped the gold comm badge affixed to the left breast of her red and black tunic, opening a channel to the bridge.

"Janeway to Chakotay."

"Chakotay here," came the response from her first officer.

"Report," she instructed. "What's our status?"

There was a pause ... surprise maybe?

"All systems are normal," he said, puzzlement evident in his tone. "We remain steady on course for the Alpha Quadrant."

She frowned. "Thank you," she said, and cut the channel.

Was it nerves? she wondered.

Though she had no idea what she had to be nervous about. Indeed, Voyager was in very good shape at the moment, with the crew fresh off a three week shore leave, while the ship itself was functioning perfectly. Five crewmembers had just accepted official Starfleet commissions while two others had swapped their provisional officer designation for full 'Fleet status. All those recent preparations, as well as the increased communication with Starfleet, made returning home seem more and more imminent.

Personally, the captain's marriage to the Borg astrometrics officer, Seven of Nine, had entered a fairly smooth stretch, certain conflicts having been laid to rest, while the burden of command that lay so heavily on Janeway for so long grew lighter with each passing day.

So why did she feel like she was about ready to crawl out of her skin?

She picked up the silver thermos sitting silent sentinel on the coffee table and unscrewed the top. There was just enough of its contents left to fill the white china cup, its rim banded by gold. She sipped her spouse's special brand of coffee, cherishing the steaming, rich brew, relishing its flavor and fragrance, but it did not calm her. The stimulation of the caffeine far outweighed the sense of comfort and domestic bliss Seven's blend normally generated within her.

She jumped like a cat when the door chime sounded, spilling some of the coffee onto her sleeve and over the coffee table. Biting off an oath, she grabbed a napkin and swiped at her uniform before mopping up the stain on the table.

"Come," she instructed.

The door hissed open to admit Lt. Ro Laren. The tall, slender Bajoran had recently been designated as the ship's 'rover', an officer who could expect to operate in any area of the vessel at any given time, from the bridge to deck fifteen, and perform any sort of duty required. The challenge of not knowing what she would be doing next seemed to suit the reserved, if volatile, woman, and as a result, she had appeared much happier to the captain lately ... though if one were to pin Janeway down on why she thought that, she doubted she could put her finger on what was the basis of that belief.

Dark of hair and eyes, an elegant ripple of bone at the bridge of her nose, the Bajoran was a very attractive woman, indeed. She moved with the delicate grace of a dancer, though the reason for her sense of controlled power was slightly more sinister than any interest in the arts. A graduate of Starfleet's Advanced Tactical Training, Ro Laren was absolutely deadly in a fight, something the captain appreciated, even as she hoped not to have to utilize that ability of the young woman.

"Is something wrong?" Janeway asked, the faintest hint of anxiousness coloring her tone.

Ro faltered, frowning. "No, Captain," she responded, looking at her oddly. "Should there be?"

Janeway blinked. "No," she said, forcing down her sense of disturbance. It was unusually strong, however, and she inhaled slowly. "I have this feeling ... I know that's hardly anything concrete..."

Ro looked vaguely surprised that the captain had shared that much, but she gave the statement a credence that she might not have granted anyone else.

"Is it very strong?"

Janeway saw instantly where she was going. "As the Terror was, generated by that entity we rescued? No, this is just a sensation of things being ... I don't know ... 'off' somehow." She picked up her now cooled coffee. "Normally I wouldn't even mention it, but after that experience, I've learned to note anything 'different' as something to address."

Ro dipped her head in acknowledgment.

"I understand," she said. "But there have been no reports of anything untoward." She paused before adding in a serious tone, "However, I've learned not to take such things for granted, myself. Sometimes a person's more rarely used senses pick up certain, subtle signs that can disturb on a purely instinctual level." She shrugged. "On occasion, a person should listen to their instincts."

"Agreed," Janeway said. She swallowed the last of her lukewarm coffee and carried the cup over to the replicator to be cleaned. "However, that doesn't tell me what I should do about it," she added dryly.

Ro considered that. "When the captain is disturbed, so's the ship," she said knowingly. "You don't want to stir things up if you don't have to."

"Exactly," Janeway said. She glanced back at the Bajoran. "Just ... keep your eyes and ears open for the next little while."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said obediently. She passed over a padd. "My reason for stopping by," she explained. "The biometrics assessment."

"Thank you." Janeway scanned the information briefly. In previous times, these departmental assessments would have been Chakotay's responsibility, but Janeway had been concerned by how much he had been taking on lately, so part of Ro's tasks were involved with assisting him. If, by some wild coincidence, the Bajoran learned to appreciate the duties of a first officer to the extent that she might reconsider her previous decision not to pursue that career path ... well, Janeway couldn't help that.

"Very good," she complimented once she had finished. She glanced up at the Bajoran who was waiting patiently for her commanding officer's next orders. She retrieved a padd from the coffee table and handed it to the Bajoran. "I want you to take a look at our three 'lambs' next."

Ro quirked an eyebrow. "'Lambs'?" she repeated, looking at the data quizzically.

Janeway realized that she had never shared her parable of the 'good shepherd' who would track down and care for every lost sheep. "Mortimer Harren, Billy Telfer, and Tal Celes," she said, naming the officers that she recently discovered had 'slipped through the cracks' of Voyager's chain of command.  She had made a concentrated attempt at bringing them 'back into the fold' by taking them on a recent away mission, which unfortunately had resulted in all four of them nearly being killed, and garnering Janeway a rather stern lecture from her partner on the captain's incessant need to 'interfere in everyone's life'. Handing these 'problem officers' over to Ro would take them out of the captain's hands, get Seven off her back, and give the ship's rover a real challenge. "They require some extra attention from senior officers in order to improve their performance as members of Starfleet. Celes, in particular, would benefit by you providing some help to her. Seven is still somewhat ... limited when it comes to personnel interaction and motivation techniques. Besides, Celes is Bajoran."

"Ah, and that should make us like 'sisters'," Ro noted sardonically.

Janeway pinned her with a glance. "It should give you some common ground in which to start," she corrected silkily.

Ro started to reply, reconsidered it, and lowered her head. "Yes, Captain."

Janeway smiled faintly. "I appreciate that this isn't what you would prefer to be doing, Ro. However, it is part and parcel of making a ship run smoothly."

"I realize that," Ro responded politely. She paused. "Not that I wish ever to have to run a starship, smoothly or otherwise."

"I realize that," Janeway countered evenly, being just as pointed in her reminder as Ro had been with hers.

The two women looked at each other and the captain offered her best, bland expression of command. Ro eyed her with vague suspicion for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed," the captain said.

Ro shot her a final unfathomable look, then removed herself from the ready room. Janeway was left feeling quite cheerful at the brief encounter, sensing that she had came out on top ... something that was not always the case when dealing with Ro ... and aware that her initial disturbance had faded. She shrugged it off, deciding that it was nothing important. Certainly, someone would have contacted her if anything was truly wrong with the ship, and if not, then Ro was keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

She had developed a lot of faith in the keen senses and instincts of her 'rover'.

Carrying the padd Ro had given her down to the lower level, she downloaded the information from it into her console and went over it again, this time in more depth, rather than merely skimming it. As she did, she wondered how many of these reports were becoming simply 'busy work' for herself and her crew. Now in regular communication with Starfleet, Voyager was still in the unique position of not being able to accept any kind of new missions or orders from above. At one time, she would have been thrilled that they were once more connected with the Alpha Quadrant, but as time went on, she was beginning to feel unfulfilled as a Starfleet officer. She wanted something more to do beyond merely getting her ship back to port ... especially since that part had pretty much been handed over to the abilities of her chief engineer, B'Elanna Torres who, along with Harry Kim, Seven of Nine and the rest of the engineering staff, was busily constructing a merged warp propulsion/slipstream drive unit for the ship. Sometimes Janeway had the sense that she was merely along for the ride rather than being any kind of crucial element in the journey. There was also the reality that since their shore leave, things had been very quiet, and while she hated to admit it, a certain part of her was becoming bored. A little bit of action would spice up her daily existence immeasurably.

She wondered if she could persuade Seven to spend the night in the tiny room beneath the saucer section of the ship ... just for the sake of variety. As far as she knew, no one was aware of it being the couple's place to get away, and with the right ambiance of champagne, candlelight and a nice soft, away mission-issued mattress, it would be the perfect place to...

"Captain Janeway to the bridge."

Quickly she rose to her feet and headed out the door. There had been a distinct note of agitation in the voice of her first officer, Commander Chakotay, and it struck her that perhaps she should be bloody careful what she wished for.

It might just come true.

Seven of Nine stepped onto the bridge, summoned there by Commander Chakotay's general call for alpha shift personnel. The atmosphere that greeted her was a combination of anxiousness and excitement, and she wondered what had triggered it as she moved unobtrusively to the auxiliary tactical station set just aft of the command level. Despite the lack of any kind of acknowledgment regarding Seven's arrival, Captain Janeway immediately looked over her shoulder, granting the Borg a brief glance that nonetheless, warmed the young woman with its flash of tender regard. Seven wondered if the captain was appreciating how the young woman now looked in the blue and black uniform of Starfleet, or if Janeway was merely glad to have her present. Certainly, Seven felt a distinct increase in her functionality with her partner only a few feet away.

As the Borg skimmed the most recent entries in the bridge log to bring herself up to date, she channeled the operation of the unmanned science station through her console. Apparently, Voyager had received a distress call and now the ship was quickly warping its way to the imperiled vessel's last known location. She glanced down at her spouse, noting how Janeway was leaning forward slightly in her chair, her classic features alert, her eyes, an even blue-grey, sparkling with keen intelligence. The Borg knew that her beloved partner had become a little restless in recent days, bored by the quiet area of space they had been traversing, though she was also aware that if she were to point that out, Janeway would deny it. Seven hoped that whatever this new crisis consisted of, it would not prove to be anything dangerous ... merely challenging for her partner

"Helm, report," Janeway said, in that authoritative tone she used in situations like this, where the anticipation was one of expectation rather than dread. "ETA to source of the distress call?"

Lt. Tom Paris, towheaded and boyish, did not turn around from his place at the front of the bridge. "Estimated time of arrival is twenty-five minutes, Captain."

"Long range sensors are not yet detecting a vessel," Tuvok, the Vulcan security chief noted from his position at the tactical station to Seven's right. His tone was faintly warning, indicating his caution.

"We are detecting an anomaly, however," the dark-haired, dark-eyed Lt. Harry Kim offered. He was covering the ops station to Seven's left, in the aft part of the bridge. "It could be responsible for the ship's distress call, but it also could be preventing our sensors from getting a clear reading from what actually caused the problem."

"On screen," Janeway barked.

Immediately, all the bridge crew turned their eyes to the fore viewscreen. At first, it was just a pinkish, purple blob, shot through with the occasional flash of green and blue of plasma discharge. Visibly, it appeared similar to many other gaseous clouds in space that Voyager had encountered in the past, but the readings were definitely abnormal.

"Magnify."

The screen shifted, jumping toward them as if suddenly expanding in space. If there were a vessel in that swirling mass of energy, it would be difficult to pinpoint without searching in the cloud itself, but the anomaly could be the reason for the distress beacon in the first place. Seven frowned, trying to draw more details from the sensors. As they closed on the cloud, Paris dropped the ship out of warp, slowing to impulse.

Janeway had glanced over her shoulder at Kim as he gave his report; now she shot a look at her spouse. "What is it?" The formation of a nebula?"

The Borg was already channeling the data from the sensors through her console.

"Possibly," Seven reported after a few moments. "But very dense for that kind of spatial anomaly. Full spectrum radiation, including low levels of theta energy patterns, is present. Sensors are also detecting large traces of both radiogenic and omicron particles, which rarely occur in this concentration or where theta radiation is present."

"Omicron particles distort sensor readings, and theta radiation erodes shields." Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I would advise caution, Captain ... particularly if the distress call is a direct result of the vessel's encounter with the anomaly."

"Noted," Janeway said, but there was a gleam in her eyes as she turned her head forward, and Seven stifled a sigh. Her partner was drawn to the unknown, intrigued by it ... indeed, it was possibly the real reason why Janeway had joined Starfleet in the first place, as opposed to merely following in her father's footsteps.

"Sensors have pinpointed the vessel, Captain," Harry offered. "It's approximately 2,000,000 kilometers inside the anomaly. Its propulsion system appears to be offline." He paused, hands moving over his board. "No response to our hails."

"Lifesigns?" Janeway queried sharply.

"Unable to get a clear reading," Tuvok said. "The distress beacon appears to be on automatic. Shields and weapons are inactive. Life-support is present, but minimal. There is indication of exterior hull scoring which could be consistent with a plasma discharge of some kind from within the nebula. "

"It's too far away for us to snag it with a tractor beam," Chakotay noted from his chair beside the captain. A large bear of a man, he glanced over at the captain inquiringly. "We may have to go in there ourselves. We should launch a class-one sensor probe first, however ... get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Janeway shook her head. "it would take too long to receive the readings," she responded in a low voice. "The people on the other vessel might not have time." She raised her head, looking back at Seven. "Is there anything in the cloud that could have caused such damage?"

"Insufficient data," Seven offered. "There are plasma discharges detected periodically within the nebula, but not at the level which would breach our shields at their current rotation. It is unknown what level of shielding the alien vessel had."

"Captain," Tuvok offered, "The alien ship's external sensors have been destroyed. It's possible that if there are survivors, they are unaware of our presence."

Janeway frowned, looking at the cloud with narrowed eyes. Seven knew that in the Alpha Quadrant, the captain would have already taken her chances and entered the anomaly, drawn in by the cry for help. Here, however, there was only Voyager, with no form of backup, and Janeway had to be a great deal more careful about leaping headlong into the fray. It was an unfortunate reality, stinging the Starfleet captain's sense of pride and responsibility, but there were times when Janeway had to put her ship and crew first. It remained to be seen if this was one of those occasions or not.

Seven increased her scans of the nebula, running the data through more extensive analysis to pick out anything of note amid the swirling mass of dust, radiation and debris. "There is no indication of anything within the anomaly which would damage a vessel of that size and power signature in such a fashion. The energy levels remain at acceptable levels."

Janeway paused, then nodded, obviously having made her decision.

"Take us in, Mr. Paris. Full impulse."

Seven felt herself tense as the vessel entered the outer edge of the swirling mass of dust, but there was no change beyond a mild increase in the energy output of the anomaly, one which was steady, but slight, the levels rising in tiny increments. She duly reported it to the captain, but beyond the instruction to maintain an eye on it, it did not cause Janeway any hesitation. In fact, as the minutes passed, and Voyager continued to close on the damaged ship without anything untoward occurring, there seemed to be a general easing of tension around the rest of the bridge. Seven noted it with disapproval, thinking it premature. Finally, they were in visual range of the distress call's source, with everyone splitting their concentration between their stations and the viewscreen, taking stock of the vessel which hung against the backdrop of dense, swirling gas like a discarded children's toy.

Seven was uncertain if what she was looking at was evidence of the damage caused, or if the ship's designer had actually created such a confused mass of metal. It looked for all the world like a block of metal after two giant hands had grasped it and twisted it ... hard. The fore part was thicker than the rear, and it was hard to judge if there had been any kind of warp engine nacelles or if they had been sheered off in some unimaginable disaster.

"Lifesigns are still undetermined, Captain," Harry remarked.

"Transporters?"

"They maintain their function despite the nebula's interference," Seven noted.

Janeway exchanged a glance with Chakotay, and he dipped his head.

The captain inhaled deeply. "Run a level three biogenic scan on the interior. Make sure we're not dealing with a plague ship. As soon as you have clearance, Commander, take a team and see what's going on over there."

Standing up, he looked over at Harry. "Have Lt. Ro, Ensign Neelix, and the Doctor meet me in transporter room two for away mission duty," he instructed as he headed for the lift.

Seven was vaguely disappointed that she hadn't been chosen for the away mission, but she was sure that the captain was even more frustrated that her command role prevented her from going herself. The expression on Janeway's face, the slight tightening around her eyes, was a sign Seven knew well, and she wondered why Kathryn had ever accepted a promotion to captain if she missed participating in away missions so much. However, there was a certain part of the Borg that was pleased that Janeway maintained her discipline about this particular Starfleet protocol. The initial contact, in a situation where conditions were unknown, was always the most dangerous, and Seven was just as glad that Janeway was here on the bridge, where she could keep an eye on her.

The bridge crew worked with hushed expectation as they waited for information to come in. The transporting over to the alien vessel took only minutes, and Tuvok kept the team's lifesigns carefully monitored. At ops, Harry maintained continuous scans of the interior of the vessel, while Seven ran a constant analysis of the anomaly they were in, ready to respond to the slightest hint of a threat or anything unusual. Tom held the ship at station-keeping, off the port bow of the massive vessel, the slim, tapered lines of Voyager particularly striking in contrast to the distorted shape of the other ship.

The only person who really had nothing to do was Janeway, although Seven saw that the captain had channeled all the various readouts through the console by the command chair. It was not enough however. To the average crewmember, Janeway might appear to be completely calm and collected, but for the Borg, the subtle hints of impatience stirring in the captain were clearly visible. The muscle at the corner of the woman's jaw twitched occasionally, her shoulders were set uncomfortably square beneath the crimson band of her uniform tunic, and her long elegant fingers pressed the touch screen with excessive force.

"Chakotay to Voyager."

Janeway straightened abruptly. "Go ahead." She frowned as the communication continued to be audio only, and she shot a look at Harry who shook his head to indicate he did not know why they were unable to get a view on the screen. In away missions such as this one, a small mobile probe was taken along to maintain a visual record of what was going on. Either it was malfunctioning or something was preventing Voyager from receiving its transmission.

"Captain, the ship doesn't appear to be that damaged," the first officer reported calmly. His transmission held a certain amount of distortion and Seven assisted Kim in cleaning it up. "We've found several bodies, however, and while it's difficult to tell with this alien lifeform, it appears as if they may have died violently. Our tricorders are not detecting any signs of life on board other than the away team, but we're continuing to search for something that might give us a clue as to what happened."

"Keep the channel open," Janeway said, frowning. "We're having temporary difficulty with our visual link." She glanced back at Seven. "What's the problem?"

"Unknown, Captain," Seven said, aware the answer frustrated her spouse, but not as much as it did her having to say it. She disliked it immensely when technology malfunctioned without any apparent cause. "It is not on Voyager's end. I have instructed the probe to run a self-diagnostic."

Janeway regarded her for a few seconds, and her eyes lightened in color for a moment, almost as if in amusement at the tone of aggravation in Seven's voice. "Keep on it."

"Yes, Captain," Seven responded obediently.

She received the results from the probe's self-diagnostic and discovered that while the probe was still transmitting and receiving, it could no longer 'see' anything. Somehow, the optical circuit in its housing had burnt out ... in essence, 'blinding' it ... though there was no indication what had caused it or why the internal processing unit had not detected the malfunction immediately. The captain was not pleased to hear the report, undoubtedly suspecting that the probe had not been maintained properly and the team hadn't bothered to check it before taking it with them. Voyager transported another probe over immediately, but it maintained the visual feed for only a few moments before it, too, went blank. There was no reason for it, ... it simply stopped working. It was a mystery that made both the away team and the bridge crew monitoring them nervous, but at Chakotay's insistence that, otherwise, they were fine, the captain did not recall them. Instead, she instructed her first officer to keep describing everything he saw as he explored the death ship.

"We've split up," the first officer reported to his captain and the rest of the bridge crew. "The Doctor and I have come forward to the command center while Lt. Ro and Ensign Neelix have taken the aft section and engineering. The bodies are spread all over the ship, almost as if they died where they were standing. They are approximately two meters in height ... bipedal ... vaguely reptilian..."

"Captain," the Doctor broke in, "I'm examining what appears to be the command crew. They apparently died in convulsions. Whatever hit them happened very quickly. Putting out a distress call was probably all they had time for."

"Is this a disease, Doctor?" Janeway asked, concerned.

"If it is, then it's simply not showing up on any of my scans," he responded. "But these aliens have a unique physiology and it's unlikely that they have much in common with our own biogenic makeup ... As a matter of fact, I'm picking up indications that they have more than the traditional five senses found in humanoids ... it's possible they have as many as fifteen. I'm currently downloading the logs of the medical officer on this vessel in the hope that it will give me more information."

Janeway blinked and Seven raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Fifteen," the captain said with awed amazement, pacing about the lower level of the command level. "I knew that there are several instances of extrasensory traits in various species, considered to be valid additional senses to those of sight, taste, touch, smell and hearing ... but fifteen different senses in one species?"

"How would you be able to define them?" Tom asked softly.

"It would be difficult," Janeway said as she looked at him thoughtfully. "How would a species with no eyes understand what sight is? How could we with only five, understand what it means to have fifteen?" She lifted her head. "Doctor, do you believe it's safe to beam one of the aliens back to Voyager to do more extensive scans? Not only would I like to know more about them as a species, I want to know exactly what killed them."

"My thoughts exactly, Captain," Chakotay said. "In the meantime, we're going..."

He broke off abruptly and Seven felt a chill as she heard sounds in the background, indicating another communication from the rest of the away team.

"Captain," Chakotay said urgently. "We're on our way aft. Ro and Neelix are having difficulty. Please stand by."

Ro Laren glanced around the large room she and Neelix had entered, noting the dimensions that were truly alien, a combination of oversized controls and distorted perspectives. It made her head ache slightly, and she had to swallow hard as bile rose in the back of her throat. The one thing they forgot to mention when she had been in Starfleet Academy was what she would be forced to smell in the course of her career. She would see the awe inspiring sights, she would hear the most wondrous sounds, but no one had ever mentioned the variety of odors one was exposed to on various away missions. Oddly familiar smells that provoked memories of other places and incidents, smells that made her stop and simply inhale for the newness and pleasure of it ... smells that made her want to creep into a corner and vomit.

Every alien species had a distinct odor, as well. The Cardassians smelled reptilian, dry and dusty, almost acidic. The faintest trace was enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck, her lips drawing automatically back over her teeth in a primeval snarl. Vulcans, in contrast, were vaguely spicy, the faint tang of sage and hidden desert pools of sweet spring water, granting her a serenity whenever she was in their presence. The Humans she had met boasted a variety of scents, but they were faint, almost bland, civilization taking away their more visceral scents, particularly on starships. Neelix, searching the room with her, smelled of his kitchen and Voyager, but beyond that, his Talaxian physiology reminded her simply of cool green forests and mossy growth. Other Bajorans on the ship, smelled simply of a home she would probably never see again. Klingons, meanwhile, were bold and peaty, rife with the musky overlay of their current emotional state; not unpleasant, but one certainly knew when they were around without having to see them. With B'Elanna, particularly when aroused, it was a most intoxicating scent, a fragrance that absolutely consumed Ro.

The alien creatures on this ship?

They smelled of death, thick and sickly sweet, of decomposition and the metal scent of blood that stuck in her nostrils and made her want to run until she was once more in the bland, sterile air of Voyager.

These beings were not a particularly attractive species either, she noted dispassionately, though one had to suspect that no species looked particularly good after dying in bone-snapping convulsions. Two meters in height, they were stocky and broad, with thick trunks and powerful limbs, their seven-fingered hands terminating in bony tips. Their features were a combination of the familiar and the repulsive, not having eyes as she knew them, but rather slashes of some kind of faceted crystal where one would generally find optical organs. The nasal area was surrounded by cilia, as was the opening in the lower part of their face which one might designate as a mouth.

Though for all Ro know, it was their reproductive organs she was looking at, and their sensing organs were the funny protrusions at the end of their fingers ... or were those tentacles?

She tried to breathe shallowly through her mouth and stepped over the recumbent figure, studying the strange console in front of her, trying not to slip in the welter of body fluids that had leaked out various orifices of the corpses. This appeared to be an engine room, but the more she looked at it, the more she realized that she was merely making a wild guess. So much of exploration was assumption of commonality and the belief that deep down, all species had to deal with the same laws of physics and space that the rest of them did. Except of course, that wasn't always the case. It was entirely possible that this was the communal lavatory, and the aliens had been killed, not at their stations, but rather, while taking their equivalent of a piss.

She cleared her throat and decided that she was becoming a trifle lightheaded from the thick odor of decay that seemed to cling to her very skin. An hour or so in the bathtub in the quarters she shared with B'Elanna Torres might cure it, but she wasn't completely sure about that. She glanced over at Neelix who was intently scanning the equipment with a tricorder. She was tempted to let him in on her theory, but decided that he'd probably think she was being a bit irreverent. He wouldn't be the first crewmate to think so, but she would rather get along with the people on Voyager than alienate a greater part of them, as she had on previous vessels she had been on, including the Enterprise.

"Doesn't this bother you?" she asked instead.

He mumbled something.

"What?" She moved closer.

"Does what bother me?" he asked more clearly.

"The odor."

"Actually, no," he admitted, after lifting his head and sniffing. "In fact, I hardly smell anything at all."

She stared at him, then shook her head, figuring that an insensitive nose was just another Talaxian trait that she could file away in her assessment of the various species surrounding her. It did sort of explain why his cooking had taken so long to improve, however. He simply couldn't smell the stuff he cooked and thus, had no idea that a great deal of it was barely palatable in those early years.

She made her way over to some interesting controls at one end of the room, running her tricorder over them, trying to detect something ... anything ... that would give her a clue as to what had happened here. She did note that there appeared to be damaged circuitry that the two dead aliens had been working on before they died. She followed it as far as she could, tracing it into what passed as their main computer, determining that it had something to do with the shield modulation.

She wished B'Elanna were here. Not only did she feel more complete in the presence of her lover, the Klingon's formidable skills and transcendental affinity with machinery would undoubtedly comprehend exactly what had happened and why. Ro was fairly decent when it came to jury-rigging faulty equipment ... anyone who had graduated Starfleet Academy and/or ended up as an active participant in the Maquis generally was ... but she was no engineer. B'Elanna was truly gifted, and Ro spared a few seconds to wonder what lay ahead for her lover. The truth of the matter was, B'Elanna's skills were such, that at this point, she could probably write her own ticket in Starfleet, especially since she had recently made the transition from provisional to commissioned officer, exchanging her embossed collar band for two golden pips. Ro realized she had no idea what the Klingon planned once they returned to the Federation, and it occurred to her that perhaps they'd better take the time to talk about it.

The tap on her shoulder nearly sent her through the near bulkhead. She hadn't sensed anyone's approach and that shocked her profoundly. It was impossible that she had been so lost in thought that all her defenses had gone down ... not on an away mission, she thought wildly. She whirled, moving instinctively with deadly force. Neelix cringed back, surprise and consternation on his face as Ro's body thudded into his, slamming him up against the computer console and pinning him there, her forearm jammed over his throat. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, then immediately released him.

"What the hell were you doing sneaking up on me like that?"

"I didn't sneak up on you," he huffed, rubbing his neck as he stared at her in outrage. "I called your name. You didn't hear me."

Ro felt a shiver of dread ripple through her. No, she hadn't heard him. In fact, she could barely hear him now, having to lean forward to make out his words. Everything else had gone quiet as well. Or had it?

What was happening here?

"Wait," she said, swallowing hard as she realized her own voice sounded muffled to her ears.

"Is something wrong?"

She stared at him, wondering how much of that she had heard, and how much she had picked up from his expression and by reading the words his lips had formed.

"I think there is," she said, forcing herself to be calm. She reached up and stuck her finger in her right ear, jiggling it to clear the passage though the rational part of her looked askance at this ludicrous attempt to make it right. Obviously, one did not simply lose one's hearing like this, within a matter of minutes ... not without something happening to her of a more concrete nature than this insidious, gradual lessening of her ability to hear.

"I'm having difficulty hearing," she said loudly.

He flinched and leaned away. Obviously his hearing was perfectly fine.

"Why?" he said slowly and distinctly.

"I don't know," she shouted, and then had to calm herself again, feeling her heart pound in her chest. She looked about uneasily at the bodies sprawled around them. "Maybe it's a symptom," she added in a more controlled tone.

A flash of fear crossed his tufted, spotted features and he looked around. "A disease?"

At least, that's what she assumed he said. The truth was, she could barely hear at all, and she picked up a metal tool which had fallen to the deck, using it to bang on the nearest wall. The metallic thumps were extremely muffled, and each thump was less loud than the one before. Her hands trembling, she dropped the tool on the deck, seeing the impact which should have clattered loudly, but not hearing it at all. Breathing shakily, she raised her eyes to meet Neelix's golden gaze. He had his hands over his ears, no doubt to protect them from all the banging and crashing she was doing.

"Contact the Commander," she said harshly.

He regarded her with wide golden eyes, and then nodded, touching his comm badge. She couldn't hear anything now, just watched his lips move. She couldn't even detect her breath or the sound of her heart in her chest. It was completely silent.

And she was terrified.

It took all the discipline instilled with both training, and a complicated life, for her to stand firm where she was. Resolutely, she tried to quell the panic within her that threatened to be released at any second. She had no idea what was going on or what was happening to her, but she suspected it had a great deal to do with this ship and what caused the death of these aliens.

Was that what she had to look forward to? Death?

Before she could pursue that depressing line of thought, the deck suddenly heaved under her and she was flung across the room, skidding through gore and things that really did not bear thinking about too closely. Her slide was halted against the nearest bulkhead where she stayed put until the ship finally stopped shaking around her. Her uniform was stained and unpleasantly damp, and she grimaced as she rolled to her feet, looking across the room to where her companion, on his hands and knees, was looking down at a pool of dried blood beneath him. He seemed to be in some kind of difficulty and concerned, she stumbled over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

His lips were moving but she couldn't make out what he was saying, and she shook her head helplessly. He paused, frustrated, then got to his feet. He drew out a padd, pressed some controls on it, then handed it to her.

'This room smells bad?' was written on the screen.

"It smells horrible," she responded, handing the padd back. She didn't know how loudly she was talking but she did try to moderate it a little when she saw him flinch. Just because she couldn't hear didn't mean she should try to deafen him as well.

'I can't smell it,' read the next note. 'I should be able to smell it but I can't. I can't smell anything at all.'

Ah, so it was not a Talaxian trait after all. Ro sent a mental apology his way for thinking that was why he couldn't cook well ... or hadn't until recently ... and nodded unhappily.

"Something's going on here," she said. "We'd better find the others and find out if they've been affected as well."

Soberly, the pair left the desolate engineering room and headed forward, to the last known location of Chakotay and the Doctor. Ro hoped desperately that the hologram would have some idea what was going on...

And how to cure it.

Chakotay's last words got lost as Seven cried out her warning about a sudden build up of plasma and an imminent energy discharge. There was no time for Janeway to brace herself before Voyager was abruptly jolted by the release of power which crackled over the hull, creating enough feedback along the sensor array to arc through the integrity field, disrupting it as the ship shifted sideways. Helpless, the captain crashed to the deck, and it took a few seconds before she was able to stumble back to her feet, shooting a glance around to make sure everyone was all right. They were all back at their stations, and sudden embarrassment flooded Janeway as she realized she was the only one who had fallen, perhaps because she had been standing in the middle of the lower level rather than having a handy console to grab onto. When would she learn to stay in her chair instead of stalking all over the bridge like a jackal circling its prey, making everyone nervous and putting herself at risk every time the ship hit a tiny bump?

Though this had not exactly been a tiny bump.

"Mr. Kim, contact the away team, see what's happening," she ordered, absently rubbing the ache in her elbow where it had smacked into the base of her command chair. "What the hell was that?"

"Unknown," Seven said, frowning as her long fingers flew over her board. "The level of energy output remained at a slight if steady incline until suddenly increasing catastrophically within a matter of microseconds." She paused. "Captain, half the external sensors were burnt out by the discharge that contained an extremely concentrated burst of omicron particles."

"Captain, I'm not getting any response from the away team," Kim said worriedly. "The impact of whatever hit us was greatly lessened by our shield harmonics." He inhaled deeply. "The ship they're on doesn't even have any shields, however."

"Beam them out," Janeway snapped.

"Too much interference in the wake of the energy release," Seven informed her crisply as the Borg studied her readings. "Engineering informs us that it will take some time before they're back online." She raised her pale eyes to meet the captain's. "I would advise not remaining in this area any longer than we have to. The energy buildup occurred with little forewarning and with damaged sensors; further data on the nebula surrounding us will be limited." She paused. "Without knowing the cause of the sudden increase, we must assume there will eventually be another one."

Janeway hesitated, then nodded. "Take a shuttle and retrieve the away team, Tuvok," she ordered, shooting a look at her security chief. "Quickly. Maintain rotating shield harmonics at all times and get back here as soon as possible. I think we've pretty much worn out our welcome."

He dipped his head, then nodded briefly at the Borg. "Lt. Seven, you're with me."

Janeway opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it with a snap. Resolutely turning her back to the aft part of the bridge, she refused to watch as Tuvok and Seven entered the turbolift. Every instinct wanted to countermand the Vulcan's selection of officer to accompany him, but she knew she couldn't. Seven was in Starfleet now, and in any event, she had always been perfectly capable of carrying out any kind of away mission ... with the possible exception of establishing diplomatic ties with a species who were familiar with the Borg. But even in that case, Janeway was certain Seven's charm could win out, and the rest of her formidable skills as a crewmember were undeniable. In fact, together, Tuvok and Seven were practically an indestructible away team.

So why was there an acid taste of fear and worry in her mouth?

Because you love her, dolt, and it doesn't get any easier to send her off on an away mission no matter what it is or how long you've been married ... but it's still her job and yours, her little voice scolded her.

The answer didn't make Janeway feel any better.

She knew she should sit down in her command chair, but she didn't, pacing uneasily about the lower level as she waited impatiently for the shuttle to make its way over to the other ship. The docking procedure seemed to take an eternity, and she found she was grinding her back teeth, having to force herself to stop. Around her, new bridge crew had come on to cover the stations of the missing officers: Lt. Ayala on tactical, and Ensign Wildman on the science station. They, along with Harry Kim, were keeping a stringent monitor on the nebula and the second away team.

Both Tuvok and Seven were keeping communication to a minimum as they carried out their mission as swiftly as possible. Periodically, Tuvok transmitted a short message burst to indicate that their status was continuing on track, as Harry maintained a lock on their comm badges. Janeway could have asked for constant verbal updates from the Vulcan, of course, but she was well aware of how distracting it was for people, who were trying to work quickly, to have to constantly communicate back to the ship simply to say things were going as intended. If there was anything she needed to know, he'd call her.

She hoped.

"Tuvok to Voyager," came the message finally, just as the captain thought she was about to scream from the uncertainty and impatience.

"Go," Janeway said sharply.

"We have recovered the away team and are undocking from the alien vessel," the Vulcan said shortly. "Our ETA is ten minutes. Please have a medical team standing by. The members of the away team have all sustained injuries. The Doctor..." Tuvok's voice seemed to falter slightly, but it could have been the captain's imagination. "The Doctor's holo-matrix was damaged by the energy discharge. His program remains in the mobile emitter, yet is inaccessible. Fortunately, we were able to salvage the downloaded data from the alien ship's database and secure one of the bodies for future study."

"Understood," Janeway said, feeling the blood drain from her face. Four casualties on one futile rescue mission were simply unacceptable losses ... particularly when they were her friends. She wished she had ignored the damned distress call altogether, though of course, that would have been unacceptable as well. She lifted her head, swallowing hard. "Sek, prepare to receive casualties," she relayed to sickbay, not bothering to wait for a response. She turned her eyes to the helm. "Lt. Paris, as soon as the shuttle is back on board, get us out of this nebula. Then go down and assist Sek in the Doctor's absence."

"Yes, ma'am," Tom responded, his tone worried.

Janeway watched as the shuttle crept toward them with what seemed to be agonizing slowness. Rather than resume pacing, however, she compelled herself to return to her command chair where she sat down and tried to look composed. Every second that passed was like a rasp over her nerves, and she silently urged whoever was piloting to hurry the hell up. Unfortunately, a shuttle of that size had to take care with maneuvering in such a dense mass of dust and radiation, and they were unquestionably going as fast as they could.

"Captain!"

That was all that Ensign Wildman had time to get out before Voyager was struck again. The jolt was no stronger than the previous one, but Janeway had the distinct impression that the cumulative effect could probably become very bad over time. She was held steady in her command chair, but when she looked up, she realized that her ship had taken further damage. The viewscreen revealed nothing but a bland, grey wall, and she could hear Harry in the background trying, without success, to get through to the away team.

"Report," she snapped.

"The rest of our external sensors have been burned out, Captain," Tom reported. "But the shields are holding steady."

"Communication with the shuttle has broken off," Harry noted. "Internal communications remain online."

"Engineering, how are the repairs coming with the sensors," Janeway asked. "I need a team on external communications." She didn't like this sensation of being deaf and blind.

"We're working as fast as we can, bridge," B'Elanna Torres's voice came back, sounding quite exasperated. By using the generic term of the place she was calling, she managed to avoid showing blatant disrespect to the command officer who had called, Janeway noted. "We haven't finished the ones damaged in the first jolt, Captain. Is this going to go on for much longer?"

"We hope not," Janeway assured her. "Do the best you can, B'Elanna." She cut the channel and leaned forward in her chair. "Tom, where was the shuttle's last known position?"

"Approaching the hangar deck," he said. "I've left the doors opened. They'll have to make a visual docking, assuming their sensors took the same damage ours did."

"It's possible that they took even worse damage," Harry noted. "A shuttle's shield harmonics are not anywhere near as powerful as Voyager's."

"Hold her steady, Tom," she said, her heart rate quickening unpleasantly. "Do we have any external sensors at this point?"

"None, Captain," he responded. The set of his shoulders tightened. "Captain, I'm having difficulty getting a lock on our last known position. We seem to be drifting."

Janeway didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Hangar deck to bridge."

"Go ahead," Janeway snapped.

"The Edison has docked. The away teams are being unloaded now and the injured are on their way to sickbay."

"Excellent," Janeway said, relief making her knees weak. She was glad she was sitting down. "Get us out of here, Tom."

There was a pause.

"I don't think I can do that, Captain."

Her hands tightened on the arms of her chair.

"Explain."

"The navigational array is ... not offline, but it's not giving clear data either," Tom said. "I'm not sure if the direction we're headed now is the same one we were in when we entered the anomaly." He glanced back at her. "I don't know that I can count on these readings to reverse ourselves and fly out. With the viewscreen nonfunctional, I can't even 'look' at where I'm going."

What had seemed like a vaguely minor problem suddenly became a gigantic one, and she got to her feet, reaching the helm in two strides where she looked down over Tom's shoulder.

"What's the size of the anomaly?" she asked urgently.

"It's not very big," Harry announced. "No larger than a light-year at it's widest point."

"Captain, we could go to warp and be clear of it in a few minutes, even if there's no way of knowing which way we're headed," Tom added. "Once we're clear, we can repair the sensors and be on our way."

Janeway frowned. "There's only one problem. We could be on a direct collision course with that alien ship. In fact, for all we know, there could be an entire fleet of dead ships in here, not to mention hidden asteroids or even a planetoid or two."

Tom winced. "I hadn't thought of that." He paused. "We could drop the blast shield on the bridge ... fly Voyager manually without the sensors." He looked relatively pleased by the idea.

"Manually?" Harry said, gulping a little, obviously less pleased with the concept. "How slow would we have to be going to give you enough time to turn if something does appear in front of us? In a forming nebula this dense, visibility is probably limited to about 200,000 kilometers. Even in clear space, it's practically impossible to fly on manual only for very long. A starship's velocity is simply too great."

Tom frowned, doing the calculations of the ship's mass/velocity ratio in his head. "I wouldn't be able to use full impulse. Maybe one tenth only." He patted the helm. "This is the first time I've ever regretted Voyager being such a lively ship. She's extremely maneuverable at high warp, but that's because of the bio-neural circuitry tied into the external sensors."

"Which are burnt out, and will continue to be burnt out whenever we're hit by another one of those discharges," Janeway said quietly. This was getting worse and worse. "How long will it take us to clear the nebula using only partial impulse."

"Assuming we head in the proper direction, going out the same way we came in..." Tom said, touching his console. He paused, looking as if he had tasted something very unpleasant. "A few days. It could take a week or so if we somehow end up traveling through the widest part of the nebula."

"Wonderful," Janeway growled, rather than the profanity she really wanted to say. She inhaled deeply. "It doesn't seem as if we have much choice at the moment." She glanced back at Kim. "Lower the viewscreen, Mr. Kim. Pull back the blast shield."

"Aye, Captain," he responded, putting in the necessary commands. At the front of the bridge, the viewscreen, which received its images from Voyager's varied and sensitive external sensors, slowly slid into the floor, revealing a large viewport that was covered by a panel constructed of the same material as the hull. A bright seam appeared down the middle, splitting it in half as each side drew back, revealing an external view of the nebula, the swirling colors and drifting patterns of energy much harder to look at in reality, than when the view was channeled through a multitude of filters and enhancements.

Janeway winced and patted Paris on the shoulder. "Do your best," she instructed. "Don't run into anything."

"I promise, Captain," he said, squinting faintly. He touched some controls. "Let's try the thrusters for now and work our way up. At least until we find out where the heck that other ship is."

Janeway nodded and returned to her command chair, leaving it in his hands. Though the ship was beginning to move, at the distances calculated in space, the equivalent of a snail could race them and win at this point. This was going to be a long trip, and it wouldn't be made any easier by those energy discharges that periodically bounced the ship around. Increasing the shields and channeling excess power to the integrity field had dampened down the impact even more, but if the ship was being knocked off course every time they were jolted, they could possibly end up going around in circles. It wasn't as if there were any stars visible by which they could navigate, and without their sensors, they couldn't detect any particular 'landmark' to guide them.

She raised her head. "Bridge to Lt. Torres," she instructed. "Concentrate your attention on the navigational array sensors. I want those to have the priority."

"Aye, Captain," came the irritable reply. B'Elanna always hated it when her beloved ship was being damaged. Janeway didn't know any engineer who didn't.

The captain had barely cut that communication when another came through.

"Sickbay to bridge."

The words brought the fate of the away team back into focus for her and she straightened anxiously. "Go ahead."

"Captain, you'd better get down here," Sek said. "I need to speak with you about the away team casualties."

Janeway felt her blood run cold at the tone in the hologram's voice.

The holographic ship's counselor surveyed the patients scattered about sickbay and felt the slightest touch of panic thread down her spine. Two of the crewmembers had been confined to biobeds for the immediate future, and while the others were ambulatory, the damage which had been done to them was not anything she wanted to tackle until she had more information.

Damn it, I'm a shrink, not a sawbones, Sek thought, conveniently overlooking the fact that as long as she remained in sickbay, her matrix had full access to the ship's medical database and could perform, in a pinch, any medical procedure the EMH could, although perhaps not as skillfully.

At least her ability in psychiatry would come in handy. The effects of being exposed directly to the nebula had not been life threatening, but they had certainly been devastating to the psyche of various members of the team. She only hoped the captain would make it to sickbay soon. It would be a relief to pass some of the burden onto Janeway, though she realized that wasn't entirely fair of her, since Sek doubted that the captain would know what to do either. Yet, Janeway's presence would bring comfort to some of the patients ... and to one of them in particular.

The door hissed open and Sek watched the captain stride briskly into the medical center, her keen eyes taking in the entire situation with a single glance. Janeway started briefly for where Seven was lying on a biobed, her eyes closed, hesitated, then made a move toward Chakotay who was sitting on another biobed as he spoke with Tuvok, Ro and Neelix, and then hesitated again. Finally, she frowned and looked around until she spotted Sek.

"In here, Captain," Sek said, drawing her commanding officer into the office. The away team had paused briefly in their discussion when the captain appeared, glancing over at her, but did not make a move to speak with her. Obviously, they were going to let Sek fill the captain in on what had happened ... an honor that the hologram could have gladly done without.

"Report," Janeway demanded.

Sek wondered how she should break the bad news, then took a look at those thundercloud eyes and decided she had better just start talking.

"All I know at the moment is how the away teams were affected," Sek responded quickly, trying to project calm toward the agitated woman.

"Which is?"

Sek took a deep breath, reaching over to draw up data on the console on the desk. "Every member of the initial away team has had a different sense rendered inoperative. The specific area of the thalamus that controls that particular sensory organ has somehow stopped functioning. Information is still traveling to the brain through the nerve endings, but how it is processed has been totally disrupted." She drew up the files, one after another, of the away team. "There is no actual physical damage that I can find in any of my scans, but as it stands now, Lt. Ro's hearing is gone, leaving her completely deaf, while Ensign Neelix has lost all sense of smell. Both of them can return to duty if required, though Ro will require assistance in communicating with others for the immediate future. Chakotay, on the other hand, has lost all sense of touch. He needs to remain in sickbay since he doesn't have much control over his reactions."

Janeway looked blank and Sek elaborated. "If he tries to pick something up, if he touches someone, he either uses too much, or too little, pressure. He's very clumsy, which makes him prone to injury, which could actually be life-threatening. For example, he could cut himself and bleed to death without noticing because there wouldn't be any pain to let him know. Meanwhile, the Doctor..." Her voice faltered a little. "The Doctor has completely shut down his program and I don't know how to activate it again. I can't even begin to figure out why, but I'm assuming it's tied in with what happened to the rest of the away team. Perhaps B'Elanna would have better luck with it ... it seems more her specialty than mine."

"What about the rescue team?"

"Unfortunately, they were affected as well," Sek noted. "Tuvok retains his base senses, but he is unable to access his telepathic abilities."

Janeway blinked. "His sixth and seventh senses," she allowed in an odd tone. "Varied psychic abilities are also considered senses in other species. For Vulcans, the part of the brain which controls telepathy and empathy is very active, as much as the section controlling the eyes and ears."

"Yes," Sek replied. "He is fit for duty, otherwise."

Janeway swallowed visibly. "Seven?"

Sek really did not want to say this, which is probably why she left the Borg for last. Perhaps she had been hoping to avoid it altogether, though she recognized that was an entirely irrational thought.

"Seven is blind," she said simply.

The expression which flashed briefly across the captain's face before the command mask slammed shut over it was one Sek hoped she would never see again. She started to reach out a hand toward Janeway, then drew it back as the woman abruptly moved away, staring through the transparency to the sickbay to where the patients remained, and staring at one patient in particular. Sek suspected that Janeway was being torn in half at the moment, caught terribly between the woman and the captain. Unquestionably, Janeway needed to bring the situation her ship was in under control before she allowed for anything else, but she also needed very badly to rush out to the Borg's side to do whatever she could as Seven's spouse. When she turned back to regard the hologram, Sek knew the 'captain' had managed to take priority for the moment.

"Is this permanent?" Janeway's voice was like nails rasping over a blackboard.

"At this point, I simply don't know," Sek offered quietly. "I've formulated a theory that there is something ... some kind of undetectable radiation perhaps ... in the nebula. So far, our shields have prevented it from penetrating the ship and affecting the rest of the crew, but the away teams were directly exposed to it while on the other vessel, as were Tuvok and Seven when they rescued them. I don't have any more information than that, however, it is my medical recommendation that Voyager should vacate this area of space as quickly as possible."

She didn't like the way the muscle jumped in the captain's jaw just then.

"Captain?"

"We're leaving the nebula," the captain said in a tone that immediately raised the holographic hair on the back of Sek's neck. "It just won't be as quickly as you or I would like. In the meantime, I think we should try to recover the Doctor." She paused, raising an eyebrow. "Not that I doubt your competence, Sek..."

Sek was amazed that through all this, the captain was concerned about a hologram's feelings ... but then the ship's counselor was a fully recognized crewmember after all, and at the moment, Janeway was in full command mode, taking responsibility for everything, no matter how minor, that was occurring with her ship and crew.

"No offense taken, Captain," Sek said. "I want the Doctor back as much as anyone. Perhaps more."

"I'll send Harry down to work on the emitter. B'Elanna has her hands full with the ship's sensors," the captain continued. "Do your best for the crewmembers affected. I need to get back to the bridge."

"Yes, Captain," Sek said. As the captain turned to go, she stopped her. "Captain, the away team would benefit with a few moments with you." Janeway stared at her and Sek shrugged. "It might ease their minds about their current situation." She paused, before adding delicately, "A few words with those who can't yet leave sickbay would be especially helpful."

Janeway abruptly seemed to increase by ten centimeters, dwarfing the diminutive hologram, though the captain hadn't moved a muscle as clouds gathered in those battleship grey eyes.

"Don't ever attempt to manipulate me personally by using my professional devotion to my ship, Sek," she said harshly. "If I need to speak to Seven, then tell me; don't try to push me into a personal encounter by playing on my professional responsibilities as commanding officer. That will not be tolerated."

That didn't go well at all, Sek thought frantically, wondering how she had bungled it so badly. Bad timing, indeed. The captain must truly be terrified for Seven and I didn't help matters any.

"That's not what I meant, Captain," the hologram said hastily ... and very inaccurately. "I know there's a lot happening right now that you need to attend to, but it could make a lot of difference in how Seven and the others deal with this if you would spend a moment with them now."

Not to mention your own ability to function for the next little while if you don't spend some time with Seven, the hologram thought silently to herself, but certainly didn't say out loud.

Janeway hesitated, then gave a short, quick nod before leaving the office, heading not for the exit as Sek had feared, but for Chakotay. Heaving a sigh of relief, the hologram realized that if she wanted to have any hope of being able to offer advice freely to the captain so that it would be listened to, she needed to take an entirely different approach than the subtle, gently probing maneuvering she had been attempting. It had definitely not fooled the captain, and furthermore, with Janeway's antipathy to counseling clearly on record, it had only served to make her more wary of the hologram. Sek was going to have to be a lot more straightforward in the future if she wanted to reach the woman and perform her job properly as her ship's counselor.

She watched as Janeway spoke a few moments with Chakotay and Tuvok, the former nodding his head before lying back down on the biobed, while the latter headed for the exit, orders given and received. The captain then shared a moment with Neelix and Ro, using a lot of body language and a padd in the conversation. The Bajoran nodded, then taking the padd, she and the Talaxian left sickbay as well. Obviously, their services were needed despite their injuries, which did not bode well for the current condition of the ship.

Sek didn't like seeing uncured patients leave sickbay, but she had to accept the necessity of it. A quick check with the ship's status over the computer revealed that Voyager was not going anywhere very quickly, and when she discovered that the ship's external sensors had been completely burned out, she understood why. There had been periodic jolts which rumbled through the decks of the ship as discharges continued to assault the Intrepid-class vessel, but so far, the shields were holding strong.

Which was an extremely good thing, because while it was one thing to deal with an away team who had lost access to their varied senses, it was quite another to have it happen to the entire crew. Then, there remained the mystery of the alien vessel. Those beings simply hadn't lost the use of a sense or two, they had died ... painfully and violently. The question was, why had they died while a Borg, a Vulcan, a Human, a Talaxian, and a Bajoran had not? Was it the difference in the amount of senses each species possessed or was what happened to the aliens simply a preview of what was going to happen eventually to Voyager if they didn't manage to get clear of this nebula in time? And what had happened to the Doctor?

Sighing, Sek sat down and started going through the logs which had been downloaded from the alien vessel. In the auxiliary storage room, an alien corpse waited for her to make a closer examination. If the Doctor was not restored, that would have to be Sek's next task; attempting to perform an autopsy. It wasn't anything she was looking forward to, but she was certainly capable of it so long as she remained tied into the sickbay systems.

When she glanced up from her task, the captain was gone. She hoped that Janeway had been able to help Seven a bit. The Borg was not used to being incapacitated, but unfortunately, this situation had done just that for the time being until Seven's unique ability to adapt asserted itself.

Sek hoped it would be soon.

It was so dark ... constantly dark.

Around her, Seven could hear people talking and moving, could smell the medicinal scent that was unique to sickbay, allowing her to know where she was ... but it didn't make her feel any better. The last thing she remembered seeing was the huge bay doors as she piloted the shuttle between them into the welcoming haven of Voyager's hangar. As she locked down the shuttle, shutting down the engines, her vision began to grey out, and then faded entirely as she tried to assist Tuvok with the rest of the away team. In the end, it was Ro Laren who helped her to sickbay, guiding her through the corridors that once had been so familiar, but now had become a strange place where she didn't know where she was going at any given moment.

Since arriving in sickbay, she tried to remain calm, doing whatever was asked of her, constantly aware of her heart pounding so hard she thought it would escape from her chest. She needed to be with Kathryn, but she realized that the ship was in a crisis situation and it was unlikely that the captain could spare the time to visit, no matter how much she might want to. Seven tried very hard to understand that, though every part of her wanted to cry out, to demand that her partner come and hold her until all this went away.

After all the scans and questions and probes, Sek had left her alone and the young woman lay silently on the biobed, trying desperately not to weep. She was aware of the conversations taking place around her, of Neelix and Chakotay talking about what had happened, of Tuvok offering his dry, logical opinion on what might be going on, and what could be expected if the ship's external sensors continued to be burnt out. Ro had not been heard from in quite a while and Seven wondered if the Starfleet officer was still present. Then, she concluded that perhaps the Bajoran was communicating with a padd only ... Ro had developed an unfortunate tendency to yell whenever she spoke, and others had probably pointed that out to her.

No one asked Seven for her opinion, didn't even seem to acknowledge her presence, as if because she couldn't see them, they were unable to see her. Or perhaps they merely thought she was unconscious or sleeping. Lying there, she did not want to open her eyes, because when she did, it was exactly as if she hadn't bothered, and that was too much to bear right now.

She wondered why her nanoprobes had not activated to repair this, or at least, restored function in her artificial eye, providing the flat, eerie greenish, Borg night vision. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that her cranial implant was reading everything as being perfectly normal, which made no sense at all. It was possible that there was even an answer of some kind in that, but Seven could not make any conclusion about it. In fact, she was barely able to focus on one thing at a time as her mind ran around in hysterical, screaming circles.

What if this were permanent? What if she were never able to see again, never able to watch her beloved spouse sleep or breathe or move ever again in their lifetime? Perhaps never be able to look into the faces of any children she and Kathryn might have in the future?

Could she adapt to that? Seven wanted to believe that she could. It was only one sense, after all, and she still had four others, not to mention the fact that she had been Borg for eighteen years before becoming a Human, which meant she could adapt to practically anything. Such a physical flaw, however, would be a difficult burden to bear. So difficult that it could possibly change who she was as a person in some fundamental way. In that event, would Kathryn still love her? Or would she turn away from her, wanting someone more perfect? Someone less ... helpless and afraid.

Seven reined in her increasingly panic-stricken thoughts, knowing that she was dangerously close to losing complete control. Instead she tried to quell her quickened breathing, attempted to slow her racing heart.

She heard the door hiss open, and there was cessation in the conversation. She almost sat up, wondering who it was, but when the discussion resumed, she was disappointed, assuming it couldn't be who she hoped it was. She thought about getting up, and groping her way over to Chakotay's biobed where the others had gathered, joining them to offer her viewpoint on what was going on. She did not have to be able to see to do that.

The problem was she did not know what was going on, and if she tried to speak, she was absolutely certain that she would promptly burst into tears, which would hardly be anything they would expect and certainly nothing that she wanted to do in front of Chakotay or Ro or especially Tuvok. Not even in front of Neelix, who would probably understand her tears better than any of them. She finally decided that she did not want to speak with those people just now. There was only one person she wanted to be with, no matter how many other things had to take precedence on the captain's list of things to do.

Suddenly, she heard the captain, the sound of Janeway's voice rising above the others as she left the sickbay office. It had been the captain who had entered sickbay. She must have been in the office, speaking to Sek the entire time. Seven tensed but did not move, waiting her turn patiently. She recognized the tone in her partner's words, the pleasant, but somewhat artificial inflection of a Starfleet captain speaking with the lower ranks when she doesn't want to let on how bad things are. Janeway was taking some precious time to offer encouragement to those incapacitated crewmembers under her command, but clearly, her primary thoughts were of getting back to the bridge, and solving the immediate problem.

"Commander, looks like you're on the bench for this one."

"Sorry, Captain," Chakotay replied, obviously trying to joke but not quite pulling it off. "It's a hell of a way to acquire some extra leave."

"We'll try to manage without you," Janeway responded in the same bantering tone, one that did not entirely hide her concern. "You should lie down now."

There was a rustle of uniforms and the Borg comprehended that the rest of the people were moving about sickbay. Seven held her breath, trying to pinpoint where everyone was, finding it difficult to keep track of where people had moved.

"Tuvok, I need you to go up to the bridge," Seven heard Janeway say, the husky voice becoming more formal than when she had spoken to Chakotay. But then, the captain paused, lowering her tone, and Seven detected the honest concern in it. "Are you all right?"

"I am completely fit for duty, Captain," he responded. Was there the faintest trace of indignation in his voice? Seven suspected that she was imagining it. "I shall see you there, Captain."

Another rustle, more footsteps as people moved again, then Janeway's voice came from another location.

"Ensign Neelix, I need you to go to engineering and assist B'Elanna with repairing the sensors. Lt. Ro, Mr. Paris is attempting to fly Voyager out of here manually. It's going to take awhile, and since you're one of our better pilots, I'll need you to relieve him later. Are you up for that?" A pause while she undoubtably received a response of some kind from the Bajoran before uttering a short laugh. "My mistake. Until then, I need you to accompany Neelix to engineering. Neelix, I need you to assist Ro. You're her ears."

"I won't let either of you down, Captain," Neelix said earnestly. Seven wondered if Ro was rolling her eyes.

More footsteps, two, maybe three people, the hiss of the door, then there was only silence and Seven strained to hear anything ... breathing, motion, a heartbeat ... wondering frantically if Janeway had actually left without speaking with her. Had the captain thought she was asleep, that it would be better if she were not disturbed? Grief filled Seven's soul, but before she could give into it, there was a presence immediately next to her bed, one that she could recognize even in the darkest of circumstances.

"Kath-- Captain," she said uncertainly, aware that Chakotay was still in sickbay, not too far away.

"Lieutenant," Captain Janeway said in a low tone, standing next to the bed. "I know this must be difficult for you."

"I will adapt," Seven replied promptly. "I shall require a little time to adjust to being without vision, but then, I will return to duty as well."

"Of course you will," Janeway said calmly.

Another pause, and Seven wondered if her partner had left, feeling tears sting her eyes, then there were hands on her shoulders and she was sitting up, pulled into the forceful embrace of the captain and held as tightly as the smaller woman could manage. It was all the Borg could do not to break down into sobs, but she managed it somehow, drawing strength from her partner, which was offered freely and without reservation. She drew one deep, shuddering breath after another, basking in Janeway's fragrance as if it were oxygen, struggling to surface from this deep pool of misery in order to breathe freely once again.

"Oh, Kathryn," she whispered.

"I'm here, Annika," Janeway responded, her voice ragged with anguish and dismay. "I'm right here."

"I cannot see."

"I know," the captain said, impossibly tightening her embrace somehow. "It'll be all right, darling. We'll find a way to fix this."

Seven quivered slightly, bringing herself back under control.

"You must go," she said, trying to be professional ... trying to be the Starfleet officer she was now supposed to be. "The ship requires your presence."

"Yes, it does," Janeway replied softly in the Borg's ear, deep regret evident in every word. "I wish I could stay with you, Annika, but with Voyager in the state it's in, I just can't. Otherwise, I wouldn't leave your side for an instant, my love ... I'm so sorry."

"I know, Kathryn" Seven said, clinging to her. "I will be all right."

But Janeway still did not leave, granting them permission to hold on to each other for a few moments more, and Seven knew that she must be trembling slightly, ashamed of it as she tried to find the courage to let her partner go. She was very aware of the warmth surrounding her, the sensation of bone and muscle and soft skin against her, the stiff material of the uniform that was as familiar to her as her own.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Janeway promised intently, stroking the back of Seven's neck. "We'll get through this."

"I understand," Seven responded, forcing herself to draw back even as every part of her wanted to hang on forever. "Go, Kathryn." She felt her partner's warm lips brush over her temple, then over her brow.

"Be strong, darling," Janeway said softly, giving her a final squeeze. "I'll be thinking of you every second."

"I will be thinking of you," Seven said quietly, aware that Janeway was not being entirely sincere in her statement. But that would be too much to ask of a captain with her ship in the amount of difficulty Seven thought Voyager currently was in. No matter how much they both wished it were different, sometimes, the ship did have to come before their relationship.

Fingertips lingered briefly on her cheek, then they were gone, and Seven lay back down on the biobed, listening as the footsteps moved briskly across the deck and through the door that exited sickbay. As it hissed shut behind the captain, the Borg was entirely certain that this was the most alone she had ever felt in her life.

She remained quiet, forcing herself not to cry, yet aware of tears slipping silently from beneath her lids to slide down the sides of her face. She reached up and quickly brushed them away as she recognized the sound of Sek approaching her bed. It occurred to her that as every second passed, she became more aware of what things were simply by their sound. Was this a matter of her other senses compensating for the loss of one?

"Seven," Sek said softly.

"Yes, Counselor," Seven replied evenly.

"Can you sit up?" the hologram asked quietly. "Now that the immediate crisis has passed, and before the next one begins, I think I have a moment to look at your cranial implant. You'll have to wear a patch over your right eye to protect it, but if we can convince your cranial processor to start interpreting data again from your ocular implant, it might be possible to at least activate your Borg vision."

Seven abruptly sat up and turned, her legs dangling over the side of the bed, swaying slightly before righting herself. She had been so deep in despair that this abrupt shift to optimism left her feeling as if the bed were tilting beneath her.

"Proceed," she demanded.

"This might not work," Sek warned. "You must be prepared for that possibility, Seven. I don't have the Doctor's familiarity with your implants."

"I understand," the Borg replied impatiently. "Carry out the necessary procedure."

"Has anyone told you lately that you're becoming a little too Human?"

Seven ignored her and forced herself not to flinch as she felt the microfilament probe the implant that framed her left eye. The sensation was not painful, but neither was it pleasant, and it took an effort to remain still as it dug around in the nodules, realigning them.

She blinked abruptly as there was brightness, a greenish-tinged blur.

"I can see." Excitement edged her tone.

"How well?" Sek asked sharply.

Seven hesitated. "Not well," she admitted after a moment. "There are no defined shapes or textures, merely areas of darker color against lighter shades."

Sek sighed. "It's a start. Try to be patient, Seven. This may take a while."

Lt. Harry Kim straightened up in his chair and lifted his arms above his head, stretching out the kink that had developed in his neck as he worked over the mobile emitter containing the Doctor's program. He didn't know why the Doctor had gone to such extremes to protect himself, but he supposed there was a reason.

Of course, they could always go into the ship's database and recreate the EMH, but then, it simply wouldn't be the Doctor. It would be a copy, valid only up to the time of the most recent update which could have been the day before, or as long ago as a few months. Harry didn't know how conscientious the EMH was about maintaining his backup. In fact, he suspected that the Doctor didn't like the idea at all and tried to ignore it as much as possible.

Harry, frankly, didn't blame him. After all, technically speaking, he was a copy of this universe's Harry Kim, who had died during a Vidiian assault on Voyager in the ship's second year in the Delta Quadrant. In this universe, Harry Kim would go back to the Federation with a wife and son, returning to his parents whole and hearty. In his own universe, his parents would wait forever for a son who would never come home.

Harry Kim tried not to think about that very often.

However, it did put him in the unique position of understanding why it was so important that he restore the Doctor intact, rather than going to the backup program. He lifted his head and looked back as he heard Megan enter the living area of their quarters after putting their son to bed. As always, his breath caught in his chest when he saw her, captivated by her gentle nature and her warm heart, feeling the surge of warmth and tenderness rise within him.

"It's been hours, darlin'," she said, with that slow, southern drawl which only manifested when she was very relaxed, very nervous, or very angry.

"I know," he said, leaning back as she settled onto his lap, slipping her arms around his neck. "But it's really important that I get the Doctor back."

"I know," she murmured, snuggling down in his arms. She yawned. "How much headway have you made?"

"Well, I did figure out that he did it to himself, rather than by some outside force. The diagnostic shows evidence of a controlled shut down rather than an abrupt interruption of the pattern."

"But you can't get him to come out and play?"

"No." Frustration laced his tone. He thought about it. "Every time I believe I have it, the code is altered, as if he's actively preventing me from accessing his matrix." He shook his head. "Whatever caused this, I think it scared him badly."

"So maybe it should scare us?"

"Maybe," he agreed, but not too enthusiastically because he didn't want to frighten her. He didn't fool her for a moment, and she smiled, kissing his temple.

"Why don't you give it a rest and come to bed?" she suggested. "It'll help you think."

He laughed. "I don't believe you're the least bit interested in helping me think. I think, in fact, you're going do your best to make me not think at all."

"But think of how clear-minded you'll be after it's all over," she prodded. She reached over and picked up the portable emitter and examined it. "Besides, he's not going to get any worse where he is."

"No, but the rest of the ship might."

Without warning, the Doctor's arm was abruptly being gripped by Megan's hand as the hologram suddenly materialized. She shrieked and drew back, trying to crawl up onto Harry's shoulders in an instinctive reaction of shock and fear. The operations officer was jolted badly, thrown off guard, and his chair tipped over, depositing him and his wife in a graceless heap on the deck.

Astounded, Kim gazed up at the restored hologram.

"Where am I?" the Doctor said. He glanced around, taking in the comfortable decor of the Delaney-Kim family quarters, then tilted his head as he looked down at the two officers who were staring back at him in astonishment, still lying on their backs on the carpet. "Hmm, I must be in your cabin, Mr. Kim. Thank you for your assistance, but right now, I believe we should have the captain call a staff meeting."

"There's something I need to tell you all."

Janeway stifled a sigh, unhappy at having to call a meeting that dragged her senior staff away from crucial areas of the ship during this crisis, but the Doctor had been most insistent upon it. At least they had him back, and perhaps by taking some time to brainstorm, they could make some concrete progress on solving this problem.

She wondered how her partner was doing, wishing that she had found a moment to get back to sickbay. She remembered how Seven had trembled in her arms, though the young woman had made every effort to be brave, and it had taken a determined effort for Janeway to tear herself away. Only Voyager being in trouble could have possessed her to do it, but it didn't mean she had to like it. Since then, she had been completely involved in engineering, trying to help her crew come up with some way to protect the sensors from the plasma discharges. So far, they would manage to get one back online, it would pick up some data that assisted briefly in charting a course out of the nebula, then the radiation would burn out the exterior unit and they'd have to try another unit with a different form of protection. At this rate, the ship would be well out of the nebula on its own, long before they would ever be able to restore full sensors.

She blinked in shock as Seven of Nine entered the conference room and took her customary seat at the other end of the table, the Borg regarding her with a clear focus in the gaze from her left eye. Her right was covered by a black patch, giving her a most rakish appearance.

"Seven?" she said, mingled joy and surprise in her voice. She half rose out of her chair before remembering where she was and that, perhaps, this was not the time for a reunion, no matter how much she might want to fling herself across the table at her spouse.

"My Borg ocular implant has been restored," Seven explained evenly, but there were tight lines radiating from the corners of her mouth. "My normal vision remains unchanged."

There was a wealth of meaning in those cool words that dampened the captain's joy immediately, and Janeway knew they would have a lot to discuss later. Properly subdued, Janeway dipped her head briefly in acknowledgment and turned her attention back to the meeting, observing the remainder of her staff. Chakotay remained absent in body, but was present via a comm link to sickbay. After all, his mind was still clear and he could still contribute his opinion, if not his actual physical presence. Tuvok sat in his customary place on Janeway's right, while Tom sat next to the empty chair that was normally the first officer's. The Doctor and Neelix were further down, and Sek, who had entered with Seven, took her place next to B'Elanna, who was across from the men. The last crewmember, Harry Kim, finally entered, having been on the bridge checking on something at the Doctor's request. He nodded briefly at the EMH, who looked grim at what was obviously an answer of some sort, and Janeway felt her stomach churn.

The Doctor turned to the captain.

"We really need to get out of this nebula," he said earnestly.

Janeway was currently too tired to laugh in his face or respond with the sarcastic remark she wanted to. B'Elanna was less restrained ... or less exhausted.

"What do you think we've been doing while you've been hiding away in your emitter?" the engineer asked harshly. "Taking in the scenery?"

With what must have been an extreme effort of will, the Doctor ignored the Klingon, maintaining his attention on his commanding officer.

"You don't need a dramatic buildup, Doctor," Janeway reminded him wearily.

He looked vaguely affronted at the accusation, but restrained himself from objecting to it.

"Captain, there is some form of neurogenic radiation in this nebula."

"What is it and why didn't we detect it?" B'Elanna interrupted immediately.

"Maybe because omicron particles blind sensors," Tom offered immediately.

"Not to this extent," B'Elanna shot back, her voice full of derision. Janeway knew how much the Klingon hated the helmsman intruding on her area of expertise. It was something he had done often when the two had been a couple, and while he had gotten away with it then, he certainly could not get away with it now. "We should have detected any physically harmful radiation long before we entered the cloud."

"Not when it's also masked by low level theta radiation," Harry suggested.

"The level three scans should have caught it," B'Elanna noted stubbornly, obviously still outraged at the apparent violation of the laws of physics that even spatial anomalies were supposed to follow. "Long before they burnt out the sensors."

"Can I finish?" the Doctor said, indignity edging his tone. "Neurogenic radiation is not detectable with ordinary scans for the simple reason it shouldn't exist in this form. My internal diagnostic detected the increasing levels of the radiation microseconds before the plasma discharge occurred, and rather than have all my sensing units burn out as the less protected mobile probes had already experienced, I closed my program." He looked vaguely embarrassed. "It took me some time before I could remember the password I used for the emergency shutdown, but since the incident with the Equinox, you know I never shut down without one, now." He shot a look at Harry. "If certain people hadn't kept trying to activate me without it, I wouldn't have kept resetting and it wouldn't have taken so long for me to come back."

Janeway held up her hand to quell any further comment, including Harry's retort. It was late, her staff was tired, and so was she. They needed to keep this simple.

"Doctor," she invited, "elaborate."

"Neurogenic radiation is used in the treatment of brain injuries and has never been known to exist in a free state," the hologram explained. "It requires a manufactured alteration from polaric radiation, utilizing ionic variance streams, but perhaps because of the presence of omicron particles, it has formed here in this nebula to affect, not only living beings, but machinery as well. In truth, any sensing unit in equipment works on the same principle as a living being's senses do. Electrical or similar energy impulses containing information are transmitted along specific pathways to a central processing unit which then interprets it as recognizable data. Normally, neurogenic radiation wouldn't affect equipment, but perhaps when combined with the omicron particles, it now penetrates directly to the processing unit, or the brain's thalamus, where the information is decoded, and disrupts it to the extent that the initial data is no longer recognized as even existing." He looked over at Neelix. "Essentially, you can still smell, Ensign; your nose is still detecting scents, but your brain simply can't make the leap that you're smelling anything at all."

"Why has this radiation continued to affect us even after we returned to Voyager?" Seven asked sharply.

Janeway shot her a look, catching her eye, and Seven eased back in her seat. The Borg probably didn't even realize her hands were folded so tightly together that her knuckles were white.

"The brain's thalamus has been compromised," the Doctor said, glancing at her. "Once we're out of the nebula, that section of the brain can be repaired, but if I try to do it here, and you're exposed to any further radiation during the procedure, you all run the risk of the damage becoming permanent. I'd rather not gamble on that unless it becomes absolutely necessary. In your case, Seven, the neurogenic radiation probably disrupted your nanoprobes as well, or they might have attempted to repair the damage on their own."

"Not to mention the fact that if we don't leave soon, those plasma discharges will eventually wear down the shields and huge amounts of neurogenic radiation will flood the ship, affecting all the crew and the ship's systems," Harry added. "I checked the readouts at the Doctor's suggestion: every time we're jolted, we lose 5.2% of our harmonic rotation. At that rate, we'll be without shields in three days."

"We can boost shield strength from the warp core we're not using at the moment," B'Elanna pointed out.

"Not with the additional presence of theta radiation," Seven said in an odd tone. "The stronger Voyager makes the shields, the faster the discharges will erode them."

"Apparently, we have a deadly combination in this cloud," Chakotay offered from the viewscreen. "Any single element is easily handled. Together, they've made what would have been a relatively routine rescue mission into something vastly complicated."

"Indeed," Janeway said. "In fact, without the combination, a rescue mission might not have been needed." She looked around at her crew. "Any speculation as to why the aliens died so suddenly?"

"Their shields did not have a rotating harmonic as Voyager's does, and the first plasma discharge the vessel encountered in the nebula, disrupted them completely," Seven remarked.  At Janeway's questioning look, she added; "After Sek restored my Borg vision, we researched the database that was downloaded from the alien ship. It is possible that, because of the sheer number of senses the aliens possessed, they were far more susceptible to this form of radiation than any of us. Exposure to neurogenic radiation apparently removed access to all their senses instantly, rather than gradually removing one sense over a period of time."

"But the same thing that happened to them, will eventually happen to Voyager's crew," the Doctor warned grimly.  "Once the shields fail, the radiation will flood the ship and all the crew will lose access to their various senses, one after another, until total sensory deprivation is reached. At that point, insanity and death will follow."

There was a shocked silence.

"It's clear we haven't the luxury of time that we thought we had," Janeway said finally, in a grim tone. "We have to increase our efforts in repairing at least a few of our sensors, primarily for navigation." She paused. "We can always escape the nebula in minutes simply by going to warp, but if anything appears in front of us, it wouldn't be detected before we've collided with it. If it's large enough, such as another vessel, or an asteroid, we'd be destroyed. However, engaging the warp engines is a viable option that I am fully prepared to take if the shields show immediate danger of collapse. Until then, however, we will continue to try to work our way out as we have been, using manually-directed partial impulse."

She glanced around, noting the weariness in their faces. They were already well into the latter stages of the gamma shift and they simply couldn't keep going like this. "You're all relieved for six hours," she ordered. "Tom, Harry, B'Elanna, go get some sleep. Take Ro with you; she's covering the helm right now. I'll relieve her."

"Captain, if I may," Tuvok said, offering his opinion for the first time. He had been sitting so quietly, she had almost forgotten he was there. "You require rest, as well. I can cover the conn for the duration of the rest period. Lt. Culhean can take the helm. He is skilled enough to fly manually."

Janeway opened her mouth to argue, and then reconsidered. There was no real need for her to remain on the bridge or even in engineering at this point. She had to let her people do their jobs, and there was also the fact that Seven probably needed her. This was a perfect opportunity to spend some time with her.

"You're right," she allowed, which surprised the hell out of him, if the slightly raised eyebrow was any indication. "Six hours. But call me if there's significant change in the shield strength or if the level of effect of the plasma discharges increases. If there's any hint of imminent shield failure, your orders are to go immediately to warp and clear the nebula. We'll take our chances with there being a clear path back to normal space."

"Of course, Captain," he said evenly.

She dipped her head. "Dismissed."

Seven lingered near the door, waiting for the captain as the room cleared, and Janeway touched the Borg briefly on the arm as they entered the bridge and headed for the turbolift. But Seven remained silent, and as they got off the lift on deck three to move briskly to their quarters, the captain kept quiet as well, not wanting to intrude until the young woman was ready to talk. Once inside the cabin, the unpleasant glow from the nebula made Janeway wince, and she instructed the computer to darken the viewports until the swirling dust and gases outside were barely visible.

Seven was still not saying anything, going directly into the ensuite and shedding her uniform. She activated the shower and stepped under it, not inviting Janeway to join her. The captain hesitated, somehow understanding that Seven required space at the moment. Stifling a sigh, she changed out of her uniform, tossing it onto the lounger, and wearily crawled into bed. She lay on her back and waited, needing to touch base with Seven about the situation, but not quite sure how to guide her partner through it ... or if she should even try. Perhaps this was another incident where she should just let the young woman work it out on her own.

She yawned, forcing herself to stay awake until Seven came out of the ensuite. Periodically, plasma discharges would send a little jolt through the ship, making the bed vibrate slightly, and the captain felt each one as a pointed reminder of the situation they were in. She sighed as Seven finally joined her, all flushed and warm and fresh smelling from her shower, and Janeway wrapped her up in her arms, hugging her tightly as the young woman settled down against her. They lay in silence for awhile, and eventually, the captain realized that she had to say something.

"I'm glad you were able to be released from sickbay," she offered softly. "I've been worried about you."

Perhaps it wasn't the most insightful point to make, but it seemed to do the trick since Seven promptly burst into tears, sobbing into the captain's shoulder. Janeway cuddled her close, kissing her forehead gently and whispering words of comfort and love, the content not nearly so important as the tone.

"It's all right, darling," she whispered finally, cradling the young woman as the sobs eventually lessened. "I'm right here."

"I am frightened, Kathryn," Seven said, sniffing hard. "I know that the Doctor says that he can restore my vision, but what if he cannot? What if I can never see normally again?"

"Then we'll deal with it," Janeway promised. "Together." She stroked the long blonde hair soothingly. "I know this isn't easy for you, but remember that whatever happens, I'm going to be there for you, and I'm always going to love you, Annika. Nothing will ever change that."

Seven swallowed hard. "Always?" she said after a long moment, in a very small voice.

Janeway felt her heart twinge. "Always," she said with all the decisiveness she could muster which, as a Starfleet captain, could be decisive indeed. "Did you worry about this, darling? That if your loss of vision was permanent, I would somehow change my feelings for you?"

"I would have to alter certain things in my life," Seven whispered. "I would not be as I was."

"None of us are as we were, Annika," Janeway told her. "Not even from moment to moment. We're constantly evolving and changing." She hesitated, knowing this was important and that she had to handle it correctly. "Annika, if I had been the one affected, would you stop loving me?"

"Never," Seven said. She hesitated. "That is different."

Janeway dared to chuckle a little. "How?"

Seven bashfully buried her face into the captain's neck. "It just is," she muttered unconvincingly. Yet Janeway knew she had made her point; that they both loved as deeply as the other ... they had been through too much to believe any differently.

However, she also recognized that, while Seven's insecurities about their love came out rarely, they usually had to do with the perception of self ... and the possible loss of that self's 'perfection', undoubtedly a leftover from her time in the Collective. Of course, considering that the Borg tended to terminate drones that demonstrated any kind of flaw, perhaps it could be expected from the young woman.

Not that Humans were much better. Society had always set unrealistic or improbable standards for individuals. In the early part of Earth history, it was of the body; various physical standards that were aspired to and anyone that failed to reach them was denigrated, both by themselves and by others. Eventually, society evolved from believing that what one looked like physically determined one's worth as a person, but even in the 24^th Century, it wasn't entirely different ... it had merely switched to one's intellect determining one's worth.

Janeway was well aware that there were still incidents of genetic manipulation in the Federation ... even though it was highly illegal ... with people attempting to make their children intellectually superior, trying to enhance 'nature'. She supposed that true enlightenment would come when one was no longer judged at all, whether physically, spiritually, or intellectually.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered sadly, breaking the captain's chain of thought, "It is unbearable to me that I can no longer see you. I can no longer see the red in your hair or the blue of your eyes, or the detail of tiny lines around your mouth. Everything is so flat and dull and green. I know that I can adapt to having only Borg vision, or even not having vision at all, but I shall miss seeing your face so very much."

"Annika, try to wait until this is resolved before you start mourning your loss," Janeway suggested softly. "It'll only take a few days before we're clear of this nebula. The Doctor will mend all the away team's injuries, including yours, and we'll be back on course for the Alpha Quadrant."

Seven inhaled shakily. "But..."

"No," Janeway interrupted gently, but firmly. "You're tying yourself up in knots on a specific set of 'maybes', Annika, while ignoring the very real options that I've just offered." She rested her cheek against the woman's forehead. "Darling, I know this is hard for you ... perhaps in a way that I simply can't imagine, but nothing has been determined yet." She squeezed. "You're usually more positive than this."

Seven sighed. "It is very difficult to be positive."

"Then, try not to be so completely negative about any possible outcome," Janeway offered, kissing the top of the Borg's head. "At least, not until we see how this plays out." She paused. "After all," she added with forced cheerfulness, "we might need to go to warp, Voyager could collide with an asteroid and we could all die instantly in an antimatter explosion when the core breeches."

Seven was silent, no doubt contemplating that scenario.

"You are just trying to make me feel better," she said finally, accusingly, but her body had relaxed significantly against the captain's, while her expression had become less strained.

Janeway chuckled. "There's always a bright side, Annika."

Seven yawned, like a kitten, and Janeway felt her snuggle closer. "I am tired."

"We all are, darling," the captain told her. "Sleep. We'll be back at this soon enough."

Seven nestled her head on the captain's shoulder. "I love you, Kathryn."

"I love you, too, darling," Janeway said. "Everything will be all right."

But Janeway lay awake long after her partner had succumbed to her drowsiness, wishing that she had spoken up on the bridge and never allowed Seven to accompany Tuvok on the rescue mission. No matter how unprofessional it would have been.

B'Elanna Torres watched her lover surreptitiously as they got ready for bed, wishing she knew the right thing to say or do that would make this all right for the Bajoran. Not that Ro Laren was revealing much at the moment, but B'Elanna knew this had to be bothering her companion in a way that wasn't readily apparent. Indeed, being deaf had allowed the stoic woman to be even more taciturn than she normally was, and that didn't make her any easier to live with.

"Laren, do you want something to eat before we go to bed?"

She waited patiently until Ro noticed the light flickering on the padd she kept near her. It was keyed to the sound of the Bajoran's name and recorded what was said and by whom, printing it out in text form for her to read. Eventually, Ro noticed it, read it and looked over at the Klingon.

"No." She tried to be casual about it, just as the Klingon was trying to be, but B'Elanna could see that she was disconcerted by this delayed communication. "Why don't you shower first? I'll take care of myself after you're done."

B'Elanna nodded, slightly disappointed that Ro hadn't offered to share, but realizing that perhaps the Bajoran needed a little space at the moment. She went into the ensuite where she activated the sonic shower, stripping off her uniform and tossing it in the replicator. There was a time when she would have just dumped the garments on the floor and retrieved them the next morning to recycle and clean them. Now that she was sharing quarters with the Bajoran, who was a lot more disciplined in her personal habits than the Klingon, B'Elanna made more of an effort to pick up after herself.

Respect, she thought as she stepped into the shower unit, living together is nothing more than respecting each other's space.

She did have to allow, however, that Ro was also making an effort to compromise wherever she could. After moving in, the Bajoran tried to keep more regular hours, tempered her habit of brooding at the slightest upset in her life, and instead, tried talking with the Klingon about whatever was going on. It didn't always work, but the attempt at concession was evident on the woman's part and B'Elanna appreciated it.

The Klingon relaxed as the sonic vibration did its job, removing the grime and dust of over twenty hours of hard, physical labor from her body, before finishing it off with a warm rinse. She loved this unit which was a combination of hydro and sonic applications. Her old quarters on deck nine had boasted a unit which had been sonic only, and after six years, this was a luxury indeed.

Simply another advantage in moving into shared quarters, she thought as she dried herself off. She patted Ro on the shoulder as they passed each other in the doorway, and climbed into bed, waiting for the Bajoran as she listened to the sounds in the ensuite. She realized that Ro had decided to take a bath rather than a shower, which was interesting since B'Elanna could not remember the other woman ever doing that before. Perhaps it was Ro's way of comforting herself, or maybe she simply wanted to soak away the smell of sickbay from her body.

B'Elanna decided that she was analyzing this far too much. Relationships were not like warp engines ... for one thing, they were rarely that straightforward, and if she kept trying to second guess her partner, she'd only get the both of them in trouble. Since this was primarily Ro's problem, she needed to let the other woman dictate how she needed to respond to the situation, rather than try to force her to speak, which could develop into a confrontation with her.

Sometimes, she was really glad she had agreed to participate in regular sessions with Sek, the ship's counselor. It kept her from driving herself crazy with 'what ifs' or making conclusions based on what she imagined Ro was thinking. She sighed and relaxed, actually dozing by the time the Bajoran finally joined her. The Starfleet officer curled up on her side, her back to her lover, facing the bulkhead, huddled around her middle.

On the other hand, B'Elanna didn't need to be an expert on relationships to interpret that one. She reached over and carefully put her hand on Ro's back, stroking it lightly, not to draw her over, but simply to let her know she was there. Eventually, the Bajoran relaxed and rolled over, surrendering to the Klingon's warm embrace.

"I thought Klingons didn't tolerate weakness," she muttered, nestling her head on B'Elanna's shoulder.

Surprised, B'Elanna reached down, tipping Ro's head up so she could see the movement of her mouth. Fortunately, Ro was a quick study when it came to adapting to new realities, particularly when it came to herself, and she was fairly proficient at reading lips by this time.

"We don't, necessarily," the engineer said, speaking slowly. "But why are you so quick to perceive this as a weakness?" She kissed her softly, drawing back to look deeply into the woman's angular features.

Ro searched the Klingon's face intently, considering what her companion had said.

"Because," she responded, "it's a physical defect. It's my understanding that Klingons are very uncomfortable with that."

"First of all, I'm not all Klingon," B'Elanna pointed out. "Second of all, it's a 'defect' only if you allow it to give you a reason not to function as well as you can. Instead, you should consider it an advantage. Your piloting is far more focused because you're not distracted by any noise ... and if you don't like an order, you can honestly say you didn't hear it."

Ro chuckled, almost in spite of herself, after 'hearing' this. "Leave it to you to figure out how to use something like this to your advantage when it comes to following orders."

"That," B'Elanna noted with a certain amount of satisfaction, "is the Klingon way. In fact, Kahless himself says that one should not assume a physical disability is automatically a weakness." She paused. "'A true warrior will kill you quickly with the hand he has, not the one you notice is missing'."

Ro smiled, reaching up to touch her lover's cheek. Obviously, the engineer had managed to chase away some of the woman's discouragement over the situation.

"What if we try for some nonverbal communication for now?" the Bajoran suggested softly, shifting so that she was on top of the engineer.

"Why not?" B'Elanna said, smiling as she drew the Bajoran close. She didn't know if Ro had caught what she said, but she clearly understood what she meant, the taller woman's mouth coming down over the Klingon's possessively.

Very possessively, B'Elanna noted. There was a touch of desperation in the Bajoran's embrace, almost as if she were doing this not necessarily to make love, but rather to forget for a time what was going on. The Klingon could easily understand what could motivate such a desire, and was more than glad to go along with it. There had been a few times when she had just needed to feel ... to not have to think at all ... and Ro had accommodated her. It was only fair that she do the same for the Bajoran.

Indeed, it was even fun. Ro was very aggressive while in this mood, far more than she was normally, her hands firm and demanding, her mouth ardent as she moved over B'Elanna, loving her with exquisite power. Another might have been put off by it, but the Klingon found it absolutely delicious and responded to it eagerly, though she was careful to temper her desire to match Ro's so that when it was all over, they were both thoroughly sated and relaxed.

"Prophets, I needed that," Ro whispered in the sweet warmth of afterglow, looking up at the Klingon who covered her with protective comfort.

"I know," B'Elanna replied, blowing a droplet of sweat off the tip of her nose. She smiled faintly, dipping down to brush her lips over Ro's before drawing back so that the other woman could see her speak. "So did I. Of course, we're supposed to be resting. We're back on duty in only a few hours."

"This was restful," Ro countered with a grin. "Perhaps we should spend the rest of our off duty period 'relaxing' like this."

B'Elanna laughed and kissed her again. "Sleep," she suggested, shifting until she was pressed up against the Bajoran's side, nestling her head on Ro's shoulder, her arm and leg draping possessively over the slender form of her lover.

Ro made a soft sound of amused agreement, her arms wrapping warmly around the Klingon's torso, snuggling close in this warm nest of bodies and blankets. B'Elanna sighed happily, completely relaxed, and was on the verge of dropping off when she felt Ro stroke her hair lightly.

"I'm glad you're here, Lanna," she whispered. "I wouldn't have wanted to go through this alone."

B'Elanna responded by tightening her embrace a little, raising her head to look at the Bajoran in the eerie light from the nebula outside their viewport.

"I love you," she mouthed silently.

Ro smiled. "I love you, too."

B'Elanna returned the smile and lowered her head back onto Ro's chest. Before long, they were both asleep.

Seven drew herself reluctantly from slumber when the computer's voice gave a second, more insistent, announcement of the time, demanding that the inhabitants of the quarters wake up. Since they had not been interrupted during their rest period, Seven assumed that the situation remained unchanged. Beside her, Janeway groaned and clumsily rolled out of bed, padding naked to the ensuite where she turned on the shower. Seven recognized that her partner was moving somewhat automatically at this point, going through the motions without thinking about them. The Borg realized that if she were still tired, even with her Borg stamina, her partner must be absolutely exhausted, but that was something that could not be helped during a crisis. Slipping out of bed without pausing to make it, Seven dressed quickly in a fresh uniform, aware that they had little time to prepare for their shifts and determined to make every second count. Distastefully, she adjusted her eyepatch over her right eye to protect it before she went over to the lounger to retrieve Janeway's discarded garments.

She recycled the captain's uniform, fastening the pips and comm badge to it, and left it on the sink counter for her spouse, before going out to the living area. She didn't need to attend to Jake, their Irish Setter, because he, along with Voyager's complement of children, had been taken to the ship's Safe Haven, as was the case during every crisis. Instead, she immediately replicated some high energy food for both the women, along with some coffee for the captain and some juice for herself. Janeway smiled briefly as she came out of the bedroom, accepting the mug of steaming liquid and taking a long sip as she sat at the kitchenette counter where a bowl of cereal waited. There would have been a time in their relationship when the captain would have refused to eat, or would have argued with Seven about the waste of time, but now she simply ate the granola quickly and mechanically. Seven stood on the other side of the counter while she ate her own, neither feeling the need for conversation. Both were very familiar with this routine that provided the most efficient way for them to prepare for a swift return to duty. After more than a year of marriage, they had it down almost to a science.

Within minutes, they had dumped the dirty dishes in the recycler, scooped up some mouth fresheners and were on their way out the door. At the end of the corridor, Janeway reached up and touched Seven briefly on her cheek.

"You take good care of me, darling," she said, just as she got onto the turbolift. "Thank you."

Seven smiled. Despite the fears which remained, the conversation she had with her partner before they slept had eased her mind considerably. She felt strong and confident once more, certain in the knowledge that she had someone who would not let her down when a situation became difficult. She dipped her head as the doors slid shut on the captain, the lift immediately ascending to carry Janeway to the bridge. Seven waited a few seconds for the next car, instructing the computer to take her to deck two and the science labs where she wanted to do some research on a question which had been puzzling her. What she discovered fascinated the young woman, and after requesting the current location of B'Elanna Torres, she immediately took the turbolift down to deck thirteen. She wanted to run an idea about the deflector array by her friend's expertise before pursuing it any further, but if she were correct, it might allow the ship to travel faster through the nebula,.

"You're suggesting some form of radar," B'Elanna said thoughtfully, upon hearing the Borg's idea. The Klingon had been at work for an hour or so already, stripped down to her tank top, bare arms streaked with dust and grime from the sensor unit she had just finished replacing. She leaned against the bulkhead, one foot propped up on the ship brace, her forearm across her knee, a spanner dangling casually from her hand. She reached up with the other and wiped the perspiration from her brow, leaving a fresh streak of dirt across her olive skin.

"By channeling subspace carrier waves through the deflector array, they would bounce back off any object and provide more warning than visual navigation does," Seven remarked. "That would allow Lt. Paris to increase speed to half impulse and cut down the time for our possible exit from the nebula by approximately two thirds."

"Assuming it works," B'Elanna pointed out.

"I see no reason why it would not. It does not tie into the sensor array at all, and the signal detector can remain on the inside of the ship at all times, protected by the shields."

"The sensors were protected by the shields," B'Elanna pointed out.

"Different principle altogether," Seven replied patiently. It wasn't like B'Elanna to be so contrary ... or rather it was only like her to nitpick when she was tired and cranky. Obviously, the rest period had not been as effective for the Klingon as it had been for Seven.

B'Elanna looked resigned. "Okay, I'll keep the rest of my engineering team repairing the sensors. You and I will try to cobble together a radar unit."

"Should we not bring this to the attention of the captain?"

"Let's see if we can make it work, first," the engineer returned.

The pair set up shop in a lab on deck twelve after gathering the equipment they needed. As they constructed the rudimentary form of sonar, B'Elanna kept glancing at the young woman curiously. Finally, Seven felt compelled to inquire about the expression on the Klingon's face.

"You have something to ask me?" she invited.

B'Elanna quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if I should."

Seven considered that. "You wish to speak about my ... vision."

"Only if I'm not intruding," B'Elanna said delicately.

Seven was astounded. Such tact was unlike the Klingon, and she realized that her friend had been going through some considerable changes lately, not just in terms of growth in her professional life, as the two gold pips were testament to, but in her personal life as well. It also occurred to Seven that the two women had drifted apart somewhat since Ro had come into the engineer's life. The Borg supposed that was a somewhat natural occurrence, but she regretted it. B'Elanna used to be her confidante, the one person she could talk to when it seemed like she couldn't speak with Kathryn about what was bothering her. Now, that role had shifted somewhat to Sek, and while they were always helpful, Sek's views tended to be very professional and objective, rather than the outrageous, but endearingly personal views of the Klingon.

Sek, for example, would never have suggested that Seven throw things at Janeway whenever the captain annoyed her, as the Klingon once had.

"You would not be intruding, B'Elanna," Seven said, glancing at her wistfully. "You are my friend."

B'Elanna colored faintly, looking pleased. "Yeah," she said. She worked at the radar unit a little more. "I guess we've let that slide a little bit lately."

Seven nodded gravely. "I did not mean to."

"Neither did I," B'Elanna allowed. "Sometimes life is like that, however." She nudged the Borg with her elbow. "So how are you doing?" she added gently. "I know it can't be easy for you."

"It is not," Seven allowed softly. "However, Kathryn and I discussed it, and it is illogical for me to engage in an emotional display over this. There will be time for that when, and if, it becomes a permanent condition."

"It's not going to be permanent, Seven," B'Elanna assured her. "We're going to get out of this Kahless forsaken bit of space and everything will be fine."

"Until the next confrontation or encounter."

B'Elanna grinned at her. "That goes with the territory."

Seven smiled back at her faintly, and continued her work on the power unit of the device. It pleased her that the easy comradeship she and the Klingon once shared had returned, just as comfortable now as it had been before. She wasn't even entirely sure where and when they had lost it ... nor how much they had lost ... until they finally got it back.

"You can still see now," B'Elanna said thoughtfully.

"Through my ocular implant," Seven explained. "It is like a flat screen in my mind. I do not 'see' as much as I 'view'. It is two dimensional, in shades of green. My depth perception is somewhat faulty, while my right side has been left vulnerable due to the lack of that eye's peripheral vision."

"At least, you're not completely blind," the engineer pointed out, no doubt in an effort to put a positive spin on the situation.

Seven, remembering the utter blackness of no sight, and the fear it had generated within her, felt a shiver go down her spine. "No," she agreed slowly. "I am not completely blind."

B'Elanna must have picked up something in the tone, staring at her for a moment.

"That bad?"

Seven considered it. "I do not know why it was so difficult. Perhaps, since becoming Borg, I have always been able to see around me, even in extremely low illumination where Humans, or even Klingons, cannot. It is something that I have taken for granted, and the period of time when I could not see at all was ... terrifying."

B'Elanna blinked. "I guess you've discovered that you're afraid of the dark."

Seven nodded reluctantly.

B'Elanna reached over and patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. "It'll be fine, Nik." Despite the fact it was obviously nothing more than a platitude, and certainly nothing that the Klingon knew for