• This is the third installment in the ST: Millennium series. It was posted July 20, 2001.
• This story deals with sex and violence, and how they sometimes overlap ... there is, however, no sexual violence involving any of the characters.
• There is an accessory alert in effect for this story.

"Commander Ro."

The chief of security for the starship Millennium paused, a slightly pained expression on her face as she turned to face Zar Tulek, the vessel's first officer. Zar supposed he should be grateful the woman had waited for him, instead of pretending she hadn't heard him.

"Yes, sir," she said with careful politeness.

Zar noticed her eyes widened marginally as she saw the new adornment dangling from his right ear, similar to her own, and he stifled his smile. Taking on the cultural symbol of his mother's people had been the captain's idea, a subtle and delicate reaching out to those on the ship who had cause to fear and hate his father's people. The Cardassians were viewed with suspicion at best, outright hatred at worse, and this visual cue made it easier for the crewmembers he dealt with to remember he was also Bajoran, as well as a member of Starfleet and their first officer.

"I wanted to speak with you about the pilots on the ship. Please, walk with me."

With a brief hesitation, Ro dipped her head and matched him stride for stride as they walked through the expansive corridors of their starship. Tall and slender, Ro moved with a deadly grace, just as a predator hunting for its next meal would. Her short shock of dark hair and dark eyes provided her with brooding good looks, the Bajoran crinkles at the bridge of her nose making her appear somber, even when she was in a good mood.

Of course, Zar had yet to encounter the woman in a good mood. Ro was very conscious of the first officer looking like a Cardassian, and it created a distinct tension between them. But it was something they were going to have to get past. Captain Janeway probably did not expect her senior staff to love each other, but she did did expect them to find a way to work together as a smoothly functioning unit.

"What about the pilots?" Ro asked coolly.

"I was wondering if there were any problems coming from that area. Several young, ambitious and enthusiastic Academy graduates have been placed in a position where they spend most of their time sitting around and waiting for something to happen. When that 'something' does happen, it's incredibly tense and probably life-threatening. Stress builds up, and it may be released in the most unproductive ways."

"No problems so far," she said promptly, then added in what was obviously an attempt to be fair, "It's still early in the mission. There will be problems coming from that area, particularly since the captain seems unwilling to use them."

Zar exhaled in relief. "You noticed that as well?"

Ro nodded. "I have, and it's to be expected. The captain has never commanded a vessel like Millennium that carries an auxiliary fleet. It's possible she's not quite sure how to deploy them, not only in a confrontation, but during normal operating procedure."

"Exactly," Zar said. "They can't be utilized in the same manner a space station utilizes them. For the latter, the object is to provide mobility and defense to a structure which is immobile and has limited defense capabilities. Millennium is far from being either."

"I hear Tom wants to fly regular escort." The longer they spoke, the more it seemed her manner was gradually softening toward the first officer. Zar made a mental note to thank the captain for her suggestion about the earring. "The problem is, those fighters can only go warp six at maximum, and they're only able to maintain it for an hour or two at most. Meanwhile, Millennium's comfortable cruising speed is warp seven. I can't see the captain holding the ship back just so Tom and his band can have something to do."

"Precisely. Yet, they have to have something to do between missions." Zar glanced over at the Bajoran. "I'd like to arrange a meeting between you, the captain and myself to discuss this further. Any ideas you could bring to the table would be very useful."

Ro blinked and glanced over at him. "Why me?"

Zar was surprised. "You're third in command. Besides, the function of the fighter wing is to protect the ship, and the other auxiliary vessels as they're dispatched, which falls under the pureview of the security chief. You have to be a part of any decision as to their deployment."

Ro looked vaguely embarrassed at missing what should have been obvious to her, and she shot him a look from the corner of dark eyes. "I understand. I'll give it some thought."

"Please," he said. "The sooner we can structure a way for these vessels and their pilots to operate, the better off we'll all be."

"Laren."

Both paused at the hail and they turned to greet the newcomer. B'Elanna Torres's face changed when she realized who had been walking with her spouse, an expression of overt dislike darkening her gaze. The ship's chief engineer was a hybrid, just as Zar was, though her unique physiology sprang from being half Human and half Klingon. The latter was displayed in the proud ridges on her forehead, the long, crinkly dark hair, and the barely suppressed power that radiated from her compact, muscular body. Her Humanness was apparent in the soft curve of her jaw, and the fact that her forehead ridges were not nearly as pronounced as a full Klingon's would be.

Zar was aware that the woman didn't like him, but he did not indicate it as he waited politely for the engineer to catch up to them.

"Commander," she said shortly, her voice tense.

"Lieutenant," he responded, both word and rank emphasized subtly.

Ro looked back and forth between them, a brief glance of assessment, and then lowered her head. "The Commander and I were discussing Tom's group of fighters," she offered in what seemed to be a deliberately conciliatory tone. B'Elanna detected it, blinking in surprise. "It's going to be hard to deploy those ships in a way to keep their pilots out of trouble. You haven't picked up on anything, have you, Lanna?"

Zar wondered briefly at the informality of first names, deciding that the two women must be friends, perhaps bound together in their mutual dislike of Cardassians since both Bajoran and Klingon had reason to fault the Cardassian Empire for past actions. From his perusal of their personnel files, Zar had discovered that Ro and Torres were both veterans of the Maquis, a rebel band who had fought the Cardassians even when the Federation had been involved in a temporary peace treaty with them, making them outlaws in the eyes of both. Now all of them ... Bajoran, Klingon, Maquis, Cardassian hybrid ... wore the uniform of Starfleet, and they were expected to get along.

Zar wondered if the universe was naturally perverse or merely the species within it, one moment bitter enemies, the next, allies as dictated by diplomacy and political happenstance. It was very difficult to keep track without a score card.

"No," B'Elanna said, looking vaguely confused as she regarded the security chief. "Not yet, at any rate, but then, they're unlikely to be in engineering much."

"But you or your department might have run into something spirited in the Nexus."

B'Elanna stared coldly through him and deliberately ignored the query. Instead, she looked at Ro. "Seven and the captain invited us for dinner tonight."

Ro lifted her head. "I'll be there."

B'Elanna offered a short nod to the woman, and still ignoring Zar, turned and walked away. Infuriated, the first officer required a few seconds to bring his rage back under control, not wanting it to influence his actions, which could affect all the progress he had made to date. It was not the first time he had been forced to bite his tongue at rude and antagonistic behavior as he rose through the ranks of his chosen profession, but it didn't get any easier with time.

"It's possible that our chief engineer requires a bit of an attitude adjustment," he said finally, in a low tone. "I may have to speak with Janeway."

Ro glanced at him, anger flaring in her own eyes, but apparently recognized that, as chief of security, it was part of her responsibility to handle such incidents. Hopefully, before they were brought to the attention of the captain.

"I'll speak with Lt. Torres when she gets home tonight," she promised tightly. "She'll be easier to deal with in our quarters."

Zar blinked, rocked. For two senior officers to be sharing quarters, particularly when it was protocol for each to be assigned single cabins, made it very apparent that the two women were more than friends. He cursed the fact that Starfleet personnel files omitted certain details about an officer unless the information was expected to impact on his or her professional abilities. It had not yet been necessary for him to use his exec authority to delve into anyone's more private personal files where such information might be found, but it was his experience that romantic ties did impact a person's performance, at least to a certain extent. It would be much more difficult for the security chief to deal with the chief engineer on security matters if they were involved on a romantic level. Perhaps he should speak with Counselor Kes, and get her advice as to how he should deal with all these unexpected and complicated ties binding together certain members of the senior staff. He was still getting used to the idea that the captain was married to the ship's chief science officer, a situation that had also caused him a certain amount of grief ... though that too was more personal than professional.

"Very well," he said shortly. "I'll leave it in your hands."

He nodded stiffly at her and walked away. It was still the first few months, he reminded himself. There was no point in getting ahead of himself, or feel that he wasn't making strides when in fact, he was. It was just so tiring to go through the same thing, posting after posting, to have to win over his crewmates when others, Humans, Vulcans, and even Klingons, tended to receive acceptance from the beginning. With them, they had to fail to lose respect. With Zar, he had to succeed before it would be granted.

Shaking his head, he entered the turbolift and instructed it to take him to the bridge. At least he had no problem with his captain. Janeway had made every effort to make him feel welcome, and the more he got to know her, the more he understood why others held her in such high regard. She was exceptionally competent, warmly compassionate, yet ready to defend her ship and crew with extreme force if necessary. Somehow, she managed to balance all those elements into a command persona that seemed to electrify the room by simply entering it. She also had a reputation for being a wonderful teacher in terms of command training. Certainly he had already learned a great deal simply from how she treated him. He hoped that the first time he acquired a first officer, he would treat that person with the same respect, trust and decency that she had displayed.

The fact that he was wildly attracted to her spouse was something he tried not to think about very often, and worked very hard at burying behind a mask of professionalism.

"Janeway to Zar."

Zar started, twitching slightly. It was almost as if his thinking of the captain predicted her hail. He reached up and tapped his comm badge. "Zar here."

"Commander, I need you in the conference room. Our guest has a task for us, and I'd like your input."

Zar blinked. The 'guest' was undoubtedly Maxis, a trader that they had encountered the previous day. The alien merchant had dealings with Janeway and Voyager eight years ago, and appeared glad to see the return of the Federation to the sector. Zar knew that over the next month or so, they could expect to encounter others who knew of the Federation, especially since Voyager had shaken up the sector's status quo considerably when she arrived all those years ago. Hopefully, Millennium's encounters would shade more to the benevolent, like Maxis, rather than involving old acquaintances who were apt to shoot first, as the Trabe had.

"I'm on my way."

"Commander, Mr. Maxis has been telling me about the Iboneb and the Okunda," she said, gesturing slightly at the alien who was seated across from her at the conference table. Maxis was wisp thin, with a face that seemed to hang over as a vulture's would. Back humped beneath his plain, tan tunic, his shoulders cradled his head rather than actually supported it, while his small eyes were a somewhat disturbing reddish orange. His movements were restrained, birdlike, while there was the slightest overtone of a hiss in his enunciation.

"Yesss, Commander. I have been doing business with the Okunda for years. They are a ssspiritual race, with a sssingle religiousss faith influencing their culture ... sssomewhat dull, but overall, an extremely good people. Honesty, integrity and family values are more than just ssslogans to them. They truly live what they believe, holding themselvesss to the highest moral standardsss. That's where they've run into a problem."

"How so?" Zar asked, taking a seat beside the captain and regarding the alien curiously.

"There is a moon orbiting the seventh planet of the nearby Iboneb system," Maxis explained. "It is rich in the ore that the Okunda refine for an element used in their planetary power grid."

"The Iboneb don't want to sell," Zar guessed.

"Actually, the Iboneb are more than willing to negotiate for the mining rights," Maxis offered, surprising the commander. "Unfortunately, when the two people sit down to work out a deal that will benefit both of them, the Okunda end up walking out of the negotiations because of something the Iboneb do."

Janeway lifted her chin. "Maxis isn't sure what it is exactly," she said, glancing at her first officer. "Only that whatever behavior the Iboneb display, it profoundly and deeply offends the Okunda on a spiritual and moral level."

Maxis leaned forward. "I believe that a representative from a lessss ... restricted culture may be able to mediate. That isss why I brought thisss to your captain."

"Why don't you offer yourself as mediator?" Zar asked curiously.

Maxis spread his hands out. "Alasss, I have a vested interest in this, having traded with the Okunda extensively," he explained. "The Iboneb would not consider me ... neutral. If I present your credentialsss, perhapsss they would accept you as an objective third party."

Janeway lifted a brow. "You have no idea what it is the Iboneb do that so outrages the Okunda?"

Maxis shook his head. "The representativesss I've spoken with ssseem unable to describe it, becoming extremely uncomfortable and inarticulate. Of course, for a morally rigid speciesss as themselvesss, it could be sssomething that is relatively insignificant to other speciesss. For example, the Okunda can't speak of gambling, either, considered a harmless past time on many worldsss."

"It's possible we could help," Janeway allowed. "Certainly, the more species we encounter, the broader our tolerance is for other cultures. I would have no objection to mediating a treaty that would benefit both parties."

Maxis smiled widely, displaying a rather disturbing arrangement of dental array. "Wonderful. I ssshall present your offer to the Okunda immediately, and they will tender it to the Iboneb. There ssshould be an answer back within a few daysss."

"Millennium will remain in this area in any event," Janeway promised. "Our science department is studying a spatial anomaly, and will require another week of gathering the necessary data."

"I look forward to working with you again, Captain Janeway," Maxis said, standing up, bowing slightly, then turning for the door. The security officer, standing unobtrusively just inside, immediately took up an escort to show the visitor back to the transporter room. After they were gone, Janeway looked at Zar.

"What could be so morally reprehensible that a spiritual people can't stay in the same room with them?"

Zar looked thoughtful, giving the question all due consideration. "If what Maxis said about their cultural structures is correct, it may be something quite innocent. It may also be some behavior integral to the Iboneb."

"Something physical, perhaps," Janeway guessed. She rested her chin on her palm, elbow on the table. "That could cover a lot of things."

Zar grinned. "If it were I, there is one thing that would send me screaming out of the room with no questions asked."

Janeway felt a corner of her mouth turn up, sensing a playful tone in the voice, something she hadn't expected from the young man she was still getting to know. "Yes?" she prompted readily. "Go on."

"You won't like it," he warned.

"Try me," Janeway countered, piqued slightly by the challenge implicit in the inflection of his voice.

"If, while I was attempting to negotiate, the person across the table kept picking his nose and eating it," Zar offered, watching her expectantly.

Janeway's stomach did a flip flop. "Zar!" she said, outraged and made more than a little squeamish by the mental image.

He chuckled lightly. "You asked."

Janeway lifted her face, eyeing him briefly. "So I did. I won't make that mistake again. Next time you tell me I won't like something, I'll believe you." Zar merely looked amused, and she shook her head. "However, as ... disgusting ... as that suggestion is, it's entirely possible to tolerate it, at least long enough to conduct a negotiation."

"Agreed," Zar said, sobering slightly. "Humans are so good at this sort of thing. You're highly adaptable, and able to accommodate a wide range of cultural diversity." He paused. "That's why I selected your species as my xeno-biology thesis at the Academy."

Janeway blinked, not used to being thought of as alien, but then, to Zar, that's exactly what her people would be. "Any conclusions?"

"Actually, I did draw one interesting conclusion ... though it wasn't particularly new. It went a long way in helping me understand your species."

Keenly interested now, the captain lifted her chin. "What was it?"

"Regardless of what type of culture exists on other worlds, in other species, Humans have already evolved a similar social structure in one form or another in their history, even if only on a small, tribal level." Zar's face lit up with enthusiasm and Janeway smiled to see it. "It's amazing. Your world is so multi-cultural, that even today, there's nothing that Starfleet has come across in the universe that Humans haven't already tried."

"Indeed. Are you sure?"

"So far it appears to be a concrete theory. I have a continued scientific interest in it, and every time I come across a new civilization, I try to see if Humans have evolved similarly in one manner or another ... so far, I've always found a cultural match somewhere."

"That's amazing," the captain said, honestly fascinated. "I guess we'll see if the Iboneb live up to your theory ... or if they're the exception that proves the rule."

A few days later, Janeway and Zar had their opportunity to verify the theory, or at least, discover exactly who and what the Iboneb were. The Okunda had been suitably grateful for the offer of mediation, while the Iboneb agreed to give it a try on a trial basis. Obligingly, Millennium left the spatial anomaly they had been studying, and made the trip to the Iboneb homeworld, taking up orbit around the lush green and blue planet.

The captain hadn't known what to expect when the representatives from the mysterious species materialized on the transporter pad, but she was pleasantly surprised to find that they were Humanoid and appeared reasonably normal ... if 'normal' was the Terran humanoid standard, which Janeway, despite her best intentions, tended to use in her subconscious assessment of other beings. The only significant difference was the Iboneb hairline that ran down to the bottom of their jaws, giving their hair an appearance of being mane-like, surrounding features where the jaw and nose were just slightly elongated, highlighting eyes that were dark and deep-set, solid colors of amber and green.

Their garments was intricate layers and folds draped over one another, a variety of colors in rich materials. Delicately crafted jewelry glinted gold, ruby and sapphire throughout the material, granting glimpses of wealth and luxury. Speaking with them as she took them on a tour of her ship, Janeway discovered they were delightfully polite and soft-spoken, with an articulate grasp on the advanced technological concepts that were being presented to them. Tranturi, the lead ambassador, was a beautiful female with flowing dark hair, who introduced her companion as Katar. Janeway noted that he was a most handsome representative of muscular development, regardless of the species. Together, they represented a very attractive people, and one who appeared to carry themselves with consummate dignity. The initial impression was very much that the Iboneb were a highly cultured and evolved species.

Hardly the type to pick one's nose, Janeway thought sardonically to herself, as she finally led them to one of the more expansive and luxurious conference rooms on Millennium's second deck. After seating them at one end of the table, Janeway took the other end, with Zar at her right hand, and Lt. Nog, the ship's helmsman at her left.

The diminutive navigational officer was not a diplomat, and under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have been included in such a negotiation, but he was a Ferengi, and Janeway wanted his expertise with the deal at her side, ready to whisper in her ear anything that might escape her notice. She considered herself a more than capable negotiator, but nobody knew how to bargain like the robber barons of the Alpha Quadrant. Nog had been very pleased and flattered to be asked, and was now sitting attentively, aware that he would speak only to the captain, and in an unobtrusive manner at that. She had every confidence that he would handle himself professionally.

"We are pleased at your offer of mediation, Captain Janeway," Tranturi said as she regarded the starship captain expectantly. "Our negotiations with the Okunda have been suitably frustrating and mystifying. We are aware that we offend them in some way, but they are unwilling, or simply unable, to explain how." She tilted her head. "We have not had much experience with other species, so most of this is new to us, yet we truly wish to accomplish this deal, since it will benefit both our peoples."

"Your efforts are most admirable," Janeway said smoothly. "Few species would work so hard to accomplish a trade agreement. It speaks highly of your peaceful intentions."

"'Peaceful'?" Tranturi echoed. She glanced at her companion, frowning slightly. "I'm afraid the word does not translate."

Janeway lifted her head. It hadn't taken long for them to hit a snag, she thought ruefully, and she searched for a definition. "Kind, helpful to others," she elaborated. "Not warlike."

"Warlike?" Tranturi blinked. "What is ... 'war'."

Janeway exhaled slowly, and beside her, she was aware of Zar shifting slightly in his chair. She glanced at him, seeing that he wanted to say something, and she nodded, granting him leave to do so.

"Obviously, you have not been subject to the weaknesses of other species," Zar offered gently. He paused. "Do you have animals on your planet ... animals that prey on others for food?"

Tranturi nodded. "Of course."

Zar hesitated, then asked carefully, "I mean no disrespect, but I would ask if your species also prey as they do?"

Tranturi's face cleared. "We are not vegetarian, but though we have hunted animals for food throughout our history, it is no longer necessary. Our technology provides all we require without eating meat."

"I understand," Janeway said. "But in many species, including my own, we do not just compete with animals for food, territory and resources ... we have competed with each other, as well as with other sentient beings."

"Each other." Tranturi hesitated, looking vaguely ill. "Yes, the Okunda explained this to us. The concept of preying on one's own species. It is a horrible concept, but we have managed to comprehend it."

"When that happens on a large scale, involving thousands in conflict with each other, we call it 'war'," Janeway continued. "It is an element that many species have struggled with throughout history. We have tried hard to overcome it, to find better ways to live."

"Yes," Tranturi allowed after a moment's thought. "The Okunda had much conflict in their history, before finding their 'true path'. We do not necessarily agree with such a 'path', but we accept that for them, it is a better way to exist than how they did." She paused. "It is their evolution, just as we have evolved differently ... as you must have evolved differently. The Iboneb do not harm each other for any reason, be it for food, for territory or out of emotion. We have other ways of resolving disagreements."

Janeway exhaled, relieved. Perhaps this would be easier than she had thought.

"I envy you. Your people apparently managed to evolve without armed conflict. Unfortunately, in our experience, that evolutionary path tends to be the exception rather than the rule."

"So it seems from what we have learned so far." Tranturi leaned forward. "Now that we appear to have achieved some common ground, Captain, perhaps we can begin negotiations for our moon. We prefer straightforwardness as much as possible."

"Of course," Janeway said graciously.

She proceeded to present the offer by the Okunda, an exchange of varied goods for the right to mine their ore, including a plant that the Okunda homeworld possessed in abundance that the Iboneb greatly prized for its usefulness in medicinal applications. There were minor disagreements on all the amounts involved, but the major sticking point was definitely the plants. Having access to such large quantities of it would supply the Iboneb's needs for decades, as well as provide enough spare plants to find ways, perhaps, to make it grow in a more controlled environment, thus providing long term benefits beyond the trade agreement. For every ton of ore the Okunda mined from the moon, they offered the Iboneb one hundred plants. The Iboneb wanted a thousand. Janeway was hopeful they would settle for five hundred, the highest amount the Okunda were willing to go.

As the negotiation grew more intricate and detailed, the Iboneb representatives began to show signs of stress, a tightening around the eyes, a certain inflection in Tranturi's voice. But Janeway was greatly surprised when the ambassador abruptly stood up, her companion joining her. The captain frantically went over the last few minutes in her head, trying to track down what might have offended the diplomat so, and it actually took a few seconds to realize they weren't storming from the room. Instead, Katar reached behind Tranturi and pulled open the back of her skirt, while, at the same time, he opened the front of his trousers to display a modest, yet quite erect, penis. He moved behind the female Iboneb, and before the captain's disbelieving eyes, the two sexually copulated.

It only took about twenty seconds, but it seemed to last a lifetime. Beside her, Janeway was aware of Nog's jaw dropping in absolute astonishment, revealing pointed teeth, while on her other side, Zar's face became dark, infused with blood. A faint wisp of musk tickled the captain's nose, and her heart rate increased, perspiration breaking out on her forehead. She noted distantly that while she was becoming more agitated the longer the encounter went on, Tranturi was perceptibly calmer, continuing to negotiate even as she was ... 'serviced' was the only word that came to the captain's mind. When the Iboneb were finished, though Janeway wasn't sure it was to the point of orgasm, or if so, it was quite contained, Katar withdrew, arranging his garment neatly. Meanwhile, Tranturi wiggled slightly, shaking her garment back in place and resumed her seat as if absolutely nothing had happened, as if it had been a completely normal and natural occurrence ... which, possibly, for the Iboneb, it was.

Frozen, Janeway regarded them, finally figuring out what it was that had so offended the Okunda to the point where they could no longer remain at the negotiating table. Though how she was going handle it was another matter entirely.

"Lt. Hansen."

Seven paused in her work, becoming more familiar with responding to her Human name and Starfleet rank, but not as comfortable with it as she was with her Borg designation. Glancing up, she identified Lenara Kahn standing in the doorway. The civilian scientist was regarding the Borg expectantly, offering her a padd. Statuesque, with refined good looks and eyes that held more years than perhaps they should, Lenara was a Trill, a joined species hosting a symbiont that was well over three hundred years old. It provided her with an aura of great wisdom and strength, making the young Borg feel more secure just by being in her presence. By assigning Lenara as the liaison between her and the other civilian scientists on the large vessel, Seven also didn't have to worry so much that her Borg personality, with its emphasis on precision and efficiency, would cause hard feelings among the crew.

"Yes, Dr. Kahn?" Seven replied, accepting the padd. She scanned it quickly, finding the answer to her query, and then glanced up at the older woman. "These are the final readings for the radiation levels," she said with a certain confusion. "They appear to be leveling out. That is not what our established data predicted."

"Exactly," Kahn agreed. "Come with me." She moved out into the main science lab where an expansive work station took up most of one end of the large room. Seven paused momentarily in surprise before shrugging mentally and following. She was aware of other crewmembers in the room curiously looking over in their direction as Lenara brought up the same information on the console as was on the padd. "It's apparent that our initial scans were either flawed or something unusual is going on here."

"Agreed," Seven said. This was not the first time the two had worked together since becoming crewmembers on Millennium, and Seven felt a small sort of joy as they began to delve into the mystery, feeding off each other's data as well as the information coming in from the other scientists on the project. There was a pleasant synchronicity to their working together, one that Seven rarely found in other beings. The two women had little need to speak, almost as if they were reading each other's mind. It was very similar to how it had been in the Collective, Seven decided after awhile, except Lenara had a much better sense of humor than any Borg drone.

It took most of the afternoon, but they were finally able to track down the irregularity in the initial data, and subsequently created a new line of research that would keep the rest of the science department busy for days while the Millennium was in the Iboneb star system. Seven was left with a sense of satisfaction that she had not experienced for a long time, feeling as if she had been an integral part of a whole, rather than one element competing with others to arrive at a conclusion.

"That was fun," Lenara said with a lazy smile as she leaned back in her chair. Her hair had come slightly awry from her ponytail, and a few strands trailed wildly around her face.

Seven, still as neat as when she had started, lifted an eyebrow. "Agreed. It is rare that I am able to work with another so efficiently. I thank you for your contribution."

"We work well together," the Trill said. "It provides the crew with a good example when the chief science officer and the head civilian scientist can cooperate so smoothly. It allows them to know, without saying it out loud, that we expect the same cooperation from them."

Seven considered that, realizing it was correct. So pleased was she with the day's duty shift, that she decided to make the evening's dinner with Ro and B'Elanna a bit of a celebration.

"Dr. Kahn, I am hosting a dinner tonight..." she began.

Lenara looked regretful. "I can't, Seven," she said, putting up a hand to interrupt her. "I have a dinner date this evening."

"A ... date?"

Seven blinked. It wasn't that long ago that Lenara Kahn had poured her heart out to her on DS9 about a doomed relationship with another Trill. It seemed rather soon for her to be dating, but then, Seven's advice to her had been essentially for the scientist to try to move on with her life. She should be glad that Lenara was embracing that advice so quickly.

"Do I know her?"

Lenara flashed her a grin. "Him," she said. "Dr. Lewis invited me to the Nexus this evening."

"Dr. Lewis?" Seven frowned. "You mean the Doctor?"

Lenara smiled. "I know he's a hologram, but he's very entertaining company, and he doesn't seem to mind watching me eat, even while he can't."

Seven decided that while she honestly liked both parties, and considered them friends, she was uncertain about this turn of events. One overriding concern sprang to mind immediately, aware of how easily the Doctor got himself into difficulties on a personal level.

"Lenara, I must speak with you regarding this." The Trill lifted a brow, obviously recognizing the change in inflection that made the conversation more intimate and private.

"Yes?"

"The Doctor may be a hologram, but his emotions and feelings are quite ... real. He is not always prudent in his judgement."

The scientist stared at her, and then smiled faintly. "Are you warning me not to trifle with the good Doctor's affections, Seven?" she asked with good humor.

Seven exhaled audibly. "He would not thank me for doing so, but he does have a failing of embracing new experiences to the point where he does not consider all the consequences, either to himself or others. I appreciate that you are not responsible for his actions, but you should be aware of this flaw so that you can take ... precautions."

"Not only for him but for myself as well?"

Seven regarded her, then dipped her head. "It would be wise."

"I'll be careful, Seven," Lenara promised. "I doubt that this is any more than two people sharing some time together as they adapt to new circumstances, but I'll keep your words in mind." She paused, then reached over and rested her hand on Seven's shoulder. "You really are a most compassionate person, Seven. It's kind of you to worry so much about your friends."

"If I am, I have learned it from Kathryn," Seven demurred modestly. "When I was first severed from the Collective, 'compassion' was a concept with which I was completely unfamiliar. She taught me how important it was to make it a part of my life, to live with it coloring everything I do."

"You've learned it well," Lenara complimented.

Her hand lingered briefly on Seven's arm, the warmth penetrating through her uniform, before she returned to the data streaming by on the console, beginning her next task. Before returning her own attention to the data that remained to be scanned, Seven regarded the Trill's profile for a few seconds, aesthetically admiring the symmetry of the spots that trailed from Lenara's temple and down her neck, where they disappeared into the collar of her lab coat.

Later, as Seven logged off duty and made her way to the quarters she shared with the captain, she wondered if Lenara was happy about deciding to accompany Millennium on its voyage. Certainly, Seven had done her best to convince the scientist that it would be a good idea, and it made the Borg feel responsible for Lenara's well-being. She reminded herself, just as she had expressed to the captain many times, that a superior officer was not responsible for one's personal happiness. That was assuming too much in the role, and she was determined not to interfere any further in whatever might happen between Lenara and the Doctor, or anyone else the scientist might develop an interest in.

In her quarters, Seven set the table. Normally, it was the captain's job, but she decided it would not hurt to have it accomplished ahead of time. Besides, with dinner guests on hand, Kathryn would be far more efficient at entertaining them while Seven finished preparing dinner than she would be managing minor chores. Once the china, napkins and silverware were placed properly, the Borg set a flowered centerpiece in the middle of the linen tablecloth, admiring the way it looked. The roses had been retrieved from the private arboretum which was located next to the captain's cabin, and not for the first time, Seven offered silent gratitude for having a partner so romantic and thoughtful as to have one constructed for her.

She programmed the replicator for rice and eggrolls, and then carried a basket of fresh vegetables she had acquired on her way home over to the small kitchenette. A starship crew normally had little use or opportunity for fresh, organically grown food, but there was a surplus of organic material in the biology department. Apparently, those crewmembers who had served previously on Voyager, as well as those officers who came from frontier planets, had requested a steady supply of organic material to supplement their diet, so biometrics, at Captain Janeway's orders, planted a variety of Terran vegetables and fruits in the large hydroponic section maintained on deck twenty-one. Seven found the garden very useful, almost like her own private farmer's market, and hoped that it would be maintained for the duration of their voyage.

She also wondered if a portion of her small arboretum could be turned into a small herb garden. She made a note to speak with Lt. Wildman about it the next time she visited Naomi and Mezoti. If anyone on the ship would know how to create such a thing, it would be the biometrics officer.

As Seven sliced the peppers, broccoli, carrots and water chestnuts, she wondered if her good friend, B'Elanna, had softened her opinion regarding the ship's first officer. Seven hoped to determine the Klingon's mood over dinner. If the engineer remained as obstinate and belligerent as she had been during a recent away mission, perhaps the Borg could come up with some way to divert her ... particularly before the captain was required to step in. Janeway knew about her chief engineer's recent attitude, of course, but it was off the record, limited to the confines of these quarters. If the captain was required to notice it officially, placed in a position of having to speak directly with the young woman about her conduct regarding the first officer, Seven knew that B'Elanna would be in trouble.

Seven looked up in surprise as Janeway abruptly entered their quarters, twenty minutes earlier than expected, looking greatly disturbed and agitated. "Kathryn?" she queried uncertainly, easily reading the signs of disconcertion in her partner's features.

Janeway paused, starting at her as if she had never seen her before, and then glanced over at the table which had been set for four.

"What's going on here?" she asked thickly, in a voice quite unlike her own.

Seven blinked. "I am preparing dinner. Ro and B'Elanna are coming over this evening. I informed you of it this morning before you went on duty."

"Cancel it," Janeway said shortly, in a tone that brokered no room for argument, before turning around and disappearing into the bedroom.

Seven bristled at the presumptuous decision, but she was also aware that Janeway was not in the habit of ordering such a thing under normal circumstances. Frowning, she touched her comm badge and contacted B'Elanna with an apology, both for the cancellation and the short notice, asking that the dinner wait for another evening. The Klingon sounded confused since Seven was not in the habit of altering plans at the last moment, but acknowledged the apology before the Borg cut the channel.

Then, feeling somewhat confounded herself, Seven put aside her knives and placed the vegetables she had already sliced into a container, activating a stasis cover which would keep them fresh. Wiping her hands on a towel, she followed Janeway into the bedroom, determined to discover exactly what was going on with her spouse.

That wasn't because the Starfleet officers were able to ignore the Iboneb having sex every time the negotiation became strained, Zar thought painfully. In his case, it was because he literally couldn't move, hunched around his groin that raged with arousal, threatening to explode had he so much as reached down to adjust himself. Such a release would be immediate and the thought of taking such action, particularly in front of his captain, was unimaginable, so he suffered in silence, doing his best to concentrate on the negotiation rather than the brief interruptions of coital exertion indulged in front of him.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Nog. Janeway had risen when the Iboneb had, but the Ferengi remained in place, obviously in some misery. The captain appeared in reasonable control as she showed the diplomats out of the room, handing them over to security officers who would escort them to the transporter room as a sort of honor guard, wishing them a gracious farewell and the hope that the next day's negotiation would be as equally beneficial.

Perhaps it was easier for women, Zar decided. Their arousal was usually not so apparent or physically debilitating, yet, for all that, he suspected Janeway had not been entirely immune to the display that went on before them. Color stained her cheeks, her chest heaved with increased respiration, there was a slight tremble in her hands, and her bluish-grey eyes had grown progressively narrow as she struggled to retain her composure in the face of the Iboneb's cultural idiosyncracies. Of course, those physical clues could also be the indication of great outrage, but in either case, Zar was astounded at Janeway's ability to continue her calm mediation throughout the meeting, finding diplomatic ways to appeal to the Iboneb in order to have them agree to certain concessions. It raised his estimation of the captain's capabilities to an infinite degree.

Once the Iboneb were gone, Janeway stood for a moment in front of the door that had closed behind them, inhaling deeply, her fist clenced at her sides, her head bent. Then she finally glanced back at Zar, who offered her a pained expression. A touch of what may have been sympathy crossed her gaze, and she inclined her head.

"I don't suppose you have a Human precedent for this?" she asked gratingly.

"I don't think so," he managed. "I'll look for it ... later."

She stared at him, and then over at Nog who had his head down, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Janeway's face immediately softened, as if she were a mother presented with a hurt child, but unable to do anything about that hurt.

"Gentlemen," she said unsteadily. "Whenever you're ... ready to leave, consider yourself dismissed from duty for the rest of the day."

"Aye, sir," Nog managed in a strangled tone. "Thank you, sir." Janeway didn't take him to task for his form of address which was one that she didn't prefer. Instead, she merely took another deep breath and moved hastily from the room.

Zar managed to repress his groan, the ache in his groin almost beyond bearing. Desperately, he tried to make sense of what was happening. Certainly, while the initial display of the Iboneb might have caused arousal, in addition to shock and consternation, the sheer repetitiveness of the alien copulation should have become, if not acceptable, then relatively boring after a certain amount of time. Yet, every time the Iboneb coupled, ranging from ten seconds to an entire minute, Zar's arousal grew accordingly. It had taken all his willpower and discipline not only to hide it, but to control it so that he didn't inadvertently relieve the pressure.

Nog hadn't been as fortunate, Zar noticed, as the young officer stood up, the front of his uniform trousers damp and stained. The young Ferengi was obviously deeply humiliated at that lack of control, his large ears flushed darkly as he moved gingerly over to the replicator at one end of the room where he requested a new uniform.

Zar swallowed hard. "It's all right, Lieutenant," he managed through clenched teeth. "You didn't ... indicate much." Indeed, except for a brief sound, a small groan early on that had barely caused an interruption, the young officer had remained still, even as he ejaculated within his trousers, apparently more than once.

Nog glanced at him, and then looked away, unable to hold his head up as he took the uniform from the replicator shelf. Zar obligingly turned around, his back to that end of the room as the young man replaced his clothes and disposed of the evidence of his lack of control. Zar felt great sympathy. He honestly didn't know if he could stand up yet, and it seemed that his erection was not easing in the slightest now that the Iboneb had left. Instead, it seemed to becoming more acute, throbbing with exquisite pain. It was all he could do not to give in to it.

"Uh, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," Zar responded, wishing that the Ferengi would leave so that he could take care of himself.

"Do you think the captain..." Nog trailed off uncertainly, shame coloring his tone.

"If she did, she would understand." Zar turned his head slowly. "Dismissed."

Nog stared at him, and then flushed again, hastily exiting the room. Zar waited another moment, inhaling the air that still seemed faintly tinged by the scent of musk and mingled effluvia, and then managed to get to his feet, still hunched over like an old man, being very careful not to move unduely.

"Computer," he rasped, in a voice that shook audibly. "Status of holodecks and holosuites on board the ship. Are any currently unoccupied?"

"Holosuite nine on deck seventeen is currently inactive," the computer remarked in its bland, feminine tones.

"Site to site transport, from this location to holosuite nine. Command authorization Zar theta, one, orange, seven. Energize."

He felt the tingles of the transporter surround him, and when his vision cleared, he was in a black room containing a grid of glowing gold lines. "Computer," he muttered as he reached down and gingerly adjusted himself in the uniform trousers, almost passing out from the sensation. "Activate general adult program for recreational sexual encounter."

"Program activated," the computer intoned as the surroundings altered to become a spacious bedroom with a large bed. Several candles surrounded it, their tiny flames dancing, providing a decidedly seductive mood. "Specify number, gender and species of partners."

"One," he managed, slipping off his tunic and dropping it onto the floor. "Female." He hesitated, and then added, "Human."

"Specify visual parameters."

He was ashamed, but his needs were strong, and the whole purpose of such a program in the holosuite was to indulge scenarios that he could never hope for in reality. He peeled his sweater over his head, not caring when he heard the pips pop off and fall to the floor. He eased off his pants, moving them carefully over the erection that sprang free, throbbing in the warm air, afraid to touch it. His garment was sodden from the emission weeping from his f'lar that ridged the base of the shaft, and knew he couldn't hold back much longer.

"Six feet tall," he said in a thick voice. "Blonde hair, blue eyes. Scandinavian features, approximately 27 years old."

The woman that materialized immediately reached out to him, programmed with all the varied sexual techniques the Federation could come up with, and designed to be as accommodating and pleasing as possible to whomever availed him or herself of the program. Enfolding the hologram into his arms with a groan, he buried his face into the flaxen hair, feeling the soft curves press against him. The way her hands moved over his skin inflamed his aching need for satisfaction.

"Computer," he gasped, the hologram's long fingers stroking him gently, coming perilously near where he wouldn't be able to control himself any longer. "Increase breast size, narrow the hips, and make the hair longer."

The adjustments were made as quickly as he requested them, and while the hologram wasn't a perfect match, not only because of the lack of cybernetic implants, but in the facial features themselves, any further adjustments would have been going too far, leading him into areas he knew he shouldn't go. But for a temporary sexual surrogate, this was more than sufficient, and they stumbled over to the bed, falling onto it with the woman somehow managing to get beneath him in perfect position for him to enter her without hesitation. The sensation was exquisite, and he cried out as he plunged into the willing simulation of flesh, pressing his f'lar ridges frantically against her mound, his shaft buried deeply in the warmth and wetness.

He almost passed out when his orgasm erupted, not so much a release as an explosion of pent up energy that could no longer be contained. He knew he cried out Seven's name in those brief seconds of pleasure, and as he slumped onto the hologram, breathing heavily, shame colored his thoughts. The hologram's hands continued to roam over his back, and he closed his eyes, tears stinging them, the sense of emptiness in the aftermath like a physical pain within him. The immediacy of the burning need was gone, but a profound loneliness lingered, filling his chest as he rolled over onto his back, swallowing hard. Staring up at the ceiling, he didn't protest as the hologram began to trail down his body, her mouth moving over him with all the skill of any courtesan of ancient lore, sparking the desire that still lingered even after his release. He wanted to lose himself in pure physical pleasure for awhile, and not have to think about what he was truly missing..

But he would trade a million of such technologically skilled encounters for one brief second of regard from Seven, a look that indicated she thought of him as more than just her first officer.

Afterward, fully sated, he showered in the holosuite, wishing his inner thoughts could feel as clean as his body. A new uniform was replicated by the holodeck, replacing the old, and he was able to retrieve his pips from where they had fallen, affixing them to his wine red collar, taking a final look in the mirror as he settled his shoulders beneath the slate-blue trim. It was amazing what a uniform could hide, he decided unhappily as he regarded his reflection, seeing only a competent Starfleet officer, and nothing of a man lost in a hopeless and forbidden love.

What would it take to get Lt. Hansen out of his heart? Why was the emotion intensifying the longer he served on the vessel, rather than lessening in the face of her indifference to any feelings he might possess, and her undeniably happy and healthy marriage? Abruptly, the thought of Janeway being with Seven crossed his mind, the captain undoubtedly alleviating her arousal with the young woman at that precise moment ... though in Janeway's case, she would have the fortunate alternative of making love with a person who cared deeply for her, rather than merely seeking a purely physical release as he had with the hologram. The mental image that materialized was almost more than Zar could bear, and as quickly and thoroughly as he could, he put it out of his mind. It was not anything he should be thinking about, nor did it grant either woman any honor or respect.

Instead, he should be thinking about was what had caused this. Certainly, it couldn't be merely the visual stimuli of watching the Iboneb copulate. There had to be something else involved, something more subtle and underlying the obvious. After leaving the holosuite, he headed directly to sickbay. The Starfleet officers had not fled the negotiations as the Okunda had, but it hadn't been easy to remain either. There were to be future sessions before this treaty was resolved, and they needed to get a handle on this as quickly as possible. He did understand why the Okunda had such difficulty. For a spiritual people whose cultural mores included stringent taboos when it came to sexual behavior, watching the Iboneb copulate would have been more than merely disconcerting and inconvenient ... it would have been sinful in the extreme, particularly considering how it made them feel, assuming they had the same response a Human, a Ferengi, and a Cardassian hybrid did. Were they at a less peaceful and rational time in their evolution, the Millennium might be looking at a war rather than what was basically an incompatibility in cultures.

Now that he was able to think rationally, Zar came to the conclusion that it was probably more biological on the Iboneb's part than cultural. After all, a species had to be vulnerable to predators while mating, so if they had any choice about it, it's not something they would have evolved by choice. Instead, it seemed to him as if the Iboneb sublimated any stress into sexual interaction, rather than violence as most other species did ... as Humans and Cardassians did. As for why it was affecting the other species in the room so strongly, that was probably biological in nature, as well. There had to be some kind of agent which triggered such powerful responses ... perhaps a type of mental telepathy or empathy, drawing the others into the physical interaction.

No, he was being too complicated. It was probably something simpler, something more basic. Pheromones, perhaps. There was certainly a scent in the conference room, a musky odor that was not particularly strong or necessarily offensive, but still detectable. It was entirely possible it carried with it several biochemical elements that affected the Federation negotiating team.

All three doctors on Millennium's medical staff were present as he entered sickbay. Dr. Pulaski, a slight, yet tall woman with snowy hair, looked over at him from where she was speaking to the other physicians, her pale eyes narrowing as she read his features. She handed the padd over to Dr. Spencer, the young xeno-specialist, and moved quickly over to intercept him.

"Doctor, I need to speak with you in your office," he said urgently.

"Of course," she said, gesturing to the room set off from the main sickbay. He was aware of the other two physicians, Spencer and Dr. Lewis, the EMH, studying him curiously, but he didn't acknowledge it. He didn't want a lot of people to know about this, not only because the negotiations were delicate, but because he was still embarrassed over it, clearly as much a victim of his own cultural sexual taboos as the Okunda.

He took a seat in the chair provided, waiting as she settled into the high-backed leather chair that was not Starfleet issue. Obviously, she had brought it along as a personal indulgence when she accepted the position of chief medical officer on board the Millennium, having to be called out of semi-retirement to do so. Her eyes bright blue, and her head tilted slightly, she regarded him expectantly.

"Doctor, we may have a problem in the negotiations with the Iboneb." As professionally as possible, he explained what had happened in the conference room, including how he had responded to what he had seen, offering his theory on what it might have been. The doctor listened attentively, lifting an eyebrow slightly when he summed up his 'treatment' of his symptoms in the holodeck by briefly saying that he had availed himself of an appropriate program.

"You're right, it may be pheromones," she agreed. "I'll send Lewis down immediately to take readings of the atmosphere in the conference room, as well as any ... DNA samples that may have lingered. As a hologram, he won't be affected by a bio-chemical agent. In the meantime, I'll need you to undergo a complete physical, as well as Lt. Nog."

"What about the captain?" he asked. "I think..." He paused. "It's likely she was also affected."

She hesitated, then lifted her head. "Computer, locate Captain Janeway."

"Captain Janeway is in her quarters," the computer said briefly.

"Is she alone?" Pulaski asked delicately.

"Negative. Lt. Annika Hansen is also present in the captain's quarters."

Zar didn't wince, but he wanted to.

"Hmm, it sounds as if the captain is being taken care of at the moment," Pulaski said evenly, and glanced at the first officer. "I think we can leave them to it. In the meantime, let's contact Lt. Nog and get a start on those physicals."

The water abruptly turned warm, and surprised, she lifted her head, belatedly aware of a presence behind her. Familiar hands were suddenly moving over her body, her back, slipping lightly over her sides and stomach, stroking her with delicate skill.

"God," she groaned. "Don't ... please..."

Seven paused momentarily, perhaps in surprise, and then resumed her caress. "What is wrong, Kathryn?" she said softly, her fingers light, teasing and inflaming at the same time. "You are aroused."

Janeway exhaled. "Beyond reason," she managed, squirming beneath those wonderful hands.

"Then why do you not want to be touched?" Seven asked reasonably. "Why do you attempt to defuse your emotions with a cold shower?"

"Because..." Janeway said, her head going back, unable to keep from leaning back into the warm, gentle strength of her spouse, desire rising thick in her throat. "Because ... it's not ... it's false..."

Somehow she knew that was the key. There was something about this that wasn't right, that her feelings were induced somehow, and it was more than being turned on by watching attractive beings engage in sexual intercourse. Seven paused in confusion, holding her lightly.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked finally, in a quiet voice.

Janeway hesitated briefly, trying desperately to come up with a logical plan of action, but the demand grew too strong for her to resist, the touch of Seven's body too intoxicating, and she turned, wrapping her arms around her spouse, all slippery and sleek from the shower. "Love me," she pleaded helplessly as she clung to the Borg. "Oh, god, please, love me. Make it stop hurting."

Seven did not ask any further questions as she picked the captain up in her arms while commanding the shower unit to deactivate. Carrying Janeway from the ensuite into the bedroom, both women left a trail of dampness in their wake, water dripping from their bodies the entire way. The captain had her legs wrapped tightly around the taller woman's waist, groaning as her heat pressed against the smooth muscled stomach of her partner, undulating helplessly against the tantalizing sensation. Seven lowered her onto the bed as she kissed her possessively, pressing Janeway down onto the linens with the strength of her body, covering her demandingly. Reaching down, she touched the captain, manipulating the tender nodule skillfully, swirling over it as she drew out yet another wave of pleasure, penetrating the captain deeply with long fingers and maintaining the intensity, yet it still wasn't enough to sooth the ache inside. Janeway clutched at her, needing more, wanting to be ravaged unmercifully, breathing heavily in the Borg's ear.

"Use the wand," she ordered roughly.

Seven paused, surprised again, but did not protest as she reached for the compartment at the head of the bed, withdrawing the Wonder Wand 9000™, a versatile device designed by the Ferengi to imitate male genitalia of various species. For the couple, it added a bit of spice to an already satisfactory love life. In this case, it was a matter of Janeway requiring a greater physical exertion, of wanting this maddening desire to be sated by any means possible, including a forceful one if necessary. She reached out for her spouse as soon as the Borg had attached it to herself, wrapping her fingers around the simulated penile shaft, and directing the thick head quickly to her opening, drawing Seven into her without hesitation, welcoming the pain that accompanied the pleasure of being invaded so abruptly. The narrow features looked vaguely astonished, but Seven did her best to keep up, immediately moving vigorously within the captain who whimpered and groaned, urging her partner to a faster and harder effort as she angled her hips so that the head of the probe skidded over that spot inside her, making her shudder again and again from the sensation. Her fingernails dug into Seven's shoulder blades, raking the young woman's back, undoubtedly drawing blood as she frantically rose to meet the young woman's thrusts, their groins thudding together in a primeval rhythm. There was nothing of love about this, nothing of the feelings they shared as a couple, only the captain's lust, a desperate joining of motion and heat until finally, more through attrition than pleasure, the spasms swept Janeway up, exploding through her until she simply couldn't respond anymore, both need and body finally sated beneath the energetic, if somewhat confused, efforts of her spouse.

With the exhausted afterglow came relief, an easing of the smothering sense of need and urgency, along with the horrific realization of how she had used her partner in such a presumptuous way. Janeway wept, tears leaking from the corners of her closed eyes as she covered them with her forearm, not watching as her partner gently withdrew. Seven removed the device and placed it in the sterilizer to be cleaned before turning back to gather the captain up in her arms, holding her tightly.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered, "Explain ... please."

Voice choked, Janeway told her about what had occurred in the negotiations, and how it made her feel, how the need had taken over until she had been unable to resist it, the emotions and desires completely beyond her control. Being taken forcefully, like an animal, was the only thing that could sooth the savage passions within. Now there was only the humiliation of such weakness left, and a sense of shame that bit deep at her psyche.

"This behavioral alteration appears to be biological in nature, Kathryn," Seven noted quietly after the captain had finished speaking. Her expression was one of keen, analytical objectiveness as she assessed the situation dispassionately. The lack of emotion, the calm, rational analysis of the incident, helped Janeway calm the storm within, the captain able to take some form of comfort in the Borg's purely scientific approach to the situation. "Perhaps some form of empathy that triggered your physical reaction ... or possibly pheromones of some sort carrying a bio-chemical agent."

Janeway's tears slowed, her distress easing in her partner's embrace. "I did ... there was a musk scent ... not strong but detectable..." she said uncertainly.

"That may be the source of your responses." Seven paused, cuddling her spouse closer. "Why are you so upset, Kathryn?"

"Because ... I used you, Annika," Janeway said bitterly. "I should have gone to the doctor, or been able to..."

"Control this?" Seven finished for her. She brushed her lips over her temple lovingly, pulling her closer. "You instinctively came home because you needed me, Kathryn, and you knew that I would take care of you. There is no shame in that. If our positions were reversed, and I were the one who required an easing of my pain, would you object to looking after me? Would you even hesitate in taking care of my needs?"

Janeway bent her head, pushing her face into the warm, comforting hollow of Seven's throat. "No," she whispered. "I'll always look after you, my darling, whatever it is you need."

"Then do not deny me the same opportunity to care for you," Seven told her reasonably. "But you are correct in that you must contact the doctor. Obviously, there is some reason for you and the others to have reacted so strongly to a stimuli that does not appear to be that particularly arousing, beyond the initial shock of witnessing it. We must determine what that is so that it can be countered."

"Yes," Janeway agreed softly. "But right now, I want ... I need ... to stay with you." She shuddered, clinging to her spouse. "Hold me, darling ... please."

"I shall," Seven said, tightening her embrace.

Janeway huddled closer, seeking shelter within the warmth of the younger woman's arms, still feeling vulnerable. Seven sensed it and pressed as much of her body against the captain as possible, wrapping her arms tightly around her, entangling her legs, tucking her against her chest beneath her chin. Sighing softly, Janeway was finally able to relax, surrendering to the sense of security that only Seven could offer her.

"I'm sorry about dinner," she said finally.

"It is irrelevant," Seven assured her. "We can have dinner with B'Elanna and Ro at any time."

"Sickbay to the captain."

Janeway exhaled audibly, a sigh of resignation, and reached up to the head of the bed where the manual controls for the internal ship communications system for her cabin were located. Her comm badge was somewhere in the bathroom, hopefully still attached to her tunic where she had dropped it, but equally as likely to have popped off in her frenzy to undress, and now lost under the counter.

"Janeway here."

"Captain, are you all right?" Dr. Pulaski asked. "I have Commander Zar and Lt. Nog here in sickbay complaining of..." She hesitated briefly before adding delicately, "certain symptoms, and..."

"I'm fine, doctor," Janeway said shortly, cutting her off. She paused. "I ... need some time before I meet with you."

She could hear Pulaski inhale slowly. "Is Seven with you, Captain?"

"I am here, Doctor," Seven said calmly, before Janeway could answer.

"Good. It's probably what I would have prescribed for the initial symptoms anyway. Carry on." A touch of humor colored her tone at that last, and Janeway closed her eyes, angry and embarrassed. "In the meantime, I'll work with the Commander and Nog to figure out exactly what's going on. You should ... uh, probably take it easy for the rest of the evening. I'll have something to report by the morning."

Janeway wasn't sure she entirely liked that idea, or being left out of the process, but she honestly didn't want to leave Seven's arms. Almost as if the Borg sensed her ambivalence, she tightened her embrace.

"Stay," the young woman whispered low into the captain's ear where it could not be picked up by the communications system. "Let Dr. Pulaski find a solution with Zar and Nog. If they have difficulty, they will contact you further. Trust in your people, Kathryn. Trust in me, as the doctor does, to take care of you in the meantime."

Janeway glanced at her, studying the sincerity in the pale blue gaze, and then nodded briefly.

"All right," she agreed, and then, in a louder voice, added, "Doctor, contact me as soon as you have anything."

"I promise. Sickbay out."

"This is very difficult," Janeway said after the comm channel was closed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Why?" Seven asked, honestly curious. "It may be ... inconvenient ... as far as dinner plans go, but it is nothing we cannot handle." She paused. "In fact, all crises should be so easily and pleasurably solved."

"That's not the point, darling," Janeway said. "I don't ... it's not anything..." She trailed off, not knowing how to explain her misgivings.

"You dislike having your physical responses be beyond your control," Seven finished for her.

"Exactly." Janeway glanced at her. "Nor should you have to ... suffer my attentions at such a time."

Seven smiled wryly. "I am hardly suffering, Kathryn. Rarely are your 'attentions' ever unwelcome."

"What about your needs? It's not as if you ... enjoyed yourself."

"Kathryn, have you ever refused me?" Seven countered gently.

"I've put you off in the past," Janeway said, feeling ashamed again. "More than once because I was tired or not in the mood..."

Seven hugged her. "Never if my need was as immediate and acute as yours was this night."

"You've never been this needy," Janeway said softly.

"I have needed you," Seven corrected. "Desperately at times. Furthermore, during those times, you never made me feel as if it were a burden on you."

"It wasn't," the captain protested. "It never will be." She reached up and cupped the Borg's face in her hands, eyes searching hers intently. "This is hard to explain."

Seven hesitated, then dipped her head. "I see that. I do not understand, Kathryn, but I shall do whatever I can to assist you. Just tell me what you need from me."

Janeway slipped her arms around her neck and clung to her.

"I don't know what that might be."

Seven hugged her back for a moment, comforting her, and then reached down for a blanket, drawing it up over them. "Then rest now," she instructed, snuggling close. "Know that I am here for you."

Janeway wanted to discuss it further, but her weariness was profound, undoubtedly due to the strength of her emotional and physical release. She sighed and decided to take a nap, just to ease the drowsiness. Later, they could return to the outer area of the quarters for dinner, and talk about it further. Her eyes sliding shut, she didn't resist the sleep awaiting her.

When she woke, it was early the next morning, having slept through the night. Jarred out of her slumber by a hail on the ship's intercom, she blinked uncomfortably, fumbling automatically for her comm badge that had somehow reappeared on the nightstand during the interim ... undoubtedly at Seven's instigation.

"Janeway here," the captain said groggily. Beside her, she was aware of her spouse rising to her side, Seven's blonde hair mussed and falling into sleepy blue eyes. "What is it, doctor?"

"I have some good news, and some bad news," Pulaski offered in a cheerful tone that seemed totally out of place this early in the morning.

"Go on."

"It's definitely pheromones. Very strong, very effective on most species in the Federation, causing instant and total sexual arousal. Honestly, if you could bottle this stuff, you'd have the perfect aphrodisiac. The Ferengi would love it." She paused. "Well, Nog does hold certain reservations about it."

"The bad news?" Janeway prompted, a little irritable at the doctor's enthusiasm.

"I don't have a counter for it as yet. We're still working on it, of course, but it's possible we won't have an antidote for weeks, and in the meantime, everyone in the room with the Iboneb are vulnerable. Even utilizing a nasal filter won't prevent a person from being affected because these particular pheromones are so strong, they can be absorbed through the skin. Unless you intend to carry out this diplomatic negotiation in a full environmental suit, you'd better expect to experience such symptoms again."

Janeway was horrified. "What am I supposed to do?" she demanded. "We have another negotiating session this afternoon. I have to be there, even if Commander Zar and Nog don't."

There was a pause. "I'd advise having Seven stand by to ... handle things afterward," Pulaski offered unhelpfully.

Janeway exhaled in exasperation as the Borg, listening to the conversation intently, abruptly raised an intrigued eyebrow.

"That's not at all satisfactory, Doctor."

"It's all I can give you at the moment," Pulaski replied, unruffled by the tone in her commanding officer's voice. "We're still working on it. Sickbay out."

Janeway glanced over at her spouse who was still lounging on the sheets, a golden streak on midnight blue.

"This is unacceptable," she said in dissatisfaction as she rolled out of bed.

Seven smiled with lazy appeal. "On the contrary, Kathryn, I believe I will enjoy 'standing by' to attend to your needs."

"Oh my god," Janeway said, throwing up her hands in disgust as she stomped into the ensuite, convinced that the entire universe was conspiring against her ... or at least, this area of the Delta Quadrant.

In the meantime, the rest of the crew, other than Zar, Seven and Nog, knew only that the captain was involved in delicate diplomatic mediation, and that no one was to enter the room without the permission of the captain. There was a part of Seven that wished the captain would not insist upon attending the negotiations herself, yet at the same time, the Borg greatly admired her partner's grit and determination. Most of all, Seven hoped that this meeting would complete the negotiations, and Janeway would not be required to undertake any further mediation in this situation.

Glancing back at Commander Zar sitting in the command chair as the ship remained in orbit around the planet, she was slightly surprised to catch his eye, as if he had been studying her for some reason. He blinked, startled, but then dipped his head in acknowledgment of the science officer's glance.

"It will be fine," he assured her softly, knowing the source of her unease.

Seven appreciated the attempt at reassurance, even as she was aware he had no way of knowing how the captain was doing. She could only rely on the Doctor's medical instincts to keep her partner safe, she decided, as she turned her attention back to her console. Until her partner left the conference room, there would be nothing Seven could do.

The next hour seemed to stretch for days, and both she and Zar glanced over as the conference room door finally hissed open. Talking a steady streak, the Doctor escorted the Iboneb over to the turbolift, his gregariousness twofold: first, by providing an entertaining escort for the alien delegation back to the turbolift, and second, by drawing attention to himself as Janeway quietly exited behind them and made a direct line to her ready room, not looking at anyone else. Seven remained at her station for a few moments, waiting until deck one was clear of ambassadors, and then stood up. Zar took that as his cue to issue a flurry of instructions to the alpha shift staff, and Seven went unnoticed as she made her way to the ready room located at the rear of the bridge.

She hesitated briefly, wondering if she should request admittance, and then realized that since Janeway and she had planned this, such formality would be unnecessary. She entered, looking around for her partner, and finding her on the upper level, standing before the windows, looking out at the stars and the curve of the planet her ship was orbiting. Janeway looked very small, vulnerable, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she were cold.

"Kathryn," Seven said softly, moving up the ramp. "Let us return to our quarters."

"No," Janeway said through clenched teeth, her jaw set. "I can control this. Just ... leave me alone."

Seven paused, annoyance rising swift and strong within her. Her partner's steel will and stubbornness were traits she respected greatly, but also despaired of because Janeway chose to exercise them at the most inconvenient times. She moved behind the captain, reaching out to put her hand on Janeway's shoulder.

"Kathryn, there is no need for you to suffer in this way," she said firmly.

"It's my decision," Janeway's tone was harsh, furious, and it sparked Seven's irritation with her partner into actual anger.

"Kathryn," she said, tightening her grip on her shoulder in order to turn her around.

Janeway whirled, knocking Seven's hand away.

"I gave you an order," she snapped. "I expect you to obey it."

"I am your spouse," Seven said tartly. "You do not order me in matters like this." She reached out to take the captain's arms, gripping the biceps tightly. Janeway struggled to free herself, breaking the hold as she pulled away from the Borg, becoming visibly more agitated. Seven reached for her again, and that was when Janeway hit her.

It wasn't a particularly well-placed strike, but rather a roundhouse swing that glanced off her jaw and made Seven flinch to the side, more from the unexpected nature of the blow than from the actual force behind it. Startled, the young woman took a step backwards, regarding her partner as if she had never seen her before. Janeway stared back at her, completely frozen, her blue-grey eyes wide with horror, chin trembling.

"Seven, I..." she began, then her face crumpled. "Oh, god, I'm sorry. I don't know why..."

"You struck me," Seven said stupidly, completely astonished. She hesitated, and then turned to go, not knowing what else she was supposed to do. This particular situation had never occured before, and she lacked a point of reference on which to base her behavior. Clearly, her partner had been quite serious when she insisted that Seven not attempt to help her with the effects of the pheromones.

"No!" Janeway reached out for her, drew her hand back uncertainly, her expression one of shattered, inconsolable dismay. "Please," she whispered. "Don't go. Oh, Annika, please ... I'm so sorry ... help me, please."

Seven could no more deny a plea such as that from her spouse than she could stop breathing, regardless of the fact she could not understand why her partner was acting the way she was. Confused, she watched as Janeway sank to the couch, her arms pressed against her stomach as if it hurt, and hesitantly, Seven perched on the coffee table in front of her, though she didn't try to touch her. Perhaps she should not have attempted to touch the captain while she was so angry, she mused as she sat there. It had obviously provoked a reaction beyond Janeway's control.

"I am here, Kathryn," she said softly.

Janeway's head was bent, and she continued to tremble. "I ... I was so angry," she said in a weak voice, as if the paroxysm of violence had drained all the energy from her. "At you, at the situation ... I couldn't control this. I just ... I wanted to strike out ... you were a convenient target, but I only meant to shout at you ... I never meant... That's no excuse ... I have no right to ever lift my hand to you."

Seven lifted a brow. "You did not damage me," she said honestly, somewhat baffled by her partner's dismay. Indeed, due to her cybernetic enhancements and Borg skeletal structure, it was highly unlikely that Janeway could ever harm Seven physically in that manner, even assuming she used a blunt instrument. Janeway was wiry, but she was not particularly strong. She shifted her jaw briefly, evaluatingly. There might have been a mark, but the blow had been glancing. There was no lingering soreness.

Janeway's eyes lifted to meet her partner's, her gaze tortured. "But I tried. It was despicable. I'm so sorry, darling. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course," Seven said readily, aware that she was not dealing with her partner under normal circumstances. The Borg tilted her head slightly, studying her spouse intently. "You are no longer sexually aroused."

Janeway exhaled slowly. "No, I'm not." An expression of self-loathing crossed her face, disgust at herself coloring her tone. "The Iboneb channel stress and aggression into sexual activity. Humans tend to channel it into violence, as I've so aptly proven." She paused, still shaking, and Seven waited patiently for her to go on. "I was trying so hard to control this, Annika ...  I just made it worse. The more I tried to contain it, the angrier I became ... and the less control I had."

Seven hesitated, and then reached out, touching Janeway lightly on the back of her hand. "You are ... not yourself," she said softly.

"I'm responsible for my own actions," the captain said stiffly. She inhaled deeply, her jaw quivering, her eyes dark and stormy as she raised them to meet Seven's squarely. "I will never strike you again, Annika, I swear. It was extremely disrespectful, the act of a coward, particularly since I know you would never strike me back. I'm so very ashamed."

Seven carefully raised her hand, drawing her fingertips lightly along Janeway's cheek. "You are being too hard on yourself," she told her. "That is as unproductive as resisting the desire was."

Janeway regarded her, and then dipped her head.

"I should have ... accepted your help," she admitted sorrowfully. "I should have accepted the fact that this was beyond my ability to control."

"That is, and always shall be, the most difficult thing for you to accept," Seven said lightly. "That you are not in command of a situation ... that you require assistance to do what must be done." She dipped her head, catching her partner's eye and offering her a small smile. "It is something that may never change with you."

Janeway hesitated, then allowed herself a wan smile, though her gaze was still dark and troubled. "I need to speak with the doctor. I can't afford to be so foolish again."

Seven frowned. "So this meeting did not end the negotiation?"

"No," Janeway said regretfully. "The sticking point is still the number of plants. I've lowered their demands to six hundred plants per shipment of ore, but I can't seem to persuade them to go any lower."

"Perhaps the Okunda would raise their offer?" Seven suggested.

"Perhaps," Janeway said uncertainly. "I'll contact them over subspace. Maybe I can convince them that the ore is worth that amount. After all, that particular plant is abundant on their world ... it's basically just a weed to them."

Now that her partner had calmed down, Seven took the opportunity to move over beside her, slipping her arm around her shoulders and drawing her to her. Janeway was stiff for a brief second, before exhaling audibly and relaxing into the Borg's body, leaning back into the embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Annika," she whispered again.

"I know," Seven said, aware that when Janeway was truly regretful, she would apologize over and over, as if she had to convince the young woman of her sincerity, whereas Seven usually accepted the apology from the beginning. The Borg had wondered many times why that was, but had finally concluded that it was just Kathryn's way, a part of her Humanity that did not necessarily make sense, but was part of who she was.

"I love you," Janeway murmured in a ragged voice.

"I love you, too." Seven tightened her embrace. "Why did you fight the desire so hard, Kathryn? Did you not want to be with me?"

"It wasn't that," the captain protested immediately. "It was ... I don't like being deprived of any choice in the matter. I want to be with you because I love you, Annika, not because I can't control my physical urges. I also don't want you to be put in the position of having to ... service me."

Seven blinked. "'Service' you?" she repeated blankly.

Janeway looked up at her, her eyes soft and assailable "I want you to be with me because you want to be, not because you have to be, or it's a duty of some kind."

Seven considered that carefully. She didn't think she understood what Janeway meant ... at least, not entirely, but she gathered it had something to do with the difference between making love and having sex, a distinction that the captain considered very important. Seven deemed it important as well, though being with Kathryn during this difficult period was not considered 'sex' in the young woman's opinion, it had more to do with comfort and caring ... of administering to Janeway's needs, just as she would if the captain were ill. Looking at it that way, Seven allowed that perhaps the captain did not want care from that perspective either, since she did not like appearing weak or vulnerable, not even to her spouse.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, Seven decided philosophically.

"Kathryn, I want to be with you because I love you," she said finally, hoping that would be enough to ease her partner's mind. "That will always be the case."

Janeway regarded her, then dipped her head. "All right."

"What do you need now?"

"I need to speak with the doctor, to find out how I can handle this better. What I want, is for you to hold me."

Seven put her other arm around her spouse, hugging her gently. "I shall," she promised. "For as long as you require it."

"Are you serious?" he asked, a touch of suspicion in his voice, suspecting the good doctor of teasing him. After all, when he told her his theory, she had smiled. "That's true?"

"Absolutely," the doctor remarked. "This cultural evolution has occurred on Earth, though perhaps not to Humans. Bonobo monkeys share more than 98 percent of our genetic profile, making them as close to Humans as, say, a fox is to a dog ... which frankly, is closer to Human than either Bajorans or Cardassians are."

"Therefore, it's highly likely that some Terran tribe at one time, attempted this social structure," Zar said thoughtfully.

"Probably, but as you can imagine, it wouldn't last long surrounded by other tribes who chose the more traditional manner of channeling sexual aggression into violence," Pulaski said cheerfully as she worked at her screen. "For the bonobo monkey, it made the species remarkably docile, gentle and socially stable. Perhaps we should have taken a lesson from them. Did you know, there is a theory that all the war, violence and hatred in Earth's history can be traced back to sexual aggression? Either someone's not getting it, someone's getting too much from the wrong person, or someone wants to get some and doesn't know how."

"That seems somewhat ... harsh." Zar wasn't used to others being so blunt about the failings of their own species ... particularly to an alien.

"Well, it is fairly simplistic," Pulaski allowed. "Any generalization is dangerous when applying it to a species."

"Still, this is fascinating information," Zar said. "Wait until the captain hears about it."

"Hears what?"

So involved had they been in their conversation, that neither officer had noticed the captain's arrival in sickbay. Zar glanced over at Janeway, who stood in the doorway of the doctor's office, noting the strained look around the eyes, the way she look faintly frazzled. Bemused, he wondered if continued exposure to the Iboneb pheromones created a buildup to the extent that even sexual activity could not completely defuse their effect. Certainly, if he had just spent the afternoon with Seven, indulging in physical pleasure, he doubted he would look nearly as unhappy as Janeway did.

"The Iboneb. There's a Terran precedent."

She stared at him. "You're joking," she said flatly.

He smiled faintly. "Tell her, Doc."

Pulaski shot him a look, half amused, half exasperated, but proceeded to fill the captain in on the Bonobo primate.

"Sex, it turns out, is the key to their social life, as it appears to be with the Iboneb," Pulaski explained. "Bonobos become sexually aroused remarkably easily, and they express this excitement in a variety of mounting positions and genital contacts. Although other primates, such as chimpanzees, virtually never adopt face- to-face positions, bonobos do so in one out of three copulations in the wild. Furthermore, the frontal orientation of the bonobo vulva and clitoris strongly suggest that the female genitalia are adapted for this position."

Zar began to squirm as he realized the doctor was holding nothing back in the explanation, and wished he had not prompted her. Obviously, she was going to give the whole lecture, even though he himself would never have gone into such detail, particularly to the captain.

"Another similarity with Humans is increased female sexual receptivity," Pulaski continued, as Janeway regarded her seriously, nodding now and again. "The tumescent phase of the female's genitals, resulting in a pink swelling that signals willingness to mate, covers a much longer part of estrus in bonobos than in other primates. Instead of a few days out of her cycle, the female bonobo is almost continuously sexually attractive and active. Perhaps the bonobo's most typical sexual pattern, undocumented in any other primate, is genital-genital rubbing between adult females." Pulaski paused. "You should appreciate that, Captain."

That was a little too much familiarity as Janeway's head came up, eyes dark, her jaw firming, and the doctor went on hastily, undoubtedly hoping to cover the ill-advised comment with a flood of further information. "Male bonobos, too, may engage in pseudo-copulation but generally perform a variation. Standing back to back, one male briefly rubs his scrotum against the buttocks of another. They also practice 'penis-fencing', in which two males hang face to face from a branch while rubbing their erect penises together. The diversity of erotic contacts in bonobos includes sporadic oral sex, massage of another individual's genitals and intense tongue-kissing. However, rather than leave you with the impression of a pathologically oversexed species, I should add that this sexual activity is very casual and relaxed. It appears to be a completely natural part of their group interaction. Like Humans, bonobos engage in sex only occasionally, not continuously. Furthermore, with the average copulation lasting 13 seconds, sexual contact in bonobos is rather quick by human standards."

"So are the Iboneb," Janeway said.

Zar nodded agreement. It wasn't the sort of conversation he would have preferred to have in the captain's presence, but the scientific side of him was fascinated. He tried to imagine what such a society would be like day-to-day, how their cultural and social mores would have evolved. Certainly, he would have welcomed the opportunity to study it ... were it not for the unfortunate side effects.

"Sex also appears connected to feeding, to make food sharing possible," Pulaski continued. "It's been observed not only in zoos, but also in the wild. Researchers have witnessed bonobos in Zaire's Lomako Forest engage in sex after they had entered trees loaded with ripe figs, or when one among them had captured a prey animal. The flurry of sexual contacts would last for five to 10 minutes, after which the apes would settle down to consume the food."

"Whereas most species would undergo ritual or actual combat, fighting for their share," Janeway offered in an oddly bitter tone. "Maybe the Iboneb should be offended by us."

Rather than noticing the voice inflection, however, Pulaski shot the captain an approving look, as if she were a cadet who had just gotten the answer correct on a particularly difficult quiz. Zar wondered what was going on with Janeway. She seemed extremely distressed and agitated, not fidgeting exactly, but her body language remained tense and uneasy.

"One explanation for the sexual activity at feeding time could be that excitement over food translates into sexual arousal," Pulaski explained. "This idea may be partly true, but I think you've nailed the real cause, competition. There are two reasons to believe sexual activity is the bonobo's answer to avoiding conflict. First, anything, not just food, that arouses the interest of more than one bonobo at a time tends to result in sexual contact. If two bonobos approach a cardboard box thrown into their enclosure, they will briefly mount each other before playing with the box. Such situations lead to squabbles in most other primate species ... including Human children ... but bonobos are quite tolerant, perhaps because they use sex to divert attention and to diffuse tension. Second, bonobo sex often occurs in aggressive contexts totally unrelated to food. A jealous male might chase another away from a female, after which the two males reunite and engage in scrotal rubbing. Or after a female hits a juvenile, the latter's mother may lunge at the aggressor, an action that is immediately followed by genital rubbing between the two adults."

"You suspect that the Iboneb culture is quite similar?"

"From what Zar has told me, they do seem to use sex as a stress reliever, as well as a way to avoid conflict," Pulaski said. "It's not the sort of behavior one tends to develop socially otherwise." She glanced over at Zar, a mischievous expression appearing on her face before she returned her attention to Janeway. "However, one thing is different. In the primate species, a visiting female tended to seek out the matriarchal leader and establish a bond with her, utilizing genital rubbing and grooming. I assume that didn't happen with you, Captain."

"I'm glad you find this so damned amusing, Doctor," Janeway said harshly, and Zar raised an eyebrow. The captain immediately regained her composure. "I'm sorry," she said in a more controlled tone. "I'm on edge."

Pulaski frowned and picked up her tricorder, rising from her chair to run a medical probe over Janeway to take her bio-readings.

"I'm not sure I like this," she said in a concerned tone. "You still have high levels of estrogen, adrenalin, and other hormones. An encounter with your spouse should have eased these levels considerably. Perhaps continued exposure creates a buildup of..."

"That isn't it," Janeway interrupted. She looked exceedingly uncomfortable as they both looked at her, and the first officer wondered if he should leave. "I ... had a fight with Seven."

Pulaski stared at her. "A fight!? What the hell for?" she echoed, then exhaled audibly, regarding the captain in annoyance. "Let me guess. You tried to resist this and all those enhanced hormonal impulses made it turn ugly, didn't it?"

Janeway looked down at the floor. "Seven understands," she mumbled. She lifted her right hand, revealing reddened knuckles, bruised and bloody. "I'm not sure I do. It was completely inexcusable."

"You hit her?" Zar blurted, taking a step toward her before he could stop himself, horrified beyond measure.

"I ... was out of control, and when Seven tried to calm me, I struck out instinctively," Janeway said woodenly. "That's no excuse, just the reason it happened. In my decision to fight this influence, I only ended up hurting another person. That it was someone I care for deeply only compounds my error ... and humiliation."

"Is Lt. Hansen all right?" he demanded sharply, feeling a rage burn hot within him.

Pulaski glanced at him oddly as she treated the captain's hand with a dermal regenerator. "It would take more than a punch to slow our Borg," she said dryly, her tone calming him down like a dash of cold water, and reminding him of his role as first officer ... not some outraged rival for a Borg's affections in a competition he had already lost. "She has a duranium skull, after all."  She turned her attention back to Janeway.  "I presume Seven moved her head away before you were able to make full contact?"

Janeway winced.  "I think so."

"Good thing. You'd have broken these knuckles, otherwise. In fact, we're all lucky she didn't decide to rip your arm off and beat you to death with it. She's certainly capable of it."

"Physically, maybe, but Seven would never do that," Janeway said sadly. "Even when I probably deserve it. She isn't subject to the same Human weaknesses I am."

"That's because she understands that you're a pig-headed, obstinate woman who doesn't know when to ask for help," Pulaski said, and only paused when Zar put his hand on her arm.

"That's enough, doctor," he said stiffly. "I'm sure that whatever happened, it's none of our concern." His anger wasn't entirely quelled, but he knew this was not the time or the place to indulge it. With an effort, he buried it deep within him, where it wouldn't affect him.

Janeway glanced at him, surprised. "Not at all, Commander. The doctor is quite correct in saying that I was being stubborn and foolish in my actions, rather than having the good sense to accept what was happening to me. I'm not going to hide it, and I'm certainly not going to make the same mistake again, assuming we don't yet have some counter for the pheromones."

Pulaski  dropped the dermal regenrator on a nearby tray. "The data Dr. Lewis gathered should help a great deal, but I doubt very much we'll be able to come up with something before tomorrow's meeting."

Zar inhaled slowly. "Captain, if you'd prefer to have me to handle the rest of the negotiations..."

"No," Janeway said, cutting him off firmly. "I've gone this far with it. I'm hoping that it will only require one more session."

"I assume the air filter engineering rigged up in the conference room didn't help," Zar said.

"No, it didn't." Janeway looked back at Pulaski. "In the meantime, is there anything you can provide that will ... ease this. My head aches, my stomach hurts, and I feel generally ... out of sorts."

Pulaski offered her an arched look. "I can give you a prescription. Go home and make up with your wife ... if she'll have you. Then maybe, if you're properly humble, she'll even make love to you, which was the plan in the first place. It should ease the rest of your symptoms. Otherwise, you'll both continue to suffer the consequences of your actions, which is something you don't want. Even if you deserve to undergo a bit of misery, she doesn't." She frowned mightily at her, and then stalked out of her office, as if not wanting to deal with such a troublesome patient any longer.

Zar studied the deck, wondering how they got it so shiny, and acutely aware of the captain doing a slow burn beside him. He suspected that if he said anything at the moment, some of that frustration might find its way onto him, and he decided that he would rather avoid it, if at all possible. Indeed, if Janeway hadn't been between himself and the door, he would have followed the doctor's example and vacated the premises.

"I think that I need to have a serious discussion with Dr. Pulaski one day," Janeway said finally, in a gravely voice. "Once I figure out what I can say that might actually get through to her." She swallowed. "Once I actually encounter a situation where she's the one that's in the wrong rather than me."

Zar didn't want to touch that one, either. Despite her actions, it was obvious the captain wasn't afraid to take responsibility for them, to do what had to be done to make it better, to face things even when they were personally humiliating to her. He didn't know if he had that same courage and understanding of himself. But he did know that he couldn't continue to stand next to the captain like a lump and hope that she would ignore him. Instead, searching for something to say, he seized upon the other concerns he had been having.

"Captain, once this is over, we really need to sit down and work out how Millennium is going to deploy the auxiliary fleet," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as desperate for the change of subject as he felt. "Otherwise, we could find ourselves with an overly active department with little to do."

The captain stared at him, obviously taken aback by the comments, but also slightly relieved, as if the more prosaic needs of the ship were something that she could readily use as a counter to everything else she had been experiencing. She dipped her head, indicating he was to accompany her as she left sickbay.

"That's probably a good idea," she said seriously as they walked through the corridors. "Did you have something specific in mind?"

"I would like for us to get together with Lt. Paris and Commander Ro to work out specifically how this will work while we're in the Delta Quadrant."

"Why Ro?" Janeway asked with curiosity. She knew, as well as anyone, the Bajoran's continued apathy toward the first officer.

"The fighters factor into the ship's defensive capabilities," Zar said. "It's important she be involved in their deployment." He paused, and added reluctantly, "It's also a bit of a peace offering, an indication that I want to work with her."

Janeway nodded approvingly, eyeing his ear as if noticing the Bajoran adornment for the first time.

"Did wearing your earring help any?"

He shrugged lightly. "Too early to tell. But I do think that our security chief is warming up to me a little. At least, she doesn't blanch anymore when I talk to her."

Janeway chuckled slightly, and Zar felt good that he had been able to ease her tension a bit. "Let's schedule a meeting for tomorrow morning," she suggested.

"Are you sure you want to do that with the negotiations in the afternoon?"

"Actually, I think it would do me good," she admitted. "Otherwise, I'll spend the morning worrying about how I'll control myself. This way, I'll be able to concentrate on something else."

He nodded. "Very well, Captain, I'll make the arrangements."

He watched as she walked away, and decided that he felt a little better about his unresolvable feelings for Seven. At first, he couldn't understand why the young woman would have married the captain, but now, as he grew to know Janeway better, he was beginning to understand that they were a good match. That eased his mind to a certain extent, as if he could now judge Janeway as being worthy of the young Borg, rather than feel that if he had only met her before the captain, Seven would have been much better off with him ... a conceit perhaps, but one that a person in love often held.

Shaking his head at his absurd and wandering thoughts, he left sickbay and headed toward the Nexus. Later, perhaps he would take another turn in the holodeck. He wasn't in the mood to be alone this night.

It was all right, she thought in relief. Seven really did understand, even when Janeway didn't.

Her emotions still on edge, the captain felt her chest grow full, tears stinging her eyes. This was such a safe place for her, a secure haven where she could be exactly who she was, despite her many flaws and quirks and unfortunate foibles that were fully accepted and even cherished by the young woman.

"I love you," Janeway whispered. "Don't ever doubt that, my darling."

"I do not," Seven responded. "It is fine, Kathryn."

Janeway snuggled closer, needing this reassurance desperately. She could feel Seven's lips brushing over her forehead, the Borg nuzzling her hair lovingly, showing her without words how much she cared.

Finally, Janeway lifted her head, looking up into the pale gaze of her spouse. "Can we make love?" she asked softly. "Not because we have to, but because we want to?"

Seven smiled faintly, her eyes glowing a brilliant blue as she leaned down, kissing the captain with a tenderness that defied description.

"Of course," she told her.

Gathering her up in her arms, Seven carried the captain, not into the bedroom as Janeway anticipated, but into the arboretum. Beneath the apple tree, spread out on the springy turf, a checkered blanket contained a picnic basket, along with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket. Seven lowered the captain to the blanket, then set both basket and bucket aside before lying down on her side next to her, her fingers stroking Janeway's cheek lightly, her pale eyes intent as she regarded her spouse.

"You had this planned," Janeway said softly, pleased. "Am I so easy to predict?"

"Not predict necessarily," Seven corrected. "I merely wished to do something ... 'normal' to offset what has been a very trying time for you. That you wish it, too, is merely a happy coincidence."

Janeway smiled, the darkness chased away by her spouse. She could not take back what happened in the ready room, but if she learned from it, put it into its proper perspective, then they could put it behind them as a most unfortunate, but ultimately isolated, incident.

Leaning forward, she kissed her, glorying in the soft fullness of the Borg's lips, the gentleness of her mouth, the sweetness of her taste. She felt Seven's fingertips on her cheek, the only other connection between them other than their lips, so delicate, so loving ... it was almost more than she could bear.

"God ... what you do to me," she said softly when they parted. "There is nothing else that can affect me this deeply ... least of all alien pheromones."

Seven smiled as she drew her hand down to the captain's tunic, easing down the fastening, pulling it open. She pushed it over her partner's shoulders, dropping it onto the ground, then shrugged out of her own, adding it to the pile which would provide a pillow of sorts for the couple. Then they kissed again, Seven pressing Janeway back onto the blanket, the scent of roses and apple blossoms fragrant in the captain's nostrils. They had never made love in the arboretum, and Janeway wondered why they hadn't. At the moment, she couldn't imagine a more beautiful or fitting spot to share how they felt about each other. She drew her hands through Seven's hair, loosening the long strands from the restrictive bun, draping them over her back.

Her body was warm, a pleasant heat that covered Janeway lightly, her curves soft and yielding against her. There was no urgency, no sense of demand, only a slow and gradual desire, rising within them as they kissed and touched, stroking and caressing with sweet tenderness. There would be one more day, Janeway knew, one more session in which the aftermath would consist more of burning physical demand rather than love, but for this day, for this moment in time, there was a devoted togetherness to remind her what really brought them to each other, a sharing of warm passion that would carry her through the desperate desire to the other side where the truth of their relationship remained.

Afterward, she lay on her back, eyes closed, basking lazily in the illumination of the lights that offered a simulation of sunshine. Seven lay quietly at her side, her head resting on the captain's stomach, her cheek warm against Janeway's stomach, the long blonde hair spread soft over the older woman's abdomen. Her breath brushed warm over the captain's skin, slow and steady, waffling the crinkly hair at Janeway's triangle, providing a mild, erotic tickle that made the captain smile.

"Darling," she muttered softly, reaching down to touch Seven's face. "Come up here."

Seven obliged, her lanky form easing up from its former sprawled out position, pressing against the captain's side. They kissed, slow and easy, their flavors mingled in a delightful exchange of moist tongues and tender lips.

"God, how I adore you," Janeway sighed once they had parted.

Seven nuzzled her. "The feeling is entirely mutual, Kathryn," she responded quietly. There was another kiss, then Seven drew back, regarding her with a pale blue gaze of devotion, along with the faintest trace of a smile. "Hungry?"

Janeway laughed, reminded sharply of her personal habits, and how much certain of them amused her spouse.

"Starved," she admitted. She stretched languidly, like a cat, as Seven pulled over the picnic basket and began to unload the treats she had prepared. Bread and cheese, warmed baby quiches, and a light pasta salad, with fresh strawberries and grapes for dessert.

Sitting up cross-legged, still gloriously nude, the two women consumed the repast hungrily, washing it down with a Bajoran spring wine, leaving them replenished and content. After cleaning up, Seven stretched out on the blanket as Janeway draped herself on top of her, head nestled on her shoulder, the Borg stroking her hair soothingly.

"You know, this ship has a great many advantages over Voyager," the captain murmured sleepily, the food and warm illumination serving to make her drowsy.

"The arboretum was a wonderful gift to me," Seven agreed.

Janeway exhaled and gazed distantly through lidded eyes, listening to the heartbeat of her spouse. "Darling," she said, unsure this was the time to bring it up, but needing to speak of it anyway.

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"About what happened in the ready room ... I was completely out of line ... not only for my actions, but because I've been trying so hard to exert control in certain areas recently. It's as if I'm having trouble easing back into command. On one hand, I'm trying very hard to let my people do their work, but at the same time, I keep testing my limits, particularly when it comes to medical matters, about which I know little."

"Is it Dr. Pulaski?" Seven asked softly. "Are you trying so hard to counter her insolent behavior, you are overcompensating in anything that involves you and medical conditions."

"Probably," Janeway allowed with a sigh. "It's foolish, particularly if that results in my hurting you. Despite her attitude, Pulaski does know what she's doing, and she only pushes when it comes to medical matters. I would be remiss to ignore her advice."

Seven's fingers stroked the captain's cheek lightly. "Remember that you are free to ignore any command advice she might offer." She paused. "Do you remember my insolent behavior when I first met you?"

Janeway chuckled. "How could I forget?"

"You overcompensated there, as well," Seven remarked with humor. "Initially, by arguing with me at every opportunity, and then by spending so much time with me that you fell in love with me. Must I be concerned?"

Janeway actually laughed out loud and raised her head to look down on the young woman. "Believe me, that's the last thing you need to worry about, my darling," she said, feeling better about things. But then, Seven had always been rather good at making things right for her. She leaned down and kissed her lovingly, feeling as if she were now ready for the next day.

But before she dealt with the Iboneb, she had to attend the meeting with Paris and Ro that her first officer had set up. Sitting in the conference room on deck two ... wanting to keep the one next to the bridge free as maintenance crew in environmental suits sterilized it in an attempt to keep the pheromone levels from building up ... Janeway studied her people covertly. Ro was sitting away from Zar, of course, but she didn't seem as strained in his company as she had, and the captain decided that was a definite improvement. Tom Paris sat next to her, the boyishly handsome, fair-haired wing commander lounging in his chair as if bored with the proceedings. He had certainly regained a certain cockiness in his manner since taking over the fleet, and she realized that Zar's request was a timely one. She trusted Tom to keep a rein on his behavior, but she remembered how he had been when she first met him, and that arrogance was undoubtedly repeated in the pilots under his command, who didn't have the hard life experience Tom did to temper their more imprudent decisions.

"I think the problem is keeping the squad busy when they're not flying active duty," Paris allowed, his pale eyes intent. "I would like to set up more patrols, have the fighters running sweeps every day."

"That's not practical," Zar said. "Their top cruising speed is only warp four, warp six in a emergency. That would hold Millennium back too much."

"I'm afraid the commander is correct," Janeway said, supporting her first officer immediately. "We only have a year out here, after all, and I would like to explore as much as we can before our scheduled return to the Alpha Quadrant. Besides, those fighters are only to be used in an extreme case, when the ship has no other way to defend itself."

"They'll also be escorting the other vessels," Ro pointed out. "Perhaps in the future, we could emphasize more shuttle-to-ground missions rather than relying primarily on the transporters to send in away teams. I know it's not always the most efficient method, but it would keep them busy."

Janeway nodded. "That's a good idea. We'll keep that in mind during planetary missions. We might not always be able to go that way, but we'll do it when we can."

"That still leaves them with little to do between patrols while the ship is cruising," Paris said.

"That's why I think it would be a good idea to double up their assignments," Zar offered. "Instead of duties exclusive to the fleet department, we could spread the flight crew through the ship. After all, they're also here to learn about being Starfleet officers."

Ro hesitated, then nodded. "We could always use a few more bodies in security." Janeway was pleased to see the attempt at conciliation on the Bajoran's part.

Paris frowned. "Security carries the highest casualty rate of any department," he said, then glanced at Ro. "No offense."

"More so than green fighter pilots who can fly into an asteroid at warp six?" she responded evenly. "No offense."

"I like the idea," Janeway said, forestalling the contest developing between the two. Despite the time that had passed, there was still a little edge between the two officers, undoubtedly because Ro had ended up with the chief engineer. B'Elanna had shared a tempestuous relationship with Tom prior to that. "I'll authorize the temporary transfers. If we keep posting them to different departments each rotation, it should keep them on their toes."

"You're essentially making them floaters," Paris said, a touch of outrage edging his tone.

Janeway considered that. "Exactly," she said. "Only unlike Ro on Voyager, they won't have the authority or experience to fit in right away. Instead, they'll be learning on the job."

"That may cause a certain disruption to smoothly running departments," Zar said thoughtfully. "I'm sure departmental heads, such as Lt. Hansen, will find it most inefficient."

Janeway smiled. "I'll talk to Lt. Hansen personally. I'm sure once I explain the situation to her, she'll find it ... acceptable." She shrugged lightly. "Besides, every department always needs more bottle washers and couriers."

"You're turning my pilots into gophers," Paris said, aghast.

"No, we're going to be turning them into well-rounded Starfleet officers, able to step in at any post on the ship ... within reason ... and be able to handle the duties required," Janeway responded, a touch of steel in her tone. "If they learn some humility in the process, so much the better. A little humility never hurt anyone."

She could only imagine the look on Seven's face at that remark, particularly coming from her. But the one lesson she was learning from this mission was how important humility was, that she was only one person, and a rather fallible one at that.

"What I'll do is set a list of roster assignments," Zar remarked to the wing commander. "Two days on flight duty, two days on ship maintenance..."

"Yes, they should know how to fix the vessels if anything goes wrong," Paris allowed, approving of that much, at least.

"Then two days in other departments," Zar concluded, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I'll leave you to specify which pilot goes where, as well as schedule in their off days through the cycle." He eyed Paris who didn't seem pleased to have to work out a duty roster of that magnitude, but it was part of his responsibility as wing commander.

"What about patrols, however," Paris tried again. "We need to fly actual missions, not just limit them to the holodeck."

Janeway considered it. "Agreed," she allowed. "I'll arrange periodic stretches where Millennium will power down to warp four. I'll also want to run a series of drills at times to improve launch time performance."

"Thank you, Captain." Paris studied her intently. "What about actual combat conditions?"

Janeway regarded him. "So far, we haven't come across a situation that warrants such, Lt. Paris. There's also the fact that if we do, we want those extra vessels to be a surprise, a tactic that will finish any battle once and for all. I don't want them flitting around otherwise."

"Captain, with all due respect, I think you're overlooking the potential usefulness of a fighter squadron," he said earnestly.

Janeway lifted a corner of her mouth. "Perhaps," she said. "I'll guess you'll just have to work on proving that usefulness to me, Tom ... beginning with how your people handle themselves in other areas of the ship."

Yet, as the captain entered the room, Seven saw that Janeway was still greatly troubled and dismayed by this necessity, her expression one of absolute misery. Her classic features twisted further as she saw that the panel at the head of their bed had been left open to reveal the compartment containing all their accessories. As she began to undress, her eyes did not meet Seven's, as if what they were about to do was shameful in some fashion. That was when the Borg realized she had approached the situation in a completely incorrect manner ... as a surgeon would an operation, with all her instruments prepped and ready, rather than as someone who was prepared to support her spouse in an awkward situation. It had been a grave error in judgement, and she altered her plan quickly as Janeway slipped out of her uniform trousers, dropping them to the floor. A wisp of musk reached the Borg from the undergarments, sodden with the captain's emissions, and she inhaled deeply, surprised at the sharp pang of desire within her. She had not expected to feel this much arousal for their encounter, but she allowed that the captain's pheromones had always been as effective on her as any alien bio-chemical agent.

Janeway, naked now, crawled onto the bed and stretched out, half on her side, turned away from Seven. Knowing that it was important to alter this encounter, which had started off so cold and mechanical, before it went much further, the young woman spent a few seconds formulating a new strategy as she slipped out of her robe.

She lay down behind Janeway, gently pressing her body full length against her, putting her arm around her waist and pulling her close. Janeway exhaled audibly and closed her eyes, swallow