Superficial Suppositions
G. L. Dartt
Millennium slipped through unfamiliar space like a shark cruising for prey. Despite its sleek appearance and deadly armament, the Federation vessel was an explorer, seeking out all four quadrants of the galaxy with peaceful scientific intent. Now that it had finally left the last of Confederation space, it was truly on its own, eager for the opportunity to boldly go where no one in the Federation had gone before ... just as its captain and most of the crew liked it.
One person who didn't like it, who, in fact, felt downright uncomfortable with it at times, was sitting in the captain's chair, monitoring the beta shift. Kiara Kelly stared glumly at the viewscreen at the front of the spacious bridge, oblivious to the long streaks of stars shooting past, distorted by the ship's warp bubble. For the first five years after graduating the Academy, she had spent her career on Sabre and Norway-class ships, fighting on the Federation's front lines against the Dominion who had plunged the Alpha Quadrant into a war. She had gone on to command the USS Grissom during the past two years of relative peace, patrolling the Breen border. Yet, even though she and her crewmates on those small vessels occasionally felt hung out to dry ... occasionally felt that Starfleet wasn't going to be there in time, and frequently wasn't ... they were still close to the Federation, still within reach of safe harbor. The rest of Starfleet eventually did show up, to pick up the pieces if nothing else. Out here in the farthest reaches of the Beta Quadrant, that simply wasn't possible. Millennium was far beyond any support, any backup, any sense of being part of the larger, protective entity.
Briefly, Kelly wondered if this was how the crew of Voyager felt all those years in the Delta Quadrant, especially when they didn't have any expectation of returning home until it happened. It wasn't something she had ever thought about before a recent run through the holodeck during a security training mission, but now she faced some uncomfortable truths, not only about herself, but about the Intrepid-class starship that had been commanded by Millennium's present captain, Kathryn Janeway. Kelly was feeling as lost and uncertain as those on Voyager must have felt at times.
The first officer shook herself slightly, dragging herself out of her sense of ennui. This wasn't Voyager, it was Millennium, a much larger Frontier-class ship with scientists and civilians and even a large contingent of little kids running about the lower decks. Kelly had been rather horrified upon arriving on the bridge earlier in the afternoon to discover the captain and Counselor Kes, along with Minister Jiidan, giving a tour to individually chosen members of the third-grade class from the school on deck thirteen. Apparently, the children's projects had come first in a scientific fair, and the visit to the bridge was part of their reward. Kelly had never seen anything like it and hoped to never encounter it again. It was as far away from what she knew and understood as a Starfleet officer as possible, and not for the first time, she wondered why she had been assigned to Millennium. Had her performance as captain of the Grissom been so bad that she was being punished?
“Commander?”
Kelly started a little and glanced over at tactical, located forward and slightly to her left. The design of the bridge hearkened back to the old style favored by the early explorers of the Federation, where the captain's chair was kept separate and distinct from the other stations. Kelly missed the cozy confines of the command center on her Sabre-class vessel, where everyone was well within arm's reach, and each officer's board was easily visible to whoever was holding the conn. This felt gigantic in comparison, leaving Kelly feeling exposed, with a sense of vulnerability, of being too small to fulfill the role she was expected to carry.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
A formidable force with bladed weapons of all kinds, M’Reek, the assistant security chief, was tall and impossibly slender, with reddish-brown hair and dark eyes. Kelly had witnessed him in action on the ship's holodeck where he had slashed apart his holographic opponents in less time than it took to tell about it. Now, he was frowning as he glanced over his shoulder at her.
“I'm detecting an energy signature,” he said. “Bearing three-two-five mark four. From the outer region of the nebula.”
“Identify.” Kelly's hands closed on the arms of her chair, adrenaline suddenly pumping through her system. The purplish cloud spreading across the space in front of them was the ship's intended destination. The scientists on deck eight were literally salivating at the chance to examine the anomaly from inside its gaseous expanse, and even the ship's science officer, Lt. Hansen, a cool blonde with an icy demeanor, displayed more than her share of anticipation for the upcoming mission.
“There's no match in our database,” Ensign Okala said from her station at Ops. A Bajoran who had joined Starfleet later in life, she was steady and reliable, if not particularly insightful.
Kelly inhaled slowly, feeling her heart throb almost painfully against her chest. This wasn't the Breen border, she reminded herself. They were on a mission of exploration. This initial contact wasn't necessarily an attack, nor did there appear to be much of a threat. The approaching vessel was much smaller than Millennium, and undoubtedly boasted less technology than the Federation's Fast Explorer.
“Hail them,” she ordered.
There was a pause as they waited.
“No response,” Okala said finally.
Kelly noticed the helmsman, Tom Paris, cast a glance at her over his shoulder, as if waiting for instructions, either to slow the ship or to begin maneuvers. His expression appeared slightly doubtful to her, as if he was unsure she knew what to do. Anger flared and she firmed her jaw.
“Try again.”
“No response.”
“Commander,” M'Reek said calmly. “They're raising shields.”
Kelly, with instincts honed from years of sneak attacks, ambushes and deadly skirmishes with enemy Jem'Hadar, Cardassian and Breen vessels, didn't hesitate. She rose from her chair in a rush, her shoulders squared and her jaw firm. Time seemed to dilate around her, as if it had slowed down to a crawl, granting her all the time and space in the world in which to conduct her decision-making. It was a sensation that was quite familiar to the veteran of the Dominion War. It had come to her on many occasions in the past during battle, allowing her to coolly assess the situation and make the right decision to protect her ship and crew, while leaving the enemy in shattered pieces.
“Red alert,” she snapped.
The illumination around them suddenly darkened, the splash of crimson washing over the bridge as an alarm began to sound. The computer took note and immediately began to issue instructions in its cool, modulated feminine voice.
“Red alert. All hands to battle stations. Senior officers to the bridge.”
Kelly felt that familiar rush of confidence surge through her veins, almost exhilarated as she felt truly in her element on this ship for the first time since coming on board Millennium.
“Raise shields. Load torpedo bays. Ready phaser banks.”
“Uh, Commander,” Paris muttered at the front of the bridge.
She focused her attention on the helm. “Maintain course, Mr. Paris,” she snarled at him.
Honestly, she didn't need any hint of nerves from any of her bridge staff. Didn't these officers know anything? It was especially surprising with Paris. Kelly would have thought that the helm officer, older and more experienced than the rest of the crew around him, would be comfortable in this type of tense situation. On the other hand, as old as he was, he was still a junior lieutenant. That indicated he wasn't exactly the brightest person rising through the ranks of Starfleet. Fortunately, the alpha shift was beginning to arrive, spilling out of the turbolifts bracketing each side of the bridge and heading briskly for their assigned stations.
Ro Laren, the ship's chief of security, was the first to appear in Kelly's line of vision. The Bajoran's deadly grace, as she swept across the bridge toward tactical to relieve M'Reek, reassured Kelly. The first officer instinctively trusted Ro, seeing in her the same strength of will and competent assurance that her previous crew on the USS Grissom had displayed. Warriors, each and every one of them, and Kelly missed them dearly, wishing they were the ones surrounding her now, rather than this eclectic group of alien faces possessing uncertain abilities.
At the helm, Paris glanced up at the alpha shift officer as if uncertain what the Ferengi was doing beside him. There was a slight hesitation, almost a reluctance to give up his post, but Paris finally stood up and made way for Nog. Kelly made a mental note to bring it to the captain's attention when this was all over. A red alert was no time or place to dither over the exchange of duties.
Not that Kelly was any more comfortable with Lt. Nog at the helm. She knew Millennium required an alien pilot to take them through the transition jump, but she wondered why the captain had chosen a Ferengi out of all the available personnel. The big-eared, mercenary species was well-known for its sly, conniving ways, as well as boasting a proud reputation for being the best financial operators in the Alpha Quadrant. Anyone entering a transaction with a Ferengi would do well to count her remaining credits, as well as her arms and legs afterward to find out what had been missed in the fine print. Kelly had come out on the losing end of more than a few deals with them, and she didn't trust the helmsman any further than she could throw him. She was aware that he presumably knew how to maneuver a ship or he wouldn't be posted to the alpha shift, but the Ferengi were notorious cowards in a fight. She'd have to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't cut and run when the phaser fire started flying.
At ops, the cool, slender form of the Vulcan, T'Shanik, took over the board from Okala. Kelly didn't know the young lieutenant at all, and had yet to speak with her outside the bridge, but Vulcans were known for their cool, logical assessment of data, even under fire. She doubted she would have any problems from that direction.
She took a breath. The transition of personnel had only taken a moment or two but her distorted time sense made it seem as if it had taken several minutes. The beta shift crew had taken their position in the staff room set off to the left of the bridge, ready to replace any fallen crew as needed, but out of the way for the time being.
A glance at the viewscreen revealed that the alien vessel was still approaching the Federation ship, but wasn't much closer than the last time she looked.
“Any response to our hails?”
“No, Commander.”
Ro glanced back. “Our scans reveal that their technology is inferior to ours,” the Bajoran noted coolly. “Their weapons are no match for our shields. Our phasers will cut through their hull with no problem.”
“Excellent.” Kelly's gaze grew steely. “Warn them off. Inform them that if they continue on this intercept course, we'll be forced to respond aggressively.”
She was aware of Nog throwing her an astounded look over his shoulder, but she didn't flicker. She knew that these people hadn't spent the last few years as she had, ready to fight and die for Starfleet and the Federation. That was why she was carrying the role of first officer. Until the captain arrived, she was in command, and the protection of her ship and crewmates was her first and only priority.
“Still no response,” T'Shanik stated firmly. “They continue to close on an intercept course.”
“The alien vessel is powering up its weapons,” Ro remarked crisply.
“The vessel remains on a heading directly for us, Commander.” Nog's high piping voice sounding thin and alone amid the tense atmosphere of the bridge. “Their propulsion system is limited, capable of warp five or less. We can easily avoid them.”
Kelly suppressed a snort of disgust at the fear she thought she detected in his words of caution.
“Target their weapons array,” she instructed her tactical officer.
Ro started a little, but she input the necessary commands. “Vessel is within range,” she informed the first officer at the same time Kelly heard the subtle hiss of the turbolift behind her, heralding the arrival of the rest of the alpha shift, a full minute behind the first wave. Kelly didn't look back, trusting that the late arrivals would find their places quickly and competently. Her fists clenched at her side as she viewed the oncoming vessel that was not deviating in its course for one second. Neither would Millennium, she determined. The Federation would not be bullied by some alien pirate who thought he had stumbled upon easy prey.
“Fire,” she ordered in a cool, clear voice.
The captain reclined comfortably on the pillows stacked against the headboard of her bed, her hands resting lightly on the blonde head nestled between her thighs. Guiding her lover with slight pressure from her fingertips, Janeway watched Seven of Nine through eyes lidded with languid desire. Delicious chills of intense pleasure rippled through her with every touch of the Borg's skilled and gentle tongue and she drew up her knees to offer a more accessible angle to her spouse, shivering from the sheer sensation of the oral caresses, the delight radiating through her lower abdomen with marvelous tension.
Seven granted a few parting strokes of her tongue, kissing the captain's sensitive flesh lovingly before rising gracefully from the auburn nest. The Borg's body uncoiled to reveal full, pink tipped breasts, a sinuous torso with its finely muscled stomach and, incongruously, a rather prominent erection sprouting from the blonde thatch at the apex of her long, golden legs. Janeway's lips drew back over her teeth in a smile that was more feral than pleasant.
“Hurry, darling,” she commanded quietly.
Seven reached over to the jar resting on the nightstand, dipping her fingers in to withdraw a generous dollop of lubrication. Janeway didn't think moisture was necessarily a problem, but the Borg was always mindful of making this permeation of their lovemaking as pleasurable as possible. Wrapping her fingers around the artificial accessory decorating her loins, she applied the additional moisture lavishly over the thick shaft, making it gleam in the lowered illumination. Janeway caught her breath, feeling her pelvis contract in delighted anticipation. Crouching over her, Seven guided the fat head of the penile probe to Janeway's juncture where she rubbed it slowly up and down the warm wetness. Janeway groaned happily and reached for the small device strapped to her wrist.
The Wonder Wand 9000 was programmed by a remote control that allowed varying parameters to be altered and set for the device that simulated male genitalia. The couple did not use the accessory all the time, but it was a lovely way to accentuate their lovemaking, particularly when Janeway was feeling exceedingly amorous and required more than even Seven's long and dexterous fingers could provide. Initially, the remote had been isolated, small enough to fit neatly into the palm of Janeway's hand, which meant it often became lost amid the tangled bedding as they made love, requiring a great deal of time and effort to find it in the aftermath. Seven had neatly solved the problem by adding a fabric band, allowing Janeway to strap the remote to her arm like an old-style wristwatch, and making it readily available when the captain wanted to make certain adjustments on the fly.
She did so now, making the wand slightly larger than the parameters Seven had initially set, as well as significantly increasing the sensitivity. That wrung a heartfelt groan from the Borg as she pressed into the captain, slowly pushing inside the damp heat until she was buried to the hilt. The artificial appendage boasted sensors along its entire length, transmitting sensation to Seven's sensitive nodule. To the young woman, it felt as if her clitoris had been extended several inches, the adjusted sensors enhancing the sense of being inside her beloved partner's most intimate recesses to a level of intense, almost painful, sensitivity. Every millimeter of the silky surroundings provided the most exquisite pleasure for the Borg as she slipped into the captain.
“Oh, Kathryn,” she murmured, her breath coming hard and fast.
“Darling,” Janeway whispered, sliding her arms around the Borg's neck and pulling her down on top of her, delighting in the feel of Seven's warm, womanly body sliding over her, the generous cushion of her breasts pressing against her own. Though the sensation between her legs was apparently male in intent, Janeway could easily imagine it was Seven who was filling her, her flesh probing deep inside. “Oh, darling ... please ... do it...”
Seven began to move within Janeway slowly, withdrawing slightly, and then pushing back, increasing the length and depth with every stroke. Janeway undulated her hips, rising to meet each vigorous thrust, hearing the Borg grunt softly in her ear at the moist impact that reverberated through both. Janeway spread her legs wider, her hands slipping over the Borg's back, urging her on.
“Oh, my love, yes,” she chanted as the tempo increased, feeling the sinew and muscle ripple beneath her palms, the skin silky smooth. “Yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes...”
Just as she was reaching that pinnacle, just as the age-old rhythm generated by the women threatened to overwhelm her in the most wonderful way, a jarring shriek nearly caused her to have a seizure.
“Red Alert. All hands to battle stations. Senior officers to the bridge.”
Janeway thought her nervous system would simply shut down as passion and pleasure threw up their figurative hands and fled screaming in all directions, abandoning her like rats deserting a sinking ship. Forcefully, she shoved on Seven's shoulders, twisting away from her spouse even as the Borg did her best to withdraw without unduly hurting the captain.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” became the chant now as Janeway quickly rolled off the bed and snatched up her uniform, discarded earlier on the bedroom floor. Disregarding the undergarments, she hastily pulled on her trousers and sweater, jamming her bare feet into her boots. She grabbed her tunic and raced for the turbolift in the outer part of the captain's quarters, ignoring Seven when she plaintively called after her.
“Bridge,” she snapped, shrugging into the black tunic, fastening it up the front as she settled her shoulders beneath the padded accents of slate-blue. She raked her fingers through her hair in an unconscious attempt to straighten it as the doors opened and she stepped onto the bridge.
Commander Kelly was standing in front of the command chair, hands clenched at her sides, her jaw steady. “Fire,” she said in a clear, commanding voice.
Janeway glanced at the screen, evaluating the vessel headed directly for them. It appeared much smaller than the Millennium, though clearly aggressive in its approach. Still, she hadn't felt any jolt in the past few minutes, no impact of energy beams on the shields, no sense that her vessel was being attacked. In the same instant, she noticed Ro glance over her shoulder at the first officer, a brief hesitation as if this was not an action the security chief would necessarily choose, before the Bajoran obediently turned around and moved her hands over the tactical board, targeting the approaching vessel.
“Belay that,” she snapped, striding purposely for the command chair and jerking her head slightly to make the commander give way. Kelly did so hastily when she realized the captain was on the bridge. “Report.”
“Vessel approaching has weapon banks fully charged,” Ro said before Kelly could open her mouth. “They are on a direct collision course with Millennium. However, they're also significantly outgunned.”
“They ambushed us from the nebula, Captain, and offered no response to our hails,” Kelly said in a somewhat defensive tone, sitting down at her station and not looking back at the captain. “I raised shields and activated the weapons, instituting a red alert. As the hostile closed within range, they powered up their weapons, still refusing to respond to our hails.”
Janeway frowned briefly. “Did they fire on us?”
There was a brief hesitation by the first officer. “No, Captain, but they were about to.”
Janeway felt a muscle twitch in her jaw. “Full stop,” she demanded. “Power down weapons.”
Nog and Ro immediately obeyed, though Kelly whirled in her chair, looking at the captain in disbelief. “Captain...” she began.
“As you were, Commander,” Janeway said tightly.
She reinforced her grip on the arms of her command chair, waiting as the small vessel barged toward them, coming so close that Janeway was sure she had guessed wrong and it was surely going to ram them. At the last possible second, the alien ship stopped dead only a few hundred meters in front of the Federation vessel. Janeway raised an eyebrow of appreciation at the inertial dampeners the small vessel had to possess. Millennium couldn't match that maneuverability on its best day. Even the fighters the vessel had once carried might not have been able to stop as quickly without plastering its contents against the fore bulkhead.
“We're being hailed, Captain,” T'Shanik said calmly.
Janeway slowly let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. “On screen.”
The alien that appeared on the large viewscreen at the front of the bridge looked like a cross between a ferret and a raccoon. It glared at the Federation captain with beady red eyes.
“You presume to enter Raelien space?” The translator rendered the alien's voice as a high-pitched squeak, and the captain was suddenly hard-pressed not to smile. It was beginning to look like the Beta Quadrant was populated with talking critters of all sorts.
“I apologize for our intrusion,” she said smoothly. “We were unaware this area of space was claimed.”
“It is claimed by the Raelien Republic,” the creature snapped. “You must respect our authority.”
He ... she? ... was considerably agitated, and Janeway wondered if the alien might also be a little bit afraid. Surely, the alien's sensors could determine that Millennium boasted far more powerful shields and weaponry than did the Raelien vessel. If so, her respect for his courage in attempting to protect his space, and presumably, his people, increased accordingly.
Janeway exhaled slowly. “If you would transmit a star chart detailing the extent of your territory, we'll alter course and do our absolute best to remain outside your borders.”
The alien blinked, and Janeway thought he looked surprised, though she realized how dangerous it was to apply humanoid standards to unknown species. “You will?”
Janeway lifted a brow. “Of course,” she told him. “We're peaceful explorers. We have absolutely no reason to violate the sovereignty of your space.”
As hard as she tried not to ascribe Human emotion to the alien, she suspected that what crossed his features next was unadulterated relief. She tilted her head, waiting patiently as he looked down, making a few adjustments to whatever board he was seated behind. “Who are you?” he demanded finally.
“I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Millennium,” she said. “We're representatives of the United Federation of Planets.”
He glanced at her sharply. “The United Federation? Not the Confederation of Species?”
She paused, wondering about that. There was something there, some subtle inflection.
“No,” she said quietly, not bothering to explain about the recent negotiations she had undergone with that same civilization, or the representative currently on board. “Our ship is equipped with a propulsion system that allows us to travel vast distances. We're actually from the Alpha Quadrant, hundreds of thousands of light-years from here.”
“You came all the way out here to explore?” His tone was disbelieving.
“That is our way,” Janeway said.
“Your ship carries considerable armament,” he muttered.
She smiled, carefully not showing her teeth. “We're explorers. We're not fools.”
He appreciated that, throwing his head back in what must have been the Raelien's version of laughter, a chitter of sound like nails across a blackboard. Janeway managed not to wince, but was glad to know a sense of humor provided some commonality between them.
“I am Major Quwill,” he said finally. “Of the Raelien Guard. We will transmit a star chart outlining our boundaries.”
“Thank you,” Janeway said politely. She glanced over at T'Shanik. The Vulcan ops officer nodded after a few seconds, indicating she had received the transmission. She looked back at the screen. “We have them, Major.”
“Safe waters to you, Millennium,” he said, obviously a farewell of sorts, and abruptly closed the channel. On the viewscreen, the ship immediately began to move off, at the same hasty velocity with which it had approached.
“Lieutenant, transfer those charts to the helm. Helm, set a course that will keep us well away from Raelien space. Stand down red alert.”
“Aye, Captain,” the Ferengi at the navigational station responded.
Janeway, still rather agitated from the incident and what it had interrupted, stepped down off the upper command level, moving slightly to the right where the first officer station was located. She bent down, resting her hand on the back of Kelly's chair. “Number One,” she said in a low, angry voice that only the exec could hear, “a Starfleet vessel does not fire first, no matter what the provocation. You have to remember where you are and what you represent as a Starfleet officer.”
“Yes, Captain,” Kelly responded flatly.
Janeway stood up, belatedly noticing that the science station, located on her left side, remained unmanned. She wondered what was keeping Seven. The science officer should have reported directly to the bridge during a red alert, not to her department. Kelly also should have replaced the personnel when Seven failed to show up promptly.
From the corner of Janeway's eye, a glimpse of the dark band on her wrist nudged her memory and she blanched. What would Seven do, knowing she had to report for duty, but unable to remove the accessory as long as the captain possessed the remote control? Would she adapt and assure the bridge that she was on her way?
The captain heard the arrival of the turbolift, and she looked back to her right as the doors opened to reveal the science officer dressed in her uniform, trying somewhat futilely to rearrange the bulge in her pants into looking like something less that what it was. Janeway's eyes widened
“Uh, this seems under control,” she said hastily, causing Kelly to look up with an odd expression. “It's late and I need to be up early for the alpha shift. The rest of you can recall your replacements from the beta shift.” She knew she was being impossibly short with her staff, but she had to get Seven back to their quarters before anyone noticed the appendage the young woman suddenly sported beneath her uniform trousers.
She doubted that it could be explained away as some kind of Borg implant.
As the door to the turbolift opened. Seven attempted to once again manipulate the prominent erection beneath her pants into some subtle position where it would not be so obvious. Glancing up, she observed Janeway making a gesture with her hand that Seven recognized as one meant to hold her in position. It wasn't unlike the gesture that the couple once used with their Irish Setter, and although Seven obeyed, she wasn't entirely pleased. She waited as Janeway jumped up the step to the command level and began to walk toward Seven, angling her body to shield her from the rest of the bridge.
“Commander, I'll want a full report on my desk by 0800,” she threw hastily over her shoulder. “You have the bridge.”
“Aye, Captain.” Seven noticed that Kelly had stood up and was staring after the captain with apparent puzzlement and no little disgruntlement.
Once the doors slid shut behind the captain, she raised her chin, her features tight. “Deck three, captain's quarters,” she barked. “Command direct.”
Seven eyed her curiously. A flush was slowly rising in Janeway's cheeks, making them pink. “Oh, God, Seven, I'm so sorry,” she said in a low voice, her eyes forward. “I forgot all about the remote.”
“It took me some time to dress,” Seven explained with a touch of annoyance in her tone. “I was unable to report to duty in a timely manner.”
“That's completely my fault,” Janeway said sincerely. “I'll make sure it's clear in the ship's log that you were unavoidably detained.” She glanced sideways at the bulge in Seven's uniform trousers, and her lips suddenly twitched. Seven knew the captain's initial panic and embarrassment were giving way to amusement now that the crisis was over and they were on their way back to the haven of their cabin. “Were you really going to report to the bridge like that?”
Seven lifted a brow as she readjusted herself uncomfortably. “What other choice did I have?”
“You could have stayed in our quarters,” Janeway told her, a smile beginning to curve the corners of her mouth, “and waited on my return.”
“Is that the proper protocol for this sort of situation?” Seven was honestly curious.
“I don't think there are any protocols for this sort of situation.”
Janeway started to laugh, leaning weakly against the turbolift walls as the doors opened to their quarters. Dignity affronted, Seven stepped off the lift, ignoring her spouse who needed a few more seconds before she could follow.
“I'm sorry, Annika,” Janeway apologized a second time, still chuckling as she trailed the Borg into the bedroom. “Honestly, I am. I promise; from now on, whoever is wearing the wand can hold the remote.”
Seven shot her a glare, not believing her for one moment. Janeway's need for control was well established, which was why the couple had adapted the remote for the captain's use in the first place. Shaking her head, Seven began to remove her uniform, easing the waistband of her tight undergarment over the wand that immediately sprang upward in all its seventeen-centimeter glory as it was released from confinement. Protruding from her loins like some sort of sensing device, it probed the air before it as though seeking the connection of another body.
“How do males adapt to this?” she demanded, regarding it with no little disgust.
“Who says they do?” Janeway offered with a suspicious gurgle underlying her words. She started to laugh again, falling onto the bed weakly.
Seven shook her head, knowing she would be unable to get anything coherent from the captain for some time. She held out her hand.
“The remote,” she demanded flatly.
Janeway, still laughing, fumbled briefly, but removed it from her wrist and handed it to the Borg. Then she covered her face with her hands as another wave of giggles overwhelmed her. Seven exhaled audibly and input the directions that caused the accessory to withdraw the tendrils surrounding her hips and release the suction on the Borg's clitoris. The little organ felt rather sore, having received a great deal of buffeting as Seven attempted to conceal the accessory in her pants. After sterilizing the wand in the unit concealed behind a small mirror in the headboard, she returned it and the jar of lubrication to their proper compartment. She picked up her uniform, ran it through the nearby replicator and put it in the ensuite where she showered quickly and cleaned her teeth before finally returning to the bedroom.
Janeway, no longer laughing, lay on her back, hands linked behind her head as she contemplated the ceiling, though a smile still quirked her lips when she glanced over at the Borg who had paused next to the bed. “Are you all right, darling?”
“It hurts,” Seven said, as she reached down and used her fingertips to carefully draw back the puffy lips of her genitalia, revealing a reddened protrusion of flesh that she examined with clinical concern “Apparently, wearing the accessory under clothing is not a recommended procedure.”
The captain sat up, leaning over slightly as she peered at the Borg's tender node with intense scrutiny. “Poor little thing.” Intrigued, Seven tilted her head as Janeway moved slightly closer, and she could feel the captain's warm breath wash over her. “Does it really hurt, darling?”
Seven eyed her narrowly. “Terribly.”
Janeway smiled faintly. “Would a kiss help?”
Seven considered it. “Perhaps,” she allowed cautiously. She trembled as the captain bestowed the gentlest of kisses upon her smarting protrusion, along with a delicate dart of tongue over the tip.
“Is that a little better?”
Seven swallowed. “A little.”
Janeway kissed it again, a little more lingeringly, and then suddenly seemed to lose interest, rolling across the bed where she stood up. Seven was disappointed, but not necessarily surprised. Janeway's temper was notoriously fickle in the wake of a red alert, her behavior random and occasionally volatile. Being interrupted during a sensitive moment had only exacerbated that moodiness. The Borg sighed and slipped between the sheets, snuggling down into the bed as she listened to the energetic sounds of the captain in the bathroom completing her ablutions. When Janeway finally joined her, she had showered and was wearing a t-shirt that hung about her hips in a most provocative fashion.
Seven wrapped herself around the captain as soon as she was settled, pulling her back against her chest and tucking her knees up under hers as they spooned together.
“Are you all right, Kathryn?” she asked gently as she nuzzled her spouse.
“You know, a red alert is one thing,” Janeway said as she huddled in the Borg's embrace. “Interrupting us like that is quite another. I may just have to court martial my first officer.”
“I do not believe it was Kelly's intention to interrupt us at such an inopportune moment,” Seven told her dryly.
“Hmm, maybe not,” the captain allowed. “That still doesn't make it acceptable. I nearly had a heart attack.”
Seven smiled faintly and slipped her hand under the thin material of the captain's shirt, placing her palm warmly against Janeway's stomach and spreading her fingers over the slight swell. “Do you need anything now, Kathryn?”
Janeway twitched slightly, but she reached down and covered Seven's hand with her own, holding it in place rather than encouraging further caresses. “I don't think so, darling. I've sort of lost the mood.” She paused. “You?”
Seven considered it. Though aroused, she wanted to make love, with all the intimacy that encompassed, rather than merely have her physical needs attended to by the captain. In lieu of that, cuddling was an acceptable substitute.
“No, Kathryn,” she said finally. “I am fine.”
Janeway exhaled. “Want your back scratched?”
Seven smiled, touched by the offer. “Thank you, Kathryn, but no,” she said softly. “I just want to hold you.”
Janeway turned her head, and Seven accepted the invitation to lean over and kiss her gently. “I love you, darling.”
Seven kissed her again. “My Kathryn,” she said, hugging her tight.
Janeway sighed softly and relaxed, closing her eyes. “What am I going to do with Kelly?” Her voice was small in the night.
“Are you asking for my opinion?” Seven responded with some surprise. Janeway had been somewhat reticent to share what was going on with her first officer, though it was all over the ship by now that there was a problem between Kelly and the captain.
“She questions my authority, she's insolent in her dealings with certain of the senior staff, particularly Nog, and she has horrible instincts when it comes to responding to external situations,” Janeway muttered fretfully. “I know she's spent her career in the direst of circumstances and I'm supposed to train her away from it, but I don't even know where to begin.”
“You have already begun, Kathryn.” Seven nuzzled her comfortingly. “Kelly has been placed in new and radically different surroundings, just as I was when I first came on board Voyager. Her responses are that of a hardened soldier, not a diplomat or a scientist or even necessarily a Starfleet officer.”
“But she is a Starfleet officer, Seven,” Janeway objected stubbornly. “She has the same education and training as the rest of us. Her marks were very good at the Academy. All her senior officers ... those that survived ... were very complimentary of her abilities.”
“I was Human before I was assimilated, Kathryn,” Seven pointed out, “but my reactions are still Borg for the most part and will always be. Kelly's experience from the time she graduated the Academy has been to kill or be killed.” Seven paused. “The species is exceptionally good with that adaptation. Strip away the veneer of social parameters, and Humans are most formidable beings. Kelly's layer of civilization has become very thin over the past seven years.”
Janeway was silent for a time, contemplating the Borg's words. Seven knew that only in these surroundings, only in the warm haven of their bed, could she offer her opinion in this manner. Kathryn was, at this moment, more spouse than captain. Were she upright and wearing her uniform, her instincts would be not to listen to a viewpoint so at odds with what she knew and believed a Starfleet officer to be.
“How could someone taught at the Academy become the opposite of everything Starfleet represents?”
“How could Captain Ransom or the other officers on Equinox?” Seven pulled her closer. “Kathryn, I know that in your heart, you feared that you could become as Ransom was, if the circumstances had been slightly different.”
Janeway caught her breath, and Seven knew she had stung her with her words. They had never discussed the captain's fear, though Seven had talked with Kes about the thin line between obsession and determination. Seven knew unquestionably that Janeway's determination to get Voyager home had slid alarmingly close to obsession on more than one occasion.
“Kathryn, I do not say that to hurt you,” Seven continued gently when the captain remained silent. “I say it because I believe it is important that you understand the root cause of Kelly's attitude. She is a Starfleet officer who has, in the past, been rewarded for the same type of actions that you are angered by now. It must be very confusing to her.” She paused. “She also has yet to learn exactly who and what you are. She perceives only your Starfleet veneer, not who you truly are as a captain or as an individual. She is like a member of the Maquis, without Commander Chakotay to soften the way. She is like B'Elanna without...”
“I get it, Seven,” Janeway interrupted her spouse, but her voice was warm as she did so. “You're saying that Kelly and I are making assumptions about each other that aren't necessarily warranted.”
“Precisely. Assumptions that color your responses to each other.”
Janeway swallowed, the sound of throat muscles moving easily audible to the Borg. For a few moments, Seven listened to her breathe and knew Janeway was thinking about her words very seriously. “How did you reach this conclusion?” the captain asked finally.
Seven smiled faintly. “I am quite familiar with the process, Kathryn. I look back at how we interacted during my first months on Voyager, and realize how much we did not know each other. Yet, there was always something between us that made us want to understand each other --- something that caused us to try beyond what could normally be expected of us. I do not believe that either you or Kelly necessarily share that desire to understand each other. Furthermore, you are both so strong willed that you are determined the other will come around to your way of thinking if you can only maintain your stance long enough.”
“So, one of us has to give and you're saying it has to be me,” Janeway sighed.
“It is not a question of surrender, Kathryn. It is a question of altering the rules. You must cheat.” Seven kissed her. “Something at which you are most skilled.”
“Cheat?” Janeway was silent for a long moment. “Hmm, perhaps I've already started.”
“Kathryn?”
But Janeway pulled the covers up over her shoulder and sighed quietly, closing her eyes to indicate the conversation was over. Seven hesitated but finally relented, aware that there was a time to push when it came to pillow talk involving ship's business, and a time to pull back. Kissing Janeway's temple gently, Seven pulled the captain close and settled down for the night, knowing that tomorrow was another day, and there would be another opportunity to find out what Janeway had meant by such an unhelpfully cryptic statement.
Ro lingered behind as the rest of the alpha shift gave way to the beta crew, trying not to appear too obtrusive about it. She had volunteered to help the captain figure out what was going on with the first officer, though she suspected that she would have befriended the young woman in any event. There was something about her, something very familiar to the older Bajoran, something that made her heart ache a little whenever she saw the struggles of the first officer.
Kelly had resumed her place in the command chair, a decidedly surly expression on her face as she stared at the viewscreen, though her eyes were unhappy. Ro wanted to say something comforting, knowing that the woman had reacted to the situation just as her conditioning and training during the Dominion War had dictated. The Bajoran was also becoming aware of how Janeway was appearing to the young woman. If a person didn't know the captain, hadn't served with her for very long, then it was easy to misunderstand the captain's actions and motivations. Janeway had essentially surrendered to the tiny vessel bursting from the nebula, had given way to its aggressive charge as if she had held the weaker position, without anything to substantiate such a tactical stance.
It would be exceedingly difficult for Kelly to accept that the captain could absorb the situation in a glance and make what turned out to be the correct decision, especially when the alien vessel hadn't stopped its approach until practically nose-to-nose with the much larger Federation vessel. It would have appeared as a somewhat insane strategy to Kelly, a lucky guess rather than a decision formed from years of experience with First Contact scenarios.
Ro had also heard the sharp little lecture Janeway had offered Kelly in the aftermath, though she suspected she was the only one who had. It wasn't like the captain to rip into someone like that on the bridge, but on the other hand, Kelly could have caused an incident of galactic proportions. They didn't know anything about the Raeliens, or how many other, significantly larger vessels could have been lurking in the nebula, waiting to see what happened in the initial contact with the alien ship invading their territory. However, Ro didn't think she should point that out. That would be something better left when the first officer wasn't feeling so raw.
“Commander?” Kelly was eyeing her, a defensive expression in her green eyes.
Ro checked what she was about to say, swallowing back the words of encouragement. Given the mood the young woman was in, they might be misconstrued, sounding like support for a stance that Ro knew had been misguided if not exactly wrong. Instead, she dipped her head.
“We still on for tomorrow afternoon?”
Ro's off duty rotation was the next day, and she and Kelly had scheduled a workout in the ship's gym before the first officer reported for duty on the beta shift. Kelly looked vaguely relieved at the reminder, as if afraid Ro had intended to say something else to her.
“Of course,” Kelly said. “I'll see you there, Laren.”
Ro left the bridge and stepped into the turbolift, wondering at the glimpse she had of Seven just before the captain dismissed them. From her angle at tactical, she had the perfect line of sight into the turbolift where the Borg had been groping at the front of her pants, discomforted in some way. The captain had clearly indicated with a hand signal that Seven should remain in the turbolift rather than come onto the bridge. The rest of the senior crew hadn't even been aware of the science officer's arrival, only of the captain's hasty and somewhat inelegant departure. Ro could only imagine what the red alert had interrupted, causing Janeway and Seven to act in such an unusual manner, but she had her suspicions. Not that she was about to pass them on to anyone, particularly her spouse, though she knew B'Elanna would find it tremendously amusing.
The chief engineer had already returned to their family quarters on deck four. She was picking up the plates of food that had grown cold in their absence, retrieving the utensils that had been flung aside as Ro scampered for the bridge and B'Elanna dashed for main engineering. The Bajoran offered her a smile as the door hissed shut behind her.
“So much for our romantic dinner,” she said ruefully.
“We'll try again tomorrow night,” B'Elanna promised.
Ro moved over to help the engineer finish cleaning up. Solid, with long, dark wavy hair that framed features that readily revealed her Klingon/Human heritage, B'Elanna Torres was a beautiful woman. It was still hard for Ro to believe that they had been married for a couple of years. She had been such a loner for so much of her life that finding someone to love, and more impossibly, someone who returned that love, still seemed something of a fantasy.
“What prompted the red alert?” B'Elanna asked curiously as she shoved the dishes in the replicator where they sparkled and disappeared, broken down into their component elements and absorbed back into the ship's systems. Engineering was sometimes the last to know what was happening, which was particularly difficult for B'Elanna who liked to know everything that was going on.
“An alien vessel dashed out of the nebula and took a run at us,” Ro said as she shrugged out of her tunic. “Commander Kelly ... well, may have overreacted a bit. The captain definitely thinks she did, anyway.”
“It was a bluff?”
Ro nodded. “The captain read it immediately, of course, and smoothed things over. We've altered course to go around their space.”
B'Elanna laughed low in her throat. “Making Kelly look a bit silly in the process?”
Ro sank back onto the sofa, spreading her arms out on either side as she regarded her spouse thoughtfully. “Kelly's reflexes are all wrong for this mission,” she said quietly. “I can't imagine why Nechayev appointed her to a science vessel on a deep space voyage.”
“So Janeway could shape and mold her into the sort of proud, upstanding Starfleet officer the admiral demands,” B'Elanna said in a reasonable tone as she moved over to the sofa and straddled the Bajoran, settling onto her lap as she slipped her arms around her neck. “Or kill her in the process.”
Ro smiled. “I suppose you're right, but it's not very easy on the captain. Or on Kelly, either.”
B'Elanna tilted her head, looking down at her curiously. “You like her, don't you?”
Ro exhaled, thinking about it. “She reminds me a little of me,” she admitted finally. “All sharp corners and edges, so sure that she knows exactly how the universe really is and the rest of us are just poor deluded fools who can't see what's right in front of us. Running on instinct and limited experience, unable to figure out that, just maybe, there's a better way if she'd only slow down and look. I don't envy the captain her task.”
“But look at what Janeway managed with you,” B'Elanna purred, settling closer. “From Maquis outlaw to a dependable security chief, third in command of the most prestigious vessel in the fleet after the flagship, not to mention a respectable married woman.”
“I think you're the one who's responsible for the last,” Ro corrected with dry humor. She lifted a brow, eyeing her partner narrowly. “Respectable, am I? It makes me sound old. Are the gray hairs starting to show?”
B'Elanna kissed her, capturing Ro's bottom lip and nibbling it gently before releasing it. “I retract the 'respectable',” she said in a low, rumbling voice. She glanced up at Ro's dark hair, straight and shiny, falling in a gentle curve to her collar. “And I certainly don't see any gray.”
“If there were, it wouldn't be from age,” Ro said ruefully, “but from the situations I keep finding myself in.” She slipped her arms around the Klingon's waist, pulling her tight against her body. “I'm counting on you to keep me young at heart.”
B'Elanna frowned. “You're talking like you're twice my age, instead of only...” she paused to count. “Let's see, you were born in 2340 and I was born in 2349 which makes you only nine years older than me. I'm 31, and you're 40. That's not even middle-aged for a Bajoran.”
Ro laughed. “They're a hard nine years.”
B'Elanna pressed closer, kissing the security chief's neck. “You're exaggerating,” she muttered and started to tug on the Bajoran's sweater, freeing it from where it was tucked into her trousers. “You're young enough to keep up with me, and there aren't a lot of people who can say that.”
Ro offered a mock sigh. “You're always so amorous after a red alert.”
B'Elanna chuckled. “So are you.”
The security chief dipped her head, capturing the Klingon's mouth in a searing kiss. “So am I,” she agreed in a husky whisper.
She helped B'Elanna shrug out of her tunic and pulled her sweater over her head, revealing shapely breasts tipped with fat, brown nipples. B'Elanna rarely wore undergarments beneath her uniform, a pleasant little quirk that Ro found completely charming. She reached between their bodies and rolled the little nubs between her fingers, squeezing hard, feeling them stiffen as the Klingon groaned.
“Let's go in the bedroom,” B'Elanna demanded, pulling away from Ro and heading briskly for the door leading to the other room, shedding the rest of her uniform as she went. Ro quickly followed suit, completely naked by the time she reached the bed where B'Elanna was waiting for her with some impatience. The Klingon pulled her down on top of her, the women rolling around the large bed as they kissed and stroked each other with fevered interest.
Afterward, they lay in languid satisfaction, a distinct contrast to their heated and physical sharing of pleasure. Ro lay on her back, staring idly into the warm darkness as B'Elanna snuggled close to her side. The more energetic the Klingon was in making love, the more vulnerable she seemed in the aftermath, as if she had given away too much of herself and wasn't quite sure how it would be received. Ro kissed her gently on the prominent cranial ridges decorating B'Elanna's head, and squeezed her lovingly.
“Are you happy, ‘Lanna?” she asked softly.
B'Elanna chuckled. “Funny, I was just thinking about that. I'm as happy as I've ever been, Laren. I have you. I have my work. I have my friends. I don't think it gets better than this.”
Ro smiled. “I don't think so, either.” She exhaled slowly. “In the old days, I'd worry that if I felt so good, something bad was just around the corner. Now, I just try to cherish these times for as long as I can.”
“I'm the same,” B'Elanna said, rubbing the Bajoran's muscular stomach lightly in slow, gentle circles. She raised her head so that she could look in Ro's eyes. “Is there anything else you want, Laren? Anything that you think we've yet to achieve?”
Ro shook her head slightly. “No,” she said. “I mean, professionally, I'm sure the promotions will come for both of us sooner or later. I even think I'll end up as a first officer somewhere.”
“You want it to be here, though, don't you?”
“I'm not sure that's likely to happen so long as Starfleet keeps using Millennium as a proving ground for their command candidates,” Ro pointed out practically.
“But Janeway already treats you like her first officer,” B'Elanna said soberly. “Maybe not in terms of your duties, but you're the one she's been going to since we left the Alpha Quadrant.”
“I've noticed. It's because she's so uncomfortable with Kelly.” Ro paused. “I'm not sure how to fix that.”
“Is it your job to fix it?”
“Perhaps not my job, but possibly my responsibility.” She frowned. “I'll have to think about it.”
B'Elanna rubbed her cheek against the smooth skin of the Bajoran's upper chest. “What about personally?”
Ro tightened her embrace. “You make me very happy,” she told her quietly. “What else is there?”
B'Elanna hesitated. “Kids, maybe?”
Ro was stunned, needing a moment to find her voice. “Do you want children?”
“I don't know,” the Klingon said slowly. “I guess it's something that's popped into my mind a lot lately, maybe because we're on a ship with families now. I gave one of the school classes a tour of the engine room this morning, and all I could think about was what it would be like if one or two of the little deck rats were ours.”
“Oh.” Ro, frankly, was at a loss for words. This topic had never come up for discussion before. B'Elanna seemed to sense the Bajoran's bafflement, and raised her head so that she could smile at the security chief.
“I'm not saying we should run right out and have ourselves one of the little monsters,” she reassured her. “It's just something to think about for the future.”
“All right,” Ro said carefully. “I'll give it some thought. “
B'Elanna studied her partner's face thoughtfully. “What's your first gut reaction, Laren? Repugnance? Revulsion? Antipathy?”
Ro shook her head. “No, nothing like that,” she said, searching for the words that would reassure her spouse. “Just ... honest surprise. Maybe a little fear at the magnitude of it. A little wonder at the fact I'm finally in the position in my life to seriously consider such a thing. It's not something I ever thought would happen for me.”
B'Elanna nodded. “Fair enough,” she said lightly. “I did sort of spring this on you out of the blue.”
Ro reached up and cupped the Klingon's cheek, her eyes intent. “I love you,” she said softly. “You know that.”
B'Elanna grinned, revealing sharp edged teeth. “I do.”
“I absolutely do.”
Janeway straightened in her seat at the head of the table, glancing over at the others who were settling into their chairs now that their guest had been seated. Seven and Ro were seated to the captain's right, while to her left, the Confederation ambassador, Jiidan, had been provided with an elevated stool, allowing him to be on the same level as the rest of the diners. Lt. Torres was next to him, across from her spouse, and completing the circle of diners at the oval table were Dr. Pulaski, and Commander Kes. The unfamiliar surroundings of the captain's private dining room on deck two lent a more formal air to the evening, though the Starfleet officers remained in regular uniform. The captain hoped that the menu her spouse had so carefully chosen and prepared would prove acceptable to their alien visitor.
Paryk and a few other crewmembers pressed into service as waiters, began to serve the meal from the nearby pantry where it had been placed in stasis a few hours earlier. The captain had lost the habit of being so formal during her years in the Delta Quadrant --- not that she could since her private dining room on Voyager had been taken over by Neelix a few weeks into the journey --- but it was tradition to welcome an alien observer to the ship with an intimate dinner party that included the senior staff. Kelly should have been present as well, Janeway supposed somewhat fretfully, but the first officer was currently supervising the beta shift on the bridge. The young woman had volunteered to work double shifts to make up for her unfortunate lapse during the transition jump that cost the ship her services for four days. Janeway, lacking any idea about what else to do with the woman, had accepted the offer, beginning the rotation as soon as they departed Confederation space. She just hoped there wouldn't be a repeat of aggression from her, should the Millennium encounter another Raelien vessel.
“Excuse me, Captain,” Jiidan piped up as the waiters placed the first course in front of the diners. Janeway offered him her full attention. “I was curious about the conflict last evening.”
“Conflict?”
“I understand you inadvertently entered Raelien space?”
“Ah,” Janeway said, wondering how the Confederation ambassador had learned of the incident so quickly. Of course, Jiidan had been given full access to the ship's logs during his time on Millennium, and the encounter certainly hadn't been classified. “It was a minor misunderstanding.”
“I was impressed by how diplomatically you handled it,” he told her earnestly. “Your conversation with the major not only afforded him his dignity, but perhaps paved the way for future contact.”
“I hope so,” Janeway responded, watching surreptitiously as he tried his soup tentatively and then began to scoop it up quickly, as if he had not eaten in weeks. She had to control her urge to laugh. The Soularri were just so damned cute. “The Federation has no intention of violating the sovereignty of other species while in the Beta Quadrant.”
“Will you attempt to make allies of them?”
Janeway wondered why he was so interested, but then decided it was his purpose as ambassador to observe as much as he could about the Federation and their methods while exploring the Beta Quadrant. “I doubt we'll make a special effort as we did with the Confederation,” she told him readily “However, if the opportunity arises, we'll most certainly take advantage of it. First Contact is one of the primary mission statements of Millennium.”
“Captain Janeway has recorded more First Contact encounters than anyone else in Starfleet history,” Commander Ro interjected smoothly. She didn't add that the captain hadn't exactly had much choice in the matter. Flung 70,000 light-years away from home years earlier, practically every species they encountered had been a First Contact scenario. “Her reputation is well known in the Alpha Quadrant.”
“Most impressive, Captain,” Jiidan said. His tone was completely sincere.
“A matter of circumstance,” she offered modestly. Kelly really should have been there rather than Ro, the captain decided somewhat shamefully. The Bajoran served almost too well in the young woman's stead, making it easy for Janeway not to miss Kelly's services, or worse, find her severely lacking in comparison. On the other hand, she couldn't deny that it was a lot easier to concentrate on the subtle undercurrents of the Soularri's conversation when she wasn't worrying about what her volatile new exec might do or say next.
“The Raelien distrust for us in the Confederacy is well known,” Jiidan went on as the second course was placed before them, replacing the soup, which Janeway was gratified to see, had gone quickly. She knew all the foods chosen were perfectly safe for the Soularri metabolism, but that didn't necessarily mean they would taste good to the alien ambassador.
“I'm curious, Minister Jiidan,” Janeway said, choosing her words carefully. “Is there a reason for that distrust?”
Jiidan didn't appear to take offense. “Several, Captain. They are wary of the Elthania in particular.”
Janeway eyed him, curiosity strong within her as she noted the term he used for Tazna Jade's people. It was not how the Elthanians referred to themselves, but she knew she had to ferret out any information carefully. “Indeed,” she said. “May I ask why?”
He examined his fork full of pasta narrowly, smelled it, and then tasted it. An expression of gratification crossed his fuzzy face and he dug into his meal with considerable enthusiasm.
“It all happened a long time ago,” he explained between bites. “The Elthania were, of course, the first to venture into this area of space since it's so close their own.” He frowned, apparently puzzled by the bits of mushroom and onion on his fork. “The Confederation didn't exist at that time, and those early Elthania explorers weren't as ... advanced in their evolution as they are now.”
“The Raeliens did seem somewhat xenophobic,” Janeway allowed in a commiserating tone.
Jiidan seemed amused. “Oh, I wouldn't say that, exactly,” he said, nibbling cautiously at a piece of tomato. “They welcomed the Elthania with open arms ... at first. Now, they refuse to be a part of the Confederation so long as the Elthania are members. We do live in hope that one day in the future, they'll be able to embrace the Elthania as they are rather than continue to resent them for what they were.”
Janeway noticed that the rest of her staff were listening avidly, following the conversation with keen interest, particularly Ro and B'Elanna.
“It was the Elthanians that were xenophobic?” the captain prompted gently, scooping up a bit of fettuccini dripping with Alfredo sauce. Chicken Tetrazzini was one of her favorite dishes, and it was prepared to perfection by her spouse. The wine Seven had selected was a light, golden vintage that complimented the meal on every level. Janeway took a sip, allowing it to linger on her tongue.
Jiidan lifted a brow, smiling faintly in a way that the captain didn't quite understand. “No, Captain, the Elthania didn't fear and dislike aliens.” He sipped his wine, mimicking the captain. “In fact, one could say that at that time, they liked alien species far too well.”
“In what way?” Janeway took another mouthful of wine.
“Oh, usually in a sauce much like this, with a little rice and vegetables on the side,” Jiidan said lightly. “I'm afraid the Raeliens lost approximately forty percent of their population to Elthania hunting parties before we were able to step in.”
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, and when they did, Janeway inadvertently spit her wine across the table. She managed to turn her head to the right, away from the Soularri, but both Seven and Ro were forced to lean away from the spray of droplets spattering their uniforms. The captain was unable to apologize immediately because she was too busy coughing, trying to cover her mouth with her napkin. At the far end of the table, Pulaski looked as if she was doing her best not to laugh, covering her eyes with her hand and keeping her head bowed as she pretended an intense interest in her meal.
“They're cannibals?” Janeway wheezed after a moment.
“Of course not, Captain,” Jiidan corrected pleasantly, seeming oblivious to her horror as he continued to enjoy his meal. “They never ate each other, only those of other species. Famine and overpopulation were the main factors that drove them into space in the first place, and as a primarily carnivorous species, they tended to look at anything that didn't have the proper number of limbs or organs in the proper place as ... well, fair game, so to speak.”
Janeway stared at the short, furry representative of the Confederation with dawning realization, at the placid, teddy bear-like features and tufted ears, and the chubby little body beneath the silky, golden hair. “Including the Soularri?”
Jiidan lifted a black-tipped claw. “I must admit, that's how they initially viewed us, but we were far more technologically advanced than the Elthania. It not only prevented them from preying upon us, it also came as a great shock to their cultural conditioning. Imagine not only having your food stand up and fight back, but ultimately defeat you time after time because it was more intelligent. They were never the same after encountering us, and were finally able to take the first steps on the road to true civilization. We essentially taught them that intelligence was the measure of sentience, not how appetizing a species may appear.” He paused, gazing at her as if suddenly realizing the extent of her lack of knowledge. “The level of technology in the Confederation was established by us, Captain, not the Elthania. For example, we designed Hearthstone, their main port. They merely carried out the construction.”
Janeway dropped her napkin to the side of her plate, no longer having much of an appetite. “Why wasn't this included in the data we were given when first encountering the Confederation?”
“Oh, it's all ancient history, Captain,” Jiidan said, waving it away as inconsequential while he went back to his meal. The others also continued to eat, though it was somewhat mechanical as they listened to the conversation. Only the captain seemed truly put off her feed. “Besides, it's not really the sort of thing one tends to bandy about in casual conversation. I'm quite sure the data we uploaded about the history of the Federation is missing a few ... shall we say, choice bits ... about the development of your civilization.”
Janeway, conscious that the data pack offered by Starfleet didn't necessarily volunteer certain details like the Eugenics War or the role played by early starship officers in various First Contact encounters that resulted in the eventual implementation of the Prime Directive, didn't try to deny it. Ro chose that moment to take the initiative, leaning forward to pin the Soularri with a look of keen interest.
“To outsiders, the Elthanians appear to be the dominant species in the Confederation,” she said in an even voice. “They handle the bulk of duties in the StarScouts, they're represented in significant numbers on the council, they do most of the day-to-day administrative duties for the government, but ultimately, that's a false impression, isn't it? The Soularri actually determine how everything is run.”
Janeway held her breath, wondering if the Bajoran's bluntness would be their undoing, but Jiidan merely smiled, displaying his sharp little teeth. “Very astute, Commander,” he said, a touch of approval in his tone. “The Elthania are so wonderfully adept at protecting our space, greeting newcomers and keeping the peace, that we're quite content to let them do it. Plus, they feel a sense of responsibility and duty to the Confederation. They want to make restitution to those they once preyed upon. We merely direct them. After all, we each have our little role to play in society.”
B'Elanna glanced at her spouse and then at the guide. “But some people still get nervous around them, don't they?” she asked, as if having finally found an answer to something that had been bothering her for quite some time. “There's something there, some awareness of what they really are.”
Jiidan looked thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he allowed slowly, as if he had never considered it before. “After all, take away the veneer of civilization and the basic instincts remain, Commander Torres, no matter how far any of us evolve technically or socially.”
“Elthanians subconsciously evaluate others in terms of prey, even if they don't intend to act on it,” Kes offered thoughtfully. “Meanwhile, those being evaluated somehow sense it on a primitive level and react accordingly. They become uncomfortable, even when they're not sure why.”
“I did not become uncomfortable in any of my encounters,” Seven noted, looking at the others in bemusement.
“That's because Jade didn't want to eat you,” B'Elanna told her, and then added in a soft mutter, “At least, not like that.”
Janeway shot a look at the engineer, making her subside. “I have to agree with my science officer,” she said quickly, hoping to cover over B'Elanna's inappropriate remark though Jiidan did not appear to have noticed it. “I've never felt uneasy around them either.” Yet, even as she said it, she remembered that moment at the diplomatic soiree while confronting Tazna Jade, struck by a sense that the Elthanian had been about to pounce on her. It had passed so quickly, she thought she had imagined it.
“Perhaps because you were regarded by those you met as another predator by virtue of your rank and power, Captain,” Jiidan noted easily. “Also, you've only dealt with the most sophisticated of our society, the Speakers, the senior StarScout officers, the Council members ... individuals who are exceedingly comfortable interacting with other species.”
“While the rest of the crew hung out with the ordinary people while building the array,” Ro said thoughtfully. “The ship's crew and station personnel, the civilians populating Hearthstone...”
“Unskilled in diplomacy,” Jiidan agreed with the Bajoran. “Evolved but with a less developed sense of how others can perceive them. They were probably unaware that they were subconsciously sizing you up for the grill.” He scraped the last of his pasta from his plate and beamed hopefully at the captain.
“Is there any dessert?”
“Cannibals. They're cannibals, for God's sake!”
Seven thought her spouse was somewhat disproportionately disconcerted at the revelations from dinner. She watched curiously as the captain paced about their quarters, agitation radiating from every line of her compact body.
“And I made an alliance with them,” Janeway muttered, as if she still couldn't believe it. “As a matter of fact, I made damned sure the array was in their sector of space.”
“Jiidan indicated that their preying on other species was a matter of ancient history,” Seven pointed out, leaning back on the sofa as she waited for the captain to settle down. “Certainly, if what a species did hundreds of years earlier is a prerequisite of making alliances, then it is unlikely any would be made, particularly involving Humans.” She paused. “Why does this upset you so, Kathryn?”
Janeway stopped, staring at her spouse. “They're cannibals, Seven,” she repeated, and as Seven started to respond, she stopped her with a raised finger. “And don't say the term doesn't apply because they preyed on other species. That's splitting hairs. They ate people.”
Seven exhaled audibly. “It is all semantics, Kathryn. There are many instances of cannibalism in Human history. Literal cannibalism.”
“Not once we achieved space travel!”
Seven lifted a brow. “The UFP Ytrap Rennod lost their warp engines and main power in 2133. By the time they were rescued, only five survived, and it was because they had consumed the remains of their companions. The Famine of Setnus III in 2234, a Human colony forced to...”
“All right,” Janeway said, stopping Seven before she could really get started on the litany that included forty-three more incidents involving Humans from various ships and colonies, including a few where survival was not the motivating factor. Beyond that, Seven would have to examine the Federation database to add to the ones she knew off the top of her head. “I get the point.”
“I fail to see why the Elthania have suddenly become so repugnant, Kathryn,” Seven said. “Is killing for food somehow worse than killing for an esoteric ideal, or covetousness for another's possessions?”
Janeway shot her a look, the same one she used whenever Seven had overwhelmed her arguments with solid facts that she simply couldn't refute. It was a combination of annoyance and childlike resentment, an expression that never failed to amuse the Borg.
“Personally,” Seven continued, starting to enjoy herself at this point, “if it were necessary that I die from violent means, I would much prefer my death be an issue of survival for the other person, rather than a result of merely being in the way of someone's greed or because I happen to be Borg.”
Janeway stared at her, hands on her hips, jaw stuck out pugnaciously. “I suppose you think you're being really clever.”
Seven, for whom that was evident, didn't respond. She merely smiled faintly in the way she knew infuriated her spouse the most. Janeway held the look for a moment, the muscle in her jaw twitching visibly, and then turned away, a reluctant grin edging the corners of her mouth.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “But it's still going to be hard to explain this to Starfleet Command.”
“I am surprised you are not more concerned with the Soularri,” Seven noted dryly.
Janeway turned her head quickly. “Why?”
“They must be a formidable species if they could not only stop the Elthania, but essentially ... domesticate them.” Seven tasted the word carefully, examining why she had settled on that one. Yet, it seemed appropriate. “The Elthanians serve them.” She paused, a sudden thought striking her of Tazna's Jade's expression during the array negotiations. “Not happily in many cases.”
“According to everyone I've talked to, there is an equal representation of many species on the council, Seven. The only reason the negotiating team was made up of Elthanians was because we were in the Elthanian sector.”
“Indeed.” Seven considered what she had heard at dinner. She did not agree, but she did not care to pursue the argument. “Perhaps you are correct.”
Janeway eyed her narrowly for a moment and finally nodded. “I'll keep an eye on our ambassador,” she allowed quietly. “Obviously, things aren't necessarily as they appear to be in the Confederation.”
“That is frequently the case with alien civilizations, Kathryn.” Seven sighed as another thought struck her. “The nebula is well within Raelien space. Apparently, we shall not have the opportunity to study it as I had hoped.”
“I'm sorry, darling,” Janeway offered, sounding honestly contrite. “They do seem very territorial. I don't think we'll able to pass close enough to take anything but more long-range sensor readings. That's probably why the Confederation doesn't have much information on it.”
Seven managed a bit of a philosophical shrug. “There will be other anomalies.”
“I really wanted to give you that nebula.”
Seven tilted her head. “I know, Kathryn.”
A smile softened the captain's classic features as she regarded her spouse. “Dinner was fabulous, darling,” she said in a gentler tone. “You simply outdid yourself. I know I probably shouldn't be using you as a caterer...”
“I did not mind, Kathryn,” Seven assured her. “It was an intriguing challenge to create a meal for so many who included several alien palates. I am familiar with B'Elanna and Ro, of course, but I was uncertain my selection would appeal equally to Jiidan as it did to Dr. Pulaski and Kes.”
“You succeeded admirably, darling,” Janeway told her. She drifted over to the sofa, taking a seat next to her spouse as she placed her hand high on Seven's thigh. “I'm very proud of you.”
Seven glanced at her. “Thank you.” She lifted a brow as the captain's hand moved higher on her leg, creeping inexorably close to the juncture of her uniform trousers. “Kathryn?”
Janeway leaned against her, her gaze altering into something a little more sensual. “I was just thinking of last night and how we were so cruelly interrupted by that red alert.”
The fleshy side of the captain's hand suddenly pressed against Seven, the warmth penetrating through the layers of clothing. Without changing expression, Seven parted her legs slightly, affording her spouse easier access, and Janeway did not hesitate in taking advantage of the gesture, rubbing the Borg's inner thigh lightly.
“Are you not afraid we will be interrupted again?” Seven asked quietly, looking into the eyes that were more blue than grey.
“Oh, I don't think Kelly would dare,” Janeway told her as she regarded the Borg with a lidded expression. “Not after the blasting I gave her.” She turned her hand so that the palm and fingers were cupping Seven intimately. “Let's call it an evening, shall we?”
“It is still quite early, Kathryn.” Seven lifted a brow, ostensibly ignoring the captain's hands that were fondling her provocatively through her uniform trousers.
Janeway smiled, recognizing the game immediately. “You're such a tease, darling,” she muttered, her voice dropping to a delightfully throaty trill.
Seven swallowed as the cloying chills shot up and down her nerve endings. “I believe you like it when I tease you.”
“Oh, I do,” Janeway agreed quietly. “But I also like it when you're on the bed, all open and wet and waiting for me.”
Seven caught her breath at the image that inspired. “Is that what you want, Kathryn?”
Janeway leaned closer, her breath hot in the Borg's ear. “I want you,” she murmured. “I want to lie you down and spread your legs so that I can see every millimeter of what only I'm allowed to touch and taste. I want to bury my face in your heat and feast on you until you can't do anything but scream. And as you do, I want you to put your right hand on the back of my head to hold me in place, while you use your left hand to toss the damn headboard right across the room.”
Seven caught her breath, easily imagining such a scenario, except, of course, where the bed's headboard was concerned. The artfully designed piece of furniture, which included a handy gripping bar, a mirror covering the door of a small medical instrument sterilizer, and several compartments to hold various accessories, had been melded into the ship's hull so firmly that it defied even the Borg's significant strength. It had taken several 'christenings' while the ship had still been in dry dock to make sure their bed would be strong enough to withstand whatever use the couple put it through.
Seven wasn't sure which engineering officer had overseen that particular design implementation during the ship's construction phase, unless it had been Janeway herself. While commanding the Utopia Planitia shipyards, all the Starfleet personnel there had learned to respect the compact little redhead considerably for her engineering skills. She was never afraid to toss aside her tunic and roll up her sweater sleeves when the job demanded it. It wouldn't have surprised Seven in the slightest to know that Janeway had been the one in that bedroom with a spanner and a laser drill, cursing liberally as she performed the necessary installation all on her own.
Seven slipped her arm around the captain's shoulders and drew her close, bending her head to cover her mouth with her own. The kiss went on for some time, a warm, wonderful kiss that was almost intoxicating in its intensity. The captain's respiration was considerably accelerated by the time they parted.
“Let's go to bed,” she requested huskily as she rose from the couch.
Seven accepted the hand her spouse offered, allowing the captain to pull her up, and they strolled into the bedroom, arms around each other, Janeway's head tilted slightly to rest on Seven's shoulder. Her hand slid down and cupped the Borg's buttock, squeezing lightly as they walked.
“You know, I rather miss your biometric outfits,” she said with a touch of wistfulness as they paused next to the bed.
Seven looked down into her warm gaze. “Indeed,” she said, amused. “Would you like me to replicate one and wear it about our quarters?”
Janeway's eyes brightened. “Would you?”
Seven laughed softly and pulled her partner close. “One day,” she promised. “When you least expect it, you shall come home and find me wearing it.”
Janeway kissed her. “I look forward to it.”
Seven kissed her back, her hands moving over the captain, freeing her from her uniform even as Janeway undressed her. A word to the computer brought down the lights, and as an added treat, the couple had a musical selection activated, romantic songs surrounding them as they sank to the bed in each other’s arms, bodies pressed together in heated intent. Seven paid keen attention to pleasing the captain this evening, aware of how frustrated she had been the night before. Janeway was equally attentive, her hands and mouth doing the most wonderful things to the Borg who, as it turned out, was unable to cause any damage to the headboard, but not through lack of trying on either woman's part.
Afterward, the music terminated, lying in the warm darkness in sleepy satisfaction, Seven wished she could express how perfect these moments with her beloved spouse truly were to her. Wished she could find the proper phrases to convey how she really felt about the individual lying next to her. Words were so inadequate. Sometimes, even physical gestures were insufficient. All she could do was hold the captain close and blink back the tears that stung her eyes, her body knowing no other way to express the deep emotion filling her.
Janeway lifted her head, looking at her spouse with concern in the dim illumination. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” Seven said, closing her eyes. She felt the moisture leak past them, slipping down her cheeks. “I just love you so much at times.”
“Oh.” Janeway smiled faintly and brushed Seven's cheeks with her lips, kissing the tiny tears away. “I know only too well how that feels. It's too much sometimes, isn't it?”
Seven managed a smile, tremulous though it was. “It is never too much, Kathryn,” she corrected softly. “It is always just enough.”
Janeway chuckled and kissed her lips, lingering over them. “I love you, too, my darling,” she murmured. “Without you, I shudder to think what kind of sad, lonely, pathetic individual I would be.”
Seven nuzzled her. “You would never be pathetic, Kathryn,” she assured her.
“Don't be so sure,” Janeway said and kissed her again.
Desire stirring, they moved together a second time, hands moving over each other in a slow, easy tempo, building each other's desire with delicate familiarity. It appeared to be one of those evenings where sleep was much less important than showing each other how they felt and sharing an intimacy that served to free them, even as it bound them more tightly together.
No, Seven decided happily as she responded to the sensation rippling through her, she could never love Kathryn too much. It was simply impossible.
Kelly looked up from the padd she had been studying and rubbed her eyes, feeling the strain of reading so much in such a short time. There was just so much to cover, and she hadn't done herself any favors with an ill-advised attempt at going through a transition jump un-medicated. That had set her back four days, and now she was scrambling to catch up on the personnel files in hopes that it would give her some sense of what was going on around her.
The basic workings of the ship were quite easy. Everything was larger, of course, and the priorities were different, scientific rather than militaristic, but a helm was still a helm, ops was still ops, a weapons array was still a weapons array. She knew her way around the technology. Even the chain of command was the same. It was the individuals within that chain of command who continued to baffle and confuse her, particularly her commanding officer.
She took a break, leaning back in her chair as she glanced around her office. It contained a desk and a few chairs, but nothing of a personal nature. She thought of how the captain's ready room was decorated, subdued yet graceful. Personal images of Janeway with various Starfleet dignitaries, and what must be members of her family, hung on the bulkheads, while various scientific antiquities were scattered about the shelves. Fresh flowers from hydroponics, usually roses, garnished her desk next to the computer console. The colors were a combination of silver and blue, with the occasional splash of red or yellow, restful yet dignified. Stepping into it, one knew immediately that the office reflected a captain who enjoyed elegance and refinement.
Kelly hadn't brought along any personal mementos from her time on Grissom, nor was she the sort to collect them. She and her family didn't stay in touch, not because of any type of estrangement, but rather because of a general lack of interest on both sides. Her office reflected nothing but the basic requirements of the job. Even if she were the sort to want to leave a mark, what would she do for decoration? Her favorite phaser rifle fastened to the wall like a trophy? A picture of all her ex-crewmates, with a little notation next to those faces who were no longer alive?
The chime of her door admittance made her blink, and she straightened abruptly, relieved at the interruption of thoughts that were becoming too dark and dreary for even this Black Irish lass.
“Come.”
Ro Laren's slender form appeared in the doorway, and without waiting for an invitation, she slipped into the room and took a seat in the chair opposite the desk. “I'm not interrupting, am I, Commander?”
Kelly spread her hands. “Not at all, Laren. I'm glad to see you. I was wondering if we could schedule another workout together. The run through the holodeck has made it clear that I'm woefully out of shape.”
“I'm free after my duty shift. 1800?” After Kelly's nod of acceptance, Ro offered a padd. “The security roster for the next rotation. I also have a list of the people I want to cover the first few away missions.”
Kelly felt the weight descend on her shoulders again. Away missions? She hadn't even thought of those, but there were sure to be plenty of a primarily scientific bent in the days ahead. She would even probably be expected to lead them. A sick feeling floated in her stomach. Jumping into the unknown was a good way to get killed, and a good soldier knew when to avoid trouble. Of course, Janeway would probably just order her to do it.
She exhaled audibly. “I think I'm going to be relying on you a little longer, Laren,” she admitted. “Particularly when it comes to assigning personnel to away missions.”
Ro shrugged. “Understandable,” she said shortly. Kelly appreciated that the tone was matter-of-fact, that the Bajoran didn't try to make her feel stupid for her lack of knowledge. “I know these people, as do the rest of the department heads. When they recommend personnel, you can be sure they're going with the best people for the job. No one's going to try to screw you over, Kiara.”
“Except the captain,” Kelly said without thinking. She winced and looked up to meet the dark eyes of the Bajoran. “I shouldn't have said that.”
Ro tilted her head slightly, her gaze curious rather than judgmental. “What's your problem with Janeway?” The way she asked, a request for information rather than an accusation, allowed Kelly to loosen the bonds of her tongue.
“She reminds me of my first commanding officer,” Kelly admitted. “Captain Felicity Cartwright.”
Ro's eyes grew lidded. “Cartwright of the USS Thomas Paine, a New Orleans-class vessel,” she identified. “She attended the Academy with Janeway.”
Kelly wondered how she knew that. “It wouldn't surprise me,” she said with a touch of bitterness. “They're cut from the same cloth. Starfleet brats with admirals for daddies. I remember seeing Cartwright rip into an ensign in the mess hall for not standing when she entered. He didn't even see her. His back was to the door. She loved rules and protocol, and if anyone dared go outside them, even a little, she came down hard.”
Ro didn't respond, merely looking politely attentive. Kelly hesitated, wondering if she could share her misgivings with the security chief. It was possible that Ro could offer some insight, some kind of reassurance that she wasn't dealing with the same thing in Janeway.
“Cartwright took the Paine up against a squad of Jem'Hadar fighters near the demilitarized zone,” Kelly explained tersely. “I was an ensign, on my first assignment. I wasn't on the bridge, but the logs later revealed that she took the ship in with no sense of tactics or comprehension of what she was facing. She didn't wait for backup, nor did she try to retreat when it was clear she was outgunned. Later, I found that she had been appointed the ship based on her relationship with Admiral Wallace, an old friend of her father's. She shouldn't have been there, and she sure as hell shouldn't have allowed so many of her crew to die because she had some image of being a hero and winning the war all on her own.”
Kelly was unaware that her voice had become flat, that her eyes had grown cold and distant, the memories replaying in her mind as clearly as if they had only happened yesterday. She could almost smell the acrid smoke from burning insulation, and the coppery odor of blood as the screams of injured echoed in her ears. She remembered the taste of fear in her mouth, the acid flavor of bile as twisted bodies, burnt and blown apart, floated in her mind's eye.
“The ship's security chief, Lt. Brassure, got a group of us to the bridge during a lull in the battle. The ship was in bad shape, hull breeches on four of the decks, warp power off line, the engine room venting plasma. Somehow, he found a way to restore main power and managed to hide us in the shadow of the sun's corona until the Jem'Hadar up and left. We nearly roasted, but we made it. Victor Torn, the first officer, survived, but he was in sickbay. He ordered us to go after them and resume the battle. He was as bad as Cartwright, so damned anxious to get us all killed ... or maybe he was just afraid of what would happen when Starfleet found out what had happened with the captain. The doc declared him unfit for command, Brassure defied the orders and somehow managed to get us back to Deep Space Three. The exec was shipped out on a medical disability. Brassure was promoted to first officer, and we went back out with a new captain ... and replacements for sixty-three percent of the crew.”
Ro lifted a brow. “That must have been tough introduction to Starfleet.”
“It was a hard lesson,” Kelly said flatly. “But a good one. Rules and protocols only work for so long, and then you'd better know who to follow if you want to get out alive.”
“So, I see.”
Kelly swallowed. “From what I can tell, Janeway hasn't learned that lesson.”
Ro laughed softly, almost mockingly. “Oh, she's learned that lesson, Commander, more times than you can imagine.”
As much as she respected the security chief, Kelly didn't think she could agree. “I don't know, Laren. From what I heard, she got Voyager because of her dad's friendship with Admiral Patterson. It was a political appointment all the way. He even gave her a personal tour of the ship when it was time to hand it over.”
Ro hesitated. “I'm not in the position to comment on that. I didn't know the captain then.”
Kelly shook her head. “The latest rumor is that she only got Millennium because she's one of Nechayev's favorites.”
Ro lifted a brow. “Well, she did have an arrangement with Nechayev,” she admitted. “But that isn't the whole story.” She paused. “Unfortunately, I don't know that I have the authorization to tell you the whole story. That's up to the captain.”
Kelly studied her hands lying limply on the desk. “Laren, I've come to respect you a lot in the short time I've known you. I can't believe you would willingly serve a captain who's incompetent.”
“I wouldn't.” Ro's tone was one of absolute certainty.
Kelly spread her hands. “But what am I supposed to think when people on the lower decks tell me that she let three people die during your last mission because protocol wouldn't allow her to abort it. I can't deny that she's an excellent diplomat after what I saw on Hearthstone, but Cartwright was also a hell of a talker. What happens when there's a fight? Janeway has no history in the Dominion War for me to know what kind of military commander she is, and what I saw on the bridge with the Raeliens frankly scared me. She was lucky they didn't blow us out of the sky.”
Ro frowned slightly. “Their technology wasn't at a level to hurt us.”
“They might have been disguising it. The Breen are great for masking their warp signature until it's too late. What happens the next time we encounter an aggressive ship?”
“She'll handle it,” Ro said. She paused. “Have you gone over Voyager's mission logs?”
Kelly rubbed her eyes wearily. “I've barely had time to go through the personnel files and the logs from Millennium's first year.”
“Fair enough.” Ro looked thoughtful. “Kiara, I can't tell you what makes Janeway a great captain. That's something you're going to figure out in the process. But she does demand a lot from her crew, and part of that is a strict adherence to protocol.”
“Even when the rules are stupid?”
“If Starfleet made those rules, then Janeway expects them to be followed,” Ro said with a shrug. “Any exceptions better have a damned good reason behind them.”
“That's not my style.”
Ro smiled faintly. “I understand that, but what works on the frontier isn't going to fly with Janeway. That's all there is to it. You can piss and moan all you want, but at the end of the day, she's the captain, like it or not.”
“I don't like it.”
Kelly saw something cross the Bajoran's eyes, something dangerous, and she took a quick breath, realizing she had gone a bit too far. “That doesn't mean I'm going to cause any trouble or stir up a mutiny or anything,” she added hastily. “I'm still a Starfleet officer.”
Ro didn't change expression. “Good to know,” she said mildly.
Kelly leaned back in her chair, attempting to ease the moment. “Starfleet seems to think I can learn a lot from her.”
Ro nodded. “I have. I never thought I'd be wearing this uniform again. She had faith in me when a lot of people didn't.”
Kelly suddenly understood the source of the Bajoran's loyalty, realizing that somewhere along the way, Janeway had granted the security officer an opportunity, had reached out a hand when it seemed that everyone else's was turned against her. That was a powerful bond, but it didn't necessarily mean anything other than the fact that Janeway recognized good people when she saw them. Kelly already knew that, simply from the quality of the senior staff. While Starfleet was hurting for personnel, Janeway had somehow lured an admiral out of retirement to serve as her CMO, and convinced a member of Leah Brahm's Theoretical Propulsion Group to act as her science officer.
Yes, Janeway was a hell of a talker. But could she handle herself in a firefight?
Ro seemed to read the thoughts crossing the first officer's mind and offered a dry smile. “Kiara, I've served with Picard on the flagship. He offered me a place on his bridge, but I'd rather be here. That ought to tell you something.”
Kelly frowned. “It does, but I'm not sure what.”
“Then give it time,” Ro suggested. “Do your job, stop listening to rumors on the lower decks and learn to know Janeway for who she really is.”
Kelly nodded. “I'll try.”
Ro stood up and turned to leave. At the door, she paused and looked back at Kelly. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You're the first officer. Other than the captain, you rank me and everyone else on this ship. That doesn't mean you can't make friends, but you have a responsibility that is greater than anyone else could understand. You're supposed to be Janeway's right hand, not trying to stick a knife in her back. If push comes to shove, no one's going to be on your side.”
“Including you?”
“I'll be the one who'll have to take you down.” Ro's voice was flat and unyielding. Her eyes were worse.
Kelly lifted her chin, her jaw firming. “Believe it or not, I understand that, Commander.”
Ro nodded briefly. “As long as you do.”
The door slid shut behind her, leaving Kelly alone in the office, her thoughts as cold and sharp as the stars outside the viewport lining the hull.
Janeway filled her cup with steaming hot coffee from the silver thermos, and sealed the container to keep the remainder hot. She settled back on the sofa and picked up the mug, sipping it slowly as she regarded the Bajoran sitting across from her.
“Anything to report?”
“Permission to speak freely?”
“Of course.”
Ro lifted the corner of her mouth slightly. “Commander Kelly thinks you're one of those officers who gained command through politics rather than merit. There were a few of them floating around prior to the war. Because of your father's ties within Starfleet Command, she believes that your road was smoothed by the direct intervention of his associates.”
Janeway spent a few seconds concentrating on her breathing, forcing back the surge of anger that blasted through her. It didn't help that a similar opinion had been held by Nechayev prior to Janeway's return to the Alpha Quadrant. Until her confrontation with the admiral in the conference room at Starfleet Command, Janeway hadn't realized what people had thought of her rise through the ranks, when they thought about it at all. It was only her development during the seven years in the Delta Quadrant that had caused Nechayev to soften her stance and take a chance on the starship captain. Janeway wondered if she was so angry at Kelly's assessment because it wasn't true, or because a tiny part of her feared that it was.
“Does she, now?”
“She also thinks that if you didn't come from a Starfleet family, with an admiral for a daddy, you never would have been awarded Voyager for your first command. Millennium was a gift from Nechayev, pure patronage all the way.”
Janeway wondered if rising blood pressure could make a head explode. Certainly, it felt as if the blood thundering at her temples just might burst through the thin capillary walls and decorate her ready room with sprays of bright crimson. She eyed the Bajoran, sensing that Ro was just a little too amused in delivering the information regarding Commander Kelly. After all, it wasn't every day that an officer could offer her captain a series of insults in the form of a report.
“She also thinks that when it comes to regulations, you have such a large stick up your...”
“I get the point, Commander,” Janeway interrupted. “Kelly doesn't like me.”
“Not one little bit.” Ro lay the padd on the coffee table and regarded the captain steadily. “Your current reputation in Starfleet is countered, in her eyes, by the fact that you weren't around for the war. She seems to think Voyager was out wandering around the Delta Quadrant as an excuse to stay far away from the threat of the Dominion.” Ro paused. “To be fair, Captain, a lot of people don't understand what it was like for us out there.”
Janeway nodded. “True. Nonetheless...”
“Nonetheless, Kelly should be dealing with what she sees and hears now, not what she's concluded from speculation and second-hand reports,” Ro finished for her. The Bajoran tilted her head and offered the next in an extremely careful tone. “It's possible that what she's encountered so far hasn't done much to change her mind.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, Captain, you can come across as pretty cold and inflexible at times,” Ro said gently. “Particularly when it comes to protocol.”
Janeway considered the comment. She was proud of her reputation as a stickler for rules, but aware that it made some people, particularly in the lower ranks, view her as a bit of a hardass. She couldn't explain to everyone that part of the reason she maintained such a firm line with minor protocols was because she knew inevitably, she, or someone else, would be forced to violate a large one under unusual circumstances. It had happened time after time on Voyager, and that command behavior had carried over onto Millennium. However, she allowed that it might appear uncompromising to a person unfamiliar with the reasons behind it.
She glanced at Ro, studying the dark eyes. “Is that how you see me?”
Ro was silent for a moment, undoubtedly seeking the right words with which to respond. “When I first came on board Voyager, I was horrified,” she said finally, “I saw you as someone who was so rigid that a journey of seventy years back to the Alpha Quadrant was going to be pure hell. It was especially hard on those of us from the Maquis. I don't think a lot of people on the lower decks understood why our superior officers, acting on your authority, came down so hard on what were relatively minor infractions while we adapted to your style of command.”
Janeway inhaled slowly. “And now?”
Ro's expression grew thoughtful. “Now, I understand why you, and captains like Picard, are so intent on the details, on staying so close to the letter of the law. If an officer gains a reputation for violating the rules, for defying superiors and being a rebel, then when it really counts, there's nothing there to trust on either side.”
“Exactly.” Janeway felt a sense of relief that the Bajoran understood. “There's a time in every officer's life when you'll have to disobey orders, or go against the regulations laid down by Starfleet. When that time comes, the only thing that will save you is the knowledge that in every other area, you went strictly by-the-book.”
Ro laughed, a short bark of amusement. “It took me too long to figure that out. I never operated that way. That's why I ended up in trouble so many times.”
“And Kelly?”
“I don't think she respects the book very much, Captain,” she explained slowly. “I think she learned it from superior officers, seeing only that the rule was broken, but not necessarily all the reasons why.” She shifted in her chair. “Furthermore, I think that during the Dominion War, she had to think outside the box too many times just to stay alive, while those officers around her who didn't know when and how to change the rules, ended up dead. It becomes a very simple lesson in that situation, Captain.”
Janeway nodded. “Yes, it does. Follow the rules and die. Do whatever it takes to survive, and you'll end in command. Brutal, efficient, and unfortunately for Kelly, not at all how Starfleet operates while not in the middle of a war.” She took another sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, I'm not about to loosen up my standards just to prove something to my first officer.”
Ro smiled faintly. “I'm sure if we all just wait a little while, you'll do something reckless and offer her insight into how your mind really works, Captain.”
Janeway shot her a sharp look, astonished that the Bajoran had unbent enough to joke with her captain, but somewhat gratified by it as well. Tuvok had teased her about her occasional recklessness as well, and it was apparent that Ro had picked up on it. Come the end of this mission, she vowed silently, she was going to lobby hard to have the Bajoran appointed Millennium's new exec. She was tired of taking on Starfleet's problem children just so Nechayev could position another one of her protegees as a captain somewhere in the fleet.
“Until then, do you have any suggestions on how I need to handle Kelly?”
Ro shrugged lightly. “Maybe you should just give it a little more time, Captain. After all, Kelly still has a lot to learn about being on Millennium, and while she learns, she'll probably figure out she was completely wrong about you all on her own.”
Janeway considered it. “A more effective lesson than if anyone tries to tell her?”
“Exactly,” Ro agreed. “When she finally offers you the respect you deserve, you'll know that it's honest and completely sincere, not simply something dictated by rank.”
Janeway eyed her. “Like yours, you mean?”
Ro flushed faintly, but a smile touched her lips. “Something like that,” she admitted somewhat shyly.
Janeway was charmed by the expression on the security officer's face, and resisted the urge to chuckle. She enjoyed keeping Ro off balance. She took another sip of coffee. “I understand you took Kelly on a training run in the holodeck.” She paused. “Utilizing a Voyager scenario.”
Ro looked amused. “It was a revelation for her. Don't get me wrong; the Jem'Hadar, the Breen, and the Cardassians are as dangerous as they come, but they're a very familiar threat to Kelly. She's become almost complacent about them in a way. I just reminded her that it's a really big universe, and threats come in all forms.” She quirked a brow. “I haven't even introduced her to the best ones yet. We just played with the macrovirus.”
Despite herself, Janeway laughed. She suspected she probably shouldn't be so amused at how Ro was manipulating Kelly, but she was beginning to comprehend what a disadvantage the new officer was working under. That knowledge would help the captain to know when to maintain a hard line with her, as she had since Kelly had reported for duty, and when it was time to lighten up a little. Seven was right. Janeway needed to understand the first officer, not simply demand that she come around to her way of thinking. There would always be time later to crack down on Kelly if Ro's method of education didn't immediately bear fruit.
“Continue your role as her confidante, Laren,” she instructed.
“I would in any event,” the Bajoran said lightly. “I like her. She reminds me a lot of how I used to be, only with the rank to get away with it.”
“Ah,” Janeway responded, thinking about that. “Then I'm glad I encountered you after some of the rough edges had been smoothed over.”
Ro chuckled a bit. “So am I.”
Janeway thought about how far they had come, how much they had overcome in their relationship, not only as captain and crewmember, but on a personal level, thrown together through the special friendship of their respective spouses. She was particularly glad that, finally, it appeared they had moved past the unfortunate incident involving the Orion Syndicate and Section 31. It was a situation that had tested that developing bond to the breaking point. Ro was still a subordinate, but Janeway had learned to trust her, to accept her counsel as she had Tuvok's and Chakotay's. She didn't have a lot of female friends, for whatever reason, and the Bajoran was proving to be the kind that could counted on to stand by her no matter what.
She was certainly the only one Janeway trusted to watch over Seven when the captain couldn't. “We never did get to go for dinner at Hearthstone.”
Ro looked rueful. “I know. The negotiations kept us running around a lot.” She paused. “What did you think about the insights offered by Jiidan regarding the Confederation and their role in it?”
Janeway lifted her chin, setting her coffee cup down. “They were intriguing,” she responded shortly, trying not to think about the tantrum she threw in her quarters after discovering the Elthanians less than appealing history. “It changes my perception somewhat.”
“The Soularri are manipulators,” Ro offered. “They lurk in the background, pulling the Elthanian strings, but when it's really important, they reveal themselves as the ones in charge.”
“It may seem that way,” Janeway disagreed. “But actions can sometimes speak louder than words.”
Ro looked interested. “The Elthanians I saw appeared to defer to the Soularri.”
Janeway nodded. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Or maybe it merely looked that way. On another level, they didn't go out of their way to make the Soularri comfortable.”
“Perhaps that was at the request of the Soularri, or a cultural custom.”
“Perhaps.” Janeway thought about it. “Seven is suspicious of the Soularri, beyond her customary Borg wariness.”
Ro absorbed that. “Maybe somebody got to her.”
Janeway blinked, surprised. “Who?”
“Tazna Jade.”
Janeway forced herself not to react to that, maintaining her calm expression. It irked her to know that just hearing the name caused such strong emotion to rise within her. “Why?”
“Humans and Vulcans, Captain.”
Janeway blinked. “You've lost me.”
“When Humans first ventured out into the Alpha Quadrant, Vulcans held the experience and the technological advantage. From my study of that period of history, it was clear that there was friction on many levels. Humans didn’t necessarily take to that cold logic and structured society. Meanwhile, Vulcans weren't above reminding Humans how their unrestrained emotions had caused so much bloodshed in their past.”
Janeway would never have taken Ro as a history buff, particularly of early Federation history, but then, there was a lot about the Bajoran that she didn't know. It made dealing with her a fascinating experience, peeling off a layer unexpectedly to discover several more lay beneath, all as complex as the one that had just been revealed.
“You're saying that while the Elthanians may sincerely regret their past, they might become a little tired of being constantly reminded of it.” Janeway pursed her lips. “The current generation may be far enough removed to resent being held responsible for the actions of their ancestors.”
Ro quirked a brow. “They might also be getting tired of doing all the work when the Soularri appear to do little, yet still hold all the real authority.”
“A political shift could be occurring. The Elthanians may be starting to assert themselves as the premier power in their culture. They're certainly positioned in the best areas of government to make such political changes.”
“By the same token, the Soularri might not like being shoved aside,” Ro added to the scenario they were building. “Now the Confederation has the beginnings of an alliance with the Federation, a large and complex civilization that may or may not bring a certain influence to bear on one species or the other.”
Janeway rubbed her forehead, feeling the slight stirring of a headache coming on. “The Prime Directive prohibits interference.”
“Hmm,” Ro said, clearly unimpressed. “Just by being allies, certain influences are brought to bear by the Federation. That's just how it works. The Prime Directive has always been a guideline, not a hard and fast rule. That's not even taking into consideration other influences of which we're not always aware.” She didn't have to say which influences she was thinking about. Section 31 came immediately to mind for both women as a matter of habit.
The Bajoran paused, her expression very serious. “Jiidan may have come along to do more than merely observe.”
Seven glanced up from her meal preparation as the captain entered her quarters. Janeway appeared preoccupied, going into the arboretum without so much as offering a greeting to her spouse, leaving the Borg wondered if the captain had experienced yet another stressful encounter with the ship's first officer. Seven activated her enhanced hearing and detected the unmistakable sounds of the captain undressing, and then water sloshing against the sides of the hot tub beneath the apple trees, followed immediately by a low, heartfelt groan of relief.
Whatever it was, Seven decided grimly, it had caused the captain to require the soothing haven of hot water. She decided to delay dinner. Depending on how long Janeway required to settle her mind, it was possible the Borg might end up eating alone.
After setting aside the sliced vegetables and placing them under a stasis wrap, Seven poured two glasses of red wine and carried them into the arboretum where the air was heavy with the scent of flowers. Janeway's eyes were closed as she reclined against the side of the tub, basking in the bubbling waters. The Borg placed the glasses on a nearby shelf, artfully included in the rock formation, and slipped out of her uniform, leaving it crumpled on the stone bench beside the captain's.
Janeway's eyes flew open as Seven joined her, and she accepted the glass of wine with a small smile. “Thank you, darling.” She shifted slightly so that the Borg had more room. The hot tub was much smaller than the one at their previous home in San Francisco, and with two people utilizing it at the same time, it took a certain amount of adjustment to position themselves comfortably.
Seven settled back on the seat, enjoying the relaxing properties of the water. It certainly did wonders for the captain's mood. She smiled as she felt Janeway's big toe stroke the back of her calf gently, a casual caress rather than an invitation.
“Do you wish to discuss it, Kathryn?”
Janeway sipped her wine, peering over the brim of her glass intently. “Discuss what?”
“Whatever has caused you to come here before taking the time to eat dinner ... or greet me properly.”
The captain offered an apologetic look. “Sorry, love.”
“What is bothering you?” Seven insisted.
Janeway rested her arms along the sides of the tub, the wine glass dangling somewhat precariously from her fingers. A muscle twitched briefly in her jaw. “Did you happen to have a talk with Tazna Jade before we left the Confederation? A conversation that you may have neglected to share with me?”
“Any such conversation between myself and the Intendant would be personal and none of your concern, Kathryn.”
Janeway's eyes flickered briefly, absorbing the comment. “I suppose I deserved that after all that's happened.”
Seven inhaled slowly and decided she had defined their respective parameters enough for one day. “What causes you to inquire, Kathryn?”
Janeway shrugged briefly, a motion that sent ripples across the surface of the water, the tiny waves lapping against Seven's chest. “Something Ro and I were discussing this afternoon.” She paused. “Do you know something about the relationship between the Elthanians and the Soularri?”
Seven exhaled slowly. “No more than you,” she admitted. She paused. “I did speak with Jade during the construction of the array as I gave the Intendant a brief tour of the facilities.”
“And?”
Seven shook her head. “There was nothing of substance, Kathryn. We made our peace with each other, and before she left, she offered a warning of sorts.”
“Warning?”
“Jade instructed me not to trust Minister Jiidan or the Soularri,” Seven said. “However, she did not give me any reasoning behind her advice, nor have I been able to determine why she felt I required such instructions.”
Janeway thought about it. “Do you remember ever seeing a Soularri prior to our official introduction to them?”
Seven shook her head. “No, but from what I have determined, the Soularri prefer to remain on their home worlds as much as possible. It is the Elthanians who enjoy space travel and encountering new species.”
“Undoubtedly to add to their menu,” Janeway noted dryly. At the Borg's look, she pursed her lips but didn't look entirely regretful of the statement. “There's clearly a tension between the two species, either newly developed or having existed all along, which wasn't identified when we initially encountered them.”
Seven nodded. “That is my conclusion, as well.”
“Ro thinks that Jiidan may be here to do more than merely observe. He might have come along as an ambassador to subtly influence us, and subsequently, the Federation, in favor of the Soularri should anything come of this 'tension'.”
“A logical assessment.”
Janeway sat in silence for a moment or two, a contemplative expression on her face. Seven waited patiently, content that the captain would share her thoughts when she was ready. In the meantime, she shifted so that a jet was directly in the center of her lower back, the soothing pulse against her spine doing wonders for her muscles. She had to utilize the hot tub more, she decided.
“Jiidan's adorable,” Janeway said finally. “I'm not being facetious, Seven. It's more than just a visual cue. There's a warmth permeating his personality, his body language, the way he responds to those around him. The longer I'm in his company, the more I like him. I don't think I'm the only one.”
Seven tilted her head. “In contrast, while the Elthanians are attractive and charming, their history is horrific, and there may well be an instinctual predator/prey type of reaction after being exposed to their presence for extended periods of time.”
Janeway leaned her head back, her eyes distant. “Do you think the Elthanians would draw on their history to subvert the Soularri?”
“A type of civil war? Violence remains present in many species, despite evolution.” Seven lifted a brow. “However, the Soularri have not remained in power all this time due to their appealing appearance. They undoubtedly maintain a technological advantage that the Elthanians have not been able to circumvent.”
“In other words, the Elthanians might not be able to afford a war with the Soularri.”
“Or have the inclination,” Seven pointed out. “They are a peaceful people, Kathryn.”
“Oh, really?” Janeway's expression was sardonic.
“As peaceful as Humans,” Seven elaborated dryly.
That struck home, and Janeway winced slightly. “Touche.”
“This struggle may be of a purely political nature,” Seven said. “The Elthanians may have achieved an advantage by having the ConFed Array located in their space, but that may have been countered by the Soularri negotiating for Jiidan to accompany us.”
Janeway pursed her lips. “You could be right. In any event, it could also be out of our hands. The Federation diplomats will continue to negotiate with the Confederation via the array, while the Starfleet team we left behind has a mandate to study the culture closely. They'll be digging out the facts while we're currently operating with nothing but speculation. Let's leave it to them. It's our mission to expand our knowledge in the rest of the Beta Quadrant, not concern ourselves with the political infighting of a society we've left behind.”
Janeway seemed satisfied with that decision, and Seven supposed she couldn't blame her for that. Not only was the captain unable to remain completely objective when it came to the Elthanians, thanks to the attraction of Tazna Jade for Seven, Janeway much preferred scientific pursuits to political ones. She would be happy to leave the whole problem behind for the Federation diplomats to handle. Seven just hoped Janeway would be able to remain apart from the situation, considering that Jiidan would be with them for the duration of their mission.
Janeway, who had been quietly observing the Borg, drew her toe along Seven's calf again, and this time, the invitation was explicit in her eyes as she sipped her wine. Seven smiled and leaned forward, pausing mere millimeters away from Janeway's lips. The captain purred and closed the distance between them, kissing the Borg tenderly. The kiss deepened, developing into something quite intriguing before a hail from the bridge interrupted it.
“Damn,” Janeway muttered. “This is becoming a habit.” She rose from the water and reached over to tap the comm badge on her tunic. “Go ahead.”
“Captain, we're detecting a distress signal,” Commander Kelly reported. “It appears to be originating from within Raelien space, inside the nebula. There's no response to our hails.”
Janeway hesitated only a second. “Set a course to intercept,” she instructed. “Have the senior staff report to the bridge. I'm on my way.” She grabbed a towel from the ever-present pile on the bench and began to dry off.
Seven lifted a brow as she followed suit. “I thought we agreed to avoid Raelien space.”
“A distress call can't be overlooked, Seven,” Janeway said shortly as she pulled on her uniform. “It supersedes respecting the sovereignty of someone's territory.”
Seven quickly followed her spouse out of the arboretum, unsure she agreed with Janeway's assessment, but aware that the captain did not require such agreement from the Borg or anyone else on the ship, not when it came to command tactics. At least they would have the opportunity to study the nebula at close range for the duration of the rescue if not any longer, Seven decided with a certain amount of cheer.
Ro, Nog and T'Shanik were already on the bridge when Janeway and Seven stepped off the turbolift. Kelly hastily gave way to the captain's arrival, taking her place at the first officer's station. “Report,” Janeway demanded as she settled in her chair.
“We're still detecting the signal,” Kelly said. “We entered Raelien space twenty seconds ago.”
Seven ran the sensor logs through her board. “I am not detecting a vessel, Captain, only the signal that disappears into the nebula.”
“What about other vessels?”
“No contact, Captain,” Ro said, her narrow features intent on her tactical display. “At this range, the nebula is beginning to disrupt our sensors. The distress call is on a tight beam, scattered somewhat by its passage but maintaining enough integrity to offer a direction. Perhaps the Raeliens have developed technology to counter the nebula's effects.”
“Or it could be a trap,” Kelly murmured beside Seven.
“Or it could be a trap,” Janeway agreed evenly, obviously hearing the words, though whether the first officer had meant the captain to or not wasn't evident to Seven. “Shields up. Yellow alert. Hail them again, T'Shanik.”
“Aye, Captain.” The Vulcan's tapered hands moved gracefully over her board. “Still no response. Only the signal repeating over and over, requesting assistance.”
“Maintain course,” Janeway instructed. “There has to be something on the other end of it.” As the Millennium entered the nebula, the viewscreen fuzzed momentarily, and then cleared to reveal a backdrop of purplish gas, threaded through with pink and yellowish strands. No stars were visible through the dense particles of dust, and the ship slowed its advance, Nog powering down to impulse without requiring an order.
Janeway remained motionless in her chair. “Steady as she goes,” she murmured quietly.
“Captain, the signal has scattered now that we're in the nebula,” T'Shanik said. “I've lost it, unable to determine an origin.”
“Maintain our initial heading,” Janeway ordered. “Hopefully, we'll see them before we run into them.”
Seven ran scan after scan utilizing all the sensors and refining the data stream as much as she dared without narrowing the range to the point where it would no longer be useful. Finally, there was blip, a brief fluctuation that another person, someone who wasn't Borg, might have overlooked.
“Captain, divert course three-two-point-seven,” she said quietly. For some reason, the entire bridge crew had become silent, the only noise coming from the various consoles, soft beeps and chirps punctuating the ever-present hum of the impulse engines.
“Do it,” Janeway instructed the helm. The massive ship turned, and finally, there it was, a small cigar-shaped vessel drifting in the haze.
“Lifesigns?” At this distance, the crew of Millennium could concentrate all the sensors directly on the ship and get back clear, if somewhat weak, readings.
“Six lifesigns,” Seven confirmed. “Erratic. There may be injuries.”
“Still no response to our hails,” T'Shanik offered.
Janeway firmed her jaw. “Commander, take an away team and get over there,” she said. “Find out what's happening.”
Before Kelly could respond, Ro lifted her head. “Captain, the nebula is also disrupting the transporters. We'll have to take a shuttle.”
Janeway barely paused. “Take Lt. Paris in a delta flyer. You also better take Dr. Lewis along with you to deal with the injured.”
Kelly blinked. “Sir? Dr. Lewis? Can he function on an away mission?”
Janeway stared at her blankly. “He has a mobile emitter, Commander, independent of the ship.”
Kelly flushed and looked away from the captain. “Lt. Hansen, Commander Ro, you're with me.” Seven was impressed that the first officer's tone was so steady, almost casual as she tapped her comm badge. “Dr. Lewis, Lt. Paris, please meet me in the Alpha Hangar for away mission duties.”
The Borg rose from her seat and glanced once at the captain. Janeway returned the look, but aside from a slight tightening in her jaw, she didn't react to the first officer commandeering both her chief of security and her science officer. Seven lifted a brow and followed Kelly and Ro into the turbolift, her mind already turning to what mysteries lay on the drifting ship.
Glancing briefly around the shuttle, Kelly wondered at its design. It wasn't like anything else she had encountered in Starfleet, and she wondered how it would handle, marveling at the old-fashioned controls. There were buttons rather than touch pads, levers rather than sensor grids, but it was also roomier than the class two shuttles she was used to, and provided individual workstations for the members of the away team. Ro covered tactical while Hansen was at the ops station next to her. In the rear of the cockpit, at the engineering station, Dr. Lewis checked over his medical supplies. The away team had no way of knowing what they would find over there, but they wanted to be ready.
Kelly wished she had time to stop by her quarters and retrieve her rifle, rather than rely on whatever weapons were stowed away on the Delta Wing. She peered over Paris's shoulder from a position directly behind him in the small seat that unfolded from the console. It wasn't the sturdiest of supports, but it allowed Kelly the best line of sight as they approached the stricken vessel.
“Do we know for sure this is Raelien?” she threw over her shoulder.
“The design structure matches that of the first vessel we encountered,” Hansen responded promptly. “As do the warp signatures, but this appears to be less streamlined.”
“A passenger ship rather than a fighter,” Paris suggested. “Or a freighter.”
Kelly tried not to fidget as Paris deftly maneuvered the delta flyer into a docking position with the alien vessel, though she was impressed with his skill at matching the drift of the two ships and bringing their ports deftly together. The alien airlock appeared much smaller than the delta flyer's, and he had to be sure to center it properly so that a tight seal would be provided. Despite having to back the ship up with thrusters, he managed it on the first try. The two ships were now joined, the delta flyer facing out toward the huge bulk of Millennium, which hovered over them like a stern mother with a child. From this vantage point, it was easy to get a sense of just how big the Federation starship really was.
“Good job, Lieutenant,” Kelly muttered. “Stay with the ship. Let the captain know we're going in.”
“Aye, sir.” He paused. “Are you sure you want me to remain behind? I have medical experience from my time in sickbay.”
She paused, long enough to shoot him an admonishing look. “The doctor should be able to handle it. In any event, regulations require that someone remain behind to secure the ship and keep Millennium updated on our progress.”
“Yes, but...”
“As you were, Lieutenant,” she snapped, and he subsided.
Ro was already back in the mission module, accessing a compartment and distributing equipment to the rest of the away team. As Kelly joined them, she wondered why the security chief only handed out hand phasers with the tricorders, but she wasn't about to countermand the Bajoran's instincts. Either she trusted the people at her back, or she should have chosen other officers to accompany her.
But she still would have felt better with phaser rifle rather than the tiny phaser she attached to her tunic. Taking a breath, she followed as Ro led the way to the rear of the flyer, where the Bajoran keyed in the controls of the airlock. The door slid open and Seven stepped inside, utilizing her tricorder to scan through the heavy door.
“The seal is intact, Commander,” she said. “I'm detecting an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere beyond the airlock, with a high percentage of humidity. There are no indications of viral or harmful elements in the environment.”
Ro nodded, and then seemed to remember she wasn't in charge. She glanced at Kelly.
“Proceed, Commander,” Kelly instructed. “You take point.”
Dr. Lewis glanced at her as if to protest the military term, but he didn't say anything as Ro unsealed the last barrier between the away team and the alien ship. The air that billowed out to greet them was warm and very moist, heavy with unfamiliar scents. Kelly felt sweat start to bead on her forehead, as it did on Ro Laren. Hansen and the doctor appeared not to be affected at all. Kelly knew why the doctor was immune to the abrupt rise in temperature, but she was surprised at the science officer. Did it have something to do with the Borg implants she still maintained? Kelly couldn't decide, but entering an alien, and possibly hostile environment, was probably not the time to try to figure it out.
The interior of the alien ship was small and cramped, clearly designed for the compact little Raeliens rather than beings the size of the Federation officers. Kelly was forced to duck the low ceiling, walking in a hunched over position, while the rest of the away team strung out in a line, moving through the narrow corridors one at a time. The air seemed stale, filled with unusual smells, musky like the glandular scents of mink or otters in a zoo. Ro headed aft, obviously suspecting, as Kelly did, that the bridge would be located there. The team paused to check each compartment along the way.
In one of the larger ones, perhaps a mess hall or crew quarters of some kind, they discovered their first corpses. The Raeliens looked even more like rodents in death than they did in life, stiff and unmoving on their backs and sides, their little paws curled against their chests, their haunches drawn up against their belly in a final, futile gesture of defense. Unfamiliar tools and utensils lay scattered beside them, some broken in the impact with the deck. Wearing sleeveless tan tunics and short pants, the only color was found on the shoulders, little tabs that perhaps indicated some kind of ranking system. There were slits at the back of the garments to allow for the passage of thick, flat tails. Kelly thought that they might have been a semi-aquatic species, drawing on old Academy classes in recognizing certain identifying features of their physiology. Behind her, Ro covered the door, her phaser lifted in a ready position as she guarded the away team.
“What happened here?” the first officer muttered unhappily, feeling the hair lift on the back of her neck, uncomfortable in this ship of death.
“Unknown,” Lewis responded as he knelt over the closest body, scanning it with his tricorder. “There's no indication of blunt trauma or violence. It's as if they simply dropped in their tracks. It could be a biological element of some kind.”
“One that wasn't detected by our sensors?” Absurdly, Kelly held her breath, as if that would counteract any viral element that might infect them. When she realized what she was doing, she forced herself to resume regular respiration, feeling somewhat stupid.
“Possibly,” Lewis said thoughtfully. “I doubt it, however.”
“Doctor,” Seven said. “I am detecting lingering traces of magnetascopic radiation.”
Ro looked back over her shoulder. “If their ship encountered an energy wave, that would explain the suddenness of their deaths.”
Lewis paused and glanced up at Kelly. “I can't do anything more here. We need to track down those lifesigns.”
“It also explains the disruption of our sensors, transporters and communications,” Ro added in a low voice to the first officer as they went back out into the corridor. “It's not surprising that the Raeliens use this nebula as a hiding place. It would conceal the movements of their ships, and make it easy to disappear, despite the danger the nebula presents.”
“It doesn't make sense, though.” Kelly frowned thoughtfully, calling on her astrophysics training. “Magnetascopic interference emanates from unstable protostars. They can't exist in nebulas.”
“As far as we know,” Ro reminded her. “We really can't tell what's in the center of this nebula. It could be a phenomenon never encountered by Starfleet.”
“Maybe,” Kelly said, but she wasn't satisfied. Her immediate theory was that someone may have found a way to use magnetascopic radiation as a weapon.
Led by the steady beeping of Seven's tricorder, the away team made their way to the bridge. This area of the ship must have been more heavily shielded than the rest. There were six individuals here, their breathing harsh in the moist atmosphere. They were clearly in pain, curled up as they suffered in silence, unable to protest as the Federation away team moved among them.
“It's all right,” the doctor said, his voice soothing as he knelt next to a casualty. “We're here to help.” He checked his readings, selected a vial from his bag, inserted it in the hypospray and administered it to the patient. Immediately, the tension in the form relaxed, leaving the creature limp on the deck. It appeared unable to speak, but there was unmistakable gratitude in the large, golden eyes.
For some reason, the lines of this body, more delicate than the others, made Kelly think this was a female the doctor was treating, though she couldn't be sure. For all she knew, it could be the only male among a crew of much larger, more muscular females. The first officer certainly wasn't about to do anything so inappropriate as check between their legs to determine their sex. The doctor moved onto the next patient, while across the room, Seven was doing the same to others. Kelly hadn't known Hansen was so adept with a medical tricorder.
Kelly looked around the room while Ro studied the computers, tentatively poking at the various buttons and switches. It appeared to be a control center of some kind. These individuals were probably the ship's bridge crew, falling at their posts when struck by the wave of radiation. One, located next to a console, had apparently remained mobile long enough to activate the distress beacon. He was slumped next to the oddly shaped stool, looking tiny and helpless in his pain as he curled around himself. It suddenly struck Kelly that these were the people she had been about to blow out of space only a few days earlier, for no other reason than because they had made a show of hostility, like a little yapping dog fiercely protective of its territory. At the time, she hadn't cared what their reasons were for challenging Millennium, only that they had dared to. Now, she felt sick as she realized how much the war had impacted her instincts. Even though she had believed her actions to be right, she was staring directly at concrete proof as to why her reasoning had been so terribly wrong.
This was part of what she was supposed to learn while on this vessel, Kelly realized. For the first time, she began to have a glimmer of what Nechayev had been telling her, how this was a promotion intended to teach her how to operate as a Starfleet captain, not a punitive measure designed to bring a rebellious officer back into line.
Lewis tapped his comm badge. “Away team to Delta Wing.”
“Paris here.”
“Lt. Paris, please prepare to take on six casualties. They will need to be placed in a stasis field until we get them back to Millennium.”
“Understood.”
The doctor glanced over at Kelly. “We need to get them back to the delta flyer.”
“At this size, we can put three of them on a stretcher,” Kelly decided. “We should be able to do it all in one trip.”
“That would be wise,” Lt. Hansen noted. “I am detecting a certain instability in their engines. If it persists, it will rupture the containment field and destabilize the warp core.”
“We could attempt repairs,” Ro suggested.
“It's more important that we get these people back to the Delta Wing,” the doctor said tersely, as if afraid half his stretcher-bearers would disappear to attend to the ship.
Kelly considered it a moment. “The doctor's right,” she decided. “Once we have the casualties secure, then we'll see if it's feasible to send someone back to make repairs.”
Without any further arguments, Ro and Hansen unfurled the collapsible anti-grav stretchers they had brought from the delta flyer and shifted the injured as carefully as they could onto the pads, laying them across the width of the surface rather than lengthwise. The little creatures did not object to sharing the litter. In fact, they seemed almost comforted to have companions with them, reaching out to touch each other in a manner that seemed to reassure those who appeared disoriented.
It was a difficult task to carry them back to the airlock. With Ro and Kelly on one stretcher and the doctor and Hansen on the other, they had to be careful not to jar the aliens unnecessarily as they maneuvered awkwardly though the narrow corridors. Finally, they reached the delta flyer's mission module where Paris had prepared the stasis tubes. The doctor reassured the aliens that they were safe as they were slid into the tubes, his manner so gentle that they did not resist what must have been a very frightening experience.
Ro made a move to return to the ship but Kelly stopped her. “Let's get these people back to Millennium.”
“You could leave Seven and me behind,” the Bajoran argued mildly.
“Not without transporter support,” Kelly tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the cockpit. “There would be no way to get you off in a hurry if you're unable to stabilize the engines. If there's time, I'll request that we make another run over here.”
Ro still didn't look as if she agreed, but there was no way Kelly was going to leave the two officers behind while the delta flyer returned to Millennium. For some reason, she believed that Janeway would take another strip out of her if she did.
As Kelly stepped into the cockpit, she noticed that Paris was looking intently out the front viewport. “We've got company,” he said grimly.
She peered past him, feeling her heart thump painfully in her chest when she saw that Millennium was surrounded by almost twenty of the tiny Raelien ships.
A muscle jumped in Janeway's jaw as she watched one ship after another appear from the surrounding clouds, surrounding the Millennium before she could even call for a red alert. She immediately ordered T'Shanik to boost the communications transmission, and sent out a general hail, explaining that they were assisting the damaged vessel, and were on a mission of peace. Fortunately, it seemed to be enough to keep the Raelien ships from immediately firing on the Federation vessel for violating their space, though no one responded to the ship's transmission.
Pacing restlessly about the bridge and down the ramps to the lower level containing ops and tactical, Janeway then stepped down into the 'pit' where the helm and other stations were located. She peered briefly over each crewmember's shoulder, assessing the data on their boards before moving on, making a circle around the command center. It occurred to her that she could do it just as easily from the console on her command chair, and probably cause less aggravation to her crew.
“The Delta Wing is hailing, Captain.” T'Shanik glanced over at Janeway. “The away team are on their way back to the flyer with the survivors.”
Janeway nodded briefly. “Any response from our friends out there?”
“No, ma'am, but I believe they're monitoring our communications.” T'Shanik paused, her olive skin darkening slightly. Janeway had enough experience with Vulcans to detect the tiny, tell-tale sign of puzzlement.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
T'Shanik exhaled slowly. “Captain, is it possible that the Raeliens haven't developed long-range communication ... beyond the transmission of low spectrum signals from distress beacons?”
Janeway lifted a brow. “I'm not sure. Why?”
T'Shanik looked vaguely dissatisfied. “This nebula prohibits long-range communication. If this species spends a great deal of time here, there may be a reason, beyond natural aggression, why the Raelien ship had to be so close to us before opening up a communications channel.”
Intrigued, Janeway eyed her. “You're saying that while they can detect our larger range of communication transmission, they might be unable to respond to it unless they're much closer.”
“It's only a theory, Captain.”
Janeway nodded. “It's a good one,” she said before returning to her command chair.
She watched the viewscreen curiously, contemplating T'Shanik's suggestion, and adding it to what she already knew about these beings. Hunted by the Elthanian hunting parties, preyed upon by a more powerful species, was it possible that a portion of the Raelien population had retreated to this nebula, lurking in its protective, if disruptive, radiation? In doing so, would they have adapted to a way of life where their ships traveled as silently as possible, exchanging information only when they were in close enough proximity to see exactly with whom they were dealing? If T'Shanik was right, then one of those Raelien vessels would have to be a great deal closer to the large Federation ship, well within weapons range, in order to communicate ... so close that one could practically hit them with a rock. That was a lot to ask of both parties, one side looking at a vessel that was a great deal larger and more powerful than anything they possessed, while the other had to allow the small ship to come so close, it made itself very vulnerable to an attack.
“Captain, incoming hail from the Delta Wing. It's Commander Kelly.”
“On screen.”
The view altered from the nebula to the Millennium's first officer. Kelly appeared calm, but her eyes were narrowed and her body language was tense. Undoubtedly, she had a good look at what was out there and was expecting, and possibly even spoiling for, a fight.
“Captain, we've secured the injured,” the exec said. “Awaiting further instructions.”
Janeway stifled a sigh. This was going to be a hard one for the young woman to accept.
“Bring them back, Commander,” she said. “We'll lower our forward shields so that you can dock.”
Kelly blinked, her face becoming an impassive mask. “Sir? We've detected no communications from the alien task force to Millennium, indicating their intentions. Are you sure it's safe to do so?”
Janeway pursed her lips. “You're just going to have to trust me, Commander.”
Kelly hesitated. That was obviously the last thing she wanted to do, but after a long moment, she dipped her head marginally. “Understood.”
“Oh, and Commander?”
“Yes, sir?”
“On your way back, don't power up the delta flyer's weapons, no matter what happens,” Janeway instructed. “Take it nice and slow. Don't react to any provocation. This is a humanitarian mission, and I don't want any indication that it isn't. Actions speak louder than words.”
The struggle was evident in the young woman's eyes, but again, she dipped her head. “Aye, sir.”
The viewscreen shifted again, back to the view of all those Raelien ships drifting in the nebula, silent and potentially deadly.
Lt. Nog had shifted in his chair, his dark eyes bright. “Captain?”
Janeway looked at him. “Yes?”
He exhaled slowly. “Sometimes, it's not always wise to presume one is dealing from a position of strength.”
A small smile curved Janeway's lips. “A Rule of Acquisition I'm unaware of?”
“No, ma'am,” he said promptly. “Some advice I once received from a friend of mine named Jake.”
“Ah,” the captain said. “Did you know I have a dog named Jake back on Earth? Actually, he's with my mother at the moment, but Seven and I raised him from a pup.” She paused. “You can't become too complicated with him. It's always best to keep things simple and as straightforward as possible.”
Utterly mystified, Nog blinked. “Aye, Captain,” he said blankly as he turned back to his board.
Janeway wished Seven or Ro were here on the bridge rather than this group of young people. They would have understood what she was trying to say. Or, at least, pretended that they did.
“Captain, the alien vessels are arming weapons,” M'Reek noted flatly. The delta flyer had just detached from the alien vessel and was making its way slowly back to Millennium.
“Steady,” Janeway murmured. “When the Delta Wing is in range, lower the forward shields and allow them to come on board.”
“That will give the Raeliens a free shot at our hull,” M'Reek said. His voice was matter-of-fact, a point of clarification rather than a warning. Janeway was pleased. Ro had good people working under her.
“Only if they take it,” Janeway explained. “They know we're trying to aid a ship in distress. There's no reason for us not to lower our shields in order to take the injured on board. If we don't, our actions could be construed as suspicious and possibly hostile.” She was basing her actions on nothing more than the fact that when the ships had surrounded Millennium, no shots were fired, believing that if they truly intended to attack, they would have done so by now. Still, there were certain precautions that could be taken. “Divert all personnel away from the section of the ship near the Alpha Hangar.”
“Yes, ma'am.” T'Shanik set to work. If Janeway had assessed the situation incorrectly, then at least the casualty rate would be limited to those on the flyer. The captain tried very hard not to remember whom that included as the minutes passed with agonizing slowness.
“Delta Wing is within range,” M'Reek finally announced. “Lowering forward shields.” Immediately, the crew braced for an impact that didn't come. A few more minutes passed, and then M'Reek lifted his head from his board. “The Delta Wing is on board. Raising shields.”
The Raeliens had not taken their opportunity to fire on an unshielded vessel. Janeway had been justified in her trust, though if she had tried to explain why she had trusted to begin with, it would have come down to nothing more than instinct based on years of experience in the Delta Quadrant. Unfortunately, that simply couldn't be taught to another. A person had to live it, had to be certain in their perceptions of a situation and in the people around her.
Janeway wondered why her hands were so slippery with sweat.
“Transport the injured directly to sickbay. Dr. Pulaski is waiting for them.”
“Aye, Captain.” T'Shanik carried out the instructions and then glanced back, lifting a thin eyebrow.
“Hail the Raeliens,” Janeway told her. “Tell them that we've taken on six survivors and are treating them now. As soon as they're healed, they'll be released.” She paused. “Ask if any of the ships out there are prepared to receive them.”
She waited as the message went out, directed into the nebula at random for whoever was daring enough to respond. There was no reaction for a few minutes, before a couple of ships made an abortive move toward Millennium, stopped, and somehow sorted it out between them without any hint of communication. Finally, one darted at Millennium like a hornet dive-bombing a picnicker. Apparently, the Raeliens only knew one speed; as fast as they could go until they stopped.
The Raelien vessel floated only two hundred meters off their port bow. They were so close, Janeway could see the scoring from old wounds on the hull. From energy weapons, or were they a result of other encounters with magnetascopic waves of interference? The captain wasn't sure, but she knew that dealing with beings that gestured so abruptly could be hard on the nerves. For a human, such quick motion indicated a threat. It was up to Janeway not to allow primitive instinct overcome the awareness that she was dealing with an alien culture.
“They're hailing, Captain,” T'Shanik said.
“It appears your theory may be correct, Lieutenant,” Janeway said mildly. “On screen.”
The Raelien that appeared looked so much like Major Quwill that Janeway wondered if cloning was involved. However, it was probably just her human inability to immediately decipher subtle clues identifying various individuals. Seven was much better at that sort of thing. Janeway was relieved when she saw her spouse, accompanied by Commander Kelly, come onto the bridge and quietly take their posts. Ro, undoubtedly, remained in sickbay, watching over their 'guests'.
“I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship, Millennium,” she identified herself politely when the creature did not seem inclined to speak. A glance at her console updated her on the casualties in sickbay, and she was grateful that someone down there, possibly one of the nurses, was keeping her constantly informed. “The casualties we retrieved from the damaged vessel are suffering from magnetascopic radiation poisoning. We have drugs and equipment capable of treating this condition. Your people are responding to that treatment and should be on their feet shortly.”
The creature on the screen stared at her. “What of the dead?”
Janeway lifted a brow. Careful, she warned herself. There was something there. Had other species been less respectful of such things? Probably, she decided sardonically. Certainly, at one time, Raelien corpses inevitably ended up on Elthanian barbeques.
“We were more concerned with assisting the living,” she said gently. “We left the others where they fell. Had no one arrived to claim them, we would have sent over another away team and gathered up the deceased, as well as repaired the damage to the vessel.”
“And then?”
“We would have asked the survivors how to proceed. Had there been no survivors, and lacking the knowledge of your traditions, we would have honored the dead as we would our own, either by placing them in stasis tubes and firing them into space, so that their journey might continue, or by returning them to a planet where they could be returned to the earth.” Janeway felt incredibly nervous, and gripped the arms of her command chair tightly. Death could be such a tricky subject when dealing with alien cultures. She might have just offended the Raelien beyond all measure.
The creature tilted its head. “We would have preferred the former,” he said finally.
“We'll take that under advisement,” Janeway said. She paused. “I apologize for violating your territory, but in our culture, a distress call becomes the priority. It would have been wrong for us to ignore it.”
“In our culture as well,” he said.
He was being very informative. Janeway eyed him closely. This was no military being, she decided, no member of the Raelien Guard. She was talking to someone who lacked experience with alien vessels, and was merely trying to make it up as he went along. She snuck another glance at the schematics crossing her console. The vessels surrounding them were not of the same sleek design they had initially encountered. Freighters, she decided. Merchant ships. Or were they more than that? Like the nomads of the Delta Quadrant, did these beings now live on their ships, driven from their homeworlds by the deprivation caused by the Elthanians all those years ago?
She lifted her head as her comm badge chirped. “Go ahead.”
“Our patients are ready to be released,” Pulaski reported.
“Have Commander Ro escort them here,” Janeway said. She looked back at the alien who was observing closely with bright eyes. “Your friends are on the way to the bridge. We can make arrangements to transport them immediately to your vessel if you prefer.”
She turned her head as she heard the turbolift and a group of aliens scattered onto the bridge. Most of them took one look at the viewscreen displaying another of their kind and rushed up to it, chittering so fast and at such a high pitch that the translator could not keep up, becoming a blur of white noise. Ro looked vaguely frazzled as she and some other members of her security team moved after them, trying to keep them to the localized area in front of the helm. Janeway swallowed her smile. Obviously, the Raeliens moved as quickly in person as they did on their ships.
Then ten more ships appeared out of the clouds, and Janeway recognized from their sleek lines that the Raelien Guard had finally made an appearance. Would they prove as understanding as the freighter captains, or would they decide this violation of their territory demanded instant retaliation?
Seven watched as the last of the Raelien ships disappeared into the obscuring clouds of gas and dust surrounding them. Janeway had spoken at length with Major Quwill, clarifying the events of the day and offering further assistance as necessary. Millennium's rescue mission had apparently impressed upon the Raeliens that the Federation was, indeed, a peaceful culture and offered no threat to them. They were willing to talk, and the captain took full advantage of the opportunity, exchanging as much information with them as possible, and refining what was rapidly becoming a successful First Contact.
Best of all, Janeway was able to secure permission to move deeper into the nebula with the intent of studying it further. The captain had glanced briefly at Seven after making that arrangement, as if to remind the Borg that she always delivered on her promises, one way or another. Seven had merely offered a patient look in return, but internally, she was thrilled with her spouse. Something very unusual was going on in the center of the anomaly, and the Borg was anxious to find out exactly what. She especially wanted to determine how magnetascopic radiation was present without the formation of protostars.
Despite granting permission for Millennium to remain in their space, the Raeliens weren't hesitant in sharing the belief that such an expedition was ill advised. They kept to the outer regions for a reason, explaining that conditions grew progressively worse the further into the nebula one traveled. There was a certain point beyond which a ship simply could not expect to return. Janeway assured them that Millennium was equipped for exactly this sort of exploration, and that her crew would be fine. Major Quwill simply stared at the captain a moment, as if realizing she was too insane to be reasoned with, and made his farewells.
Seven trusted that her captain was correct in her assessment of the situation, rather than the alien military commander who patrolled and lived in this area of space.
Dragging after a day that had carried well into the next, Seven realized the real work was just beginning. A part of her wanted desperately to be with her science staff as they went over the new readings taken by the ship's sensors as Millennium moved deeper into the nebula, but she knew she had to get some sleep if she wanted to function at peak efficiency. After stopping by her labs and setting up several projects for her staff, she left Lt. Wildman in charge. Finally, she made her way to her cabin, the illumination in the corridors dimmed for night watch.
Inside the captain's quarters, the weariness of the last two days slammed down on the young woman with the force of a phaser blast. She was barely able to undress before falling into bed next to her slumbering spouse. Janeway was so deeply unconscious, she didn't even stir when the Borg joined her.
Approximately ten hours later, Seven opened her eyes, completely rested and refreshed after her period of uninterrupted slumber. She did not regenerate any longer, but fortunately her nanoprobes were able to recharge completely simply from a natural sleep. Behind the Borg, the captain remained peacefully oblivious, her compact form huddled against Seven's back, her breathing steady and deep. Seven smiled faintly and inched backward so that more of her was touching the captain. She loved the sensation of her partner against her, loved the fact that Janeway instinctively sought her out in the night, cuddling against her no matter which position the young woman happened to be in.
After a half-hour had passed, she carefully rolled over, slipping her left arm beneath the pillow cradling Janeway's head. The captain made a small, sleepy sound and shifted, moving into the embrace of Seven's right arm as the Borg tucked the captain under her chin. Bending her head, Seven rested her cheek against Janeway's hair, inhaling the warm fragrance of her spouse as she basked in her presence.
“Hmm, what time is it?” Janeway's lips barely moved.
Seven, surprised that the captain hadn't gone back to sleep, flicked her eyes upward to the chronometer set in the head of the bed. “1127 hours.”
Janeway licked her lips and swallowed, her mouth obviously dry after her long period of unconsciousness. “We overslept.”
“Not when you consider how long we were on duty,” Seven said softly. “No one can go without sleep forever, Kathryn, not even you and I.”
The captain offered a rueful expression. “I still need to be on the bridge.”
Seven exhaled. “I need to be in the lab. Our investigation of the nebula should prove to be fascinating.”
Yet, neither woman moved, the warmth and comfort of their bed and each other simply too much to resist. As they lay in quiet contemplation, Janeway shifted over so that she was lying on her back. Seven glanced at her, noting that the eyelids were only half closed, the captain staring up at the ceiling with the distant air of someone deep in thought.
“Kathryn?”
“Hmm?”
“What disturbs you?” Seven rested her hand gently on the warm swell of Janeway's belly, rubbing it lightly, comfortingly. “Is it the same thing that disturbed your thoughts yesterday when you returned home?”
The captain exhaled slowly. “Maybe a little,” she admitted.
“Tell me.”
Janeway pursed her lips, the shade of her eyes a soft grey. “It's just a remark made by Ro yesterday ... about how Commander Kelly perceives me.”
“Indeed.” Seven lifted a brow. “Did you assign Ro to monitor Commander Kelly?”
“I didn't have to,” Janeway explained so evenly that Seven suspected she was hedging somewhat. “Apparently, Ro has a soft spot for our new exec and is being her friend, much as you did in reaching out to Zar when he first came on board. Ro says that Kelly reminds her of how she was so many years ago.”
“Before your influence descended upon her with all the subtlety of a warp core breech.” Seven's voice was very dry.
Startled at the humor, Janeway laughed softly. “Something like that. In any event, she mentioned that Kelly believes the path my career took came as a direct result of political ties within Starfleet Command, rather than through my own abilities.”
Seven absorbed that. “This concerns you?”
The captain frowned, the humor dissipating from her features, leaving them blank. “I worked damned hard for everything I have, Seven. No one can claim otherwise.”
“Then why does Ro's comment continue to bother you?” Seven asked rationally.
There was a pause, and Seven waited patiently for her spouse to respond. It was clear to her that Janeway was struggling with something and finding it difficult to sort it out in her own mind. The Borg hoped that simply by talking and listening to the captain, it would help Janeway deal with her internal discord.
“I don't know,” the captain said finally. “It's like a nagging wound, Seven. I keep trying to disregard the remark, but I can't seem to get rid of it.”
“Are you afraid that there is some merit in the assessment?”
Janeway sighed softly. The pause was even longer this time, and Seven studied her expression closely. “Maybe.” The captain's voice was very small. It was obviously something she didn't want to admit.
“How so?”
Janeway hesitated. “I can't deny that my father held a certain amount of influence in Starfleet Command,” she admitted finally. “He had a lot of friends, and the Janeway name can still pull a lot of strings, even now. I also can't deny that certain of Daddy's associates, from Owen Paris to David Patterson, seemed to take a personal interest in my career, not only after his death, but before it, as well. I never considered a captaincy of my own when I was at the Academy, Annika, or even when I was assigned to the Al-Batani. I was content to be a science officer. It was Admiral Paris, and then Daddy, who told me I should pursue the command track. At the time, I just accepted it as part of the admiral's acting as my mentor, but now I wonder. Did my superior officers in Starfleet Command smooth the way for me to become a starship captain? Did they make it easier for me to be awarded Voyager? I know Nechayev wasn't too impressed with me back then, because she told me so, in no uncertain terms. It was only after I returned from the Delta Quadrant that she felt I had finally earned my pips. Is it possible that I didn't really deserve to be awarded Voyager when I was?” Her voice lowered, becoming slightly shaky. “Was I unprepared for the responsibility of commanding the type of missions Voyager was designed for? Is that why I lost her in the Delta Quadrant?”
Seven considered the captain's words. “I do not know what to say, Kathryn,” she said after a moment. “I did not know you then. I can only offer my assessment of you now, and I believe you to be an outstanding captain. Others, like Dr. Pulaski, Michael Patterson, Captain Picard, and Commander Tuvok, also consider you to be one of Starfleet's elite officers. Surely, their opinion must hold more weight with you than mine regarding professional matters. Certainly, more so than Commander Kelly's.”
Janeway put her hand on Seven's, linking their fingers. “Your opinion means a lot to me, Annika,” she insisted softly.
Seven did not allow herself to be distracted by irrelevancies. “According to your own words, Admiral Nechayev also believes in you. She trusts in your abilities, and is prepared to stand behind your decisions. Is it so important when you developed into that kind of commanding officer, Kathryn? Is it not enough that you are, at this moment, considered by many individuals to be one of the premier captains in Starfleet?”
“It's not that simple, Annika.”
Seven stifled her sigh. It never was with Janeway. Whatever the situation, it had to be complicated or the captain wouldn't consider it a worthy problem in the first place. The Borg tried it from another angle.
“Suppose you had not been lost in the Delta Quadrant,” she suggested, disregarding for the moment that such a scenario would mean she and Janeway would never have met, ignoring the twinge in her chest that developed at the thought. “Do you believe that you would have developed into the same kind of commanding officer fighting in the Dominion War, facing the Cardassians and the Jem'Hadar?”
Janeway's eyes were dark. “I don't know.”
“I believe you would have,” Seven said firmly. “You met and overcame challenges in the Delta Quadrant that were far more formidable than any you might have faced in the Federation. Furthermore, you did it completely on your own, without the protection or assistance of Starfleet. You were the one who kept Voyager together for seven years despite the odds. You were the one who managed to take a diverse crew consisting of Starfleet officers, Maquis rebels, alien civilians and Borg drones, and turned us into a cohesive unit that could not be defeated by Hirogen or Species 8472 or the Collective.” She reached up and touched Janeway's chin with her fingertips, urging her head around gently so that she was looking directly into that stormy gaze. “You brought us home, Kathryn. You succeeded when others, like Captain Ransom, failed. You are the one that Starfleet trusts to bring Millennium back from wherever you take it, mission after mission. That is not because they 'like' you, or because of who your father might have been. They assigned you this ship because you are the most qualified individual for the job. Whatever else you might have been all those years ago, however long it took for you to develop into the kind of captain you had the potential to become, you are who you are now, and that is the best of the best.”
Janeway held the look for a long time, her eyes searching Seven's face. The Borg maintained her serious expression, knowing how important it was that Janeway understood how much she believed in her. Finally, the captain inhaled deeply, her expression easing, the fine lines around her eyes smoothing out.
“Thank you, darling,” she said softly.
Seven shook her head. “I am only speaking the truth,” she said. “There is no need to express gratitude for that.” She paused. “Indeed, there are times when you do not wish to hear it at all.”
A flash of white teeth appeared as Janeway smiled. “Ah, but that's one of the things I love most about you, Annika. I can always count on you to tell me what I need to hear, not necessarily what I want to hear.”
Seven pulled her closer. “Can you accept that Kelly's view of you is completely inaccurate?”
“Of course.” She shot a sly look at her spouse. “Never doubted it for a minute.”
Seven decided this was humor. Perhaps it would be funny if she was a little more Human. She thought about it. No, she decided, it wasn't that funny no matter how Human she might become. Janeway seemed to read her thoughts in her expression and laughed lightly. Slipping her arms around Seven's neck, she hugged her tightly.
“You're my heart, darling,” she whispered in her ear. “Sometimes, I'm convinced you're my common sense as well.”
“It is merely necessary to remind you occasionally of what you already know,” Seven allowed gently. “I also become too close to problems, and require you to point out what is obvious.” She kissed Janeway sweetly. “Is that not why you married me?”
“Among many, many other reasons,” the captain agreed. She nuzzled the Borg's ear. “I really do need to report to the bridge, my love.”
Seven did not let her go. “If you are this late already...” she suggested reasonably.
Janeway inhaled sharply, her body warm against Seven's. “Then why not take a little more time?”
Seven drew back so that she could look into the captain's eyes, seeing the shift into the blue spectrum. “Why not?”
Janeway chuckled, husky and low. “Why not, indeed.”
Epilogue
Kelly heard the subtle hiss of the doors behind her and she looked over her shoulder, surprised when Janeway exited her ready room. The first officer hadn't even realized the captain was on deck one, let alone that she had been in her office. She paused to transfer the files she was working on to her station, and then rose to her feet to step down to her post. As Janeway settled into the captain's chair, Kelly tossed a glance over her shoulder, evaluating the woman's expression.
Janeway seemed calm and relaxed, as if her ship was out for a milk run in the Alpha Quadrant between Earth and Vulcan, rather than exploring a spatial anomaly 80,000 light-years from home. Kelly wondered if she'd ever achieve that level of assurance. Of course, it could be sheer ignorance on Janeway's part, the oblivion of a woman who didn't have the sense to know what exactly was going on around her. A week or so ago, that might have been Kelly's assessment of Janeway's manner, but now she knew better ... or at least, she was beginning to.
She turned back to her board, bringing up the files that she had been perusing prior to the captain's arrival. A selection of various logs from Voyager's journey through the Delta Quadrant, they made for some interesting reading.
Just how big were the Hirogen anyway?
The End