• This is the fifth installment in the Star Trek: Millennium series.
• It was posted to the net on August 17th, 2001.

There was a subtle excitement permeating the atmosphere of Millennium, a sense that there was something very special going on. It was always that way when a major away mission was being planned. The fact that two missions, one planetary and one astrometric, were about to commence at the same time, left the Frontier-class vessel abuzz with speculation on which personnel would be assigned to which project. Of course, before that was decided, a preliminary survey mission had to be conducted for both. Who would be chosen for those was currently occupying the attention of the ship's first officer, Zar Tulek.

A tall man, half Bajoran but with an appearance that was primarily Cardassian, Zar was discovering he really liked his new assignment, and he had settled into the exec position like pulling on a comfortable old coat that he had owned for years. Part of that easy adjustment was due to his commanding officer. Captain Janeway was an amazing woman, and he felt privileged to serve with her.

The doors to her ready room slid open, and he entered the large, two-tiered room which comprised the captain's private sanctum. Janeway was seated behind her desk on the lower level, half turned away as she perused a padd. She was aware he was there, of course, since she had granted him admittance, but whatever she was working on obviously took priority for the moment. He quietly took a seat and waited until she had finished, taking the opportunity to observe her purely as a male assessing a female. Rich auburn hair framed classic features, and the neat and compact body held more than a little aesthetic appreciateion for him, despite the fact they were different species. He was keenly aware of the energy that radiated from her, part command authority, part sheer personality. Her eyes were an unusual blue-grey color, shading to fully one or the other depending on her mood. He hadn't worked with her long before he had learned to detect the telltale markers; a dark, stormy grey which denoted anger or aggravation, a brilliant sapphire that indicated enjoyment and excitement, the sort of dull slate whenever she was being evasive.

Fortunately, it seemed her eyes tended more to the blue spectrum than grey for the most part. He wondered occasionally if it was due to her personal life, which seemed much fuller than the average starship captain. There was no question that she was generally a happy captain, and that made for a happy ship.

"Commander," she said finally, turning to face him fully. Her eyes were an even shade, midway between blue and grey, calm, alert, ready for whatever came her way. "What's the status on the away teams?"

"I've already determined the roster for both." He handed her a padd that she studied keenly.

"Hmm, for the astrometrics mission, you have Lt. Nog piloting the Delta Wing, with Dr. Kahn, Lt. Delaney and Dr. Lewis. The planetary mission includes you piloting the Delta Sky, with Ensign Tarn, Dr. Spencer, and ... Seven?"

"You sound surprised, Captain."

Janeway blinked. "I suppose I am. Lt. Wildman is in charge of biometrics. Astrometrics is more Seven's specialty. Why would you assign her to the planetary survey and leave Wildman on the ship?"

"Actually, it was at Lt. Hansen's request, Captain." Zar did not reveal how his day had immediately brightened when the Borg science officer had asked to go on the mission he was commanding. "Lt. Wildman will be overseeing the outfitting of the biometrics module for the subsequent groundside mission. Meanwhile, Lt. Hansen believes the spatial anomaly is ... I believe her word was 'unremarkable'... and the initial scans can easily be dealt with by Dr. Kahn and Lt. Delaney, though Seven intends to lead the follow up mission. In the meantime, she indicated that she enjoys participating in biometric excursions whenever she has the opportunity."

Janeway nodded, glancing back at the padd. "That's true. Any excuse to go groundside. Sometimes, she's worse than Jake used to be."

Zar frowned, confused. "Captain?"

Janeway lifted her head and offered him a small grin. "Jake is ... was ... our dog. We left him on Earth with my mother when we accepted the Millennium."

Zar nodded in understanding, though there was a certain twinge in his chest. Even since he had come on board the new Frontier-class ship, he had been harboring a secret and decidedly intense infatuation for the science officer, who happened to be the captain's spouse. He had no intention of ever pursuing it, of course, but the familiar way the captain spoke of Seven, the easy inclusion of her while commenting on their life together, caused the most unpleasant sensations to occur in the vicinity of his heart.

"Are you sure about Ensign Tarn?" the captain asked, oblivious to his inner turmoil. She was referring to the young operations officer who, until this moment, had not been performing up to expectations.

"It will do her some good. I think all she needs is enough experience to regain her confidence."

"I hope you're right." Janeway did not look convinced, but that was as far as it went. "What about security?"

"We shall, of course, be accompanied by the full complement of officers. However, I left the actual pairings to Commander Ro. She promised to have the names to me by the end of our duty shifts today. Our scheduled departure is for 1300 tomorrow afternoon."

Janeway handed back the padd. "Very good, Commander. While the away teams conduct the initial survey, the rest of us will be preparing the runabout modules for the more extensive follow-up studies. The Raven will be outfitted with the astrometrics module, while the Sparrow will take on the biometric labs." She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. "Is there something wrong, Commander?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, Captain,. I was just wondering at the various ship designations."

Janeway smiled. "The Tornado-class medium shuttles are Tom Paris's baby. He helped in the initial design while on Voyager, and they're all named for the original Delta Flyer. As for the heavy runabouts, the bird names seemed a natural since they're Hawk-class." She paused, and her eyes grew thoughtful. "It was Seven who asked if the alpha runabout could be called the Raven, which was the name of her parent's ship, the vessel where she spent the early part of her childhood. Since that ship will primarily be assigned to the missions the chief science officer would normally command, I authorized it."

The Cardassian was surprised at the revelation, but cherished it as yet another small piece of information about the Borg that he hadn't known. "The other two? The Sparrow and the T'kini?"

"Again, I left them up to the scientists who would normally be commanding the missions to which they'd be assigned. Lt. Wildman and Lt. Lui of biometrics and geometrics respectively, settled on the Sparrow for some reason. T'kini is a result of the vote taken by the xenometrics department. Apparently, it's a Vulcan bird of some kind."

Zar regarded her. "You are remarkably lenient in some areas."

Janeway lifted a brow. "That surprises you?"

He considered it. "I didn't expect it. Not when it comes to ... things like naming shuttles or redecorating the crew lounge."

Janeway pursed her lips. "It may be an offshoot of my time on Voyager. I learned that by making the crew feel that various parts of the ship are theirs to do with as they please, they tend to develop a certain loyalty that perhaps they wouldn't otherwise feel. It grants them a sense of ... well, possession for lack of a better term."

"The vessel becomes more than just a starship, it becomes their home," Zar said, eyeing her keenly. "At a crucial moment, an individual might abandon his workplace, but he will strive to protect his home to the bitter end."

Janeway's expression grew serious. "It's very important that a crew believe in their captain, Zar." Her voice deepened, as it did whenever she was offering him a piece of command advice that he might not have otherwise learned to this point. Frequently, he hadn't. "There will be times when crewmembers will be asked to remain at their posts even while the ship comes apart around them. They will do their duty only if they have complete faith that their commanding officer will save them. The last thought they should have in the event of their death, is a profound surprise that you didn't." She inhaled slowly, her eyes steady. "At the same time, as captain, you have to believe that no one is expendable, that there is no such thing as an acceptable loss."

Zar blinked, opened his mouth to respond, and was stopped by Janeway raising a hand.

"I know," she said ruefully. "What they teach at the Academy is a little different. They tell you that, as captain, you always have to maintain a distance for just that reason, that people will die because of an order you gave. It just doesn't work like that in reality, Zar. You'll lose people, yes, but don't ever accept it. Be infuriated, be saddened, but don't accept the death of a crewmember as being necessary. Life, particularly that of someone who believes in you, should never be that insignificant."

Zar was troubled, but he nodded. "All right," he said slowly. He paused. "However, doesn't that make it difficult if..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"It should be difficult," Janeway said, a touch of bleakness edging her gaze. "It should be the most damned difficult thing there is to being a starship captain. If it isn't, then you have no right to that extra pip."

Looking in her eyes, he saw that she was no stranger to that difficulty ... and that it had grown no easier over the years despite its familiarity. She didn't just consider the people on this ship her crew, she made them a part of her family. He wasn't sure he could be that kind of captain, but there was no doubt in his mind that the taking on of such a burden was part of what made her such a great leader, and why so many officers had fought for this assignment.

"Yes, Captain."

She stared at him, and suddenly relaxed, looking slightly abashed "I realize that went a little off the topic."

He hesitated. "It was important that you impart that lesson to me."

She nodded. "Yes, it was."

"I appreciate it." He paused. "Sometimes, my previous commanding officers seemed ... uncertain that I would pursue a starship command of my own."

That was a nice way of saying that a few of them hadn't believed he could manage to rise that far in Starfleet, so they rarely bothered to offer advice or nuggets of wisdom the way Janeway did. From the way her face altered, he knew she understood what he really meant.

"This may sound odd, Zar, but you don't really choose to be a starship captain, it chooses you," she said, not unkindly. "My father once told me that."

"He was also in Starfleet, wasn't he?"

Pride kindled in her eyes. "An admiral."

Zar wondered what it was like to have that kind of relationship with a father. He had been close to his mother until her death, but he had never known the Cardassian who sired him during the occupation of Bajor, and for obvious reasons, he had never asked for details. However, sometimes he wondered what kind of person he would have been had his father not been a soldier from an invading army.

Perhaps not as lonely, he thought philosophically, and much less determined.

"He must be very proud of your accomplishments."

The gaze grew a little sadder. "I'm afraid he never had the opportunity to see me become captain." Janeway's voice grew a little husky, as Zar wished he had kept his big mouth shut. However, though it was obviously still a bit painful, her father's death must have occurred quite some time ago because in the next moment, she managed a smile. "I think he would have been proud, however."

"I'm sure he would," Zar said lamely, not knowing if it was appropriate, but needing to say something. He gripped his padd tightly. "Is there anything else, Captain?"

She lifted a brow, abruptly seeming amused as if recognizing his discomfort. "No," she said, not unkindly. "Keep me updated on your departure schedule."

"Yes, Captain," he said, and made his escape.

So many hidden depths to his commanding officer, he thought painfully as he exited the ready room onto the bridge. Depths that when he discovered them, made him like and respect her more.

Why did he have to be in love with her spouse?

Seven's heart filled with tenderness as she regarded her, knowing that she could never love anyone as much as she loved this single individual ... this woman who appeared so fragile at times, yet seemed comprised of sheer strength and iron will. Moving quietly, the young woman moved to the living area, bending over the sofa as she carefully eased the book from beneath the captain's fingers. However, she wasn't careful enough, and Janeway stirred, the blue-grey eyes opening, muzzy at first, and then clearing as she realized who had awakened her. She smiled lazily, reaching out to touch Seven's cheek with her fingertips.

"Hello, darling," she murmured. "I've been waiting up for you."

"So I see," Seven noted. "You fell asleep." She slipped her arms beneath the captain, one to support her shoulders, and the other beneath her knees, lifting her up in a strong embrace with only a minimum of effort.

Janeway made a brief sound of protest. "I'm perfectly capable of walking into the bedroom, you know," she said, frowning at the Borg.

Seven paused, eyeing her with slight amusement. "Do you want me to put you down?"

Janeway blinked, and then smiled, slipping her arms around the Borg's neck and snuggling down into her embrace. "Hmm, I wouldn't go that far." Brushing her lips over Seven's neck, she kissed her earlobe. "You're right, I enjoy it when you do this."

"Indeed," Seven said with a certain satisfaction. Appreciating the playful nibbles and kisses, the Borg carried her toward the bedroom. "You did not have to wait up for me, Kathryn."

Janeway nuzzled her cheek. "Yes, I did," she told her huskily.

Seven turned her head and their lips met, a gentle kiss at first, then deeper, more lingering. The Borg actually paused briefly in the doorway, to fully appreciate the oral exchange, before resuming her passage into the bedroom. The couple prolonged the kiss intently as Seven lowered the captain to the bed before easing down on top of her. In a warm embrace, they continued to kiss for several minutes, slow, melting kisses accompanied by caresses that gradually ... surprisingly ... gentled into more of a drowsy togetherness, rather than flaring into the passion they initially expected.

"Damn," Janeway whispered finally, looking up at Seven with a soft vulnerability. There was honest regret in her tone.

The Borg smiled down at her. "I am weary. You are weary. Sleep is naturally the more attractive option for us at the moment."

Janeway chuckled. "Are we getting old, love?"

"I think not. Away missions frequently require much of our energy. With two upcoming, there is twice as much for us to do."

"So there is," Janeway agreed ruefully. She exhaled audibly, almost a sigh, and then patted Seven affectionately on the shoulder. "We might as well get ready for bed."

Mildly amused, Seven rolled off her spouse, and together, they went into the ensuite where they made their preparations for the night, removing their uniforms and replicating fresh ones, placing them on the sink counter for the morning before taking the time for their other ablutions. Back in the bedroom, Seven let down her hair, unpinning the austere bun and allowing the thick, golden mane to spill down her back. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she examined the nails on her toes, noting critically that they would have to be trimmed. A tiny task, but one that was inconvenient. This physical maintenance was a result of her steady progress back to the Humanity she had lost to the Borg. Some of her body's adjustments were the type that she could easily live without. She frowned mightily as she reached for the clippers in her night stand and proceeded to attend to her feet. Janeway, already tucked between the sheets, reached over and put her hand on the small of the Borg's back.

"Darling?"

Seven blinked at the sudden warmth at the base of her spine and looked over. "Kathryn?"

"You seem ... annoyed." The captain's level eyes were shading to grey, not worried necessarily, but clearly focused on the Borg. "Is anything wrong?"

Seven considered the question as the clippers worried at a particularly tough part of the nail on her large toe. "No," she said. "I was merely thinking that becoming more Human has its disadvantages. I am weary after only a week of double shifts. There was a time my endurance and energy reserves were much greater than they are now. On Voyager, for example, I could work for periods of 80 hours or more before requiring regeneration."

Janeway lowered her head back to the pillow, cushioned on her forearm tucked beneath it. Her expression was very thoughtful. "That was before the removal of your abdominal implant. You absorbed your energy directly from the ship. Now, you're more Human than Borg, and subject to the same limitations the rest of us are."

Seven offered her spouse a wry look "I was unaware you acknowledged any physical limitations for yourself."

Janeway grinned, not the least bit embarrassed to accept such implication of her own failings. "I'm the captain. Besides, we're not talking about me." She sobered slightly. "It is just about your being Human now, isn't it, love? You're not experiencing anything out of the ordinary?"

"I am fine," Seven assured her, wishing that the Doctor had never told Janeway that Seven's being assimilated a second time and at such a young age the first time, could result in certain consequences impacting on the young woman's health over the passage of time. It occasionally made the captain more concerned than was necessary. "It is merely ... I was able to accomplish more when I was not subject to Human frailties such as fatigue." She put the clippers back in her night stand, and reclined on the smooth sheets, stretching out her lanky six foot frame beside her spouse. Pulling the blankets up to her chest and bringing down the lights with a brief order, she tilted her head. "It is more efficient to be Borg."

Janeway moved over until she was snug against Seven's side, nestling her head on her lover's shoulder. "Perhaps, but you have to admit, what you've lost physically is more than balanced by what you gain emotionally as a Human."

Seven slid her arm around the captain's torso and pulled her close, kissing Janeway's forehead. "That is true. I have gained far more than I have lost." She paused. "Still, it would be useful at times to be able to remain active for days without requiring sleep."

"It would be equally useful if we could fly," Janeway murmured sleepily. "Or could read minds. We are what we are, darling."

The Borg considered that. "What are we, Kathryn?" Seven was honestly curious as to what the captain's response would be.

A soft sigh was her only reply however, and Seven glanced down to see her partner had drifted off to sleep. Smiling, she rested her cheek against the soft mat of Janeway's hair, and closed her eyes, relaxing against the familiar cushion of her bed, allowing her own weariness to pull her down into comforting darkness.

She woke to Janeway's hands and mouth soft upon her, teasing her awake and drawing her from unconsciousness to growing arousal. She made a sound, surprise and desire combining as she felt the tip of the captain's tongue trace a delicate trail around her left nipple, and she brought her hands up to tangle in the shock of auburn hair, holding Janeway's head to her.

"Kathryn," she whispered, her lips drawing back from her teeth in a pleased smile.

Janeway hummed quietly in response, but didn't interrupt what she was doing, moving over to Seven's other breast, offering it the same loving attention. Seven inhaled deeply, shivering as the sensation rippled through her, tingles radiating from each nipple. The captain's own breasts brushed over her abdomen, the firm points dragging tantalizingly against Seven's skin as Janeway's body flexed and moved in her lovemaking, weight shifting to her knees so that she could bring her hands into play over the Borg's hips and thighs, urging them apart. Seven obeyed quickly, spreading her legs wide and bending her knees as the captain settled between them, tracing a delicate path down her stomach before her warm breath flowed over Seven's intimate region, making her cry out softly in anticipation.

Then there was the tender touch of Janeway's mouth, soft and sweet upon Seven, a long, slow, agonizingly aching stroke of tongue from just below her moist opening to the apex of her triangle. The Borg exhaled in a rush, a groan of demand and delight, and the caress was repeated, another long, lingering lick of passionate precision.

"Oh, Kathryn." Seven could barely think, finding it hard to even breathe with any regularity. It was so easy for her partner to strip away all her defenses, to remove her intellect with just a touch, and leave only the basic Human need and want. She quivered as Janeway altered the stimulation, circling the center of Seven's pleasure, prodding it with the tip of her tongue as if to encourage more sensitivity, then fluttering over it with restrained skill. Seven could feel the captain's palms resting on the inner skin of her thighs, spreading her partner open as far as she could, and when the tongue suddenly speared into her, the young woman bucked and cried out. Janeway did it again, then went back to teasing her nodule, manipulating it with more firmness now, hastening the tempo to increase the sensation.

Seven removed her left hand from the captain's head, feeling her body slip beyond her conscious control. Reaching above her head, she wrapped her fingers around a metallic bar, gripping it tightly as the captain continued her assault on her senses. Janeway's hair was soft around her other hand, slipping between her fingers, and Seven had to force herself not to tug on it encouragingly as joy seared along her nerve endings.

For too long, she remained in this plateau of pleasure, the captain keeping her suspended, before finally, Seven felt one of Janeway's long, elegant fingers enter her, slipping slowly into the heat and moisture, pushing deeply inside until it brushed over that spot within her. Another digit probed at the other orifice, urging it open, then entering with exquisite care so that the Borg felt filled by her partner, completely possessed by her.

Climax did not lift her up so much as it descended upon her, shuddering through her body with the strength of a tidal wave, the young woman unable to resist the overwhelming sensation any longer. Metal squealed in protest as it was twisted out of shape, and from the Borg's mouth, a sound of complete surrender and ecstasy was released, a name that meant everything in this incredible moment of physical pleasure.

"Kathryn!"

Drifting in the languid afterglow, Seven opened her eyes to find her partner had crawled up on top of her, the blue-grey gaze regarding her with fond amusement. The Borg smiled and let go of the metal bar so that she could cup the captain's cheek with her palm, taking care with the mesh.

"Kathryn," she said huskily, completely vulnerable and open in this moment of bliss.

"Darling, Annika," Janeway said, her voice that warm, reverberating trill that sent shivers down Seven's spine. "Did you really think I would let you go off on an away mission without a proper good-bye?"

"I ... had my doubts," Seven admitted, inciting a low laugh from the captain. She lifted her head, finding Janeway's lips, kissing her deeply, tasting her own mild flavor on the older woman's tongue.

Janeway settled comfortably onto the Borg, pressing the entire length of her body against Seven, yet despite the closeness as Seven slid her hands over her spouse in familiar patterns, there was nothing of Janeway's regular response to her touch. She altered the caresses to those of soothing adoration rather than desire. It was almost as if in satisfying her partner, Janeway was satisfied herself, not requiring anything further.

"Kathryn?"

"I'm fine, love," Janeway said between tender kisses. "I just ... want to ... hold you..."

Seven wrapped her arms around the captain and hugged her tightly. She knew Janeway was not entirely comfortable with sending the Borg out on away missions, even after all this time, and perhaps this was her way of dealing with it. In any event, the young woman was glad to indulge her, kissing her back with all the love and devotion she could transmit through her lips.

The computer announced the time, bringing up the lights to indicate morning watch, but neither woman moved or hesitated in their loving exchanges of lips and murmurs, or the slow strokes of their hands over each other. It was finally Seven who had to break the pleasant interlude, drawing back from her partner reluctantly.

"I have duty, Kathryn, as do you."

"I know," Janeway said, smiling briefly, though Seven thought it seemed a bit forced. The captain slipped off of her and sat up on the edge of the bed, the lovely length of her back displaying interesting muscles as she moved. Unable to resist, Seven reached out and drew her fingertips along the defined spine, featherlight on her skin.

"Kathryn, I will be all right." Her voice was soft. "It is only a scientific mission."

"I know," Janeway said, shooting a look over her shoulder. "We've worked this out long ago, darling. Away missions are very much a part of our profession, more so for you on this vessel than for me. I have every confidence in your ability to take care of yourself."

"Yet, you worry," Seven said simply.

Janeway hesitated. "I do," she agreed finally. "I always will. It doesn't change anything. We both have our respective jobs to do."

Seven wanted to pursue it, but she could tell from the way her partner immediately rose from the bed that she did not wish to continue the discussion. Perhaps it was just as well, the Borg thought as she watched Janeway stride easily into the ensuite. Seven could not alleviate the captain's reservations with words, any more than the captain could keep Seven from worrying when Janeway was involved in a situation that took her away from the Borg. For the couple, it was just a matter of doing what they had to do until they were together again. In this instance, it would be the captain with the harder task.

She would have to stay behind and wait.

The captain glanced down at her mostly uneaten breakfast, and forced herself to pick up her spoon, scooping up some cereal that she ate mechanically. She would have preferred toast and coffee, or nothing at all, but that would have been a clear indication of her unease. A part of her ... the logical, hard part, the captain part ... knew she was being completely irrational, that her fears for her partner were totally unfounded. If there was anyone on the ship who could handle herself in a dangerous situation, it was Seven of Nine. Janeway had been witness to that on more than one occasion, from a prison in an asteroid belt, to an ice field on a remote planet where death walked on all fours. Certainly, if Janeway were accompanying her, she would feel completely safe, knowing that Seven would protect her and keep her from harm.

But that was the problem, of course. She wasn't going with her. She would be staying on Millennium, presenting a command mask to her crew while inside, she grew more agitated and disturbed, knowing that her partner was involved in a potentially hazardous situation, and unable to do a thing about it.

Sometimes, Janeway thought darkly, being a starship captain was the worst thing in the universe.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes, darling?" Janeway lifted her head, hoping that she hadn't been so lost in her bleak musing she had missed part of the conversation.

"I must report to the science lab," Seven said, coming over to take a seat beside the captain, rather than her normal chair across from her. "I may not see you again before I leave."

Janeway nodded soberly. "I know." There would be no chance for any further personal farewells, in any event. Outside their quarters, they were not partners, but captain and crewmember. "Take care."

Seven stared at her, and then leaned forward to kiss her sweetly. "I love you, my Kathryn."

"I love you, too, darling." Janeway forced a smile. "Go on. It's not as if you're going away for a year. It'll only take a few days to finish the preliminary survey."

"Yes," Seven said. "Remember to eat regularly while I am gone."

"I will." Both knew it was a pledge Janeway was unlikely to keep.

Seven smiled faintly at her partner's immediate ... and completely insincere ... promise, then rose from her chair. Picking up the bag, she slung the strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. Janeway restrained herself until the Borg was almost there, the panel actually hissing open for Seven's passage, before she scrambled to her feet.

"Wait!"

Seven paused, turning back, and the captain flew into her arms, clinging to her tightly.

"I know I'm being silly," Janeway muttered into the comfort of her partner's throat, surrendering completely to the warm embrace. "I just can't help it."

"Not at all," Seven said softly as she held her close, nuzzling into her hair. "You feel as I would if our positions were reversed. This is the first mission into unknown territory that either of us has been on since Voyager. The mission to the Ocampa homeworld was brief and uneventful. Preliminary away missions are far more risky."

"Be safe," Janeway whispered, feeling frail and absurd, but desperately needing this moment of weakness in her partner's arms. "Oh, my darling, please ... be safe."

"I will," Seven assured her.

Janeway lifted her head, and they kissed passionately, with all the depth and intensity one kiss could manage before the Borg finally released her spouse. Offering a final smile, she walked briskly away, confidence radiating in every stride, and the captain watched her go, hand on her chest, feeling rather like a character from one of the books she enjoyed, the delicate damsel left behind as her love strode off to battle. She was profoundly embarrassed to discover Zar, whose quarters were also on this deck, was standing near the turbolift at the end of the corridor. The first officer was not looking in the captain's direction, indicating a deep interest in the nearest bulkhead as the Borg joined him, but the very intensity of his regard of the blank wall was quite suspect. Undoubtedly, he had witnessed the melodramatic farewell between the women, and Janeway felt even more foolish, if that were at all possible.

She stepped back from the doorway, allowing it to slide shut, and returned to the dining nook, picking up her bowl of cereal and taking it over to the replicator where she recycled it. Then she moved into the bedroom, finishing her preparations for her duty shift before using the private turbolift access in the living area to go to her ready room.

She spent an hour catching up on her morning paperwork, and trying to avoid her first officer, until she was certain of her composure. When she finally went out to the bridge, she felt back in control, more confident in her ability to conceal her trepidation over her partner. Zar gave no indication he noticed anything out of the ordinary, his actions exactly as they were the day before, natural and competent.

Shortly before 1300 hours, he took his leave of the bridge after some last minute instructions from her, and the captain settled into her command chair, maintaining the role she was expected to fulfill while her crewmembers carried out their missions. The launch from Millennium was smooth, both delta shuttles away without wasting any time, one heading for the inner worlds of the star system near the coordinates where the vessel had taken up station keeping, while the other warped toward the spatial anomaly which was a few light years away. The Millennium would remain where it was, equal distance between the two as it prepared the heavy runabouts for the subsequent week long studies utilizing the science modules.

The captain kept an eye on that task taking place in two of the hangar decks, even as she carried out the regular duties required of her. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly, and she thought she should be a great deal more optimistic about things as the end of her duty shift rolled around. Unfortunately, she was then expected to return to her quarters where Seven wasn't, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

After leaving the bridge, she wandered down to deck twelve, stopping briefly outside the doors of the main lounge which had been redecorated under the aegis of Lt. Paris, resulting in an ambiance very similar to that of a station-side nightclub. She decided she wasn't in the mood for the kind of loud energy the Nexus boasted, and moved on, a vague thought of finding someplace quiet driving her, though she didn't know where that could be. It was almost an accident that she found herself outside the civilian lounge on deck seventeen.

She hadn't been to this part of the ship since before leaving Utopia Planitia, and she entered with some trepidation. If the crew lounge had been transformed so radically, she could only imagine what this lounge, which was left totally up to the civilian population to decorate as they wished, looked like. To her pleased surprise, however, she discovered it was very tasteful and subdued, far more to her liking than the crew lounge. The only new and unusual addition was a grand piano on a dais at the far end, at which an older gentleman quietly played some Chopin. A few of the tables were occupied, but no one offered more than a passing glance at her entrance, despite the fact it was unusual for senior Starfleet officers to visit the civilian areas of the ship, just as it was unusual for the civilian populace to find themselves on the upper decks. Apparently, the attitude was if the captain of the starship wanted to have a quiet drink in their lounge, she was more than welcome.

Unlike the facility five decks up, this was entirely a matter of serving one's self, and the captain programmed in a whiskey and soda in one of the large replicators lining one side of the room. She carried the glass over to a corner table, taking a seat and sipping her drink slowly, allowing the subtle buzz of the synthehol to settle the unpleasant edge of her nerves. The replicated beverage would provide her with all the relaxing benefits of the intoxicant, with none of the unfortunate side effects, including the depressant properties of the original.

"Captain?"

Janeway inhaled slowly. It seemed sheer providence that the only person on the ship whom she could tolerate seeing at the moment was the very person who had suddenly appeared next to her table.

"Kes," she said, lifting her glass. "Join me?"

"Thank you, Captain," the ship's counselor said, taking a seat opposite the captain. A diminutive woman, with shaggy blonde hair framing elven features containing deep blue eyes that seemed too large for her face, the Ocampa was one of the few people on Millennium whom Janeway could truly call a friend. Indeed, she had known the young woman even longer than Seven, having met her in the Delta Quadrant not long after Voyager had been transported there.

"You weren't looking for me, were you?" Janeway asked dryly.

Kes smiled faintly. "Actually, I find this a soothing place to be when things are tense.". She paused. "Is there a reason I should be looking for you?"

Janeway felt as if she had given too much away. "No, I have no need of a ship's counselor."

Kes chuckled. "Even if you did, I would know better than to attempt to approach you in that capacity." The dry tone caused the captain to flush and offer up a rather sheepish smile. The Ocampa tilted her head. "However, I can always be your friend, Captain."

Janeway inhaled. "That's true. You are one of my dearest friends, Kes." She studied her drink contemplatively. "It also occurs to me that considering the role you now play in Starfleet, and after all we've been through together, you're probably entitled to call me Kathryn by now."

Blinking, the young woman stared at her, obviously caught off guard. Of course, Kes wasn't really that young anymore, Janeway noted, feeling a certain surprise that she hadn't noticed it prior to this. The Ocampa were a short lived species, with a life span that lasted only nine years. With all that Kes had experienced in her evolution, it was entirely possible that she would greatly extend that, but at the moment, she looked to be in her late thirties, maybe even in her early forties.

Janeway's age.

The captain shook her head. She knew the woman facing her had only been alive for nine years. It was just one more amazing thing in the multitude she had encountered since joining Starfleet.

"All right ... Kathryn," Kes said, a touch uncertainly. "Thank you."

Janeway shrugged, slightly embarrassed, not for the first time, that her rank made the use of her name such an unusual and awkward thing. On the other hand, it granted the mere utterance of it ... particularly by a certain Borg in the throes of passion ... a certain intimacy and power. She appreciated that aspect in a way that she did not care to examine too closely.

"So why are you so ... was 'tense' the word you used?"

Kes shook her head. "It involves Tom. He and I ... we're embarking on the initial stages of what might become a romantic relationship."

Janeway lifted her chin, surprised. She hadn't seen that one coming, but on the other hand, she hadn't really kept up on her crewmembers during her time on Earth. Kes and Tom had served together on the Enterprise, which had obviously created a bond of some kind. That bond continued to evolve with their new posting to Millennium.

"I see. Second thoughts?"

"Third and fourth," Kes admitted. "I like Tom a great deal, but is it fair to become involved with him when I have no idea what lies ahead ... how long I might live? He says that it's not a concern of his, but it is of mine."

Janeway nodded soberly. "I understand." She was aware that, to a certain extent, such concern also applied to her relationship with Seven. Though the young woman was fifteen years younger than the captain, her assimilation had left deep scars and caused certain damage to her body, though little was visibly apparent on casual inspection. The captain remembered how shocked she felt when the Doctor had passed on that piece of information to the couple not long after they had been married. It was not something either woman dwelt upon, but it did come up occasionally, particularly for Janeway. She took another sip from her drink. "You know what you would tell me, Kes. It's the time you have together, not the time you don't."

Kes smiled. "I suppose you're right."

"Tom's a big boy," Janeway added. "He's not a fool, either. If he says it doesn't bother him, then I'm sure he means it." She paused. "Let me try something Seven is very good at when it comes to me. If your positions were reversed, and it was Tom with the uncertain future, would you disregard the opportunity to love him?"

Kes stared at her. "No, of course not." She smiled suddenly. "You know what's truly ironic, Cap-- Kathryn?"

"What?"

"I believe it was Sek who taught Seven that trick."

Janeway laughed, thinking of the Ocampa's previous holographic incarnation. "The more we learn," she said idly, raising her glass.

"The less we know," Kes finished for her. She tilted her head. "What of you, Kathryn? What led you to this part of the ship."

"The ambiance," the captain said dryly.

"Ah," Kes said, and waited.

Janeway hesitated, then exhaled audibly. "I ... worry about Seven ... when she's away."

Kes nodded. "You didn't on Earth?"

Janeway considered that. "No." She lifted a brow. "Maybe I should have, considering what happened with Section 31, but, no, I didn't. On a starship, however ... it's just very difficult. This is the first potentially hazardous away mission for either of us since leaving Voyager. The last one Seven was on ended up blinding her." She paused, the memory a harsh one, her throat closing as she studied the table top. "She's a formidable individual, a capable Starfleet officer, and an accomplished scientist. I have no reason to be so concerned. Certainly, as captain, I cannot grant her an importance on this vessel beyond that of who she is, regardless of our personal relationship."

"Nonetheless, she's also the person you love," Kes said sympathetically. "No matter how professional you are, Kathryn, that will always take precedence."

"Even as her spouse, I have to grant her more credit than I'm doing."

"I think you are granting her every credit. It's natural to worry about loved ones. It's ... Human. Furthermore, you're educated in the realities of away missions and the life of a Starfleet officer. You can't ignore it." The counselor paused. "However, you can prevent it from controlling you."

"Can I?" Janeway was troubled as she lifted her glass to find it empty. "I'm not so sure."

"I am," Kes said, her gaze steady. "You are a most formidable individual, yourself, Kathryn Janeway. Would Seven have been won by anyone unable to believe in her?"

"I hope not." Despite herself, Janeway smiled.

"I would absolutely hope not."

Behind him, at Ops, Ensign Tarn worked studiously, her young face serious and intent. Zar knew that this might be the young woman's last shot at fitting into the role she was expected to play on Millennium. The captain was on the verge of requesting that Zar rotate Tarn back to the beta or gamma shift, placing someone else with more experience on the bridge for the more crucial alpha shift. He really didn't want to do that. Tarn had the intelligence, talent and ability to do the job. It was just a matter of getting her to believe in herself. He thought that perhaps the young woman had never really failed before, living with the complete and total confidence of ignorant youth. Her personnel file had revealed someone who came from a highly respected family on a planet with a paradisaical type of ecosystem. Accomplishments came easy, with Tarn succeeding wildly at everything she had ever attempted, including her attendance at Starfleet Academy. Yet, one learned from one's mistakes far more than one's successes, and for some reason, she had managed not to make any significant ones. It had been her many and varied abilities that had carried her so far, of course, but there had also been a tremendous amount of timing and sheer, unadulterated luck involved.

That luck ran out one day in a park in San Francisco when young Tarn made several key errors in judgment. The first consisted of badly misreading a situation and the people involved. The second came in the form of assuming that because she had things completely under control until this point, they would always be under her control. The third... Well, the third came in the form of a redheaded starship captain named Kathryn Janeway. Zar could only imagine where Tarn's sense of confidence ... based on such a faulty perception of her life to that point ... had been after the incident. It wasn't even that the encounter had been so catastrophic in itself. It was simply the power and enlightenment of the lesson taught by a woman who knew how to drive home a message better than anyone Zar had ever met.

Tarn had received that message loud and clear, and it had shaken her to the very core of everything she had ever believed about herself. The first officer thought that if it had come earlier in her life, the girl would have adapted easier. Her momentum to that point carried her through the last few months at the Academy, and allowed her to graduate with honors, but it was on the Millennium that the first serious cracks and chips in her personal foundation began to appear. It was Zar's job to find a way to help her rebuild herself, this time, basing it on something solid and real, rather than on what was primarily illusion.

"Dr. Spencer, how long have you had this interest in alien archaeology?"

The voice was Seven's, and Zar had to force himself not to turn around. She and the other woman were seated near the rear of the cockpit, Seven at the engineering station, Dr. Spencer just behind her at a console where the medical officer covered the science station. As he stared resolutely forward, his eyes pinned to his instruments on the helm, the first officer was hard pressed to shake the image he had witnessed earlier of the science officer and the captain saying their farewells in the door of their quarters. Of course he had known they were married, but that was the first truly unguarded demonstration of their relationship that he had seen to this point, probably because they had been completely unaware they had an audience.

The achingly devoted expression he had seen in Janeway's features, the undeniable adoration with which Seven looked down at her, the sheer aura of love and passion that radiated from them as they stood together in the doorway, embracing tightly... Seeing them in that display of unexpected vulnerability was like a dash of cold water to his senses, forcing him to perceive both women in a completely different manner than he had until that moment.

Seven wasn't just married to someone else, she was in love with that someone to the exclusion of anything and anyone else. The captain simply didn't have a younger, exceptionally beautiful spouse; she was bonded to someone for whom she would give up everything if it was required, including her Starfleet career, her command, her ship. It was almost beyond love, beyond marriage ... it was a unification, a joining of hearts and minds that nothing could sunder. Zar really hadn't understood that before, but after seeing that embrace, it seemed his heart finally, irrevocably, got the message, despite how much it hurt.

"Approaching the outer ionosphere of the planet," Seven announced, interrupting the first officer's train of thought.

Zar inhaled deeply and straightened in his seat. "All hands, prepare for entry into the planetary biosphere."

"Main escort is maintaining formation," Tarn announced. "The other two fighters are peeling off."

Zar sighed. It was important to involve the new fighter squads in missions, including them whenever possible, but it felt excessive to have three fighters shepherding them to the planet. One ship, piloted by Ensign Marcos, would escort them all the way to the surface where it would also land, while the other two would fly patrol in orbit around the planet until the team had landed and set up camp. Once the away mission officially began, they would return to Millennium until it was time to escort the shuttle back. Zar didn't think all this escort was particularly useful, but he supposed it gave the pilots some actual flight time, and that was always important. It also provided the away team with an extra body in the form of Marcos, who would remain on the surface with them.

He turned his attention back to his own helm. The intention was to do several passes over the largest set of ruins which had initially attracted Millennium's attention, mapping the region extensively. Then they would settle on a landing site and set up a base camp for those who would subsequently follow. It wasn't their purpose to study the ruins in any detail ... that would be left to the runabout with the xeno-archaeologists. It was their job to scout the terrain, to determine there were no surprises that the ship's long range sensors had not detected. That was what made preliminary away missions so exciting ... and so dangerous.

Zar supposed he didn't blame Seven for wanting to come along, even though biometrics was not her specialty. A spatial anomaly was studied with instruments from the interior of a vessel. Planetary missions required a scientist to get her hands dirty, to walk around on the actual surface of where she would be working. There was a certain sense of adventure to it that space missions didn't quite match.

The two security officers, seated in the rear of the cockpit, peered out the side windows in fascination as the shuttle descended through the white mist of clouds, revealing the curve of the green and blue planet beneath them. It was M-class, quite Earth-like, and temperate in climate. There were no lingering traces of radiation, and the ruins appeared to be pre-industrial, perhaps an agricultural society. Why the civilization had died out, however, leaving no traces of intelligent life on the planet, remained unknown, and it was hoped that the ruins would reveal the answer to the mystery.

After several passes over the city large enough to have housed up to ten thousand in its heyday, the Delta Sky descended to a clearing located near the center of the ruins, settling onto its landing struts which bit deep into the layer of top soil deposited over a more solid surface beneath. Possibly paving stones of some sort, Zar mused as he shut down the ship's engines. Nearby, the fighter also landed, its cockpit facing in the other direction. For several moments, Seven and Dr. Spencer ran extensive bio-analysis scans, making sure that there were no viral or bacterial agents in the atmosphere or surrounding bio-matter that could prove harmful. Meanwhile, Zar secured the shuttle, and Ensign Tarn contacted the Millennium, updating the ship on their current status. The security officers, Prell and Tannic, were checking their equipment which included type-two compression rifles, their faces somber and impassive.

Zar eyed them briefly, aware that Ro would have assigned very competent officers to such a mission, but still wishing he knew them a little better on a personal level. It would make it easier to gauge how much to trust them in varied situations.

He glanced over at Dr. Spencer. Barely into her thirties, the young woman was the xeno-practitioner on board the ship, the doctor who specialized in the care of alien physiology ... alien meaning anyone not of Terran genealogy ... and who held degrees in Cardassian, Bajoran, Vulcan and Klingon general medicine. Golden brown hair framed her intelligent features, and her dark eyes were focused intently on Seven as the two discussed the readings from their scans. Zar realized abruptly that she was a very attractive woman, and he wondered why he had never noticed it before.

"Commander?"

Zar looked over at Tarn. "Go ahead."

"Millennium requests that there be another update once we begin to set up the base camp, rather than wait until this evening."

Zar blinked, wondering why the captain was being so stringent, and if it had anything to do with the fact her spouse was on the away team. Then he decided that since this was the first preliminary away mission for Millennium, not to mention involving Tarn and Marcos, new Academy graduates, it made sense that Janeway would be a little more 'by the book' than usual.

"Inform them that we will check in at that time, and again prior to night watch."

"Commander, all readings indicate that it is safe to exit the Delta Sky," Seven said.

Zar dipped his head. "Excellent. Contact Mr. Marcos and have him meet us outside. Seven, you and Ensign Tarn are with me. Dr. Spencer, remain behind to monitor our progress."

The first officer noticed the look of dissatisfaction that crossed the doctor's face, but that couldn't be helped. Someone had to stay with the ships in the event that things were not as placid as they seemed. If Janeway was paying particular attention to the regulations on Millennium, she undoubtedly expected him to do the same on the planet's surface. Once the crew was more used to working with each other, more familiar with everyone's quirks and limitations, then certain protocols could be relaxed.

The security officers were the first outside, stepping down onto the spongy turf lightly, weapons at the ready as they fanned out to cover the area. Zar knew such an approach to away missions was partially a leftover from the Dominion War. Starfleet officers were far more aware of their surroundings, and more apt to expect danger, even in the most peaceful of surroundings.

The away team followed, waiting briefly for Marcos to join them, and proceeded across the clearing, phaser in one hand, their tricorder in the other. The air was humid, thick with the scents of vegetation and earth, and a bit warmer than was comfortable for many Humanoid species. Zar found it quite invigorating. Around the clearing, which appeared to be a central plaza of some sort, the remaining structures were covered in vegetation, dotted with blossoms in a variety of colors, offering a plethora of competing fragrances. There were bits of movement, flashes of silver and dark, which the tricorders revealed to be insects and small animals of some sort.

"Mammals, reptiles, typical fauna for this type of planet," Seven said at one point.

Zar glanced over at her. "Anything of particular note?"

"The winged creatures possess a toxin that could prove damaging to certain Humanoid nervous systems under unprotected circumstances." Seven studied her tricorder intently. "However, it is nothing that our standard inoculations cannot resist."

Zar nodded, and they continued to scan the region, moving over to the closest building. This close, they could see it was made of stone fitted together in unique patterns, a hexagon shape rather than square or rectangular. It was repeated in other buildings, and undoubtedly provided a clue as to the type of people the builders were, but further investigation would have to wait.

"There is no indication of any larger predators in the area," Seven added. "However, long range scans do detect animal dens deeper in the city."

"They're probably nocturnal predators," Zar said. "We'll set up a perimeter for the evening."

The first officer fell behind a little, where Tarn and Marcos were walking side by side. They were a little too close, he noted critically, bunched up when they should be covering more ground.

"Spread out," he instructed, and the pair of young officers abruptly put more distance between themselves. "We want full coverage. Are any energy readings detected?"

Tarn looked at him, surprised. "Are you expecting any, Commander?"

He flashed her a tight grin. "We won't know until we check, Ensign. Never assume. Just because it looks primitive, doesn't mean it was."

"Yes, sir," she said, hastily readjusting her tricorder.

There wasn't any form of advanced technology. Zar had already scanned for that, but it didn't hurt to remind the youngsters not to take things at face value. Marcos was also adapting his tricorder to scan within a higher bandwidth. Sometimes, Zar wondered just what the Academy was teaching these kids nowadays.

He conveniently forgot that on his first away mission, he hadn't set his tricorder to scan for anything below a certain size, in the belief that large predators were the primary danger. It was a minor mistake that resulted in a tiny lizard taking a nasty nip out of his knee when he stumbled across its nest. For these officers, how they conducted themselves in alien surroundings wasn't yet second nature to them, each action still having to be consciously considered and implemented. It wasn't surprising that some things were forgotten in the tension and excitement, but that didn't mean they shouldn't feel stupid when it was pointed out to them.

He took another look at the security officers who continued to walk gingerly through the ruins as if they were deep in the heart of enemy territory. In a way, that wasn't much better than how the new officers were handling the away mission, and he drifted over to Prell.

"At ease, Lieutenant, don't fire at anything before you know what it is you're firing at."

"Yes, sir," the Bolian replied shortly.

"Heavy stun only."

"Aye, sir," the security officer said, adjusting the setting on his compression rifle, which had been set at maximum. Zar should have specified the setting before they left the shuttle, he knew, but he had forgotten how quick security officers were on the trigger, particularly after the Dominion War. He wondered how long it would be before Starfleet officers were used to the simple, straightforward, scientific missions again, rather than always expecting an ambush by an unknown enemy.

Of course, it never hurt to be cautious, he reminded himself. One never knew what could happen on an away mission. Or when.

What had made this civilization extinct? she wondered as she surveyed the area. Had the Borg been through here, plucking the inhabitants from their world, leaving too few to successfully propagate the species? It seemed unlikely, considering these ruins appeared pre-industrial. Unless the species had been telepathic, the Borg would find little distinction in such a primitive culture. Nor did Seven have any memories pertaining to this particular world.

Had it been biological, a series of plagues perhaps? If so, there was no longer any indication of it, nor was it the sort that was harmful to the Starfleet officers with their advanced medical protection. A biological agent also didn't explain why there had been no survivors. It was rare that a plague completely wiped out a people ... a civilization, perhaps ... but not an entire species. Of course, without knowing what kind of beings once lived here, it would be hard to say what diseases they would be susceptible to.

Perhaps a solar flare, or meteors raining from the heavens? Yet, there was no indication of that type of catastrophic end. The buildings were damaged of course, but it appeared from visual assessment to be a result of the ravages of time, not an environmental disaster. It was a mystery, and while Seven had not initially been impressed with mysteries after being severed from the Collective, she had developed a fondness for them in later years. Solving them provided such a delightful satisfaction, regardless of what method it took to uncover the secrets ... even if it involved a shortcut. Kathryn had once told her that she was the sort who would read the final chapter of an Agatha Christie novel before ever trying the book. Seven supposed that was significant in some manner, but since she had no idea who this Christie person was, she could not respond to the comment.

"Lieutenant?"

Seven turned her head to regard Marcos who had his arms full of compressed habitat packs. "Ensign?"

"Is there anywhere specific we should set up?" Seven noticed that the ensign had removed his flight jacket, leaving him clad in a tank top that showed off a muscular build. His skin was brown, glistening with sweat in the humid, jungle air, and while the Borg's tastes tended to compact redheads, she had enough life experience to appreciate the fact that to other Humans, he was aesthetically pleasing in both looks and build. Tarn certainly thought so. The young operations officer had difficulty keeping her eyes off him as she worked at the communications array, updating the team's progress with Millennium. Seven noticed that Dr. Spencer and Tannic, who were setting up a sensor grid around the space designated for the camp, also gave Marcos more than a passing glance now and again as the young man walked across the plaza.

"The living habitats should be set up around the perimeter," Seven instructed. "They will surround a central work area."

"Aye, sir," he said, moving off to place the packs in the appropriate areas.

Seven returned to the shuttle where she retrieved more equipment from the rear compartment. The sun was sinking on the horizon, casting long shadows across the ground and the team hoped to be finished before full darkness. Discovering that there was indeed paving stone beneath them, they had used their phaser rifles to burn the debris and top soil away, leaving them with a flat, even surface with which to work.

The water gushing from the broken fountain was pronounced pure enough to drink. Rising from some natural spring set deep within the ground beneath the city, its availability and purity meant the Starfleet officers would not have to carry it in from outside. Certainly, Seven had been on less comfortable away missions, and she decided she was very satisfied with these arrangements. She knew Lt. Wildman, who would be heading up the follow up mission, would also be pleased.

Once the living habitats ... small, one or two person domes that expanded into shape from their initial packages when activated ... had been put in place, two large structures, intended for field labs and a makeshift mess, were set up in the center. Once they had set, Seven immediately moved into the nearest one containing the portable food replicators. She programmed a substantial meal for the rest of the team who had been working hard and were glad to break for the night.

Zar smiled widely at her as he entered the dome and took a seat eagerly at the table she had set up. "If I believed you were willing to do the cooking on a regular basis, I would assign you to all my away missions."

Seven lifted an eyebrow at him, but did not respond to his gentle teasing or compliment, beyond a faint smile. She had grown very used to his sense of humor over the past month or so, encountering it often in the Nexus when she indulged in social interaction with her crewmates. The other officers, however, looked disconcerted and vaguely uneasy as they entered the dome, directed to their chairs by the Borg.

"Something wrong, Ensign?" Zar asked Marcos as the young pilot stared at the pasta put in front of him as if never having seen food before.

"I, uh ... no, sir," he said. "I just thought ... I didn't think we'd be eating this well on an away mission."

"Anytime a person can get away from field rations, they should thank their lucky stars," Tannic said, digging into her spaghetti with relish. "This is fantastic, Lieutenant."

"You have a remarkable touch around a replicator, Lt. Hansen," Dr. Spencer offered in an approving tone.

"I enjoy preparing meals," Seven said, though she was greatly pleased at the response. Cooking was one of her favorite hobbies, and being complimented on it somehow meant far more than any compliments directed at her scientific abilities. Perhaps because her scientific abilities came naturally to her, while she had been forced to learn food preparation through trial and error.

"Isn't KP duty beneath..." Tarn began, and then trailed off, appearing sorry that she had spoken.

Zar eyed her narrowly, though there was some amusement on his boney features.

"You weren't about to say such a task is beneath a chief science officer, were you, Ensign?"

Startled at the thought, Seven regarded the young woman, realizing from her flush that the first officer had guessed correctly. "I do not understand such perception," the Borg said honestly, remembering how the crew of Voyager had sometimes treated Neelix with less respect than he deserved. Certainly, he had found far more appreciation for his skills on board the Enterprise. "Nutrition is crucial for continued survival. Good food, prepared properly, results in heightened morale among those who consume it, yet I am often told that it is considered a 'lesser' task. I do not understand why since few Federation citizens are capable of programing a replicator to take advantage of its full capabilities. Even fewer are able to prepare meals from organic materials."

"It's a subtle prejudice," Zar said. He buttered a roll with every evidence of enjoyment. "Perhaps there is a belief that anyone can learn to cook if they wanted to, yet when you encounter truly unique and well prepared food, you realize what a fallacy that is. It takes incredible skill and talent to accomplish this sort of masterpiece in the middle of a jungle on an away mission."

"Why would anyone learn to cook in this day and age?" Tarn asked hesitantly. She wasn't trying to be snide, Seven realized. The young ensign was honestly confused.

"For many reasons," Seven said, not prepared to share the most important one which involved her spouse. "Sharing food is a very basic Human social interaction. It is one of the first I encountered after leaving the Collective. As a result, I subsequently learned as much as I could about it, since eating, itself, was not a natural behavior pattern for me."

"My mother loves to cook," Marcos piped up. "You should try her souvlaki, Seven."

"I would enjoy that," the Borg remarked politely as she felt a small smile touch the corner of her lips. She had not added that the most intriguing thing about her research into food, its sharing and its preparation, was how it softened the barriers between people, allowing for further understanding and tolerance. She was not unaware of the rumors flying about the lower decks about her, nor was she insensitive to how most new officers reacted while in her presence, particularly when it came to her Borgness. Nothing was as quick at making people more comfortable with her than discovering she did something so natural ... so Human ... as cooking.

Prior to this, Marcos had always referred to her as Lt. Hansen. His voice had been filled with odd inflections indicating fear and trepidation, and he acted very uneasy around her, particularly while working in the astrometrics lab during his shipside rotation. Now, suddenly, he was treating her as a fellow crewmember, respectful of her rank, but no longer frightened by her Borgness. It was all because he had seen her with new eyes, with a new perception. Seven prepared food. His mother prepared food. His mother was not a threat, therefore Seven must not be a threat.

Seven made a note to discuss this with Kathryn to find out if her assessment of the situation was correct.

The rest of the meal heightened the sense of companionship, with the team becoming quite loquacious before it was over. Zar even unbent enough to reveal a little about his background, including what it was like growing up looking as he did in a Federation colony, as well as his adventures at Starfleet Academy. Meanwhile, Dr. Spencer spoke of her childhood in New Hampshire, and Marcos expressed his feelings for Greece, and growing up by the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean. It was a very congenial evening, and when they retired to their respective habitats for the night ... with the exception of the security officers who set up a precautionary watch in addition to the alarm grid ... Seven was quite satisfied that her meal preparation had brought the away team closer together, thus making them a more efficient unit.

However, as she crawled into the Starfleet issued bedding, she found herself missing her partner with an painful intensity. Lying together in the warm darkness, they could discuss Seven's perception of the evening, their conversation sparking new insights and understanding for the younger woman. Alone, Seven's sense of accomplishment lessened, and she curled up in a ball, loneliness a ache in her midsection. She and her spouse had spent few nights apart during their marriage, and of those, even fewer were voluntary. She didn't like having a bed to herself, and she wished that she had some way to contact her partner, for no other reason than to wish her good-night, to tell her that she loved her ... and that she missed her.

She wondered if Janeway was feeling the same. She suspected she was. A certain part of her devoutly hoped she was.

Forcing herself to concentrate on several relaxation techniques the captain had taught her, Seven finally managed to clear her mind enough to drift off, though her dreams were filled with dark scenarios where she was lost and alone, unable to find her spouse, knowing Janeway was just around the corner, just beyond that wall, but never able to reach her. It made for a restless night, and when the first beams of sunlight penetrated the morning haze, slipping into her habitat to fall across her sheets, she was more than eager to roll out of the tangled bedding and start her day. Concentrating on scientific pursuits made it easier to be without her spouse, and she made a note to not volunteer for this type of duty any more, despite how much she enjoyed planetary missions. It occurred to her that she enjoyed the outdoors most when her spouse was there to complain frequently, and at length, about its disadvantages.

Breakfast was a matter of every officer for himself, taking turns at the replicator to program a meal, though Marcos did suggest in his most charming voice that he would be extremely grateful if Seven would program his. At which point, both Tarn and Spencer teased him so unmercifully about being technologically challenged, that he did not repeat the suggestion, and confused, Seven decided not to oblige him. After they had finished eating, and Zar had transmitted a updated status report to Millennium, he, Seven, and Prell took their tricorders to do another reconnaissance of the area, this time to choose the most interesting sites for the science team to examine since they would only have a limited amount of time to do the follow up excavation. Marcos, Tarn, Spencer and Tannic remained at the base camp, cataloguing the samples taken the day before.

Prell took the lead, the Bolian pushing through the foliage as they moved deeper into the city. Swarms of insects danced around their heads, not biting because of the repellent they had prudently put on before leaving the camp, but still making a nuisance of themselves, buzzing around ears and eyes and mouth. Frequently, Seven had to shake her head to dislodge them, to disrupt their pattern in a futile attempt to make them leave. It was a part of nature that she did not appreciate, and she could easily understand why the captain so intensely disliked this aspect of outdoor activities.

They were working their way through a low building, examining the carvings uncovered after Prell had sliced through a particularly stubborn tangle of vines, when they heard sudden explosions and shots coming from the general vicinity of the city plaza. It was unmistakably phaser fire, interspersed with some sort of heavier disrupter blasts.

Startled, Zar and Seven glanced at each other, and then the first officer slapped his comm badge.

"Zar to base camp," he said urgently. "Report."

There was no answer, and Zar looked particularly grim. "The channel's being jammed," he said, drawing out his phaser. "It's some kind of ambush."

Seven also drew her phaser, clipping the tricorder to the fastening on her uniform. The pack in which she had been storing samples was left on the ground, knowing that they had to travel quickly, and that she could easily retrieve it later ... assuming there was a later.

Their response was already too late. She had barely straightened from doing this when a flash of light erupted from the underbrush, catching her high on the chest and slamming her down onto the ground.

Apparently, the ambush had been planned for more than the campsite.

You need to be more mature than this, she told herself sternly. It astounded her that as their marriage progressed, the less easily Janeway adapted to their separations. It was almost as if the longer Seven was a part of her life, the more necessary she became to it. Janeway didn't like to think of herself as being so dependent on another person, yet she could not deny that she had grown very used to having the young woman around, not merely as her lover and spouse, but simply at having her presence involved with the every day aspects of life. When that was missing, it was as if a part of Janeway became damaged, like a lack of fresh lubricant in a machine. The captain could still function, but it wasn't nearly as smooth or as easy as when Seven was on the ship, only a comm badge signal away.

She hated not having Seven on board her vessel, Janeway realized. It felt wrong, in a way that she perhaps shouldn't feel considering they were both Starfleet officers. There was no question that Seven was the one way to bypass the captain's defenses. She was Janeway's most profound weakness.

And greatest joy, her little voice prodded her. If you didn't love her so much, you wouldn't miss her so when she's away.

The captain certainly couldn't argue with that, and as she rolled out of her cold, lonely bed, she hoped that her duties would keep her busy enough that she wouldn't remain as conscious of her spouse's absence as she was while in their quarters. A quick shower later, Janeway pulled on her freshly replicated uniform, and then wasted several minutes trying to find her pips ... she had no idea why they went missing so easily without Seven there to keep track of them ... before finally replicating new ones. Out in the living area, there was no breakfast waiting for her, nor fresh brewed coffee filling the air with its intoxicating fragrance. There was no kiss good morning, no one to talk to about her upcoming day, and no one to share with her what was going on in the science section.

You'd better keep that girl very happy, Katie, her little voice told her wryly as the captain programmed some toast and coffee into the replicator. There's no way you could live like this for very long should she decide you're not worth the trouble any more.

Janeway made a face of agreement as she sipped her coffee, choking down her toast, more so because she knew she had to eat than from any kind of appetite. She was relieved to step off the turbolift into her ready room, still carrying her half finished mug of coffee, because on deck one, it wasn't so constantly apparent who wasn't present.

She walked out onto the bridge, discovering that she was a little early for her shift. That didn't prevent her from checking with the comm to see if either of the missions had sent an early update, even though she knew it would still be dark in the part of the planet the away team had set down. However, there had been no new communication, and she made the officer covering Ops promise to inform her the second the morning update came in.

The turbolift door hissed open and the alpha shift filtered out to start their day, relieving the gamma shift who headed off, laughing and chattering, undoubtedly headed to the Nexus for dinner. Janeway, reminded of another concern beyond the current away mission, motioned for Lt. Commander Ro, her tactical officer and acting first officer in Zar's absence, to join her in the ready room.

"Yes, Captain?" Ro said once the two women were inside the confines of Janeway's office.

Janeway took a seat behind her desk, gesturing toward the chair opposite her. Ro hesitated, and then sank down into it, sitting alertly, shoulders square, her dark eyes focused on the captain. The Bajoran was a dynamic woman of barely restrained energy, her every movement effused with a sort of deadly grace. She had been the obvious choice for the position of security chief when Janeway discovered her old friend, Tuvok, had refused the position.

"Paryk," Janeway said shortly, referring to the young man currently working as the ship's resident bartender. It was a role that hadn't existed when Millennium left the Alpha Quadrant. The charming young rogue had stowed away, and it was Ro's job to make sure he was what he said he was: a bartender with a sense of adventure, as opposed to being something a great deal more threatening.

"So far, it's on the up and up," Ro reported. "I've talked with several people who served on or near Mars, and visited the bar he claimed to have worked at. They all remember him. The details he's given of his homeworld are also accurate."

"They would also check out if he was an enemy agent," Janeway said seriously.

Ro nodded, allowing the point. "Yes, they would. It's conceivable that he could have been placed in the bar on Mars to pick up information from the patrons who worked at Utopia Planitia. It's also conceivable that he then would have been instructed by his superiors to stow away on Millennium before it left."

Janeway eyed her narrowly. "But you don't think so."

Ro leaned forward. "No." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "It's too complicated and uncertain, Captain. A Romulan or Breen agent would be more ... subtle. They would have come on board as a civilian engineer or a technician, someone less suspicious, as well as possessing a way to transmit any information they have back to the Alpha Quadrant. A Dominion shapeshifter, meanwhile, would have simply replaced someone who already belonged here, an individual without close ties, taking care to avoid being the center of attention where something might be noticed."

"What about Section 31?" Janeway asked sharply. Her last encounter with the covert Intelligence group still rankled, leaving her with a sense of unfinished business, particularly when it came to Seven of Nine.

"You and I both know if they wanted to infiltrate Millennium's crew, they wouldn't use a civilian bartender," Ro said soberly. "It would be a Starfleet officer with all the necessary clearance and access to sensitive areas. Someone who wouldn't draw any attention at all."

Janeway stared at her, then finally looked away. "Damn," you're right."

"I'll keep my eye on him, but so far, Paryk seems to be exactly who he says he is. He's too clumsy and obvious to be anything else in my professional opinion."

"What about the crewmember who helped him fool the ship's internal security?" Janeway knew that had irritated the Bajoran as much as it had the captain.

Ro exhaled audibly. "It appears Commander Zar's suspicions were correct. There was an addition made to the personnel files not long after we left Utopia Planitia, and not long after the renovations on the Nexus began."

"So you knew about the renovations."

Ro paused, appearing vaguely uncomfortable. "The final decor of the ship's main crew lounge has always been at the discretion of the captain of the ship, not that of Starfleet Administration," she said evasively.

"The discretion of the captain," Janeway repeated. "Who usually knows about it as it is going on."

Ro inhaled deeply. "Do you want me to spy on them for you, Captain?" she asked seriously, not challenging, but honestly needing to understand the ground rules. "Come to you with every little breech in protocol and minor bending of the rules which every crew is subject to? Tell you about the still in biometrics, and the various gambling pools that go around the ship, and the various romantic liaisons that go on between senior and junior officers?"

Janeway considered that. "Of course not. I trust your judgment as my security officer, just I trusted Tuvok to know when not to come to me with certain information. Tampering with personnel files is not a minor infraction, however."

"No, it isn't," Ro said ruefully. "Certainly I was aware that Mr. Paris was fully involved with the alterations going on to the lounge, as were several other ... uh, senior officers. Had I known he would go so far in order to 'hire' a bartender, however, B'Elanna and I would have stopped him."

Janeway pursed her lips. "It was definitely Tom, then."

"I traced it back to him." Ro lifted a brow. "I guess Guinan impressed him a lot during his tour on the Enterprise, and he figured we needed a bartender as well.  He admitted his culpability freely when I asked him."

"But he hasn't admitted it to me," Janeway said coldly.

Ro hesitated. "He will, if that's what's required, Captain. Is it?" She frowned, her gaze dark and intent. "It's a question of how serious this is. At the moment, it isn't. If he comes to you with a full confession, however, then you're going to have to acknowledge it as his commanding officer, rather than have me deal with it unilaterally. Sort of like what happened with Harry and his alien girlfriend back on Voyager. When an officer has to step in officially, putting details on record and having to report the incident to a superior officer, then things can become very complicated very quickly."

"I agree," Janeway said sternly, "but I still want to know what's happening on my ship, Commander. Certain decisions must be mine, regardless of whether they're too small to inform Starfleet about. This one is dangerously close to being a very serious violation."

"I understand," Ro said somberly. "What do you want to do?"

Janeway hesitated. "Advise Mr. Paris that it would be a good idea to refrain from entering the Nexus, or any of the holodecks for the next fifteen days. He can take his meals and recreational periods in his quarters."

Ro blinked, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said, probably as aware as Janeway regarding how much of a punishment that would be, particularly when the ship was at station keeping, and there was little for the regular crew to do while the scientists indulged themselves to the fullest.

"Also inform him that this is the last piece of free advice he will receive from either you or me," Janeway added evenly. "The next time he becomes ... innovative ... in his behavior, it won't be off the record."

"Yes, Captain."

"Dismissed."

Ro rose, but she didn't leave right away. Instead, she lingered as if wanting to say something, and Janeway frowned at her. "Yes, Commander?"

"Uh, B'Elanna and I are going to the Nexus tonight," the Bajoran said awkwardly, obviously not used to issuing such invitations. Undoubtedly, B'Elanna had put her up to it before the women had left their quarters in the morning. "You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

Janeway hesitated, wondering why such an invitation would be proffered, and then realized that the personnel who had served with her on Voyager knew well her mood when Seven was away. Probably, they were going to attempt to head it off at the pass. She appreciated the gesture, even as she bristled at the implication that without her spouse, she was a figure of pity.

Aren't you? her little voice needled.

"Thank you, Commander, but I think I'll enjoy a quiet evening at home," she said with what she hoped was the proper amount of graciousness.

Ro dipped her head. "If you change your mind..."

"I'll meet you there." Janeway dipped her head, indicating that the security chief was really dismissed this time.

The captain stared after Ro long after the door had slid shut behind her, discovering that there was a distinctive pattern forming with her crew, though she wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not. To most of her officers, she was the captain, aloof, distant, the ultimate authority. To those who had served with her on Voyager, however, there was a special warmth there, the sense of family still lingering. She was going to have to decide how she was going to handle it. Certainly, she didn't want to push away her friends, yet at the same time, such familiarity might confuse those officers who did not ... and could not ... know what it had been like in her previous command. There might be jealousies, resentments, and the sense that she was in some way, favoring those officers who had served her longest.

She leaned back in her chair and considered it carefully, wondering if there was anyone she could speak to about it. If she were in the Alpha Quadrant, she would arrange for a friendly dinner with another captain, or Admiral Nechayev, or even her new step-father ... her contemporaries within Starfleet Command. Here in the Delta Quadrant, there was no one with a superior amount of experience who could give her advice ... very much as it had been while on Voyager.

She hesitated as she suddenly realized that assumption was incorrect. There was one person on board who was technically more senior than she, someone lured out of semi-retirement at Janeway's request. Furthermore, this person was in a perfect position within the chain of command to advise the captain, assuming Janeway was willing to take the advice. In fact, the captain would be depriving herself of a viable and valuable resource if she didn't avail herself of that person.

That didn't make it any easier, however.

Janeway exhaled audibly in the quiet of her ready room. Did she really want to go to Pulaski with this?

She nearly screamed when someone thrashed through the bushes next to her, and her breath was a sob of relief when Marcos abruptly landed next to her.

"You all right?" he asked tersely as he crouched, his dark eyes rimmed with white, peering back in the direction of the camp site. There was a phaser in his hand which waved around aimlessly, lacking a target at which to fire.

"Yes," she said, forcing herself to get a hold on herself. Shame rose as she realized her phaser was still attached to her tunic fastening. She retrieved it, hoping he hadn't noticed. "You?"

"We shouldn't have run," Marcos mumbled, his olive skin growing even darker.

"We were ordered to." Tarn gulped for air as her heart slowly subsided its rampaging pace. A brief memory slipped across her mind, of Lt. Tannic firing at the aliens bursting through the sensor grid, of creating a break in the circle of attackers, yelling at the younger members of the away mission to take advantage of the opening. Then the security officer had fallen, cut down by the blasts of the invaders, though her sacrifice had granted the others enough time to escape.

"We need to hook up with Commander Zar," Marcos said, his chest heaving.

"Where's Alexis?"

Marcos looked suddenly stricken. "They caught her. I looked back and saw her trip. By the time she managed to get to her feet, there were two of them on her."

"Who are these people?" Fear was thick and acid in her throat.

"I don't know. They must have some kind of dampening technology, or our tricorders would have detected them on the planet."

"We need to find some help." Tarn was able to find her courage again, unsure of where it had been until now. Perhaps it was knowing that she wasn't alone, now that Marcos was there, that had allowed its return.

"I'm open to suggestions." Marcos glanced at her sourly.

"We can sneak back to the Delta Sky," Tarn said, thinking out loud and half hoping he would talk her out of it, or had a better plan, possibly one that allowed them to hide until someone came to rescue them. 'The comm system can be boosted, and we can contact the Millennium from there."

Marcos considered it for a long moment. "First, we better determine what's going on. I think if we circle around, we can make it into that building on the ridge, the one that overlooks the plaza. That will give us a place to observe, hopefully without being spotted."

Tarn was struck by a sudden thought. "They might be able to detect our life signs."

Marcos frowned, then hauled out his tricorder. "I'll set up a dampening field."

"Where'd you learn that?" Tarn stared at him.

"The day I was assigned to security," Marcos replied shortly as he worked quickly. "I guess the captain had the right idea, farming us out to other departments. You pick up quite a few tricks when you don't limit yourself to a single area. Ensign P'Nek showed me and T'Shanik while he was giving us the tour of the department. He had just learned it, and for lack of anything else to do, taught us how to fool sensor readings. It's scary how easy it is if you know how."

"Do you think that's what our attackers did?"

Marcos shook his head. "If they did, they're a lot better than a Starfleet security detail. Even though I learned to set up a dampening field, I was also taught that there are several ways to scan through it if you know what you're doing."

"What's to keep these guys from doing that?"

"Nothing," he snapped, suddenly furious. "Would you rather I not try?"

Taken aback by his sudden anger, which she instinctively knew arose from his own fear, she shook her head. "No," she said softly.

There was a pause. "Sorry," he said shortly.

"It's okay."

She kept quiet as he finished the programming on the tricorder.

"There," he said finally. "I've set up a short range dispersion field. It should deflect any sensors aimed at us to the area around us. Fortunately, there are enough bio-signs in the jungle to confuse the readings. We should appear as more low level non-sentient readings."

"Now what?"

"Follow me. We need to keep moving, prevent them from triangulating on us."

The pair began to snake their way through the undergrowth, using the rubble as cover whenever they could. The air was very still, and they could hear the voices of their pursuers carrying over the distance, obviously not concerned about concealment any longer. Tarn wondered if that meant she and Marcos were the only two away team members left unsecured ... or alive.

It felt like days for them to cover the distance though it only took an hour, moving like the prey they were, constantly aware of their surroundings. The heat was oppressive, and the bugs seemed determined to bypass the repellent they were wearing and lunch on them, even though their biology was incompatible. The sounds of their pursuers would fade and strengthen at regular intervals, starting to sound angry, and it gave them hope as they finally made it to the structure they had targeted. One of the few buildings that was still intact enough to make it reasonably safe to enter, it had stone stairs leading to a second and third floor, though the rock was crumbling. They were even more careful here, knowing that to be cornered in a building where the exits were limited could prove deadly.

Tarn was dizzy from the heat and adrenaline as they cautiously took up a vantage point on the second floor, peering through an opening that looked out over the plaza and their vessels.

"Damn," Marcos breathed.

She did not reply, feeling a sense of renewed despair wash over her. Two of the alien warriors had dragged in the other three members of their away team. They tossed Prell's body casually aside next to Tannic, and Tarn knew that meant he was probably dead. Seven of Nine was also manhandled roughly, but when they threw her down to the ground in the center of the plaza, both Zar and Dr. Spencer immediately went to her, crouching over her protectively as the medical officer began to treat her with the materials at hand, which were limited to what she was carrying. For some reason, though the aliens had stripped them of tricorders, phasers and communicators ... the last worrisome because it indicated the invaders knew what the equipment was ... they had left the doctor with a small field medical kit.

"Who are these people?" Marcos said softly, his voice thick with rage.

"I don't know," Tarn whispered back. The aliens presented visages stern and ridged in a similar style as Klingons, though they seemed to lack that warrior race's presence and sense of discipline. These beings were less conscious of their personal appearance, their hair sticking out wildly, while their clothes were ragged and made up of mismatching pieces. Tarn swallowed hard as she saw one of them rip off Prell's tunic and hand it to another, obviously their leader, who pulled it on over his bare chest, wearing it not as a piece of clothing, but as a display of his victory. He then went over to the captives and spoke to them. Zar rose to his feet and the conversation went on for some time. Tarn wished they were close enough to hear what was being said, though from what they could see, the discussion apparently did not go well. After several minutes, Zar was forced back down on the ground.

Both young people jumped when a hail came over their comm badges, and it was all Tarn could do not to automatically reach up and activate it, which would have immediately given away her position.

"This is Jul Hayrum of the Kazon-Nistrim," the unfamiliar voice said. "We know you are hiding in the jungle. Surrender yourselves, and you will not be harmed."

"The Kazon," Marcos whispered. "I though we were out of their territory."

"If you do not surrender, I will order my warriors to kill you on sight rather than just attempt to capture you," the voice went on. "You have five minutes to respond."

Tarn exhaled shakily. This explained how these aliens knew about their equipment. They had encountered the Federation before, and from what she knew of them, they would do exactly what they said they would.

"What should we do?" she asked in a small voice.

Marcos looked grim, his face drawn as he peered down into the plaza, watching as the Kazon carelessly tore apart everything they had spent the previous day building. He jerked his head, indicating they should leave the vantage point and return to the jungle.

"Give me your tunic and comm badge," he said shortly once they had reached ground level. "Also, your tricorder and your phaser."

"What? Why?"

He glanced at her. "I'm going to turn myself in," he said. "But first, I'll climb one of the trees that overhang the swamp a few meters behind this ruin, and throw your tunic in the middle of the bog. Then I'll circle around before surrendering. When I am captured, I'll show them your equipment and say I took it off your dead body. The footing is really bad around here, and perhaps they won't want to get close enough to see that it's only clothing. Even if they do, that will give us more time. While I occupy their attention, you sneak onto the Delta Sky and contact Millennium. They shouldn't have too many warriors guarding the shuttle."

"How can I get by any warriors if you take my phaser?" Tarn did not want to do this.

"I need your equipment to verify my story," Marcos argued. "If they see the weapon, which is your best protection, then they'll think I'm telling the truth. Long enough for you to get inside the shuttle. Once inside, you can barricade the hatch, and contact the ship."

Tarn felt panic trickle along her spine. "Why don't you sneak onto the shuttle?" she said. "I'll surrender. You have more security training than I do."

His eyes were very dark. "I'm not an operations officer," he reminded her. "If they're jamming the comm signal, you're the only one with the skill and training to break through it."

Tarn exhaled. There was no other choice, she realized. Moving as if in a daze, she handed him the requested equipment, and stripped off her tunic.

"Good luck," he whispered tensely as he faded into the thick vegetation.

She suspected she'd need more than that.

She didn't try to circle back the way they had come, instead, moving along the ridge which gradually descended to the level area near the shuttle. She knew Marcos would delay answering the hail of the Kazon leader for as long as possible before turning himself in. He might even make them come to him, implying that he was injured and unable to move.

She still couldn't believe it had come to this, that she would be the one on whom the rest would be dependent for rescue. It terrified her in a way that she had never felt before, yet, at the same time, she felt an odd sense of determination. Her crewmates were counting on her. She couldn't let them down.

Finally, peering anxiously through the vegetation, she was close enough to see the shuttle and fighter through the undergrowth of jungle. Unfortunately, the warrior at the delta shuttle had been joined by another Kazon who was apparently guarding the fighter, and they did not look at all distracted. Instead, they looked grim and very alert, hefting heavy rifles as they peered in opposite directions, obviously ready for anything. She glanced briefly at Marcos's fighter, contemplating that as an alternative possibility, knowing that its comm system could also be used. She discarded it immediately. Not only was the cockpit at the front of the vessel the only way in and out, requiring the entire top to lift up to grant access which would certainly be noticed, the large, transparent viewports lining the front and sides made the interior clearly visible to the outside. The delta shuttle was her only option.

She stared longingly at the hatch of the Delta Sky behind the nearest Kazon guard, aware that the shuttle might as well have been kilometers away rather than only meters. As long as the hatch was guarded, there was no way into the shuttle

Or was there?

Think, she demanded silently, her breath heavy in her chest. What do I know about the delta class shuttles? Every member of the bridge crew had been briefly checked out on the new design, even though they might never have the opportunity to actually fly one. She cast her mind back to the day she had taken a brief turn at the helm, along with some other junior officers, not long after Millennium had left Utopia Planitia. The vessel's helm had been decidedly different from the average class four shuttle, more streamlined and containing oddly shaped controls.

Think, damn you, she ordered herself once more. Wasn't there a panel on the floor?

She had actually asked about it, wondering if it was some sort of storage compartment. The boyish wing commander, Tom Paris, whose reputation made him seem more approachable than most of the senior officers, had grinned and said something about needing more than one way to get out of a crash.

If that panel had been an escape hatch of some sort, then it undoubtedly exited beneath the shuttle. If she could crawl beneath the ship unseen, perhaps she could access it and enter that way.

Trying not to think about what would happen to her if she got caught, she began to worm her way through the underbrush, trying to get behind the shuttle and away from the view of the Kazon warriors standing next to the hatch.

Seven assessed the alien figures who were moving about the campsite and casually rummaging through the Federation equipment with a sort of contempt born of not knowing exactly what they were looking at. "Species 329," she said in a low voice. "Kazon. A most unremarkable species."

"I thought we were out of Kazon territory," Zar objected, relief evident on his face that she had responded. In truth, concentrating on speaking coherently took Seven's mind off the spreading numbness of her extremities and the heaviness in her chest.

"We were. Obviously, they followed us here." The Borg winced as the doctor tried to stop the bleeding that was more a weeping of fluid rather than a gush of crimson. It was serosanguinous, Seven thought dazedly, indicating that the disrupter burn was deep and serious, third degree perhaps. The dressing had a center of dark blood and a crusty ring of yellowy serum on the edge, bugs buzzing near it in the oppressive heat despite the alien physiology. It didn't seem to hurt very much, and she knew that was the most telling thing in itself. "It is disturbing that they were able to ambush us, however. The technology required to hide them from our sensors is beyond what we believed they possessed. It is unlikely they would have developed it in the ensuing years since Voyager was last in their territory."

"Maybe they bought it," Zar suggested. "Or stole it."

Seven lifted a brow, allowing that either suggestion was equally possible.

"Lt. Hansen, please remain still." Dr. Spencer's face was drawn, though Seven noted approvingly that the young doctor appeared to be controlling her fear very well. There was a small bruise under one eye, and she was disheveled, obviously having been treated roughly in her capture. "This is a very serious wound."

"My nanoprobes are preventing my lungs from filling with fluid," Seven told her. "The Doctor will be able to repair this type of damage once we return to the ship."

"That's assuming we make it back to sickbay." Spencer's tone was tart, equal parts fear and anger. "Remain still and conserve your strength."

Seven hesitated, then nodded. "Very well," she said, acknowledging the young doctor's authority in this. She glanced away from Spencer, and studied the first officer. Zar looked very concerned, though of course, as leader of the away mission, he would feel responsible for all the crewmembers under him. She had seen such a sense of responsibility in her spouse too often not to recognize it in another.

She blinked as the sun jabbed painfully into her eyes. The three surviving members of the away team had been forced into the center of the plaza, watched closely by several Kazon warriors. There was no protection or shade here, and the young woman knew that it would grow very warm as morning turned into afternoon. Their captors did not seem to care about the comfort of their prisoners, however, nor those who had been killed in their initial ambush. The bodies of the two security officers had been dragged casually aside, stripped of all their equipment ... even items of their uniforms in some cases ... and insects began to congregate as decomposition progressed. A Kazon warrior, obviously the leader, had appropriated Prell's tunic, pulling it on over his bared chest, ignoring the scorch marks of the disrupter blast and the bloodstains where the Bolian had bled briefly before dying. It was not the garment he wanted, Seven realized, but the trophy of his enemy.

"Where are Ensign Marcos and Ensign Tarn?" she asked, her voice harsh. She was thirsty, and felt a trickle of sweat run down from her temple. That indicated that her nanoprobes were so involved in dealing with her injury, regulating her body temperature had been granted a lower priority. Her cranial implant was allowing her Human systems to deal with the heat, which they attempted to do in their less efficient way.

"We don't know," Zar said in a low voice, his dark eyes keenly following every move that the Kazon were making.

"They ran into the jungle," Spencer explained, having finally secured the dressing to her satisfaction, though her expression remained gravely concerned in a way that Seven suspected did not bode well for her. "I tried to follow, but I wasn't able to make it." She paused, her voice echoing the horror of that time. "Tannic drew the fire to herself, giving us the chance to escape."

Zar glanced at her. "That was her job," he said with a touch of sharpness to remind her that this was not the time to mourn. He leaned closer to the two women. "That may give us an advantage. Their forces will be split between holding us and searching for the other two."

Seven lifted a brow. "I am afraid that I am not functional," she said reasonably. "You must leave me behind in any attempt to escape."

From the expression on his face, she could tell this idea did not appeal to him at all, though surely he must have known there was no other option.

"I'll have to stay behind, as well," Spencer interjected calmly. "That wound can't be left unattended."

Seven lifted her chin, feeling a twinge of dizziness waft through her. "That is unnecessary."

"I'm not leaving you alone with the Kazon, Seven. You're my patient." Spencer forced a grin. "Dr. Pulaski would have my head, if I did."

Zar frowned. "I'm not leaving either of you behind," he said, in a tone indicating that was the end of it as far as he was concerned, giving a little pat of emphasis to the Borg's shoulder. Seven eyed him, thinking such stubborn presumption must be a trait unique to command officers. Janeway assumed the same officious note in her voice when she didn't wish to be argued with.

"You."

The Starfleet officers turned to the Kazon leader who was staring at Zar. Carefully, the first officer eased Seven to the ground, stripping off his tunic and using it as a pillow for her in lieu of his lap. A flare of anger appeared in the Kazon's eyes at the time this required, obviously recognizing the challenge inherent in how long it took before Zar rose to his feet to face the warrior.

"I am Commander Zar Tulek of the USS Millennium. Why have you attacked us?"

"Your captain knows," the Kazon said. "I am Hayrum, of the Kazon-Nistrim, first attack leader and representative of Maj Culluh. You will be used as hostages in exchange for the technology we require to defeat the Trabe."

"Our captain will never agree to such an exchange," Zar said simply, with the assurance of his position.

"She'd better, or you'll all die," the Kazon responded.

"If you wanted to use us as hostages, why kill the others?" Zar demanded.

Hayrum lifted his head. "We know which of you are valuable and which aren't." He gestured contemptuously at the dead bodies. "We know your 'security' detail is expendable."

Zar's face altered, becoming very ugly, and Seven knew he must be feeling a great rage. However, when he spoke again, his voice was calm, and she was impressed with how he was able to control his emotions.

"You've made another error in judgment, then. To Captain Janeway, we're all expendable. She will not risk her ship for a few individuals."

Seven knew that was a lie, but she wasn't about to correct him. She suspected that Zar knew it was a lie as well. Unfortunately, it appeared that Hayrum also recognized it for an untruth.

"Janeway will deal with us. She has before. She is very protective of her crew, enough that she may give us what we require." He paused, studying the first officer intently. "You're like her, aren't you?"

Zar frowned. "Like Janeway?"

"No, like her ... Seska."

Zar looked blank, obviously not recognizing the name. Seven supposed he wouldn't. After all, the Cardassian woman, who had disguised herself as a Bajoran and infiltrated Chakotay's Maquis cell before they all ended up on Voyager, had been killed long before Seven had come on board. There was no reason for the first officer of Millennium to know who she was.

"Seska?"

"Maj Culluh's woman. The mother of his son and heir."

"She was Cardassian," Seven murmured in a low voice.

Zar glanced at her, frowning, and then back at the Kazon. "I don't know her. Is it important?"

He shook his head. "Only to warn me. If you are as devious and treacherous as she, it would be best to double the guard on you." He took the communicator from his tunic, offering it to Zar. "Call in the others. So that we do not have to hunt them down, and perhaps kill them in the attempt."

Zar shook his head. "I will not."

Hayrum stared at him, half lifting his hand as if to strike before finally lowering it. "Very well," he said tightly. "Sit down."

Zar hesitated briefly, but as the other Kazon took a step toward him, the threat inherent in their body language, he sank down to the ground beside Seven and Alexis. He never took his eyes off the Kazon leader who returned the comm badge to his chest, attaching it before tapping on it to activate it, clearly familiar with how it functioned.

"This is Jul Hayrum of the Kazon-Nistrim," he stated in a clear voice. "We know you are hiding in the jungle. Surrender yourselves, and you will not be harmed."

There was no response, nor was it likely the Kazon expected any immediately. His eyes narrowed and he spoke again. "If you do not surrender, I will order my warriors to kill you on sight rather than just attempt to capture you. You have five minutes to respond."

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. The rest of the warriors also seemed to be waiting, a silence descending on the plaza like a shroud. The hum of the insects was the only sound in the oppressive heat, with the birds apparently deciding to take the afternoon off. The five minutes passed with agonizing slowness, then Hayrum, an angry expression on his face, touched the comm badge again.

"If you do not reply immediately, we will kill the wounded member of your party," he said flatly. He drew out his disrupter and aimed it in Seven's direction. The Borg was disturbed when both Alexis and Zar moved in front of her protectively, shielding her with their bodies. It seemed illogical to die themselves in order that she should not, and she wished she were strong enough to object.

Fortunately, this action of the Kazon provoked an answering hail.

"I'm here," Marcos' voice came over the comm badge. "You won't kill me if I surrender?"

"You have my word," Hayrum said, looking pleased with himself. "What of the other?"

"She's dead," Marcos said, his voice shaky. "I found her body in the bog. She must have been hit by your weapons fire and made it that far before she collapsed." Seven saw Zar close his eyes briefly, a flash of pain crossing his face, and Alexis stared at the ground, tears quietly slipping from beneath her lids.

The Kazon frowned. "I do not believe you."

"Look, I have her equipment," Marcos said. "I took it off the body. I'll show it to you when I come in."

Hayrum hesitated, obviously uncertain at this turn at events. "Surrender immediately to the nearest hunting party."

"All right," Marcos promised. He paused. "It may take a while. I've gotten turned around in the jungle. Give me a few minutes to find your people."

"Shout out to my men," he instructed impatiently. "If you surrender, they will not harm you."

"Agreed. I'm coming in."

Moments passed ... five, ten, fifteen, twenty ... then from the edge of the jungle, three figures appeared, including a Starfleet ensign who held his hands high over his head. The Kazon warrior escorting him immediately lifted a bag, indicating it held equipment taken from him. While one of the warriors dragged Marcos over to the rest of the captives, the other Kazon officer offered the bag to Hayrum, opening it to show him the communicators, phasers and tricorders.

"You found the body?" Hayrum demanded, seeming somewhat mollified at the appearance of the weapons.

"He showed it to us," the Kazon said. "We saw the body from the ridge, but we didn't go down into the bog. The insects are very thick in that area and the footing is very treacherous. I didn't believe it necessary to risk losing a warrior to the quicksand when everything useful had already been retrieved." He waited somewhat nervously, Seven thought, obviously unsure whether he had conducted himself properly in his leader's eyes.

Hayrum eyed him for a long moment, and then nodded, much to the warrior's relief. "It's unlikely he would have this equipment unless the female was dead," he said. "They are not like us. The females are warriors like the males, and would not give up their weapons unless they were dead. Call in the other hunting party. Tell them we have all the surviving hostages."

Seven exhaled slowly, feeling a sadness at the death of yet another member of the away team permeate her chest, remembering well the arrogant young woman who had displayed such difficulty adapting to Millennium. Beside her, Marcos sat silently, a cut over his left eye bleeding slightly, the line of crimson trickling down his cheek. Absently, he wiped the blood away, and Seven was unsure why a look of what might have been triumph appeared in his eye before he lowered his head in apparent sorrow at the loss of his friend.

"Come," she said, putting down the padd she had been perusing. She lifted her brow when Tom Paris walked in, wondering if the disconcertion she felt while Seven was away had caused her to forget an appointment.

"Captain," he said, ascending the ramp to the upper level. "I need to speak with you."

"Of course." She placed the padd and her mug of coffee onto the low table in front of her. "What can I do for you?" A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she raised her hand. "Certain things will not be discussed," she added in a warning tone, assuming he would know what she was referring to. "Not unless you want to go on record."

Tom hesitated, having the grace to look shamefaced. "No, I understand, Captain." She motioned him to a seat which he sank into gratefully. "I'm here about the 'fleet."

Janeway resisted the urge to sigh. "What now?" Honestly, she thought, that auxiliary group of vessels was becoming a bit of an annoyance ... or rather, their pilots were.

"You haven't gotten back to me about taking the safeties off the holodeck." Leaning forward, Tom had his hands resting on his knees, looking at her intently. Obviously, this was not something he was going to let go, and she felt another prickle of annoyance. She thought she had made herself clear not long after the issue had been brought up in a staff meeting.

"I told you my decision. It isn't something I want to see at this time."

"I was wondering if it was possible that times could change."

Janeway suspected that her eyes were shading to grey. Seven often told her that the captain's moods could be easily determined simply from the color of her eyes ... assuming the person speaking to her was as perceptive as the Borg.

"I'll inform you if they do." She frowned at him.

He stared at her, and then exhaled audibly, a sigh of frustration and aggravation. "Captain, permission to speak freely?"

She hesitated, and dipped her head stiffly, granting him that leeway.

"With all due respect, I don't feel you're utilizing the fleet to its best advantage."

"Since there really hasn't been an opportunity to use them at all, then I don't think you can honestly say that," Janeway said mildly. "We've provided you with escort missions whenever possible."

"But never in any conflict. I'm starting to think that even if an opportunity does arise, you won't take advantage of our capabilities at all," he blurted, and immediately looked abashed, knowing there was a difference between speaking freely and crossing the line into insubordination. "Captain, it's obvious that you have some reservations about our role here on Millennium. I'm not sure why, but I do believe it's something that needs to be addressed."

"Are you in that much of a hurry to see one of your pilots killed?" Janeway asked sharply, regretting it immediately because she had spoken without thinking. She was upset that she had revealed to the wing