• This is the 15th installment in the Millennium series.
• Dedicated to Dru and Susan.
• It was posted to the net on July 21, 2004.

Persistent Priorities
G. L. Dartt

She rolled over, stretching out a hand to encounter the still warm area on the mattress next to her. A smile edged her lips, tinged with regret for the lost opportunity for early morning delight, but warm with love and contentment. She listened intently for the moment, trying to detect some noise that indicated her spouse was still home, but finally realized by the lateness of the hour that he was most likely on his way to San Francisco by now.

Inhaling slowly, she stretched luxuriously on the bed before finally rising, moving over to the window where she drew back the curtains. A light mist hung low over the fields, hovering over the still stalks of green and granting an almost mystical air to the Midwestern farmland. From the garden by the house, just below her bedroom window, the scent of blooming roses filled her nostrils.

Gretchen Patterson enjoyed the view for a moment, feeling renewed as always by her close connection to the land, before she moved away from the window and into the bathroom connected to the house's main bedroom. Two fresh towels lay neatly on the toilet tank, thoughtfully put out for her by her husband who had cleaned up after his earlier ablutions. Smiling fondly, she drew back the glass doors leading into the shower and turned on the taps, stepping under the gush of hot water. Twenty minutes later, she was back in the bedroom, pulling on a pair of simple denim trousers and a tan, short-sleeved shirt cut in a western style.

Downstairs, she discovered that Michael had left out the toaster and hadn't put away the bread, but since she intended to use both, she supposed she couldn't fault him for it. It was still an adjustment having someone around after so long without, but she was becoming accustomed to it after almost two years of marriage. She supposed that he was still adjusting as well.

As she retrieved some eggs from the refrigerator, she noticed a lone figure crossing the lawn and took out a few more. Phoebe had developed the habit of having breakfast with her mother ever since her return from Paris a month or so earlier. Gretchen suspected it was part of the young woman's recovery process after her breakup with Pierre that, although mutual, was still a little painful.

Cracking the eggs into a bowl, Gretchen added some strips of ham and peppers. In the frying pan, fresh mushrooms were sauteing in butter, filling the air with their sizzle. The screen door abruptly flipped open behind where she worked at the stove. She threw a smile over her shoulder at her tall, grey-eyed daughter whose dark auburn hair cascaded gloriously down her back. Phoebe had turned out to be the beauty in the family. It, combined with her wild spirit and forthright attitude while growing up, had caused her parents no little concern and just as much delight. That spirit had been somewhat dampened in recent months, but she wasn't the sort to be kept down long. She simply needed to realize that her French lover wasn't the only fish in the sea, and that there were plenty more out there, just waiting to be netted.

"What's on the grill, Mom?"

"A Western omelet." Gretchen gestured at the fridge with the spatula. "Get the juice and make the coffee." A big breakfast was a Janeway family tradition, and this was no different.

As the two women sat down to the repast, Gretchen stole a quick glance at her youngest daughter. There were still a few shadows crossing those level gray eyes, but over all, Phoebe seemed to be more like her old self.

"What have you planned for today?" Very early in Phoebe's artistic career, she had learned not to ask how the painting was going. A period of emotional instability could result in the young artist unable to pick up a brush, or conversely, inspired to create exceptional work that kept her at the canvas around the clock. In either case, Phoebe never wanted to talk about it.

"I think I'll pop over to the market. I need to pick up a few things."

Gretchen eyed her measuringly. "Want some company?" She wasn't sure Phoebe would want her mother tagging along, but she needed some time with her daughter that was purely frivolous. "In fact, why don't we take the hovercraft to Portage Creek and do some real shopping?"

Phoebe blinked, considered it and smiled. "Actually, that sounds like fun." She did not mention that she had just spent a year in Paris where the shopping was exquisite, so Gretchen decided she was being kind. But that was all right as long as it afforded them the opportunity to spend the day together.

"I have to feed the dogs. I'll meet you back here."

Once Phoebe had left for her own house across the way, Gretchen cleaned up the kitchen, before popping upstairs for a navy blazer to go over her shirt. She brushed out her short shock of snowy white hair, and then went outside to the small building where her hovercraft was kept. Her daughter was already there, leaning casually against the corner as she threw a stick to her two Irish Setters, keeping them entertained.

There was a third dog, another reddish-coated animal that strongly resembled the other two, in one way, more than he should. Originally belonging to Gretchen's oldest daughter, Kathryn, and her spouse, Annika, Jake had been left behind when they returned to space with Millennium. Gretchen was becoming a little concerned about him. Since this last visit home, when the couple spent three months leave before heading out once again, the dog had seemed dispirited and listless. Even now, he lay on the grass, watching the other two romp, rather than joining in.

She paused to pat him, leaning down to stroke his head, and he looked up at her, his big brown eyes moist and sad. She offered him a wry smile.

"Sorry, boy. Annika won't be back for another few months."

"You really think he's pining over them?" Phoebe asked curiously.

"The vet says there's nothing physically wrong with him," Gretchen told her as she opened the large doors to the out building, revealing the silvery form of an archaic hovercraft. It was probably her only concession to modernism. That and the security system her husband had installed on the farm that she rarely remembered to activate. "And it's not 'them', it's her, Annika. He never left her side the last time she was home."

Phoebe laughed. "I noticed that. He adores her."

Gretchen smiled and slipped into the driver's seat of the hovercraft before Phoebe could get there. She knew better than to let the young woman take the helm. The younger woman disdained the use of the autopilot, having a decided need for speed, and it actually scared her mother to be the helpless passenger with Phoebe at the controls.

After guiding the craft down the graveled driveway and out onto the grassy field beyond the fence bordering the front yard, Gretchen programmed in the coordinates for Portage Creek. Activating the autopilot, she removed her hands from the controls, leaning back to enjoy the ride. Phoebe shot her a grin, well aware of how little her mother appreciated her piloting skills, and relaxed as well, her hair streaming in the breeze that eased the intensity of the sun's rays. It was going to be a hot, humid day, and Gretchen was looking forward to the stores in town where the internal environmental controls would already be activated.

They left the outer boundaries of the Brown County Agricultural Park, the corn fields giving way to a grassy trail lined with navigational beacons that wound through a 30 kilometer swath of forest bordering the park. This was an area of trees and meadows left as a wildlife preserve, that also served to protect the park's farmlands from the residential communities spreading out from the city of Portage Creek. Shortly after entering the wild area, they encountered some people in a clearing beside the track. Gretchen wasn't sure if the campers were from the park or Portage Creek, but from the tents set up by a nearby stream and the state of the campsite, it looked as if they had been roughing it for a while.

Gretchen lifted a brow. She was a Traditionalist, but some people just took it to extremes. She liked her nice comfortable mattress at night and a roof over her head, not the thin layer of a tent, no matter how advanced such equipment had become over the years.

She reached forward and took the controls when she saw that one of the people was down on the ground, clutching an ankle, with the others grouped loosely around him, as if uncertain what to do. Obviously they were in trouble and her first instinct was to offer help. She was aware that it would be easy enough for them to contact Portage Creek and arrange for a transport if someone was hurt, but she also knew that if the campers were from the park, they might not have communicators. Not the smartest choice of action, but she had heard of less prudent choices in the pursuit of recreation.

"Mom, maybe we shouldn't..." Phoebe began as Gretchen slowed the hovercraft, bringing it to a stop near the clearing.

Startled, Gretchen looked at her. This wasn't an earlier century, when Earth had been in a state of continual threat for the unwary, or even a few years ago during the incursion by the Dominion when martial law had been in place. Crime was nonexistent, and their home planet was a virtual paradise. "Don't be silly, dear. These people might need help."

"Mike didn't implement those security measures at the farm for nothing," Phoebe reminded, but she didn't hesitate in leaving the hovercraft and following Gretchen toward the waiting group who had turned to face the approaching women. "Or arrange to have the park monitored by Starfleet Command. We're not in the park anymore."

"That was for Kathryn and Annika's benefit while they were on leave," Gretchen said in a low voice, irritated that her youngest would be so suspicious. "We're hardly going to run into trouble way out here in the middle of nowhe..." Her voice trailed off as the man on the ground rose to his feet, apparently unharmed, and goggled at the weapons that had suddenly appeared as if by magic, all pointed in her direction.

"Damn," Phoebe muttered as she stopped. "It has to be the Orion Syndicate."

Gretchen was in shock. This was ridiculous. Even if someone wanted to target them, they would hardly be lying in wait outside the park all these months.

Would they?

She raised her hands as the group spread out around them, thinking that these people must be very patient ... or could hold a grudge for a very long time.

"Mrs. Patterson. Miss Janeway." The man who spoke wasn't particularly tall, sparse and balding, and his clothing was just different enough for Gretchen to realize that he was from off world. His words also killed any hope that this was some kind of random aberration and that Gretchen and Phoebe just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. "There's no need for this to become unpleasant."

"It already is," Phoebe muttered, and subsided when another man, one big and bulky, gestured at her with his rifle, indicating she should be quiet. The man talking may have hidden his true nature behind his genial features, but there was no pretense with the larger man. His eyes were dark and flat, looking at the two women without any emotion at all, the dead eyes of a natural born killer.

"Why are you doing this?" Gretchen stared at the apparent leader, feeling fear trickle along her spine with an icy finger.

"It's just business, ma'am." He lifted his hand. "Now, if you would kindly move over to the tents, we'll finish this."

"Are you going to kill us?" Phoebe's tone was defiant, but Gretchen could see the beads of sweat that suddenly appeared at her hairline.

"That would serve no purpose ... at the moment."

The man nodded at the big, burly guard who immediately slung his weapon over his shoulder and headed for the hovercraft. He would probably dispose of it in a way that would make it difficult to trace, Gretchen thought, and then wondered how she was managing to stay on her feet. She felt numb, terrified at what was going to happen, not only to herself and Phoebe, but for her other daughter and Seven, whom this was undoubtedly about.

She looked at the other two members of the ambush party who closed around them, clearly intending to escort them to the tent. One was a young man, with spiky hair and a small port near his ear that indicated he was one of those who directly accessed computer databases with his mind ... a highly illegal and dangerous pastime. The other was the only woman, a dark-skinned individual staring at them with dispassionate intent. To Gretchen's shock, there were pointed ears poking delicately through the short dark hair feathered at the sides of her head. Not that Vulcans didn't have their share of anti-social personalities, the older woman realized, but it seemed a rather illogical path for the woman to be following.

Heart in her throat, Gretchen swallowed hard and meekly followed Phoebe into the indicated tent, wondering if she would ever see the rest of her family again.

"Kathryn?"

Seven's whisper was warm in her ear, her touch, tender and loving. Janeway shifted, sliding her right arm around the young woman's back, pulling her to her as the Borg nestled her head on the captain's shoulder.

"The past two days have been wonderful, darling," Janeway murmured. "I'm sorry I waited so long to arrange them." She stroked the long, blonde hair lazily, the soft strands tangling pleasantly about her fingers.

"We have not had the opportunity before now," Seven reminded her, her cheek soft against the captain's chest. "Initially, you were involved with negotiating for and installing the ConFed array. Since entering the nebula, I have been completely monopolized by my scientific duties. Helping Jiidan negotiate with the Raeliens to open up talks with the Confederacy now that they no longer have to worry about the magnetascopic radiation has occupied us both for the past two weeks. Only now do we have the time to be together."

Janeway kissed her forehead. "I know, but I've missed being with you."

Seven smiled slyly. "Even when I defeat you at Velocity?"

Growling, the captain nipped at the Borg's nose. "Must I remind you that I was tired from running around all morning trying to solve the mystery of your holoprogram? You challenged me to a match in the afternoon knowing I wasn't at my best."

"Ah." Seven sounded supremely unconvinced. "Is that why you chose to remain in bed today, without any extraneous activities?"

The captain softened, feeling suddenly vulnerable in a way she didn't quite understand, but accepted as part of the other woman's power over her. "I just love that after almost five years of marriage, we still want to do this sort of thing." Janeway nuzzled her, pulling her closer with her arm. "Mostly I love that renewed Borg endurance of yours."

Seven moved so that she was a little more on top of the captain, seeking out her lips for a kiss that left Janeway breathless. "So you truly do not object to my reprogramming my nanoprobes to return to their former state of efficiency?"

"Not as long as days like today are the result," Janeway muttered, squirming pleasurably as the Borg's long fingered hands began to trace wonderful patterns over her skin yet again.

"I love you, my Kathryn," Seven whispered in the captain's ear, biting the lobe gently. "You are a most perfect spouse."

Janeway laughed huskily. "I do my best." She arched as her spouse found a particularly sensitive spot. "So do you."

"Nothing less," Seven assured her. Her mouth was tender as it traced a lazy path over the slope of the captain's right breast, tongue dancing over the nipple, urging it into a sharp point of sensation.

Janeway's head went back, her lips parting as she inhaled deeply. Seven was such a loving and attentive lover, one who only grew more skilled in pleasing her the longer they were together. She reveled in the sense that the Borg would never grow bored with her, never find being intimate with her something that was commonplace. It granted the captain a security that she had never experienced with others.

"Annika," she breathed.

"Kathryn." Seven rose from her attentions to kiss the captain again, her mouth ardent as it covered Janeway's. Her body was finely muscled, silky smooth and soft, yet so firm and strong at the same time, pressing against Janeway's with a contained mastery that thrilled the captain.

"Seven of Mine," she whispered, delighting in the form that moved over her, covering her with a protective strength. "I love you so much ... I need you so much..."

"You have me, Kathryn," Seven assured her, stroking her with delicate constraint, reaching down to touch her as she shifted her weight onto her left side. "You will always have me."

Janeway moaned as she felt the warm hand cup her mound, fingers stroking through the auburn triangle with easy pressure, urging her legs apart to run gently along the soft skin of her inner thigh. Seven teased her for a moment, slipping over to caress the other leg, skipping over the juncture that suddenly ached for her touch.

"Seven ... please..." Janeway begged shamelessly, spreading her legs wide, offering herself to her spouse freely.

The Borg kissed her again, her lips harder now, demanding, utterly consuming Janeway's senses. The captain whimpered helplessly into Seven's mouth as she finally felt the touch she craved, the firm fingers dipping into her wetness, sliding over her slick ridge, fondling her with knowing proficiency. Then two fingers pushed inside, penetrating deeply in the way Seven knew she liked, as her thumb continued to rub over the center of her desire, combining to steal away the last remaining decorum the captain possessed.

"Oh, god ... yes ... yes..." She clung to the Borg, arms around her shoulders, feeling the muscles flexing as the young woman thrust and probed and utterly possessed her, taking complete control of her body, heart and mind.

Giving herself up to it completely, Janeway allowed the feelings to overwhelm her, letting go until she was nothing more than a quivering mass of sheer joy. Crying out, the sensation swept over her, and she shuddered as the waves of delight went on and on, until she could no longer respond, could no longer react to the hands and mouth that ravished her so completely. Finally, Seven granted mercy on her and released her, rising slightly to look down on her with brilliant blue eyes that held devotion and tenderness and a sort of all consuming love that left the captain weak with the power of it.

"You do that so easily," Janeway murmured, smiling lazily as she looked into that intense gaze.

The metallic implant framing Seven's left eye rose quizzically. "Do what?"

"Make me yours."

Seven smiled faintly. "I thought you were already mine."

The captain laughed. "So I am," she admitted. She tightened her arms about the Borg's neck, pulling her down for another kiss, tasting the young woman's desire. "What would you like, my love?" she whispered as they parted. "What do you want me to do for you?"

Seven kissed her again, an open, melting, needful kiss. "What you do so well," she told her huskily. "Love me."

Janeway let her breath out in a rush, the words thrilling her as always. Seven allowed her to roll them over until the captain was on top, pressing down on the glorious length of her partner with lascivious joy. There was just so much of her that, at times, the captain felt overwhelmed by her need to possess it all. She smiled with supreme joy as she went over that form with meticulous attention, seeking out every sensitive spot, drawing out every iota of pleasure she could from the young woman. Seven squirmed and trembled and arched under the captain's hands and mouth, as helpless as Janeway had been only moments before. Her cries were quieter, her release more contained, but no less deep for it. Indeed, sometimes the captain suspected Seven felt it more profoundly, simply because she was able to focus on a single thing to the exclusion of all others in a way that most beings couldn't.

After it was over, when the final tremors had ceased and Seven lay in complete and utter satisfaction, Janeway pulled up the blankets to cover them, cuddling the Borg close to her with protective tenderness.

"Kathryn?" The voice was soft and lazy, melodic in a way her normal chill tones were not.

"Yes, darling?" Janeway nuzzled her temple, kissing Seven's forehead and eyepiece with equal affection.

"I am so happy."

"I am, too, love," the captain whispered. "It doesn't get any better than this."

"It doesn't?"

"Well, maybe it does, but I'm not sure I could survive it."

Seven made a small sound of amusement, not exactly a chuckle, but rather a tiny hum of agreement. Janeway closed her eyes and settled against the Borg's body, feeling the inevitable drowsiness steal over her.

"Bridge to the captain. Captain Janeway, please respond."

The hail was intrusive and abrupt, jarring Janeway out of this warm, wondrous place of peace.

"I swear I'm going to kill her." The captain leaned over and retrieved her comm badge from the nightstand. "Go ahead, Commander."

Kiara Kelly, the ship's first officer, did not apologize for interrupting the captain's off day. "Captain, we have a message from Starfleet Command being relayed from the ConFed array. Priority one."

Janeway didn't sigh, but she wanted to. "On my way."

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"The message is for Lt. Hansen as well."

Startled, Janeway glanced down at Seven whose eyes flew open at the unusual statement. Frowning slightly, the captain sat up. "Understood, Number One. We're both on our way. Channel it to my ready room."

The couple dressed quickly in their uniforms, taking the private command turbolift directly to the ready room from their quarters, bypassing the bridge. Inside Janeway's two-tiered office, the captain took a seat at her desk, angling the viewscreen of her workstation so that Seven, seated across from her, could also see it.

Activating the screen, Janeway accessed the channel. There was a delay that could not be helped, even with the help of the communications array that had been constructed in Confederation space. The tens of thousands of lights years were still too much for even the most advanced technology the Federation possessed. Still, it was better than Millennium's first year where contact was limited to a communications probe launched monthly through a transition corridor created by the ship, and infinitely better than Voyager's first five years in the Delta Quadrant, when there had been no contact at all.

The screen, displaying the Federation logo, cleared to reveal Admiral Alynna Nechayev, Janeway's sector commander and immediate superior. Blonde hair streaked with grey was pulled back tightly in a bun, granting her Slavic features even more severity.

"Captain, I'll make this quick."

Janeway lifted a brow. "I'd appreciate that, Admiral."

"Two days ago, your mother and sister were abducted by the Orion Syndicate. I want to assure you that Starfleet is doing everything possible to rectify the situation. "

Janeway gaped at the screen, unable to absorb the words in their entirety. Across the desk, Seven had gone completely pale, her face losing all color.

Nechayev took a breath, her icy blue eyes assessing the officers on her screen. "Normally, I'd wait until this situation is resolved before informing you of it, but I suspect you'd never forgive us for it, particularly if it has an ... unfortunate outcome."

Somehow, Janeway managed to find her voice. "What's being done?"

"We have an elite team of Starfleet operatives addressing the situation. We also have an operative on site in the field so we're very confident that no harm will come to your family." She paused, and for the first time, a flicker of what might be sympathy crossed the admiral's face. "Kathryn, I know this is devastating news, but please understand, we have it under control. In the meantime, your orders stand."

The captain hesitated. "Understood, Admiral."

Nechayev's lips parted as if about to say something more, but she hesitated, and then pressed them together into a thin line. "Carry on."

The screen flickered and returned to the Federation insignia, a silver wreath against a blue background as the captain tried to pull herself together, grasping wildly at the thoughts and emotions that were racing in a thousand different directions. Glancing across the desk, she hoped she would never have to see that expression on her partner's face ever again. The Borg stood up as if she were about to flee, but what Janeway thought was a need for escape, resolved itself into the preparation for action, a look of absolute determination and fury heating those icy blue eyes.

"As soon as we are within transporter range, you must beam me to Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. I will be able to determine where the Syndicate has taken them, just as Section 31 was able to. I assimilated much of their technique during my brief time with them." Seven's words were clipped and cold, her tone one of absolute precision.

Janeway felt a tightness in her chest. It made what she had to say next all the more difficult.

"Seven, I can't turn this ship around. We're not returning to the Federation."

Seven stared at the captain, unable to believe what she was hearing. Janeway was expressionless, regarding the Borg with eyes that were suddenly too old.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway dipped her head, her mouth tightening. "It's impossible, Seven. My orders are clear. I have a duty to this ship and to Starfleet. So do you."

Seven actually needed a moment to find the words. It never occurred to her that Janeway wouldn't do all she could to help rescue her mother. It forced the Borg's mind on a path that was so diametrically opposed to what she had had been thinking that the wrench was almost painful.

"Kathryn, this is our family."

Janeway stood up abruptly, her hands on the desktop as she leaned forward. "Don't you think I know that? But we've been over this before, and I can't believe you would assume it would be different for us than for anyone else on the ship. The mission can't be aborted for the sake of a few crewmembers."

"You are not a crewmember. You are the captain."

"All the more reason for me not to violate my oath."

Despite her harsh words, Seven recognized the pain in the blue-grey eyes, understood that this decision was tearing at the captain. But it wasn't enough. Kathryn's mother and sister were the only real family that Seven had known, far more important than the blood relatives that held limited claim on her, including her own mother. She would do anything and everything for Gretchen and Phoebe. To discover Kathryn would not was profoundly and irrevocably disturbing, despite all she thought she knew about her.

"Kathryn, this is Gretchen."

"I know." The words came out as more of a cry of pain than anything, and the captain had to take several breaths to compose herself. "Don't you know this is the hardest thing I ever had to do."

"You have the choice, Kathryn."

Janeway stared at her bleakly. "You told me you understood."

Seven remembered the conversations, not only with her partner, but with others in the crew regarding Janeway's decision not to abort the mission in the Delta Quadrant after sabotage sent plasma spilling through the engine room. She knew how and why the captain had refused to return to the Alpha Quadrant even though there was a slim chance that three of the mortally injured might be saved by advanced techniques in the Federation. It was a decision that had weighed heavily on Janeway, but it was one that she had to make, both for the sake of her duty to Starfleet, and for the sake of protecting the rest of the crew. But there was no logic in this, nor did the young woman want to draw on any at the moment. All she had was her sudden, overpowering emotion, strong and fierce, telling her to return immediately to where her varied skills could be utilized in the recovery of the people she valued above all others.

"I understand that the uniform has become more important that the living beings around you," Seven said coldly. "That duty apparently supersedes those you love. I always knew it was true for myself. It never occured to me that you would be so heartless regarding your mother and sister."

Janeway looked as if she had been struck in the face. "You know that's not true. I have a responsibility..."

"You have a responsibility to them ... to me." Seven lifted her chin. "Kathryn, I am asking this of you. Take me home. Let me help Gretchen."

Janeway's face crumpled. "Darling, even if I could, there's nothing we could do. Starfleet protocol doesn't allow relatives to become involved in any security operation..."

Seven could not remember being so furious. "Take me home, Kathryn."

"I can't."

"You mean you won't." Seven glared at her with all the disdain and fury she possessed, and a bit more. "This is unacceptable."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the ready room. She wasn't sure where she was going, only that she needed to be anywhere other than where Janeway was. Flying through the bridge to the nearest turbolift, she was aware of startled looks that shot her way from the crew, including that of Commander Kelly and Ro Laren. She wanted to cry, but at the same time, her fury was such that what she really wanted was to destroy something. A curt order to the computer directed the turbolift to the lowest deck on the ship. Restlessly, she began to stalk through the corridors, her feelings undoubtedly apparent in her face because the crewmembers she met made a point of averting their eyes and scurrying quickly past. Finally, Seven realized she was on the deck containing one of the larger holodecks, and understood that, while there were no Borg alcoves on this ship to smash in an orgy of perfect destruction, this might be the next best thing.

For whatever reason, the holodeck was empty. Grateful for it, because she didn't want to have to displace someone, or become involved in the explanations such an action would require, Seven went inside. The door clunked shut behind her, leaving her alone in a black room filled with a pattern of glowing gridlines. She struggled a moment to compose herself, to organize her thoughts enough to give the computer the necessary instructions to provide a program that would allow her to release the ferocious anger that threatened to consume her.

"Computer, initiate security training program theta five, beta level."

"That program is not available without security clearance. Safety protocols dictate that..."

Seven strode over to the control panel and with ruthless efficiency, used her assimilation tubules to link directly with the holodeck programming, bypassing the protocols put in place to prevent what she was doing. She chose one of Ro Laren's training scenarios, keyed to the Alpha Quadrant with Jem'Hadar as the main antagonists, and activated the program.

Immediately, she was on a starship, or perhaps it was a space station, the corridors filled with smoke, the illumination dim and sporadic, as if the systems had been damaged. A crimson stain washed over her from the red alert lights set high on the wall, indicating that there were invaders, and she turned away from the panel in time to see two Jem'Hadar soldiers racing toward her.

She had never encountered these beings in reality, not as a Starfleet officer nor as a member of the Borg Collective. Reptilian in appearance, with thick, leathery skin and stocky, muscular forms, they were reputed to be formidable warriors, all the more so because they fought for what they considered their gods, the Gamma Quadrant Changelings. Physically superior to most Alpha Quadrant species, relentless in their attack, fanatically disciplined, they were exactly what the Borg needed to challenge her. Baring her teeth in an unconscious snarl, she lunged to meet them, wanting nothing more than to lose herself in utter havoc

The fight was brutal, with nothing held back. An instant's thought altered the implant on her left hand to the serrated edges of a cutting tool that could be used to sever cable and piping ... or slice through flesh and bone as vicious, metal claws. Utilizing every bit of speed she possessed, which was considerable thanks to the recent enhancements of her nanoprobes, she crashed into the Jem'Hadar, striking at them wildly. This conflict reminded her of the Barellan prison where she had rescued Kathryn, when her task had been simple and clear, where her enemies were obvious, and the need for restraint nonexistent.

When the two soldiers hit the metal deck, sliced open with Borg efficiency, she went looking for more, ignoring the trickle of blood streaking her right cheek, and disdaining the sharp sting from a wound that had sliced over her duranium-enforced ribs. She found what she wanted around the next bend, a squadron of five soldiers heading toward her with murderous intent.

She undoubtedly would have failed this training run had it been monitored and graded for performance. It was intended to teach the new security officers prudence and how to think their way out of trouble. Seven was not thinking. She wanted only to destroy, to attack her foe and keep attacking until they lay dead or dying at her feet. But they kept coming, and slowly it began to penetrate her fury and pain that perhaps she had made a serious error in judgment.

Skidding on the various bodily fluids she had spilled in copious amounts, she fell heavily to the deck, the wind momentarily knocked out of her. Dazed, she gazed up at a new Jem'Hadar soldier standing over her, his rifle raised to bludgeon her into a pulp. She braced herself for the impact, not afraid exactly, but rather annoyed that she had allowed her anger to lead her into such a futile and inelegant death. Abruptly the hologram froze in mid-motion, the butt of the rifle stopping only a few inches from her head.

Confused, Seven looked around and spotted Millennium's security chief standing a few feet away. Ro Laren's normally stoic features were a mix of astonishment, anger and dismay.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The Borg took a breath and rose to her feet. Now that the battle was over, the injuries to her body began to make themselves felt, the various cuts and bruises starting to sting, all the muscles that had been wrenched and twisted during her fight aching sharply. Though her nanoprobes were already healing the damage, they were not adjusted to block the pain, because pain was the most efficient way for her systems to let her know something was wrong.

"How did you know I was here?" she demanded coolly.

"The computer alerted me to an unauthorized access of one of my training programs." Ro stared at her, her dark eyes assessing the Borg as if she had never seen her before. "Prophets, Seven, the safeties aren't even on. What's happening?"

Seven opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, then dipped her head, refusing to speak.

Ro frowned. "Does this have anything to do with the priority message you and the captain received earlier this evening?"

Seven firmed her mouth stubbornly. Apparently the captain had not deigned to share the news of her mother's abduction with any of her staff. Despite her anger, Seven knew she didn't have leave to do so either, or at least, she didn't feel the inclination to do so at the moment. It would require an explanation that she didn't feel up to offering, though Ro was a good friend. Besides, what could the Bajoran do, when none of them could return to the Federation?

"It is ... my business and not yours, Commander."

Ro's head went back, puzzlement and concern apparent in her features, but the Borg did not speak further and finally, Ro shook her head. "Seven if you want to talk..." she began.

"No." The tone was sharp and final. Ro stared at her without comprehension as Seven walked past her. "Computer, door."

Out in the corridor, Seven faltered briefly, unsure what to do next. A glance around revealed that the lights had been lowered, and that they were into the Gamma shift. She had not thought it had been that long, but then her sense of time had been greatly distorted since hearing the horrible news in the ready room.

Taking a breath, she began walking through the ship, not wishing to return to her quarters or see her spouse. Though her body was sore and tired, her emotions were just as confused as they had been hours earlier.

Before she realized where she was, she looked up and found that her feet had brought her to the deck containing crew quarters. For a moment, she debated going to B'Elanna, but she and Ro were as much Kathryn's friends as they were hers. The situation could force them into the awkward position of defending the captain, and possibly even the position Janeway had taken.

Seven wasn't ready to hear anyone defend her partner. She wanted a presence sympathetic to her, someone who would be there without requiring a lot of explanation or discussion. Moving automatically, she passed the engineer's quarters, heading for another corridor in another section of the deck.

She pressed the chime insistently over and over, and finally the door hissed open. Lenara Kahn was disarrayed, dressed in a slate blue robe and what might have been some kind of sheer nightie beneath that. Blinking drowsily, her golden brown hair mussed, she regarded the Borg with astonishment.

"Seven?" Her voice was still muddled from sleep.

"Lenara, may I stay with you tonight?"

The Trill stared at her blankly. "Excuse me?"

"I require a place to stay for the foreseeable future. May I stay with you?"

Lenara shook her head, as if needing to clear it, but she stepped aside and motioned the Borg into her quarters. Staring at Seven quizzically, her face darkened with concern when she saw how the young woman was disheveled from her run through the holodeck, though the extent of Seven's disarray was limited to a few tears in her uniform and escaped strands of blonde hair from the French twist. Her nanoprobes had already finished repairing the cuts, and the room was too dim for Lenara to see the darker stains of her own blood spilt on her black tunic. The Jem'Hadar blood had, of course, disappeared the second she left the holodeck.

"What's this about, Seven?"

"I am quarreling with Kathryn. I need to be apart from her until I can organize my thoughts."

The Trill blinked, then let out her breath. "Was it ... physical?"

Seven lifted a brow. "No. I ... spent some time in the holodeck." She paused. "I was ... 'working out my anger'. It was futile."

"Oh." Lenara shook her head slightly and glanced around, apparently undecided about what to do. "I guess I'll make up the couch."

As the Trill retrieved the linens from a nearby compartment, she snuck a look at the Borg who was still standing by the door. Seven felt uncertain now that she had a space to breathe and think about what had happened. She linked her hands behind her back, not wanting the Trill to see how they were shaking.

"Do you want to tell me about it, Annika?" Lenara's voice was very gentle.

Seven lifted her head. "No." She thought about it, realizing that perhaps her abruptness was insufficient in this instance. "I ... cannot speak of it yet."

Lenara started, and then nodded slowly. "Fair enough. I suppose whatever it is, it must be bad if you're here instead of there. I won't ask until you're ready, Seven. In the meantime, you're more than welcome to stay with me until you figure things out."

"Thank you, Lenara."

The Trill offered a brief smile. "What are friends for?"

The diminutive form of Admiral Nechayev did not cower from the large, bulky man looming over her. Her ice blue eyes pinned his with an inescapable force. "Commander, don't force me to relieve you of duty."

"This is my wife!"

"And they're the mother and sister of one of our best captains, and the widow and daughter of one of our most revered admirals. Do you really think Starfleet isn't doing everything possible to resolve this?"

"Maybe it's not enough."

Nechayev's narrow features didn't flicker. "Maybe it's not, but it won't be because you could do a better job. I already reminded Kathryn of her orders. Do I need to do the same for you?"

Michael laughed bitterly, straightening from where he had been leaning over the desk, hands braced on the surface. "Do you really think she'll obey those orders?"

Nechayev let out a breath. "It will take a week for her to prepare Millennium for a safe return, even if she immediately makes the decision to defy her orders. This will be resolved by then, one way or the other."

Michael paused, a little taken aback by the admiral's matter-of-fact acknowledgment that the captain would probably sacrifice her career to save her mother, and the slight implication that she might cover it up if Janeway did. It granted him a moment to compose himself. During that time, Nechayev was observing him closely. She gave a little nod, as if satisfied with what she saw.

"Commander Tuvok is in command of the rescue detail. You may assist, but you will not interfere. Is that understood?"

Michael offered a short nod, not trusting his voice to say anything. Nechayev's face hardened. "I mean it, Commander. I'll throw you in the brig if I have to. This is a very delicate operation, and I won't allow you to jeopardize it because of your personal feelings."

"I won't."

"Commander Tuvok can be found on Sub-level twelve. Security clearance is alpha ten, your password is Illinois," she added curtly. "Dismissed." She dropped her eyes to the padd, indicating that he should be already out of her office. At least, Michael took it to mean that. He certainly didn't hesitate in heading for the nearest turbolift.

Starfleet Headquarters had been destroyed in a Breen attack during the Dominion War, and the facility had been completely rebuilt, incorporating many improvements and utilizing a more flowing line of architecture that evoked a sense of it being a grounded starship rather than merely a building. Rumors flew that it actually was a starship, and in the event of another attack, it could launch and defend itself ... though most discounted that as absurd speculation. If the people behind the rumors had been aware of the levels descending deep into the bedrock of San Francisco beneath the facility, they would know just how absurd it was. The entire staff could be evacuated to the lower levels in a matter of minutes, and even if everything above was destroyed, Starfleet Headquarters would carry on, protected deep underground. Twenty-third Century technology in the form of the seismic stabilizers inserted into the California crust, kept any geometric instability well away from populated areas and made the structure possible, where it hadn't been prior to their rebuilding.

Michael thought it was evocative of the current Starfleet Command. So much was going on beneath the surface, not the least of which was Section 31. They were quiescent for the moment, but their influence threaded through Starfleet Command, and had since the beginning of the organization's existence. Fortunately, it was not a rogue element from that group they were dealing with in this instance, but the Orion Syndicate, a criminal organization that had seen its base destroyed and most of its key people arrested and incarcerated a few years earlier.

That made the remaining members still at large more than a little desperate, and desperate people were unpredictable. They had offered a contract for the demise of Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine, the Starfleet officers instrumental in bringing down the organization. One attempt on Millennium had been stymied by Janeway and Seven. Michael had provided the protection for them during their leave on Earth and with them on a year long mission in the Beta Quadrant. With no further attempts on the Millennium officers, perhaps he and Starfleet had relaxed too much. The Syndicate had a history of going after family members, and of holding onto a grudge long after the initial insult.

He should have been more alert, he raged silently. Should have insisted on increasing security, rather than backing off at Gretchen's request. She had no experience with these sort of people, despite being married to an admiral for three decades. Now she was in serious trouble, and he was physically ill from the thoughts of what could happen to her and Phoebe.

He managed to maintain his patience as he was processed through security on sub-level twelve and finally led to a room full of monitoring systems and elite Starfleet security officers, overseen by a slender, dark-skinned man.

Michael had met Commander Tuvok on various occasions. The Vulcan had been Janeway's security chief during the seven years Voyager had been lost in the Delta Quadrant. Upon their return to the Federation, he had initially accepted a teaching position at the Vulcan Science Academy, but that had lasted only a year. Michael wondered if Vulcans became antsy, if they needed as much action and adventure in their life as the occasional Human. For whatever reason, Tuvok had been quick to return to Starfleet Intelligence when the opportunity arose.

He looked up as Michael approached, lifting an eyebrow. "Commander. Admiral Nechayev informed me that you would be joining the operation as an interested observer."

"I won't get in your way," Michael promised.

"No, you will not," Tuvok agreed evenly. "Otherwise, I will be forced to remove you from the operation."

Michael took a breath. He hadn't expected anything else.

"What have we got?" he asked instead.

Tuvok regarded him for a moment, before he appeared to find the commander's demeanor acceptable. He turned and accessed the nearest desktop padd, bringing up a series of files.

"When the Noiro colony was destroyed, most of the syndicate's leaders were captured and arrested. But there was one vessel that escaped, warned off in time by the colony as Starfleet was in the process of evacuating it. We believe these two men were on it." He brought up two pictures, one of a thin, balding man, and the other of a hulking, sullen brute who glowered at the tricorder scanning the image. "The first is named Vicarny. We believe him to be one of the Syndicate's 'trouble shooters'. When there was something that needed to be done, big or small, he was dispatched by the leaders to take care of it. Ricardo is his 'enforcer', and considered extremely dangerous. Captain Janeway identified both of these men as her kidnappers."

"God." Michael felt weak and he did his best not to show it. "If you know who these people are, then why didn't Starfleet Intelligence track them down and arrest them."

Tuvok eyed him. "We believe that the syndicate is attempting to rebuild. Furthermore, we believe they are doing so with outside backing."

Michael stared at him in horror. "You're using Gretchen as bait to find out who and what this outside backing is?"

Tuvok frowned faintly. "Not at all. The Syndicate's abduction of your wife and her daughter was completely unexpected, but it is interesting. It means that either the outside backing has its own plans for the Janeway family, or that the remaining Syndicate members have gone against their backers. In either case, we have the perfect opportunity to follow the trail leading back to whoever is supplying them with the means to rebuild."

Michael glared at him. "What about my wife? What about Phoebe?"

Tuvok looked particularly inscrutable.

"We have an operative in the field looking after them."

"An operative?"

"Someone who has managed to infiltrate the Syndicate to the inner core. It's an operation that has taken a great deal of time to set up, and we are on the verge of discovering all the information we need in order to shut down the organization completely."

Michael flicked an eyebrow. It was true, he thought. Starfleet security really did talk like old-time law enforcement agents, even the Vulcans.

"You trust this operative?"

"I have intimate knowledge of her capabilities and absolute trust in her ability to handle this situation with both professionalism and adeptness."

"Her?"

"Yes." Despite his impassiveness, a slight hint of what might have been pride lightened the otherwise dark eyes of the Vulcan. "She followed in my footsteps into both the Academy and into Starfleet Intelligence." He paused briefly. "It is my daughter, Asil, who has infiltrated the Syndicate. It is she who is in the perfect position to keep your wife and step-daughter safe."

Or be killed with them, Michael thought grimly, but he did not say it out loud. The very thought of it was too much to bear.

Janeway still couldn't quite believe how it had gone so bad so quickly. One minute, she had been enjoying a wonderful day off, and then the next, it had all gone to hell in a handbasket. When Seven stormed out of her ready room, the captain knew the Borg was furious, but she really thought she'd return after a few hours to resume the fight, as had happened so many times before. But the hours passed, and Seven did not return that evening, nor even by the next morning. After making it through her duty shift, the captain allowed that Seven must be very angry with her and with the situation, yet she still expected the Borg to be in their quarters when she returned home. That hadn't happened either, and when a sleepless Janeway finally broke down and asked the computer where Seven was at 0300 hours in the morning, it informed her dispassionately that she was in Lenara Kahn's quarters.

Lenara Kahn's quarters!

Janeway was torn between storming down there and being too afraid of what she might find if she did. She knew in her heart of hearts that Seven wouldn't have jumped into the Trill's bed. That just wasn't the Borg. But she also knew that Lenara was bright and beautiful and possibly not above taking advantage of the situation. She was also someone whom Seven admired greatly. Given enough time ... and incentive ... Kahn might just be the sort of person the young Borg would turn to if her feelings for the captain had altered.

And Janeway was desperately worried that they had altered, perhaps irrevocably.

Staring out the viewports of her quarters, arms crossed over her chest, the captain's eyes were blank as she watched the stars flying past. She felt numb, drained, almost distanced from what was going on, as if it was happening to someone else. She supposed she was still in a bit of shock, operating completely on automatic, but not really thinking about what was happening, because if she did, she'd fall apart completely.

Maybe that was why she hadn't seen this coming, though in retrospect, she wondered if she should have. Seven was remarkably supportive when it came to her spouse's role in Starfleet, almost unnaturally so at times, but never when it directly affected her personal Collective. They had clashed at this level before when Janeway had returned the Borg baby to her people, against Seven's wishes, and then again on Earth, when security classification demanded the captain treat her spouse like a junior lieutenant, requiring Seven to obey orders without explanation.

Threats to those Seven loved, whether it involved her relationship with Janeway or her extended family of Gretchen and Phoebe, made the Borg react with pure emotion and little logic. She became irrational, and it was all the more jarring for those around her because, most of the time, she was the most rational person anyone knew. She was even rational about her irrationality ... once it had passed and she had a chance to think about what she had done and what had motivated it.

But she had never left like this before.

Now the captain had to deal with the thought of her mother and sister in peril, while her emotional support system was removed as if it had never been. It wasn't the first time she had to face a crisis on her own, but it had been a long time since she had felt this alone.

She exhaled, making a small sound at the back of her throat, almost a whimper. Was she wrong? Should she immediately initiate the return procedures and head back to the Federation? Maybe she would, had she the slightest idea of what to do when she got there. She knew in her heart of hearts that she would be accomplishing little more than throwing away her career. Janeway was no intelligence officer and not likely to turn into one in the future. The few times she had been required to carry out such a role, she quickly found herself in trouble. Heavens, even the incident with the Omega molecule quickly escalated so that by the time it was over, everyone on the ship knew all about the classified details.

An operation like this required a delicate touch, a careful assessment of risk and reward, and the firm hand of someone who knew exactly when and where to strike. That was the other part of the reason she wasn't about to take Millennium back to the Federation prematurely. Seven, in this state, didn't know the meaning of the word delicate. She would descend upon the situation with all the subtlety of a photon torpedo explosion, and possibly end up doing more harm than good, just as she had with the Noiro colony. If such actions resulted in any harm coming to those she loved, she'd never be able to live with it.

But what if something did happen to Gretchen and Phoebe? What if they didn't make it? Could Seven ever forgive the captain for not doing everything, no matter how slight, to be there for them?

Could Janeway ever forgive herself?

Closing her eyes, she bent her head. Pain had blossomed deep in her chest, and she wondered dully if it was something she should have checked, or if it was just a side effect from all that was happening. She started abruptly as a soft chime at the door cut off that line of thought. For a brief instant, she felt a lift, thinking that Seven had returned, before reality struck and reminded her that the Borg would hardly request admittance to her own quarters.

Downcast, she went over to the door, intending to send away whoever it was. She had no wish to talk to anyone when she was feeling like this, nor want to reveal why she was so depressed.

Ro Laren regarded the captain soberly.

"Kathryn? May I come in?"

The use of her name, utilized only sparingly by the Bajoran, let Janeway know this was personal rather than professional. She wondered if Seven had told their friends what was going on.

"I'm really not free at the moment, Laren," she tried anyway.

Ro dipped her head, her expression grave. "I understand, but I really think we should talk."

Janeway frowned but surrendered to the inevitable, stepping aside to allow passage to the woman who moved with deadly grace into the captain's quarters. If it wasn't Ro, it would eventually be someone else, perhaps someone she didn't trust as much. Leaning against the bulkhead containing the turbolift, she watched the security officer pause by the kitchenette. Ro glanced around, noting the stained coffee cups scattered about the corner and the various pieces of previously worn uniform tunics thrown over the sofa and chairs. Finally, she raised her dark gaze to meet the captain's eyes.

"I know something's happened. I've come to offer whatever assistance I can."

Janeway tried anyway. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Laren."

Ro sighed but continued on, not backing off in the face of the captain's obvious resistance. "I know it has to do with that priority message you received from Starfleet. I saw Seven's face when she came out of the ready room. Later, I found her ripping apart Jem'Hadar soldiers in the holodeck with the safeties off. This afternoon, I ran a location history and discovered that she's stayed in Lenara Kahn's quarters for the past two nights."

Janeway felt her jaw tighten. This was worse than she thought if the Borg was smashing things. She had hoped that her spouse was just angry and busy working out the perfect argument to shred the captain's position and force her to turn the ship around. Now Janeway realized how out of control Seven really was.

She focused a glare at Ro. "Why didn't you tell me this about Seven before now? Running a holoprogram without the safeties is a clear violation of protocol." Perhaps if she dwelled on the inconsequential, then she wouldn't have to think of the big picture ... at least, not for awhile.

Ro raked her fingers through her short, dark hair. "Maybe I should have," she admitted a little sheepishly. "But Seven can handle a training run better than anyone else, and frankly, wrecking havoc in a holodeck is a perfectly acceptable alternative to wrecking havoc in some other part of the ship, as she did when she destroyed the Borg alcoves on Voyager. I honestly thought the exercise took whatever it was out of her system, and didn't realize how serious it was until I watched you on the bridge today."

"I was that obvious?" Janeway was dismayed.

Ro shrugged slightly. "Probably not to everyone, but this is my job. That's when I decided to run the history on Seven's location from the time she left the holodeck."

A muscle jumped in the captain's jaw. Her security chief was quicker than anyone in spotting inconsistencies, but it wouldn't be long before others would as well. Then it would start to affect the morale and efficiency of the ship.

Ro stepped closer, reaching out her hand and putting it on Janeway's left arm, tentatively, as if unsure she could go that far. "Can you tell me what was in that priority message? I'm asking this as your friend, not your security chief."

Janeway exhaled slowly. She had few enough of those, and certainly, she'd been through enough with Ro over the past few years to trust her with certain things she wouldn't trust anyone else with, including the safety of her partner. Despite Ro's marriage with B'Elanna, whatever the captain said to the Bajoran wouldn't go any further.

"My mother and sister ... they've been abducted by the Orion Syndicate."

Ro's head went back a little, but her compassionate expression didn't change. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

Once she said it, Janeway found it easier to keep going. "Starfleet assures me everything is being done to retrieve them safely."

Assessing her keenly, Ro lifted a brow. "You don't believe them?"

"I don't have much choice in the situation," Janeway said, somewhat bitterly. "My orders are clear. I am to continue our mission here."

"Ah." That was all Ro said, but it conveyed a wealth of meaning that spoke volumes.

Janeway shrugged off the hand and moved over to the living area, brushing past the security officer. Picking up the various coffee cups scattered about the room, she carried them back to the replicator where she reduced them to their component parts. She retrieved her tunic and shrugged it on, before picking up the rest of the clothing and stacking it in one pile. It wasn't  that she suddenly felt the urge to clean, it was just that she needed something to do, something that felt constructive.

Ro remained still, watching her evenly. "There's no other choice," she said finally. "You'd be sacrificing your career for no other reason than just to change locations from here to there. You wouldn't be allowed to interfere with an Intelligence operation."

"You don't have to tell me what I already know!"

The words were harsh, but Ro didn't flicker.

"And it's entirely possible that any course of action Seven decided upon would be ... excessive."

Janeway felt her anger drain away, her shoulders slumping. With little apparent effort, Ro managed to pinpoint the crux of the matter.

"Maybe I'm underestimating her," she said softly.

Ro looked vaguely skeptical. "I saw the Jem'Hadar remains, Captain. When she's like this, Seven has little sense of perspective or restraint. It's unfortunate but true. I think she's still unfamiliar enough with extreme emotions that she doesn't have complete control over them. In a few days, she'll be better able to come to terms with what's happened and be more disciplined in her actions. By then, this may even be resolved."

Janeway pursed her lips. "I can always unleash her on the Syndicate if..." She couldn't finish the thought.

Ro held her gaze steady. "That won't happen. I have complete confidence in Tuvok."

The captain blinked. "Tuvok?"

"He's in charge of all operations pertaining to the Orion Syndicate. If anyone is able to resolve this quickly, he will."

"I'd forgotten about that." Despite all that was going on, Janeway did feel a little better. Tuvok excelled at this sort of situation, perhaps better than he did in his role as a security chief. His true talents lie in covert operations and rescuing people. Certainly, he'd rescued the captain's behind more than once.

Ro spread out her hands. "You're doing the right thing, Captain. Deep down, I know Seven understands that, as well." It wasn't necessarily her place to say it. Certainly not as her security chief, but perhaps it was what she had to say as Janeway's friend. Hesitantly, the captain nodded.

"Thank you."

"As for now..."

Janeway shook her head. "As for now, Seven is furious at me."

"I suspect she's more furious at the situation."

"Don't kid yourself." Janeway managed a laugh that was more bitter than humorous.

Ro considered it, and apparently realized that she couldn't come up with anything that would refute that. "She'll get over it. She always does."

Janeway felt suddenly lost, but wasn't ready to be any more vulnerable with her security chief than she had already revealed. Nor did she think Ro had any idea how bad this was that Seven would deliberately stay away from the captain for this long. "She probably will," she lied gamely. "It's just a little difficult in the meantime."

Ro opened her mouth as if to say something, paused, apparently thought better of it, and nodded briefly. "If you need anything else, Kathryn..."

Janeway nodded briefly. "I know where you are."

It was clearly a dismissal and Ro accepted it as such. She inclined her head respectfully and moved for the door. Janeway stood for long moments after she was gone, wondering just how much worse this would become.

And whether she'd be able to survive it until it was over.

"What the hell's going on, Seven?"

The Borg did not lift her head, finishing up her task before switching her attention to her friend. When she finally met the engineer's eyes, her face was set in her best, impassive expression. Harboring a suspicion why the Klingon was here, she wasn't certain she was ready for it.

"To what do you refer?" Her voice was cool, and uninviting.

"Rumor has it that you've moved out of the captain's quarters and in with Lenara Kahn!"

Startled, Seven evaluated the comment. It wasn't what she had expected B'Elanna to say when she found out that the Borg wanted to return to Earth and rescue her loved ones. "That is inaccurate."

"But you're staying with Kahn."

That was more difficult to answer. "Temporarily. Kathryn and I are ... having difficulties." It occurred to her suddenly that the Klingon did not know all the details, which was surprising when it came to the engineer and her insatiable curiosity.

B'Elanna plopped down in the chair across the desk and pinned the Borg with a dark look, her mouth twisted slightly as if she didn't like how things were tasting. "What kind of difficulties?"

Seven hesitated, but only for a moment. Telling B'Elanna about the priority message seemed to loosen the tight band across her chest ever so slightly. What she wanted to do next, and why she was currently avoiding the captain as much as possible was harder to explain. B'Elanna looked as if she wasn't sure to be more shocked or horrified.

"Damn, I'm sorry to hear about Gretchen and Phoebe, Seven." She paused, searching for words. "But don't you think that now is when you should be with the captain, more than ever? She needs you."

"She will do nothing to resolve the situation. Worse, she refuses to allow me to resolve the situation."

"Maybe she can't. Would it kill you to be a little more understanding?"

Seven glared at the Klingon, irritated by the perceived lack of support. "She refuses to understand my point of view."

"Just because she doesn't agree with it, doesn't mean she doesn't understand it, Seven."

"This is Gretchen and Phoebe." The Borg was dismayed that B'Elanna could not seem to grasp the point. 

"I realize that, but Starfleet probably has things under control. The last thing they need is a bunch of outraged family members mucking around." B'Elanna shook her head and leaned forward. "I know you don't want to hear this, Seven, and God knows, I never thought I'd find myself saying it, but they're not completely inept at Starfleet Command." She exhaled audibly. "You and standard procedure aren't exactly on the best of terms, but don't forget that you just finished probation. I don't think you can afford to jump back into a situation that could land you right back on it."

Seven's mouth twitched scornfully. "Do you truly believe I am the least bit concerned about that?"

B'Elanna shrugged. "Not particularly, but the captain might be." She tilted her head, her eyes softening. "There is one thing I don't understand, 'Nik. Why did you go to Lenara Kahn? You know you could have come to me."

She looked vaguely hurt and Seven felt guilty, even as she wondered why the Klingon was concentrating on such irrelevancies.

"You and Laren are also Kathryn's friends," she explained, finding it weak as the words left her mouth. The thought processes at the time made sense, but now, in the light of day, it did not sound as logical as it should have. "I would not put either of you in a position of being between us. It would be unfair."

The Klingon hesitated, thinking about it. "Maybe I can accept that, but Seven, you shouldn't have gone to her. Janeway believes you and Lenara could be more than friends, given half a chance."

"Kathryn is not jealous of Lenara." At least, Seven didn't think she was beyond that minor flare of possessiveness early on in Millennium's first mission.

B'Elanna was clearly skeptical. "Come on, 'Nik, you know better. Even if the captain accepted that you and Lenara are only friends, she can see that there are possibilities there that wouldn't exist with other people.

"Possibilities?"

B'Elanna regarded her, her dark eyes adamant. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how good looking the Trill is."

Seven felt very uncomfortable. This conversation was not at all what she had expected to deal with in the aftermath of her argument with Kathryn. She had been prepared to defend her position to B'Elanna, even planned on swaying the Klingon over to her side in order to solidify any further appeals to the captain to alter course. Talking about Lenara threw her off stride.

"She is ... aesthetically pleasing," she admitted reluctantly.

"You and she work closely together, you're both at the same level intellectually, you enjoy spending time with each other in the Nexus ... how could Janeway not be jealous?"

"She does not display it."

"Maybe she just didn't have to before now." B'Elanna sighed. "Seven, jealousy, and how much it's indulged, is a matter of weighing the risk factors and calculating the odds of something actually happening. My sessions with Kes taught me that. You and Kathryn are fighting. Lenara can offer a shoulder to cry on, and a hell of a nice body to offer comfort. She's also this brilliant, beautiful scientist that you respect and admire. Come on, Seven, it ups the odds in a way that no reasonable person can overlook. Janeway probably thinks you went to Kahn because you'd rather be with her."

Seven stared at her, feeling a thin sliver of what might have been shame had she examined it closer. "That is not true. I love Kathryn. Even when I am angry with her, I still love her."

B'Elanna let out a sharp bark of laughter, harsh and uncompromising. "I know that, but what makes you think the captain does?"

Prompted to examine the idea, Seven assessed it as dispassionately as she could in her highly emotional state, and reluctantly came to the conclusion that perhaps the Klingon's comment could be valid.

"Lenara would never exploit this situation."

B'Elanna shrugged. "Maybe not, but she's certainly in the perfect position to do so and Janeway knows that. Seven, I know you wanted to hurt the captain by separating yourself from her, but you found a way to torture her, purely as a bonus." She looked vaguely approving, and somewhat dismayed of being so at the same time. "It's practically Klingon."

Stung, Seven forced herself to consider it further, not liking what she discovered. Had she reached out to Lenara because she knew it would hurt Kathryn far more than if she had reached out to any of her other friends? Despite her wish not to interfere with Ro and B'Elanna's relationship, she knew she could have found a safe place to stay with them. For that matter, she could have stayed by herself in one of the empty guest quarters on the ship while she regrouped. Choosing to spend a few nights in Lenara's company, regardless of what did or did not happen, was a clear indication of Seven's anger with Kathryn, perhaps a more deliberate sign than she had consciously realized.

B'Elanna let out her breath in a rush. "Thank Kahless we're not in the Confederation. You probably would have called up Tazna Jade and asked to stay on her ship while you worked things out. That would have poured even more salt into the wound." She dipped her head, catching Seven's gaze. "Are you really that mad at her, 'Nik?"

Seven felt a spasm in her chest. "I have never been more angry with her, or more disappointed."

B'Elanna blinked, absorbing that. "You must be," she said after a moment, "because usually when you're pissed, you just become more Borg and start dispassionately slicing off bits and pieces of whoever's involved, Janeway included. It's only when something directly affects the people you love that you start reacting with more emotion than sense."

Seven took a breath, suddenly made shaky and uncertain by the Klingon's blunt assessment of her actions. "I do not know how to repair this." The admission was difficult, but one she had to acknowledge. "I am ... unsure it can be repaired at this point."

B'Elanna looked alarmed. "Oh, 'Nik, don't say that. There's nothing so bad that it can't be repaired if the alternative is worse. Believe me, I know."

Seven shook her head. "Do you remember how I told you that I could demand things of Kathryn that no one else could, and she would acquiesce?"

"Uh huh."

Seven felt the twist in her stomach as if it had just happened. "I demanded that she return me to the Federation as soon as possible. She refused. Now, every moment that passes is another moment that prevents me from helping the people I love."

B'Elanna blinked. "Oh."

"I thought that she would do anything for me. I was wrong."

B'Elanna was silent a moment as she absorbed that. "So what does that mean?"

"I ... I don't know." Seven looked down at her hands, seeing them tremble, and she quickly put them on her lap, out of sight. Then she thought of her beloved Gretchen and her sister-in-law and felt her resolve harden. "She could be willing to make the sacrifice, rather than dismissing it out of hand."

"I doubt she dismissed it out of hand, Seven." B'Elanna exhaled slowly. "'Nik, you know I love you. We all do. But this is the part of you that we have difficulty with, and it doesn't grow easier with time."

Seven stared at her blankly. "The 'part' of me?"

"The part that gets the bit between your teeth and just keeps going with it. Sometimes I don't know how the captain puts up with it, but she does, better than anyone. Maybe because she's that way herself, a little bit."

Seven shook her head. "It is irrelevant. She has the choice. She refuses to make it."

"You mean, she refuses to make it in your favor," B'Elanna reminded her. "That doesn't make her wrong."

"It doesn't make her right." Seven's voice was raw.

The Klingon looked sad, clearly at a loss for words. For a long moment, both women stared at each.

"At least, move out of Lenara's quarters," B'Elanna said finally, softly. "Don't do something that you'll never recover from. Don't do anything that the captain will never recover from."

Seven found it difficult to think. She did not understand why the engineer insisted on harping on a topic that had nothing to do with the problem at hand.

"Lenara Kahn is my friend," she said tartly. "She will not harm me, or take advantage of this situation. I resent your implication."

B'Elanna's mouth firmed. She could be as stubborn as the Borg when she put her mind to it. More stubborn if Seven were to be completely accurate, and she knew her words had piqued the Klingon in a way to cause that obstinacy to rise to the surface.

"Seven, you're playing with fire, and you're too damned naive to know you're going to get burned."

Seven rose to her feet. "This conversation is over."

B'Elanna's eyes sparked, her own temper showing, but she didn't let it get out of control, taking a firm rein on it. Seven could see the effort it took. "Oh, it's not over, Seven. But you're not ready to listen to sense yet. I'll be back when you are."

Infuriated, Seven watched as the Klingon left, indignation radiating from every motion of her compact, muscular body. As the door hissed shut behind her, the Borg wished fervently that she had added more decor to her office, particularly the breakable kind.

At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw something and watch it shatter with impressive results.

Phoebe looked around their cell for what felt like the millionth time, seeing only the four gray walls, a cold cement floor and a shimmering force field for a ceiling. Even if she could make the energy field disperse through a loss of power or something equally unlikely, she would still have to figure out a way to scale the walls that were ten feet high. Not to mention finding a way to take her mother with her. Maybe Kathryn or Seven could do it, through Starfleet training or with Borg ingenuity, but Phoebe was an artist.

She could paint something tremendous on those smooth surfaces, but she didn't know how to climb them.

Despairing, Phoebe glanced over at Gretchen who sat quietly on the bunk, back against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest and her eyes closed. The ordeal was taking a lot out of her, and for once, the Janeway matriarch was showing her age.

"Mom?" Concerned, Phoebe moved across the room and perched carefully on the edge of the dusty mattress. "Are you all right?"

"I should have listened to Michael," Gretchen said softly, without opening her eyes. "I should have respected the fact that he knew what he was talking about and maintained the security escort outside the park after Kathryn returned to space."

Phoebe felt helpless. "No one could have predicted this."

"There's been no crime on Earth for so long...." Gretchen lifted her head, exhaling slowly as she met Phoebe's concerned gaze. "We're Traditionalists. We hold to the old ways, but more importantly, we understand the old ways and why people did the things they did. That should include the bad along with the good. Just because Earth is a paradise now doesn't mean the rest of the universe is, or even the rest of the Federation. These people do what they do because they're desperate."

"They do what they do because they're greedy," Phoebe said flatly. She didn't know if the place was monitored, but she hoped it was. She was more than willing to let their captors know how very contemptible they were. "There are plenty of opportunities in the Federation for those who want to work to better themselves. The type who are attracted to the Syndicate are those who want something for nothing."

Gretchen regarded her a moment. "Perhaps," she allowed, "but regardless of the reason, we've become pieces in a much larger game."

"Yeah, one that Starfleet likes to play," Phoebe said bitterly. "I've been a piece in it all my life and I'm damned sick of it. It's bad enough to be kidnapped, but it's not even because of us or anything we've done. We're here because I have a sister who wants to gallivant around the galaxy and meddle in other people's lives."

Thin eyebrows lifted over the brilliant blue eyes. "You're blaming Kathryn for this?" The tone was incredulous, and slightly chiding in a way that only a mother can accomplish.

The artist set her jaw stubbornly. "No, I'm blaming Starfleet. Kathryn just happens to be the willing tool they used to do it." Phoebe knew she was being irrational but she was tired, hungry and scared, not necessarily in that order.

Gretchen stared at her sadly. "You can't mean that."

Phoebe couldn't hold her mother's gaze. "I do."

Gretchen's brows drew together. "I knew you resented the hold Starfleet held over Edward. Perhaps more than even you realized. But I didn't know it had extended to Kathryn."

"I don't think now is the time to talk about this, Mom." Phoebe tried for a bit of humor in her tone, but it fell flat. Gretchen, she saw, wasn't going to let it go, perhaps because it gave her something to concentrate on other than their current situation. The artist stifled a sigh. "Let's just say that having a starship captain for a sister isn't the easiest thing in the world."

Gretchen looked mildly amused. "I assure you, it's not easy having one for a daughter, either."

"Don't you ever get tired of it, Mom?" Phoebe asked earnestly. "I don't even mean this mess. We'll either get out of it or we won't. There's not much we can do about it at this point. What I mean is always taking second place to Starfleet. First with Dad, and now with half your children?"

Gretchen started to reply, paused, and took a moment to think about it. "Starfleet was a part of who Edward was," she said finally, in a very quiet voice. "I knew that when I married him. I knew there would be times his work would take priority over our marriage."

"But all the time?"

"It wasn't all the time, though I realize it's easy to think of it that way. He was gone more than he was home. I won't deny that. But I could have gone with him. It was my choice to remain on Earth and in Indiana."

"You still would have come second regardless of whether you went with him or not," Phoebe said with a touch of bitterness. "You just would have been alone in a different place."

Gretchen shook her head. "I'm sorry. I thought you had come to terms with this a long time ago, Phoebe. I knew Kathryn had problems with it, but..."

Phoebe was astonished. "Kathryn? My God, she's just like him. She followed so close in his footsteps, it's a wonder she didn't trod on his heels. She's the perfect daughter. Maybe that's why she was so upset after he died. She felt she had finally let him down."

The older woman smiled, a bittersweet curl to her aristocratic lips. "It's ironic how little we know the people we think we should know best. Phoebe, Kathryn was just as hurt by her father's absences as you were, maybe more so. She followed so closely in his footsteps because she desperately needed him. We just didn't see it in time. Your acting out, the late nights, the rebellious attitude from the time you were young, let us know from the beginning how much you needed his attention, and he tried his best to see you got it."

Phoebe frowned, not wanting to say what was on the tip of her tongue. Gretchen must have read the words in her eyes, however, because a shadow of hurt crossed her face.

"But it wasn't enough, I know," she said softly. "God knows, it wasn't enough for Kathryn. We did what we could for both you and your sister, but maybe we could have done better. I wish we had the opportunity to try."

Phoebe bowed her head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mom. Like I said, this is neither the time nor the place."

Gretchen shrugged. "It's not as if we have anything else to talk about," she pointed out dryly. "Nor anywhere else to go."

Phoebe was rather hoping her mother would not notice that, or at least, not point it out. She exhaled and scooted up onto the bunk beside Gretchen, leaning against the wall and mimicking her position of knees up, with her arms wrapped around them.

"I'm not sure it will make any difference," she said quietly. "What's done is done and talking about it now won't change anything."

"It certainly can't change the past, but it could change your future." Gretchen slipped her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "You have to learn to forgive, Phoebe. Not for other people, but for yourself."

"I don't think it's that easy, Mom," she said, resting her chin on her knees. "And I realize it's not really Kathryn's or even Dad's fault. It's just how it was." She paused. "I guess I feel it more now that Kathryn's married. I worry that her being in Starfleet is going to hurt Annika in the same way we were hurt. I'd hate for that to happen."

"Seven's a very strong young woman," Gretchen told her quietly. "She won't become second to Starfleet beyond what she chooses to accept for Kathryn's sake. Furthermore, I think Kathryn knows that as well. She may not always show it. She may not even recognize it in herself, but when it comes down to what's truly important, she won't follow her father in this. She knows how important Seven is to her."

Phoebe considered that. "Are you saying Seven is stronger than you?"

"Not stronger," Gretchen said slowly, choosing her words with care. "Her needs are different from mine. I didn't need Edward the way Annika needs Kathryn. I'm not saying I loved him any less than she does my daughter, just that my sense of self wasn't as tied up with him as Seven's is with Kathryn."

"But that's why I worry about her, Mom." Phoebe exhaled, feeling a sense of helplessness that went beyond her current situation. She hadn't expected to care as much for Kathryn's eventual partner as she did when meeting Seven of Nine, but the young woman had become the little sister Phoebe had always wanted, the one that she felt needed the protecting in the family, far more than Kathryn did. "Seven is so innocent in so many ways. She doesn't always realize when Kathryn's pushing her aside."

"Oh, she realizes it," Gretchen said dryly. "You might want to worry more about your older sister in this matter, sweetheart. Annika will never stand for taking second place in Kathryn's life. She'll allow it only as far as it doesn't impact her directly. When it does, then she'll make Kathryn pay in the worst possible way."

Phoebe stared at her skeptically. "Really?"

Gretchen smiled. "I know everyone thinks of Seven as this even tempered person who always goes along with everything Kathryn wants, but the truth is, she decides how that marriage is going to be and always has. When she digs in her heels, Kathryn is the last person who can deny her."

Phoebe didn't know what to believe, aware her mother was an astonishing judge of character, her stopping to help their eventual kidnappers notwithstanding. But the artist also knew how it felt to always have to work for her father's attention, and with Kathryn so similar to him, she believed it would be exactly the same for Seven. She didn't want that for her sister-in-law. She cared for her too much.

"I don't know, Mom," she said doubtfully.

Gretchen merely smiled serenely. "Trust me."

Phoebe opened her mouth to respond to that when a noise above interrupted what she was about to say. Startled, and not a little afraid, she slipped off the bunk and stood up, looking at the force shield above them. Beside her, Gretchen slowly climbed to her feet, also regarding the opening above them.

The dark skinned Vulcan looked down at them and Phoebe grew faint. Was it time? Were they to be killed?

The shimmer of the force field disappeared and the woman regarded them impassively as she dropped down a rope ladder.

"If you want to live, come with me."

Kate Pulaski lifted a bottle of amber liquid. "You knew I'd be by sooner or later, Kathryn."

Janeway offered a listless glare, but didn't say anything as she returned to her chair, making no move to invite the doctor in. Nor did she care enough to see if the doctor would follow her into the quarters. She was finally over the awful numbness she had felt in the immediate aftermath of her conflict with Seven, but it had given way to a hurt, deep and profound, making it difficult for her to think and react in her normal manner.

Pulaski took a seat on the sofa across from her and set the bottle down on the table. "I was going to prescribe a few shots, but now that I see you, I realize that alcohol is the last thing you need. You look positively awful, Kathryn."

Janeway didn't respond to the chiding words, curling her legs up under her as she resumed her contemplation of the stars outside the viewport. The doctor hesitated, before leaning back on the sofa to watch her for another long moment. Finally, she could bear it no longer.

"This is ridiculous." Her tone was impatient. "Go to her, Kathryn."

"I can't." Janeway's voice was ragged, raw pain unconcealed. She knew there was no more commander left, only the woman, bewildered and alone on a sea of misery. She couldn't hide anything from the medical officer, nor even make the attempt to do so. It was completely beyond her ability at the moment.

Pulaski exhaled in exasperation. "Don't do this, Kathryn. Don't let pride make you throw away the best thing you have."

"It's not about pride." A touch of outrage flared dully as she turned to face the medical officer.

Pulaski shook her head. "It's exactly what it's about. Seven's hurt you, probably more than she realizes, but getting past the pain is what you have to do. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be."

Janeway looked away, tears burning her eyes and the back of her throat. "She moved in with Lenara. She wouldn't have done that if she wasn't already finished with me." Her voice broke. "I'm not ready for her to be finished with me. I'm not ready for her to tell me it's over."

Pulaski held up an admonishing finger. "Don't assume, Kathryn. Lenara Kahn is her friend. Seven went to her because she had nowhere else to go."

"There's B'Elanna."

"Who's married to Ro, who's the closest thing that you have as a friend on this ship. Seven knows this and wouldn't want to become a possible bone of contention between them. Give her that much credit, Kathryn."

Janeway shook her head. "Lenara can give her everything I can't," she whispered. "She'll never put Seven second to some esoteric duty."

"Don't be so sure of that," Pulaski offered with a note of cynicism, and Janeway wondered what she knew that would make the doctor say that with such apparent surety. Pulaski took a breath. "Even if she could, Kathryn, that doesn't mean Seven wants to be with her. She wants to be with you. I might not know her as well as some other people on this ship, but I do know you're the only person she loves, and will probably ever love this way. Don't let what is basically a difference of opinion turn into something bigger and more costly than it has to be."

"She's never left me before," Janeway said starkly. "She only threatened to do it once, and that was bad enough. Even when she needs space to work things out, it only takes an hour or so before she comes back to tell me exactly how it's going to be." She found it hard to catch her breath. "This has been days. She won't speak to me. She won't be in the same room with me if she can avoid it..."

"And it's starting to affect the ship," Pulaski said dryly.

Anger flared. "I don't give a damn about the ship!"

For a moment, the doctor and Janeway stared at each other, the words hanging heavily between them. Finally, Pulaski nodded slowly. "You'd better tell her that."

Janeway caught her breath, unable to accept the words ... the truth ... that had just slipped out. "It's not that simple."

"No, I don't suspect it is," Pulaski agreed. "Starfleet means a lot to you, Kathryn, but does it really mean more to you than she does?"

"Oh, God." Janeway put her hands over her face. "I don't want it to."

"Then choose."

"It doesn't change the fact that if I had to let her die to save the ship..."

Pulaski held up a hand, interrupting her. "That's not what this is about, Kathryn. I know what you'd sacrifice to protect those under your command. Seven knows it, too. This is a lot harder. You can always die for the uniform. You can even accept that Seven can and will die for the uniform if it's required. This is about giving up your life for the uniform, and that's different."

Janeway dropped her hands, lifting her gaze to meet the doctor's. "I can't ... I don't understand."

"I think you do," Pulaski said softly. "It's what your father did. He gave up his life for Starfleet, never realizing what it was costing. Dying's easy, Kathryn. Making the compromises to be with another person in your life while living up to a higher ideal is so much harder." She looked every bit her age suddenly, each line and wrinkle clearly defined. "Maybe he never realized how bad the choices he made were until he was staring at his own death through the windshield of that cockpit, knowing that his entire life had led up to that moment. He died for the uniform, Kathryn, but he also lived for it, letting it take him away from your mother and you kids more than it had to. Don't make the same mistake. Don't let Starfleet cost you your life."

The words were so profoundly hurtful and devastating that Janeway never stopped to wonder how the doctor could possibly know so much about Edward Janeway and what choices he made in his life. All she could think of was what it would mean if Seven didn't come back, if she didn't have her in her life, being so much a part of her that being without her was like ripping a piece of her soul away.

"What if... what if she is with Kahn?"

Pulaski hesitated. "Kathryn, even if Seven could have feelings for someone else, it wouldn't have happened that quickly. You know that."

Janeway closed her eyes, feeling her heart break. "What if she just doesn't want to be with me? What if ... what if it really is over?"

"Then, at least, you'll know." Pulaski lifted a brow. "And be able to move on from there."

Janeway found it highly unlikely she would be able to move on in any kind of way, but didn't dare say it. Just the thought of it was enough to make her want to run away somewhere and hide, to find comforting darkness and never see the light of day again.

Pulaski stared at her a moment, and shook her head sadly. "So this is what it's like on the inside of one of your fights. I remember I once said that I would love to be a fly on the wall for one of your arguments with Seven. You told me that I really didn't, and you were right. To be privy to this, and see what it demands of you, is painful."

"Believe me, it's a lot more painful to experience," Janeway muttered.

The doctor frowned. "So fix it. Stop wallowing in 'what ifs' and do something about it. How is waiting going to make it any better?"

"Seven's not ready..." Janeway began.

"Ready for what? For you to knock some sense into her head? Stop worrying about what Seven is ready for. Don't let your fear of driving her away let her off the hook. She's responsible for her actions, both to herself and to you. Settle this, one way or the other. It'll be best for both of you in the long run."

The captain felt very weary. "Do you even know what this is all about?"

The doctor shrugged. "All I know is that Seven moved in with Lenara and that you two are having problems. The entire ship knows that. What caused it has something to do with a priority message from Starfleet, though I can't possibly imagine what they could have said that would cause such a conflict between the two of you."

Janeway felt her throat close. "My mother and sister have been abducted by the Orion Syndicate. I was ordered to continue my mission. Seven demanded that I turn the ship around and return to the Federation. I told her I couldn't ... that I wouldn't."

"Oh."

For the first time since Janeway had met the doctor, Pulaski appeared at a loss for words. An uncomfortable silence fell between them, the sort born of shared experience. Last time a similar situation had arisen, it had been Pulaski demanding that Janeway turn the ship around. The captain hadn't done it then. For a multitude of reasons, some she wasn't entirely sure of herself, she didn't think she could do it this time either.

"It still doesn't change anything, Kathryn," Pulaski decided finally. "Seven is still the most important thing in the universe to you. Go make it right, even if you have to do the wrong thing for Starfleet and for your career."

Janeway felt her breath catch again, a sharp hitch in her chest. "You think it's that easy."

"Of course it's not easy, Kathryn," Pulaski said patiently, as if to a child. "It's the most difficult decision you'll probably have to make, harder than ordering the ship away from a situation that will destroy it, all the while knowing that you're leaving Seven behind to certain death. Those kind of decisions are what makes you a Starfleet captain. This is something different. This is the kind that you both have to live with. It's about your life and how you're going to live it from this moment forth. Don't give Seven up for something that you won't find worth having without her."

Janeway felt her heart break, a tangible snap within her chest. "If I do this thing," she whispered, "If I give it all up to do as she asks, will I spend the rest of my life resenting her for it?"

Pulaski looked every bit as bad as the captain felt. "I don't know," she told her gently. "I can't answer that. Only you can. There's no right or wrong here, Kathryn. It's just trying to do the best you can with a bad situation."

Janeway laughed bitterly. "Making lemonade from lemons?"

Pulaski smiled with bittersweet regret. "Something like that."

Janeway looked at the stars out the viewport, wondering if she could really give them up for the woman she loved. What was it which scared her most?

That she wouldn't do it?

Or that she actually could.

"Join me, Seven?"

Lenara lifted up her mug, indicating that she wanted the Borg to have a cup of Klingon coffee and chat, just as they had countless times before. For a second, Seven hesitated, then irritably shoved aside the sudden doubts. Lenara had not changed. Only Seven's perception of her, and only because B'Elanna had forced the Borg to confront the matter in a way she had not expected. Seven knew she had no romantic feelings for the scientist, and she sincerely doubted that the Trill held any for her. Lenara certainly had not indicated any in the time they had known each other.

"Thank you." The Borg sat down as Lenara retrieved another mug of raktajino. Sipping it carefully, respectful of its strong nature, Seven regarded the Trill surreptitiously. Lenara gazed back at her, infinitely placid, not saying anything at all.

"Is there something you want, Lenara?" the young woman asked finally, unable to maintain her silence. She knew she was usually more patient than this, but when her emotions were in a turmoil, she was very far from the Borg she believed herself to be.

Lifting a brow, as if surprised, Lenara smiled. "Not to my knowledge." She paused, sweeping Seven's face with a look of keen evaluation. "Should I want something from you?"

The Borg felt uncomfortable. "No."

Lenara stared at her a moment longer.

"May I ask you a question, Seven?"

Reluctantly, the Borg inclined her head, indicating assent.

"Have you left the captain?"

Seven twitched. "I ... currently require space," she said after a moment. "I did not leave her."

"A few hours is space, Seven. Three days might be considered a separation." Lenara picked up her mug and sipped slowly. "She certainly might consider it to be a separation."

"I am less concerned with what Kathryn thinks than I have ever been." Seven saw that shocked the Trill, but the anger was still strong, and now that she was holding this position, she wasn't entirely sure how to relinquish it. She truly believed that Janeway was wrong for not returning to the Federation, for not allowing Seven to become involved in the situation. Not even B'Elanna had shaken that certainty. "Her opinion is irrelevant in this matter."

Lenara shook her head. "I've lived a lot of lifetimes, Seven. Running away is never the answer."

"I have not run away." Seven's hands were shaking and she clasped them tightly together on the table to hide that obvious sign of her agitation. "I simply cannot be with her right now."

"Fair enough." Lenara sighed. "At least you're willing to talk about it. Until now, I didn't even dare bring it up."

"I do not believe anything has changed," Seven said starkly. "I still do not want to discuss it." Especially after her unsatisfying conversation with B'Elanna.

Lenara considered that, and then shrugged. "Even so, Seven, it's gone on for too long at this point. It's time to address the issue. Tell me what precipitated this and perhaps, together, we can come up with some sort of acceptable resolution."

It wasn't what Seven wanted to do, but the Trill had her pinned with one of those looks that conveyed the depth of her three hundred years of great wisdom, and before she knew it, the Borg was explaining everything about the message from Starfleet, the dire straits her family was in, and the nature of the conflict between herself and her partner. The only thing she managed to hold back ... because she thought it irrelevant ... was what B'Elanna had said about Seven's choice for sanctuary. When she was through, Lenara shook her head thoughtfully.

"Seven, you told me yourself that Janeway was prepared to sacrifice you for the ship ... and that you completely understood and accepted it. How is this different?"

Seven stared at her. "This isn't about me. This is Gretchen!"

"And you believe you are or should be less important to her than her mother? In truth, Seven, I believe you are far more precious to her. You're her family. That doesn't mean that she loves her original family less, but this is how it works. You grow up, you leave the nest, you begin your own family and that becomes the most important to you. It's practically a biological instinct, and I believe the captain would sacrifice her mother long before she would let you die."

Seven did not want to believe that, but assessing the Trill's earnest features, she knew that Lenara believed it to be true.

Lenara sighed softly, as if knowing how difficult this was for the Borg. "Tell me, Seven. I know you love Gretchen and Phoebe dearly, but if you could only save one of the three, would you really choose either of them over Kathryn?"

Seven swallowed. "That is not a fair question."

Lenara shrugged. "Who told you life is fair? You, of all people, assimilated at age six, should know that."

"But this is not a matter of choosing between my safety and theirs," Seven argued strenuously. "Kathryn is choosing duty over her family. Choosing Starfleet over those she loves."

"But we've already established that she would sacrifice you for the ship. Logically, it follows that she would be equally capable of sacrificing her mother and sister for the ship."

"The ship is not at risk."

"How long would it take to prepare a safe return, Seven? To do it as quickly as you need to do it would put the crew at grave risk. By the time we could return safely, the whole thing will be over, one way or the other."

"You can't know that."

Lenara lifted her hand. "You're right, I don't, but I do have a sense of how these things go, as you would if you'd only take a moment to think about it. The more time that passes, the less likely anyone will be alive at the end of it. A week is too long."

Seven's head went back, rocked, and the Trill quickly reached out her hand to grasp the Borg's wrist apologetically.

"I'm sorry. That's not how I wanted to say that." The Trill paused, searching for the words. "Seven, honestly, what do you think the captain could do on Earth if she really did throw away her career and return? Starfleet probably has this well under control, and even if Janeway showed up there in the next minute, pips and authority intact, they still wouldn't allow her to interfere with their operation. She'd be too personally involved."

"I would not allow Starfleet to stop me." Seven's voice was icy.

"Indeed? You truly believe you would succeed when Starfleet Intelligence might fail?"

Seven stared at her blankly. "Of course."

Despite the situation, Lenara laughed. It penetrated Seven's anger in a way that nothing else would have. "Ah, Borg arrogance. There's nothing like it." The look the Trill offered cut the young woman to the quick. "Annika, you told me about the incident with Section 31. I'm not sure you should have, but regardless, I thought it taught you something about rushing into a situation blindly. Didn't it show you that all your assimilated knowledge doesn't always compensate for experience? Do you really think your approach to this situation would be better than Starfleet Intelligence, who do this kind of thing for a living?"

Seven felt her cheeks warm, remembering that time with painful clarity. "Perhaps not, but if Starfleet Intelligence were truly competent, then Gretchen and Phoebe would not now be at risk."

Lenara exhaled quietly. "Maybe, but unless Gretchen and Phoebe were willing to live in a box, as I suspect they refused to do, then no security system is perfect."

Seven, conscious of how Gretchen kept Michael to a minimum when it came to altering the farm's technical systems, which were primitive at best, could not disagree with that assessment. In fact, the Traditionalist had only gone along with most of the changes put in place because it had been Janeway and Seven supposedly at risk. She never would have done it for herself, and Seven had no doubt that Gretchen had quickly phased out the security measures once her daughter and daughter-in-law returned to space.  She was a great deal like Kathryn in that way.

The Trill watched the play of emotion on the young woman's face, undoubtedly recognizing the thought process if not what she was actually thinking. "Her reaction to your recent decision to reprogram your nanoprobes shows that Janeway has accepted you for who you are, Seven," she said with almost impossible gentleness. "Perhaps you've never really accepted her for who she is, despite all your perfect words, because until now, it's never really been tested. Words and ideals are easy in the abstract. They're so very difficult to live with in reality." She caught her breath, almost as if something hurt her inside, catching her unexpectedly. "Believe me, I know."

"I could still assist in their rescue," Seven insisted weakly, responding to the pain in the Trill's eyes.

"Your help may be the last thing Gretchen and Phoebe needs."

Seven blinked, taken aback by the blunt words. Lenara narrowed her eyes, as if she had just perceived an opening and was determined to exploit it.

"Not so long ago, you sat in your office and told me that you would kill me without hesitation if it meant that Janeway would be safe. You said it very dispassionately, and at the time, I took it somewhat romantically, as I'm sure many others do, but since then, I've thought about it. What it really means is that when you're in this state, you're extremely dangerous. Perhaps more dangerous than you have a right to be. I realize that if your emotional turmoil is directed correctly, then it can be useful. It's useful to Starfleet, it's useful to the captain, it's even useful to yourself because you're capable of great things while operating under such stress. But what happens when you're not at liberty to act? What happens when someone has to temper that anger and bring it back under control?

She leaned forward. "What happens when the immovable object your irresistible force confronts is the person you love more than anything else. Janeway can't be just your spouse in this, or even her mother's daughter, she also has to be your captain and the member of Starfleet capable of seeing the bigger picture. That means she has to be able to put aside her own hurt and despair to keep you from doing something unforgivable."

Seven found it difficult to breath, mesmerized by the Trill's words. Cutting through her anger with an incredible clarity, she began to have a measure of what she had done, and why she might have done it.

And what it was undoubtedly costing her spouse.

"And how do you think Janeway feels right now, having to be that immovable object?"

Lenara was regarding the Borg curiously, almost as if Seven's response was of great, scientific interest to her. Finding it hard to maintain her equilibrium, Seven considered concepts that she was not really ready to deal with, though as she examined them, she knew them to be true ... perhaps more true than she could bear. She wanted to hang on to her fury, not be forced to abandon it because the emotion might prove to be a mistake, or worse, be completely misguided.

A sudden chime at the door offered an escape, and with a sense of relief, Seven sat back in her seat. Lenara looked annoyed but quickly rose to attend to whoever had chosen such an inopportune time to visit her. The Borg decided that she was more grateful for the interruption than she should be, but the conversation with Lenara had made her very uncomfortable and she needed more time to think.

As the door hissed open, she glanced over and abruptly realized that her time was up.

Captain Kathryn Janeway stood in the entrance, her dark grey eyes focused on Seven with all the intensity of a thunderstorm about to unleash.

The woman shot a look at her, one elegant eyebrow rising slightly. "That is an erroneous assumption," she said in her quiet voice. "My presence here is the result of the capture and incarceration of a Vulcan criminal. She was very good at what she did, and her reputation among the criminal element was enough to allow me easy entry into the Orion Syndicate."

"They didn't realize she'd been replaced?" Gretchen was fascinated.

"The individual in question was not in the habit of revealing much about herself. Even her crimes were undertaken while wearing a variety of disguises." Asil tilted her head. "It has come to my attention that, to many species, all Vulcans look alike."

Gretchen blinked. "Was that a joke?"

Phoebe, crouched beside them behind a stack of cargo containers, let out her breath in exasperation. "Could we have this discussion another time?" she hissed. "It's not as if we're out of the woods, just yet."

The other women looked at the artist, but didn't dispute her assertion that their escape was still in doubt. Gretchen had just been so relieved to be away from the cramped confines of their cell, that she momentarily forgot they were still in somewhat dire straits.

"Why didn't you wait for Starfleet?" Phoebe whispered with a touch of testiness in her tone. She had been on edge since crawling out of their cell, her nerves jittery as they skulked through the corridors to this cargo area filled with battered shipping containers.  The boxes showed evidence of recent use, sitting on an area of the floor that was free of dirt. This was in contrast to an assorted stockpile of items set further back against the walls. Covered with dust, they appeared to have been there for some time.Cobwebs hung in dark corners and Gretchen found her nose twitching constantly in an effort to hold back a sneeze.

"I could not," Asil told them. "Even though we wished to discover the secret backers behind the syndicate's recent resurgence, it was clear to me such a window of opportunity would only come with unacceptable collateral damage."

Gretchen frowned and Phoebe looked queasy. "You mean, they were going to kill us."

Asil nodded. "They did not want their backers to discover they had abducted you. Apparently, they were acting outside their parameters, a matter of revenge rather than business."

"Nice to know," the artist said grimly.

Gretchen didn't agree. She could have lived very nicely without knowing it.

"What went wrong?" Asil looked at her inquiringly and the elder Janeway elaborated. "If they simply wanted us dead, they could have killed us where they took us. Why now?"

"The Federation refused to exchange syndicate members currently imprisoned for your safe return. They also refused to offer weapons or monetary funds. Starfleet, obviously, has been stalling them, but they could not know their time was running out."

There was a silence. "Glad to know we were worth that much to the Syndicate," Phoebe mumbled finally. "They asked a lot for us."

"Be silent," Asil murmured, peering over the container.

Gretchen felt a thrill of fear shiver through her as she saw the hulking form of Ricardo enter the small warehouse. She had managed to keep it under control the entire time she had crawled up the rope ladder that swayed precariously under her weight. Even while she