Just Between Lost & Found 
G. L. Dartt

Commander P'Tuk drifted through the corridors of his vessel, the Bles'Kil, on his way to the holding cell where his latest trophies were on display. He was a remarkably fine male, rising to two meters in height with slender bones and deceptively strong musculature, his eyes glowing golden in dark features, which appeared to blur if any species other than the Spurnge regarded them. But then, the opinion of any species other than the Spurnge was of little consequence. It was enough for him to go through life knowing that the females under his command considered him worthy mating material, allowing his spawn to be passed on liberally as the Book of T'Varnis commanded.
He wondered how much v'har this newest acquisition would bestow upon him. The destruction of the Spurnge's finest triad had not gone unnoticed and the transmitted images of the Federation starship Voyager just before the K'Narani was destroyed, had been passed on to every commander in the fleet. The High Circle had made it clear that any triad which could bring them the head of Voyager's commander ... or proof otherwise of the destruction of the vessel itself ... would receive great v'har. But the vessel had disappeared, leaving Spurnge space and the belief that the insult would forever go unavenged. Then P'Tuk had the good fortune to come across a nebula that required that his vessel receive its own healing at Balleyport Station. Of course, it hadn't seemed like good fortune at the time, but subsequently discovering the cursed Voyager docked to the station where it was receiving repairs, no doubt for wounds sustained in its cowardly attack from behind which had killed the K'Narani, came like a gift from the gods.
He, of course, would have engaged them immediately, but the prime of the Bles'K triad was alone, the other two thirds still on their patrol routes in Spurnge space. Nor did he know how to take advantage of his opportunity while operating under the truce of Balleyport. The station was too valuable a resource to all the species in the sector to cut ties with it, so he was forced into a position of passivity, keeping an eye on Voyager and wondering how he could somehow hurry his repairs and return with the rest of his triad to engage the Federation vessel once it left the sphere of Balleyport's influence.
Then, the two aliens had come on to the Bles'Kil's loading bay, a trespassing of the most grievous kind, and it had been dealt with in the accustomed manner. A docking menial discovered during their entertainment of tormenting the weaklings, that one of them was actually Voyager's Pilot. It had sent the lowly laborer running to the Commander as if his tail were on fire, where his intelligence was duly noted and rewarded with a promotion to cargo supervision. To P'Tuk, it was like receiving a blessing from the P'Karna herself.
He could not imagine the motivation behind such a foolish move on the part of Voyager's commander as to allow such a vital part of his vessel to wander around on a docking bay. It made him slightly uneasy, but it didn't stop P'Tuk from taking full advantage of the opportunity. With Voyager thus crippled, unable to fly without its Pilot, he would easily be able to return to his triad, and with them, triumphantly to the High Circle, bearing their prize.
The throb of his vessel's warp drive was a comforting feel through his legs as each moment that passed brought him that much closer to achieving what would probably be the greatest success in his existence. Such anticipation put him in a fairly genial mood as he entered the holding area and stopped before the cell containing his trophies.
They were indeed repulsive, he thought, regarding the stocky, slow-moving beings, all pinkish and gold, like jeweled displays of the royal harem, with sparse hair like pets ... or food. It was hard to believe such creatures had achieved intelligence, let alone be able to act as the guiding force of such a formidable vessel as Voyager. Yet that was what the taller one had claimed and it was a well-known fact, one could not lie under the application of a burn-stick. The pain was too exquisite and even the strongest of Spurnge warriors would tell any secret just to make it stop.
They were lying on the hard benches, either sleeping or unconscious. P'Tuk noticed that their food was left uneaten and he frowned. He did not want these two to expire before he brought them home. The food seemed all right, fresh killed with the vital organs and juices still leaking, but apparently, it was not suitable. A thought struck him and it occurred to him that certain aliens preferred their meals irradiated by energy waves in order to 'cook' them. It was a disgusting contemplation but then, this was a disgusting species. Or was it two?
They all looked alike to him.
"Take their food," he told the guard. "Remove the vital organs and pass the remains through a biofilter burn. Maybe they'll eat that."
The guard gaped at him, but nodded obediently.
P'Tuk spared his prizes a final, possessive glance before returning to his control center.
If only they weren't so ugly.
 
Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and currently astrometrics officer of the Federation starship Voyager, opened her eyes. She was instantly alert, passing from deep sleep to instant wakefulness, and she reached out in the night, fumbling about beside her. But the spot next to her in the bed was empty, a decidedly unusual and unappreciated state of affairs and she listened intently. From the outer living area, she could hear sounds of respiration, first of an animal, the Irish Setter, Jake, then lower, the soft breath of her partner and spouse of several months. 
She glanced at the time, frowning when she saw it was 0216 hours, late night ... or in another view, very early morning. She knew her beloved had spent a restless evening, but she had not even felt the woman's departure from their bed, her sleep continuing unabated. It bothered Seven and she rose, reaching out to a nearby hook that supported a black robe. She pulled it around her, tying the cord at her waist, the air cool around her legs, left bare almost to the apex of her thighs.
Exiting the bedroom, she stepped briefly in a wet patch on the carpet where Jake had spilled his water dish. She hesitated, made a quick mental note to alter the positioning of the dog's dining area, then went on to where her partner was busy at the workstation closest to the bedroom.
Captain Kathryn Janeway was a compact woman, smaller than her formidable personality and command presence made her appear. Her rich, auburn hair was let down from its customary bun, falling freely over her shoulders and down her back which was all Seven could see at the moment. Dressed in a blue, terry cloth robe, the captain huddled in her chair, illuminated only by the light emanating from the viewscreen that was flickering as she studied the data. Curled up in a furry, rust ball around her feet like oversized slippers, Jake slumbered peacefully under the desk.
Seven came up behind Janeway, resting her hands on the woman's shoulders, feeling her warmth through the fluffy material.
"You should be asleep," she said quietly.
Janeway shook her head briefly. "I couldn't," she said absently. "So I came out here where I wouldn't disturb you. And to go over the library files that Balleyport downloaded for us before we left."
Seven did not like seeing her partner this fretful, but she knew the kidnapping of her crewmembers rankled at Janeway in a way that it did not affect others on the ship, particularly by this species. The Collective had never assimilated any representatives of the Spurnge, but both Seven and the captain had encountered them before, in a prison where Janeway had almost died at their hands. That alone made Seven regard them with more than merely ambivalent feelings. The fact that Lt. Tom Paris, Voyager's helmsman, and the Talaxian, Neelix, had been captured for some unfathomable purpose was merely the reason the ship was now hurtling through space in pursuit of the aliens.
"Have you considered..." Seven began, trailed off uncertainly.
"That they might already be dead?" Janeway inhaled deeply. "Yes, I did but unless I have some kind of proof, I still have to go after them."
"I understand," Seven said, and did, quite profoundly.
The young woman herself, had been the recipient of such single-minded allegiance from the captain. Twice, Janeway had faced down the Borg Collective to retrieve Seven from their possession. Janeway would never allow anything to happen to one of her crew without doing everything in her power to rescue them, even if it meant risking the entire ship in the process. Some might think it illogical, but Seven was also aware that the knowledge of the lengths the captain would go to for every crewmember was what kept many of them at their posts when it seemed like the entire ship was flying apart around them, or enabled them to carry out what seemed like insane orders when common sense would say such things should never work. Loyalty beget loyalty and it was a lesson Seven took to heart.
Still, Janeway would do Paris or Neelix little good by exhausting herself even as Seven also knew how difficult it was to convince the captain of this.
"Have you discovered anything new?" She began to rub her fingers lightly over the muscles of her partner's neck and shoulders, using the subtle massage to ease the knots she found there.
"Not new, but perhaps something that is disturbing."
"Indeed?" Seven said, inviting her partner to continue. 
"The Spurnge are a predatory species, very territorial. It's very possible that we trespassed on the outskirts of their space on our journey here."
"That grants them leave to attack without provocation? To refuse to communicate?"
"It may make it understandable," Janeway returned, granting the point but still trying to see the other side of it. "I don't like it, but perhaps they felt entirely justified in attacking us. They were defending their space from our intrusion. And subsequently, their docking bay from Tom and Neelix's entry."
"That may explain why they would attack us, but why did they simply not kill Lt. Paris and Neelix when given the opportunity? They had them at their mercy ... why spare them?"
Seven felt Janeway's shoulders tense once more, and she realized that perhaps it was not a question she should have asked.
"Apparently, the Spurnge have reasons to do what they do," Janeway said tonelessly. "And they're not always apparent."
"Ah," Seven said. She let her hands slide around to Janeway's upper chest, hugging her. "There still remains the possibility of their being dead then."
"I'm not going to risk the ship unnecessarily, Seven," Janeway allowed huskily, finally understanding the point Seven was trying to make. "I know we don't have the freedom we once did to go after those who bring us harm, even if it means that this time, I'd have to sacrifice my crewmembers ... my friends ... for the good of the vessel. If we can't catch this ship before it reaches Spurnge space, if we can't find a way to get Tom and Neelix back before they get to their own territory ... then, I'll turn back."
Seven knew how hard that was for Janeway, both to acknowledge and to say, and she lowered herself until her head was beside the captain's, her cheek against her spouse's.
"My understanding is that they are still several weeks from the outermost border of their space and Voyager is a formidable vessel once more. We do have a tactical advantage in both speed and weapons."
"But I'll still have to convince them to give up their 'prey' once we catch them." Janeway shook her head fretfully. "I don't know what diplomatic trick I can haul out to accomplish that, especially since their idea of communication is shooting first and talking to the survivors afterward."
"You will, when the time comes," Seven told her with complete certainty. "I believe in you, Kathryn."
She glanced over and saw her partner smile briefly, the blue-grey eyes lowering as her body relaxed marginally in the Borg's arms. The captain reached up and put her hand on Seven's forearm, squeezing gently.
"Go back to bed, darling," she requested. "It's late."
"Only if you accompany me. Kathryn, we are back to regular shifts but you still require rest. You need to be thinking clearly in this situation and you cannot do that if you are tired." She turned her head and kissed the elegant cheek so close to her. "I know you do not wish to be reminded of this," she added gently. "It irritates you when I do, but that does not change the reality of it."
Janeway sighed and relaxed even more.
"No, it doesn't," she agreed reluctantly. "You're right, Annika. I'll come to bed."
"And, if you cannot sleep," Seven offered, sweetening the deal. "I shall rub your back."
A half smile curled her mouth. "Are you trying to bribe me?"
"Do you object?"
"Not at all. I like it when you pamper me, even if I show it by being cranky at times."
Seven didn't really understand, but decided that she didn't need to. It was enough that Janeway was shutting down her station and rising from her chair. The Borg wrapped her arm firmly around the smaller woman's waist as they returned to the bedroom where Seven helpfully relieved the captain of the terrycloth robe, revealing the pale skin, dusted lightly with freckles in the most adorable places. She then stripped off her own robe and after Janeway had positioned herself on her stomach in the middle of the bed ... indicating she had every intention of taking Seven up on her earlier offer ... the young woman retrieved a small bottle of oil from the drawer of her night stand. She straddled the captain's buttocks and poured a little of the oil into her palm, rubbing both hands together briskly to warm them, and the oil, before putting them to Janeway's smooth back.
Janeway, her face resting on the pillow of her forearms, groaned in appreciation and Seven smiled briefly as she carefully massaged the knots from her partner's shoulders and back, her fingers digging in deliciously.
"Have I ever told you that you're far too good for me?" Janeway murmured.
"Frequently. It is always an incorrect statement."
"No, it's not incorrect at all. By the way, when did you learn to do this? It's wonderful."
Seven bent down and gently kissed Janeway's left shoulder blade. "I researched it not long after we were married. It is a fairly simple procedure of applying pressure to various parts of your Human anatomy."
"Well, the various parts of my Human anatomy are very grateful." Janeway luxuriated beneath the Borg's soothing hands, her eyes closed, the lashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks.
Seven regarded her affectionately, moving her hands gently over her partner's back even as she resisted the urge to turn her touch into a sensual caress. Desire was rising within her as she felt the soft swells of her partner's buttocks beneath her and she tried to put more weight on her knees, attempting to avoid the provocative touch of smooth skin against her most intimate region. Kathryn needs sleep, she told herself firmly, not lovemaking. Why does she keep moving like that? It took a few moments before Seven realized her partner was doing it deliberately, pressing up against the juncture of the Borg's legs, though from casual appearance, she seemed almost asleep.
"Kathryn," Seven said warningly.
"What?" Janeway muttered innocently, opening her eyes to look back over her shoulder.
Seven leaned down, her breasts falling onto the captain's back where the nipples dragged tantalizingly along the skin, slick with oil, tingling delightfully at the sensation ... which the Borg tried hard to ignore. "The purpose of this massage is to put you to sleep. You require rest."
"And what does my darling require, since she's so aroused?"
Seven's breath caught at the words, knowing she could not deny the claim.
"It is irrelevant what I require," she said, trying anyway.
The captain over. Obligingly, Seven lifted herself up to grant the smaller woman the freedom to move. Once Janeway had settled back against the mattress, Seven resumed her position, looking down into level eyes, which were shaded a soft blue. "Oh, darling, what you require is very relevant to me."
Seven inhaled slowly and resumed her massage, rubbing the captain's upper chest and breastbone gently, then up to the shoulders, her fingers sliding easily with the oil still clinging to them. Janeway placed her hands lightly on the Borg's upper thighs, her thumbs falling against the tender inner leg, which she stroked softly, lingeringly, almost driving the young woman to distraction.
"Tell me," the captain insisted quietly, her gaze electric as she captured Seven with it. "What do you require?"
Seven hesitated. "I require you to relax."
"Oh, I'm relaxed," Janeway said, leering elegantly. "In fact, if I get any more relaxed, I might just have to lie here while you sit on my face."
Seven felt the heat rush to her cheeks. "You are incorrigible."
"Always."
"And occasionally profane," Seven remarked sternly.
Janeway lifted a brow. "I prefer to think of it as ... straightforward." She tilted her head and smiled. "You've taught me that ... how to cut through the extraneous and get to the heart of the matter."
"And positioning myself over your face is 'the heart' of this matter?"
Janeway regarded her fondly. "The heart of the matter is that you have needs, too. Maybe I haven't always been as attentive to them in the past as I should have been, but I certainly hope I'm improving. I believe we've talked about this before, in fact. That even if I didn't seem interested, you should at least tell me that you want to make love."
"If you are not interested," Seven pointed out rationally. "Then it would give me no pleasure to make love with you."
"I understand that, but you have to give me the opportunity to become interested. Otherwise, I'm not always going to be able to guess what you're feeling. I don't always have the ability to notice how wet you've become, for example." She touched her lightly, a fleeting caress to punctuate her words.
Startled, Seven blushed and quivered at the touch.
"I had not realized that I was.
Janeway arched her hips slightly, so that she was pressing her pelvis against Seven's heat and all the moisture there.
"Oh, you most definitely are," the captain assured her huskily. "I admit, the signs of arousal aren't as apparent as they would be if you were male, but I can arrive at conclusions based on collected data. Especially if it's collecting in one special spot at the moment."
Seven was momentarily diverted. "What would be the signs if I were male?"
"You'd have an erection for one thing. Believe me, it's hard to miss that particular signal."
Seven considered it. "It must be inconvenient. There are times when I wish to make love to you when it is entirely inappropriate ... but no one ever knows because I can conceal it. Males must find such deception far more difficult."
"They do," Janeway said with a laugh. "Believe me, they do." She ran her hands restlessly up and down her partner's legs, sobering slightly though a half-grin remained on her lips. "You should be aware that just knowing that you're aroused is usually more than enough to arouse me in return. Like tonight. When I felt your wetness on me, it was like someone lit a fire in me. Don't try to hide how much you want me, darling. Not here, in our quarters ... in our home."
"Very well," Seven said, leaning down so that her face was close to the captain's, close enough that their lips were a mere whisper apart. "I shall not attempt to conceal how much you mean to me. Or what you do to me." 
And she kissed her deeply, no longer hiding anything, needing her spouse so much it was almost frightening to the young woman.
 
Janeway entered the bridge, her tummy bulging slightly from the delicious breakfast her spouse had provided for her. Now, well rested, well fed, and without question, well loved ... considering how wonderfully the massage Seven had provided the night before had turned out in the end ... she felt energetic, loaded for bear and ready for whatever the universe had to throw at her. She descended the short flight of stairs leading to the command level, her eyes keen on the viewscreen that spread expansively over the front of the bridge, revealing the backdrop of stars shooting by, distorted by the warp bubble surrounding her ship. 
"Report."
Her first officer, the tall, burly Chakotay, got up from where he had been holding the command chair. Over his left eye, a tribal tattoo spread from the middle of his forehead down to his temple. It was distorted by the furrows in his brow as he frowned, his dark eyes serious.
"We're unquestionably gaining," he said. "They started out about eighteen hours ahead of us. We've brought that down to twelve. With any luck, we'll be in transporter range in another day."
She nodded approvingly. "Good work." She glanced around the bridge, noting that the full alpha shift was on, her best people at their stations ... with one notable exception, of course. The helm was being covered in Paris's absence by Lt. Ro Laren, a Bajoran who was well-qualified but certainly not possessing the talent and skills that Tom did. Even Ro would admit that if asked and Janeway wondered if anyone had.
At tactical, the Vulcan security chief, Tuvok, glanced up. "Captain, they are still out of range of our sensors. If a probe were to be launched ahead of us, it would provide us with some preliminary readings that may make a difference in any future encounters."
Lt. Harry Kim, covering operations, nodded in agreement. "If we use the multi-phasic shielding, it might even blind their sensors somewhat, allowing it to get really close before they detect it."
Janeway nodded. "Do it."
She stepped closer to the helm, looking over the shoulder of Ro who was guiding the ship. She took note that they were running at warp 9.1 ... not the fastest the vessel could go but certainly as fast as it could sustain indefinitely. Any faster risked overloading the engines after a set period of time, causing them to shut down for repairs. The ship had just been overhauled. She didn't want to damage it again, not unless it was absolutely necessary for rescuing Neelix and Tom.
She glanced at Chakotay. "We need a plan of action. I want a brainstorming session scheduled in the conference room with the senior staff. Make sure they're all familiar with the library files on the Spurnge. I want it for 1100 hours and until then, I'll be in my ready room."
He nodded and she left the ship in his hands as she descended the next group of stairs, entering her ready room. The thermos tucked neatly under her arm was placed on her desk as she retrieved her lucky cup. She unscrewed the silver container and poured out the rich, aromatic brew, filling it to the brim. Sipping Seven's special blend of coffee gratefully, she sat down, and activated her computer, bringing up the files she had been perusing the previous night ... before Seven had interrupted her in such a pleasant way. For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on her beloved spouse, on how it felt to be with her, before she forcibly brought her mind back to the matter at hand.
The Spurnge, according to what little Balleyport Station had discovered about them, were very aggressive in defending what they considered theirs. They were not conquerors, but they were also not in the habit of officially claiming territory before they began to protect it. Their culture was shrouded in mystery, with status granted accordingly by something called v'har. It was honor, wealth and privilege, but it was more than that, intertwined by many other things like personal accomplishment and how it was applied to others of lesser or higher v'har.
Their space fleet was comprised of several squads called triads, groupings of three ships each, which patrolled their space and challenged all those who violated what they believed to be theirs. To have run across a solitary vessel was unusual indeed and it was perhaps the reason why the vessel ... which was named Bles'Kil in the docking manifest ... had kidnapped the two Federation members. Had the entire triad been in port, they might have arbitrarily attacked Voyager ... or politely escorted the two crewmembers back to the Starfleet vessel with the implication inherent that Janeway was an incompetent commander to have lost track of what was hers, thus claiming significant v'har over her. It was also what gave her hope that her people were still alive. Live and controlled opponents granted far more v'har than mere corpses. Particularly in any future striving for yet more acclaim.
It did interest her to know that, although she was no doubt hated for Voyager destroying an entire triad in battle, she would have also gained much v'har herself. To have taken on a superior force and won so decisively was to be respected. She wondered how she could use that in the upcoming encounter ... or if she could use it at all.
She took another sip of coffee, knowing she had to be very careful if she wanted to get her people back intact. From what she learned, it was possible that the agreement would be made, but a loophole would allow the Spurnge to send over only corpses, thus achieving the ultimate v'har over her. She had to figure out a way to set it up so that there would be no loss of v'har on the part of the other commander, yet retain her own while retrieving her people. It would be tricky.
Of course, she could always choose a purely military position, go in with phasers blazing and photon torpedoes loaded. Unfortunately, not only might that guarantee the deaths of her people, it also went against everything she believed in, both as a person and as a Starfleet captain. All possible diplomatic efforts had to be exhausted before she resorted to blasting away. Indeed, it bothered her considerably that she had not managed to find such a solution in the original encounter with the triad. Destroying those ships may have elevated her position in the eyes of the Spurnge, but it lowered her in her own. Yet, at the same time, diplomacy had to be balanced with the fact that Voyager was alone out here.  Diplomacy worked best when it was a velvet glove covering a steel fist ... to ignore that could have deadly consequences as well.
She leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant as she struggled not to be overly affected by the memories of her very first encounter with the Spurnge. It had been in a prison where all the inmates fought for survival in the most brutal conditions. She had been battered, beaten, and deathly ill, completely on her last legs when five members of the Spurnge had demanded her boots with her offering only the most pitiful of defense. If it had not been for the sudden appearance of her partner who absolutely destroyed the grouping, Janeway undoubtedly would have died.
She breathed shallowly. It was unlikely the Spurnge knew of that, or of her weakness against them, but she knew and she was forced to shove her fear down into the darkest part of her. She remembered how she had felt when she viewed the recording of Tom and Neelix's kidnapping, how it took everything she had to control her reaction to the appearance of the beings which had haunted her nightmares for months after the incident, to cover her shock and terror with the impassive mask of command.
She could not afford to have that fear influence her decisions in this situation.
She glanced at her console's screen and at the small chronological readout in the lower corner ... opposite the small image of Seven. She had no idea where the morning went and realized it would soon be time for the staff meeting that she had requested. She downloaded the files into a padd and slowly finished her coffee, using the time until the meeting to refine the tentative plan she had conceived. She knew she was going to have to be on her toes for this mission, just as Seven had pointed out. It behooved her to take her moments to rest and relax when she could. It was not something she was particularly good at, but it was something she was trying to improve every day ... if not for herself, then certainly for the sake of the woman she loved.
Commander Chakotay, Lt. Kim, Lt. Ro and Lt. Commander Tuvok were already in the conference room when she entered. She took a seat at the head of the table, beneath the large viewport, which looked out onto the starfield, and rested her elbows casually on the table. They were quiet as they waited for the rest of the senior staff to arrive from the rest of the ship, not wanting to fill the time with small talk that would, in some way, lessen the seriousness of the meeting. Before long, Seven, the Doctor and Lt. Torres entered and took their respective places, B'Elanna, next to Ro, and Seven at the far end of the table, directly opposite Janeway. The Doctor just found an empty seat.
"You all know the mission," the captain said quietly. "And what we must accomplish. I also assume you've perused the files we have on the Spurnge. I need to have any ideas, thoughts, possible tactical suggestions on how to proceed in the event I've overlooked something."
"The Spurnge are aggressive," Chakotay, naturally, began. His burly form lounged in his chair but that was somewhat deceptive. He was certainly as worried as the rest were. "From what I can understand of their culture, they counted it as a coup against Voyager by taking our Pilot."
"If they are indeed, aware that is who they have," Tuvok noted logically. "If Mr. Paris revealed who he was, it's possible they are not fearing our pursuit at all." 
Janeway regarded him with interest. She had missed that. "Go on."
He glanced at Ro and with that bit of encouragement, the Bajoran spoke up. "It seems that their pilot, their helmsman, is directly tied into the ship's systems, both mentally and physically. It's as if that being becomes one with the vessel and thus, is certainly not supposed to be walking around outside of the ship. They're far too valuable to risk losing. To have captured one would be considered a devastating blow to an opponent ... or rather it would with a Spurnge opponent. Most Spurnge ships do not carry a replacement for their pilot."
"So, taking away a pilot essentially stops that ship dead." Janeway nodded approvingly. "That may increase the chances for them to leave Tom alive and hopefully, Neelix by proxy."
"And make them think we would be unable to mount a pursuit," Tuvok added. "We would hopefully have a certain amount of surprise on our side that we could use to our advantage."
"Possibly, but it's not anything we should count on." Janeway glanced down the table. "Doctor, our sensors detected no organic remains in the destruction of the triad. Nor did they detect any on the recording we observed. Can you elaborate on that, at all?"
"I ran the recording through several enhancements," the Emergency Medical Hologram related. A sparse, trim man whose matrix was acerbic in nature, he had gradually developed sentience as a result of being activated on a continuous basis for six years. "It seems that the Spurnge are actually .0003 out of the temporal phase variance with ourselves."
Janeway blinked, startled. "What?"
Seven regarded the Doctor with keen interest. "Fascinating. That means they actually exist .0003 seconds in the future. That would explain why they move so quickly and why it is difficult to observe them with the naked eye."
His face lit up with enthusiasm at the biological anomaly. "It's as if they're always blurred when in fact, what one is actually seeing is the afterimage of where they've been a split second earlier. They have time to counter moves which to them, happened earlier, in the past. Their reactions are possibly no faster than our own on a one-to-one basis."
"And this is why we didn't pick up any organic material in the debris?"
The Doctor looked at her. "After death, the material returns to real time, but at an accelerated rate that disintegrates it, making it impossible for traditional settings to detect the resulting, inorganic dust.  All that's left is basically just the chemical makeup of the being."
Janeway frowned. "But I saw dead bodies in the prison."
"Not entirely dead," Seven noted dispassionately. "Even decapitation leaves organic tissue alive for a certain period of time. We would have left the area before the DNA components would have broken down completely. The warp core breach that destroyed their ships emits an antimatter radiation that kills all living tissue immediately. There were no remains to be detected in the debris field."
"This is all very interesting," B'Elanna spoke up. "But does it help us beyond being able to adjust our sensors to detect them in the future?"
Janeway exhaled audibly. "B'Elanna's right. We need a concrete plan for when we actually come in contact with them. There's something called v'harsen that I think we can use. This is what I intend to do."
She watched their faces tighten as she laid out what she wanted to do and from the look in her partner's eyes, she knew that Seven would be speaking to her later on this.
Possibly in a very loud voice.
 
B'Elanna Torres left the conference room, still somewhat dazed at her captain's plan. It was daring, there was no question. But would it work? And if it didn't, could Voyager stand the losses involved? She didn't think so, and because of that, she knew it had to work. 
She exchanged a glance with Ro as the Bajoran resumed her place at the helm. Recently, the engineer had become quite enamored with the quietly deadly woman, and it seemed that Ro returned her interest. Varied interruptions had prevented them from fully carrying out the natural progression of such interest, but the Klingon knew it was only delayed, not prevented entirely. That thought made her tingle all over and some of that must have translated in the glance because Ro looked away. There was the slightest hint of pink to her cheeks though the Bajoran was hardly the sort to embarrass easily.
Smiling to herself, B'Elanna headed for the turbolift, aware of Harry Kim intersecting her path from the upper level, entering the lift with her.
"Harry?"
"Chakotay wants me to get a report on the restraining field experiments. I think he wants to see if we can get them in place before we go into action against the Spurnge."
B'Elanna frowned briefly.
"You know, it's not likely to ever work on the bridge," she said as the doors slid shut and the lift began to descend. "People need more freedom of movement, particularly in a crisis, than the fields provide. It's one thing to pin the captain in her chair, for example, where she can still move her hand to release the field once the maneuvers are complete. But how do you restrain her if she's up and moving around the bridge or still in her ready room when the attack comes? And how would you restrain crewmembers at stations where they have to stand up? Like you on ops or Tuvok at tactical?"
Harry nodded. "We constructed pallets where people can lay down and be held immobile while the ship gets bounced around. But actually, those people are the most protected in a crisis anyway, even without a restraining field. The real question is how to protect those who have to stay at their posts."
"What about making them personal force fields?" B'Elanna suggested, stepping off the lift as it deposited them on deck twelve.
"It's been tried. There's no way to get the power source small enough to carry around individually. When it's tied into the ship systems, they tend to falter when the ship is under attack, at the very time the crew needs them most."
The Klingon thought about it as the two walked to her office which was on the main engineering level.
"What if we slap restraining fields on individual areas of the vessel? Like the bridge, activating when the integrity field breaks down and turning off when the integrity field resumes?"
"Trapping the crew like flies in amber?" Harry said, his dark eyes questioning. "But that still runs into the problem of movement when it's needed. How much fluctuation of the integrity emitters would trigger it? And how little would release the field?"
"Maybe we can use a test area," B'Elanna offered thoughtfully. "An auxiliary room or ... I know, the turbolift!" she concluded, snapping her fingers. "People are always getting hurt in them when the integrity emitters fail. But if we can slap a field on it and prove that it can work, then we can think about doing it with other areas."
Harry looked doubtful. "When we would have time to take the turbolift out of service to perform the experiment?"
B'Elanna ceded the point. "Not until after we're done with this mission." She hesitated, regarding him quietly. "What did you think of the captain's plan?"
He exhaled slowly. "It'll be dangerous for both teams."
"But it should work," the engineer offered thoughtfully. "Though I wish she had put me on team one rather than two."
"That's just because you want to be with Ro."
She shot him a sharp look. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He snorted. "C'mon, B'Elanna, everyone knows about you and the Bajoran. Hell, there's a pool on it."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was a pool on everything that went on in the ship, from whether Janeway and Chakotay had ever done the deed ... apparently they hadn't ... to what year Voyager would actually return to the Alpha Quadrant. They were usually initiated by Tom Paris who was notorious for winning more than his share. It did not surprise the Klingon that there would be one regarding her and Ro, though that didn't make her like it any better.
"Do you have replicator rations down on it?" she asked, her voice dangerously silky.
He glanced at her uneasily. "Megan doesn't like me to gamble." Which didn't actually answer the question, the Klingon noted, but she granted that it really wasn't Harry she was annoyed with, it was Tom. Or was it that she couldn't be annoyed at him at the moment because his life was in dreadful peril which was really annoying her?
"Well, it's a good thing Megan likes you to do other things," B'Elanna said finally, changing the subject and causing the young man to blush. "Hasn't she had your kid yet?"
"No," he said, sighing. "And she's worried about being overdue."
"Funny, she was the one with all the premature labor, wasn't she?" B'Elanna noted as she keyed her console, checking on the current status of her engine room. "Now, everyone else has delivered and she's still holding on."
"She doesn't find it amusing," he said glumly, leaning against the station. He looked weary all of a sudden and B'Elanna resisted a smirk. "The Doctor told me that if she lasts to the end of this week, he'll induce labor."
"Sounds like fun," B'Elanna said dryly.
"I'm just glad it's not me," he admitted, and then looked guilty for voicing that thought out loud.
B'Elanna shook her head, snickering. "I bet you haven't shared that with her."
He shook his head and suddenly, she realized he was really concerned. With an effort, she curbed her sense of humor and patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, Starfleet," she said, utilizing the pet name she had bestowed upon him when she first met him all those years ago. "Pretty soon your son will be here and you'll be a dad. Then you won't have any time for your single friends at all."
He took a breath. "I already don't. Tom and I don't get to ... well, hang out like we used to. I wonder if we did, if I had been with him on the station, maybe he wouldn't have gotten captured."
"Or maybe you'd be the one on the Spurnge ship instead of Neelix," B'Elanna pointed out. "Which wouldn't do Megan or your kid any good. Harry, don't blame yourself for the messes Tom gets into. Or for that matter, anyone could have gotten into. No one knew how protective the Spurnge were with their loading bay. Hell, why didn't the station warn us to steer clear in the first place?" 
"Probably for the same reason people aren't formally told to steer clear of Breen docking bays in the Alpha Quadrant. It's just assumed that we knew going near them was trouble ... everyone else in the sector does." He inhaled deeply. "Sometimes I get really tired of us always being the strangers in a strange land. Never knowing the protocols of whoever we're dealing with, always being in unfamiliar territory ... it just gets hard sometimes."
She patted him on the arm sympathetically. "I know." She wondered how many of the crew felt like this. Though she had found a place here on Voyager that she had never had in the Alpha Quadrant, she was aware that others missed their families and homes terribly. She was surprised that more discontent didn't come out at times. "We'll get back someday, Harry."
"I think about it a lot now, especially when it comes to my son. Will he ever see Earth? Will he ever get to meet his grandparents? Even if I could just let them know somehow that I'm going to be a father, that they're going to have a grandchild ... it would make all the difference. Then, maybe I wouldn't feel so bad."
"Harry, we all feel that way from time to time. Unfortunately, the bottom line is that it doesn't help you in the long run to dwell on it. We'll get home when we get home and until then, we just have to keep going. After all, we could easily all be dead a hundred times over, or stranded on a dead planet or assimilated by the Borg or turned into seaweed by Species 8472. Let's be glad we're still here to complain about it."
He considered that. "You know, your Harry didn't make it back."
Startled, B'Elanna looked at him. She had forgotten that the Harry in this reality had died, as had the newborn Naomi Wildman during an encounter with a parallel universe. Of course, the man here, as well as the oldest child on the ship, were still the same people they would have been in any event, but she realized that certainly, he would think of that from time to time. She doubted that Naomi even knew, or would ever be told by her mother.
"Hey, just remember, no one else in that universe's Voyager made it either," she said, a chill rippling through her spine at the thought. "That Janeway implemented a self-destruct rather than have her crew harvested by the Vidiians." She paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. "We're all here, and we're all together, Harry. Keep that in mind."
"Tom isn't."
"He will be. He wouldn't dare die before Janeway finds him.".
Blinking, he looked at her, then his face relaxed.
"I'm sure that thought is keeping his hopes intact, wherever he is."
"Now you're just being sarcastic."
He flashed her a grin. "Who me?"
She frowned broodingly and he relented, returning to the original subject and why he was there in the first place.
"All right, let me present it this way to Chakotay. We can't install restraining fields until they're tested. And we can't test them until we're clear of this mess with the Spurnge. He'll understand. The last thing he would want is to go into battle with an untried, untested system that may or may not work when it's needed most. It's better to deal with what we have."
"But as soon as we've got our people back and have resumed course, you and I will try to rig a field for the turbolift."
They discussed the particulars for a few moments more, then he inclined his head, and left. She stared after him for a few moments, lost in thought about all the changes Voyager had gone through so recently, and how it was altering everyone's perspective on the ship. Hell, she had been downright empathetic to the young operations officer just now ... like a counselor or something. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but who knew? Maybe by the time Voyager returned to Earth, she'd be positively mellow.
She finished up her shift and logged off, heading for her quarters. She was very glad that things had settled down somewhat from the ongoing crisis they had experienced for months. Now the crew was back to a routine and even with the problem of Tom and Neelix's abduction looming over them, people were still considerably more cheerful and enthusiastic than they had been. She supposed that came from the fact that they were no longer afraid of the ship flying apart at any moment. Not that it would have, of course but they had been fairly vulnerable to another attack. Finding Balleyport Station had been an unexpected, but direly needed happenstance and she wondered if they'd ever have a chance to stop back there again.
She blinked as she spotted Ro Laren in the corridor on deck nine and realized that the Bajoran must have been lingering in order to run into the engineer. It gave her a warm feeling inside and she discovered she was grinning somewhat foolishly, trying to cover it. The Bajoran quirked an eyebrow as other crewmembers walked past them.
"Lt. Torres," she said formally.
"Lt. Ro." B'Elanna wondered if she should let the other woman know that it was common knowledge that the two were edging toward an ongoing relationship before deciding that would only cloud the issue. She led the way into her quarters, feeling her heart increase its rhythm perceptively as Ro followed her without needing to be asked.
Would this be the evening?
Suddenly, it seemed that she was having difficulty breathing.
"I wanted to apologize in person," Ro said as B'Elanna turned around.
"Damn," B'Elanna said, dismay sharp within her as she realized what the other woman really meant. "We're not having dinner together tonight, are we?"
"I'm sorry, B'Elanna," Ro said, looking honestly regretful. "Tuvok has an extra training session scheduled this evening before he teaches the Starfleet class. For some reason, he's been a real stickler lately ... maybe because of the Kunntarie invasion."
"I can skip class," B'Elanna said immediately. "We can have dinner after your session."
Ro smiled and moved closer, linking her fingers behind the Klingon's neck with unusual familiarity and looked at her very fondly.
"I don't want you to do that. Honestly, I had no intention of ... well, doing anything before you needed to go to class, anyway." At B'Elanna's expression of disappointment, she added in a huskier tone; "When we're together, I want it to be all night, with no interruptions for anything. Just you and me for hours on end."
B'Elanna's breath caught at that image, and she slipped her arms around Ro's waist.
"Do you know how much ... how I feel about you?"
"I think I know," Ro admitted. "I ... care a lot about you, B'Elanna."
B'Elanna leaned forward, hesitated, then kissed her, holding her tightly. When they parted, the Klingon rested her proud ridges against the Bajoran's forehead.
"Are we ever going to get the chance to be together?" she asked wistfully.
"We will. Sometimes, it's just a matter of letting things happen in their own time." She brushed her lips over B'Elanna's brow, the engineer feeling her kiss along each bump lovingly. "I have to go."
B'Elanna tightened her embrace in protest, then reluctantly released her.
"Damn, sometimes I think someone out there doesn't want us to be together."
Ro flashed her a grin as she left the quarters.
"It just seems that way."
B'Elanna wondered how much longer she could stand this.