Past Provocations I
G. L. Dartt

 

The claw-like Cardassian construction of Deep Space 9 hung majestically against a backdrop of stars as ships of various cultures, including that of the Federation, made the station their main port of call in the sector. Belonging to the Bajorans and run in association with Starfleet, it stood sentinel over the wormhole leading to the Gamma Quadrant, and still maintained its frontier reputation, even after years of supposed 'civilized' maintenance. It was rumored that one could still find deals of the shadiest nature in its bars and kiosks, particularly in the establishment run by an entrepreneur named Quark.

The Promenade was busy this time of day, filled with a wide range of species who went about their business with bustling intent. On the walkway overlooking the main level, a Starfleet officer looked down on the people thronging the various shops and bars and wondered if any of their unknown concerns were as exciting ... or intimidating ... as the challenge he was about to face.

"Commander Zar."

Turning his whole body rather than just his head because of his prominent neck ridges, Zar Tulek discovered the thin, reedy voice addressing him belonged to a small Ferengi male. To the commander's surprise, he was wearing a Starfleet uniform. Ferengi were the robber barons of the Alpha Quadrant, a merchant race with a set group of rules directed to one goal; profit. It was surprising to see one of the snaggle-toothed, large-eared beings representing the Federation. On the other hand, Zar was hardly one to jump to conclusions. His unique background had dictated he face his own form of prejudice and misconceptions as he rose through the ranks of Starfleet.

"Yes?"

The young man seemed to falter slightly before visibly straightening his shoulders.

"Lt. Nog, sir," he introduced himself. "I understand you're the new exec on USS Millennium. I've been assigned to the ship's helm."

"I see." Zar didn’t allow his astonishment to show on his bony features as he wondered what kind of captain would willingly choose a Ferengi to pilot her vessel, particularly when the ship was a brand new, state-of-the-art Fast Explorer, boasting an experimental propulsion drive. Wouldn't a competent captain worry that the young man would take the opportunity to make some profit, specifically by selling the specs of the new drive to his brethren?

Yet, he was also aware that the ideals of the Federation were those of tolerance and acceptance ... otherwise, Zar would never have made it through the Academy, let alone served for as long as he had. Certainly, this young Ferengi would not be wearing the pips of a junior lieutenant unless there was far more to his abilities than what his surface appearance implied. If he wore the uniform, Zar reminded himself, that should be good enough for anyone, including himself.

"Sir, do you know when the Millennium will be arriving?" Nog prompted somewhat nervously when the commander didn't say anything further.

"I expect the vessel to dock by 1100," Zar responded shortly. He turned his attention back to the Promenade, dismissing the junior officer from his attention. Nog didn't take the hint to leave. Instead, he settled into the space beside the commander, leaning against the rail as if he had done it countless times before.

"Sir?" he asked, after a few moments.

"Yes," Zar responded, not particularly inviting Nog's continued companionship, but not yet rebuffing it either.

"May I ask you a question?"

Zar's thin lips twitched. "I'm not Cardassian."

"Sir?"

"I'm Bajoran."

That was obviously more than the Ferengi was prepared to accept, but apparently, the lieutenant didn't want to call the commander a liar. Zar sighed. The offspring of the Bajoran civilians and their Cardassian oppressors had not been welcomed by either people. Considered unpleasant reminders by both species of the Occupation, they symbolized actions which were a political embarrassment to one side, and a horrific violation to the other. Most hybrids had been killed out of hand. Zar Tulek had not, but neither was he prepared to share his long and complicated story of survival with a junior officer.

"I'm a hybrid," he allowed finally.

"Ah," Nog responded. "I see, sir. In any event, sir, that wasn't my question."

Zar blinked. "Oh," he said, feeling vaguely stupid. "What was, Lieutenant?"

"I was wondering if, when Millennium gets here, I'm expected to report directly to the captain, or if the comm officer would be sufficient on board a vessel this size."

"The comm officer will be sufficient," Zar explained with a sigh.

"Yes, sir. I look forward to serving with you, sir," Nog managed before hastily making his departure, apparently aware he had bothered his senior officer enough for a first encounter.

Zar didn't look after him, returning his attention to the crowds below. Born on Bajor and raised on a colony not far from Betazed, Zar considered himself a citizen of the Federation, but there was no denying that his looks were predominantly Cardassian ... except perhaps to another Cardassian who would note the Bajoran influence immediately. To the rest of quadrant, Zar was one of them. The Cardassian Empire had brutally occupied the peaceful world of Bajor, had instigated war with the Federation not just once, but several times, most recently in the alliance of the Dominion. Despite wearing the Starfleet uniform, despite having proven that he had earned it several times over, his dealings with others over the years had grown no easier, simply because of his appearance.

He turned from the railing, moving over to the nearest viewport. It looked out onto the Gamma Quadrant wormhole, the swirl of color and energy a wondrous sight every time a ship entered or exited the spatial anomaly. After the Dominion's defeat, the Alpha Quadrant maintained a constant presence on the other side, keeping an eye on their former enemies. Meanwhile, Klingon vessels patrolled the former Cardassian Empire, keeping them under close observation, inclined not to let them rebuild too quickly.

Zar was conscious of the people who passed behind him, aware of the looks they shot his way. It didn't matter where he went in the Federation, he was always the object of scrutiny. He expected to suffer it on the Millennium, but because the tour of duty would be a year or more, perhaps the wariness would ease over time. Would this assignment would grant him a command finally, or would it be just another deadend posting? He had always needed to work twice, even three times, as hard to receive a fraction of the respect accorded other officers. All he wanted was to be judged on his own merits, and not on his genetic makeup. Captain Janeway was purportedly a very good teacher when it came to command seasoning.

He hoped she would bypass the external appearance and accept him for who he was. But so far, he had met very few who could, even in the 'enlightened' Federation.

"Commander."

Startled, he looked sideways and saw a Bajoran colonel regarding him evenly. He hadn't even sensed her approach. Tall, with a short shock of reddish hair, he recognized the commander of the station, Kira Nerys.

"Colonel," he replied politely. She wasn't responding to him as being a Bajoran, obviously, but he was interested to see that she wasn't responding to him as being a Cardassian either. The pity that subtly touched her gaze made him stiffen in resentment. He didn't require anyone's pity.

"I wanted to let you know that the USS Millennium will be delayed. It's had to divert course to assist a vessel in distress, and won't be arriving until tomorrow at 0900."

He raised his chin. "Thank you, Colonel."

She didn't leave. Instead, she remained standing next to him, studying him covertly.

"Is there something else?" he asked, forcing himself to be civil.

"Which camp?"

"It's irrelevant," he said shortly, understanding that she was referring to the many internment camps the Cardassians had established to control the Bajoran citizens, and use them for forced labor. Where one had been incarcerated was often used as a form of identification by the survivors. "I left when I was one, smuggled out on a Bolian freighter by my mother who took me to live on the Federation colony, Verus Prime. I don't really remember much about Bajor or the Occupation."

She blinked, taken aback as she realized she had touched on a sore spot. "I'm sorry. It's just ... I knew someone like you. Tora Ziyal. I know what she went through."

He stifled his initial response. He was a Starfleet officer, he reminded himself firmly. "If she remained on Bajor, her experiences were not similar to mine." He paused before adding reluctantly in an attempt to be fair. "Undoubtedly, they were far more difficult. In the Federation, while others saw me as Cardassian, once they discovered the truth, some would try to accept me for who I am rather than what they initially perceived. I doubt that she received the same sort of acceptance ... from either the people of Bajor or Cardassia."

Her face altered slightly, shame coloring her dark gaze. "You're right, it was very difficult for her. But she was my friend, and I miss her."

He hesitated, sensing a tragedy behind her manner, but not wanting to pursue it. He'd had entirely enough aggravation in his own life, and didn't need to add to it by worrying about others and events about which he could do nothing, particularly when the colonel was speaking of this 'Tora Ziyal' in the past tense.

"Thank you for informing of the change in schedule for the Millennium," he said uncomfortably.

She stared at him a moment longer before she dipped her head and left. He knew that she had been reaching out, and he supposed he should have been grateful for it, but he had been burned too many times by Bajorans in the past to fully trust them. He understood from where their resentment sprang, and why they would release it on him, either deliberately or on a subconscious level, but he was not prepared to indulge it now ... not the night before he was to accept an exec posting on the most advanced starship in Starfleet.

Commanded by one of the most enigmatic captains in the fleet, he added to himself with a certain trepidation. Kathryn Janeway had literally been out of contact with the rest of the Alpha Quadrant for seven years, yet somehow managed to keep her starship intact ... a small Scout type, Intrepid-class vessel designed for short range missions only ... and had also melded a varied combination of Starfleet officers, Maquis outlaws, and Delta Quadrant natives into a formidable crew. Upon Voyager's return, the personnel who had served under her had been snapped up by captains all over the fleet, and their experience and skills had established Janeway's reputation as a captain who developed leaders, rather than just officers.

If she was half as good as the rumors purported her to be, his education under her command would be invaluable in any future professional endeavors. The only question that remained was: could she get by his appearance?

​

Several padds littered the blankets around her as Janeway finished up a few details before going to sleep. Dressed in a blue t-shirt and little else, the starship captain had tucked the bedding around her as she reclined against the multitude of pillows stacked behind her, her mind focused solely on the tiny viewscreen of the padd she was perusing. Sometimes, it seemed as if she would never finish all the work required of her position while she familiarized herself with her new crew and her new ship. It didn't help that their schedule had been thrown off stride by taking a detour to aid a vessel in distress. It was protocol, of course, but it meant that they would be arriving at DS9 a day late. She hated to be late with a passion, probably because she had once set out for a two-week mission into the Bajoran Badlands and hadn't returned to her home port for seven years.

A soft hiss from the outer part of her quarters caught her by surprise, and she glanced up, her concentration broken as she watched her spouse of more than two years cross the bedroom, heading for the ensuite on the other side. Seven of Nine shot her a brief nod of acknowledgment as she passed, her narrow features offset by cybernetic implants adorning her left eye and cheekbone, her long blonde hair drawn back in an austere bun. Brilliant and beautiful, the young woman radiated a demeanor of icy efficiency that tended to keep most people at bay. Two gold pips of a senior lieutenant adorned the blue collar of her Starfleet uniform, a promotion received shortly before leaving Earth, and predicated upon Seven's accepting the position of Millennium's chief science officer.

Janeway frowned as she glanced at the chronometer, noting the time, and when she looked down at the padds scattered around her, she was displeased even more by what they represented. She was still frowning when Seven joined her a few moments later, her lush, curvaceous body delectably revealed as she slipped naked between the sheets.

"Annika?" Janeway murmured. "I need to speak with you."

Seven, in the process of settling down onto the mattress after retrieving a pillow from the captain's pile, paused and regarded her. Undoubtedly recognizing both the expression on her partner's face, as well as the intimacy implied with the use of her Human identity as opposed to the designation granted her by the Borg, Seven turned, resting on her side as she regarded the captain inquiringly.

"Yes, Kathryn?" Her tones were precise and cool, her ice-blue eyes warming perceptively as she studied Janeway.

"Where were you this evening?"

Seven blinked. "I was in conference with the civilian scientists with whom I will be working." She hesitated. "Why? I was on duty. I was not socializing." It was a bit defensive, as if she had detected some form of accusation in Janeway's voice.

Janeway exhaled, wondering if she had already started the conversation on a wrong note.

"I'm sorry." She reached over to put an apologetic hand on Seven's forearm. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I guess I was hoping you were socializing rather than working."

Tilting her head slightly, Seven looked puzzled. "I do not understand."

"Annika, you and I both know that we can get lost in our duties, particularly when it's a new assignment and there's so much to do."

An eyebrow raised. "You feel I am working too hard."

"Not just you." Janeway motioned toward the stack of padds on the night stand. "As you can see, I also worked for hours after the alpha shift ended. We're both aware of how we've allowed ourselves get caught up in our professional duties to the detriment of our personal relationship in the past. We shouldn't allow it to happen again."

Seven's face cleared. "You are correct." Though she had spent eighteen years as a drone in a hive mind collective, Seven had come a long way in her return to Humanity since Janeway had first met her five years earlier. She easily saw where this could lead.

Janeway sighed and leaned over, slipping her arms around her spouse as she relaxed against the side of Seven's six foot frame, nestling her head on her shoulder. "It's difficult to balance all our responsibilities, love," she said quietly. "There'll be many times in the missions ahead of us when we'll be required to pull double, and even triple shifts. We need to avoid working extra hours when it's not necessary."

"I agree." Seven ran her fingers languidly through Janeway's hair. "Yet, there is still much to learn about my new duties."

"I'm not arguing that point. But this is an important thing for us to work out before it becomes damaging."

"Perhaps delegation?" Seven suggested, her arm warm around Janeway's shoulders. "I have decided that Lenara Kahn would be an excellent person to head up the civilian scientists. Structuring how the civilians will be working with the Starfleet scientists in the various departments will dispel the need for my personal supervision in various sections. Indeed, that was the task requiring my attention this evening, a meeting to outline her responsibilities."

"Oh," Janeway allowed, feeling deflated. Seven, she realized, had already been addressing the solution to the potential difficulties. "You're several steps ahead of me, it seems." Seven smiled faintly. Not particularly effusive in her emotions, the tiniest alteration of her expression tended to speak volumes to her partner, and Janeway squeezed her in admonishment.

"All right. So I'm a little slow in recognizing the problem."

"Perhaps in attempting to solve it as well?" Seven prodded gently. "What were you working on this evening?"

"Departmental reports," Janeway said, a bit warily as she abruptly perceived a trap.

"Duties that are primarily those of the first officer?"

"I don't have a first officer."

"At the moment. Is it possible that you are already trying to make him less important to you since you know his posting is only temporary? Is that proper command behavior?"

Janeway started to reply, tensing stiffly before she forced herself to take a deep breath to compose herself. She recognized that the quick flash of anger was irrational, an instinctive reaction to her captain persona being questioned, even if it was by her spouse.

"That was poorly phrased, Kathryn," Seven said quickly, obviously having sensed Janeway's outrage through the alteration of her body language. "I was merely attempting to make a point."

"I know," Janeway admitted, now slightly embarrassed at her reaction, or in this case, her overreaction. "That's why I'm taking a minute to answer it." She rubbed her cheek against the soft skin of Seven's upper chest, concentrating on the sensation of warmth that allowed her to relax as she considered the question. "Do you really think that's what I'm doing?"

"It is possible that between you and Commander Ro, you will alleviate him of all his responsibilities."

Now that she was forced to think about it, Janeway realized that she and her Bajoran tactical officer had been preempting a great deal of the first officer's duties in the guise of 'preparing for his arrival'. It had meant lots of extra hours for both women, and honestly, was not according the new officer any due.

"We just want to make the transition smooth for him."

"Leaving him with nothing at all to do is very smooth indeed," Seven pointed out dryly.

Janeway buried her face in her partner's neck bashfully. "All right," she mumbled, her voice muffled. "Your point is taken."

Seven chuckled, a small sound of amusement that reverberated through her chest, thrumming beneath Janeway's fingertips. After instructing the computer to dim the lights, bringing them down to night standard, the couple settled closer to each other.

"What do you think about Dr. Kahn?" Janeway tried to make it sound like a professional query. Here in the warm haven of darkness prior to sleep, their conversations tended to be more intimate, the couple more open to each other emotionally, and Janeway tried to take advantage of it whenever she could. "I know that you have a great deal of respect for her as a scientist, but she's never pulled starship duty before. Do you feel she'll adapt to the Starfleet system of doing things?"

"She informed me that she greatly appreciates the organizational structure I put in place."

Janeway pursed her lips, wondering if she should pursue this. When she had first been introduced to the scientist, she had felt intimidated by Kahn's innate brilliance, particularly when Seven and the Trill subsequently lapsed into a technical conversation that quickly left the starship captain behind. Janeway wasn't used to feeling inadequate when it came to science.

"You really like her, don't you?"

"Very much," Seven responded with enthusiasm, apparently unaware of the unease prompting the question. "Her experiences from having lived several lifetimes through her symbiont are very intriguing to me. In some ways, it is similar to being assimilated and having the knowledge of ten thousand species to draw upon. Also, her theories on wormhole variance frequencies is fascinating."

"Should I be jealous?" Janeway managed in what she hoped was a light tone.

Seven paused, obviously surprised. "She is a very attractive woman," she admitted with her customary honesty. She dipped her head, rubbing her cheek against Janeway's. "But no one will ever be as attractive to me as you are," she added in a seductive murmur, finally realizing that Janeway was feeling uncertain.

Janeway felt the heat rise in her face, embarrassed once more. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm just being silly."

"Yes, you are," Seven agreed fondly, "However, I allow that a certain amount of jealousy on your part is flattering, if ultimately in error."

Janeway smiled, relaxing as she snuggled closer, delighting in the warm curves of her spouse. "You're a very beautiful woman, Annika. Certainly, I'm not the only one who's noticed, or is attracted to you."

Seven was unimpressed by the compliment. "I am attracted only to you, and that is all that should matter."

"I suppose it is," Janeway agreed. She yawned, feeling drowsy as her day caught up to her. "I have been overworking. A comment like that deserves to be rewarded, but while the spirit is willing, the body is feeling rather weak."

"Perhaps we have been married too long," Seven noted. "Obviously, all the warnings that I have received from B'Elanna Torres regarding the tedium of matrimony were accurate."

Janeway poked her lightly in the side. "Don't tease. I'm much too sleepy to match wits with you tonight."

"Too sleepy for lovemaking, too sleepy for conversation. Is this an indication of what I must expect in our future?"

Janeway kissed Seven's neck affectionately. "Not at all, darling. Now that I realize how much I've been working unnecessarily, I'll be able to make more time for us. In fact, I just had a wonderful idea. After we arrive at DS9, why don't you and I make reservations for dinner tomorrow night at that restaurant on the Promenade?"

"Where we dined upon our return from the Alpha Quadrant?"

"Yes," Janeway said. "It'll be fitting, don't you think? It will note our departure from the Alpha Quadrant, just as it did our arrival. We'll have a nice, leisurely dinner, go dancing at the club..."

"Initiate a brawl..." Seven interjected dryly.

Reminded of the incident which had occurred during their last visit to the station, Janeway was forced to laugh, rolling away from Seven to put her hand over her eyes. "No, this time, we'll be on our best behavior and Colonel Kira will have no reason to hand us over to station security."

"Acceptable. I have no desire to spend more time in one of the station's holding cells."

"So, it's a date?"

"Yes. I will enjoy having dinner with you, as well as dancing. Perhaps we shall even be able to make love afterwards."

Janeway dropped her hands. "Now you're just being sarcastic. I haven't been neglecting you that badly, have I?"

"We have not made love since the night before we launched from Utopia Planitia," Seven reminded her. "That was six days ago."

Janeway's face altered as she glanced over at her. "So we haven't," she said with a touch of remorse. "I'm sorry, darling."

"It was not an accusation of any kind, Kathryn, merely an observation."

Janeway slipped her arm underneath Seven's torso, pulling the young woman to her. "I truly don't mean to ignore you, darling. I've just been a little busy."

"I know. We have discussed our tendency to overwork."

"Yes, but we haven't discussed our lack of physical intimacy."

"It seems the sort of thing that will rectify itself once we terminate our tendency to overwork."

"I suppose it will." Janeway offered Seven a rueful expression. "I'm really tired tonight, Annika. I'm sorry."

"It is fine, Kathryn," she murmured as she kissed her. "I was merely teasing you."

"Honestly?"

"Yes." Seven drew her into her arms, the women once more arranging themselves so that they would both be comfortable for sleep.

"I promise I'll make it up to you," Janeway muttered, yawning.

"I know you will." Seven lifted an eyebrow. "In fact, knowing how well you can 'make it up to me' may leave me with the inevitable reminder to be careful what I wish for. You can be quite insatiable when you want to be."

Janeway didn't think that warranted a response, though a rather smug smile touched the corners of her mouth as she drifted off to sleep in Seven's arms.

​

Seven of Nine examined the sculpture at the small shop on the Promenade, mentally debating the merits of purchasing it. Janeway did not share her taste in art, though a certain amount of personal space in their quarters had been allocated for Seven's collection. But the wall cabinet wasn't that large, particularly when one considered they were about to depart on a mission that would not see them return to Federation space for more than a year. She would undoubtedly have the opportunity to discover many different types of artwork in the unknown quadrant they were about to explore, and it would be inefficient to fill her limited area with items that were readily available in the Alpha Quadrant.

With a touch of regret, she placed the object back on the shelf and glanced around at the other display cases, checking over the remainder of selection before leaving the store. She dawdled along the Promenade as she window-shopped, discovering a certain small pleasure at doing so. It was unfortunate that Janeway had not been able to get away to join her for an afternoon of leave, but that was the reality of being married to the captain of a starship. Janeway's time was limited, particularly while they were still in the preparatory stage of their mission, and what moments the couple could share were precious indeed.

She lifted her head as she heard a confrontation, and she turned to witness a Starfleet officer being challenged by a Bajoran in front of the station's temple. Her eyebrow lifted as she noted the officer was predominantly Cardassian ... species 3267 in Borg parlance ... which perhaps explained the antagonism directed at him, but he was also Starfleet, and at the moment, Starfleet was her Collective. A quick glance around determined that no one else assisting him, not even two officers from the Millennium who were looking on with crass fascination. She noted their identities with disapproval, and then moved purposefully toward the confrontation. Perhaps it was not her place to interfere, but since taking over as science officer for her new starship, she was more aware of being in a position of leadership, of feeling a sense of responsibility to others.

"State the problem," she demanded with authority.

Startled, both Bajoran and Starfleet officer turned to look at her, and belatedly, she realized that the Cardassian was wearing the three pips of a command officer, and thus, would hardly require the assistance of a mere lieutenant. However, she was committed now, and could not formulate a graceful way to withdraw. Besides, Janeway had once told her that if she assumed a position of authority, it was incumbent upon her to maintain that leadership unless someone formally relieved her of it. It was up to the senior officer to take command of the situation at this point, which he didn't seemed inclined to do. Instead, he was staring at her with a stunned expression, as if he had never seen a Borg before. For all she knew, perhaps he hadn't.

The Bajoran however, looked her up and down with more obvious appreciation, softening abruptly. Seven had noticed that her appearance sometimes had such an effect on men, particularly if they were much older. It had nothing to do with her abilities as either a Borg or a Starfleet officer.

"I can appreciate you're wishing to defend one of your own," he allowed grudgingly, some of the anger dissipating. "But can you truly claim this as one of your own?"

Seven regarded the other officer who continued to stare at her with an expression of bemusement and astonishment.

"He wears the uniform," she said firmly. "No one wears it who has not earned it. He is also one of 'your own', sir. He is partially Bajoran."

The older man blinked and looked dismayed, granting the commander another look, much closer this time, obviously picking out the subtle genetic traits in the officer's features that had escaped him initially. Seven knew that the Bajorans were no more fond of the hybrids who were the result of the Occupation than were the Cardassians, but the pity combined with embarrassment that appeared in his eyes was better than open hostility.

Though perhaps not to the Starfleet officer. He frowned as the man offered a gruff apology before going on his way, and his eyes were angry when he turned to Seven.

"I had things under control, Lieutenant," he said stiffly.

Seven lifted an eyebrow, but was certainly not about to argue with him. "Yes, sir."

He seemed about to say more before he hesitated, assuming a more neutral stance and linking his hands behind his back. He was quite tall, topping Seven by a few inches. "You are?"

"Lt. Annika Hansen," Seven replied promptly. She still wasn't quite used to introducing herself by her Human designation, though that was how she was identified on the Starfleet roster. "I am the chief science officer for USS Millennium."

He lifted his chin with what most would perceive as arrogance, but Seven immediately recognized it as an attempt to hide his uncertainty. It was a gesture she had refined shortly after being severed from the Collective and forced to adapt to a ship filled with confusing and baffling Humans. Obviously, as a hybrid on a Bajoran station, this individual also felt the need to present an exterior shell of confidence that perhaps, he did not feel internally. Seven was intrigued, feeling a certain kinship to him that she had not expected.

"I am Commander Zar Tulek," he said. "I'm your new first officer."

His eyes were almost challenging, and Seven wondered why. Was he afraid that she would react in some hostile way?

"I look forward to working with you, sir."

He blinked, seeming surprised at her lack of emotional response one way or another. Seven was not entirely sure why. Neither species, 3267 nor the Bajoran species 3271, were of particular note to the Collective, though the first maintained great strength while the later included both endurance and discipline. However, there were many species that boasted those particular traits, and possessed unique characteristics as well. She knew a Bajoran well, of course, due to her association with Lt. Commander Ro Laren, but she had never discussed the Occupation with her at any length, and thus had no 'Human' response to his being Cardassian.

"Thank you," he said finally. He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "I am scheduled to report to Captain Janeway at 1400 hours."

"You will find her an exemplary captain and a unique individual," she said, with a touch of pride. "Serving her will be a rewarding and beneficial experience for you."

He blinked, again surprised, perhaps at her vehemence. "I see. You think very highly of her."

Seven resisted the urge to smile. "Yes," she said, without elaboration.

"You don't react as a Human." He lifted his head minutely, shifting his eyes, and Seven knew he was studying her implants. "Is that jewelry?"

"It is a cybernetic implant, as is the starburst on my cheek." She lifted her hand, revealing the mesh covering the her fingers and hand. "I am ... was ... Borg, until I was severed from the Collective five years ago."

Now it was her turn to receive an expression of combined pity and embarrassment, though she took no offense at it. It seemed to be the traditional response whenever she revealed her dual nature. Yet, it was interesting to her that until she stated it clearly, most defined her as a Human with unusual taste in facial adornment. She did wonder occasionally at this apparent need to 'label' individuals, but she presumed it was some kind of adaptability trait used to guide one's responses to new and different situations. That the trait sometimes caused individuals to act in unnecessarily negative and hostile ways, such as the Bajoran who had just left, was an unfortunate side effect. Her only objection was when people insisted on maintaining their preconceived notions, even after they had been proven inaccurate. Janeway said this was 'bigotry' and was a result of beings wishing to retain their ignorance and fear, rather than adapt to any given situation with intelligence. Still, it seemed to her that everyone nurtured certain biases. She, for example, maintained decidedly negative reactions to Species 8472, as well as Species 5174 ... the Hirogen ... and the Entharan, for which the Borg had yet to identify as a species. It was not enlightened, but it was true.

"You're the transwarp scientist," he said, seeming to remember something. "You worked with the Theoretical Propulsion Group at Utopia Planitia under Dr. Leah Brahms. I must say, I look forward to working with you, as well. I read your paper on Quantum Dynamics of Slipstream Enhancement to Warp Propulsion. I didn't realize that you were now serving on a starship."

Seven lifted her chin, her unconscious estimation of his intelligence taking an immediate upswing. Janeway had pronounced the paper somewhat 'dry' and difficult to get through for the average scientist, which was why Seven assumed she had never met anyone in Starfleet who had actually read it. She was aware of being  greatly flattered and pleased at being recognized because of her work.

"As the first officer of a vessel designed for deep exploration, you must have a background in sciences," she prodded. "Is it in engineering?"

"No." He smiled faintly, which altered his features and granted him a softer, more approachable expression. Seven wondered why he did not smile more often. "I majored in biometrics and exobiology at the Academy, but I did find the possible physiological and psychological side-effects of the slipstream conduit absolutely fascinating."

"I have an interest in biometrics as well, though it is not the field in which I am most capable. I did include several theories in the paper, though obviously, my biometric research would not be as extensive as someone who has studied those fields exclusively."

He glanced over at a establishment across the promenade. "Lieutenant, since it's that time of the day, and I have a hour or so before I must report, may I buy you lunch?"

Seven was vaguely surprised, but realized it was an honest attempt to establish a friendly relationship with a new crewmember. Since she had nothing in particular planned until meeting with Janeway later that evening for dinner, she nodded. "Thank you."

He gestured toward the facility that turned out to be the bar belonging to a Ferengi named Quark. Seven was quite familiar with it, having patronized it on more than one occasion, particularly when a Bajoran orb accidentally transported her, B'Elanna Torres, and Voyager's first officer, Commander Chakotay, to the Alpha Quadrant some years earlier. She had actually been arrested by the station's then security chief, Constable Odo, at the corner table. Still, such memories did not alter the fact that the food was usually quite good and the ambiance was invigorating.

She was aware of the looks directed Zar's way as the pair entered the bar and made their way to a relatively concealed table beside some framing supports. Deciding the scrutiny was similar to that she had experienced during her first weeks on Voyager, she again felt a sense of affiliation with the officer. They were both outsiders, and while she had managed to discover her place within the Federation ... professionally within Starfleet, and personally with her spouse and friends ... he apparently was still finding his way. She wondered if her experiences would provide her with the ability to assist him. If so, she was determined to become his friend in a way that others had befriended her when things had been so uncertain.

"What will you have?" he asked politely once they were seated and had brought up the menu on the padd embedded in the table.

Seven raised an eyebrow as she studied the menu. "I am unfamiliar with many of these dishes," she admitted, her experience with food primarily limited to Earth dishes that she prepared. Even while in the Alpha Quadrant, the captain and she had tended to visit predominantly Human restaurants, and Janeway's forays into 'alien cuisine' were decidedly Earth-based in their preparation. "Would you suggest something?"

He looked vaguely pleased at being asked, and reviewed the menu with renewed attention. "I would recommend the Kohlanese stew. It's Klingon, but not typical of their dishes, and difficult to do badly. It can be quite tasty when prepared properly."

"That would be acceptable. We shall see if it has been prepared correctly."

He smiled, and again she was struck by a sense of there being an entirely different persona behind the angular and foreboding features. "I'll have the same," he said, and punched in the request.

As they waited for their meal, they discussed Seven's paper, and the Borg was intrigued to discover that Zar was an extremely adept scientist. She thought that Janeway would find him a very useful and accomplished officer, particularly in his adaptability to new ideas. A trait she discovered when the conversation moved onto the transition drive used by the Millennium. Over their food, she suggested that he spend some time with B'Elanna Torres as well, the chief engineer undoubtedly having a great deal to offer the first officer regarding the actual function of the drive. The time passed quickly, and both were surprised when Zar's comm badge chirped with a reminder that it was time for him to report to his new vessel. He promised to look Seven up again as soon as he had settled into his new position, his tone exceedingly sincere, and as she watched him walk away, the young woman was vastly pleased by how the encounter had progressed.

Confident that she had made a new friend, and assisted him in his adaptation to a new and unfamiliar situation, Seven decided that it had been a most productive day at Deep Space 9, unlike most of her other visits to the space station.

​

Lenara Kahn felt her palms sweat as she entered the habitat ring of DS9. Even after several lifetimes, it was difficult to face certain things in her past. Making an appointment to meet with Ezri Dax was one of them. Once, in another lifetime, they had been married. Later, they had encountered one another again and for a brief time, they had actually considered remaining together ... though it went against everything that was sacred in the Trill culture. Eventually, Lenara had determined that the price was too high, that she could not give up everything ... her status, her profession, her homeworld ... just to be with the person she loved.

In the years since, she had experienced several occasions when she regretted that decision most profoundly. Logic dictated that she had made the correct choice. Her heart, however, still ached, and later, upon hearing that Jadzia Dax had gone on to marry a Klingon Starfleet officer and was subsequently killed during the war with the Dominion, the regret had settled into a wound that felt as if it would never heal. Now she was to meet Dax's next host, the symbiont passed on to another female Trill when Jadzia had died, which was the way of their people.

Hesitantly, Lenara pressed the admittance chime near the door, waiting with trepidation until it finally opened to reveal Dax's new host. A great deal shorter than the statuesque Jadzia, Lenara towered over her, abruptly feeling awkward and ungainly. Ezri Dax looked more like a child than a woman, with short, black hair surrounding elven features, and dark eyes that appeared far too large for her face. Light brown spots, a physiological trait of the Trill, traced from her hairline down her temple and cheek, along the side of her neck until they disappeared beneath the blue collar of her uniform. A smile quirked one corner of her mouth, and for an instance, Lenara could see the hint of Curzon and Jadzia there, a devil-may-care sense before it disappeared and there was only the too young woman regarding her with very old eyes.

"Lenara Kahn," Ezri said formally. "It's so good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," Lenara said, and for a moment, the grief was so strong within her that it was difficult to catch her breath.

"Come in," Ezri said, motioning her into the quarters. Moving as if under water, Lenara drifted over to the couch and took a seat, not sure if she had been invited, but certain that she needed to sit down before she lost her footing. Ezri took a seat opposite her, her hands resting on her knees, regarding her closely. "I appreciate that this is very hard for you, but I realize this is something that is very necessary for you to resolve."

Lenara looked at her dazedly, belatedly remembering what she had read about the new host and clearly, this was the psychologist speaking. Ezri, an assistant ship's counselor on the starship Destiny, had been chosen to be a host in an emergency joining when the Dax symbiont, which was on its way back to the Trill homeworld, had taken a turn for the worse. Lenara didn't want to talk to a counselor, she wished to speak with Jadzia, to see her one more time. To apologize for making a choice that had left her aching and empty inside for the past five years. It horrified her to think that if she had only stayed with Jadzia, had accepted the exile and condemnation that would have followed, that perhaps the beautiful young scientist would still be alive, would have been somewhere other than where she had met her death, though Lenara had no way of knowing that for sure.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake," she said, gathering her composure. "I thought ... I shouldn't have come here."

"Lenara, I understand," Ezri said, reaching out to touch her arm. "Jadzia and Torias, they both loved you, and certainly, Dax will always care for Kahn."

Lenara looked at the small hand on her forearm, and she wanted to be anywhere, but where she was. "Of course." Her tone devoid of inflection. It was hard to accept, but looking at Ezri, seeing very little of what she had loved in Jadzia in the new host, she understood the true tragedy of the situation. It had been Jadzia she loved, for whom she had developed the connection. It hadn't simply been a result of having loved Torias Dax as Nilani Kahn lifetimes earlier. Had it not been for the presence of the symbionts, she and Jadzia still would have been wonderful together because they fit on some fundamental level.

Now it was too late.

She had imagined this moment for so long, had envisioned it ending countless ways, but for some reason, she had never imagined it would end because she felt nothing for the person standing opposite her. Other than a small echo of a love and a decision that still cut deeply. For the first time she understood that Jadzia was really gone. She stood up, feeling somewhat in control once more though she suspected that was a false assumption on her part. "I'm sorry I imposed Ezri. I just ... I had to see you again."

"Lenara..." Ezri began, her dark eyes concerned as she observed her closely.

"No, I'm fine," Lenara lied. She forced a smile, altering her features into a pleasant assurance she didn't feel. "I hope that you're happy now."

"I am." Ezri paused. "Do you remember Dr. Bashir?"

Lenara thought of the brash young doctor she had met, a handsome, if slight young man, and looking into Ezri's eyes, she understood why his name had been brought up. "I'm very glad, Ezri," she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. "I wish you all the best."

"That's all I've ever wanted for you," Ezri told her sincerely.

She escorted her to the door, and somehow, Lenara maintained her frozen mask of graciousness until she was well away from the quarters. She wasn't sure how she made it to the Promenade, abruptly finding herself walking amid a crowd of other beings, feeling completely and utterly alone. The part of her that was Kahn sorrowed for what could never be, but it was the host part of her that truly felt the devastation of knowing it was completely over. Perhaps because it had been predominantly the host part of her that had made the decision so long ago. The symbionts, after all, had less interest in the rules and regulations their humanoid hosts demanded of themselves. By the same token, the symbionts also knew when it was time to move on. Their entire existence was of surviving, of finding other hosts and living yet another lifetime when required.

"Lenara Kahn."

Taking a deep breath, though it lanced her as a dagger would, Lenara turned to discover Seven of Nine regarding her with grave concern.

"Lenara, are you all right?" Seven asked when Lenara did not respond to her initial query.

"I ... yes, I ... I'm fine," Lenara managed.

Seven stared at her. "I do not believe you." She reached out, putting her hand gently, but firmly, on the Trill's arm, and Lenara did not resist as she was led to a nearby kiosk where she was directed to a chair.

Seven took a seat opposite her, sitting with perfect posture, her hands folded neatly on the table top. "Explain." Lenara looked back at her, finding it difficult to speak, and Seven seemed to sense that, her narrow features softening somewhat. "Would you care for something to drink?" she added awkwardly, in an obvious attempt to be less obtrusive

"Yes," Lenara croaked. "Aldebaran whiskey."

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "I do not believe this facility serves intoxicants." She paused. "I could return to the bar and retrieve the drink for you."

That seemed to penetrate the fog clouding Lenara's mind and she shook her head. "No, I'm fine. A raktajino will do. Hot, with a measure of kava."

Seven nodded soberly and rose from her seat, moving over to one of the nearby station replicators. Punching in her identity code so that the cost could be deducted from her credit account, she requested the raktajino and a jumja tea for herself. Carrying both mugs carefully back to the table, Seven resumed her seated position and regarded Lenara intently. She did not speak, perhaps comprehending that it was up to Lenara to communicate what was going on when she was ready.

Lenara sipped her drink, feeling the heat slide down her throat smoothly, radiating out to loosen the chill that had settled within her. The stimulant within the Klingon coffee also served to chase away the last of the cotton filling her brain.

"Being here on Deep Space 9 is not easy for me," she began.

Seven lifted a brow, but she didn't respond. Her expression was expectant, clearly prompting her to continue. Taking a deep breath, Lenara did so, explaining about Torias amd Nilani, and the subsequent relationship with Jadzia, of how it was frowned upon to reassociate after acquiring new hosts, and how she had walked away, even though Jadzia had been willing to give up everything for her.

By the time she was finished, tears were staining her cheeks, and she wiped them away, embarrassed to be so emotional, yet feeling somewhat better for having talked about it at length. Seven had been an attentive listener, radiating a sense of empathy and understanding that seemed unusual for someone raised as a Borg drone. Lenara realized she was glad that she had run into her. She had always admired Seven's brilliance. Now she was finding cause to be impressed with her kindness and compassion.

"I am sorry this situation has proven so difficult for you," Seven said finally. "I cannot imagine what it was like to have loved someone so much, and be unable to be with them. I think that it would be easier for you if it was truly death that had finished the relationship. With your species, however, you are burdened with the knowledge that part of the person you love lives on, yet in someone who does not necessarily feel the same for you."

"It's the reality of being joined," Lenara said bleakly. "I've certainly read of these situations, and it's one of the primary reasons to avoid reassociation." She sipped her raktajino, now cool and slightly bitter, making a face as she put it down. "I just never thought it would happen to me."

"I suspect no one does," Seven said reasonably. Her ice-blue eyes were gentle as they studied her. "Lenara, I am unfamiliar with the emotional repercussions of such things, but it is my opinion that you should 'let this go'. I apologize if that sounds harsh. I do not mean it to."

"No," Lenara said, nodding. "You're perfectly correct, of course. I should have let it go five years ago. Indeed, I should never have allowed myself to entertain the idea in the first place."

Seven shook her head. "You cannot help whom you love," she said with certainty. "If you are very fortunate, that person will return that emotion, and you will have the opportunity to pursue a relationship together. You should never regret love, Lenara. However, you should not allow the inability to pursue that love to prevent you from living your life." She paused and looked rueful. "Kathryn would be surprised if she heard me say that."

Lenara didn't quite comprehend what had prompted the final comment, but she couldn't deny that Seven's words made her feel better, though she didn't know why. Certainly, this was nothing that had not already been said to her many times before. Her brother, her friends on Trill, even her own conscience dictated that she move on, yet somehow, hearing it from Seven, listening to it stated in that precise, yet understanding voice, made it seep through. There was a lightening in her shoulders, as if an unseen burden had been given wings. Perhaps it wasn't even the advice of Seven seated across from her that granted her this sense, but the memory of looking into Ezri's eyes and seeing no love for her in them, not as she had seen in Jadzia's gaze, not as she had dreamed about for five years. Perhaps her heart was finally listening as much as her head.

Jadzia was gone. Lenara had missed her chance. There would not be another. Somehow, she would just have to live with it.

She managed a wan smile.

"Thank you for listening, Seven," she said sincerely. "You're a good friend."

"Thank you," Seven said gravely. "I wish to be a good friend to you. I respect you a great deal, Lenara Kahn, and it pains me to know you are experiencing emotional difficulty. I find that I wish to assist, though I am uncertain as to how."

"Just listening helped me a great deal, Seven," Lenara replied, smiling with more honesty this time.

Seven's tendency not to hide behind appearance was refreshing to Lenara, particularly after spending so much time in the Trill Ministry of Technology. There, her colleagues had the experience of several lifetimes to draw upon when it came to being obtrusive and posturing, of considering career positioning and acclaim to be more important than genuine respect for others in their field. Seven was none of that, her simple, and occasionally brutal, honesty making it easier to deal with her as a person, though Lenara knew that not everyone in Millennium's science section valued it. It was undoubtedly why Seven had arranged for Lenara to be her liaison with the civilian scientists. Yet, that beneath that icy exterior and efficient professionalism, lay a warm and generous heart. It simply wasn't shown unless it was required.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Lenara asked, deciding that they were in dire need of a change of topic, and thoroughly sick of granting her pain so much attention. She realized that she had been nurturing it for so long, it had become a part of her, like another limb, which made it an effort to amputate it.

"I am meeting the captain for dinner this evening." Seven's voice lightened as it always did when she talked about her spouse. Lenara greatly envied both women in how they still generated such ready and apparent emotion in each other, even though she didn't think they knew how obvious they were. "Until then, I am exploring the station. I had hoped to meet with an ex-crewmate from Voyager, but I have discovered that she and her children are no longer assigned to this station."

"No?" Lenara prompted, surprised at the depth of disappointment in Seven's eyes.

"She was transferred. Apparently, Samantha Wildman and her husband have separated. He must harbor a certain amount of resentment over the situation, because he was not especially forthcoming about her current whereabouts. I do not know where Naomi and Mezoti are."

"Naomi and Mezoti?"

"They are the children who were on Voyager," Seven explained. "I was ... am ... quite fond of them."

"I see." Lenara paused. "You know, I don't have any children with this host, but I've had several over the course of my lifetimes."

"Do you miss them?" Seven asked curiously.

"I've been very fortunate," she admitted. "I've never lost any while they were still young. All my children were grown with lives of their own when my host died. I never felt any urge to check up on them later." She paused, wondering why she was telling Seven this, then realized she was still trying to come to terms with why she had felt the desire to reassociate. Now that she had let go of the emotion, the intellectual part of her was beginning to dissect it, to place it into proper perspective. She wondered if other people thought this way, or if it was only because she was a scientist.

Or a Trill.

Whatever else, she was a product of several lives and it was time she started cherishing that experience, instead of mourning something she could never have.