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

 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 |

 

Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21

 

Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29

 

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 motivated towards getting things done. Something had changed his friend, but it was an undefined something. It puzzled him, but she was acting rationally, so far.

 

He set the mystery aside for the moment and focused on the logical procession of the conversation. He would take up the matter during contemplation, when he had time. There was nothing Captain Janeway was requesting that was truly impossible, though they would need to find and make the materials to meet the need and perhaps layover for exterior work. But ultimately that responsibility would fall on other's shoulders and they would handle those demands adequately. He realized that the Captain was just sounding out her ideas and so, as a friend, he offered his opinions.

 

They also talked about more personal issues, but nothing that was out of the norm. The Captain merely informed him of something she was considering and asked for his input. Eventually they were done with their conversation and Tuvok had been given much food for thought. Janeway nodded at his farewell and then leaned back in her chair. Much had been accomplished and there was still more to go.

 

Kathryn still wasn't quite ready to face B'Elanna so she opted instead to take a bit of a walk about. She knew she would eventually have to talk to the Chief Engineer about all these changes that she was planning, since the small woman was the one who would eventually have to see them through. But Kathryn still had Tuvok on her mind and she wanted to talk to the Doctor anyway. She exited her ready room and told Chakotay where she was going. Then Kathryn made her way to the Sickbay, taking the long way around.

 

If crew persons saw her touching the walls of her ship now and then and smiling softly to herself as she walked, they didn't comment.

 

==^==

 

Part 4 | Bookmarks

 

Sickbay was as she remembered, sterile without being antiseptic. The colors and set up were designed to be calming and she actually did feel her shoulders settle down a bit. She hadn't been aware of how tense she was becoming. Ironically, the thought caused her to smile. She was feeling the heat of responsibility again.

 

Her lips twitched in humor. It still felt like home.

 

The Captain took a few moments to inspect the area, noting that the bio-beds were in good condition, if a bit aged. There was a new unit in one of the corners and she walked towards it curiously. Her breath caught and she reached to touch the clear barrier that protected the small creature inside the module. A sparkle of tears threatened to break past the mask she'd been holding firmly in place.

 

“A second chance,” she whispered. There, in that small bed, was the one being who had affected her life more than she had ever thought possible. There, in that small bed, was redemption for a decision she had not ever been able fix. That was when she'd truly lost Seven, she recalled... when the young woman had ceased trusting her Captain and had turned to ... another. It was amazing that her body could hold so much regret sometimes.

 

But now was not the time to wallow in the past. Now it was time to talk to the good Doctor and set new possibilities in motion.

 

“Computer, Activate E.M.H.”

 

There was that subtle hum and the ever familiar greeting, “Please state the nature of the Medical Emergency...”

 

Captain Janeway turned to meet another old friend.

 

Of all the beings on Voyager, the E.M.H. could be considered one of the most complicated. He was a hologram, but also a complete, free thinking individual. He was alive in his Matrix. Though he could appear as anything he programmed, he usually opted to appear as a slim, balding man wearing Starfleet's medical uniform. He had no formal name yet, but he responded to “Doctor,” and sometimes called himself E.M.H. He had several hobbies and a sometimes abrupt bedside manner, but most of the crew thought of him with great affection.

 

If he noticed that the Captain was displaying more pleasure in his company than usual, he didn't comment on it. What he did comment on was his surprise at her abrupt desire for a complete physical. Not that he didn't perform it, mind you. He was, after all, a fully capable Doctor and this opportunity did not come around often. So it was fair to say that he grabbed the bull by the horns and leapt at the chance to take care of his Captain once she made the request.

 

It was during the physical that the Captain made several specific requests and a couple of orders, some of which she made classified for his ears only. He was fairly buzzing with information overload by the time she was done handing him perhaps half a dozen assignments on top of his current workload. Not that he wouldn't have time for it. But he was going to regret the loss of several of his hobby subroutines. However, he knew it was necessary. He would need the processing space.

 

“I'll see what I can do to get you more to work with,” the Captain promised. “I know I've handed you a few ... difficult cases.”

 

“No more difficult than usual, Kathryn.” He was still so tickled that she was allowing him to call her that during off duty hours and personal medical sessions, that he never thought about how she'd come to have the information about certain crew members. It was an extension of friendship that was wholly unexpected and thus, completely meaningful to him. He was willing to sacrifice certain things for that small gesture. He considered it a fair exchange. Then he clasped her shoulder, “I promise. I will do my best.”

 

She patted his hand and smiled at him with a smile that reached her eyes. “I'm sure you will Doctor. I'm sure you will.” She prepared to hop off the bio-bed and then paused. The command mask slid into place. She told him about her plan to get the crew in condition. “You might as well plan on being busy.”

 

The E.M.H merely chuckled. “Of course,” he nodded, recognizing the shift in roles, “Captain.” He smiled warmly at her, “And, I am happy to report that, other than being a bit stressed, you are in good shape.”

 

==^==

 

It had already been a full day and there was still a ways to go before she could rest. It was with that thought that Captain Janeway made her way to Astrometrics. It was there that she hoped to find Seven of Nine, though she was feeling oddly ambivalent about how she would approach the younger woman. There were so many things she wanted and needed to say, but the curve to the conversation was eluding her somewhat.

 

She decided at that point to just focus only on what actually needed to be addressed at the moment. That thought helped settle her nerves and so she stepped out of the turbolift with confidence and made her way to Seven of Nine's domain.

 

Even so, her movements were cautious as she stepped into the lab. Though she retained the memory of greeting the Borg in a past future, she still ached with the original loss. Of all the things that had happened, the ancient awareness of her Borg's death continued to have the ability to strip Kathryn's command mask away, leaving her bare and vulnerable. The captain held tightly to the reigns of her emotions.

 

Naturally, it was all nearly undone as, without even turning around, Seven of Nine greeted her. “Captain. How may I assist you?”

 

Kathryn did not immediately reply. Instead she indulged in a moment of observation and drank in the pleasant sight of one living, very special Borg. Seven, naturally, turned around at that moment. But Kathryn just didn't have it in her, right then, to dissemble. On the other hand, she could get right to the topic that was foremost on her mind, and perhaps deflect undue attention. “Actually it's more a case of how I might assist you.”

 

Seven of Nine gave her captain a speculative look, inviting a continuation. Kathryn stepped a little more closely, until she was about a foot and a half away from the Astrometric's officer. It was close enough, yet far enough, that she hoped she could keep her equilibrium.

 

“I've had some time to think about this,” Kathryn's lips twitched. A lifetime was a long time to review one's mistakes. She knew that of all her decisions so far, this one would definitely affect changes in this universe – probably in ways that could not yet be quantified. She was, however, willing to commit. She was carrying on with that inner policy that if one was going to change something, it ought to be done big. “I want to offer you a choice – an... an opportunity, Seven of Nine.”

 

Seven just gazed at her patiently.

 

“Tell me, Seven how do you feel about ...” Oh, how to phrase this? “...your current assignment regarding the other young Borg?”

 

“Feel, captain?”

 

“Feel.”

 

“I ... enjoy it, Captain.”

 

“If I were to tell you that I intended to try and find their original home worlds, what would be your first response?”

 

Seven stiffened and her fists clenched at her sides, even if her facial expression did not necessarily reveal the sudden roil of hostile emotions. The Borg's reply was icily composed. “I would ... not receive such news gladly... Captain. I would offer arguments against it.” There was a slight catch in her voice, barely discernible to anyone who didn't know her. But Kathryn knew her quite well by now. “My arguments would not be solely for my own benefit. I would take into account what was best for the children.”

 

“And do you believe that you have had sufficient time to arrive at a conclusion of what was best for your ... charges?”

 

“I do, Captain.”

 

Captain Janeway nodded. Then her gaze narrowed. “I want you to consider carefully what I'm about to offer you Seven. These children need a real parent if they are going to stay on this ship. If this is not a responsibility you are prepared to take on in a permanent way, you need to let them go. We can not go half-way on this.”

 

Seven's stance loosened, just a micron. “I would....”

 

“No. Don't make the decision right now. I mean it when I say I want you to think about it. Because there is more to this than meets the eye.

 

“You are one person. An extra-ordinary person, true. But one individual. There are five children who will be calling on you to act – always – in their best interest – even when they reach adulthood. Even when it hurts you. You will need to consider that these individuals will eventually arrive at points of unexpected... unexpected departures. They'll need freedom just as much as they'll need direction.” Kathryn relied on a term from her youth, “Your commitment to them must be whole hog or die, Seven.

 

“Thus, here is your choice: Full adoption or,” She wanted Seven to know that this wasn't just a threat, it was a promise. “I'll return them to their people.”

 

Seven of Nine hesitated. She was aware that the Captain considered her to be young. But Seven of Nine was Borg and had lifetimes of experience upon which to draw. She was offering Seven something that would not be refused. She needed clarification, however. Sometimes the Captain's expectations were not like Seven's. “You would trust me with this? With raising them?” She gave the captain a very long, appraising look. “They will be raised according to my standards. You understand this? The collect... our family unit... would be unique.”

 

“I do understand and,” Kathryn's look was just as firm, just as determined. “I trust you. You, of all people, will understand what these children need. You will be able to guide them past some of the difficulties you have faced.” To forestall interruption she raised her hand, “And I am aware that there has been much to be desired about the crew interaction with you.”

 

She smiled tightly, “To give you an incentive, though I know you really don't need it, I offer you the option of real family quarters – to be more deeply defined at a later time. If you choose adoption, we'll need to discuss whether we will adapt currently available empty crew quarters to your... family's needs. Or whether we are going to use space within Cargo Bay 2 and somehow adapt that space.”

 

Seven's eyes were wide with surprise. Kathryn could have laughed out loud, but she satisfied herself with a small smile. “Do you think you can give me an answer on this topic by tomorrow?”

 

The ex-drone inhaled and gathered her thoughts. She was about to say that she could give Kathryn the answer now. But knew, that she needed time to really consider what was being offered and to discuss it with the children. She straightened to her usual at rest position. “I will comply,” she stated.

 

This time Kathryn did smile. She patted Seven's shoulder, affectionately. “Good. Good.” Then she grimaced, “There's more to talk about Seven, if you have a moment; less personal and more ship's business. It will take some time for me to explain everything. Perhaps we could go find a place to sit down?”

 

“Of course, Captain.” Seven started walking towards the two available seating units. Once they sat down, Kathryn began sharing some of her plans with the Borg.

 

Sometime later, during the conversation, Seven of Nine became convinced that she was not, in fact, imagining things. The captain's motivation towards her had changed – had moved from maternal, to something more... intriguing.

 

Seven had always been aware of Kathryn's body language. She'd analyzed it often, trying to sort out details and meaning. She had become quite the expert in Kathryn's personal style, but also – generally speaking – in most hominid interactions. It had been necessary for her... emotional and social survival.

 

At the moment Kathryn's body language was divergent, abnormal – but not unpleasantly so. Seven was aware that there was a deeper spark of personal interest emanating from the Captain. Also, there was something about the way Kathryn looked at her... something ancient, yet new.

 

It bore investigating and so she stored away her observations for later perusal. She then was able to focus on the topic at hand, which revealed to the Borg – once again – that Captain Kathryn Janeway had a very intriguing mind.

 

==^==

 

Later, Kathryn was talking with B'Elanna. They had spoken somewhat in depth about the changes she would like to make and the conversation had turned towards the time it would all take.

 

“Tell me Lieutenant, how much difference would a year make? Or two? If we took time to really train the crew, really fix the ship?”

 

B'Elanna blinked a few seconds. “Well... uh... I suppose it wouldn't really make that much difference...”

 

The Captain slapped her hand down on the table. “Wrong!” She glared at the startled Klingon. “Wrong,” she said more gently. “It could be the difference between life and death. It could be the difference between making a way to be happy on our journey or untold sorrows. It could be the difference...” Kathryn's voice cracked and she took a moment to compose herself.

 

“We've been running hell-for-leather since the start of this whole thing.” Captain Janeway stood up from behind her desk and moved to go stand before her engineer. She took the seat next to the Klingon woman, “That was my fault,” she said. “You see, I let pride and guilt push me into making... deadly... decisions.”

 

B'Elanna started to protest. “Captain, wait...”

 

Kathryn took one of the engineer's hands in her own. “... not that I didn't make some good decisions too, B'Elanna.” She said warmly. “I just acknowledge that we could have slowed down a bit. We could have, taken advantage of certain opportunities to shore up our strength.” She patted the Klingon's hand and ignored the confused and wondering look she was receiving. She also found herself thinking about how soft the engineer's hands were, even with the callouses.

 

Kathryn sighed. “You've been a miracle worker. I doubt we'd be where we are without you.” She released B'Elanna's hand and laughed ruefully, “In fact, I'd say we'd be a bunch of dead people and hunks of metal floating in space if it weren't for you.”

 

“I... I...”

 

“B'Elanna there are two things you need to be aware of at this moment. Maybe three.” The captain's expression twisted wryly. “First of all, I understand from speaking with Seven that you found some... anomalies in programming.” Kathryn pointed at her own chest. “I did that.”

 

“Y... you...”

 

“Yes, me. I utilized some procedures that had been suggested to me some time ago. I figured, they were helpful and wouldn't interfere too much with our systems. That has proven to be true, hasn't it?

 

“Well, yeah, Captain, but... you could have asked me to...”

 

“I needed to do something with my hands, B'Elanna. You know how it is.”

 

The Klingon nodded somewhat helplessly. She was feeling very distracted by Kathryn's touch and it had already been a trying day – emotionally speaking. “I guess, I do, Captain.”

 

Kathryn nodded and continued. “Secondly, we're going to be embarking on a major overhaul and take the opportunity to do in depth training. I need more engineers B'Elanna. I need more warriors. Seven of Nine has been tasked with finding us the resources we need – including suitable planetary bodies. We will have plenty of Borg expertise available to us. I'm going to ask that you take advantage of that.”

 

“Of course, Captain, but you know Seven and I, we don't exactly get along. I mean, it's gotten better, but...”

 

“One more thing, B'Elanna, then you can have your say.” Kathryn paused, “I recognize, from a Klingon point of view, that this is usually the completely wrong approach, but I must. I hope you won't take it as a sign of weakness, but rather as a human need to clear the air.”

 

“Captain.”

 

“Call me Kathryn. It's been so long since you have.”

 

“I... Kathryn, I will listen.”

 

“Good.” Kathryn gazed deeply into brown eyes. “B'Elanna, I wish to formally apologize.”

 

The engineer's hands clenched into protective fists, but she did nothing else. Kathryn continued calmly, with a mild hint of self-accusation. “I wasn't there for you when you needed me and I know you felt... abandoned... when Seven of Nine came aboard. I'm sorry for letting you think for even a moment that you were not important to me, personally. I'm sorry for not seeing sooner that you needed me. You are more than a daughter to me B'Elanna. You are someone I care about deeply.” Care was not the exact word. Kathryn's feelings were much deeper than that, but she knew it was too soon after an apology to say anything and too late, anyway. “But you should know, so is Seven of Nine.

 

“I have, and always have – and will have, feelings for you. Just as I have, and always have – and will have, feelings for her.” Kathryn said it with absolute sincerity, with a perfect knowledge of years of truth. “You should know that neither of you could be replaced in me. It's not a matter of equal or unequal. It is more a case that I appreciate different things about each of you in greater depth than you can possibly imagine.”

 

Kathryn barreled on. “I realize you have your relationship with Tom. I don't expect anything of you. I know the distance between us, has been my fault – and it has been my fault, not Seven's. But I would – if possible – dearly love to have my friend back. I've... missed her. Very much. So, please... take some time to consider...”

 

“I ... I was always your friend, Kathryn.”

 

“I know. But I lost you, for awhile.”

 

“Yes. You did.” There was a long pause. B'Elanna wasn't quite ready to consider all the consequences of this particular revelation. She felt like she was swimming in deep waters. But, this moment was something she had longed for, for several years. On the other hand... “Oh, and I thought you knew, Tom and I... we've sort of broken up. Again.”

 

Well, now, that wasn't in the captain's personal logs. “I am sorry. I've been so occupied...”

 

“It's okay,” B'Elanna responded. “We didn't exactly broadcast over the intercom.”

 

“There is that. And, as for Seven and I...”

 

B'Elanna leapt in before she could hear more than she could bear. “I felt like I was torn in half, you know.” B'Elanna grimaced. “If there was anything that could possibly have driven me more insane, I don't know how you could have picked it.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, we never... that whole keeping a professional distance thing, it just kicked in with me ... like it did with you. I guess I kept thinking that, somehow our distance home would be shortened and then... then I could finally say yes.”

 

“It doesn't make it better. But I understand.”

 

Kathryn grimaced ruefully. B'Elanna had always been blunt, “Well, I know it's been rough on your feelings, since...” ... sometime forever and two universes ago...

 

B'Elanna gave her a startled glance, then ruefully shook her head. “It's not that, Kathryn. She's...”

 

“Impossible, arrogant, intelligent,... beautiful... desirable...”

 

“Kahless,” a whisper, “Yes.”

 

“I know!” Kathryn touched B'Elanna's knee. “Do you really think you were the only one cursing her on the one hand and praising her on the other?”

 

“Of course not. I just...” B'Elanna's expression was grim, “...you have no idea what just being around her does to me in particular. I mean it. You have no idea.”

 

“I...,” Kathryn cleared her throat, “It's possible you're right B'Elanna, but I think I can guess. And I knew when I threw you two together that there might be sparks. I was hoping...,” Kathryn waved vaguely, “I don't know what I was hoping. But it wasn't that you two would slug it out, that's for sure.”

 

Then she grinned, “And this conversation is leading to places that would require a bit of wine and dinner to go on – even if we change topics. You feel up to a meal?”

 

B'Elanna smiled back, with the smile reaching her eyes for the first time in a long time, “Fine. But I get to cook.”

 

==^==

 

Part 5 | Bookmarks

 

They didn't even get a chance to start replicating their meal before the klaxon of a yellow alert started and then changed to red. There was a beep on the communicator. “Chakotay to Captain Janeway, you better get up to the Bridge.”

 

“Another time?” Kathryn offered.

 

B'Elanna nodded, accepting, and strode behind the Captain out the door. They parted ways in the hallway as the intrepid captain headed towards the Bridge and the feisty Klingon headed towards Engineering.

 

The ship rocked with the impact of weapons fire. 'We're just going to have to do something about those inertial dampeners,' the Captain grumbled to herself. 'They're the one piece of tech that absolutely need to work to keep us from being jostled around like ants shaken in a can. And they're always the first to go.' She made it to the Bridge despite all the shaking and sparks. “Report.”

 

“An unknown vessel de-cloaked starboard and began firing at us, Captain. They've kept up with us while at warp three and have ignored hails. No serious injuries or breakdowns reported. Tuvok believes we can outrun them if we take the ship beyond Warp five.”

 

Captain Janeway nodded. She glanced at the ship on the screen, taking note of its ungainly appearance. It was roundish, with random sharp points and block-ish shapes jutting out all around, like some sort of crazy ball that one wouldn't dare try to catch. But that was the thing in space, a ship didn't have to be aerodynamic to work. Certainly the mysterious vessel's weapons array was successfully playing havoc with their ship. “Tom. Get us out of here. Warp Eight.”

 

Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris was a hot-dog pilot and cocky as hell. But he had reason to be. He was actually an extraordinary navigator. He had an intuitive sense of the total whole of any ship he was piloting, and Voyager glided effortlessly through space under his guidance – sometimes with a few bounces depending on what they were encountering. Tom was the blonde, blue-eyed son of inveterate Starfleet officers – one of whom was an Admiral. His beginnings had been shakey, as he had gone through a period of rebellion and made the kinds of mistakes that got one convicted for treason, but he had shaped up into a fine officer eventually. He cried out, “Aye-Aye, Captain,” and promptly obeyed her command.

 

Voyager picked up speed, even as she was rocked by a final few blasts from the chasing alien vessel.. Then she zipped forward, getting away from the assault with a few easily repairable scars to the hull. It was nothing serious, but it was annoying. In a few minutes they were far away from their attacker. In an hour they would be farther.

 

Kathryn stood with her hands on her hips and took a moment to visually assess the Bridge. There wasn't too much damage, and other than a few rumpled looking officers, everyone looked okay. Certainly they had experienced worse. She shook her head in dismay that they had gone through this yet again. 'Not the first time, not the last.' she thought with an internal sigh. When the captain was satisfied that they had eluded the alien ship, she said , “Ensign Kim, please compile all information garnered by our encounter and deliver it to my ready room.”

 

The plucky operations officer nodded to his captain, before turning back to his console. “Yes, Ma'am.” Ensign Harry Kim could probably be thought of as the stabilizing influence to Tom Paris' more adventuresome ways. The two men had formed a fast friendship early on and it had benefited both of them. If Tom was the master of hijinks, Harry was his journeyman. The young Asian could hold his own in the practical jokes department. His holographic changes to Tuvok's meditation programs were legendary. Harry was otherwise an ingenious and flexible officer, capable of working in a wide range of duties on the Voyager. He was a gold complexioned, with dark hair and brown eyes. His disposition was generally sunny, even on the difficult days. The Captain knew she could rely on him in a pinch. Now that she had the perspective of time, Kathryn knew she was going to be bumping him up a grade. He'd been an Ensign long enough.

 

Kathryn made her way towards her ready room and was stopped briefly by Chakotay. “Permission to speak with you for a moment?”

 

The captain smiled, “Granted.” She was amused by Chakotay's formality, but guessed that it was based on his intuitive sense of the difference in Kathryn's authoritative presence. The admiral was still in her eyes. “What can I do for you, Chakotay?”

 

The first officer's expression turned even more serious as he stepped close to her. He leaned in, “I found that crewman you requested. You're aware she was and considers herself to be Maquis and only Maquis. She wasn't too happy to be told that she was going to be seeing the Captain. Are you sure you want her, specifically?”

 

“Yes. Just send her on up to my Ready Room. I'll have a talk with her.”

 

Chakotay gave her a rueful grimace. “It's your funeral, Captain. I know this one. She's... antisocial at the best of times.“

 

“Let me handle it, Chakotay. If she doesn't work out, there are other options.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

Several minutes later the computer pinged with the arrival of Harry's sensor data and the door chimed indicating that someone awaited her attention. Kathryn sat back in her seat and gazed speculatively at the door. She recalled that she hadn't ever encountered the person as an individual. The woman had only attended required ship-events and deliberately got lost in the crowd. Originally, Kathryn had not found out much about her - until after their arrival in the Alpha quadrant many decades later; a long time after the woman had died defending the ship during one of those tragic alien boardings.

 

Now it was time to set another thing right. Kathryn might not be able to defend everyone on board from a particular destiny and certainly, there were going to be losses in this reality. That was the risk adventurers took. The captain, however, was still not one to go down easy. She might be practical, but sometimes there were people who needed saving, whether they wanted it or not.

 

After about a minute, which no doubt felt like forever to the person outside those doors, Kathryn called out, “Enter!”

 

The woman who walked into the room was a pale complexioned Bajoran. She had fine, dark, shoulder-length hair, delicately-scrunched nose ridges and wore the classic ear adornment – the d'ja pagh . She was almost as tall as Tuvok and lithe like a dancer. According to the ship records, she was Ba Nores, hailing straight from a wine farm on Bajor; just an ordinary farm girl radical who had longed for the stars. Kathryn had laughed out loud when she'd read that earlier. Especially when she thought about what this young woman had been doing over the last few years, aside from wasting her potential. Even starships needed a maintenance crew. Crewman Ba Nores, among others, had taken on the lowest, dirtiest, stinkiest, hardest jobs on the ship.

 

Of course, the woman stayed in character, even as she stalked towards the front of Janeway's desk. Seven years of acting could do that for a person. Crewman Ba was dressed in grungy, somewhat smelly orange coveralls and there was several smudges of dark matter on her face. Even with all that she looked beautiful and ...rebellious. This only sparked Kathryn's dry humor more and she wondered, very briefly, how the younger woman spent her time when off duty – probably running Klingon war holos, given the chip on her shoulder.

 

“Please have a seat Crewman Ba.”

 

“I prefer to stand.”

 

“I said, have a seat.”

 

The crew person sat down on the available seat rather abruptly. As she'd never been in the Captain's presence alone before she'd never heard the snap of command directed solely at her. Janeway hadn't even raised her voice.

 

There was a lingering moment of silence as the Captain gazed steadily at the crew person. Nores sat on the edge of the seat, placing her palms on her knees and looking a bit like a deer ready to bolt. Kathryn lifted a PADD off her desk and flicked a glance at it, as if she were reminding herself of something. Then she spoke, “I have to say, Crewman, that I'm impressed.” There was somewhat of a sarcastic twist to the captain's tone of voice.

 

Oh, that got Ba's attention. This was a woman who had, for years, deliberately avoided doing anything exceptional – avoided doing anything to draw the attention of the bridge officers or Voyager's captain. Her name might as well have been Ba Nores LoProfile. The Bajoran managed, somehow to sit even more stiffly in her seat.

 

“Of course, it's not your conduct as a crewman that has impressed me, Lieutenant.”

 

There was a wince. Ah, good. So she hadn't forgotten. Amnesia, then, was out of the question.

 

“What impressed me was how long you, Ro Laren, managed to bury yourself on this ship.” Kathryn set the PADD down hard on the desk. The crack of the sound reverberated in the room. “The hiding, of course, is over.” Kathryn spoke sternly, uncompromisingly. “There are other people who can do the job you are doing now and this ship has needed you for years. As you never gave up your commission, it is within my right to simply call you back to service. Therefore, you are hereby reinstated per field protocols, to your full rank. You are, for time foreseeable until I release you, restricted to quarters for gross insubordination - barring your new job, Captain's privilege, meals, PT and other training as assigned by Tuvok,.”

 

Ro abruptly stood up, anger in her features.

 

'Well now, that could be a good sign. She didn't go into denial. She just got mad.' Kathryn thought to herself. “Sit down Lieutenant!” the captain barked. This time there was the famous glare backing the words. Ro Laren sat down just as abruptly as she had the first time. “New quarters will be assigned to reflect your new official status. A cover story will be created, about time served on this ship, and you will adhere to it. As for the insubordination, you had every opportunity to step forward – since the beginning of this journey – and did not. This was after it was made crystal clear...” and this time Kathryn pointed an index finger straight at the Bajoran warrior. “... that all Maquis who had ties to Starfleet were called to duty. You're lucky I don't drop kick you out an airlock.”

 

The Bajoran opened her mouth to reply, caught herself and her teeth audibly clacked together when she closed it.

 

“Good. We understand one another.” Now Kathryn finally leaned forward, resting her forearms on her desk. “Here are your choices, Lieutenant Ro. I have asked Chakotay to find me at least four people to serve as assistants – one for each duty shift, and one to head the new department. You, Ro, would be the head of that department and the one most likely to accompany me on Away missions. Your job will be refined as we go along and you will receive intensive retraining. Perhaps, if you,” The captain grinned, realizing that the pun was applicable, “... keep your nose clean, you will find yourself in a place of real usefulness.” The Bajoran flinched.

 

“And if I don't want to... take up this assignment?

 

“Well, Lieutenant Ro Laren, it's either that, or I will make you the ship's chaplain and counselor.”

 

The Bajoran just stared at her in horror. “You wouldn't...” Janeway gave her that glare again and Laren felt her stomach settle somewhere down by her knees. “Oh, Prophets, You would.” The taciturn woman tried to stall and bargained, “Well, if you give me some time to think about it...” She was fairly sure she could steal a shuttle within twenty four hours. Or maybe hop into a life raft and set it off. Or maybe just go space walking on a permanent kind of basis.

 

“No. The decision is to be made before you exit this room.” Kathryn knew that Bajoran honor would insure that Ro perform well, if she could get the stubborn female to commit, right now. “It's time for you to take on new duties. You become the head of a new department and perform all tasks I assign to my satisfaction, as a fully re-established member of Starfleet. Or you become the ship's chaplain.”

 

“But,” Laren started weakly, “We don't have a chapel.”

 

“We don't yet, that's for sure. But it doesn't mean we don't need something like it. Even with the holographic options, there is something to be said about a room set aside for... personal meditation. “ She gave the Bajoran an unfriendly smile. “If you take the assignment, I might begin by having you find someone else to fill that position, anyway. You'll be working closely with Chakotay and Tuvok, so prepare yourself.”

 

“Oh, Prophets.” Laren cussed again.

 

==^==

 

Part 6 | Bookmarks

 

Later, Captain Janeway wearily returned to her quarters, confident that – even if she forgot everything by morning – things had been set in motion that would make life better for Voyager and her crew.

 

There hadn't been much more information about the alien ship in Harry's sensor log and she decided to list the event as just another anonymous dog-fight in the Delta Quadrant in her logs. She didn't specifically remember the event, but there had been so many that she wasn't too worried. So she set that worry aside as business for tomorrow

 

Given how tired she was, she fully expected to drop right into sleep once she hit the mattress. Which she did. However, she hadn't counted on the nightmares that began in the early morning hours.

 

She woke up sweating, dreaming of the Borg with a disturbingly weird and explosive eroticism. Kathryn knew it was just her brain trying to put the events of her past into perspective, but the dreams were very distressing – especially since there had been accurate memories mixed in with the symbolism. Greatly unsettled and realizing that she'd had just enough sleep to keep her from getting back to it, Kathryn opted to get up and get started with the new day.

 

==^==

 

Later that day the captain was seated on the couch in the Ready Room reading a PADD and contemplating her next step when the door chimed. “Come,” she called without even looking up. She expected to see Lieutenant Ro. Instead she was greeted with the pleasant sight of Naomi Wildman.

 

Naomi was the child of Samantha Wildman and a half-Katarian. She was strawberry-blonde, had cute button-like horns growing in a vertical line down the middle of her forehead, and an endearing smile. Kathryn remembered that she was incredibly smart and advanced for her age. She also adored Seven of Nine, which from the captain's point of view, gave her at least a hundred points in her favor.

 

Now the child was standing hesitantly just inside the Ready Room. One of her fists was clenched, and she appeared like she was just on the edge of tears. The captain dropped the PADD on the couch and leaned forward. “Naomi. What is wrong?”

 

With a gulp, the child straightened her shoulders and went to the captain, extending the fisted hand out. Kathryn instinctively lifted her own hand up, palm forward and suddenly understood when a single pip dropped into her hand. “Naomi?” she questioned.

 

The girl's voice caught, “I know you don't ... don't... need me any more. I wanted to give you your pip back.”

 

“Don't need you? Now why would you think that, Naomi Wildman?” She looked the young Katarian in the eye and patted the couch seat besides her. “Sit down, young lady.”

 

Naomi's bleak expression suddenly shifted to one of hopefulness.

 

“Now, explain to me why you think I wouldn't need you?”

 

“You are going to have all these new assistants and I thought...”

 

“You thought they were taking your job?”

 

Naomi just nodded miserably.

 

Kathryn chuckled. “No one could replace you, Naomi. In fact, my young friend, you are about to become even more important.”

 

The girl blinked. “I am?”

 

“Yes. You won't just be running errands for me any more. My new staff will need someone to help them too. It's a big responsibility and I've been meaning to talk to you about it anyway. I wouldn't expect you to be run ragged, mind you. You'll still need to do your homework, have fun. But we're going to be very busy soon.”

 

“How busy?”

 

“Very, Naomi. We're going to do an overhaul of Voyager and make quite a few changes. You'll be helping with that.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“My assistants will be keeping you busy. And, I will still need you too. Is this something you can handle?”

 

Naomi was looking at her with a very interested gleam. “I'm still the Special Captain's Assistant?”

 

“Yes. You are. And unlike the other assistants, who will report to Lieutenant Ro, you will report only to me and you won't have to do any paperwork.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“I think... I think I'd like the pip back, Captain.”

 

Kathryn smiled at her young friend as she handed her the pip. “Take a break today,” she said kindly, “but come back tomorrow during Alpha shift, after your homework is done.”

 

“Yes, Captain.” Then, exuberantly, the Katarian gave Kathryn a long hug, which was fiercely returned.

 

==^==

 

With trepidation, Lieutenant Ro Laren approached the Chief Engineer. She was still feeling very uncomfortable in the red and black uniform and she twitched the jacket down awkwardly in a fidget, “Lieutenant Torres, may I speak with you a moment?”

 

The Chief nodded, “Sure, let's go to my office. Carey, you got this?” The other engineer nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

 

Moments later, in the cluttered workspace – parts, tools and PADDs were everywhere, in what to an outside observer might have appeared disorder – B'Elanna was saying, “Okay, what is it?”

 

“I don't know how the captain discovered who I really was. I know that Tuvok has said it was not him and I know that you have always kept my secret. The paths dry up after that. But I wished to thank you for your loyalty to me.”

 

The Klingon inhaled, “Oh. Yeah. That.” She gave the Bajoran a toothy grin. “It was the only honorable thing to do.” She touched the woman's forearm with her fingertips. “It's nice to be able to talk to you at equal rank. You look good in red.”

 

Laren winced. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest and she looked to be in pain. “I don't deserve it.”

 

B'Elanna thought quickly and answered, “Laren, none of us did, in the beginning.”

 

“I...”

 

“Why don't you just wait and see if it grows on you.”

 

“... am not sure I can do this.”

 

“If I could do it...”

 

“It's not the same.”

 

“It's exactly the same.”

 

“The captain is...”

 

“...an amazing person. She knows what she is doing. If anyone can get you through this...”

 

Laren chuckled dryly, unsmiling, “I can slit the throat of an enemy without guilt, but ask me to ...” she waved vaguely at the uniform she was wearing.

 

“Laren, it's not the uniform. It's the person. Kathryn doesn't want someone who is just Starfleet right now or she wouldn't have asked for you. There's something going on with her. I don't know what, yet, but you've got to trust me when I say, there is a reason this is all coming up now and it's not what you think.”

 

There was a pause and Ro's gaze narrowed in speculation at her old friend. “Kathryn, huh?”

 

==^==

 

Seven of Nine asked for the captain and was invited to the Ready Room. Once there she handed Kathryn a PADD. Upon it was a formal request, including complete signed paperwork, for the adoption of all of the Borg Children.

 

Kathryn smiled widely at the PADD and then at Seven of Nine. She stood up and hugged the new mother. “Congratulations, Seven. May you and your family enjoy great happiness together.”

 

The Borg returned the hug warmly, but gave her a puzzled glance. “Why should there be congratulations? This is merely a formalization of what was already a truth. We are and were a family before we signed that document.”

 

The captain nodded. “Yes. But it's an important social step, and a good protective measure. Now I, as captain, can't get any hair-brained ideas about where the children should go. That's your job now.”

 

If Seven was surprised by the commentary she didn't indicate it. She simply acted with her usual graciousness. “Ah. Then, thank you, Captain.”

 

“Kathryn. The occasion calls for it.”

 

“Thank you, Kathryn.”

 

==^==

 

Part 7 | Bookmarks

 

If the assistants had thought that there wasn't possibly enough work to justify four of them, they were soon disabused of that notion. No one had any idea how much paperwork and sheer grind the Captain had been facing. In fact, aside from guilt induced stubborn tenacity that kept her doing the work alone, she should have had a team long ago. And, as the captain predicted, their workload only gained speed as the re-constructive plans began to be set in motion.

 

The captain did not allow the assistants to act as a barrier to her staff. Hers was still an open door policy; though usually only the upper level personnel used that option. Lieutenant Ro was integrated into the senior staff meetings, though she didn't offer much in the way of input at first. Mostly, she observed their interactions, gaining perspective on how their personalities meshed. Eventually, however, the captain would draw her into deeper into the process.

 

Now that she had a bit more time, the captain was seen walking the decks more often and she would stop and talk with ordinary members of the crew. If her hours were a bit wonky, no one noticed. The fact that she was demonstrating more of a willingness to connect with the crew boosted morale quite a bit.

 

And then there were the new programs. Sure, they were intense, but they were interesting. People were participating and that was what counted. The crew felt like they were getting in the best shape of their lives. Of course, that had its own interesting and unexpected repercussions. Healthy people were randy people. Randy people who got laid were relaxed people...

 

There had been several anonymous suggestions, since “improvements were being made anyway.” One of the suggestions had to do with the Starfleet uniforms. It had been pointed out that over seventy-five percent of the damage the crew accrued during battles and ship-shaking events could have been prevented with even a small amount of flexible armor. Captain Janeway was seriously considering that one. She put the option for exploring the topic in the Lieutenant's docket and left it to her assistants. If they came up with something useful and appropriate, she'd consider approving it.

 

A few weeks later, the ship had slowed down to impulse. It was the Beta shift. They were investigating a gorgeous M-class planet, which appeared to be rich in minerals and other resources, without the disadvantage of inhabitants. They were assessing it from a comparatively great distance via various sensor bays and Astrometrics. There was a sense of “things as usual,” mixed with anticipation for the rumored big things ahead.

 

Of course, that's when the alien ship showed up again. It was joined by a second ship. The roundish vehicles began firing at them almost immediately.

 

==^==

 

Once again they tried to hail the aliens. Once again, there was no response. Once again, Tuvok pointed out that their engines outclassed the vessels'. This time, however, there was more data.

 

Lieutenant Ro manned one of the science consoles. “Three life-signs in each ship Captain. Humanoid. Bipedal.” There was a long pause. “They are not very tall. Ma'am.”

 

Captain Janeway hated to lose access to the planet, but if it was claimed then it wasn't worth the harassment. At least, not this go around. “Tom, get us out of here. Warp eight.”

 

“Aye, Aye. Captain.” Once again they left the alien ships behind in the stardust.

 

“Now, Lieutenant Ro, please explain what you mean by “not very tall.”

 

“I mean the inhabitants of those ships are very short, Captain.” The Bajoran indicated an approximate height by leveling her hand a little higher than her hip.

 

Kathryn pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to three. “And you determined this how?”

 

“When Harry scanned one of the passing vessels there were empty spaces, indications of corridors. The corridors were actually – quite small. There is active gravity on those ships, thus it is not likely that the corridors reflected zero-gravity travel.”

 

“It is a logical deduction, Captain.” Tuvok joined the conversation.

 

“I see.”

 

“If they attack us again, we could try and scan for a visual of the interior. They don't seem to have many barriers against the signals we bounce off them at this point.”

 

“I concur, Captain.”

 

“Fine. Chakotay, you have the Bridge.”

 

==^==

 

Some time later, on another day:

 

“May I have a moment of your time, Captain?”

 

“Of course, Lieutenant Ro. Please, take a seat.”

 

“I have a few questions to ask you, in relation to some assignments you've given me.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Beg Pardon?”

 

“Ask away.”

 

“Oh.” Ro took a moment to gather her thoughts. Lately, while around the Captain, she had been experiencing bouts of distraction. She had not quite pegged why. But she strove not to let that interfere with her duties. “About the uniforms. I've spoken with several people and there is general agreement that new uniforms would be good. There is also a question of why we need uniforms in the first place.”

 

“Maquis?”

 

“Not just Maquis, ma'am. We've been out here a long time. Some of the Starfleet personnel would have been done with their commission by now.”

 

“Point. I don't have an answer for that. They can call me stodgy if they want to. They can always go sans uniform while off duty. Heck, they can go starkers for all I care. I'm not opposed to individuality – off duty. I just have issues about keeping order while on duty. Continue. ”

 

“Right. Well, do you have any particular design in mind?”

 

“I'm open to suggestions.”

 

“We'll work on design specs. Tom Paris has... ideas.”

 

“He can have all the ideas he wants, as long as he keeps them in those holographic programs of his. He's to keep his mitts off the uniform design. Find other sources of inspiration.”

 

“Yes, Ma'am. There's also a request for more plants and decorative items. The crew feels that the hallways are just a bit... barren.”

 

“If they can get them not to fly around while we're being shot at by phasers, torpedoes and stray photonic rays, then they can have their plants and decorative items. I have a nice vase right over there. But for whatever reason, those damn podiums don't work in the hallway.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Of course, if they can get the plants to stay in one place, maybe those same wonder workers can also figure out how to keep us all from being tossed from our chairs on the bridge – while still having some mobility.”

 

“Point... speaking of decorations, Neelix is requesting storage space for individual works of art, crafts, etc.”

 

“Seven of Nine and family are moving out of Cargo Bay Two. Storage facilities for those projects may take up to one quarter of the space that is thus made available. That's all I'll allot at this time. We might need to consider... how to expand Voyager's space. Get our techs on it.”

 

“Physical or replicated?”

 

“Both. I've been thinking about those ships that attacked us. They looked...”

 

“Cobbled together?”

 

“Yes. But they were functional.”

 

“Function before form? Are you sure you want to mess with Voyager's line?”

 

“No. No. I don't want to do that. But we need to consider our options. I don't know how we'll do it. But... have a team work on the premise anyway. Or throw the need out to the masses. Maybe some smart person will come up with an idea and then someone will improve on it. That's what all of this has been about anyway; to try and get my.... our people thinking about the future.”

 

“Rather than immediately getting home?”

 

“You understand. They've been hanging on by their emotional fingertips. We either got to prop up their figurative feet, or we're all going to tumble.”

 

Laren did not have much to say to that. She happened to agree. It was just strange to hear the Captain say it so bluntly. It was as if the Captain had experienced a philosophical change.

 

“Is there more?”

 

“Probably, but ... it's nothing that can't wait.”

 

“Fine. Dismissed.”

 

“Thank you, Captain.”

 

==^==

 

The alien ambassador, a member of the Greeley race, was pleased to be aboard the ship. The being was a lovely shade of blue, almost a sparkling teal. It was bipedal, with four arms and startlingly orange crest that ran from forehead to below the first set of shoulders. It wore green silken robes and jewelry of status. The Greeley's companion, an assistant, looked very similar, with a cropped-shorter crest and wore a lighter shade of green. It also carried a case filled with the paperwork necessary for foreign relations.

 

They followed Lieutenant Ro, only dawdling a little bit to observe the crew's variety. “There are so many aliens,” One whispered to the other.

 

Ro heard the comment and she responded, “We're an integrated crew of many races.”

 

“Why does everyone only have two arms though? Was there an accident?”

 

Laren felt her diplomacy skill stretch. She held back her first response and tried to come up with something less caustic. The Bajoran was glad she held her tongue when she heard the other one say, “Quiet. Don't be rude.”

 

They rounded a corner on the way to the turbolift. Mezoti and Naomi were hurrying the way children do – at a full tilt run. They slid to a halt at the sight of Lieutenant Ro and the aliens.

 

One of the aliens behind Lieutenant Ro screamed and there was a thud. The Bajoran turned to see a very pale Ambassador staring at the children – its mouth opening and closing rapidly. “Is there something wrong, Ambassador?”

 

“What are...”

 

“This is Mezoti, daughter of Seven of Nine and this is Naomi, daughter of Samantha Wildman.”

 

Both of the young ladies greeted the Ambassador shyly. They looked with concern at the assistant, who was still out cold.

 

“Hatchlings? These are... your people's hatchlings?”

 

“Uh. Close enough. Yes. There are six children on board.” Ro began to look a bit menacing. She could do menacing very well. “Is that going to be a problem?

 

The Ambassador shuddered lightly, as if shaking off something fearful, and then it smiled widely. “Of course not! This is good news. It is very good news.” It kicked its companion on the side. “Quit playing dead. They're harmless.”

 

Mezoti's eyebrow shot up and she was getting ready to answer with the truth, when she caught Ro's stern glance and shake of the head in her direction. Intimidated by the mere glance, she decided the better part of valor was to take Naomi's hand and look as innocent as possible.

 

Ro waited as the assistant collected itself. “May I inquire why you believe this to be good news?”

 

The Ambassador smiled. “A vessel with children is invested in the future. We can work with that.”

 

“Ah. I see your point.”

 

Later, in the starship's sizable conference room, negotiations were taking place. Naturally the conversation drifted towards the local dangers. That's when the Greeley began to describe a space-faring race of hunters and their ships.

 

“They are the Zakeeri, Captain. They are tenacious fighters.”

 

Captain Janeway's eyes glazed over a she thought, Not again. Why, Oh, Why? Verbally she said, “It would be helpful, Ambassador, if you could give us any information that you might have on the Zakeeri. I believe we may have encountered them before.”

 

“Of course, Captain. We will be glad to do so.” he hesitated, “Also, given your status as a family ship, we are willing to wave our usual demand that you leave due to such news as you have just given us. We are not unmerciful. However, I'm afraid that once you have resupplied, you will have to move on, Captain. You see, Zakeeri are a warrior race. They do not like for their hunts to be interfered with. If they see that we have been helping you...”

 

“I understand.” And she really did. It just pained her to realize that because they hadn't been charging towards the Wysanti, they'd encountered yet another hostile race that they otherwise would not have run into. On the other hand, maybe there would be opportunity to go with the challenge. She offered a thin-lipped smile to the Greeley. “Thank you, Ambassador, for your frankness and generosity.”

 

==^==

 

Part 8 | Bookmarks

 

B'Elanna felt a bit like she was swimming upstream. The Alpha and Beta shifts were in the midst of switching and the ship's corridors were suddenly filled with people moving to and fro. A few weeks ago, people would have parted the way for her, but lately, everyone had places to go – usually in a hurry. Technically, she had a meeting in about an hour. But she had been hearing rumors about the changes that the Borg were making to her ship and she wanted to see it for herself and this was the only time she had available.

 

True, they were approved changes. But for some reason the Borg had requested that they do the work themselves. The usual crew members were not involved nor asked to be. She supposed it made sense, given that the Borg would know what their needs were and certainly they had the capability. But it made B'Elanna curious and a little uncomfortable. And, as far as she knew, there hadn't been a privacy order accompanying the request. So, she'd been planning on taking a look-see for awhile. But she just hadn't had time, given the repairs from the latest attacks.

 

When she finally arrived at their door, the first thing she noticed was the name plate. Instead of the usual simple metal and engraving, the plate appeared to made of some sort of laminate, surrounded by faux-Borg metal filigree. A glowing neon green “Hansen Family Quarters” in an ancient boxy font scrolled across a black background. B'Elanna couldn't help the amused chuckle. It was an unexpected dash of humor. She wondered who had given them the gift. It didn't occur to her yet that Borg might have their own sense of humor.

 

B'Elanna pressed the chime.

 

A few moments later the door slid open, though she wasn't immediately able to step in. Azan and Rebi stood in front of her, blocking the way. “Lieutenant Torres. How may we assist you?”

 

B'Elanna looked in, but noticed that she couldn't really see very far into the quarters, since there appeared to be a small entranceway hallway with yet another door set on the inside. The Borg were guarding their privacy. Interesting.

 

“Actually, I was wondering... how you were progressing with your quarters; if you needed any assistance yourselves?”

 

“There is no assistance needed at this time. The Family Quarters are complete.”

 

“You're done? Already?”

 

“We are Borg,”

 

“...”

 

Their attention faded inward rather abruptly and then returned almost as quickly. “We apologize. We have been forgetting a proper greeting protocol. Lieutenant Torres would you like to come in?”

 

“Yes. I would. Thank you.”

 

The twins stepped back, far enough to let the engineer into the entryway. She glanced about. “This seems... redundant.” The door to the corridor swished closed behind her.

 

“It is not, in context,” Azan or Rebi replied. They didn't illuminate that comment, but did provide a clue. “It is a necessary security protocol. Please wait here. I will return.” Then the one twin left and the other stayed, and watched her like a Klingon Raptor.

 

B'Elanna gazed down at the boy. “Was it something I said?” As soon as he shook his head, she knew that this one was Azan. He'd always been the shyer of the two. She took a moment to really look around and settled into a relaxed stance. At least it wasn't like being in a dark closet. The walls were a simple blue metal. There was no secondary panel for keying in. She supposed that would have been redundant. “So, if I were to try and walk in now, would I be able to?”

 

Azan simply shook his head again.

 

“Interesting.” She pondered a moment. “If someone were to try and break in, what would happen.”

 

The second door to the Quarters opened and she beheld Icheb. The young man answered, “The intruders would find the results unpleasant.”

 

“Ah. Yes. But would they survive?”

 

“That is... private... family information, Lieutenant Torres.”

 

“I see. Does the Captain know?”

 

“She does.”

 

B'Elanna stifled the flinch at the implication.

 

Icheb ignored her body language and gave her a modest courtesy bow and waved her in. “We invite you into our home, Lieutenant Torres. Please come in.” Azan stepped to the side, to let her pass. Now he was guarding her back. Or was he watching it?

 

She didn't glance behind herself to find out.

 

Instead she stepped into wonder. “Sweet Kahless!”

 

There were only a few options for creating more space on a starship. One either went horizontal or vertical or some combination thereof. The Hansen family had chosen vertical.

 

B'Elanna now stood in an open space that drew her attention first up and then out. On one side, the view ports stacked, one above the other, with a walkway on the two upper levels. The walkways created a small half-moon shaped opening and there was an efficient-looking open lift with a ladder attached that connected all the levels through that opening.

 

“The main level,” Icheb informed her, “is the family area. Through there, is the kitchen and dining area. If you go past that, there is a refresher facility, should you need it.” He pointed another direction. “Through there is the family recreation area. The wall can be removed so that recreation can expand into here, should events require.” He led her further into the open space. “This is actually our guest area.” He indicated the soft couches that formed another half-moon shape around a knee-level table. “Please make yourself comfortable. Mother will be here soon. Do you wish refreshment?”

 

It took a moment for B'Elanna to respond. She was still taking it in. The theme of bright colors, black and silver had carried into the design of the space. It felt a bit futuristic. If that word could be applied in the 24^th century. The décor was not exactly understated, but sleek and efficient. Like the family, she realized. Also, temperature-wise, she was actually quite comfortable – which was unusual in other people's quarters. “It's very beautiful,” she praised. And then she nodded to Icheb. “I'd like something to drink please.”

 

“Blood wine?”

 

“Too heavy. Something ... lighter.”

 

“Soda?”

 

“Yes, Please. Any flavor.”

 

“Do you mind if Azan and Rebi stay with you?”

 

“I... uh... No. They can stay.” She didn't mention that she had no idea what they would talk about. On the other hand, she had plenty of questions for them. She picked a seat, one that gave her the most view for the latinum and sat down. “So. What's on the second level?” she asked the two boys.

 

Their reply bounced back and forth between them to make a coherent whole. “Our quarters. We share a double room. Mezoti and Icheb have their own. And there is a room for when the baby is old enough.”

 

“Do you like your quarters?”

 

That question gained her brilliant, amazing smiles. “Yes. They are quite satisfactory.”

 

She couldn't help but smile back. “Say, if you have to keep me company, why don't you guys take a seat. Tell me more about your rooms. Do they have your alcoves in them?” Soon B'Elanna found herself deep in conversation with the boys and, when Icheb joined them again, they began asking her questions – about her history, her family, and Klingon ways. She would have joked that they should have that information in their cortical nodes, but she realized she was having a great time just talking with them and didn't want to spoil the moment. She knew she was being charmed by them, and surrendered.

 

A short time later, she heard the sound of excited girl chatter and turned to see that Mezoti and Naomi had entered the domicile. They immediately joined the conversation, telling about their adventures of the day. For the first time in a very long time B'Elanna Torres felt herself really relaxing.

 

It was an odd sensation.

 

That's was when the lift went up one level and then another. It was high enough above her head that she could only see the undercarriage and not the occupant, but she guessed who might have called it up. B'Elanna experienced a weird mix of anticipation and trepidation as the lift began its journey down. Unconsciously, she stood up.

 

Naturally, when she stood up, the children did too. Not that B'Elanna noticed.

 

Instead, she was busy being captivated by the reveal. She expected to see Seven of Nine's famous boot and heels first. No one on the ship could figure out why she wore them, but Seven paced herself with such confidence in them, that no one was going to argue with the ex-drone over it either. Instead, however, B’Elanna saw toes and then feet, and then the barest hint of ankle. Silver cybernetic enhancements wrapped around Seven's feet decoratively and B'Elanna could visually trace their line up to the hem of the black trousers Seven was wearing. Black trousers?

 

B'Elanna's gaze followed the line of the pants up those long, wonderful legs, to encounter the white of a button down overshirt. Half of one side of that was covered by a cascade of color and characters – pastel images of Flotter and friends – via a blanket that covered Seven across one shoulder. Seven of Nine was carrying something under that blanket in what appeared to be a sling. She supported that small bundle with her augmented arm.

 

The lift continued on down until B'Elanna could see Seven's beautiful face gazing with awesome tenderness down at what she was holding. The complete whole – sight, scent, sound - actually caught the Klingon's breath away. And she felt perhaps a thousand misconceptions shattering within her all at once in an overwhelming cascade.

 

She'd have probably gotten over it, if – as the lift finally stopped – Seven hadn't glanced up and at the gathered group – with that expression still on her face. And suddenly B'Elanna was in another mental place entirely.

 

She was in enough of a mental-spatial difference that she didn't process Seven's change of expression upon actually catching sight of the Klingon. Of course, Seven had been aware that B'Elanna was in her home. But self defense was often instinctive. They'd had so many battles in the past. The happy gaze had altered like a warp core going cold.

 

But by then, it was too late for B'Elanna. She was busy processing. Everything. Every sight, every scent, every moment with the Borg, her Borg, for the last four years.

 

So she missed the childrens' greeting. She missed Seven of Nine's return greeting and the gracious welcome of Lieutenant Torres to her home. She missed the children asking to see the baby.

 

She came to alertness when Seven of Nine actually began peeling back the blanket, to reveal a tiny being suckling serenely. That simple maternal sight caused B'Elanna's mind to be blown even further down this new and ancient neural pathway. Her essence scattered across a vast ocean of hormones, home truths, emotion, and some things more profound than could be uttered or explained. All this, a part of her realized – with a great amount of awe –, without even a hint of a drop of blood to add to the cascade. That, she knew, would have sent her even deeper.

 

The bond would come in time. Soon. She knew this and she felt her blood begin to boil. A mix of intense yearning, need, and adoration thrilled through the Klingon like fire sparking in a dry forest.

 

She vaguely heard, on top of her heartbeats and as if from very far away, the children talking around her.

 

“What's that sound?”

 

“I think she's broken.”

 

“She's not broken. I think B'Elanna's sleeping with her eyes open. I know because...”

 

“She's can't be sleeping. She's not snoring. That's growling. That's definitely growling.”

 

“That's not growling. It's too low for growling. It's purring.”

 

“I didn't know Klingon's purred.”

 

“I think it's a mix of growl and purr.”

 

“But she's broken. If she's broken, how can she growl or purr?

 

“Maybe she has an engine inside her, like down in engineering.”

 

“Lieutenant Torres' temperature has escalated 20%. Her pupils are dilated. Her heart rates have...”

 

“Children, cease analyzing Lieutenant Torres.”

 

“Why is she staring at you like that?”

 

“I do not think she can help it. Step away from the Lieutenant. Now.”

 

Then, abruptly, there was presence, warm and vibrant. Seven cupped the Klingon's face with her human hand. “Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, you must awaken.”

 

“I'm awake.” the smaller woman replied – but it sounded as if it were from a great distance. She felt the baby resting between them. Its subtle moves and scent were comforting, but didn't stall the fire inside B'Elanna in the least.

 

Indeed she was awake, as if for the first time in her life. She was completely, utterly aware of her surroundings. Without even looking she knew where all of the children were in relation to herself. She could hear their individual heartbeats; register the scent of their pulses. Of course, she could always do that, but it usually wasn't so profound. She took those sounds for granted, normally. Now though, it was as if a switch had been thrown inside of her. If lost, she'd be able to track these children anywhere in the universe.

 

And Seven... Seven she would be able to find in any universe. B'Elanna fell into those blue eyes.

 

B'Elanna gripped the forearm of the hand that touched her, tightly just under the wrist. She then scented her way up the wrist to Seven's hand. “Mine,” she ground out through clenched teeth. She was thoroughly aroused. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute, assessing and reassessing her options. She fought for control and was losing the battle. A part of her knew her behavior was completely primal and she didn't care. She glanced at Seven through her peripheral vision. Then she brought the woman's palm to her nostrils and inhaled deeply. Her following exhale buzzed along the Borg's sensitive skin. “Ours will become a great Household,” she predicted, as if under a prophetic vision.

 

Perhaps she was. There was something greater than she at work here. Seven's blood called to her.

 

“Lieutenant Torres, I long ago accepted that I could not have you.” Seven tried to reason with B'Elanna. She spoke gently, but brought up something that should have been obvious. “I am Borg. I am not promiscuous, but Borg are not monogamous. It is not something that we can be. Ever. Even with socialization protocols our,” she didn't have the words to explain. “... Our subroutines simply do not support it. I know Tom's behavior affected you adversely. I can not and will not put you through....”

 

“It is not the same.” B'Elanna stated gruffly, and not at all bothered that they were having this conversation in front of young people. Naomi could ask her mother; and the Borg children – it might take growing up for them to truly understand, but they already knew what was in their knowledge-base.

 

B'Elanna's tongue flicked against the palm of Seven's hand, and she absorbed the taste. Some part of her memorized it. “It will never be the same.” She hummed lightly. “Tom's sexuality was never the problem. It was his dishonesty about it. Besides he was just... not for me.” She turned her head and stared right into Seven's eyes. “But you are.”

 

B'Elanna's statement came very close to shattering the Borg's composure. Seven realized that communication was happening on several levels, but she was struggling with her own reactions and could not process them fast enough. She set aside the variables for investigation later; handing that job to her efficient cortical node. She had to focus on the present, focus on helping the Lieutenant. “We can not have this discussion now, regardless, Lieutenant Torres. There is a meeting we must attend very soon.” Seven was feeling a strong, irrational impulse to slap the Klingon, but that would have been exactly the wrong thing to do. It would have started things that could not then be stopped. “Lieutenant, I believe you are not in a rational...”

 

B'Elanna's growl hit an even deeper rumble – deep enough that only a Klingon or a Borg could appreciate it. Seven of Nine felt it reverberate to her core. “I've never been more rational.” Her teeth skimmed across the meaty side of Seven's hand, but she didn't bite. “I know who you are to me now Seven. I should have realized it long ago. The signs were there from the beginning...” She pressed her teeth onto the palm without breaking the skin. She felt Seven's shiver. “There is no question.” She gave Seven a very feral smile and then abruptly let go of the woman's hand. “But you're right. This must wait.” She leaned in close enough that her lips brushed against Seven's neck. “Give me some space, or I will mark you right here and now.”

 

Uncharacteristically obedient, if only because she was feeling thoroughly discombobulated by the Klingon's behavior, Seven paced back several steps. It was so quick that B'Elanna wasn't even sure she really saw the Borg move. One moment Seven was right in front of her. The next she was standing by Mezoti.

 

B'Elanna's dark gaze tracked the stunned children. Before they could pop any questions or commentary at her, she raised her hand to them and pointed. “You are not to say a word about this to any one outside of this room until Seven and I work this out, which we will do later. Understand?”

 

“We will comply,” Icheb said on behalf of all of them.

 

B'Elanna grunted an acknowledgment, straightened her jacket and then marched to the quarter's entryway. She turned around briefly. “Wearing that outfit to the meeting, Seven?”

 

Seven of Nine tilted her head at B'Elanna's change of topic. She looked down at her clothes and then back at the Klingon. “I am, technically, on maternal leave. But the captain feels my expertise is needed. I am attending... as a favor.”

 

B'Elanna nodded. “I... look forward to seeing you soon then.” Then she left, while she still could.

 

==^==

 

Part 9 | Bookmarks

 

The Holodeck was comparatively crowded, since pretty much the whole command crew was present. There had been a bit of a stir when Seven walked into the meeting in her casual wear, but that didn't last long because of her own business-like attitude. B'Elanna kept her distance, but pretty much tracked Seven through out the meeting. The captain made one inquiry about Seven's youngest, but was reassured that the infant was being cared for.

 

And so they got down to business. The holodeck transformed into a war-room complete with to-scale mock ups of the Zakeeri ships. The schematics were displayed on one of the walls. There were also holographic physical generations of the Zakeeri. It turned out Lieutenant Ro had been correct. They were a very short people.

 

They were also very physically beautiful. The male and female form of the species were similar to humans, though there were definite differences. They had fine features, were pale skinned with dark, natural and very ornate markings on their faces and other places on their bodies. The species originated from a heavy-gravity world, so though small, they were very strong. They sported a sharp set of fangs, had amazing hearing, sense of smell, and sight capabilities. They were formidable beings.

 

Seven told the command crew the Zakeeri Borg designation and downloaded the available specs she had on them onto one of the screens. She included information on known weapons, culture, mating habits and sundry trivia that would overwhelm someone less organized.

 

“If I had to, I'd say they looked like felines,” Chakotay commented as he walked around the figures.

 

The Doctor replied, “That may be closer to the truth than you may realize. They are omnivorous, but their origins indicate that this was not always the case. If you look here,” He lifted one of the hands of the creatures and pressed against a fingertip. A single, longish, sharp claw extended. “Imagine a good swipe from one of these.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“But, why are they attacking us?” Harry inquired

 

“It is their culture. Observe.”

 

A new visual appeared above the holographic station Seven was working on. They saw a series of battles. It started with one ship, then two, then three. Each time the number of ships increased, until, after a certain point, a bigger ship arrived and began decimating the victim. “Technically, right now, they are not hunting us. They are ... counting coup. They are also testing us, to see if we are people.”

 

“People? Of course we are people!” Tom objected.

 

B'Elanna interjected. “What she means, Tom, is that they have their own standards for figuring that out. They're a warrior culture. If we prove ourselves to them, they'll leave us alone. If we don't, we become prey.”

 

Seven nodded. “Precisely.” She looped the image of the battle, so they could observe the process again.

 

The captain paced around the fighting images. “Do they board ships as well as chase them?”

 

Tuvok answered, and brought up another holograph – opposite from Seven's. “Yes. This is a recording of a boarding, which was obtained by the Greeley.” They watched as warriors, two at a time, appeared on an alien ship. They were fast and aggressive, using natural as well as crafted weapons. It was obvious that their short height actually gave them some advantages.

 

“Nasty,” commented Harry.

 

“No. They're arrogant.” Seven of Nine disagreed. “In that recording, they are fighting an inferior species. We can beat them, if we prepare. Also, their method of approach might be different if they encountered beings they believed to be equal to them.”

 

“And how many recordings do we have of encounters between equal beings?”

 

There was a moment of silence. “None.”

 

==^==

 

They discussed their options well into Gamma shift before the captain sent them all off to rest. She stopped Seven before the young Borg woman exited. “Sorry for spoiling your leave, Seven.”

 

“It is alright, captain. It was important. I have ideas, but I am not ready to share them.”

 

“Are you telling me you have been holding back, Seven?”

 

“I need to do further research.” the Borg hesitated a moment. “Captain, it is now common news that a uniform change is in the works.”

 

“That's true, but nothing has really been settled.”

 

“May I suggest that you contemplate the Zakeeri uniforms in relation to the ones that Voyager's personnel currently wear?”

 

The captain wasn't slow on the uptake. “You're suggesting that the Zakeeri won't be impressed with our appearance.”

 

“Sometimes strength can be implied. Klingon armor for example...”

 

“Yes. I see.”

 

“And weapons.”

 

“I do understand, Seven.”

 

“Kathryn.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“... My family's domicile is open to you.”

 

Kathryn's breath caught. “Thank you, Seven. I am honored.”

 

“At some point we must talk, about my attraction to you and your attraction to me. Soon. B'Elanna is ... ready to change the state of her and my relationship. I want her equally desperately. I have decided that my only option and hope is honesty with both of you.”

 

The captain reached out and touched Seven's arm. “I would expect nothing less.” Then she looked around at their holographic war-room. She gave a wry chuckle. “There's always going to be something like this going on for us, isn't there?”

 

“This is the Delta Quadrant. It is like...” Seven reached for an appropriate analogy. “... It is like your Wild West.”

 

“Yes, but this isn't the Wild West. They at least had the cavalry to call on. We have only ourselves.”

 

“Do you worry about our abilities, Kathryn?”

 

“I'm the captain. I constantly worry.” It wasn't an exact answer, but it was close enough.

 

“Which is why ...”

 

“Seven, you have no idea how much I want to have this conversation. I want to just follow you home like a lost puppy right now.” Kathryn waved her hand towards the holographic images, “but if we were to take our relationship further, I'd want to do it right. I don't know that I could focus.”

 

“Do not wait too long, Kathryn.” Seven mimicked the other woman's wave. “There will always be this. But should something happen to one of us...”

 

The captain flinched. Then she looked into Seven's eyes. “Then let's just say... not tonight. I'm bone tired, Seven.”

 

“Come home with me, and you will rest. I promise.” Seven cupped Kathryn's face with a warm palm. The smaller woman could feel the assurance in Seven's voice.

 

“I want to.”

 

“But you will not. Why are humans always so irrational?”

 

Kathryn could not answer that question.

 

Seven leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against Kathryn's. Then, abruptly, as if it never happened, she turned away and exited the room.

 

Some long moments later, Kathryn Janeway collected her wits. “Computer. End Program.”

 

==^==

 

Of course, the nightmares hadn't gone away. Instead they had evolved, nightly bringing in and blending the worst parts of her past in such a way that she awakened after a few hours wishing she were back on that exploding Borg ship. While she knew she hadn't exactly resolved everything about her past, she'd honestly thought she'd set those episodes behind her.

 

Apparently not.

 

Kathryn shuddered and got out of bed. She wondered what she was going to do and a small sob escaped. She was suddenly grateful that – despite the passionate heat that was gathering – she was not yet involved with anyone. She wouldn't have been able to hide this.

 

There was a part of her mind that pointed out that, if she had gone home with Seven she could also have asked for a hug right that moment. Or a kiss. Or for deep, sweet loving. And she would have received it.

 

Still, it had been years. That was also part of Kathryn's hesitation. It had been a very long time since she'd been with anyone. Her mind skipped over another deep wound and memory of a loved one lost. She suddenly felt rusty. Ancient. Inexpressibly Lonely.

 

Besides there was too much to do in preparation and there simply wasn't time. They knew the Zakeeri were going to strike again. They just did not know when. They had come up with some good ideas for possibly impressing them. Their one main advantage was that they were actually more technologically advanced. But there were secondary methods they could bring into play.

 

But given the circumstances, there really wasn't a choice. They couldn't make a real stop until the chase was given up. And that wasn't going to happen until they defeated these people. It just seemed like so much effort for what was only a best guess – a shaky hope of something better in the future. And she wondered, already, if she'd been making the right choices.

 

She supposed it didn't matter. She was making choices, the best she could at the moment. Even with all her insight, it was all still a gamble. And her crew just assumed the late nights and early hours were the result of working hard. She flashed back on her earlier conversation with Seven. “Not much longer. Honest.”

 

Kathryn pressed the bridge of her nose against the incipient headache. At least that particular problem wasn't a temporal issue, just a personal one. But that thought didn't make the headache go away. There were plenty of temporal things for her to juggle at the moment anyway.

 

Grimacing, Kathryn made her way to the refresher, feeling worn. “I've got to get some sleep,” she chastised her mirror image, as if that would do any good. A part of her mind leered, 'Well you could always call Seven.' and then her subconscious got greedy. 'And B'Elanna.'

 

“Knock it off,” she ordered herself. “We've got work to do.”

 

But the brief, powerful image, of women she loved - naked, entangled and waiting for her, wouldn't leave her mind. It was infinitely better than her nightmares had been, but also definitely much more distracting. She looked back in the mirror, trying to get a grip.

 

Then, she had a really weird moment.

 

It was a flash really, as if it were behind her eyes and also in the mirror at the same time. She saw someone, she thought, behind her. Kathryn whirled around – expecting to confront...

 

No one. There was no one there.

 

“I really have to get some sleep,” she commented to herself. Then she prepped for a shower.

 

A few minutes later, feeling somewhat better and more ready to face life aboard a lost ship, she stepped out of the shower.

 

The apparition was there. It was male, Klingon, in full armor. It held a Bat'leth crooked in one arm and gazed at her fiercely.

 

She gasped and realized there was nowhere to go and nothing to hide behind.

 

“Kathryn Janeway,” the Klingon said. “You made me a promise. Do you remember?”

 

“Who... who...”

 

“You went to the heart of my people's empire and you dare ask who?”

 

That sparked in Janeway. “You could be anyone,” she ground out. “You could be Q,” she accused.

 

“I am not Q.” The being growled back. “I am not just anyone. You know who I am.”

 

“You're a figment of my imagination.”

 

“If the thought comforts you. But it doesn't change that you made a promise, Kathryn.”

 

“But I destroyed the Borg...”

 

“That was not the promise, Captain Janeway!” The being grimaced at her and faded from her view. She heard mocking laughter echo in the back of her consciousness and it offered her a hint, “It started with... 'Kahless, if I had to do it all over again...'” Kathryn winced. Then the voice and the presence were gone.

 

Great, on top of nightmares, hallucinations. She was going to have to talk to the Doctor.

 

==^==

 

“You look as if you've had less sleep than ever,” Lieutenant Ro commented as she handed the captain a tall mug of something warm.

 

“I think that may be true for all of us today.” Kathryn lifted the cup and queried, “Raktajino?”

 

“Yes. I thought you might need something a little stronger than your usual.” Raktajino was the spicy, dark version of Klingon Coffee preferred by many and a bit notorious for its intense stimulant effect.

 

Kathryn didn't even bother to blow on it. She just took two deep gulps, and then set the cup down to cool some more. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome. Do you want to,” Ro hesitated, “... talk about it?”

 

“We do have a full load, today, don't we?”

 

“That's not what I'm talking about...”

 

Kathryn said nothing. It wasn’t there wasn’t anything to say, but it was private and where would she start?

 

“Fine. But if you need a listening ear...”

 

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Change your mind about counseling, Ro?”

 

The Bajoran raised her hands defensively and shook her head. “Oh No!” Then she leaned forward, and still not smiling – the captain couldn't recall that she ever did and Kathryn wondered what it would take – said, “I was just offering you my ... friendship.”

 

The captain gazed steadily at the other woman. “That's not something you offer just anyone, is it?”

 

“No. It's not.”

 

“I accept.” She leaned back in her chair and lifted the cup of Raktajino to her lips, “But I still don't want to talk about it.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“And you're still restricted to Quarters.”

 

There was only the tiniest hint of a lift to one of the corners of the Bajoran's mouth.

 

It was a start.

 

==^==

 

The captain realized later that she should not have been surprised. Tom caught up with her as she was about to take the Turbolift. She was going to try and catch a nap in her quarters. “Got a moment, captain?”

 

“How may I help you, Lieutenant Paris?”

 

“Well, I wanted to make my case.”

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

“Well, I hear you're going to be updating the uniforms.”

 

Kathryn groaned.

 

==^==

 

She never did get that nap, Kathryn thought later. She still wasn't quite sure how she'd arrived at being in a Jeffries Tube with a tool-kit in tow. She thought it might be because she'd thought she might find a bit of peace and quiet. She resisted the impulse to take off her jacket, fold it up, and just nap on the metal slats. She'd have awakened with imprints on her skin, but it might have been worth it. That is, if she weren't actually trying to accomplish something at the moment.

 

With a determined effort she got to work, making the adjustment for which she'd volunteered.

 

==^==

 

Part 10 | Bookmarks

 

B'Elanna was the one who found Kathryn later. The captain's forehead was resting on the deck plate above the opening where she'd been working. The glow from the interior softened her slumbering expression. To B'Elanna she looked as cute as Toby – the stuffed Targ B'Elanna had treasured since she was tiny. The engineer took a moment to peek at the exposed interior of the ship and was amazed to see that everything was complete except for the replacement of the panel. B'Elanna experienced a moment of profound affection for the captain.

 

She realized she did not want to wake the older woman. Kathryn had been appearing very fragile to the Klingon lately. On the other hand, a Jeffries Tube was no place for a nap. B'Elanna carefully put the panel back and reconnected it. Then she gathered the tools as quietly as she could and wrapped her arm around Kathryn's waist. The Klingon then gentled the other woman back until Kathryn's head rested against her shoulder.

 

It was a near thing. For a moment she thought Kathryn would awaken. But instead, she'd snuggled in, causing B'Elanna's hearts to beat a little more rapidly. Then, as silently as possible, Torres tapped her badge and ordered a site to site transport.

 

==^==

 

Kathryn startled awake at the combined sound of a quarter's communications chirp, a bit of audible dialog and then she heard quiet Klingon cussing. It took a few moments for her to realize that, while she was in a bed, it was not her own. She rolled up to a sitting position, and pulled off the covers. A few seconds later, she heard, “Damn it, I knew that would happen. Now you're awake. Computer, Lights. One fourth.”

 

B'Elanna sat down besides the still groggy captain. With her fingertips, the Klingon affectionately brushed Kathryn's hair away from her face and tucked it back. “I'd hoped you'd have a little more time.”

 

“How long?”

 

“I don't know how long you were asleep in the Jeffries Tube, but you've been here about a half an hour.”

 

Kathryn gave her a rueful grin and chuckled a bit helplessly. “Darn.”

 

“Well, it's quality versus quantity for us responsible types, right?” B'Elanna wrapped her arm around Kathryn's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I suppose this was one way to get you into bed.”

 

The captain began to chortle. “I suppose that is true.” She glanced up and was caught in a warm brown gaze. Her heartbeat quickened. “B'Elanna,” her smoky voice caressed the Klingon.

 

They leaned towards each other.

 

The communications channel chirped. “Kahless on a Crutch!”

 

==^==

 

It was probably for the best, B'Elanna thought later. She was confused anyway and that just would have topped it all off.

 

She'd been avoiding Seven for the last couple of days – speaking to her only when she absolutely had to. She hadn't gone back to the Borg abode. She just wasn't ready to face the depth of responses she'd experienced and now there had been just enough time since that moment and she'd started to feel embarrassed and wonder if it had really happened. She hadn't known where that sudden passion had come from and it frightened her a bit. She couldn't predict what she would do if she found herself alone with the beautiful Borg. And now, it seemed, she couldn't predict what she would do if she was alone with the captain either.

 

Sometimes, it was just easier to fix things, even if it meant throwing a wrench against the wall now and then. Of course, if the wrench was being thrown a bit more than usual, well, that's just the way of it. Her people knew to stay out of her way.

 

Unfortunately for her, Borg children apparently didn't care what kind of mood she might be in.

 

She found Mezoti waiting in her office.

 

==^==

 

Despite what one might think, Seven was not spending her time agonizing over B'Elanna's failure to show or Kathryn's delaying tactics. She was busy.

 

Motherhood agreed with Seven and she approached it with the same dedication that she brought to any task she might undertake and then some. She had taken to heart Kathryn's statement about commitment. Thus, she made certain choices, such as nursing and carrying the baby close to her heart most of the time.

 

If the Borg youths had been doing well as her charges, they began to thrive as her children. And, while it was possible she could have used other adult help, her young ones were ... remarkably mature for their age. Sometimes it paid to be Borg.

 

Fortunately for the rest of the ship, Seven of Nine was more than completely able to multi-task. Her maternity leave ended up not quite being the leave it should have been. But she did not mind. Seven found herself involved in several projects – if only because her expertise was needed. As a compromise, she retained her casual wear and crew persons got -somewhat- used to seeing her walking around barefoot and carrying the little one.

 

She and the children had not yet named the infant. They were waiting for the right name to manifest. They had a database of millions to sift through after all. And there were several contributing factors to consider – such as the baby's personality.

 

While Seven waited for B'Elanna and Kathryn to come to grips with whatever emotions and ideas were plaguing them, she was spending more and more time with Lieutenant Ro.

 

They were establishing protocols for dealing with the Zakeeri that were ... somewhat out of Starfleet channels. Seven didn't have any personal opposition to this strategy, since she firmly believed that there were times that cheating was an absolute necessity – even if they never used it. Logic dictated its usefulness in times of battle and her priority to protect the children and the people she loved overrode all.

 

Lieutenant Ro was finding that working with Seven was a revelation. Seven did not ask her silly questions about why she was wearing the new uniform or what had changed. She merely accepted. If she did have a question of a personal nature, it was usually based on the need for an intellectual framework rather than prurience. Seven was quick on the uptake and equally quick to bounce ideas right back at the Maquis. She was as beautiful as people said, but as for the legend of un-emotionalism, all one had to do was spend ten seconds with Seven while her children were present and find that notion instantly discarded.

 

This wasn't to say Seven wasn't sometimes abrupt during their conversations, but Ro, it turned out, liked that about the younger woman. Brusqueness was not something that offended the reticent Bajoran. The more she worked with Seven, the more attracted she became to the composed Borg. And finally, she began to regret the Personal Quarters lock down that the captain was enforcing.

 

And then there was Ro's attraction to Kathryn Janeway.

 

Oh that was a conundrum. She'd started out nearly hating the woman. But she’d had time to observe and gain appreciation for the woman. Now, if Kathryn were to ask the Bajoran to lick her boots... Ro might actually consider it. She wasn't sure what it was about Kathryn, except an awareness that – until she had been called on the carpet – that quality which garnered the Bajoran's respect hadn't been there. But whatever that difference was, it was there in spades.

 

There was a haunted look in her eye that Ro just connected with. This Kathryn was not someone who went about unaffected by her decisions. She was not arbitrary and autocratic. There was purpose to her choices. Her strength of character reminded Ro of one particular captain, and while that brought up certain issues, the quality was something that could only be admired. The Bajoran knew, in the deepest part of her being, that Captain Kathryn Janeway was a woman who could be trusted with her life.

 

The key was to prove that she was worthy of being trusted by the captain and to try and tamp down on the fire that stirred whenever the captain was near.

 

So that brought her back to the young Borg mother, whom she was also extremely attracted to. Ro wasn't one to ignore a gift from the prophets when it was delivered. She knew Seven would appreciate directness, therefore she brought up the topic at the next available opportunity. “The thing is I don't know when I'll be able to do anything other than tell you how I feel. You see, I'm confined to Quarters... until probably near forever or whenever Captain Janeway changes her mind.”

 

“I see.” Seven gave her an inscrutable look and then turned to the console. One hand moved rapidly across the system, while the other supported a sleeping infant.

 

Ro did her very best not to feel rejected, calling to mind that this was just Seven's way. At least she hadn't said an outright no. Which, then meant...? “Are you interested, Seven?”

 

Seven finished what she was doing. “I am.” she confirmed. Then she redirected the Bajoran's attention, “Lieutenant Ro. Please observe.” She pointed down at the consoles readout. So the Bajoran looked and then did a double-take.

 

She very nearly asked Seven why, but quickly reconsidered. Instead she said “This is... very Maquis of you. But it implies a commitment. Are you sure?”

 

There was no hesitation. “I am sure. It is practical and convenient. We could continue conversations that we've had to call off due to the need to go home. If the captain asks, you can tell her it was for... professional reasons. Or I can simply force the computer to believe that your quarters exists in two locations. Not difficult, but probably it would be spotted.”

 

“Still, it may be best. If Tuvok notes it, he'll come to me. And, right now, I think the captain is occupied with plenty of other... distractions. Besides, I like having a place of my own.”

 

“Acceptable.” Seven made immediate adjustments, and smiled slightly at the Bajoran's hum of approval. “There are things which must be discussed, before we continue.” Seven kissed the top side of the slumbering infant's head.

 

Ro reached up to stroke the soft, dark curls of the child's hair. It was amazing how one's life could take a completely unexpected turn. “So.” She gave Seven an inscrutable look of her own. “Talk to me.”

 

Seven began to explain.

 

==^==

 

Some time later, they entered the Hansen family abode. Icheb greeted them. His expression was filled with worry and he reached for the baby. Seven immediately handed the infant over to him and said, “You should have informed me sooner.” She gave her son a stern glance and he managed to look sheepish.

 

“We thought she would stop.”

 

“I understand,” Seven commented, and then she stalked to the lift, calling to Ro Laren over her shoulder, “I will return. Please make yourself comfortable.

 

That was when Laren realized that some people on Voyager had alternate methods of communication. “Wait for me,” she said as she hurried to keep up. “Maybe I can help... with whatever it is...”

 

She stepped onto the lift as Seven did and the buxom blonde responded, “Perhaps.”

 

Soon they were on the second floor. Seven marched to a door and issued a command. “Computer Seven of Nine, Parental Over-ride. Open Door – Mezoti Hansen's Room.” The door slid to the side and she entered the small bedroom. Laren followed, feeling both trepidation and curiosity.

 

The little girl lay on the bed, face to her pillow, and curled protectively inward. It was obvious that she was crying. Seven's advance softened and she made her way to the bed, sitting down upon the side of it. Laren felt like a third wheel, until Seven patted a space besides herself. Then Seven laid a gentle hand on her daughter's shaking shoulder. “Mezoti.” The name was a balm from her lips, softly and lovingly spoken.

 

The young girl turned, raised up her arms, and was quickly cradled by her mother. Mezoti wept, unable to convey vocally what upset her, even though she knew it was rude. “It is alright.” Seven comforted, as she listened to the grief in her daughter and held her. Seven felt one of Laren's arms wrap around her waist and then, with the other, reached forward to stroke Mezoti's back. She appreciated Laren's quiet, unquestioning support more than could have been said at that moment.

 

Eventually, after silent, consoling dialog along their family connection, Mezoti's tears began to calm into mere sniffles. “Mezoti,” Seven finally spoke. “It was inappropriate for you to approach Lieutenant Torres. The matter between herself and I is of an adult nature and we will address it. But it must be when she is ready and not before.”

 

“But doesn't she want to be part of our family? She said...”

 

“Mezoti.” There was a caution – a reminder – in Seven's voice. “Lieutenant Torres has ... many things on her mind. This must not be rushed. Do you understand?”

 

Mezoti only sniffled. There was more silent communication, until finally Mezoti said in a rather tiny voice, “I will comply.”

 

Seven kissed her daughter's forehead and hugged her tightly. “Good.” Then she continued gently. “I will contact the Lieutenant about repairing the hole in the plating of the office wall. You need nutrition. Azan and Rebi have been creating today's evening meal. Do you feel like eating?”

 

The little girl nodded and rubbed her knuckles under her eyes. “A little bit,” she claimed.

 

“Then you, Laren, and I will now go downstairs. Acceptable?”

 

Suddenly the young Borgling's attention was focused entirely on Lieutenant Ro Laren. She stared hard at the Bajoran and Laren forced her own expression to be completely neutral. The little girl nodded at something she saw there anyway. “Acceptable.”

 

==^==

 

Dinner wasn't exactly riotous, but it was voluble. The Hansens had a tradition of talking during dinner. At first it had started as an exercise in socialization, but it had turned into family time and they were actually good conversationalists. Seven remained reserved, but she guided the dialog with deft subtlety.

 

Soon they had pulled Laren into a comfortable revelation about Bajor and its society, which they probably already knew about. But they wanted her personal input. And they were curious about her – about her life and her experiences. She told them some things, sharing stories of the Enterprise, since that was a happier time. She told them about DS9 and some of the people she knew there. She did not talk about Cardassia or her time in prison, since that was not dinner worthy conversation, but she did talk a little bit about the Maquis.

 

They were not intrusive in their questions – though they did sometimes stop to analyze her replies, - to place them in context with what they knew. Like Seven they were completely straight forward. It was refreshing and so, she was surprisingly open with her answers.

 

Laren found herself feeling the odd sensation of being relaxed in the company of Borg. That amused the Bajoran enough that two corners of her mouth lifted slightly. No one thought of it as out of place.

 

==^==

 

Part 11 | Bookmarks

 

Later, after the children were finally put to bed – except for Icheb, who had an appointment at a Holodeck – Laren and Seven found themselves alone on the second level. Seven looked meaningfully at the alternative exit to the corridor on the next deck. “There is another on the next level. Your last chance...”

 

“Seven.” Laren took the younger woman's cybernetic hand in hers. Seven's grip was soft, warm, alive. The Bajoran led Seven to the lift and keyed in the next level. Once there they stepped out together and she said, “I'm not running. Not from you.” She tugged on the gratified woman's hand, pulling her closer. She leaned in and softly kissed Seven, then she pulled back. Brown eyes gazed into blue.

 

“Come with me.” The Borg's voice was husky, intimate. This time Seven led. There was only one doorway on the walkway, aside from the third level exit; Seven of Nine's personal room.

 

It made sense, of course, all the doors and even the way they talked – or rather didn't, Laren thought. They'd been denied privacy for so long, that when they finally had it, they protected it fiercely. She speculated that they probably knocked on each other's mental doors before entering – with perhaps a low-level constant check on Seven's part. She probably kept track of their heartbeats, their general location, if not the specifics of what they were doing. It was an odd mix of freedom and boundaries that the freed Borg kept.

 

Seven didn't lock the door behind them, though she did order the computer to set a soundproofing level on the room. “Can you do that?” Laren asked in surprise, even as she felt a rush in her pulse at the implication. Curiosity warred a moment with desire.

 

Seven smirked. “I can.” Then she undid the top fastening on her shirt and then another and another, until the shirt was hanging partially open. Laren forgot the question. She could see the peek and swirl of silver that roped around Seven's abdomen, including through the dark major implant that covered Seven's belly, and up to and around the woman's sensitive breasts and nipples.

 

“You're beautiful,” Laren whispered. Seven smiled and drew the shirt completely off. Laren inhaled, wondering at how alien and desirable her companion was. She stepped forward. “May I?”

 

Seven nodded – not quite shy, but not demanding either – and she held very still. Then she gasped lightly as Laren's fingertips traced along a line and starburst just under her breasts. “They're sensitive?”

 

“Yes,” Seven acknowledged.

 

Laren realized how trusting Seven was being with her. She watched as Seven's nipples stiffened in pleasure. “Correction. They're incredibly sensitive.”

 

“Yes,” Seven whispered. She could feel heat gather in her loins, sparks of pleasure shattered through her with each delicate touch.

 

“That's why you wear the biosuit, because the uniform... it's not enough.”

 

“You understand now.”

 

“How could you stand being in that shirt then?”

 

“It is ... specially replicated.”

 

“You could have done that anytime.” Laren leaned in and pressed her tongue where her fingers had been so gently moving. Seven's body shifted and her breathing deepened. Laren pulled back and spoke with mock severity, “Wait. You were teasing us all.”

 

Seven smirked again. “Why would I do that?” She laid her palm against the back of Laren's head and drew the Bajoran in for a soul-searing kiss. When they parted, desire smoldered in her gaze. Her hand dropped down and she grasped the hem of Laren's Starfleet jacket and then she gently lifted it off.

 

“No matter how many times I pointed out that I knew the mating habits of millions of species, no one ever caught the joke. So I kept on wearing them. Distracted people make... interesting mistakes... and comments. Sometimes unkind. But interesting.”

 

Laren paused what she was doing at the moment. She had been grasping the band of Seven's trousers and had snapped the top button free. “Seven, more fools they.”

 

“Indeed,” the Borg acknowledged. If she had been hurt by the comments of others, she did not indicate it. Instead, Laren suspected that Seven had considered those emotions irrelevant, and in a case of unusual generosity had let the comments go. Laren observed the deep intelligence that sparkled in Seven's blue gaze and now could perceive the humor there too.

 

The blonde lifted off Laren's shirt and tossed it to the side. Her fingers grazed against the Bajoran's sensitive skin. “It was hiding in its own way.” Seven explained. “No one bothered me after Ensign Kim approached me.”

 

Laren sniffed back a laugh. “That was legendary. We even heard about it down below.” She gazed at her new lover. “What would you have done if he'd said yes?” The Borg smiled like sexy predator, causing Laren to shiver. “Poor Harry. He'll never know what he missed.”

 

“Barring a miracle.” The Nordic beauty agreed. Seven drew Laren in for another kiss. “He wouldn't have enjoyed it much anyway. I wasn't as... evolved as I am now.”

 

This time Laren did laugh and she dropped down into a crouch and parted the trousers so she could drag them down off of Seven. Her sensitive nostrils picked up the Borg's sweet scent. “You smell delicious, Seven. Absolutely edible.”

 

“As do you.” Borg senses were heightened and always evaluative. The blonde also meant what she said. The Bajoran smelled wonderful to her.

 

Seven stepped out of the trousers with easy balance. Her legs were also cybernetically enhanced and black and silver swirled ornately, around her hips, thighs, calves, ankles and feet – pausing now and then in decorative starbursts. Of course, they weren't really decorative. These were the implants that were part of Seven's whole being. They were not, as many thought, foreign, but rather intrinsic – grafted seamlessly into Seven and just as living and breathing as her skin.

 

Seven gasped as Laren's hands skimmed up her calves. The Bajoran's hands continued up their path until she grasped Seven's hips. She could see the wetness between the blonde's legs and hungered. She leaned forward; intending to taste, but Seven's hands covered hers, and then slid up her arms and Laren felt herself being lifted up. She groaned at the denial, but knew the why of it when Seven began tugging at her uniform's pants.

 

Moments later they were both equally and gloriously nude before each other. Seven spoke the Bajoran prayer of beauty with great sincerity, causing Laren to inhale in surprise. Then she stepped forward into Seven's loving embrace.

 

Seven's bed was probably much larger than it had to be, but she was a woman who liked to be prepared. It was also more comfortable than standard Starfleet issue. In fact, it might have been the most comfortable, nearly sybaritic bed, Laren had ever been on. If so, the Bajoran suspected that she had great cause to praise Borg ingenuity. It took her a moment, mostly because she wasn't paying attention to it really, to note that the headboard seemed to be very... alcove like. Seven's brilliant kisses, however, knocked out any pursuit of the questions.

 

Eventually Laren found herself prone, facing up at Seven who straddled over her. “May I?” queried Seven in a bit of turn-about. Laren nodded, guessing what was coming. Just as she had traced some Seven's vulnerable erogenous zones in experimentation, the blonde intended to return the favor.

 

Nature liked to replicate favored designs. There were ridges in other places besides the Bajoran nose. Seven's hungry look stole Laren's breath away and the Bajoran arched when the woman's fingertips traced a set along the sides of her breasts. “Seven,” Laren prayed and then she found herself praying again and then again, when the younger woman found another set and another. In fact, despite Laren's original intent, she found that it was herself being brought pleasure upon pleasure by her enthusiastic and attentive lover.

 

And Seven was having a splendid time, touching, tantalizing, kissing and licking the full territory of the Bajoran's mouth and body. She reveled in Laren's responses, in applying the knowledge she had towards the other woman's happiness. Each physical, inarticulate soulful noise filled the Borg's senses and she craved more.

 

At some point she was finally between Laren's legs, which had instinctively spread for her access. Seven's hand stroked the fine dark curls and line of the Bajoran's womanhood, before dipping deeper to caress the ridges and multiple pearl-shaped nerve bundles hidden in the sensitive folds and deeper depth of her. Seven's mouth was busy, suckling on the rose-pink colored nipples, flicking her tongue against those wonderfully responsive body ridges. As wetness covered Seven's hand, the Borg pressed, finally... finally... in.

 

Laren lifted, floating in a zone of sensation so powerful that she was incoherent. But she pushed back, and then back again, as they established a primal rhythm. Neither of them held back and Laren's incoherency eventually became a long, deep wail of pleasure as the physical joy in her could no longer be contained. And then she came again. And again, because Seven adored hearing and feeling that sound shock through her lover.

 

Eventually Seven let her come down from that incredible high and whispered Bajoran adorations to Laren, softly calling her home.

 

==^==

 

Hours or minutes later, Laren had lost all sense of time, the Bajoran woman rose back to awareness amidst gentle kisses. Laren stretched lazily against the warm body that held her so close and began tenderly reciprocating. She opened her eyes and saw the question in the Borg's gaze. “Yes,” whispered Laren, as she looked into the eyes that had seen millions of lifetimes. Even with that awareness, or maybe because of it, Laren felt her body blaze hot for Seven once more. They kissed again, deeply.

 

This time Laren lifted herself above Seven, laying her body on top of the lovely Borg's. Then, she began her own trail of fire down the blonde's body – plotting the map of the woman's features, memorizing them for re-visitation. It was as if Seven were made for loving. Everywhere Laren stroked brought a beautiful gasp or a wondering sound of pleasure.

 

Sometimes Laren tested, seeing what kind of touch would bring which kind of noise. Her fingernails pressing and scraping along the Borg's side brought out a unique cry. The softest skimming touch swirling around a tender nipple summoned a whimper. Kisses drawing pathways along the Borg's abdomen, brought out even more wonderful sounds. And those beautiful legs... oh those gorgeous legs trembled and unfolded for her like butterfly wings. Laren stroked the insides of Seven's thighs, and trailed kisses until she arrived back at the point of origination. Silky blonde curls were long moist with desire. The Bajoran could see fine twirling lines, like tattoos under the downy cover of Seven's sex. She drew her tongue along those lines, until she felt Seven lift her hips urgently. “Please, Laren. Please.”

 

The Bajoran hummed and finally took Seven to her mouth. Her tongue searched and probed, finding the tender button and then dipping down to draw life's water and then rolling her tongue back up around that nub again. She supped the sweet saltiness of her cybernetic lover with abandon. Her hands continued their delicate assault, tracing a starburst here and then one there.

 

She pulled back briefly, long enough to barely whisper a vulgarity of want in Bajoran. Only someone with extraordinary hearing could have perceived it. Seven's eyelids popped open then her gaze slitted with desire. “Yes,” she hissed in reply. “Yes!” she demanded.

 

Laren grinned. She couldn't help it. She laughed a throaty laugh of erotic power and then slid one of her hands along the fine edge of Seven's abdominal implant, then down through the blond curls, along the tender lines. Then, she slid her fingers through the sensitive wet depth and finally thrust.

 

Seven growled and pushed back against Laren's hand. At least, that was what it sounded like to the Bajoran. Laren felt a heady rush of desire and adrenaline. The interesting thing was not just the push and pull, but Laren thought she felt... yes... there... another implant line, the difference was delicate, but she had become familiar to the different sensation by now. She pressed the point, deliberately trying to brush it as they created a new tempo.

 

This was where she wished she had as many hands as the Greeley. There were so many wonderful places to touch on Seven, so many places that lifted her lover higher. And higher. The Bajoran had to make do with her limitations, but oh did she try, until Seven arced and screamed out her joy again and again.

 

The Bajoran wondered what it was like for Seven, that thrilling orgasm she felt pulsing so deeply. The younger woman's responses thrilled her to the core and raised her desire to new levels. She began talking to Seven in Bajoran, praising her, loving her. She felt a rise of energy in the room, as if the prophets themselves were blessing the moment. And for the present, she believed. She truly believed.

 

Seven, meanwhile, was occupied with total sensation – Everything that she was collided in a Divine heap – a psychedelic rushing mesh of senses, pure pleasure, and analysis. She solved equations that had been bothering her for years - somewhere up there, in the state of heightened awareness. Omega claimed her, thrilled through her.

 

Seven, of course, never lost track of time. She might set it aside as irrelevant for a while, but she always knew when she was. She returned to her senses to find Laren reclining besides her. The Bajoran's was on her side, with her head propped up on one hand, and the other hand making long lazy circles on Seven's bare skin.

 

The Bajoran's smile was slight, but definitely there. “Welcome back,” she said. And Seven of Nine smiled in return.

 

==^==

 

Part 12 | Bookmarks

 

Seven of Nine kept her promise to Mezoti. She personally went to engineering to offer the Klingon her assistance with the matter. She left the baby at home in Icheb's care, in case she needed to work on the project immediately. She wore shoes, though not stilettos this time.

 

Now that she had been discovered by at least *one* person, finally, Seven decided to indulge her sense of humor again – perhaps with something a little more obvious this time. This time she chose to wear steel toed black “clod stomper,” boots. She also wore a sturdy denim-like – Jeans - and a simple work shirt – with three buttons left undone to reveal plenty of cleavage. She also wore a tool belt around her waist. She contemplated wearing a yellow helmet, but decided that would be too much. More importantly she realized she found the outfit surprisingly comfortable.

 

The engineers who were present that shift understood the reference. A couple of them swooned a bit and some of them started chortling when they saw her. After all, word of what had happened to the wall had run like wildfire through the crew. Though, everyone was very careful that the captain did not hear of it. Mezoti was only a child after all.... and, well, B'Elanna had threatened. Very effectively.

 

B'Elanna was just stepping out of her office when she scented Seven of Nine... Her attention whipped to the Borg and she took in the ensemble. Seven raised her ocular implant and gave her a smoky return gaze that pretty much took B'Elanna's breath away. Somehow, B'Elanna managed not to drop the part she was holding.

 

In fact she actually grasped it tighter, unconsciously indenting it.

 

“Lieutenant Torres, do you have a moment?” Seven inquired politely.

 

The Klingon managed to drag her tongue from the roof of her mouth long enough to say, “Yeah. Sure.” Then she abruptly turned and re-entered her office. She was frantically trying to pull herself together, but she knew instantly that Seven was right behind her. She could smell her beautiful fragrance, mixed very lightly with another's – as if she'd been hugged or something a touch more familiar.

 

Laren. She smelled Laren on Seven. The part in her hand cracked under the pressure. She looked down at it, trying to fathom her response. Then she felt warmth at her back.

 

A long arm reached around her, taking the part gently. “You smell her on me,” Seven whispered in her ear. “She smells good, doesn't she?” The Borg wasn't taunting, the Klingon knew that. She was observing, declaring. “She tastes even better.” B'Elanna felt a shiver run along her spine. Strong hands gripped the engineer's shoulders and gently turned her around. A cybernetic hand cupped her chin, lifted her gaze. “You knew her before, in the Maquis. You wanted her. She was... not available.”

 

B'Elanna had no idea how Seven knew that. She moistened her lips, swallowed, and tried to speak. She couldn't. There was a confidence in Seven's eyes that hadn't been there before and there was a blazing fire when she abruptly dragged B'Elanna by her jacket into a prolonged kiss. “Kahless,” the Klingon panted when Seven finally freed her. B'Elanna was pretty sure she couldn't feel her feet at the moment.

 

The Borg stepped away, unsmiling. She settled her hands on the tool-belt, and looked – if possible – even sexier. “Lieutenant Torres, I am here on a parental errand. Mezoti Hansen has damaged your office. I have come to repair it.”

 

B'Elanna barely tracked the change in topic, but she did get to it. “Leave it,” she ground out. Her fists were clenched tight. “I need the reminder.”

 

“I can give you better reminders than a hole in the wall, Lieutenant Torres.”

 

“B'Elanna. If you're going to kiss me like that, you'd better damn well call me B'Elanna afterwards.”

 

“B'Elanna.” Seven tilted her head in acknowledgment. “I promised Mezoti that I would fix the damage.” The Klingon stared at Seven. Without accusation, the Borg continued, “Just as you promised my family that there would, at some point, be resolution between us.”

 

There was a long silence between them. “Fix the wall, Seven.”

 

“As you wish.” Seven inclined her head, and pulled a tool out of her belt. “It shall not take long.”

 

“I need to go.”

 

“Lieutenant Ro will be in her office for another hour.”

 

B’Elanna wondered if she had been that transparent, but decided not to ask.

 

Seven turned and began to work on her task.

 

==^==

 

Kathryn Janeway was investing time in the ship's preparation. At some point, the Zakeeri would be showing up again, if not exactly the same Zakeeri who had been chasing them earlier. Their ships simply weren't that fast. But until they cleared the being's space, there were going to be encounters. And Kathryn wanted the next one to be the last one that involved phaser fire.

 

On the plus side, they had plenty of time. So, for once they would be able to meet their challengers head on. It's just, she wanted everything to be exactly right for the Zakeeri “welcome.”

 

Lieutenant Ro had been working closely with Seven and, among other things, the Brig had been updated with stronger forcefields. She was still waiting on the specifications for the uniforms and weapons that Seven had proposed, but she expected that would happen soon.

 

Her assistants were working out. Tal Celes was coming into her own, finally. Perhaps it was because of the surprisingly sure guidance of the older Bajoran. Maybe Kathryn should have made Lieutenant Ro a counselor. She might have done well at it.

 

On the other hand, things were running so much smoother that losing Ro now didn't bear thinking. Even Chakotay was starting to relax again and become his usual laid-back self. It was amazing how one person could make such a difference.

 

==^==

 

Lieutenant Ro was focusing on the schematics in front of her for several of the ship's developments when her office chime rang. She didn't even look up. “Enter.”

 

B'Elanna Torres strode in, growling. “You are going to pay!”

 

Laren looked up and felt a mix of amusement and perverse satisfaction wash over her. She stood up and walked around the desk to the shaking, growling woman. At least B'Elanna wasn't throwing things – like punches.

 

Laren made a split second decision, realizing she was probably taking her life into her own hands. She stepped into the Klingon's space. For the second time in the space of about ten minutes, B'Elanna got dragged close by her jacket and thoroughly kissed until all concentration had been completely wrecked.

 

When she regained her composure enough to communicate, she realized that Laren's thigh was between her legs and she was half sitting on the Bajoran's desk. Her jacket was undone and Laren's hand was making lazy circles on one of B'Elanna's breasts. “Laren... I...”

 

“Hmmm...” The Bajoran appeared to be very focused now that she was kissing along B'Elanna's jawline.

 

“Sweet, Kahless.”

 

Laren's chuckle was dry, husky and warm. B'Elanna felt the burn of desire – differently flavored, but definitely there – roll through her. “Laren, I thought... you and Seven...”

 

“Oh,” Laren captured B'Elanna's ear in her teeth, biting lightly before continuing. “We are. Definitely.” The nibbles continued along the strong line of B'Elanna's neck.

 

B'Elanna found that it was very difficult to become jealous when one's neck was getting nibbled. “Laren...”

 

The Bajoran pulled her attention back up, covering the Klingon's mouth in another searing kiss. Then she let go of B'Elanna enough to meet her eye to eye. “Seven and I had a very long conversation. About you. About the captain. About herself and her family.”

 

“You... you did?”

 

“Oh yes. She's very direct. Or haven't you noticed?” Then, abruptly she let B'Elanna go. “Though, sometimes I wonder what she sees in you. You've been terrible to her. The captain, in some ways has been worse.”

 

“Wait a minute, I ...”

 

“You're very fortunate she's the forgiving sort. I am much less so.” Laren gave B'Elanna a stern look, and there was a dark, dangerous gleam in her eyes. “On the other hand, I've loved you for forever, so ... I suppose I can forgive you for breaking her heart in the past. But that's over. Right.” She poked B'Elanna in the chest. “Right?”

 

“I... Ow. Yes... But she and I... she makes me crazy sometimes.”

 

“Good. You wouldn't be you if there weren't a little fire in the mix.”

 

“True.” There was a beat, “Wait. You love me?!”

 

Laren gave her another lingering kiss. “We'll have to continue this sometime later. I've got a report to give.”

 

“Continue? We will continue this?”

 

“Oh. Yes. Seven wouldn't have it any other way.” Laren's rare smile was tight, but there. Then she reached around the woman and grabbed a PADD.

 

Then she felt herself jerked forward in B'Elanna's grasp. This time it was the Klingon woman doing the kissing. And what a kiss it was. By the time she was done it was Laren who was sitting on the edge of her desk looking shocked and slightly disheveled.

 

B'Elanna gave her a feral smile and a sexy growl for good measure, before turning on her heel and stalking back out of Laren's office.

 

==^==

 

B'Elanna made her way back to her office, fully expecting to see Seven there, but the Borg was gone. The engineer looked towards the wall that Mezoti had broken. It was definitely fixed. But, appended to the wall were three images in as many frames. One was an image of the Hansen family. The other was an image of Ro Laren. The other was an image of the Captain.

 

==^==

 

Ro Laren entered the Ready Room abruptly. She turned her attention briefly, very briefly, to the ensign working in the corner. “Get Out!” She barked the order as if she were the captain herself. The ensign dropped the PADD he was working on, but somehow managed not to just bolt. He looked to the Captain – who nodded. Then he scrabbled for the PADD, picked it up and made his escape.

 

Ro waited with barely restrained energy as the ensign passed her. Then once he exited, she ordered the door privacy locked.

 

“Lieutenant, what is this about?”

 

The Bajoran waited until she was behind the captain's desk. “Seven of Nine sends you greetings.”

 

Kathryn, meanwhile, had scrambled to a standing position. Which was good, because then Laren didn't have to lean too far down. Laren cupped her hand around Kathryn's neck and pulled the woman forward into a pulse-pounding kiss.

 

It lasted a good while.

 

“Oh. That's what this is about,” Kathryn answered when she was finally let up for air. “And what about fraternization rules?” If there was a bit of sparkle in the captain's gaze, Ro didn't quite notice it. At the moment her own mind was spinning. Kissing B'Elanna was one thing. She'd contemplated that moment for years, even if she'd only been taking advantage of the moment. But this was... sudden and amazing and disconcerting. This had not been intended.

 

“Irrelevant,” Replied Ro, falling back on a word she'd heard more than once lately. The captain's eyebrows lifted. “...due to unusual circumstances - at least according to Seven. I tend to agree.” The Bajoran husked. She laid the PADD she'd been carrying on the desk and then stepped away from Kathryn. Or rather tried to. Her arms were grasped by surprisingly strong hands.

 

“Going somewhere Lieutenant?” Kathryn grinned at the nonplussed woman with a touch of wickedness. “Understand, this isn't my usual style. I should throw you in the Brig. That's what I should do.” She gave the younger woman a bit of a shake. “But you're already confined to quarters.” Her expression became shrewd. “And I suspect there is more to this message, isn't there.”

 

Laren finally lifted her gaze, to stare at the Captain with more than a hint of embarrassment. The idea had seemed so simple when she'd rehearsed it in her head. “Yes. Seven and I... came to an understanding yesterday. We are of an accord – in interest in each other... and select others.”

 

“Oh my.”

 

“I... we... were going to wait. But then B'Elanna came to my office and was piping mad. So I ... kissed her. Because it was either that or get slugged. Then ... she kissed me and wow. I mean, Wow. It wasn't planned this way. I have... hurried things. It wasn't impatience. I just… B'Elanna was right there and I lost track. All I could remember was that I was supposed to give you Seven's greetings.” Laren could not believe she was babbling. She never babbled.

 

“Just not with a kiss.”

 

“Well. No.” Laren's lips quirked. “but she would have approved. It was... efficient.”

 

Captain Kathryn Janeway began to laugh. She couldn't quite help it. She was feeling a bit giddy. “I see.” She still hadn't let Laren go. She was afraid she'd bolt. “Stay right there Lieutenant. That's an order.”

 

Ro blinked. “Yes, Captain.”

 

Kathryn pressed emphatically against the Bajoran's arms. Then she let go. The Lieutenant did not run. The older woman turned and picked up the PADD that Ro had placed on her desk. She looked at it. “The uniform specs?”

 

“Yes, Captain. Five possible designs. Each modifiable according to duty section.”

 

“Hmmm.” The captain continued to look at the PADD. “Lieutenant Ro, may I call you Laren?”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

“You may call me Kathryn, in private and in family, understood?”

 

“Yes, Cap... Kathryn.”

 

“Excellent, Laren. The truth is, Seven is right. These are unusual circumstances we find ourselves in.” Kathryn couldn't help thinking how unusual. She set the PADD down, put her hands on her hips and turned to face Laren again. “At one time I would have found being alone, save for the occasional ... non-crew encounter... an acceptable loss – no matter how long it took us to get back. But I've had reason to rethink my grand, glorious plan. And it sounds as if Seven and you have concocted an illustrious one of your own. I am not disinclined.” She smiled whimsically. “Also, certain... impressions could be useful to our... future guests.”

 

“Strength in numbers...”

 

“Exactly. They do seem to operate in multiples. Now, here is what we're going to do...”

 

“Wait. Odd numbers.”

 

“Damn. You're right. Then we will simply have to find a fifth.”

 

“A fifth?!” squeaked the Bajoran.

 

“They don't have to be intimate with us. Though I'm sure Seven would find a way.” Kathryn chuckled at the thought. “Poor Chakotay. She did try for him.”

 

“Wait. What?” Laren's eyes were bugging.

 

“Oh. Nothing. Never happened.” Kathryn waved her hand vaguely and then continued commenting on the Borg. “Faithful and true though, that's what our Borg are. Once you free them from the Queen. And, I'm all for keeping Seven happy. She is worth the journey, yes?” Kathryn began to pace. She wagged her finger in no particular direction. “Whomever we choose will just need to be an obvious member of the family unit. Someone whom we are already comfortable with – who might already be considered family by ... well most of us. That way we'll act naturally around them, regardless. Of course, the whole ship could be defined that way. Hah! But wouldn't that just turn the pips of some old Admirals.” Kathryn gave an evil chuckle, and then brought herself back to point. “I think, perhaps... an old friend of mine.”

 

“Oh. Prophets.”

 

“Straighten your jacket, dear. I'm about to invite him in on the plot.”

 

“Prophets. Prophets! Prophets!!”

 

“Janeway to Tuvok. May I see you in my ready room please.” Janeway walked passed the Bajoran, but not without laying a quick buss on the Bajoran's mouth. “Oh, and, we'll use all the uniform choices I think. It'll give the impression of more numbers on this ship than we actually have. Use standard Starfleet colors – as shoulder patches, so on. We'll have certain officers change uniforms every four hours or so. We all look the same to aliens, you know, until they start marking the difference. We'll get the Doctor to help with the illusion.”

 

Laren was quick witted, usually quick footed, and was still trying to catch up. She grabbed up the PADD and began taking notations. “Yes, Captain.” Then she paused, “Chakotay will be disappointed.”

 

Kathryn's eyes flashed with an old, grim pain. “He'll live. He'll find someone else. He always does. Anyone else, but me.”

 

“I... see.”

 

“Don't worry about it, Laren. I let it go a long time ago.”

 

“Yes, Kathryn.” The captain could practically hear the vow of future comfort being made by the Bajoran.

 

The entry chime rang.

 

==^==

 

Part 13 | Bookmarks

 

While Tuvok could not claim that the plan was logical, he did say it was workable and agreed to participate.

 

“Well, I guess it's time for a conference then,” stated Janeway once he accepted. She called Seven of Nine and B'Elanna Torres to the Ready Room.

 

==^==

 

“Seven, it seems you have been a busy woman.”

 

“Elucidate, please.”

 

“It's my fault,” Laren interjected. “I got... a little carried away.”

 

“You?” Seven was honestly surprised, since the Bajoran was the last person, next to Tuvok and perhaps Vorik, who would have behaved purely on impulse. Except, perhaps, for yesterday.

 

“Well... I got little ahead of the plan, Seven. It's not normal behavior for me. True. But nothing has been normal for me since... last night.”

 

“Indeed.” Seven paused, “The same might be said for myself.” She conceded. “Perhaps it is my own fault. I teased B'Elanna earlier today. Then I told her where you were.” Seven raised her eyebrow at the Klingon, who wasn't glaring as much as she probably should have been, given the circumstance.

 

“Oh.” Laren began to chuckle. “That explains so much.”

 

“Ladies, can we save this conversation for later? Though, I would just love to hear more about this plan you two concocted.”

 

Laren winced. Seven just nodded and responded practically. “Of course, Captain.”

 

“Then let us get down to... family business.” Now that they were all here, Kathryn wasn't quite sure where to start. But she was captain for a reason. She started with, “As you all know, the Zakeeri are going to be laying in wait for us somewhere along our current journey. We can expect that they have extrapolated our possible stopping points by now. We have a plan, given what we know about their battle strategies, to take care of the problem while their numbers are relatively small. We also wish to impress upon them, once we have enacted this plan, that we are not a people to be trifled with. I'm sure, that Seven's and Laren's purpose was not to enact a possible method for impressing the Zakeeri. But I intend to take advantage of the fact that they have been... ahem... working behind the scenes so to speak, to bring about... a union of personalities.” She gave the two women a bit of the stink-eye, but couldn't quite help grinning afterwards. “I am also looking forward to the full benefits of such a union...”

 

It was probably a good thing that B'Elanna hadn't been drinking anything right at that moment. The noise she made was humorous enough. Seven merely raised her ocular implant. Laren's lips twitched. Tuvok, who had already agreed with the plan, remained neutral in his expression. Kathryn was really trying hard not to be overcome by the levity of the situation. The captain continued, “But it was Laren who pointed out that the Zakeeri family or tribal units operate in odd numbers. Thus, the presence of Tuvok in this little conversation.”

 

“So... wait... How official is this going to be?” B'Elanna asked. She kept flashing back to several days ago, when she'd been in the Hansen quarters.

 

Tuvok offered, “Perhaps we should treat this as something similar to a house contract. It would then be up to the family to create a ... communal name and crest, and to set the parameters of... interpersonal relationship. The individuals would keep their original last names, and append the house name to it.”

 

“Satisfactory,” stated Seven, who already had a number of designations anyway. One more did not matter to her.

 

“The contract should be Klingon.”

 

“Why is that?” Kathryn asked with curiosity.

 

“Klingons are a known warrior race.”

 

“Not in the Delta quadrant.” Laren pointed out.

 

“Perhaps not. But we don't know that. There have been many Klingon explorers in the past. They might have made it to this part of the Galaxy.” She waved that issue off, since it was distracting her. “That's beside the point. Klingons have a tradition of creating family houses. The procedures are established. And they're fairly simple. Of course, we could also go with my mother's house, if it came to that. But I do not know what she would think... would have thought...”

 

“Vulcan's also have similar practices, but they are more complicated. The Klingon method would be recognized by the Federation and would solve the problem of legitimacy. And, it could, if you wish – afterwards be dissolved as easily.”

 

“Oh, we're not dissolving a House I build.”

 

“B'Elanna.”

 

“I mean it captain. Honor demands it. Especially since there are children involved.”

“... Oh yes... The children... Should they be brought into this discussion now?”

 

“I believe,” said Seven, “that it would be best if we worked out the details first and then presented it to my children. They are adaptable. But I agree with B'Elanna. If we join this new... house... I and my children will not be leaving it.”

 

“That's quite the commitment Seven.”

 

“Is that not what this is about?”

 

“Yes. I believe it is.”

 

“Mind if I get a word in,” Laren said.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“My family...” She honestly thought she could talk about it. But words failed her. She retreated to simplicity. “They're all dead. If I join this House, I intend to stay.”

 

“You know, this is happening awfully rapidly...”

 

“Some decisions are best made quickly, captain.”

 

“True.” Kathryn paused, trying to think of how to articulate her thought. “I hesitate to bring this up, but we're all adults here.”

 

“You wish to bring up issues of fidelity.” Seven seemed to grab the thought from out of thin air. Kathryn was never sure how the Borg managed to do that. Maybe it was that she read facial features so completely. “You all know where I stand. I am not possessive. I do not expect you to be possessive of me, since you claim to be free adult individuals. However, I will honor meaningful commitments. I will play safe. I will not plan on bringing more members to our family unit. I am more than satisfied with the number.”

 

Janeway's mouth twitched. “I'm glad to hear it. I find myself overwhelmed. I'd like to propose that we let time decide that particular factor for us.” Then she waggled her brows jokingly. “Besides, you may find us plenty to handle, Seven.”

 

The ex-drone merely nodded. “I accept the challenge.”

 

“Kahless on a Stick. We are getting married.”

 

“I suppose you might say we are.”

 

“But, what about Tuvok. He's already...”

 

“There are reasons besides disguise for me to consider this option. If this... House... is being formed T'Pel must be considered a member. If only in absence. The name and crest would be added to the rosters of Vulcan.”

 

Kathryn smiled gently at her friend. “Of course, Tuvok. Though that does play havoc with our odd numbers.”

 

“Logically, the matter need not be brought up to those who are outside of our family. And it would allow T'Pel to be our representative in the Federation. She might also seek companionship, to fit our requirement… and need.”

 

“Oh boy,” whispered B'Elanna as she recognized the implication. “How long do you have, Tuvok.”

 

“It will not be this week, Lieutenant Torres.”

 

“We're family now, Tuvok. Please call me B'Elanna. And you're evading the question.”

 

Tuvok nodded at the Klingon woman. “The time is near, but not at hand, B'Elanna. That is as specific as I can get at this moment.”

 

Kathryn immediately felt out of her depth, but she continued on gamely. “We will address that as a family when the time comes. That's the point of this all, I guess. Tuvok, please keep us informed.”

 

“I will, Kathryn.”

 

“Right, then.” When did she start thinking that temporal problems were easier to solve? Oh yes, about ten seconds ago. “Tuvok has brought up an interesting point. We would need a representative of the house – someone who is not of the House itself – but authorized for trade, here in the Delta quadrant. That is, if I understand one of the purposes of Houses for Klingons.”

 

“The gathering of prestige and wealth is one purpose, though it's not always easily achieved,” acknowledged B'Elanna. “It would help establish legitimacy, at least from a Klingon perspective.”

 

“Neelix.” Laren offered.

 

“It would explain his – singular – presence on this ship.”

 

“But then, so would being ship's cook.”

 

“He has assistance now and has studied a variety of other departmental practices. He is an excellent, if talkative, negotiator.”

 

“He does make a good diplomat.”

 

“Surely.”

 

“He'd need a more status-oriented office.”

 

“It can be arranged, captain.”

 

“Of course. I'll give up two of my assistants – specifically Tal Celes and Rafe Angus.”

 

“Clever, Kathryn. That makes three.”

 

“Yes. While we won't go overboard, this is a Federation ship after all, we do want a sufficient number of the crew providing a comfort zone of commonality for our future guests.”

 

“So you're going to try and convince them rather than beat them.”

 

“It's the Federation way.”

 

“So how many of the crew should be in on the odd group plan?”

 

“Just to keep it in harmony, let's say one third. All volunteer. They should probably also share quarters, at least for the time being.”

 

“This just gets better and better.”

 

“Well, it's one way to make space on this ship.”

 

Tuvok and Seven watched as the others started laughing helplessly.

 

When they managed to collect themselves, Seven brought up a different topic. “As we are forming an official bond, it is appropriate that you all should be informed first. A name has been decided for the baby. We have named her Emina, which means 'beloved.'”

 

==^==

 

It was decided that since B'Elanna was – as far as she knew – the last of her line, they would take on the house name Presba. That way that old line would continue, and perhaps find renewal.

 

There were two women who suddenly felt a strange stir – a greater sense – of destiny. One was B'Elanna Torres, who felt a pure ownership of her heritage sing through her. The other was Kathryn Janeway, as she recalled who had visited her earlier. She felt the awareness strongly enough that goose-pimples rolled right up her back.

 

“We'll need to perform the ceremony relatively quickly,” she said. “The sooner the better. Can we use a Holodeck?”

 

B'Elanna nodded. “I think so. The only thing that definitely needs to be real is the ceremonial knife and bowl.”

 

“There's going to be blood isn't there.”

 

“Are you kidding? It's a Klingon ritual.”

 

==^==