• This is the 47th installment of the Just Between Series
• It was posted on December 15th, 2000.
• Title is provided by Wendy.
• A Wonder Wand Warning is in effect for this story.

The steady mist made the ground slick, and Ro Laren moved carefully to avoid the trickle of dirty water flowing down the sidewalk. She still couldn't believe how quickly events had progressed beyond her ability to stop them. She should be back on Earth, performing her role as Janeway's adjunct, as well as protecting the captain's spouse, Seven of Nine, which was her true mission. Instead, she was light-years away, on a backwater planet in an obscure star system, attempting to track down a missing Emergency Medical Hologram. Ro could only hope her partner, B'Elanna Torres, would be able to keep things under control with Seven until she got back.

"Damn it."

Ro looked back to see her associate stumble over a bit of debris. Samantha Cogley was a civilian lawyer, and completely out of place on what Ro had come to consider a Starfleet away mission. Slender, dark-haired, slightly boyish, Sam was a feisty and determined Human, but even her personality could find itself tested on a planet like this, located on the fringes of Federation space.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine," Sam said fretfully, righting herself. "Tell me again why you think the Doctor is here?"

"This is where we traced him through the shipping lines," Ro said patiently, for the tenth time. She knew the woman was nervous, but it wasn't making her job any easier. "According to the personnel at the port, if one wanted to find some quick work, no questions asked, this is the place to find it."

"Why would he be looking for work?" Sam asked as they approached the entrance to the facility. "Why wouldn't he just lie low?"

"First, because his credits are limited, and he knows that. Secondly, he's programmed to help those in need medically. That's his nature. He'd look for a place where his talents could be used."

"Makes sense," Sam agreed.

"Glad you think so," Ro muttered sarcastically, but too low to be heard by the lawyer.

The Bajoran heard Sam inhale sharply as they entered the tavern, greeted by a lull in the conversation, a brief pause as the two women were looked over by the patrons, then dismissed, the murmur of voices resuming again. Ro let her eyes adjust from the gray mist outside to the much dimmer illumination in the bar. Sweeping the taproom with a keen eye, she tried to figure out who looked like the most knowledgeable person. She finally decided on taking a chance with the bartender, a smooth looking Renplima from Tellus Prime, his dark green hair combed straight back from the cranial ridges that arched over somewhat attractive lavender eyes. The mouth and nose were in the traditional humanoid arrangement, but the ears were swept back in wing-like lines on either side of his head. They were the sort of shape that Ro suspected allowed him to hear a lot of things, regardless of which part of the room they were spoken in.

"What can I do for you, ladies?" he asked, relatively pleasant yet wary, as the two women found a place at the bar. He regarded them evenly as he wiped the counter top with a clean cloth.

"We'll have a drink," Ro said, easing onto the stool. She was pleased when Sam followed her lead, perching on the stool beside her. "Also some information if you have it."

"The drinks I have," he said, noncommittal. "What's your pleasure?"

"Spring wine," Ro said.

"Samarian Sunset," Sam added, surprising the Bajoran, though Ro didn't show it. The bartender did, looking at the lawyer as if she were crazy, but without saying anything else, he reached down and made the drink. Ro's choice, he simply poured from a bottle that did not appear particularly clean nor corked, and the Bajoran wondered sardonically how long it had been 'breathing'.

He set the glasses in front of them, flicked the glass of Sam's drink to produce a rather weak color burst, then handed Ro a padd which she altered, changing the charged amount considerably upward, tilting it so that he could see it, but not making the input that would finalize the exchange. The bartender wasn't stupid, and a twitch in his right eye let Ro know he was receptive to the amount.

"What kind of information?" he asked quietly, checking to make sure no one was hovering. Fortunately, the bar was relatively quiet this time of afternoon.

"I'm looking for a doctor. I have a ship running supplies to the Dominion War refugees on Cardassia Four, and a medical officer would come in handy."

"A medic?" he repeated, probably not believing a word of it considering it was a Bajoran he was dealing with, regardless of how lucrative the black market in food and medicine was to the Cardassians, but not walking away either. "You think there's one floating around here?"

"Let's just say I heard one might have been in the neighborhood recently."

He gazed at her evenly, his lavender eyes assessing her with an experienced regard. "One might have," he allowed finally. "But he also might have moved on by now."

She waited, then, when nothing more was forthcoming, she added a few credits, then dropped the padd, indicating that was as far as she would go. He inhaled, looking at it, then raised his eyes to meet hers.

"How do you know you're getting what you pay for?"

"I don't," she said easily. "If it's not, however, then I'll be back ... and I won't be alone." She let the years of living on the edge ... of growing up in Cardassian internment camps, of working with Starfleet and the Maquis, of fighting for every scrap of nutrition, education, respect and dignity she received ... show her eyes. His face changed subtly, became bleaker, and he inclined his head slightly. He understood perfectly what she was saying.

"Someone like that was here a few weeks back. You're too late, though."

Sam made a sound, and Ro steadfastly ignored her. "How so?"

"He found a job," the bartender said. "Some guy was here, made him an offer to be the doctor in his colony, and offered to pay big money. They both shipped out on a private transport a day later. Someplace called the Noiro Belt."

"Noiro," Ro echoed. "Never heard of it."

The bartender glanced at the padd again, then lifted his head. "This one I'll give you for free," he said, his voice abruptly so low she could barely hear it. "If you never heard of it, it's because you don't need to hear of it. If you have no business there, then it's best you stay clear."

Ro considered that one with a touch of surprise. The bartender had been deadly serious, and she sensed what could have been ... fear? ... in his tone. Obviously, she needed to know more.

"Why should we steer clear?" Sam queried.

Since it was the next question Ro was going to ask, she didn't glare at the lawyer, but she did wish Samantha would remain quiet and let her handle this.

The bartender glanced between them, then exhaled. "It's the sort of trouble that all the credits you could offer me wouldn't make it worth my while to tell you."

Ro blinked. That was not something said lightly, not by this sort of person, nor in this sort of location.

"Who could I offer them to?"

He hesitated, then leaned closer. "There's a place on Dargas IV, called the New Moon. You might be able to find someone there who can not only tell you where the Noiro Belt is, but might be able to smooth your way ... don't tell them where you came by the idea, though." He glanced at Sam. "Unless you can handle yourselves, Dargas IV is the sort of place that most people also avoid."

"Understood," Ro said, and touched the padd, finalizing the credit entry. She put down her glass, leaving her wine untouched ... knowing it would be a rather cheap and sour version of the Bajoran beverage ... before gesturing with her head. Sam promptly finished her drink, and followed the Starfleet officer out of the bar.

"Word of advice," Ro said.

"Yes?" Sam asked curiously as they hunched beneath the mist which was increasing into a grey drizzle.

"Don't order a drink like that in the next place," Ro said flatly. "I don't want to have to drag your sorry carcass back to Earth, and explain how I managed to let you be killed."

Samantha blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Those aren't the sort of drinks ordered out here ... most people don't have the credits for them. I know we're on an expense account, but there's no need to get greedy, nor is there any need to draw attention to ourselves."

Sam opened her mouth to object, then took in the look Ro shot her way, and subsided.

"Okay." She paused. "Actually, it wasn't a bad Samarian Sunset."

Ro exhaled in exasperation, knowing that they had to establish who exactly was in command here as soon as possible. "I know you think you're tough," she said, not unkindly. "Maybe you are when it comes to Earth. Out here on the fringes, however, you're way out of your league."

Sam looked angry as she shook her head, shaking off the droplets of water forming in her hair. "I didn't grow up on Earth," she said with an old bitterness. "My parents left there before I was born, and I grew up on Enteron Prime. We were poor as dirt. If it wasn't for my great-grandfather's estate paying my way to go to law school, I'd still be on the farm, grubbing for roots with the rest of them."

Ro raised an eyebrow. That explained a few things. "An agricultural planet," the Bajoran said, digging up the details from her memories with the Enterprise, which had conducted a mission there once while she was still a helmsmen for the flagship. "Suffered a twenty-year drought. Times were hard."

"Really hard," Sam said flatly.

Ro shot a look at her. "But Enteron Prime was never occupied by Cardassians, never found itself in a demilitarized zone, was never involved in a war, and the criminal organizations never made their presence felt." Her voice was suddenly sharp and laced with ice. "The Federation arranged relief and supplies on a continuing basis, and sent scientists to come up with crops that were drought-resistant. Eventually, the planet recovered. There are much worse things than being poor, Miss Cogley, and what you experienced isn't close to what the people on the worlds in this sector have known. Trust me when I tell you that, comparatively speaking, you've had it easy, and they can see that. They consider you weak, and that makes you prey. Keep your mouth shut, do what I say, or you can go back to the ship while I search for the Doctor. I expect you'll earn your fee either way."

Sam flared at her. "This isn't about the credits!"

"No?" Ro said in a decidedly bored tone. "Then, why did you make Zimmerman pay you more than his original offer of three times your going rate."

Sam looked away, almost as if she were hurt. "I'm here because of the Doctor."

The Bajoran finally managed to attract the attention of a passing cab, and slipped into the back seat of the hovercraft, relieved to be out of the rain.

"Fine," she said, once the machine began to move, granting the lawyer the benefit of the doubt. "In either event, do it my way, or stay on the ship."

Sam glared at her, but when Ro met her eyes, Sam looked away sullenly. "I'll follow your lead."

Ro nodded, not entirely satisfied, but suspecting it would be the best she would get.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Annika," Janeway told her, shading her eyes from the Arizona sun with her hand. Dressed in jeans and a light shirt, just as Seven was, the Borg's spouse seemed somewhat amused at the young woman's trepidation.

Chakotay smiled. "Kathryn's right, Seven. A horse always knows when its rider is afraid."

"I am not afraid," Seven replied, affronted. She looked back to the animal who had turned its large, tapered head to regard her placidly with big dark eyes. Icheb, the tall, gangly youth who had once been a Borg drone, just as Seven had been, held the reins of the beast, and offered the young woman an encouraging look.

"I also possessed certain misgivings prior to my first ride, Seven," he told her earnestly. "However, it was an enlightening and positive experience. Snoopy is the calmest of our horses, and will not shy easily."

"'Shy'?" Seven echoed with a certain note of apprehension.

"Step sideways in an abrupt fashion," Icheb explained.

"Very well," Seven said, exhaling a little more audibly than she would have liked. Gathering her resolve, she placed her left foot in the 'stirrup' as she had earlier been instructed, and using the protrusion at the front of the 'saddle' ... the 'saddlehorn' ... she levered herself onto the back of the large creature, feeling slightly off balance, but possessing a giddy sort of triumph once she was there.

"Keep your heels down, Seven," Icheb instructed. Seven had been his mentor after he had been severed from the hive mind of the Borg Collective a year earlier, and it seemed to please him to be the one teaching her for a change. "Squeeze with your knees."

The horse's breath abruptly erupted with a grunt, and the animal's knees buckled.

"Not so hard," Icheb yelped. "Gently squeeze." He glanced up at the Borg-enhanced young woman with a touch of exasperation, and Seven, already a bit off balance, shot him a nervous look. "Just enough to remain steady in the saddle, Seven."

"You should have been more precise in your explanation," Seven admonished him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Chakotay trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile, while her partner had her hand covering her mouth, the blue-grey eyes twinkling visibly, even at this distance. Resolutely, Seven ignored them, deciding she would receive no useful instruction from that area.

"We will begin," Icheb told her. He began to walk forward, leading the animal who lurched into motion. Swaying uncertainly, Seven tried to tighten her grip on the animal ... gently ... and held onto the horn of the western saddle desperately, almost to the point of breaking it. Fortunately, she detected the ominous creaking in the leather before she ripped it off completely, and she relaxed her hands. As the walk around the corral progressed, she became accustomed to the motion of the animal beneath her, and even began to understand how to alter her own muscles to accommodate the horse's movement.

"You're a natural, Seven," Chakotay noted from his perch.

Janeway merely looked proud as she watched her partner be led about the fenced enclosure. Apparently, though the starship captain was not ready to participate in this endeavor herself, she appreciated her partner's bravery in doing so. After a few more turns around the corral, Seven was feeling even more courageous, and glanced down at Icheb.

"May I attempt to control the animal now?"

Icheb hesitated, then nodded, handing her the reins. Carefully, he instructed her in how to hold them in her left hand, while resting her right hand lightly on her thigh.

"Why did this procedure develop?" Seven asked curiously. "Would it not be more efficient to hold the reins in my right hand?"

"Perhaps," Icheb said slowly, as if he had not thought about it before. Somewhat helplessly, he glanced over at the tall, slender figure standing against the fence on the other side of the corral. "Juan?"

Chakotay's cousin, his bronzed arms resting lightly on the top rail as he observed the boy's attempt to teach his friend how to ride, lifted his head. "It's tradition, Seven of Nine," Juan Windrider said. "You're correct in saying a right-handed person would be more comfortable manipulating the reins that way, but by using your left hand to hold the reins, you leave your dominant hand free in case it's needed." He smiled faintly, his impassive features altering only slightly. He had reminded Seven of a Vulcan the first time she had met him. "Or perhaps you could teach her how to hold them in her teeth, Starseer."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Starseer?"

Icheb nodded. "It is my tribal designation," he said proudly.

"A proud name to aspire to," Chakotay allowed.

"Why would I wish to hold the reins in my teeth?" Seven persisted, puzzled.

"It is irrelevant," Icheb told her, which did not satisfy her curiosity at all. He patted the horse on the neck. "Nudge him in the ribs with your heels, Seven. Keep the reins loose. To turn left, move your hand to the left until the reins are on the horse's neck. To turn right, move your hand right until the rein is against the horses neck. To stop, you gently pull the reins towards you and say 'whoa'."

Seven glanced down at her mount. Now, that it was just the two of them, she felt some need to define the parameters of this interaction. She leaned forward.

"Snoopy," she said firmly, noticing that the animal's ears twitched backwards at the sound of her voice, "we shall walk about the corral at a controlled pace. You will comply."

She nudged him with her heels, and Snoopy obligingly started walking sedately about the corral, as Chakotay raised his thumb in approval, and Janeway clapped her hands. Seven offered her partner a bright smile, and straightened proudly. Just then, a raven swooped low over the corral, not landing, but appearing close enough to attract the attention of both horse and Borg. Perhaps it was the fact that the horse knew it had a novice rider, or the fact that the bird had honestly surprised him, but the next thing Seven knew, Snoopy had abruptly danced sideways across the dusty ground. Unfortunately, the Borg had jerked in the opposite direction, and devoid of a mount, she dropped to the ground in the middle of the corral, a small cloud of dust puffing out from under her as she landed on her behind, the jolt rattling both her dignity and her implants. Confounded, her gluteus maximus stinging from the contact, Seven glared up at the horse which was standing a few feet away. Though she had managed to keep her grip on the reins, her sudden unseating had caused the bridle to be yanked over one ear, giving the horse a drunken expression as he regarded her placidly, obviously waiting for her to get up.

"Seven, are you all right?" Janeway said, peering at her with an odd twist to her mouth. Seven noticed that the captain did not leap down from the fence to see, however, and she shot Janeway a sharp look, suspecting that her spouse was trying not to laugh.

"I am ... functional,"Seven said, frowning.

"Get back on, Seven," Chakotay instructed. "That's the best thing to do after you've been thrown."

Seven eyed him skeptically, but got to her feet, aided by Icheb who offered his hand. The young man shot her an encouraging look as he adjusted the bridle, putting it back in place while Seven futilely attempted to brush the dirt from her jeans.

"I too, have fallen from a horse, Seven. Chakotay is correct. It is best to immediately make another attempt if you have not been injured. Juan has told me that there has 'never been a horse that ain't be rode, and never been a rider who ain't been throwed'"

Mulling over the oddly worded saying, Seven obeyed, putting her foot back in the stirrup and mounting again. With more determination, she held the reins with authority, and nudged the horse into another walk. Before long, she was trotting about the paddock ... a gait that caused her teeth to jar together ... and by the end of it, she was beaming, proud not only of herself, but of the animal that had performed obediently to each of her commands.

Confidently, she acquiesced when Icheb suggested they go for a quiet ride on the trail which led through a nearby canyon. Juan also accompanied them, mounting a big bay gelding while Icheb rode a smaller horse with large patches of black scattered throughout the snowy coat. Icheb's animal was called "Spooky", apparently because of the white circles around his eyes that gave the horse a perpetually astounded expression. Juan's mount was called 'Lightning', and the way it danced in place, allowed Seven to speculate that perhaps it was a commentary on the animal's speed.

Seven grew more comfortable the longer they rode, and she was able to relax her concentration on her horse a little in order to look around. Captivated by the scenery, particularly the reddish hues of the rocks that made up the geological aspect of the region, she also noticed that the scents and sounds were different from anything else she had experienced. Juan pointed out a rattlesnake that lay coiled in the shade of a prickly bush, the trio taking a respectful berth. Icheb was quick to offer such detailed data on the reptile that the young woman knew he had made a point of studying all aspects of his current surroundings. It pleased her to know that he had finally found a home, particularly after his original family and homeworld had been prepared to sacrifice him as a biological weapon to use against the Borg. Chakotay had been good for the young man, and conversely, Seven thought that Icheb had also been good for Chakotay. The first officer seemed more at peace with himself in a way that he had not when Seven had first met him on Voyager. If nothing else came from having been lost in the Delta Quadrant for the first officer, at least he had found a son.

She found herself riding beside Juan as Icheb ranged ahead. She had met Chakotay's cousin a few previous times, but never really had the chance to speak with him extensively. Now she assessed him subtly, trying to decide where that sense of calm rationality came from. Perhaps he was a Vulcan after all, though she knew Humans were capable of displaying a wide range of personalities. She glanced at his ears, seeing no points, his long dark hair pulled back behind them, tied at the nap of his neck with a thin strip of rawhide.

"You have a question, Seven?" he asked, not looking at her though aware of her scrutiny.

"Icheb says Starseer is his 'tribal name'.  How does one achieve such a designation?"

"The name comes from who a person is. Icheb, despite his place with us, still seeks the stars at night. Eventually, they will take him away from the tribe."

Seven considered that. "You disapprove?"

He flicked an eyebrow. "We each must follow our own paths. They will lead back to where his heart is, just as Chakotay's did." He paused. "My cousin is the last of his tribe, but in Icheb, he found the seeds to start again. He will find it in others, and his tribe will grow, become strong. Eventually, the knowledge and ways that sustained his people, and mine, will live again."

The young woman found that an attractive idea. She understood what it was like to lose everything and have to begin again in strange and different surroundings, of finding ways to live a completely different life, yet still manage to accept it as a home. Taking a deep breath of the desert air, she concentrated on the ride, finding it easier to settle into the saddle the longer they went. She was actually disappointed when Juan turned his mount around and indicated it was time to head back. He smiled faintly at her when she requested that they extend the duration of the excursion.

"Trust me, we've been on the trail long enough." His eyes ran over her appraisingly, in a way she did not understand. "Perhaps too long," he added, with a rueful note in his voice.

It wasn't until they had finally returned to the ranch and Seven had dismounted, that she realized what he had meant. Until the moment her feet touched the ground, she had not known that riding a horse carried certain strenuous demands upon a person's physicality.

"A little liniment massaged into the muscles will do wonders," Juan suggested calmly as he handed Janeway a bottle full of some blue liquid. "However, it should be done as soon as you both return home. She may be stiff for a few days."

"I understand," Janeway said dryly as Seven leaned painfully against the fence, the muscles of her buttocks and legs screaming in protest. The captain readily lent the young woman a shoulder to support herself with as the Borg tottered uncertainly back to the hovercraft.

"This is not an acceptable conclusion to this experience," Seven said through gritted teeth.

"It just emphasizes my reasons for not wanting to try it," Janeway murmured as she helped the Borg into the front seat. The captain rolled up her jacket to provide as much padding as possible for her partner who eased down onto it uncomfortably. "I suppose this means our dinner date tonight is canceled?"

"I do not believe I shall be able to sit down for some time," Seven allowed unhappily. "Kathryn, will this take long?"

Janeway offered the young woman a small smile as she activated the controls and directed the land vehicle out the gate and down the lane. "I'll go as fast as the machine will allow," she promised, and Seven had to content herself with that.

The young woman was disappointed that her visit with Icheb and Chakotay had to be cut so short, but the sensation in the lower part of her body reminded her that the sooner she returned home, the better. She resolutely stared ahead, trying to ignore the aches streaking up and down her thighs as they headed for the Phoenix Transport Station where they could beam back to San Francisco.

"Well," Janeway quipped finally, unable to resist any longer after parking outside the terminal and handing the hovercraft's activation chip over to the attendant. "That's one learning experience that's behind you."

Seven just groaned as she limped toward the transporter section, finding the pun as painful as her buttocks at the moment.

"Kathryn?"

She glanced over at her friend, the man who had served almost seven years as her first officer on the USS Voyager. Chakotay was a bulky bear of a man, darkly handsome, with a tribal tattoo arching over his left brow. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, he appeared leaner and more content with himself than she could remember.

"She'll be all right," he assured her seriously. "Icheb has become a very good rider since he's been on Earth. He seems to have a natural affinity for horses. Plus, Juan is with them, and he wouldn't allow anything bad to happen."

She nodded. "That never concerned me."

"Then why do you have that look on your face?"

She inhaled slowly, the smell of horses along with the arid tang of desert sage strong in her nostrils. "What look?" Knowing very well how hard it was to hide things from him.

He stared at her, then inclined his head. "What's going on, Kathryn?"

She hesitated. It had been awhile since the two of them had talked, and since returning to the Federation after being lost in the Delta Quadrant, she hadn't kept in touch as well as perhaps she should. Yet, he was still her friend, and someone she had relied on greatly when things had been at their worst during that incredible and trying journey. Certainly, he might provide an unbiased opinion on the things that had been bothering her lately about her partner.

"Sometimes, it seems as if Seven is growing too fast," she said finally, tentatively, unsure how it would be received.

"Why does that worry you?"

She wasn't able to meet his eyes. "How long before she doesn't need me at all, Chakotay?"

He made a small sound, not quite a snort, but an acknowledgment of sorts. He slipped off the rail, landing lightly on his feet. "Let's get out of the sun."

The pair retired to the front porch of the ranch house where Chakotay retrieved a couple of cold beers from the cooler, handing one to his previous captain. She accepted it, taking a long swallow of the icy brew.

"You think I'm being foolish," she said, after savoring the liquid running a cool line down her dusty throat.

"I think that the very traits that make you a great captain ... your sense of organization, your personal attention to every detail, your need to know every aspect of your command ... are what cause you the most irritation in your personal life. On Voyager, you had far more say in what went on in the day-to-day scheme of things, particularly with Seven. She came to you for everything, not only personally, but professionally as well. On Earth, she's expanded her horizons immeasurably, particularly as a scientist. Even at the Academy, we've heard about the incredibly talented and brilliant Borg that Leah Brahms managed to recruit for her TPG facility."

"I understand what you're saying, Chakotay, but that's not it," Janeway disagreed. "I'm very proud of her, and extremely pleased that she's been so successful in her new role."

"I'm sure you are," he said easily, leaning back in his chair and putting his booted feet up on the porch rail. "But Kathryn, it's not easy to adjust to that lack of ... input ... after providing it constantly for three years."

"I would hate to think I'm that much of an obsessive that I need to influence everything Seven does."

"No, you're not, Kathryn, but by the same token, it's not easy to see her experience things without really participating in them. You think she's growing away from you."

"She is," Janeway said softly.

"No, she's simply growing," Chakotay said placidly. "As she does, she needs you less in some ways, but more in others. You just have to accept that the balance is changing within her ... hopefully into a more healthy one where she can be more of her own person ... and not always defined by being Borg, or being Voyager's astrometrics officer or even by being Captain Janeway's spouse. She's becoming Lt. Annika Hansen, a respected Starfleet scientist."

Janeway considered that carefully. They had discussed similar topics before, and she knew it was Chakotay's perception that Seven nurtured an unhealthy reliance upon the captain, one that did not necessarily interfere with the couple's relationship, but sometimes did inhibit Seven's growth as an individual.

"It's not just that, Chakotay. She works late all the time, and what she does in her job is something that I can't really share with her. Even when she does try to explain her experiments to me, half the time I haven't the faintest idea what she's talking about. She encourages a certain distance between us now, whereas before, she fought against it desperately."

"That could be a good thing, Kathryn," he insisted. "She needs to learn how to be herself without your advice or even your approval at times."

"I know," she said, frustrated that she wasn't able to get across why exactly she was uneasy about this. Of course, she didn't know why exactly either, so perhaps it was to be expected that Chakotay couldn't appreciate what she was feeling. "I guess ... I hate feeling as if I'm not a part of her professional life anymore, especially when she says something regarding Starfleet or the Federation that shocks the hell out of me, and I wonder who she's been talking to at the TPG to formulate such opinions."

He raised an eyebrow. "You and I both know that any facility which is primarily made up of scientists is going to generate some odd ideas at times, Kathryn." A smile curled his sensitive mouth. "The people who work at the TPG may technically be Starfleet officers, but they're also free-thinking in a way that Seven wasn't exposed to on Voyager." He paused. "Are you sure this isn't a matter of your becoming bored with Utopia Planitia now that you have things running the way you want?"

Janeway inhaled slowly, considering that. "I will admit, it does make Annika's absences more acute when I'm not occupied with my own pursuits."

"This may be something that you'll just have to get used to," he reminded her, not unkindly. "It was your decision to take an administrative post while Seven adjusted to living in the Federation. That she's become quite successful at it should be a source of celebration, not regret."

"It is. I'm very happy for her." She stared out over the red stone, her eyes tracing the purple and rust lines of the rocky vista. "Maybe you're right," she allowed finally with a sigh. "Maybe I am starting to feel less challenged by my current position, and translating that into worrying unnecessarily about Seven. But it's also possible that Seven isn't achieving the right sort of balance by working all the time, either."

Chakotay sighed. "I can see that this is hard for you, but you have to be able to let Seven go, Kathryn. That way, she'll be able to come back to you without restraint." He reached over and put his hand on her shoulder companionably. "You have her heart, but her body and soul belong to her, and that's how it has to be."

"I had hoped you would be able to give me some good advice, Chakotay," she told him, taking another swallow of her beer.

"I did," he replied amiably. "You just don't want to listen to it."

"I'm listening," she said, glancing at him sideways. At his grin, she started to chuckle, despite herself. "Fine, I'll take your words under advisement."

The sight of the returning horsemen attracted her attention and she stood up, smiling and waving as she watched Seven ride toward the ranch, showing a true adeptness on her mount. The smile faded as Seven had difficulty dismounting, and Janeway realized that the plans they had for dinner were no longer an option. While there was a certain amount of amusement to be derived from the Borg's predicament, it was tempered by the obvious pain her partner was feeling, and Janeway did not spare the hovercraft on their return to the Phoenix Transport Station, nor did she hesitate in using her command authorization to have Starfleet transporters beam the couple directly to their house on R. Garrett Avenue, the couple materializing in the middle of their living room.

"It hurts, Kathryn," Seven murmured as Janeway assisted her up the stairs to the second floor loft.

"I know, darling," the captain responded sympathetically, helping the young woman to the bed and removing her jeans and underwear. Janeway was thankful there was no blistering, but it took a great deal to cause Seven to complain, so the captain knew that it must be more than just the usual strain of using muscles in a different manner. "Lie down," she instructed. "I'll put on some of this liniment."

Seven stretched out across their bed, pillowing her head on her folded arms. Janeway knelt on the mattress beside her, and using the oil that Chakotay's cousin had offered her, she began to work it into the muscles of Seven's thighs and buttocks. The young woman exhaled audibly, her breath almost a sob, and Janeway hesitated, peering at her anxiously.

"Darling?"

"Continue," Seven urged, her voice tense. "It felt so good when the pain ceased, I could not remain silent. The oil must have some desensitizing property."

Janeway frowned, realizing that perhaps it was a bit worse than she had thought, but she had never ridden a horse, so it wasn't as if she had anything to compare it with. She took her time as she massaged Seven's legs and buttocks, finding pleasure not only in touching her partner's curvaceous body, but in being able to relieve the young woman's discomfort at the same time.

"You are so good to me, Kathryn," Seven said lazily, after long moments. Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on her forearms, her face turned toward the side where Janeway knelt. "You are always there to take care of me when I require it. I do not know how I could exist without you."

Janeway bent down and kissed Seven's shoulder blade through the thin shirt. "My pleasure, love," she said, aware of the irony of these comments so soon after her discussion with Chakotay. She felt ashamed that she had been so selfish as to want Seven to draw back from her newfound professional success. She decided she needed to help her partner explore this life she was living in the Federation, not resent the fact that Seven was so willing to try new things. "I'll always be here for you."

Seven smiled, a sort of angelic, contented smile that lit up her narrow features. "I love you."

"I positively adore you," Janeway told her, nuzzling her neck lightly. "However, I have to admit, I'm not particularly fond of how you smell at the moment, darling. Between the horses and that liniment, you're pretty rank. I'm going to draw you a nice hot bath, and that should work out the rest of the stiffness for you."

Seven made a small sound of pleasure. "That is very acceptable. Will you join me?"

Janeway laughed. "I suppose I could be persuaded," she allowed, before sliding off the bed and heading into the ensuite.

After filling the large whirlpool tub with hot water, adding some salts that would aid in further easing Seven's soreness, she helped partner from the bedroom. The Borg was still a bit ginger in her motion, but wasn't nearly as awkward as she had been on the walk from the hovercraft through the transport terminal in Phoenix. The captain helped her into the tub, then undressed and joined her, slipping into the warm water behind the young woman so that Seven could lean back against her chest.

Tipping her head back onto Janeway's shoulder, Seven closed her eyes blissfully, her skin flushed pink in the steamy air of the bath. "Despite the consequences of learning this new skill, it was a very pleasant day. Did you enjoy visiting with Chakotay while I went for my ride with Icheb and Juan?"

Janeway smiled and drew a sponge languidly over Seven's arms and upper chest. "We had a good talk."

"About?" Seven prompted.

"This and that," Janeway said vaguely, turning her head to kiss Seven's cheek. "Aside from how hard it was on your ... on you ... what did you think about learning to ride a horse?"

"I found it a most appealing exercise." Seven paused. "Could we have a horse?" Her voice was wistful, as if hoping that the captain would come up with a way to make such a thing possible, but somehow aware it wasn't practical.

Janeway raised an eyebrow. "Where would we keep it, love? In the back yard with Jake? Besides, you'd only be able to ride on the weekends. You're usually quite busy through the week."

"I would like to pursue future opportunities to ride."

Janeway thought about it. "It might be possible to rent a horse. I know there are stables located not far from the city." At Seven's quizzical glance, she smiled. "Mark enjoyed riding, but didn't have the time or facilities to look after an animal of that size. I used to browse the local shops while he took a ride through the park. If you want, we could do the same thing next weekend."

Seven inhaled. "It would not bother you?"

Janeway blinked. "Why would it bother me?"

"That we would be doing the same things that you and Mark did."

Janeway pulled her closer. "That's not an issue, darling." She chuckled and kissed her neck. "Fortunately for you, or I wouldn't be able to do a lot of things he and I did ... like make love."

"I had not considered it in that manner," Seven said thoughtfully. "Was he a good lover, Kathryn?"

Janeway blinked, startled. "Why do you ask?"

Seven considered that. "I am curious. Sometimes I wonder if I am able to offer you everything he did."

"You do," Janeway assured her, hugging her tightly. "You absolutely do, Annika, and so much more." She reached up and used her fingertips to turn Seven's head toward her so she could look into the pale blue eyes. "Have you run into Mark lately? Is that what's prompting this?"

"No," Seven allowed softly. "I have just .... heard things ... like how happy you and he were, how much you loved each other, and how you were going to be married before Voyager was thrown into the Delta Quadrant."

"Well, whoever is telling you these things is seven years out of date," Janeway said firmly. "I'll admit that Mark and I were happy when we were together, but that was another time and another place. It's not important to the here and now."

"Isn't it?"

"What do you think, Seven?" Janeway urged quietly. "Look into your heart and tell me the answer."

Seven hesitated, her eyes distant as she obeyed, and then she smiled, a touch ruefully. "I think that sometimes I become concerned over things that are completely irrelevant."

Janeway laughed softly. "I think we both do, my darling. Maybe it's just part of being 'Human'." Seven sighed and settled deeper into her embrace as Janeway cradled her, feeling a warmth and tenderness flow through her that was so strong, she had trouble catching her breath for a second. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. "How are you feeling now? When the liniment washed off, did the pain return?"

Seven bent her knees, the water in their bath sloshing slightly as she tested the various muscles. "No, the application worked perfectly, Kathryn," she said, her voice pleased. "There is no lingering soreness."

Janeway sighed, relieved. "Good. Otherwise, I don't think either of us would have enjoyed the rest of our Saturday evening."

Seven glanced at her slyly from the corner of her eye. "How are we going to 'enjoy' the rest of the evening, Kathryn?"

Janeway smiled. "Oh, I think we can find a way," she said, sliding her hands down Seven's chest. "Don't you?"

She tucked the padd in her tunic as she stepped off the lift and strode briskly down the corridor that led to main level of engineering. Inside, the rest of the Utopia Planitia team of technicians were completing the final details of the upgrades to the Intrepid-class vessel, bringing the systems up to current operating specs. Privately, B'Elanna thought the tough little Scout ship could fly rings around most vessels in Starfleet without the need of any upgrades, but she appreciated that Starfleet wanted to make sure there were no surprises left in the ship after seven years of innovative jury rigging in the Delta Quadrant. As the Klingon walked over to where Miles O'Brien stood working on the main console, she speculated briefly as to what would happen next. With these final adjustments, Voyager would be ready to return to active duty again, and B'Elanna was curious who would take command now that it was clear to everyone concerned that Janeway was heading the list to command the new USS Millennium.

"Lieutenant," Miles greeted her, handing her a padd. "The plasma alignment is as sweet as it can be."

Technically, B'Elanna wasn't ranked high enough to be placed in charge of an engineering team, but Commander Dickson had recognized that she was the only one on the team with any real familiarity with the vessel, and had essentially made her his second-in-command, granting her the authority to do what needed to be done with the rest of the ship while he concentrated on the bridge refinements. It hadn't taken long for the team to realize that B'Elanna was the one to go to whenever they hit a snag in the refitting.

"Good work," B'Elanna complimented, scanning the data. She glanced around the engine room that had been her territory for so long, appreciating that it would soon be turned over to another. The thought made a small pang go through her, and it occurred to her to wonder what she wanted to do now. She had enjoyed working in the shipyards, but she thought that offering a closer, more individual attention to a single vessel on active duty was more to her liking. As soon as the mess with Seven and Section 31 was over, she'd think about applying for a starship berth ... assuming that was what Ro was interested in, as well.

"Miles," she said, dropping her voice and moving closer to the husky operations officer. "What's the word with Voyager? Who's taking her?"

He quirked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "A few names have been tossed around," he admitted, continuing his work on the console. "One of them is your former first officer."

"Chakotay?" B'Elanna was pleased, but she remembered how much the ex-Maquis member enjoyed teaching at Starfleet Academy. "He probably won't accept it."

"No?" Miles sounded a bit surprised. He paused to think about it, obviously having offered the most feasible piece of gossip first. "It might be taken by an admiral as their flagship. I hear Hayes has been sniffing around."

"Admiral Hayes?" B'Elanna said, blinking. "What would he do with a Intrepid-class vessel like this? Don't they usually go for the larger ships?"

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Miles said, spreading out his hands. "I know the gossip, but not the reasoning behind it."

"I guess you're right." She took another look around, stifling a sigh. "I have to admit, I'll miss the old girl. She's a fine ship and whoever takes her will be getting one of the best."

Miles grinned, having heard all the stories from B'Elanna more than once. "She's a sweet little vessel, all right, and god knows, she survived more than most. It's given her a rep for being a charmed ship. There'll be a lot of captains who wouldn't mind taking her over." He glanced at the Klingon woman. "Any chance Janeway might want her back?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "I don't think so. She's got her sights set on the Millennium, and I doubt she'd settle for Voyager now that she's been offered the bigger prize."

"I'd better get my credit into the pool, then," Miles admitted. "Now that I have the inside track that Chakotay probably won't accept it, I can still get some down on Webster. He's the most obvious choice. He's young, gained a lot of experience during the war, but not enough for him to receive any type of larger vessel. He and Voyager would make a good fit, I think."

B'Elanna glanced at him. "I'm surprised there's still a pool around after that mess with McCord."

He snorted. "Oh, McCord didn't waste time with anything as small as the shipyard pools. Every ship or station has one, and most people play them, aside from the most senior of officers. He never bothered, though, and in retrospect, it's easy to see why. He was too busy losing big money in the casinos on Mars."

"Owned by Packer Shipping Incorporated." B'Elanna shook her head over the waste of a promising officer, then handed the padd back to Miles after making a few adjustments. "See if you can refine the overflow ratio a little, just to see if it can be done. I'm going to see Dickson and tell him we're ready to shut down operations here."

"Are you going back with the Millennium team?" Miles asked curiously.

"That would be my first choice, but I'll probably end up on the Discovery. You?"

"I think Millennium might be a good place for both of us."

He offered her a bit of an enigmatic smile, and not for the first time, she was reminded that there were depths to the Irishman that were not always apparent. Ro suspected that he was actually working under Jean-Luc Picard's authority, as the Bajoran was, but neither woman had been able to verify that for certain. He did seem to know more about what was going on in the shipyards than anyone else, even stuck on the outer edges where Voyager's refit was taking place.

She thought about that as she gave her report to a very pleased Dickson, the team having brought the refit in on schedule, which was amazing considering they had started in a hole, having to clean up the mess left behind by McCord before they could even start the actual modifications. The rogue Starfleet officer in the employ of a criminal cartel known as the Orion Syndicate, had torn apart key areas of the vessel in order to retrieve Borg technology, with little regard to the actual refit. In celebration, Dickson gave Torres's team the rest of the day off, allowing them an early start to the weekend, and B'Elanna immediately headed for the nearest work pod, managing to board it before another engineer did. It was crowded in the tiny shuttle, but it was only a short flight to the main docking array where there was a quick exodus for the transporters.

Instead of keying the coordinates for the Utopia Planitia base and home, B'Elanna requested a transport to the Theoretical Propulsion Group complex, located just outside Marsport. She immediately felt lighter as she stepped off the transporter dais in the main building, enjoying the change in gravity as she always did while on the red planet. Waiting patiently as her identity was verified, she was finally issued authorization to allow her to travel about the compound unaccompanied. Security had become a great deal tighter around Earth and Mars in the aftermath of the incident involving the Orion Syndicate, particularly in Starfleet Science facilities, and more extensive checks had become the norm.

Once the Klingon was cleared, she located the nearest turbolift and requested the section where Seven worked. Accorded her own personal lab, Seven had also been assigned a group of Starfleet scientists and technicians who aided in her research and experiments, working under the Borg's direct authority. B'Elanna wondered if the young woman had become better at dealing with command than she had on Voyager, and then realized that the frighteningly brilliant, but socially inept, officers populating this facility probably wouldn't find Seven's abrupt style all that out of the ordinary. In fact, the Klingon knew that Seven's team liked to jokingly refer to themselves as the 'Collective', and had taken on numbered designations as nicknames. Inside the TPG, it was considered amusing. Everywhere else in Starfleet, anyone who had ever dealt with the Borg was forced to control a tiny shiver when they heard about it.

Spotting Seven hard at work on a console in the lab, the rest of her team all intent on their duties, B'Elanna knew she had come at a crucial time. Finding herself a quiet corner to wait until Seven was less occupied on whatever it was that required her complete concentration, B'Elanna sat down on a stool and observed quietly. The Klingon prided herself on being a hell of a good engineer, but some of the techniques and theories the TPG worked on were so beyond her, it was amazing that she and Seven could find anything to talk about when they got together.

B'Elanna took a deep breath. There was more going on with that than just the Borg's new position, she reminded herself. Seven had undergone some distinct personality changes over the past few months since joining Leah Brahms' TPG. It wasn't that there was any less friendliness from the Borg toward the Klingon, but there was a difference to her, a type of distance that wasn't usual, not even for the cool, composed ex-drone. Perhaps it was simply a natural progression of Seven's being back in the Federation, of being surrounded by the scientists of the TPG rather than starship personnel, but B'Elanna didn't think so, and neither did Ro. Both women believed someone was getting to the young woman, influencing how she was thinking and growing, perhaps even in some sinister way related to Section 31.

But neither woman had been able to discover anything specific so far, and it was beginning to worry the Klingon ... not to mention making her paranoid. She was also concerned that she was starting to see enemies everywhere, and ascribing the worst connotations to the most innocuous conversations.

But then, that was how Section 31 worked.

"B'Elanna."

The Klingon, jarred out of her musing, looked up to see Seven crossing the lab toward her, a faint smile on her face which indicated the young woman's pleasure in seeing her. B'Elanna forced away her dark thoughts, and pasted a smile on her own face.

"Why are you here in the afternoon?"

"Playing hooky," B'Elanna said, then at the Borg's widened eyes, amended that. "We finished up the final details on Voyager, and she's ready for active duty again. Dickson gave us the rest of the day off, allowing us to start the weekend early. Can I entice you to do the same? We could go pick up a late lunch in Marsport, do some shopping, maybe hang out a bit like the old days."

Seven frowned, a mix of emotions crossing her face. "I cannot, B'Elanna. I have several more tests to run today, and it is my intention to leave early in order to be home for Kathryn. Otherwise, I would appreciate spending an afternoon with you."

"Some other time," B'Elanna said graciously. "So what do you and Janeway have planned for tonight?"

Seven beamed, and for a brief second, she looked exactly like the same young woman the Klingon had learned to accept and appreciate on Voyager, a woman newly in love and overwhelmed by her emotions. It passed quickly, but B'Elanna was left with the sense that perhaps not every aspect of Seven had undergone change in the past few months.

"I am going to surprise her with a special dinner," Seven said, her voice warm. "I think she has been feeling neglected lately."

B'Elanna blinked. "Why do you think that?"

"She has been asking a great many questions regarding my work in the past few weeks. What I am doing, who I am spending time with, what I discuss with them ... I believe she is feeling less a part of my life, particularly when it is so difficult for me to explain my experiments in a way that she can understand. I have also noticed that since she has organized the shipyards in the matter she prefers, it has made her duties less pressing, and she is becoming decidedly ... 'bored'. That will not be helped by the completion of Voyager's refit, and the knowledge that someone else shall be taking command of her vessel. I am glad you shared that with me, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna blinked. "I hadn't noticed her being all that bored. Are you sure?"

Seven dipped her head. "Perhaps it is something only I would notice, but it is evident to me in many ways. I intend to address it this evening."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," B'Elanna said, putting her hand on Seven's back as they walked toward the exit. "But you and I need to get together soon."

"It has been some time since I have involved myself with the kind of trouble I usually find myself in with you," Seven agreed placidly.

B'Elanna shot her a delighted look, pleased to hear the Borg attempt a joke at her expense. She reached up and ruffled Seven's hair, messing up the austere bun, and surprised, the Borg ducked away.

"B'Elanna!" Seven said with outrage, but she was smiling as she attempted to put the loose strands back in place. "I believe you were leaving?"

"I'm going," the Klingon said, throwing her hands up in surrender. She offered the young woman a final smile in farewell as she left, but it was a smile that faded immediately as she strode down the corridor away from the lab. With any luck, the Borg would not detect the tiny transmitter B'Elanna had just planted on her head when she ruffled her hair. It would work its way to the roots of the Borg's hair, and attach itself to her skull where hopefully, it would be too small for anyone to detect.

Not even by Janeway when she was running her fingers through the young woman's blonde locks.

The tests took a little longer than she anticipated, and she had to hurry to the transporter section of the facility at the end of her day. She wanted to reach the house before Janeway, though the captain usually had the advantage in commuting from Mars to Earth due to the private transport unit in her office at Utopia Planitia. Pleased to discover Janeway had yet to arrive home, Seven immediately ordered dinner from one of the local restaurants that Janeway favored. After it was delivered, she dared to take a quck shower and change out of her uniform, then prepared several candles and ignited a fire in the hearth, grateful for the extra time to prepare, but somewhat uncertain as to what was taking her partner so long. Dusk had fallen before she finally heard Janeway at the door, and she quickly took her place in the center of the room, holding two glasses of wine.

The captain's head came up as she entered the house, surprise shading her face as she saw what was waiting for her. Seven smiled faintly, aware that her new gown clung to her curves like a second skin, flowing from her hips and around her legs in a most provocative fashion. Her hair was down, her skin still slightly flushed from rushing around, and she knew that she looked quite acceptable simply from the glow that kindled in the captain's eyes. Janeway smiled and dropped the padds she had been carrying on an end table, reaching up to unfasten her tunic and pull it off, tossing it onto the sofa.

"Hello there," the captain said, her voice dropping to that husky trill the Borg adored as she moved over to meet the young woman. "Am I forgetting a special occasion?"

"Not at all," Seven assured her as the captain accepted the glass of wine she offered. "I believe you have been feeling neglected lately. I wish to make up all my late hours to you."

"Oh, you do," Janeway said, arching a brow as she sipped the wine. It was a deep blue liquid, a special beverage which had actually been fermented on Voyager in an illicit still. This was the last bottle the couple possessed. "I haven't felt neglected."

"No?" Seven didn't disbelieve her exactly, but deciding the captain wasn't being entirely forthcoming, particularly in light of the subtle signals she had been detecting in her partner since the weekend they had visited Chakotay's ranch. "Then, consider this a gesture to remind you how much I love you."

"Hmm, such a wonderful idea. What did you have in mind?" Her eyes traveled languidly up and down Seven's body.

"Not that," the Borg told her with an indulgent smile. "At least, not yet. I have dinner already prepared."

"Do I have time to shower and change before then?" Janeway moved closer to the Borg and looked up at her with a lidded gaze.

"Of course," Seven told her, dipping her head as Janeway stood up on tiptoes and brushed her lips fleetingly, but sweetly, over the young woman's. "The food is under stasis."

"I won't be long," the captain promised.

"I shall wait." Seven smiled as her spouse set her glass down on the coffee table, scooped up her tunic, and trotted quickly up the stairs leading to the second floor. Leaving her own glass behind, Seven moved into the kitchen where she retrieved the meal. Setting it on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, she lit the candles about the room, affording a cozy, golden illumination as Janeway finally descended the stairs, dressed in a slinky black dressing gown that Seven could not remember ever seeing before. It seemed to enhance the blue in the captain's eyes, and the flickering flames of both candles and hearth made the rich auburn hair appear touched by fire.

"You are exceptionally beautiful," Seven told her, amused when Janeway promptly blushed. She did not understand why her partner reacted that way every time she told her that. It was, after all, only the simple truth.

"Sweet talker," the older woman murmured, raising an eyebrow as she saw the meal spread out over the coffee table. "Eating in front of the fire?"

"Do you object?" Seven asked as the captain moved to the opposite side of the table.

"Not at all," Janeway replied, sinking gracefully down to the cushions Seven had provided. She lifted off the silver stasis lid, smiling as she saw the plate full of pasta and Chicken Parmesan. "Remington's?"

"I know you enjoy their food."

Janeway raised her glass. "To think I almost stayed late tonight because I thought you wouldn't be home. As it was, I stayed long enough to finish up some reports."

"I was about to call and ask that you leave the office," Seven admitted. "That would have spoiled some of the surprise." She reached over and took the captain's hand in her own. "Kathryn, I know that you have cause to resent the many late nights I have been working. I have not even fulfilled my earlier promise to take a regular evening off through the week so that we could spend it together. I am sorry."

Janeway regarded her steadily, her eyes deep and intent. "There's no need to apologize, Annika. I never want you to be sorry about doing what you love, or how much time you need to give it. I especially don't want you to feel as if you have to give up anything on my account."

Seven shook her head. "On the contrary, Kathryn, it is you who have been 'giving up things' on my account. You have offered me your total and complete support as I involve myself completely with my duties at the TPG. Perhaps, even too much support."

Janeway tilted her head, looking slightly confused. "Too much?"

Seven brought the captain's hand to her lips, kissing the palm gently. "I think that you have not been willing to tell me that you are feeling dissatisfied with our current situation." The tightening around Janeway's eyes let her know she had guessed correctly. "You want me to pursue my professional goals without considering your feelings, but that is not acceptable, Kathryn. I must consider how you feel ... without you, the rest of my life is irrelevant."

Janeway seemed unable to respond to that, her face growing softer as she looked at the Borg. Seven smiled and released her hand. "Eat. We can discuss this afterward."

Acquiescing, Janeway picked up her fork and speared a piece of pasta, bringing it up to her mouth where she chewed thoughtfully. The couple ate their meal quietly, but with enjoyment, accented by the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious quality of the food. The captain still looked pensive, Seven noticed as she served the coffee and dessert, as if Janeway had been considering the young woman's words carefully all through dinner.

"You think I'm sacrificing my own needs for your sake," Janeway said finally, after taking a small bite of her cherry cheesecake, regarding her partner with level grey eyes. "To the point where I'm doing myself harm."

"Yes," Seven said, observing her with both concern and affection. "You are the sort of captain who would not hesitate to sacrifice your very life for your crew ... it is not such a leap to believe that you would also sacrifice your own sense of happiness for my well-being. You are very good to me, Kathryn, but it is possible that you have gone too far in this instance. I do not require you to lack in fulfillment in order for me to discover my own."

"It's not that simple." Janeway paused, obviously searching for the words that would convey what she was thinking. "Annika, there were many times on Voyager when your needs had to take second place to my role as captain. That was something we both accepted, and furthermore, you made the sacrifice willingly, because you loved me, and respected the demands of my position. This is the same thing, only from the other side. It's not a matter of ignoring my needs, so much as it is allowing yours to take priority for a change. It balances out in the end, and I don't regret any of what I've had to do to make it possible."

"Recently I have come to understand what it has cost you personally to have accepted the administrative position at Utopia Planitia," Seven countered mildly. "I do not believe that you are being fulfilled in your role as commander of the shipyards ... not in the way you were as captain of a starship. Were I not a factor, I believe you would be taking command of Voyager now that its refit is complete. Instead, you must wait several months until the completion of Millennium, which must only enhance your sense of dissatisfaction."

"Annika, if I truly wanted Voyager back, we would have discussed it before now," Janeway said firmly. "The truth is, the Millennium is the far more attractive ship to command, and I'd be prepared to wait for her regardless of how long it takes, or whether we were married or not ... so my needs are also being met. This isn't a matter of 'settling for the Millennium' because of you. This is a matter of being offered a greater opportunity that I might have missed without you."

"But you are not happy, Kathryn," Seven told her seriously.

"I'm not unhappy," the captain pointed out, before sighing softly. "I admit, sometimes I've felt a little left out when you talk about your work, particularly when you seem so excited about it and all I have to talk about is refit schedules. I guess you picked up on that, regardless of how much I've tried to hide it. But I never wanted you to think that you were responsible for me feeling that way." She paused to take a sip of her coffee. "Annika, our life and marriage are a matter of compromise and adjustment. Sometimes my needs will take center stage, other times, yours will. Together, we'll work through an accommodation until such time when both of us can be equally fulfilled, both professionally and personally."

"When will that be? When the Millennium is ready?"

"I hope so. Are you concerned that you won't be fulfilled on a starship now that you've experienced the working conditions in a facility like the TPG? Annika, you need to remember that Voyager was not really set up for what being lost in the Delta Quadrant demanded of it. It was a short range vessel only, and whatever we were able to do, both in terms of surviving our journey and discovering all the amazing things we did, were in spite of its limitations. A vessel like the Millennium is designed for being in deep space for long periods of time, and is fully equipped with all the scientific equipment Starfleet can provide. Granted, you might not be able to pursue the purely theoretical research you currently are with the TPG, but the ship will include a large percentage of scientists in the crew, both from Starfleet and on a civilian level. Believe me, you're going to have your hands full taking over as its chief science officer."

Seven smiled. "Are you offering me a berth, Captain?"

Janeway blinked, an astonished expression creasing her face. "Of course, I am." She hesitated, thinking about it. "My god, I just assumed that you would be my science officer, didn't I? Don't you want that?"

"I do, very much," the Borg said, toying with her fork. "Truthfully, I am looking forward to a time when I can work with you on a regular basis, rather than apart from you, but that is not something we have really discussed. Rather, it was something that both of us were taking for granted."

"You're right." Janeway sighed. "I'll need to get started on the paperwork right away requesting a transfer for you from the TPG pending completion of the Millennium."

"There is something else we must discuss. Specifically, Jake. Will we be taking him with us?"

Janeway paused, thinking about that. "Actually, wouldn't that be sort of cruel?"

Seven nodded. "Now that he has experienced planetary living for an extended period of time, he would be unhappy on a starship. We shall have to make certain arrangements for him to remain on Earth. With Phoebe, perhaps?"

"Or Mother." Janeway shook her head. "Obviously, I haven't been as on the ball as I thought. I forgot about Jake."

"Are you so certain that you will be assigned the Millennium, Kathryn?" Seven prodded, eyeing her partner intently. "Perhaps you are making assumptions that are unwarranted."

"It's understood, Annika," the captain told her, slightly surprised. "By everyone involved."

"Have you not warned me about making decisions based on what is 'understood' in Starfleet?" the young woman pointed out delicately. "As opposed to what is confirmed?"

Startled, Janeway looked at her oddly, and then smiled. "If I didn't warn you about that sort of thing, then I certainly should have. I'll make a point of confirming my next post in writing ... signed by Admiral Nechayev. Certainly, I've managed to accomplish a sufficient amount on my part to have earned it by now."

"That would be wise," Seven said, relieved, though she did wonder what exactly Janeway meant by 'earning' the vessel. "In any event, assuming command of the new starship will not occur for a few more months, and I am afraid that your discontent will increase exponentially." She inhaled. "I do not want you to be unhappy, Kathryn."

"Darling, I'm responsible for my own happiness," Janeway told her seriously. "If I'm finding myself bored, or out of sorts, then it's up to me to find a way to remedy that, not you. If Utopia Planitia isn't enough to keep me occupied until my next command, then I'll just have to find something else to do." She paused. "Maybe I'll take up horseback riding."

Seven dipped her head, seeing the corner of her partner's mouth quirk. "You are being facetious," she determined dryly. "But it would be very interesting to see you astride a horse." Janeway wrinkled her nose at her, and the Borg smiled. "I will try harder to be home in the evenings," she added quietly, reaching over to take her hands. "Not just the weekends."

"You don't have to do that on my account," the captain insisted, squeezing gently. "Honestly, Annika, I'm perfectly fine with your work, and how much attention you have to give to it."

"I am doing this on my account, Kathryn. I enjoy my position, but I also require a personal balance in my life." She paused. "I think I can fulfill my obligations to the TPG without nudging you aside, or leaving you to your own devices."

Janeway smiled teasingly. "Worried that I'll get into trouble without you?"

"Worried that you may find someone else to dance with in my absence," Seven said firmly, pulling the captain to her feet as she uncoiled from the floor. Janeway willingly rose, and after the couple had pushed aside the cushions and the coffee table to clear a space in front of the fireplace, the captain fit herself snugly against the young woman's body.

"I would never dance with anyone else," Janeway told her softly, the couple swaying easily to the music playing over the house's sound system.

"Not even our next door neighbor?" Seven was referring to Mark Johnson who lived just down the street ... a situation which had given the young woman more than a little pause when she discovered it, though so far, it had not caused too many problems.

"Not even him." Janeway nuzzled Seven's neck. "Besides, Mark has two left feet." Seven squeezed her admonishingly, and the captain laughed. "You brought it up."

Seven looked a little sheepish. "My mistake. I must remember not to offer him as a topic of conversation."

"You have nothing to worry about, love," Janeway murmured, tipping her head back to look up at her partner. "You're absolutely the only one for me."

Seven found herself lost in the bluish-grey pools of the captain's eyes, sinking into the warm gaze.

"I do love you, Kathryn," Seven promised softly. "Nothing else will ever be more important to me than that."

Janeway searched her face. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"That I was feeling a little ... left behind?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "I know you," she said, emphasizing the word. "Perhaps better than I know myself, and I could ... sense ... that you were feeling disconnected from me."

"Because you have felt equally disconnected from me on occasion?" Janeway prodded gently.

Seven considered that. "It was easy for me to recognize the symptoms," she allowed finally, with great gentleness.

An expression of regret ghosted over Janeway's face, but she did not respond beyond the small, sad smile that touched her lips. Dropping her head, she tucked her face into the hollow of Seven's neck, settling against her body as she made a soft sound of contentment in the back of her throat. Seven tightened her embrace, closing her eyes as they danced, concentrating only on the woman in her arms.

Knowing exactly how important Kathryn was, and what she was prepared to do to be with her.

Would she have fallen in love with an Annika Hansen who had never been Borg? Would she even have liked an Annika Hansen who had never been Borg?

Despite having met an alternative version of Seven, whom Janeway had not found particularly likable, the captain suspected it wasn't a question that could truly be answered, so she did not ponder it for very long. Instead, she studied the flawless, smooth skin, the way Seven's sandy eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, the brief gleam of moisture on her full rose-shaded lips, slightly parted to show the white flash of teeth. Seven had a dimple in her chin, a depression that Janeway had always found absolutely adorable, and unable to restrain herself now, she leaned closer and brushed her lips over it.

That was all Seven required to awake, and without opening her eyes, her arms instinctively reached out and drew Janeway to her, pulling her close to the warmth of her body, seeking out the captain's mouth for that first, sweet kiss of the morning. Janeway exhaled slowly out her nostrils, tasting deeply of her partner, absorbed in the love and tenderness implicit in the kiss.

Smiling faintly, Seven finally opened her eyes, the ice-blue warming perceptibly as she regarded her spouse. "Good morning."

"It is with you here," Janeway agreed, and kissed her again.

Her body molding itself to Janeway, Seven granted her whole attention to the captain's mouth, and the older woman started to float away with the intensity of the connection between them, breathless by the time they finally parted. Warm palms began to smooth over Janeway's back and sides, caressing gently but with intent, not making any secret of how the young woman hoped they would start their day. Janeway smiled, lips drawing back over her teeth as she drew her own fingertips lightly over Seven's shoulders and chest, down the slope of the full breasts to tickle the rosy tips. There was no need for further discussion, no need to verbalize beyond what their bodies were already communicating to each other in the cozy nest of bedding, just this slow and easy familiarity with each other that sparked a glowing heat, intensifying with every passing second.

Janeway bent her knee, sliding it up Seven's leg and resting it on the young woman's hip, her mouth captured and held by the Borg, the deep and searing kisses making her dizzy. Gentle hands plied her with loving delicacy, knowing when to be firm, and when to scarcely touch her, building the sensation steadily and skillfully. The captain responded, tracing over curves and planes, cupping soft flesh, massaging muscle and implant equally, fondling tender skin so delicate that barely brushing over it caused the young woman to moan softly. Together, they caressed and stroked, suckled and nibbled, teased and aroused until finally, the desire overwhelmed them, the couple shuddering almost simultaneously, pleasure peaking within seconds of the other.

Relaxing in her partner's arms, Janeway gulped for breath, feeling the last ripples of delight shiver and fade, sensing the corresponding tremors in the young woman. She snuggled into Seven's body, seeking protection and warmth now, rather than passion, knowing that her partner was doing the same and offering it freely.

"What a wonderful way to start the day," she muttered.

Seven nibbled Janeway's earlobe enticingly, pressing against her provocatively. "The day does not have to begin yet."

Janeway made a small sound of pleasure and anticipation. "You're not thinking of spending more time in bed, are you?"

"Would you object?" the young woman asked, drawing her hand along Janeway's flank, stroking it warmly.

"Not at all." Janeway ran her hands over Seven, intent on kindling her passion once more. "In fact, it's been awhile since we indulged ourselves this way. We've spent the last few weekends being tourists, so some time at home would be a nice change."

Seven teased the captain's ear with the tip of her tongue. "Our exploring of this world has been most enjoyable, Kathryn, but it is possible that our excursions have contributed to the distance between us. It is difficult to feel an intimate connection while white-water rafting down the Colorado River."

"I thought we did quite well," Janeway quipped, remembering the incident in question, though granted, it had not been entirely pleasant when the raft overturned, and they had been required to swim for safety. It had brought back a few unfortunate memories for the Borg, but the captain had been quite proud of how aptly Seven had handled it, even going so far as to joke a bit with the river guide once everyone was on shore and drying out, informing him that it was not the first time she had immersed her implants into a raging river. It was possible that Seven had a point. Perhaps Janeway had been trying so hard to offer Seven every opportunity to explore new things, she had helped create the very situation she had grown despairing of.

"I like having you here to myself." Seven eased Janeway onto her back, pressing her down as her mouth began to trail down the captain's compact body. Janeway hummed softly and tipped her head back, delighting in the feel of her partner's mouth pausing to cover her breasts, flicking the nipples into aching points of excitement. Hugging Seven's neck, the captain pulled her close, arching to offer more of herself to the young woman who responded by taking the entire breast in her mouth until the tip hit the back of her throat, a most inspiring sensation.

"Oh, darling," she moaned, closing her eyes. Seven, of course, could not answer, but she intensified the caress, setting her spouse ablaze, continuing to arouse her to a fever pitch. It was almost a relief when the Borg finally left the sensitive breasts and traced a line down Janeway's abdomen, kissing her way down to the auburn triangle that she nuzzled affectionately. Janeway spread her legs readily, bending her knees as Seven settled between them, the Borg's mouth covering the moist tissue lovingly. Tongue dancing insistently over the sensitive ridge, Seven moved back and forth over it with increasing pressure, a sensation that left the captain twitching from the radiating jolts of glorious tension. Janeway tangled her fingers in Seven's blonde hair, holding her in place though the Borg showed little indication that she wished to move.

As the pleasure continued to rise in steady waves, throbbing with every beat of her increasing heart rate, the captain found it difficult to breathe, quivering as the peak seemed to dart tantalizingly out of reach, before finally succumbing to it, crying out as the spasms rippled through her. Yet, even as she descended from that peak, it was apparent that the young woman was not finished, continuing to lave her hungrily, her tongue spearing her as deeply as it could before moving hotly over the swollen ridge, and instinctively, Janeway knew her partner was readying her for something more.

When the young woman finally drew away and crawled up her body, reaching for the compartment set within the headboard of the bed, Janeway cupped Seven's face in her hands, kissing her lustily, tasting her own essence on the Borg's mouth. Above her, the captain sensed her partner rummaging about their adult accessories until she had pulled out the couple's favorite, the patented Wonder Wand 9000. It was a device the couple tended to maintain with a specific grouping of parameters, though it was accompanied by a remote control that offered a huge range of features beyond the average Human male standard. The Borg quickly attached the artificial phallus to herself, the automated bands securing it to her intimate flesh, and positioned herself over the captain.

"Wait," Janeway commanded huskily, putting a hand on the Borg's chest to forestall her eagerness. "On your back."

Startled, Seven hesitated, then obediently rolled over, the wand jutting proudly from her golden thatch, just as if it were a part of her body, rather than a most accurate simulation. Janeway rose to her knees, and straddled the Borg's hips, reaching down to wrap her fingers around the fleshy cylinder, making Seven moan with pleasure as the captain guided it to her opening. Anointing the mushroom head with her moisture, Janeway slowly ran it up and down her crease, caressing herself with it until the Borg was twitching uncontrollably, regarding her through slitted eyes hard with desire. The device had sensors that transmitted sensation to where it was attached to the young woman, and to Seven, it undoubtedly felt as if Janeway were tormenting her unmercifully.

"Kathryn, why do you delay?" she demanded querulously.

Janeway laughed. "The sensitivity too much, darling?" she asked wickedly, knowing it was because she had locked in the parameters herself the last time they had used it. In a small part of her mind, she realized that she possessed the same heady sense of power over her partner in this position that she had experienced with her previous male lovers ... not a particularly evolved attitude, but one she secretly enjoyed nonetheless.

"I do not understand why you wish it to be programmed so high for me," Seven whispered between clenched teeth. "It is much easier to control my responses when the setting is at a lower level."

"I know that, darling," Janeway said, supporting herself with her left hand on Seven's chest, the Borg's heartbeat fluttering strong and fast beneath her palm. She smiled as Seven's hands on her hips attempted to move her into position, and after deciding that the timing and angle were finally correct, she allowed it, the head pressing against her opening, seeking entrance. "However, if the sensitivity wasn't so high, it wouldn't feel so good to you when we do this."

She eased down onto the shaft as Seven arched her hips almost involuntarily, thrusting upward so that the probe filled the captain intimately, the head skidding over the spot inside that made Janeway cry out in delight. Seven also cried out, head going back in pleasure as her spouse sank down onto her, seeming to surround her clitoris with the warmth and wetness of wonderful womanhood. Janeway smiled ferally as she crouched over the Borg, using her internal muscles to grip her partner, offering an erotic massage to Seven as she settled on top of her, her hands fondling the Borg's breasts, dizzied as always by the astonishing combination of male and female attributes. They stayed locked together for a few moments, simply appreciating their joining, then lazily, concentrating fully on the sensation, they began to move, the captain rocking as the Borg undulated her hips, finding a complementary rhythm that shook the bed and filled the air with their inarticulate moans, gasps and grunts.

Perspiration ran freely as Janeway rose over her spouse, tossing her hair back as the thrusts between her legs became bolder, deeper, urging her toward that climactic goal. It took some time, both women prolonging the pleasure as long as they could before a series of deep, throbbing spasms radiated through Janeway's body, racing up her spine to impact wetly on the inside of her head. She sobbed happily as Seven surrendered to her own pleasure, undoubtedly triggered by the captain's internal fluctuations, the quick jabs inciting more sensation within Janeway until gradually, their shudders faded, and the two woman were still, breathing deeply in the aftermath of a most strenuous encounter. Janeway lifted her eyes, looking down at her partner who returned her scrutiny lovingly, the Borg's fingertips smoothing gently over the captain's sides and chest, along her upper legs and hips. Swallowing hard against a mouth gone dry from panting, Janeway rose up onto her knees as Seven slipped the now intrusive hardness from her body, removing the device from her loins, and tossing it onto the floor until it could be cleaned and put away. Gratefully, Janeway collapsed against Seven, the couple coming together in the center of the bed, curling up in a womanly ball of smooth skin and soft curves.

"You really are the complete lover, Annika," the captain murmured to her young spouse, nuzzling her face into Seven's leonine neck in the warm afterglow. "How could you ever believe that you were lacking in any way?"

Seven kissed her sweetly. "Irrational fears are the hardest to overcome." She tightened her embrace, surrounding the captain with a protective tenderness. "I am beginning to believe that it is unlikely any of your previous lovers could have possessed the endurance to match yours, particularly regarding that aspect of sexual interaction."

Janeway laughed huskily. "It was a problem at times. Thanks to Borg enhancements, and a little Ferengi ingenuity, I have the best of both worlds with you for this particular type of encounter."

Seven smiled faintly. "Is there anything you have ever wished to do that I have not yet provided you?"

Janeway thought about that, raising her eyebrow. "I'll let you know if something comes to mind." She paused. "What about you? Is there something you would like to try that we haven't?"

Seven hesitated, then colored faintly. "I ... perhaps."

Janeway tilted her head, regarding her curiously. "Annika?"

Seven dipped her head, then leaned forward, whispering in the captain's ear. Janeway's eyes widened as she listened, feeling a decided thrill rush along her spine as her partner elaborated on her fantasy, wondering where and how her partner had ever formulated that scenario.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed, surprised and pleased by her partner's daring. "I'll definitely keep that in mind the next time the opportunity arises."

Seven blushed harder. "You do not think it is ... odd?"

"Darling, anything that makes you feel good, and isn't harmful to you or me, is perfectly fine," Janeway assured her. "I'd be more than glad to provide you with such an experience." She paused, and kissed her gently. "In the meantime, what would you say to some breakfast?"

"I would say that your restraint has been remarkable this morning. Normally you would have requested food before our second encounter."

Janeway laughed and poked her in the ribs with her thumb. "Beast," she said affectionately as she rolled away from her and out of bed. Obligingly, Seven did her best imitation of a growl, and the captain danced out of reach of the Borg's playful swipe at her, heading for the ensuite. "Shower first, then food. Then, maybe we can try out that suggestion of yours."

Seven's eyes brightened and she slipped out of bed after the captain. "Indeed? After breakfast?"

Janeway flashed her an impish grin. "Maybe even during."

Glancing unobtrusively over her shoulder, Samantha sighed. "About time," she grumbled. "We've been chasing this lead for weeks."

"Remember, I do the talking. It's becoming clear these are more than just malcontents distancing themselves from the Federation that the Doctor's become involved with. I think there's an actual criminal element involved."

"I leave it completely in your hands. After all, what would I know about a criminal element? I'm only a lawyer after all." Ro chose to ignore the heavy sarcasm.

The Bajoran was aware that others in the seedy establishment had also taken note of the newcomer's arrival, and she kept a wary eye on that as she observed her quarry crossing the room to the bar. Lanky, with greenish-brown scaled skin devoid of hair, the alien towered over the stout bartender, having to bend to hear what the proprietor was saying to him. The miniscule gesture made toward the vicinity of the two women indicated that the bartender was finally earning the generous tip Ro had bestowed upon him, and the newcomer cast his solid dark eyes over in their direction. Ro lifted her head in acknowledgment, but she didn't smile or otherwise indicate anything beyond that.

The alien hesitated, then slowly made his was across the room, finally stopping near their table. Ro felt a twinge in her neck as she looked up at him, assessing his physicality automatically, almost without conscious volition. Though his height would grant him a certain advantage in any confrontation, she dispassionately picked out his weak areas, the joints that were doubly knobbed, making them particularly vulnerable to a slashing attack, while his features were fragile for someone so tall ... cartilage she determined, rather than bone. Hhis internal organs would be highly susceptible to blunt trauma.

"You've been looking for me?" he trilled, his tones surprisingly musical.

"Are you Parthma?"

"Yes."

"Then I've been looking for you." Tilting her head slightly, she added with just the proper amount of deference and confidence, "May I buy you a drink?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "I never say no to a drink with a female," he said, folding his lean form into the chair across from her. "Particularly a beautiful one."

A charming line, Ro determined, if not particularly accurate. What constituted beauty varied greatly from species to species, and she doubted Bajoran standards were the same as his.

Without having to be asked, the bartender brought over another round, and Ro flipped him this planet's form of currency, dipping her head to indicate he should keep the change. It was an amount significant enough to make it worth his while to keep the area around the private booth clear of eavesdroppers. The two women had been in the tavern enough evenings for him to know that, not only was the Bajoran a generous patron when pleased, she could be an exceptionally harsh customer when crossed, as two other aliens, earlier in the week, had discovered when attempting to press unwanted attentions on Samantha.

The barkeep had just finished repairing the front window where Ro's two assailants had exited the tavern, propelled by Bajoran strength and advanced tactical training.

Parthma waited until the bartender was out of earshot, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I hear you have a shipment for a specific group of customers."

She inclined her head. "The Noiro Belt."

He frowned, or at least, offered his species' equivalent. His lipless mouth was not particularly indicative of his mood as a Bajoran's would have been in his place.

"That's a ... risky place to do business. Usually, it's not worth a person's while for one minor shipment."

"I'm aware of that," Ro said carefully. This was their first hint of a connection to the mysterious colony, and she had to play him with all the skill she was capable of. "But I also hear the colonists are always looking for smart people."

His dark eyes narrowed. "I see." He glanced at Sam, as if finally seeing her for the first time. "Yours?"

Ro resisted a smile. "Yes," she said, edging her tone to warn him away.

Sam struggled not to look outraged and did a fairly decent job, but the Bajoran knew the Human was furious. Unfortunately, the lawyer's feisty nature had not proven enough to overcome her small, slight frame, not here in the outer fringes where the Federation bordered unclaimed space.

He looked vaguely regretful, and returned his attention to Ro. "What kind of ... merchandise ... are we looking at here?"

"Medical supplies." Ro had stocked up the DragonFlight with contraband before she left the central Federation for just this scenario, knowing that she might have to bribe her way into places, and that hard currency wasn't always the most useful form of exchange. "Luxury goods. Technology from the central worlds." She smiled without humor. "You get the drift."

"Why do you need to sell it in this particular area?" Parthma asked keenly. "That's the sort of merchandise that will move anywhere."

"If I were only trying to sell it. I'm looking for more of a ... trade."

He angled his head, eyes darting back and forth between the women. "Trade," he repeated silkily. "For what?"

"Protection. I was once Maquis, and fortunate enough to be in prison when the Jem'Hadar moved through. Since my release I've been trying to make ends meet, and though I've been fairly successful, I've also made certain ... enemies. I need somewhere to hole up for a little while."

"Why?" He wasn't letting anything go at face value.

Ro lifted an eyebrow disdainfully. "Let's just say that the supply depot where I retrieved my merchandise was not anxious to see it go missing."

"Were the people manning that depot uniformed by any chance?"

She offered him a bit of a sly smile. "As a matter of fact, they were," she allowed with just enough emphasis to present the type of confident persona she wanted to display. "Distinctive black uniforms, with a bit of grey on the shoulders. Colorful sweaters though."

He stared at her. "Those are the sort of enemies you don't want to make."

"That's why I need a stronger sort of protection than usual."

He hesitated. "The people I represent don't offer that sort of blanket coverage for just anyone. They're not generally in business to offer haven to competitors."

"I'm not looking to be a competitor," she said honestly. "I'm hoping that while I'm there, they'll see fit to maybe ... hire me. I'm bringing a fast little ship in addition to useful merchandise ... plus the ability to go into a Starfleet depot and make off with a valuable supply of cargo."

"Unsuccessfully."

"On the contrary, they only noticed me out of sheer luck and because, for some reason, Starfleet is now on high alert for that sort of thing." She paused. "I don't know why, they never worried about my kind of ... entrepreneur before. Not to this extent, anyway."

He looked slightly rueful. "Apparently, certain attempts by my compatriots to expand our resources ran into the same problem you did." Then, an expression came over his face, and it was not particularly pleasant. "That doesn't mean we're going to accept every petty thief that flies by."

"It wasn't just merchandise I picked up," Ro said, pretending to be reluctant, as if this were her last card to play. "I also came across something else when I was relieving the depot of its latest shipment."

He waited for her to speak, appearing bored.

"The command passwords to several other depots in the area."

There was a spark of interest in his eyes and he regarded her with a little more respect.

"In return for providing these, you only want protection?"

"Consider the codes part of my rent. The shipment will get me my first week, then the next ten weeks will be paid by one code sequence at a time. By that time, the heat should have died down." Her face hardened. "Let's make one thing clear. I'm Maquis and used to dealing with Cardassians. This information won't be pried out of me against my will. My vessel and myself will self-destruct before that happens."

He considered that. "Well, you know how to bargain," he allowed grudgingly. He looked away briefly, then seemed to make a decision. "Fine, in exchange for this merchandise, we'll give you a berth within the Noiro Belt. You'll have to arrange your own food and fuel."

Ro hesitated. "I have a lot of merchandise and those codes are valuable. Food and fuel are included."

A deep inhalation, but finally he nodded. "You have to realize that the people I represent value their privacy. Your protection will be complete because no one has ever revealed the location of the Belt to anyone who might let it slip to outsiders. Your vessel will have to be slaved to mine on the trip in."

Ro didn't like that, but accepted that it was a reasonable precaution on his part. Her vessel would have a device installed that would blank out all its sensor arrays, and hand over its navigational control to Parthma's ship. The DragonFlight was clearly supposed to be deaf and blind going to this location, but she'd still be able to self-destruct if it came to that. Besides, from what she knew of this little ship the captain had arranged for her, it probably had a few surprises in its onboard computer to overcome any slaving device.

"When do we leave?"

"We'll be shipping out tomorrow at dawn." He lifted his glass and swallowed the smokey purple liquid, then rose from his chair. "Look for the Jolly Nexus. Thanks for the drink."

Ro and Sam watched him leave, not speaking until he had finally exited the bar.

"Thank you." Ro broke the silence. "I know that wasn't easy for you, pretending to be my ... uh, paramour."

Sam nodded soberly. "This is starting to get a little heavy, Ro. What kind of place has the Doctor gone to that it requires this much aggravation to even find it?"

Ro lifted her spring wine and sipped it sparingly, trying not to wince at the taste. She didn't know why she persisted in ordering it since she was convinced she wouldn't receive any vintage worth the trouble out here on the Federation frontier.

"I'm starting to have a very bad feeling about it. It doesn't sound like the normal retreat for those who walk on the other side of the law. This is something more."

"Could it be..." Sam trailed off.

"What?"

The lawyer leaned closer and lowered her voice. "The Syndicate? I mean, this may sound sort of stupid, but if you reverse Noiro, it becomes Orion."

Ro felt that jar her all the way down to the pit of her stomach. "I trust they wouldn't be that obvious," she said carefully, not liking the taste of this at all.

"What's obvious? We never even heard of a place called the Noiro Belt until we got out here on the absolute edge of nowhere. I think the Doctor just grabbed the first transport he came across, and went as far as his credits could take him. Is it so odd to wonder if he might have inadvertently jumped right from the frying pan into the fire?"

Ro recognized the saying as a Human one, having heard it before. She thought it was fairly appropriate. "Actually, it would be just like him," she said ruefully. She paused, thinking about it. "Maybe you'd better think about taking the next transport back to the inner systems. If this does turn out to be some kind of homeworld for the Orion Syndicate, it could become very dangerous. It isn't your responsibility to follow him, or me, into something like that."

For once, Sam didn't respond immediately, her dark eyes serious as she stared at Ro. "You're not thinking of going in there on your own, are you?"

Ro dipped her head. "I'm trained for this sort of thing, Miss Cogley," she said, suddenly very conscious of being a Starfleet officer, while her companion was only a civilian. "I have my orders to bring back the Doctor."

Sam shook her head. "I doubt very much that Captain Janeway expects you to go into a criminal enclave to ask the Doctor to come back to Earth. In fact, if she had the slightest idea you were even considering it, I'd bet she'd be furious."

"It's not that simple," Ro told her. "If this is some kind of central colony for the Orion Syndicate, then it's my duty as a Starfleet officer to discover as much as I can, and transmit that data to the authorities."

"How can you transmit anything when they're going to slave your ship?"

"I have my ways," Ro told her ... and hoped she wouldn't ask what they were because she wasn't quite sure herself.

"You're insane. There's only one person I know who's more insane."

Ro smiled without humor. "Really? Who might that be?"

"Me. I'm going with you."

Ro shook her head. "Sam, I appreciate..." she began.

"Stop." Samantha paused, gathering herself, her face intent and serious. "Look, I know you think that I'm not tough enough to handle this. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a Starfleet officer, but I'm smart and quick on my feet, and I'm not a total fool. Besides, wouldn't it look the slightest bit suspicious after you said I was 'yours', for anyone to see me head back to the central worlds while you go off to this colony ... especially if you're supposedly on the run from Starfleet?"

Ro exhaled audibly. "I was hoping you wouldn't pick up on that. I was worried what kind of story I would come up with to explain your absence."

Sam smiled crookedly. "Now, you don't have to." She reached over and put her hand on the Bajoran's arm. It seemed very small resting there, Ro noticed unhappily. "Everyone needs someone to watch their back. I may not be your first choice, but I'm all you've got."

"Fine," Ro said, having no real choice. "But when you get yourself killed, don't come running to me about it."

"Wow, you sounded like my mother just then," Sam informed her cheerfully.

Ro closed her eyes and groaned.

"Annika?" he greeted warmly, taking a seat opposite her. "I'm so glad you could meet me here."

"Admiral Hayes." She studied his craggy features intently. He did seem concerned about something. "Is everything all right?"

He offered her a weak smile. "You've really come to know me well over the past few months, haven't you." He paused. "I guess that's what makes this so difficult."

Seven raised an eyebrow, but before he could continue, the waiter arrived, undoubtedly drawn by the four-star bar on the admiral's collar, promptly presenting them with menus. Seven was forced to wait until they had ordered before she could pursue the conversation.

"What is so difficult, Admiral?" she asked after the waiter had departed.

He inhaled deeply, his bulky form seeming to expand in the chair. "It's about Starfleet, Annika. I once told you that we would always find a way to protect our own."

"I remember." The conversation had occurred on the very first day she had reported for briefings at Starfleet Command. Indeed, were it not for his kindness and gracious acceptance of her, soothing her fears, she probably would have resigned her commission on the spot, and run out of there as quickly as possible. "Has something happened that would alter that perception?"

He frowned, obviously struggling to find the correct words. "I've come across a piece of information that I probably shouldn't be sharing with you, especially considering that you're only a junior lieutenant."

Seven felt a flare of annoyance. She was quite familiar with Starfleet's attitude regarding what a lower ranked officer did and did not 'need to know'. She and Janeway had even had a rather heated conflict about it on one occasion since returning to the Federation, and she decided that this must be serious indeed.

"Yet, you are considering it. Why?"

"Because I'm afraid this might involve you ... and your spouse." His big hands toyed with his utensils. "You might even be endangered."

She felt a sense of trepidation surge through her. "Proceed," she instructed, rather curtly, appreciating that it might seem presumptuous to be speaking that way to an admiral, but when it came to Kathryn, or anyone else she loved, Seven rarely stood on protocol.

He studied her face. "I just received word that Cheb Packer escaped from custody early this morning. So far, it's an internal security matter, but as you remember, he made specific threats during his trial against Captain Janeway. Apparently, he holds her solely responsible for uncovering his connection to the Orion Syndicate, and bringing him to justice, not to mention damaging the repute of his father's company to the point where Packer Shipping is experiencing financial difficulties. A decision was made by other authorities in Starfleet Command that neither you nor the captain were to be informed about this, but I disagree. I felt that, of all those involved, you needed to know."

Seven froze, every muscle going taut as she received this news, her hands clenching into fists where they rested on the table. He regarded her with some alarm, and the Borg forced herself to breathe slowly.

"Elaborate."

He hesitated, then looked over as the waiter arrived with their food. Seven waited impatiently as their meal was placed on the table, ignoring the food she had ordered as she pinned the admiral with a glare. He paused mid-bite, fork halfway to his mouth, then with what seemed to be a touch of regret, put it down again.

"During the transfer of Packer to the New Zealand penal colony, his transport disappeared from sensors. When a rescue team was dispatched, they discovered the security guards had been rendered unconscious, and Packer nowhere to be found, though the landed transport was completely undamaged."

"Who was responsible?" Seven said flatly.

Hayes raised an eyebrow. "Admiral Nechayev arranged the initial transport of the prisoner, but I'm sure it was the Orion Syndicate who arranged his escape.  They probably spirited him well away from Earth by now. In any event, this criminal cartel is becoming a dangerous enemy of the Federation, and it's obvious that more stringent measures have to be taken to deal with this disruptive element."

"Has Starfleet formed a plan of action to deal with this?"

"Security has several top operatives trying to track him down. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before he's recaptured, but certain of us in Starfleet still believe that you have the right to know that his escape might pose a threat to you or your spouse."

Seven inhaled slowly, then nodded, thinking furiously. "Thank you, Admiral. I am ... grateful for this information, particularly since it is apparent that you must violate certain protocols to tell me. I am disappointed that Starfleet did not consider the situation the way you did."

Hayes regarded her steadily. "To be honest, Annika, this is not the first time the various factions in Starfleet have approached a delicate situation from different angles, and tangled themselves into futility in the process. Depending on where the Federation is at any given time, different sections have dominance within the upper echelons of Starfleet."

"I learned that in my Academy classes on Voyager. The three elements of Diplomacy, Science and the Military shift alliances and political power frequently within Starfleet Command."

"You're leaving one out," Hayes said, eyeing her closely. "But perhaps that's to be expected."

Seven blinked. "I am?"

He paused, glanced around, and leaned closer. "There is one element of Starfleet that is above petty political maneuvering, Annika. It has one priority only, and that is to protect the Federation from its enemies, both external ... and internal."

Tilting her head curiously, she frowned. "Explain."

"Annika, have you ever heard of Section 31?"

Seven searched her memory. "No." She raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"It is the aspect of Starfleet Security that I have ties to. It was our people who believed that you deserved to know you might be threatened, so that you're free to act accordingly. It's how we continue to operate, even when the rest of Starfleet has become so bogged down in shifting alliances and bureaucratic nonsense, it's unable to function efficiently."

Seven was fascinated. "Why have I never heard about this section of Starfleet?"

"We're a covert group, Annika," Hayes said seriously. "We do the work that no one else wants to acknowledge, but still has to be done for the good of the Federation ... whether it's carrying out certain missions to win the Dominion War, or dealing with the Romulan threat in the aftermath." He caught her gaze in his own. "Annika, we do whatever is necessary to keep our collective Federation safe. I think that more than a great many others, you would probably understand and sympathize with our priorities."

Seven thought of all the times she had been forced to make decisions while protecting her spouse and Voyager ... decisions that were perhaps not always approved of at the time, but were choices she never regretted making, particularly when she looked in the eyes of those she loved, her convictions strengthened by the knowledge that she had kept them safe. She was amazed and gratified to find beings in the Federation who also seemed to understand the importance of doing what had to be done, and did not allow irrelevancies to interfere. She dipped her head. "Am I to understand that not everyone approves of this group?"

A sorrowful expression crossed the admiral's face. "As long as we keep our enemies from destroying all the Federation has accomplished, then public approval is irrelevant." She sensed that he was saddened by the thought that people could not ... or would not ... understand utilizing methods that were sometimes necessary. Seven was all too familiar with that attitude. "That's why we keep a low profile. It's not necessary that the Federation know to what extent its protectors need to go to in order to maintain it."

Seven thought about the children on Voyager, and how the adults around her protected them not only from harm, but from even knowing the potential harm had existed in the first place. She also remembered that Janeway had explained how the Federation Council had kept most of the real disruption the Changelings had accomplished during their infiltration prior to the Dominion War from the average Federation citizen, teaching the young Borg the concept that sometimes truth could be more damaging than holding back certain bits of information.

"I understand," she said, and meant it sincerely.

He smiled paternally at her, obviously pleased. "I knew you would. I've always believed that you're someone who appreciates efficiency as opposed to those who pursue their own avenues of power ... such as those who think in similar fashion to Nechayev or Paris."

"May I ask why you are telling me about this? Particularly since Section 31 clearly prefers to operate subtly, rather than overtly."

"Because we believe you can handle such information," he said, reaching over to pat her on the hand. "We know you can be trusted, regardless of your rank. We also wanted you to know, particularly with Packer running about loose, that you're not alone. There's always someone who's ready to help you at any time. All you have to do is ask, and you'll have all the resources you need."

"Indeed," she said, her heart lightening. Such support was unexpected, but certainly welcome. "That is ... acceptable."

He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not really concerned about Packer. He's on the run, and with so many Starfleet security personnel tracking him, he's undoubtedly heading away from Earth as quickly as possible. Even if he weren't, even he was so foolish as to remain on the planet and go so far as attempt something regarding your spouse, both she and you would be more than capable of handling it completely on your own."

Seven's features grew cold, settling into the Borg impassiveness. "Yes, we are." She hesitated, then softened. "But I am grateful for your offer of support. It means a great deal to me. Hopefully, it shall not be required."

"I hope so, too," Hayes told her seriously. "Just know that I'll be here whenever you need me, Annika. You have my home code and my private Starfleet code. Call anytime."

"I'm sure Kathryn will be relieved to know of your support, as well."

He frowned briefly. "Do you think that's wise, Annika?"

"What do you mean?"

He poked at his cooling meal. "I'm just concerned that with Admiral Nechayev being her superior officer, that would put Janeway in a rather delicate position," he said. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Would Nechayev approve of Captain Janeway allying herself with a section of Starfleet that is beyond the admiral's purview?"

"You mean a section that she does not control," Seven said coldly. She considered it. "You are correct. If the admiral became aware that we had an alliance to other areas of Starfleet, she would make things quite difficult for Kathryn ... perhaps even to the extent of refusing to support her command of the Millennium."

"I don't know that I'd go that far, Annika," he cautioned her. "Nechayev tries to be fair."

She did not agree with him, finding Nechayev to be an extremely self-centered individual, but she did not wish to argue with him, particularly since he had made so much effort to reassure her about this troubling situation. It was even possible that he had caused himself certain complications in the process by going against the decision of the other admirals in Starfleet Operations. She was aware that he did not always receive the respect he deserved from his peers, particularly from Nechayev and Paris, even when it was primarily his efforts that maintained a functional peace between them. To a certain extent, it reminded her of Voyager and her ex-crewmate, Neelix. He too, was a being whose contribution was frequently overlooked, or even dismissed by others entirely. Sometimes it seemed as if the Humans in Starfleet were unable to appreciate what was right in front of them.

"I will not hide anything from Kathryn, but I do not believe it will be necessary to share this information with her unless we are required to ask for your help."

"Of course, Annika." Hayes inhaled deeply and glanced down as the uneaten remains of his meal. "I've ruined our lunch. I'm sorry."

"Not at all," she assured him. "In any event, lunch is not over."

"No, it isn't," he allowed, beaming at her. "Let's send these back and reorder. I think that knowing you're prepared for anything Mr. Packer might come up with has restored my appetite."

"Mine, as well," Seven said, smiling at him as he signaled for the waiter.

With this forewarning, she almost hoped that Cheb Packer would come within reach. Apparently as inept in pursuing a criminal career as he was in the arts of the physical expression of love, the universe would be much better off without his continued existence. Perhaps she would finally be able to do what she should have done months earlier on Deep Space 9 when she first ran into Kathryn's ex-lover.

Immediate termination.

"I don't think it was required that you immediately drop what you were doing and come here, Kathryn." Gretchen took the captain's hands and drew her over to a chair.

"How could I not?" Janeway said, searching her parent's face. "When did it happen?"

"Sometime in the night," Gretchen explained. "When I woke, she was ... just gone ... peacefully in her sleep." She moved over to the kitchen counter. "Tea?"

"Sure," Janeway replied, raking her fingers through her hair. "Who took care of ... everything?"

"Michael." Gretchen carried over a steaming mug of herbal tea for her daughter. She raised a thin brow. "He came over first thing this morning before reporting for duty. He found a box and used his phaser to carve out a grave in the backyard. I'll show you where she's buried, if you'd like."

"I would," Janeway said, picking up her tea and gingerly putting her lips to it, finding it too hot before she put it down again. She shook her head sadly. "It's ironic. I was saying to Seven not so long ago that I was able to get over the demise of pets as a matter of course, then this happens, and I realize how much I was fooling myself. As soon as I got your message, I didn't think twice. I just logged out and came home."

"I only sent the message because I thought you should know. She was initially your pet, after all." Gretchen reached over and patted her hand. "But Petunia was twenty years old, Kathryn, going on twenty-one. For a dog, that's almost two lifetimes."

"I know," Janeway said wistfully. "I guess I believed that if she had lasted this long, she's probably go on forever. Foolish, I know."

"Not at all, darling," Gretchen said, resting her hand on the captain's shoulder. "Did you tell Seven?"

"I will tonight. I didn't want to disturb her at work. It's not like my duties where I can drop everything and just go because there's not that much occupying my attention." She tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone, but must not have succeeded, aware that Gretchen was eyeing her curiously.

"Problems?"

Janeway exhaled. "Only on my part." She paused, staring down into the depths of her tea. "I'm so pleased and proud that Seven is doing so well at the TPG, but the fulfillment she receives from her work is a continual reminder of how mundane and tedious my daily routine is. She works late a lot of nights. That can be difficult."

Gretchen's brilliant blue eyes were somber. "Have you discussed this with Annika?"

"Of course," Janeway said, shrugging. She picked up her tea and sipped it now that it had cooled a little. "She's trying to allocate her time better, and she even told me she would be home for dinner tonight. But it's not her problem, Mom, it's mine. I don't regret doing anything I had to do in order to be offered command of the Millennium, or to provide Seven with the time and support she needs to follow her own dreams, but sometimes it seems like construction on the ship going to take forever. Frankly, the rest of the shipyards don't really provide that much in the way of..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"In the way of what?" Gretchen prompted.

"Excitement," Janeway admitted, feeling embarrassed. "Personal challenge. The opportunity to grow and learn. In fact, once I had cleaned things up and organized Utopia Planitia so that it was running smoothly, it became ... well, exceedingly dull."

Gretchen considered that. "I can see where it wouldn't be something that could hold your interest for long. What are you going to do?"

Janeway blinked. "What can I do? Part of accepting command of the Millennium was overseeing its construction, and filling a void at the shipyards that Starfleet Command had been concerned about. Now it's just a matter of waiting for the final details of the vessel's systems to be finished. It's tedious, but I should have expected it."

"You've never been particularly good at waiting, Kathryn. Have you thought of asking for more extensive duties from your superiors?"

"Nechayev has offered me various missions, but most of them would have taken me away from Earth for extended periods of time. Mom, Seven was always there for me in the Delta Quadrant. It's important that I make a home for her on Earth ... not leave her behind to go traipsing around the Federation."

The corner of Gretchen's mouth curled. "I'm sure Seven does not expect you to suddenly become so domesticated that you never leave home. But if you really don't want to leave Earth, you can always look for pursuits outside of Starfleet."

Janeway glanced at her, aware that her mother was very active in the community beyond running her small farm. It had always been that way, particularly since Janeway's father, Edward, had been away so much as a result of his career as a Starfleet admiral. She stifled a sigh.

"I did go through a period where I hosted a lot of dinner parties. I try to socialize, and still do, but so much of it seems to be nothing but politicking in the San Francisco area. I suppose because Starfleet Headquarters is there, and everyone's so rank conscious. It's taking a lot to adjust to that, when it wasn't that important in the Delta Quadrant."

"Not everyone is a Starfleet officer, Kathryn," Gretchen reminded her. "You could pursue other interests in your civilian life." She paused, thinking about it. "You've always liked dogs. Why not find something in your neighborhood that could help them, such as volunteering at the local pound? There's also usually a community center that requires regular volunteers."

Janeway must have made a face of some sort because her mother started to laugh. "Honestly, Kathryn, I know it won't match the excitement of commanding a starship, but it might give you a sense of fulfillment beyond what you're experiencing." She paused. "If you really feel a need to be challenged intellect