Collective Comprehension

G. L. Dartt

 

There were figures moving about her, barely discernible in the murky emerald illumination. The air was thick, hard to breathe, laden with moisture and a heavy metallic tang that left an acid taste at the back of her throat. She turned, uncertain why she was where she was, but suddenly, unreasonably, afraid of what she might see. In an alcove dripping tubes and cables of unknown function, someone stood waiting for her, had been waiting for her for some time. Frowning, she moved closer until she could make out the features.

What she saw sent a flash of horror and sorrow through her and served to jolt her awake.

Seven of Nine, late of the Borg Collective and now chief science officer on the starship Millennium, opened her eyes in the darkness, the aftermath of her nightmare resounding in physical form via an increased circulatory pace and a lingering sense of dread and dismay. For several seconds, she lay quietly in the bed she shared with her spouse, trying to regulate her respiration as her heart pounded in her chest. Behind her, she could feel the solidness of her partner and captain sleeping peacefully, the warmth from Kathryn Janeway's body radiating out to Seven and easing the chill that filled the young woman's being.

Briefly, Seven debated rolling over to embrace that form, to seek refuge in Kathryn's strength, but instead she chose to slip from between the sheets. There was no reason to disturb her partner's slumber, she decided as she drew on the silk robe hanging from a nearby hook. Not for something so nebulous and illogical as a nightmare. Moving into the outer room of their quarters, she could hear the constant hum of the warp core vibrating subtly through the bulkheads as it propelled the ship through this sector of the Delta Quadrant. From the dim illumination of the emergency lights running along the base of each wall, she navigated through the furniture, past the small kitchenette to the door leading to the arboretum.

This was a small place of greenery in Seven's starship world. The large room was filled with flowers, shrubs, a few dwarf apple trees, and even a small fountain burbling in an artfully designed rock formation beneath the spreading branches of the trees. Seven perched on a nearby stone ledge, languidly trailing her fingers through the liquid medium, enjoying the play of cool wetness on her skin.

It had been some time since she had experienced dreams of the Collective. She wasn't sure what had prompted such a disturbing series of visions this night, and she tried to remember what she had seen in the alcove, and why it had left her so distraught. The harder she tried to pin it down, however, the more fleeting and elusive the image became. Not that dreams of the Borg Collective weren't sufficient on their own to produce a decided sense of unease, she admitted silently. Assimilated at age six from her parents' ship, Annika Hansen had spent eighteen formative years as a drone, part of a interlinked Collective with no will of her own. She still boasted several cybernetic implants as physical reminders of that time, as well as a mindset that was significantly different from that of her crewmates. It had been five years since she had been severed from the Borg, and there was still a great deal to learn about being Human, though a part of her understood that she would never again be fully Human, not as her spouse was. It was simply something Seven had come to accept in herself.

Exhaling slowly, she felt herself begin to calm, the combination of sound, smell and sight of the water and growing things working their soothing and pleasant spell upon her. Despite considering herself a technical being, and spending most of her existence in a highly technological society, Seven had discovered she loved the outdoors, finding solace in its sense of aliveness. This space had been authorized by Janeway during the ship's construction, using her position as commander of the Utopia Planitia shipyards to her personal advantage on one rare occasion in order to add her own changes to the ship design for the captain's living area. It had been one of Kathryn's more thoughtful Valentine's Day gifts, and every time Seven availed herself of it, she was reminded of how much she loved her spouse. As if her eidetic memory needed the reminder.

The final resonances of her dream drifted away, and Seven decided she had allotted enough time for this imprecise activity. Whatever her dreams might have portended or indicated about her current state of mind, she would not decipher it here and now. It was enough that she had found a measure of peace in these placid surroundings. Returning to the bedroom, she slipped out of her robe and crawled between the linen sheets of Starfleet blue. She tried to move as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake her partner, but Kathryn stirred anyway, wrapping her arms around the young woman and plastering herself to the Borg's back. At first Seven thought it was the instinctual seeking out that the captain was prone to exhibit when her sleep was disturbed, not really waking, just reaching out for physical contact. Then she heard the words, muffled but distinct.

"What's wrong?"

Seven put her arms against Janeway's and pressed them to her abdomen in an approximation of a hug. "Nothing," she said softly. "Go back to sleep."

There was a pause and for a moment, Seven thought Janeway was going to pursue the obvious dissembling, but finally Janeway settled against her back and her breathing smoothed out. Seven relaxed as well and closed her eyes, trying to follow her partner's example. It remained elusive so the Borg contented herself with lying awake in the dark and listening to the familiar and comforting sounds of her partner; the steady rhythm of her heart and breathing, the soft rush of blood through her veins, and the tiny gurgles of her digestive system. The temperature of her skin, slightly lower than Seven's, still provided a warmth that surrounded her, making her feel as if she were drifting in the safest place in the universe. It was a fallacy, of course, a concept based on emotion rather than on logic, but Seven accepted it.

Eventually, the combination of comfort and security worked on her enough for her to slip into slumber, though she wasn't sure when or how it had happened. She knew she had slept only when she was drawn from that place of unconsciousness by the sensation of hands moving over her body, familiar, loving hands that knew exactly how to arouse her, except that she wasn't really in the mood to be aroused. She made a soft sound of protest, moving away slightly, and the caresses immediately ceased.

"Darling?"

"I am sorry, Kathryn."

"Don't be." Janeway rose to an elbow and looked down at her, blinking through strands of mussed auburn hair. "I just wanted... well, you know what I wanted. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have awakened you."

"No," Seven said, reaching for her and drawing Janeway's body close to hers in a warm embrace. "I am ... it is irrelevant."

Janeway hugged her, brushing her lips over Seven's temple. "Is something wrong, love?" she asked quietly. "You had a restless night."

Seven shook her head, not wishing to be dishonest with her spouse, but not feeling ready to speak about the dreams of the Collective, of being Borg, of walking through a cube and seeing in an alcove the figure of...

Of what? Perhaps who? The answer stubbornly remained beyond her reach.

"Not now," she requested softly.

Janeway hesitated, and then hugged her in acceptance. "All right," she said in a reasonable tone. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No," Seven said with more firmness than perhaps was necessary. She felt the subtle flinch and pulled her partner closer in mute apology. It seemed that the distraction of her dreams was deeper than she thought for she felt incapable of even the most simple communication without producing misunderstanding. "I need time," she added in a quieter voice.

"I understand," Janeway said. She hugged Seven again, finding her mouth and kissing her gently, her breath sour from sleep though it was not something that Seven found objectionable. She kissed her back with tender regard before finally releasing the embrace. Janeway rolled out of bed and padded naked into the ensuite attached to their bedroom while Seven watched her go with aesthetic appreciation. Shortly thereafter, there was the sound of the hydro-shower. The thrumming of water against the walls of the stall unfortunately did not drown out the grating, wildly off-key version of a song the captain liked to sing while showering alone.

Tuning out the painful rendition as best she could, Seven retrieved her robe and moved out to the kitchenette where she started the coffee maker and programmed Janeway's breakfast into the replicator. She placed it on the table just in time for Janeway's exit from the bedroom. Offering her a warm smile, she sat down to her meal, and Seven returned it before heading off to complete her own ablutions.

In the ensuite, Seven chose the sonic stall rather than the hydro version. She enjoyed the sensation of warm water over her body, but a sonic blast was quicker, more efficient and was actually better at cleaning the Borg implants still scattered over her body. As she stepped out of the stall, her eye was caught by her reflection in the large mirror stretching over the sink counter. Lifting her head, Seven assessed her form dispassionately, starting from her thin, somewhat bony feet and moving upward. Her legs were long, responsible for most of her intimidating height, with a silvery mesh that ran from her right knee and spread out over her thigh. There were faint scars adorning her torso, whisper-thin lines of white that traced the path over her stomach and ribs where her abdominal implant had once existed. A small starburst was embedded just beneath Seven's left collarbone and another adorned her right cheek at the hinge of her jaw, beside her ear. A heavy cranial implant arched over her left temple, hiding her eyebrow and framing a blue eye that matched the other, though it was not organic and was tied directly into her ocular implant. Turning, she glanced down the long line of her back to dual starbursts set into the matching dimples just above her buttocks, bracketing her spine. Her right biceps boasted the largest of the starbursts, and her left hand was covered by a glove-like mesh.

Although her limbs were considered expendable, all the cybernetic devices in her head and torso were vital to her continued well-being. If any one of them sustained a critical malfunction, she would quickly die, assuming no medical miracle could be wrought by the Starfleet doctors currently serving on the ship. It was only a possibility, but one that the couple had lived with since Seven had been severed from the Collective a second time. Ironically, it was a much easier concept for Seven to accept than Janeway.

The implants would be with her for the rest of her life. She was Borg and nothing could change that. Was that what her dreams were attempting to tell her? If so, it was unnecessary. Seven had already accepted that fact. Even if the implants could somehow be removed and replaced with organic tissue, she still could not alter the conditioning and cultural imprinting that had taken place over eighteen years as she grew into an adult. It was far more influential on who she was as an individual than her Human genetics would ever be.

Dismissing her thoughts as inefficient speculation which did little to start her day, she reached for the uniform waiting for her on the sink counter. With a minimum of extraneous motion, she drew on the undergarments, a sports bra, socks and skintight shorts that reached to mid-thigh, before stepping into the black trousers. Over a slate-blue sweater that boasted two golden pips on the collar, she pulled on her black uniform tunic, fastening it up the front and settling her shoulders beneath the padded gray accents. With a familiarity born of long practice, she swept her long blonde hair up into a French twist, pinning it neatly in place, and took a final look in the mirror to determine that she appeared acceptable as a Starfleet officer.

Out in the living quarters, she replicated her breakfast and carried it over to the table. Janeway had finished eating and was sipping from a mug of hot coffee as she studied a padd containing the night-watch report downloaded from the ship's main computer. This was a routine that the couple had settled into easily on board Millennium, and Seven hardly noticed it as she consumed her small bowl of cereal. She was aware of Janeway glancing up at her periodically, the captain's lips parting as if about to say something, but each time, Janeway would appear to check herself and resume her concentration on the padd.

Seven gave her spouse full marks for granting her the space to figure out what was bothering her, especially since she knew how difficult it was for Kathryn to refrain from immediately trying to 'fix' whatever was bothering her. Seven suspected that there was little the captain could do.

After all, how could Janeway fix what was wrong when Seven didn't know what was wrong or even if there was something there that required 'fixing'?

Janeway glanced up at her spouse as Seven rose from the table and proceeded to tidy up the breakfast dishes before reporting for duty. The captain knew something was distracting Seven, but for the time being, she was willing to wait until she was prepared to talk to her. But if Seven's air of bemused unease continued, then Janeway would make a concentrated effort to draw out whatever was bothering her.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Seven would confide in one of her friends rather than Janeway. This might be a situation where a friend could help Seven more than a spouse. For a brief moment, Janeway was put in mind of the cold, aloof Borg drone who had first come aboard Voyager all those years ago, contrasting it with the person with whom she currently lived. Seven still presented a cool demeanor to most around her, but for those who took the time and effort to get past it, they discovered someone who was capable of displaying the most remarkable kindness and patience, accepting people completely for who and what they truly were. Janeway had been the first to make that effort to get past the Borg shell to the woman beneath, and in the process, ended up falling in love with her. Since that time, Seven's circle of friends had expanded exponentially, first on Voyager, then on Earth, and now on Millennium.

Janeway dropped her eyes back to the padd she had been perusing, reaching out to pick up her mug to sip the hot, flavorful coffee within as she scanned the information Lt. T'Shanik, the ship's operations officer, had retrieved during a recent away mission. It was a detailed report, including comprehensive schematics of the alien culture's planetary waste disposal system. The captain had found the information hidden amid the vast amount of cultural data gathered by the rest of the away team, and had been hard-pressed not to laugh. After all, it had been her request to the senior officers to have the Vulcan pursue certain tasks in order to test her resolve and attention to detail.

The captain realized that some might think it unkind of her, or even cruel, but space was an unforgiving environment, and starship duty was probably the most demanding a Starfleet officer could face. Only the very best could carry the rank and responsibilities of a bridge posting, and the sooner the individual understood and was prepared for it, the better it would be for all concerned. Janeway had never actually reached this intense 'hazing' stage with Ensign Tarn, T'Shanik's predecessor. It had been clear from the start that Tarn did not react nearly as well to negative experiences as she did positive ones. But it was imperative that a Starfleet officer, particularly one assigned to the demands of the alpha shift, be able to take both success and failure in stride. Janeway had hoped that Tarn would find herself quickly, but it hadn't turned out that way. Sometimes, the captain thought, as she leaned back in her chair, the real training for an officer didn't start until they had actually left the Academy.

Janeway needed a good ops officer during crisis situations, one she could trust without question or second guessing. When Tarn failed to fill the role properly, the captain had been forced to recognize that failing immediately and rectify it with a replacement. She knew that she had been a great deal more lenient with Harry Kim during his time on Voyager, but not only was that a much smaller vessel, she also didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. The ship was lost in the Delta Quadrant, far away from the Federation and any Starfleet replacements. The situation afforded the young man the time and opportunity to recover from missteps, and Harry had subsequently turned into a fine officer. It was unfortunate that Tarn had been denied the same opportunity to grow into her position, but that was the harsh reality of Starfleet duty. Millennium's initial mission only lasted a year, and Starfleet Command expected results from Janeway and her crew in a way that had not been present during her previous command. If Tarn couldn't cut it, then that was too bad.

So far, T'Shanik was proving to be a more than adequate replacement. Janeway wondered why the Vulcan had been stuck way out in the middle of nowhere on Deep Space 12 in her previous posting. Usually an officer with family in Starfleet outshone his or her peers from the first, having a leg up simply because they had been exposed to the Starfleet way of life prior to entering the Academy. Yet T'Shanik, whose older brother and sister were a starship captain and admiral respectively, had instead been shuffled off to obscure and insignificant postings, kept far away from anything that could prove her true mettle. Initially, Janeway had suspected it was because T'Shanik wasn't particularly competent, and had been reluctant to add the Vulcan to the crew roster. She had finally approved it only because Tom Paris, the ship's Wing Commander, had needed one more pilot to fill out his fighter squadrons, and T'Shanik's qualifications as a junior lieutenant had been the best of a poor selection of remaining available officers. It was an unfortunate reality in the wake of the Dominion War that had devastated Starfleet from top to bottom. Sometimes, a senior officer had to settle for a warm body if nothing else. Yet, to everyone's surprise, T'Shanik had not only aptly filled the role, she had excelled, rapidly rising in the space of only a few weeks to become the leader of the beta squadron.

When T'Shanik, along with the rest of the pilots, had been assigned to additional duties all over the ship, the reports on her continued to be glowing, coming from officers who were not easily impressed, such as Ro Laren and B'Elanna Torres. When she applied for bridge duty in the wake of Tarn's transfer to the beta shift, Janeway took a chance based on Ro's recommendations. So far, the captain had not been disappointed, though oddly, she was a little piqued that T'Shanik was doing so well. It seemed that absolutely nothing phased the young officer, and Janeway wasn't sure if that was due to T'Shanik's abilities or her Vulcanness. It was possible that T'Shanik was under tremendous stress and just wasn't displaying it.

In that case, Janeway needed to know that as well and before they returned to the Alpha Quadrant. Again, perhaps it might not have been fair to T'Shanik to put her through the wringer like she was, but fair was usually not part of the deal when becoming a Starfleet officer. She wondered what other distasteful and onerous task she could have the young Vulcan complete. On the other hand, perhaps this latest one was enough, she decided. T'Shanik had accomplished it with the same aplomb with which she had carried out the rest. Janeway should be satisfied that she was the ops officer she needed.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway lifted her head in time to receive a gentle kiss from her spouse, Seven's lips lingering upon her own for a few seconds. Encouraged, the captain reached up and put her hand on the back of Seven's neck, holding her in place for yet another few seconds, prolonging the pleasurable contact as long as she could. Seven allowed it, even encouraged it by cupping Janeway's cheek with the warm palm of her hand before finally drawing away.

"Have a productive day."

Janeway smiled. "You, too, my darling." She hesitated, suddenly struck by an idea and seizing upon it immediately. "Lunch?"

Seven blinked, lifting a brow slightly in surprise. "If you wish."

"Do you?" Janeway felt suddenly uncertain, searching the ice-blue eyes intently.

"Of course," Seven responded in a tone that wondered why the captain would have to ask. "When?"

"I'll stop by astrometrics at 1300 hours," Janeway promised. She snagged Seven's hand and squeezed it. "I'm looking forward to it."

Seven offered a tiny smile, one that barely curved her lips but indicated more than the most effusive expression from anyone else. "As am I."

Janeway watched as the young woman strode purposely from their quarters, her eyes lingering on the flow of Seven trousers around her buttocks, suppressing a sigh. Even after all this time, the very sight of her spouse in motion was enough to encourage the most delightful longings and desires in Janeway. It was a shame they hadn't been able to indulge those desires earlier in the morning.

Perhaps if she could figure out what was bothering Seven, such disappointment wouldn't occur again. Had she been neglecting her lately? Janeway readily recognized that an unfortunate side effect of being in command was that her ship and crew often took priority over her personal life, but she had made a concentrated effort to show Seven that she still loved her deeply and passionately while on Millennium, so that couldn't be it. Still, it wouldn't hurt to come up with something a little special for lunch, something beyond just stopping off at the Nexus, despite the eclectic charm of the crew lounge on deck twelve.

Finishing up the last of her coffee, Janeway took the mug over to the replicator where she recycled it, and then picked up the silver thermos waiting on the counter before moving over to the private turbolift access. A few seconds later, she was stepping off the turbolift into her ready room where she deposited the thermos on her desk along with the padd. Strolling casually through the doors leading onto the bridge, she was gratified when her appearance startled the bridge crew who had not even known she was on deck one.

Sinking gracefully into the command chair, her bluish-grey eyes swept the bridge which spread out around her in a multi-level design. Her chair was on the upper level which swooped down via ramps to the ops and tactical station. The deck dropped another step to a central bottom level, nicknamed 'the pit', containing the first officer station, the science post and the helm. This was a bridge design that hearkened back to the old starships where the captain was kept separate and distinct from the rest of the crew, and located conspicuously in a place of honor and authority, reigning over the command crew like a queen in her court.

Janeway appreciated the sense of power it accorded her more than she would ever admit to anyone, even to Seven who would have understood and accepted it completely as just another part of her beloved captain's nature.

Janeway's first officer, Commander Zar Tulek, rose from his station and stood before her, his eyes on a level with hers thanks to the depth of the 'pit' and the height of the command dais. A Cardassian/Bajoran hybrid, his features were bony and ridged, undeniably alien, yet his dark hair and eyes made him handsome in some odd way, even to those who had reason to distrust Cardassians on sight. She inclined her chin in a royal manner, indicating that she awaited his report.

"We have to go over the personnel reports," he said succinctly, and smiled faintly at the way her face immediately fell.

"It can't be a month already," she said plaintively, more hopeful than certain.

Personnel updates were a necessary evil of command, requiring attention once a month and utilizing information gathered from the ship's department heads regarding the deportment of various crewmembers serving under them. It was a regular assessment of the crew, maintaining a current record of the crew's behavior, including which individuals were line for a promotion or a transfer or even the rare disciplinary action on occasion. On a ship the size of Millennium, that meant over seven hundred officers that the captain needed to acknowledge every month, even if it was nothing more than to place a check in the 'satisfactory adherence to duty' box for those who hadn't drawn specific attention, either positive or negative, from their superiors.

Zar didn't respond. He merely offered her a significant look that indicated that neither of them had any choice in the matter. Of all the officers on the ship, he knew better than anyone how little she liked this tedious task. After all, he was the one assisting her with it, thus having a front row seat to all her complaints and biting commentary regarding its necessity. Under normal circumstances, it was a task she could carry out on her own, but since Zar was in line to receive a command of his own one day, she had thought it important that he know what he was letting himself in for, and had drafted him not long after they had left the Alpha Quadrant.

"Fine," she said grumpily, rising from her chair and heading back into her ready room, not looking back to see if he was following her. It was assumed that he was. "Let's get started on them immediately, Commander. I have a lunch date I don't want to be late for."

She didn't feel at all queenly now.

​

Ensign Elisa Tarn strolled into the Nexus, hoping to pick up a late lunch before preparing for her beta shift. Even though it had been almost a month, she was still not used to her new assignment. It seemed an awkward schedule to her, her duty starting just as the alpha shift was headed off and not ending until most of the crew, including her particular social group, had gone to bed. She had yet to make any friends on the beta crew, and while a part of her realized it was mostly her own doing, maintaining a coolness that discouraged others from reaching out to her, she wasn't quite ready to do anything about it yet. Despite knowing how illogical it was, she resented the fact that her friends from the alpha shift didn't make more of an effort to maintain their relationship with her.

She was understandably surprised, therefore, when she saw Ensign Davinus Marcos seated at what was considered 'their' table. Hesitantly, she approached, feeling an uncertain twinge in her chest when he looked up and spotted her. Extremely handsome with black, wavy hair, he possessed dark eyes yielding depths that Tarn could not help falling into whenever she looked into them for more than a minute.

"Hey," she said shortly as she took the seat across from him. For a horrified second, she wondered if she should have waited to be invited, but he didn't seem to indicate he found anything odd in her joining him. "You're not on duty?"

"It's my off day," he said, offering one of those casual half grins that never failed to cause her respiration to catch. "So I thought I'd take the opportunity to catch up with you. We don't get to see as much of you now as we'd like."

Like that was her fault, she thought briefly, but managed to force back the flash of bitterness that accompanied it. She also wasn't particularly fond of the 'we' as opposed to the 'I' she was hoping to hear. She wondered if he was referring to the group, which included Lt. Nog and Dr. Spencer, or if it meant he and someone specific. Like T'Shanik whom Marcos liked in a way that he didn't display with anyone else. Whether T'Shanik returned that interest was hidden behind her impassive Vulcan features and constant reticence. Tarn didn't know how much that played into her resentment of her, or if she just disliked the fact that T'Shanik seemed to do everything better than Tarn, regardless of what it was.

"I've been busy," Tarn said shortly, keying in her selection from the tabletop menu. It would transmit the request to the large replicators behind the bar and be brought to the table by one of the waiters who now worked the ship's lounge. Within only a few minutes, her plate of pasta and the accompanying garlic bread were placed before her.

"I hear you're also pulling extra duty with the fighter squadron," Marcos continued as he dug into his selection, a light salad.

"I'm on gamma shift ground support," Tarn said. That had not been what she had anticipated when she came up with the idea of requesting extra duty from Commander Zar. She had envisioned herself in the cockpit of one of the fighters, but Lt. Paris had assigned her to maintenance. She had wanted to quit after the first day, but sheer stubbornness kept her scrubbing the plasma residue from the fighters exhaust conduits when many others would have walked away. "I pull a few hours in the hanger after my shift tonight."

"Hey, all the extra duty adds up," he said as he poked his fork into his lettuce. He paused. "Listen, I know it's hard to be transferred to beta but it'll work out. You're a great officer and you'll be back on the alpha shift before you know it."

Tarn eyed him sardonically, but she didn't want to argue with him. "Sure," she said. She paused. "So what's going on with you and the gang?"

"Oh boy, where to start," Marcos said, and began to relate all the little adventures that had befallen Tarn's friends. It was a entertaining recounting of the past few weeks offered up in the young officer's charming and humorous style, making her laugh more than once. But it also left her with the unmistakable sense that, despite Marcos' words, her friends weren't really missing her at all. They were far too busy dealing with all that was going on, from Nog's post at the helm to Spencer's place in sickbay where she was the chief xeno-specialist to T'Shanik's ops posting on the bridge.

Tarn knew she could apply for a transfer to the alpha shift and probably get it, but it wouldn't be on the bridge. Pulling duty on deck one was not something she was prepared to give up. That was where all the action was, where the important things happened. If she couldn't be at the heart of it, then at least she was present as backup if a crisis occurred on the beta shift, even if it meant that she was T'Shanik's backup. So far, that had not happened, but Tarn would be ready if it did.

In her fantasies, she envisioned T'Shanik failing miserably at a crucial moment and Tarn stepping in to take over, saving the ship and earning the captain's undying gratitude. That would show everyone, especially the Vulcan.

"Listen, we should all get together the next shore leave."

Tarn resisted a snort of aggravation. "Beta and alpha shifts don't have the same leave rotation," she reminded him.

"You can always ask for an alternate leave rotation," Marcos said, frowning slightly. "All it takes is a request to your superior."

"Yeah, well, I'll think about it," Tarn responded. She didn't know why she had to be the one to make the effort to alter leaves. Why didn't her friends offer to accept beta? "Besides, who knows if we'll get shore leave again before our return to the Alpha Quadrant."

"True enough," he agreed. "It's only a month and a half away." He poked at his salad, glancing at her occasionally from beneath amazingly thick dark lashes.

"I can't wait," Tarn muttered.

Marcos appeared disconcerted, as if not expecting the sort of attitude he was getting from his friend. The rest of the meal was consumed in awkward silence before Marcos offered a puzzled goodbye and made his exit. Tarn watched him leave, wanting to call him back and apologize for her disposition but unable to find the words. Even if she could, she didn't know if she could have forced them past the obstruction in her throat that was making it so difficult to eat. Desolately, she took a few more bites of pasta, and then pushed the plate away, her head bent as she stared at the tabletop.

"My, someone seems down."

Startled, Tarn glanced up to see Paryk standing next to her table. The Nexus bartender dropped into the seat recently vacated by Marcos, folding his hands neatly on the table as he studied her closely with bright crimson eyes. Blue skinned with emerald hair, Paryk was somewhat unforgettable once met, and had become a sort of mother-hen to the ship's crew, particularly the younger officers.

"I'm okay," she muttered, dropping her eyes.

"Oh, you don't fool me, Ensign," he said. "You don't look all right at all."

She frowned. "What business is it of yours?"

"None at all," he said reasonably. "Except you're bringing my clientele down with your gloomy face."

Tarn glared at him. "Fine," she said, unexpectedly hurt by the comment. "I'll leave."

"Hey," he said, his face softening as he put a hand out to forestall her rise to her feet. "Don't do that. I'm sorry. I was just kidding." He offered her a sympathetic expression. "Why not tell Uncle Paryk all about it."

Before she realized what was happening, she was doing just that, the words spilling from her in a torrent. She was aware enough to cringe at the self-pity and childishness edging her words, but she couldn't seem to stop. Despite that, however, Paryk's expression didn't change, maintaining that compassionate, understanding air that encouraged her to keep talking.

"Worst of all," she finished, "the captain hates me."

"I doubt that very much or she wouldn't have given you the opportunity in the first place, or kept you on the bridge team at all," Paryk said reasonably. "It would have been too easy to transfer you down to transporter room three and out of her sight completely."

Tarn considered that. "I suppose so," she allowed grudgingly.

"You have it pretty good, you know," he continued. "You have every opportunity to get your position back, if not on Millennium, then on another ship, if you just apply yourself."

"It would serve Janeway right," she said bitterly, "if I requested a transfer."

Paryk looked at her in astonishment. "I can't see where it would bother the captain at all." His patience was finally eroding under Tarn's determined effort to be disagreeable. "She needs people she can count on to do their duty, no matter what the circumstances." He inhaled slowly. "That's what she got when those engineers stayed at their posts during the plasma spill. If you can't do that ... if you're not prepared to understand that ... then she'd be just as glad you were gone and so would the rest of us."

She flinched, taken aback by his words.

He was looking at her with narrow eyes and nodding slightly. "I get it now," he said suddenly. "Everyone's been going out of their way to help you out. Even I came over to see if you could use a shoulder. I didn't realize that you're being too damned self-centered to realize what was going on. Maybe it's because you've had it too easy your whole life. Maybe it's because you expect special treatment because of the position of your family on your homeworld, but it's past time that you started seeing the other side of it."

He leaned forward, face and voice suddenly hard. "You're a spoiled brat, Tarn. You must have some kind of ability or people wouldn't be wasting their time with you at all, but ultimately that won't be enough if you don't start getting your act together. This is life and death out here, princess. It's not that bucolic little world you call home nor is it the Academy where controlled conditions let you shine. This is real life and it rarely gives you second chances."

Tarn was so shocked, she didn't wonder how he knew what kind of planet she came from or how well she had done at the Academy.

"My friends..." she began weakly.

"Won't tell you what you need to hear," he said flatly. "They like you. I, on the other hand, am finding you less likable the more I get to know you."

Anger sparked.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded.

"Nobody," he said, unfazed by her sudden fury. "I just tend bar. That makes it easy for me to see when people are so wrapped up in feeling sorry for themselves, they're not doing their job. You're not doing your job, Tarn, despite all the extra hours you're pulling on the gamma shift."

"I've had no complaints," she spat.

"What makes you think you'd hear them if they were offered. It's all about attitude, Ensign." He pinned her with a crimson gaze. "Tell me, Tarn, would you put your life in your hands?"

He rose from the table and strode back to the bar, obviously washing his hands of her. Tarn remained in her seat, thinking over his words and wondering for the first time how much she really wanted to be a Starfleet officer.

And why.

"These findings will have the Federation astrophysicists in raptures," Lenara Kahn said as she studied the readings streaming across the screen. "I don't think there's anything quite like this in the Alpha Quadrant."

"Which is why Starfleet dispatched the Millennium to other quadrants," Seven reminded her calmly. "To seek out new discoveries such as this anomalous star."

The two women were working together at the largest work station, going over the data from a spatial phenomena that the Millennium had spent the past week studying. Seven touched the controls, bringing up another line of research that she and the Trill found particularly intriguing. She was extremely comfortable interacting with her companion, one of the few people on the starship who could match the Borg's innate brilliance. A statuesque woman with attractive spots that traced from her temple down the side of her neck to disappear beneath her collar, Lenara was one of the few 'joined' members of her species, her body containing a symbiont which granted her the knowledge and experience of all the previous hosts ... almost three hundred years of it. The two women, Borg Starfleet officer and Trill civilian scientist, often worked closely together on research that was far too esoteric for many of the other scientists in Seven's department. Seven also liked Lenara a great deal on a personal level, counting her as one of her closest friends on board the ship. Because of that closeness, she decided she would discuss the nightmare that had so disturbed her the night before. Perhaps Lenara Kahn's wisdom would help her discover what it was about the dream that had left her feeling so distressed.

She parted her lips to speak when a motion at the door caught her attention and both scientists looked up from their work. Seven was slightly irritated at the interruption, though the irritation disappeared when she saw who it was.

"She's undoubtedly here to see you." Lenara's voice was tinged with amusement and what might have been a touch of envy. "Although it looks like she's brought enough to feed the entire lab."

Seven blinked as Janeway crossed the astrometrics lab toward them bearing a large wicker picnic basket. Rising quickly, she reached out to take it from her, surprised when Janeway drew back, refusing to give up her weighty burden.

"I have it," Janeway told her, panting slightly from her exertion as she gestured with her head toward Seven's office. "Let's set up in there." She offered a brief smile to Lenara who returned it politely before turning back to her research.

Seven raised an eyebrow but readily led the way into her office where she swiftly began to clear her desk. Since it was usually barren at the best of times, holding only a small computer station and a few padds containing information of whatever she was working on at any given moment, it took little effort to have it completely bare by the time Janeway staggered in and placed the basket on the smooth surface.

"Thank you, darling," the captain said with a touch of relief, opening the lid and pulling out a red and white checked cloth which she spread over the desk. "I hope you're hungry."

"I had not anticipated a picnic," Seven said with honest pleasure. It had been some time since her partner had surprised her in this manner. It took her back to those days on Voyager where the two women were learning to love each other all over again after Janeway had lost her memories. The sensation of warmth that filled her chest made her realize how much she missed those simpler if more dangerous times when all they had were each other. "I expected we would lunch in the Nexus."

"This is more private," Janeway said as she spread out the various containers and items of food.

Seven lifted a brow. "We require privacy?"

Janeway shot her a glimmer of a leer. "One can always hope," she said, her tone dropping huskily as she placed a vase with a single blood-red rose in the center of the desk before depositing the now emptied basket on the floor. Seven was unsure if the captain was serious or not, but a thin jolt rippled through her abdomen at the implication.

Settling down in the chair behind the desk, Seven reached out to snag a croissant, spreading some soft cheese over the fluffy white interior. The yeasty bread was still warm within its crusty shell, as if fresh from the oven, and the cheese held a smokey tang that tantalized her tastebuds. Finding the captain's choices for their meal quite acceptable, she looked across the desk and offered her partner a small smile.

"Very good," she complimented.

"I know what you like," Janeway responded.

Perhaps it was the slight wink, a bare tremor of her eyelid that nonetheless conveyed all sorts of things that Seven liked, or the intonation in her voice, but again, Seven was surprised to feel a chill of desire shiver through her. Not because she didn't find her partner desirable ... she did, often at the most inconvenient times ... but because she thought that her distraction over her nightmare had temporarily dampened such feelings. It certainly had earlier in the morning when Janeway had been interested in romance, but now, sitting across from the captain made Seven acutely aware of Janeway's physical presence and the privileges accorded her regarding that presence.

"So what were you working on when I came in?" Janeway asked casually as she scooped a bit of potato salad onto a paper plate and began to eat.

Seven proceeded to describe the anomaly and the lines of research it had incited, observing the captain closely as she spoke. A couple of times she caught the blueish-grey eyes glazing over slightly, and realized she had become too technical in her discussion, forcing herself to backtrack and simplify the explanation somewhat. The captain was a formidable scientist in her own right, but her real brilliance lay in her command ability rather than in the heady pursuits of theoretical research.

"You've been working hard the past few days," Janeway noted when Seven finished.

"It has been fascinating work," Seven told her honestly.

"Do you suppose that's why you're having trouble sleeping?"

"That is not why I could not sleep," she responded before she could stop herself. "I had a nightmare."

"Ah." Janeway looked smugly triumphant at having ferreted out the truth so easily. "What kind of nightmare?"

Seven firmed her mouth and stared disapprovingly at Janeway who gazed back at her expectantly, completely unrepentant about her sly method of getting around her partner.

"It was about the Collective," she said finally, resigned to the inevitable. "It was ... I was on a Borg cube, surrounded by drones. I think I was a drone as well, but I was conscious of emotion and of being individual at the same time. For some reason, I was compelled to walk toward an alcove. There was someone regenerating within, someone I knew..." She trailed off. The vision was still foggy and imprecise. "Someone had been assimilated and it horrified me."

"Me?"

"No," Seven said firmly and was mildly amused by the trace of disgruntlement that crossed Janeway's face at not being in her nightmare. "Still, it was someone important to me."

"B'Elanna?"

"No."

"Ro?"

"No."

"Naomi?"

"No."

"Mezoti? Icheb? Lenara Kahn? Tuvok?"

"Not any of them. I cannot remember who it was, Kathryn. Interrogating me will not alter that."

Janeway caught her breath. "I don't mean to badger you," she said quietly. "I'm just ... I'm trying to help. It's not like you to be up walking the floors because of a dream."

"I was not walking the floors. I simply spent some in the arboretum to settle my thoughts," Seven corrected. She eyed the captain measuringly. "As soon as I did, I returned to our bed. It was not so terrible, Kathryn."

"No?" Janeway considered that. "It's been awhile since you've dreamed about the Borg. What do you suppose triggered it?"

"Unknown. It is irrelevant, Kathryn. I am allowed to have the occasional bad dream."

"Of course you are. And God knows, if anyone is entitled to bad dreams about the Collective, it's you. I just wonder why now after so long without them?"

Seven shrugged minutely, a bare raise to her shoulders. "Is it so important, Kathryn?"

"If it bothers you, then, yes, it is of the utmost importance to me." Janeway reached across the desk and took Seven's hand, entwining her fingers carefully with the silver mesh covering the young woman's left hand. Her eyes were warm as she regarded her spouse intently and Seven felt that slight tingle again. She allowed herself a smile and squeezed the hand gently.

"I am all right, Kathryn," Seven said softly. "It was a dream, nothing more."

"All right then," Janeway said, returning the squeeze before she released her grasp to settle back into her chair. "If you're that sure, I'll let it go, but you'll tell me immediately if you experience another one." Seven hesitated and Janeway pinned her with a look. "Seven?"

"Yes, Kathryn, I will tell you," she said ruefully.

Janeway looked vaguely triumphant again, and Seven wondered if she needed to remind her spouse of the boundaries necessary in their relationship. Just because they were married did not mean Janeway had to be involved in every single aspect of Seven's life, any more than Seven needed to be involved with the captain's. Of course, Seven allowed that this was personal and not professional. She supposed she should be grateful she had such an attentive partner, particularly since their roles on the ship sometimes took them away from each other.

After they finished their meal, Seven helped Janeway repack the basket with the various containers now emptied of their contents. Seven noticed that Janeway had left the crystal vase on the scientist's desk.

"Do you remember when I had one delivered to astrometrics every morning on Voyager?" Janeway smiled fondly at Seven's glance. "Neelix did it first thing so that it would be waiting for you when you arrived for your duty shift."

"I remember. You always denied that you had made such an arrangement when I tried to thank you." She settled back in her chair and reached out for Janeway's hand, tugging slightly to invite her onto her lap. Janeway appeared surprised by the gesture but moved willingly enough into the embrace, wrapping her arms around Seven's neck as she nestled against her. Seven gazed into her eyes, losing herself in their bluish depths. "You are exceedingly romantic for a starship captain."

"You've always inspired me."

Seven glanced at the chronometer set in the wall above the door to her office, judging how much time they had left on their lunch break. "Do I inspire you now?" she asked lightly as she allowed her hands to roam over the compact form in her arms.

Janeway looked even more surprised, but vastly pleased at the same time, and also took quick glance at the chronometer before turning back to Seven. "I'm in no hurry to return to those personnel reports," she allowed dryly. She pressed closer to Seven, molding her body against hers. "What did you have in mind and how badly is it going to violate protocols?"

Seven kissed her softly, an open-mouthed kiss that both were reluctant to end. "I am still on Starfleet probation for at least another six months," she reminded the captain quietly, resting her forehead against Janeway's. "I cannot afford to violate any protocols."

"Then I guess I won't report this."

Seven kissed her again, feeling her loins contract. Physical interaction outside their quarters was not something either had indulged on Millennium, not even when Janeway had experienced side effects while mediating a trade deal between the Iboneb and the Okunda. Seven wasn't sure why she was attempting to precipitate such an encounter now, but at the moment, she found the touch of her partner's mouth and body intoxicating and exceedingly difficult to resist.

"Annika?"

Seven found that her respiration was unusually intense.

"Yes?"

"You need to seal the door."

Seven felt another thrill of desire as she realized Janeway was willing to go along with her unspoken question. Making an effort to clear her throat, she addressed the ship's computer. "Computer, seal the door to this office, authorization code theta blue, zero five slash two zero."

"The door is sealed," the computer's feminine tones responded evenly. Seven didn't believe anyone in her department would dare interrupt when she was having lunch with the captain, but sealing the door's access code added a certain layer of safety. Not that she was feeling particularly safe at the moment, which undoubtedly exacerbated her desire.

"You know that this is totally inappropriate," Janeway whispered as she helped Seven remove her tunic and sweater, letting them drop carelessly to the deck.

"Without question," Seven agreed as she pulled off the Starfleet issue bra, inhaling sharply as Janeway's small breasts were revealed. The captain's nipples were already hard, protruding proudly from their brownish circles, and Seven immediately leaned forward, covering the left one with her mouth, teasing it with the tip of her tongue.

Janeway, straddling the Borg, arched against her with sensual pleasure as Seven alternated between each pert little protrusion, her arms hugging the Borg's head to her chest. "So why the hell did we wait so long to do this?"

At this point, Seven was unable to respond verbally, and in any event, she recognized it as a rhetorical question. She intensified her caresses, reaching up with her right hand to fondle whichever breast she was not attending. Utilizing some Borg-enhanced strength with her other arm, she somehow arranged the captain onto the desk, tugging down the dark uniform trousers without ever losing the contact between her mouth and Janeway's breasts. Then Janeway was leaning back on the cool surface, her elbows supporting her as Seven traced a searing trail down her abdomen and to the juncture between her legs. Leaning forward in her chair, she eagerly covered the heat and wetness with her mouth, unsurprised at the cry that rippled from Janeway's throat at the contact.

She was also unsurprised at how quickly Janeway peaked, knowing that the illicitness of being in the scientist's office was arousing far beyond this familiar caress. She felt the surge of pleasure ripple through Janeway, delighted by the flutters around her tongue and the soft rush of moisture as she shuddered, helpless in her release. Seven smiled as she nuzzled the tender flesh gently, kissing it softly a final time before she pulled away. Janeway reached out for her and Seven gathered her up in her arms, the couple settling back onto the chair, kissing deeply in the aftermath.

"Mmm, that was absolutely lovely, darling," Janeway murmured, reaching down between them to slide her hand beneath Seven's uniform trousers. "Now let me..."

Seven closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the support of the chair as she felt Janeway's fingers on her. She had become incredibly aroused at pleasuring her, and now Kathryn's fingers moved easily in the moisture that had been generated by that stimulation, rubbing over the hard little nubbin of nerves with increasing pressure. Occasionally she dipped lower to Seven's other orifices, penetrating briefly before returning to her original caress. Spreading her legs wider, Seven found the captain's weight a wonderful pressure on her as the fingertips swirled and circled, lifting her deliciously higher with every stroke. At precisely the right second, Janeway's mouth sought out and found hers, the kiss capturing Seven's cry of pleasure as climax abruptly caught her with unexpected strength.

For a moment, they remained as they were, collapsed in the chair, Janeway sprawled languidly over her partner with her hand still cupping her intimately, her head falling forward to rest on Seven's shoulder. Seven held her close, feeling that combination of vulnerability and protectiveness, needing to be close to Janeway just as the captain needed her. Several moments passed before they reluctantly started to pull themselves together.

"That was not at all how I expected lunch to go, but I'm not complaining," Janeway muttered as she redressed, grinning crookedly as Seven politely handed the captain her uniform tunic. Fortunately, there was a private head attached to the Borg's office, and the couple were able to tidy up the more obvious signs of their intimate interaction.

Seven, feeling wonderfully mussed inside, though her outward appearance had quickly assumed its cool shell of composure, made some final adjustments to the captain's collar, making sure all four golden pips were present and accounted for. "There are risks when you use lunch as a cover to elicit information from me," she told her quietly. "Sometimes you will discover far more than you anticipate."

Janeway reached up and kissed her lovingly. "That's what we're out here for," she said lightly. "The discovery."

Seven merely smiled and ordered the computer to unseal the door.