• This is the sixth installment in the Star Trek: Millennium series.
• It was posted on January 15th, 2002.
• There is a wand warning in effect for this story.

Stars, their light distorted by the warp bubble surrounding the starship Millennium, streaked by the windows looming above Ensign Tarn, providing a dramatic backdrop to the upper level of the ready room. On the first level, in a cozy nook that surrounded a workstation and desk, a compact woman perused a padd, her auburn hair falling easily about classic features. Captain Kathryn Janeway radiated command authority even when she was leaning back in her chair, her chin resting on her palm, and apparently lost in what she was reading. She didn't seem aware of the new arrival, yet  Ensign Tarn knew she had to be. After all, an ensign would hardly have entered the captain's ready room without the proper clearance which had come in the form of a cool, but polite 'Come' when she had pressed the admittance chime.

As she waited patiently to be noticed, Tarn wondered what Janeway wanted to see her about. Could it have been her performance on a recent away mission? If so, Tarn had nothing to worry about. The young woman had performed beyond expectations, both her own and certainly her superiors' who had begun to despair of the young woman who displayed little of the promise initially indicated at Starfleet Academy. Tarn had found the transition from classroom scenarios to active duty difficult, and made a great many mistakes in her duties at Ops during the alpha shift.

That was a thing of the past, she thought confidently. She had found her old form on a jungle planet where she had saved the rest of the away team from a Kazon ambush. Finally, she was becoming the Starfleet officer she had always known she could be, the one everyone expected she would become.

Finally, Janeway looked up, placing the padd gently on the smooth surface of the desk. Her eyes were soft and grey, though Tarn thought she detected a hint of steel within.

"Ensign," she greeted. "Please, have a seat."

Tarn relaxed slightly from her stance of attention, and gratefully sank into the chair offered. Sitting alertly, her eyes steady on the captain, she waited for Janeway to speak, hoping that perhaps her recent efforts would result in personal acknowledgment, perhaps even an official commendation by the most senior officer on the ship.

"Ensign Tarn, I've decided to rotate you to the beta shift where you can receive more seasoning without the demands of serving with the primary alpha team."

If the captain had reached out and backhanded Tarn across the face, it could not have been more shocking to the young woman. Being on the alpha shift, despite the additional pressures and stress, was a mark of achievement and something that accorded an officer a certain stature. Only the best were assigned to the alpha team who not only worked under the captain's direct authority, but were also called to the bridge during any tense situation. To be rotated off meant that one couldn't cut it, that it would be better for all concerned if the officer in question was serving in a less vital position.

"But..." Tarn stuttered in shock, and then closed her mouth with a snap. One did not question a superior officer in situations like this. One especially did not question the captain when one was only an ensign.

"Yes, Ensign?" Janeway prompted evenly. "You have something to say."

Tarn hesitated, and then lifted her chin stubbornly. "I realize my initial performance was less than adequate, Captain. But I believe I've shown definite improvement over the past two weeks."

"Yes, you have," Janeway agreed. "As a matter of fact, your performance lately has been outstanding. The difference has been most remarkable."

Confused, Tarn stared at her. "Then why..." she began, then stopped again. It was not her place to demand that the captain justify her decisions to her. It wasn't the place of anyone on the ship to demand the captain justify herself, except perhaps the first officer or, in some very rare instances, the chief medical officer.

Janeway offered the young woman a compassionate expression. "Ensign, there's no question that the actions conducted on your recent away mission have allowed you to resume your duties on the bridge with more confidence and ability ... the same confidence and ability you displayed through most of your time at the Academy. That's not the issue here."

"It's not?" Tarn stared at her in bafflement.

"No." Janeway paused, as if seeking the words to explain to the young woman. "You react to success very well, Ensign Tarn. You feed off it, build on it, become better for it."

Tarn inhaled. "Yes, Captain." She wondered what was wrong with that. How else was she supposed to respond? One would think the captain would approve of her measurable improvement in such a short amount of time.

"You react to failure in precisely the opposite manner." Janeway lifted her head, those grey eyes assessing the young woman keenly. "It's extremely important for a Starfleet officer to be able to treat both failure and success in exactly the same manner, with professionalism and competence. You're not at that level, yet, and I'm afraid the only way to reach it is through time and teaching. You'll gain both on the beta shift."

Tarn opened her mouth to disagree, but realized that was the last thing she should do. Instead, she nodded stiffly.

"Yes, Captain," she said woodenly.

Janeway seemed about to say something else, but dipped her head instead. "You'll find your new schedule on your work station. Dismissed."

Feeling as if she had been pummeled, Tarn rose to her feet and left the ready room in a daze, wondering how she could go from the top of the world to the bottom of the heap so quickly. A dry, cynical part of her noted that she was lucky she hadn't been rotated back to the gamma shift, or off bridge duty altogether. It didn't make it any easier, however.

It just wasn't fair, she thought fiercely as she returned to her post at ops, barely acknowledging the other officer who gave way to her. She was vaguely aware of the first officer, Zar Tulek, eyeing her from the command chair as she punched the commands into her touch-pad with unnecessary vigor, furiously blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. If only she weren't stuck on a vessel that was on a year-long scientific mission. She'd love to be able to demand a transfer, to show Janeway she didn't need to be on this ship regardless of how prestigious it was. But that wasn't an option. She was stuck on the Millennium, and it was up to her to prove she could succeed.

If the captain wanted her to react to setbacks in the same way she did success, then by all the entities that people worshiped, she would show her, Tarn vowed silently. She'd show all of them. By the time she was done, they'd be begging her to come back to the alpha shift.

She was certain of it.

***

Zar Tulek, Millennium's first officer, shot a look at the young officer at ops who was barely concealing her upset and dismay. He knew full well why the captain had called Tarn into the ready room. He hadn't agreed initially, believing that the young woman was finally coming into her own, but now it appeared that the captain had been entirely correct. While the ensign had improved immensely since the away mission on the jungle world, it was clear that she really hadn't learned anything about herself. That was unfortunate, but it was very much a trait of the young. Only time and experience allowed officers to mature, and Janeway was wise in thinking Tarn needed a bit of time away from the intensity of the alpha shift. He wondered if the young woman realized how significant it was that the captain took the time to personally address the ensign's assignment. Normally, it would be his domain. It was likely that Tarn was completely unaware of the command attention being accorded her and he made a mental note to subtly point it out to her.

He shook his head slightly, and turned his gaze back to the front of the bridge. The fore viewscreen that dominated that area was tuned to the external sensors scanning the space ahead of them, granting the sensation of flying through a black sea punctuated by shooting stars. The ship was on a course headed deeper into the Delta Quadrant, exploring space that had never before been charted by Federation ships, boldly going where no one ... at least, no one from Starfleet ... had ever gone before.

There was no way of knowing what lay before them, what alien civilizations and cultures awaited their discovery. This was why he had joined Starfleet, he mused quietly ... this unquenchable thirst for knowledge and new adventures. Had he been born in another place and time, he might have had to be content to pursue more limited ventures, become a research scientist perhaps, or some sort of adventurer. Zar had the good fortune to have been born at a time when all of space was available to be explored. Better still, had been taken by his mother from a world that hated and feared the people who had sired him, to a Federation colony where he had been able to pursue his dreams.

It hadn't been easy. Zar was a hybrid, half-Bajoran, half-Cardassian, with the latter dictating his appearance, though not his development and personality. The Cardassian Empire had been one of dominance, of conquest, of a cruel and harsh occupation of worlds that possessed the resources they needed. His appearance still provided him with unexpected obstacles at times, but he was at a point where he could overcome them, if not exactly with ease, then with a skill born of long practice.

His eyes chose that moment to settle on Millennium's security chief, and a wry smile touched his thin lips. Ro Laren was someone who personified that type of obstacle. A tall, dark-haired Bajoran, Ro had actually left Starfleet at one point to fight with the Maquis, a band of rebel fighters who had taken the conflict to the Cardassians even after Bajor had been freed. Ro had been less than pleased to discover that her superior officer looked like one of the very people she had been fighting all those years ago, and still hated on so many levels.

Ro was married to the chief of engineering, B'Elanna Torres, who had also been a member of the Maquis at one time, and for some reason, the Klingon had been even more hostile to Zar. It had taken much longer for B'Elanna to accept his presence. Zar occasionally wondered if that was because B'Elanna had fallen into the Maquis on her own, rather than seen her homeworld under brutal occupation, or lost it altogether when the Federation had ceded the planets in the Demilitarized Zone to Cardassian authority. Sometimes, 'born-again' rebels approached the whole thing more fanatically than those who really did have good reason to hate the Cardassian Empire.

Fortunately, over the past months, all three, Klingon, Bajoran and Cardassian, had found a middle ground, and currently, were able to work together smoothly. Zar supposed that was a reflection of their captain who found ways of bringing the most unusual individuals together. She had done it with Voyager, her previous command, when it had been lost in the Delta Quadrant, and now, she was doing it again with Millennium, a vessel that allowed her to return to this particular area of space on her own terms.

He settled back into the command chair and wondered what it would be like to hold it for real, as opposed to just covering it while the captain was otherwise occupied. Despite the progression of his career being frozen by previous senior officers, Janeway had welcomed him graciously, and under her tutelage, he was learning a great deal about starship command and what it took to earn that extra pip. By the time this mission was complete, he felt sure he would be ready for his own vessel.

Assuming Starfleet would finally accord him that ship.

"That feels so good," Janeway said softly, a flash of white teeth appearing as she smiled lazily.

"It shall feel better," Seven assured her seriously.

She lovingly stroked the rise of the captain's buttocks, grasping the flesh briefly to grant a loving squeeze before slipping her palms down the back of Janeway's legs. Seven was aware how much Janeway enjoyed this slow, steady arousal, the tender worship of her body by her partner. There was also a certain amount of surrender involved for the steel-willed captain. In this position, she had given herself completely over to her partner, assured that she was in safe and protective hands, knowing that she would experience only enjoyment in what Seven chose to do.

Seven enjoyed the sense of dominance it granted her, the knowledge that she was in control, that she was the one determining both the pace and timing of their lovemaking. Inhaling deeply, the Borg leaned down, her lips brushing over the supple muscle and bone of the captain's back, the tip of her tongue slipping out to trace a delicately light trail down the defined spine.

Janeway inhaled sharply, a gasp of delight at the sensation. Seven's keen ears accepted the sound for the appreciation it was, the acknowledgment of her skill at loving her spouse. Her hands grasped the captain's buttocks again, massaging them lavishly as her lips paused at the small of Kathryn's lovely back, feeling the warmth radiating from the slight depression here, a wisp of tantalizing womanly scent reaching her nostrils. Smiling briefly, Seven placed her hand at the juncture of the captain's legs, her fingertips brushing lightly over the wetness, feeling the velvet heat that seared along her nerve endings, and provoking a heartfelt groan from her beloved partner.

"Oh, god," Janeway breathed.

Seven repeated the caress, firmer this time, her fingers seeking out the little nub slippery with moisture, and circling it with tender intent. There was no question that Kathryn was ready for what the Borg planned next ... more than ready.

With a sweet kiss to Janeway's left buttock, Seven straightened, leaving her fingers where they were at the moment as she used her other hand to reach for a jar of lubricant. She dipped into the silky gel, scooping up a generous amount and using it to slather the device protruding from her groin. The Wonder Wand 9000 was a Ferengi-manufactured, completely adjustable and realistic 'accessory' designed to mimic male genitalia of over one thousand alien species, including Human for which the parameters were currently set. The couple found it a delightful enhancement to their sexual interaction, adding a certain amount of spice to an active and energetic love life.

Janeway tended to enjoy penetration more than Seven, occasionally wanting and needing more than even the young Borg's long, elegant fingers could provide. For Janeway to be filled ... to have a sense of being taken completely ... Seven found the device to be an acceptable tool. Sensors arrayed along the exterior transmitted sensation directly to where the device was attached, making it feel as if Seven's clitoris had been extended 15 centimeters, allowed her to feel as much pleasure as the captain did in this type of encounter.

Janeway squirmed beneath Seven's teasing fingertips, her breath coming rapidly now, aware of what her partner was doing and unquestionably anxious for her to continue. She spread her legs wider, granting the Borg a much appreciated vision of intimate flesh, a glimpse of pink and shining moisture in darker recesses that beckoned with irresistible attraction. Seven required a nanosecond to compose herself, to slow her response so that she did not become overanxious and hurry what should be savored. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the artificial penis, shivering at the tingles that emanated from the contact, and resisting the urge to stroke it further. Instead, she guided the mushroom head to the opening welling moisture, and dipped it into the heat and wetness before moving it down to rub the rounded tip over the captain's swollen nodule.

Janeway cried out softly as her fingers dug into the bedding, her hips rising to offer more of herself to her partner. Seven dallied over the caress, relishing the way it felt to tease Janeway this way, using the device to stroke the captain once, twice, three times with lingering enjoyment before carefully finding the opening once more. Janeway arched back, engulfing the head of the penile probe before Seven could move, and the Borg offered her own moan of desire as she felt the heat surround her clitoral extension, drawing her in.

Supporting herself on outstretched arms, Seven began a lengthy thrust into the waiting warmth, slowly lowering her body onto Janeway's back, feeling her breasts pressing against the soft skin wet with perspiration. She was careful not to put her whole weight on the smaller woman, but she knew Janeway liked the sensation of being covered. Entering her fully, the entire length of the penile probe was swallowed by the hot, silky walls of her partner and Seven inhaled deeply. Fighting for composure, they remained in this position for several, salacious seconds, with Seven savoring the sensation of sweet joining, of being inside her spouse in this intimate unification.

Beneath her, Seven could hear the soft mutters of her partner, a verbal attempt to convey what she was feeling, at the delight she was experiencing. It was hearfelt, if rather incoherent.

"Kathryn," Seven whispered into her ear, a loving benediction falling from her lips, a beloved name that encompassed so much for her. "My Kathryn."

She reached up with her left hand, finding Janeway's, entwining her fingers with her own in a connection that was nearly as intense as the joining of their bodies. She was extremely careful with the Borg mesh on the captain's more vulnerable skin. Slipping her other hand beneath Kathryn's body between her pelvis and the pillows, she found the captain's ridge which she began to massage with tender ferocity. At the same time, she slowly withdrew, a cautious pulling back that felt every millimeter of the intoxicating flesh surrounding her, stopping short of pulling out altogether. She hesitated for a split second, just long enough to enhance the anticipation, then reversed her motion, pushing inside, probing into Kathryn's interior recesses and burying herself as deeply as she could.

Seven expelled her breath in a short, explosive sound, a grunt of pleasure that captain echoed in a wordless demand for more, arching up against the Borg, her buttocks a heavenly cushion for Seven's groin. Delicious seconds passed as Seven once again cherished the sense of being inside Kathryn, her body so damp and hot against hers, the way the smaller, compact form felt beneath her.

"Damn it," Janeway exhaled through clenched teeth. "Don't tease, darling." She lifted her head imperiously. "Do it."

Seven chuckled, knowing it was an order as much as a plea, and one that she was more than willing to obey ... just not immediately. She ground her hips against Kathryn with tantalizing pressure, teasing her and reminding her again just who was in command of this particular interaction. Janeway panted, squirmed, and generally made it known that while she appreciated, as much as the next person, a lover who took her time, there were occasions when she didn't want to wait. She wanted it hard, she wanted it fast, and most of all, she wanted it NOW.

Finally, Seven relented, pulling back once more, then thrusting inside just a little more forcefully, her fingers swirling rapidly over Janeway's ridge that seemed larger, yet more elusive with every passing second. The captain uttered a sound of pure appreciation, urging her on, offering encouragement that frequently came in the form of vulgarities that she had learned to curb in other areas of their lovemaking. Seven didn't mind. The words added to the experience and enhanced her own pleasure as she focused on creating a strong, regular, yet gentle rhythm that provided the most pleasure to Kathryn. It wasn't entirely easy to maintain it. Her own desire was rising, sweeping her up and spreading through her in steady waves as she thrust. The volume and frequency of their groans intensified as did their pleasure, and then suddenly, Seven felt that magic around her, that flutter of involuntary pulsations as Janeway shuddered beneath her. It was all the young Borg needed, and she surrendered to the delight she had been holding at bay until she was sure her partner had reached her peak. She thrust a final time, jerking spastically against her partner, helpless in the passion that caught her up, shook her, and finally let her go.

For several moments, there was only the sound of their breathing, the golden relaxation into the boneless aftermath. Seven lowered her head, burying it into the auburn hair, extremely vulnerable in how much she felt for the woman beneath her, holding her protectively while at the same time, needing Kathryn's strength, reaching out for her presence. Kissing the smooth skin of the captain's neck, she nuzzled her face into the cozy hollow of the Janeway's throat and shoulder, immersing herself in her warmth and fragrance.

Finally, Janeway wiggled, indicating that she wanted to move, and Seven obligingly withdrew, rising to her knees as she removed the device and placed it in the compartment built into the headboard that sterilized it with a flash of ultraviolet radiation. Janeway rolled over, moving the pillows which had supported her up to the head of the bed and making a cozy nest into which she welcomed Seven, drawing her down into her arms.

They kissed, a slow, languid, melting kiss of love before Seven settled against her, half covering her, arm and leg draped over the captain's body, her head resting on the pillow next to Janeway's.

"That was wonderful, darling," Janeway said softly. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Seven returned. "I enjoyed it equally."

"It's fun to try different things, isn't it?" Janeway murmured, a smile curving her lips as she closed her eyes. Her right hand traced slow patterns over Seven's back, her arm wrapped around the Borg, pulling her close. The fingertips of her left hand trailed aimlessly over the younger woman's biceps and forearm, the caress soothing and infinitely loving.

Seven blinked. "It was not a new position for us. I have made love to you with the Wonder Wand in this manner before."

"I meant using the accessory. I like that you have no problem with my wanting it on occasion."

Seven kissed the captain's forehead lovingly. "It gives you pleasure. I am also pleasured by it. Why would there be a problem?"

"You'd be surprised," Janeway muttered sleepily. "Some people read too much into using accessories sometime."

"I am not 'some people'."

Janeway smiled. "No, my love, you're not. Far from it."

Seven nuzzled her for a few moments, and settled a little closer. "I understand you made some changes to the bridge crew," she prompted gently, knowing that her spouse could be less guarded in her comments just before she went to sleep.

Janeway immediately grew reserved. "Hmm, do you really want to talk ship's business right now?"

Seven considered it carefully. "I was merely curious, Kathryn." She paused. "Why do you not wish to discuss it?"

Janeway smiled. "It's not that I don't want to discuss it. I know that you've grown closer to a few of the junior officers since your away mission together, including Ensign Tarn. I even recognize that perhaps you feel a certain personal interest in what happens to them. But this was a command decision, darling, and frankly, none of your concern as chief science officer."

Seven frowned, stymied. "Elisa has performed efficiently since the away mission."

"Yes, she has. It's not always what's on the surface that prompts command decisions, darling." She paused, and then reached over, patting Seven on the stomach. "Annika, trust that I know what I'm doing even when you don't understand it. Isn't that what you ask of me?"

"I trust you completely." Seven exhaled slowly. "Very well, Kathryn, I will not pursue this with you."

"Thank you, love," Janeway muttered, fighting a losing battle against her drowsiness, though truth be told, she was not fighting very hard. Seven watched with slight amusement as the captain's eyes slid shut and her breathing smoothed out. Gently, she brushed her lips over Janeway's forehead, a kiss of devotion and honest affection for the woman in her arms.

She would have to find out the details another way, she decided. Perhaps from Zar. For whatever reason, she had noticed that the ship's first officer had a difficult time keeping things from her when she pressed him. With only a minor effort, she would be able to determine the real reason for Tarn being rotated back to the beta shift.

Pulaski had been one of the captain's professors at the Academy, presiding over one of the more difficult and challenging courses a young Kathryn Janeway had ever experienced. They had stayed in touch in the years since, excluding the near decade that Janeway had been lost in the Delta Quadrant with Voyager. When it came time to choose a chief medical officer for her new command, Janeway had immediately thought of the older woman. Despite the fact it had meant a demotion of sorts, returning to a starship after a stint in the upper echelons of Starfleet Medical, Pulaski had agreed. There had been occasions that Janeway wondered if she had made a mistake, but overall, there was a sort of comfort in knowing that the ship's medical needs were being looked after by the experienced, tough, and very brilliant woman.

"Kate?"

Pulaski 's light blue eyes warmed as she saw the captain standing in the doorway, but she made grumpy sound, as if greatly offended at being interrupted. Janeway ignored it, moving across the office to take a seat in the low-backed chair opposite the doctor.

"Where is everyone?"

"Doctors Lewis and Spencer are out to lunch," Pulaski said, tapping her touch pad to log off her task, turning her full attention to the captain. "I have no idea why Lewis went since he doesn't eat. I don't have a nurse rotated onto the alpha shift at the moment."

"Oh."

Pulaski's eyes narrowed as she assessed the captain. "What's up, Kathryn? You're not here for a voluntary checkup, I know that."

Janeway, who tended to avoid routine physicals like a Kazon avoided bath water, offered a sheepish smile. "Actually, I'm here to get your advice."

Pulaski blinked, obviously surprised. "On a medical matter?"

Janeway shook her head. "No." She paused, and took the plunge. "As much as I hate it, I have to acknowledge the fact that, technically, you're the only person on board who is a peer in terms of rank."

"Because I hold the rank of admiral, even though I accepted this assignment as a commander."

"I would be remiss if I didn't avail myself of your experience, Doctor."

Pulaski grinned crookedly. "That must have hurt."

Janeway started to reply, stopped, and then dipped her head in acknowledgment of how well the medical officer knew her.

"It did, but I have to accept that I hold advantages on Millennium that I simply didn't have on Voyager. It's up to me to exploit them."

"That includes an off-the-record review of your command performance to date?"

Janeway managed not to flinch. "Something like that."

Pulaski considered that, then shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, you're doing fine, Kathryn. Was there something specific that you were unsure about?"

Janeway hesitated, and looked away from those penetrating blue eyes. "I worry sometimes that I'm unable to be consistent in my treatment of the crew."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm not sure I treat everyone the same." Janeway sighed, leaning back in her chair. "That those who served on Voyager hold a special place with me, and are accorded preferential treatment because of it."

"I'm sure they do," Pulaski said, and held up a hand as the captain's face clouded. "That's to be expected in any situation, Kathryn, particularly in a new command. You know those particular individuals well enough to trust them, and thus, grant them more authority than you would someone you're just getting to know."

"But it's not fair."

Pulaski shrugged. "Since when is the universe fair?" She linked her fingers and rested her hands on the desk in front of her. "Kathryn, I'm sure you have difficulty at times knowing when to draw the line. Take the recent situation with Tom Paris, for example."

Janeway raised her chin. "You think I was too lenient on him," she said, realizing with a sinking sensation that the incident with the Nexus and the ship's new bartender was starting to make the rounds.

Pulaski shook her head. "I don't know. It's not my call to make. But, if it had been Ensign John Doe from deck twenty who had 'hired a bartender', would you have handled it 'off the record'?"

"I don't know." Janeway squirmed. "It depends."

"It always depends," Pulaski said gently. "Let's not kid ourselves, Kathryn. We all have certain personnel who work for us who have proven their abilities over time, and have earned a certain leniency when they tiptoe over the line. Certainly, as captain, it's your prerogative to treat individual members of your crew however you decide. But if it concerns you how it looks to the crew as a whole, then you have to decide how far you're going to take it. In that event, you'll either have to treat your trusted, senior officers as you would anyone else on the ship ... or better yet, accord the officers you don't know the same trust you give those who served with you on Voyager."

"Logically, that's how it should be," Janeway agreed.

"In reality, that's not how it will work, however." Pulaski spread her hands. "You have more faith in those who served with you on Voyager. You should. They've had the necessary time to earn that faith while others haven't. The crew is just going to have to accept that."

"Nonetheless, in situations such as the incident with the crew lounge, I should have looked at Tom as just another crewmember." Janeway looked inside herself and wasn't pleased at what she saw.

Pulaski lifted a thin brow. "Live and learn. You'll do better next time." She tilted her head slightly. "It's okay to make a mistake now and again, Kathryn. That's Human."

"A starship captain is supposed to be a little more than that," Janeway noted dryly.

"Bullshit," Pulaski said coarsely, surprising her captain. The older woman reached beneath her desk and pulled out a tall bottle filled with golden liquid, causing Janeway to raise her eyebrow.

"A little early for that, don't you think?" Janeway offered, though she leaned back in her chair and regarded the doctor with a slight glint in her eyes.

Pulaski merely regarded her sardonically as she poured each of them a glassful. "Just enough to get the blood stirring. It's purely medicinal." She put away the bottle and slid the small tumbler over to the captain.

Janeway picked it up and took a cautious sip. It went down easily, but when it reached her stomach, it was as if something had exploded, radiating tendrils of fire throughout her body.

"Whew," she said, blinking back tears. "What is this stuff?"

"Ranalian whiskey. I picked up a couple of bottles before we left the Alpha Quadrant."

"Smooth," Janeway choked.

Pulaski grinned at her. "It's also traditional. Whenever a doctor finally has the captain come to her for advice, a toast is in order, regardless of what time of the day or night it is." She paused. "I'll bet the hologram never poured you one."

Janeway considered it. "Actually, he did once. Late in our journey, just after Kes returned and merged with Sek, he and I shared a moment. Everyone was shook up by that one." She shook her head at the memory.

Pulaski looked thoughtful. "I'm surprised. Maybe I've underestimated him."

Janeway regarded her. "Perhaps you have. Heaven knows, I certainly did in the past."

"So how's your love life?" Pulaski asked cheerfully, changing the subject since she obviously wasn't prepared to discuss the EMH at the moment.

Janeway fixed her with a look. "That doesn't fall into the category of CMO/Captain confidentiality. And it's none of your damned business."

Pulaski lifted a brow. "Just checking, Kathryn. I worry sometimes, particularly after that incident involving the Iboneb."

Sobering, Janeway inhaled deeply. "That was a difficult time. We worked through it."

"That's all you can do," Pulaski said sagely, and then laughed again, slightly bitter. "Though I'm the last person you should be asking about relationships. Mine haven't exactly been the most successful over the years." She paused. "Nor was I ever involved with a Borg."

"Seven is more Human than Borg now." She hesitated. "Perhaps too much so."

Pulaski eyed her narrowly. "Want to explain that one?"

"Have you ever accessed Seven's medical records?"

Pulaski nodded. "As CMO, it's incumbent on me to know any problem areas that might arise with the crew."

Janeway regarded her whiskey. "Problem areas," she repeated painfully. "That's one way to put it."

"I'm aware the Doctor told you about the potential for future complications. But it's only a potential, Kathryn. Why are you suddenly so worried about it?"

"It's not suddenly," Janeway allowed. "It's more a case of my concern progressively building over the past couple of years. Every time she's hurt, I wonder if that makes her more vulnerable for something in her cybernetic systems to go wrong. Or worse, in her Human organs. They were so damaged, Kate. Half of them were replaced or transplanted. Her brain has been so interfaced with her cranial implant that God only knows what could happen if that began to malfunction. Even with today's medical advancements, what the Borg did to her can never be repaired."

"We keep an eye on her, Kathryn," Pulaski assured her. "Worrying about it achieves nothing, and besides, there's no certainty that something will happen, only that it might. The odds are probably equal in you falling down an access ladder and breaking your neck."

"I'm afraid the odds for Seven aren't that good," Janeway said gloomily.

"Have you talked to the hologram about this?"

"He just tells me that I'm worrying about what might happen when I have more than enough to worry about as captain, none of which has anything to do with Seven."

"He's right," Pulaski said. "Much as I hate to admit it." She inhaled slowly, her eyes dark as she sought the words that would reassure the captain about her spouse. "Kathryn, if you're not careful, you'll spend so much effort and energy being concerned about something that may or may never happen that you miss all the wonderful things going on in the present. Don't do that."

"Believe it or not, I do realize that," Janeway said. "I know I have to cherish each moment I have with her. It's just that, occasionally, I'm reminded of how vulnerable she really is beneath the Borg enhancements."

"This is all stemming from the recent away mission where she was injured," Pulaski decided knowingly. "Kathryn, the Borg enhancements may have left Seven with permanent damage to certain areas of her body, but the nanoprobes are also what kept her stable long enough for us to save her from that disrupter blast. For every curse, there is a blessing, and vice versa. Her assimilation may contribute to her demise in the long term, but that Borg technology is what usually saves her in the short." She lifted her glass. "There are no guarantees for any of us, particularly in Starfleet, so frankly, she has it better than a lot of us."

Janeway shook her head. "That doesn't stop me from worrying."

"Of course not," Pulaski said in a practical tone. "The only one who can stop it is you. Accept the things you can do nothing to change, Kathryn. Let it go."

Janeway took another sip from her drink, a longer one this time, enjoying the way the heat spread through her body. "Easier said than done."

"For you, I can see that," Pulaski agreed evenly. "But it doesn't accomplish anything except add pressure to Seven, who must be aware of your concern."

Janeway sighed. "She is," she admitted. "She's told me in no uncertain terms that she will not allow it to prevent her from doing her job."

Pulaski snorted amusement. "I would have loved to have heard that discussion."

"No," Janeway said, still stinging at the memory of the conversation a week earlier which had, at times, become somewhat heated, "You wouldn't."

Pulaski just laughed and took another drink. Janeway, lacking anything else to do, followed suit, glad that she had come to her old mentor, but aware that it really hadn't reconciled anything in her mind. It left her to wonder; was she as alone on Millennium as she had been on Voyager?

Ensign Davinus Marcos yelped in surprise and jumped back, a decidedly inefficient form of defense that Ro immediately pounced on, lashing out to catch the stocky, dark-haired young man in the chest with a well-placed heel, propelling his leap backward into a helpless sprawl on the deck. Before he had even hit the ground, the Bajoran had turned and grabbed the next officer, flipping him over onto his back in front of the third person who obligingly stumbled over him. Ro wasted little time in rushing the fourth ensign, careful to keep him between her and her last opponent, using his body as a shield even as she disabled him with a chop across his torso and a stunning snap kick to the stomach.

That left the best for last. Unlike the rest of the fighter pilots undergoing security training, T'Shanik had not lunged into the fray blindly. Instead, she had coolly analyzed Ro's attack, and had drawn back, putting some cautious distance between her and the Bajoran. Ro never underestimated Vulcans, having served under Lt. Commander Tuvok in her previous posting, but neither did she over-estimate their abilities. She knew T'Shanik was physically stronger than the Humans already dispatched by the Bajoran, and had the ability to make decisions logically in the heat of the moment, but she wasn't a trained security officer. She could not be goaded into an emotional mistake, but she could be outmaneuvered into a physical one.

"I'm waiting, Lieutenant." Ro eyed her provocatively. "Are you refusing the test?"

"Not at all, Commander," T'Shanik offered politely, moving cautiously. "I am merely choosing my moment just as you have taught me."

Ro grinned wolfishly. "Sometimes the moment chooses you, Lieutenant." Without any further hesitation, she lunged at the young woman, sweeping her legs from beneath her and knocking her to the deck. Before T'Shanik could recover, Ro was straddling her, knees pinning her shoulders to the ground, immobilizing the Vulcan. Then she looked around at the others. They were standing in a semi-circle, having recovered in time to witness the final member of their group go down. They were watching with slack-jawed intensity, sweat streaking their faces.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Ro demanded.

"Sir?" Marcos queried, the only one brave enough to do so.

"Why are you standing around?" Ro regarded them with no little disgust. "The mission was to capture and secure me."

The others looked at each other uneasily, and made a belated move toward her, obviously not anxious to be put on their backs again, but intent on obeying the order. Before they moved very far, however, Ro had drawn a small hand phaser from where she had concealed it in an inner pocket of her outfit, and aimed it at them.

"Too late. You should have made sure I was unarmed before we began."

She would have laughed at their expression of consternation if it weren't so clear that none of them had a clue what they were supposed to do next.

Correction. One of them did. Ro felt faintly stupid as T'Shanik, using a move the Bajoran couldn't remember ever encountering before, somehow wiggled into a position that granted her some slight leverage, and her musculature managed to do the rest, heaving Ro off her and onto the deck. Quickly, T'Shanik seized Ro's right arm, keeping her from utilizing her weapon.

"Assist me," she demanded of the others standing around in shock. To give them credit, they did their best, leaping onto the Bajoran with enthusiasm, if not much competence. Ro allowed herself a brief second of pleased surprise, and then proceeded to make their task as difficult as possible, utilizing judicious applications of her elbows, knees, hands, feet and on one occasion, her teeth, to discourage them.

In the end she was overwhelmed by the five of them working as a unit, which was exactly what she had hoped would happen. Together, directed by T'Shanik's orders, they pinned Ro to the deck, one on each limb, while the Vulcan pressed the phaser against the Bajoran's forehead.

"You are defeated, Commander Ro," T'Shanik said.

Ro grinned crookedly. "I might debate that, but for now, we'll agree. Well done, people. Release me."

Two of the officers from the pilot group that Ro was training started to release the Bajoran's arms, but were stopped by the Vulcan. "Belay that. Commander Ro, have we secured your surrender?"

The Bajoran stared at her, then nodded sourly. "Very well, I surrender."

The young people hesitated, looking toward the Vulcan, who considered the Bajoran carefully and finally nodded. They looked slightly nervous as they released the Bajoran who rose gracefully to her feet. She glanced around at them, and then at T'Shanik.

"That was very well done, Lieutenant," she complimented. The Vulcan inclined her head in acknowledgment of the praise, but did not react any further. Ro was less pleased as she turned her attention on the other pilots.

"Our encounter with the Kazon should have taught you the importance of knowing how to take care of yourself," she said sternly. "We discovered that in certain instances, the fighter squadrons may be the first wave in a ground assault. That requires more training than the basic Starfleet techniques. My question is, why is T'Shanik the only one who seems to be able to grasp this concept? She's clearly been practicing since our last session. The rest of you haven't." The group looked uncomfortable and glanced either at each other or at the deck. Ro resisted a sigh and lifted her hand. "You're dismissed. Report here tomorrow and we'll go over the basics one more time."

They seemed relieved that the day was over, and all but T'Shanik wasted little time in vacating the gym where they had been training. Ro eyed the remaining pilot curiously as she picked up a towel and mopped the sweat from her brow, wondering what was up with the junior lieutenant.

"Something on your mind, T'Shanik?"

"I require your assistance, Commander," the young woman said, and if she were not Vulcan, Ro would swear she was a little nervous about what she was about to say.

"Regarding?"

"I understand there is an opening on the alpha shift for an operations officer."

Ro was surprised. Whatever she might have thought T'Shanik was going to say, this was not it. "They're actually rotating officers in and out of the position at the moment."

"Is it possible they will settle on a permanent placement?"

"Anything's possible." Ro tilted her head, draping the towel around her neck and hanging onto it with both hands as she studied the young Starfleet officer. "Are you thinking of applying?"

"I am."

"Why?"

A thin eyebrow rose at the flatly uttered question. "I wish to serve on the bridge. In order to do that, I require a recommendation from a senior officer."

Ro nodded slowly. "Why didn't you ask Tom?" Referring to the wing commander who was T'Shanik's immediate superior.

A faint trace of dissatisfaction ghosted over T'Shanik's narrow features. "I discussed the matter with Lt. Paris, and he indicated that he would prefer I not apply for such a position at this time."

Ro grinned. "Didn't want to lose you," she translated. "I don't blame him. I'm half tempted to recruit you for security, myself. Consider it a compliment, Lieutenant."

"I do not require 'compliments'," T'Shanik predictably said. "I require a recommendation from a senior officer."

Ro considered the request for a moment as T'Shanik waited patiently. "Why do you want to be on the bridge?"

"I believe my talents are best suited for that position."

"Do you have any experience in operations?"

"Yes, I acted as an operations officer on DS12."

Ro pinned her with a sharp glance. "Why did you apply to the fighter squadron?"

"It was the last position available and seemed the best opportunity to join Millennium."

Ro was silent for a long moment as she considered the request before finally nodding. "Fine. If you want to apply for the position of ops officer on the alpha shift, you can use my name as the recommending officer. I'll be glad to offer my support."

"Thank you, Commander."

Vulcans did not smile, of course, but Ro was certain she detected a certain glow in the young woman's eyes, and she felt amused. She dipped her head in dismissal, which allowed T'Shanik to leave, undoubtedly to immediately tender her application to Commander Zar. Ro wondered if she'd be hearing from Paris in the near future. She doubted he'd be pleased that she had recommended T'Shanik for a departmental transfer, particularly since he hadn't.

She shrugged minutely. What Tom Paris did or did not want was not really her concern, and it would be that way regardless of the fact that he had once been involved with Ro's spouse. Leaving the workout area, she headed for the locker room where she showered and changed into her uniform. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her office on deck twelve, going over security reports before gratefully logging off at 1600 hours. She was discovering that being security chief, particularly on a vessel this large and devoted primarily to science, was not nearly as exciting as being assistant security chief on Voyager. She guessed that was how it was supposed to be. Instead of personally handling problems, she was delegating authority, dispatching the necessary personnel to any trouble spots, yet still required to do the paperwork. She wondered if it had been worth accepting the promotion.

Strangely dissatisfied, she entered the quarters that she shared with the chief of engineering. B'Elanna would undoubtedly be working late, and that knowledge left Ro feeling a little unsettled as well. She slipped off her tunic and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair before sinking down onto the sofa. Head back, staring a the ceiling, she tried to pin down what was bothering her. Could it have been T'Shanik's carefully controlled eagerness in taking the next step in her life? Was it possible that the youthful energy was wearing on the Bajoran?

Was Ro getting old?

She smiled crookedly, shifting her shoulders as she felt a twinge, undoubtedly from her tussle with the pilots. There had been a time when she had been a pupil rather than the teacher, and she wondered if perhaps she simply wasn't missing those simpler, more active days. There had been less authority, but on the other hand, there had been fewer responsibilities. Besides, lacking authority had never kept her from doing what she had wanted to do.

What was she missing? What was it that she felt she needed and didn't have?

The subdued hiss of the door interrupted her musing and she lifted her head, glancing over to see her spouse enter the quarters. Shorter than Ro, with a more solid build, B'Elanna Torres offered her a smile of welcome.

"Hey, lover," she greeted, immediately moving over to the couch and dropping onto the other woman, kissing her with restrained ... for B'Elanna ... enthusiasm. "How was your day?"

Ro wrapped her arms around the Klingon's body, pulling her down on top of her, snuggling into her comforting weight.

"Not bad."

B'Elanna hesitated, then lifted her head, her dark eyes studying her partner closely.

"What's wrong?"

Ro blinked. "Did I say anything was wrong?"

A smile lifted one corner of B'Elanna's expressive lips. "I know you."

Ro returned her gaze, and smiled slightly herself. "I'm not sure," she admitted finally. "I'm just feeling ... a little out of sorts. I've been sitting here trying to figure out why."

"Any conclusions?"

Ro shook her head. "None." There was a pause. "It's possible I'm just suffering from an overload of administrative duties. The only action I'm seeing is in the gym, and that's not how I envisioned my life to be."

B'Elanna nodded slowly and rolled off the Bajoran, sitting up on the other end of the couch. Linking her fingers behind her head, she looked thoughtful.

"I think I know what you mean. I spend all my time supervising my engineers. I haven't been able to rip apart anything on my own for more than a month." She pursed her lips. "We both need some action. We should assign ourselves to the next away mission rather than delegating it to someone else."

Ro lifted a brow, eyeing her in amusement. "Not exactly protocol."

B'Elanna cast a sideways glance at her, a decided glint in her eyes. "Since when have we ever done things according to protocol?"

"Good point."

Ro linked her fingers over her abdomen and felt considerably better about things. Her partner was undoubtedly correct in assessment regarding their lack of active duty in the past few months. Accepting the next away mission would probably surprise and disturb a few people on Millennium, but the two women had to have their share of excitement once in a awhile, or they would stagnate in their positions as department heads. Besides, what good was it to be of a rebellious nature if they never let loose?

"Hey."

B'Elanna nudged Ro with an elbow. The Bajoran's smile grew wider, believing she detected a decidedly lecherous note in that poke.

"What?"

"Are you really hungry, or can dinner wait a few minutes?"

Ro assumed an expression of disappointment. "Only a 'few minutes'? Is that all you're good for now that we're married?"

She heard the expected growl and abruptly, B'Elanna was on top of her again. This time, there was less playfulness and more intent in the other woman's body and mouth.

"A few minutes can last a lifetime if they're done right," the Klingon rumbled, nipping lightly at Ro's bottom lip after she had thoroughly kissed her.

"Indeed," Ro said a little breathlessly, a warm glow rising within her. With a throaty laugh, she grasped B'Elanna's arms and rolled them over, the couple falling to the floor with a muted thump. It wasn't the most comfortable spot in their quarters, but it was a horizontal surface, and for the newly married couple, that was all they required

Seven didn't say anything. She merely watched her, studying the curve of a classic cheekbone and the way the rich, auburn hair fell lightly about Janeway's face. Finally, it seemed her scrutiny penetrated the captain's concentration, and she glanced over at the Borg, her gaze faintly puzzled.

"Darling? Is something wrong?"

Seven shook her head. "No." She took a breath. "I am ... I love you."

Janeway smiled. "I love you, too."

Seven exhaled audibly, and leaned over. Initially surprised, Janeway obligingly lifted her arms out of the way, granting the younger woman access to her lap where Seven nestled her head, closing her eyes as she felt the warmth of the captain's legs beneath her cheek. Perhaps she just needed the physical contact, she decided, the knowledge that Kathryn was there, solid and warm. She wanted to be close to her partner, the actual connection of touch granting her a peace that nothing else could provide. Not a voice over a communicator, not the awareness that she was only a few decks away; just the simple reality of Janeway herself, present and immediate.

Seven closed her eyes as she felt her partner loosen the fastenings that kept her long, blonde hair under control, releasing it to fall around her head. The captain's fingers stroked through it slowly, a soothing caress of tenderness and caring.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong, love?"

"Nothing is wrong." Seven slipped her arm around Janeway's knees, hugging them. "Occasionally, I require your touch in the same manner that I require nutritional supplements. It is an essential need."

Janeway considered that, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "Do you want me to stop working?"

"No. Continue. It is enough merely to touch you."

Feeling better, though she wasn't sure why she had been feeling uncertain and frustrated in the first place, Seven settled closer to her spouse. Janeway hesitated for a moment, and then picked up her padd again, resuming her perusal of it, this time with Seven's head in her lap. The Borg closed her eyes, drifting in a comfortable place of warmth and love, feeling the day's stresses and demands drain away from her.

"This is interesting," Janeway said quietly after some time had passed.

She had not been sleeping, but Seven still required a bit of effort to return from her pleasant haze to the sharp edges of the here and now.

"Kathryn?"

"Zar has passed on an application for the alpha shift," Janeway explained. "Apparently, Lt. T'Shanik wants a transfer from the fighter wing to Ops."

Seven inhaled deeply and rose from the warm shelter of her partner's lap, sitting up straight and shaking out her shoulders. "I do not know T'Shanik as well as the other junior command officers." She lifted a brow. "Are you considering it?"

"Ro is her recommending senior officer," Janeway said thoughtfully, "which is odd since Tom is her immediate superior." She scanned the information on the padd. "She seems qualified enough as far as abilities are concerned. Of course, as Tarn proved, being on the alpha shift requires more than just ability. There are intellectual and emotional demands that some young officers have difficulty handling."

Seven forced herself to be fair. "As a Vulcan, T'Shanik will react to stressful or dangerous encounters without emotion. She performed adequately on the last away mission."

"She was one of the pilots chosen for the rescue and recovery team." Janeway leaned to the side, propping her elbow on the arm of the sofa and resting her chin on her thumb and forefinger. "She has ops experience from her time at DS12, though that station isn't exactly a hotbed of activity."

"Kathryn?"

"It's on the other side of the Federation, away from the Klingons, the Romulans and the Cardassians," Janeway explained. "I'm not even really sure why there's a station there, other than the fact it forms part of the early warning system in the event of a threat from that direction. It also supplies and services the Starfleet deep space vessels exploring that area of the quadrant."

"It sounds ... tedious."

Janeway chuckled. "It probably is. I wonder if that's why T'Shanik wrangled a transfer to Millennium. If so, then I'm not sure I need her on the alpha shift. The last thing I need is someone who is only there for the adventure."

"As Tom Paris was?" Seven asked innocently.

Janeway blinked, and then grinned. "Touché. But I think between my security chief, my chief of engineering and my first officer, that fills my quota of wildcards. Not to mention my science officer."

"She is still Vulcan," Seven reminded her.

"True." Janeway waved the padd absently with one hand. "Do you think I should give her a chance?"

"Have you not given 'chances' to others on previous occasions and been amply rewarded?"

"Some rewards were certainly greater than others," Janeway agreed lazily, eyeing her spouse with warmth and no little humor.

Despite herself, Seven felt her lips curve upward in a smile. Her arm slipped about the captain's shoulders and drew the compact body to her, hugging her as she sought out her lips. Janeway responded immediately, her mouth sweet and responsive to the Borg, full of promise, though restrained as if there were some reason to wait.

"Kathryn?"

"Hmm, you sure you don't want dinner first?" Janeway pulled back, regarding her with lidded eyes, a teasing glint gleaming in their bluish-grey depths.

"Dinner can wait," Seven said with certainty, making her spouse laugh throatily.

They kissed again, and Seven's hands roamed freely over Janeway's body, loosening the uniform tunic, pushing it off her shoulders even as the captain helped the Borg remove her own garments. There was an abortive move toward the bedroom, but desire got the better of them and they ended up on the sofa which, in the end, proved more than sufficient for their needs.

"Well," Janeway said finally, blowing a strand of perspiration-soaked hair from her face. "That was fun."

Stretched out next to the captain on the yielding cushions of the sofa, feeling quite pleased and satisfied with herself, Seven smiled. "It was."

Janeway laughed, and glanced over at her. "Now can we eat?"

Seven raised an eyebrow. "Was I keeping you from that?"

The captain nudged her. "Beast."

Seven did not lean over and nip her, but she made a motion in that direction, causing Janeway to yelp and shy away, slipping off the sofa to fall with a soft thump onto the carpeted deck. Seven watched her with interest as the captain rose to her feet, rubbing her rump.

"Are you injured?"

"Funny," Janeway said in a tone that indicated she didn't find it amusing at all as she turned and headed for the replicator. A small discoloration marked where her fundament had contacted with the deck, and Seven studied it intently as the captain programmed dinner, watching how it flexed and flowed in the swell of buttock. The amount of time it took to completely examine the anatomical area was just to be sure it wasn't a serious injury, she assured herself. It was certainly not anything prurient.

She smiled briefly and rose to her feet, scooping up the couple's scattered clothing and carrying them into the bedroom where she deposited them in the equipment replicator, recycling the uniforms for morning. Then she pulled on a robe and picked up Janeway's, carrying the garment out to the living area where the captain had placed the meal ... soup, salad and sandwiches ... on the table. Janeway accepted the terrycloth covering with a small smile, wrapping herself in its fluffy folds before sitting down.

Seven regarded her food evenly. It seemed a fairly straightforward selection. Certainly nothing that the captain could inadvertently mis-program as had happened in some of her more extravagant attempts. The Borg still didn't know how Janeway had managed to burn a pot roast on one occasion, since replicators were specifically designed to prevent that sort of thing.

The Borg tried the soup cautiously before sampling a few bites of salad. The sandwich was fairly mundane, but edible.

"I hate it when you do that."

Seven looked up, startled.

"Kathryn?"

"You always test the food when I make dinner," Janeway said in an exasperated tone. "As if I had put poison in it or something. I do know how to program a replicator. "

"Indeed. I seem to remember a meal in which you offered me small items that tasted of fastening compound."

Janeway lowered her brows and offered her a dark look. Seven returned it blandly, amused by her partner's pique.

"Escargot are supposed to taste like that."

"I see. Perhaps you could explain why they did not 'taste like that' in the restaurant we visited in Paris."

Janeway abruptly threw a piece of lettuce at her, and Seven could no longer suppress the small snicker that bubbled up from her chest. It was so much fun to tease Kathryn at times, more so because Seven was the only one on the ship who could. She also believed it was good for her partner, affording Janeway the opportunity to be playful and more honest in her emotions than she could with anyone else without it ever affecting their professional relationship. It offered the captain a freedom that few other starship commanders enjoyed.

With that in mind, Seven threw the lettuce back. She wasn't entirely clear on the purpose of pelting each other with organic material, but she was perfectly willing to participate, particularly when it made Janeway laugh in that bubbling way that could only be described as a 'giggle'. Seven found it charming, a sound that was rarely evoked in the controlled, naturally reserved captain. But once the croutons started to fly, Seven deemed that their play had escalated beyond the reasonable standards of safety. One could possibly lose an eye, after all.

Though when she made that pronouncement, it made Janeway howl with laughter, and become even more determined to target the Borg with assorted bacon bits. It was required that Seven chase the captain around the table, pick her up and carry her to the bedroom in order to bring the salad hostilities to an end. She dumped her partner onto their bed and stood looking down at her, her head tilted, wondering if her solution would be enough, or if she would be required to do something further. The captain returned her regard with a combination of amusement and lasciviousness.

"Take off your robe."

Seven lifted an eyebrow.

"Again?"

"You're not tired, are you?"

The Borg thought about it. "No." She paused, deciding that it must be the time of the month when her partner was unusually 'active', requiring more than her share of attention. "I am not tired at all."

She did wonder if they would ever get to finish dinner, however, as she slipped out of her robe and let it drop to the floor with a soft hiss of silken material.

Besides, she reminded herself wryly as she slipped from the cozy bedding, didn't you have enough last night?

In the ensuite, she showered quickly and pulled on the uniform that had been replicated for her the previous night. Squaring her shoulders beneath the grey and black padding, she quietly made her way out to the living area where she replicated a bagel and coffee. She carefully did not look at the debris scattered over most of the dining area, or the unfinished soup and sandwiches sitting on the table, congealed and cold. Otherwise, she'd be required to do a certain amount of straightening. Scraping away a piece of wilted lettuce that had adhered to her boot, she munched on the bagel between sips of life-restoring caffeine as she entered the turbolift. It carried her up to the captain's ready room, the familiar surroundings welcoming her like an old friend.

She supposed she could have waited for Seven to be up and around, possibly even sharing breakfast with her spouse before she headed off for the science labs, but the captain felt unusually energetic this day. She wanted to get an early start on her duty shift, tackle the rest of the reports waiting for her attention, and perhaps spend the afternoon conducting a tour of the ship. There was still certain areas of the large vessel with which she was unfamiliar, and personnel whom she didn't know. She had no intention of letting any opportunity pass where she could learn a little more about her crew.

The low chime of a yellow alert and a terse "captain to the bridge" a short time later interrupted her planned pursuits. A thrill of anticipation shot through her, laced with a certain amount of healthy apprehension as she rose quickly from her desk. Out on the bridge, a subtle current of electricity crackled in the atmosphere, the same sort of excitement that Janeway was feeling. She dipped her head at her first officer as she headed for the command chair which sat above and separate from the rest of the stations.

"Report."

"Long range scans have detected something odd," Zar replied as he settled into the first officer station. Behind them, the turbolift doors opened and those officers from the alpha shift not already on the bridge spilled out, heading for their stations. The slender form of Seven took her place next to Zar in the 'pit' while Ro Laren quickly relieved the ensign covering tactical.

"Could you be a little more specific?" Janeway asked dryly.

Zar shot a look at her over his shoulder. "Not at all, I'm afraid," he admitted ruefully. "It doesn't match anything we have in our data banks, nor do the sensors offer enough understandable information for us to take a guess. That's why I called the yellow alert ... just as a precaution."

Janeway nodded in approval. "Seven, can you decipher what the sensors are telling us?"

The blonde head of her spouse and science officer bent over her station, intent on the data streaming across her screen. "This..." she began, paused, then started again. "The readings are very unusual, unlike anything I have ever seen before. The energy wavelengths fluctuate in unnatural patterns."

"Unnatural?" Janeway queried, frowning at the uncertainty in Seven's tone.

Seven inhaled and turned back. "This data allows no logical conclusion," she explained as best she could. "They defy what are considered the natural laws of time and space."

"A temporal anomaly?"

"No, it is not consistent with any temporal anomaly ever encountered by Starfleet."

"What about one never before recorded?" Ro asked.

Seven shook her head, looking vaguely frustrated. "No. Although there are some readings that are consistent with temporal flux, there are others that do not exist within a temporal disruption. The two types of readings simply cannot exist at the same time. It is ... impossible."

Janeway knew how much the Borg did not want to use that last word, but clearly, it was the only one that would work. Intrigued, the captain looked at the fore viewscreen that showed a panorama of shooting stars.

"Are we close enough for a visual?"

"Coming into range now," Nog said from his helm position.

"On screen. Drop to impulse. Magnify."

"Aye, Captain."

Janeway felt the subtle little shudder vibrate through her vessel as it dropped out of warp. Few would have noticed it, but she was attuned to Millennium enough by now to detect such minute alterations in both the sound and feel of the ship. Eagerly, she waited to see what, if anything, would be revealed on the large screen before her. Her jaw loosened, but didn't quite drop as she squinted at the object that appeared, and then she had to look away as her eyes protested.

"Can you clean that up?"

"Negative," the lieutenant covering ops said, deliberately staring at his touch pad and not at the thing on the screen that squirmed and shifted in a fuzzy display of stomach-turning pyrotechnics.

"Captain, I believe ... it is a ship," Seven said.

"A ship?" Janeway echoed in disbelief. Her eyes drifted back to the screen, and was forced away again as her stomach threatened to crawl its way up her throat.

"Yes," the Borg said, head bent. "It seems to exist in all regions of space -- normal space, hyperspace, subspace and hyper-subspace -- at the same time."

"Is that possible?" Zar asked in wonder.

"No." Seven paused. "Nonetheless, it does."

"Captain, I've been working on some of these readings on the communications channel," Ro said. "I think we're detecting a distress call."

"Profit knows, I'd be distressed on a ship like that."

Janeway heard the murmur from Lt Nog, but since it obviously was not meant for public consumption, she ignored it.

"Can you hail them?" the captain asked, wondering who ... or what ... 'them' might be.

"I have no idea," Ro said honestly. "I've sent out a reply on every band I can think of, but there's no way of knowing if it's being received." Normally, it would be ops looking after the communication, but with an untried officer at that post during a yellow alert, Ro was handling that task as a tactical procedure.

Zar lifted his head. "Can a transporter send a signal through?"

Janeway felt a flicker of interest. Beam over to the vessel? Would the interior be anything like the exterior?

"I ... don't know," Ro answered. "It shouldn't work, but with this... I'll try sending a probe."

"Good idea," Janeway seconded. "Do it."

The Millennium crew waited as the Bajoran retrieved a sensor probe from stores and transported it into the vessel. There was a terse silence as the moments passed and data began to stream into their various stations.

"This is unbelievable," Nog muttered.

Similar expressions of disbelief and uncertainty echoed throughout the bridge. Janeway frowned as she studied the readings on the small screen attached to the arm of her chair.

"Is this accurate?"

"Apparently, the interior of the vessel is of standard humanoid design," Seven replied in a tone that didn't sound completely certain. "There is an area located on the upper part of the vessel that corresponds with a bridge. The distress call appears to be originating from there."

What she didn't add, Janeway noted, was that the upper part of the vessel, at least on the outside, appeared to randomly shift places with the bottom and the sides on a regular basis. Inside, the readings were steady.

"Earth-type atmosphere," Ro reported. "Within 97%. Interior structure is composed of substances standard for a Federation cargo vessel."

"It's just the outside that's weird," Nog said. "Propulsion seems to be standard warp and impulse drives fueled by dilithium and deuterium."

"It's possible the exterior is fake," Ro offered.

"Some sort of illusion, set up to confuse sensor readings?" Janeway asked curiously.

"Perhaps," the security chief said. "It could be some sort of defense measure. How do you target weapons on something that is neither here nor there?"

"Can we beam an away team over?" Zar had the same data on his station, of course. The question was to get the opinions from the rest of the bridge crew who may have had different ways of interpreting the data.

"Yes." Ro hesitated. "We receiving a hail from the vessel, data stream only. They request our assistance in..." She frowned. "Realigning the oogle fluxtran."

"Excuse me?" Janeway eyed her security chief oddly, as if she had just grown another head.

"I'm sorry, Captain, that's what it translates to," the Bajoran explained. "I'm not able to get a visual or audio link. Just a request over and over to assist in mechanical repairs."

Zar stood up. "Captain, I think we should send over an away team."

"I agree." Janeway also stood. "But I'll be leading it."

She was amused to see the expression that crossed Zar's boney features, matching that on Seven's face as the Borg turned around, staring over her shoulder at her spouse.

"Captain, may I speak to you a moment in your ready room?" Zar asked after a brief pause of shock and dismay.

Janeway smiled widely at him. "Sorry, Zar, there's not going to be any discussion about this." She glanced around the bridge. "Seven, you're with me." There was no need to ask about a security detail. Ro had already risen from her seat at tactical, moving toward the rear of the bridge. It was understood by all concerned that if the captain was about to leave her vessel, the security chief would be the one assigned to her protection. "Commander, you have the bridge."

"Captain..." he began, obviously unwilling to let it go. She shot him a look and he subsided. The line between a first officer's duty to protect the captain and actual insubordination could sometimes be thin indeed. Zar was having difficulty tiptoeing along it at the moment, and Janeway's expression convinced him that he had taken it as far as he could. "Aye, Captain," he said in a resigned tone, knowing when he was beaten.

She offered him a smile. "You can't have the fun all the time, Zar," she said by way of a parting reassurance as she stepped into the turbolift. From his facial features, she knew he wanted to argue that point at length. "Assemble the rest of the team in transporter room one. I'll need a medical officer and an engineer."

The doors slid shut on his dismayed assent, and she resisted another smile as the turbolift began to descend.

"Captain," Seven began. "If I may..."

"Unless you have something scientific to offer, Lieutenant," Janeway interjected pleasantly, "you may not." She paused. "Be grateful I'm bringing you along rather than leaving you on the ship."

Seven inhaled slowly, her eyes dark and unhappy, but she didn't say anything. Janeway knew that was only because of the uniform and the fact they were both on duty. She could expect plenty to be said the second they returned to their quarters and shut the rest of the ship out, but she had accepted that necessity when she made the decision to lead the away mission. She did want to tell her spouse that she felt a great deal better about Seven's presence on the away mission on this occasion because she was there to watch her back, but she didn't think it would go over well.

In the transporter room, Janeway was greeted by the bright face of B'Elanna Torres, the studious features of Lt. T'Shanik, and the less than enthusiastic mien of her Chief Medical Officer.

"Dr. Pulaski?"

"Kathryn, we really need to talk about this," Pulaski said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm too old to be running around on away missions."

"Then why are you here?" Janeway asked as the others on the team gathered the equipment they thought might be required, from engineering tools to tricorders.

"Protocol." Pulaski almost spit out the words. "When the captain is insane enough to want to lead the away mission, then the CMO has to go along to make sure the best medical care is available." She paused. "What are you doing, Kathryn?"

Janeway eyed her, then grinned. "Doctor, this is how it always used to be; forging into the unknown, boldly going ... the captain was always first into any situation, along with his or her senior officers. You know that."

"There's a reason that's now the exception instead of the rule," Pulaski grumbled. "More often than not, the captains and senior officers who made a habit of being on the preliminary away missions were dog meat."

Janeway wanted to laugh out loud at the consternation in her CMO's tone, but she didn't. Instead, she patted the doctor on the arm. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," she told her kindly. "Delegate it to one of the other medical officers."

Pulaski snorted. "Leave you to wander around down there without my services? Lewis would never let me hear the end of it."

Janeway wondered when the Emergency Medical Hologram's opinion had become so important to Pulaski, but didn't pursue the point. "All right, people," she said as she took her place on the transporter pad. "Let's do this." She nodded at the transporter operator. "Energize."

Materializing in a room very similar to the one she left, though much smaller, Janeway stepped off the raised dais and glanced back to meet the startled eyes of T'Shanik. The captain supposed the Vulcan would find it a source of personal dishonor that she had lost enough composure to display her shock. Janeway had no such disinclination.

"Where the hell is the rest of the away team?"

B'Elanna Torres took a step and fell flat on her face. The surface underfoot was slick and smooth, similar to wet ice and offering little in the way of traction. Milky white, it was shot through with dull streaks of blues and reds, as if some type of dirt or debris had been trapped within as it formed. The carryall containing all her engineering equipment promptly shot across the surface as she lost her grip, disappearing into the gloom that surrounded the area where they had materialized. It wasn't quite fog, since that was comprised of water vapor and there was little moisture here, but neither was it smoke. It was thick, and cut their visibility down to only a few meters in any direction. There was also an odd smell in the air, dry and slightly arid, though it was not so strong as to cause them difficulty in breathing.

"Are you all right?" Ro helped her partner up, her feet instinctively spread to distribute her weight and maintain her balance.

"What happened?" the Klingon demanded breathlessly, dark eyes darting around in alarm and surprise. "Where's the captain and the rest of the team?"

"I don't know." Ro drew her phaser from her tunic, looking around alertly. Once B'Elanna was back on her feet, the Bajoran released her arm and tapped her comm badge. "Ro to Captain Janeway." She paused. "Ro to away team. Anyone, please respond." Silence greeted her hail, and she tapped it once more. "Away team to Millennium."

"It's transmitting over my comm badge," B'Elanna determined, looking down at her chest. "They appear to be working properly."

"But there's no way of knowing if it's transmitting to the communicators of our missing crewmembers," Ro said grimly. She pulled out her tricorder and began to scan the surrounding area. "We're definitely not where the probe is. In fact, according to this, we're on a planetary surface."

"That's what I'm detecting as well," B'Elanna agreed, frowning as she thumped her own tricorder as if the physical intimidation would somehow change the readings to something she would like better. "The sensors can't detect which star system we're in. It's almost as if the range stops abruptly about four hundred meters up."

Ro's brows were drawn together. "The density of the cloud cover may be responsible. I'm detecting unusual particles in the air around us. They may also preventing a hail from reaching Millennium ... assuming it and we are still in the same area of space."

B'Elanna knelt down, scanning the slick surface beneath her. "This isn't ice," she said, moving her tricorder slowly over the flat material. She placed her hand against it. It was cool, but no cooler than a floor or ship deck would be. "I'll be damned if I know what it is. The elemental composition doesn't make any sense."

Ro looked around. "I know the readings are telling us we're outside on the planet's surface, but I feel as if we're in a large room. There's no wind, no sense of being outside at all."

"I know." B'Elanna exhaled uneasily, and lifted her tricorder to scan the surrounding area again, trying to enhance the readings with more extensive and detailed sensor programming. It continued to indicate the couple was located on a large plain beneath a dense, planetary atmosphere. She grunted briefly in surprise as something caused her tricorder to give a series of beeps. "I'm reading an energy source, approximately six-point-five kilometers from this position. It wasn't there a second ago."

Ro glanced at her. "I'm detecting it as well. We should head in that direction. Perhaps something is preventing us from communicating or detecting the other team members, but if they're here and they detect the same energy readings, they'll probably head for it."

"I agree." B'Elanna took a step forward, skidded slightly, and for a frantic second, it took her arms waving wildly about until she was once more balanced precariously.

Ro glanced at B'Elanna worriedly. "Can you walk at all?"

B'Elanna very cautiously took another step, doing her best to compensate for the slick surface under her boots. "Slowly," she said. "Very slowly."

"Hmm." Ro wasn't pleased at their lack of mobility, but having to deal with the situation as it was. "We'll take care. First, we need to retrieve your equipment."

"It landed over there," the engineer said, gesturing with her arm.

Ro followed behind B'Elanna as the Klingon minced her way through the murk, searching for her carryall. The bag had skidded much further than she had anticipated, and she was about to believe it had disappeared altogether before she finally saw the dark lump through the dimness. She unwisely hastened her pace as she saw it and ended up closing the rest of the distance to it on her behind, colliding with it as she slowly slid to a stop.

Ro was not smiling as she made her way more slowly over to where B'Elanna was sitting on the ground, but there was a faint glint of amusement in the Bajoran's gaze. A low growl rumbled up from the Klingon's chest and Ro made a visible effort to maintain a straight face.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," B'Elanna grumbled. "Just fine."

With a tricorder in one hand and her phaser in the other, Ro could not help her spouse up this time. Instead, she kept watch as the Klingon scrambled to her feet, her eyes peering keenly through the murk. Abruptly, she raised her phaser. "What was that?"

B'Elanna, sliding the strap of the carryall over her shoulder, glanced at her. "What was what?" She checked her tricorder. "I'm not reading anything."

"I thought I saw something," Ro said tersely, slowly turning in a circle. "A movement of some kind."

B'Elanna slipped her tricorder back into the loop on her tunic and drew her phaser. The pair settled quickly and instinctively into a position of defense, back to back, facing out as they scanned the surrounding area. B'Elanna didn't even think about her spouse positioning herself at her back. There was just the sensation of warmth against her tunic that let her know there would be no danger from that direction. She need only concern herself with the 180 degree arc in front of her.

There. A shadow ghosting through the mist, a brief flicker of motion that made the hair on the back of B'Elanna's neck rise. She raised her phaser, trying to target it through the fog.

"There," she said in a quiet tone, carefully controlled. "To my right going around."

"Tracking," Ro said tightly as she picked up the motion. There was a pause, then the ruby beam from the security chief's phaser lanced out. There was a sound, a brief squeak as if in surprise, and then silence.

Breathless, the two women waited. Time passed with agonizing slowness as they tried to pierce the murk with their senses, ears straining to detect any further sound, eyes blinking rapidly as they peered anxiously through the gloom. Finally, Ro reached back, tapping B'Elanna on the hip to indicate she was going to move. The Klingon slowly turned as Ro moved away, covering the Bajoran with her phaser as Ro stepped gingerly toward the area where she thought she had last seen the movement. B'Elanna saw the blurred form of her partner stop and look down at the surface, studying it intently. Then Ro glanced around once before making her way back.

"Nothing," she reported as she joined the engineer. "There are marks. Someone ... or something ... was there, but they seem to be gone now."

B'Elanna hesitated before nodding. That was the sense she had as well, that whatever it had been was gone, swallowed up in the fog as if it had never been. Whether she could trust that or not, she wasn't sure, but she did trust her partner's keen instincts as a security officer.

"Let's go."

B'Elanna started to and promptly fell again, the soles of her boots unable to find secure footing on the slick surface. She bit off her curse and dug into her bag, determined to fix the problem.

"What are you doing?" Ro asked as B'Elanna brought out a variety of small fastenings and bolts, testing them against the surface. Those that marred the perfection of the polished white were put aside while the rest were tossed back into the equipment bag.

"Finding us some traction," B'Elanna said shortly. She studied the results of her testing closely, selected a handful of fastenings that offered the best results. Alternating her attention between the Klingon and the surrounding gloom, Ro stood guard as B'Elanna slid off her boots and attached the tiny metal bits to the smooth soles with another tool she drew from the depths of her bag. When she was finished, she stood up and walked several paces, finding her footing had improved immeasurably.

"Good work," Ro said approvingly.

"Take off your boots," B'Elanna said, feeling rather pleased with herself.

After the engineer had rigged Ro's boots, the pair resumed their journey, following the mysterious energy readings on their tricorders though the deepening gloom.

"I think it's getting dark," B'Elanna said after a kilometer or so had passed.

"I think so, too." Ro glanced to the slightly brighter glow in the distance. There was no way of knowing if it was originating with the system's primary star, or simply a light source of some kind, but she eyed it as she would a sun, judging how much 'daylight' they had left. "It could be our imagination."

"Do you think we'll have to stop for the night? Visibility is bad now. It'll be impossible in the dark."

"We should arrive at the coordinates soon. I just don't know what we're going to discover at this location, and how much time will be required to deal with it."

B'Elanna nodded uncomfortably. "I understand." She paused. "Do you think the rest are all right?"

"There's no way of knowing. But since we're relatively unharmed, we might be able to go with the assumption that the rest of the team is also fine."

"Or we might be the only survivors."

Ro's jaw tightened. "Or we might be the only survivors."

The confirmation hardly comforted the Klingon, and her expression assumed a grim seriousness as they continued to plod through the unchanging and terribly tedious landscape. Their boots made scraping sounds as the fastenings bit into the smoothness beneath them, unpleasant to the ear and serving to make the journey more irritating. B'Elanna, who was gravely worried about her friends and crewmates, tried not to let it get the best of her, checking the growl that kept rising in her throat.

As they closed in on the energy readings, they began to see something through the mist, a darker area against the murk. They slowed, spreading out a little as they raised their phasers, their strides becoming shorter, and more cautious. Moving closer, they discovered it was a structure of some kind, an obelisk rising from the smooth ground for several meters, disappearing into the mist above their heads. It appeared to be made of some black marble, polished with a subtle glow that seemed to come from within the stone.

"The energy readings are definitely originating from here," Ro said quietly as they slowly circled it. The base, tapering as it rose, was perfectly square, approximately six meters wide.

"No sign of entry," B'Elanna reported tersely. She scanned the monument intently, running through every sensor procedure she could think of, assimilating as much data about the structure as possible. "No indication of its function or purpose. No sign that any of our crewmembers have been here."

"Any idea what the energy readings are?" Ro stood back a little and remained on guard as B'Elanna examined the obelisk.

"Not a clue." The engineer had never felt so baffled by something in all her life. It wasn't that the technology she was facing was more advanced than she could figure out ... it was so different that it didn't seem like technology at all. Were she more superstitious, she'd have called it magic. What it really meant, of course, was that her tricorder simply lacked the necessary programming to decipher the information it was gathering.

She found a panel on one side, a small rectangle set into the stone. Only the faintest line indicated its presence and it was the chance trick of the light that allowed her to detect it. The tricorder had not picked it up at all. She focused her attention on it, trying to figure out why it was there, and what made it different from the rest of the stone. Her tricorder useless, she put her hand against the smooth surface, chill beneath her skin, and felt a very subtle vibration against her fingertips. When she withdrew them uncertainly, the rectangle began to glow brighter than the rest of the monument.

"What's happening?" Ro demanded, moving closer.

"Damned if I know," B'Elanna answered, almost absently as she touched it again. There was a brief flash of light, a jolt that crackled up her arm and knocked her back. She lost her footing on the smooth surface and stumbled to the ground, landing on her backside.

She shook her head woozily, blinking in confusion as Ro knelt next to her, peering into her face anxiously.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so," B'Elanna said after a moment. Odd concepts and procedures raced around her mind, colliding and bouncing off each other like some mad billiard game, making it difficult to think clearly. Eventually, her brain started to sort them out, to put them into some kind of coherent order. "I think I just accessed the instruction manual."

"The what?" Ro's eyes were dark and concerned as she stared at her partner.

"The manual for this thing." B'Elanna used her hands to lever herself to her feet. She was dimly aware of Ro's hand under her elbow, helping her the rest of the way up. "I think it just gave me the schematics for the obelisk as well as what I'm supposed to do."

"What's that?"

"Realign the oogle fluxtran."

Ro blinked. "That's what the distress call said. What does it mean?"

"I have no idea, but somehow, that manual taught me how to do it, and from what I also picked up from the information it dumped in my head, it's going to take awhile. I'd better get started before we lose what little light we have."

And she set to work, removing the panel easily now that she knew how, and pulling out the tools she needed from her carryall. She hardly noticed Ro's stunned expression, or the dark edge of fear that was beginning to taint the Bajoran's eyes.

"I don't suppose you have any idea where we are?" Pulaski gazed about gloomily.

Seven eyed her. "No. These are the coordinates of the unknown vessel, but clearly, this is not a starship."

"I think I figured out that much. How did we end up on a planet?"

"Unknown," Seven said, studying her readings.

"Could this be a holodeck of some kind?"

Seven did several scans which were designed to determine just that theory.

"No," she said finally. "This is a natural planetary surface."

"So where are the others?"

Seven began to feel annoyed with the doctor, but she controlled it, shoving it deep inside her. This was no time to let her emotions get the better of her, particularly since she recognized that most of her irritation actually stemmed from her fear over her partner's whereabouts.

"Unknown. The scans detect no intelligent life-forms other than ourselves."

Pulaski was silent for a moment, absorbing that. "What do we do now?"

Seven lifted a brow in surprise. "You are the ranking officer."

Pulaski made a face. "Perhaps officially, but I haven't been on an away mission since I left the Enterprise. That was more than a decade ago. I'm more than glad to leave this show in your hands."

"Very well," Seven said, finding the argument logical, as well as reasonable. She checked her readings once more. "I am detecting an energy source approximately five kilometers due north. We must determine what is causing it."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Pulaski lifted her chin. "After you, Lieutenant."

The coastline curved to the south, forcing the two women to cut inland once they reached the jagged rock formation some distance down the beach. It looked vaguely like one Seven had seen before, on another beach on another planet in another quadrant. It triggered a memory of her and the captain kissing beneath an alien sun, and worry for her spouse rose sharp and acid in her throat. She tried to shove it aside, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, the sand dragging at her ankles as she and the doctor trudged down the alien shore. When they closed on the rock outcropping, Seven began to look for a break in the jungle that crowded the beach. She detected an opening where a small stream trickled into the ocean, and decided that would be their best route for penetrating the interior. She did take the time to wonder why it seemed as if she was always slogging through dense vegetation during away missions. At this point, it was becoming very tedious.

The jungle closed in around them, making the air seem even thicker and harder to breathe. Their uniforms snagged on thorns and vines, while around their heads, tiny insects swarmed. They didn't bite, perhaps because of the difference in biologies. Seven was grateful for that much, since the away team had not prepared for planetary conditions. Then it began to rain, fat droplets falling from the sky into the foliage overhead and dripping down onto the Starfleet officers with splattering intensity.

"Damn it," Pulaski muttered. "I can't believe I volunteered for this. I must have been out of my mind."

Seven decided that did not warrant a response. Instead, she shook her head to dislodge the beads of water on her face, finding the rain a refreshing change from the oppressive heat on the beach as she continued forging a path through the thick vegetation. There was a tiny bit of relief when they reached what appeared to be a trail of some kind, and the going became easier. Seven became wary. Anything that could cut this large a trail through the jungle was probably something that the pair wanted to avoid. She listened intently, her Borg-enhanced hearing pitched to as wide a decibel range as possible to make sure they would not be surprised by the approach of any creature.

Pulaski slapped her neck, killing a particularly persistent bug, and muttered a curse. "How much further?"

At this pace, it will take us approximately four point three hours," Seven said, trying to inject some encouragement in her voice.

Pulaski groaned and Seven glanced back at her. The doctor's grey hair lay limply in damp curls about her face that was bright pink with exertion. Seven was reminded that the CMO was much older than she, and probably did not possess much in the way of endurance. When they came to a stream, the young woman paused, bending down to scan the clear water with her tricorder. Pulaski, her breathing accelerated, leaned wearily against a tree.

Seven lifted a brow. "My scans indicate that this water is safe for Humanoid consumption. We will rest here for fifteen minutes."

"Thank God," the doctor said and slumped onto a rock next to the cheerfully burbling brook, reaching down to scoop up a handful of water that she drank noisily.

Seven eyed her worriedly a few moments before moving away to take more readings of their surroundings. The rain had settled into a steady downpour, and Seven began to find it uncomfortable. She decided that whatever the energy reading proved to be, she would build some kind of shelter at that point and spend the night. It was clear that the doctor simply could not tolerate any kind of sustained exploration over terrain this rough.

For a moment, she allowed thoughts of her partner to fill her mind, her concern filling her chest in a most unpleasant manner. She had not wanted Janeway to lead this mission, and her fears had proved justified. There was simply no such thing as a standard away mission when the captain was involved. Seven was not of the belief that her spouse courted trouble, but it certainly had a way of finding the dynamic redhead.

In spades.

Seven drifted back to the small clearing by the stream, noting that the doctor seemed to be breathing a bit easier. Pulaski was huddled against a boulder, using a large leaf taken from a nearby tree to cover her head and try to keep the rain off. Seven knelt beside the older woman, regarding her steadily.

"Doctor, can you continue?"

She considered the possibility that she would have to move on without the medical officer, just as protocol dictated. For some reason, that thought made her very uncomfortable, and she decided that she would not follow such procedure even if the situation required it. Starfleet rules and regulations were one thing. Reality was something else, and Seven knew that she could not leave Pulaski behind. If necessary, she would carry the doctor, though that would lessen the chances of the successful completion of their mission, whatever it was at this point. Seven supposed that finding the source of the energy readings was merely the first step in returning to Millennium, which was her ultimate goal, and she would do that with Pulaski, or perish in the attempt.

Janeway would expect no less of her. She certainly expected no less from herself.

Pulaski managed a small smile. "I'm coming," she said in a grating voice. "Just give me another minute."

"I will spare you another three," Seven said calmly, "but we must move on at that point. Any longer, and you will be in risk of contracting hypothermia if you remain still. Activity will keep you warm."

"Who's the doctor here, you or me?" Pulaski grumbled.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "It is my understanding that doctors make the worst patients. I now comprehend where that saying originates."

Pulaski tilted her head, her smile widening. "Was that a joke?"

Seven dipped her head. "A small one."

"Good for you." Pulaski reached out a hand. Obligingly, Seven grasped it firmly and helped the doctor to her feet. Pulaski grunted involuntarily, but when the Borg turned to enter the jungle once more, the doctor followed readily enough. This time, Seven maintained a slower pace, conscious of her responsibility to her companion. It would mean that they would not reach the coordinates in her initial estimated time of arrival, but they would reach them eventually, and Seven determined that was all that was truly important.

"I bet you're sorry that of all the members of the away team, you got stuck with me," Pulaski said some time later. They had been toiling up an incline, grasping at the branches around them to aid in their climb. At the crest, Seven halted for another rest period.

The Borg shook her head. "On the contrary, doctor. I am the best equipped to take care of you. If necessary, I am capable of carrying you the rest of the way."

Pulaski looked vaguely alarmed at the suggestion. "Let's not. I may be old but I'm not so decrepit yet that I need to be carried like a child."

Seven was puzzled. "Why does the concept disturb you?"

Pulaski stared at her. "It just does, Seven. No one likes to feel helpless, and as one becomes older, it becomes a more tangible reality."

"Indeed," Seven said, considering it. "Is it not an irrational fear?"

Pulaski lifted her chin. "I remember a certain Borg being confined to sickbay not so long ago as we completed her treatment. She didn't make the best patient either."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgment of her impatient demeanor at the time, smiling faintly.

"Kathryn doesn't like being helpless either," Pulaski continued in an even tone. "She never has."

"No, she does not," Seven agreed readily. "She struggles greatly against any indication of such perception."

"That's why she doesn't like you going off on away missions, you know," Pulaski said, studying the Borg narrowly. Seven wondered what sort of information the doctor was attempting to elicit from her, detecting an uncommon interest in her expression. "She feels helpless remaining on the ship while you face all the risks."

"I am aware of that, but it is my duty to conduct away missions as chief science officer. Occasionally, such missions may prove dangerous."

"I just wanted to be sure you understood why the captain becomes so ... contrary ... when you're required to leave the ship."

"Contrary," Seven repeated, tasting the word and finding it appropriate. It made her feel amused. "That is a good description of why she insisted on leading this mission. She believes that her physical presence will somehow insure my safety." She exhaled. "In some ways, it is not necessarily a measure of her love for me. Such protectiveness is often an indication of her need to control her surroundings."

Pulaski chuckled. "Kathryn does like being in control. That's probably why she became a starship captain."

Seven knew the older woman was a good friend of her spouse, but she was starting to become uncomfortable at sharing so much personal information about Janeway.

"In any event, it is her nature to be as she is." Seven glanced at the doctor. "I love and accept her nature."

Pulaski smiled faintly. "I can take a hint. "I just ... Kathryn and I have talked recently, and I wanted you to know that she's aware it's a problem. She can't always keep her instincts to protect you in their proper perspective, but she does try."

"Are you concerned that it would cause an irreconcilable difference between us?" Seven asked dryly. "It will not. I knew who Kathryn was when I married her. Certainly, she has improved greatly in the time we have been together, and I trust that she will improve in the future. Her sense of protectiveness does not adversely affect my feelings for her. Indeed, on occasion, they intensify such emotions."

"All right," Pulaski said, holding up her hands in surrender. "You know best."

"I appreciate your concern."

Pulaski rolled her eyes. "I don't why I bother," she admitted. "I'm the last person who should meddle in someone else's relationship."

Seven was about to ask why she did, then, but hesitated, realizing that perhaps that was better left unspoken. Tact was not her strongest trait, but she was learning. She supposed that she should simply be grateful that Janeway had someone she could talk to about her personal life, even if that meant Seven would be forced into uncomfortable conversations with them. Certainly, Janeway had experienced her share of confrontations with Seven's friends, from Tuvok to B'Elanna, who seemed unable to keep from voicing their opinion about the couple's marriage. Perhaps that was what friends were for.

Another hour brought them to another clearing. In the center, a large, black obelisk stretched into the sky, like a finger pointing to the heavens. Intrigued, Seven ran scans over the surface as Pulaski wearily found a nearby boulder, taking the time to rest as the Borg carried out her investigations.

"Be careful," she suggested.

Seven glanced at her, finding the comment mildly irritating, before returning her attention back to the smooth black surface, searching for a break in the material. She finally found a small panel on one side, and without hesitation, she placed her hand against it. The resulting jolt knocked her off her feet. When she came to, Pulaski was kneeling over her, peering down into her face anxiously.

"Are you all right, Seven? What the hell kind of dumb-fool stunt was that, anyway?"

Seven did not answer as she gingerly sat up. Her mind was filled with a wealth of new information about the structure looming above her, as well as the situation in which they had found themselves.

"Fascinating," she said, much to the doctor's great bemusement. "Absolutely fascinating."

"So it seems."

The captain glanced down at her tricorder, annoyed and disturbed to see that it wasn't functioning. In fact, the device, along with their communicators, had not worked since materializing in the small transporter room, although the phasers seemed to work normally, as a brief test on a wall proved. Lacking any other information, the two women had set off to explore their surroundings, searching for the crew of what they thought had been a starship.

Featureless halls had led to small, deserted rooms that offered no clue as to who or what had built and operated the construct. Instinctively traveling upward in an attempt to find the bridge, they had instead found the building's main floor. Large windows ... the first they had encountered ... fronted what was apparently a lobby, and through the transparencies, the captain could see a clearing lined with fruit-bearing trees. Beyond a small, rectangular patio, the manicured grass was a deep emerald, lush and inviting, dotted randomly with what appeared to be octangular paving stones similar to those in the patio. It was quite beautiful, sparkling with dew even though the low cloud cover did not allow much sunlight to brighten the inviting green.

"There were no planets in the vicinity of Millennium," T'Shanik offered. "Obviously, the transporter malfunctioned."

"Or the ship's sensors did," Janeway agreed absently as she cautiously approached the doorway and peered out at the emerald expanse. At the far end, rising like a monument of some kind, a slender, black structure rose into the sky. "Perhaps it was always a planet within the energy readings and we merely interpreted it to be a vessel."

T'Shanik did not look as if she agreed with the captain, but she did not say anything. Janeway glanced around the lobby, trying to find some indication of who might have owned the building. The walls and single counter were constructed of something with the properties of white metal or stone, hard and cool to the touch. Within the milky surface, there were streaks of red and blue, almost as if an imperfection in the processing had allowed something to become trapped within a liquid medium as it hardened, sealing in the streaks of color for all eternity. Above the door, there was a line of engraved symbols, perhaps writing of some kind. Without thinking, Janeway raised her tricorder, momentarily forgetting that it was no longer working, as she attempted to scan the etchings. To her surprise, it gave an obliging beep and began the scan.

"Our tricorders are working now," she announced with a sense of relief. Swiftly, she tapped her comm badge. "This is the captain. Away team, please respond."

T'Shanik lifted her tricorder, peering at the readings uncertainly. Janeway tapped her communicator again, realizing with a sinking sensation that although it sounded as if it were working now, there was no answering signal. The rest of the away team was not responding.

Or could not respond.

Swallowing hard, Janeway composed her features into a stone mask of command and joined T'Shanik in the doorway. Her worry for her partner and the others on the away mission was placed to the back of her mind, shoved aside by her command presence that prioritized with brutal efficiency, not allowing any personal concern to interfere with what needed to be done.

"Captain, there appears to be some kind of barrier encircling the planet," the young Vulcan reported as she slowly stepped outside, turning in a circle. "My tricorder has scanned the planet's surface and has not detected any of our crewmates."

"I have the same results," Janeway said, frowning as she joined her on the patio. "These readings are odd, though. I don't know that we can rely on them.

"Captain! The entrance." There was the faintest trace of anxiety in T'Shanik's voice.

Janeway whirled and was horrified to see that the door to the structure had slid silently shut behind them. Immediately, both women rushed to the entrance but there was no automated response, nor was there any indication of admittance controls. The captain didn't curse, but only because she had a junior officer in her presence. Had it been Seven accompanying her on the away mission, she would have muttered a string of invectives that would have singed the air around them. She did allow herself to slap the smooth stone before she exhaled audibly and turned from the door. She gazed at the obelisk at the far end of the lawn.

"Perhaps we should check that out." As she began to step forward off the pavement that fronted the structure and onto the grass, T'Shanik's hand snagged her arm, barely in time to tug her violently back onto the patio.

Shocked, not only at the unexpected and most presumptuous touch between a junior officer and a captain, but at the sheer fact that a Vulcan would actually choose to initiate that physical contact, Janeway stared at T'Shanik.

"My apologies, Captain," the young woman said, dropping her hand instantly. A slight trace of distaste crossed her expression, though Janeway didn't take offense. Vulcans were psychically sensitive, and physical contact, particularly with Humans, was actually painful to them, resulting in a rush of uncontrolled emotion being transmitted to their senses. It required a very disciplined Vulcan to tolerate contact with other species, and even among those who were close friends with Humans, it took a great deal of acceptance from them to allow casual touch.

"Lieutenant?"

"It is the vegetation, Captain," T'Shanik said, tilting her tricorder slightly so that Janeway could see the readings on the tiny viewscreen. The captain felt an icy chill go through her, and she glanced back at the manicured lawn that no longer looked so inviting. Suddenly, it seemed as if the sky had grown darker, and the slight breeze that had been blowing from the forest, carrying the scent of growing things, felt very damp and unpleasant.

Janeway looked around and found a small twig near her feet. There were absolutely no loose branches or fallen leaves where the grass grew, she noted sickly as she knelt by the edge of the stone. She placed one end of the twig against the green, and there was an immediate sound of sizzling, smoke wafting from the wood. She dropped it quickly, the twig falling onto the grass where it bubbled and hissed and finally dissipated, leaving no trace.

"Acid of some kind," she said quietly, noting the small, clear droplet exuding from the tip of each blade of grass. Not dew after all, she determined. It also explained the carefully manicured appearance of the lawn where no debris could remain. She straightened gingerly, careful to step back from the deadly lawn which, she noted, surrounded the small haven of patio in all directions for several meters. It even ran along the sides of the building, preventing them from going in that direction.

"Our boots might be able to withstand it for a period of time, but I wouldn't like to rely on that theory." She looked at the trees, wondering how they managed to survive, and then realized that the turf around their trunks was a darker shade of green. Perhaps it was a different species of grass, preventing the acidic version from reaching the trees, or perhaps the trees themselves exuded some form of sap, a counter to the acid, neutralizing it and the grass, allowing it to grow around them but in a harmless form. In any event, she didn't think she could get close enough to find out.

She lifted her tricorder. "I'm detecting unusual energy readings from the obelisk. I want to get over there. Suggestions?" She raised an eyebrow at the young woman.

"Perhaps the paving stones?" T'Shanik offered blandly.

Janeway grinned faintly and stepped carefully onto the nearest stone, then onto the next one, the young woman a step behind. On the eighth stone, there was a sound from the obelisk, a sort of grinding as if from a mechanism that had not been used in some time. Janeway stopped, peering in that direction. A subdued glow appeared in a slot near the tip, then abruptly, a bolt of energy was launched in the general vicinity of the two women.

Janeway let out an involuntary yelp as she whirled, intent on returning to the building behind them, hoping to find some sort of cover there. T'Shanik was already running, jumping from stone to stone as the bolts impacted the ground around them, sending up divots of turf and dirt to sprinkle them with a deadly rain of acid-bearing vegetation. Just before she reached the patio, T'Shanik slipped and put a foot into the grass. Silently, the Vulcan lunged the final distance between her and safety, falling and rolling on the pavement as she wrenched off her boot and tossed it away from her. It skidded to a halt against the wall of the building, bubbling and hissing as a thin, grey smoke wafted from it.

Janeway managed to avoid the grass, but she provided a mad twisting dance when she reached the patio. Ripping off her tunic, she used it to brush away the pieces of turf that had impacted her, and then did the same for T'Shanik. Belatedly, she became aware that the covering fire from the obelisk had ceased as soon as they had returned to the patio. Breathing heavily, Janeway looked at the tall spire of black that now seemed so unobtainable,