WotHP Book 1: Modifications by Katrina and Llachlan

Wonders of the House Presba

Book 1:

Modifications

By Katrina and Llachlan

bearblue1@yahoo.com | llachness@gmail.com

This series can also be found at: http: www.merwolf.com/llachlan/seven

Series: Wonders of the House Presba

Book 1: Modifications
Book 2: Transitions
Book 3: Encounters
Book 4: Reflections Part 1 | Part 2
Book 5: Diffractions
Book 6: Prisms

Appendix

TV Series: Voyager (with DS9 and ST:TNG Crossover)

Code: Slash Multiple. F/F/F... M/M. Alt/Het (7/J, T/J, 7/T etc.)

There is a lot to read from this point. Notes, Disclaimers, Thank yous. If you want to bypass all of this (understanding that you’re missing out on the disclaimers, which are pretty comprehensive, and the notes and the thank yous) then go here: Begin Modifications

Note from Katrina:

A special thanks, which will be repeated, goes to Llachlan for writing with me. It’s been wonderful and I’ve learned so much, including a bit of Klingon.

It was not my intention to start writing yet another series in yet another fan fiction world. I intended to write a long story that was composed of five parts. What I received were separate stories in what is apparently now more than I ever thought it would be.

Katrina wrote this disclaimer thinking that there would be only one story. It basically provides the warnings and so ons necessary to convey the idea.

Oh, and I should mention that this is a work in progress. It is possible that there may be changes made to stories in the future and that there may be stories that affect changes to previous stories. We will update as necessary.

We will only post stories that have been completed as an arc. This should avoid the “unfinished story,” syndrome that sometimes occurs in series and works that get posted.

As a commentary, one of the beautiful things about the web is that it has provided the opportunity for many to see the writing process in action (thus the incomplete stories that we sometimes must deal with). I hope to keep the process somewhat transparent, but you may notice that there are errors. That comes from reading and rereading and simply becoming blind to the error. If it's major, please let me know. If it's minor, please forgive me. Hopefully I'll catch it in the next reread. Llachlan is well on her way to convincing me of the power of editing and past books may recieve some hefty editing in the future. .

Also, the first story was written for and posted to a Yahoo group: Voq_Je_Bang, which emphasizes the relationship between B'Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine. You may notice that this story leans strongly that direction. Sequels will generally favor the pairing, but as this is a multi-universal stories, other pairings and groupings are optioned for the needs of the series.

The main goal, of course, is that you enjoy what you read. I hope that will be the case.

Sincerely, Katrina

==^==

Thank yous: Thank you, Llachlan. WotHP is coming to glory because of you. :)

We would like to take a moment to express our thanks to those who have taken time to pre-read and beta these stories. Thank you Raven for your patience and telling me to keep writing. Thank you Jillo and Honore for seeing the errors that I just plain out missed. Thank you to Dee Jay, Bonnie and Cirroco for being inspirational. Thank you to Kym, always. Thank you to Tracie for joining the pre-reading party. Others have joined in the beta list. And thank you to Karla for posting to me at just the right time. And thank you to Silk for being there! You are all so awesome!

We'd also like to thank HW and TMM for being willing to provide insight and act as a final pre-readers for our stories. They truly would not be the same without their input.

Disclaimers: Though, technically, disclaimers should not be necessary for any work of fiction, it has become traditional to include various informational topics designed to help readers determine whether they wish to move forward with a given piece or not. Therefore, I bow to tradition and am including the following disclaimers.

This is not a children's story. For the purposes of reader navigation you may consider that topics in this fictional work will range from General to NC-17. This includes love-scenes, violence, language, etc. It may therefore be considered NSFW, but it should be safe for an adult consciousness. Also, if sexuality offends you, why are you reading this? This is fan fiction for Pete’s sake. It's traditional.

Given the above, you may consider that relationships of a variety of types will be explored. I have no One True Pairing (OTP). I just have Favored Groupings. It is possible that this slash will burn out due to the heat factor. (One can hope anyway...)

The relevance of the above declaration has to do with the fact that will be a work of fan fiction. Specifically, it will be a ST: Voyager fan fiction. There are a couple of reasons for this decision.

I was not originally attracted to the show until I read some fantastic fan fiction about Voyager. Suddenly I was inspired. Inspiration is the foundation for creativity. I had to.

The series is over, so I can not get upset when the producers decide to do something that either reflects something I was writing so I have to start all over again OR kills off/ changes a major character, which causes me to be upset OR does something stupid with the plot that I have to take into account.

I found out that this particular fan fiction genre has the option of utilizing Alt-Universe (AU) settings. I found this idea appealing – since there are several things I intend to disregard or completely revise as far as canon is concerned. Therefore, for the purposes of informing the reader, these stories are AU. All of them.

I have thought for awhile that I needed a playground writing space. It's been a long time since I've sat down to fictionalize something. Familiar characters and basic settings provide ... confidence.

Why the groupings? Well, Tuvok because I was shocked at how few fan fics there were with him involved. Yeah, Ponn Farr an obvious plot, but... I thought there would be more than three. Or was it four. I completely expected dozens and was disappointed. It had to be fixed. Why B'Elanna? She's Hot. Why Seven? She's Hot. Why Janeway? She's Hot. You see the pattern here. Why Ro? She's Hot. Why T'Pel? Because of Tuvok, silly. And she's Hot. Why Lwaxana? Because I laughed my ass off when I wrote her in and then I realized with complete shock that she was absolutely perfect as in, perfect , for the story. She made it make sense. And she's Hot. Why the others? Because sexy is sexy and I'm writing it, damn it. It is a practice in artistic bravery and it will either work or it won't. But I won't stop just because I get cowardly about it. Sometimes you have to let the story own you. (Maybe I shouldn't include this part. I suppose it counts as spoiler. But this genre of fan fiction has the weird option of including the slashes of the people involved. Which.. is a spoiler. Dang it.)

I may unconsciously borrow recognizable references to other works. It is not my intention, however, to stray into other writers' territory. But I believe in the power of the Jungian Consciousness and things do happen sometimes. That said... As far as I know, this is, barring the fan-fiction element – my own contribution.

The technology of this story will be mixed. Some will be canon, some will be ... logical extensions of the storyline. I hope. Unfortunately, I am not an expert in Trek Tech. I will do my best not to be overtly obvious about it though. I did, after all, watch a lot of Trek in my time.

This story starts from a point that is apparently somewhat controversial. For those who have not watched the end, it may spoil a bit. The finale, however, is somewhat important to the beginning and the middle and maybe even the ending of this series, so I apologize now for any offense. It is entirely unintentional. I know what it is to love something and have it go wrong. Hopefully, in some ways, this will fix some of those issues.

Star Trek: Voyager as an enterprise is owned by Paramount as far as I know. No money is being made from this work of fan fiction. Collectively, ST: Voyager is an iconic story of pathfinding. That really can't be owned by one person or a company.

Archive Permissions: This series may be archived as long as the disclaimers, my name and the whole stories are posted and as long as readers are informed that the stories are part of a series. It would be nice to be informed of the posting, so I can share it with my friends. Post me at: bearblue1@yahoo.com

Feed the Authors: Please Do! We love positive feedback. We’re somewhat okay with positive criticism. We hate 'you suck,” messages, so We will probably ignore those. Feedback Llachlan and I back at: bearblue1@yahoo.com | llachness@gmail.com

Playground Permissions: This is a living series. I intend to write on the series until it's finished, but I recognize that there are some fun places, people and things being developed here. If you care to play with them, I'm not entirely opposed. I just have a few rules. 1. You must tell me, because I'll want to read it. I'm a fanfic-aholic. 2. If you post the story, you must include a reference link to this page, thus providing credit. Also, if you post the story, I'll make a link to it as an auxiliary fic and thus you get more famous. Also, if you want a place to post your contribution, I'll be happy to provide it. See, win/win. 3. Any story involving the House Presba as delineated in this series must have a happy ending. Must. The major groupings must be intact by the end of the story and they must be happy. Happy ending. Can't emphasize that enough. I can deal with angst so long as we arrive at the happy ending. 4. Stories must be complete in and of themselves and must not conflict with the canon as put forth in the series (meaning, my stuff, not Paramount or whomever...)

Title: Modifications

Summary: Kathryn Janeway finds herself alive and well in the past and begins to set changes in motion. Things will never be the same for Voyager, its crew or their universe.

Slash multiple – het, f/f, m/m

Bookmarks:

Thankyous and Disclaimers

Begin Modifications

Part 1 | Bookmarks

Kathryn Janeway drew in breath abruptly and deeply, hard enough to make her chest hurt. She jerked awake, feeling in her bone and sinew as if she had been shocked back to life. It was entirely possible that she had been. Either that or this was the last dream before dying.

The woman breathed in shakily and sat up, trying to quickly calm herself and assess her situation. She noted that she was on a soft, oddly familiar surface, in the dark. She was undressed, but felt covered. As her hands briefly explored the area around her, she recognized herself to be on a bed. Her eyes began to adjust to the small amount of ambient light. She brushed her hair away from her face, tucking the medium length strands behind her ears for the moment as she listened for any unusual sounds. She recalled that her hair had been shorter just moments ago. She was sure of it, and she was equally sure that she had not been dreaming, had not been asleep at all as millions of connected beings had shared her terror.

Fear clawed at her belly, made her want to panic. But she had mastered iron control long ago. She touched her head, her neck and shoulders, noting the absence of implanted harshness. As she recalled, she had not yet adapted. The cybernetic “enhancements” had not yet been a part of her – only an invader to be fought, however subconsciously.

She had, after all, gone willingly. She just couldn't help the fighting. Adrenaline still coursed through her, spurred on by her current situation. She dreaded the come-down. But that was for later. Right now she needed to be calm, gain more information. Determine threat levels.

Kathryn wondered what other changes she would discover. She stayed very still, waiting. As the harsh pounding of her heartbeat settled, she began to recognize the familiar hum, tones and scents of a ship. She shivered, though she knew the temperature to be otherwise comfortable. She tasted copper on her tongue, an after-effect of fear. She thought quickly, tapping into all her experience to force herself to settle down. It wasn't easy. Her last known location had been much warmer, more humid and acrid. It had been blowing up. She vividly recalled the burning, twisting, painful last moments of her life.

She should not be here.

Kathryn waited a few moments more, to make sure her voice was stable, then uttered a husky command. “Computer, lights. Thirty percent.” The revelation was more than she expected. She gazed around the domicile, taking in the room with a sense of wonder and trepidation. Her chest began to ache for different reasons.

Home. She was home.

That was her first emotion beyond fear.

“Computer, time and date.”

The computer issued forth an absolute impossibility.

She managed, somehow, not to cry or to gasp. She strangled that sensation away. There would be time enough for tears later, if she needed them. Right now she had to think, to strategize, to determine what was real versus imagined; what was temporary versus permanent; what was a trap or just odd truth.

She gathered her courage around her, along with the bed's blue sheet, and folded it close to her heart. Then, feeling the impossibility of it all, stood up and walked to the replicator. There was one test she wanted to conduct, one incontrovertible proof to make, before she put any belief into this ... not-quite-dream. She pressed the button which signaled the machine to wakefulness. “Coffee. Hot. Black.”

There was a humming sparkle of light and a black cup appeared on the replication surface. The liquid within the cup was steaming and the scent – despite being just a little bit off and otherwise perfect – was disturbingly reassuring. Her hand trembled as she retrieved it. She brought the cup to her mouth, blew on the dark concoction to cool it, and then took the risk and sipped.

It was dreadful. Awful. She winced as the hot liquid flowed over her tongue, abusing her taste buds with its gruesome, memorable mouthful. She swallowed and loved every torturous moment of it, even as she cussed. It still took everything she had not to drop the cup onto the floor and run screaming out the door – sheet and all.

Instead she lifted the cup again, and took another sip of the terrible-wonderful stuff and carefully made her way to the small desk that she knew would be just... over there. She set the cup down, sat in the worn chair and assessed the patina of the quarter’s ... her quarter's desk unit. In gazing down, she noted the youthfulness of her shaking hands, which she steadied by placing them firmly on the desk.

She knew, if she opted to look in a mirror, she would look completely different than she last recalled. Her white hair would be auburn. She would be just a little taller, though maybe not stronger. She had still been in good shape for her age. Her skin would be pale and smooth, without the wrinkles and familiar spots and marks. The evidence of passing of time would be gone. Except, perhaps, in her eyes. Her eyes would tell her a story of a lifetime lived, even if they were brighter and more focused.

Dead people would notice her once she stepped out of this temporary haven. Old friends long gone, but – she knew – here now, would notice what seemed to be arbitrary changes in her attitude. If this were at all real, changes would be made. It was unavoidable. If she were here, if she were alive, she would make ... different decisions for some things.

The temporal directive be damned. She would do things right this time. Or different. If she could.

If she were alive, and this was a second chance...

Alive.

She was alive.

Kathryn's body shuddered with primal awareness. She felt her own vitality, her hunger for life. She felt urges she had long thought buried.

She should be dancing. She should be whooping it up.

Years of ingrained stateliness held her grounded. She was, after all, an admiral.

Hah.

In another lifetime...

She wondered, very briefly, why she had not forgotten that lifetime yet. Her memories lingered, bright and sharp. She had always had a good mind.

She guessed, though, just by the fact that her memories were intact that this might not be the working of those who monitored time lines. It was... something else. She considered all kinds of possibilities, even notions of heaven. She discarded most of those random ideas. She decided, for the time being, to just take it a moment at a time.

Voyager had been a state-of-the-art Federation starship a long time ago. Well, not so long ago now. That inner commentary caused Kathryn to chuckle. Very briefly. The ship was shaped somewhat like a giant version of her mother's garden trowel, with two warp nacelles appended to where the handle would have been. The vessel was designed for science and exploration, had 15 levels, and could move faster than Warp 9. Unlike many of the Federation’s larger ships, it could land on planets. The vessel and the crew had been dragged far from Federation space by a powerful alien entity who died before they could be sent back. And thus they had traveled through the Delta Quadrant trying to return to the Alpha Quadrant, where the Federation and Starfleet resided.

She had been in two realities previously. In one reality, her first, they had made the long journey and arrived - traumatized, weary, with a ship that was held together by hope and a prayer - after decades. There had been so many losses. Enough that, when she had a chance, she'd gone to Klingon space and retrieved an item of temporal power – just so she could change the time line. In that second reality, she had given – or attempted to give her life – so Voyager could go home within the first decade. She had no idea whether they made it or not. Now, she was here. Back on Voyager.

Kathryn stayed with her thoughts a few minutes longer, drinking that terrible, precious coffee, and tried to decide which was the dream – the long, full life she recalled with the last few moments of terrifying Borg connectivity or the frightening possibilities of her new now.

==^==

Moments or millenia later, after the cup was long empty and cold, Kathryn Janeway – Admiral or Captain - felt a little more ready to contemplate what ought to be done next. Reasonably, she decided to take time to read up on the last three days worth of personal logs and a few other important records. It was like opening a bookmark to a familiar page. She felt, if not caught up, at least refreshed.

She had come to four conclusions during her time of meditation.

First, current data indicated that she really was back in the Delta Quadrant on Voyager. The coffee had not been holographic and there was nowhere else that it could be found. She knew. She had tried. It was amazing what one could come to love.

Second, she was no longer in her later years and there was no record of her having been an admiral. In the meantime she retained all the memories of her personal past. Every single joy and sorrow remained hers. Every thing she had managed to learn remained hers. But she no longer had files with her. There were no data cubes, no redundant measures for recreating what had occurred to allow her to rescue Voyager that last time. She could not use the same methods.

Third, there were no indications of another Captain Janeway on the ship or that a temporal anomaly had occurred. Nor was she in the universe of opposites. The Federation was something she recognized, though not yet triumphant in their war. She could not, at the moment, recall whether they had won yet or not in her old universe. In this universe, the war in the Alpha Quadrant raged in all its fiery glory. That was worrisome in its own way, but it would resolve itself in time. Her quiet investigation, was quick and deep, if not thorough. She did not plan on informing any of her staff, nor adding to the logs any information regarding her past. It wouldn't do to alert an interventionist. She believed in her heart that there was a reason for her presence now.

But that reason was not instantly apparent. On the other hand, she had years of experience on which to rely and a long time to contemplate her past. She would play Captain. It was a familiar role and if her crew thought her a little mad for a short time, well, she wouldn't blame them. It was, after all, very possible that she might be.

Finally, she decided, the puzzle of why she was here would be revealed in due time or it wouldn't. It was possible that she was dreaming. It was possible that there had just been a loop created or collapsed. It was possible that the time patrol had simply reverted the time stream to the last, best location and had assumed her memory would be wiped. It was possible that Q was in play. It would be like him. So many possibilities, but the real truth lay in the opportunity.

She could make a few assumptions based on her current predicament. The termination of the Borg was not the correct solution. The arrival of Voyager in the Alpha Quadrant that early might also have been a mistake, though that awareness tore at her heart. But now... there were possibilities. She was farther back than she had originally intended. Perhaps a solution could be found for those who had fallen irretrievably ill in the Delta Quadrant if she had the Doctor working on it – though discreetly. Perhaps... she might try a... different... approach to her most valued relationships.

The rules had changed. Who knew what the future held – aside from familiar faces? She thought of that old story about butterflies and hurricanes. As she was here, the butterfly must have flapped its wings. The future was already changed. They would encounter who they might. They would do what they must. Voyager would return home, but perhaps with less... personal damage.

Yes.

Captain Kathryn Janeway, who used to be an Admiral, stood up resolutely and discarded the sheet, letting it drop to the floor. Then she paced towards her refresher with a bit of a predatory gleam in her eyes. It was time to take a good look at what she had to work with.

==^==

Part 2 | Bookmarks

Sometime later, B'Elanna Torres stalked angrily down the corridor. People swerved out of her way instinctively as the fiercely determined woman passed by them. The Voyager crew had long been familiar with her temperamental ways. If she was swearing volubly, there was no doubt a good reason; often it was something to do with the state of the ship, Tom Paris or Seven of Nine. There were circumspect betting pools about which of the culprits, plus other miscellaneous options, would set off the volatile woman next. Thus, even as her fellow crew persons stepped hurriedly out of her way, some of them were trying to listen in on what her extensive vocabulary of curses aimed at. In this case, though, it was almost a sure bet. The Chief Engineer was heading toward the scientific domain of the Borg, Seven of Nine's state-of-the-art Astrometrics department.

There was a second betting pool regarding one particular relationship of B'Elanna Torres. This one had originated as a joke by her sometimes romantic partner Tom Paris, the prime Voyager Helmsman, – where he opened a pool early on to determine the date that B'Elanna Torres airlocked the statuesque Borg. The original bet took on a life of its own as someone added in the option for kissing, another added public fisticuffs, and then others added sundry and perhaps not entirely impossible results from the fiery – and so far unfriendly – relationship.

Seven of Nine was light to B'Elanna Torres's dark. She was perceived as emotionally distant and enclosed, while B'Elanna was seen as fearsome, but approachable. Seven, who was originally named Annika Hansen, was a descendant of Norse ancestors, while B'Elanna was descended from Spanish Conquistadors and the race of Klingon. B'Elanna was muscularly compact, naturally tan and brown-eyed beautiful with dark hair and the finely decorative ridges of her Klingon heritage on her forehead and .... perhaps evidenced discreetly elsewhere. Seven of Nine was tall, blonde and blue eyed and proportioned like a human male's wet dream. She was also Borg. So upon her person were the metallic cybernetic implants of her alien home of youth, which rather than detract from her exotic beauty added to it. Both women were incredibly strong, enhanced either by genetics or by technology. Both women were incredibly intelligent and capable. Both could hold their own in a fight. Both frightened people with their intensity.

There were other issues.

Seven of Nine, former Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01, frightened much of Voyager's population simply by existing. She was a constant reminder of their vulnerability toward those dangerous empire-building aliens. There were those who thought of her as mostly machine rather than human, or else they were completely envious of her beauty and brains, and their prejudices were often vocalized in her presence. There were others who simply could not process that Seven of Nine's unique beginnings might affect her co-mingling with the crew. They unrealistically expected her to behave in known human ways and she simply did not. She was also proud of her Borgness, though she was often pressured by social expectations to be different. There were very few of the crew who considered themselves her friend.

Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, who was of the Maquis, was more socially adept than Seven of Nine, since she was raised in both Human and Klingon populations. That had its own drawbacks, however, since cultural expectations differed between the races. The Klingons were fiercely proud and had social codes based on warrior traditions. Human approaches to life were sometimes diametrically opposed. Then there was the physical conflict that raged within B'Elanna, since many of her bodily processes reflected her Klingon heritage. Her blood, under certain light, glowed lavender. She was constantly repressing her needs--especially in romantic encounters – just to make sure she didn't seriously hurt anyone. Very few people realized how much effort she put into channeling her passions.

Especially when it often seemed she wasn't channeling them very well at all.

B'Elanna finally arrived at Astrometrics. She aggressively started forward through the doors, already beginning her tirade, then stalled at the sight before her. The room fairly buzzed with activity. She spotted the red-headed Delaney sisters, Megan and Jennifer, to her left. They were busy communicating with another set of twins – the recent Borgling arrivals Rebi and Azan.

And wasn't that just what she needed in her life? More liberated Borg. She growled sub-sonically, enough that the attention of the cybernetically enhanced twins was drawn toward her – though they didn't stop talking with the Delaneys. B'Elanna pulled that hostility in sharply.

They were just kids. Borg. But kids. And she wasn't after them.

The twins' conversation ping-ponged in the air as both sets finished each other's sentences. The adults were holding their own, since the Delaneys were no slouches. Starfleet attracted the best and the brightest, after all. But it was obvious that the young boys were giving them a run for the latinum on the topic they were investigating. B'Elanna stared a few seconds, then shook her attention away to find the woman who originally inspired her ire.

To her right she spotted Seven of Nine, who was leaning over a smaller, brown-haired Bajoran woman, Ensign Tal Celes. Seven was speaking earnestly with the shy and bumbling Celes and actually physically guiding the young woman's hands along the console. B'Elanna thought Celes looked ready to faint. She wasn't sure if it was due to nervousness or the physical nearness of Seven of Nine. B'Elanna concluded that it was probably both.

B'Elanna ignored the rush of hormones she felt flush her system as she caught scent of her Bor... the Borg and then there was the follow up flash of irrational jealousy. She nearly growled again.

B'Elanna called herself automatically to heel even as she flashed back to a bite given to her during one of Seven's ... growing pains. She dragged her attention forward in time, forward in reality. She was here on a mission. That woman was a Borg and emotionally unavailable. Everyone knew it. And there was Tom to think about ... And there were reasons ... there were reasons...

She couldn't finish the thought. Instead she instinctively retreated into anger – a portion of which related to what she thought about the being she could never have.

“You!” B'Elanna began, and then continued with the cussing. She stalked forward, waving a PADD in Seven's general direction. “I want an explanation, Borg!” She just – at the moment – couldn't quite remember which thing she wanted an explanation about. B'Elanna held onto the PADD like a lifeline to rationality, even as she swung it in the Borg's direction.

Seven of Nine gently released Tal Celes' hands. She spoke softly to the ensign, “You are excused. Please return at your regularly scheduled time tomorrow. We will try again.” There was a remarkable amount of patience in her voice. It surprised B'Elanna. She knew how frustrating working with Celes could be and she knew that Seven had her own moments of expressed intolerance for the Bajoran. But something had changed, though B'Elanna could not think when it might have occurred. It must have been recently, in any case.

B'Elanna observed the ensign's retreat and, again, stifled an unfriendly growl at the young woman. Tal Celes had very nearly bowed to Seven in an act of gratitude and Bajoran courtesy, but caught herself, instead satisfying those social obligations with a nod. Then the young woman stepped away, nodded fearfully to the Lieutenant, and exited as quickly as was decently possible.

By that time Seven had turned around to face the Chief Engineer.

Seven of Nine did not speak immediately, but first took a moment to observe the irate woman. In her case, observation included a multitude of data, knowledge-based and sensory. An overload of information was instantly available for Seven's access. She knew, though Seven would never admit it, exactly how hard B'Elanna was holding back – was always holding back.

Seven often wondered what would happen if she initiated exploratory touch at moments like these, since she was highly aware of B'Elanna at a primal level. If there were ever a vase in Astrometrics, she might have thrown it long ago. Seven, however, coolly stopped the familiar impulse. She would not take advantage of B'Elanna's current state. Though she was, slowly and patiently, whittling away at the Klingon's hostility and moving a good portion of their interactions into better directions. Despite B'Elanna's accusations, Seven of Nine was a very honorable individual.

Seven clasped her hands behind her back and gazed with an unflappable attitude at the other woman. “Lieutenant Torres, I request that you cease swearing at this time. There are children present. Please convey your message alternatively.”

The smaller woman spluttered to a halt and then took a breath to calm herself. She grimaced as she held back her temper. Then she calmly, if a bit sharply, extended the PADD in Seven's direction. “Perhaps you could explain this, please,” she said through gritted teeth.

Seven of Nine's brow arched, raising her ocular implant, and she gathered the PADD from B'Elanna. She was rather impressed with the small warrior engineer's self-control – given how much she knew that B'Elanna's temper was roiling. She glanced down at the information tool, reading through it quickly. “Interesting,” she commented.

“Interesting?!” There was a bite to the question.

Seven of Nine returned her attention to B'Elanna. “I have no knowledge of these changes, but I note that they are effective. I am not sure why you are upset. On the other hand, I am willing to investigate it further, if you will allow ...” She hoped to buy some time. But the engineer was having none of it.

“Excuse me?” B'Elanna stepped dangerously close and poked her index finger at the PADD. “Those are Borg enhancements! Are you telling me you didn't have anything to do with this? Only you have the clearance ... ”

Seven of Nine held very still, though she urgently wanted to step back. It wasn't because she was afraid. She could match and exceed any violence that B'Elanna might throw her way. But she struggled with the rush of responses she was experiencing to the other woman's proximity. It was... disconcerting.

It always was.

Then there were other things to consider. She had long ago researched appropriate responses to the bracing behavior B'Elanna displayed and Seven was aware that, with a distressed Klingon, retreat had to be practiced carefully. Also, she was beginning to feel the stir of her own anger. No one liked being accosted unfairly, and it happened often enough to her that there was always that small trickle of resentment. But she was trying to set a good example. She had obligations of a personal nature now.

“Lieutenant, I am sure there is a logical explanation.” There was a touch of heat to her reply and she knew that she must diffuse the moment or suffer emotionally. There was always a subjective cost to arguing with the Klingon hybrid.

Seven of Nine broke her attention away from B'Elanna's hot gaze. She instead turned to look at two sets of twins who were gaping at her. “Ensigns, I request that you take a 15 minute break. Azan, Rebi attend me.” Seven of Nine pointed imperiously at the ground before her with her cybernetic hand.

The science officers didn't need any more prompting. They left in a hurry, sending sympathetic glances at the other set of twins. Azan and Rebi, the two young boys, jerked forward, since there was no avoiding that command. There was no dawdling at all.

B'Elanna moved away, a bit startled at the tone in Seven's voice. Oddly, she recognized it and she felt her blood charging in instinctive reaction. The only thing missing was the middle and last name. Well, and there was the formality of the demand. Her mom had never been that curt.

B'Elanna's gaze sharpened as she realized she was indeed witnessing something unexpected. But... Seven? She had held stringently to the idea that Seven was Borg. Now she was being given an abrupt new vision and it was skewing something on the inside.

Seven ignored B'Elanna for the moment and tapped the communicator above her chest. That movement caused all sorts of interesting things to happen to B'Elanna's consciousness even as she was aware that Icheb and Mezoti were also being called into Astrometrics to experience this... parental moment.

A few minutes later, the other two young people arrived and made their way to Seven.

B'Elanna stepped away from the group. She needed a little distance from the strange domesticity. Though Seven had spoken sharply in commanding the children to her presence, she had not continued with that tone of voice once they were there. In fact, she'd gave the assignment to the Borglings with an impressive neutrality.

Seven handed the PADD to Icheb. “It has come to my attention that certain enhancements have been made in Engineering. This needs further investigation. Please review this PADD and consult with your siblings. You will report on who instigated these changes and by what authority. You will begin now.” Icheb didn't even blink at the demand. He simply looked down at the PADD and began talking with his siblings.

B'Elanna took a moment to observe the children. The children had been on Voyager only a comparatively short time. They originally came from a Borg vessel where the adult population had been decimated by a biological weapon and were still adapting to their new – probably temporary, given the Captain's preferences - home.

There had been a total of five children rescued, including an infant. The youngest was located in Sickbay in a specially created maturation chamber. She had no idea how long the baby would remain in the unit. But she guessed that Seven probably knew.

Icheb was the oldest – a teenage Brunali, but there was no real way of knowing how old any of the children were. The best guess would place him somewhere between 16 and 17 – old enough to be responsible for his... siblings and to think of Starfleet with a gleam in his eye. He was a tallish young man, and probably going to get taller, slim with short, dark hair and dark eyes. He had a ridge running down the middle of his forehead and along the line of his nose. He smiled easily.

That always took B'Elanna aback. She was so used to Seven's reserved mode of behavior that any display of emotion by the children always caught her off guard. She figured, however, that she would eventually get used to it. Certainly, even Seven of Nine had been emoting more – if in a more adult Borg way.

After Icheb there was Azan and Rebi, the Wysanti twins. They were somewhere between 10 and 12, quick witted and active. Like Icheb they had a nose ridge, but it was as if someone had pressed the line in at decorative intervals along their foreheads. They would often converse silently between themselves via their Borg enhancements. It was probably a twin thing, but it did make B'Elanna wonder if this meant that Seven and the children were only speaking out loud to avoid being rude.

Then there was Mezoti. Mezoti was a pretty young girl, about 8 years old. She too was blonde and blue eyed. Her original species were the Norcadians, but she had always been Borg. She also had a nose ridge, though it did not extend all the way up her forehead like the boys' did. Originally she and Seven had not gotten along, because Mezoti had been testing her boundaries. Now though, B'Elanna noted that Mezoti stood very close to Seven and watched the Klingon with a cautious gaze.

Of course, all of the children – even the baby - had implants, some more visible than others. They would never not be Borg. There would always be that strike against them...

And suddenly B'Elanna's double-hearts clenched with awareness and she winced as if in pain. Memories of her own childhood difficulties stirred within her.

“Lieutenant?” Seven, who had turned her attention away from the children and back to the hybrid, began to query.

B'Elanna gruffly waved the question off. “It's nothing.” Actually it was a spasm of guilt, but there was no way she would admit that. Klingons, even half Klingons like herself, didn't do apologies – if they could avoid them. But that didn't stop her stomaches from protesting as her own history kicked her in the gut. “I just remembered something.”

There was a pause. “I .... see,” said Seven, though she really did not. The Borg decided to let the matter drop.

Icheb then captured his caretaker's attention. “Seven?” The name was spoken gently, affectionately.

Seven nodded formally, “Yes, Icheb. Do you have an answer?”

“I believe so. Our report is as follows: None of us did it, though we are all capable of it. Instigator of the changes: Unknown. Authority: Upper level clearance needed. Captain's choice. Unknown individual and command.” Azan and Rebi nodded in agreement. Icheb continued with some enthusiasm, “However, the changes made were effective. If we might make recommendations for further...”

Seven of Nine raised her hand to forestall the offer. “The Lieutenant prefers to pursue more official channels for recommendations and changes. Thus the crisis today. Modifications were made without consultation. If you have suggestions in relation to changes and this ship, please submit your recommendations to me via the usual formats and I will see that they are delivered to the Chief Engineer or the Captain in a timely manner. Will you comply?”

The Borg children spoke as one. “We will comply.”

“Please check your schedules now. I believe it is time for 'rest and relaxation.'” In general Seven and the children were pleased with the schedule they had finally arranged. There had been a bit of a learning curve, but they had learned to work together – as individuals in relationship to one another. Someone who didn't know that their relationship was not formalized might have simply called them a family. The Borg would have simply called them a collective.

The children's expressions changed a bit, as if they were looking inward. Then they nodded.

“Icheb, you will supervise. Holodeck 1 has been reserved for you.”

“Yes, Seven.”

“You are all excused.”

“Yes, Seven.”

B'Elanna watched as Mezoti reached up to Seven for a hug. Seven leaned over and embraced her young charge, closing her eyes to fully enjoy the sensation. The beautiful woman then whispered something in Mezoti's ear, which caused the young girl to smile. B'Elanna did not hear what was said, though she did technically have preternaturally good hearing. She suspected that it had been some sort of sub-tonal sound that only a Borg could pick up. But she wondered. And she could almost guess, just based on that smile.

Then the children left and she and Seven were alone.

Seven offered the PADD back to the Chief Engineer. “I believe I can say with 99.9% certainty that it was not one of us. Do you agree?”

“I guess I have to. Borg don't lie.”

“They do not,” agreed Seven of Nine, as she disregarded – once again – B'Elanna's original accusation. It was an old game with them..

“But why only 99.9%?”

“One must take into account the impossible.”

“Ah. I see.” B'Elanna finally took the PADD back, carefully avoiding touching any portion of Seven of Nine. She wasn't sure she could trust herself.

“Are you sure you are ... all right?”

“I'm fine.” She gazed at the PADD and then looked at the blonde. “But, Seven, if it wasn't you or the children ... who was it?

The Borg looked thoughtful and then gave B'Elanna a look that was almost as good as a shrug. “I do not know.”

==^==

Part 3 | Bookmarks

Captain Kathryn Janeway had a very busy if surreal day. True, in her past, it hadn't really been that long since she'd walked these familiar halls. But that had been as almost a stranger. This time it was different.

She'd been making changes throughout the day, starting with some simple coding enhancements to the vessel. It was possible that someone's red-flag would go up, but no one had brought the changes to her attention. She hoped that the individual was smart enough to recognize the benefit to Voyager. The improvements she had coded in the morning had been nothing overtly demanding on the physical systems of the ship. But she'd half-expected B'Elanna to come storming into her office at any time. That event had not been forthcoming, though Kathryn had been looking forward to seeing the expression on the engineer’s face when she told her who had made the changes. On the other hand, she wasn't sure she was ready to deal with the temperamental woman at the moment.

Then Kathryn had moved onto some staffing issues that she felt needed immediate attention. Chakotay had not been prepared for her interference in what was mostly his domain, but he would do what she'd asked, including finding assistants for helping Neelix. “People who can cook,” she'd said rather pointedly. Chakotay wasn't quite sure how he would go about finding those precious individuals, but it was an order from the Captain.

Chakotay was a burly, darkly handsome man. He was a member of the Kolopak tribe, descendants of Native Americans – the tattoos of which were displayed upon the left side of his forehead. He had been the captain of the Maquis ship, which Voyager had been chasing per the orders of Starfleet.

The Maquis were a fairly successful revolutionary group, fighting against ... well... everyone. At that time the occupying Cardassians, an unsavory reptile culture, and the Federation were still negotiating compromises that eventually failed. The Maquis had used whatever means necessary to win their cause, which was liberation of the planets that the Federation had deeded to the Cardassians as territory. A striking number of Starfleet officers had given up their commission to join them. Their efforts were starting to have a real impact and Cardassia had done more than protest. All of that combined to bring the Maquis to the Federation's attention. This particular ship with its crew had been brought to the Delta Quadrant at the same time as Voyager. They had combined forces when they'd realized that they were both stuck more than 70,000 light years away from home and Chakotay had become her first officer.

At one time he and Kathryn almost made a go of it, but that was something that hadn't worked out. Instead they'd become friends and sometimes adversaries, depending on their current adventure. He was, usually, an excellent first officer – but he could be willful. The captain was grateful that today he wasn't showing signs of disagreement. She really didn't want to have to argue her cause with him. It might reveal too much.

So she brought up the next topic and told him that she wanted him to start developing protocols for new crew integration. “It can't go on as haphazardly as we've done before,” she'd said to Chakotay. “We've lost so many already. I want to start considering the possibility of recruitment and training. That will be your job.”

“Recruitment, Kathryn?”

The captain had nodded firmly. “We have a good crew and our progress has been excellent. But we're explorers in a part of the galaxy that has no Federation representatives. Starfleet only exists with us, but – after long thought – I think we're eventually going to need help. We will need able bodied people to go on. If we have the training schedules on hand, we can begin as immediately as they come. I want these potential new people thoroughly integrated. And if we have people who want to try their hand at something else, let them. Let's give them what they need. I want our people to be the best that there are, because that is their destiny. I want us to be as strong and flexible as possible, Chakotay.”

Chakotay was looking at her strangely.” It sounds like you're putting us more on a military footing, Kathryn.” He tapped the corner of the PADD with his index finger, keeping tempo to some unknown rhythm.

“Maybe I am. But that's not quite what I'm thinking. I'm thinking more in terms of something more... holistic.” She leaned forward. “There are many in this crew who claim to come from warrior traditions. Call these people in. Find out their traditions.” She hoped she wasn't pushing too fast, but honestly, she had no idea how long she would be in this reality or whether or not those memories of the past would begin fading. “Get together and start working with Tuvok on scheduling specialized training sessions for the crew. It’s time we took advantage of our knowledge base. It's time we start thinking beyond terms of mere survival, which is where we've been for years. We need more and we can be more. We have people who are experts in areas that aren't covered in the handbook. Let's use them. Someone knows how to use throwing knives. Let's get more people learning how. You understand? Shared knowledge is shared power. We have the files that Starfleet has been transmitting to us. At our next beam out, send a request for training manuals, procedures, holodeck sessions. I want our crew as up to date as we can make them.

“Plus it will keep them from getting bored. Boredom is a killer out here, even with all the adventures we go through.” She paused, trying to give him time to gather his thoughts. “We have such a small population to draw from, but also more than many small villages on earth. Surely we can do more than just ... “

“...try to make it to the next port.” Chakotay inserted.

Kathryn nodded. “We already have a strong ship's culture. Let's see if we can't make more from that.”

“I think I see where you're going with this Kathryn.”

This caused the captain to lean back in her chair and smile at him with those ancient eyes. “Good. Thank you.” He smiled back, and she continued, “So in that spirit, I want you to talk to Neelix about establishing crafting and mercantile classes. I know that we have creative people on board. I want them to build up their talents – to contribute to our home. Besides, when we visit other planets it opens up the possibility of personal trade goods. That will also bring a sense of pride to my... our people.

“It's not like we don't have the time. Certainly Harry and others have been working on their hobbies while we've been out here. I just want to encourage more of that, since not everyone is as motivated as Ensign Kim.”

Chakotay gave her a rueful grin. She continued on. “And we're in here for the long haul, Chakotay.” She paused to give him time to grapple with that pronouncement.

It wasn't something she'd really articulated so frankly before. But she wanted him to know that she was aware of the passage of time. She leaned forward and pressed her fingertips together. “Even if we were to get rescued tomorrow, we've already been out here for nearly seven years. If we're going to be out here longer, we might as well make it profitable and meaningful. I want the crew to be able to take something back with them from their journey. Works of the hands, Chakotay, as well as the mind and spirit. I know everyone does their best. I know they're tired. But I think ... I believe this will help. The ancient warrior cultures of earth – at least the good ones – encouraged artistic pursuits as well as military in order to build up the spirit. Our people have become restless. It's time to wake them up, to give them a different kind of hope. We'll get home. But I want to be more than rag-tag when we get there. I want them to be proud of themselves for their incredible achievement. I want them to be ... family.”

Chakotay was nodding as he made notations on his PADD. His expression was serious, but she could see he was already thinking hard. This was good, because she needed him to be focused.

“We also need to think...” she inhaled a bit, to gather her courage. “... about the notion of families on this ship.”

Chakotay had sat back in his chair, stunned like an ox at that statement. “Families.”

“Yes.” The captain had nodded firmly. “Families. We've already got children aboard. We might as well adjust to facts. There will be more. We will need to assess space needs, power, formal instruction. I believe that Seven of Nine has developed...” Kathryn let a brief, sharp smile curve on her lips, “several protocols for such things. You may discuss them with her and with Samantha Wildman. Also pick other personnel for the project... Let's just call it... Generations... and then you and they will begin working on policies and procedures for handling integration and development.” She looked keenly at him, “Is that something you can handle, Chakotay?”

“I...Yes, Captain.” He was looking a bit overwhelmed, “These are major changes, Captain.”

Captain Kathryn Janeway merely nodded. “There will be more to come. Make it so, First.”

There had been one other thing that surprised him. She demanded a team of assistants. Kathryn intended to spend her time differently now and she planned on using what she'd learned as an Admiral. Delegation had its place. “Find me good people, Chakotay,” she'd demanded after giving him details of what she wanted – including the name of one specific person. Then she'd smiled broadly. “Think of it this way. They can double as body guards on away missions.”

Kathryn excused the stunned Chakotay and then she'd called in Tuvok.

This moment held a bit of angst for her. In her first reality, Tuvok had died much too early. It had nearly wrenched her heart out to lose her longtime friend, and a part of her had always blamed herself for his untimely demise.

Tuvok was her Chief Security Officer. He had been on the Maquis ship acting as a spy for the Federation. He'd been very good at his job. None of the Maquis had ever suspected.

Like all Vulcans, Tuvok had pointed ears and eyebrows that were almost straight, giving him a sort of ancient-time demonic look whenever they narrowed in thought. His skin was the color of fresh brewed coffee and he was a very tall, slim man. Vulcans originated from a hot, desert world with a heavier gravity than earth, so despite his slim size he was actually stronger than might be outwardly perceived. He towered over Kathryn, but she didn't mind. She always felt safe with her friend.

Because he was Vulcan, the opening pleasantries of conversation were kept to a minimum. Vulcans were a logical, touch telepathic, and an efficient people. They didn't usually need a lot of dialog to get their point across. Kathryn knew that, despite the reputation for being emotionless, Tuvok had a great heart. She admired him deeply for his intelligence and skill and would do almost anything for him.

They began discussing in great detail defense and security issues. That had taken hours, but she was pleased to be able to spend time with her logical friend and find some resolution for the things that had long been at the back of her mind. It had been.... healing. And if he was aware of her tender mood towards himself, he made no overtly obvious indication. He simply reciprocated in that ineffable Vulcan way of his.

Also, he approved of the changes in protocol. By the same time next week, the crew persons on the ship – from lowest rank to highest - would be required to go into combat conditioning. In a few months more, after crafting certain weapons to meet Janeway's demands, everyone would be armed and dangerous. Yes, there would still be a weapons cache to draw upon. Those would be the higher level items that had always been stored – though she intended to have teams working on improving those items too. But she wanted boot knives and small, potent palm phasers for every member of the crew. The people of Voyager would no longer be easy marks for boarding aliens, simply because they had been unarmed and had to rush to a storage closet for armament. It was true, the method harked back to a more primitive, savage time. There was, however, no sin in preparation, and they were indeed in the wilderness – as their forefathers had been. It was time to acknowledge that fact.

Tuvok promised her he would assemble a team to begin development of training schedules and weapons design.

And then there were the changes she wanted made to the ship itself.

Tuvok was no dummy. He made no comment as Janeway began describing physical, futuristic changes to be made upon Voyager itself. He simply listened, for the moment. He had been aware of certain security changes the captain had already instigated. After all, he kept track of such things and this morning was no different. He suspected, however, that Seven of Nine had experienced an interesting visit from the Chief Engineer.

He knew there was something different about Janeway, just based on the conversation. There was also something that niggled on his consciousness in her interactions with him. It wasn't her affection. That was always present, if not so deep as today. She had not touched him, so he couldn't get more specific – since Vulcan telepathy relied on physical contact-, but there was a sense of ancient wisdom in her gaze; a strange mix of agelessness with experience and a youthful exuberance motivate