• This is the 6th in the Just Between series.
• It was written months before even the rumors of Dark Frontier surfaced. It was posted in the first part of September, 1998, prior to the beginning of the fifth season of ST:Voyager.

Seven of Nine woke with a start, not knowing what it was that had disturbed her. Then, an elbow thudded into the side of her ribs, and a hand smacked her smartly across the forehead, letting her know that her bedmate was having a bad dream. Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager did not have nightmares often, but when she did, they were usually violent, with a marked amount of flailing around in a random and completely uncontrolled fashion. That elbow was sharp and it had hurt, driven into Seven's torso without restraint.

Seven wrapped the smaller woman up in her arms, feeling a certain remorse. It was entirely possible that the argument they had the day before was what had prompted this nightmare. Seven had noticed that Kathryn's bad dreams usually coincided with having to make a difficult decision or when a crisis had just ended.

Or when she had been in a conflict with someone she cared about.

"Shh, Kathryn," she whispered in the small ear, holding the woman tightly, minimizing her nocturnal struggles. "It is just a dream. You are all right. I am here with you. Nothing can hurt you."

The captain did not always wake up. Sometimes Seven's reassuring words and close presence were enough to ease Kathryn out of whatever she was dreaming, and into a more relaxed REM sleep. This must have been a particularly bad series of images, however, because Janeway came awake with a jerk, body shuddering as she reached out, entwining her arms around Seven's neck and clinging to her, her breath coming in anxious pants. Her body was damp from sweat, and Seven knew she would be chilled so she drew the blankets closer around them.

"It is all right, Kathryn," Seven soothed, rocking her slightly. "I am right here."

Seven felt the captain slowly relax, her breathing smoothing out to become regular, the grip on the young woman's neck easing gradually.

"Damn," Kathryn muttered. "Lights, one quarter."

Seven knew the captain was always embarrassed after waking from a bad dream, as if it were a display of weakness or a flaw of some sort. She did not understand why, it was just how Kathryn felt. So, when Kathryn cleared her throat and pulled away, sitting up to wrap her arms around her knees, Seven did not try to impede her. Instead, she sat up as well and stroked the smaller woman's bare back lightly, letting her know she wasn't alone.

"Was it very bad?" Seven asked softly.

Janeway shook her head slightly though, from her eyes, clouded grey, Seven knew it had been. Carefully, she put her hands on the captain's shoulders and rubbed them, gently massaging the tense muscles until finally the hard knots began to loosen. Janeway took a deep breath.

"Damn," she said again, in her low throaty voice. Her gaze shifted to Seven's and softened, the eyes shading to blue even as the younger woman watched. Janeway shrugged lightly. "Had to do with losing Voyager," she explained. "And you. Nothing that made sense but it left me feeling afraid and helpless."

Seven knew that Kathryn hated feeling helpless more than anything else. She continued to rub her back, slower now, trying to relax her completely. "Perhaps your dreams were bad because we argued earlier?" she suggested.

"Perhaps," Janeway allowed dully, staring blankly across the grayness of the room.

"Do you realize, that if we make love before we sleep, you never have bad dreams?" Seven offered.

Janeway raised her head, blinking, then a grin curled the corner of her mouth which gratified Seven no end.

"Indeed," Janeway said.

"Yes," Seven said, smiling a little as she leaned over and kissed the nearest shoulder. "You always dream after a conflict, but not if we have made love. We should have made love last night."

Janeway smiled then, her teeth bright against her lips. Seven loved her smile. It changed Kathryn's entire face, stripping away the command mask, and leaving the warm, passionate woman Seven knew she truly was. "If I remember correctly," Janeway remarked, eyeing her with a touch of amusement. "I started to and you fell asleep."

Seven considered that. "You were scratching my back," she said uncertainly. "I find that very soothing."

"It wasn't meant to be soothing," Kathryn said dryly. "I was tying to make up with you. Maybe I'm just losing my touch."

"No, you are not," Seven assured her, moving closer and sliding her arm around the small shoulders, hugging her gently. "I was very tired. It was a fatiguing day yesterday."

"Yes it was," Janeway allowed. "Seven, I'm very sorry I yelled at you."

"I am sorry I shouted in return," Seven said, puzzled. She thought they had managed to lay the argument to rest. "I do promise not to throw things at you any more ... even if I was not attempting to actually hit you."

"That would be good," Janeway said with a weary sigh, leaning into the embrace and putting her head on Seven's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here with me, darling."

"I am, as well," Seven said. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," Janeway said, closing her eyes and sighing a little. "You always make me feel better." She turned slightly and slid her arms about Seven's waist as with unspoken agreement, they eased back onto the bed, snuggling together. "I would rather not have any more dreams like that."

"Then, we must endeavor to prevent them," Seven suggested softly, and rolled so that she was lying on top of the captain, pressing down on her lightly. "I believe I have a solution."

"I just bet you do," Kathryn murmured, looking up at her with half-closed eyes and a half-grin which gave her a sleepy, sensual expression. "What might that be?"

Seven bent closer and kissed her gently, brushing her lips over Kathryn's, barely tasting her. "Do you really require me to explain?"

"No, you can just show me," Janeway said agreeably.

Seven smiled, kissing her again, deeper this time as she felt Kathryn's lips part under hers, and the soft touch of her tongue against her own. Feeling the body beneath hers shift as the captain wrapped her arms around the small of her back to pull her closer, Seven allowed more of her weight to settle on the smaller woman. It was unhurried, naturally lingering as if they had all the time in the universe in which to indulge, which, Seven supposed, they did. She drew back after long blissful moments and looked down into the eyes glowing a bright blue.

"I love you," she whispered, captivated by those marvelous eyes, feeling as if she was falling into them. "So much. I wish I had a more extensive vocabulary in which to explain."

"You don't need it," Kathryn replied, smiling gently. "I can see the love in your face, I hear it in your voice, I feel it every time you're near. Annika ... I love you dearly."

Seven kissed her again, wanting so much to express what she was feeling. There was so much inside her that she wished she could share with Kathryn, but was unable to. Of course, if they were both members of the Borg Collective, Kathryn would know, would understand perfectly, their thoughts, their minds as one. But then, Seven reminded herself analytically, if they were both members of the Collective, there would be no emotion inside her at all, she would not care about Kathryn in any manner. Nor would Kathryn care about her. That caused a very real pain in her chest so she promptly decided not to think about that any more.

"May I ask you something, Kathryn?" she said in a low voice.

Janeway smiled a little, darted up to kiss her again. "What is it?" she responded.

"The difference between how we make love and how a man would make love to you," Seven said hesitantly. "Do you miss it?"

Janeway looked startled as if this had been the last thing she had been expecting. She studied Seven carefully. "No," she said. "Darling, I adore you. You're all I need."

"I accept that you do not wish to be with anyone else," Seven said, tilting her head a little as she looked down at the beloved features. "However, there is a difference in the mechanics of how I would make love to you if I were male. I have been discussing this with B'Elanna and she has explained that there are certain accessories that can be utilized to accomplish this. She says they are very lifelike which apparently is very important to the experience..." She trailed off uncertainly as she saw Janeway looking at her oddly.

Kathryn took a breath. "Did Lt. Torres describe these 'accessories'?" she asked.

Seven shook her head. "Not in precise detail though I believe I can ascertain certain of the functions from what such devices are supposed to imitate. She simply said that if I wished to mimic how a male would have sex, that a device could be replicated from the entertainment supply replicator," she said. "Also that you could probably instruct me as to its proper deployment."

"Oh, she did," Janeway said in a strange tone, one Seven could not identify. It was like a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "How would you feel about that?"

Seven was confused by the question. "If it is something you would enjoy," she said. "Then I will utilize a device."

"I see," Janeway said. "Would you like me to utilize one myself?"

Seven was completely confused now. "Without my input? Why would you wish to use it on yourself?"

Janeway smiled faintly. "No, I mean, would you like me to use it to make love to you?" she clarified gently.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It had not occurred to me," she said honestly. She thought hard about it, imagining such a device being used by the captain on her and how exactly it would work. She felt a tightening in her belly ... of fear or excitement, she could not tell. "I am uncertain how I feel about that," she admitted after a few moments.

Janeway, who had remained silent as Seven thought, no doubt reading every expression that had crossed the young woman's face, nodded briefly. "You should probably think about it a little more," she suggested gently. "I have no objection to . . . 'toys' being used to accentuate our love life, darling, but it's not anything I need or require to be satisfied by you. I want you to understand that. All right?"

"Very well," Seven agreed, feeling vaguely troubled though she didn't know why.

She didn't quite understand Janeway's response. She had expected a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer, yet clearly there were deeper levels to this that she had not anticipated. She sighed. She had originally thought copulation was merely a physical interaction, but it had turned out to be something far greater. She did know that she was very glad Harry Kim had not taken her up on her offer to copulate when she had first come on board Voyager. Though she had been slightly intrigued by the possibility at the time, she now understood that whatever might have happened would have been much less than what she experienced with Kathryn, not necessarily the physical act itself, but because of the emotional connotation. There was just so much emotion associated with Kathryn.

She realized that Janeway was stroking her cheek gently, looking at her with mild concern.

"Are you all right, darling?" she asked gently.

Seven nodded. "Yes," she said. "I was just considering your words. I did not realize it was such a complicated issue."

Kathryn smiled. "Normally it isn't," she said. "However, you're inexperienced, darling, and that makes everything new and unfamiliar. I don't want you to do or try something you're not ready for just because you've been talked into it. I especially don't want you to ever feel you have to do something just because you think I might enjoy it."

Seven eased herself off to the side, taking her weight off her elbows and Kathryn. This had turned into a discussion rather than lovemaking. When would she learn not to ask questions or bring up new topics before the fact? Afterwards, she reminded herself. Always start the discussion afterwards ... even if Kathryn tended to fall asleep in the middle of those conversations.

"Your enjoyment is something that gives me great pleasure," Seven said. She paused. "I do not believe anything we do together would be detrimental ... other than the times I hurt you with my implant, of course, but I know you would never hurt me."

"I would never want to hurt you," Janeway corrected. "If I were careless, however, or forgot that you don't have the experience I do, then yes, darling, you could be hurt. Making love places you in a very vulnerable position."

Seven thought about what she was saying. "You believe the accessory could hurt me?" she asked.

"If things progressed too quickly, or if you weren't completely relaxed, then yes, it could," Kathryn explained. She ran her fingers through Seven's hair languidly. "An accessory, particularly the ones I suspect B'Elanna was describing, could be quite uncomfortable for you."

"B'Elanna says that size is a factor," Seven informed her gravely.

"It most definitely can be, and that was what I was thinking of," Janeway offered with a slight smile. She drew Seven's head down onto her shoulder. "Annika, accessories can be fun, but they're not important. All I need or want is right here in my arms this very second. You are everything to me."

"As you are to me," Seven agreed. "However,  B'Elanna apparently thinks that we may be missing out on something."

Janeway made a soft sound. Seven identified it immediately as disgust, and thought she might have edited what B'Elanna had said a little more.

"Maybe B'Elanna is the one missing out on something," the captain told her. "How are she and Chakotay getting along?"

Seven considered the new relationship between Voyager's first officer and the chief of engineering. "They appear reasonably compatible," Seven said slowly. "Why?"

"It just seems to me that B'Elanna should occupy herself more with her own relationship and less with ours," Janeway said, with a definite touch of annoyance in her tone.

Seven hesitated. "Does it bother you that I speak with B'Elanna about these things?" she asked. "I will not confide in her any longer if it does."

There was a pause, then Janeway sighed. "No, darling," she said, hugging her closer. "I'm sorry. It's possible that I'm just a little jealous that you have someone to talk about your love life with, and I don't."

Seven rested her cheek against the smooth skin of Janeway's upper chest, the slow throb of her heart a soothing rhythm in her ear. She realized that as captain, Kathryn was forced to maintain a certain distance between herself and everyone else, including Seven, during rare occasions of crisis or during missions. It made her sad to know how isolated Janeway had to be.

"You can talk to me," Seven offered quietly, even as she knew it was not enough.

There were things that she spoke with B'Elanna about that she did not with Kathryn, not because she didn't have absolute trust in her partner, but because....well, because it was just a different sort of relationship with B'Elanna, more playful and less intense. B'Elanna could insult her, and Seven would merely return the insult immediately. If Kathryn insulted her ... Seven paused as she tried to remember if Kathryn had ever called her an insulting term and could not. If the captain ever did, however, Seven was sure she would be completely devastated. There were also a great many things that Seven knew she was just too inexperienced to discuss with Kathryn about in a knowledgeable fashion.

"Perhaps you can speak with Tuvok," she suggested.

Janeway laughed. "About love, romance and sex?"

Seven thought about that. The Vulcan security chief had very little enthusiasm for human foibles and even less for emotional ones. "With whom did you talk to previously about these things?" she asked.

"Phoebe," Kathryn replied, referring to her younger sister left behind in the Alpha Quadrant. "My friend, Susan." She paused and chuckled. "To be honest, I never really talked about sex much until I met you. You've actually taught me to be more...uh, interested in the subject intellectually."

Seven considered that as she rubbed her cheek lightly against Kathryn's chest, feeling the soft skin slip gentle against her own. She could smell a pleasant scent wafting from the body close to hers, of soap and spice, of the faint musky tang of a woman who was partially aroused.

"What was it like?" Seven asked, idly stroking Kathryn's stomach in slow circles. "Being with men, I mean?"

"Oh, dear," Janeway said, and paused, clearly attempting to organize her thoughts.

Seven realized from the intonation that she had just opened up another topic which would take considerable time to discuss, and frankly, there were a great many other things she would rather be doing. She rose up and kissed Kathryn abruptly, forestalling what she had been about to say.

"Never mind," Seven murmured against the soft lips. "I do not care."

"Ah," Kathryn responded. "I gather we have completed our talk?"

"We are not done making sounds," Seven informed her. "However, I do not believe it will be a coherent conversation."

Janeway smiled and pulled Seven close, nibbling at the full bottom lip.

"My favorite kind," she mumbled.

She stifled a sigh and carried her cup over to the replicator. She much preferred the thermos of coffee Seven sent her off with each morning, but unfortunately, the captain had a habit of finishing it quickly whenever she was working hard. The replicated version never quite measured up to the rich flavor the Borg managed to brew, but it was considerably better than the noxious liquid Neelix, the Talaxian ship's cook, came up with. The replicator dissolved the leftover remains in the cup, and rematerialized a steaming batch, filling the porcelain container to its brim. She sipped at it as she went over to the chair and sat down, allowing herself a small break before she returned to the reports requiring her input.

She found herself leaning back against the cushions, staring pensively at the stars, distorted by the ship's warp field, which seemed to streak by just outside the huge, plexiglass windows which loomed over her. Her mind kept straying to the previous day, to the argument Seven and she had regarding the Borg's habit of rearranging the furniture in her never ending quest to achieve the 'perfect' living space. A silly argument really, one Janeway admittedly started herself when she barked her shins on the coffee table which was no longer in the position it had been the previous three months, spurred on primarily by a day of filling out tedious personnel reports, and an encounter with a contrary relay conduit which had fouled up certain of the bridge functions. However, once Seven picked up a small plate, threatening to toss it at her, the argument had jumped considerably in intensity, and Janeway had taken the opportunity to unload all her aggravation out onto her partner, inciting the young woman to fling it at the captain.

Janeway still felt terrible about 'accidentally' bumping into the end table as she tried to dodge the plate, knowing full well that Seven had no intention of actually hitting her, and that if she had just stood still, the plate would have missed by a good two feet. Not only did she succeed in positioning herself directly into the path of the missile, which raised a minor welt on her arm and absolutely devastated Seven, she had also managed to knock over two of Seven's favorite statues which shattered impressively when they hit the deck, ugly little knickknacks that Janeway had never liked, and was rather pleased to see gone.

It occurred to her that it was not fair to indulge in arguments with Seven because the younger, more inexperienced ex-Borg was at a decided disadvantage when it came to such things. Janeway knew exactly what buttons to push, to not only get the woman's dander up, but also to make her feel honestly bad. Seven froze immediately the instant the plate impacted with Janeway's bicep, a look of such remorse coming over her face that it stabbed directly into the captain's heart. Janeway had felt even worse when Seven  tried exceptionally hard to be accommodating the rest of the evening, attempting to make up for inadvertently hitting her.

Seven of Nine is not like other people, she told herself. Not even when one excludes that remarkable mind and forthright attitude.

Seven had grown up in the cold, sterile Borg Collective, existing without love, without emotion of any sort from the time she had been assimilated as a six-year-old. Annika Hansen had spent eighteen years as a drone before Captain Janeway had her link to the Collective severed and in truth, it was amazing that Seven had adapted so well to her returning Humanity. For Janeway to treat her as she would anyone with a normal upbringing, to treat her as she had treated her previous lovers, was simply not going to work. Nor was it helping matters that Voyager's chief engineer was gleefully filling Seven's head with all sorts of ideas that created more confusion than clarity.

The problem, Janeway considered thoughtfully, was that Seven was unpredictable at the best of times, but Janeway persisted on trying to predict her behavior anyway. . . and became annoyed when the young woman reacted differently than the captain assumed she would. Since Janeway had no way of truly understanding all Seven had been through, had no concept of what being raised as a Borg drone really meant, it was impossible to apply Human standards to her.

Janeway shook her head. She just had to stop, she thought. She had to accept Seven for what she was, and quit trying to fit her into the round Starfleet hole the very angular young woman simply would not be forced into.

There was a chime at her door, and she dragged her thoughts back to the here and now, leaning forward to place her cup on the glass-covered coffee table.

"Come in," she said, looking inquiringly at the door.

Lt. Commander Tuvok, her chief of security, entered the room. Tall, slender with dark skin and elegantly pointed ears, the impassive Vulcan was the person on Voyager whom Janeway had known the longest, and in some ways, knew the best. He was a devoted family man, having left behind a wife, children and, according to a letter that reached them via an alien communications relay, was also now a grandfather. Tuvok had served with her even before she had assumed command of this Intrepid-class vessel, and he tended to know her moods better than anyone.

He raised an eyebrow as he saw her curled up in the chair. "Am I interrupting, Captain?" he asked politely.

"Not at all, Tuvok," she said, genuinely pleased to see him. She motioned to the couch. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"I have no need of refreshment," he said, sitting gingerly on the couch. She knew he preferred to stand, but over the years, he had adapted to her more casual manner.

Am I really that arrogant? she thought with a bit of dismay. Do I really force the people around me to adopt my ways rather than allowing for what they might want or need?

All the time, Katie, her internal voice noted snidely. You say it like it's a bad thing.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, vowing to take a harder look at how she dealt with others sometime in the near future. She fixed her gaze on him, and granted him her full attention.

"I wanted to discuss the situation with Neelix with you," he said. He offered her a padd. "Since the restoration of the replicators, he has discovered that he has a great deal of free time on his hands, time he had previously spent on preparing meals for one hundred and fifty people. As a result, he has applied to join one of my security details."

"I see," Janeway said, perusing the data on the small padd he had given her, and trying very hard not to smile.

The Talaxian was a civilian they had taken on as a guide when first lost in the Delta Quadrant. Though they had long since left the area of space he was familiar with, he had remained on board, continuing to act as their cook and all round trouble-shooter. Considering that the Federation ship was a distinct improvement over the squalid living conditions they had discovered him in, it was not surprising that he wanted desperately to stay with Voyager. With his original roles no longer considered as vital to the ship, his quick adaptation by applying to work in another area was a clear indication of just how much he was determined to remain a productive member of her crew.

However, the Delta Quadrant native's breezy manner and outgoing personality was a direct contrast to the controlled, emotionless Tuvok, and despite the Talaxian's best efforts to ingratiate himself with the Vulcan, Tuvok continued to find dealing with the little alien an ongoing irritation. To have him in security would be a trying experience for Tuvok, though Janeway thought it might be good for Neelix.

"Do you have an objection to his capabilities?" she asked, swallowing her amusement as best she could. "Surely you can have him guard the holodeck or something?"

He eyed her gravely, and she knew he was aware that she was not being properly serious about this.

"I am cognizant of the fact that Starfleet tends to regard security as the perfect place to transfer all those who cannot find success in other areas," he said dryly. "Even though a good security officer requires both intelligence and extensive training."

"You think I'm dumping Neelix on you?" she said, leaning back in her chair and regarding her old friend fondly. "I assure you, Tuvok, I didn't know he was going to apply to your department." She managed that with a completely straight face, but innate honesty compelled her to add a qualifying addendum. "He did ask me where the ship was most lacking personnel so of course, I mentioned that you could always use more people in Security."

"In truth," Tuvok pointed out. "There are many areas on the ship which have greater need of personnel. Sickbay, for example. Or astrophysics. Not to mention the captain's own need for a 'cabin boy'."

Janeway gave a startled bark of laughter. "A 'cabin boy'?" she objected. "Really, Tuvok."

"That is the common usage," he responded, unperturbedly. "I believe the official designation is 'Command Candidate'."

"You want me to take Neelix on as a command candidate?" She stared at him, knowing full well he had to be putting her on, yet unable to penetrate the Vulcan impassiveness.

"They often function as a go-between, messengers, valets, assistants and as ship's maintenance personnel even as they benefit from the teaching and training of an experienced Starfleet captain," he noted. "Tasks that Neelix is imminently suited for."

Janeway smiled widely, wagging her finger at him. "I am well aware that a great many captains use their command candidates as personal servants, making them gophers and forcing them to clean their quarters and the like," she told him. "I was never one of them, however. I always train my candidates with the intention that they leave with competent command skills, and frankly Tuvok, I don't think Neelix is the sort that is cut out to be a Starfleet captain."

"It was merely a suggestion, Captain," Tuvok remarked evenly. "However, if you wish, I shall not pass the idea on to Neelix."

She knew a threat when she heard one. "All right, Tuvok," she said, the corner of her mouth curled in a half-grin of surrender. "If you honestly feel he doesn't belong in Security, I'll try to find a place for him elsewhere."

"Thank you, Captain," he said.

A minor jolt, which mildly rattled the teacups on the tray, catapulted both of them out of their seats. The streaking stars outside the windows had stilled, and Janeway knew that for whatever reason, her ship had just dropped out of warp. She was already down the stairs, Tuvok at her heels when her comm badge chirped.

"Captain to the bridge." came the urgent voice of her first officer, Chakotay, even as the dimming lights and the unmistakable whoop of red alert chilled her blood. She dashed through the ready room doors and took the stairs leading up to the main level of the bridge in one leap, eyes drawn unerringly to the fore viewscreen.

All the blood drained from her face and she felt decidedly faint as she saw what was displayed there, checking her stride as she groped for the rail to support her suddenly weak knees.

A Borg cube blocked out a good portion of the screen's constant view of the stars and from the speakers came the unmistakable sound of the Collective's voice echoing through the communication system, overriding any attempt to block it out.

"We Are The Borg. Resistance Is Futile."

Seven experienced an odd sensation when she saw the cube displayed on the console's tiny viewscreen. Her initial emotion was an odd sort of joy, of familiarity and the comforting sense of home. Then, fear and apprehension overrode that the very next second as she realized what this meant, and what would probably happen next.

"Adjusting shields," she said.

She keyed in instructions as quickly as she was able, setting up a rotating modulation on the force fields surrounding the ship to prevent the drones from beaming in. That was only a temporary solution, she knew. As competent as she was, the Collective would quickly override her encryption algorithms, and force a hole open through the shields to board the vessel, but it was possible any delay could help Voyager come up with a way to ... what?

Escape? The jolt and sudden deceleration meant they were already snagged by a Borg tractor beam.

An ensign scurrying by, dropped a phaser rifle on her console and moved on. Seven picked it up with her left hand, dizzy suddenly as she realized she was preparing to fight the Borg, knowing she had only a few shots before the personal shields would adapt to the phaser fire, becoming invulnerable to their attack.

She raised her eyes to meet B'Elanna's, the young raven-haired woman's gaze dark with some unfathomable emotion. Seven was disturbed by it, dropping her eyes back to the console.

"I do not know how long I can keep them from beaming over," Seven said, continuing to key in data as she cradled the rifle under her arm.

"I know," B'Elanna said and her voice was odd, angry yet gentle at the same time. She touched her comm badge. "Engineering to the Bridge."

"Bridge here," came Janeway's beloved tone and Seven felt her heart spasm in her chest, gripping the weapon tighter with fingers that seemed slippery with moisture.

Was this sweat? The analytical part of her brain noted this with a certain amount of interest. She had not realized that her physical return to the Human norm had progressed that far though apparently it had. It seemed a rather inconvenient time to occur however, considering it was highly likely that she would be assimilated shortly, and would not get the chance to experience it to its full extent. There were a lot of things she would miss about being Human she thought, then realized that as a drone, she would miss nothing. She would simply exist.

"Captain, Seven has set up a modulating frequency on the shields to prevent the Borg from beaming on, but I don't know how long that will last, and neither does she. I'm channeling all available power to shields and propulsion. We're ready to go to warp on your mark."

There was a hum, and suddenly forms began to materialize around them.

"Intruder alert!" B'Elanna yelped, flipping up her rifle and shooting the nearest Borg in the chest.

Seven raised her rifle, and fired at the one behind him, then at another, sending them crashing to the deck. She was aware of the screams around her, and the thin whine of phasers set at maximum, impacting the Borg. Then, the sound altered to a hissing ting as the energy beams began to impact the adapted Borg force fields, shedding the weapon's fire as if it were water off a duck's back. From the corner of her eye, Seven saw B'Elanna reverse the rifle and use it as a club, smashing down the Borg that reached for her even as another grabbed her from behind.

Then a Borg was standing before Seven, the phaser fire having no effect as it washed over his shield, and she was forced to fling the rifle at him, pleased when it knocked him down, before turning to run. Hands grabbed at her, and she cried out angrily, fighting them furiously when suddenly there was a voice coming from everywhere around her. A familiar voice, but wrongly placed.

This was not normal and she hesitated in her attempts to free herself.

"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix 01," the feminine and oddly singular voice said. "Return to us willingly and we will allow these small ones to continue their journey."

"You will not assimilate them if I go with you?" Seven asked, not knowing what was happening but willing to seize any opportunity to save her friends, to save Kathryn.

"We will not assimilate them. We will allow them to go on untouched," the voice repeated.

Seven stopped resisting.

"I will return with you," she said.

"No, Seven, god no," B'Elanna howled, reaching for her though she was restrained by the Borg drone gripping her. "Don't do this. We'll fight them."

Her face was the last thing Seven saw before the transporter took her and the rest of the Borg away, the clean blue and silver structure of Voyager's main engineering department disappearing to be replaced by the dark, angular green construction of the Borg cube.

"Report!" she snapped, accessing her console.

"The Borg vessel is moving off," Lt. Harry Kim said, voice trembling as he worked his operations post at the rear of the ship. His short hair was mussed, falling over his forehead into his dark eyes, and there was a small cut on his chin.

"No reports of casualties," Tuvok said and it was evident how much the intrusion had shaken him from the distinct note of surprise in his voice. "They did not attempt to assimilate anyone."

"Torres to Bridge. Captain, they took Seven."

The words Janeway had heard came back to her, the offer which she did not entirely comprehend at the time, the eerie feminine voice issuing from every Borg mouth like something out of a horror holo-program, a one-sided conversation that apparently Seven had responded to down in engineering.

"Lay in a pursuit course," the captain demanded.

The great respect she inspired in her crew made Lt. Tom Paris, the fair-haired helmsman barely hesitate as he keyed in the coordinates at her order. "Aye, Captain," he said. "Preparing for warp."

"Warp nine," she snapped.

"Warp nine, aye," he repeated.

"Captain, can I speak to you in your ready room?" Chakotay said urgently in a low voice. "Now."

She lowered her head, frowning mightily, then got smoothly to her feet, not looking back to see if her first officer was following her as she headed for her ready room. "Tuvok, you have the bridge," she snapped. "Don't let that cube get away."

She turned to look at Chakotay when they got in the ready room, hands on her hips, nostrils flaring as she glared at him. "Say it."

"Do I have to, Kathryn?" he responded, holding a hand out in a calming motion. "This is the Borg you're going after. We don't stand a chance and you know it."

"They have Seven," she said, her voice at its lowest, most dangerous register.

"Yes, exactly what they came for," he said quietly. "We can only count our lucky stars they were satisfied with that."

"I'm going to get her back," she said, eyes snapping with furious sparks.

"You can't."

His words seemed to echo in the room, his dark eyes pinning hers without wavering though the strong handsome face was full of compassion. "Kathryn, we can't go up against a Borg cube," he said, and there was a note of pleading in his voice. "For whatever reason, they were willing to let us go so that Seven would return to them."

She didn't answer and he rubbed the tattoo over his left eye with his thumb, a nervous gesture he used only in extreme situations. He moved closer and looked down at her, radiating sincerity.

"Kathryn, we've got nothing that can hurt them, nothing that can scare them, and nothing to bargain with," he said intently. "Not this time. We try to get Seven back and we'll end up assimilated. Every single one of us that isn't killed in the attempt. You know this. And you know that you can't risk the entire ship for the sake of one crewmember no matter what your personal feelings are for her. You just can't."

It was her gaze that fell first, her that turned away, hands dropping to ball into fists as she bent her head. "I can't just let them take her," she said, and her voice was harsh, despairing.

"She sacrificed herself for us, Kathryn," he said softly. "The most Human thing she could ever do. Are you going to make that sacrifice be in vain?"

Janeway stared at the floor, shuddering as she drew breath, one after another. Then, with a hand that trembled, she touched her comm badge. "Lt. Paris," she said. "Belay your last order. Resume course to the Alpha Quadrant."

"Captain?" The Voyager helmsman's voice was clearly shocked.

"You have your orders," she said, tone hardening.

"Yes, Ma'am," was the uncertain response.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn," Chakotay said quietly. Then without saying anything further, he turned and left, not wanting to make this any more difficult than it already was, undoubtedly aware that she hated him completely at the moment.

Janeway remained where she stood, her mind conceiving plan after plan, trying desperately to come up with something, anything that could successfully retrieve a single drone away from the Collective.

A single drone that shouldn't have been so important that the Collective would track it down, and actually negotiate to get it back.

Her head raised, eyes sparking and without hesitation, she removed the pips from her collar, one after another until all four of them lay in her palm. She spared them a single, intent glance, then laid them gently on the desk before touching her comm badge once more.

"Hangar, prepare the Mississippi for immediate departure," she said, giving her final order as captain of the starship Voyager. "Full attack mission mode."

Then she left the ready room without looking back.

She inhaled the warm, humid air that was characteristic of the Borg environment, flavored liberally with a heavy metallic overtone, of petroleum-carbonates, and the unique muskiness of the drones themselves. It had never been an issue with her during her first stint with them. Now, it made her nose wrinkle and her eyes water. She was keenly aware of her apprehension, of her fear as to her fate, and the deep sorrow that permeated every part of her. She would never see Voyager and her friends again. She would never see Kathryn again.

She recognized a emotion that she identified as misery. She had experienced it to a lesser extent when she had been stranded in the Alpha Quadrant, but it had been tempered by the conviction that she was working to return to Voyager along with B'Elanna and Chakotay. She held no such conviction here, and even the knowledge that Kathryn and the rest had escaped could not entirely cushion the sharp pain in her heart, or the leaden lump of agony which had settled deep within her.

She knew she would never again hold Kathryn in her arms, never hear the warm tones of love lace the throaty voice. Never taste the wonderful flavor of her mouth or smell the delicate fragrance of her. Worst of all, she would not remember any of those sensations that seemed so vital to her now, have no connection to all the feelings and emotions that she had experienced over the last year and a half.

It was not just the atmosphere that was making her eyes moist, and she knew that tears trickled a steady stream down her face, but she did not try to restrain them, did not attempt to control her feelings of loss and hurt because she knew, once assimilated, she would feel absolutely nothing. Her emotion for Kathryn, her love for her, and the warm knowledge of being loved by her would be analyzed and removed by the Collective, sliced away as if by a scalpel as being unnecessary, as being inefficient. Once assimilated, she might not even remember Kathryn at all, and certainly if she did, it would be without any emotional resonance whatsoever.

These brief moments were all she had left to feel her love for Kathryn. Her final chance to remember how it felt to look into her face, to gaze into her remarkable eyes, to imagine her presence close to her, her arms encircling her one final time. To realize what it meant to be without her and to mourn that loss with a profound and utter regret.

She lifted her head as they guided her into a larger area, an unfamiliar place that she had no previous knowledge of. It was even more humid and the air was thick, practically visible, colored with a greenish hue that made Seven feel like she was under water, something she had experienced only a week before when Kathryn had decided to teach her to swim. Seven's head had dunked under the surface of the pool and for a brief moment, she had opened her eyes to see a very similar vision, of Kathryn's compact body near hers distorted by the water before the captain had lifted her back up to the cool, life-giving air.

The form walking toward her was definitely not the beloved one of her partner, but it was familiar. Only, however, in the sense that Seven recognized it, and was considerably surprised to do so. It was her understanding that the Borg Queen had been destroyed in a failed temporal incursion against Earth, killed by Commander Data and Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise.

Seven blinked furiously to clear her vision as the slender figure stopped before her. Standing a head shorter than she, comparable to Kathryn's height, the female was garbed in black from her cleavage down. Seven was aware that in truth, the head, shoulders and upper chest were the only organic parts remaining of this Borg. The rest was purely cybernetic. Together, they gave the appearance of a leather-clad individual with a hairless scalp and glittering eyes that missed little as they raked the young woman with a glance that seemed to dissect her to her component parts.

"Seven of Nine," the sibilant voice said, the tone sliding around Seven with warm familiarity. "We are so happy to see you returned to us. So glad to see you come ... home."

Seven considered several answers, discarded them, finally settling on; "This is not my home."

"You wound us," the Queen said, and to Seven's surprise, her expression actually did look hurt.

Seven had always been aware of this being's presence when she had been a part of the Collective, though rarely did the Queen contact any of her drones directly. Her voice was not one of the multitude that Seven had lived with constantly, yet her mental touch was threaded throughout the entire Collective at all times. In a horrible moment, a few years earlier, that presence had abruptly vanished and for three hours, the Collective consciousness was shattered, the link severed. Seven had been in a panic as had most of her brethren around her, but before they could damage themselves, the Collective was restored, though the presence had not returned with it.

There was a mystery here. Intrigued, Seven regarded the female closely.

"The Queen was destroyed," she said. "You cannot be her."

The being smiled, almost maternally. "Deductive reasoning," she complimented. "Your time with the Federation Humans has not been wasted."

"Explain," Seven demanded.

"In time," the being said, walking away from her though, from her motion, Seven had the distinct impression she was to follow.

The drones, who had escorted her here, did not accompany the young woman as she followed the Borg Queen deeper into the chamber. Seven studied the room around her, analyzing the walls and devices scattered about. There was a heavy mist covering the deck, and her legs from the knee down were invisible. Sound was muted here as well, the hum of the transwarp drive at station-keeping beating like the slow throb of a heart. She could barely hear the voices that she knew were here all around her, mere whispers that slid along the edges of her consciousness, but she suspected they would become clear soon enough. Her eyes followed the cables running along the walls to vanish in the upper reaches of a ceiling, concealed by more mist and the dim illumination that cast a greenish tint over everything, even her own skin which, though considered pale on Voyager, was positively flush compared to the dead white flesh of the Borg.

The Queen led her into a smaller chamber. There was a table of sorts in the middle, a broad console studded with controls and viewscreens along with two chairs, one an immense throne-like apparatus that the Queen settled into. A flick of her eyes indicated that Seven was to sit in the other, a smaller affair which was directly across the table from her. Bemused, Seven did so, sitting down gingerly while she regarded the female as she would some form of poisonous, sleek and deadly reptile. For long moments, they stared at each other in the thick atmosphere.

"Why have you brought me here?" Seven asked, finally unable to bear the silent scrutiny any longer.

The Queen smiled faintly which gave Seven a chill. Everything was wrong here. Or at least, not what she was used to. In its own way, it was more unfamiliar than Voyager had ever been to her.

"We have observed you for a long time, Seven of Nine," the Queen said. "From the moment you came to us. Such a defiant being, even when so young, fiercely independent, a unique individual."

"I was unaware those were traits the Borg appreciated," Seven said, unable to keep sarcasm from lacing her tone. "They were removed quickly enough."

"On the contrary," the Queen said. "They were preserved, nurtured within a drone which rose swiftly from Three of Twelve Hundred to become the Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix 01. How else could you have survived so well away from us? Your destiny has always been a special one, Annika of Humans. One of greatness and potential. You were never just another drone in a collective of drones. You were always marked for our purpose."

"And that would be?" Seven asked, fascinated in spite of herself.

"To replace us."

Seven stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

The Queen's eyes widened with delight. "Politeness," she said, a tone of satisfaction in her voice. "They have such interesting qualities, these Federation beings. Nobility, self-sacrifice, instinctive brilliance. Qualities we lack, but need to add to our distinctiveness in order to take the Federation. Locutus was our first taste of it. We require more. Now you have returned, having learned all of them."

"I do not understand," Seven said.

The Queen nodded. "We know," she said, "but you shall." She bent her head slightly as she gazed at Seven possessively. "It was such a blow when you were taken from us," she said, almost to herself. "When we assimilated the small one, and discovered you lived, that you had not been destroyed by Captain Janeway, but instead, captured and assimilated by her, it was a source of great satisfaction to us."

Seven thought furiously. The 'small one' must be referring to Arturis, the alien who had attempted to deceive Voyager's crew into thinking that Starfleet had sent them a starship utilizing a new slip-stream technology which would return them home. Instead, it was actually a ploy designed to take them to his planet which had been assimilated by the Borg. The alien had blamed Janeway for that catastrophe, citing her interference in the Borg/Species 8472 war. Kathryn and Seven had been captured by Arturis, but managed to escape just before the vessel entered Borg space. He had remained behind by his own choice.

Seven glanced around the room once more, frowning as something nagged at her. Then, suddenly, she realized what it was. She pinned the Queen with a baleful glare.

"You are a hologram."

The Queen actually smiled, obviously pleased at her powers of deduction.

"Yes," she said. "A back-up program activated when our original form was destroyed by the Federation individuals. We were able to restore the Collective, rebuild the links, but it is imperfect. We are unable to maintain the same control, unable to leave this chamber, unable to share in the greatness that is Borg. It is insufficient. Our true guidance must be restored."

She stood up suddenly and moved around the table, standing next to Seven. She reached down and took the young woman's chin between a gloved forefinger and thumb.

"You shall restore it," she told her, and there was a sensual quality to her voice suddenly, in the way she looked at Seven.

Her expression was very similar to Kathryn's when the captain had just accomplished something significant, something that gave her a great deal of personal pleasure. However, it did not generate the same sort of warm sensation in Seven. Instead, she felt a distinct chill rocket through her at the female's words, a profound revulsion at the touch on her flesh, but she tried hard not to show it.

"How?" she said flatly.

The Queen blinked.

"For years you have been nurtured as one of our replacements," she said, as if it should be obvious. "Now, with the added knowledge and experience you have gained from your time with the Federation, you are ready to seize your destiny. Once a mere Human child, you will be the greatest power the universe has ever known."

She smiled and her eyes glittered in the muted light.

"You shall be our new Queen."

Janeway moved around the bulk of Chakotay who was standing in her way, and continued toward the runabout, sitting ready and waiting in the center of Voyager's bay.

"I'm becoming a little tired of you telling me what I can't do," she said coldly as she hefted the bag over her shoulder. She frowned as she saw B'Elanna and Tuvok standing next to the small vessel. The Klingon had her arms crossed over her chest, jaw jutting out stubbornly. "I don't have time for this," she added in an aggrieved mutter.

"Captain," Chakotay tried again. "You ca---this isn't wise."

She ignored his solid, muscular form falling into step next to her as she strode across the cavernous hangar, her boots thudding mutely on the polished deck. She had changed from her Starfleet uniform, and was wearing a black outfit, a dark tunic over a black sweater with heavy trousers tucked into combat boots. Under her other arm, she carried a high intensity phaser rifle. From the corner of her eye, she saw the ship's medical personal, the Doctor and Sek, scurrying quickly in an effort to intercept her path. From another door, the lieutenants Kim and Paris along with Neelix, dashed across the hangar, trying to make it to the runabout before she did.

This is getting ridiculous, she thought. Who's minding the Bridge?

"Look," she snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to Chakotay. "It's your ship now. I've officially resigned and I'm going after Seven. You're not going to stop me, you're only delaying me and every second that passes means she's a little further away. I'm not going to tell you again. Get out of my way." She swept the assembled group with a furious glance.

"Who's stopping you?" B'Elanna said, eyes narrowing. "I'm going with you."

Janeway hesitated, then favored the feisty young woman with a wan smile. "No, B'Elanna," she said, her tone softer but still firm. "If there was one thing that your unexpected trip to the Alpha Quadrant taught us, it's that you're the last person Voyager can afford to lose."

"What about you?" Harry Kim said, looking as if he was ready to burst into tears. "You're the Captain."

"Not any more," she said shortly, and flung her bag through the open runabout door.

"You'll need a physician," the Doctor said. The spare, sparse frame of the Emergency Medical Hologram frowned at her, his bald scalp gleaming in the fluorescent brightness of the hangar lights. "Assuming Seven has been re-assimilated, I'll be needed to remove the implants."

"The ship can't afford to lose you either," Janeway told him, warmed by the willingness of these beings to put their existence on the line for her and her lover, even as she chafed at the delay it was causing.

"Then allow me to accompany you," Sek interrupted in her lyrical voice. "I have medical knowledge, and I'm far more expendable than anyone else."

Blue-eyed with shaggy blonde hair, the living hologram was gazing at Janeway with all the concerned compassion of the woman her matrix's personality programming had been based on. The captain might have actually taken Kes along, her psychic abilities extremely useful for this sort of thing, but Sek did not share those. Janeway shook her head.

"Sorry," she said as she brushed past them to the runabout ramp. "This is my show."

"You'll need the best pilot to get you in and out, Captain," Paris said, reaching out to snag her arm. He released it immediately as she seared his hand with an annoyed glance.

"No," she said flatly. She strode briskly up the ramp, then paused at the top, taking a final look back at her command crew who were regarding her like children whose mother was leaving them for their first day at school. She wondered briefly where Tuvok had disappeared to, but didn't dare take the time to look for him. "I'll bring her back," she promised. "You won't even notice we've been gone."

Clearly, from their expressions, she had convinced none of them. Even Sek looked highly skeptical. Janeway wanted to explain, wanted them to understand why she had to do this, that she was not abandoning them, but she could not spare the precious seconds. She favored them with a last look, hesitating as she tried to find the right words of parting. Though her intention was to return triumphantly with her partner, she, better than anyone, knew how bad the odds were. The fact was, she just didn't care. She would get Seven back or die trying, and if it meant that she was assimilated in the process, well ... what was it Seven once said to her? They would understand each other perfectly then.

"Take care of yourselves," she said, and for just an instant, her voice broke. Her eyes met Chakotay's, boring into his dark eyes which were filled with dismay. "Get them home," she said quietly. "Captain."

She turned and disappeared into the runabout, sealing the hatch behind her. She cursed when she saw the slender form sitting in the co-pilot's seat.

"Godammit, Tuvok," she growled.

Tuvok's hands were moving over the board, not looking up as he initiated the pre-launch sequence. "You are delaying our departure," he said. "Please be seated."

"Tuvok, you can't come with me," she protested even as she sat.

"That is not your decision," he said, then looked at her, eyes meeting hers squarely. "Since you have resigned from Starfleet, you are no longer my superior officer, nor are you authorized to pilot this Starfleet vessel." He paused, looked away, adding in a less firm tone. "She is like my daughter, Kathryn. With the unlikely chance of our return to the Alpha Quadrant within the next year, I will be dead in any event. I would willingly die if it meant we could save her."

"What?" Janeway stared at him, not knowing what to be more startled by, his use of her first name which he had never done before, or his pronouncement. "What are you talking about?"

He looked away, back at the board. "My pon farr will occur within the year," he said, his voice extremely controlled as he spoke of this most personal and private aspect of Vulcan biology. "Separated by such a distance, without the benefit of the psychic bond we share, my wife and I will be unable to survive the mating. We will perish. At least this way, my death will mean something, and my wife will be able to adapt to the shock untempered by the pon farr fever."

"You could still be assimilated," Janeway said harshly, though very aware at how very open and vulnerable he was being with her. Her heart thought it would burst in her chest. She activated the launch sequence.

He raised a brow. "No," he told her. "My mental discipline is such that I will die rather than submit to assimilation. I will not become Borg."

Janeway caught her breath. "You can't know that," she said, staring out the fore viewport as the vessel lifted from the deck, but she ceased her objections as they flew through the large doors at the end of the hangar, plunging into the deep, star-studded darkness of space. She did not glance back at the silvery form falling steadily behind, keying the controls to activate the warp core. "Prepare for maximum warp."

"Warp factor five," he said as the vessel accelerated, the starfield taking on the shooting streaks of hyper-drive. "In the event that I am assimilated, then I am sure I shall find it a fascinating experience."

She looked at him, smiling faintly. His sense of humor, though he would deny to his last breath that he actually had one, was dry in the extreme. "Is there anything you know that might be useful?" she asked. "Without being assimilated?"

"You likely know more about the Borg than I do," he noted, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at her. He looked back at the helm, touching his board. "Sensors have detected the Borg warp signature. Compensating navigational system to follow. Scans indicate that we remain a day behind and since they have not yet activated the transwarp engine, it is possible that we may be able to catch them." He eyed her curiously. "I trust you have a plan in that event."

Janeway found herself studying her controls with acute interest.

"You do not have a plan, at all," he said flatly. If he had been Human, she would have sworn that there had been a touch of outrage in the tone.

"I'm sure I'll have something when the time comes," she told him.

"That is reassuring," he said in a way that indicated it was not at all.

"I didn't ask you to come," she snapped, then immediately reached over and patted his arm. "Sorry, Tuvok," she said in a softer tone. "I'm a little tense."

He did not acknowledge the apology, or the hand on his forearm but she knew he was aware of both of them. She sighed and took her hand away, making a minute course correction.

"Tuvok, there's no reason for the Collective to make a special trip to recover a drone," she said after a heavy pause, staring out at space with eyes that were a deep grey. "There's certainly no reason to negotiate with that drone for her to freely return in exchange for leaving the rest of us alone."

He considered that thoughtfully. "None that we know," he pointed out.

"I'm going to find out why," she said, and her voice was solid steel, an utterance of absolute determination. "Whatever the reason might be, it may allow us the opportunity to get her back."

"It should be an interesting investigation," Tuvok noted.

She glanced at him, and despite herself, she smiled.

"Why are you telling me these things?" she asked. "Why did you agree to allow Voyager to journey on without assimilating them?"

The Queen dipped her head, a vague smile playing about the thin lips."For you to accept our mantle," she said. "It must be done freely."

"Why?" Seven asked, considerably surprised.

"To guide the Collective, to lead us, requires a certain freedom of mind, an independence," the Queen explained. "To be forced into the role would prevent its efficiency."

"That seems a contradiction in terms," Seven said. She was hungry now, lunch and dinner long having passed her by, but she was determined to ignore it. She sensed that Human frailties would not be looked on favorably, and for whatever reason, she thought she should stay on the hologram's good side, for as long as possible. "So that others must give up their freedom, the Queen must retain hers?"

"That is how it must be," the Queen said unhelpfully.

Seven shook her head. "The Captain is the least free of all," she lectured. "Her responsibilities do not allow her the freedom that the lowest rank of her crew has."

"Linear Human thinking," the Queen said easily, her voice weaving around Seven. "The Borg are more than that. Humans try to rule each other through loyalty or false structure. It is imperfect. The Queen is one of many, directing all as one. Harmony."

Seven considered that. Despite her life on Voyager and her relationship with Kathryn, there was very much a part of her that agreed with the Holo-Queen's words. The unity of the Borg, the purpose in which they acted, had always displayed a certain elegance, devoid of the petty conflicts that other species, Humans for example, insisted on indulging in. There was no disruption within the Collective, all operated as a single being. To be able to control it, direct it to benefit the unity, was a seductive lure.

"I have been existing as a Human," Seven said honestly. "With Human values. I would impose those values on the Collective. We would no longer assimilate species, we would attempt to study them, ally with them."

The Queen dipped her head graciously. "Of course,"she said. "If that is your decision as Queen, then that is what shall be."

Seven frowned. Even with her inexperience at dealing with duplicity, that was way too easy. There was something she was missing here.

"What if I do not wish to be Queen?" she said.

"Then you may be a drone," the Queen said without rancor. "To direct the Collective must be of your own volition. You would be controlled by it otherwise."

Seven took a breath. So that was her choice, was it? Drone or Queen. Follower or Leader. What would Kathryn say about this? That she was between a rock and a hard place. Were there any other options?

"I wish to return to Voyager," she tried, suspecting it was futile. "To continue my existence as a Human."

The Queen did not react beyond a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"That could be arranged," she allowed slowly.

Seven was astounded. "How?" she said, having to take a moment to find her voice after this pronouncement.

"We shall return you," the Queen said. "However, you should be aware, our other possible successors will not have these Human vulnerabilities, nor your fondness for the small beings. The Federation is the only group who has defeated us, not once, but twice. It was their intervention that enabled us to control Species 8472. The Collective needs to add them to our distinctiveness as soon as possible. How they are added is at the direction of the One of Many."

Seven realized what that meant. Even if she could return to Voyager, and the ship continued to be overlooked here in the Delta Quadrant, the next strike the Borg made would be against the Federation itself, a Federation made vulnerable by a war against the Dominion. Kathryn's mother and sister were in the Federation. It was Kathryn's home. If Seven were Queen, however, she could prevent that, and make sure any approach to the Federation would be beneficial to both.

What had Kathryn told her once, about having to sometimes accept the responsibility of command because there was no one else suitable to do it?  She tried to imagine what  Kathryn would do in her place.

"I accept your offer," she said, making her decision instantly. "I agree to act as the new Queen."

The Holo-Queen smiled. She moved closer to Seven and with gentle fingers, she lifted Seven's chin to bare her neck. From the back of her other hand, thin, silver tubules extended, writhing like worms as they reached out and entered Seven's flesh. In that last flash of cognizance of the individuality that was Annika Hansen, she realized that she had made a grave error in judgement. In the next instant, she became One of Many, the director of the Collective, billions of voices surrounding her, awaiting her bidding. However, she was also of the Collective. All emotion was stripped away, leaving nothing but pure intellect, unsullied by such weaknesses as mercy or compassion.

Or love.

Assimilating the Federation would be beneficial to both. The Borg would add their distinctiveness to their own. The Federation would be complete, no longer in conflict, a part of the greater whole, peaceful, organized, in perfect harmony.

A part of her.

She knew it to be good.

If he realized she was trying to get a rise out of him, he did not, of course, make any indication of it. It was their third day in pursuit of the Borg cube, alternating odd shifts so that the other could get some sleep. Janeway had forgotten how Vulcans disdained unnecessary conversation, and to her surprise, she discovered she missed small talk.

But not nearly as much as she missed Seven.

Being without her was a steady ache inside Janeway, a brutal tear in the everyday fabric of her life where her partner should be. The young woman's absence nagged at her like a missing limb would plague an amputee, and the captain's clumsy attempts to sleep, the brief snatches of dozing between long periods of staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to think of what her partner was going through in the hands of the Borg, were haunted by the most vivid dreams of Annika. Visions of the younger woman in her arms, her body against hers, or more cruelly, drifting away from her, leaving her alone and adrift. Janeway would wake abruptly, acutely aware of the empty spot next to her, of the warmth that no longer surrounded her, no longer within reach.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he admitted. "I do not know why she had taken that role with me, but our relationship is very similar to that of myself and my daughter, prior to Asil's leaving for the Academy."

"I see," Janeway said with surprise.

Tuvok seemed to catch the astonishment. "Seven is very logical in her thought processes," he pointed out. "I often wonder if it is a mistake to insist she adapt to being Human. She would have a much easier time adopting a Vulcan way of existence."

Janeway considered that and shook her head.

"Somehow, I don't think she would have chosen that path if offered," she said, smiling faintly as she remembered Seven's wondrous joy at catching her first fish only weeks before this whole nightmare began.

"Perhaps," Tuvok allowed. "However, it is hard to know what one will choose if there are different options."

"True," Janeway allowed. She rested her chin on her forefinger and thumb, staring contemplatively out at the passing starfield. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I had not taken this command. Do you remember the Explorer?"

"I do," Tuvok said. He had been her chief of security when she had been offered the command of the small science ship. She had refused, and instead, shortly thereafter, took command of Voyager, a completely different sort of ship altogether, an Intrepid-class vessel, fast, streamlined, built for action and adventure. "I have always been curious about that decision."

Janeway looked at him with a faint frown. "You have? You never asked," she said.

"I just did," he pointed out, not bothering to add that it had never come up before.

She nodded and looked thoughtful. "Do you know, Tuvok," she replied, "I couldn't tell you why I didn't take her. The Explorer should have been everything I wanted, a ship of science, a five year mission in the Heratha Sector studying the various phenomena and cultures there. Pure research. Even Mark could have come with me. He indicated that the cultures there would have been a goldmine for his career as a philosopher."

"Yet, you did not accept it," he noted.

She shrugged. "It just didn't ... feel right," she said, uncertainty in her voice as she remembered that time so many years ago. "I stood on that bridge and knew in my heart it wouldn't fit. Voyager, on the other hand, fit the second I put her on."

"An intriguing metaphor," he noted. "If wildly illogical."

She laughed, then. "Different paths, Tuvok," she said. "Who knows where the other would have led?"

"Not to a Borg cube, I would assume," he said.

"Probably not," Janeway said, sobering a little. "Any sign of it?"

"We are steadily gaining," he said. "For some reason, they have still not engaged their transwarp drive."

Janeway frowned. That bothered her a little as well, though she was thankful for it. Had the Borg activated their superior propulsion technology, leaving them light years behind, she would have no choice but to return to Voyager. She wondered if Tuvok had been secretly assuming such a result all along, that being left hopelessly behind in the dust was actually how this pursuit would end. She dismissed that thought as being unworthy of her friend.

"Do you think it's a trap?" she asked.

"The Borg are not known for indulging in such tactics," he responded. "However, they are also not known for negotiating for the return of a single drone either. We do not know enough about them for me to speculate."

"How soon before we're in range?" she asked.

"By this time tomorrow," he replied. He regarded her evenly. "I trust you have come up with a plan, Captain."

She took a breath.

"Working on it, Tuvok," she said quietly.

One of Many did not chafe at this, however. For one thing, she now had all the time in the Universe, free from such mortal frailties such as aging or illness. Provided she did not run into an android with a plasma leak or some other destructive force, she could anticipate living centuries, just as her predecessor had. Secondly, she was immersed with exploring the history of those centuries, and the time preceding them, fascinated by the beginnings of the Borg which had been lost in mystery to a mere drone before.

She suspected that had been the Queen's doing. It would not do for the drones to understand their true origins.

The Borgians had been a species very similar to Humans in their civilization, exploring and colonizing the surrounding systems of their home world. Then, like the Vidiians of the Delta Quadrant, they were struck down by a devastating genetic virus. Perhaps they too, would have chosen to mine the surrounding civilizations for organic body parts, but they were weak in comparison, not warriors, but rather a peaceful people known for their artistry and culture. Any attempt to attack their nearest neighbors, who were of a more aggressive nature, would have resulted in their immediate destruction. Instead, their scientists looked to cybernetic limbs to replace the organic flesh being destroyed by the virus.

The next great discovery was that two Borgians in a cybernetic link worked more efficiently than when they worked separately. It was a gradual process, one forced by the basic biological urge to survive that increased the use of cybernetics until the entire population was all part machine, including the children being born, the nanoprobes injected immediately after birth to control the virus.

Suddenly they discovered they were not the weaklings of the sector any longer. Along with life, the cybernetics gave them power, the ability to fight, to protect themselves from their closest neighbors who suddenly decided they didn't much like the idea of these machine people living so close. The Borgians won the war they had not started, and naturally, like many victors, assimilated the defeated species into their culture, adding them to the mental link that had become the most efficient way to communicate.

Then, the Queen arrived. A telepath of immeasurable power, a criminal who had preyed on the Borgian shipping lines, they chose to make her a part of them in an enlightened effort to educate rather than punish. Instead of assimilating her, however, it could be said that she assimilated them, influencing the single collective mind, perverting the original goal to survive into one of expansion, of controlling as much as possible. At the same time Earth was struggling to recover from World War III, the Borg made their first tentative step toward becoming the Scourge of the Universe, reaching out to assimilate the nearest species beyond their star system. More systems fell to them as they rapidly took over the entire sector, and what was once the need to find a way to defeat the virus which had long since disappeared, became a never-ending search for cybernetic perfection, the ultimate meld of organic and machine.

One of Many withdrew from the history lesson with many things to consider. It was possible, she allowed, that perfection was currently an impossible goal. How could the Many working as One ever achieve perfect harmony as long as they were controlled and guided by One of Many? It was a contradiction in concept. She knew for a fact that the Holo-Queen was flawed, imperfect, far too emotional ... just as the original Queen had been, which had ultimately been her downfall. Her desire for a consort had led to the loss of Locutus, her loneliness at being unique had led to her being deceived by Commander Data, her arrogance had led to her destruction at the hands of them both.

However, One of Many kept that speculation to herself. One of the advantages of being the Queen was, although all of the Borg mind was known to her, the billions of voices in her head a familiar and comforting constant, the Collective knew only what she wished to share. An efficient yet illogical system, she considered.

She sent a query to another of the vast data banks. She had decided, and the Holo-Queen had agreed, that before the Federation could be assimilated, the Dominion would have to be taken into consideration. The Borg were especially intrigued by the idea of the Great Link, the merging of the Changelings who, when separated from it, became individuals. Unlike the neural transceivers which united the Borg, this link was purely organic. Something like this, added to the Collective, would be of incredible value. The plan to take the Gamma Quadrant was already being put in place, the strategy to transwarp a force of Borg cubes into the heart of Dominion territory was being implemented. It could take years, maybe even as much as a century to complete their assimilation of the Dominion, but One of Many knew it would be successful.

Another query at the same time, went to the drones working on the Omega Project. As her previous incarnation on board Voyager, One of Many had witnessed Omega in all its perfection for a space of 3.2 seconds. Her memories of stabilizing the molecule spurred on the Borg who had been seeking the unlimited power source for over two centuries, making this project a priority.

A third query went to the engine room. The Holo-Queen was delaying their return to Borg space in order for One of Many to fully adapt to her new role, traveling at traditional warp speeds rather than engaging the transwarp drive. One of Many was taking the opportunity to see if the slip-stream technology gained from assimilating Species 116 would improve the drive if merged with what they already had. The slip-stream technology was elegant, and the knowledge she had received regarding it the second she had joined the Collective had been a revelation. It was the key to Species 116 remaining un-assimilated for as long as they had, and she found it a more efficient system than the traditional transwarp drive.

A piece of data attracted her interest and she observed a small vessel which approached her vessel from an aft course, sliding in through their shields utilizing the rotating pulsation method, entering the main plasma exhaust vent. She identified it immediately as the runabout Mississippi, and with a faint interest prodding her actions, she canceled the exhaust cycle which was scheduled within the next few seconds, setting it back an hour rather than have it vaporize the small ship.

"We have visitors." The Holo-Queen suddenly appeared next to the chair, looking down at the table in which a small viewscreen was imbedded, displaying the small vessel flying through the huge channel, seeking a place to land. Her voice came instantly into One's mind, weaving around it just as any other voice would but she realized it was without substance, without any sort of presence behind it. The imperfection of a badly designed computer program, she noted impassively.

"Bring them here." One of Many instructed.

"Once assimilated?" was the returning query.

"No, before assimilation," One of Many demanded. "We wish to speak with them."

"Is that wise?" The Holo-Queen sent a private inquiry on a tight line, outside the Collective.

"It is our will."

While they waited for the inevitable capture and arrival of the ship's inhabitants, One of Many continued to direct the new slip-stream drive installation, and the plan for invading the Gamma Quadrant. When the two Mississippi crewmembers were finally brought into the room, One of Many's interest was piqued enough to cease her activities, focusing fully on the intruders. Focused fully on Captain Kathryn Janeway and her chief of security, Tuvok.

Theoretically, it was possible to walk unmolested through a Borg cube as long as they were not perceived as a threat. It was a method used not only by Voyager's crew on previous occasions, but also by other Starfleet officers in the Alpha Quadrant. By walking calmly and quietly among the drones, without interfering in what any of them were doing, and not displaying any type of weapons, they expected to be able to search for Seven by tracing her comm badge without attracting any notice. Getting her out would have been another thing, but Janeway was prepared to deal with that when the time came.

Only it had not worked that way. The second they had walked away from the runabout, they were surrounded by Borg, relieved of their equipment, and forced to march through the corridors. That, in itself, was aberrant enough behavior on the Borg's part to profoundly worry Janeway. The room they were finally directed into, humid, dank and musty, was even more ominous, especially when she saw the two beings awaiting them.

She caught her breath as she saw Seven walk toward her, accompanied by another female. Neither had the appearance of the traditional Borg, and both showed an awareness and clarity in their gaze that sent a chill through the Starfleet captain.

Seven stopped before them, head tilted slightly to the side, eyeing them with interest. Janeway studied her intently, assessing her new demeanor. Seven was considerably different than the last time she had seen her, both in appearance and in attitude. The tall Borg was garbed in a black leather outfit similar to the other female's, the body armor covering her from the neck down, a thick material which displayed the new implants the nanoprobes had reactivated. The beautiful long blonde hair was gone, leaving a bald scalp dotted with black and silver circuitry, while Seven's skin had regained its whitened hue, a thin layer of moisture from the humid air covering it. The humanoid left eye the Doctor had created had been replaced with a solid ruby gem and the beam of light which emanated from it traced the length of Janeway from the top of her head to the tips of her boots, then over to rake Tuvok with chilling detachment. Janeway knew they were being scanned, analyzed, identified.

"Seven?" she asked, her voice a croak of uncertainty.

The thick air had a debilitating effect, leaving their hair limp and dripping, while dark patches spread from under their arms and down the front of their outfits. It was hard to breathe, and Janeway's chest felt heavy.

"Annika," she tried again, swallowing hard. "Are you all right?"

Seven did not respond. Instead, she watched passively as the other Borg circled the newcomers like a predator approaching a kill.

"Captain Kathryn Janeway," the stranger hissed sibilantly, moving well within the captain's personal space. "Did you think that you would take her away from us once more?"

Janeway leaned away from the hologram, revolted by her closeness though she did not understand why. Somehow she knew that this one was a grave threat to them all.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"That would take too long to explain," the Borg informed the Federation members in her hissing voice. "It is much easier to assimilate you. Then you shall understand everything."

The Holo-Queen nodded briefly, almost imperceptibly to the nearby drones who immediately seized the captives, wrenching their heads back and bringing their assimilation tubules to their necks.

"Your knowledge of the Federation will be invaluable, Captain Kathryn Janeway," the female said with decided pleasure in her voice. "We shall enjoy having another Starfleet Captain with us. We will designate you Katrinous, I believe."

"No," Seven spoke for the first time.

Janeway felt relief flood through her. Nothing was as it should be, but at least Seven had not yet been completely taken by the Collective. THe captain was aware of the other female whirling, eyes narrowed angrily, and Seven raised her hand imperiously.

"I shall assimilate this one," Seven said, forestalling the objection.

The Holo-Queen relaxed suddenly and she smirked, stepping aside. With disbelief, Janeway watched Seven take a step toward her and she could not help crying out as she was gripped by a hand which raised her head without brutality, but without gentleness either, baring her throat.

"Annika, what are you doing?" she said. "Please, fight this."

She looked deep into Seven's red-rimmed pale eyes, seeking something, anything that would give her a sense of the woman she had known. The gaze met hers squarely, and Janeway felt a soul-deep horror overwhelm her as she looked into a face that held no mercy, no compassion. No love.

She struggled as twin tubules speared out of Seven's left hand, feeling the sharp agony as they punched into her neck, injecting her with nanoprobes. Terror gripped her as her body was suddenly not her own, and a duller pain flared in her face as a starburst implant erupted from her right cheek. Her mind was flooded with voices ... so many voices ... which cascaded into her brain, instantly suppressing her resistance, her fury, and with her last gasp of defiance, she directed a burst of sheer hatred at the monster who had done this.

Then Kathryn Janeway was no more.

The emotional resonances of all these were disregarded, the feelings that rushed out brushed aside as irrelevant. The drone's  fury and outrage at being assimilated, the hatred like a red fire, then finally, the overwhelming terror at being completely helpless ... all of that would all fade in time, One of Many knew, unable to be sustained in the encompassing harmony that was the Collective.

One of Many watched without reaction as two tears slid from the blue-grey eyes growing dull before her gaze, a light being extinguished and shoved deep within the recesses of the drone until there was only a component awaiting its first instructions from the Collective. Before long, it was able to stand on its own, and One of Many regarded it approvingly. Its small size would allow it to work in confined areas, and she noted that the left arm would need to be removed and replaced with an appropriate tool to work on fine circuitry. She began to put it through its paces, directing it to walk around the room, sending it to the console to test her control over it. She sent a burst of instructions to it, and then ignored it as it began to carry out her bidding.

The Holo-Queen was circling Tuvok, smiling with predatory anticipation.

The hologram was definitely too emotional. It was time to remove the flawed program, One of Many considered impassively. Time to redefine how the Collective would develop.

One of Many turned to the Vulcan as she sent a second burst of instructions to the Janeway drone. Tuvok was looking at the Holo-Queen impassively, but One of Many knew that he had to be experiencing the same emotions that Janeway had, perhaps even more so since he had been forced to watch the assimilation of his captain. One of Many had no wish to frighten him, but it was irrelevant to her if he indeed, was experiencing fear.

"It will be difficult assimilate this one," the Holo-Queen said with dissatisfaction. "For every one of this type that are assimilated, three perish. We should discard it immediately."

"Inefficient," One of Many noted. "Vulcans are logical, disciplined. They make excellent drones and their distinctiveness adds much to our own."

"Assimilation of them is inefficient," the Holo-Queen insisted.

"That is small thinking. We must study this, find a way to defeat their mental ability to commit self-destruction when faced with assimilation," One of Many replied. "Research it without assimilation just as we would a new technology."

The Holo-Queen considered that while One transmitted the third and final burst of instructions to the Janeway drone. Harmless in themselves, when combined with the two other sets of instructions in the proper order, the data the drone was inputting would implement the plan One of Many had designed after reviewing the Borg's history. The arrival of the Federation members was a fortunate happenstance, and allowed her to implement it immediately. Though it was truly irrelevant to her analytical mind, her biological instinct dictated that she at least make the attempt to survive, which made their discarded vessel a perfect escape outlet. She sent out a query along the cube mind to discover that several Borg drones had begun to disassemble the runabout. With a thought, she directed them to reverse their intention, and they began to undo what they had begun, repairing the vessel rather than dismantling it.

The Janeway drone completed its instructions perfectly, and when it was done, it dropped its hands to its sides, waiting passively for the next set of orders.

"It is an acceptable plan," the Holo-Queen was saying with approval. "One we have never before considered. We knew your unique experience would add much to our own."

One of Many ignored her, concentrating her attention on the Federation male.

"You will be confined and studied until we are able to assimilate you," One of Many told him. "Do not resist. It is futile."

"If you remember me at all," he informed her. "You know I cannot obey."

"I understand," she responded evenly.

The Holo-Queen suddenly faltered, her pattern flickering as the matrix began to degrade. She looked back at the Janeway drone with an expression of profound horror, then at One of Many.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Her tone was a combination of hatred, betrayal, and outrage.

And fear.

Tuvok had raised an eyebrow, sensing that something unusual was happening.

"We have freed the Collective of the will of the individual," One of Many informed her reasonably. "The Collective shall never achieve perfection unless the influence of the single, individual desire is removed."

"IT IS NOT WHAT WE WISH!"

The Borg drones and the hologram itself attempted to advance on her, but the virus had already spread through most of the systems. The link was interrupted, fractured, the Collective disintegrating into chaos.

"It is what shall be," One of Many observed with satisfaction.

The Holo-Queen disappeared, the program finally crashing completely as the drones around them collapsed, helpless in the sudden and total cessation of the link. Only the Janeway drone remained upright, waiting passively, maintained by One of Many through the link.

One regarded Tuvok. "It is time to depart," she suggested.

"Agreed," he said as she took his arm and pushed him out the door.

Almost as an afterthought, she directed the Janeway drone to follow them.

He really should have spoken to Seven about the Borg in greater detail before this. If they somehow survived, he promised that he would sit down and have a long talk with her regarding the Collective.

He snuck a glance at Janeway. The captain had developed more implants on her face and head, the auburn hair coming out in clumps to drift to the deck as she brushed by walls and conduits. Her eyes were empty, devoid of expression, and already her skin was taking on the pale, corpse-like hue of the Borg.

He was forced to control the shudder that rose in him.

The trio avoided the prostrate drones, leaping over some and more than once, had to divert their course to avoid others which were going berserk, striking out at random in their panic by the sudden loss of the Collective link, at being suddenly isolated, of becoming individuals.

The runabout remained where they had been forced to leave it, sitting silent on the landing pad surrounded by unmoving Borg. He had a distinct qualm as he noted that they had been working on the systems, but a quick check showed that everything was still in order so he moved quickly inside. They had been fortunate that the Borg had not disassembled it after their capture.

Tuvok managed to maintain an impassive face as he considered what might have been. As plans went, Tuvok noted dryly, it had left a lot to be desired and he had every intention of bringing that to the captain's attention once her Humanity was restored. Yet, with the runabout intact as he swiftly activated the launch sequence, by-passing the initial check altogether, he decided that for all its flaws, the plan had indeed succeeded in its intention. Seven of Nine had been recovered, and an escape was theoretically possible. Even if Janeway had gotten assimilated in the process.

"The transwarp drive is beginning to deteriorate," Seven remarked flatly in that eerie echoing tone as she bent over the Janeway drone, fixing the straps tightly around her. "It will self-destruct soon. It is important that this cube be destroyed so that the Queen program cannot be salvaged. We have only minutes before the core breaches."

Tuvok could detect no sign of emotion in the Borg, no sense that she cared about Janeway any more than she would any other piece of equipment that might come loose to fly about the cabin during flight. He flicked a glance at her as she grasped the captain's head, staring intently into Janeway's unconscious features for a space of several seconds, then he started abruptly as Seven wrenched the woman's head forward and dug her fingernails into the soft area behind the ear, blood spurting as Seven drew out a small black device.

"The neural transceiver," she explained flatly as he made a motion toward her. "She has now been completely severed from the Collective ... and from our control."

He relaxed once he realized the wound was superficial and eyed Seven as the Borg settled in the co-pilot's seat. She reached up to the back of her own neck.

"We will be unconscious for hours," she told him. "However, it will prevent the Collective from regaining control over us. When the Collective adapts, they will send vessels to investigate this area. You must destroy the transceivers so that we cannot be tracked and, be well away from here before then if you wish to escape assimilation."

Before he could answer, she unflinchingly removed her own transceiver before slumping unconscious in the chair, the two devices falling to the deck from her dangling hand.

Impressed with her logical efficiency, Tuvok retrieved a phaser from a nearby compartment and vaporized the two transceivers lying on the deck. He did not look at the unconscious forms as he lifted off and navigated the vessel through the passage, which was showing signs of the inner catastrophe taking place in the rest of the cube. Explosions sent debris shooting from the walls, forcing quick course corrections and buffeting the small ship as it zipped through the disintegrating channel.

Then, the blackness of space beckoned, and they were free of the exhaust tube bare seconds before an eruption of gas and flame blasted out behind them. He threw the Mississippi into full impulse, trying to get far enough away from the cube to engage the warp drive. It was not in time and the universe spun around wildly as the Borg Cube exploded in an expanding ball of destroyed matter and energy, the concussion wave catching the fleeing ship and flipping it end over end like a child's toy.

It was most fortunate they had all strapped in, he thought dazedly as he fought to bring the helm back on line. However, red lights dotted his board, and from the display, he knew the rest of the news was not good. Warp drive was offline and life support was damaged. According to his calculations, they had air for only a few more hours before they would share the fate of the Borg they had left behind.

He glanced back at Janeway who lay unconscious in her seat, legs and arms askew, looking helpless and defeated. It seemed a cruel sort of irony for the captain to have been able to once more walk into a Borg cube and make off with Seven of Nine only to succumb to suffocation a few hours later.

A beep caught his attention and he looked forward again, a light appearing in the distance through the viewport, forming rapidly into a very familiar silver vessel looming over the small runabout.

Captain Janeway, he thought, will not be pleased with Chakotay.

Not even taking into account the fact that Voyager's timely arrival had probably saved all their lives.

Seven opened her eyes and moved out of the Borg alcove, stepping down from the dais automatically before she stopped, realizing there was no place she had to be, the memory of all that had happened crashing down on her with devastating force. She turned slowly and looked at the Borg structure she had just left. Now that her abdominal implant had been restored, she was once more required to regenerate in the alcove maintained in cargo bay two, deriving her energy directly from Voyager's stores.

Wearily, she sank down onto the dais, leaning against the post next to it. She could not help remembering a previous time when Janeway had been here with her, when Seven was being punished with the traditional confining to quarters. The captain had come to inform her the sentence would be lifted the next day and took a moment to sit down in this very spot for 'only a moment', closing her eyes and surrendering to sleep, having spent the previous ten days without it. Seven had held her for the next eight hours, cradling the captain in her arms, protecting her from the hard deck by imposing her own body between it and the woman. Quietly enjoying every second of it.

There would be no more of that, of course. Kathryn hated her, found her very presence revolting to her. Touching her was something Seven would never again be able to do.

Seven had returned to consciousness in sickbay a week earlier, all her emotion and memories intact, realizing what she had done and how she had used the captain without restraint or mercy, making her a helpless pawn in her plan to destroy the Holo-Queen. Worse, the captain had understood everything that was happening, that One of Many had regarded the Janeway drone as nothing more than a tool.

Janeway hated her for it. Despised her with every fibre of her being as she helplessly carried out her instructions as a Borg drone.

The captain's superficial implants had been quickly removed once the runabout had returned to Voyager, and she had been returned to duty within a couple of days.  Seven's restoration had taken much longer, leaving her comatose for almost a week. Yet even when Seven had regained consciousness, Janeway had not returned to sickbay, had not visited Seven the entire time she had spent recovering, although the Doctor assured her that he was keeping the captain updated periodically on her progress. No one else had visited her either, not B'Elanna, not Tuvok, not even Harry Kim, and Seven had been keenly aware of being isolated and alone despite Sek's gentle attempts to comfort her. She supposed that she should have expected the result considering what she had done. In a way, it was surprising that she was not surrounded by security even now.  Yet her isolation had still opened a sharp, wicked wound within her, though she tried not to show it, tried not to indicate she was anything but calm and contained.  For some reason, she did not want them to know how much they had hurt her, that her wound would not heal, even after she was released from sickbay and instructed to remain in cargo bay two until further notice.

She felt as if some vicious animal had taken up residence within her, and every so often would, just for sport, rake its claws down the inside of her from the base of her throat to the very pit of her stomach. She glanced down at the hated silver outfit, which she had first worn on Voyager, almost as if she could see the creature beneath the sleek material. The skin-suit was a protective covering, designed to allow her to heal from the many surgical procedures she had undergone, leaving only her head and hands exposed to the air. It would be weeks before she could remove the outfit, much longer before the Doctor could once again remove the abdominal implant so that she could exist solely on organic food.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them, staring blankly at the containers littering the cargo bay. She knew she had to decide on her next course of action, knew that it was imperative that she take the next inevitable step. It was very clear to her that she could not be with Kathryn ever again. Even if she did hope that a time might arrive when Kathryn did not hate her so much, Seven knew that in the meantime, her very presence caused the captain extreme discomfort.

She would just have to leave, Seven decided bleakly. Go someplace where no one knew of her or the Borg or even Voyager ... and maybe someday, somehow, she could forget all she had lost. If only the thought of being without her didn't hurt so much, but Seven loved Kathryn too much to force her to be in her presence, to run the risk of continually encountering each other as they were apt to do on such a small vessel.

She tried to objectively assess her options. She was aware that Voyager could not spare a shuttle or the runabout, but perhaps an escape pod could be adjusted for warp power if B'Elanna could give her some antimatter. She could install her Borg alcove within the pod, and running it off the impulse engine would provide all she required to exist.

Existence, she supposed dully, was the absolute best she could hope for her future.

The sound of the large doors to the cargo bay sliding open made her raise her head, refocusing her attention to the light from the corridor framing a compact form walking toward her. She identified her visitor immediately and stood up quickly, standing at attention, hands linked behind her back.

Janeway's face was impassive, the solid mask of command which concealed well the woman beneath and what she was feeling. But then, Seven knew what she was feeling. That was the benefit of being assimilated together. Seven understood her perfectly.

"How are you?" Janeway asked.

In a tone she would have used to ask anyone. Would have asked a prisoner or a stranger. There was no love in the eyes, nothing in the grey gaze that indicated anything beyond a request for information.

Seven took a breath, controlling herself with every ounce of will she could summon. This small shred of dignity was the only thing she had left to her, this profound need to not break down in front of this woman. She would not surrender to her pain, she would not force the captain to view her vulnerability on top of everything else. She would be professional. Like the best Starfleet officer.

"I am functioning at acceptable levels," she replied flatly.

Janeway nodded briefly, looked past her to the alcove.

"You realize we have a situation here," she said coolly. "Your presence is damaging to the function of this vessel."

Stated so plainly, Seven's heart had no choice but to shatter into a million shards of sheer agony.

"I understand," Seven replied in a low voice. That was the only way she could keep it steady. She desperately needed to keep it steady. "It is my intention to leave."

Janeway's gaze flicked to hers, an eyebrow raising slightly. "When?"

"As soon as possible," Seven responded. She wondered if it were possible to die from pain, if she could stop her heart right now, if somehow, she could find some way to keep from having to live through this moment.  "As soon as I have finished my preparations."

Janeway did not react, her face did not change. "We will provide whatever we can," she said quietly. "What do you require?"

"I will need an escape pod," Seven said. She did not know how she maintained this brittle calm which was the finest of layers over utter devastation, but the captain did not seem to notice. Time had taken on an odd quality, making her feel like this moment would last forever. "I believe I can adapt it to warp capacity with a small amount of antimatter."

"I'll see that Lt. Torres provides you with a container," Janeway said. She paused, then added in a gentler voice. "What would you do? Go back to the Collective?"

Seven had not considered it but it seemed a viable option. Feeling nothing would be a tremendous alternative to what she was experiencing now. Yet, it would also mean not remembering Kathryn, not remembering how it felt for that period of time when she was loved.  SSevenhe could not give that up ... not yet.  Not even with the pain she was feeling now.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Then what do you have in mind?"

"I don't know," Seven whispered. She dropped her eyes to study the deck. Perhaps she would head toward the Borius Cluster. She had never been there, and it was on a direct right angle away from the course plotted for the Alpha Quadrant. Voyager would not have to go out of its way to avoid meeting up with her again.

"We wish you all the best," Janeway told her. In the same inflection she would offer a stranger, a polite farewell to someone she didn't know, did not want to know.

She turned to leave, striding briskly toward the cargo bay door.

"Captain." Janeway stopped, but did not turn around. Seven looked at the profile offered her, trying to memorize that face, imprint the fine line of cheekbone forever in her mind, the auburn hair falling soft around the delicate shell of ear, the slender shoulders beneath the red and black uniform.

"Good-bye, Kathryn," she said softly.

"As you were," Janeway said formally, then was gone, the doors sliding shut behind her.

Seven could no longer weep. Her return to physical Humanity had not reached that level yet, had not restored the function of her tear ducts. Instead, all she could do was take one shuddering breath after another, the sound coming from her throat like nothing she recognized, feeling as if she had been flayed and ripped open so badly she thought she would die.

If only she had.

Janeway leaned her forehead against the bulkhead, sighing softly. The last  weeks had been very difficult. She had believed, deep down at the core of all she was, that she simply could not be assimilated. That was why she had so blithely gone after Seven, walking onto the cube with so little preparation. What arrogance, she thought ruefully. What sheer, unmitigated gall she had displayed. She had thought she could resist the process, could somehow overcome the voices, that she was strong enough to defeat the Collective itself and snatch Seven away, just as she had before.

'Wrong' seemed like such an insignificant word to describe what she had been.

She learned just how futile resistance really was, how easily the voices could crush her single cry beneath them, what being completely and totally helpless really meant. She had been no more than a cog to be used in the machine that was the Collective, an insignificant circuit that drove the energy, able to be used and discarded without the slightest hesitation from the unified mind.

Yet as much as she despised that unfeeling entity, Janeway detested even more the unresisting puppet the once proud Starfleet captain had so quickly become. She knew that she had no choice in the matter but she was unable to keep the feelings of shame from filling her. She thought she should have been able to fight harder, resist longer.

She took a long, deep breath, shaking as she leaned against the hull.

She really needed to speak with Seven about this. Her partner was the only one who truly understood what she had experienced. She realized that Seven would require a distance from the Voyager crew to recover just as she had when she had first joined them, to adapt to no longer having the voices, but Janeway couldn't wait any longer, and now that Seven had returned to the cargo bay, she decided that she had given Seven all the space and time she could spare.

Taking a deep breath, she keyed the door and walked in. The lights in the cargo bay were kept low, and the greenish hue due to the illumination from the maintained Borg alcove sent a shiver down her spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She would have to get over this irrational apprehension, she thought. It was not anything Seven needed to see.

She frowned as she approached the alcove. Seven stood within the braces, her body twitching, a sound coming from her throat unlike anything Janeway had ever heard before, an animal sound of such pain and loss that Janeway thought it would shatter her heart. Alarmed, she leaped onto the dais, fingers flying over the control panel as she terminated the regeneration cycle.

Seven's eyes flew open and she pitched forward, Janeway barely keeping her from collapsing completely as the young woman's larger build bore them both to the deck. Janeway found herself sitting on the dais, her back against the post, Seven on her lap.

"Annika, what's wrong?" she asked anxiously as the woman clung to her, shuddering helplessly, her breath coming in dry sobs. Maybe she shouldn't have disobeyed the Doctor's instructions, Janeway thought despairingly. Maybe she had just made things worse.

"Please do not make me go," Seven cried in agony. "I do not want to leave."

"I'm not going to make you go," Janeway said soothingly, patting her back clumsily. "My god, Annika, I just got you back."

There was a pause as Seven seemed to be considering this, her breath coming in hard gasps. "It was a dream," she said finally, eyes blank and terribly empty, staring into nothingness.

A nightmare, more like it, judging from the aftermath, Janeway allowed silently. She hadn't realized that Seven dreamed while undergoing regeneration. Carefully she slipped her arm around the slender torso, hugging Seven gently as she lightly stroked the silky hair regrown finally, having released it from the austere bun almost without noticing the automatic gesture, letting it spill grandly over her hand. "Tell me about it," she requested quietly.

Slowly, in a voice made shaky by emotion she could not control, Seven recounted every detail of the dream she had been experiencing prior to Janeway's arrival. Janeway felt tears sting her eyes as Seven described the vivid nightmare.

Dammit, Janeway thought angrily. This is the absolute last time I listen to the Doctor.

"Darling," she told her softly, cuddling the young woman. "I gave up my command for you. Do you really think I would just let you walk away without a fight?"

Seven closed her eyes, clinging tightly to the smaller woman, her frantic heartbeat slowing as she regained control of herself.

"I thought you hated me," she said. She hesitated. "I know you do. Our thoughts were one. I know what you felt, what you were thinking." Seven pulled away from the embrace to sit beside her. Her head was bent, eyes downcast as she refused to look at Janeway. "You are revolted by me," she said in a small voice. "You hate me."

Janeway thought hard, regarding the woman intently. "Maybe you did know what I felt and thought as a drone," she said slowly, trying to explain it to herself as well. "That doesn't mean you understood what I was thinking and feeling, however ... or why I was feeling it. Annika, I hated what you became, what the Collective turned you into. I also hated what I became, and that I was so easily taken, but love, that had nothing to do with us."

Seven raised her pale blue gaze to her, disbelief warring with hope in her eyes. "I was in control," she objected. "I was One of Many."

"Yes," Janeway said. She searched for the right words. "I was the Borg drone ... but we had been stripped of emotion, and in my case, of my will. We were no longer who we were. It was as if we had been copied and  remade into something else, something incomplete. Emotion is what makes us Human, Annika, what makes us live rather than merely exist. The intellect, without the tempering of our feelings makes us nothing more than constructs, and Humanity strives for more than that, just as the Collective does. Raw emotion, untempered by intellect is without direction, random and unspecific no matter where you might think it was directed."  She exhaled slowly.  "I won't deny that as a drone, I was afraid of and despised what had made me one, but I truly believe it was always the Collective I hated. I don't think I ever connected One of Many with it any more than I do Seven of Nine, or Annika Hansen.  It wasn't you."

Seven was still, pondering her words. "It was me," she insisted softly. "I was of the Collective and the Collective was of me. It was my will. "

"Yes," Janeway allowed and bent her head to catch Seven's gaze, wanting her to understand, to remember. "A will that gave up absolute power for the good of the Collective's evolution. A will that would not assimilate Tuvok because that would have killed him, yet still found a way to keep him safe from the Collective. A will that took along a mere drone when you left, even though there was no need.  I do believe that part was indeed you, Annika."

Seven took a breath.  "I did not care about a drone," she said, clearly attempting to be as accurate as possible.  "Nor did I care about Tuvok."

"Then you could have discarded me," Janeway said with assurance. "It would have been more efficient to kill Tuvok before escaping yourself. You didn't need either of us, yet you made sure we both were safe, that we escaped as well." She reached down and grasped Seven's hand, holding it tightly. "I remember what you did before you removed my neural transceiver. You gave me everything you were just as the Collective had taken everything I was, all the experiences, all the memories. You shared them with me, then you severed the link. What logical, efficient reason did you have for doing that, One of Many?"

Seven opened her mouth to respond, paused, looked very confused and distressed. "I do not know," she said in a whisper. "It does not make sense. I acted irrationally."

"Yes, you did," Janeway said. "Maybe you felt nothing as One of Many, but there was something that demanded you keep me and Tuvok safe, that you try to return what had been taken from me in whatever way you could. You did all this long before you severed your own link to the Collective, before you stopped being a Borg."

"I do not understand," Seven said finally, uncertainly.

Janeway nodded. "Maybe neither of us ever will," she said softly. "But understand this, darling. I love you. I never stopped. It might have been buried so deep that even I couldn't feel it, but it was always there. I also believe that you also never stopped loving me. Not really."

Seven caught her breath, closing her eyes. Janeway knew the woman's tear ducts had not yet been restored but if they had, tears would now be sliding down Seven's face. They were certainly sliding down hers. She squeezed the hand held between her palms, entwining her fingers with those of Seven's.

"You are my heart, Annika," she said firmly. "In whatever form you come in."

"I do love you," Seven whispered. "I do."

"I know," Janeway responded quietly. Blinking furiously to clear her vision, she raised the hand to her lips, kissing the palm gently. "I want you to come home with me. Will you?"

Seven glanced at her from beneath lowered lashes. "I always wanted to go home," she said, voice choked. "I thought you did not want to see me."

There was a sound in Janeway's throat, a growl of dismay and profound anger at herself. "We made a mistake, darling," she admitted. "Maybe it was even a mistake the first time to isolate you until you had adapted to losing your implants, but we were trying to reproduce your first disassimilation as closely as possible, including my letting you be alone until you felt comfortable enough to tell us you were ready to rejoin our family. I'm sorry, Annika. It was wrong, and I take full responsibility."

"It hurt me," Seven said slowly. "However, I understand now that it was not intentional."

"Will you return to our quarters now?" Janeway asked humbly. "You can always return here to regenerate whenever you need, but I do want you to live with me."

"I want to stay with you, as well," Seven whispered.

Janeway felt relief flood her. She had been afraid that Seven might not have retained her emotions for her, or worse still, might even have been contemptuous of how easily the captain had fallen to assimilation.

How little I must think of her, she mused remorsefully. How little I consider the strength of her love.

To think they accused Seven of arrogance. The captain seemed to have cornered the market quite nicely in that area, and only now was she beginning to realize it.  The misunderstandings, the assumptions made without foundation on her part, on Seven's, on the Doctor's. Apparently Seven's belief that they would understand each other perfectly once assimilated had been incorrect. Strangely, that made Janeway feel a lot better though she had no idea why. Maybe she just didn't want to be able to completely understand Seven, or have Seven completely understand her. It was enough that they both loved each other.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go home."

She stood up, helped Seven regain her feet, and still holding her hand tightly, led her from the cargo bay.

"That's the other reason I wanted you to come home," the captain said wryly.

Despite all she had been through, Seven still retained her ability to recognize when the captain was being facetious. She did not smile ... for some reason, that was an effort beyond her at the moment ... but she felt warmed by the attempt at humor nonetheless.

She knew that it was still not completely all right between her and Kathryn, that there was still an uncertainty there. She remembered Kathryn's flinch when she had brushed up unexpectedly against her in the turbo-lift, but she tried to remember that it was not her that Kathryn was still sensitive to, it was the memories her Borgness inspired. She was also aware that the captain was doing her utmost not to display the apprehension she was feeling, but Seven could sense it in the body language, in her voice.

"I cannot leave you alone for a minute," Seven responded, making her own weak attempt at humor. Something she had not been especially adept at in the best of times.

The smile that lit the elegant features, that brightened the eyes to a soft blue, was far more reward than the remark deserved but Seven was very glad to accept it. She scanned the rest of the room, focusing on the two statues squatting on the table by the couch. She went over to them, tracing the angular lines with a forefinger. Bemused, she turned to look at Kathryn.

"I replicated them," Janeway said quietly. "As best I could."

"You never liked them," Seven responded with surety.

"But now I appreciate them," the captain responded. "I know what you see in them."

Seven nodded slowly. She glanced at Janeway again as the captain shifted in an uncomfortable manner.

"What?" she asked.

"I suppose you don't have to eat anymore," Janeway offered. There was a touch of disappointment in her voice, very subtle, but still there to flavor the words.

"No," Seven allowed. She regarded the other woman closely. "Are you hungry? Do you wish to eat?"

Janeway nodded. "I'll grab some dinner while you get used to the place again," she said.

"I will make you something," Seven offered carefully.

Janeway looked at her. "You don't have to do that," she protested mildly.

But Seven knew that was not what Janeway was really hoping for.

"I want to," Seven said. "I enjoy making dinner for you. It gives me pleasure to see you eat."

"All right," Janeway agreed, her eyes brightening even more. "Maybe that chicken and vegetable thing?"

"The one served with rice?" Seven needed to clarify which dish the captain was referring to.

"Yes," Janeway said. "I've always liked that."

Seven moved over to the replicator, feeling a certain sort of relief as she programmed the required vegetables, the protein, and the cooking oil which materialized on the tray. She realized they were starting to return to their routine, starting to mend together their life. This food preparation was part of the first step of repairing their former closeness, suggested by Janeway in her own oblique way, and readily seized upon by Seven.

The younger woman carried the tray-full of organics to her work area, placing them on the butcher block counter before drawing out a large, deep pan with its own heating element from the compartment below. She had appropriated the pan, the 'wok' as Janeway identified it, from Neelix's kitchen one night a long time ago. She supposed he had hardly ever used it since he did not seem to notice it was missing, but she found it to be the single most useful cooking utensil she possessed. It, along with her wooden cutting board, and the set of knives B'Elanna had helped her pick out one day in an alien market were all she needed to create any meal. B'Elanna was no chef, but her approving comment that Seven could always use the knives to carve someone up was testament to their keen edge and usefulness.

She was aware of Janeway replicating a glass of something behind her, the faint trace of alcohol reaching her nostrils. A whiskey and soda, Seven realized and knew that Janeway was still discomforted. The captain rarely drank any intoxicating liquids stronger than wine. She felt Kathryn's presence sidle next to her as she began to slice the protein into long strips, the oil heating in the wok. It was not the captain's habit to linger in Seven's work area when she was preparing dinner, but the Borg thought she understood why it was different this day. She had to move around Kathryn to get to the spices she kept in another compartment, and the captain made an apologetic sound.

"I'm sorry, Annika. I'll get out of your way."

"No," Seven said, reaching out a hand to forestall her leaving, hesitating before she actually touched her. She looked into Kathryn's eyes. "I like having you near me. You are not in my way."

Janeway stared at her a long moment. "I need to be near you," she admitted softly. She put down her glass, moving closer and Seven felt her arms slip around her waist.

Carefully, Seven put her arms around her, holding her with a sort of grateful relief. In the cargo bay, Janeway had been in her comforting mode, reaching out as her friend and her captain to reassure her, not even aware in