Just Between Alpha & Delta
G.L. Dartt
Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and currently a Starfleet officer on USS Voyager, regarded the final test results with a certain ambivalence. Part of the young woman was quite satisfied in having assisted with what would undoubtedly be the Intrepid class vessel's ticket back to the Federation, keenly aware that her crewmates, who had been lost for close to seven years in the Delta Quadrant, missed their families and home desperately. But another part of Seven was quite apprehensive. She could not remember much of her life before being assimilated at the age of six, and while she had adapted to life here on the sleek starship, she was not as certain that she could adapt to a life in the Alpha Quadrant.
She inhaled slowly, and turned to look at her companion. Lt. B'Elanna Torres was a smaller, more solid young woman than the Borg, her dark hair and eyes a direct contrast to Seven's lighter features. B'Elanna boasted a proudly ridged forehead which denoted her partial Klingon heritage, and as chief engineer of Voyager, she had been in charge of the slipstream drive project. Now that it was ready for the final installation phase, she, too, appeared somewhat dazed at the results.
"It works," B'Elanna said in an odd sort of tone. "Every test we give it, every situation we put it through, it still works. I really think this is it, people. It's finally ready."
The third member of the team, Lt. Harry Kim, grinned broadly, his handsome face bright with anticipation and glee, waving his hands as he stalked about the upper level of Voyager's bridge which had been simulated in holodeck two. "When can we install it? I can't wait to see my folks again."
Unlike the two women, who did not really have established ties to the Federation, he had been fresh out of Starfleet Academy when Voyager had been lost. Even though he had made a life for himself on the starship, marrying a fellow officer, and becoming a father to a rambunctious little boy, he was one of those crewmembers who had never given up hope for a quick return to the Alpha Quadrant.
"We must first clear any major structural remodeling with the captain," Seven reminded him coolly. The fact that the captain also happened to be the young woman's spouse of more than a year, held no weight with how she would give a report that would present a difficult decision for the commanding officer to make.
"Plus, assuming the captain gives permission, it could take a week or so to make the final adjustments to the warp manifold," B'Elanna added.
"Why wouldn't the captain give her permission?" Harry asked, staring at the women blankly.
Seven frowned faintly. "You are aware of the reason as much as we are, Lt. Kim."
He looked stubborn. "Dr. Brahms is sure it will work."
He was referring to the fourth member of the slipstream project, the leader of a team that consisted of several physicists working for the Theoretical Propulsion Group out of the Utopia Planitia shipyards. Dr. Leah Brahms was the senior design specialist in charge of the facility, and she had been offering guidance, suggestions and all her experience to aid the Voyager crew in their project. Arriving via a special communications relay that had recently been established between the ship and Starfleet, her help had been invaluable, and it was unlikely that the three Voyager crewmembers could have accomplished what they had without it.
"Brahms is sitting safe and snug in her research facility back on Mars," B'Elanna pointed out. "Her stake in whether this will work or not is purely theoretical. We're the ones who'll be stuck with the consequences."
"We're talking about going home," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the other two in astonishment. "Don't you care?"
"Of course we do, Harry," B'Elanna retorted, annoyance coloring her tone as she lounged in her chair at the helm. "But that doesn't mean we should ignore all the implications involved."
He took a breath, and visibly forced himself to calm down. "You're right," he said, obviously attempting to be conciliatory to the engineer. "There is a risk, but then, there's always a risk when you're talking about new technology. There was a risk when Zefram Cochrane jumped into that beat up old missile, and fired himself off Earth to attempt the first warp drive. If he hadn't, however, the Vulcans never would have contacted us, and for all we know, you and I wouldn't exist now."
B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Now you're getting into temporal mechanics, Starfleet," she said, using her old nickname for him, and seeming oblivious of the fact that she, too, now wore the gold pips of the organization, rather than the provisional insignia she had originally accepted. An ex-Maquis, B'Elanna had been given the role of Voyager's chief engineer almost seven years earlier, and Seven knew that, although the captain had initially had doubts about that decision, the Klingon had never let her vessel down, actually exceeding the promise she had displayed during her brief tenure at Starfleet Academy.
"What do you think, Seven?" Harry asked, appealing to the Borg.
Seven brushed some dust off her sleeve, noticing idly that the blue and black uniform she now wore did not resist dirt the way her old biomesh outfits used to. She considered the question carefully.
"What I think is irrelevant. It is the captain's decision."
"Like you don't have any influence on that," he scoffed.
She speared him with a look that indicated he was skirting dangerously close to territory that perhaps he should not be exploring. Her personal relationship with her wife was both passionate and loving, but when it came to the professional areas of their life together, it was a delicate balance of compromise and cautious evaluation. When Seven had first come on board Voyager, she had been disdainful of the chain of command, finding it inefficient and not anything she wanted to be a part of. Once she became involved with the captain, however, she began to learn just how command worked, how much of it relied on faith and loyalty, on intangibles that were not precise and straightforward. The difference between a good captain and a great one was difficult to define, but even so, she knew without question that her spouse was one of the 'great ones'. She also discovered, along the way, how very important Janeway's command was to her, how vital it was to her sense of self. There was a fine line between the woman and the captain, and Seven was very careful not to violate one for the sake of the other ... or rather, she tried not to very often.
She was not certain that this was one of those occasions.
"If she asks for my opinion," she said finally, "I shall share it with her. I do not think it would be prudent for me to offer it otherwise."
"What is your opinion?" B'Elanna asked curiously, staring at her friend.
Seven inhaled slowly. "If it were merely myself involved, I would not hesitate to install the drive. However, it is not just myself, and there are many variables which must be considered before any decision like this should be made." She raised her eyebrow at the Klingon. "What of you?"
B'Elanna offered her a bit of a reckless grin. "You know me, Seven. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes."
Seven needed a moment to decipher that phrase. "You would install the device."
"Oh, yeah, in a minute," the Klingon replied, waving her hand airily. "But like you said, it's just not us involved here. There's an entire crew to consider."
"Everyone wants to go home," Harry said, looking at them as if they had lost their minds. "Who wouldn't?"
B'Elanna didn't bristle as she would had anyone else challenged her like that, but then, the Klingon had always held a soft spot for the young man, ever since the pair had been singled out by the Caretaker and sent to the Ocampa where they had to make their escape. Almost seven years later, they remained friends in a way that B'Elanna had not experienced with other crewmembers.
"Lots of people, Harry," B'Elanna pointed out. "Not everyone has two loving parents waiting to dote on their only son like you do. Nor does everyone have particularly good memories of the Federation and Starfleet. Don't forget, a good thirty percent of the crew is Maquis."
"I think they'd want to go home, as well."
"Maybe, but whatever they choose, they'll each have their own individual reasons for making that choice."
"The only one who truly has a choice is Captain Janeway," Seven reminded them. "She will do what is best for the ship and the crew. If that means installing the slipstream drive and using it to go home, then she will. Otherwise, it will remain in the lab, undergoing further testing."
"I think you two have lost all sense of perspective," Harry remarked. "I can't even imagine this being anything that the captain would have second thoughts about."
"Perhaps it is you who has lost perspective," Seven said evenly, without rancor. "As B'Elanna has pointed out, you are not exactly objective when it comes to this issue."
"How can anyone be objective?" Harry said. "My god, being able to walk in San Francisco again, seeing the northern lights in Alaska, checking out the Hawaii islands ... when do we leave?"
"A distinct North American bias there," B'Elanna pointed out humorously. "What about the European Section, or the Great Barrier Reef off Australia?"
Harry spread his hands. "Fine, I'll visit them, too. Just let me know when we get there."
Seven shot a look at the Klingon who had been born on a colony on Kessik IV. "Are you looking forward to returning to Earth, B'Elanna? It seems that whenever the Federation is discussed, Earth is inevitably the planet they mention, yet a good part of the crew is not even native to that world. You are not. Neither am I."
B'Elanna shrugged. "There's just something about the planet, Seven. Even if you're not born there, if you have any Human blood at all, it's considered home." She paused, thinking about it. "I'm not saying that if the Earth was suddenly destroyed, that Humanity would die out or anything, but I wouldn't want to be a member of the species who did it. Every Human would consider it an attack against them, personally."
Harry was astounded.
"How the hell did we get on the topic of destroying the Earth?" he asked incredulously, his expression indicating that B'Elanna and Seven were not approaching this in a proper fashion at all.
The Klingon laughed. "We're just talking, Harry. It wasn't a suggestion or anything."
He shook his head. "I think you've both lost it. This is the greatest thing that's happened to Voyager, and you two aren't impressed at all."
"Perhaps because too many previous attempts at a quick return to the Federation have turned out to be futile," Seven noted.
"This isn't futile, Seven. We all know it works. A team of the best physicists in the Federation believe it will work. All we have to do now is convince the captain."
"All we have to do now is present our report to the captain," B'Elanna corrected. "She'll make her own decision ... but only after she's considered all the facts." She favored the operations officer with a sympathetic smile. "I know this means a lot to you, Harry, but don't worry about it. I'm sure the captain will make the right decision."
Seven dipped her head.
"So long as she understands everything that is involved," she pointed evenly.
"Including the risk to the ship that must be acknowledged."
Captain Kathryn Janeway rested her chin on her thumb and forefinger as she sat in her customary place at the head of the conference room table, regarding her senior staff intently. A compact woman with auburn hair and level blue-grey eyes, she radiated a command presence that energized a room, and made those who served under her strive to be even better than they thought they could.
"What you're telling me is that the slipstream drive is finally ready to be installed," she said in a smoky tone.
"Yes," B'Elanna Torres responded, spreading her hands out. She, Seven, and Harry Kim were sitting together at the far end of the table as they presented their findings to the captain and her command crew. "We can start installing it tomorrow morning, and it should be online within ten days."
"This is incredible news," Commander Chakotay said. A tall, solid bear of a man, the first officer looked expectantly at the captain, obviously pleased by the report. Dark haired, with brooding good looks, a tribal tattoo arching over his left brow, he was particularly handsome whenever he smiled, just as he was doing now.
"Once it's up and running, we'll be back in Federation territory within hours," Harry added, excitement coloring his tone. "Leave in the morning, be home in time for dinner."
Janeway didn't think it would be that easy, and indeed, when she glanced at Seven of Nine, studying the expression on the Borg's face, she was certain it wouldn't be that easy. Both Seven and B'Elanna were far less enthusiastic than Harry, and that sent a certain apprehension rippling along the captain's spine.
Tom Paris, the ship's helmsman, didn't notice the women's reserve, obviously infected by his friend's ebullience. "You're serious? We're going home?" he echoed with a huge grin. "For real, this time?"
"You'll be eating pizza at Sandrine's before you know it," Harry informed the boyish, towheaded lieutenant.
Janeway glanced along the table at the rest of her senior officers. Tuvok, the Vulcan security chief, had not changed expression beyond a slight hike to his right eyebrow. Of course, it was not in his nature to show any emotion, regardless of what was going on, but he did have a wife and children, as well as grandchildren, left behind in the Federation, so Janeway knew he would perceive this as wonderful news. The others in the room also appeared happy, but their reactions were tempered by the circumstances of their individual situations. The Doctor was an Emergency Medical Hologram, his matrix tied closely to the ship, regardless of the mobile emitter he wore around his arm that allowed him to exist outside of sickbay. On Voyager, he was the Chief Medical Officer. In the Federation, he might be nothing more than an odd curiosity, the only one of his kind, an actual, living hologram. Beside him, Kes, the ship's counselor, was an evolved Ocampa, born in the Delta Quadrant, never having been in the Alpha Quadrant at all. Across from her, Ensign Neelix was in the same situation, a native of a planet located in the very sector of space that Voyager had been pulled into by the Caretaker all those years ago.
"Why do I get the feeling I don't have the whole story here?" Janeway said dryly, returning her attention to her engineer.
B'Elanna exchanged a glance with Seven, and the captain's sense of apprehension increased slightly.
"There is a concern or two," the Klingon admitted.
"Which are?" Chakotay prompted.
"If the slipstream drive doesn't work..." she began.
"It will," Harry injected quickly. "It's passed every test, not just here, but in all the computer simulations Brahm's TPG have run on Utopia Planitia. They put it through every scenario they could think of, and it's worked perfectly every time. There's no reason to think it won't for us. Absolutely none at all."
B'Elanna stifled the verbal burst from the operations officer with a baleful look, and turned her attention back to the captain. "If it doesn't work," she repeated, speaking with more precision. "Then that's it."
"That's it?" the Doctor echoed. "What do you mean, that's it?"
Since that was exactly what Janeway wanted to know, she did not pin the EMH with the force ten look that she normally would have given him for interrupting.
"To install the new drive requires us to modify the warp manifold, tying it irrevocably into the new propulsion system," Seven explained, her cool tones precise and dispassionate. "There is no reversal possible. We would not be able to dismantle the slipstream drive in order to reinitiate the current warp system. The transition coil is also quite susceptible to stress fractures, particularly during entry and exit of the slipstream corridor."
That information impacted Janeway like a fist to her stomach, as she immediately recognized all of the implications.
"No return," she said quietly, as the rest of her staff also absorbed this information. "All or nothing. This new drive will either take us home in a day..."
"Or we'll be stuck here in the Delta Quadrant without any kind of faster-than-light drive at all," B'Elanna finished for her.
Janeway inhaled slowly. Warp drive was the very invention that had opened the stars up to Humanity, had enabled them to explore space. It was, in fact, the standard used when judging the technological development of an alien species, and if a civilization was without a rudimentary warp drive, which made the incredible distances in space navigational, the Prime Directive expressly prohibited contact by the Federation. Voyager was capable of achieving a warp factor of 9.98, making her one of the fastest vessels in Starfleet, even almost seven years after being constructed. The slipstream drive bypassed warp, allowing ships to travel along a subspace corridor where distance became meaningless, and points of entry and exit determined where one would end up.
Without either type of drive, however, the ship would be limited to impulse power only, which was less than light speed. Voyager would be nothing more than a minuscule point of light in space, lumbering through the vacuum, taking decades to reach where warp would take them in months, and literally millennia to return to the Alpha Quadrant, if at all.
"Is there any way to keep the two drives separate? Hold our warp engines in reserve?"
B'Elanna shook her head. "No. I mean, give us another year or two of research and it's possible that we and the TPG could find a way to do that, but not at the moment." She leaned forward. "Our initial attempt to use the drive failed because we tried to keep it separate from the ship's warp engines. It was an attachment, not a replacement, and as a result, the subspace corridor was unstable, chaotic, buffeting the ship beyond the integrity emitters ability to stabilize it, no matter how much we tried enhancing the field strength. Channeling the transition coil plasma flow through the warp manifold is the only way to maintain a solid corridor."
"But once that plasma flow is routed through the warp manifold, it's there to stay," Janeway concluded uneasily. "You're right; if it doesn't work, the entire warp system will be compromised. The manifold is irreparable, unable to be replicated, and any damage would require the installation of an entirely new one." She paused. "There are very few places to find Starfleet replacement parts in the Delta Quadrant."
None at all, as a matter of fact, she thought bleakly.
"So that's the conundrum," Chakotay said quietly. "Either the experimental drive will take us home immediately, or we'll be trapped in the Delta Quadrant. We couldn't even continue our journey. At most, all we could hope for is to reach a habitable planet on which to live out the rest of our lives."
"Assuming this experimental drive simply doesn't blow up in our faces," the Doctor pointed out acidly.
"In which case, we won't have anything left to worry about," Tom Paris responded dryly.
Janeway placed her hands, palm down, on the table. This would not be an easy decision, but it was unquestionably hers to make. As captain, the fate of her ship ultimately rested on her shoulders, and she could feel the pressure of that responsibility weighing heavily, the immensity of it feathering along her temples in the preliminary symptoms of a raging headache.
"Obviously, this requires more thought," she said calmly, looking up and meeting the eyes of every member of her staff. "I am going to take a few days to mull it over, and I'll certainly be seeking out each of you on an individual basis for further discussion before I make my decision. Until then, however, I expect this to remain among the bridge crew." She lifted her head. "Dismissed."
She remained where she was, watching as her senior staff filed quietly out of the room ... all but her astrometrics officer. She smiled faintly as she regarded Seven sitting in the chair at the other end of the conference room, her hands folded neatly on the table, the narrow features expectant.
"You have something to add?" she asked dryly.
"No," Seven replied. "I merely wish to make myself available if you require further information regarding the slipstream drive."
Janeway smiled and picked up the padd which had been lying next to her hand, waving it slightly for emphasis. "I think all the information I need is in here." She paused. "Were you about to try to influence my decision?"
Seven's face changed. "I would never do that." There was honest hurt in her tone.
Janeway reached out a placating hand. "You're right. I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "It was a ... thoughtless thing for me to say." She dropped the padd back on the table. "But off the record, what's your opinion on this?"
Seven's face cleared. "I am not sure that it is relevant."
Janeway wrinkled her nose at her. "Now who's not thinking? You know very well that your opinion means a great deal to me."
Seven nodded. "You are correct. Lately, however, I feel more conscious of the ethical boundaries of utilizing that privilege."
Janeway sighed. When she had encouraged her partner to take Starfleet courses and become a commissioned officer, she knew that one of the most challenging aspects facing the young woman would be passing the classes studying ethical, moral and philisophical issues. However, Seven had embraced them with the same dedication and efficiency she brought to everything else in her life, and it had resulted in her being more precise in how she applied that learning to her new role as a Starfleet lieutenant. It had altered their professional life slightly, and while Janeway appreciated it, there was a part of her that missed the arrogant, self-assured superiority her partner used to have while dealing with her. Not a large part, mind you, and not all the time, but once in a while, she decided that she wouldn't mind the Borg telling her what to do in those authoritative tones ... for no other reason so that she could argue with her and feel like she was accomplishing something.
"Darling, there are members of this crew whose opinions carry far more weight with me than others," she pointed out gently. "Whether because of experience, or logic, or technical skill, or intellect. You know that. You happen to be one of them. I can't afford to lose that resource, particularly now."
Seven looked vaguely surprised as she thought about it. "I had not ... considered our professional relationship in those terms. I certainly would not want to deny you any information that could help you in your command, even when it is not entirely objective."
"Then don't," Janeway said pointedly, leaning back in her chair and linking her fingers across her stomach. "Talk to me."
Seven took a moment, obviously organizing her thoughts, and Janeway waited patiently, enjoying the way the subdued light of the conference room played over the young woman's face, softening the narrow features. Seven's ice blue eyes and her blonde hair, currently drawn back in an austere bun, gave the Borg a stern, aloof demeanor, indicating nothing of the warm, generous, loving woman the captain knew lay beneath. Not to mention how the black uniform with the blue band across the shoulders made Seven seem smaller than had her biomesh outfits that clung to every generous curve. On occasion, Janeway missed those skintight suits, particularly the blue and gray one, but the new uniform was far more professional.
"I believe the slipstream drive will work," Seven said finally. "We have tested it far more than we did with our previous attempts at incorporating it into Voyager's propulsion system, and with the additional research provided by Dr. Brahms and her Theoretical Propulsion Group, I believe that every possible problem has been assessed and dealt with."
She paused, apparently for emphasis.
"It will work, Kathryn."
"So your opinion is that we should risk it," Janeway said quietly.
Seven pursed her lips, a tiny furrow appearing between her brows. Janeway was distracted by how utterly adorable she looked, and had to force herself to remember the subject at hand, sternly informing her lascivious imagination that now was not the time to picture her partner on the conference room table, wantonly naked and demanding the sort of attention that only her spouse had the privilege of according her.
"... then there is the issue of the children."
Janeway flushed as she realized she had missed some of what her partner had said. Perhaps Seven was not the person to give her advice, particularly if she wasn't going to pay heed to it.
"I'm sorry, Annika," she apologized. "I missed some of that."
Seven stared at her for a moment. "I realize that normally we would have been off duty an hour and a half ago," she offered finally. "If you would rather continue this in our quarters over dinner..."
"No," Janeway said, holding up her hand. "I certainly don't want to waste personal time on ship's business, and we've decided that our quarters are for personal time only, especially now that you're in Starfleet." She straightened in her chair and leaned forward, folding her hands on the table and regarding her officer with refocused intent. "What were you saying about the children?"
"Just that the thought of putting them at risk is the only reservation I have about this procedure," Seven said. "It is one thing to risk my own existence, even another to risk yours or my adult friends, but when I consider the children, that is when I wonder if this is the proper thing to do. If we wait, if we spend more time in research and testing, perhaps we can find a way to accomplish this without running the risk of losing our warp drive."
The Borg inhaled slowly, her chest expanding in a most delightful manner. "I find that the well being of Naomi, Icheb, Mezoti, the twins, Little Harry and the other infants is a primary concern of mine when it comes to any risk to the ship."
"I suppose I can understand that," Janeway said. "However, I'm not sure how much I can allow the presence of children to influence my decision. Our fate is their fate, Annika, and while I'm not about to do anything that might cause them harm, neither can I be afraid to take risks, especially if it means getting my crew home. The decision is not whether the risk will unduly affect the children; it must be based on what is best for the entire ship."
Seven nodded. "Then my advice is to go with the slipstream installation. My technical opinion is that it is a superior drive to that of the warp system, and will return us to the Alpha Quadrant quickly and efficiently."
Janeway nodded. "Thank you," she said, truly grateful for her partner's honesty. There was another pause, then she smiled. "Now, I'm hungry. Before I seek out any more advice, I think a nice dinner, a relaxing evening in your presence, and a full night's sleep will suit me just fine."
Seven smiled faintly, her full lips curving up. "Then that is what we shall do."
B'Elanna Torres entered her quarters, her mind so thoroughly full of slipstream schematics and plasma flow regulators that she didn't immediately see her roommate stretched out on the sofa, perusing a padd. When she did, the Klingon promptly moved over to that area of the room, and perched on the edge of the cushions next to the Bajoran.
Ro Laren was tall, possessing a willowy, dancer's body that allowed her to move with a controlled deadliness that never failed to thrill the Klingon whenever she watched her. The woman's hair was dark, cut short to curve around her neck, while her eyes were a deep, chocolate brown. Her features were high-boned, with a strong jaw and an elegant nose that boasted ridges and bone spurs at the bridge. B'Elanna thought she was unquestionably the sexiest woman she had ever met, and was completely in love with her. Fortunately, the reserved security officer seemed to return that emotion in equal measure.
"What's going on?" Ro looked up at her quizzically. She was dressed in her blue sweater, her red and black tunic thrown casually over the back of a nearby chair.
B'Elanna bent down, kissing her with slow deliberation.
"What makes you ask?" she replied once they had finally parted.
Ro smiled faintly. "Your expression. You have news that you're dying to tell me."
B'Elanna blushed. An unrepentant information hound, she loved knowing everything that was going on in the ship. She also liked passing the data along but lately, she had been trying to curb that unfortunate habit. It didn't stop her from desperately wanting to, however.
"I uh, ... it's supposed to stay with the bridge crew. Senior staff, only."
Ro shrugged. "I could be considered both. Especially since becoming the ship's 'rover'. However, if you don't think you should tell me, then you probably shouldn't."
"I trust you," B'Elanna said. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the captain knows I had every intention of sharing it with you."
The Bajoran raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"
The Klingon pursed her lips, thinking about it. "No, but I'm going to tell you anyway."
Ro chuckled and shifted onto her side, making room enough for her lover to join her on the sofa. "Go ahead," the Bajoran invited, her tone heavy with amusement as she propped her chin on her hand.
"We've finished the slipstream drive," B'Elanna told her. "The installation will take about a week and a half. Once it's in, it'll take about a day for it to return us to the Alpha Quadrant."
Releasing her breath slowly through pursed lips, Ro considered this information. "You're right, this is big news,"
"It is," B'Elanna agreed. "It's looking really good, Laren. We could be back in the Federation in less than two weeks." She tilted her head, studying the Bajoran's serious features. "You don't look happy."
Ro blinked. "It's not that, necessarily," she said. "It's just ... I guess I hadn't really considered all the consequences of going back ... not this soon. It was always something that was going to happen in the future. Now it seems the future is here, and I'd better start thinking about what I'm going to do in the Alpha Quadrant."
B'Elanna hesitated. "I ... uh, would hope that it wouldn't just be what you would do," she offered in a low voice.
Ro regarded her for a moment. "I didn't want to make assumptions," she said carefully. "Particularly regarding us."
"That's okay." B'Elanna thought about it ,and realized this was a discussion they had never shared during their time together. "This is something we need to talk about."
"I'd have to agree," Ro said. She inhaled slowly. "Do you see us together, Lanna? Once we're in the Federation?"
"Do you?" the Klingon countered.
Ro hesitated, then laughed. "I asked you first."
B'Elanna nodded. "I want us to be," she admitted. "But I guess I never really thought about how it would work with us in the Alpha Quadrant."
Ro dipped her head. "Neither did I." She reached out and drew her finger down the Klingon's cheek, tracing along her chin idly. "You've been pardoned, and have accepted a formal commission into Starfleet. There's no reason to think they wouldn't uphold that."
"You told me Picard is pushing for your reinstatement."
"None of it is definite, however," Ro pointed out. "Verbal promises, nothing for certain." She paused. "That needs to be the first thing we do; try to find out what our official status with Starfleet is, and hopefully, do it before we're actually on our way home. I have the greatest respect for Janeway, but the truth is, Lanna, in those first few months, there's going to be a lot of confusion and red tape with her. She's not going to be able to help those of us in her crew very much. She might want to, but it's not anything that we can count on."
B'Elanna tasted that thought, not liking the flavor much but realizing it was probably accurate.
"It's already happening, isn't it?" she said slowly.
"What?"
"The separation," the Klingon said. "Things are going to change quickly and this crew, who have lived and fought together for so long, is going to split up. We won't be a unified force anymore. Hell, you and I are already anticipating that it will be 'everyone for themselves'." She looked troubled. "I find it hard to believe that Janeway would abandon her crew."
Ro looked sympathetic. "I don't like the idea much either, but we have to be practical, Lanna. There are people on this ship who will be in a very odd situation once we've returned. I mean, Prophets, Seven's a Borg ... and what about the Doctor? Janeway will have her hands full just with those two."
B'Elanna felt a trifle lightheaded. "I hadn't thought about that."
"I wonder if they have," Ro said, almost to herself. She paused, then drew B'Elanna's chin over with her fingertips until the young woman had met her gaze with troubled eyes. "In any event, we've only have ourselves to count on ... and each other, if that's how you want it to be."
"You can count on me," B'Elanna promised.
"Same here," Ro agreed. She nodded. "Then it's settled; we'll use the communication array and make some inquires about our true position regarding Starfleet."
B'Elanna blinked. "We can't. Janeway hasn't even decided whether we're going to install the drive or not."
Ro raised an eyebrow. "Obviously, you've left something out," she noted dryly.
B'Elanna sighed. "Sorry, I did." Quickly, she filled Ro in on the rest of what had taken place in the staff meeting, and what the downside of using the slipstream drive might be.
Ro nodded when she was done. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to make an inquiry about our official status," she said. "We don't have to indicate we're preparing to head for home. In fact, if we do it now, we'll get in ahead of everyone when the announcement is officially made. If Janeway decides not to install the drive, we haven't lost anything but a little time."
"Okay," B'Elanna said. She flicked a glance at her lover. "After dinner?"
"After dinner is fine," Ro allowed. "The messhall?"
B'Elanna sighed. "Sounds good."
She made a move to get up and Ro stopped her, placing her palm on the Klingon's chest. Puzzled, B'Elanna gazed up at her and the Bajoran leaned closer.
"We'll be all right," she said softly, looking deeply into the Klingon's eyes. "Especially if we work together." She bent closer to kiss B'Elanna deeply.
Pleased, the engineer returned the kiss, sliding her arm around the woman's neck and pulling her close. They kissed again, then again, and finally, it was Ro who had to pull away.
"Dinner?" she reminded her partner.
"If you insist," B'Elanna said reluctantly.
The pair untangled from each other, and Ro scooped up her tunic, pulling it on as they left their quarters and headed for deck two. The messhall was reasonably busy, as it always was this time of day, and the couple was fortunate to find an empty table in the corner. While Ro held it for them, B'Elanna went to the counter to retreive the special for the evening; deep dish lasagna with garlic bread. Since Seven had started sharing her recipes with Neelix, and insisting that he follow them to the letter, deviating only after clearing it with her, the quality of the food had elevated considerably. Now, when a crewmember grabbed a bite in the messhall, it was a pleasure rather than a necessity.
Ro frowned as the Klingon placed the tray on the table.
"I thought you said the information about the slipstream drive was supposed to be kept to the bridge crew," she said in a low tone.
"It was," B'Elanna responded, as she sat down opposite Ro. She stared at the Bajoran. "Why?"
"I've been listening to the conversations going on around here," Ro said, glancing around. "The drive is hot topic number one at the moment."
"You've been eavesdropping?" B'Elanna blurted, amused.
"Monitoring the mood of the ship," Ro corrected frostily.
"Ah," B'Elanna said. She dug her fork into her pasta. "Well, I didn't tell anyone but you."
Ro nodded. "Perhaps it's what's not being said," she said, prodding at her lasagna tentatively, before trying a small bite. She seemed to enjoy it and took a second, larger portion.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that everyone knows you, Kim and Seven have been working on the drive extensively lately," Ro said. She motioned with her chin and B'Elanna followed the direction of it to spot Harry Kim at a table with Tom Paris, surrounded by a lot of other people.
"Harry wouldn't have told," she said, frowning.
"Exactly," Ro said dryly. "People ask him how the slipstream drive project is going, he replies that he can't discuss it at the moment, and then he gets a big, smug grin across his face. The crew isn't stupid."
"Janeway isn't going to like that," B'Elanna said, worriedly.
"Technically, he didn't disobey orders," Ro pointed out, shrugging. "In any event, all it will really do is make the captain's decision a little harder."
"What about the acceptance of that decision?" B'Elanna remarked, glancing around the messhall measuringly. "Most of them probably don't even know there's a decision to be made. What the hell will they think if she decides against installing it?"
"She'll handle it," Ro said confidently. "She's a big girl." She paused. "Besides, she's got Seven to protect her, not to mention Tuvok."
"And you," B'Elanna noted.
Ro's dark eyes met B'Elanna's.
"And me."
B'Elanna offered her a fond smile. "You'd have made a really good Klingon.".
Ro was visibly startled, then she smiled faintly.
"Yes?" she replied. "Interesting, because sometimes I think I don't make a particularly good Bajoran."
B'Elanna filed that one away as something that she should probably pursue at another time, when the couple were not in the middle of the messhall, but it certainly intrigued her.
"Besides," Ro added quietly, glancing at her from beneath her lashes, "I've already made a really good Klingon." The tone left no question about what she was really referring to, and the chief engineer discovered she was blushing.
"Several times," she agreed.
"And will again."
"Count on it," B'Elanna responded.
Hurriedly finishing her dinner.
Seven of Nine languidly rolled over in bed, stretching out her arm to gather in her partner, only to find cool sheets and an empty pillow where Janeway normally resided. Disturbed, she opened her eyes, glancing up to check the chronometer, discovering it was 0347 and she had no idea where her spouse could be.
Easing from between the covers, she retrieved her robe from a hook nearby, the satiny, crimson material slipping soft over her skin. It had been a recent gift from her partner to replace her previous black silk gown that had inadvertently been ripped irreparably during one of Janeway's more amorous moods. The new gown covered a great deal more of her than the black robe had, but for some reason, it gave her body a more provocative appearance when she wore it ... an attribute which pleased both women.
She discovered the captain in the living area, huddled in her chair at her work station, legs tucked under her as she scanned the data displayed on her console. She was dressed in her blue, terrycloth robe, the fluffy material making the woman appear much smaller than she really was. Curled up at the base of her chair, the couple's Irish Setter, Jake, maintained a silent vigil near his mistress, his warm brown eyes shifting to note Seven's appearance, though he did not lift his head from his paws.
Curiously, Seven read the file streaming past on the screen before making her presence known to her spouse, putting her hand lightly on the captain's shoulder. Janeway must have been deep into her research because she jumped, uttering a little squeak of surprise.
"I did not mean to startle you, Kathryn," Seven said apologetically as she turned around, leaning against the desk while she looked down at her partner.
Janeway shook her head, waving her hand idly. "Lost in thought," she explained. "I didn't hear you come out."
"It is late for you to be going over the slipstream schematics," Seven noted. "Do you really believe you can discover some way to keep our warp drive in reserve by studying this for a few hours, when neither B'Elanna, Lt. Kim, Dr. Brahms, her team, nor I could, all working together?"
Janeway blushed.
"You really think you know me, don't you?" she grumbled.
Seven raised an eyebrow. "Am I incorrect in my assessment?"
Janeway glanced at her but she didn't answer, the expression on her face somewhat indefinable as she reached out and shut down her station. Settling back in her chair, she crossed her arms across her chest and regarded her partner from beneath her reddish lashes.
"Why are you up?" she demanded, instead, and Seven knew she had been absolutely correct about Janeway's attempt to second guess so many accomplished scientists.
"Because you are," Seven replied, vaguely amused. "I missed you."
The captain's face softened, and she altered her defensive posture, reaching out and linking her fingers in Seven's left hand, squeezing gently. The Borg carefully returned the pressure, the silver mesh lightly tightening about the captain's fingers.
"I couldn't sleep," Janeway admitted. "This isn't going to be an easy decision. The more I consider it, the more difficult it becomes."
Seven tilted her head. "Are you concerned that you will make the incorrect choice?"
"Not so much incorrect," the captain admitted. "I'm just concerned that I won't take everything into consideration."
Seven realized how vulnerable her partner was being with her, that this uncertainty she was feeling was not something she would share with just anyone. In fact, it was entirely possible that the Borg was the only one Janeway would allow so close to her during such a delicate time.
"You will," Seven said with certainty. "You will weigh all the options carefully, and come to the proper conclusion." She paused. "You know that I shall help you in any way that I can."
Janeway smiled faintly. "I know. I can't tell you how much that means to me."
Seven studied her for a few more moments, and then lifted their linked hands, bringing the palm up to kiss it lingeringly. "In any event, it is not a decision you must make right now. Come back to bed, Kathryn. I shall hold you while you sleep."
"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Janeway said huskily, uncoiling from her chair and allowing her spouse to lead her back into the bedroom. There, she smiled faintly as Seven untied the cord at her waist and pushed the robe off her shoulders. She made a soft sound as the young woman took the opportunity to brush her fingertips over each collarbone, leaning forward to kiss a line along the captain's throat.
"I believe you mentioned 'sleep'?" Janeway reminded her.
"Am I preventing you from sleeping, Kathryn?" Seven asked innocently, as she undid her own robe and slipped it off.
Janeway's eyes, more blue than grey, made a slow, lazy survey of the six-foot blonde Borg standing gloriously nude before her, pursing her lips thoughtfully.
"Perhaps there are other ways of relaxing."
Seven smiled and took the smaller woman in her arms, bending her head to kiss her deeply as the pair sank down into a warm nest of blankets, linens and each other. There were many occasions when they could barely catch their breath, when they came together in an explosion of ecstasy and desire, when every touch seared with a primitive fire and need, when each demanding kiss was as if it were their last. Tonight, however, there was an ease to their lovemaking that familiarity made almost healing, an intimacy that was as much comfort as it was exhilarating. It was a gentle and loving encounter, slow, soft touches, tenderness implicit in every whisper of their fingertips, in every brush of their lips. Climax for Seven was not so much an explosive release as it was the sweet acknowledgment of love and being loved, of absolute trust in this person she held tightly against her, of her unalterable devotion to this woman who moaned Seven's name so helplessly in her own moment of peaking pleasure.
Afterward, they curled together in sleepy satisfaction, Janeway snug in Seven's arms, tucked up under the Borg's chin, her lips tender against the hollow of the young woman's throat.
"Has this helped you with your decision?" Seven asked curiously.
Janeway chuckled softly. "Not necessarily," she murmured in that wonderfully husky growl. "But it has certainly helped to clear my mind, and allowed me to come up with a plan of how I should approach the situation."
"You are aware that most of the ship's crew is cognizant that something significant occurred with the slipstream drive?"
"Yes," the captain agreed, sighing slightly. "I suppose it was too much to hope that the average crewmember would remain oblivious of what was happening ... I'll just have to deal with it."
"I will support you in whatever you decide," the Borg told her quietly. "Completely." She bent her head, depositing a soft rain of kisses over the captain's brow. "I love you, my Kathryn."
"You're absolutely my heart, love," Janeway responded. She nuzzled the young woman's neck and nestled her head further into the cozy hollow of the Borg's shoulder before drifting off to sleep.
Seven remained awake a little longer, cradling this precious being in her arms, and wondering where her partner found the strength to do all that she did, to make all the incredibly hard choices that were only hers to make. It oft times made the Borg speculate on what she would do in Janeway's place on any given occasion, and inevitably she was left with the haunting feeling that she would fall far short of the compact woman's dynamic ability to command so skillfully.
She was married to a most remarkable woman, she decided, and it behooved her to always remember that.
Janeway had already left by the time the young woman woke the next morning, and disgruntled, Seven crawled out of bed, hoping that her partner had, at least, paused for breakfast in her enthusiasm to get her day started early. Stretching lithely, the Borg strolled into the ensuite where she showered before pulling on her uniform, taking a moment to wonder if she would ever become entirely used to wearing it. The two pips, one gold, one black, glinted slightly in the soft light radiating from above the mirror, and she studied them for a moment, aware that, somehow, the simple metallic insignia had altered the professional standing between herself and the captain. Only in their quarters, when she removed the symbol of Starfleet, was there the same, easy familiarity between the women. She was not sure she appreciated this new development as much as she had their previous existence, and the nagging thought remained that perhaps it had not been entirely wise for her to accept a commission.
She left the ensuite and strolled out into the living area of her quarters. Without her partner there to share breakfast, she limited herself to replicating a liquid nutritional supplement, which she drank quickly. A quick check of Jake's schedule confirmed that he was set for the day, including a lengthy playtime for him with the Borg children and Naomi for later in the morning. She offered the rusty, long-haired dog a scratch behind the ears, and the stated opinion that he was unquestionably the most adequate pet in the universe, and left her quarters for astrometrics.
There, she discovered Ensign Jennifer Delaney in deep discussion with Ensign Culhean, the pair ceasing their conversation the moment Seven walked in. The Borg quirked an eyebrow inquiringly. While Jennifer was part of the astrophysics department, there was absolutely no need for the other officer to be present, and she wondered if she had interrupted some form of romantic encounter.
However, Jennifer and the young pilot exchanged glances, then as if gathering up her courage, the younger half of the Delaney twins confronted the Borg.
"Seven, is it true that the slipstream drive is ready to take us back to the Alpha Quadrant?"
Seven considered the question very carefully, wondering how exactly she should respond. Janeway had never instructed that she should lie when asked a direct question by any member of the crew ... at least, not yet ... but the young woman was also aware that this was undoubtedly a matter where she should not be entirely forthcoming either. Not until her partner had made some sort of final decision.
"It has adequately met all the test requirements to date," she offered finally.
"I hear the captain doesn't want to use it because Starfleet wants us to remain out here longer," Culhean burst out. Jennifer shot him an exasperated look, and Seven studied him with a certain amount of astonishment.
"That is entirely incorrect," she said honestly.
Jennifer elbowed him, not so surreptitiously, and faced the Borg. "Are we going home, Seven?"
Seven hesitated. "Captain Janeway's first priority is, and always has been, the safe and expedient return of her ship and crew to the Alpha Quadrant," she responded sincerely.
Satisfied, Jennifer nodded, then grabbed Culhean by the arm, dragging him from the lab. "Thanks, Seven," she said. "I know you wouldn't lie to me."
The Borg managed not to change expression. Seven would not lie if she could help it, but she was also aware that if she could achieve misdirection of any kind of believable fashion to assist her spouse, she would. It was not easy to disguise the truth through omission, just as she had with the two junior officers, but she also realized she had not truly answered their questions, even if they believed she had. That granted her a certain satisfaction, though at the same time, her conscience insisted on offering a mild twinge.
She vaguely understood the concept that, sometimes, withholding information was a beneficial thing, particularly when she dealt with the children on the vessel. There were certain things they were simply better off not knowing until they had acquired more life experience. By the same token, however, it went against her own natural grain, as well as what she had learned in her Starfleet courses. She remembered viewing a lecture by Jean-Luc Picard given to a group of first year cadets, having pulled the file from the Academy archives in the ship's database. The captain of the
USS Enterprise had been a guest speaker, and he had made an impressive speech, indelibly etched into the ex-drone's mind ... possibly because at one point, the man had actually been Borg himself ... about the importance of truth. Indeed, his contention was that every Starfleet officer's sworn duty was to the truth, be it scientific truth, ethical truth or personal truth. Janeway had also passed on that lesson to her on one occasion, when Seven had been required to testify at a court martial.
Yet, life was not always as clear and concise as that, and she could not help being aware of that distinction as well. She sighed and activated her station, going over the logs from the previous shifts, catching up on where the department was with their duties and what she had to do this particular day.
Yet, her unease lingered. It was clear that rumors were starting to appear, some of them possibly creating a situation of tension that no one needed at this particular time in Voyager's journey. She resolved to seek out her friend, B'Elanna, as soon as she had a moment, and discuss it with her. No one knew better than the Klingon how quickly supposition and innuendo spread through the unique little community that had been formed by the Intrepid-class vessel's crew.
Perhaps the engineer would know what it portended for the captain in making her decision, and where it might become an actual disadvantage to the smooth functioning of the ship. She might also have a few ideas on how to combat it.
B'Elanna was nothing, if not innovative in her approach to lower deck gossip.
Commander Chakotay ascended the short flight of stairs leading to the upper level of the captain's ready room, his dark eyes expectant as he regarded the compact woman seated on the couch.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" he asked blandly.
She made a mild face at his tone, wrinkling her nose. "Yes, and I'm sure you know why." She dipped her head, motioning to the chair offset from the sofa. "Have a seat, Commander, this may take a while. Would you like some tea?"
"Please," he replied, accepting the mug she handed him.
He smiled faintly as he lowered his bulk gracefully onto the cushions, and stretched out his legs. Obviously, he was going to make himself as comfortable as possible for this particular discussion. They stared at each other for a moment, silence lying heavy between them, neither apparently sure how to begin.
"So," he said.
"So," she repeated. She paused. "Certainly, you have to have an opinion on this, Commander. Why not start by telling me what your initial, gut reaction was."
"Go home, of course," he said, smiling faintly. "Probably the same as yours ... but we both know it's not that simple."
"No," she agreed. "It's not." She took a sip of her own tea. "The risk is obvious, perhaps the greatest risk we've ever faced in terms of our ultimate fate. Yet at the same time, it's a very simplistic gamble. Either we're home, or we'll never see it again."
"What about Starfleet, Kathryn?" he pointed out. "After all, the TPG has this information. We could hope that even if it doesn't work for us, they would continue to experiment with it."
"Create a whole new field of propulsion for Starfleet?" Janeway suggested. "Perhaps in a few years, if this attempt doesn't work and we end up on a planet somewhere, a vessel using their version of the drive would come and take us home?" She eyed him narrowly, understanding, of course, that he was utilizing all the cards available, spreading them out on the table so they both knew what they had to play with. "Unfortunately, that's nothing we can count on. The TPG could just as easily discard the whole line of slipstream research as being futile, particularly if it doesn't work for us, just as most scientists did with the original transwarp research of ninety years ago. There's no concrete reason to believe that there would be any kind of slipstream propelled vessel in the future, let alone one which would be dispatched to the Delta Quadrant to find out what had happened to us. With impulse power only, our enhanced communications array would be compromised."
"No way to tell them what happened," Chakotay agreed somberly. "Then, there's the current political situation in the Alpha Quadrant. Even if they want to expend further resources to rescue us, the fact remains that the war with the Dominion has left the Federation in a somewhat fragile state. We are, after all, only one vessel, with a small crew of 140. It might finally be decided ... regretfully, of course ... that Voyager isn't worth the effort beyond what they've already done in the past few months." He studied his mug thoughtfully.
"That had occurred to me," Janeway agreed. "The Romulans, the Breen ... even the Dominion, remain distinct threats. A lot of what I've read in the information packets leaves me uneasy about what Starfleet can truly afford to do for us. It's also occurred to me that all this recent contact and attention may be their single, concentrated, last ditch attempt to deal with the 'Voyager Situation', and if it doesn't work, they'll move on to all the other problems facing the Federation. Unfortunate, but a necessary reality."
He raised his mug. "Since there's no guarantee that the TPG will continue to lend time, knowledge and resources to solve the slipstream drive problem beyond this one attempt, particularly if we're not willing to take the risk when they seem convinced it will work, we can't depend on the theory that further tinkering on the drive will somehow change the necessity of merging it with the current warp system."
Janeway nodded, satisfied that all the possible worst case scenarios had been laid out for their inspection.
"It really does come down to us risking something new, or continuing the journey the way we've been." She raised her eyes to meet his, seeing the concern and support in his dark gaze. He had become such a competent and trusted first officer, and she found she was quite thankful for his steady, solid presence. He would make a fine captain someday. "Assume I'm not here. What would you choose?"
He realized what she was asking, the expression clear in his face.
"I'd take the risk," he said finally, simply.
"Why?" she challenged.
"Because that's my nature." He paused. "And since we're being honest, it's yours as well."
She acknowledged the accuracy of that assessment with a dip of her head.
"I don't know that I can go with my instincts on this one."
He smiled. "Now, I think you're fooling yourself. I believe, that in the end, that's exactly what it will come down to."
She smiled, and shook her head. "We'll see, my friend. Thank you for your honesty."
"It's my job," he responded gently. Apparently realizing that was all, he stood up and carefully deposited his mug on the coffee table. His manner became more formal as his role altered back again to that of a lower rank, not of confidanté. "Is there anything else, Captain?"
"Yes," she said. "Please have Ensign Neelix report to my ready room as soon as possible."
He hesitated, turning to look at her, obviously surprised. "Neelix?"
She regarded him evenly. "It's a decision that requires as much input as possible, from as many viewpoints as possible. Certainly, the outcome concerns him as much as any of us."
"Of course," he said, dipping his head apologetically as he acknowledged the implied rebuke threading her tone. "I'll make sure he reports to you immediately."
Janeway sipped the remainder of her tea thoughtfully as she waited for the Talaxian to make his appearance. In her time here in the Delta Quadrant, she had acquired quite an eclectic senior staff. Now, more than at any other period in the past seven years, she had cause to greatly appreciate that circumstance. With all the varied backgrounds of the individuals making up her command crew, she was sure to gain a balanced sense of how things were, which could only help her when it came time to make the actual, final decision. She did find herself wondering about Chakotay's final words however. She didn't want this decision to be a matter of instinct. She wanted it to be a reasoned, intelligent choice, one that weighed all the factors and took absolutely everything into account. It could be her final major decision as captain of Voyager, and she didn't want to look back on it, regardless of the outcome, with the idea that she had let her heart rule her head.
She glanced up as the door chime sounded softly.
"Come," she instructed.
The stocky Talaxian entered immediately, if somewhat tentatively, peering around the ready room with golden eyes that squinted slightly, as if having trouble seeing in the subdued illumination the captain preferred to maintain in her private office. It occurred to Janeway suddenly, in a burst of shamed realization, that perhaps Neelix was not as comfortable with the Earth standard lighting as most of her humanoid crew was. Was it possible that in almost seven long years, she had never taken the time to discover that simple fact about the Delta Quadrant native? That his alien physiology was not really suited for him to work at his best in the ship's climate?
Yet he had never complained, and while she was prepared to make concessions for the comfort of her crew, she required input from them every so often as well, in order to maintain a smoothly functioning vessel. She couldn't read minds, after all.
"Up here, Neelix," she invited, putting her cup down. "Please, join me. I need to speak with you."
However, she continued the thought, it was also possible that she was far less perceptive and compassionate than she liked to think she was. She knew she would have to be more on the ball, particularly if they returned to the Federation in the near future and she had to start dealing with an entirely new crew. After all, it was a rare captain that maintained a consistent bridge staff over the space of a few years, let alone an entire ship's complement. If she hadn't managed to get to know a crew which had served her faithfully for almost seven years in the most trying of circumstances, what would she do with a bunch of officers fresh out of the Academy, or newly off the battlefields of the Dominion War? What would she do with officers who had no clue what she and her people had been through out here in the frontier, with no backup or contact with others in the 'Fleet?
Shaking her head, she focused her attention back on the matter at hand, making sure Neelix was settled in the chair, complete with a fresh glass of some unpronounceable juice that she had been astounded to discover in the replicator's pattern buffer. She poured herself a fresh cup of tea and returned to the sofa, leaning back comfortably against the cushions as she regarded the ship's morale officer.
"Ensign, you were in the conference room when the report about the slipstream drive was presented, along with what could be a very clear risk if we choose to use it," she offered quietly. "I would appreciate it if you would share your opinion with me regarding this situation. You have my permission to speak freely."
Neelix looked pleased at being asked, just as he did every time she found herself confiding in him in some small way. It took so little to make him feel important, to make him feel worthy, and she wondered if she had done enough of it over the years. How many times had she dismissed his colorful appearance and desire to please as not being particularly helpful to her or to the ship? Living on Voyager must have had a huge effect on him because there he was, proudly wearing the gold and black uniform of Starfleet operations. Gregarious, friendly, eager to accommodate his crewmates, his initial agreement to accompany Voyager on her journey had stemmed more from his relationship with Kes than from any desire to explore space. Yet, at some point, Janeway suspected that the Delta Quadrant native found he needed desperately to be a part of her crew, far more than Kes or anyone else, including Seven, had ever felt.
He also looked a trifle apprehensive about being in her ready room. It was very rare that she requested his view on such an important matter, and in fact, she wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have sought out his advice on more occasions.
"Well, Captain," he began, his expression serious. He had clearly been giving this his utmost consideration since the staff meeting the day before. "It's a very tricky situation. At first glance, it seems like everything we could hope for, but like most things I've come across, there seems to be a cost."
"There's always a cost, Neelix," she allowed. "Sometimes it's so hidden, it's not discovered until it's too late. But this seems fairly straightforward. Go home, or possibly stay in the Delta Quadrant forever." She studied him obliquely. "Would staying here be so bad, Neelix? It is your home."
He regarded her for a moment, and she forced herself to remember that he was probably as old as she was, with a lifetime of surviving some pretty horrendous experiences. She decided that her casual approach hadn't fooled him for a moment, even if on some occasions, he allowed people to think he had been fooled. Sometimes, she wondered who was truly the sophisticated traveler of the galaxy? The Starfleet captain or this Talaxian trader whose family and friends had been killed in an unjust military action with the Haakonian Order.
"The Delta Quadrant isn't my home," he said quietly. "It hasn't been since Rinax was devastated by the metreon cascade. I didn't find another until I came to Voyager." He took a calming swallow of his drink. "Captain, the need to go home is a powerful thing. Perhaps I understand that better than anyone since I know I can never return to mine."
"Even when the risk isn't worth the possible outcome?"
"Yes. Sometimes, Captain, you have to follow your heart."
Janeway didn't know what she had expected, but it hadn't been this simple, emotional exchange based not on fact, but on the deep longing for a place in the universe, a longing as primeval as life itself.
"Thank you, Mr. Neelix," she said quietly.
"You're welcome, Captain."
She didn't speak as he finished his drink, put the glass carefully down on the table and, at her graceful nod of dismissal, left her sitting in her ready room.
Thinking thoughts that grew more troubled with every passing moment.
Megan Delaney cuddled her only son on her knee, Little Harry gurgling happily as he played with his mother's hair which fell softly about her shoulders. Harry Kim glanced over at his family with fond regard as he programmed a three course meal into the replicator, recklessly spending all his spare replicator rations for this special occasion. Sitting across from Harry's spouse, Tom Paris looked comfortable on the sofa, cradling a drink, his feet propped up on a footstool. The helmsman had provided his own share of hoarded rations for the evening's feast, though rumor had it that since Seven of Nine had cleaned him out over a pool match, he didn't have the same lavish riches he once boasted.
All three of them knew that nothing had actually been settled yet, but they had felt a distinct need for a celebration of sorts, and decided to have their own version of a 'good-bye to the Delta Quadrant' party. If it was somewhat premature, well, that was why they had limited it to only themselves in the Kim-Delaney family quarters. The sudden chime at the door came as an unwelcome surprise, and Harry frowned as he went to answer it.
He nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw Captain Janeway standing there. To his knowledge, the captain had never been inside his cabin. Even when she and Seven offered to babysit, he and Megan always dropped their offspring off at the captain's quarters rather than have the couple come here.
"Uh, Captain?"
"Harry," she said politely. "Am I interrupting?"
"Not at all, ma'am ... uh, Captain."
She waited, and belatedly, he realized he was blocking her path, preventing her from entering. Flustered, he stepped aside and motioned her in. Both Tom and Megan looked surprised, but Little Harry, dressed in his jammies, was ecstatic. He wiggled off Megan's lap and made a beeline for the captain, stumbling, tumbling, but never deviating until he reached her feet where he paused, looking up at her with absolute adoration, raising his arms entreatingly.
"Ka ka ka ka ka ka," he burbled as loudly as he could in what was undoubtedly his version of either 'Captain' or 'Kathryn'. His father didn't know how familiar his son was allowed to be with Voyager's commanding officer, so he wasn't prepared to make a guess as to which.
"Hello there, little one," she said, obviously delighted as she bent down to scoop him into her arms. "When am I going to have the honor of your company again?"
"You're our favorite babysitter, Captain," Megan said graciously, as she stood up and moved over to greet her commanding officer. Though she was of a lower rank than Harry, and had never had the opportunity to work with the captain on a firsthand basis as he did, the young woman had become far more comfortable in Janeway's presence than her husband. "He adores seeing you."
"Hmm, I suspect he likes seeing me because I'm usually accompanied by whom he truly adores," she noted dryly as Little Harry kept turning his head, as if certain that Janeway had somehow temporarily misplaced something.
Or someone.
"Sev," he demanded.
"Seven's not with me this evening," she informed him gravely. "She's at home."
He stared at her, his lower lip quivering.
"Sev," he repeated, more insistently.
She shook her head and he screwed up his face in preparation of crying. Fortunately, his mother forestalled it by taking him from the captain's arms.
"Time for bed, little guy," she said. "Say good-night to Captain Janeway."
"Good-night, little one," Janeway said, cupping his cheek briefly in her hand, her eyes soft and a warm blue. Harry hadn't seen the captain look like that very often, and he noticed that Tom was gazing at her with bright eyes as well, but the helmsman didn't say anything. Which was probably just as well, because regardless of the circumstances, Janeway was still the captain and one should not comment on how extremely gooey her expression had just become.
"Say good-night to Daddy."
"Good-night, son," Harry said and took his son in his arms, giving him a hug. The boy gurgled and laughed, offering up his mangled version of 'Daddy', which never failed to make the operations officer smile. 'Uncle' Tom got a snuggle, as well, before Megan disappeared into the bedroom with the child. Harry regarded the captain, and motioned awkwardly at the table which was already set for three.
"If you'd care to stay for dinner, ma'am..." he began, stopping as she held up a hand.
"No, though I thank you for the offer," she said. "Seven is probably waiting for me. I don't wish to delay your meal, but I would like to speak with you and Tom, if you can spare a moment now."
"Of course," he said. He showed her to a chair and took a seat next to his friend.
"This is about the slipstream drive, isn't it?" Tom said keenly.
Harry would never be as forward with Janeway, but for some reason, Tom had always shared a certain familiarity with the captain that other crewmembers didn't have with her. Perhaps it was because they had both been raised in Starfleet families, or had admirals for fathers, or perhaps it was simply the Paris charm that could affect even a formidable woman like Janeway ... Harry simply didn't know, but he was content to let his friend do the verbal sparring with her.
"Yes. There is a very real risk with installing this drive into Voyager."
"Only if something goes wrong," Tom insisted. "Yet, everyone who's worked on the drive has complete faith in it, Captain. They're willing to risk it all on this chance."
"Tom's right," Harry piped up. "Captain, I've worked more hours than I care to count with this. Don't forget, it was almost my mistake that cost us the ship the first time we used the slipstream drive. If I hadn't come back in time..."
Janeway held up her hand again. "Please," she begged. "Don't bring in temporal mechanics."
Harry grinned, quite familiar with his captain's distaste for conversations dealing with time travel. "I completely believe in this drive. It will work. I'd stake my life on it."
Janeway stared at him steadily. "Would you stake Megan's?" she asked quietly. "Or Little Harry's? This is such an 'all or nothing' proposition, Harry. One malfunction and we're stranded in the Delta Quadrant for good. Are you willing to have your child grow up never knowing the Federation?"
Harry returned her gaze without flinching. "What I don't want is my child to grow up on a starship, rather than on a planet. What I don't want is to miss my chance to allow him to know his grandparents." He inhaled slowly. "Captain, I can see that this isn't the easy choice that I would like it to be ... I'm not oblivious to that ... but our entire existence in the Delta Quadrant has been nothing more than one huge risk after another. The truth is, we could have been dead a hundred times over. In fact, if you want to be technical, I have died. At least, my counterpart in this universe has."
He offered his most sincere expression.
"Please ... install the drive."
He thought there might have been a troubled expression shading her blue-grey eyes, but she nodded, her demeanor granting his opinion a sense of respect. "Thank you, Harry." She shifted her gaze to her helmsman. "Am I to assume that you share his opinion, Tom?"
He shrugged lightly. Paris was reclining languidly on the sofa, legs stretched out, hands linked behind his head. "More or less, Captain. Sometimes I think it's time we got on with our lives. This seems like the perfect opportunity to do that."
"You feel stifled on Voyager?" she asked in a silky tone that made a shiver go down the operation officer's back.
Harry glanced at his friend, but Tom didn't flicker.
"Don't you?" the helmsman challenged. "I mean, for the first two years it was a struggle just to survive, for the next two, we struggled to adjust. At this point however, there's a sameness about it all. After all these years, I guess I'm just tired of being in the Delta Quadrant. I'm not saying that it would necessarily be better back in the Alpha Quadrant, but at least, it would be a change."
Janeway blinked, surprised. "Now that's one I hadn't considered," she allowed dryly. "The boredom factor."
"Honestly?"
"Please," Janeway invited.
"I don't know how you do it, Captain," he said his blue eyes sincere. "I think it really came to me when I was talking with Dad a few weeks ago, but that's when it hit me as to just how long this has been going on. Yes, I know initially it was supposed to take seventy years, and we've made up two thirds of that distance in only seven years, and yes, I know we have the option of waiting with this drive and doing more research, but at this point, any change would be welcome to me." He paused. "Even if it didn't work and we had to find a planet to start a new colony, it would be something different, at least."
Harry didn't think that was a particularly intelligent argument in favor of installing the slipstream drive, but it was uniquely Tom's, so he supposed that the captain could appreciate it simply for that.
Janeway smiled. "I believed you right up until the end. I can't imagine you settling for staying on the ground, Tom."
The lanky lieutenant grinned unrepentantly back at her. "Real reason?"
She dipped her head.
He paused, then the grin faded from his face and his eyes softened. "I'm homesick. I just want to go home and see my Dad and Mom, and my sisters. I miss Earth. If the slipstream drive offers us a chance to see it again, then let's use it."
That was not playing fair at all, Harry decided, and rather wished that he had come up with it. Sometimes, he forgot that the captain could be reached with an emotional appeal under the right circumstances, and judging from the expression in her eyes, it had been effective indeed. It was very rare that he saw her so rocked, but then, it was very rare that the captain unbent enough to reach out to members of her crew like this. He supposed that Seven of Nine did get to see that side of Janeway all the time ... at least, he hoped she did ... but for him, it was like getting a quick glimpse through a window at an entirely different person.
It didn't last, of course, and the aloofness she usually presented to the average crewmember quickly returned, but he took this little glimpse and filed it with all the others, nurtured and protected in a special place inside of him. It went right next to the memory of the day she sat next to him on a planetary mission, eating berries that left them both with mouths smeared with blue.
The three looked up as Megan returned to the living area, and Harry was aware of the captain looking at him. For once, he managed to read what she was thinking from the quizzical tilt to her eyebrow.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, somewhat uncomfortably. "She's my wife. I share everything with her."
Megan looked puzzled as she perched on the arm of the sofa next to him, resting her hand on his shoulder.
"We were just discussing the slipstream drive," the captain told her smoothly. "I have a decision to make regarding it."
Megan nodded. "I guess a lot of people would wonder why you're even hesitating, Captain, but Harry told me what could happen if anything went wrong."
Janeway considered the young woman thoughtfully. "I would be very interested in hearing your opinion, Ensign."
Harry glanced at his spouse curiously, realizing that he had never asked it himself, assuming it would be the same as his. It suddenly occurred to him that it might not be, and he was astonished at his arrogance. When did he become so complacent? he wondered. If there was one piece of advice his father had given him about women, it was not to take them for granted.
Megan crossed her legs, resting her chin on her fist. "Honestly, Captain, sometimes those of us on the lower decks feel like so much of this is out of our control, that there's really not much point in forming an opinion."
Janeway blinked, and Harry wondered if his wife should have been so brutally honest, but on the other hand, the captain was in what was essentially their home. A certain sort of informality occurred whenever that happened.
"I certainly don't want any of my crew to feel that their opinion is of no consequence," Janeway said carefully.
"Captain, in certain cases, the opinions of senior officers hold no consequence either," she pointed out with a touch of humor, and Harry realized a bit of the Old South had crept into his spouse's accent. He wondered if she was nervous, but if she was, she was covering it well aside from the hint of honeysuckle in her voice. "Ultimately, only one person's opinion really matters on Voyager."
There was a pause, and even Tom seemed somewhat frozen by this bit of gospel. While it was absolutely true, and everyone knew it, it wasn't the sort of thing that one necessarily pointed out to the captain.
Then, Janeway smiled and everyone relaxed. "Just the same, I don't always want to form that opinion without having all the available information ... including what various members of my crew are thinking."
Megan nodded. "All right," she said, thoughtfully. "I like my life, Captain. Whether we return tomorrow or ten years from now, it makes no difference to me. I joined Starfleet to explore, and being in the Delta Quadrant, which is completely uncharted, is an astrophysicist's dream. Right now, I have enough material to spend the rest of my life researching it, whether it's in the Federation or out here. Professionally, I simply don't care if the drive is installed."
She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Personally, my sister and I are 'Fleet brats, raised on a series of starships, and it certainly didn't hurt us. While I know Harry might not necessarily agree with me, I don't believe it's going to cause my son any harm if he has to grow up on Voyager. Speaking purely as a mother, I'd rather we not take a risk on my child's life in any fashion, but considering our lifestyle, one tends to be a little more liberal with what constitutes a 'risk' regarding space travel."
The captain tilted her head, seeming a little confused. "So your vote would be?"
Megan smiled charmingly. "I guess I'd have to abstain, and trust that my commanding officer will make the best decision for all of us. Wherever I end up, I just want to see the stars and be able to point them out to Harry." She shot a fond look at her husband. "Both of them."
Harry was astounded, but since it was not the first time the seemingly shy and unassuming Megan Delaney had done that to him, he decided that sooner or later, he would become inured to it. He just hoped his surprise hadn't been readily apparent to the rest.
It was obvious, however, that there was still a great deal he had to learn about his spouse.
Seven of Nine was standing behind the kitchenette counter when the door to their quarters hissed open, and her spouse appeared. From the expression that fleetingly crossed the captain's face, the young woman knew that Janeway had completely forgotten that they were having guests over for dinner. Quickly pasting on a charming smile, the captain moved over to greet B'Elanna and Ro who were sitting together on the sofa, as well as Tuvok, who was sitting more stiffly in a chair.
"I'm sorry to take so long," she said.
Just as if she had been stymied in her heroic attempts to return home on time, as opposed to her not even thinking about the dinner engagement that she, herself, had arranged, Seven noted sardonically.
"If you'll just give me a moment to change, I'll be with you shortly."
"Take your time, Captain," B'Elanna offered. "Seven's provided lots of snacks to hold us for the main course, and she's on her way with the drinks. We're in really good hands."
Janeway flashed her chief engineer a grin. "I find it hard to believe that only snacks will hold you, Lieutenant," she said, with gracious playfulness. "I'll hurry."
However, she shot a glance at Seven which contained a sort of put upon expression that perhaps only her partner would recognize. The Borg returned it with an arch to her brow to indicate a combination of 'hurry up and change' mixed with a 'what can I do regarding the circumstances since you were the one who invited them?' message to her spouse. She had absolutely no sympathy for Janeway in this matter.
Seven was glad, however, that she had taken the time to lay out some clothes for the captain, along with fresh towels in the ensuite. That would facilitate Janeway's preparation, and as the captain disappeared into the bedroom, sealing the door, Seven moved around the counter, bearing a tray of glasses. A bottle of replicated Bajoran spring wine, along with a pitcher of the fruit juice that Tuvok preferred, were already on the table, and she waited until her guests had acquired their drinks before pouring some juice for herself and an extra glass of wine for her spouse.
"I understand that the twins, Azan and Rebi, have begun attending lessons with you, Tuvok," she said, once she had settled in the spare chair, which was removed from the closet only when guests were present.
"Yes," the Vulcan explained, quirking an eyebrow slightly. "They show definite traces of psychic linkage, facilitated, of course, by their Borg implants."
"Would they still have the link without the implants?" Ro asked curiously, as she managed to secure a few hors d'oeuvres from the platter B'Elanna was hoarding so assiduously. Seven decided that in the future, she would have to make more than one platter available whenever the Klingon was present.
"I believe so," he said. "Even in species that do not indicate much in the way of psi abilities, twins often display certain extrasensory attributes of significance."
The bedroom door opened, and Seven was surprised when Janeway returned to the living area so quickly. The captain was immaculately dressed in the navy sheathe that the Borg always found particularly attractive, while her wedding chain with the green stone rested on the smooth plane of her chest, the silver earrings glinting in her earlobes. Her auburn hair shone with fiery highlights, and the blue-grey eyes sparkled as she accepted the glass of wine from her spouse as she perched on the arm of the chair next to the young woman.
"You are lovely," Seven murmured, quite impressed with her spouse's expediency.
Janeway offered her a glimpse of that soft, vulnerable expression, her free arm stretched along the back of the chair, across the Borg's shoulders. "Thank you, darling."
"You never tell me things like that," B'Elanna complained, glancing at Ro.
Ro raised her brows. "I told you that before we came here," she corrected mildly.
Just as if they were truly a couple now, Seven noted fondly, and indeed, the Klingon did look splendid, wearing a simple black dress that fell to her ankles, a decided change from the plain look she assumed as the chief engineer, which usually included a smock. Ro was also attractively garbed in a sapphire tunic and dark pants, her silver earring dangling impressively from her right ear. Seven blinked, wondering when that had been altered. As far as she knew, the Bajoran had always worn her cultural adornment in her left ear.
Tuvok was the only one still dressed in his uniform. Even Seven had changed into a silvery-blue blouse she had purchased on a planet in the last sector of space they had been in, though she retained her black uniform trousers, finding them comfortable enough to function in.
She was very glad to see the relaxed way that Tuvok and the women were acting with each other. For whatever reason, there had been a period of time when B'Elanna, in particular, had seemed very leery of the Vulcan. That seemed to be in the past now, and Seven decided that whatever it had been, they had somehow resolved it.
As the conversation continued, touching on the various things occurring on the ship ... though Seven noted that everyone seemed to be steering clear of any topic related to the slipstream drive at the moment ... the Borg excused herself and returned to the kitchenette. There, she checked on the dish which had almost finished baking in the heating unit, the savory fragrance of herbs, vegetables and meat filling the air. It was her belief that the additional pleasure the aromas that preparation provided was why some people retained the skill of creating dishes from scratch. There was no question that the appetites of all her guests were stimulated just from the mouthwatering scents. B'Elanna, in particular, kept glancing anxiously toward the table, as if wondering when dinner would be served.
As Seven filled a wicker basket with warm, fresh rolls, she was joined by her partner who ostensibly had excused herself briefly to choose a wine to go with their meal.
"I'm sorry, love," the captain apologized in a low tone as she studied their wine collection. "I completely forgot about dinner tonight. I certainly didn't mean to leave you with all the work."
Seven handed her the rolls and offered her a smile. "It is fine, Kathryn. I know there is much on your mind at the moment."
Janeway surreptitiously patted the Borg's hip, her hand concealed from their guests by the counter. "Still, I'll make it up to you," she promised softly, "after everyone leaves."
"The rolls go on the table," Seven instructed her primly, but she appreciated the tingle that rippled through her at the implication. From the final, lingering caress the captain offered her, she was aware that Janeway had easily read her approval beneath the words.
They were midway through their meal when the discussion finally turned to what had been simmering beneath the surface all evening. Typically, it was B'Elanna who brought it up, obviously too impatient to keep it under wraps any longer.
"So, am I going to be installing the drive before the end of the week?" she asked pointedly, staring at the captain at the head of the table.
Janeway's eyes shifted over to the Klingon, narrowing slightly, but she finished the slow sip of wine she had been enjoying prior to the question, not responding immediately. Seven lifted her head, intrigued by how her partner might answer. She, too, was curious as to whether the captain had made any sort of decision regarding it, or if she was still formulating her course of action.
"I'm still in the process of forming a conclusion," Janeway said gently. She placed her wineglass back on the table before picking up her fork. "Obviously, the opinions I've encountered to date tend to favor the installation, but most are based on homesickness. Unfortunately, I cannot allow sentiment to dictate the proper choice of action ... not when the consequences are so dire if things don't work out."
If B'Elanna was intimidated by the gravely worded reply, she didn't show it.
"A lot of people could be upset if you don't authorize the installation," she persisted, and there was a hint of something to her tone, not necessarily because she was provoking the captain, but because that was the Klingon's natural manner. Seven was concerned that her spouse might take it as a form of challenge, but fortunately, Janeway was far too familiar with the engineer for that.
"More people will be upset if something goes wrong, and we're stranded forever in the Delta Quadrant with no warp engines," the captain countered smoothly.
Ro glanced at her companion, then at the captain. "Nonetheless, there is cause for concern," the Bajoran offered evenly, adding the weight of her opinion to the Klingon's theory. "Most of the crew knows that the slipstream drive is ready. To not go with it could lead to ... unfortunate consequences."
Seven frowned, but before she or the captain could remark on that bit of speculation, the ship's chief of security stepped in.
"Lt. Ro is correct," Tuvok said calmly. "It is one thing to be on a ship which will take years to return to port ... the crew has adapted to that concept. It is quite another, however, to know there is a possible way to facilitate the return to the Alpha Quadrant only to be refused permission to utilize it because of protocol or a perceived, rather than an established, danger." He paused. "Even the most logical of crewmembers could find that difficult to accept. It is possible that not everyone would continue to conduct themselves in a matter befitting a Starfleet officer."
For a moment, the captain and the security officer's eyes met, sharing something personal, private and significant. Seven didn't know what it could be, but there was an old wound there of sorts, a sense that at some point, one or the other had done just that in the pursuit of a way back to the Federation. Had Janeway compromised her values when faced with a possible method of returning home in a more expedient fashion ... or had it been Tuvok? Seven wondered if she dared ask her partner later, when the couple was alone.
"Are the pair of you implying that I could be facing a mutiny if I don't authorize the installation and use of the slipstream drive?" Janeway asked in a very mild tone.
B'Elanna gulped audibly in the silence that abruptly descended. Obviously, she had not taken her initial statement about the mood of the crew to its inevitable conclusion. Seven felt her heart increase its rhythm as anger threaded through her. Would the crew actually threaten her partner, threaten Janeway's command?
Ro and Tuvok exchanged glances, then the Bajoran looked at the captain. "We would not be doing our jobs if we didn't bring that contingency to your attention," Ro said evenly. "You have to consider all possible outcomes."
There was a bit of color in Janeway's cheeks, and her eyes flashed angrily, but her tone continued to be deceptively mild. "I will not be coerced into making a decision based on the threat of insubordination, Lieutenant."
Tuvok carefully sliced a bit of pastry and vegetable from his plate, spearing it with his fork. "To ignore such a threat is unwise, Captain." He caught the captain's eye. "None of us is suggesting that a mutiny is the inevitable outcome of not installing the drive, but the crew's inevitable lack of morale and dissatisfaction in that event should be taken into consideration when making the decision."
Janeway started to respond, stopped, and instead took a deliberate bite of her dinner, chewing slowly and carefully. Seven knew Kathryn was bringing her feelings under control and she watched her closely. Certainly, the captain would understand that both Ro and Tuvok were simply offering their honest view of the situation. Janeway would not be a good commanding officer if she did not allow for all the possible consequences of the decision she was planning to make.
"You're right," Janeway said finally. "I would be remiss if I didn't take that into account."
Seven deemed it time to change the subject, or at least, channel it to a less tense variation of the current one.
"Would you install the drive, Lt. Ro?"
The question seemed to startle everyone, and the mood altered a little, becoming less strained, less a sense of it being everyone challenging the captain.
"I don't know," the Bajoran responded slowly. "It's not as if I've ever been highly motivated to return to the Alpha Quadrant. Until very recently, in fact, I was considered a deserter, and the Federation was the last place I needed to be." She paused, then shrugged. "I guess we should consider ourselves fortunate that we didn't find a quicker way back before now. Suppose the Dominion War was still going on?"
B'Elanna snorted softly. "Good point. Can you imagine returning to a war zone? Even if a person didn't want to be in Starfleet, if there were any ties at all, I heard that was enough to receive instructions to report for duty. Heck, I even heard the Federation was thinking about drafting civilians toward the end."
"It does make me curious what the makeup of the average starship crew is in Starfleet now," Ro agreed. "When they sent the casualty list of names through in the last communiqué, I couldn't get over how many people were ... gone. So many were those I had known, or gone through the Academy with, or served with on various starships. The 'Fleet was hit hard."
Janeway nodded. "They've actually cut the Academy requirements down to two years rather than the four that we took. Promotions also came quickly. It means that right now, inexperienced captains are commanding ships with crews that barely know which end of a spanner to use."
B'Elanna shot her a mischievous grin. "You'll be a valuable asset, Captain. If anyone knows how to whip a bunch of misfits into a cohesive crew, it's you."
"When I figure out if that's an insult or a compliment, Lieutenant," Janeway said dryly. "I'll respond to it."
"Consider it a compliment," B'Elanna told her. "In fact, Starfleet is probably counting the minutes until it gets you back ... not to mention an entire crew of experienced, seasoned starship officers."
Janeway considered that thoughtfully. "I hadn't considered that. We might have a professional obligation to install the drive. It's our duty to serve the best interests of the Federation, and by not making every effort to return immediately, Starfleet will continue to be deprived of both a much needed starship, and a variety of personnel who can fill several crucial positions which have been created by the war."
Seven didn't think that was what B'Elanna had been saying at all, judging from the brief expression of surprise that crossed the Klingon's face, but it was a valid point and certainly one that needed to be taken into account.
She picked up her wine and sipped it quietly, wondering if any of this was helping her partner in making her final decision.
Or if it was just confusing the issue completely.
Janeway stripped off her navy dress, and processed it through the recycler, cleaning it. As she hung it neatly in the couple's walk-in closet, her thoughts swirled with the conversations which had taken place over dinner, some of which haunted her with their implications.
Mutiny. It was a word with such an ugly connotation and an even uglier reality. It struck to the very heart of what command was, particularly if that command was based on loyalty, respect, and duty. Lose that, lose the crew's faith in her ability to do what was best for the ship, and she might as well hand Voyager over to Chakotay and retire to her quarters until they returned to their home port. She would no longer be able to function if her crew didn't believe in her.
Yet, at the same time, this was not a democracy, and her ability to command could not be at the mercy of public opinion. It was her job to do what was best for her ship, for Starfleet, for the good of whatever mission was currently being undertaken. There had to be a balance, she knew, between providing a stable and positive environment in which her crew could live and work, while maintaining the discipline and protocols needed for operating a Starfleet vessel.
She sighed as she returned to the other room where Seven had already undressed and retired to the bed. The Borg was perusing a padd, reclined against her pillows which were plumped up against the head of the bed, her knees drawn up beneath the blankets. She glanced up as Janeway slipped out of her robe, hung it on the hook and eased between the warmed sheets, but she did not offer any comment.
The captain felt an unreasonable surge of annoyance when she discovered the young woman was going over the slipstream drive schematics, catching a glimpse of them on the padd's tiny screen.
"I know you want me to install the drive," she said querulously. "Which side would you be on in a mutiny if I decide not to?"
Startled, Seven eyed her, a shadow ghosting across her face. "Why would you even ask me that, Kathryn?" she responded quietly.
Shamed, Janeway stretched out on her back, reaching over to put her hand on Seven's arm apologetically, wrapping her fingers around the slender wrist. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm tired, and I'm not thinking properly." She put her other hand over her face, feeling the tension feather along her temples, the ache that seemed to spread up from the back of her neck and down her spine. "I didn't mean that the way it came out. I guess what Tuvok and Ro were saying over dinner bothered me more than I realized."
She heard the metallic click of Seven placing her padd on the night stand, then felt the mattress dip as the Borg shifted onto her side.
"Roll over onto your stomach," the young woman instructed softly. "I shall rub your back."
Janeway felt tears sting the back of her eyes as she obeyed, exhaling slowly while her partner straddled her hips and the strong, yet gentle hands began to soothe her tense, back muscles, kneading out the constriction of sinew and flesh. She groaned as she relaxed, pleasure superseding the stress she had been feeling.
"God, you're far too good to me, love," she muttered as she rested her head on her crossed arms. "Particularly after I've been so cranky, and taken my bad mood out on you."
"I realize this is a complex time for you, Kathryn," Seven told her quietly. "Perhaps you are allowing it to become too intense for yourself. You have made many difficult decisions before regarding the future of the ship that did not cause you this amount of stress."
Janeway sighed. "That's because most decisions are generally made quickly, often in the heat of battle or a crisis. This one I have the luxury of taking my time with, but I'm not sure that's a good thing. It seems to become further complicated the more I weigh the consequences of installing the slipstream drive." She paused. "Or not installing it."
"Do you really think that something will go wrong with the drive, Kathryn?"
Janeway thought about it. "I don't know, Annika. You, Harry and B'Elanna all believe it will work. I might not entirely trust Dr. Brahm's judgment in this, because I don't know her by anything other than reputation, but if you three believe in it, then I have no reason to question that. Yet, at the same time, I've seen how things go wrong out here, and how many times we've barely escaped annihilation through sheer providence. God, it wasn't that long ago that a simple response to a distress call ended up endangering the crew with total sensory deprivation and death." She turned her head, staring thoughtfully at the padd lying on the night stand, flinching slightly as Seven's fingers prodded at a particularly stubborn knot near her spine.
"I remember the decision I had to make when Voyager reached Borg space and we discovered the conflict going on with Species 8472," the captain continued quietly. "I felt so alone, trying to decide whether we should attempt to go through or skirt the area altogether." She laughed slightly, but there was little humor in it. "I ended up going to the holodeck, of all things, and asking da Vinci for advice."
"And?" Seven invited softly.
"In talking to him, it came to me to ... 'change the rules'."
"James T. Kirk," Seven offered suddenly. "The Kobayashi Maru."
Janeway laughed again, and this time it sprang from honest amusement. "Still remember your history classes, do you? I suppose he was known best for unorthodox ways, but in fact, it's a standard ... if risky ... method of attacking a problem. I decided to 'make a deal with the devil I knew', to approach the Borg and attempt an alliance with them." She hesitated, then reached back and patted her partner on the knee. "You know the rest, my love. It turned out to be the best decision I've ever made."
Seven bent down and kissed Janeway's shoulder blade, her lips trailing up over the captain's shoulder and nuzzling her partner's neck.
"Perhaps the outcome was positive," the Borg corrected dryly in her spouse's ear, "but as a command decision, it could have been considered ... unwise. The Collective is dangerous, and those on Voyager were quite fortunate not to have been assimilated."
"Hmm, I don't know that I can argue with that," Janeway noted ruefully. "Let's not spread it around, however." She wiggled slightly as she felt her partner sit up again, the Borg's hands resuming their soothing massage.
"As hard as I try, I can't come up with a way to change the rules on this one," she resumed, still thinking out loud. "Either the drive is installed or it isn't. Either it works perfectly, or Voyager has finished its journey to the Alpha Quadrant." She sighed. "We have no idea what's between us and the Federation. We could run into anything; an uncharted spatial anomaly, a hostile set of aliens that can shoot a slipstream ship right out of a corridor ... hell, just a minor malfunction to the warp manifold could be catastrophic. This is an experimental drive, after all. Then, there's always the aforementioned Borg. Arturis's people may have used their invention to avoid them for centuries, but in the end, the Collective assimilated them. Obviously, the Collective can somehow track a slipstream trace. It might even attract their attention."
"It might," Seven agreed quietly.
Janeway shifted, indicating that she wanted to roll over, and Seven lifted herself up to allow it, settling back down once the captain was finished. Looking up at her partner, Janeway rested her hands on the top of Seven's thighs, her expression serious.
"But how can I base my decision on what might happen?"
Seven considered it. "You cannot," she said. "Neither should you base it only on what information we do have. I believe there must be some kind of balance achievable between what you know, and what you believe."
"That's what I'm trying to do," Janeway noted with a touch of frustration. "I can't escape the fact that whatever I decide will cause a profound change on the ship, just as my decision regarding the Borg did."
Seven studied her intently. "You have never feared change, Kathryn," she said carefully.
"No," Janeway admitted. "I might thrash about a little from time to time, but I don't fear it. In fact, a lot of the time, I actually embrace it."
"Then perhaps what is disturbing you, has nothing to do with the decision itself, but what it means to your command."
Intrigued, Janeway tilted her head. "You mean, the idea of a possible mutiny?"
"No." Seven paused, obviously searching for the words to explain the concept that had occurred to her. "For as long as I have known you, your priority has been to return your ship and crew to the Alpha Quadrant."
"Longer than that," Janeway admitted. "Since Voyager was brought here to this quadrant, that's been my focus."
"The slipstream drive will be the final determination of that priority," the Borg continued. "Either this drive will work, allowing you to succeed at your stated goal ... or it will not, in which case, you will have failed completely in your promise to your crew. It represents the final statement about your command here in the Delta Quadrant. Perhaps that is the true source of your emotional distress."
Janeway stared at her. "God," she breathed, "that's exactly what it's about, isn't it? Using the drive means we'll either go home immediately, or we never will." She swallowed hard. "Am I just trying to delay the inevitable conclusion, Annika? Am I so afraid of facing the ultimate resolution to our mission here?"
Seven studied her. "I cannot answer that," she said, troubled. "Only you can, Kathryn."
Janeway covered her face with her hands, groaning. "You realize, of course, that this does not make the decision any easier to make."
"Perhaps, but once you recognize the personal uncertainties you are feeling, it is possible that you can set them aside," Seven said. "Thus, your decision becomes only of logic, and not emotion. Which is greater, the joy of a positive outcome, or the threat of a negative result?"
"Weigh the pros and cons," Janeway agreed, her voice muffled through her fingers. "Balance them both, and make a decision based on the sum."
She felt Seven grasp her wrists gently, pulling her hands away from her face.
"You will make the correct choice," the Borg said with absolute assurance, her narrow features intent and sincere as their eyes met. "I believe in you, Kathryn."
Janeway smiled faintly. "Thank you, darling."
For a moment, they held their gaze, then Seven carefully leaned forward and kissed her spouse, her mouth tender and sweet against the captain's lips.
"May I make love to you?"
The request was fairly simply and straightforward, a question asked many times before by her partner ... so why did it send such a wonderful thrill of desire through Janeway, especially now? How was it that the longer she was with Seven, the more she wanted her? It was supposed to become mundane and boring, particularly after one was married, wasn't it?
"Hmm, will you continue to kiss me while I decide?"
"Yes," Seven promised, proceeding to do just that.
After a delicious while, when time became meaningless, Seven inserted her hands between their bodies, gently covering her partner's breasts, stroking them lightly with her fingertips, swirling lightly around tender nubs that grew firm with interest.
"May I do this while you come to a decision?" she asked politely against the captain's lips.
Janeway considered it. "I think that would be all right."
More lovely moments passed before Seven trailed down the captain's body, replacing her fingertips with her mouth, providing the sweetest of kisses to Janeway's velvet tips, which tingled and ached and caused her to tangle her hands in the long blonde hair to hold the beloved head to her.
"What of this, Kathryn?" Seven question, pausing a moment to lift her eyes, and regard her partner curiously. "May I occupy myself like this while I await your conclusion?"
"As long as you don't distract me," Janeway told her sternly. "I'm trying very hard to make a decision here."
"I will not distract you," Seven promised gravely.
Some time later, after the wonderful mouth had nibbled a line down to the wiry triangle of hair which was nuzzled with lavish attention, Seven paused again.
"Would my tasting you be distracting, Kathryn?" she queried innocently.
Janeway, who was finding it quite difficult to breathe with any sort of regularity, made a sound in the back of her throat.
"Probably not," she managed.
Seven promptly settled between her spouse's legs and proceeded to do the most wonderful things to the captain, until finally, it was impossible for Janeway to think coherently at all. When the last tremors finally subsided, and Seven had made her way back up Janeway's body, covering her mouth with delicate passion, the captain's flavor salt-sweet on her lips, she drew back momentarily to look down at her spouse.
"Have you decided?" Seven asked.
Janeway blinked. "Uh ... what was the question again?"
Then she started to laugh and Seven smiled and they rolled around on the bed for awhile, kissing and caressing each other until Janeway managed to position her spouse right where she wanted her. Whereupon, Seven eventually succeeded in ripping away one corner of the steel bar fastened to the head of the bed with an amazingly loud screech of protesting metal, the fastenings of which shot across the room like projectiles, impacting on the far bulkhead hard enough to leave scratches. In the stunned aftermath, Janeway readily allowed that the bar ... which Seven always grasped with her left hand during lovemaking when the sensation was especially intense ... had probably been weakened over time, and it was unlikely that the captain had managed to do anything particularly special this night that might have caused an unnaturally inspired surge of strength in the Borg. Seven agreed, but noted that it was certainly an interesting thing to have happen, which Janeway thought was the case as well, and how difficult was it going to be to have the thing repaired, anyway? Seven didn't seem to think it would require much, and it was probably something she could replace on her own if she could just borrow a tool or two from engineering. As they snuggled together in the warm sweetness of afterglow, Seven noted that Janeway never did make the decision as to whether the Borg should actually make love to her or not, and Janeway patted the slender arm wrapped around her, promising that she would reach a final conclusion on the request sometime the next day ... perhaps even before morning watch, but if not then, then definitely before they went to sleep the next night.
Seven allowed that was just fine, and finally, the two women drifted off to sleep, delighted that sometimes, there were some decisions that never needed to be made, at all. They were simply understood by all concerned.
Ro Laren heard the voices raised in acrimony long before she actually saw who they belonged to. Moving lithely down the corridor, she rounded the corner to discover Lt. Ayala, a recently commissioned Starfleet officer, glaring at Chell, a Bolian who had been a crewmate of Ayala when they had served together in the Maquis. Their fists were clenched, and their eyes hot and angry as they faced off in the corridor.
She paused, linking her hands behind her back, raising her head.
"Does someone wish to explain this?" she asked, pinning Chell with her dark eyes. Since he was a member of security, she had a certain extra authority over him that she didn't necessarily have with Ayala, who was part of the gamma shift bridge crew.
"No, ma'am," he said, having lowered his shoulders and put his hands behind his back. "We were just having a discussion."
"Mr. Ayala?"
"Just a discussion, ma'am," he said, not meeting her gaze.
She crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against the nearest bulkhead. "The interesting thing about being designated the ship's 'rover'," she noted casually, "is that my hours are pretty flexible. I can stay right here for the rest of the day until I get an answer. Or until someone like Lt. Commander Tuvok ... or say, the captain ... comes by and asks why the three of us are standing around looking at each other."
The two males exchanged glances, apparently realizing there was no way out of this. Ayala, as the senior officer, went first.
"Mr. Chell was speculating about the future of Voyager. I disagreed."
Ro stared at him until he began to twitch, then altered her glance to Chell. "And you disagreed with his disagreement?"
"Uh, yes, ma'am."
She reached up, and rubbed the bridge of her nose where her Bajoran ridges were. "It was a very loud disagreement," she noted calmly. "I distinctly heard, as I walked down the next corridor, certain remarks regarding the captain, and an upcoming decision she is required to make."
There was a silence, rife with tension.
"She's not going to install the drive," Chell finally blurted. "She's going to leave us here in this godforsaken space."
Ro took a deep breath.
"You have nothing to base that on."
"Then why isn't engineering already at work installing it?" he demanded. "What's the holdup?"
"Because of the risk involved." At his blank look, Ro realized that, as usual, only part of the story had gotten out. "Chell, this is an experimental drive. If it doesn't work, we're stuck." At his continued puzzlement, she added with a touch of exasperation, "We won't be able to restore the warp drive once the slipstream drive is installed. Either it takes us back to the Federation, or we're stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant with only impulse engines."
The way his skin lightened to a shade of pale blue, he was well aware of what that meant, and furthermore, it was entirely new information to both of the men. Ayala might have been arguing on the side of the captain, but he obviously didn't have all the facts at his disposal either.
"The next time you hear speculation on why the captain has yet to authorize the installation," she said in a chill tone, "you might want to inform whomever is involved that there's more at stake than simply when the slipstream drive is installed."
"Yes, ma'am," Chell muttered.
"Aye, Lt. Ro," Ayala said.
"Get out of here," she said, and frowned as they quickly made themselves scarce. Obviously, what she and the chief of security had feared was beginning, and she probably needed to alert Tuvok as to what had happened. They could not hope that this was an isolated incident ... not at this point. In the meantime, however, she wanted to drop by astrometrics, and find out if there had been any response to the request she and B'Elanna had made two evenings earlier.
Seven of Nine glanced up as the Bajoran entered the lab, ceasing in her work momentarily.
"Lt. Ro Laren."
Ro restrained the smile. It didn't matter where she met Seven or what the circumstances, the Borg always greeted her the same way.
"Hello, Seven," she said. "I was wondering if there's been any response from Starfleet regarding a message I sent out a couple of days ago?"
Seven keyed some controls, her long fingers dancing over the touch pad. "We received an unusually large message burst this morning. I have not yet had the opportunity to decompress or decrypt it. I shall do that now in order to see if there is anything addressed to you."
"Thank you," Ro said, leaning casually against the work station. She regarded the young Borg steadily. "Dinner last night was very enjoyable, Seven. You're really a fantastic cook."
Seven blushed faintly. One could compliment her on her technical expertise all day, and she would not flicker, simply accepting it, not just as her due, but rather as something that did not need commenting on at all. Her superior skills simply existed as fact. Her belief in her personal abilities, however, were apparently something less certain to her, and it was obvious she was pleased by the compliment.
"I do not match Gretchen Janeway's abilities," she admitted shyly. "But I have enjoyed learning the skills required to prepare food adequately from scratch."
"You learned them incredibly well," Ro noted. "Plus, you've taken it to another level, to where you can actually teach it. Don't think B'Elanna and I aren't aware of why the meals in the messhall are a lot better now."
"Neelix is an apt pupil," Seven pointed out. "It is unfortunate no one took the time to assist him in his role as ship's cook." She keyed in more commands, activating a program of her own devising which swiftly and efficiently organized the decompressed data she had just decoded.
"Do you think the captain is any closer to reaching a decision?" Ro dropped the question in without deviating from her casual stance at all.
It did not fool Seven, however. The pale blue eyes rose to meet the Bajoran's, pinning her in place. "I do not believe so," the Borg said slowly. "Why? Has there been trouble?"
Ro blinked, impressed in spite of herself. Seven was a hell of a lot more astute about things than people tended to give her credit for. "Nothing that security can't handle," she assured her. She hesitated. "It's just that the longer it takes, the more tense the crew will become."
Seven considered that, then nodded slowly. "That is an accurate assessment, but I do not believe the captain will be hurried with this. She knows how important it is to make the correct decision. I trust that the ship's personnel will also understand that."
Ro exhaled audibly. "It might mean a little more information needs to be put out there. Right now, I get the impression that the crew doesn't have the whole story, particularly what's being risked."
Seven picked up a padd and accessed it, downloading information from her console into is memory. As she did, she cast a side glance at the Bajoran. "Perhaps B'Elanna would be the most expedient choice for passing that information on to the crew at large," she suggested carefully.
Ro grinned. "B'Elanna would make sure the right information got into the correct hands. Good idea, Seven. I'll drop by engineering and ask her if she can spread the word about what's really going on."
Seven didn't comment on that, merely handed Ro the padd. "There are two messages for you from today's communiqué. Perhaps it is what you are seeking. I have also included a message for B'Elanna, since you will undoubtedly see her before I do."
Ro regarded the padd's tiny viewscreen, checking out the files which had been downloaded, including one to her from Starfleet Command. She felt a tiny flutter in her stomach, realizing that this was undoubtedly the news she had been waiting for.
"Thanks, Seven," she said absently as she left astrometrics. She did not hear if the Borg issued any sort of farewell, completely wrapped up in what these messages could mean.
As she strode toward the turbolift which would take her to engineering, she accessed the first message to her. It was dated two days ago, and was actually the first formal orders she had received from Starfleet in almost seven years. Taking a deep breath, she read them:
"As of Stardate 53893, you have been reinstated to the rank of lieutenant, senior grade, serving in an active capacity on USS Voyager, Captain Kathryn Janeway commanding. Upon returning to the Alpha Quadrant, you are ordered to report to Starfleet Command for upgrading in Advanced Tactical Training in order to meet current operating standards."
Astounded, Ro reread it, just to make sure she understood it properly. It sounded like everything she could have wanted or asked for ... so why did it make her uneasy? Not to mention what was contained in the second message, which was from Captain Jean-Luc Picard of USS Enterprise. His letter told her to come to him as soon as she returned, that he had a special request to ask of her before she accepted any new assignment.
She frowned as the turbolift deposited her on deck eleven. It appeared that not only did Starfleet know about the imminent installation of the slipstream drive, they actually expected it to occur. She wondered if Captain Janeway was aware of this assumption, and how it would affect her decision if it came to that. She was also curious as to what kind of request Picard had in mind, particularly since she had told him during their last conversation, face to face, that she was not interested in returning to the Enterprise.
She paused in the corridor to transfer the information to the private work station in her quarters, then lifted her head and stepped through the doors leading to the main engineering level. The large room throbbed with power, the huge warp core in the center dominating the tiny figures of the crew who worked around it. Ro regarded it for a moment, wondering if it would look different once the slipstream drive was adapted to it,or if all the alterations would be of the kind that remained invisible to the casual eye.
"Lieutenant? May I help you?"
Ro glanced over to see Ensign Vorik eyeing her curiously.
"B'Elanna around?"
"Lt. Torres is in her office," the Vulcan said.
Ro nodded her thanks and he returned to his work. She favored him with a final glance, wondering if the young man harbored any emotional attachment to her partner. At one time, as he was entering his pon farr, he had pursued the Klingon as a mate, and while B'Elanna had been less enthused with the idea ... beating the young man to within an inch of his life to burn out the Plak-tow ... Ro sometimes wondered if it had been entirely logic which had motivated his choice. After all, he worked with B'Elanna on a regular basis, and the Bajoran knew better than anyone how very alluring the engineer could be, without B'Elanna even realizing it.
She discovered her lover buried in padds of schematics and large stacks of miscellaneous equipment that would be better stored elsewhere, the Klingon pawing through them enthusiastically in search of something. Turned away from the entrance, bent over to provide a somewhat attractive view of her backside, it was highly doubtful the engineer even knew she had a visitor, and Ro took the moment to look around the tiny office with a certain amount of distaste. Though B'Elanna had made a decided, and noticeable, effort to be more tidy in the quarters the couple shared, this was unquestionably the Klingon's space, and it reflected her boisterous approach to engineering.
Ro picked her way through the chaos and found a seat, having to relocate a certain amount of equipment to accomplish it. It actually took B'Elanna a minute or two to realize the Bajoran was there, so intent was she on tracking down whatever it was that was eluding her in the cabinet behind her small desk. When she straightened and turned around, she uttered a soft sound of surprise, her eyes widening.
"Kahless, you startled me," she said, plopping down in the chair behind her desk.
"Busy?" Ro asked.
"Not when you're here," her partner responded, offering a ready smile.
Ro returned it briefly and passed over the padd. "A message from Starfleet. I think it might be confirmation of your status."
Quickly, the engineer read the padd, frowning as she finally looked up. "It upholds my commission, and offers me an assignment to the Utopia Planitia shipyards."
Ro blinked. "That sounds like something you'd be well suited for.". She studied the Klingon's face. "What's the problem?"
B'Elanna hesitated. "It's just odd. While I appreciate the possibility, isn't it a bit premature to be offering me a new position? I know I requested an update on my official status, but I didn't ask for any reassignment ... even assuming we return to the Alpha Quadrant soon."
Ro nodded. "I got the same impression in my message. Seven also mentioned that she had received an unusually large communications packet this morning. I'm beginning to wonder if these letters are actually in response to our requests for updates, or if all the Starfleet members in the crew are receiving similar messages?" She paused, thinking about it. "Lanna, could it be possible that this whole slipstream thing is a done deal, regardless of what the captain decides?"
B'Elanna stared at her with wide eyes, considering what the Bajoran was saying. "Dr. Brahms would have kept Starfleet updated on our progress. Maybe they're just going with the assumption we'll use it, and are beginning to put things in place to prepare for our return."
"Maybe." Ro crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. "Or maybe Starfleet Command will just order the captain to install the drive."
"Janeway might not have any choice in the matter at all."
Seven of Nine entered sickbay after her duty shift, surprised to find the captain ensconced in the office with both the Doctor and Kes. She hesitated, not sure if she should interrupt, and it was Janeway who happened to glance up to see the Borg standing there uncertainly.
"Yes, Seven?" she asked, in her cooler, 'captain's tone'.
"I have finished distributing the various files from this morning's communiqué. Since I have a checkup scheduled, I thought I would bring by the Doctor's message personally. He has a letter from Dr. Zimmerman."
Since the Doctor's recent transmission to the Alpha Quadrant, where he had helped saved his creator's life, scientist and hologram had kept in contact by exchanging letters. The Doctor looked pleased at receiving mail, and eagerly reached for the padd that Seven held out.
"You also have several messages which have been downloaded into your workstation," Seven told the captain, though she did not add that at least seven of them were from Starfleet, addressed to Janeway personally rather than the generic 'Vessel Commander' that the usual updates and official files generally used. She tried to have her tone convey that they were more important than usual.
Janeway nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll access them immediately." She tilted her head, her features softening slightly. "The Doctor, Kes and I were just discussing the slipstream drive. I was concerned what effects there might be on morale if we don't utilize it."
"Indeed," Seven remarked, quirking an eyebrow.
"It could be quite detrimental emotionally, Annika," Kes offered in her gentle, even tones as she regarded the Borg. "Whenever a way home is offered, then is snatched away, it can cause deep-seated feelings of depression and unhappiness. You and I discussed that over lunch one day, remember? It was shortly after you returned from the planet where you and the captain had been stranded."
Actually, Seven had discussed it with Sek, the holographic version of Kes, and while this small, diminutive female was purported to be an amalgamation of both the hologram and her previous Ocampa self, even going so far as to resume her role as the ship's counselor, the Borg continued to be somewhat leery of the woman. She remembered how Kes, in her confused, maddened fury, had actually attempted to kill B'Elanna, and no matter how much the captain assured her that this new being was as much Sek as she was Kes, Seven was not ready to forget that incident. She also didn't like that the woman continued to use her Human designation whenever they came in contact with one another. It had been a privilege accorded Sek early on in their sessions, though the Borg wasn't prepared to make an issue of it, particularly in front of Janeway, who had been thrilled at Kes's return. In fact, Seven suspected that the captain was far more open with this woman, than she had ever been with Sek, but then, Janeway had known Kes for years.
Instead, she ignored the Ocampa's question, and regarded the Doctor who was still reading his letter.
"Doctor, I am ready for my checkup," she stated firmly.
Surprised, he looked up at her, glanced at Kes, and then nodded. "Of course, Seven. This way."
Seven did not dare glance at her spouse, but she was aware of Janeway's face hardening and her eyes narrowing slightly as the Borg followed the Doctor out into the medical center. The captain was well aware that Seven had shifted most of her health concerns over to Sek's care in recent months, so for her to request the Doctor to conduct her routine maintenance would be a noticeable snub of the Ocampa. Seven was sorry that her partner was disturbed by it, but she wasn't ready to grant Kes the same intimacy that Sek had been allowed. Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
"So, anything new I should know about?" the Doctor remarked cheerfully as he began to scan her. He had not indicated that he had been upset that she had switched medical personnel for minor checkups and the like. Anything serious, he would have continued to handle, of course, but all the other routine medical procedures, Seven had taken to Sek, feeling more comfortable with the female hologram for certain personal matters. But now, Seven realized that he would have to be updated, though she did wonder why he had not simply accessed her medical file through the ship's database.
Perhaps he was merely making small talk.
"Are you indulging in 'small talk'?"
Startled, he raised his head. "Uh, not really. If you want me to take over your regular medical requirements again, then I would like to know if there's anything that would be relevant. I can access your file, of course, but I find that having the patient tell me what they believe is pertinent, allows for a better doctor/patient relationship."
Seven stifled her sigh.
"My g-spot has migrated."
He stared at her.
"I beg your pardon."
"The bundle of nerves tha--"
"I know what a g-spot is," he blustered. "What makes you think yours has ... migrated?"
She offered him that flat stare she produced whenever she did not have the patience to discuss the topic at hand. "Access my medical records."
He exhaled audibly, stared off into space for a few moments, then widened his eyes. "Oh, my," he said. "But this ... I mean ... it's medically imposs---"
He stopped, looked at her a moment, then took a slow breath. For effect, she suspected, rather than anything else since as a hologram, he certainly didn't need to breathe.
"So," he said, in a weaker tone. "What else is new?"
She quirked an eyebrow. "We finalized the tests on the slipstream drive." Since it was no longer a secret, it was not anything she needed to avoid discussing.
"Ah, yes, that was an interesting bit of news. The captain was discussing it with Kes and I earlier. Of course, she required my expert opinion..."
Seven tuned the Doctor out as he continued on in his banal, if inoffensive, manner, giving his opinion about the captain's inevitable decision. Instead, she allowed her eyes to drift over to where Janeway was now alone in the office, working at a console. The expression that crossed the captain's face as a result of whatever data she was viewing, stirred a certain concern within the Borg. Abruptly, Janeway stood up and stalked from the office. The compact woman's expression was unnaturally strained, though when she saw that Seven was looking at her, the command mask immediately slammed shut over it.
The Borg regarded her quizzically, further alarm rising within her, but Janeway merely offered her a blank stare, the specific look that warned Seven away, indicating that this was a purely professional matter for the captain and at the moment, she simply could not afford to be any kind of spouse to her. Seven didn't like it when Janeway had to be so distant, but she knew she had to respect it. She deliberately looked away, not watching as the captain left sickbay, and instead, turned her attention back to the Doctor who seemed not to have noticed anything at all.
"...and so, it's clear that risking everything on this experimental drive is foolish," he concluded.
"Indeed," Seven remarked noncommittally, since a comment was apparently required at that stage.
"Honestly, Seven," he said, a shadow crossing his dark eyes, "what's so important back in the Alpha Quadrant, that we have to risk the ship for it?"
Seven's brows lowered as she considered that comment. "For many of the crew, it is home, and worthy of any risk."
"Where is home, really, Seven?" he asked airily as he checked the readings on the nearby monitor. "Isn't it where the heart is? And couldn't Voyager be considered where most of the crew's heart is, after almost seven years?"
He picked up a microfilament adjuster and reached over for her left hand, placing the appendage gently on the top of the console so he could work on it more easily. She studied him surreptitiously as he repaired a minor flaw which had developed in the index dorsal metatarsal band, adjusting the flow ratio from her fingertip to the rest of her hand. Obviously, he was greatly concerned about what he might have to face upon returning to the Alpha Quadrant.
She took a breath. "You did not reveal much about your return to the Federation in order to heal your creator, other than the fact it was greatly successful. I am curious. Is there something else about that away mission that you would like to share?"
At first, she wondered if he had heard the question, since he did not hesitate in his work, nor offer any kind of response to her. Finally, he looked up and his expression was bleak, one that disturbed her greatly.
"I'm obsolete, Seven. They've already constructed Mark IV EMH programs."
She blinked. "This troubles you?" she prodded, though such a discovery was to be expected. After all, two years earlier, he had encountered an upgraded version of the EMH program. It only stood to reason that more advanced versions would be made.
"My program is a failure," he said, bitterness coloring his tone. "Starfleet scrapped the whole version of me. The EMH Mark One was reconfigured to scrub plasma conduits on waste transfer barges!"
"Ah," Seven said, stalling for time as she thought about that. "You expect the same thing to happen to you upon returning to the Federation?"
He straightened. "Of course not," he blustered. "I'm sentient. The captain made it official."
Seven wondered who he was trying to convince, her ... or himself.
"You are a unique technological being," she agreed. "I am sure that Starfleet will take that into account when your future is considered."
"But that's just it, isn't it, Seven?" he said, collapsing suddenly, almost as if unable to maintain his bluff. "My fate is completely out of my hands. I don't know what my rights are, or even if I have any. And what about my mobile emitter?"
"What of it?"
He leaned closer, dropping his voice as if someone might overhear him.
"It's 29th Century technology. I didn't have it the two times I was transported to the Alpha Quadrant. I don't think they know about it."
"Why are you whispering? I, and everyone else on the ship, are fully aware that it is futuristic technology." In fact, it was her nanoprobes merging with that technology during a transporter malfunction, which had resulted in the creation of One. Even now, the thought of the drone she had cared for, and who had sacrificed himself for the good the ship, still caused a twinge of pain in the general vicinity of her heart.
He rolled his eyes, but he did draw back from her and resume a normal speaking voice.
"The point is," he said frostily, "they'll probably take it away from me, Seven. Without the emitter, I can't leave sickbay. I'll be trapped, imprisoned for nothing more than being a hologram."
"That is undoubtedly true," she said thoughtfully. "Therefore, you should either destroy it or immediately turn it over to the authorities upon your return."
Horrified, he glared at her. "Then what?"
"Utilize Sek's emitter, which is constructed from current technology. Though, admittedly, it is based on reverse engineering from your emitter, it does not allow for the same amount of data storage or range of functionality, so it may pass Starfleet temporal standards whereas the original would not."
His face grew still as he considered that. "That might work," he said finally, his tone one of astonishment and perhaps even a growing hopefulness.
"Possibly, but you should be prepared to further protect yourself." She paused, taking a slow, breath. "Indeed, I am aware that I must also be careful, because I am Borg. I was discussing this with Phoebe..." She glanced at him. "That is Kathryn's sister," she added, by way of explanation. At his nod, she continued. "She suggests that immediately upon my return to the Alpha Quadrant, I retain the services of legal counsel in order to make my status very clear to anyone who might consider me Borg, rather than the Federation citizen, Annika Hansen, I legally am. Perhaps you should also take this advice and force the Federation to recognize your status as a sentient being immediately, rather than waiting for them to place you in a position where you have few options."
He looked somewhat overwhelmed by this, but she knew he could not avoid the situation, particularly now that a possible return was imminent. He needed to start thinking about what he would have to face once he was in the Alpha Quadrant, just as she had been doing seriously for the past few days. She had learned through her contact with Phoebe that she did not always share her sister's perception of Starfleet, holding a far more cynical view of the whole organization. Seven had relayed the news that she had accepted a commission as a lieutenant in her most recent letter to the artist, receiving a response in the morning's communiqué, along with some other, quite surprising missives. She had read them all briefly before coming to sickbay, and Phoebe's letter had been full of strongly worded warnings about what Seven needed to be looking out for, particularly now that Voyager was so close to returning. The need for legal counsel ... civilian legal counsel ... had only been one of the younger Janeway's suggestions.
"Does the captain know this?" he asked, looking at her oddly.
Seven blinked. "She and I have not had the opportunity to talk, but when things are less complicated, I have every intention of speaking with her at length about it." She paused. "In truth, becoming a member of Starfleet has not been what I expected."
He snorted. "Well, you'd better talk to her, soon. If the Captain decides to install the drive, we're going to be back in the Alpha Quadrant before we know it ... whether we're ready for it or not."
"Indeed," Seven agreed. She noted that he had completed his scans. "Thank you, Doctor," she added.
"You're welcome. Listen, if you have a chance, see if you can convince your wife to take time for a checkup herself. It's been awhile."
"I shall remind her," Seven promised. She nodded politely to him and left sickbay, heading for her quarters. She had not yet entered the turbolift when she received a hail over her comm badge.
"Seven of Nine to astrometrics."
She recognized her partner's voice and tried to determine what required her to return to duty, particularly since no kind of ship alert had gone out. However, she did not hesitate as she speculated, tapping her comm badge immediately.
"Acknowledged," she remarked as she stepped onto the turbolift.
"Deck six," she demanded.
Janeway glanced at Kes whose soft eyes had followed Seven's graceful form out into sickbay.
"I apologize for my spouse, Kes," the captain said awkwardly, intending to have a little talk with Seven as soon as she had the opportunity.
Kes smiled gently. "It's all right, Captain," she remarked. "She is merely uncertain about me, and sees no purpose in hiding it. There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, it's far easier to understand and deal with than if she did try to hide it."
"Still, you shouldn't have to experience rude behavior from Seven," Janeway said firmly. "I won't tolerate it."
"Captain," Kes remarked, reaching over to touch Janeway's hand, "Please, don't confront her about this. Seven holds a remarkable loyalty both to B'Elanna, and to the being she knew as Sek. Don't forget, both stood with her at the altar at her wedding. Right now, she feels that I attacked one friend, and replaced the other, and in some ways, she's entirely correct. That's exactly what happened."
"It's not that simple," Janeway responded stubbornly. "Seven knows that."
"Intellectually, perhaps," the Ocampa allowed. "But emotionally? That is much harder for Seven to come to terms with. She must learn to know me for who I am now, and that will take time. But if you force it, you might paint her into a corner where she actually does have to make up her mind about how she feels." She leaned forward, her deep blue eyes intent. "Captain, part of Seven's coping ability is her childlike straightforwardness. Please, do not attempt to stifle that."
Janeway exhaled audibly. "Is that your professional opinion?"
Kes smiled brightly. "Of course." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Honestly, Captain, I owe the Sek part of myself a great debt of gratitude. She found my true place in the universe, and learned the skills I needed to help others. That was true evolution, far greater than what I faced as Kes."
"I'm glad that you feel your place is with us, now," Janeway said softly, even though it was slightly difficult to follow when Kes referred to her previous dual natures in the third person. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, as well, Captain," the Ocampa said. She glanced at the chronometer on the nearest viewscreen. "But I'm afraid that right now, you'll have to excuse me. I have a client."
"Of course," Janeway said, graciously. The captain watched the ship's counselor leave, thinking about what the Ocampa had said about her spouse. She really disliked it when Seven fell back on her 'Borg' behavior, as she was doing with Kes at the moment, but she allowed that this was the ship counselor's area of expertise, and perhaps she should not interfere. Still, it wouldn't hurt to suggest to Seven that perhaps she be less coldly indifferent, and more compassionate in her attitude toward Kes.
She sighed, then accessed the nearest station in order to check on the messages that Seven had placed such an emphasis on. She raised an eyebrow when she saw that most were directed her personally, rather than as the captain of Voyager, and she read them curiously.
By the time she was finished, she wasn't sure what she felt more: outrage or confusion, both of which were currently seeking dominance in her thoughts. She stood up abruptly and strode briskly from the medical center, not pausing to say good-bye to her partner who was still with the Doctor. She did exchange a glance with her in passing, however and received a very quizzical look from her spouse that indicated she knew something was up. Janeway returned it with a flat glare that warned Seven not to pursue it until she was ready to share. The mild flinch she got in return cut her to the bone, but she couldn't spare the time to explain things right now.
As she strode briskly down the corridor, she tapped her comm badge so hard, her fingertips stung.
"Commander Chakotay, I need to speak with you," she said sharply. "Meet me in astrometrics."
"On my way," came the response.
Ensign Jennifer Delaney was in the lab when the captain arrived. A few pointed words from Janeway convinced the young woman that she should carry out her duties elsewhere, and she quickly vacated the premises, leaving it for the captain. Janeway's motion was short and agitated as she brought up the messages which had so confounded her, tiling them on the huge viewscreen which dominated one wall of the room.
She turned her head as the door hissed open and glanced at Chakotay who joined her at the console. His eyes were turned to the varied windows on the screen, reading the messages which were addressed to Captain Kathryn Janeway, all of which assumed that she could respond to them within the next few weeks.
But she could only respond to them if she happened to be in the Alpha Quadrant.
"I was wondering if I should bring it to your attention," he said dryly, once he had finished scanning them. "I've had my commission upheld, and orders to report to DS5 to take command of the USS Yeager by the end of next month. I wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking on their part, or what."
"It's not," she said flatly, her voice cold. "I've also received this."
He read the classified document silently, his eyes widening briefly.
"Sort of takes the decision out of your hands, doesn't it?"
"How can they order me to install an experimental device on the off chance it might get us home?" she demanded in outrage.
"Possibly, they didn't think these orders would be difficult to follow."
She stalked away, anger tensing her shoulders and clenching her fists as she paced about the room. He regarded her evenly.
"Captain," he offered finally. "Is it that difficult to follow the order?"
She stopped, and pinned him with a look. "That's not the point."
He inhaled slowly. "Then, what is? The fact that, suddenly, you don't have the ultimate authority over what happens with Voyager anymore?"
Her baleful look heated up, rising to level ten intensity, and courageously, her first officer stood his ground. "Kathryn, so far we've been operating with the concept that we're completely alone out here. I'm guessing that Starfleet isn't considering that to be the case anymore. We're back to active duty, and this is our first assigned mission."
"They're not taking into account the possible danger this holds for us." Janeway was fuming.
Chakotay frowned abruptly, looking around as if suddenly realizing where he was. "Uh, Captain, why are we discussing this here as opposed to ... oh, say, your ready room?"
She didn't answer, merely reaching up to tap her comm badge. "Seven of Nine to astrometrics," she said in chilled tones.
"Acknowledged."
He looked at her as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Oh, Captain, you're not."
"You have an objection?" she asked with deceptive mildness.
"Hundreds, but let's start with the first one. Do you really think you're going to be able to change their minds? Do you really want to defy the first official set of orders you've received in almost seven years?"
Janeway opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment the door hissed open and Seven entered. The Borg regarded them both quizzically, and Janeway shot a final, quelling look at her first officer before motioning the young woman over to the console.
"Hail Starfleet," she demanded. "Punch through a live feed to the MIDAS array on an emergency band, relay it to the attention of Admiral Hayes."
Seven hesitated briefly, then gauged the expression in her partner's eyes, and hastened to obey the order.
"This may take some time," the young woman warned.
"I have nothing else to do this evening," Janeway said coldly.
Seven blinked at that, but she did not say anything else, keying in commands. Technically of course, any officer skilled in communications could have managed this for the captain, but Janeway knew that Seven could do it both quicker and easier than anyone else on the ship. Not to mention the fact that, if a junior officer was going to be present while she tangled with the brass, it had better be someone who knew how to maintain a confidence about what was going on.
Despite the Borg's adeptness at coaxing the most amazing feats out of her equipment, it still took thirty-five minutes to reach the MIDAS array, and even longer to have it relayed to Starfleet Command where, fortunately enough, the planetary time still had the admiral in his office.
"Good thing it's not a real emergency," Chakotay muttered at one point.
"Clear the room," Janeway ordered, as the relay to the admiral finally connected.
Seven and Chakotay exchanged glances, and left as requested.
Janeway stood at attention as the solid, grey-haired bulk of Admiral Hayes appeared.
"This is an emergency?"
"No, sir," she said, with what she hoped was just the right touch of arrogance and respect in her tone for dealing with a superior officer. It had taken a long time for her to learn it, and she hoped it had not completely disappeared in her time in the Delta Quadrant. "I have a question regarding the orders I've just received."
He raised his eyebrow. "Good god, Kathryn, you just started receiving them, again. Isn't it a bit soon to be arguing about them?" His tone was exasperated and long suffering, almost as if she wasn't the first balky captain he had needed to deal with that day. Because of the huge distance the carrier wave was traversing, there was a brief delay between each transmission, though Janeway was able to ignore the pauses in response after a few moments.
"Admiral," she said carefully. "With all due respect, installing the slipstream drive should be my call. It is my ship that's at risk here."
"I was unaware that there would be any hesitation about this. Dr. Brahms has assured Starfleet that the drive you built on Voyager should work without trouble."
"The operative word being 'should', Admiral, but the consequences if that's an incorrect assessment could be devastating for us. I need to be able to make this decision without interference."
He regarded her intently. "Kathryn, I appreciate you wanting to take everything into account before installing an experimental drive." A firmness had crept into his voice, the like of which Janeway hadn't experienced for some time. It sent an unpleasant chill down her spine. "I also appreciate that you have concerns about the consequences should something go wrong, but unless you can offer a concrete reason why this method of getting Voyager back to the Alpha Quadrant can't be used, then you have your orders." He paused. "Is there a valid reason why the slipstream drive can't be installed?"
She inhaled slowly, feeling a sick sensation trickle through her. Had it always been like this when dealing with Starfleet Command? Had she forgotten this in the seven years she had been completely on her own without support or backup ... or restraints?
Or was it entirely possible that Starfleet had changed far more as a result of the Dominion War than she could have imagined just from viewing files detailing what had happened?
"No, sir," she said stiffly. "I can't provide any reason that the drive will not function as expected."
His dark gaze assessed her narrowly. "Are you going to disregard your orders, Kathryn? You know there's not much we can do about it if you do. You're still a very long way from home."
That one was very much like a knife being stuck in her stomach and twisted, reminding her exactly of where her place was in the larger scheme of things.
"No, sir," she said quietly. "I will not disregard these orders."
He sighed. "Then, Captain, I expect this conversation is over," he said, and forced a smile onto his craggy features. "I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks, Kathryn. Hopefully, in person, right here in my office."
"Yes ... sir," she replied, the screen going blank as he ended the comm link before she could complete her sentence.
She discovered she was literally shaking with fury, her blood pounding in her ears, and it took her several moments to bring herself back under control. They had no idea what it was like out here, what it was like to be lost and alone, with no one to lend a hand when things got tough. Of course, it was entirely possible that she would have decided to go with the drive without the order. In fact, 95% of her had been leaning in that direction at this point anyway, simply from the information she had gathered the past few days about the drive, and the mood of her ship.
But this took it right out of her hands, searing her pride like a dash of acid across the face. In a few words dictated by some admiral who had never left Federation space, let alone the Alpha Quadrant, the choice about what was best for her ship had been taken neatly out of her hands. Instead, her only choice had become: would she obey these orders?
A Janeway would never willingly disobey orders. It went against everything she and her father had believed in, and while she may have been ... innovative ... at times in interpreting certain protocols and regulations out here in the Delta Quadrant, she had always conducted herself in what she believed to be a manner befitting a Starfleet officer. She would not alter that now ... not even when a part of her struggled desperately against this sudden harness which had been thrown about her.
She took another deep breath, calming herself even more.
Am I out of line? she asked herself, trying to be dispassionate. Am I so used to going my own way, to being independent, that what I would have accepted without question seven years ago now makes me feel threatened ... as if my territory had been invaded? As if my honor is being personally challenged?
The unfortunate thing about these questions was that she didn't think she could answer them ... not yet. That would require more experience with being part of the Starfleet chain of command once more.
Only then would she know if this was something she needed to change, or something she merely needed to adjust to. She lifted her head, firming her shoulders beneath the band of command red and went out to join Chakotay and Seven.
There was an announcement to be made ... even if she had little to do with how the final decision came about.
Seven of Nine took her plate and found a quiet table in the messhall to eat. Neelix had hastily cobbled together a buffet when news of an impending announcement came down through the grapevine. After Captain Janeway made the formal proclamation over the ship-wide comm system, it was inevitable that the crew would gather here; to discuss it, to celebrate it, to consider what it portended in terms of the ship. Seven knew that there were some crewmembers who had actually not thought about returning at all, not until this moment, because that was just how they handled being in the Delta Quadrant.
Now they had to.
She eyed her partner who was across the room, a diplomatic expression on her classic features as she talked with the various crewmembers who stopped to speak with her. A great many made a note of thanking her over what was a very difficult decision, which meant B'Elanna had been doing her job in spreading around the real story of the risk involved. Seven knew it was making Janeway grit her teeth. She couldn't forget how pinched and white the captain's face had been upon exiting the astrometrics lab, how resentful Janeway felt in having the decision removed from her control, though she had tried hard to hide it from both Chakotay and her spouse. Seven had known better however, and was still smarting from how decidedly distant and cold Janeway had been since that moment, even when they returned to their quarters to change into civilian clothes before coming to the messhall.
"Seven, are you hungry?" B'Elanna Torres offered, finding a place to sit near the Borg. Seven had been so lost in thought, she hadn't even seen the Klingon approach.
"I did not have dinner this evening," Seven explained, scooping up another vegetable pastry from the selection of finger foods she had accumulated.
B'Elanna considered that. "Working late?"
"No," Seven began ... then paused, eyeing the Klingon narrowly. "Are you inquiring about something specific, B'Elanna?"
"Who me?" the Klingon responded innocently. "Not at all."
Seven continued to stare at her until B'Elanna realized she hadn't convinced her of anything.
"Okay, I'll admit it," the engineer said, "the captain doesn't seem happy about this decision. I'm curious as to why. She should be looking relieved, or at least, ready to tackle any new problems, but instead, I get the sense that she's really angry about something."
Seven looked down at her plate. "I am unable to discuss it."
"Oh, okay," B'Elanna said blandly. "I totally respect that." She paused, reaching over to snag a miniature spring roll from the Borg's plate. "Tell me, Seven," she added casually, "did Starfleet order the captain to install the slipstream drive?"
Seven's pale eyes widened as they rose to meet B'Elanna's.
"How did you know that?" she asked, her voice rising, and B'Elanna reached out to put a hand on her arm, quieting her as people glanced over at the two women.
"Let's just say, I have my sources," the Klingon said hastily, her expression torn between smug satisfaction at having the correct information, but tempered with the dawning realization of what that really meant. "Kahless, it's no wonder she looks as if she could spit nails."
"How did you know?" Seven insisted, her tone much lower now.
"Guessed it," B'Elanna explained. "Actually, Ro and I were talking about the possibility earlier today. We received our own orders, in fact, and it was obvious that Starfleet's going with the assumption that the slipstream drive is to be installed, and used immediately."
"Indeed." Seven puzzled over that bit of news for a moment. "B'Elanna, why would Starfleet insist that we take this possible risk?"
The Klingon's face grew thoughtful. "Well, if they're getting their information from Dr. Brahms, they probably don't consider it much of a risk. She's undoubtedly assured them that it's passed every test thrown at it, and the only thing left to do is to test it under actual space conditions. Trying out an experimental technology is par for the course for starships. Even the Enterprise has been required to try out new tactical equipment and techniques which have never been used before ... and it's the flagship."
"Yet, if this does not work, we will not be able to return to the Federation, at all."
B'Elanna reached over and patted the Borg on the shoulder. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, but in purely military terms, that makes us the perfect vessel to try this drive on. It's nothing, but a win/win situation for Starfleet. If it works, then they get Voyager and a crew of experienced, seasoned starship officers back immediately."
"If it doesn't?" Seven prodded, feeling a trickle of something she did not recognize thread along her abdominal region. Apprehension, perhaps.
"Then Starfleet's not out anything." B'Elanna shrugged cynically. "We're not particularly useful to them where we are, and everything we've learned while exploring the Delta Quadrant has already been transmitted via the communications link."
Seven considered that. "B'Elanna," she offered, "that sounds more like the Collective's attitude towards the individuals that comprise its existence than Starfleet should be."
"Seven, always remember when you're dealing with a large group of any kind, sometimes they do what they consider best for the whole organization, rather than for any small minority. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few."
"Why was this not discussed in our classes?" Seven said, somewhat disgruntled.
"It was, you just never thought it would apply to you ... or the captain," B'Elanna grinned, showing sharp edged teeth. She stole a couple more pot-stickers from the plate, and Seven realized at this rate, she would have to return to the buffet for a second helping, just so she could eat. "But, be fair, Seven, they have no reason to believe the risk is that great. In fact, there's a pretty good chance the captain would have gone with installing the drive, anyway."
"Perhaps," Seven allowed, noticing that the captain was no longer in the messhall. She must have left the gathering while the Borg had been speaking to the engineer, undoubtedly deciding to retire to the privacy of their quarters where she would not have to constantly maintain her command mask. Seven remembered wistfully that the last time Janeway had left a party early, without telling her spouse, it was to prepare a special anniversary surprise for Seven.
The Borg thought it highly unlikely that Janeway would be in a similar mood this evening. She decided that she would remain at the celebration for a few more hours, affording the captain a certain amount of space. She suspected Janeway required it.
"B'Elanna, it would be best if that knowledge was kept between you and me."
"I know," B'Elanna said soberly. "We don't want anyone to get the idea that maybe the captain wouldn't have done it without Starfleet Command's interference."
Seven chewed thoughtfully on a pocket of meat in a flaky, pastry shell. "B'Elanna, you mentioned you have new orders?"
"Yes, it's a new assignment," the engineer said. "I've been ordered to report to Utopia Planitia. They want me to work in their shipyards there."
"You have no choice?" Seven asked keenly.
B'Elanna shrugged. "You always have a certain amount of choice, Seven. If you can come up with a concrete reason why that particular posting is unsuitable for you, then Starfleet will work with you to find a better one. They don't want unhappy people, after all. It lowers an officer's ability to do the job. In my case, however, I'm pretty pleased with the posting. It'll give me the opportunity to work with new ships and new designs, not to mention getting me caught up quickly on current specs." She nodded toward the other side of the messhall where Harry and Tom were gathered with a group of other crewmembers. "I hear Harry's gotten tagged by Starfleet Command's ship design section. He and Megan will get to live and work in San Francisco."
"They will enjoy that," Seven said slowly, thinking of Little Harry and whether she would get to see him very often once they had returned. What of the rest of the children? Slowly, it was dawning on her what was being lost in this change. She dipped her last spring roll in some plum sauce. "B'Elanna, I have orders to report to Starfleet Command to be 'briefed'."
The engineer looked at her, clearly considering that, her dark eyes troubled. "You don't like the sound of that," she guessed quietly.
"No, I do not," Seven remarked. "Indeed, I am beginning to think that I chose to accept the role of a Starfleet lieutenant at a most inopportune time." She stared unseeingly across the room. "I have also received an offer to join the Theoretical Propulsion Group from Dr. Brahms, which intrigues me greatly, but I believe it would require that I become a civilian again."
"Is that something you're thinking about?" B'Elanna asked. "Of course, they work out of Mars in conjunction with the Utopia shipyards. You and I would be in the same general vicinity, at least."
"That would be another advantage," Seven acknowledged. She inhaled slowly. "I think that I should resign my commission, B'Elanna."
The engineer started to respond, stopped, thought about it. "Does the captain know you're thinking about this?" she asked after a moment.
"We have not had the opportunity to discuss much of anything over the past few days, aside from the decision she was going to make."
"I see," B'Elanna said. She shrugged lightly. "Well, I think you have to do what's right for you, 'Nik. Even if Janeway doesn't agree with it."
Seven rested her empty plate on her knee. "She will not," she speculated gloomily. "She is so proud of me whenever I put on the uniform."
She became aware of B'Elanna staring steadily at her. "Whatever you decide, Seven," the Klingon advised finally, "do it quickly, before we're back in Federation space. Because once you're there, I'm not sure how much red tape you'll find yourself tangled up in."
"I understand," Seven responded gravely.
The Klingon held her gaze, then nodded. "In any event, we're going to be really busy for the next ten days, Seven. We might as well enjoy ourselves tonight."
"Agreed," the Borg allowed. She stood up. "I require more food."
"I'm kind of hungry myself," B'Elanna agreed.
"Surprising, since you ate most of my meal," Seven pointed out as the two women went over to the buffet, which caused B'Elanna to laugh and elbow her friend admonishingly.
The Borg tried to enjoy herself for the next few hours, speaking with various crewmembers who appeared very excited at the prospect of finally going home. Even those who held certain reservations, like Neelix and Naomi Wildman, were anticipating the change in their lives. As she mingled, Seven realized she would miss these people greatly. It was obvious that Starfleet considered the Voyager crew to be a very valuable resource and had already made plans to place them where they seemed to be best suited. Of course, a few did not agree, and had indicated they wanted other things. In fact, Chakotay mentioned that he was going to refuse the offer to command the USS Yeager, intending to request a posting to Starfleet Academy instead, so that he could continuing teaching ... and living on Earth with Icheb, the boy whom he had unofficially adopted as his own. Samantha Wildman, in the meantime, would be joining her husband at his posting on DS9, while Tom Paris was greatly excited about an offer from the Enterprise for a helm position on the flagship.
The more Seven heard, the more disturbed she was. The crew was going to be split up, these people who had spent the past seven years as a centralized collective, splintered into individual units of isolation. What did that mean for Voyager ... and her commander? She wondered if Janeway was expected to take the vessel out again with an entirely new crew, or if Starfleet had other plans for the starship captain.
They really needed to take some time to discuss this, Seven decided anxiously. Suddenly, it was as if events were progressing too quickly and she had little time to properly prepare.
It was quite late when she returned to her quarters, surprised to find that Janeway was still awake, sitting quietly on the sofa with Jake's head on her lap, the illumination dim and cheerless. She looked up as Seven entered, her eyes dark and solemn, her face smoothed out in the stillness that came from deep thoughts and introspective musing.
"Party over?" she asked quietly.
"No," Seven responded, coming over to take a seat on the coffee table so that their knees were touching and she could face Janeway directly. "I was merely tired of the crowd." She tilted her head, regarding her partner closely. "However, if you wish to be alone," she noted delicately, "I can return to the messhall."
Janeway's breath slowly trickled out her elegant nose as she pondered the question.
"No," she decided finally. "I'm just sitting here ... thinking. I don't really want to be alone."
Seven nodded, resting her hands on her partner's knees as she leaned forward, offering her partner her full attention if she wished to speak.
"It's coming to an end, Annika," Janeway added softly. "All of it. After seven years, we're going home."
"We are," Seven assured her. "The slipstream drive will function properly. Please do not be concerned with that."
Janeway smiled faintly, but it did not reach her eyes. "Does it matter? I had no say regarding it. My concern is the least of anyone's worries."
Seven's jaw stiffened. "You have every say. One word, and neither B'Elanna nor I will agree to install it. Without us, it cannot be done."
This time the blue-grey gaze brightened perceptibly. "You would do that for me, darling?" the captain asked wistfully. "Disobey orders?"
"Their orders, not yours," Seven said intently. "Never yours." She paused, her tone softening. "Kathryn, my loyalty is, and always has been, solely to you. Not to Starfleet, not to the ship, not even to the rest of the crew, but to you, and only you. Whatever you require of me, I shall do everything in my power to make it so."
Janeway regarded her fondly, her gaze shading to a warm blue. "Insubordinate as hell, and arrogant to boot," she said with dry humor. "What did I do to deserve such a crewmember?"
"You loved me," Seven said simply. "That is something that no one else can offer me. No one else can influence anything I would do, or what I would choose, in the same way you do. Your love is the single thing in this universe that makes me complete."
Janeway leaned her head back against the sofa cushions, gazing at the ceiling, but Seven could see the moisture glistening in her eyes, and she knew her words had reached her partner.
"There are going to be a lot of changes in our future, Annika," the captain warned huskily. "It's not going to be like it was, nor is it going to be easy."
"I know, and we must discuss these changes," Seven responded. "Before we actually use the slipstream drive and return to the Alpha Quadrant."
"If there's time," Janeway muttered. "Starfleet seems to want us back in a hurry."
"We must make the time, Kathryn," Seven insisted.
Janeway's head dropped to study her spouse. "We will," she promised after searching her eyes. "But not tonight."
"No, not tonight," Seven agreed softly.
"Tonight, I just want you to take me to bed and hold me," the captain requested quietly, reaching out to touch Seven's cheek, cupping it in her hand. "Until I stop feeling like so much of this is out of my control."
"For as long as you need, my Kathryn," the Borg responded, reaching up and entwining her fingers with the other woman's, turning her head to kiss the warm palm.
Janeway smiled, and after she allowed Seven to pull her to her feet, displacing Jake who was forced to shift his position on the sofa, the Borg snugged her arm tightly about her partner's waist and led her into the bedroom, absolutely intent on holding her spouse close to her for the rest of the night.
Which might be one of the few remaining that they would share in the Delta Quadrant.
Epilogue
The slight, blonde woman with Slavic features stared out the large window at the magnificent view of San Francisco's Golden Gate bridge arching magnificently over the blue waters of the bay stretched out before her. In the azure sky, shuttles darted, leaving silvery trails, while toward the harbor, Admiral Alynna Nechayev could see Starfleet Academy's current senior class letting out for lunch.
It had taken a great deal to rebuild after the Breen attack had flattened the buildings containing Starfleet Headquarters, and even now, there were areas in the structure that were left vacant because there weren't enough personnel to fill them. Being in these offices was a constant reminder of how vulnerable Earth truly was, and how quickly the political structure of an entire quadrant could change.
"Do you have any doubts about Janeway's acceptance of her orders?" she asked coolly, her pale blue eyes distant.
Behind her, she heard the squeak of leather as Admiral Hayes shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Janeway's always been a good officer and an solid captain. It takes a special sort of leader to keep her ship intact for close to seven years without any kind of support or backup."
"Agreed," Nechayev said. "However, we can't overlook the fact that she would also have developed quite an independent streak, simply from necessity." She turned, looking back at the other man. "Face it, Jack, right now, Starfleet can't afford too many independent commanders who don't like to follow orders. Discipline is a priority, and it's bad enough that Picard is running around with the flagship, doing whatever he feels like doing, while Captain Sisko on DS9 ran his station like it was a territory, not Federation property."
"Technically, it was Bajoran territory," he pointed out carefully. Nechayev's temper was legendary in the halls of Starfleet Command, and it was obvious he did not want to trigger it.
"Who should be members of the Federation," she countered immediately, a bitterness in her tone. "And would be now, if it weren't for his interference. That whole 'Emissary' thing went to his head, to the point that he actually ended up dying for it. As a result, we don't have a strong enough Starfleet presence on what is the very threshold of Dominion space. The Federation Council members are fools if they think there'll never be any more trouble coming through that wormhole."
"What's this have to do with Janeway?" Hayes prodded the other admiral back onto the topic.
"I want her where we can keep an eye on her, at least until we know she's back into the fold completely. Then we can figure out where she'll best be suited."
Hayes dipped his head, his heavy brows lowering. "I don't think that will be a problem. After seven years, she'll probably jump at the chance to stay ground-side."
Nechayev, who had commanded a starship on the frontier while Hayes had achieved his admiral bars through administration and station duty, did not roll her eyes, but she wanted to. After all, this was the same admiral who was first in the escape pods of his fatally damaged vessel when the Borg had attacked Earth, instead of last as was the unstated protocol. Popular opinion was that he was a windbag, tiresome, if ultimately harmless ... but definitely one of the sheep, not a wolf as Starfleet needed so badly at this moment in its history.
As Nechayev was. Or what Janeway could be, if what the admiral knew about the captain was true.
"Don't underestimate a captain's need for a ship and the stars to guide it," the diminutive blonde told him sharply. "She might want to get right back out into space." She frowned. "We need to know more of how being out there for almost seven years has affected her ... and her ability to follow orders. So far, I'm not impressed."
"We're in the process of spliting up her crew, we've arranged for Voyager to undergo a complete overhaul upon its return, and we've offered her the choice of several attractive positions both here and on Mars. Do you really think she'd balk, and request another starship command?"
Nechayev smiled with feral intent. "Not so long as her spouse is assigned here. The Janeway name still has enough leverage in certain circles to get her another command upon request. Her wife, however, has no seniority, and has to go where her orders take her. By arranging it so the lieutenant's position is located here, Janeway will likely want to remain close to Earth."
"Ah, yes, about Lt. ... Hansen," Hayes offered delicately.
Nechayev turned back to the window and her eyes went cold. "You don't have to remind me. That's our first priority upon Voyager's return."
"We must secure the Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01."
The End