Seven and Ara crouched amongst the containers littering the cargo bay of the pirate vessel. They had managed to jimmy the lock for the cargo bay hatch that didn't have the same sensors and security systems the main hatch did. It was a typical oversight in these old ore freighters, which this vessel was, despite its increased weapons array and propulsion unit. It took very little for Seven to utilize her implant to bypass the seal to provide them egress, and their only real fear was that the pirate vessel might normally run with the cargo bay depressurized. If that were the case, they were about to find themselves at a decided disadvantage in saving themselves, let alone the captain. 
Vacuum was very non-nutritional, Seven noted and quickly sought out the access hatch to the rest of the ship. Ara, meanwhile, busied herself by prying open the various containers while Seven worked at the door seal. The ex-Maquis abruptly made a sound which attracted the Borg's attention, and Seven looked behind her.
"Lieutenant?"
Ara motioned at the interior of the container. "Take a look at this."
Seven hesitated, then took the moment to look. The container was filled with weapons; disruptors, grenades and various projectile launchers.
"This isn't a pirate ship," Ara murmured, looking around at the other stacks of similar containers. "It's a damned arms runner. A lot of these are explosives."
"Not something the nomads are known for."
A sudden jolt shook them, and sickly yellow lights began to strobe. There was an unmistakable hiss of air as they felt motion beneath their feet, and they looked at each other in trepidation.
"They do run depressurized," Ara said as they rushed back to the access hatch. "It's going to get real thin and real cold in here before long."
"I understand." Seven worked on the hatch with renewed determination. It would do them little good if she set off an alert on the bridge that the door was being opened, but the fact remained that if she didn't get it open soon, the two would be in far worse trouble.
Seven took a breath, brought her rapidly increasing pulse under control, and carefully bypassed the signal that went to the bridge. It made it appear as if the hatch to the cargo bay was sealed even as she pried the hatch open, a task made more difficult by the thinning air.
Ara was gasping as they stumbled into the corridor, and Seven was careful to close the hatch behind them. They took a moment to catch their breaths, then Ara motioned them into a small utility room nearby.
"We should stay here for a while until they settle down," Ara suggested. "If we're lucky, they'll notice right away that the Delta Flyer has also undocked and is on their tail. While they're distracted with that, we can find the captain."
"They would not have left her with her communicator," Seven noted, chafing at the delay as they concealed themselves in the tiny room. "We cannot track her using that."
"Then we'll have to do it the old fashioned way," Ara said, then added at Seven's uncomprehending look, "Door by door, trial and error."
Seven nodded. They were silent for a while, feeling the vibration of the vessel leaving the dock tremble through the deckplates. She glanced at the other woman curiously. "May I ask you a question?"
Unlike most other people, Ara did not visibly wince at that, though she did seem to tense slightly.
"If you must."
"Do you dislike me?"
An expression of what might be considered exasperation crossed the woman's face.
"It's hardly the time for this."
Seven blinked. "I am not going anywhere, for at least ten minutes. Will this dialogue take longer than that?"
Ara heaved a sigh of annoyance. "Look, I've got nothing against you personally, Seven. All right? It's just that you were brought on board out of the blue, and it seemed like the captain always gave you more preference, granting you an authority and privilege that the rest of us don't have. It can cause resentment, especially down on the lower decks."
Seven raised an eyebrow. 'Lower Decks' was a slang term used to refer to all those crewmembers who rarely had reason to work above deck four. They were mostly ensigns and crewmembers who lacked the necessary training and skills to advance; to be more precise, a good percentage of the Maquis. Of that group, only Chakotay and B'Elanna had moved easily into the senior ranks, and that was because they both had Starfleet experience.
"Do you feel I am incapable of accepting the responsibility granted me?" She was dismayed. It was one thing to feel that Janeway might not trust her. She had resolved that. It had never occurred to her that others doubted her qualifications. Her loyalty when she first arrived on Voyager, perhaps, but never her superior capabilities.
Ara shot her a wry grin. "That's the hardest part about it. It would be easier if you were incompetent, and just being favored because of your personal relationship with the captain. It's worse when you are better than anyone else in a lot of things."
Seven frowned. "That is illogical. How is my being capable a source of resentment?"
"I never said it was logical," the ex-Maquis noted. "That's just how people are. They worked hard to get what little they've got. All your advantages seemed handed to you. The unfairness gets to some of us."
"I was assimilated," Seven reminded her. "Any one of you would be able to do what I do if you would simply allow the Collective to add your distinctiveness to their own." She paused. "And of course, have a Starfleet captain sever your link eighteen years later."
Ara shook her head. "That's not what it's about. You have a natural intelligence that the rest of us lack." She seemed to think about it. "Maybe that's why the captain's so attracted to you. She's a scientist as well as a commander."
Seven considered that. "Do people also resent the captain for her mind?"
Ara shook her head. "That's different. She's the captain. She's expected to be the ultimate authority, but you weren't. You were just a Borg, an unemotional, unthinking drone. There are plenty of other reasons to resent the captain."
"Do people resent the captain?" Seven asked, horrified.
Ara shrugged. "She did strand us in the Delta Quadrant."
"Is that not preferable to a Federation penal colony?" Seven asked innocently. "Or dead if Voyager had indeed, returned as intended? The Jem'Hadar terminated every member of the Maquis they could find."
Ara took a breath. "I know that's supposedly what happened. Not all of us believe that. They must have missed some of the resistance."
Seven regarded her steadily. "They did not."
Ara stared at her for a moment, almost as if she was attempting to believe the words the Borg was saying. Then she dipped her head, sadness etching her face.
"Maybe you're right. Prophets knew, Torres was broken up about it for a long time from what I hear."
Seven searched for something to say. "I am sorry," she offered finally.
Ara shrugged. "You didn't know them." A coldness edged its way back into her voice.
"No, I did not," Seven agreed. "Yet, I understand the importance of interpersonal relationships, and Lt. Torres told me that the Maquis were like a family. I comprehend how it would feel to lose someone that close. And worse, be unable to do anything about it." 
Ara took a breath, not looking at the Borg.
"Let's find the captain," she said shortly, apparently not wanting to continue the conversation any further.
Seven hesitated briefly before complying with the suggestion, carefully sliding open the door and peeking through to the corridor beyond. It remained clear, and she nodded to the lieutenant. They crept quietly into the hall, and stealthily made their way to where it branched off further down. An access hatch was above them, and without speaking, Seven motioned that she was going to mount the ladder to check it out. Ara nodded, and as she kept watch, Seven slung the rifle over her shoulder and scaled the metal steps. Cautiously, the Borg lifted the cover and peered through the crack she created, discovering another corridor that also appeared to be empty.
Quietly, she eased open the grate, and lifted herself gracefully onto the next deck. Alertly bringing her rifle up into firing position, she looked around as Ara joined her. Ara gestured toward one end of the hall, suggesting that was the best direction to try. Since Seven had no real preference, she made no objection, following as the thin woman made her way toward the intersection where another corridor lay at right angles. Seven noted that unlike Voyager, which was maintained with the most conscientious Starfleet neatness, the corridors of this ship were dank and dusty, rust streaking the walls where moisture from condensation had dribbled downt he bulkheads. The deck was mostly clear, but where it met the hull, it was caked with grime and debris, left to float around during periods of null gravity, only to settle somewhere else later on.
Ara held up a hand as she peered around a corner, then held up two fingers. Seven had no clue what that meant and frowned at the Maquis. Ara rolled her eyes and stepped back, allowing Seven to take a peek herself.
Ah, Seven noted to herself. The two fingers meant the two nomads who were standing in front of a door some distance down the hall, almost as if they were on guard. It occurred to her that perhaps they were guarding something or someone. There was nothing to indicate that it was the captain, but what else would need that much security on this vessel?
She shot a look at Ara, nodding and they retreated a bit.
"Ideas?" Seven whispered in a barely audible voice. She had heard Janeway say that often when the captain was not sure what to do next.
"Hit them fast and hard before more pirates show up." Ara eyed Seven measuringly. "If we use our rifles, sensors are bound to set off an alarm on the bridge. How fast are you? "
"Fast enough," Seven said flatly. She handed Ara the weapon and unencumbered, tiptoed up to the corner.
The guards seemed relaxed, apparently not expecting any sort of interruption. In fact, they were leaning together, talking about a female they had seen in a bar they had frequented in their last port of call. They weren't even looking Seven's way, and the Borg took full advantage of their distraction, halfway to them before one looked over the other's shoulder to see her coming.
She was aware that he opened his mouth, perhaps to cry out, but she was on them before he had the opportunity to utter a word, knowing that in a hand to hand struggle ... where they each had four to her two ... she would be at a decided disadvantage. She struck a blow to his temple that killed him instantly, the man slumping to the deck. The other wasted time fumbling for his weapon, and she reached out and casually snapped his neck, twisting his head like a container cap.
Ara stared at her with grim approval as she joined her a moment later.
"Efficient," she said in an oddly cold voice.
"Thank you," Seven said, accepting the compliment.
She examined the lock, then extended a probe from her implant to activate the seal. She handed Ara the rifle once more and opened the door, not sure what she would find as she entered the small room.
Something landed on her back, heavy and with a bite as a thin filament enclosed her neck, cutting off her wind. She staggered, the edges of her consciousness growing black, struggling for breath past the obstruction around her throat.
She bent forward in a desperate attempt to free herself, sending her attacker over her head to slam impressively onto the deck.
 
Janeway felt herself flipped over the large body she had grabbed, hitting the metal deck with an impact that drove the air completely out of her lungs. She felt something heavy land on top of her, and she looked up to see a wild eyed Seven of Nine straddling her. The Borg's right fingers closing about the captain's throat as the left mesh implant ripped at the Vulcan filament cutting into Seven's neck. Janeway's hands clutched rather ineffectively at a wrist that was completely immovable. 
"Kathryn?" Seven's gaze was confused, astonished, wheezing past the obstruction wrapped around her throat.
"Seven," Janeway rasped, the exhilaration filling her with its power. "You're alive!"
"Why did you attack me?" Seven gasped, finally managing to free herself of the cord.
"I didn't know it was you," Janeway retorted.
"Are you two done or would you rather be alone?" a second voice asked dryly from the doorway.
Janeway looked over to see Ara standing in the doorway, hefting a compression rifle, keeping watch for any replacements for the two guards who were slumped on the deck.
Seven got off the captain and helped Janeway to her feet, politely handing the Vulcan silk filament back to her. There was a red line burned into her neck where it had bitten harshly into the skin, and blood trickled slowly down her throat, though apparently Janeway had missed the jugular vein. Despite her aplomb, it was clear that the Borg had barely been able to pull the garrote off before it asphyxiated her. Janeway felt a little dizzy when she saw the blood, having to compose herself with an effort.
"Next time, knock," she murmured, hoping the sarcasm would hide her shame and fear.
"Every time I break into a holding cell from this moment on."
Janeway wondered where her partner had picked up that reciprocal sarcastic nature. It certainly wasn't from her, was it? Had to be B'Elanna.
"Do you have one for me?" she asked, gesturing to the rifles.
Seven shot her a look. "Perhaps it would be best for you to remain unarmed, until you are more cognizant of who is rescuing you."
"Give me the damned rifle," Janeway growled, taking it forcibly from Seven who allowed it. She could swear there was a bit of a curve to the Borg's full lipped mouth. "Where's the Delta Flyer?"
"Presumably right behind us," Ara said.
"You don't know?" Janeway said, annoyed.
Seven raised an eyebrow. "We were forced to ... improvise."
When you walked into a trap and an attempt was made on my life was left unsaid, but Janeway felt it keenly. The captain was acutely aware that they were still in a lot of trouble, and she nodded briefly.
"We need to contact the Delta Flyer, but the nomads will pick up on our communicators. Options?"
"We could alter the signal," Seven suggested as they stepped over the guards on the floor. "Make it a carrier wave attached to what would normally appear to be nothing more than antimatter emissions."
Abruptly, Janeway became aware that the guards slumped on the deck were not unconscious, they were dead and that Seven had probably been the cause ... the same Seven who was casually talking about carrier waves and antimatter emissions. The captain felt a little sick, and decided that she and Seven needed to have a long talk after they returned to Voyager. Just because one was capable of killing efficiently didn't mean one always had to choose that option when carrying out a mission.
"Why did Kasha set this trap for you?" Ara asked, checking the power reserve of her weapon. "What set him off?"
Janeway frowned. "It turned out to be Kashyk of the Devore Imperium. He recognized me."
"Kashyk?" Ara said, looking at her oddly. "That Cardassian wannabe? How did he get way the hell out here?"
Seven merely frowned.
"Apparently he was thrown out of the Imperium because of our deception," Janeway said uncomfortably and changed the subject. "What's the plan here?"
The other two stopped and looked at her.
"I thought you knew," Seven said in a puzzled tone.
Janeway stifled the sigh. This was why she wore the pips after all.
"Let's find someplace private to create that signal. It might give us the extra few moments that we need in order to contact Paris and Neelix."
"The utility closet," Ara suggested.
Seven nodded. "I concur."
Janeway resisted the urge to roll her eyes and followed as the pair led the way to the far end of the corridor where the hatch was located. They were just opening the panel when a yell at the far end of the corridor let them know things were not proceeding according to plan. Disruptor fire lit up the hall, and Janeway pushed Seven toward the opening.
"Contact the Delta Flyer," she ordered harshly. "We'll try to hold them off."
She and Ara took cover to either side of the corridor in the meager shelter of support beams as they raised their rifles and fired back. At least the controls were set to heavy stun, Janeway noted with a touch of relief. She ducked as a beam burned past her head, so close the tip of her nose tingled, and she snarled, aiming at the nomad who had fired the shot, pleased to see him fall under her blast.
From the hatch leading down to the next deck, she could hear Seven contacting the Delta Flyer, the Borg hanging from the ladder, the top of her head barely visible as beams of energy streaked inches over it. From the bits and pieces Janeway could hear, apparently the Delta Flyer could not lower its shields, the pirate vessel hammering away at it with its rather formidable weapons array.
"Tell them to improvise," Janeway told the Borg when Seven relayed this information. The captain frowned as more pirates appeared, realizing that this was rapidly getting out of hand. Soon they would have to decide to either go down fighting ... or surrender. 
It was one thing to put herself in Kashyk's hands. Janeway wasn't sure how she would handle Seven being used as his own personal frustration reliever. Dark fury descended, and she increased her fire, increasing the settings a notch and aiming above the nomad's heads at the ceiling, trying to bring it down on them. To her left, Ara seemed to understand instinctively what she was attempting, and concentrated her fire there as well.
There was an explosion, and debris suddenly rained down on the startled pirates, making them scurry further up the corridor. In the next second, a major jolt sent Janeway crashing to the floor, the rifle skittering away from her hand. Breathless, the captain wondered if she had accidently hit something more vital than she had intended.
She twisted frantically in an effort to either retrieve her weapon, or crawl back under cover. She was vaguely aware that Ara had also been knocked to the deck, and Seven had disappeared from sight, presumably having fallen from the ladder. The only good part was that the nomads seemed in equal disarray, collapsed in a pile at the furthest end of the hall.
"Captain, quickly."
Seven's voice floated up from the darkness below, and Janeway took a precious second to peer down through the opening. Seven was on her feet, looking at something unseen further down the hall. The Borg glanced at her, and before Janeway could object, the Borg reached up and snagged the captain's vest, hauling her down through the hatch.
Janeway yelped, arms wind-milling as she dropped, landing on the deck at Seven's feet with a solid thud. The Borg let her go to drag Ara down as well, and Janeway struggled to suck air back into her lungs, able to do no more than watch as the ex-Maquis dropped lightly down to the deck, landing on her feet, her phaser rifle raised and ready. Seven swiftly sealed the hatch behind her, and Ara fired at the controls for good measure just to make sure no one could follow them for the time being.
"Seven, what..." Janeway began when she was able to breathe again, but neither of the other two women were paying attention to the starship captain.
Disconcerted, she followed their gaze to where a glow in the end of the corridor had appeared, sparks flying as a cutting tool blazed through the hull. A thick, black smoke began to fill the corridor, and the captain was relieved that she was already close to the deck where the air was still relatively clear. It actually took a moment to realize what was happening and when she did, she wasn't quite sure she believed it.
Lt. Paris must have slammed the Delta Flyer against the pirate ship, overloading the shields with his own, and using the magnetic docking clamps to attach his smaller vessel to that end of the larger vessel. Now, as the pirate ship was unable to fire at them, the weapons array simply not able to target anything on its own hull, the Federation members were busily cutting a way in ... directly through the side of the ship.
It violated every protocol Starfleet had, broke every docking and shipping regulation that existed in every civilization Janeway knew. The damage incurred would leave a hole the size of an air lock in the vessel's hull, exposing this deck, and any others not sealed to the ravages of decompression and vacuum once the Delta Flyer released its grip. It was the most illegal of techniques used to unceremoniously board another ship that did not want to be boarded.
In short, it was a blatant act of piracy.
Janeway was impressed beyond words.
The metal wall abruptly gave way, falling to the deck with a large clang, and the stocky form of Neelix appeared through the haze.
"Come on," he yelled. "Tom can't keep the Flyer steady for long. They're already trying to demagnitize the hull."
Janeway scrambled to her feet with an assisting hand from Seven. If the pirates succeeded in their attempt, the Delta Flyer would suddenly be repelled from the hull, and the three women would find themselves sucking vacuum very quickly. They all jammed into an airlock designed for only two people at a time, and Neelix activated the door, sealing them off from the pirate vessel. They were knocked around as a sudden jolt indicated that the pirates had finally reversed the polarity, repulsing the tiny ship clinging to their vessel.
There was no room for any of them to fall down, but Janeway still managed to slam her head resoundingly into the bulkhead, and when the stars finally cleared, she could see Ara favoring her right arm, while Seven bled profusely from a cut over her right eye. Neelix was also banged up, dark spots already appearing to complement the golden ones scattered over his face, but he maintained enough alertness to activate the inner door of the airlock, and they spilled out into the Delta Flyer's aft compartment.
Moving quickly, but not gracefully, they dashed into the cockpit where Tom could spare them no more than a quick glance over his shoulder. Through the fore transparencies, Janeway saw the pirate vessel heel over, gases and what seemed to be fluids boiling from the wound in its side.
"I think you might have cut through something vital," Paris noted to Neelix as the Talaxian dropped into the co-pilot's seat just aft of the sandy-haired lieutenant.
"As long as they're not shooting at us anymore," Neelix mumbled, accessing his board.
Janeway dropped into the science station, and glanced at Seven who shook the blood out of her eyes as she activated the engineering console. Ara hunched over, using one hand to touch her pad in front of her. The captain regretted it, but she could give them no time to rest.
"Report," she barked, her ears still ringing from the blow she took, her head aching with a sickening pain.
"The pirate vessel is damaged," Paris said crisply. "Sensors indicate a loss of plasma fluid. A conduit must have gone just below where we went in, and our sudden detaching must have weakened the entire section."
"There's explosives in the cargo bay on that deck," Ara noted matter of factly through gritted teeth. "If the cargo bay ruptures or plasma leaks into there..."
Janeway's eyes widened.
"Get us out of here, Tom."
"I'm trying," he muttered. "Shields are down to sixty percent, and our phasers are gone. Warp drive is offline."
"Rerouting sensor power to the warp engines," Seven said distinctly from her post, her hands literally flying over the touch screen.
Janeway's knuckles whitened on the arms of her seat, and she found she was staring at the pirate ship wallowing in space before her, drifting away far too sluggishly.
"Mr. Paris," she said tightly through compressed lips, though she knew her crew was working as quickly as possible.
"Warp engines back online," Ara barked, even as the captain could see the pirate ship begin to tear itself apart, great balls of light and energy engulfing the vessel, and reaching out in an expanding circle, hungrily seeking the tiny Federation ship.
"Warp three," Tom yelled triumphedly as he threw his ship into warp drive, barely ahead of the concussion wave, and Janeway heaved a sigh of relief.
"Set course to the rendezvous coordinates."
She offered a glance back at the spark that had once been a ship full of nomads. Many of them, despite their leader, had only been trying to find their way in the universe at what they considered the worst sort of persecution. Had they been so different from the Maquis? Or indeed, any group in history who felt they were only fighting for their piece of the pie? She felt very weary all of a sudden, and her glance suddenly intersected with Seven who was looking at her with concern.
Yet, Janeway imagined that she read something else in those pale blue eyes, a cold satisfaction of a task being completed in an acceptable manner, regardless of the lives lost. So long as they were other lives, and not any of the Borg's immediate Human collective.
Janeway felt a chill go through her.
Disconcerted, she looked away and found herself caught by Ara's dark eyes.
"Lieutenant?" she asked, a bit more harshly than she intended.
"Did we succeed?"
Janeway felt her heart thump.  "We cut off the head," she said flatly.  "Do that and the snake dies."
The ex-Maquis tilted her head slightly.  "Or two more grow in its place. We may have just created a martyr."
Janeway swallowed.  "I don't believe that."
Saying it firmly so that her crewmember would accept it, so that it would be laid to rest, so that there would be closure.  So that perhaps even she could accept and believe it.
If she only tried hard enough.
 
The stars were thin streaks of light distorted by Voyager's warp field as the vessel resumed its course to the Alpha Quadrant, their dim illumination streaming through the large windows that dominated the blue sofa sitting beneath it. Janeway was standing by the coffee table, staring out the viewports pensively, her hands on her hips, her uniform crisp as it covered her tense frame. Seven raised an eyebrow as she ascended the short flight of stairs leading to the upper level of the ready room, carrying a padd and a deep curiosity about her partner's disquiet. 
In the reflection from the windows, Seven met the captain's eyes.
"Seven," Janeway said quietly.
"Captain," Seven responded evenly. She lay the pad down on the coffee table, and linked her hands behind her back, tilting her head slightly as she regarded Janeway's back expectantly.
"Have you finished your debriefing with Commander Chakotay? Or do you have another session?"
"He informed me it was complete. My report is there on your table."
"Thank you."
Seven waited, realizing that something was wrong. Something had been wrong ever since they had returned to the Delta Flyer, their rendezvous with Voyager, and a day filled with debriefings. It had to do with the pirates, and the fact that their leader had turned out to be Kashyk, and perhaps even how Seven had performed on the mission. More than once the Borg had caught the captain staring at her, a plainly worried expression on her face that she quickly covered up when she realized Seven was aware of her scrutiny. 
Seven didn't like it, but they hadn't had a chance to discuss it, hadn't had a spare moment for the young woman to pin down her partner and find out exactly what was going on.
"Is that all?" Seven prodded delicately.
Janeway inhaled slowly. "No. We need to talk, Seven."
Seven raised an eyebrow. The Borg designation being used rather than her human one made her edgy. Obviously the 'wrongness' had to do with protocols and professional conduct. This was clearly a situation where she was Voyager's astrometric's officer answering to the ship's captain; nothing more, nothing less. She wondered what she had done incorrectly. As far as she was concerned, the mission had gone relatively smoothly, and had ended most successfully, with the threat terminated. Apparently, Janeway did not agree.
Seven waited patiently, content to remain there all night if that was what it took for the captain to find the words to explain her reservations.
"We need to talk about your actions during the mission."
"Indeed," Seven noted. "They were unsatisfactory?"
Janeway hesitated. "Not in terms of outcome, but the method was not what I would like to see from a member of my crew."
Seven considered this, going over in her mind everything that had happened. Belatedly, it occured to her what the possible problem was. "It bothers you that I killed the nomads who were guarding you."
Janeway turned to face her, surprise warring with dismay in her gaze.
"I need to know why you acted as you did."
Seven raised her head. "You believe that I killed them without provocation." It was a conclusion, not a query.
Janeway studied her. "Did you?" she asked finally. "Did you kill them because you thought they had harmed me? Because they were holding me? Was this a matter of revenge, Seven?"
Seven blinked. "I was not even aware that they were guarding you. Lt. Ara and I only knew that we must check every room for your presence."
"Then why?" Janeway asked simply.
Seven realized this was very important to the captain. "I took the situation into account, the fact that Lt. Ara and I were gravely outnumbered, that attempting to stun the guards with our weapons would set off sensors, and most importantly, that those guards could not be allowed to set off an alarm. Terminating them quickly was the logical conclusion."
"You couldn't knock them unconscious?" Janeway countered sharply.
Seven thought about it. "Perhaps," she said slowly. "But it would have required me to pull my blows to a certain extent, and without possessing a greater knowledge of their species, I could not know by exactly how much. I might not have rendered them unconscious immediately, thereby creating a prolonged struggle with them, or allowing the possibility of one of them calling for help. That was something I did not feel Lt. Ara and I could afford."
"Are you telling me that killing them was your only option?" Janeway insisted, and her voice was very hard. Yet, at the same time, Seven somehow understood this was not personal, not a matter of their private interaction, but very much having to do with her being this woman's crewmember, of being Janeway's responsibility as the Borg's captain.
Seven regarded her steadily. "No, it was not my only option. I could have attempted to sever their spinal cords. They would have lost all control over their bodies, and been unable to call for help. Of course, if they were not immediately treated by qualified medical staff, they would have eventually died in any event ... only more slowly ... or at best, lived as paraplegics for the rest of their natural life spans." She paused. "That seemed a somewhat ... inhumane option."
She was careful not to allow the irony touch her tone, but perhaps she did not succeed because there was a flash in those grey eyes, and Janeway's jaw hardened.
"Seven, it is wrong to kill in the process of carrying out our duties."
Seven matched her stare. "That is a fallacy. You have often killed in the carrying out of your duties. As have I. In each case, it was considered justifiable. What makes this different?"
Janeway took a moment, obviously searching for some way to counter this very accurate observation.
"It is easy to kill, Seven," she said, her words clipped. "You're right, we have killed in carrying out what could be considered our duty, and maybe it wasn't always as justifiable as we'd like to believe. But what we must always remember that what makes us Human is the knowledge that we always have a choice. That although we can kill, today we choose not to."
Seven raised her head. "What true difference does it make, Captain? Killing is killing ... for whatever reason. What makes us 'Human' is not that we chose not to kill, but that we attempt to justify it when we do. Whereas supposedly 'lesser' creatures do not even consider the question. But then, they only kill to eat, or to survive, part of a naturally occurring food chain. It is only 'sentient beings' who kill for esoteric reasons like emotion or ideals. When a society's emotions and ideals are in sync, then any killing the members of that society does is considered justifiable, be it war or lawfully executing a criminal. When it is not considered in the society's interests, then killing is considered wrong." She took a breath and pinned the captain with her eyes. "My society is Voyager. The nomads were a threat to you and to my crewmates. If I knew of a way to terminate the threat without killing those two individuals, I would have done so. I did not. I will not risk the existence of any of my fellow collective members, particularly yours, on an esoteric ideal. I can not. It is not in my nature."
Janeway turned away, seeming unable to respond to such a flat statement. Her shoulders abruptly hunched as if warding off a blow, and Seven knew that the captain was struggling with something very deep and painful inside. It was not something that the Borg wanted to see, and certainly it caused her pain to know she had contributed to the captain's dilemma, but she also understood that it was very much Kathryn's nature. It was Janeway's place to argue what was, to demand better, to expect more, not only from herself, but from everyone around her.
Seven wanted to reach out and wrap that small form up in her arms, to hold her until the turmoil and confusion went away ... but she could not. It would be unacceptable in a way that was not entirely clear to her, but nonetheless understood on a very basic level.
"That's a very convincing argument," Janeway said finally. "In some ways, I can't counter it." She turned once more, looking Seven full in the face, her eyes dark and determined. "But I must. From now on, regardless of the circumstances, you will not kill another sentient being unless it is to prevent your own immediate death, or that of a crewmember. That is a direct order."
Seven did not flinch though she wanted to. The tone in the voice was absolute. This could not be negotiated or clarified any further in any way, shape or form.
"I will comply," the Borg responded.
Janeway stared at her a moment more, then nodded.
"Dismissed."
Seven wavered briefly, then dipped her head and left the ready room. Despite the anger in Janeway's eyes, despite the reprimand inherent in the captain's voice, there was still a warmth spreading through the Borg. Whatever her previous doubts, Seven now knew that Janeway expected the same standard of behavior from her as she did the rest of the crew, and would accept nothing less. The order had been clear and concise, just as it would, had it been given to Torres or Neelix or Ara.  Seven mulled over this new revelation with a faint smile as she instructed the turbolift to deposit her on deck four where she made her way to the Wildman's cabin, where she retrieved Jake. She returned with him to her own quarters on deck three and fed him before changing from her blue-grey mesh outfit into a pair of silk pajamas, padding about her quarters in a pair of soft, silver-colored slippers.
She was debating over whether to create dinner or not when the door hissed open and the captain entered. For long moments they stood looking at each other before Janeway slowly crossed the room. Without hesitation, Seven took her in her arms and held her tightly, resting her cheek on the soft auburn hair, feeling the tenseness of muscles ease slowly.
"Do you wish to speak further about this?" she asked softly.
"No," Janeway said and her voice was very husky, almost as if there were tears barely held back behind the words. "We have to leave it out there. At least, for now."
Out there.
Out there was the rest of the ship, the rest of the universe, lying beyond the doors of this place, this home, this haven they had created. Out there, Kathryn Janeway was captain of Voyager, responsible for the lives of her crew, for the way they conducted themselves under her command, for the decisions they made. In here, she was just a woman who trembled in Seven's arms, and tried very hard to keep from weeping in the aftermath of an away mission that, while not a complete failure, had not succeeded in the way Janeway had hoped. There had been no clear, well defined solution, only many choices of the 'less wrong' variety.
Seven had come to understand that as time passed, and they grew together as a couple, certain things could not be allowed to affect their life here in these rooms. It was not always easy to decide what that applied to, nor was it always completely clear to her why Janeway chose to isolate the particular parts of herself that she did, but this was clearly one of these times. Seven tightened her embrace gently. For long moments, they held on to each other, easing back into the familiarity of the room around them, to the sounds and smells of home and each other.
"What a mess," Janeway said finally.
"The pirate threat has been neutralized," Seven offered tentatively.
Janeway sighed, hugging her tightly. "But we didn't accomplish it the way we should have. It's not the Starfleet choice to go in and start blasting. We should have found a way to negotiate a peaceful solution." 
"Kashyk hated you," Seven noted quietly. "Once he recognized you, it is unlikely that any peaceful solution was possible."
Janeway was silent for a moment, considering that. "That's a point," she allowed finally, with reluctance. "Deceptions within deceptions. Once the masks were ripped off, there was no way to keep anything hidden. You are right, he did hate me with everything he was. I had made a fool of him ... several times over."
"He made a fool of himself. If he had dealt with you fairly from the beginning, you would have reciprocated in kind, and offered him a sanctuary." She hesitated as a thought crossed her mind, the memories of that time returning, remembering how Janeway had pretended to be attracted to the man. She hadn't liked it at the time, but she thought she understood it. Now she wondered if it had all been pretense. With a sinking heart, she pulled back, looking down into the beloved features. "Do you ... regret your initial deception?"
Janeway studied her a moment. "Do you mean; could I have developed real feelings for him in other circumstances?"
Seven hesitated. "Yes."
Janeway shook her head. "Never. Certainly, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in the beginning, but I never trusted him for a moment. We both know, Annika, without trust, there can be no true bond."
Seven thought about it. "That does not exactly answer my question."
A tiny grin quirked Janeway's mouth. "No," she admitted. "I don't suppose it does. Annika, I might have been able to care for the person he could have been. I did see potential there, but whatever my feelings were, they were only about what he could have been. Regardless, there was always your place in my heart ...  and no one else could ever supplant that. The most that I ever would have felt for him would have been friendship, not what I was pretending to feel for him."
Seven bent her head, trying to understand what Janeway was saying. "He truly believed you cared for him, that you were attracted to him." Her eyes rose, meeting the captain's squarely. "Have you ever deceived me in that manner? Have you ever manipulated me?"
Janeway exhaled. "That's not an easy question to answer, darling," she said, releasing her embrace and going over to the replicator.
"No?" Seven responded, surprised and hurt. "It seems merely a choice of responding either negatively or positively."
Janeway took the glass of ice water that she had requested from the shelf, and sipped it slowly before turning around. She leaned against the counter as she looked directly at the Borg.
"Let me ask you the same question," she said quietly. "Have you ever manipulated me?"
"No," Seven replied promptly. "Never."
"Are you sure?" Janeway pressed.
Seven stared at her, now a little less certain. Obviously the captain did not agree with her assessment.
"I do not believe so. Do you feel that I have?"
"Of course you have, Annika, from forcing me to eat and sleep regularly, to occasionally allowing yourself to cry when you feel it will affect me most. You also tend to ask me questions when I am at my most vulnerable, because you believe you will receive the best response while my defenses are down. In fact, remember how this whole mission started? You threatened to tickle me in order to make me talk to you."
Seven was stricken as she considered what her partner had said. "You are correct. I have been manipulative."
Janeway's face softened and she put her drink down on the counter, coming over to the young woman once more, and slipping her arms around the slender waist.
"Annika, you have to understand," she said softly as she looked intently up at her, "we all are manipulative in various ways, but mostly it is for benevolent or honestly felt reasons. Just as you do things to convince me to take care of myself, I do the same to you. Remember when I had the doctor remove ova from my reproductive organs to make sure you have options in the event I die? That was blatant manipulation on my part, and what's more, you understood exactly what I was doing."
Seven swallowed hard. "You did that because you love me."
"Exactly, just as your manipulations are based on your love for me, Annika." Janeway sighed, searching for the proper words. "I'm not saying it's right, but it is very much a part of human interaction. What can be accepted and forgiven is a matter of individual decision, be it these small attempts at manipulating each other, to the deliberate deceptions I created to make Kashyk jump the way I wanted. I don't know that I can justify my manipulation of him. Certainly, it had far reaching consequences, not only for myself, but for others that his bitterness has since touched. But if it meant that I would save those telepaths, I know I would do it again." She rested her forehead against Seven's. "I do promise you, my darling, I have never pretended to feel something for you that I don't, and I would never attempt to manipulate you emotionally in order to cause you harm in any way. I couldn't. It would destroy me."
"I understand, Kathryn," Seven whispered. "I promise you the same." She pulled the captain close and kissed her. "I love you," she added in a gentle murmur. "I am sorry if I disappointed you with my actions on this mission."
Janeway shook her head. "You didn't, Annika. You couldn't. There are just some ramification from this mission we have yet to figure out, and it might take a while."
Then she brightened slightly, and smiled.
"But we will," she said in a voice that sounded completely certain.
"We always do, my darling." 
 
Epilogue

 
Lieutenant Commander Tuvok opened his eyes as the chime to his door sounded. He was sitting cross-legged in his darkened quarters, the thin flame from a meditation lamp the only illumination. He took a slow, deep breath, clearing his mind before he lifted his head toward the entrance to his quarters.
"Come in."
The door slid open to reveal Lt. Ara, the woman standing patiently in the doorway until he nodded, inviting her in. She entered and, having done this many times before, lowered herself gracefully to the floor on to the cushion across from him. The lamp's flame flickered briefly as the passage of her body disturbed the air, and shadows danced across both their faces.
"You conducted yourself adequately on the mission," he said when she had settled.
The shadows in her face deepened. "Not in the beginning, sir. I allowed my feelings of envy and dislike to interfere with how I saw the others on the away team. I deliberately refused to call Janeway 'captain' for example, even when subtle hints were made."
Vulcans did not smile, but it seemed that Tuvok's eyes glowed a bit. "Captain Janeway is not known for her subtlety. You must have disturbed her indeed."
"That was not my intent," Ara said quickly, then bowed her head. "That is a falsehood, I did intend to disturb her." She frowned briefly. "I don't understand why."
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I believe you do."
Ara looked up, meeting his gently inquiring gaze.
"Yes."
There was a silence, then Ara swallowed.
"They do love each other," she offered slowly. "More than I think we average crewmembers realize. It allows me to see the captain in a completely different light."
"The captain and Seven's love is very deep ... almost spiritual. Were they Vulcan, it would be a bond only death could sever."
Ara shook her head slightly. "Not even death."
He considered that. "Perhaps." He regarded her. "Now you realize why you have been in error."
"Yes," Ara said quietly. "I understand many things now." She took a breath. "But that doesn't mean I'm ready to reveal anything. Knowing does not always equate trust."
He dipped his head in acceptance. "One day soon."
"Soon." She lifted her head. "Thank you for recommending me for the mission."
"No thanks are necessary."
She uncoiled gracefully from the floor. "When is my next lesson?" she asked, lingering at the door.
"When it happens. Lessons are learned when one least expects it."
She considered that. "I understand. Good night, Tuvok."
She left and Tuvok sat alone in his quarters.
Contemplating the flickering flame.

The End

On to JB20