“Azan and Rebi told me that Surnak is partially your child, Lt. Ro,” Seven remarked quietly, once their vessel had cleared the Vulcan system and had laid in a course to Earth, settling into a steady warp four. It would take another day or so for them to reach the solar system, but Seven discovered she could not wait to pin Ro down about the fascinating piece of information she had discovered, though she did restrain herself until Phoebe had retired to her cabin for the evening. “How is that possible?”

Ro started abruptly, obviously badly shaken by Seven's question, her dark eyes uncertain as she stared out the viewport.

“It's complicated,” Ro admitted finally.

“I suspected it would be,” Seven allowed patiently, waiting for Ro to elaborate.

“How did Azan and Rebi find out?” Ro said, a touch of exasperation in her tone.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “It has been my experience that children often know far more than the adults around them realize. I suspect it is because their presence is often discounted, though they hear and understand a great many things no matter how subtle the adults believe they are being.”

“Wonderful,” Ro grumbled. She took a deep breath. “Do you remember when Tuvok isolated himself in his quarters? Or maybe you don't because it was around the same time you encountered that alien pretending to be your mother.”

Despite the many months that had passed since that event, despite the distance Seven had managed to put between her and what had been a most painful experience with the Mimic, Seven still flinched.

“Tuvok was undergoing pon farr. Kathryn told me it had been taken care of.”

Ro dipped her head. “It was, by me.”

Curiously, Seven tilted her head. “Explain.”

“Tuvok had to mate or he would die,” Ro said, sighing slightly as she seemed to realize she wouldn't be able to get out of responding to Seven's questions. “I offered myself as surrogate, and while our mating, which involved not only myself and Tuvok, but T'Pel and Tuvok's cousin, Tumak, acting as surrogate in a psychic bond, T'Pel conceived a child.”

“You were part of the conception?” Seven was greatly intrigued.

“In a manner of speaking.” Ro turned her head and pinned Seven with a look. “Vulcan mating rituals are an extremely private and personal thing, Seven. You must swear to me that you will never discuss this with anyone else.”

Seven hesitated, frowning, and Ro sighed.

“Other than Janeway, of course. Besides, Captain Janeway already knows what happened.”

“She does?” Seven filed that away as yet another thing her had been keeping from her. “I promise not to discuss it with anyone other than Kathryn.” She studied Ro closely. “Will you discuss it with B'Elanna?”

Ro inhaled slowly, looking very serious. “I have to.” A muscle trembled in her jaw. “The incident almost finished our relationship, Seven. It took a long time for B'Elanna to come to terms with what I felt I had to do. I'm not sure how she'll react to this.”

Seven considered it. “If you tell her immediately, she would be more understanding than if you attempt to dissemble.” She was absolutely assured that this was the proper form of advice, since she was keenly aware of how aggrieved she was over Kathryn's decision to keep things from her.

Ro glanced at her. “Do you understand why I did what I did to save Tuvok's life?” The question was posed in a most tentative tone, unlike Ro's normal inflection, almost as if Ro needed some sort of reassurance about something.

“Of course,” Seven replied promptly. “Indeed, I informed Kathryn that I would be willing to mate with Tuvok if it were necessary to save his life.” She paused, remembering the conversation. “She said that I could be physically injured in that event.”

Ro looked thoughtful. “I don't think so, but it was quite energetic. If you've never been with a male, it might have posed a problem or two.”

“You were not injured?”

Ro shot a sharp look at her, and then smiled faintly. “No. It was fairly pleasant, in fact.”

“As a result, you now have a child.”

That wiped the small smile from Ro's face. “I do. It was something I never really took into consideration when I made my decision to help Tuvok, but now I have to accept responsibility for my actions.”

“What is it like, suddenly being a mother?” Seven had experienced a taste of it when the Borg children came on board, but they quickly became the responsibility of all the Voyager collective. The only one that she felt she had a true maternal claim on had been the infant, but the child's relatives had been found and she had been forced to watch as Janeway handed the baby over to them. It had been a wound between her and Kathryn that eventually healed, but left a deep and ragged scar.

The corner of Ro's mouth curled upward. “Scary as hell. Not to mention the fact that suddenly, your life isn't entirely your own anymore. A piece of it is claimed by someone else.”

Seven thought about that later when she withdrew to her cabin at the rear of the vessel, stripping down to her undergarments and washing in the small sink which was provided. Crawling between the sheets of the narrow bunk, she lay there for some time, staring through the small porthole next to her, contemplating the passing stars and all she had learned on this visit.

Not long afterward, she heard the subtle sounds of Ro retiring to her own cabin for the night. That meant the DragonFlight had been turned over to the navigational computer that would automatically pilot it while Ro was asleep. Of course, Seven and Ro could take turns monitoring the helm, but with the simplicity of the vessel's systems, there was little that could go wrong. This area of Federation space was well traveled, and it was unlikely the helm would lose so many reference points as to move them off course. It wasn't like Voyager, for example, in the Delta Quadrant, that required almost constant monitoring by officers because of the unknown variables in that area of space, and the complexity of the Intrepid-class vessel's more advanced navigational array.

Exhaling slowly, Seven was abruptly aware that in a little more than twenty-four hours, she would be in Kathryn's arms once more. Despite the problem between them, she still looked forward to that moment with eager anticipation. She had never been away from her for so long, not since that incredible journey via a Bajoran orb to DS9 that lasted three months. Missing Kathryn was like an ache within her, a sort of pain that she couldn't heal and was hard pressed to ignore.

She sat up and leaned over, pulling her bag out from beneath her bunk, and digging out the padd with Janeway's files. She wasn't in the mood for the 'special' file, but she went through the rest of them, one after another, immersing herself in the sound and sight of her spouse, feeling a little less lonely. Eventually, she tucked the padd beneath her pillow and fell asleep with Kathryn's voice rasping pleasurably in her ear, telling her how much she loved her and always would.

When she woke, Seven could hear muffled conversation through the door of her tiny cabin, and sensed that she had overslept somehow, though time was rather fluid on a private yacht in space. She slipped out of her bunk and stripped off her undergarments, washing off briefly in the sink with a cloth and a cleanser specifically designed for space necessities. When she dressed in fresh clothes and went out into the main cockpit, Phoebe wordlessly handed her an herbal tea and some breakfast pastries. Seven took a seat next to the viewport and glanced out at the stars as she ate her meal. All three women were very quiet this morning, as if aware that the trip was finally coming to an end, and were using this time to be alone with their thoughts.

At the helm, Ro manually navigated the ship, though it wasn't necessary. Seven supposed Ro wished to keep busy. Not that she blamed her, wishing that she had something to do as well. Phoebe, of course, could busy herself with her art at any time, making sketches or simply going over her notes from the symposium on Trill. Seven wondered if she should develop a 'hobby', one that could be practiced regardless of the surroundings.

Seven was surprised when her sister-in-law leaned over and touched her on her shoulder.

“Come back to my cabin, Annika,” Phoebe suggested in a low voice. “I have some images I took on Vulcan that I'd love for you to see.”

“Of course,” Seven acceded, and rose from her seat, following Phoebe back to her cabin, which was no larger than Seven's. The two women sat on the bunk, tucking their legs underneath them.

“What's going on?”

Seven blinked. “Could you be more specific?” she asked, realizing that Phoebe had been conducting a deception. Apparently, there were no images of Vulcan to be perused, much to Seven's disappointment.

“Halfway through our visit to Trill, Ro gave up that ridiculous attempt to pretend she was fascinated with their culture, and started acting like what she was really there for. Why was she sent to protect you, Annika?”

Seven hesitated. If the possibility existed for Ro to be disciplined for revealing the real reason she had been sent along on the trip, then Seven telling Phoebe telling a civilian about matters classified by Starfleet, could slide very quickly into something that could become quite complicated for everyone.

“She did accompany us to secure my protection, but I cannot discuss the 'why' with you.”

Phoebe stared at her, then nodded, a touch of discontent in her face. “I'm sure it probably has to do with Starfleet which, frankly, is the story of my life, but I'm glad to know that my first guess was right. That she was only pretending to have an interest in Trill culture.”

Seven did not respond to that, regarding her sister-in-law quietly.

Phoebe shook her head and sighed somewhat wistfully. “Otherwise, did you enjoy the trip?”

Seven immediately brightened with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes, Phoebe, it was very enjoyable. Thank you so much for suggesting I come with you. It was fascinating to see all the various scientific facilities and to meet the people with whom I have previously corresponded only over a communications array.”

“I'm glad,” Phoebe said, pleased as she patted Seven gently on the thigh. “Listen, are you and Kathryn having problems?”

Seven blinked. “Why would you ask that?”

“The whole Ro thing. I understand why Ro would have a cover story for me to come along, but there's no question in my mind that you also believed it, at least in the beginning. That means Kathryn sent her along without telling you why.”

Seven was amazed and somewhat consternated at her sister-in-law's powers of deduction. She tried to come up with an answer, then inhaled slowly. “Kathryn cannot always tell me everything in her role as a Starfleet officer.”

Phoebe stared at her a minute. “You're right, she can't, but as her spouse, you have the right to know if something is up, particularly if it involves you. She, of all people, should know what it feels like to come second to Starfleet.”

Seven dipped her head, realizing that perhaps it was not just Kathryn who had felt neglected by her father. Obviously, Phoebe still had a few unresolved feelings with the whole parental situation. “I agree it is something that Kathryn and I shall have to address once I have returned to Earth. It is entirely possible that she was so concerned about my safety that she overlooked the fact that she must take the time to discuss things with me. But while I have the right to be angry with her, you do not.”

Phoebe blinked. “Who said I was angry with her?”

Seven quirked an eyebrow. “Your body positioning, the tenor of your voice, the way your pupils are dilated, the—”

“All right,” Phoebe said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I am pissed at my sister. You're the best thing that's ever happened to her, and if she's so stupid that she can't see that, then obviously I'm going to have to point it out to her.”

Seven smiled faintly, warmed at the ferocity in her sister-in-law's voice, and the brightness of her eyes. Being fully accepted and loved completely by Kathryn's family was something that she cherished deeply, and it was the sort of sustaining support that made her wonder if she should seek out members of her own family for a more extensive contact. During her visit to the Daystrom Institute, she and Ro Laren had taken a brief side trip to visit Seven's grandparents, both maternal and paternal, and while it had still been somewhat uncomfortable, it was far less stressful than their first meeting years ago on DS9. It was possible that with time and effort, she could achieve a sort of family bond with them, despite the fact that she did not really feel such emotion yet.

“I appreciate your concern, but this is a situation that Kathryn and I must work out on our own.”

“In other words, you want me to butt out,” Phoebe said dryly.

Seven considered that. “If the implication is that you are not to interfere in my relationship with your sister, then yes, you are required to 'butt out'.”

Phoebe grinned wryly, looking remarkably like her sibling at that moment. “Okay,” she said placatingly. “I promise I won't pick a fight with Kathryn over this, but you have to promise me that you won't let her get away with this.”

Seven sobered suddenly. “No, I will not allow her to 'get away with this'.”

“Kathryn will have to recognize the consequences of her actions.”

“We have a bite.”

The cool tones of Nechayev startled Janeway as she worked at the desk in her new office at the Utopia Planitia base, and she glanced up to see that the admiral had broken into her comm channel. At first, Janeway didn't understand what her superior officer was saying, still lost in the schematics of the Galaxy-class USS Discovery, but finally she figured it out and put down her padd.

“Where?” Janeway didn't bother to object to the admiral cutting into her private emergency channel. That's what it was for, after all, but she did wish the admiral wouldn’t be so abrupt all the time. Undoubtedly, it was part of the reason why Seven did not like or trust Nechayev.

“McKinley Station. Beam directly to the administration office. The coordinates have been downloaded into your transporter buffer.”

The viewscreen went blank as the admiral cut the channel, and without hesitation, Janeway rose from her chair and moved over to the small transporter dais set unobtrusively in an alcove across the room. It had been a courtesy, Janeway realized, for the admiral to include her in this since most of the operation had been taken over by Starfleet Intelligence. Or perhaps there was something more to it. She had developed the distinct impression Nechayev was up to something, but she hadn't quite figured out what yet.

She keyed the transporter and felt her molecules dissolve, reassembling her in the administration office of the space station that orbited Earth. She felt a slight dizziness that quickly passed, and she wondered if such regular, long-distance beaming was good for her. She decided that she would have to do some research into it, or better yet, get someone who enjoyed digging around databases to do it for her. That made her think of Seven, and she hoped that this would not take very long. Seven, Ro and Phoebe were expected to be arriving from Vulcan later in the day, and she had every intention of personally being there to greet her spouse the second she stepped off the DragonFlight.

Taking a position just behind the station technician monitoring the console, Janeway nodded briefly at the admiral who was standing next to an unfamiliar officer. Admiral Nechayev was not a particularly impressive person at first glance, slender and diminutive, even when compared to Janeway's compact form, and especially compared to the large man she was standing beside. But the longer one was in her presence, the more Nechayev's personality imposed itself, like steadily increasing levels of deadly radiation from a star about to go nova. Before one knew it, they were experiencing the fear that they might not survive an encounter with her if they were not especially careful. Janeway was of two minds about her superior officer. On one hand, she greatly respected and admired the accomplishments of the woman, but on the other, Nechayev's arrogant and brutally forceful attitude was extremely off-putting, even to Janeway who thought she knew what it originated from.

“Captain Janeway, this is Captain Provo, Starfleet Security,” Nechayev said, introducing the balding, broad-chested man who towered over her. His small eyes glinted and he dropped a semi-courteous nod at Janeway before returning his attention to the viewscreens. Janeway dipped her head in response, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his attitude.

“What do we have?”

“A face that has been identified as being connected to the Syndicate,” Nechayev replied, when Provo did not seem inclined to answer Janeway's question. “We don't know the human with him, but I suspect it's our conduit, or at least, someone who can tell us where it's been routed.”

The admiral motioned at the viewscreens covering the wall at one end of the room that monitored the passenger, storage and docking facilities of the station, including the spacious departure section where the various civilians were waiting to board ships bound for a multitude of destinations. The large lobby was bordered by a wide range of gift shops, kiosks and merchant stands, providing last minute necessities and merchandise to the departing travelers. Janeway noticed the main viewscreen appeared to be centered on a small, somewhat obscure newsstand located in a quiet corner of the lounge, away from where most of the crowds were located, and a considerable distance from the main storage facility where lockers could be rented by the travelers.

Nechayev pointed at two beings, a Bolian and a human, lounging nonchalantly by the counter, perusing the offering of publications. “I think they're waiting until the area is more crowded before trying the lockers. Once they have what they came for, it's only a short walk to the departure gates. We'll take them once they're past the gate and are on approach to their ship.”

“Is this the same locker where McCord originally left the Borg units?”

Janeway felt a keen sense of awareness fill her, the scent of the hunt flaring her nostrils. It had been a while since she had felt like this. Not since the Delta Quadrant, as a matter of fact. She was also struck by an odd sense of familiarity with the sight of the Human operative, though the hood the burley figure was wearing made it difficult to get a good look at his facial features. She wondered when those cowls had become the fashion, belatedly realizing that many in the departure crowd were also wearing them. Convenient for criminals to disguise their features. Not so convenient for the law enforcement agents attempting to track them. They could easily be lost in the sea of travelers if Starfleet wasn't very careful.

Provo answered for Nechayev, overriding Janeway’s question. “Our undercover agents leaked word that Starfleet has been unable to find where McCord hid them. We've been monitoring this area for the past two weeks. This is the first nibble we've had.”

“Won't they be suspicious?”

 Janeway decided she didn't like Provo at all, though a part of her was sympathetic as she realized his abrupt attitude sprang partially from an uncertainty in his own abilities. Obviously, he was another indication of the toll the Dominion War had taken; an officer promoted too quickly into a position he wasn't entirely ready for. It was suddenly more understandable to her why the Orion Syndicate would have dared operate this close to the core system.

Provo shook his head. “We were very apparent in searching this area thoroughly for several days before moving our operation to the Utopia Planitia base.” He paused, grinning without humor. “Surely you've heard all the complaints from your engineers the past week about how we keep getting in their way as we poke around.”

Janeway exhaled audibly. “Oh, yes,” she said acidly. “I've heard.” Commander McDougal's displeasure still resonated from the last staff meeting of chief engineers she had attended on the base.

“They're moving,” the technician at the console said.

Provo reached down and pressed the touch pad. “All units, stand by.” His eyes suddenly gleamed with an unpleasant glitter. “Quarry is beginning to move.”

Janeway tensed, wanting to be more involved, finding the task of merely watching the events unfold on the monitors almost agonizing. It was very like having to sit calmly on the bridge of a starship while an away team carried out an operation, granting her the same sense of anticipation, excitement and frustration over being merely an observer. However, in that circumstance, she always had the option of involving herself directly if she so chose because of her command authority. Here, she had to stand by and watch without interference, as the various Starfleet Intelligence undercover agents began slowly to tighten the perimeter of their trap, closing in on the storage area where the syndicate members had gone directly to the locker where Seven technology had been stored. There, while the Bolian kept a look out, the Human removed a false back to the locker and took out a couple of devices which Janeway recognized as belonging to the power units from Seven's Borg alcove.

“Wait,” Nechayev snapped to Provo. “Your people are moving in too quickly. We want them not only to pick up the merchandise, but we also want to pinpoint which ship they're using. We need to know how they're able to operate in Earth's solar system.”

Provo grunted, but he nodded and gave the order for his operatives to hold back until the targets had reached the section leading to their vessel. That way, Starfleet would know which berth the Syndicate ship was docked at, and hopefully discover what government body or private enterprise was providing the criminal organization with passage within the core systems.

A sudden qualm struck Janeway. “What if they transport directly out once they have the merchandise?”

“The transporter system on the station is too large and monitored too closely,” Nechayev explained in a low tone as Provo shot the starship captain a bit of a condescending look. “Any unauthorized attempt would immediately alert administration, and the main pattern buffer would grab their signal and hold it until security checked it out.”

Tersely, Janeway nodded and resumed her observation of the viewscreens. As she watched, her attention was caught by an image in the corner, and she realized that one of the Starfleet operatives had faltered, as if ill, leaning uncertainly against the pillar not far from the newsstand where the syndicate members had been loitering earlier. Fortunately, it was not close to the action where other agents were closing in on the criminals, but Janeway kept half an eye on it anyway. On the main screen, the Syndicate operative was shown deftly tucking Seven units in a bag before handing it to the other member who promptly slung it over his shoulder. It was very smooth, with a minimum of fuss or effort, and Janeway was struck by how 'planned' it all seemed. These two knew exactly what they were doing.

“Provo, you have a break in the perimeter,” Janeway said as she noticed the rearguard agent slumping to the deck. “One of your agents is down.”

Startled, Provo cursed and started making calls to the closest operatives, all of whom were on the other side of the storage area near the departure gates.

The undercover operative was lying next to the pillar by this time, and Janeway abruptly realized it was no coincidence that the two criminals had originally been loitering by that tiny newsstand. Obviously, the proprietor of the shop was also somehow involved, quickly coming around the counter and grabbing the unconscious or dead Starfleet agent under the arms to drag her out of sight behind the counter. Horrified, Janeway noted that there was a vent located near the tiny kiosk which, according to a check with the computer, led to a series of maintenance tubes. Comparable to the Jeffries tubes on a starship, the access tunnels could take a person directly to any one of the docking ports, avoiding the departure gates entirely, not to mention all the security monitors.

The syndicate members had started back across the departure area, obviously retracing their steps to the newsstand instead of taking the expected, much shorter and direct route to the gates. Apparently, no one had anticipated this escape route which meant someone on Provo's staff had let him down and as a result, only the one operative had been left to cover the area. With that operative suddenly gone, the syndicate had an opening through which they could slip if they moved quickly.

They were moving very quickly.

“Morgan, T'Pan, get your team out into the docking area,” Provo snapped into the comm system. “Ferris, back track into the departure section and follow the Syndicate operatives.

“What about force fields?” Janeway asked Nechayev, scanning the board.

“That part of the security system is not responding,” the technician at the console replied, slapping at his touch pad frantically. “The internal sensors are down.”

“This was their escape route all along,” Nechayev said grimly, shooting a look at Provo. “Someone may have tipped them off.”

“Impossible,” he sputtered, his gleaming head flushing a deep red, almost glowing. He returned Nechayev's glare with one of his own, but it faded quickly beneath the power of her steely eyes.

“There will be a complete investigation,” the admiral said, in a voice that made others in the room tremble. “If we lose these people...”

Janeway could tell with a fatalistic detachment that there were no other agents close enough to replace the one who had been taken out. Scanning the various view screens, Janeway abruptly realized that the administration area was in reasonable proximity to that unobtrusive maintenance tube, and without further delay, she sprinted from the office, hearing the astounded “Captain!” flung after her by Nechayev.

As Janeway descended to the next deck, using an emergency maintenance ladder, and dashed down the corridor leading toward the main maintenance tube, she was struck by the fact that she had neglected to secure a weapon for herself before she left. She couldn't quite remember if she had replaced the concealed phaser she normally carried in her boot heel, or if she had neglected to take it out of her tunic after the last incident requiring its use, which meant it would have been recycled into component energy when the uniform went through the replicator.

She didn't falter as she turned the corner and raced down the access corridor, grateful that she had resumed her runs in the morning. This was not an easy distance to cover at top speed, and she doubted she could have managed it a few weeks earlier. She did hesitate as she reached the vent leading to the maintenance tube, trying to figure out if the criminals had already passed this section, or if they had yet to reach this particular juncture. Judging from the noise, she determined that they had already bypassed this tube on their way to the docking ring, and that the pair had been joined by a third person, undoubtedly the newsstand proprietor.

Ignoring the nagging sense that she was following more than just a triad of criminals, she dropped into the tube and crawled quietly after them, wondering how she was going to stop, or at least, delay the trio since her brief view of them on the monitors indicated that they all outweighed her by a considerable amount. She knew she would have to come up with something soon since they were rapidly making their way to where their ship would undoubtedly be ready to launch. Starfleet didn't have enough operatives in place to put a person on every docking port, and without knowing which ship they were headed for, despite the administration office using Janeway's comm badge for triangulation as she trailed them, it might be impossible for Starfleet to get someone to the berth in time to prevent the syndicate members from dropping out of the vent directly next to their ship's airlock and sealing it behind them. Even assuming Starfleet discovered which vessel they had taken refuge in, the criminals might be on neutral territory, and impossible to extradite. Certainly, any civilian company would know how to make things legally complicated just by demanding search warrants. By the time Starfleet had clearance to search the private transports, the Syndicate would have transported the merchandise elsewhere and further disguised their operatives.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Janeway found herself noticing the conditions of the tube she was in, which were a far cry from the stringent standards of Voyager, or in fact, any Starfleet vessel. She was appalled by the thickness of the dust, accented by a cobweb now and again, and was hard pressed to keep from sneezing in the grit the trio ahead was kicking up. She had to pause briefly at a juncture to rub at her burning nostrils.

At that exact second, a ruby flash shot through the space she would have been occupying, had she not stopped to scratch her nose, and seared a nasty black streak on the wall beside her. Hastily, she cowered back against the meager shelter of the bulkhead and reached for her boot, relieved when the small phaser dropped into her palm as she slid back the heel. She replaced the heel, ducking as another beam splashed with deadly heat against the tube. Listening intently to her opponents she waited, conscious of the hiss of air reclamation and the constant hum of the station's power systems around her, but there was no sound of further motion from down the tube. They were undoubtedly waiting to see if they had hit her or better still, if she would fire back. The one advantage she had was that they couldn't wait long, aware that more Starfleet operatives would be closing on their position as every second passed, and that they only had a limited amount of time to get to their ship.

When they finally began to move again, so did she, hurrying to catch up, though she was careful every time she rounded a corner to make sure a phaser beam was not waiting for her. An alteration in the background noise indicated that they had entered the docking area, and she put on a burst of speed, crawling faster as she wished her trousers had extra padding in the knees. She gasped as she abruptly went through an unexpected cross tunnel, lifting her phaser instinctively and firing to her right without looking as she scrambled for cover in the opposite tube. There was a masculine scream, and she was somewhat chagrined to realize she hadn't changed the settings on her phaser since the last time she had used it. She took a second to change the level from the fine, intensely hot cutting beam to the stun parameters, and slipped cautiously out of the tube as she heard them start to move again this time with the distinct noise of one of them being dragged.

She gulped a little as she passed the cauterized foot of one the operatives, realizing that she had taken it off neatly at the ankle. It was lying sideways, still in its boot, and she tried very hard not to retch as she ducked through one more tube. The sound of a grill being kicked out ahead of her made her realize they had reached the end of the line, and she carefully peeked around the corner, barely able to get out of the way of a blast that nearly took her face off. There was probably something quite ironic about losing the very nose she insisted on poking into things, she thought with giddy excitement as she quickly assessed the situation. Obviously, the injured man had remained behind to cover the escape of the other two with the Borg units even if it meant he was sure to be captured.

She looked around, noting that directly across from where she was huddled, there was another grill, undoubtedly located above the berth next to the Syndicate's vessel. The problem was, while she was trying to get it open, she would be a very easy target. Not wanting to give herself time to think about it, realizing that if she did, her commonsense would prevent her from doing anything, she launched herself across the tube, crashing into the grill. Fortunately for her, it was not secured against a hundred and thirty pounds of small, but scrappy starship captain impacting on it from the inside. Rather than bouncing her backward into the line of fire, it exploded outward, both grill and woman dropping to the deck ten feet below. She grunted as she hit, already rolling to a crouch as she looked down the docking ring to where the carryall was being lowered to the waiting criminals. She lifted her phaser and stunned them both before they could react, and then as the third one reached down with his weapon, she shot him as well, leaving nothing but his arm dangling from the vent as the disruptor he was using clattered harmlessly to the deck.

There was an amazing sort of silence as Janeway moved over to the crumpled forms, kneeling next to the man who had seemed so familiar to her on the monitors. Impassively, she drew back the hood and gazed into the still handsome features of an unconscious Cheb Packer. A glance at the insignia decorating the air lock of the vessel that had been waiting to receive the Syndicate members, identified it as the Packer Shipping Company logo. Realizing who had provided the crack for the Syndicate to infiltrate Earth's solar system was not surprising at this point, but it still didn’t feel particularly good to see how far a man she had once loved had fallen.

She wondered if that meeting with Packer on DS9 was as accidental as it had appeared at the time, or if it had been the incident which started this whole thing. She heard the pounding footsteps of the rest of the Starfleet team belatedly making their appearance from further down in the docking area, and abruptly, she felt her body, completely outraged at what she had been demanding of it, finally put up a loud outcry of protest. She slumped against the bulkhead, feeling very weary suddenly, and when she opened her eyes again, it was to gaze into the pale eyes of Admiral Nechayev who was regarding her with a very odd expression on her face.

“I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing?” Nechayev demanded harshly.

Janeway cautiously got to her feet, tucking her phaser away in her inner tunic pocket.

“My duty as a Starfleet officer.”

Nechayev started to respond, hesitated, then offered her a flinty grin. “You've become bloody independent, Janeway.” She dipped her head, and added in a lower tone, “That's why I worked so hard to keep you under my command.”

Janeway's mouth tightened. “This is really why you put me in the shipyards, isn't it? To flush out these people, and to see if anything else is going on there.”

Nechayev paused, glanced over her shoulder to check how close the rest of the security officers were. “Let's just say that there have been certain things going on in Starfleet lately that make me uneasy. The events at Utopia Planitia may only be the tip of the iceberg. Your being away from all this for the past seven years makes you the perfect officer to clean it up. I can trust you.” She offered Janeway another humorless smile. “You didn't think the posting to Utopia Planitia would be a milkrun, did you, Janeway? I assure you, you're going to be earning the right to possess the Millennium every moment of every day until that vessel finally breaks orbit. You're not the only captain who wants that command, nor are you necessarily the captain others in Starfleet Command want to see have it. Now, get the hell out of here before you embarrass Provo's people any further.”

Astounded by this cryptic revelation, Janeway stared blankly as the admiral turned and greeted Provo who had finally arrived on the scene. Despite his belated appearance, however, he immediately began to supervise the arrest of the unconscious syndicate operatives and initiated the seizing of the Parker vessel, just as if his people had been responsible. With this blow to the Orion Syndicate and the company facilitating their operations, perhaps the criminal organization would realize that Earth was not an inner core system they would care to do business in. Janeway noticed that Nechayev appeared content to allow Provo his moment, granting him the glory of taking credit for this operation. Janeway wondered what that meant if anything.

Finally, Janeway took the admiral's dismissal as permission to leave, and limped off, heading back to the arrival area, keenly aware that it was past time for the DragonFlight to have docked. She made a quick stop at the first lavatory she came to, utilizing her Starfleet identity code to replace her uniform from the small replicator, and washing the dust and dirt from her face and hands. A glance at the chronometer set in the bulkhead above the exit made her put on a decided burst of speed as she left the bathroom.

Raking her fingers through her auburn mane to straighten it, she was breathless by the time she made the passenger lobby, and paused to peer around the large reception area, her eyes immediately drawn to the tall blonde standing near the arrival gate where the private vessels were berthed. Seven was speaking to Ro and Phoebe, but somehow, she must have sensed Janeway’s presence because she abruptly looked up, scanning the vicinity until her gaze locked on that of the starship captain. The smile that brightened the narrow features, the sudden joy that radiated from every line of that statuesque figure, reached out for Janeway like a concussive blast, staggering her with its intensity. Perhaps she was still keyed up from what she had just been through, but before Janeway quite knew what she was doing, she was sprinting across the polished deck and leaping into the waiting embrace with little thought to either her command dignity, or her battered body.

The sensation of Seven's arms surrounding her, the warm haven of body and heart pressed against hers, was incredible, and the rip in her soul that Janeway had not even realized was there was suddenly mended. They hugged tightly, parted just long enough to kiss, and hugged each other again. It took some time before Janeway could greet Ro and Phoebe, both of whom were watching this public display of affection with amused expressions. As they moved in a group across the lobby towards the transporter section, Janeway kept her arm snug about Seven's waist, holding her close to her side, not wanting to let her go. Janeway barely listened to the expected babble of how the trip was, what they saw, how good a time they had, and how they really should be heading home because it was late and everyone was just exhausted and dinner, along with their respective homes, would look wonderful after all this time. If Ro and Phoebe seemed unusually anxious to take their leave, Janeway certainly had no objection, wanting only to be alone with Seven again. Finally, the other two were gone and it was the couple's turn at the transporter, which would beam them down to San Francisco.

“Oh, love, I don't think I realized just how much I missed you until now,” Janeway whispered as she leaned into her embrace. “Maybe I didn't let myself think about it.”

“I have missed you, Kathryn.” Seven bent her head and put her lips next to Janeway's ear. “We must discuss those files you included in my luggage.”

Startled, Janeway laughed. “Indeed?” she responded, delighted. “I can't wait.”

“We will also discuss why you sent Ro to protect me, and did not tell me about the incident in the shipyards regarding the attempt on your life.”

That was less delightful and Janeway gulped audibly.

“You know about that?”

Seven drew back, releasing the embrace abruptly as she reached down to retrieve her bag. “We have much to talk about,” she concluded sternly, turning away to step purposely up on the transporter dais. Janeway barely had time to position herself onto the pad next to her spouse before Seven imperiously requested that the transporter operator activate the console and beam them down.

Ro entered the house located on the shore of Lake Utopia, knowing immediately that her lover had yet to arrive home from her day at the shipyards. The dwelling felt empty, almost deserted in a way, and after dragging her bags wearily up the stairs, Ro entered the master bedroom and tossed the luggage onto the bed before going into the ensuite where she took a long, hot shower. She felt a little better as she pulled on her robe and returned to the bedroom where she unpacked her bag.

She hadn't understood how much this mission had worn on her until she had turned Seven over to Janeway on McKinley Station. Now, she wondered if she would require another vacation to recover from this one, conscious of the fact that taking care of Seven in civilian surroundings had proven far more difficult than looking after her within the confines of a Starfleet facility. Needing to be constantly alert, Ro was aware that an attack could come from practically anywhere, and that every stranger they had met on their trip had to be scrutinized with the most acute attention.

Ro was also still disturbed by what Picard had told her. Keeping Seven safe from a kidnap attempt was far easier than trying to prevent someone from convincing Seven to join Section 31. How would Ro even recognize it when it happened? Shaking her head, Ro returned her empty bag to the closet, tucking it away on the top shelf. Replicating a mug of hot chocolate from the small device set in the wall next to the ensuite, Ro curled up on her bed and sipped the sweet liquid slowly, feeling adrift and not a little apprehensive as she considered this new information. When her mug was empty, she placed it on the night stand and leaned against the pillows, her head back as she contemplated the ceiling above her.

She must have fallen asleep at one point because the next thing she knew, the sound of footsteps thudding on the stairs made her open her eyes and look around blearily, barely having time to prepare herself for the Klingon whirlwind that dashed across the room, launched herself in the air and landed directly on top of Ro.

“Kahless, I'm so glad you're home,” B'Elanna said, embracing Ro tightly and raining kisses all over her face.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, yet somewhat enchanted at the sheer amount of enthusiasm for her return, Ro promptly wrapped her arms around her lover and kissed her back.

“I'm glad to be home, too, Lanna,” she murmured against her lips. “I thought of you every second I was gone.”

B’Elanna drew back to study Ro's face intently. “Are you tired? Why are you in bed this early?”

“Catching up to local time, I guess,” Ro responded, offering a brief smile. “It was an eventful trip.”

B'Elanna abruptly sobered. “Were there any attempts on Seven?”

“No, but she did figure out that I was there to protect her. I suspect that right at this moment, she and Janeway are discussing it.”

“Oh, boy.” B'Elanna snickered. “Janeway should know better.”

“So, should we,” Ro said quietly.

Startled, B'Elanna looked at her. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Ro said, taking a deep breath, “Seven isn't the complete innocent that we sometimes expect her to be. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself maybe more than we might like. According to my latest information, it was only the Orion Syndicate who was interesting in kidnaping and dissecting her. Section 31 actually wants to recruit her.”

“Recruit her!” B'Elanna repeated. “But...” She trailed off, staring at her.

Face suddenly thoughtful, she slipped off Ro and stretched out next to her on the bed, propping herself up against the pillows which she had fluffed up behind her. Ro sat up as well, shifting onto her side so that she could look at B’Elanna, drawing her legs up under her thighs. B’Elanna reached over and took her hand, holding it warmly, and despite herself, Ro had a sense of security suddenly descend on her, filled with the knowledge that things would be all right now that she was with B’Elanna again.

“I hate to say it,” B'Elanna allowed finally, after considering it from all angles, “but Seven would be someone they'd find fairly easy to recruit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ro said quietly. “Not just because she is naive in some ways, but because she has a certain viewpoint when it comes to defending those around her. That was apparent more than once on Voyager, and she's very specific about what she's prepared to do for the good of her 'Collective'. I saw it for myself the first time we were on a mission together to root out the nomad pirates. Nor can we forget the stories of what she did in the Barellan prison to rescue Janeway. She's not afraid of getting her hands dirty to protect those she loves.”

B'Elanna looked extremely concerned. “If Section 31 could somehow convince Seven that the best way to protect her 'Collective', to protect Janeway, is to protect the Federation in the same manner that they do, then she'd join them in a heartbeat. I don't know that anyone could convince her differently, not even Janeway if she got in too deep.”

“That's what I'm afraid of, Lanna. I can fight a physical attack, I can keep an eye out for someone trying to harm Seven but how the hell do I fight things whispered in Seven's ear, particularly if they seem harmless on the surface? With the Orions making an attempt on Janeway's life, Section 31 wouldn't have to do much to convince Seven she needs help protecting Janeway against the 'enemies of the Federation'.” She paused. “How the hell can I tell her that doing everything in her power to protect the one she loves, is not always the right way to be? That sometimes the cost to others is too high?”

B'Elanna glanced over, then reached out and patted Ro somewhat clumsily on Ro's stomach. “I don't know,” she said helplessly. She took a breath. “We might need to tell Janeway about this. She's the only one who's opinion really matters to Seven.”

“Honestly, I would if I could figure out how to tell her,” Ro asked seriously, hoping her had the answers that she didn't. “Would she even believe a story that there's this secret organization within Starfleet devoted to protecting the Federation even if they have to violate everything that Starfleet is to do it? We can't really prove it because they're so good at keeping their secret that they've existed since the Federation began. How would she react when we tell her that we think, but we're not sure, that there's an admiral in Starfleet Operations who's working with this mysterious group? That what we first thought was their machinations was actually the work of the Orion Syndicate, so maybe there's no secret society at all?”

B'Elanna sighed, slipping her arm around Ro's shoulders. “Well, since you put it that way, you're right, Janeway will give us that insufferably patient look and explain exactly how we're letting our imaginations run away with us. Unless Picard tells her—”

“He's not ready to. He's afraid that her knowing would tip off the admiral involved. Picard really wants him or her more so than Section 31 itself. He has faith that I can keep Seven out of Section 31's hands until we find the operatives working within Starfleet Operations.”

“Everyone has their own agenda, don't they,” B'Elanna said fretfully. “Section 31, the Orion Syndicate, the various admirals at Starfleet, Picard. Hell, even Janeway and Seven are operating on separate paths.”

“It makes my job a lot harder,” Ro agreed quietly. “Life was so much easier on Voyager.”

B'Elanna nodded unhappily. “Janeway's such a big believer in Starfleet. In fact...”

She trailed off and Ro frowned faintly. “What?” she prompted, resting her palm on B’Elanna's stomach.

“She's a lot different in the Federation than how she was in the Delta Quadrant. I know that's not necessarily surprising we've all had to adjust but since she took over the shipyards, it's like she's reverting back to who she was when she first got lost in the Delta Quadrant. A real by-the-book, do-it-by-the-numbers Starfleet officer. She didn't even ask me if I wanted to be taken off the Millennium team and be put in charge of the Voyager team, she just sent down the order in a memo and the next day, Miles and I were working in cargo bay two, cleaning up the mess with Seven alcoves.”

“Did you talk to her about it?”

“To be fair, I haven't had the chance. I guess I was going to wait until things settled down a bit before I requested a transfer back to the Millennium team. It's only been a couple of weeks, and she's been trying to do five hundred things at once as she takes over her new position. Starfleet Intelligence has been poking around all over the shipyards, and I haven't really seen that much of her. When I have seen her, she's been sort of preoccupied, probably because Seven was gone.”

Ro considered that. “I think Janeway is trying to fit back into the Starfleet harness and it's not coming easy for her,” she allowed after a few moments. “It probably wasn't the wisest thing for her not to tell Seven why I had to accompany her on the trip, but I know she was operating under orders from Nechayev.”

She leaned back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. It just seemed like too much to handle suddenly, and she exhaled slowly, bringing her sense of helplessness under control. She needed to take some time to think about this, she decided. Break the problem down into small sections and approach it one matter at a time.

After a moment, she glanced over at her. B'Elanna had remained silent, watching her with an expression of patience and tenderness in her eyes, obviously respecting Ro's need for a moment to regain her composure.

“Lanna, something else happened on this trip that I need to tell you about,” Ro said, not wanting to put it off any longer. Seven was right. This was not something she should dissemble about.

“Yeah?” B'Elanna said, moving closer. She slipped an arm across Ro's shoulders. “What?”

“It has nothing to do with Seven or Janeway.” Tentatively, she dropped her hand down to B'Elanna's leg, squeezing lightly. “It has to do with us and certain events that we thought had been left behind.”

“Oh,” B'Elanna said, sobering considerably. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, Ro told her all about her discovery on Vulcan, and what additional responsibilities she would be required to assume in the future. As she expected, B'Elanna was not pleased by what she heard, stung by the reminder of something she had thought resolved, but she was not as upset as Ro had feared.

“So, in fifteen or twenty years, you're going to have to 'guide' your teenage son in the ways of Bajor.”

“Yes,” Ro said quietly.

B’Elanna exhaled audibly. “Well, I suppose it could be worse. We might have been required to look after him until the Time of Ascendance.”

“It can always be worse,” Ro agreed, heartened by the inclusive 'we' her had used. She raised her face and nuzzled lightly at B’Elanna's jaw. “Thank you.”

“For what?” B'Elanna responded, puzzled.

“For understanding.”

B’Elanna shrugged, though her gaze was bashfully charmed. “Not much else I can do.” She glanced at Ro out of the corner of her dark eyes. “So, in the interest of changing the subject, did you bring me back a present?”

Ro smiled. “As a matter of fact, I did.” She reached over to the night stand to retrieve the gift-wrapped package she had carried back from the first planetary market they had visited. “I don't know what this was doing on Trill, but as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it, and by the end of the trip, I knew it was for you.”

Vastly pleased, B'Elanna ripped off the paper and opened the box, discovering the ornately engraved bracelet inside. She looked slightly bemused as she pulled it out, then abruptly her eyes went wide.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Ro realized she was suddenly feeling somewhat queasy, but she forced a smile. “If you want it to be. I'm not saying you have to accept it right now, but it's something to think about in the future.”

B'Elanna stared at her for a long moment, and Ro lowered her eyes, squirming. “I probably should have arranged a more romantic sort of setting.” She was abruptly conscious of only wearing a robe while B'Elanna was still in her uniform, stained and wrinkled from her day in the shipyards, both women sprawled over the bed that was mussed from Ro's nap. It was not exactly the candlelit dinner under the stars she had originally imagined the rare times that she had allowed herself to think about it during the trip from Vulcan.

“It's a Bajoran betrothal bracelet,” B'Elanna said, demanding clarification.

“Yes, it is.”

“You're asking me to marry you.”

“Yes, I am.”

B’Elanna stared at her and Ro searched for something else to say, looking away nervously. “Betrothal bracelets are usually passed down through families, but of course, that wasn't possible when in my situation. Generally, the bracelets that are found for sale in other parts of the Federation come from families who were completely wiped out by the Cardassians, their possessions looted by soldiers and collaborators. Usually, the alien vendors don't even know what they're really selling. The merchant on Trill certainly didn't. I'm not sure what lineage this bracelet came from, and the Bajoran database had no match for the engravings, but it always means a lot when one can be reclaimed. That way, the old family survives in the new family, if only through the jewelry.” She paused, understanding that she was babbling a bit. “It would honor me greatly if you would become a part of the Ro family line, B'Elanna.”

There was a silence, then B'Elanna reached over and took Ro's hand. Ro's eyes rose to meet those of B’Elanna, startled and disturbed to see tears welling in the dark eyes.

“I would be honored to be a part of your family line,” B'Elanna said, her voice full of emotion as she brought the hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. “Ro Laren, would you join the house of Torres, and add your blood to mine?”

Ro felt a stinging in her own eyes. “I will.”

It seemed natural then to reach over and pull B'Elanna into her arms, hugging her tightly, the embrace returned readily by B’Elanna, clinging fiercely to her as she sniffed mightily. Ro ignored it, knowing B’Elanna would be embarrassed to be caught so emotionally flatfooted.

“This is a big step,” she whispered finally.

“It is,” Ro agreed, her cheek pressed tightly against B’Elanna's temple. “I just can't imagine ever needing or wanting anyone else in my life.”

“You know I feel the same.” There was a pause, while B’Elanna took a few deep breaths. “When?”

“When what?”

“When do you want to do this?”

It was Ro's turn to take a few deep breaths. “I guess that would depend on how we want to do this. How big a ceremony are we talking about here? Will it be Klingon or Bajoran or a combination of both? Is this something we want to do simply and quickly, in a civil ceremony, or do we want to make a big production out of it?”

“In other words, we need to take some time to get used to the whole idea.”

Ro offered a shy smile. “I do love you, Lanna. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

B'Elanna kissed her hand. “That's exactly where I want to spend the rest of mine, but you're right, we need to take our time and consider everything carefully.” She dipped her head. “I 'm curious, though. Why did you decide to take this step right now?”

Ro shrugged. “Possibly because of the house, and the fact we're settling into a very domestic arrangement. Or maybe it was when I was holding Surnak and realized that time was passing by so quickly. I might only get one chance at true happiness in my lifetime. I really missed you while I was gone, and it gave me a lot of time to think about us. I guess I thought this was the next logical step for us to take. I'm ready for it, and if you are too, then maybe we should see where it takes us.”

“Sounds fair to me,” B'Elanna allowed. She moved closer and kissed Ro lightly on the lips. “I missed you every second, too.”

Ro responded immediately, kissing her back, feeling the first ripples of desire thread through her as she pressed closer to her more muscular lover. The attraction between them was always so molten, flaring into an inferno very quickly. From the way B'Elanna moved against her, she knew she was feeling it as well. “I don't suppose you'd care to show me how much?”

B'Elanna grinned, showing sharp-edged teeth. “Are you sure you're up for it?” she teased, her hands slipping beneath the robe to touch Ro's skin, making her gasp. “You seemed pretty drowsy when I arrived home.”

“Why do you think I took a nap?” Ro responded, tugging on B’Elanna's tunic, pushing it off her shoulders. “I expected to be welcomed home properly.”

“Oh, I'll welcome you home, bangwI,” B'Elanna muttered as she wiggled out of her gold sweater.

“For the rest of the night, if you'd like.”