• This is the 44th installment in the Just Between Series.
• It was posted on September 15th, 2000.
• Title provided by Silk.

Reflecting off the gleaming surface with almost painful intensity, sunshine poured down from a cloudless sky onto the newly constructed Starfleet Headquarters. Destroyed in a Breen attack a year or so earlier, the facility had been completely rebuilt, incorporating many improvements and utilizing a more flowing line of architecture that evoked a sense of it being a grounded starship rather than merely a building. Rumors flew that it actually was a starship, and in the event of another attack, could launch and defend itself ... though most discounted that as absurd speculation. The entrance of the building was fronted by a large plaza, in which a circular fountain sprayed high in the air, bordered by flower beds and lawns sloping up to the wide boulevard. The most striking aspect about the new headquarters were the white walls that ran along each side of the plaza, widening as they approached the structure itself, engraved with the names of the Starfleet officers who had perished during the Dominion War, a monument to all those who had died in defense of the Federation in the past few years.

For Captain Kathryn Janeway, the new construction seemed both hopeful and heartrending at the same time, reaching out for space and the future, but always mindful of what that future had cost the Federation in Starfleet blood. When she had first arrived in the plaza, she could scarcely believe how many names had been painstakingly etched into the stone, her eyes scanning the surface in astonishment. Then, as the list went on and she recognized more than a few officers who had made the ultimate sacrifice for Starfleet, her stomach began to hurt and she finally had to turn away, choosing to take a seat on a bench near the fountain, staring determinedly at the cool water before her.

"Why did you ask your counselor to meet us here?" Janeway demanded querulously, knowing she was unsettled by the monument and taking it out on her spouse.

"It is important that she represent me when I speak with Starfleet Command," Seven of Nine responded patiently, either not noticing the note of irritation in her partner's voice, or choosing not to.

Statuesque, with ice-blue eyes and blonde hair tied back in an austere bun, the young woman presented a most formidable demeanor in her black and grey uniform, a blue undertunic denoting her as a science officer. Janeway couldn't understand why Seven, a former member of the Collective, who still retained much of the Borg's innate arrogance, was so insecure about this encounter with their superior officers that she required support from a complete stranger. Didn't she believe that Janeway was capable of guiding and protecting her during these briefings?

"Seven?"

Both Janeway and the Borg turned to see the approach of a diminutive young woman carrying a briefcase, puffing slightly as she trotted across the plaza. A short shock of dark hair framed elven features set off by large dark eyes, and the captain blinked as she realized that the newcomer, slightly boyish and dressed in whatever passed as the latest fashion on Earth at the moment, looked barely older than Seven. The captain hadn't seen a briefcase since her father carried one twenty years ago. It was definitely a Traditionalist type of accessory.

"Samantha T. Cogley," Seven identified, a hint of disapproval in her tone. "You are late."

The young woman looked taken aback. "Only a minute."

"Four point three-five minutes," Seven corrected. "Are you prepared?"

The woman hesitated, then sighed audibly, raising her briefcase. "I have your paperwork right here. Don't worry about anything, Seven. If Starfleet tries anything to violate your rights as a Federation citizen, I'll hit them with so many writs, they'll never get out from under the paperwork."

"I doubt very much if Starfleet is going to do that," Janeway said, confused by the conversation.

That drew the young woman's attention to her and the counselor promptly stuck out her hand. "You must be Captain Kathryn Janeway." Her dark eyes were bright. "Samantha T. Cogley, Attorney-at-Law."

Janeway was blind-sided as she grasped the hand automatically to shake it. "Attorney? You're Seven's legal counsel?" She shot a look at Seven. "I thought she was your psychiatric counselor."

Seven blinked. "I never told you that, Kathryn."

Samantha was frowning. "Wait a minute. Why would you think I was a psychiatric counselor?" She glanced at the Borg. "Is there something I need to know about your mental state, Seven?"

Seven was beginning to look confused, and Janeway touched her arm. "Seven, why did you retain a lawyer?"

"Phoebe retained her," Seven explained readily, her expression clearing as she was given a question she was able to respond to concisely. "She believes that I require a certain protection in the event Starfleet perceives me as only Borg, rather than remembering I have rights as a Starfleet citizen."

Janeway closed her eyes momentarily, taking several slow, deep breaths to calm herself, before lifting her head and regarding her spouse.

"Seven, you don't require legal counsel," she said in a very even tone. "Phoebe is inventing problems where there aren't any." She shifted her glance to the other woman, again conscious of how young she was. "Miss Cogley..."

"Sam," Samantha corrected.

"Sam," Janeway repeated in her most diplomatic tone, "I appreciate that you're trying to assist, but we don't require your services."

Samantha eyed her narrowly, assessing the captain with a keenness that seemed out of proportion to her youthful form. "Well, I hate to break this to you, Red, but I don't work for you, I work for Seven of Nine on behalf of Phoebe Janeway," she said. She nodded at the Borg. "Now, if Seven wants to send me away, that's fine. I'll go back and inform Phoebe that I have an uncooperative client, and she can take it from there, but you really don't have anything to do with this."

A muscle jumped in Janeway's jaw as she kept a rein on her temper. This was all she needed her first day back at Starfleet Headquarters. "Fine," she managed. "Seven?"

Seven look troubled. "I do not wish to send her away, Kathryn."

Janeway discovered she was grinding her back teeth, and forced herself to stop. "Seven, I need to speak with you a moment," she said. "Privately." She shot a look at the other woman, and Samantha promptly shrugged and moved away, presumably out of earshot.

Janeway took Seven by her arm and pulled her over to the relative shelter of the wall, noticing the name of one of her classmates at the Academy etched in the stone just over the young woman's shoulder. She had to force herself to focus on the Borg's pale eyes.

"Annika, I don't understand," she said in a low tone. "I thought we had settled this back on Voyager. Starfleet will undoubtedly want to accommodate you, not try to harass you in some fashion."

Seven regarded her evenly. "In truth, you cannot be sure of anything Starfleet will do at this time, Kathryn. I would rather have legal counsel present during these initial meetings, rather than discover too late that I required such services." She reached out and put her hand gently on the captain's forearm. "Kathryn, if Starfleet is as accommodating as you believe, they will not object to Samantha accompanying me. If they are not, then at least we will both have some protection. It is merely a matter of preparation, and you always appreciate it when officers are prepared."

Janeway couldn't think of a way to counter that. "This isn't normal protocol, Annika," she said stubbornly.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Neither is a Borg becoming a Starfleet officer,"

Janeway wanted to debate this further, but she found it difficult to formulate a logical argument at the moment, particularly since they were already running a bit late. Besides, while she could not remember ever hearing of such a thing before, she had never come across a regulation specifically prohibiting the presence of civilian legal counsel during proceedings of the type they were facing. Furthermore, as hard as it was to admit ... especially to herself ... it was possible that Seven was right in determining that Janeway couldn't know how Starfleet now reacted to things. Perhaps there wouldn't be any harm in it, despite the fact the captain didn't like it one little bit.

This all flew through her mind in a matter of seconds, and she ended up sighing in frustration. "Fine, but Miss ... Cogley needs to remain conscious of the fact that she is here only to protect your civil liberties as a Federation citizen; she is not to interfere with your responsibilities as a Starfleet officer, Lieutenant."

Seven nodded. "I understand ... Captain." She paused. "It is entirely possible that just the knowledge I have retained legal counsel will prevent any ... misunderstandings between myself and Starfleet Command."

Janeway stared at her a moment, then nodded.

"Let's go."

She led the way into the building, peripherally aware of her spouse gesturing for the lawyer to accompany them. As they entered the large lobby, the first thing Janeway saw was the giant UFP insignia emblazoned within the plastiseal floor, and then, on the wall behind the main desk, the Starfleet insignia, gleaming golden in the refracted sunlight streaming through the skylights above. She did not normally consider herself a sentimental person, but after spending seven years lost in the Delta Quadrant, similar images and symbols had been impacting on her psyche with a great deal of force in the past few days. The sight of these two symbols, as well as that of the monument outside, struck directly to her heart, making her chest feel full as tears stung her eyes.

"Captain."

Janeway blinked rapidly as she turned and discovered Lt. Ro Laren loitering near a display case that contained a piece from Zefram Cochrane's space ship, the first warp-propelled vessel in Human history. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, the Bajoran moved toward her with a graceful deadliness, reminding the captain, once again, that the officer was a product of Advanced Tactical Training. Ro had served as a security officer on Voyager, and was now attached to Janeway's personal command as the captain's adjunct.

"I apologize for being late, Lieutenant." Janeway noted the Bajoran's curious look at Samantha, who was craning her head, gazing around as if she had never been here before. For all Janeway knew, the lawyer hadn't. "Lt. Ro, this is Samantha Cogley, Seven's ... legal counsel."

The only implication of surprise was a brief twitch of Ro's left eyebrow. "Miss Cogley," she greeted smoothly. She glanced at Seven and seemed to nod, almost in approval, and Janeway wondered if she was the only one who thought this was a bad idea.

"Admiral Necheyev's office is on the twelfth floor, section ten," Ro explained, leading the way to the turbolift. "I've already cleared us with the duty officer."

"Were you waiting long?" Janeway asked as the lift carried them up to the requested section of the building.

"Not really." Ro paused, and added in a lower voice; "Initially, I was waiting by the fountain, but those walls ... it just got to me and I decided to wait inside."

"I know what you mean," Janeway said soberly. While Voyager had been gone, the entire quadrant had shifted in significant ways, both politically and territorially. An entire war had been fought and won, and the longer the captain was back, the more unsettled she became. It was as if the universe had moved on without her, and now she was desperately trying to catch up.

She hoped that these briefings with Starfleet Command would clarify things for her, not just in terms of what she needed to know about the current state of Starfleet, but also in solidifying a new position until she was once more able to take command of Voyager. The Intrepid-class vessel was currently dry-docked at Utopia Planitia, undergoing an overhaul to bring it up to current operating specs. Until that happened, she hoped to be offered an administrative posting on Earth, close to her family and where Seven would undoubtedly accept an assignment with a scientific facility.

It was past time, in her opinion, that she regained control of her life.

The lawyer seemed to pick up on her client's unease, and she reached over, patting her on the back. "It's covered, Seven," Sam murmured. "Don't worry about a thing."

Janeway glanced over her shoulder, obviously hearing that, but before she could say anything, the doors to the lift opened and they were walking into the corridors of the twelfth floor. It was very similar to the halls of a starship, Seven noted, though much larger and decorated in subdued shades of blues and silvers. Signs on the wall gave clear directions to where they needed to be, and the captain led the way, flanked by Ro. Seven and Samantha brought up the rear, the Borg growing steadily conscious of being out of place, and uncomfortable about feeling that way. She knew that Janeway was very proud that her spouse wore the uniform of Starfleet, but Seven did not think she would ever truly be as much a part of the organization as was the captain.

Of course, that was to be expected, Seven reminded herself, as they turned down another corridor. Janeway had grown up with the precepts of Starfleet, following in her father's footsteps as soon as she was old enough to attend the Academy. Seven, on the other hand, would be the first to admit that she had only pursued a commission in order to function more efficiently as a crewmember of Voyager. She was not entirely sure she had any desire to function within a command structure on Earth, but she had promised Janeway she would give her commission 'a chance' so she hadn't resigned, even though a certain part of her really wanted to.

However, she allowed for the possibility that, depending on what happened this day, she might be walking out of this structure without ever needing to don the uniform again.

They arrived at a lobby which seemed to be a reception area of sorts for this section of Starfleet Headquarters. Seven was reminded of the rough chart her friend, B'Elanna Torres, had made for her not too long ago during a barbeque at the Klingon's home, explaining how Starfleet's operations structure was made up, and identifying which admirals Seven might find herself dealing with during her briefings. 

"Sir!" he said smartly, and Seven realized he was very young. "I'm Lt. Glasket, the Attaché for the Starship Operations section."

Which, as the Borg had learned from B'Elanna's lessons about how things worked in Starfleet Headquarters, was another term for receptionist. Officers of import working directly under the admirals, such as Commander Michael Patterson did for Admiral Owen Paris, were referred to as 'adjuncts' or 'assistants'. Anyone could be an 'attaché', though it carried marginally more authority and responsibility than being referred to as a 'aide'. Ensigns being sent out for coffee were 'aides'.

"We're here to speak with Admiral Necheyev," Janeway told him. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager." A small twitch in Janeway's right brow betrayed to Seven how much the words stung after the fact. Technically, Janeway wasn't captain of anything at the moment.

"Of course, sir." He raised his arm. "This way. Admiral Necheyev and the others are waiting for you in conference room one."

Seven swallowed hard, and Janeway turned to Samantha, nodding at the sofa in a lounge provided for those who were required to wait.

"Miss Cogley, please remain out here," she instructed. "If Seven requires your presence, it will only take a call to bring you in. Otherwise, it would be best if your presence were not brought to anyone's attention."

Samantha frowned and looked rebellious. "Seven," she asked, looking over at the young woman. "Is that what you want?"

Seven glanced at her spouse, thought about it, then nodded. "Yes, remain here." In this much, she would trust her partner's judgement. "If I need you, I will call. If I do not require you, there will be ... no harm done."

The lawyer appeared slightly angry, then abruptly, her face cleared and she seemed to shrug. "Your decision," she said, moving over to the sofa. "I won't move from this spot."

Seven nodded in gratitude, but she didn't have time to pursue it because suddenly they were being led into a large conference room dominated by a sleek, black table. Four section admirals ... the same admirals who had greeted Voyager's crew on their return at Earth Station McKinley ... sat around one end, while three chairs remained empty at the other end, obviously intended for the lower-ranked Starfleet officers. Lt. Glasket busied himself with serving them coffee, providing them with padds, then quickly vacated the room as soon as they were settled.

The Borg discovered she was shaking slightly, and she gripped the arms of her chair tightly. She did not know why she felt so uncomfortable, but she knew that if she had been required to attend this briefing on her own, she simply would have refused. The whole atmosphere appeared designed to be intimidating, and that made her feel both afraid and angry at the same time. Through the windows that lined one side of the room, the city skyline and the top of the Golden Gate bridge were visible, and she longed to be outside. Janeway's knee, hidden beneath the table and pressing firmly against the Borg's in silent support, did not ease the young woman's mind at all.

"It's good to see you again, Kathryn," Admiral Paris said warmly. "Did you enjoy your leave?" He was a sparse man with white hair and his son's blue eyes, but lacked Tom's boyish charm. Seven did not know if she liked him or not.

"Very much," Janeway offered in that even tone that Seven recognized as her partner's most diplomatic tone ... an inflection that gave nothing away. She wondered if that was an indication that Kathryn was also feeling somewhat nervous, though there were no visible signs of it. "I believe all my crew found it quite useful in settling certain domestic arrangements."

"I understand you've moved back to San Francisco," Ross offered. He was younger than the rest, darkly handsome with a muscular body and rugged features. Seven knew he had been in command of the Starfleet forces during most of the war, and was now being considered for the upper echelons of Starfleet Command, requiring one more promotion to achieve the rank of five-star admiral, a Commander-in-Chief, that was the highest rank attainable in Starfleet. Those officers dealt directly with the Federation Council and assisted in instituting policy that affected whole sectors rather than systems, the entire quadrant rather than merely the civilizations within it.

"Yes," Janeway offered.

"Are you looking for another ship? I have five that are currently patrolling along the Romulan Neutral Zone and the Breen Border. Any one of them would benefit greatly from your experience."

Janeway blinked, and Seven decided that Ross obviously was not one to vacillate, but then, he was in charge of maintaining the military duties of the Starfleet vessels, and his priorities were clear.

"Actually, I was hoping to remain on Earth for personal reasons while Voyager is being overhauled."

"I have a Galaxy-class vessel you can assume command of immediately," he said, clearly expecting that it would be added incentive. "The USS Venture."

Janeway dipped her head graciously in acknowledgment of what, under any circumstances, would be a most generous offer. "Thank you, sir, but after seven years of constant duty, you'll forgive me if I don't immediately jump into another command."

Ross stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Understandable." He glanced at the others, then, as if reacting to some undetectable communication, he stood and picked up his padds. On his way out the door, he paused by Janeway's chair. "If you change your mind, contact me immediately."

"Yes, sir," she responded.

He nodded at Ro Laren. "Lieutenant, you're with me."

The Bajoran raised an eyebrow, but obediently got up and followed the admiral from the room, leaving the captain and Seven alone with the remaining senior officers. The Borg studied the admirals surreptitiously. She thought Hayes looked a bit disappointed that Janeway had not accepted Ross's offer, but the other two, Necheyev and Paris, clearly looked pleased. She wondered why that disturbed her slightly, and why Ro had been taken away.

"Well done, Kathryn," Paris said. Seven remembered that he was an old friend of the captain's, Janeway having served as his science officer on the Al-Batani. "You're far more useful here, in Starfleet Command, than you would be taking another starship. Besides, you've always been more a scientist than a soldier." He offered her a smile, then glanced at Seven. "You're a scientist, too, I understand."

"Yes, I am," Seven managed, uncomfortably aware that the attention had shifted to her as she did her best not to squirm.

"Lt. Hansen." Necheyev's blue eyes were laser sharp, pale chips of ice that assessed Seven with all the dispassion of a Borg drone. Despite being a slight woman, with blonde hair and Slavic features, she exuded authority, more so than even Janeway, and Seven suddenly wished she had resigned her commission back on Voyager so she didn't have to go through this.

"Yes," Seven remarked, then belatedly added, "sir."

She was aware of the captain wincing slightly beside her, realizing that the delay had made the Borg's words sound insolent rather than revealing the nervousness that had truly caused it. Seven was merely pleased that she had remembered the honorary address at all, considering the state she was in.

 Necheyev took a deep breath, almost as if she were exasperated in some fashion.

"Admiral Hayes, as diplomatic envoy, will conduct your debriefing, Lt. Hansen," she said coldly. "Please accompany him to his office."

Seven was so relieved that Necheyev was not going to be conducting her debriefing that she got up and followed the older, stocky man without objection. She didn't even glance at her spouse in farewell, so anxious was she to vacate the room and the piercing eyes of the admiral.

Outside the conference room, Samantha immediately rose to her feet, moving aggressively over to block their path, and Admiral Hayes paused, glancing at her with surprise.

"Can I help you?"

"Samantha T. Cogley, Attorney-at-law," she snapped professionally. From her briefcase, she withdrew a padd and shoved it at him. "Seven of Nine is my client, and I want it made perfectly clear that she is a Federation citizen in addition to being a Starfleet officer. No harassment due to her connection with the Borg Collective will be tolerated."

Rather than being angry, he seemed almost amused as he accepted the padd, glancing back at Seven. "Were you truly concerned about this, Lt. Hansen?"

Seven hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir. When I first joined Voyager, I experienced certain difficulties due to my association with the Borg. Admiral Necheyev does not conceal her disdain of me. I was ... concerned that attitude prevailed in Starfleet."

"Afraid we would spirit you off and dissect you?" His tone was faintly sardonic.

Seven felt the color rise in her face. "It had been ... suggested, sir."

He nodded. "I see," he said, and now his eyes were stern, if still kindly. "Whoever gave you such a perception of us, did you a disservice. Starfleet holds to certain ideals and goals that are simply not compliant with the scenario you're describing. It would not happen, Lieutenant, not now, nor in the future."

Seven did not have an answer to that. Samantha did, however.

"Since the war, Starfleet is being restructured along militaristic lines. My client, as an ex-Borg, has cause to be worried about unfair treatment, just as a Romulan or a Cardassian would."

He blinked. "Not once they became Starfleet officers. Such discrimination is not tolerated, Miss Cogley, nor would such behavior be expected. It would go against everything we believe in. In any event, merely by joining us, she has already offered her loyalty and cooperation in any dealings with enemies of the Federation." He turned to Seven. "Haven't you? Did you understand that part of accepting your commission?"

Seven dipped her head. "Yes, sir, I am quite willing to assist Starfleet in any confrontation with the Borg or any of their other enemies. Indeed, I have already contributed to the defense of Voyager on several occasions."

He looked back at Samantha, his craggy features expectant that Seven's words were enough to settle it, but a stubborn expression crossed the young lawyer's face. "Such cooperation does not supercede her rights as a sentient being. She cannot be held to conduct that differs from that which is expected of any other Federation citizen who has accepted a Starfleet commission."

"We are quite in agreement, Miss Cogley," he assured her graciously, showing a patience that impressed Seven, despite her uneasiness. "In truth, Starfleet is quite pleased to have Seven of Nine as a member. I assure you, it is not the habit of admirals to brief lieutenants on their future within the organization unless they are considered remarkable officers indeed."

"That in itself, might be considered suspicious," Samantha warned. "You understand that if any impropriety is discovered, I will take this to the highest Federation Supreme Court, not to mention releasing the entire story to the Federation News Service."

"I would expect nothing less." He maintained his eye contact with the young woman, and finally, she shifted her gaze to Seven.

"Seven, unless they actually do something untoward to you, there's not really anything else I can do," Samantha noted, a slightly rueful tone in her voice. "The padd he accepted contains a copy of your citizenship papers, as well as any writs I would file in the event of any impropriety. Thus, as a representative of Starfleet, he's been duly informed that you're fully aware of your rights, while that acknowledgment has been automatically recorded with the Federation Legal Authority. The instant anything happens to you, if you were to disappear or be harmed in any way, a complaint would immediately be filed with the Sentient Being Advocacy that would require the Federation Council to demand an immediate and complete investigation into the matter. I can't provide any more protection than that. In fact, it's far more than the average Federation citizen arranges when joining Starfleet."

Seven nodded. "I understand. I am most grateful for your assistance, Sam."

Samantha hesitated, then reached out and put her hand on the Borg's arm. "I'm not far away, Seven. I'll also keep in touch with your sister-in-law. If you have any problems, I'll be here immediately."

"Thank you," Seven said. She watched as the lawyer strode briskly down the corridor.

Samantha turned around to shoot a final look at the admiral, a bulldog glare of dire consequences if he was lying to her, then turned the corner, disappearing from view. Seven inhaled slowly, then looked over at the admiral. He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you were so concerned about this, Lieutenant," he offered mildly.

"I ... regret the necessity for such preparation," she said, feeling somewhat embarrassed now that her fears had proven to be unfounded. "However, I am pleased that there will be no misunderstandings."

"At least, not relating to your civil rights as a Federation citizen," he agreed dryly. He held out his hand, gesturing toward his office. "This way."

Seven entered the tastefully decorated office and took a seat in the low-backed chair that he indicated. He sat down in the big leather chair behind the desk and regarded her closely. "As you are aware, Lt. Hansen, many of the preliminary briefings were conducted over the communications array prior to Voyager's return. The issue of the Maquis was settled, the various field commissions were evaluated as to their validity and verified by Starfleet Command, while all remaining information to bring Voyager's crew up to speed regarding events in the Federation was transmitted and distributed. These final meetings are primarily for the captain, and to clear up any lingering uncertainties regarding the status of the few remaining officers who have yet to secure postings." He smiled at her, in a paternal fashion. "Tell me, Lt. Hansen, have you considered what your future will be with Starfleet?"

He listened with courteous attention as she explained the offers she had received from scientific facilities on Trill, Vulcan, and Earth, all of which she intended to visit either before or during an upcoming trip with her sister-in-law. She explained all about the visit to the Mars TPG facility which had taken place the day before, as well as how much she had been impressed with Dr. Brahms in person as compared to just working with her over the comm system during their collaboration in the Delta Quadrant. She also expressed her desire that, whichever offer she accepted, she wished to maintain her commission within Starfleet.

His dark eyes were quite thoughtful by the time she had completed her recitation.

"You must understand that Starfleet hasn't enough influence with the facilities on Vulcan or Trill for you to maintain your commission with us in the event you decide to go with them. As for the two facilities in this system, only Dr. Brahms' Theoretical Propulsion Group is affiliated with the Starfleet Science Division. The Daystrom Institute guards its autonomy most assiduously. You'll have to return to civilian status in order to accept their invitation."

Seven nodded gravely. "Thank you for your candor."

"Obviously, we would prefer you remain with Starfleet," he told her with what seemed to be complete sincerity. "We believe your scientific qualifications would make you a valuable asset to us, not to mention your prior connection to the Borg Collective, which may provide information that could aid us in any future dealings with them. By the same token, however, we don't want an officer who's unable to abide by our rules and regulations, who chafes under our necessary restrictions, or is simply unhappy wearing the uniform. That causes far more problems than it solves."

She took a deep breath. "I understand, Admiral. I must admit, I did not expect such a ... reasonable response from Starfleet Command regarding my plans." She paused. "Particularly after experiencing Admiral Necheyev's attitude at the ceremony on McKinley Station."

He smiled at her. "You have to understand, Lieutenant," he said in a confidential tone, "Admiral Necheyev takes the protection of the Federation very seriously, and unlike others in the aftermath of the war, she hasn't forgotten the potential threat of the Borg Collective. However, she is unquestionably fair, and I'm sure you'll discover that once you get past her initial suspicion." He drew down his brows. "If it is any consolation, she presents the same personality and attitude to everyone, not just you."

"Yes, sir," Seven replied dubiously.

He looked at her seriously for a long moment. "Lieutenant, I think you should go on this trip with your sister-in-law. Consider all your options carefully. Until you have made a final decision, I'll grant you a temporary leave of absence, but I would expect that you will have made your decision by the time you return from your journey."

Seven was overwhelmed, realizing that this was far more allowance than she could have hoped for, and she decided that her partner had been correct all along.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Thank you, sir."

"Now," he said, offering her a genial smile as he leaned forward and offered her his complete and utter attention. "Tell me everything about your initial meeting with Captain Janeway and joining Voyager." His small eyes twinkled. "It must have been very disconcerting in the beginning."

Feeling much better about things, Seven proceeded to tell him everything she could think of related to her time on Voyager.

"Please, sit down."

She did, sitting gingerly in the low-backed chair, watching him warily. She knew she had been too obvious in her caution when he grinned at her suddenly.

"I don't bite, Lieutenant."

"No, sir," she replied, but she didn't relax in her chair either.

He flipped around his computer console and tapped in some commands, undoubtedly bringing up her records. "You've had quite the ... colorful career, Lt. Ro."

"Yes, sir."

His dark eyes pinned hers. "For some reason, Janeway has a lot of faith in you," he noted. "She's placed several recommendations in your file, particularly with regards to your actions on Voyager during the past year and a half."

She dipped her head. "Sir."

He inhaled slowly, regarding her as if she puzzled him in some way. "Picard also has spoken highly of you, even though you left Starfleet ... and him ... in the middle of an extremely delicate mission. Without officially resigning, which made you a deserter, I might add."

There wasn't really much Ro could say to that, so she didn't. She merely stared at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

"Janeway has transferred you to her authority, as her adjutant, and has presented you as a command candidate. Working in Starfleet Command means dealing with very sensitive issues at times, requiring a certain delicacy and discretion." He paused. "Your history indicates that you're good at being discreet, but not particularly inclined to the diplomatic. Administrative skills are also required for a command track. Yet, there's nothing in your record that implies you would have any interest in a starship command prior to this sudden appointment by Janeway."

"No, sir?"

"No," he said. "So I'm left wondering why you would pursue such a position."

She didn't change expression, regarding him steadily. "It offers me a promising career move. Certainly, I've had enough experience on the alternative side of life to appreciate a more ... disciplined lifestyle."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you understand what being a starship captain entails?"

"I'm trying to learn," she replied quietly, and held his gaze.

He finally broke the stare to look back at the viewscreen. "I spoke with Lt. Commander Tuvok yesterday," he informed her. "He implied that you were extremely interested in a career in Starfleet Intelligence at one time. I'm curious why you suddenly changed your mind."

Ro took her time about responding to this one. "Perhaps I've come to the conclusion that the lifestyle required to pursue such a career was not for me," she said, shading her answer with just enough truth to make it feasible. "I'm sure you're aware that I'm personally involved with another Starfleet officer who is posted at Utopia Planitia. Accepting a role in Starfleet Intelligence would mean keeping things from her, would require long periods of time away from her, and would possibly destroy any hope of a relationship with her. She's Klingon and holds honor in the highest regard. Occasionally, those in Intelligence must act without the restrictions of honor."

She paused. "It wasn't worth it."

His expression looked vaguely perplexed, as if this was not what he had expected at all when he had provoked the discussion.

"I ... see."

She felt amusement rise at his befuddlement, though she was careful not to show it.

"Then, there's the example set by Captain Janeway. I've never met a more straightforward and honest officer, and the deception inherent in being a member of Starfleet Intelligence does her no honor. I would be remiss if I turned my back on all the lessons she has taught me. I expect to learn everything I need to know about being a Starfleet captain from her. I could have no better role model than the two captains I have been fortunate enough to serve under."

A silence fell upon the office when she finished speaking, and she wondered if she had lain it on a little too thick. She also hoped B'Elanna would forgive her for using the Klingon as the excuse not to pursue a career in Starfleet Intelligence. She made a mental note to fill B'Elanna in on this entire conversation as soon as she returned home ... just in case the engineer and Ross ever came in contact with each other. B'Elanna would have to play the Klingon to the hilt with him to back up the 'honor before death' story.

"I have to admit, I had an entirely different perception of you." He offered a faint smile. "I suppose that's why this meeting was required, even though admirals are not in the habit of briefing lieutenants. Of course, the whole Voyager situation is somewhat unique."

"Yes, sir."

He settled back in his chair and linked his fingers over his midsection. "Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you feel has been the hardest adjustment you've had to make since your return?"

"The war," she said promptly. "Everyone here lived it. Those of us on Voyager can only imagine it. Of course, the reverse is also true. I doubt very much that the average Starfleet officer can identify with what we went through in the Delta Quadrant."

He nodded, his face thoughtful. "That was considered when the decision was made to disperse Janeway's people so quickly throughout the 'Fleet. Ideally, we would have insisted that the crew of Voyager take several months of adjustment under careful evaluation by our counselors, integrating each officer slowly back into active duty only after determining where each would best be suited."

"Starfleet couldn't afford that. I understand, Admiral. I find myself very aware of the little things now: the average age groupings of the officers I've come in contact with, the lack of uniforms present in the crowds here on Earth where once they were plentiful ... it provides a most unsettling sensation. Walking through the plaza this morning, looking at the names on the wall and recognizing so many of them was quite ... disturbing."

He nodded. "The truth is, Lt. Ro, if you're really serious about pursuing a command track, and you prove to be at all suitable for such a position, it will happen very quickly. Far more quickly than you may be ready for. Starfleet is in desperate need of experienced officers to take command roles, not just in terms of captains, but in the senior command staff that support those captains, particularly in the more sensitive areas of the Federation's borders. Depending on how you progress under Captain Janeway, you could easily find yourself in the position of a first officer by the end of the year, and being offered a command of your own vessel within two."

Ro managed to control the worst part of her shock, but she felt a decided lurch in her stomach. "Within two?" she repeated stupidly.

"I'm not referring to command of a transport or a cargo carrier, either," he continued gravely. "I'm speaking of the frigate and scout type vessels that are being refitted in the Utopia Planitia shipyards even as we speak." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers, looking very serious. "Replacing the ships we lost in the war has been relatively easy in comparison to finding the right balance of officers to man them. There's not enough experience left in Starfleet at the moment, and many crews are unevenly comprised of cadets fresh from the Academy, most of whom are being forced to learn quickly ... some might say too quickly, either for their own good or for Starfleet's."

"I understand."

"Fortunately ... if one can call it that ... the other players in the Alpha Quadrant are in the same position of rebuilding. It's almost a race now as to who can regain their strength first, us or the Romulan Republic. The Cardassians, of course, are no longer a factor, while the Klingon Empire is in a shambles, having lost a significant portion of their warriors. The Dominion is quiet for the time being, but there's no guarantee that will remain the status quo, despite the promises of the Founders. The Breen remain, as always, a mystery."

Ro inhaled slowly. She had known it was bad, but to have it stated so succinctly by the admiral was disconcerting in the extreme.

"What about ... an external threat?" she asked, a little unsteadily.

"That's a concern," he allowed. "Frankly, we were relieved to hear that the Borg had been decimated by Species 8472 ... and that Species 8472 had only been protecting themselves, with little interest in picking up where the Borg left off. However, it's equally possible some threat could be posed by the Delta or Gamma Quadrant in the future."

She held his gaze. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to be sure of your path," he said, his voice becoming edged a little. "None of us have the luxury of vacillating at the moment. Be sure of your decisions because Starfleet needs every officer it has to step up and fulfill their oath. Whatever you choose, Lieutenant, you can be sure it's going to demand much of you in the next little while. You have to be ready for that."

She raised her chin. "I am."

He lowered his brows, then nodded. "Excellent. I don't believe Janeway is in the habit of making mistakes when she grooms her personnel for specific purposes. I expect to be adding a pip to your collar before long, Lt. Ro. Don't let me down. Don't let her down."

"No sir," she replied. "I won't, sir."

He nodded briefly, then glanced at his console. "You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," she said, and hastily vacated the office. Not seeing either Seven or Janeway out in the waiting area, nor the lawyer that Seven had brought along, Ro decided that the others were still being briefed. She speculated as to whether they were receiving the same, somewhat confusing mixture of pep talk and dire warnings that she had, and tried to figure out why exactly Admiral Ross had chosen to be the one to give it to her. As he said, admirals were not in the habit of briefing lieutenants.

She found a seat on the sofa in the lobby, nodding politely at the young man behind the desk, and went over the encounter in her mind, analyzing it from every angle. She wondered if there had been something there, something beyond a simple briefing. He had been quite specific about the threats the Federation now faced, and what role Starfleet had to play in protecting its borders. It was possible that she was just imagining it, of course, but for whatever reason, her instincts were telling her to pursue that line of investigation. Not that she could always rely on her instincts ... sometimes it seemed that they got her into more trouble than out of it ... but she knew that quite often one's 'instinct' was nothing more than information picked up subconsciously by the physical senses, the brain deciphering it on a subconscious level to disturb the conscious mind with a discernment that something more existed beneath the surface.

So what had she seen or heard in her briefing that was now arousing her suspicions?

Whatever it was, she had better figure it out quickly. Things had a way of moving faster than she liked since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, and she couldn't expect this to be any different. She looked speculatively at the young officer working behind the desk.

It had been her experience that, often, file clerks knew far more about what was going on in their immediate surroundings than did those at the top, particularly if they were in the vicinity of where the information was collected. Ro couldn't imagine any area more significant than operating as the attaché for the admirals and their adjutants on this floor. She stood up and sidled over to the desk, satisfied when Glasket glanced up at her and blushed faintly. Though he wore the pips of a lieutenant, just as she did, he had to be at least fifteen years younger than she was, and obviously not long out of the Academy itself. It was simply a matter of figuring out how discreet he was, and being very careful to keep their conversation to what appeared to be harmless information only.

She was very pleased to discover in the course of their discussion, that he wasn't nearly discreet enough.

For a moment, Janeway thought her old mentor might object, but Owen Paris firmed his jaw and offered a short nod. The captain was detecting a decided tension between the two admirals, but it was understandable that they would not choose to display it while in the presence of a subordinate.

"Come see me this afternoon, Kathryn," he muttered to Janeway as he passed.

"Aye, sir," she replied in a low voice.

She inhaled slowly and tried to ignore the light pain beginning to feather along her temples. She had forgotten all the various political maneuvering that took place in the upper echelons of Starfleet, and though her father had shared more than a few stories to help her deal with them, and even use them to her advantage at times, she preferred to steer clear of such situations altogether. She wondered if Voyager had somehow become the center of the admirals' controversy with each other, or if this was an ongoing thing in which she and her ship had become involved merely by happenstance.

She was conscious of Necheyev's eyes assessing her with an intensity that she had not experienced often in her life. Indeed, the only other person Janeway knew who possessed such a dispassionate cold contemplation was Seven of Nine. It had taken a while before the ice had melted in the Borg's pale eyes and become the warm glow the captain now associated with her spouse.

"Sir," she prompted finally, tiring of being analyzed as if under a microscope.

Necheyev raised her head. "I've never been impressed by you, Janeway," she said flatly, to the captain's complete consternation. "From the moment I met you at your first command evaluation ... which you made no secret you thought was beneath you ... I have considered you to be a most unremarkable officer."

Janeway flushed hotly at the description, remembering the incident quite well. She had just completed her first command in deep space and had been called before a review board that she considered a complete waste of time, saying as much to Admiral Paris. A Vulcan ensign named Tuvok had also been present and he had offered a scathing report about her lack of commitment to tactical operations during her tour, an assessment that had absolutely outraged her. Her defense that, as commanding officer, it was her responsibility to delineate the rules and regulations of Starfleet, and that her crew did not need to be schooled in the art of war, was not one accepted by the board. She was chastised verbally for such an approach, and informed that regulations were put in place for a reason, not solely for an individual officer's creative interpretation. That Tuvok was also instructed in the concept that a commanding officer had to be both flexible and creative, did not assuage her keen humiliation at all.

To Janeway's further displeasure, Tuvok had subsequently been assigned to her command, with the intention that each officer would benefit by learning from the other. After such an inauspicious beginning, no one had been more surprised than Janeway when she and the Vulcan eventually became the best of friends, proving that the members of the board were, indeed, far more intuitive than she was. The memory of the hearing still stung, however, whenever she was forced to think about it, and she had been unaware that she had provided such a negative impression to the admiral whom, at the time, Janeway had admired greatly and only wanted to emulate. Though Necheyev had been in charge of the sector where Voyager was initially assigned, the ship had been lost so quickly that the captain never really had the chance to work with the woman.

She decided that was probably a good thing. If Necheyev didn't like how she interpreted rules and regulations in her first command, Janeway could only imagine how the admiral viewed her conduct in the Delta Quadrant. This was not going to be a very good briefing.

"You have consistently used the fact that you were the daughter of one of Starfleet's more respected admirals to your advantage," Necheyev went on mercilessly. "You parlayed your connection with the associates of your father to pave your way to a command, a fact that became painfully clear when you were awarded Voyager. She was one of the first of our Intrepid-class ships, and you honestly didn't deserve her, but Admiral Patterson swung the vote in your favor. The fact that he, Finnegan, and Dawson were old friends of Edward Janeway should have excluded them from the Appointment Committee altogether. It truly did not surprise me that the very first thing you managed to do ... on what should have been a routine mission to the Bajoran Sector ... operating under my authority ... was lose your ship in another quadrant."

A muscle jumped in Janeway's jaw, outraged at such an unfair assessment, but unable to respond in the manner in which she wanted. The captain had discovered very early in her career that when a superior officer didn't like you, there wasn't much a person could do but maintain a stiff upper lip and take it ... and work doubly hard to prove them wrong, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to have to deal with. Nor did she feel it was deserved, forcing herself to remain in her seat, frozen with indignity and rising fury. She was profoundly grateful that Seven of Nine was not here to witness this lambasting.

The reminder of her partner brought the sudden realization that Necheyev should also be damned grateful Seven wasn't there. By this time, the Borg would have had the admiral hanging upside down by her ankles, demanding that she apologize immediately to her spouse and threatening dire consequences if she didn't. The image of such a spectacle immediately restored the captain's temper, and she was able to take a deep breath while raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she replied evenly.

"You could always fool those admirals who had never commanded a starship on the frontier," Necheyev continued that chill tone. "Officers like Hayes and Patterson didn't know what such a post really demanded, but there were those of us who could tell you were just another committee appointee, arriving through political ties rather than merit, like so many who were assigned ships during that time. There's no question in my mind that had you remained in the Alpha Quadrant, you would have suffered the same fate that the rest of those captains did."

"Which was?" Janeway managed coolly.

"Take a good look at the wall outside," Necheyev said with an old anger. "The deaths are listed in the order of date from the beginning of the war, and the names of those captains were chiseled in first. Unfortunately, they usually managed to take their ships and entire crews with them."

Janeway took a breath, keeping her voice devoid of inflection. "Is there a point to this, sir?"

Necheyev smiled faintly, an unpleasant, provocative smile. "Aren't you going to storm out of here in righteous indignation, Janeway? Request an immediate transfer from my authority? You can always tell one of your daddy figures, and they can easily arrange it. Paris is just down the hall, and he probably possesses as much pull as I do around here, despite the fact I'm in charge of starship command operations. He can't wait to take you under his wing and start directing your career just as he did before."

The comment swept a flash of blinding rage through the captain, but she didn't speak, taking a moment to allow the red haze to clear from her vision. She did notice that her hands, held under the table out of Necheyev's sight, were clenched into fists so tight, her knuckles were white as she quickly brought her fury under control.

She amazed herself by offering a thin-lipped smile. "With all due respect, Admiral, are you saying you lack the ability to deploy me properly?"

Necheyev stared at her for a long moment before a humorless grin ghosted across her narrow lips. "Something changed you out there," she determined with a certain satisfaction, leaning back in her chair. Her shoulders relaxed, and her stern, rigid features softened visibly, the shift in mood so startling and disconcerting to Janeway that she struggled to retain her command face.

"Sir?"

"I'm not sure what it was, but now when I look at you, I actually see a starship captain," Necheyev told her as she picked up her mug of coffee and sipped it. "Not just someone playing the role as you were in the beginning."

Janeway wasn't sure how to react. She had never considered herself anything but a dedicated and tireless worker her entire career, believing she had earned everything she had received. Yet, there was a tiny part of her that was almost forced to agree with the admiral in her assessment about her current command ability, at least as far as the improvement was concerned. She had changed during the past seven years, discovering depths to herself that she had never known existed before being forced to call on them in the Delta Quadrant. She was undoubtedly a better captain for it, but was the admiral right? Had the potential unleashed in the past seven years been completely absent at the beginning of her command career? But that didn't give the admiral the right to ... to...

To test her?

Janeway suddenly relaxed as well, dipping her head to regard the admiral with an intent gaze that had served her so splendidly in the past.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" she said briskly.

Necheyev inclined her head marginally. "Please."

"How the hell do you manage a working relationship with anyone using that approach?"

That actually generated a bark of laughter from the older woman, something Janeway did not think happened very often. "The best always know where they stand with me, and I, with them. That's sufficient for anyone who's secure in their abilities. The rest, I can't be bothered to waste my time with. They ... and I ... are far more comfortable with them reporting directly to Hayes, or Paris, who will coddle them and candy-coat things so they'll go down easier."

"And Ross?"

Necheyev smiled again. "You could do much worse than to accept a command under him patrolling the Federation borders," she said, which sounded like very high praise coming from her.

"Is that what you think I should do?" Janeway asked frankly.

Necheyev met her gaze squarely, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Your refusal of him today tells me a great deal. As he said, it's understandable that you shouldn't be assigned another ship so quickly. Your return from the Delta Quadrant is still too fresh, too ... raw. You've gone your own way for too long, and immediately putting you back in the harness would be a mistake on all our parts. I commend your prescience for knowing that." Janeway did not correct this assumption on the admiral's part, even though she had really refused the command in order to give Seven time to experience life on Earth. She didn't think Necheyev would understand such a gesture. " It concerned me that you would immediately demand another vessel. Yet, the need for a starship and your own command will come back to you soon enough ... perhaps quicker than you think."

"Which is why I intend to wait for Voyager."

The admiral eyed her keenly. "You disappoint me, Kathryn. Courier missions? Escort duty? Short-range survey missions? Is that really what you want to do? I thought being in the Delta Quadrant showed you where your true talents lie."

Janeway paused. Those were the types of duties usually assigned the Intrepid-class ships, and while the quick hit-and-run missions had been appealing to her years ago, she didn't think they would be now. She had temporarily forgotten that Voyager was not a deep space vessel, despite how incredibly well the little ship had performed in just that role.

"In truth, I had considered the Galaxy-class vessel that Admiral Ross offered me," Janeway admitted reluctantly. "Just not so soon."

Necheyev shook her head. "The galaxies are good, all-purpose ships, but not enough for what you need."

Janeway frowned at that concept. Galaxy-class vessels were the most versatile of all the starships.

"Not Sovereign-class. I've seen the Enterprise. It's obviously a military ship, a Heavy Explorer. I was surprised Picard took it."

"Commanding the flagship is its own reward, and at the moment, the Federation needs to make a statement with it, particularly to the Romulan Republic," Necheyev stated evenly. "But no, you're too much of a scientist to work well with one of those. One guess gone."

"Nebula?"

"Too much of a warrior to spend years studying one spatial anomaly. Two guesses gone. You have one left."

Janeway inhaled slowly in annoyance. "Do I get a lollipop if I win this guessing game?"

Without so much as a flicker, Necheyev reached into her uniform tunic and pulled out the candy in question, placing the lollipop on the table. Janeway was staggered, and she stared at the admiral in complete and open befuddlement.

"A ... secret vice of mine," Necheyev admitted in a very dry tone. "Revealed, however, just for the sake of seeing what would shatter that command mask you wear."

Despite herself, Janeway smiled. "So what does that leave?" She paused, savoring the moment with a certain delight. "The Frontier-class USS Millennium they're currently building at Utopia Planitia?"

That disturbed Necheyev's controlled expression, astonishment widening her pale eyes, and the admiral was forced to take a breath.

"Yes," she said happily, "you do have the right stuff, Kathryn. What a shame it took seven years in the Delta Quadrant to instill it in you." She observed her with measuring intent. "Or perhaps my initial impression of you was wrong. Perhaps the war wouldn't have culled you from the herd as I thought ... it's possible you had what it took all along, and it just couldn't blossom until you got out from under the aegis of your father's associates."

Janeway did not respond, not agreeing with the admiral's assessment, but not prepared to completely dismiss it either. Whatever else she had discovered in the past seven years, learning how to rely only on herself, without any kind of safety net, had been a revelation to her. Remembering her early years in the Delta Quadrant, she wondered how many of the problems she faced had been caused by nothing more than her arrogance and absolute belief in a system of Starfleet protocols that didn't always work, especially with a crew who were partially Maquis. Solving those problems had forced her to develop her current state of flexibility, and shaken up many of her personal perceptions.

"Is that the ship you had in mind for me?" she prodded lightly.

Necheyev stared at her, then silently slid the candy over to the captain. Janeway quickly took it, doubting she would ever have the opportunity to receive another concession from the intimidating admiral, tucking the lollipop neatly into her inner tunic pocket.

"What do you know about the USS Millennium?"

Janeway thought about the conversation she had shared with Ro Laren a few nights earlier, at the housewarming party at the new home the Bajoran shared with her lover, B'Elanna Torres. Ro had talked incessantly about the new ship currently being built in orbit around Mars, something that was quite unusual for the stoic woman who had never indicated much interest in starship design before. At the time, Janeway had chalked it up to the alcohol being imbibed, but now she remembered that she had been the one drinking, and Ro had not touched anything other than fruit juice. She wondered if her new assistant had an ulterior motive for revealing so much about the new starship.

She made a mental note to have a little chat with the Bajoran.

"She's a Fast Explorer type," Janeway recited from memory. "Massing almost 7 million metric tonnes, she's slightly over 700 meters in length; her beam is 470 meters, and her height is 170 meters, making her slightly shorter than a Sovereign-class, while the beam and height are slightly wider, though less tall, than a Galaxy-class. Her primary weapons system boasts fourteen type-10 phaser emitters, eight pulse phaser cannons, three torpedo launchers ... photon or quantum compatible ... while also carrying three launch platforms for a multitask fleet designed for dual purpose military, diplomatic and scientific procedures while outside Federation space. From what I understand, she'll be utilizing two separate and distinct drives, one warp, and the other, some form of transwarp system. Her performance specs rate her as reaching a maximum cruising speed of 9.985 for up to twelve hours, though her rate of acceleration is quite slow in comparison to other ships that possess less powerful warp drives. Her fleet complement consists of 3 Yellowstone-class Heavy Runabouts with extended science module capabilities, 6 Tornado-class Medium Shuttles and 18 KillerBee Light Fighters designed to run escort duty while cruising hazardous space."

There was dead silence when Janeway finished repeating what Ro had told her.

"I underestimated you, Kathryn," Necheyev said plainly, after a moment. "I won't do that again. Which leaves me with only one question."

She leaned forward and pinned Janeway with a piercing gaze.

"How badly do you want to be her captain?"

Hayes also seemed to be taking a proprietary interest in Seven and the young woman decided that she was not adverse to that. She knew that many senior officers chose to 'mentor' certain lower-ranked officers at the beginning of their career, just as Admiral Paris had once acted as an adviser to a young Kathryn Janeway, taking a special and personal interest in her progress. Admiral Hayes appeared to be a very kindly man, if not as keenly intelligent as most, and certainly, Seven would benefit from someone who knew how to operate on diplomatic levels, as he seemed to be skilled in, rather than someone who was more active in the militaristic or scientific aspects of Starfleet. She had Kathryn for that aspect of her teaching, after all.

She tried to imagine Necheyev as her mentor, assuming that was even possible, and decided that was too horrific to contemplate. She hoped her spouse had held her own with the intimidating admiral, though to be honest, she could not envision anyone, not even Necheyev, with whom Janeway could not retain her command authority.

As they toured the facility, Seven noted that a great many of the administrative personnel were required to be 'in the field', specifically away from Earth in order to carry out their duties. Apparently this was happening far more now than before the Dominion War, and Seven was concerned that if Janeway accepted a similar position, the captain would find herself, not on Earth as she expected, but rather in other areas of the Federation, thus defeating the purpose of pursuing such a temporary post.

The Borg also noticed that many younger people in grey uniforms were being used as aides and clerks because of the lack of available personnel to handle the routine tasks that still needed to be done. Hayes explained that many of them were cadets earning extra credit, affording them the opportunity to remain at Starfleet Academy for an extra year, since most third-year students were being posted to ships and stations. Seven expressed an interest in visiting the Academy that sprawled over two city blocks, located directly across the street from Starfleet Headquarters, and the admiral promised to arrange a tour of the facilities for her the following day.

"Starfleet has become very hands on, now," Hayes said somewhat proudly at one point. "We're no longer tied up so much in rules and regulations that insist on a passive approach to starship operations. All areas of our policies, military, diplomatic and scientific, are becoming more keyed to doing what's best for the Federation."

Seven found that quite interesting, remembering such discussions during her classes on Voyager, though she did wonder what the disadvantages to such changes in Starfleet policies were, particularly since the admiral didn't appear to want to discuss that topic.

When lunch time rolled around, he directed Ro and Seven to the large restaurant on the third floor, promising that the chef-prepared food was far tastier than using one of the replicators found in the small lunch rooms located on every level. He instructed Ro to meet with Necheyev during the afternoon, while Seven was expected to spend some time with Admiral Ross, discussing the Borg additions that had been made to Voyager. A brief call to Necheyev's office by Ro retrieved the information that Captain Janeway was already on her way down to level three, whereupon Seven promptly headed for the nearest turbolift as the Bajoran dutifully tagged along.

"Over there, Seven," Ro said, nudging the Borg discreetly, as they stood in the foyer of the tastefully appointed dining area. "In the corner."

Though pleased to see that her partner was already seated, Seven was surprised to discover Janeway was speaking to someone who was unfamiliar to the Borg. As Seven and Ro approached, the uniformed stranger, who's collar sported four pips, nodded once to Janeway, got up from the table, shot a unfathomable look at the Borg, and then left without saying anything further. Seven regarded her spouse curiously.

"Who was that?" she asked as she sat down across from her partner. Ro took a seat to Janeway's right, which automatically put her back to the wall, allowing her a clear view of the entire room.

Janeway quirked an eyebrow. "An old acquaintance. I'm trying to find out what a year or so of taking charge of the Utopia Planitia shipyards is really worth." She offered Seven a bit of a wry smile and changed the subject. "Where's your legal counsel?"

"Samantha carried out her duties and was able to leave." Seven paused. "My briefing was not as ... disturbing as I had anticipated."

"I'm glad to hear that," Janeway said, her eyes becoming a bit serious. "Was Admiral Hayes put off by you bringing a civilian lawyer along?"

"Not at all," Seven responded, allowing a touch of satisfaction to color her tone. "He was very accepting and cooperative with her. It appears that your fears regarding their attitude toward my retaining legal counsel were unjustified, Kathryn."

"Apparently, so were yours," Janeway pointed out dryly, "or it wouldn't have gone so smoothly between Miss Cogley and the admiral. Now, will you admit that Starfleet isn't this conscienceless monster intent on persecuting one helpless little Borg drone, despite what my sister claims?"

Seven considered that reluctantly. "Perhaps you are correct, but I also believe that having Samantha present prevented any misunderstandings on the part of Starfleet regarding my specific case."

Janeway didn't look as if she agreed with that, but she didn't say anything, obviously not wanting to argue about it any further. Instead, she glanced at Ro.

"You look a little pale, Lieutenant. Too much brass for your liking?"

Ro's brown eyes darkened. Seven wondered if her partner noticed. "No, Captain, but I will be pleased when I am required to carry out my duties rather than merely talk about them."

Janeway smiled and nodded. "I had a very promising discussion with Admiral Necheyev this morning. It went a long way in clarifying things for me, and by extension, for you, as well."

"The admiral does not like me," Seven remarked, remembering the look in Necheyev's eyes when she left the room. "She is ... wary of the Borg and distrusts me. Admiral Hayes expressed the opinion that she is very conscious of the threat the Collective poses to the Federation."

Janeway glanced at her, her blue-grey eyes becoming a bit troubled. "I agree that Necheyev's manner could be construed as ... imposing, even quite rude at times, but to her credit, she recognizes that. She told me that she thought you would be far more comfortable speaking with Admiral Hayes, who is in charge of diplomatic operations, than with her, and that's why it was arranged for him to do your briefing. It was purely for your benefit, Annika."

Seven blinked, unpleasantly surprised. "Indeed," she said slowly, remembering how freely she had spoken with Admiral Hayes, once he proved to be so accommodating and friendly toward her. Apparently, what she had believed to be kindness was actually a deliberate managing of her, and she was left feeling rather foolish. Filing it away as a lesson to remember, she focused her attention on her partner. "Did you find Admiral Necheyev intimidating, Kathryn?"

Janeway didn't answer right away, an odd expression crossing her classic features. "Let's just say she takes some getting used to. I know that until now, I've never really had the opportunity to work with her. Even when I accepted Voyager, which brought me under her direct authority as sector commander, I dealt more with Admiral Patterson in my preparation because she was supervising the fleet patrolling the Orion Cluster. Patterson had been one of my professors at the Academy, and he asked to supervise my transfer of command personally." Janeway paused, looking uncomfortable about that for some reason. "Of course, Voyager was promptly dumped in the Delta Quadrant during our first mission, and I never even had the chance to speak directly with Necheyev."

"Admiral Patterson?" Seven echoed. "Is he related in anyway to Michael?"

Janeway lifted her chin, frowning. "I don't know," she said, her voice a little surprised, as if the question had not occurred to her. "I'll have to ask him the next time I see him."

"Uncle," Ro said suddenly.

Startled, both Janeway and Seven stared at her and the Bajoran raised an eyebrow. "Admiral David Patterson is the Commander's uncle, but they don't necessarily get along. The admiral seems to think Michael is a bit of a disappointment in his career. He's also not pleased that his nephew is now romantically involved with 'the wife of an old friend'."

"How do you know that?" Janeway asked, her tone one of astonishment.

Ro shrugged. "I was talking with Lt. Glasket who was covering the desk. He had a great deal of information to share about what's really going on in the various sections of Starfleet Headquarters at the moment."

Janeway blinked. "Are you sure you're not picking up your roommate's bad habits?"

Ro regarded her evenly. "I assumed that assessing the current political makeup of Starfleet Command is part of my duties as your assistant," she responded with a hint of reproach in her voice, just enough for the captain to know she didn't appreciate the comment.

Janeway looked surprised, and then nodded. "I stand corrected, Lieutenant. I meant no disrespect of your abilities, nor did I mean to imply that I was unappreciative of them ... regarding you or your partner."

She was not apologizing exactly, but perhaps acknowledging that she may have been somewhat imprudent in her words, which would be as far as she would go with a lower-ranked officer. Seven found the subtle inflections and interaction between the two women fascinating, but then, she always did when Ro and the captain were speaking. They communicated on several levels that were far more complicated than what was superficially apparent.

"Speaking of your partner," Janeway continued, "B'Elanna began her duties at Utopia Planitia this morning, correct?"

Ro nodded. "She doesn't know what area of the shipyards she'll be assigned to yet, but she's hoping it will be either Voyager's overhaul or the new Frontier-class vessel they're building."

"Ah, yes, the USS Millennium." Seven glanced at her, frowning at the note of something she didn't quite recognize in the captain's voice, but before she could pursue it, a waiter approached and they were required to check out the menus to decide what they would be eating for lunch.

Once they had ordered, Seven glanced around the dining area. Although it was a civilian-run restaurant, established to serve the variety of tourists and diplomats that visited the facility, it was full of Starfleet personnel. Towering windows lined one area of the large room, looking out onto the front plaza and the Dominion War Monument, the white walls seeming to sparkle in the midday sun. Beyond the Academy grounds across the street, the magnificent backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge arched over the bay, and Seven decided this would be a most acceptable place to be assigned, simply for the view. She could see several people outside in the plaza, eating their lunch on benches, and she wondered if they enjoyed having their duties located in a distinctly different area from where they resided. For Seven, having lived and worked on a starship since being severed from the Collective, it would be an entirely new experience to explore such a lifestyle.

"What did Ross have to say in your briefing, Lieutenant?" Janeway asked the Bajoran, drawing Seven's attention back to her companions.

"He seems to think that if I'm serious about pursuing a command track, I would have a first officer position in a year," Ro said soberly. "And a command of my own within two."

Janeway choked on the water she had been sipping. "Good god, are things really that bad!" She colored suddenly. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't mean..."

"It's all right, Captain," Ro assured her in a dryly ironic tone. "I'm a little shocked by it as well. If I were the type to measure my value in rank, I'd say the future looks very bright, but since I have no misconceptions about the sort of situation which would consider me prime captain material for a Scout type starship like Voyager, I'm a little ... well, horrified by the implications."

"What about your briefing, Annika? What did Admiral Hayes speak about with you?"

Seven thought back over the briefing, realizing that Janeway would not want a verbal recitation of the entire conversation, but not knowing what exactly would be considered important to her partner. She tried to summarize as much as possible.

"He explained that Starfleet wishes me to retain my commission, but he appreciates the opportunities I have been offered. He has granted me a leave of absence until I can decide, though he expects me to have a decision by the time I return from my trip with Phoebe. He also mentioned that should I choose an option other than a regular assignment or Dr. Brahm's Theoretical Propulsion Group, I could not retain my commission."

Janeway considered that, her eyes bright. "I see." She paused, and added in a low voice, "I also want you to retain your commission."

"However, you are not attempting to influence my decision."

The corner of the captain's mouth curled slightly. "Not at all."

Seven smiled, as did Janeway, while Ro regarded them both sardonically.

"Did he mention any specifics regarding regular assignments, Seven?" the Bajoran asked.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "The USS Merrimack, a Nebula-class vessel, requires a science officer, as does Space Station 561. He also mentioned that any admiral in the Starfleet Science branch would arrange a place in their staff if I wished to remain attached to Starfleet Headquarters here on Earth."

"Are you interested in any of those?" Janeway asked curiously.

"I am more interested in pursuing one of the options already offered me."

"I see," Janeway said, leaning back as their lunches arrived. She had ordered a chicken sandwich to go along with her salad and soup, and wasted little time in attacking her meal once it was placed in front of her.

"Are you in a hurry, Kathryn?" Seven asked curiously.

Janeway flashed her a smile. "I promised Owen I would stop by his office this afternoon. I think he wants to talk to me about my future, as well, though I suspect most of the 'briefing' will be spent reminiscing over old times, and discussing how Tom performed on Voyager."

Ro looked faintly disturbed, and the captain obviously picked up on it.

"You have something to add, Lieutenant?"

"Admiral Necheyev and Admiral Paris are..." Ro trailed off, obviously searching for a tactful way to put it.

"Enemies," Seven supplied helpfully. "Bitter rivals. Hateful competitors."

Janeway eyed her partner sardonically. "I've picked up on a bit of antagonism between them, though I think you're exaggerating a bit," she allowed, dipping her spoon into her minestrone. "Unfortunately, clashes in personalities are bound to happen when everyone is ranked on a level within the same section, and no one role is considered any more important than the other. There's always been an uneasy shifting of authority between the scientific, military, diplomatic and command applications within Starfleet, particularly when it comes to dealing with the starships. I believe the rivalry has just become more pronounced since the end of the war."

Ro shook her head. "It's a little more than just jockeying for the largest piece of the section pie, Captain. I don't think Seven was exaggerating. It appears to be far more personal than professional. Granted, I've received my information second-hand, and I have to allow for youthful hyperbole, but my understanding is that Paris and Necheyev actively hate each other." She met the captain's eyes squarely. "To the point where if you're working with one, you're expected to be completely against the other. It's been providing a lot of tension lately, and there's a belief that the only one keeping them from tearing each other's throats out is Hayes, who acts as sort of an intermediary. Ross is away from Earth too much to be involved."

A serious expression crossed the captain's face. "That's not good for morale, or for Starfleet."

Ro nodded. "I just thought you should know. It seems, according to scuttlebutt, that Necheyev has 'plans' for you, as does Paris. It's almost as if you're a prize of some sort between them."

Janeway sighed, shaking her head. "I've always hated command politicking." She nodded at the Bajoran. "Thank you for the warning, Lieutenant. I'll watch my step."

Seven forked a bit of lettuce in her salad, wondering what this meant for her spouse, who could usually take care of herself, but not necessarily as well as Janeway always assumed. Still, Seven wasn't entirely sure what she could do if this proved to be too much for the captain. Place Seven in an alien prison and she knew exactly how to get her partner out of danger. This seemed to be a far more complicated situation, and it was unlikely that Borg cutting implements would be helpful when dealing with Starfleet Command.

Unfortunately.

The Klingon engineer focused her attention on the vessel framed in the dock she was standing in, the large ship held in place by tractor beams and an umbilical to prevent drift. The graceful lines of the massive construct made for a magnificent panorama against the backdrop of stars, and B'Elanna felt her heart beat just a little faster, unable to remain completely immune to the sight. Already under construction prior to the Dominion War, work on the new type of ship had been shoved aside in the interest of finishing other, more proven types of vessels, such as the Intrepid and Nebula-class ships, in order to ready them quickly enough to participate in the war effort. Manufacture had been swift, and just enough to make those vessels combat-ready before they were thrown out on the front lines, manned by skeleton crews cobbled together from the survivors of other ships that had been damaged beyond repair.

Despite that, however, those hastily completed vessels ... and their crews ... had performed with surprising and admirable aptitude, and once victory had been assured, the ships had immediately been called in to finish the bulk of detailed work which had been eschewed during the military crisis. Construction had also resumed on the next vessel in the Frontier-class, the line of Explorers intended for deep space missions, its crew expected to accept five-to-ten year tours of duty.

The newest vessel of this line under construction had been designed with the idea of incorporating, in addition to the traditional warp drive, a new system which the Theoretical Propulsion Group, headed by Dr.Leah Brahms, had been developing for the past ten years. That development had shown a marked increase in advancement and interest from Starfleet Command when the TPG first started receiving data from USS Voyager two years earlier, where work had begun on the Intrepid-class vessel's own version of a faster-than-warp drive that would eventually return it to the Alpha Quadrant. The Frontier-class line was immediately re-designated as Fast Explorers, due to the major breakthroughs with the drive that finally made it feasible enough to build.

B'Elanna had picked up enough gossip on the base where she lived to know this new system wasn't really that close to the slipstream drive she, Harry Kim and Seven of Nine had finally constructed for Voyager, but it did incorporate similar elements, as well as elements of the Borg transwarp coil, and a transwarp system which had been tried almost a century earlier in the then-new Excelsior-class ships. It had been tagged with the term 'transition drive', and the Klingon wondered if it would work as well as the slipstream unit had.

Of course, B'Elanna noted, remembering that rather wild ride back to the Federation, the slipstream drive hadn't exactly been a method of travel that would catch on with many people. The speed far outstripped the current technology of sensor arrays, making it impossible to navigate with any sort of precision, and the plasma flow coil was extremely sensitive to spatial anomalies, causing it to malfunction in the most inconvenient ways. She didn't know if this new 'transition' drive would function any better, but in some ways, it certainly couldn't function any worse.

"She is a beauty," she admitted to the older man, her dark eyes tracing the sleek hull, feeling a little guilty about how much she was immediately taken with the vessel. It was similar in shape to the much smaller Voyager, boasting a delta-tapered saucer while Galaxy-type warp nacelles curved up to bracket the teardrop-shaped engineering section. The larger, outboard transition drive nacelle curved along the dorsal spine, giving it a heavier look, while the ship's hull had already been painted, the name and call-letters etched at the appropriate spots ... USS Millennium NX 80861. It was mostly the internal systems requiring completion now, all the various operating units being installed, though fortunately, life support was already up and running, its installation finished only a month earlier.

B'Elanna was grateful for that. While she rather enjoyed space walks in general, she hated moving in the bulky environmental suits within enclosed areas, and to be able to work in a comfortable uniform was a big plus. It appeared as if she was joining the team at just the proper time.

"C'mon," O'Brien said, drawing her away, and B'Elanna realized she had been staring at the large ship, lost in her contemplation of what secrets it held and how it would relate to her immediate future.

As they moved toward the travel pod which would carry them to their assigned duty area, B'Elanna realized there was someone waiting by the docking port. The stranger was a stocky woman, with darkish blonde hair and sharp eyes that seemed to miss little. Three pips of a full commander adorned her collar, and the Klingon wondered who she was.

"O'Brien," the woman greeted politely, though her eyes were on B'Elanna, assessing her keenly. "This must be our new engineer."

"Yes, sir," O'Brien agreed, putting his hand on B'Elanna's shoulder. "This is Lt. Torres, off Voyager. She got to work with an alternate drive in actual real life circumstances. B'Elanna, this is Commander Sarah MacDougal. She's in command of the Millennium Team."

"Sir," B'Elanna said.

"Call me Chief," the woman said, offering the Klingon a small smile. "Have you been in the ship yet?"

"No, si--- Chief." B'Elanna noticed that the woman's hands were toughened and slightly gnarled. No padd pusher here, she thought with a certain amount of pleasure. Here was a woman who actually got herself dirty with her crew.

"O'Brien will fill you in on the details." MacDougal focused her attention on the stocky, curly-haired crewman. "I want her to start with those specs from TPG. Maybe she'll have less problems deciphering them than the rest of us." She gave them both a short nod, then strode briskly away.

He nodded and gestured for B'Elanna to enter the travel pod. Comprised of only an engine with thrusters and a place for the passengers to stand, the tiny transports were the most practical way to maneuver around a construction site of this size. Though the facility surrounding the Millennium was connected by a umbilical to the ship's fore docking port, walking to the umbilical from the transporter dais, where B'Elanna and O'Brien had just arrived from the Utopia Planitia base, would take at least an hour. That didn't include the time it would take to cross the kilometer-long span of the umbilical itself, as well as moving through the massive ship which did not yet have a turbolift system in operation. This way, O'Brien could dock the travel pod at the airlock closest to the section in which they'd be working. Of course, transporters were always available, but with the profusion of energy fields and random power surges which regularly occurred during systems installation, it was considered a rather dicey method of getting around. It took an experienced officer to know when to risk using that method of transport, and most engineers simply didn't take the chance of losing an assorted body part during an unexpected energy fluctuation in the pattern buffer.

O'Brien handled the small boat's helm controls with easy familiarity, detaching the pod from the exterior dock, and pointing it at a miniscule airlock near the underside of the Millennium. The ship filled the viewport and B'Elanna placed her hand against the smooth transparency, eyes wide as they eased beneath the enormous dorsal hull of the engineering section. It was easy to forget how huge these vessels actually were, and the Millennium massed more than either a Galaxy or a Nebula-class ship.

"What's the story on MacDougal?"

"Good officer," O'Brien said shortly, "and a better crew chief. She served as head of engineering on the Enterprise in 2364, before accepting a post here. She never asks anything of her team that she wouldn't do herself, and she never lets any of the guano filter down to us from the upper levels of the shipyards."

B'Elanna grinned. "Is there a lot of guano, Miles?"

He grinned crookedly. "In a facility this large, this close to Starfleet Command? You bet." He eased the pod towards the docking port which grew steadily larger as they neared it. "Tell me, why this ship and not Voyager? I'd have thought you'd prefer helping out on her overhaul."

"Voyager was my first choice," B'Elanna admitted. "Commander McCord claimed they didn't need any more personnel."

O'Brien blinked, puzzlement edging his expression. "That doesn't make sense. Even if they have a full complement, why would he refuse the services of the engineer in charge of the vessel for the past seven years?"

B'Elanna shot a look at him, conscious of the fact that Ro suspected O'Brien was working as a plant, placed in Utopia Planitia by Captain Jean-Luc Picard who was conducting an operation against Section 31, a covert organization operating within Starfleet Intelligence.

"That does sound strange, doesn't it?" she prodded gently. "Maybe McCord doesn't like Klingons."

He looked at her, his light eyes speculative. "Maybe. It might be worth looking into, just for the sake of finding out."

She continued to stare at him, but he didn't say anything further, concentrating suddenly on his controls as he turned the travel pod around, reversing the thrusters. There was a soft bump as the pod nudged gently back against the docking port, then the panel beside the door flashed green, indicating a solid seal with the air lock. B'Elanna followed O'Brien into the ship, struck by a scent that was present only in new vessels, the odd mixture of chill spaciousness and seared heat, of molten metal and cold plastiseal, the medicinal flavor of a freshly installed atmosphere, underlaid by the acrid tang of conduit fluid.

As they walked through the corridor, panels gaped open overhead and along the bulkheads, wires and cables bulging out, not yet organized in a comprehensive alignment within the hollows. Dark holes marked where touch panels and computer access had yet to be inserted, while dust and debris littered the bare deck, devoid of carpet. They passed through the entrance to what had to be the engine room, the doors constantly open and drawn back within the recesses lining the bulkhead.

Immediately upon entering, B'Elanna felt her jaw drop, looking about the unfinished section which was a buzz of activity, suspecting she looked like some kind of rube, but unable to help herself. This was three times the size of her old engine room back on Voyager, and the dual warp cores, though dark and inactivated, loomed above her to a height of four decks, separated by an ivory-colored coolant system. She wondered at the presences of two cores before realizing one had to power the traditional warp drive, while the other was channeled into the various manifolds that would power the new transition plasma flow, keeping them aligned, but separate from each other. Each of the engine room consoles were also divided, with one side devoted to the warp drive while the other was intended to control the new propulsion system. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and she belatedly became aware of O'Brien standing nearby, waiting patiently as she took it all in, a somewhat indulgent look on his face.

"I hope I don't look as stupid as I think I do," she offered dryly.

"No worse than any of us." He looked skyward with a reminiscent grin. "We all react that way when we first come in here. It's far larger than any other engine room I've ever been in, and to see warp cores of that size is, frankly, intimidating. The amount of energy required to power the transition drive is reputed to be incredible, and somehow, I can't help but feel that the more complicated it gets, the more things can go wrong. I don't know why we can't be content with warp. It's worked perfectly well up until now."

"Ah, it's not so bad, Miles," B'Elanna said, teasing him a little. "Alternative drives have some advantages, even though using the slipstream unit was a lot like flying through fog, never knowing where you are, but always taking you where you're going ... more or less."

He shook his head dubiously. "If you say so."

He led her into a room set off from main engineering, apparently intended to be the chief engineer's office. It was the size of Captain Janeway's old ready room, and B'Elanna glanced around enviously, impressed with the sweeping decor and dual levels, though at the moment, it was being used as a combination cafeteria and conference room, with various pieces of mismatched furniture units covered by an array of discarded tunics and padds. A conference table dominated the lower level, while a portable replicator was shoved unceremoniously in the corner, half-full coffee cups decorating the various shelves lining the bulkheads. Larger padds were stacked on the large work desk on the upper level where three officers were going over them with an air of frustration.

One of them, a solid, dark-haired young man with lieutenant commander pips, nodded at O'Brien with a sort of informal familiarity. That was one of the things B'Elanna liked most about some engineering teams; they rarely worried about rank, and respect was based on ability, not how many pips one had.

"Commander Brighton, this is Lt. Torres," O'Brien said. "She's off Voyager."

"Call me Dave," he said, sticking out a massive hand which she shook gingerly. "If you're off Voyager, then you've worked with that slipstream configuration."

"Helped build it," she replied easily, peeking at the specs spread out on the desk.

He grinned with what seemed relief and moved aside, motioning at the others to give the Klingon room. "Maybe you can figure out what the TPG just sent down to us this morning." There was a tone of aggravation in his voice, not directed at her, she sensed, but at those padd pushers who insisted on making changes, and including alterations to a system already in the process of being built. She had become quite familiar with it while working with Brahms over the comm relay in the Delta Quadrant. She could only imagine how further aggravating it could be dealing with the scientists where they weren't limited by the restricted duration and accessability of a communications array required to cross two quadrants.

She moved around to look at the design images spread over the desktop. "Where are the original specs?"

"You mean the first set released ten years ago, or the one just before this set?" one of the other officers asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.

B'Elanna winced. "The previous ones." When Brighton pointed them out, she studied them side by side. "I see what she's doing." She paused and lifted her head. "This is Brahms we're talking about, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Brighton said, offering her a friendly grin. "I guess you worked with her before?"

"The TPG assisted us when we were constructing our slipstream drive." B'Elanna absently tapped her finger on padd. She realized belatedly that O'Brien had left, but she supposed she didn't need him to nursemaid her around any further. Either she would be able to fit in, or like a great many things in her life, it would be a challenge, but in any case, it was up to her to accomplish it. "She's realigned the coil so that the flow ratio is balanced more precisely, but by doing that, she has to replace the conduit here with a filter and utilize the bypass juncture as a secondary regulator. We had to do the same thing on Voyager before we dared install the slipstream unit."

Brighton blinked as he stared at the specs. "Damn, why didn't I see that?"

"Maybe because this is the fourth time we've had to adjust the bypass juncture?" one of the others suggested. "Is the balance of the flow ratio really that important?"

B'Elanna pinned him with a look, discovering that he was only about twenty, sporting a single ensign pip, which meant he was fresh out of the Academy. That didn't necessarily mean he was green, she reminded himself, not when officers just as young had been ducking Jem'Hadar blasts not so long ago, but it wasn't the sort of question asked by anyone who had ever served on a starship.

"For us standing here, not really," she said mildly, "For the person maintaining that flow when there's a plasma leak and the hull is buckling under constant fire from a enemy ship, it might mean the difference between sucking vacuum and flying the hell out of there."

He colored and Brighton laughed. "You're dealing with a real officer, now, Cannel." He slapped him on the back. "She's been out there and she knows that theory is fine, right up until the moment it doesn't work under real life demands."

"Which has always been my major argument with Dr. Brahms," B'Elanna agreed, "but in this case, she's right. It's definitely worth the adjustment."

"Then we'd better get to it." Brighton flashed her another charming grin. "You'll do, Lieutenant. You'll do just fine."

B'Elanna discovered she was smiling as she followed the group out the office, deciding that this was going to be a hell of a lot better than she would have dared hoped. She reminded herself, however, not to enjoy herself so much that she forgot what her other purpose was while she was serving here.

Figuring out what Section 31 was up to.

"Kathryn, please, have a seat," he said, rising to his feet.

She did, noting that he went around and sealed the door behind her, and she wondered if she should find that an ominous sign of sorts.

"I see you survived Necheyev," he said, returning to his place behind the big oak desk. To her amusement, Janeway realized it was the same one he had used back when she had first met him.

"I think the admiral and I understand each other." She smiled as he placed a mug in front of her and poured some coffee from the pot kept hot on a nearby heating unit. "You remembered."

"You lived on the stuff on the Al-Batani," he reminded her.

"I lived on it in the Delta Quadrant, as well," she admitted, sipping the hot liquid with quiet pleasure. It wasn't as good as Seven's blend, of course, but it was still one of the better cups she had enjoyed since being back in the Alpha Quadrant ... certainly as good as what was served in a little cafe she and Seven had been dropping by in the mornings after their run through Golden Gate Park.

Their brisk walk, she amended silently, forced to be honest in the privacy of her own mind. It might be a week or so before she was up for an actual run.

He granted her a moment to enjoy the coffee, then leaned forward, linking his fingers and resting his hands on his desk.

"I don't know what Necheyev has planned for you," he said seriously. The 'and I don't care' was implied in the tone, but not said. Janeway tried not to let her discomfort show. "I do know that it probably undervalues you."

"Indeed," Janeway said, careful to keep her voice even.

"I want to see you join us in Starfleet Command. How does Admiral Janeway sound?"

She felt as if someone had struck her in the stomach.

"Like someone is speaking of my father," she managed finally, "but not me."

"Kathryn, don't depreciate your worth..."

"I'm not," she said, gently but firmly. "I appreciate the offer, really I do, and I understand what it is exactly that you're offering, but I'm not ready for it. I believe I still have too much to offer as a starship commander."

He looked frustrated. "I understand that certain captains have this mistaken belief that they require only a starship to satisfy them, but I never expected you to be one of them, Kathryn. You're a scientist, first and foremost, and after combining both Maquis and Starfleet into a solid crew for seven years, it's obvious that you also have the administration skills to be outstanding in Starfleet Command. Come work with me in scientific operations."

"No, thank you, Admiral." She paused, organizing her thoughts. "If I've learned nothing else during my time in the Delta Quadrant, it is that I am first and foremost a woman who needs to command a starship. I had the unique opportunity to see what would have happened had I taken another path, where an alternative version of me did walk away from her starship command and accepted a promotion." The memory of Commodore Johnson ... the emptiness that existed in her life the first time the captain met her, and the renewal of spirit once she had regained possession of Voyager ... had never left Janeway. "It's a lesson I took to heart, Admiral. I'm taking a brief period of adjustment ground-side to take care of a certain personal agenda, but at the end of it, I expect to be in the center seat of a starship bridge again."

He stared at her as if he had never seen her before. "Kathryn, this doesn't sound like you at all."

"On the contrary, it is me," she insisted with complete certainty. "Command is where I am best suited, it is where my skills are best utilized and most importantly, it's where I am most comfortable."

"Nonsense," he thundered.

"Not to me." She carefully placed her mug on the desk. "I will turn down any promotion offered, sir. If I am refused a vessel, I will request a formal investigation as to why."

He could not have looked more shocked and dismayed than if she had struck him full across the face. A formal investigation was something brought up only if an impropriety was suspected.

"Is that what Necheyev offered you?" he demanded, his voice harsh. "A ship?"

She met his gaze squarely. "Necheyev does not need to offer me a vessel, nor does Admiral Ross, though he already has. My experience would make it an error for Starfleet to try to place me anywhere else." She took a breath. Despite the fact that as she became older, she had less tolerance for being told what to do, Owen Paris had been a powerful influence on her life ... she did not wish to hurt him. "I'm considering this next year or so to be nothing more than a leave, a chance to rest and catch up on all I missed during seven years, but it's not an indication I've lost my taste for command."

"If you're planning to align your loyalty to Necheyev..."

She was careful not to let anger touch her voice, keeping it calm and even. "My loyalty is to Starfleet and the Federation, not to any one officer. You, of all people, should know that."

He was breathing heavily, obviously reining his temper, and she regarded him sadly, wondering when the vital man she had known became this grasping politician, more involved in a pursuit of power than in upholding the ideals of Starfleet. Had it been when his son was involved in that tragic accident? Was that when he thought it was more important, in his role as an admiral, to start arranging things to work his way, rather than doing what was best for the Federation? She didn't know, and she prayed she would never experience something that would make her follow a similar path.

"I will tell Necheyev the same thing, if she believes she can use me as a pawn in some power struggle between the two of you." She offered a smile. "That principle comes straight from Admiral Edward Janeway. I would not honor him were I to act in any other way."

His face grew closed, reserved. "Being gone so long changed you, Kathryn," he said stonily. "Not for the better, either."

She smiled sadly. "I don't believe I'm the only one." She inhaled slowly and straightened in her seat. "If that's everything, Admiral?"

He stared at her, then nodded shortly. "I guess it is, Captain," he said, the bitterness emphasizing the word and turning it into a slur rather than a term of address. "You're dismissed."

She knew this had shattered the relationship they had once shared, and she was sorry about that ... though to her surprise, not as sorry as she thought she should be. Apparently, the changes she experienced out in the Delta Quadrant included a desire to please herself first, rather than always requiring the approval of others, particularly older, paternal figures. She wasn't quite sure how that would affect her future dealings with her superiors in Starfleet, but she discovered that a good part of her didn't care beyond a certain point. She had learned to be true to herself, and to accept the consequences that befell her wherever that policy took her. She just hoped that she could deal with all this political maneuvering without involving Seven.

She moved out into the lobby and glanced around. Her debriefing with Paris had taken less time than she had anticipated ... undoubtedly because the expected reminiscing over old times simply hadn't taken place, and probably wouldn't again soon with Owen ... and she decided that Ro and Seven were still in their briefings with the other admirals. Recognizing that the meeting had left her too restless to hang about the lobby waiting for them, she informed the young man at the desk that she was going to look about, and to tell her companions that she would meet them outside by the fountain in the plaza when they were done. He nodded, and she took her leave, heading for the turbolift.

After checking out the civilian-run gift shop on the main floor ... she was still astonished by that concept when relating it to Starfleet Command ... she selected several news publications and the latest entertainment rag, downloading them into a padd. Along with a few pieces of fruit and a bottle of spring water, she took her new acquisitions out to the plaza where she found a seat on a bench beneath the pleasant shade of a tree, in full view of the fountain. She supposed that the changes made in the new facility were Starfleet's attempt at becoming more accessible to the public. Seven years ago, an officer had to leave the familiar confines of Headquarters in order to eat anything other than replicated food, or pick up civilian publications or just deal with the citizens of the city. Now, Starfleet appeared to be making a concentrated effort to bring the citizens within their walls, to be more ingrained in the everyday culture of the Federation, rather than maintaining an aloofness from it. She wondered if that new policy had anything to do with the difficulty Starfleet had experienced in the early days of the Dominion threat. Ironically, even as they were presenting a 'kinder, gentler' face to civilians, internally, they were streamlining in a fashion that was more aggressive in all aspects of its operation than it had ever been.

Janeway hadn't quite decided what she thought about that, whether it was a logical progression, or if it somehow indicated a situation that was a little sinister about the Federation itself. Being away for seven years seemed to have granted her an objectivity and distance that living with it daily obviously did not provide. She suspected that if she tried discussing this with other officers of her rank, they wouldn't know what she was talking about.

Well, perhaps Picard would, she amended to herself, thinking of one of the few surviving captains of her peer group left after the war. She regretted not taking the time to meet with him on DS9, but she had been so busy dealing with the loss of her crew, she just hadn't pursued it.

After skimming all the news publications, she read the entertainment offering, noting all the major cultural events that were taking place throughout the Federation. She was pleased to see that the symposium Phoebe was attending on Trill in the next week was listed as a 'must see' event, which would be useful for Seven's continuing education, but she had to admit that she was somewhat surprised to find that her younger sister was considered to be a guest speaker of some note. Kathryn had been aware that the youngest Janeway was a thriving artist, but clearly, Phoebe's work was extremely popular, and she was highly regarded within the cultural community. Mother was right, Janeway chided herself, she really did allow herself to become oblivious to the larger universe in her concentration on Starfleet and her career. She decided that she would not only have to temper that in herself, she would also try to steer Seven away from such myopic behavior.

"Kathryn."

She looked up as Seven and Ro approached her, and realized more time had passed beneath the shade than she had thought. She stood up and greeted her spouse with a hand on her forearm and a quick kiss on her cheek just to the side of the starburst implant, a public gesture of affection on Starfleet grounds that obviously surprised the young woman. Seven was pleased by it, however, her pale eyes glowing.

"I think we should have dinner at Genesis Rising tonight," the captain suggested, referring to dining establishment she had read about in the San Francisco news publication. "It's a new restaurant that just opened up in the city core, but it's already receiving wonderful reviews."

Seven blinked. "Very well."

Janeway looked at the Bajoran. "Would you care to join us, Lieutenant? I'm sure it wouldn't be difficult to contact B'Elanna and have her meet us there."

Ro offered a wan smile. "Thank you, Captain, but I'm sure B'Elanna would rather a quiet evening at home after her first day, as do I. We'd be honored to accept a rain-check."

"Of course." Janeway glanced at her partner. "Maybe I'm asking too much of you after your first day, as well, Seven," she added contritely. "If you're tired, we can stay home this evening."

"No," Seven said, her eyes clear and bright. "I am not tired. I would enjoy going out with you." She smiled. "This will be another 'date', correct?"

Janeway smiled and tucked her hand under the young woman's arm. "Let's just hope it doesn't end like the last one," she said, sharing a private joke with her partner.

"Let us hope it does," Seven said, returning the smile, as the couple beamed at each other.

"If you'll excuse me," Ro said, clearly having as much of the couple's rampart sentimentality as she could stand, "I have to take a tube to the transport station and catch a shuttle back to Mars."

"I'll meet you here tomorrow morning," Janeway instructed her, amused by the Bajoran's dry tone. "You and I will be taking a little tour with Necheyev tomorrow that should prove to be quite interesting."

"So she mentioned," Ro responded in a somewhat odd tone. She nodded a polite farewell, then strode toward the nearest subterranean tube station, located not far from the plaza.

Janeway watched until the Bajoran's slender figure was out of sight.

"She seemed upset about something," she said thoughtfully.

"Not upset, angry," Seven corrected as they began to stroll toward the street. R. Garrett Avenue wasn't so far from Starfleet Headquarters that the couple found the walk to their house arduous, not even after a long day of briefings. "I believe Admiral Necheyev provoked her."

Janeway smiled. "Admiral Necheyev is a provocative kind of officer. Ro had better get used to it. It's entirely possible that I'll accept the position she offered me."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "What position is that, Kathryn?"

"She wants me to take command of the Utopia Planitia shipyards. I know such a position could be considered quite a demotion, but the truth is, it's only an interim position in preparation for what I'll really be doing."

"Which is?"

"Taking command of the new Frontier-class vessel they're building there."

Seven frowned. "We must talk about this. Obviously, I missed a great deal by not being with you during your briefings."

"I know," Janeway agreed. "That's why I want to take you out to dinner. It'll give us a chance to relax without having to prepare our own meal."

The Borg looked at her, then nodded. "Very well," she said, but she didn't sound as if she was anticipating the conversation.

Janeway resisted a sigh, but realized that was part of being married. Her life choices didn't just affect her, they affected Seven, and she kenw they had to discuss this thoroughly before any final decision was made.

She stretched carefully, aware of the form slumbering peacefully beside her, somewhat surprised to discover that Janeway was not wrapped tightly around her as had been typical of her lately. Since returning to the Alpha Quadrant, it had become apparent to Seven that the captain required a closer physical connection while they slept, perhaps steming from some form of insecurity. But this morning, Janeway was turned half on her side, some distance away from her spouse, the blankets draped casually over her waist, leaving the upper part of her torso bare to the night. Seven wondered if the briefings the previous day had anything to do with this more relaxed sleeping habit. Kathryn had appeared far more optimistic over dinner than she had in some time as she explained the offer made her to by Necheyev, and it was obvious that this assignment, which guaranteed an eventual starship command, was something that appealed to the captain greatly. It must have also afforded a certain release of tension within her.

Seven knew it had certainly eased some tension for her. With Janeway settling down, it helped the Borg refine her own immediate future. If Janeway truly wished to accept this new position, Seven decided she would naturally have to join the Theoretical Propulsion Group. She could not imagine any of the other facilities offering her the opportunity not only to work with her captain and her friends, but additionally, offer the chance to be intellectually challenged. She did experience a brief qualm about how neatly everything seemed to be directed to this conclusion, but she consoled herself with the fact that she had been quite impressed with the facilities when she had visited them at the first of the week, and Dr. Brahms had been a most interesting and intriguing person to interact with. Even Kathryn had found the scientist most agreeable.

Smiling, Seven eased over next to her compact spouse, appreciating the amount of space they now enjoyed in their bed. The sleeping arrangements on Voyager had been reasonably spacious, but the narrow, double bed they had slept in at Gretchen's Indiana home for a few nights had been extremely crowded. This new, gigantic piece of furniture, ordered by Janeway once they decided to move to San Francisco, was half again as wide as the bed on the starship and almost half a meter longer. Despite her generous height, Seven could actually lie lengthwise across it and not come close to having either her head or her feet overhang the edge.

Tucking her knees under Kathryn's, Seven carefully slipped her arm around the captain's body, pressing her torso against Janeway's back, delighting in the sensation of smooth, warm skin. Janeway murmured and stirred, but did not wake, cuddling automatically back into the embrace as Seven closed her eyes in contentment and settled against her, drawing the blanket up over them. Beneath the fingertips resting against Janeway's chest, the Borg could feel the slow, steady throb of her wife's heart, and it soothed her, inspiring drowsiness and causing her to fall asleep again.

She didn't think her slumber had lasted long before she was awakened by the motion of Janeway wiggling out of her embrace, and she observed her spouse covertly with a half-opened eye as the captain padded naked to the ensuite. For some reason, Seven found the sight of her disheveled partner, yawning widely and scratching her left buttock as she crossed the room, to be absolutely adorable, though she could not explain why. A moment later, the Borg heard the muffled but unmistakable sounds of her partner taking care of certain biological necessities, then the sound of running water as Janeway washed up. A glance at the chronometer revealed that it was still very early in the morning, and Seven wondered if her partner would return to bed or insist on going out for a run ... a recent behavioral pattern which the Borg did not entirely understand. Fortunately, it seemed that Janeway was not anxious to start her day in that foggy mist, and she returned to the bedroom, slipping beneath the covers beside Seven.

The young woman smiled faintly as she felt Janeway's lips trace a path up her neck to her ear, where sharp-edged teeth nibbled gently at the lobe. "Are you awake, Annika?" Janeway whispered in a barely audible voice.

"Yes," the Borg responded, but did not open her eyes, even when the captain made a pleased sound and snuggled closer. "Why?"

A small chuckle, husky and warm. "I didn't want to start without you," the captain told her, her left palm smoothing over Seven's abdomen in slow, sensual circles.

"Start what?" Seven asked lazily, though she had no doubt as to what the answer would be.

"A proper good-bye," Janeway murmured, nuzzling lightly at the young woman's neck. "In a few days, you'll be leaving for Trill, and we won't see each other for some time. I want to catch up on all my loving in advance."

Seven's eyes flew open, realizing that in her enthusiasm for the upcoming trip, she had overlooked that particular aspect. She had spent time away from her partner before, of course, during away missions while serving on Voyager, but not for such a lengthy period and not with such a large distance separating them ... not since that horrible time when an ancient artifact transported Seven to the Bajoran Sector. After that incident, each woman made an effort to remain in close proximity to the other, but this trip would take more than two weeks. Seven supposed that she had subconsciously assumed Janeway would find a way to accompany her and Phoebe, but with Kathryn actively considering Necheyev's offer of a possible posting, it would be impossible for her to leave right now.

"I do not wish to go," Seven said, hugging the captain abruptly. "I will call Phoebe and cancel it. After all, it is understood that I will accept the position with Dr. Brahms and the Theoretical Propulsion Group. No other position is suitable for what I require."

"You'll do no such thing," Janeway told her sternly, rising up to her elbow so she could look into Seven's face. Her eyes softened to a dark blue. "Darling, Phoebe really wants to show her 'little sister' around a bit, and this is your chance to see some of the Federation before you accept any new posting. We agreed that you need to consider all the information carefully."

Seven sighed. They had discussed it, and since Janeway would be busy for the foreseeable future, they probably wouldn't have much of a chance to be together in any event. Still, the thought of not being in her partner's arms for several nights was almost unbearable.

"Darling, this isn't just a matter of seeing facilities that are renowned scientifically throughout the quadrant," Janeway continued in a persuasive tone, "it's a chance to explore different cultures without me looking over your shoulder every minute."

"I like you looking over my shoulder," Seven protested.

Janeway smiled. "Darling, you have to discover what it's like to experience things without me," she said encouragingly. "Remember when you fi