Just Between Life & Death
G. L. Dartt

Her mouth was cotton dry when she woke, and when she tried to swallow, her head pounded with a pain that echoed through her temples and down her neck. Her body tingled unpleasantly, pins and needles lancing up and down her limbs, as if the blood flow had been blocked in them and was only now resuming. She must have made a sound, because suddenly, someone was next to her, and a tube was being inserted between her lips.

"Drink," said an oddly familiar voice, though she couldn't quite place it at the moment. The word was spoken in a hushed tone, anxious, almost as if the owner were fearful of being overheard.

She obeyed, swallowing as the cool liquid slipped down her parched throat like a balm, easing the soreness. With an effort, she opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh illumination, her vision fuzzy and unfocused. She made another sound as the tube was taken away, one of protest, and a hand was pressed over her mouth.

"Quiet," a low voice instructed. "It's not safe here, Captain."

Captain? Yes, now she remembered. She was Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship ... of the starship ... of no starship at the moment.

Or was she?

"Doctor?" she whispered, her eyes slowly able to make out the details of the man ... no, the hologram ... leaning over her. She felt as if she were in some sort of disjointed dreamscape. "Am I on Voyager?"

For a moment, she had the horrified thought that all the memories crashing in on her were nothing more than a series of hallucinations ... that she had actually been ill, and the USS Voyager had never returned to the Alpha Quadrant, nor had she and Seven spent more than a year adjusting to being home in the Federation. But that didn't explain why the Doctor now possessed a goatee, the dark growth granting him a somewhat surreal appearance.

"We should be so lucky," he murmured ruefully. "No, we're on the homeworld of the Orion Syndicate. You've been drugged by a particularly nasty narcotic known colloquially as 'dream dust', which creates a highly suggestible state. Since your arrival, I've been cleaning the drug out of your system, but I've had to hide that from your captors. I've replaced the drug with a substitute that does not cause the long term damage to your neural tissue, nor causes catastrophic addiction, but it does mimic the initial state of hallucination and incoherence along with the symptoms of periodic withdrawal: the somnolent state, the dry mouth, the sweating, the headaches, the cramps..."

"I get the point," Janeway whispered, acutely aware of every one of those symptoms plaguing her now. "Doctor, when I'm ... under the influence ... do I talk?"

"No," he assured her. "You mumble, but as I mentioned, it's incoherent and disjointed. This grace period of withdrawal is our only window of communication. As I clean out your system, it will become longer each time, but for now, we only have a few minutes of clarity."

"Grace period?" she echoed, a sense of dread permeating her.

"It will soon be time for you to receive another injection."

"Don't administer it," Janeway hissed.

"I have no choice, Captain," the Doctor told her, glancing over his shoulder with an agonized expression, as if expecting visitors any moment. "They're always present during the treatment, and watch very closely to see that I have a full hypospray, and then they check your vitals to be sure you're ... well, 'high' is the term, I believe they use, particularly that Packer fellow. All I can do is lessen the duration of the hallucination period, and limit the harmful side effects and intensity of withdrawal."

The reminder of being kidnapped by Cheb Packer, the man she had shared a teen romance with, made nausea rise in Janeway's throat, and she jerked convulsively. Blinking rapidly, she stared at him.

"What are you doing here, Doctor?"

An expression of embarrassment crossed the EMH's somber features. "It's a long story. Let's just say I was looking for a job, and accepted the first offer I came across. I didn't check out my employers as well as I should."

"You're working for the Orion Syndicate?" the captain slurred in disbelief.

"No, I was working for a frontier colony that needed medical personnel. I didn't know this was the home base of the criminal cartel until they brought you in." He paused. "I don't think they actually do a lot of their business on this planetoid, Captain. It's more their sanctuary, a place to keep their families safe, and to provide them with a place to run when things become too ... complicated ... for them in the rest of the Federation." He leaned closer, dropping his voice even more. "In fact, I overheard Duvont, the mayor of the colony, telling your kidnappers that he wasn't pleased they had brought a Starfleet captain to the homeworld, no matter how much use you could be to them." He paused, looking confused. "I'm not sure what use they expect you to be, anyway."

Janeway cleared her throat, swallowing back the bile. "Bait," she said succinctly.

"Bait?" the Doctor echoed, uncomprehending.

"They don't want me, they want Seven's Borg implants," Janeway managed to choke out. "They're hoping that she'll come after me. The trouble is, they're right. She will." She glanced around, taking in the room which was painted in a light green, empty of furnishings beyond the bed she was lying in, and a mobile cart of some sort containing medical instruments. "I need to escape before that happens." She tried to rise into a sitting position, and that was when she realized she was strapped down. "Doctor, release the restraints."

He looked regretful and panicked at the same time. "I can't, Captain. I'm supposed to keep you 'on ice'. If I don't, they'll take over your treatment, and believe me, they won't be using a relatively harmless substitute."

The captain glared at him. "Have you switched loyalties, Doctor?" she murmured with deceptive mildness, "now that you've resigned from Starfleet?"

"Certainly not," he said, greatly offended. He paused. "On the other hand, Starfleet did want to deactivate me..."

"Doctor."

He glanced back at her. "Sorry," he mumbled. "However, trust me when I tell you that you're in no shape to make a break for it. The dream dust has only now begun to clear your system enough so that you can think rationally, but the alternative drug still affects your motor control. You wouldn't even be able to stand up, let alone move around with any competence, but I don't dare stop giving it to you."

Janeway didn't like that, at all, especially when she belatedly realized she was drooling uncontrollably, but she was beginning to fully appreciate the difficulty of her position.

"I can't stay here," she protested, hating the weakness in her normally commanding tones, the lack of forcefulness in her voice. She couldn't remember ever feeling so vulnerable or helpless before. The Doctor had been correct about how depleted she was physically.

"I'm aware of that," he snapped, irritated, "but, I don't know what else to do at the moment, Captain. There are only a few ships remaining in port, and those that are, don't belong to the colony itself. They're independents, which means their crews are expected to stay close to their vessels, rather than roam about the facility. We're completely surrounded by members of the Syndicate, and if they catch us while we're attempting to leave the planetoid, they'll undoubtedly kill us. At least, they'll kill you. Heaven only knows what they'd do to me."

"Calm down, Doctor," Janeway urged, trying to think, though she found it difficult with the clouds fogging her mind. "Tell me, is there anything in your pharmaceuticals that will counteract the substitute you're using? Something that could work very quickly if required?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, but without a plan, what good would it do?" He regarded her unhappily. "Your captors drop by frequently, Captain, including Packer. He doesn't do or say anything in particular, but he can stay up to thirty minutes at a time, just standing and staring at you in a most unpleasant fashion. I suspect if the other man, Vicarny, didn't keep him in line, Mr. Packer would be very interested in taking over your 'care'."

"Undoubtedly." Janeway paused, feeling her heart pound with unusual rapidity. "Mr. Packer is an old ... enemy." She paused. "If the decision is made for him to take possession of me, Doctor .... I'm counting on you to make sure I'm dead before I leave this room."

He stared at her, shocked and horrified. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious, Doctor," she said coolly. "Trust me, you'd be doing me a favor."

She could see his throat move as he swallowed, and she wondered if that was a subroutine of his programming, or if he had truly become that ... Human.

"I understand," he said weakly.

She could see that he did, and she was sorry to bring him such distress, wondering if his matrix could survive all these shocks to his system. Still, he had learned a lot on Voyager, and he knew how to think on his feet. His actions during the incident where Seska and the Kazon took over the ship were proof of that. He had also been quite a competent counter intelligence agent when the Hirogen had captured the crew, and trapped them into continually running holodeck scenarios. For a moment, the captain was shamed that she had ever doubted his sentience, or his ability to adapt.

"Doctor, keep the antagonist to the substitute close by, ready to be used if an opportunity arises," she instructed. "In the meantime, find out as much as you can about possible escape routes. I need to get to the spaceport."

"That could be very difficult," the Doctor said. "This planetoid is in the process of being terraformed, and the entire colony is housed underground, within a huge facility that goes down almost thirty levels into the bedrock. We're in the middle section that's reserved for services such as this medical center, and commercial services such as taverns, shops and restaurants. The spaceport is on the surface, and there are a lot of administrative levels between here and there. Residential quarters fill the levels below us, then at the lowest level, there's the power plant that runs on geothermal energy, tapping directly into the planetoid's core to provide the colony's energy needs."

Janeway looked at him approvingly. "My apologies, Doctor," she said softly. "You have been doing your homework." She paused, feeling dizzy suddenly. Her brief struggle against the restraints had quickly sapped her energy. "How many people live here?"

"I'd guess fifteen hundred to two thousand people. Everyone I've come in contact with has a fierce loyalty to the mayor and his governing council ... which means the Orion Syndicate, I guess ... and little regard for the Federation. They make no secret of their profound hatred of Starfleet."

"Wonderful," Janeway muttered unhappily. "Keep on it, Doctor."

There was noise in the outer room at the same time the Doctor's tricorder gave a chirp, undoubtedly to indicate someone had just entered the outer emergency area. "Remember, Captain," he instructed, shooting her a stern look. "You're supposed to be dazed and confused. Don't respond directly to anything."

"No problem," Janeway whispered, closing her eyes.

The Doctor straightened and moved over to the other side of the room, preparing a hypospray. He looked every inch the professional when two men finally appeared in the doorway, Janeway observing them surreptitiously through slitted eyelids. One was Vicarny, a small, sparse man who had been involved with the aftermath of her kidnapping, arranging to bring her here. He seemed to be more in command than Cheb Packer had been, and a great deal less antagonistic toward her, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. The other was unfamiliar, a Humanoid whose skin was darkly scaled, almost metallic, with reddish eyes.

Janeway was very grateful not to see Cheb Packer accompanying them.

"Doc, is the injection ready?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, Mr. Duvont," the Doctor responded with what seemed to be a respectful tone. It was possible that even if the EMH didn't care for the implication of the Syndicate, it was apparent that he did have a genuine liking for the mayor as a person. "I would like to state my objection to this once more."

"I know, Doc," Duvont agreed, not unkindly. "Sometimes we have to take care of business, and it isn't always pleasant, but it pays the bills."

"How is she?" Vicarny asked, staring at Janeway. The captain let her facial muscles go slack, breathing sallowly as she tried to give the appearance of being completely oblivious to her surroundings.

"The 'dream dust' is causing progressive damage to her neural tissue," the Doctor said. "If I continue to administer it, she'll soon become completely addicted, if she isn't all ready. There are other drugs that will keep her sedated without having to create this level of dependence."

There was a silence, and Janeway wondered if the Syndicate members were looking at each other.

"That is an option, Vicarny," Duvont offered finally, in a reasonable tone. "She is a Starfleet captain, after all. We should seriously consider returning her relatively unharmed, or else expect to have every other starship captain take a personal interest in our business until it becomes impossible to function. You know what Starfleet's like."

"Packer won't like it," the small man replied laconically. "I think he envisions her becoming his personal slave, and the first step to that is addicting her to the dream dust, which is probably why he chose it. A 'duster will do anything for their next fix ... absolutely anything."

"Is Mr. Packer's opinion that important within the organization?" the Doctor interjected with great delicacy.

There was another silence, and Janeway waited breathlessly.

"Vicarny and I will take your advice under consideration, Doc," Duvont allowed, finally. "Packer has proven useful to us in this instance, and that has to be taken into consideration. We don't want to get in the habit of rewarding good work with betrayal, but on the other hand, the larger picture does have to take priority."

"Just don't take too long to think about it," the Doctor told them, his tone acerbic. Janeway heard him move closer, and she forced herself not to tense as he leaned over her, feeling the cool metal of the hypospray press against her neck. "This 'dream dust' will eventually kill her if I keep administering it in this concentration."

"That might work, too, Doc," Vicarny said, obviously quite accepting of that option as well. "That way, Starfleet would never know what happened to her."

It was not the most encouraging thing she could have heard, Janeway thought, just before the drug plunged her once more into the colorful dreamscape of disjointed images, threaded throughout with a dark shadow of fear and helplessness.

Seven looked around the bridge of Voyager, exceedingly uncomfortable about sitting in the captain's chair, or even utilizing the starship for her own purposes without Janeway's knowledge. Yet, the Borg did believe that this was the only way to save her spouse. Around the bridge, various members of the covert Starfleet operations group, Section 31, manned the consoles, navigating the ship through the Oriolus Belt. It was in this area that Seven had determined the Orion Syndicate had constructed their headquarters, arriving at that conclusion after assimilating every bit of information, no matter how small, that Section 31 had accumulated on the criminal organization. She believed the criminals had an extensive compound located on a planetoid hidden deep in an asteroid belt that orbited a G-type star, far away from the more heavily trafficked areas of the Federation. Voyager's sensors were now tracking an ion trail through the asteroid cluster, identical to the one used by the vessel involved with Janeway's kidnapping. Built and maintained by the Packer Shipping Company, the match of the ship's signature trace verified her findings, and convinced the others in the Section 31 team that her conclusions were correct.

She glanced sideways at the man occupying the first officer's seat. Lt. Kagan was the senior operative within this branch of Starfleet Intelligence, and a frequent contact of Admiral Hayes. She had been surprised when she discovered his identity, realizing that he was a attaché in Admiral Nechayev's office. It verified her belief that Starfleet had little comprehension of the proper utilization of the skills of its officers; otherwise, Kagan would not have needed to find a place with Section 31, working with Hayes. Once more, the young woman felt a strong sense of gratitude toward her mentor who had taken her under his wing not long after she had returned to the Alpha Quadrant. It was probably his kindness and acceptance of her that convinced her to uphold her commission in Starfleet, and it was unquestionably his authority and ties to Section 31 that were allowing her to pursue Cheb Packer in order to rescue her partner.

Kagan was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with stern features that rarely showed expression. Most of the team were of the same ilk, quietly and calmly going about their business as professionally as possible. On one hand, Seven appreciated their competence greatly, finding them to be an exceptionally efficient crew, but on the other, she discovered she was missing her friends and family desperately. She would have liked to have recruited the help of B'Elanna Torres or Ro Laren, her fellow crewmates off Voyager, or had the chance to discuss the situation calmly and rationally with Tuvok or Chakotay, the ship's previous security chief and first officer. Despite their obvious skills, none of the Section 31 people were her friends, and she felt very lonely and isolated in a way that she did not completely comprehend.

"Do you understand the plan once we're in reach of the system?" Kagan asked again, regarding her closely.

Seven forced herself not to display any irritation with his insistence on going over this several times, even though she suspected it was a necessary and regular occurrence with other operatives. However, she was not just any other team member, she was Borg, and her eidetic memory had filed the plan of attack away the first time they had undergone a briefing.

"Our long range probe has determined the schematics of the facility housing the colony, and the best way to approach it," she recited dispassionately. "We shall transport down to a secure region close to the Syndicate complex, and infiltrate on foot through the access tunnels that are lightly secured. Voyager shall remain in geo-synchronous orbit, and should remain masked to their sensors so long as the cloaking device, installed prior to our launch from Utopia Planitia, remains activated. While I locate Captain Janeway, utilizing a tricorder set specifically for her bio-readings, your team will descend to the main power room to set the explosives which will destroy this complex once and for all."

"Once you give the signal that you have Janeway's location confirmed, we'll activate the detonation sequence," he added. "It will be set for only an hour countdown, so you must be back on Voyager before that."

"It will not take me an hour to rescue Kathryn," Seven said, her eyes growing cold.

"We'll err on the side of caution," he insisted evenly. "The detonators are tamper proof, but if anyone tries, they'll activate immediately. Or you may run into unexpected resistance. Just remember that the longer we can remain undetected, the greater chance this mission has of success."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Resistance is futile," she stated with authority.

He met her pale eyes and smiled without humor, nodding slightly. "I think you're right. I'm glad you're on our side, Seven, and not theirs."

Seven didn't bother to tell him that the only side she was truly on was that of her partner. Instead, she looked towards the front of the ship, noticing that Lt. Chandler had a firm control of the helm. The Section 31 member was a stoic woman who seemed a little more authoritative than the man who had assumed the role of Seven's 'first officer', and Seven wondered why she was not in command. The Borg had never felt particularly comfortable in the role of 'leader', and it probably showed to the others, though they did not display any apparent discomfort with it.

It also felt very odd to look around and see strangers where familiar and friendly faces used to be. Harry Kim should have been the one manning operations, not some grim-faced Bolian, while tactical should have been covered by Tuvok, not a woman with a decided cranial ridge. Seven didn't think she even recognized the species.

Not knowing what was happening with her partner was a constant ache within her. Seven had dealt with Cheb Packer personally on one occasion. In addition to formulating an opinion about him based on what her partner had told her about her very first lover, the young woman had determined that he was a shallow, even cruel, individual. If he had developed a specific hatred for Kathryn, it was entirely possible that he was causing her great physical and mental discomfort. That thought made it difficult for Seven to function, inciting strong emotion ... predominately rage ... and a decided need to terminate the Packer individual as soon as possible. However, she knew for this rescue to be carried off successfully, she needed to be thinking clearly and concisely, so she buried the fury deep inside, where it burned with a constant fire.

"Coming in range of the planetoid," Chandler announced suddenly.

"Status?" Kagan ordered.

"Cloaking device remains activated," the Bolian at ops announced. "No indication that the colony's sensors have detected us."

"Weapons systems on standby," the woman at tactical reported. "Shields at maximum."

"Establish a geo-synchronous orbit over the colony," Seven instructed.

"Aye, Captain," Chandler said. "Establishing orbit."

Seven flinched at the appellation, even though it was the proper form of address since she was supposedly in command of this mission. She glanced over at Kagan. "Prepare your away team," she instructed. "I shall meet you in transporter room one. Lt. Chandler, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir." Acknowledging her command, Kagan rose from his chair as Seven rose from hers. Meanwhile, another officer took over the helm as Lt. Chandler moved smoothly to take command of the bridge. Seven strode briskly to the turbolift, and requested that it take her to deck three.

She felt the same qualm she always did as she entered the quarters where she and the captain had lived during their time together in the Delta Quadrant. It had been totally refitted, of course, not resembling the previous decor either in color or the layout of its furnishings, but it was still the same bulkheads, the same deck, the same rooms. She had discovered that she couldn't bear to use the bed, unable to lie there alone as the hours passed in the darkness of nightwatch, preferring instead to use the sofa in the living area to grab what little sleep she had managed since leaving Mars orbit. She wondered if the only thing that allowed her to function was the thought that when it was all over, she would bring Kathryn back to these quarters. They had provided such a secure haven throughout their time together, and they would reassure her that she was completely safe and loved once again.

She changed out of her Starfleet uniform to the away mission outfit that she had brought with her. It was an ensemble that she had designed back when she had not even been a member of Starfleet, consisting of dark, heavy trousers tucked into combat boots, a black sweater, and a padded vest filled with various supplies that had proven quite useful in the past. She took a last look around the rooms, believing that she would either return with her beloved spouse, or she would not return at all, dying with the captain in the headquarters of Orion Syndicate. To her, that was also an acceptable outcome. Without Janeway, there would no point in Seven attempting to go on with her life.

The last items she picked up before exiting the quarters were a type-three phaser rifle and a type-two hand-held weapon which she tucked into one of her many pockets.

Down in transporter room one, Kagan stood by with five other members of his team, all wearing transporter buffer belts that held heavy weapons broken down in their molecular form, rematerialized at a moment's notice as needed. This type of ordnance, according to Ro Laren, was carried only by Starfleet's best trained ground troops, and allowed the team to be fully prepared for any kind of resistance. Seven, who would be on the solo search-and-rescue mission, had no need of such heavy artillery, and was simply going with what she could carry in her vest pockets. She took note that the members of the team were no longer dressed in their Starfleet uniforms, and were instead, wearing dark outfits, similar but not quite the same as her own. Another sign that she had more in common with this branch of Starfleet than others, she thought, and was once again grateful that she had been contacted by them, despite the lack of connection she still felt toward the members. It was similar to when she first joined Voyager's collective, she reminded herself, or when she accepted the assignment to the Theoretical Propulsion Group. Friendships eventually formed in both cases, and she was sure that they would form within this new type of collective.

"Ready?" Kagan asked, offering her an environmental mask which Seven placed over her face. "We'll be materializing close to one of the external ports to the compound. Once inside, we'll use the access tunnels to descend into the facility itself, while you use the maintenance system to search each level for Janeway, giving us plenty of time to set the explosives. As soon as you've pinpointed her location, give us the signal. We'll activate the detonation sequence and you have an hour to clear the compound."

She really wished he would not repeat everything as if she were a child.

"Understood."

"Seven..." he began, then paused.

"Yes?" She looked at him curiously.

"If you're caught, we won't be able to do anything for you. In that event, Voyager will immediately break orbit. We're trusting that you will not reveal the existence of the explosives ... even if it means that you and your spouse will be killed when they detonate. Wiping out the Orion Syndicate would still be a priority, even if your initial mission were to fail."

Seven regarded him narrowly, wondering if she should be offended that he thought so little of her discipline ... or the chances of her success. "I will not fail," she said flatly, then nodded at the transporter operator. "Proceed."

They materialized on the lee side of a rock outcropping, the wind whipping grit and sand into any skin on their faces that remained uncovered by the environmental masks. The howl was too loud for any of them to speak, and Kagan had to use his hands to gesture toward the circular metal hatch embedded in the rock. It had obviously been located in this meager shelter in the hopes of providing some relief from the unceasing wind, the atmospheric conditions typical of the early stages of terraforming as massive amounts of air were heated into motion by the devices designed to accelerate the evolution of the small world. Two generations would pass before a world became completely comfortable or 'Earthlike', but the initial procedure of making the atmosphere breathable usually took a decade.

Seven wondered where the Orion Syndicate had stolen the terraforming equipment in order to switch this tiny, unforgiving world over to a habitable, and even comfortable environment. Other colonies in the Federation had to wait years to turn their worlds, which usually started out as mining operations, into the paradises that others in the inner core systems enjoyed. It outraged her that these rogue individuals would have access to a process that other, law-abiding citizens of the Federation ... families with children ... actually had to wait for, perhaps even because the Syndicate had appropriated their allotted equipment.

She was pleased by the thought that there would be nothing left of the facility, or the Syndicate, by the time she and Section 31 were through. The damaged individuals that made up the criminal cartel deliberately chose to live a life of chaos over that of positively contributing to the stability of the Federation Collective. It was nothing more than anarchy, a concept that chilled Seven's personal beliefs to their core.

As a member of the Section 31 team utilized a device to bypass the hatch alarms, allowing the rest to slip inside, Seven made a last check of her equipment before following the others. Within the chamber, the wind was cut off, the incessant howl terminated, and Seven removed her environmental mask with relief. Even through the protective gear, the young woman had been peppered with tiny pieces of dirt, and a gritty taste remained in her mouth.

She glanced at Kagan who returned the look grimly.

"Don't forget, Seven," he reminded her yet again, "Sixty minutes."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes ... or slap him across the head. She was unsure where the urge came from since it was not something she was in the habit of feeling, but then, she had rarely worked with someone so ... anal retentive. They moved down three levels, until they were clear of the large spaceport that housed the Syndicate's starships. Seven was appalled at the number of vessels the criminal cartel possessed. Undoubtedly received from the Packer Shipping Company, she thought grimly.

On level four, Kagan pulled back a grill covering the opening of the maintenance tubes, similar, Seven decided, to a starship's Jeffries tube. Section 31 would continue down via these external access tunnels.

"Let's get started," he instructed.

Seven slipped her rifle over her shoulder so that her hands would be free to manipulate the tricorder, aware that the close quarters would make it more prudent for her to use her Borg enhancements in the event of any opposition. She shot one last look at the Section 31 team who were observing her impassively, then resolutely turned her eyes forward, crawling into the tube, hearing the grill click ominously shut behind her.

"I think I may have found the Doctor."

Lt. Ro Laren, late of both the USS Enterprise and USS Voyager, currently posted as adjunct to Captain Kathryn Janeway, and now assigned to what was becoming a progressively annoying and futile mission, glanced over at Samantha Cogley.

"How did you do that?" Her brows drew down over her dark eyes. "You haven't left the ship, have you? They strictly prohibit that."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Of course not. But we are allowed to contact administration, and I've been chatting up the traffic controller who works the day shift. I was talking with him early this afternoon, and he informed me that recently, the colony recruited an honest-to-God doctor. They're very pleased with him, and claim he's knowledgeable in various medical techniques. The problem is, it didn't really sound like the Doctor when he described what the new medical officer looked like. This guy has a beard."

"The Doctor has the capability to alter his imaging projection slightly," Ro mused, turning her pilot's chair around. "How the hell did this conversation ever come up?"

The bridge of the DragonFlight was not particularly large, but the two women tended to spend most of their time there. It had taken weeks to track down this mysterious Noiro Belt, and now that they were berthed within the hangar of the gigantic facility, the first ginger inquiries into whether the Doctor was here had been initiated. Ro was concerned, however, that the lawyer may have violated their carefully constructed facade of being thieves on the run. Requiring a safe haven in which to hide from Starfleet Security forces would not hold up for long if someone started to wonder why the two women were so keen on locating a specific someone.

"Well, it occurred to me that the best way for us to see this doctor was to find out if we were allowed access to medical care," Samantha said, looking vaguely shifty. "To set that up, I may have given the impression that my 'paramour' was a bit of a beast, regularly in the habit of beating me up, and thus, I might require a bit of medical assistance."

The Bajoran stared at her. "I'm an abuser?"

Sam spread out her hands, shrugging. "I couldn't just come out and ask."

"You're right," Ro said. "Good job, I guess. What did you find out?"

"I think Tads likes me," Sam admitted with a sort of mock bashfulness that made the Bajoran roll her eyes. "He told me if there were any problem with you, just to call him, and he would arrange for the Doctor to see me immediately."

"Here on the ship?" Ro asked, suddenly alert.

"No," Sam replied, and the Starfleet officer deflated, disappointed. "The clinic is located in the center of the facility. It's not convenient for someone to get to ... or out of ... particularly when we're not supposed to be wandering around the colony. We'd have to be escorted there."

"So whatever we do, it's going to have to look real to warrant an escort," Ro said, and then eyed Sam speculatively.

The lawyer drew back. "Not a chance. I'm not going to let you punch me in the mouth just for authenticity."

"I was thinking more along the lines of some form of makeup," Ro noted dryly. "Bruising is a result of blood trapped under the skin, and I could simulate that by withdrawing some of your own blood, and injecting it into the appropriate tissue." She raised an eyebrow. "After all, you're the one that implied the type of relationship we have."

"Well, that sounds all right," Sam said reluctantly. "But it won't get you there. They'd probably leave you on the ship, and if I'm reading Tads correctly, he'd want me to stay with him ... for my own protection. I'm not sure what good that would do any of us, including the Doctor, other than letting him know we're here."

Ro, already reaching for the medikit, hesitated. "You're right," she said slowly as she found a hypospray. "I need to be able to accompany you."

"Bruise me up," Sam instructed. "Let me think about it while you make my disguise."

Ro blinked at the imperious tone, but proceeded to do so, not having any real objection to this idea so far. Withdrawing several cc's of the young woman's blood, she injected half into Sam's jaw, making it look as if she had been struck near her mouth. The other half she injected to the side of the lawyer's eye, though not too close, not wanting the swelling to interfere with Samantha's vision.

"There," she said, with a certain amount of satisfaction when she was done. "You look awful."

"Thank you," Sam said, checking her appearance in the mirror. "You are a beast, aren't you. My god, a black eye and a bruised mouth."

"I could split the lip for effect," Ro offered helpfully.

"This should do," Sam demurred. "Now for you." Before Ro realized what the young woman had in mind, Sam had picked up the thin molecular probe from the medikit. The end was pointed, allowing it to perform as a satisfactory blade when jammed into the flesh around the Starfleet officer's midsection.

Astonished, Ro looked down at the blood abruptly seeping from the wound in her side, welling around the tool that protruded from her tunic.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelped, pressing her hand against her ribs. Her advanced tactical training and well-honed senses had given her no warning ... no hint ... that the other woman had been about to attack her, and dazedly, she grasped the thin rod before reconsidering and leaving it where it was. Pulling it out would only be painful, and not necessarily good for her.

"Making this real," Sam said, turning to the communications console. "Don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. I made sure not to hit anything vital."

"Are you sure?" Ro gritted her teeth against the pain that belatedly was beginning to make itself felt. "What do you know about Bajoran anatomy?"

That made the lawyer pause, and she glanced back at the Starfleet officer worriedly. "You mean it's not a flesh wound?"

Ro hesitated. "Well, yes, it is," she said in annoyance, gingerly probing the bloody but relatively harmless wound. "That's not the point! There's always the risk of infection." The last sounded a bit lame, even to herself.

"Oh, quit whining," Sam remarked, as she dabbed her fingers in some dust, and rubbed her eyes hard, giving them a reddish appearance as if she had been weeping profusely. "You want a way in, I'm getting you in. Now lie back in the chair, and pretend to be unconscious." Activating the communications system, she arranged her features in a terrified, rattled expression as the screen cleared to reveal the colony's traffic control center.

"Tads, oh my god, you have to help me," she demanded, staring wildly at the startled young man who had appeared on the viewscreen. "Laren and I were fighting, then she got violent and I ... oh god, I think I killed her. You have to get a doctor."

Ro slumped quickly in her chair, closing her eyes in an effort to look passed out, though she was furious that things had been taken out of her hands so quickly. That was a consequence of including a civilian in an away mission, she thought darkly. They were just so damned melodramatic. A little more thought, and they might have been able to find a way to the colony's medical center that did not require Ro to have a molecular probe jammed through her side.

Despite Ro's annoyance, it appeared that the lawyer's plan was working. Sam's latest conquest in the spaceport administration section immediately dispatched an escort to the DragonFlight, and before long, Ro found herself strapped down on the antigrav stretcher hovering in mid-air and guided through the corridors of the spaceport, heading for the central lifts that led to the lower levels of the colony.

Physically helpless because of the restraints, Ro took note of the route through half slitted eyes, assessing the facility they were entering. She had also noticed the fact that Sam had managed to surreptitiously secure the ship before leaving, something that the Bajoran hadn't though the lawyer would have had the presence of mind to do. Now, the young woman was leaning heavily on a confused, and somewhat disgusted young man as the two women were escorted to the middle section of the colony where the commercial services area was located.

In addition to the young male dealing with Sam's wonderfully distracting hysterics, two bored looking humanoids were attending Ro's antigrav stretcher, one of them, a Katarian female who stood alertly, her phaser rifle held at the ready position. Ro and Sam had been informed upon arrival that the possession of energy weapons was prohibited within the facility itself, and the Bajoran wondered why this particular group was allowed to have them. She studied them closer, realizing that all of her escorts were dressed in matching dark clothing, badges on their chest and arms indicating that they were some version of security; law enforcement officers perhaps, necessary for maintaining the colony's peace. Full face helmets were part of the ensemble, but these 'constables' were wearing theirs hanging down from the straps around their necks rather than on their heads, indicating perhaps, that they did not consider this a particularly dangerous escort duty. Stripes lined the cuffs and shoulders of the tunics, probably emblematic of rank, and the woman with the rifle sported one more on her sleeve than the two men. Possibly, she was in charge of the escort duty, and the way the others tended to defer to her, verified that supposition on Ro's part. The rifle was Starfleet issue, from a decade or so earlier, the Bajoran noted, and more than once, as the barely coherent stream of recriminations and rambling streamed from Sam's lips, the muzzle was raised in the young woman's direction, almost as if the constable wanted nothing more than to silence her once and for all. Ro sent a silent message to Sam not to overplay her role, not wanting to see the lawyer stunned into unconsciousness by the twitchy officer.

As she lay there, the Bajoran did acknowledge a certain sort of irony existed when a criminal cartel had to maintain a police force to keep peace in their colony.

Remaining very still as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the dull burning in her side, Ro was guided through more corridors toward a large set of doors. Over them, in several languages, Ro read the words 'Medical Center', and from the amount of motion and noise inside, Ro had a sense of complete chaos. She wondered if this was normal for the area.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded of her companion.

"There was a brawl on level sixteen," the female constable related, forestalling the young man's reply to the lawyer's question. "Why everyone has to go crazy just because the fleet came in, is beyond me." She shot a look of disgust at Samantha. "You picked a hell of a time for a lover's spat, little girl. You and your girlfriend won't see the doc for hours."

Ro was tremendously pleased. This sort of disorganized confusion would be perfect for them, especially if the doctor turned out not to be the EMH they were seeking. Then, she and Sam could be treated, escorted back to their ship, and they could go about convincing traffic control to arrange a launch window for them with no one the wiser. But if it was the hologram, it occurred to Ro that it might become quite complicated in a very short amount of time. Could they convince the Doctor to leave while there were patients needing medical attention?

Head lolling to the side away from her escort, Ro cautiously opened her eyes again, glancing quickly about the room before closing them again. Judging from what she saw, there were approximately six people requiring treatment, blood in a variety of colors splattering a host of individuals who also boasted contusions and cuts on their faces. The smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies was strong in the Bajoran's nostrils, and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose.

"Listen, Sarge," the other stretcher bearer said, lifting up a small black box that was undoubtedly a communications device of some kind. "The chief is saying she needs us down on level sixteen. There's some kind of looting going on."

"Old man Ripley's no doubt," the woman snorted. "If he wouldn't try to overcharge so many people, his shop wouldn't get wrecked every time there's a fight next door at the tavern. You always have a few drunks trying to get back the money he conned out of them when they pawned their belongings to get drinking money. It's like a vicious circle."

"Are we joining them, Sarge?" he asked, sounding eager. He obviously didn't want to hang around the medical center when there was more excitement to be had on another level.

The woman hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, Travis, you're with me," she said to the other constable. "Stan, you stay with our lovers here until they're treated, then take 'em back to their ship. Don't let them start fighting again."

"Aw, Sarge," Stan began, prying Sam's arms from around his neck for the fifteenth time. The lawyer was certainly conscientious in playing her part well, Ro noted approvingly.

"You have your orders," the Sargent told him, then added, not unkindly. "There'll be other brawls, kid. Count on it."

The two constables disappeared out the door, and Samantha took the opportunity to fling herself onto Ro's chest. Ro grunted as the lawyer landed on her, but fortunately it was covered up by the wailing of her companion.

"Oh, baby, please don't be mad at me," Sam ranted into Ro's face. "I didn't mean to stick you with that nasty probe. Why do you have to treat me so badly?"

Rolling his eyes, Stan drifted away a few meters, talking to another man garbed in blue, perhaps a nurse or medic of some kind.

"Do you see the Doctor?" Ro whispered in a barely audible voice.

"Not yet," Sam murmured back, covering the conversation by depositing a rain of sloppy kisses on Ro's face which the Bajoran found completely appalling. It occurred to her that the kind of work she had once wanted to participate in so strongly as a career, included a great deal of personal embarassment on a recurring basis.

"What's the story here?" a familiar voice suddenly spoke from close by.

Ro forced herself not to react, and to her credit, neither did Sam, though her eyes widened slightly as she leaned over the Bajoran.

"Domestic dispute, Doc," Ro heard the constable explain. "The girl got herself beat up a little, then stuck her woman with some kind of shiv. I need you to patch 'em up, then I have to escort them back to their ship."

"Wonderful," the Doctor said acerbically. He nudged Sam aside without really noticing her, and stared down into Ro's features. There was an instant of complete shock and consternation, but it passed quickly. Ro flicked an eyebrow at the new goatee the EMH was sporting, and then the Doctor looked at Sam, obviously recognizing her for the first time.

"Something wrong, Doc?" the constable queried curiously from behind them.

The Doctor hesitated briefly, then grabbed the stretcher and proceeded to push it through the room towards the rear of the medical center. "This is a serious wound," he said over his shoulder. "I need to get her isolated as soon as possible. See what you can do about helping my assistant in his triage duties."

Any protests by the young man were lost in the wake of the Doctor's abrupt actions. Sam scurried after them, and Ro was jolted as the stretcher was shoved through another set of doors.

"What the hell's going on here?" another voice demanded.

"Visiting hours are over," the Doctor said, with an uncharacteristically harsh edge in his voice. Ro felt a qualm as she noticed the EMH was shielding her from the other's view, and she wondered why. Sam had fallen silent, staring at something beyond Ro's area of vision, and suddenly appeared very small, as if the lawyer was trying not to be noticed. "I need this room for the time being while I deal with this medical emergency. You'll have to come back at another time."

There was a pause, an ugly hesitation, then with an oath, the stranger strode angrily from the room. Ro had a glimpse of broad shoulders and the back of a dark-haired man, before the doors slid shut behind him.

"I don't know why you're here, but I'm sure glad to see you both," the Doctor said fervently. He shoved a dermal regenerator into Samantha's hands. "Pull that thing out of Lt. Ro, and seal up the wound. I have other patients I need to attend to, then I'll be back. Some explanations are in order."

Before Ro could say anything, he was gone. Disoriented, the Bajoran sat up, staring in disbelief at the third person remaining in the room, barely able to credit what her senses were telling her. Bluish-grey eyes regarded her blearily, the drawn and pale features of a familiar face reflecting the astonishment the Bajoran was feeling.

"Does someone want to let me in on what's going on?" Sam asked, arms across her chest, staring at Captain Janeway in complete bemusement. "Because I'm just totally lost at the moment."

Janeway drifted up from the cottony darkness, knowing she needed to wake but finding it a difficult process. She forced herself through it however, steel determination and will providing her with the strength to fight off the beguiling unconsciousness, knowing it for a deceptive comfort, not wanting to be sucked down again.

She opened her eyes, and then wished she had allowed herself the relative ease of unconsciousness since the dim illumination speared into her head like daggers through her pupils, sending tendrils of pain throughout her head. The discomfort seemed to become more intense every time she had a lucid period, and she was beginning to wonder if the actual drug could be any worse than the substitute. She didn't even remember how long she had been here. Had it been a week, all ready? Two? The time was passing in an unconscious stupor, and without being able to differentiate day and night, she had completely lost track.

"Doctor," she whispered, her voice harsh and seeming very loud in her ears, though she knew she was unable to generate much volume.

"Right here, Captain," he responded quietly, leaning over her.

"I can't go on this way much longer," she said, her voice weak. "We need a plan of escape, and we need it now."

He nodded. "The fleet arrived in port early this morning, Captain. That always provides a great deal of confusion, and the crowds move freely between the various levels. This might be our best chance to make our escape."

She nodded, relief seeping through her ... as well as a sick sensation of disorientation. She heaved, and the Doctor was right there to hold a container beneath her head, supporting her shoulders, though all that came up was some kind of green bile. Belatedly, she realized she was unstrapped from the biobed, but that did her little good. The room was spinning, and she sincerely doubted that she could move very far. She was about to order the EMH to administer the antagonist when she became aware of another presence entering the room.

"Well, isn't this a sweet picture?"

Janeway felt another wave of nausea hit, but that was due to recognizing the voice, rather than because of the lingering effects of the drug being administered to her.

"Feeling a little under the weather, Kat?" Cheb Packer went on, moving closer. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with dark hair touched with silver. He was still very handsome ... in the way that a once magnificent structure fallen to decay retained the grandeur of what it once had been.

The Doctor gently lowered the captain back onto the bed, granting her a gentle squeeze of warning on her shoulder. She didn't acknowledge it, but it provided a little comfort in a situation where she felt particularly helpless.

"If you wish to speak to the patient, she needs to be taken off this concentration of the drug," the Doctor said, moving between Janeway and Packer. "In her present condition, she can't respond to you in a coherent manner."

"That does take some of the fun out of it," the man said, in a considering tone. Janeway, however, knew better than anyone how false that particular inflection was. "She can still feel sensation, can't she? She knows whether she's hot or cold?"

"Of course," the Doctor said, as Janeway forced herself not to react. She doubted that the EMH had any idea why Packer would ask such a thing. She knew exactly where Packer's mind was headed.

"Then she can feel pain," Cheb said with satisfaction. "That's all I require."

Janeway could see through slitted lids that the Doctor was outraged, and the EMH took a step toward the man. "While she remains under my care, you will not touch her," he said, his voice low and shaking with fury. The captain almost opened her eyes wide, astonished and impressed with the EMH's fire and determination, the sheer outrage in his tone and manner.

Packer offered him a thin grin. "She won't be here forever, Doc. Besides, you're overstepping your bounds. You're just hired help, remember."

"So are you," the EMH reminded the merchant pointedly. "I'm not sure you would wish to get in a contest over whose skills are considered more useful to this facility, and to our employers ... would you?" He raked Packer with a particularly contemptuous look.

Packer's face twisted into an ugly mask of anger, clearly insulted by the EMH, and he went so far as to shove the doctor, attempting to use his height and apparent greater weight to intimidate the other, smaller figure. The Doctor must have solidified his matrix to a heavier mass, because he didn't budge an inch, forcing Packer to rebound off him as if he had just attempted to shove a brick wall. The Doctor offered a thin lipped smile to his startled opponent.

"I am well versed in Human anatomy," he said threateningly. "I know countless ways to incapacitate you, several of which may turn out to be permanent. Would you care to continue this ... outside?"

Packer went for the inner pocket of his tunic, and the Doctor immediately grabbed his wrist with an immovable grip, dragging the man's arm away, and using his other hand to pluck the weapon from the interior holster.

"I don't like weapons in my medical center," he said, putting the small pistol into his coat pocket. "They're also illegal within the colony itself. Perhaps, I should ask one of those constables currently in the outer emergency area to come in here."

"You're making a big mistake," Packer snarled impotently, but as with any bully faced with a clearly superior physical opponent, he was backing up even as he said it..

The Doctor was unimpressed. "Or perhaps we should discuss this with Duvont or Vicarny? Neither one seem anxious to waste the valuable resource a starship captain can be, and I take my orders from them. I suspect you do, as well."

They glared at each other, inches apart. Packer's nostrils were flaring as he inhaled heavily, his anger running high and hot. The Doctor, in contrast, looked exceptionally cool and collected, his demeanor one of composed determination. Of course, as a hologram, he simply had no need to breathe or flush angrily, but Packer had no way of knowing that.

"Doctor!"

A young man dressed in light blue stuck his head through the door. He hesitated at the tableau he discovered, but it was obvious his news couldn't wait.

"Doc, we've got incoming," the assistant told the EMH urgently. "There was a brawl in the tavern with a lot of knife work. At least four casualties are on their way, with possibly more to come."

The Doctor glanced at him, dismay shading his features, and Packer smiled narrowly. "Duty calls, Doc," he prodded. The EMH returned his attention to the man, pushing him back slightly.

"If you lay a finger on her, it'll cost you," the Doctor said, in an irrefutable tone. "I promise you that." With a look of disgust, he rudely shouldered past the merchant and strode briskly for the door, not looking back. Janeway wanted to call out to him, plead with him not to leave her alone with Packer, especially when she was so helpless and unable to fight back, but she maintained her appearance of drugged oblivion.

It was difficult to keep her eyes shut and pretend to be barely conscious. She was aware of Packer moving closer to her, the scent of his sweat overlaying the strong cologne he favored, and she forced herself not to tense. It seemed as if an eternity had passed as he loomed over her, and it took what little will power she had left not to flinch back against the linens.

"It is a shame you probably don't understand what's going on," Packer whispered finally, his voice harsh, an insane and horrible parody of a lover's whisper. He drew his fingers down her cheek and she wondered if she should vomit again, just to make it unpleasant for him. "Soon you'll be mine, and no one will be protecting you any more. Then, when you're crawling on your belly, willing to do absolutely anything for another fix of the bliss you're in, you'll understand how much you belong to me."

She wished he would spare her the melodramatic dialog, finding it quite tedious, and realized that her mind was doing its best to distance itself from what was happening. It was a combination of her innate scientific detachment and the Starfleet training she had gone through. Every officer serving on a starship knew that there was always a chance of falling into enemy hands, of being at the mercy of someone who would utilize torture on them to discover information ... or simply because it was an unfortunate aspect of their culture. Exploring the galaxy held many forms of danger, and this was far from the first time that Janeway had found herself in a situation of being in the hands of someone who wanted to do her harm in a most unpleasant way.

But it was never easy to accept, and the desire to fight back was strong within her. She had to remind herself to wait for the proper moment. Her life ... and possibly the existence of the Doctor ... depended on it. She did notice that Cheb was not attempting to harm her physically ... had the hologram's threat really frightened him? ... but what he was promising to do to her once he had her in his possession, the detailed account of all the horrible and varied techniques for creating the most amount of pain, was enough to make her stomach turn. That he was obviously becoming sexually stimulated by his ranting only heightened her revulsion.

"Then, after I'm done with you," he concluded, "I'll ask them to give me what's left of your little wife, and I'll do the same thing to her. Or maybe, I'll keep you around long enough to let you watch."

Almost ... that made her react, and only the knowledge that this was not the proper time, kept her from swinging at him ... that, and the fact that he would probably beat the snot out of her in her weakened state. Considering what she would do to him were the odds more equal, enabled her to ignore the rest of his explicit and grotesque ranting, even when he described how Seven's body would look in the aftermath of his 'fun.'

He really had developed into a sick little individual, the captain decided, and she wondered where the young man that she had known and loved so many years ago had gone. It was clear there was nothing left of that being in the cruel and vicious person Cheb Packer had become over the years. Was it a progressive thing, she wondered? Something dark inside him that ate away more and more of his soul until there was nothing left? Or had he always been the sort of person who's personality tended to that sort of thing? Certainly, he had been an exceptionally self-centered individual when she had been involved with him as a teenage, a person whose view of the world was shaded primarily in how things affected him versus anyone else, able to twist things around so that he was always the victim of bad luck or timing, rather than as a result of his own actions. Was this merely an extension of that personality flaw, with his failure to get into Starfleet Academy the start of an ever increasing spiral down into darkness? Or had he already been on that path, and their conflicts as teenagers simply the first visible signs of his aberration? They had broken up not long after he started displaying his selfishness and manipulation of her so openly, and she had no way of knowing what turns his life had taken after that ... other than the fact he had been married several times, all the women ending the unions in preemptive divorce proceedings instead of utilizing the convenient option of allowing the short term marriage contract to elapse. Perhaps that was a clue in itself. What had those women discovered about Packer once they got past his considerable charm, looks and credits? Did they find they had married a monster, someone who defined their relationship to him as permission to indulge his cruel and demeaning ways?

Perhaps Seven had the right idea all along. Perhaps some people should be terminated simply because they were a menace to the Collective, and incapable of being repaired. Somehow, Cheb had avoided the Federation counselors all these years, and being drawn to the Syndicate appeared to be a natural outcome for him in retrospect.

Janeway's musing was interrupted as she felt a sharp pain on her chest, just between her breasts, and she was unable to keep from crying out, realizing belatedly that Packer had sliced down her chest with some sharp object. Obviously, he had been able to resist only so long before attempting some physical harm to go along with the emotional harm he was attempting, perhaps because she had been so unresponsive to the latter.

"So you do feel pain, just as the doctor said," he crooned, his eyes alight as he bent over her. He lifted what turned out to be a dagger to her cheek, pressing the point just under her eye. "I just needed to mark you, Kat ... let everyone know that you're mine when this is all over."

Just then, the doors were flung open and Cheb hastily straightened the sheet over Janeway, slipping his knife up his sleeve, before turning around to face the newcomers.

"What the hell's going on here?"

"Visiting hours are over," the Doctor said, with an uncharacteristically harsh edge in his voice. Janeway's sense of relief at the Doctor's return was far stronger than she thought it should be, and she inhaled deeply. "I need this room for the time being while I deal with this medical emergency. You'll have to come back at another time."

There was a pause, an ugly hesitation, then with an oath, Packer strode angrily from the room. At his exit, Janeway was able to open her eyes, and turn her attention on the people who had accompanied the Doctor into the room. Her heart took a leap into her throat, and with complete bafflement, she watched as the Doctor shoved a dermal regenerator into Samantha Cogley's hands.

"I don't know why you're here, but I'm sure glad to see you both," the Doctor told the newcomers fervently. He gestured at the Bajoran lying on the stretcher "Pull that thing out of Lt. Ro and seal up the wound. I have other patients I need to attend to, then I'll be back. Some explanations are in order."

Janeway sat up, pressing her hand against her chest, her palm coming away bloody, determining that Cheb's 'fun' had resulted in nothing more than a superficial cut down the valley between her breasts. She glanced at Ro Laren who was staring back with wide eyes.

"Does someone want to let me in on what's going on?" Samantha asked, arms across her chest, regarding the captain in complete bemusement. "Because I'm just totally lost at the moment."

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me how you two got here?" Janeway countered in a raspy voice.

"We were following your orders to find the Doctor," Ro said, rising to her elbow. She swayed, and Janeway finally noticed the implement sticking out of the Bajoran's side.

"What happened to you?"

"Long story," Sam said hastily, pressing Ro back onto the bed. "Lie still," she scolded the Bajoran. "Let me operate."

"Prophets, that's all I need, a lawyer who thinks she's a doctor," Ro said acidly.

"Better than a Starfleet officer who thinks she's a secret agent," Sam retorted tartly, She abruptly yanked the rod from Ro's side, provoking a muffled oath from the Bajoran as she ran the dermal regenerator over the flesh visible through the rip in her tunic. "I could have done this back on the ship. I hope they don't realize that."

Janeway, feeling woozy, slumped back onto the bed. "After you're done with her, take a look at me," she demanded. Startled, Sam finished her ministrations to Ro, then moved over to the captain, peeling back the sheet to view the shallow slice down her breastbone, blood trickling warm down Janeway's side.

"How did this happen?" she asked, appalled.

"The man who left when you arrived," Janeway said flatly, a forearm resting over her eyes as the lawyer worked, refusing to watch as she repaired the cut. "He has some twisted ideas of how to treat someone who's not feeling well. He's also the one who kidnapped me, and brought me here in the hopes of luring Seven into the hands of the Orion Syndicate."

"We had a suspicion this was where they were headquartered," Ro said, her voice stronger now as she slipped off the biobed and stood up. She looked a bit pale but still quite competent.

"Who was he?" Sam asked, motioning with her thumb to indicate the departed merchant.

"Cheb Packer," Janeway slurred. "We have to get out of here. Did you say you have your ship here?"

"Docked at berth six," Ro said, examining the captain closely. "Captain, can you walk?"

"At the moment, no," Janeway admitted in a shaky tone, swallowing as her stomach rolled. "But the Doctor has an antagonist for the substitute drug he's been giving me in place of the Syndicate's narcotic. As soon as he returns, he can administer it, and we can make our escape."

"Of course," Ro said, though her eyes held a touch of doubt.

Janeway wondered if, perhaps, she looked as bad to her adjunct as she felt, and that was the cause of the Bajoran's apparent skepticism. If so, she couldn't allow it to stop her. She couldn't afford to remain in the hands of Packer who was progressively becoming more unstable, and at some point, she doubted that even the threat of Syndicate reprisals could prevent him from doing something completely unspeakable to her. She had to be out of here before that happened ... or die trying.

Seven hesitated as she heard noise coming from somewhere ahead, drifting down the access corridor through the grill that led to this level's maintenance tubes. The facility was essentially a giant cylinder drilled into the planetoid's surface, much like the Barellan prison had been, and Seven was mindful of the irony of a prison and a criminal headquarters being constructed along the same lines. To avoid detection, she used the exterior tunnels to descend down each level before entering the internal maintenance system to scan the interior layout of the facility. She had completed five levels so far, and had just entered level nine, concerned at how much time was passing in her search. Perhaps the sound of conversation she heard ahead of her was not necessarily an obstacle, but rather an opportunity.

Pressing against the rock which made up the walls of the tunnel, carved smooth by a heavy duty laser drill, she altered her implant, the one attached to her left wrist. The bands of mesh bracing her fingers blurred and raised, becoming serrated blades that extended beyond her fingertips with claw-like curves. Initially a tool used by the Borg for cutting through cable and wiring, Seven had learned how to wield the implant as a weapon of some potency, backed up by nanoprobe-enhanced skeletal and muscular strength.

Moving quietly, she approached the juncture where the sound originated. As she crawled into the new conduit and turned the corner, she discovered two men in overalls, working on a panel. She didn't hesitate, lunging toward them with deadly intent. They didn't even have time to turn around before she had snapped the neck of the first one, allowing him to drop to the floor, before grabbing the other one and shoving him up against the wall, her blades pressed against his throat.

"I am seeking a woman," she said coldly, staring into the terrified eyes of her enemy, who turned out to be a young Human male with dark features, barely into his twenties. "She was captured by Cheb Packer and brought here as a prisoner. Where is she being held?"

He gulped, sweat glistening on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Seven was infuriated by the lie. "You will tell me where she is."

He stared at her, obviously believing what she said, and managing to look even more terrified if that were possible. "Honest, I don't know. I didn't even know a prisoner had been brought here to the homeworld. Please," he added. "Don't kill me."

"You have violated the laws of the Federation, abducted one of its citizens, and threatened all I hold dear. Your termination will benefit the Collective."

"That wasn't me," he babbled, the whites of his eyes showing. "I'm just a tech, honest. I don't have anything to do with the business outside Noiro. All I do is make sure the sewage system keeps functioning."

Seven paused, considering that. It was possible that the Orion Syndicate would require support personnel within their compound, and that those people would not know what the upper echelons would be doing, just as an ensign on deck fifteen rarely knew about the daily routine of the bridge on Voyager. Still, this man was a member of the criminal cartel, and it would be illogical to leave him alive to possibly warn the others of her presence. She began to press her blades deeper into his skin, blood welling around them to trickle over the metal.

"I never did anything to you," he whimpered in helpless terror. In his eyes, she saw only incomprehension as to why he was about to die, and she paused, suddenly uncertain.

"Where would a prisoner be held?" she demanded. "Speculate."

At the easing of the weapon against his throat, he took a grateful breath of air. "Possibly in the jail."

"Jail?" she echoed, not sure if she understood the reference.

"It's near the sheriff's office," he said quickly, apparently knowing his life depended on the amount of information he could give her. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Captain Kathryn Janeway, of the starship Voyager." That wasn't quite accurate, since Janeway had given up her command of the vessel in order to take over the administration duties at Utopia Planitia, but Seven believed her spouse's previous designation would be more recognizable to the average criminal.

The man blinked, dumbfounded. "A Starfleet officer?" he squeaked. "They would never bring someone like that here."

"I tracked the ship's warp signature," she told him mercilessly. "They brought her here."

He blinked. "Then, she wouldn't be held where the colony would know of her presence," he said, obviously thinking quickly. "They would keep her somewhere in the administration level or ... or ... yeah, maybe in the medical center where they could keep her drugged and out of sight."

Seven stared at him. "For someone who is only a sewage worker, you know a great deal about kidnap protocols."

He paled, though perhaps that was from the loss of the blood trickling down his neck. Dispassionately, she determined that she had not severed any major arteries. If left alone, the wound would clot and heal naturally. He licked his lips nervously as he realized she was staring at his neck.

"I ... uh, hear things sometimes in the tavern about how things work." He trembled in her grasp. "Please, I helped you," he said softly, pleadingly. "Don't kill me."

"Where is the medical center?"

"Level twelve. We're on level nine."

Seven filed that away, then tensed. He closed his eyes, apparently realizing what was coming, and from somewhere inside her, something stayed her hand. Perhaps it was his relative youth, or the knowledge that the facility was to be destroyed in any event, but she decided it was not necessary to terminate him at the moment. Her implant blurred again, becoming simple bands of grey once more, and her fingers moved at the juncture of his neck as she used the Vulcan nerve pinch to cause unconsciousness. Retrieving a belt from the corpse nearby, she bound the technician tightly, then ripped a sleeve from the other's shirt to gag him, before shoving him into the relative concealment of a nearby alcove. The corpse, she left where it was, not concerned about it anymore than she was the open panel in the wall.

Moving quickly, she found the nearest ladder, and began her descent deeper into the complex, bypassing two levels until she was on level twelve. Using her tricorder, the energy output shielded from sensors by a Borg algorithm, she scanned the nearby vicinity for Janeway's biosigns. She suspected that the rest of the Section 31 team had their explosives planted and were awaiting her signal, something she didn't want to give until she was certain she had found Kathryn alive and well. As she crawled through the maintenance tubes, she was careful not to be seen by anyone, particularly whenever she came to a grill that looked out into the central corridors, sliding beneath the level of view.

Of course, by doing that, she never took the opportunity to look out at the various people passing by, though she could hear their voices. She ignored their conversations, intent on getting to the medical center as quickly as possible. The tricorder had triangulated the captain's bio-readings and had locked on, the green, flashing symbol on the tiny viewscreen causing relief to flood Seven's body. The signal was that of a living being, though perhaps weaker than she would have liked, and she tried to quicken her pace.

As she crawled through the confines of the tube, she made a note of her route, determining the quickest way to return to the surface where they could beam back to Voyager undetected. The medical center appeared to be in the core of the level, near the central traffic shaft that ran the entire height of the facility, more shafts branching off in each level. Seven decided that was a logical location for it, since the proximity to the turbolifts would provide easy access for those requiring the services, though it would have been far more convenient for her had the medical center been located on the exterior ring of the level. She mentally debated the idea of utilizing the traffic shaft to facilitate her retreat with Janeway, using a turbolift or the stairs to take them to the upper level spaceport, and then making her way through the hangers to the closest airlock leading to the surface. After some reflection, she decided it was likely the Syndicate had the traffic areas secured with a variety of sensors and defense arrays. It would make more sense to quietly retrieve her partner, bring her back through the maintenance tubes, and use the access tunnels to make their way to the surface, where the security system had not been extended.

Unfortunately, she could not request a direct beam out once she found Kathryn. The ship's sensors had determined that the facility had been constructed with iridium, which not only limited her shielded tricorder readings to one level per scan, but also prevented the transporters from operating undetected. Seven found the concept of being reunited with her partner, only to be unable to convey Janeway the final distance to safety, completely unacceptable. Transporting from the center of the facility would alert the criminal cartel, and it was entirely possible that, just as the Orion Syndicate had illegally acquired the equipment to build the facility, as well as the ability to terraform the planetoid, they undoubtedly had the advanced technology necessary to override a transporter signal, preventing the couple from reaching the ship at all. In fact, the Borg reminded herself, that was how Janeway had been captured in the first place, by a remote command interrupting her transport from the Portage Creek Station on Earth, and diverting it from San Francisco to a freighter in geo-synchronous orbit over Indiana.

No, she decided, Kagan was correct. The longer Seven and the Section 31 team remained undetected, the greater the chance of success. She would find the captain, and take her out without her captors discovering the rescue. When the colony began to come apart around them, then they would know they had conducted their last illegal foray against the Federation.

She hesitated as the tube abruptly branched off into two directions, both leading away from the area where she had determined the captain was located. Frowning, she scanned the area, realizing that she must have reached the central traffic shaft, and the tubes had to bypass it. Chafing at the delay, she took the right fork, grateful for the padding in her trousers that protected her knees from the metal mesh comprising the flooring of the tube. She tucked the tricorder in her breast pocket, stopping periodically to make sure that once she had cleared the central shaft, she would be moving back toward the medical center. She was glad that she had a device to show the way. There were many cross tubes leading off to unknown destinations, while the conduit she was working her way through was not particularly constructed for easy passage. Obviously, this was not a main channel to the medical center, and she wondered where the majority of power conduits and energy relays feeding into the area was located. Perhaps from below, but she was not about to make her way back out of the tunnels, go down one level, and try it from there. She would stick to the maintenance tube she was in, and hope it did not become so small that she could not squeeze through.

Finally, she was directly over the medical center, and from her tricorder readings, Seven determined that Janeway was in the room beneath her. Unfortunately, the captain did not appear to be alone. Additional bio-readings in close proximity revealed that other beings were in the room with the captain. The Borg hesitated, wondering if she should wait until the area was clear, or if she should immediately attempt the rescue, disabling the others with a swift surprise attack. Her tricorder indicated that the number of bodies were manageable odds, but if she were slow to terminate one, or if one escaped, then she would lose what advantage she possessed, and the facility would be alerted to her presence. If she waited until Janeway was alone, she could spirit her partner out of there without anyone being the wiser.

She considered her options carefully, and decided to wait, at least until she had determined the quickest possible way into the medical center. The solid structure between herself and the room where Janeway was located was so thick that even her enhanced hearing could not detect what conversation might be taking place, and though she knew she could blast through it, that would take precious time.

As she listened to the low murmur, having no indication of what was being discussed, a sudden fear struck her. What if those additional bio-readings were those of Janeway's criminal captors, and they were currently discussing the final disposal of the starship captain? Perhaps Seven's time limit did not come from any signal sent to Kagan in the power plant, but from what was happening to her spouse. It could even be Cheb Packer in there, perhaps torturing the captain as the Syndicate initiated their plan of luring Seven of Nine to a location of their choice.

Seven's lips drew back over her teeth, a snarl of fury and hatred as she began to search the area for an entry point, frantic now that her thoughts had turned to the idea that her partner was actually being harmed while Seven waited, oblivious, in the ceiling above her, only a meter or so away. Her tricorder hummed, beeping in a barely audible tone as it detected a thinning in the mesh not far away, and the Borg scanned the section quickly, determining that it was an panel of some sort, granting access from the interior of the medical center to the maintenance tube she was crouching in. She ran her fingers around the edge of it, trying to find a latch which would allow her to open it. Unfortunately, it appeared to be on the underside of the hatch, inaccessible from this crawl space. Awkwardly, she slid her rifle around, adjusting the settings so that it would vaporize the panel, but hesitated once again, reconsidering.

She must not allow her fears to dictate her actions, she reminded herself sternly. If she went in there without proper consideration, she could end up being captured or killed. That would not do Janeway any good at all. Seven was normally more judicious in her actions than this, but when her partner was involved, it was extremely difficult to think clearly. In this case, with so much riding on it, it was imperative that she act with forethought.

Swallowing hard, she lowered the rifle and checked the tricorder again. She was glad she did, because there was an increased number of bio-readings, indicating that others had entered the room. Dismayed, she tilted her head, listening hard, hoping that the panel would be less soundproofed. There was still nothing but soft murmurs, which could be regular conversation, or actual shouting that was being muffled by the insulation in the wall construction. Seven had no way to tell until she actually broke through.

In an agony of indecision, she waited, then came a sound that chilled her to the bone, a cry of some kind, possibly one of pain, and in an instantly recognizable voice. She slapped her communicator, the device tightly shielded from sensors, and programmed to shoot a highly secured transmission to the comm badge belonging to Lt. Kagan.

"I found her," she said. "Initiate detonation sequence."

"Acknowledged."

She carefully aimed the muzzle of her rifle and blew out the panel barring her way.

"Tell me, Lt. Torres," Nechayev said coolly, resting her hands on the rail just aft of the command chair. "Have you considered a career in Starfleet Intelligence? You may be responsible for uncovering the biggest scandal the Federation has ever witnessed." There was a certain shame and bitterness in her voice, lightly flavoring what had undoubtedly been meant as a compliment by the admiral.

B'Elanna was too worried about her friends to grant that the attention it probably would have deserved under other circumstances. "No, thank you, ma'am," she responded absently. "I prefer the comfort of a nice, quiet engine room." She glanced around the bridge of the USS Enterprise, torn between being amazed to be there on Starfleet's flagship, and wishing the Sovereign-class vessel would move a little faster. "How much longer before we reach the Oriolus system?"

Sitting at the operations console at the front, the golden-skinned Lt. Commander Data, raised his head. Obviously, he had overheard the women's conversation. "We will reach the outer rim in one hour, twenty-four minutes." Neither Captain Picard nor Commander Riker, sitting anxiously in their chairs, seemed to disapprove of the android's providing the information, though it was somewhat unsolicited.

Tom Paris, at the helm, glanced briefly over his shoulder as he worked his board "We'll get to them in time," he said reassuringly. "Don't worry, B'Elanna."

"I hope so. The alternative just isn't acceptable," she responded with a trace of the old interaction between them, slightly acerbic, but grateful for his presence, nonetheless. Seeing his face, and knowing that at least two other people on board were fellow crewmates from Voyager, made the Klingon feel a little less alone in what was becoming a much larger situation than she ever expected it would be. She did wish Ro wasn't on a mission tracking down the Doctor, however. The Bajoran would have appreciated being involved in the final act of this little drama.

"It was a smart play to put a transmitter on Seven," Riker offered approvingly, glancing back at her. The Enterprise first officer seemed to know B'Elanna was becoming more worried the longer the journey took. "It made tracking Voyager a great deal easier, particularly since they've somehow appropriated a cloaking device."

B'Elanna exhaled slowly. "I'm not proud of what I've done. Seven is my friend, and I know better than most that she isn't a bad person in any way. Hayes just has her so confused and twisted around after so many months, that she doesn't know whom to turn to when things go wrong. The only person she honestly trusts is in the hands of the Syndicate, and Kahless help anyone who gets in her way while she rescues the captain."

"Particularly when she is being assisted by Section 31," Captain Picard agreed in his deep voice. His features were stern as he regarded the fore viewscreen, the stars streaking past, but obviously not fast enough for him. There was a tension in his compact form, a firmness to his jaw that B'Elanna did not think was normal for the starship captain. He lifted his head. "What is the status of the other vessels?"

"The USS Hood and USS Gorkon remain steady in triangular formation," Paris replied professionally. "Aft port and starboard."

B'Elanna took a deep breath, wondering if three starships would be enough to handle what they would find. If this was, indeed, the headquarters of the Orion Syndicate the small task force was approaching, things could become quite complicated before it was all through. No one knew what kind of defense capabilities the criminal cartel possessed, what form of weapons they might be able to draw upon, whether they had ships, or had mined the asteroid belt, or were surrounded by killer satellites. All they had was a location, a thin beam of transmission somehow maintaining its integrity as the small device B'Elanna had planted on Seven continued to operate, apparently undetected by anyone.

Unless it had been detected, B'Elanna reminded herself grimly. It was entirely possible that Section 31 had discovered the tiny transmitter and had removed it in order to lay down a false trail. For all the Starfleet officers on the Enterprise knew, they were following a shuttlecraft leading them on a wild goose chase while in another part of the quadrant, Seven and Section 31 were contentedly wiping out the Orion Syndicate without any concern that they would be interrupted.

Aw 'Nik, the Klingon thought. What have you gotten yourself into now?

"Lt. Torres, would Seven have been able to pinpoint the location of the Syndicate so quickly?" Captain Picard asked, glancing over at the Klingon.

B'Elanna nodded. "Trust me; if they were there to be found, she would have done it ... especially once they had taken Janeway. There's no place in the universe that Seven can't find her spouse."

He studied her measuringly. "Is that something you know, or are you merely speculating?" he asked, needing to be sure.

"I know," she said with certainty. "I've seen it."

"I'm forced to agree with the lieutenant," Nechayev offered, her face grim as she regarded the fore viewscreen. "There is far more to Seven of Nine than I initially realized ... or perhaps was allowed to recognize. There's also the possibility that Section 31 already knew where the location of the cartel's headquarters was, and is merely allowing Seven to think she's discovered it. They've chosen this opportunity to target it, using it as a recruiting technique. Once the Borg has participated in one of their operations, she'll find it difficult to say no to them in the future. In either event, there's no question in my mind that once the Borg and the Orion Syndicate encounter each other, the end result will be catastrophic, not only for them, but possibly for Starfleet, as well."

Picard dipped his head. "I knew she would be a formidable operative for them. Perhaps I'm just thinking that I should have handled this better."

Nechayev stared at him. "It would have been preferable had you come to me about your suspicions of the admirals in Starfleet Command in the first place."

Picard offered her a dark look. "There was no way of knowing that you weren't the admiral involved," he reminded her quietly. "Admiral Hayes was very good at confusing the issue." B'Elanna glanced away, not wanting to see how the captain's words impacted the older woman. She suspected that Nechayev was still stung over how easily Hayes had manipulated her and Paris.

"Captain?"

Picard turned his attention to the front of the bridge. "Yes?"

"Sensors are detecting traces of several ion trails through the asteroid belt," Data reported. "One is identical to the trail detected in orbit over Earth, when Captain Janeway was kidnapped. It's registered as the UFP Sooner Strike, a freighter belonging to the Packer Shipping Company fleet."

There was a sense of relief that eased some of the tension on the bridge. Obviously, B'Elanna had not been the only one assailed by doubts as they followed the faint trail of her transmitter.

"Yellow alert," Picard instructed.

"Raise shields," Riker said. "Drop to impulse."

"Dropping to impulse," Paris responded. "The Hood and the Gorkon have moved to five thousand meters on starboard and port, also dropping to impulse."

"Hood and Gorkon have raised shields," Data added. "Both vessels have brought weapons systems online."

"Tactical," Picard requested.

The officer covering the tactical station raised her head. "Phasers activated," she said crisply. One of the new young breed that populated so much of Starfleet in the aftermath of the Dominion War, she was at least five years younger than B'Elanna, but possessed the two gold pips of a full lieutenant. "Photon torpedoes loaded."

"Stand by," Riker said, in a slightly cautioning tone.

B'Elanna stifled a small grin. The young lieutenant had seemed the slightest bit eager, and it was apparent that she was still learning how to fit into this seasoned crew who had been together so long on the flagship. Paris, on the other hand, seemed to have fit into the bridge with little problem. His time in the Delta Quadrant had gone a long way in maturing the young man.

B'Elanna discovered she was clenching her fists, aware that she wanted something to do. It was difficult to be standing on the sidelines as nothing more than an observer. Spotting an empty station, she moved over to it, taking a seat and bringing the console online. It was a science station, but she was able to channel the engineering systems through the touch pad. She could do nothing more than monitor them, of course, but at least she was at a station and no longer felt so left out.

Nechayev quietly took a seat in what was normally the ship counselor's chair, to Picard's left. Here, the admiral would be able to see what was going on without requiring updates from the captain. B'Elanna brought up the chart of the Noiro Belt, and glanced at the fore viewscreen, seeing the large chunks of asteroids floating against the starfield through which the three vessels had to carefully navigate.

"Captain, we're being hailed."

B'Elanna noticed that Picard offered a start of surprise.

"By whom?"

"The signal originates from the Noiro Colony," Data responded. The android tilted his head, then turned his chair so that he was facing his captain.

"It's a Class One general distress call, Captain."

B'Elanna felt her heart start to pound. What had Seven gotten herself into now?

"I still don't understand what possessed you to take a job with the Orion Syndicate," Samantha Cogley said, staring at the Doctor.

The EMH sighed as he injected Janeway with the antagonist to the substitute drug he had been administrating. Immediately, the captain felt an easing to her nausea and her headache, exhaling audibly with relief.

"I told you," he said with forced patience to the lawyer, "I didn't know that's who was hiring me. I thought they were just a colony on the fringes of the Federation in need of quality medical care."

Ro regarded him evenly. "That seems like the sort of thing you should find out about your employer before you sign on," she suggested, and Janeway was struck by the thought that the stoic Bajoran was actually teasing the EMH.

The Doctor shot her a dark look, and resumed his attention on the captain, scanning her with a medical probe as he checked the readings on his tricorder. Janeway regarded the other two, feeling more and more like herself with every passing second.

"Am I to assume that the DragonFlight is close by?" She pulled the sheet closer around her, the only garment she had at the moment.

"Berth six," Ro told her. "If we can somehow disguise two of us as constables, maybe we can escort you back there with no one giving us a second look."

"She's only a little larger than I am," Sam offered. "Shorten and darken her hair a little, have her put on my clothes, and she could take my place, while the Doctor and I could dress in the uniforms of the constables."

"Better yet, I'll dress as a constable, since that won't require extensive makeup that we don't have," Janeway corrected dryly, somehow not surprised the young woman would immediately come up with an unnecessarily complicated plan. She was also quite certain that the clothing the lawyer was wearing was nothing that she could ever be persuaded to don. Samantha's taste in clothes ran to the very latest trends, and were considerably more ... daring than Janeway's own personal preferences, with glaring colors that actually hurt one's eyes.

"You just want to carry the gun," Samantha grouched, shooting an admonishing look at the captain.

"Actually, I just prefer to be in a uniform," Janeway told her honestly.

"Big surprise," Samantha noted. She paused, then glanced at Ro. "Where will we get constable uniforms, anyway?"

"There are still a few constables outside," the Doctor said. "They're taking statements from the witnesses from the tavern brawl before escorting the main combatants to jail. If we could lure two of them in here, I could sedate them, then the captain and I could take their place. The others should believe that the two officers are simply escorting you two back to your ship, and not pay it too much attention."

Janeway nodded, sitting up gingerly. When the room didn't begin spinning around her, she judged that to be a successful step in the major task of standing up.

"It sounds like an acceptable plan. We'll worry about how we'll get clearance to launch once we reach the ship."

"That vessel has quite a few surprises in it, Captain," Ro said. "As last resort, I think we can probably blast our way out, regardless of their docking clamps."

Janeway took a breath. "At this point, I'm not sure I would object to that even though it would leave a big hole in their hangar, and expose their colony to the surface." She made a move to stand, regretting it immediately as her body screamed in protest.

The Bajoran's gaze darkened with concern, and she reached out to support the captain, putting a hand on her shoulder as the Doctor scanned her again, his face concerned. "I know it may not seem like it, Captain, but the antagonist is working," he said reassuringly. "You'll be unsteady for awhile, but you are regaining control over your body."

She nodded. "Let's see about getting those uniforms."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and pocketed a couple of hyposprays. Nodding briefly at Ro, who took up a position on the inside of the door, he exited into the outer emergency room. Sam and Janeway moved out of the way and the captain discovered she was clutching weakly at the sheet as she leaned against the wall for support. She flinched as the door abruptly opened. Two constables stepped through, one a male, approximating the build of the Doctor, the other a woman, a little larger than the captain, but undoubtedly the best choice he could find.

"They're right over there," he said, pointing at Janeway and Sam in the corner.

The constables actually took a step toward the women before the male faltered. "Wait, she's not the one---"

Before he had finished his sentence, the Doctor had jammed the hyposprays against their necks, innoculating them with a strong sedative, while Ro stepped forward to catch the female, the EMH supporting the unconscious male, lowering them both to the floor.

"Quickly now," Janeway instructed. "Undress them."

The Doctor looked a little uncertain, but Ro and Sam didn't hesitate, bending over the two forms and stripping the uniforms from them, leaving them in only their undergarments. The somnolent forms were stashed in a nearby closet, where they wouldn't wake for several hours, while their garments were quickly handed to the captain and the hologram. The Doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably as he accepted the uniform, and immediately went over to the corner, his back turned pointedly to the women as he changed.

Janeway rolled her eyes, wondering where the Doctor had developed such an archaic sense of modesty, particularly during a crisis, particularly when dealing with other Starfleet officers who had long since gotten over the taboo of coed nudity during their time at the Academy, and particularly since he was only a hologram. Of course, the Doctor had never attended the Academy, and chances were, his matrix was displaying Dr. Zimmerman's inhibitions, of which, the captain suspected, the scientist had many. Besides, hadn't the EMH proven that he was far more than a hologram by this time? She began pulling on the uniform, still a little weak and needing to pause every so often to rest. Ro regarded her worriedly, though the Bajoran was doing her best not to make her scrutiny of the captain too overt.

The Doctor had finished changing long before Janeway, and he fidgeted uncomfortably as he waited. A quick glance out the door seemed to increase his nervousness, careful to poke only his head through the narrow opening.

"Can we hurry up things here?" he requested impatiently when he looked back. "The outer area is pretty much cleared out now that the other constables have taken the brawlers away, but someone else may stop by with a hangnail or something. I'd like to be out of here by then."

"Stay calm, Doctor, and shut that door," Janeway advised him as she tucked the dark shirt into the trousers, and fastened the heavy belt around her waist. It contained some kind of communications device, a baton, and a disruptor of sorts that looked to be Cardassian issue of several years ago. Straps running from the belt crossed over her chest and fastened at the back, the captain needing a few moments to figure out how they attached. "Put on your helmet."

She followed her own advice, placing the helmet on her head and pulling down the dark shield, the one-way transparency covering her face almost to her mouth, obscuring her features adequately. She had barely accomplished this when the door hissed open, and Cheb Packer, along with five other men ... all large, all carrying nasty batons ... entered. There was a frozen moment of shock and consternation, with Cheb looking around in outraged confusion, while the four would be escapees tried not to look excessively guilty.

"What's going on here?" the merchant demanded.

"We're taking these two back to their ship," the Doctor responded, and Janeway, weak from the jolt she had received at seeing Packer and his goons, noticed that the EMH had pitched his voice so that he didn't sound like himself. She made a mental note to congratulate him on his quick-thinking once this was all over. In the meantime, she kept her head down, letting the others do the talking.

"Where's the Doctor?" Cheb demanded, going over to the bed and ripping at the bedding, as if expecting that the EMH, or perhaps the captain, would be hiding amid the linens. "Where's the woman who was here?"

Sam put her hands on her hips. "The Doc wheeled her out of here after treating me and my sweetie," she said, injecting a bit of sauciness in her tone.

Cheb took two steps toward her, grabbing the lawyer by the arm and twisting it. "Where'd he take her?"

Sam somehow maintained her impertinent smirk, though the hold on her biceps had to be painful. "How the hell would I know?" she retorted. "He mentioned something about transfering her to a 'safer location'."

He stared at her, and the Doctor stepped forward, tapping Cheb on his shoulder with his baton. "We need to get these two back to their ship," he said, affecting a bored tone. "You know the rules about independent traders."

Janeway was amazed by the composure of her companions. A cold trickle of sweat was running down her spine, and her knees felt like jelly. It was taking all her willpower to maintain a casual posture, to look as if she were just another constable doing her job.

"Maybe he took her to Duvont," one of Cheb's men piped up. "You said that the doc didn't like how you were treating her."

Cheb shot him a poisonous look and released Sam, who sauntered past him. He glared after her as the four moved towards the door. Just a few meters more, Janeway chanted to herself, seeing freedom beckon before her. We're almost at the door.

"Stop."

Janeway felt her heart pound as the four paused just before they reached the exit. Cheb moved around in front of them, staring at Ro, who regarded him evenly.

"Don't I know you?" he demanded.

"Don't think so," Ro told him laconically.

He frowned, looking puzzled as he searched her face, some minor detail obviously plucking at his memory. Janeway felt her heart pound unpleasantly in her chest, remembering that Ro had been seated next to her during Packer's trial on one occasion. Would Cheb have taken note of the Bajoran's face enough to recognize it now, or had he been too caught up in his legal difficulties?

"We need to get these people back to their ship," the Doctor insisted.

Uncertainly, Cheb glanced at him, then started to step aside, obviously unable to place the Bajoran. Janeway went to move forward, and abruptly, Packer brought his baton back and slammed it across Ro's ribs, knocking the Starfleet officer to the ground. The Doctor froze in horror, and Janeway grabbed for her disruptor. Unfortunately, Packer had anticipated that move and knocked the captain's hand away, grabbing for the weapon himself and shoving the muzzle up under Janeway's jaw.

"Nice try, Kat," he said, reaching up and ripping away her helmet. "You must think I'm as stupid as the rest of the fools you deal with." He motioned to his men, who quickly relieved the Doctor of his weapons and shoved their prisoners back into the room. Two men grabbed Ro, who was still curled in a fetal position clutching her midsection, dragging her over next to the bed, and flinging her down against the floor.

Cheb's eyes glittered as he pushed Janeway against the wall, a smile playing over his lips. "So," he murmured, the bulk of his body pressing intimately against her, the muzzle of the disruptor digging cruelly into the soft underside of her chin. "Thought you could slip one past me, Kat? I guess you haven't been getting the dream dust as planned. You look far too ... mobile."

Despite the terror sending icy tendrils through her stomach, Janeway managed a bored expression. "If you're going to kill me, Cheb," she said, with a casualness she was far from feeling, "just do it. Don't bore me to death with your inanity."

He drove a fist into her stomach, a short punch that drove the air from her lungs, and for an instant, blackness edged her vision. She slumped against the wall, aware of a commotion going on around her, and finally understood that Ro had broken free of her captors. The Bajoran had lunged at Cheb, bringing him down with a flying kick that connected with his belly. She was unable to follow up on it as the other men jumped on her and dragged her back away from Packer. Wheezing, the merchant finally got to his feet, an ugly expression on his face.

"Watch her," he snapped, motioning one of his men to guard Janeway. The captain was hauled unceremoniously to her feet, the straps of her outfit yanked down over her shoulders and used as a makeshift binding around his arms. She ignored her manhandling, staring at Cheb who had gone over to where Ro was being restrained.

"Don't," she demanded, suspecting what he would do to the Bajoran.

He shot her a glare. "You'll hate this worse than anything I might do to you," he said slowly, as if understanding something for the first time. "She's one of your people, one of your crew."

Janeway made a step toward him, yanked back by the straps around her torso by the man guarding her. Horrified, she watched as Cheb stood before Ro, who had been forced down onto her knees in front of the merchant, immobilized by two of his men grasping her shoulders. The Bajoran stared up at him impassively, her jaw set, her eyes dark with scorn for this being who would dare confront her, a survivor of the Cardassian internment camps, a product of Starfleet training and Maquis tempering.

"You'll be sorry for that," Packer promised her viciously, grabbing her by the hair and yanking it cruelly. "By the time I'm done with you, there'll be nothing left but a carcass for the scavengers."

Ro didn't so much as blink, not granting him the satisfaction.

He glared at her. "Duvont and Vicarny might get a little upset over my taking Kat," he told the Bajoran, obviously wanting to elicit some reaction from her. "But you're nothing to them, just a Starfleet officer in the wrong place, at the wrong time. No one's going to mind when I take you apart piece by piece."

Janeway noticed that his men seemed to blink and stir uneasily at this, whether at the revelation that Ro was a Starfleet officer, or that Packer was planning to take the captain away from Syndicate custody. Nearby, the Doctor appeared unable to comprehend what was going on, staring at the scene in front of him in horrified confusion, before moving toward Cheb and Ro, shaking off his guards as if they weren't there. The captain didn't think the hologram was capable of actual violence, but his programming had no restrictions about moving where he needed to be.

"Stop this," he demanded imperiously. "You're not going to kill anyone."

Cheb raised the muzzle of the weapon he had retrieved from Janeway and pressed it against Ro's forehead, the metal cutting into the skin and sending a trickle of blood down the Bajoran's face, gathering along the ridges of her nose. Fearful, the Doctor hesitated.

"Watch me," Packer told the EMH coldly.

"No," the Doctor shouted furiously, impotently, afraid to move any closer. "Let her alone."

"Doctor, please don't," Janeway said, playing one final, desperate card, improvising madly, seeking any advantage, no matter how small, knowing that time was running out for all of them so long as Cheb had the upper hand. "You're an innocent in this. I couldn't bear for you to be killed for the sake of us in Starfleet."

Packer turned his head to Janeway, an unpleasant smile playing about his cruel mouth, and with deliberate intent, he lifted the weapon and fired at the Doctor, the merchant so intent on enjoying Janeway's reaction to his callous killing of a bystander, he didn't immediately notice that the disruptor bolt had no effect on the hologram. It passed through the Doctor's matrix to barely miss two of the other Syndicate members who dived for cover, striking the wall between them in a shower of sparks. Janeway began to fight against her guard, as Ro took her cue to begin struggling, attempting to take advantage of the momentary surprise of their captors.

Then, from above their heads, a portion of the ceiling blew apart, and six feet of enraged blonde Borg dressed in black dropped through the smoking and shredded opening. Pure and absolute fury radiated from the ice blue eyes that were focused directly on Cheb Packer.

Seven took only an instant to assess the situation, surprised to see Ro Laren, the Doctor, and Samantha Cogley present, but not allowing it to cause her any hesitation. She promptly blasted one of the men holding Ro as she dropped to the floor, intent on freeing the most combat skilled individual who could assist in the rescue. Then she had to dive and roll, dodging the disruptor bolt that flared toward her from Cheb Packer. The deadly red beam barely missed her as it splashed against the wall, scorching it and causing the paint to bubble and blister, leaving an ugly streak of black across the mint-green surface. She noted that her allies had apparently taken advantage of her unexpected arrival to turn the tables on their captors, Samantha ramming her elbow into the man holding her and pulling out of his grip, while Ro kicked out, swiftly sweeping the legs out from under Cheb Packer, sending him crashing to the floor, the weapon skittering away from him.

Seven felt her lips draw back over her teeth in a snarl, but she wasn't able to go after the merchant immediately. Instead, she turned her attention to her partner, struggling in the hands of another Syndicate member, seeming unable to put up much of a struggle. It probably did not help that the captain was twisted up in a webbing of some sort around her arms, apparently hampering her as much as the man's grip on her wrists. The Borg leaped across the room, past the Doctor who was grappling weakly with two other men, his programming inhibiting his ability to fight, and slammed the butt of her rifle into the shoulder of the man holding Janeway. He released the captain who fell to the floor, still tangled in the straps, and shook off the blow, reaching out for the Borg, grappling for the rifle. Seven released her weapon, surprising her opponent, but before he could raise the muzzle between them, her left hand had shot out to snare his throat, squeezing with devastating force, feeling the bones and cartilage give way to the crushing strength of her Borg implant.

He gagged and died, and she allowed him to drop in his tracks. She made an abortive move to retrieve her rifle, but had to turn to face the rest of the battle and her next opponent before she could grasp it, sensing rather than actually seeing the attack in time. She was barely able to brace herself as a large man shoved her back, having left his conflict with the Doctor to leap on her. It was difficult for Seven to keep track of what else was going on in the close confines of the room as she dealt with this new problem, blood spurting within her mouth as the Humanoid slammed his fist across her jaw. His species was obviously a product of a high gravity environment, much stronger and faster than the average Federation member, on a par with Vulcan or Klingon. Seven quickly found herself on the defensive from a series of blows that struck her stomach and chest, trying futilely to intercept most of them with her forearms. She had a brief regret that she no longer possessed the abdominal implant that would have protected her from the worst of the assault. As it were, the stiff, forceful punches drove the air out of her lungs and forced her to retreat.

She was brought up short by the wall, running into it with an impact that made her grunt. Desperately, she managed to catch the next swing on the outside of her left arm, allowing the implant extension to absorb most of the blow. With her right hand, she stiffened her fingers and drove them into his belly, with little effect. It was like jamming her fingers into stone, and she was slammed by another blow that jolted her to her bone marrow. Shaking her head to clear her vision of the blood streaming from a cut over her right eye beginning to swell shut, she felt the first tendrils of uncertainty feather through her. It was possible that she was outmatched physically, and she found it impossible to send the command from her cranial implant to alter her hand mesh into a much needed weapon, or even dig her type-two phaser out of her vest pocket. He wasn't allowing her a second to recover, not granting her an instant to focus her concentration on anything, but defending herself with her hands.

He knocked aside her feeble attempts at striking back, and wrapped her up in a grip that lifted her from the floor, his massive arms tightening around her. Seven was unable to breathe, and for a disbelieving moment, she actually felt the reinforced bone of her ribs creak and begin to compress, squeezing her internal organs. A red shade began to cover her vision, edged with darkness as consciousness started to slip inexorably away.

Suddenly, there was a respite, a loosening of the man's grip, and Seven gained a brief second to regain her senses. She managed to raise her hands and slam them brutally together on his ears, causing him to release her and fall to the floor where she gasped for breath, looking up at the combatants looming over her. She was horrified when she realized from which direction the interruption of her battle had originated, shocked to see that Janeway had finally freed herself from her bonds, and had promptly jumped onto the back of Seven's assailant, pounding on his head and shoulders with her small fists, her face altered into that feral expression of hatred and fear that the Borg had witnessed only once before. Janeway's attack, as sincere and furious as it was, was much like a tiny dog attacking an elephant, and the man bent over to flip the captain easily off his back, sending the woman skidding across the room, brought up short by crashing into the other wall, where she lay still and unmoving.

But Janeway's reckless leap on the man was all Seven had needed, and with fear for her partner enhancing her reaction, she altered her implant and raked the man's chest with all four cutting edges, dark blue blood spurting from the furrows she left. He appeared startled, looking down at his chest for a second, before his face twisted and he lunged at Seven once more.The Borg had learned her lesson, and had no intention of coming within reach of those bear-like arms. She danced out of his way, slashing at him with her hand, opening up more cuts and wounds that bled profusely.

He growled, a mindless, animal response of pain and hatred, lurching after her with only one intent in his eyes, that of completely destroying her. She backed away, looking for an opening that would allow her to finish him. He lunged once more, then stiffened as the energy beam from a weapon struck him, making him glow briefly with an aura of red, before he disappeared completely. Seven looked over and saw Janeway lying on the deck on her stomach, her head raised, a Cardassian disruptor dangling weakly in her hand as if she had used the very last of her strength to pull the trigger.

Seven inhaled deeply, her heart thumping painfully in her chest as she glanced around. Ro was on top of Cheb Packer's back, maintaining a strong grip on his wrist as she had his arm twisted behind him, keeping his face mashed against the floor, not allowing him any leverage with which to get up. Across the room, the Doctor was staring somewhat blankly at his hands as he stood over a motionless form at his feet, almost as if he were unable to fathom how it had all happened. Only Samantha still seemed to be in trouble, and Seven sprinted across the length of the room, driving her shoulder into the lawyer's assailant, her momentum slamming him into the wall. She heard something crack, and realized she wouldn't have to follow up in her attack as he looked at her with surprised eyes already shading over with the dimness of death, the light of life leaving his body with a breath that brought crimson bubbling over his lips and flowing down his chin as he slumped in her grasp.

Distastefully, she dropped him, then turned and looked over at Sam who was staring at her in astonishment. "Seven?" she said. "Where did you come from?"

"I am here to rescue the captain," Seven said, as if it were obvious, moving over to help Janeway to her feet. The captain swayed, apparently still weakened from her ordeal. "Kathryn?"

Janeway blinked, then looked at her spouse as if realizing for the first time who actually had been the one to intrude on the situation. "Annika?"

Seven felt her breath catch in her throat, and she carefully put her arms around her partner, wanting to sweep her up in an embrace that would never be released, but afraid to tighten her grip on a body that suddenly seemed so fragile. Janeway exhaled with almost a sob and hugged the young woman tightly ... fiercely ... about the waist, trembling briefly in her arms.

"I am here, Kathryn," Seven whispered, closing her eyes as the emotion threatened to overwhelm her. "You are safe now."

Janeway inhaled sharply, then drew away, her hand resting on Seven's chest as she composed herself with a visible effort, grasping for the remains of her command persona. Her eyes were grey as she glanced up at the Borg. "Your timing is impeccable, my darling," she said softly. "As always."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice to respond in any verbal fashion. Janeway glanced around, apparently taking stock of things.

"Lt. Ro?"

"I have him," Ro responded through gritted teeth. Despite her comment, she was having difficulty maintaining her hold, which was completely unlike the Bajoran. Seven decided that it was possible the security officer had been injured. "I could use a little help."

Seven immediately went over to where the Bajoran was pinning Cheb Packer to the floor, her implant altering once more into her cutting blades.

"Seven, no!"

The captain's voice was a whip, and the Borg hesitated, looking back at her spouse in amazement. Janeway's jaw firmed, and she lowered her head, her eyes flashing with authoritative presence.

"Secure him," Janeway ordered sternly. "He will return with us to face Federation justice."

Seven took a breath, unwilling to comply, but she knew that once the immediate battle was over, the captain had a specific set of protocols when dealing with prisoners, none of which included immediate execution. She didn't understand it, but she was forced to respect it. She looked at Ro, seeing a bit of sympathy in the Bajoran's dark eyes, but the officer did not say anything, also prepared to live with the captain's directives as she released Packer into the Borg's custody. Seven exhaled audibly, and found some straps lying on the floor, using them to bind Packer's hands behind his back, ignoring the man's cursing until irritation finally made her slap him sharply across the head with the mesh of her implant.

"You live at Kathryn's whim, not mine," she hissed into his ear as she finished securing the last of his bonds. "Were it up to me, you would have been terminated at DS9. Do not try my patience."

That served to silence him for the moment, and she yanked him upright, shoving him unceremoniously across the room to fall at Janeway's feet. He looked up at the captain, and Janeway stared sternly down at him, her hands on her hips, looking as imperious as any queen who had just been presented with a petitioner.

"For your own sake, Mr. Packer," she said, in her best Starfleet command voice, formal, and as cold as the deepest reaches of space, "Do not speak. Anything you say can and will be used in a Federation court in the case Starfleet will bring against you." She paused, and her eyes grew darker. "There is also a very good chance that if you open your mouth at this moment, I may be forced to forget I am a Starfleet officer, and allow my spouse to deal with you as she has wanted from the moment she first met you."

He cowered and Janeway looked away, dismissing him from her attention, leaving Ro to pick up Seven's phaser rifle in order to guard him. Seven followed the captain's gaze to the Doctor, who appeared to be in a state of shock. Concerned, both women moved over to him.

"Doctor?"

The EMH's mouth moved, but nothing came out of it. Seven gripped him tightly by the arm and gave him a little shake. He blinked, the blankness dissipating somewhat, and his vision clearing as he looked at her.

"I think I killed him," he whispered.

Seven glanced down at the man on the floor, assessing his condition dispassionately. He was certainly quite dead, and the angle of his neck indicated how the hologram had terminated him. She was impressed, though realized that for a hologram, this might be the sort of thing that could cause a fatal loop within his matrix programming. It was amazing he was still on his feet at this point.

"You did what you had to do, Doctor," Janeway said in a forceful tone, reaching up to grab his chin, forcing him to look at her. "You acted to protect yourself and your patients."

"I'm a Doctor," he said, his face crumpling. "I do not take life."

Janeway focused all her considerable command personality on the hologram. "I am not saying that this is not an extemely difficult situation for you," she said compassionately, but firmly. "But we don't have time for this. We need to get out of here. Frankly, I'm surprised we don't have the entire security force down on us by now."

He shuddered, closing his eyes, then managed to get a grip on himself somewhat.

"This room is sound-proofed," he explained weakly. "Part of the reason why you were kept here."

"Ah," Janeway said flatly. "So no one could hear my screams."

Seven took a step toward her, abruptly realizing what her partner must have gone through, and Janeway glanced at her, an expression of ruefulness in her eyes, as if regretting what she had said.

"I'm all right, Seven," she said, patting her reassuringly on the chest. "We have a few moments leeway before we make our escape. Do you have a route secured?"

Seven nodded. "Voyager is in orbit, and once we've reached the surface using the access tunnels, we can request an immediate transport."

"Voyager?" Janeway stared at her. "Voyager is here? Why wasn't it detected by the Syndicate?"

"It is cloaked," Seven said, with a hint of pride. "We installed the device at Utopia Planitia."

"What? Where the hell did you get a cloaking device?"

Seven opened her mouth to respond, when Packer abruptly lunged to his feet, driving his shoulder into Ro's midsection and knocking her down before making a dash for the door, shouldering easily past Sam when the diminutive lawyer tried to stop him. Ro was unable to bring the muzzle of the phaser rifle around to target him in time as the door slid automatically shut after his exit, just as it had opened at his approach, enabling his escape. Slamming the rifle onto the floor in frustration, Ro cursed in a half sob, her other arm pressed tight to her ribs.

"Damn it, we have to go after him," the captain said, starting in the direction of the doorway.

"No, Kathryn," Seven said, reaching out for her, impeding her progress with more success than Ro and Sam had managed with the merchant. "We must vacate the premises immediately."

"We can't afford to let him escape to warn the others," Janeway insisted, trying to pull away from her spouse.

"We must leave," Seven insisted. "Now, before the plasma explosives detonate."

The starship captain stopped dead, turning around to grab Seven by the arms. "What plasma explosives?"

"The explosives the rest of my rescue team placed in the power plant, which will destroy the colony's geothermal core, and by extension, the planetoid itself."

Janeway grasped the Borg's biceps tighter. "My god, Seven," she said, her voice more horrified than the young woman had ever heard before. "There are children in this facility."

Seven blinked, and the Doctor could see that hit her with the power of a ph