Janeway's glance flicked across the bridge, her anger, a controlled flash of
lightening blue in an otherwise impassive face. She took in the empty console where
Seven should be stationed, barely registering the rise in temper that accompanied her
first glimpse of the Astrometrics Officer's brown suited back working at Tuvok's security
station. It acted as a deliberate incitement to the Captains already frayed nerves.
One long fingertip released that tension, tapping on the side of her armrest.
"Mr Paris, is there a chance that we will be getting the telemetry before
we return to the Alpha Quadrant?" Her voice held that rough steel that no amount of
preparation could prevent from hitting her staff in the guts. Her eyes had returned
moodily to bore into the pilots back. His neck was reddening, she noticed.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Every time I establish a fix on the ship, it disappears.
It must be using some form of multi-phasic shielding". He coughed
"I see." Janeway never sighed, not when she was angry, it was an indulgence
she would not allow herself, that slight release of tension, that easing of pressure.
She liked the pressure, she knew it stirred her crew to strive more keenly to do her
"How many times have you got the fix?" Smoothly, quietly. No one
would know her boiling fury. Her hand played with her chin, before subtle fingers
extended back around the armrest.
"23 times, Ma'am". The intermittent pulse of Yellow Alert, was
casting a neon golden aura about his hair.
"So, perhaps a different method of location would be more suitable?
Hmm??" Lesser crewmen panicked altogether at her patient tone.
"Suggestions?" This was barked out to include the whole bridge crew.
"We could fire a wide spread of phasers, if we catch them, they'll light up like a
beacon." Always first to jump in, Harry Kim's sincerity served only to remind
her of how, precisely, not everyone was quite so eager to please her. She
didn't look up at the security console. No. Not yet.
"Thank you, Mr Kim, but such desperate measures tend to give the wrong
"It's quite dusty out there. They can't move without causing some
disturbance to the particle field around them, so why not monitor not the ship, per
se, but the space around them? We'll wait them out." This from Chakotay.
She looked at him, for what seemed like the first time in days,
"Ever the hunter, eh?" I like that, Bast like, waiting for ones
prey. "We'll wait them out," she growled.
"That will not work, Captain."
Seven was now standing at her own station. Their eyes locked. Of course
"If," she continued, "as we currently assume, the aliens and their ship
are in bio-synthesis, it is likely that our inability to see them is less to do with
shielding and more to do with an innate ability to become like their surroundings-"
Seven took a breath.
I wish B'Elanna were here to roll her eyes, thought Janeway.
"-Wow! Like space chameleons, or something!" Janeway shot Paris a reproving
look, then returned her gaze to Seven. It felt like her heart was trying to beat its
way out of her chest. She found her voice.
"Nonetheless, unless they are actually comprised of space dust, they do
have a distinctive form - a solid mass of body - that must be discernible against
background space." Her voice sounded as she intended it to, slightly patronizing.
The steel was now resonating in her eyes, the fury a shadow that danced in the play
of her toughening jaw.
"Of course." Seven's calm inflexion threatened to outmanoeuvre her in
the patronizing stakes. "However, the proximity of the asteroid belt is causing
such turbulence - right across the dust field - that searching for movement within it,
would be... inefficient." If Janeway, had not been looking for provocation, she would
have recognised Seven's use of an old Borg expression as a sudden loss of nerve, but she
didn't and Seven had fallen into her trap.
"Do you have anything better to contribute?" The Captains voice was
sickly sweet. Seven lowered her eyes. Then raised them.
"I do not." There was a hint of fight, of knowingness. It drove
"Then, define the parameters of the debris field, monitor the space winds from the
asteroid belt and establish a way to determine anomalous readings within them. Lt. Torres
will divert extra power to Astrometrics." She nodded to Chakotay, who tapped
his badge. "Do you require either Mr Kim or Icheb's assistance?"
"I do not". Seven knew when she was being toyed with and she didn't
"Dismissed". Despite herself, Janeway eyed the Borg's exit from the
bridge: the graceful turn; the insolent sway of hips; the proud position of her
head. Even as she issued orders for the tightening of security, for continuous
sweeps of sensors, her senses played each movement of the now absent Astrometrics Officer
over, like a parody of her self-control. With Seven gone, she felt deflated and this
in turn fed the rage.
"I will be in my Ready Room. You have the Bridge."
Chakotay nodded. "Captain".
The Captain entered her Ready Room, her purposeful stride another weapon in her armoury
of self possession. She came to a halt in perfect timing with the swish of the door
closing behind her. One breath in, released slowly. Then another. Her
jaw was working overtime. How dare she!
There, she had thought it. How Dare She. The inappropriateness of it
all. The sheer affront. How DARE she. Kathryn sat down and put her
head in her hands, letting a low moan escape from that deep place she had been contriving
to deny. No. This won't do. She stood back up, hands on
hips. This will not do. She began to pace, her delicate form framed by
the light of the stars.
"Think! She commanded herself. Think. She was The
Captain, it just would not do for her to let go of control like this. She would
speak to Seven, make her see sense. Let her understand that this was wrong.
"It just can't be" she said, but then the anger kicked in and
unbidden from Janeway's chest came a primal roar of outrage.
"That bloody Borg!" She said. "That... presuming,
insolent........ I will not be treated with such little respect and I
certainly do not owe her any explanations." Despite the fighting tone, Kathryn felt
sick to her core. This was much worse than the slow, interminable burning of being
on the Bridge and wanting to lash out.
"Oh my God. Kathryn Janeway, you are out of control." Her hand waved
elegantly. "You have to get a grip. Quietly, calmly. With
dignity." She was already regretting referring to Seven as 'The Borg', even in
the privacy of her own company. Never one to hold species or cultural backgrounds
against people, it indicated far more than the sleepless nights and the irritability, how
much Seven of Nine had disturbed her mostly unflappable equilibrium.
"Right then. Control. We have a situation here. Correction: we have two
situations here - between thieving aliens and Seven's uncharacteristic behaviour, a steady
hand and a cool disposition are required." And me? "Hush".
Captain Kathryn Janeway sat down to think.
Seven of Nine was configuring the sensor array, hands sweeping over the colourful
console in rhythmic fluid motions, that belayed her own ire. Accustomed as she was,
to the short tempers of fellow crewmen, particularly B'Elanna and the nasty way that
emotions were expressed at her as if things were always her fault, she now found herself
in new territory and it was... distracting.
She had upset the Captain. No, she had enraged the Captain and it may well have
cost her the most important friendship she had ever had. She heaved a heavy sigh and
re-read the data before her - not that she needed to, but it did serve to take her mind
off her superior officer. She entered some changes into the console and waited for
the computer to produce the new diagnostics. It would take time. She sighed
again and let her mind run over the events of the last few days, trying to find the
precise moment that had caused such an emotional cascade. Cause and effect, she
thought, action and reaction.
The holodeck had reached that mean moment of what the crew considered a good party.
It was heaving. People crowded in, jostling, laughing and shouting at each other.
In the past, Seven of Nine, formerly Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero, had offered
to introduce a proactive programme into the emitters to always allow enough space for each
individual and to dampen the background noise - so that no one need shout. Tom Paris
had just looked at her funny.
"Jeez, Seven," he'd said, "it's a party".
It had not taken her long to realise, that Tom Paris loved the inadvertent contact with
other crew members, especially the female ones and he had a particular skill at it.
She had developed her own response, of course, which consisted of standing in an
unobtrusive spot with her back to the wall, ready to step away, should anyone come too
She did enjoy fancy dress, though. It was like a disguise that meant she looked
the same as everyone else. In her thoughtful way, she found the personas that people
took on in costume, fascinating. The costume allows a sub persona free reign.
The question is, without the costume, would this personality exist?
Tonight the scene was a tango party in South America. The men all wore tailcoats
and the women were dressed like exotic birds in low-cut ball gowns. They
strutted and purred. It would disrupt the smooth working of the ship, if they
behaved like this all the time.
"Seven!" The Doctor's voice startled her out of her reverie. He sounded
both surprised and disappointed. "Why are you wearing a tailcoat? Wouldn't you
be more comfortable in a gown?"
"Oh! Well, I would ask you to dance, but I have no intention of
becoming the laughing stock of the ship-" a shriek interrupted him, "would you
excuse me, it would seem that Ensign Delaney has sprained her ankle." He
disappeared into the crowd.
Seven moved around a column, deeper into the shade and took up a new stance, leaning
against the wall. She estimated that the black of her outfit, together with the
hanging ivy falling from the balcony above, gave her 73.2 percent camouflage. Only
the paler areas would now be standing out. She put her hands in her pockets. 77.8
percent. The Borg felt smug.
Her gaze took in the dance floor and came to rest on the Captain being wrestled around
the room by Chakotay. He is inefficient at dancing. Too much upper body
force, too little real guidance from the hips. She briefly sympathized with the
Captain and then proceeded to analyse what hidden part of Janeway was expressed in her
garment. It was strapless, lower cut at the back then at the front, although any
much lower and Chakotay will have more on his hands then he anticipated. Cream
and silver in colour, it swept to mid calf length over her hips in a way that both
concealed and revealed her slim body. It was finished off by silver stilettos.
Much more dignified than the others, yet there is a question. A statement.
Both Captain and woman.
The music came to an end, causing the couple to applaud the band. It was then
that Kathryn Janeway looked up and caught her staring. The Captain smiled and walked
Seven couldn't move, not even to take her hands out of her pockets. Eventually,
as the Captain was nearly upon her, she broke eye contact and looked at her feet. At
the black patent leather shoes she wore. She could feel the heat radiating from
Janeway's body as she drew nearer. Her eyes flicked back up.
"Why, Seven. How very debonair you look."
"Thank you, Captain. Your costume becomes you more than adequately,
Janeway threw her head back and laughed. "Thank you." She
said. "So, what conclusions have you come to about this little event?"
Her voice was playful, friendly, familiar. Janeway leaned against the wall,
enjoying its cool smoothness next to her skin. Damn, but Seven always finds the
best surreptitious vantage point. She would make a fine undercover agent.
Seven flexed her fingers in her pockets. "That happiness may be a bigger
mystery, than say, notions of God."
Surprise and concern warmed the Captains features. "How so?" She
touched the Borg's forearm, noticing as she did, the way Seven's arms ran into her
pockets. Her fingers slid downwards slightly before she withdrew her hand.
"Well, although smiling and laughing are potential indicators of happiness, it is
not a condition that is quantifiable. If you could not see, could not hear, your
experience of happiness would still be as strong. It is not measurable and yet, here
in this room, it is as tangible as, say... the scent that you are wearing."
Seven turned her head and looked into the Captain's eyes. There was a pause and for
a moment, the rest of the room ceased to exist, at least for Seven.
The Captain was feeling something, something that Seven didn't recognize, but began to
understand, in a feeling sort of way.
"And what evidence is there for the existence of God? How is that
quantifiable?" Janeway's voice held a darker note. Interest and emotion
competing in her tone.
"There need be none. Only that people believe. Acolytes and temples
are like smiles and laughter, they indicate the existence of something other.
But in God's case, this hardly matters because belief is all the proof a believer
"And if you don't believe?" The wall was beginning to feel too cold
against the Captains back.
"Then you don't need God". Seven noticed the shiver. She felt a
wave of concern for the Captain, still wondering about the longing she had briefly caught
in the other woman's eyes.
"And if you don't smile, never laugh?" Her voice was quiet.
Too serious, thought Seven. "Then you are probably the
Holographic Medical Programme Mark One."
Janeway laughed, the tension broken and Seven's ocular implant raised in pleasure at
the effectiveness of the joke. Her joke. She straightened herself from the
wall and then bowed fractionally.
"Do you tango, Captain?"
"Ah. Well. Wasn't that what I was just doing with Chakotay?"
The humour was back in the Captain's eyes, but the softness was still there and
suddenly Seven wanted nothing more than to make this woman - her friend - happy, just for
"I could not tell," said Seven of Nine.
There was a pause as Kathryn examined her nails. "Chakotay does prefer
"A suitable dance form, for him. It does not adapt well to the tango."
Seven offered her arm. "Nor, if I may say, to the elegance of your
"Hah! Do you tango, Seven?" The Captain looked both surprised
and delighted. What a pair they would make.
"Oh, yes." Seven let all her Borg arrogance show through. She
arched her eye questioningly, her arm still extended.
Janeway's hand slid across the black fabric on her arm. "Well then,"
she murmured, "Shall we?"
"Chakotay to Seven of Nine".
Seven jumped, startled out of her memories. She tapped her comm badge.
"The Captain is on her rounds of the Departments. I thought you'd like to
know. How are things going?"
Seven glanced at the console, "The computer is still processing data from
the field. Once that is analysed, I can form a model and thus separate any
"How do you rate your chances at success?" Personnel Officer to the
"I have not built the model yet. I do not know."
"Fair enough. You may want to re-phrase that, if the Captain should pose a
similar question. Chakotay out"
Seven glanced at the readout. It would be a while yet, before the computer had
She had led the Captain out onto the dance floor and offered her her left hand.
Kathryn flickered the ghost of a smile up at her and slowly slid her hand across the
Borg's palm, across soft metal and skin. Seven was stiff with anticipation, but
somehow the clothes made her feel elegant and strong, even though her body temperature was
elevated. She focused her mind on being cool. She was dressed to lead.
It was the game, after all and she instinctively knew that the Captain was playing.
Her right hand slid around the satiny waist - slowly, so as to offer respect and care
to the woman looking up at her. The Captain's eyes were alive with a fire that
turned almost feral as the Borg's hand met the small of her back and drew her in one swift
movement up against her body. She felt the light contact of the Captain's hand on
Janeway nodded, then drew in a breath as Seven's cheek touched hers. She felt the
brief rhythm of the music communicate itself through Seven's hips and then they were
Captain Kathryn Janeway prowled through the ship. Her eyes inspected the crew she
met, possessively. These are all mine, she thought, I keep them, protect
them, guide them. Her gaze bored into them as she passed, daring any to
comment. None did. Everywhere she went, she met a picture of quick efficiency.
It settled her anger into a cold familiar place. With every step she was
ready. Hell, she'd faced down much worse than this. Those damn bugs, for
She took a left turn into engineering.
Seven had danced with holograms before (they had no limbs to break) and the Doctor, of
course, but this was as like to those experiences as listing principles was to
understanding science. For one thing, there was the heat of where their bodies
touched. The silkiness of her partner's body contrasted with the play of their
muscles through both sets of clothes. It was like a spell and she didn't believe in
magic. Then there was the complexity of rhythms. The pulse of the music and
the way she and Kathryn made their own marvellous beat to it. She was vaguely aware
of the other dancers, but only in that way that guided her partner safely around the
room. This was dancing. This was living. Control and expression.
Proximity and distance. Seven of Nine was lost in a web of dichotomies, each more
scintillating than the last. And all the while - the music, Kathryn's eyes on her as
they parted, her warm cheek and hot breasts as they came together.
The Captain heaved a sigh into her chest as their bodies moved sideways again.
"Are you... well, Captain?" She whispered into the Captain's
"Hmm? Well? Oh, yes. Very well, Seven." They parted
and Kathryn twirled, sashaying back towards Seven, whose hand met her hip and they moved
in unison, their eyes still as much a part of the dance as the movement of their hips.
Seven pulled the Captain back into her and their cheeks brushed again, as the formal
part of the dance began again. "If dancing were quantifiable," murmured
the Captain, "You are at genius level."
"Ah." This was perhaps the most sincere complement Seven had ever
received. It moved her beyond any capacity to respond adequately. "If we
make it to the Alpha Quadrant, be sure to remind me, to put it into my CV."
The Captain laughed. "I will not".
They changed direction. "Do you not want me dance with anyone
else?" Seven arched her brow imperiously, using her height to full effect.
The Captain had looked at her then. Is that what 'smoky' means?
"I mean," she replied casually, "that of all your skills, dancing is the
least of the ones that Starfleet should value." Her eyes had said more and she
smiled up at her Astrometrics Officer.
Seven smiled back. "Thank you." Her arm was around Kathryn's
waist, her hand in contact with bare flesh, their hips and feet moving as one.
"What perfume are you wearing Captain?"
Janeway laughed again. "A woman must have her secrets, you know."
Her eyes were merry, as if she knew she was inviting Seven to think about them, quite
"You should never say that to a scientist."
"Perhaps." The music came to an end and they parted to clap
politely. Seven felt Janeway's hand snake its way through her arm. Janeway's voice
was like hot coals hitting cold water, "Lets go cool off, outside." and
suddenly Seven felt her heart hammering in her chest. She took a moment to be
thankful for the black jacket that concealed her body's other responses, then escorted her
Captain out into the garden.
She was aware even before the doors to Astrometrics closed, that the approaching figure
was Janeway. "Captain." she said quietly, without turning round.
Captain Janeway had always tolerated Seven's unusual approach to manners. She
didn't have any. But she did have her own form of courtesy, which was very subtle,
particularly when Seven wanted to insult someone. To some extent, this had always
amused Janeway, especially as very few of her crew even noticed it happening.
Today, however, everything Seven did seemed designed to offer new offence.
"Seven." Her voice snapped like cracking tritanium.
"I am in the process of forming a model out of the diagnostics. When this is
done, I will inform you." Seven still did not look at her.
The seething was back. Bloody, bloody....
"How long will it take?" The Captain's hands smoothed over the console.
"I don't kn-"
"-look at me Seven!" Hands on hips, Janeway glared up at her.
"I know what this is about." Cool. Cold. Borg like.
"Oh do you?" Janeway's chin jutted to a new impossible angle, even as she was
sure she would crack: a vent or fissure would rupture and the utter rage she felt would
come spewing out.
"You are angry with me because I turned you down."
There was silence as Janeway did her best not to break something. She paced
agitatedly. She could feel the ice queen's eyes following her.
Sevens hands were held resolutely behind her back, though the palms were sweaty.
"No!" Janeway whirled around. "I am mad because you want
this too, because you led me on, because you are denying something that feels so right!"
She slapped her palm down on the console that was now between them.
Seven flinched. Then, "I turned you down. You are the Captain,"
her eyes followed her captain as Janeway paced, "you are not used to being denied and
although I am surprised that you should have such little decorum in this, none-"
"Damn you!" Janeway flew at her, fists flailing, which Seven caught and they
wrestled as the Captain made guttural, desperate sounds. She wrenched her hand free
from the Borg's grasp and let fly a punch which would have connected directly with the
younger woman's chin had she not moved her head to one side, causing Janeway's arm to fly
over her shoulder. "Damn you!" The sob became a gasp and then a kiss
as their mouths met roughly, hungrily and then slowed to an impossibly deep contact, that
seemed to spin the room around them. Lips and breath. Then tongues.
Janeway was the first to break and she gasped for air as she rested her forehead on the
Borg's chest. "Seven!"
Seven's hand soothed the small of her back, a familiar place now to her, after their
dance. "Seven." The other hand, gently caressed her back over her
heart. She sent tiny electrical impulses through her implant to calm the Captain's
"You know we can't do this. You are the Captain. I am a member of your
crew." Her hand moved in distracting circles. "We will not serve
this collective, by this relationship, only ourselves. It will damage the well being
of Voyager. You know this, Captain." Her hand stilled its movement.
"I am sorry that this is painful for you. But it is the right thing to
Janeway wrenched free of the Borg's grasp, her eyes searching Seven's face, then she
turned and marched out of Astrometrics.
Lt B'Elanna Torres was having a bad day. 48 hours ago, invisible aliens had
beamed aboard Voyager, moving through the security fields like a knife through butter and
stolen five vital plasma relays. B'Elanna had been asleep for one hour when the
first one disappeared and had reached Engineering in time to hear the computer report a
third was missing. She had raced about the consoles like a targh with a flaming
torch tied to its tail. Then hurtled down Jeffrey's tubes like a crack
commando. She was sure that she had felt the aliens' presence, but how can you
accost something you can't see?
On top of that, the strange sub Starfleet devices that they had left in the relays'
place ensured Voyager could go nowhere at any great speed until they were all
replaced. So the ship had hung limply in space and just to make matters worse, the
Captain had gone through Engineering like a cross between a Klingon Warbird and a
Starfleet Librarian. All fierce pace and attention to detail.
B'Elanna thought back to the moment of the Captain's entry, still dressed in her silver
and cream Tango outfit. How many women could instill such fear, such devotion to
duty, commanding with such implacable authority while presenting such a genteel image to
the world? It had always bugged her. We would have made fine enemies, she
thought. But now, Captain Janeway had conquered Torres' rebelliousness and
honed her into the sharp professional who would not risk losing the contradictory woman's
respect. So much for maturity...
So, on days like today, when the Captain's expectations bore down on her like a
thundercloud, the Klingon engineer could only fantasize about fighting with her, in brief,
quickly controlled flashes. She felt Janeway held her responsible for the loss of
the relays. She felt at fault and Janeway's ongoing foul mood had deepened this to a
resentful fever pitch, all of which she had to carefully hide as the Captain seemed to be
constantly in Engineering.
I guess she doesn't trust us, the Klingon thought moodily. She's even been
monitoring Astrometrics from Engineering.
She thought about the Borg: if anything, these last few days, Seven of Nine had been
more controlled, more quiet, more calm, like a distillation of her former self. More
Borg like. Perhaps Janeway had finally had enough of it, as well. That
would be something. Then we could - finally - knock some manners into her.
The computer bleeped and Seven's field wave programme started displaying the first
data, simultaneously translating the bitstream into graphs and a multidimensional
model. She's good, though. The warrior in B'Elanna deeply appreciated
Seven's tactical tenacity. She'd be one helluva lay. What a challenge. B'Elanna
shrugged, for the first time in days, her mood lightened. That was one problem she
didn't have. Not even Tom had wanted to go there.
Lt Torres concentrated her mind on the data. Establish a defence, track your
target and... she no longer wanted to destroy them, after all, they could have caused much
more damage.......no she wanted to humiliate them. It takes a thief to catch a
thief. Red handed. She grinned.
Kathryn Janeway hit the turbo lift like a mini whirlwind, "Bridge." she
commanded. The computer bleeped, as the lift started to rise, then,
"Pause." She deliberately slowed her breathing and held her shaking hands
out before her, examining them for bruises. There were none. Seven had
contained her but not hurt her. Her breathing was still coming in ragged
gasps. "Computer, suspend all sensor data for this turbo lift, from the moment
of my entry, till I exit. Security override Janeway Red Zero Alpha Nine."
The computer chirruped its acquiescence.
Janeway slumped against the wall, smoothing her uniform, her hand compulsively
fingering all four pips of her Captain's rank. She counted them, each one
represented another milestone in her personal odyssey towards command. The
precocious teenager tamed. The enthusiastic scientist tempered. The campaigning
politician cautioned. The vengeful combatant schooled. She had undertaken each
new step open heartedly to forge the razor blade edge that made her stand out as a
captain. Now, she fought back the tears. All of that, for this?
She swallowed painfully, setting her jaw against any lapse and breathed into the moment.
It didn't take long. Captain Kathryn Janeway knew how to put personal issues
aside until she had the time and privacy to deal with them. At least until she had
reached the safety of her Ready Room. She straightened up, her elegant features
reforming the calm exterior her crew expected of her. Her hands swiftly tidying her
"Resume." Besides, Captain Janeway had the beginnings of a plan.
A tiny gleam appeared in her eyes.
Seven allowed the next lot of data to begin the process of establishing natural
movement within the dust field. Soon, she would be able to push whole areas of the
chart into the background, but still keep tabs on them for movement. Then she could
narrow down the search area and perhaps isolate the thieves.
She paused and considered her reaction to the idea of catching them. Reluctance.
They had proved a life saving distraction, giving both herself and the Captain an excuse
to avoid each other. Seven felt almost gratitude to the aliens. She didn't
want to consider what had happened in the garden at all. She would rather put it to
one side as another example of human fallibility, but the Captain was quick and
intelligent about personal matters in a way that often left Seven feeling winded.
The Borg knew it wasn't over. Janeway was not one to let go easily, not when she wanted
something and right now she wanted Seven of Nine.
Seven sighed and watched a bruise on the side of her hand slowly disappear under the
attentions of her nanoprobes. If only the past were so fixable. She
certainly didn't want to consider the implications of the kiss she had recently shared
with Janeway. If only Janeway had moved first, then she could excuse herself from
her transgression. Her internal chronometer belayed that lie - they had moved at the
same moment, each acting independently, yet it were as if some outside force acted upon
them, as if the music were still playing and they had folded to its beat. The
kiss is irrelevant. What mattered most was the ship, first and foremost.
Eighteen years in service to a collective so great, she as an individual didn't exist,
gave Seven the strength to save this ship, to save the Captain. From herself.
As for pain - she was used to that.
Janeway had gathered a silvery chiffon wrap as they left the dance floor, trailing the
fabric across the back of the chair where she had left it earlier and bringing it round to
cover her shoulders, but not all of her back. Or her front for that matter.
It was so light and sheer that the Captain's skin gave it a dusky pink hue. Seven
wondered if it afforded her any extra warmth, she certainly wasn't sure that it afforded
the Captain any extra modesty. She looked up into the Captain's eyes. They
were smiling, knowing where her attention had been.
Seven had smiled back, or at least, she raised her ocular implant. "Shall we
This time the movement of the Captain's hand through her arm had seemed more exquisite,
her anticipation of its graceful path, making it so. She placed her hand over
Janeway's. This formal way of being is like a symphony of movement, all measured
pace and strict rules, but the surge and swell of feeling within it, defies the
form. Seven made an amused sound - the Doctor would be proud of her.
"Penny for them?" Janeway looked up at her as they moved along the cloistered
"I was considering the nature of form, Captain". Seven guided the
Captain into the moonlight and onto the first of the smaller paths.
"Really? Isn't that a contradiction in terms? And why did that make you
laugh?" Rumbled, Seven walked on. She looked down at their interlaced
hands and then to her left at Kathryn. She smiled, a real smile this time, her lips
forming the curve and then she looked away. She had seen the delight in Kathryn's
returning grin. Her heart was making little irregular leaps in her chest, making her
breathing all short.
"In the Collective, to lie was impossible and so falsehood did not exist.
Not between us and yet a greater deception was practised on all of us, the notion that
perfection as an ends wiped out the injustice of the means, making it impossible to
recognize the perfidy of our own actions" Seven faltered, wondering why she was
"Here we play at a system of manners that aims at a form of perfect
interaction. Engaging in an intimacy that, without the etiquette, would not be
revealed." Seven's breath was still playing tricks on her.
"You suggest that etiquette itself is a deception?" Kathryn was looking
at her softly, the moonlight turning her eyes almost midnight blue.
"Well, no, that would depend on how it is used." Seven swallowed.
She wished she hadn't started on this.
"Are you saying that this interaction between us, between you and I, is
insincere?" The Captain's voice was low and deceptively mild. Seven knew
"Not on my part." She blurted, the blush beginning to creep up her
cheeks. Janeway paused their motion, her eyes now hidden by shadow. Seven had
to shift position slightly to see them.
"Nor yet on mine." said the Captain. She ran her hand down
Seven's arm and then took her hand. "Let's sit, over there." Seven
looked at the bench, it was small. There would be no hiding on it.
"I prefer to walk...If you don't mind" There you see, I can
do etiquette. She looked triumphantly at the Captain, whose face was guarded and
re-offered her arm. The touch was light this time.
"Very well." They continued down the path further away from the
dance. "I'm curious, Seven, why you thought to bring that up now?"
So am I, thought Seven.
"I don't know." She remembered something the Doctor had once
said, "It must be the moonlight." Kathryn laughed.
"Or the dancing" her voice was playful, rhythmic.
"Or the clothes"
"What about them?"
"They are quite revealing."
"Ah. Well. Mine are." The Captain's eyes danced at
her, "Do you disapprove?" She stepped in front of Seven and held out
her arms so that the chiffon drape fell either side of her, framing her shapely form, and
so that Seven could look at her.
The moonlight caused patterns of silver to flare across the gown in surprising cadences
of light and shadow. Seven drank in her appreciation in a breath and stepped closer,
her hand reaching to delicately experience the texture of the chiffon at the Captain's
She was careful not to touch Kathryn's skin.
"My approval is irrelevant, but I would never have thought that the light of a
moon could so enhance an outfit's appeal. This is glistening like the night
Seven's eyes wandered over the fabric, captivated by the shiny glint of fibre,
contrasted with the warm skin that held to its own movement, beneath. She
noticed the Captain's breathing had become more intense. That she had not
responded. She knew Janeway was looking at her, just as her own gaze was captivated
by the slow movement of her fingers along the edge of the wrap.
She let one finger move underneath the fabric, raising her eyes to hold the Captain's
just as her fingertip connected with skin. Kathryn's pupils were dark, entranced and
aware, so aware. Her gasp was involuntary, her eyes closing momentarily.
Seven's finger traced a delicate pattern on her flesh, the chiffon caressing the back of
Long fingertips ran their way up the lapel of her tailcoat, followed by a strong palm
whose warmth she could feel even through the fabric. The Captain's eyes had
opened. Somewhere, water was spilling from a fountain filling the air with
"You on the other hand, who are quite covered up, do you think that you reveal
nothing?" Janeway's voice was low, powerful, personal. Her hand stroked
down the smooth lapel.
Seven let more fingers run along the Captain's collarbone. She didn't want to
think about what she was revealing, she was so enthralled by the overwhelming intimacy
between them. Her left hand slid around the Captain's waist inviting the other woman
closer. Janeway obliged, pressing herself into the dark suit.
"What do I reveal?" Her fingers outlined the shadow beneath Kathryn's
collarbone magnetically drawn to the softer, hotter flesh that formed the top curve of her
breast. Her palm pressed down softly and then lifted up, balancing on her
She felt Kathryn's hand whisper back up to her neck, coming to rest more firmly at the
juncture between neck and cheek, forcing her to look into the smaller woman's eyes, just
as a shiver ran the entire length of her spine. Her mouth opened to catch a breath.
"This." Janeway's hand drew her down, even as she was going up on
tiptoe to kiss along the line of Seven's jaw. "Your strength" murmured the
Captain. Seven was shivering in sensuous overload. "This."
Kathryn's lips met the corner of her mouth and set her alight with one soft kiss.
"Your sensuality." She could feel the Captain's breath on her lips and she
moaned into the waiting kiss, catching the third 'this' in a hot breath that filled her
mouth. She broke briefly, to gasp out her pleasure, then rejoined the erotic dance
of kiss and caress, of tongue and taste. Her eyes were closed, but her body
perceived every nuance of contact and demanded more. Somehow, both hands were underneath
the chiffon wrap, worshiping the sensitive back in one movement and urging closer contact
with the next. She would never know when their tongue tips had started circling each
other, but when Kathryn's tongue swept along her lower lip, she was sure that she would
Seven of Nine started out of her memory. Unacceptable. She was
supposed to be analysing her memory, not enjoying it. I have become wasteful with
my time. Like Mr Kim. A thought occurred to her. She tapped her comm
"Ensign Harry Kim report to Astrometrics."
In the meantime, she would concentrate on her duties. Efficient. Her
eyes swept the console with satisfaction. Data had to be evaluated, progress must be
made. The Borg had refound her focal point. Work.
The Captain was in her Ready Room, plotting.
The first rule, in a competition where there can only be one winner, is to
understand the rules - not the rules of the game - but the rules by which one's opponent
is playing . Establish a weakness and exploit it to success.
No slip of a thing, no flibbertigibbet, was going to determine her future for
her. Seven knows best. Hah. Anger was rolling around her system
like clouds on a thundery day. The fact that Seven was using her own code against
her only added insult to injury. Seven's argument was one she had rehearsed a
thousand times, in case Chakotay or anyone else should approach her. It was too
infuriating to find herself on the receiving end of it. She stretched, catlike, her
body immediately reforming its taut posture and imagined what the Maestro would have to
say on the matter.
"Katerina, the rules of love are never compatible with the rules of Princes."
Or scientists, for that matter. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she didn't
need to win, just present a better argument than Seven's. She had done that
so many times before - prevailing sometimes just by pulling age and experience over the
younger woman's infallible logic. Pulling Seven along with her.
To begin with, she had to establish where exactly the resistance had come from, why one
moment they were in heaven and the next, hell.
Janeway ran her fingertip meditatively around the lip of her coffee cup in a controlled
graceful motion. The quiet of her Ready Room providing a perfect counterpoint to her
recent outburst. Her eyelids were heavy and half closed. The patient
disposition of a cat, her father used to say. Relaxed, yet primed to pounce. Her
poise was as natural to her as her usually courteous disposition. She allowed a half
laugh to escape her lips. Form and nature. Then, there was the
redheaded Irish temperament, that willful streak that would not give way. It
had served her well in the past. She had taken on and defeated the Borg Queen
herself with it, more than once. You may be a technological marvel, Madam, a
Ruler of billions, but I have an Irish pirate queen in my ancestry and I ran off with your
treasure, Seven of Nine. Took her right from underneath your presumptuous nose.
The irony was not lost on the Captain - now Seven of Nine had unwittingly stolen her
Her hand started shaking. She placed it palm down on the soothing cool of
the coffee table. It reminded her of leaning against the wall, talking to Seven at
the Tango party and the recollection hit her in the chest with appalling force. This
is where it began. The Captain had meant to complement Seven on her
distinguished appearance, but had found herself a foil to Seven's undoubted
charm. The Borg's reciprocal appreciation had entranced her, not just because Seven
had been genuine in her tribute, but also because her insightful reflections on humanity,
combined with her wit, had simply disarmed her. Seven had wooed her, hadn't
she? Hadn't she? Am I being a fool, a sad old fool? Her body
fought back with a memory of its own: of kissing in the moonlight. A frisson
of sexual energy marauded about her body, leaving her feeling weak and breathless.
She remembered Seven's hand reaching to consider the chiffon wrap about her naked
shoulders. How her fingers had precisely positioned themselves to sample it, in
perfect control. Every nerve ending in her body had been willing her to go on, even
as her mind had disbelieved that the younger woman possessed such deftness and
maturity. When Seven had knowingly begun the caress that had set her body on fire,
Kathryn Janeway had fallen like the last angel from heaven.
More than that, she had seen the love in Seven's eyes. She remembered how her
third 'this' had been lost in their first kiss. What she had been going to say
was "Your love." You reveal your love to me. She wished
she had said it.
B'Elanna Torres had been watching the data readouts from the dust fields, when a
thought occurred to her. What if the thieves didn't have that much sophisticated
technology at all, but - rather like when she had been a Maquis rebel - possessed a level
of ingenuity that adapted other ships technology to serve their purposes?
She drew in a sharp intake of breath and moved to another console. The easiest
way to be invisible to Voyager's sensors, would be to fool the array into perceiving the
alien vessel as not being separate from Voyager. That and a crude cloaking device to
fool the naked eye would do it. Meanwhile, Engineering was sending ever more power
to the sensors to extend their capacity and the aliens were sitting pretty in the ships
shadow. If it were me? Torres would be monitoring Bridge and
command staff communications. It takes a thief to catch a thief. She
snorted. She had been a damn good thief, when she was a freedom fighter.
Lt Torres tapped her comm badge. "Torres to Janeway."
"Go ahead, Lieutenant."
"Had you forgotten our holomatch, Ma'am? I believe it is my turn to surprise
you." There was a pause.
"Ah. It had quite skipped my mind. You have my sincere apologies,
B'Elanna. Remind me."
Torres checked her console. "Holodeck two on the hour." Five
"See you there, Janeway out."
Torres grinned, she was about to redeem herself big time and show that she could
still cut it in the company of Ms Perfect.
Harry Kim stood in the corridor outside of Astrometrics in a state of
befuddlement. What had all that been about?
Ever eager to help Seven, he had arrived promptly, been instructed to perform a minor
task and then grilled about his love life. Seven's questions had been structured and
compelling. He had no idea she was so interested in him. Was that it?
Wow. On the other hand, once she had gleaned whatever information she had been
seeking, she had dismissed him from Astrometrics.
He had pushed exactly four buttons and vocally loaded one subroutine.
Honestly, women. He made his way sulkily back to the bridge. Maybe
even Borgs have hormones.
They had been kissing with absolute passion. One of Kathryn's hands was holding
and stroking the back of her neck, causing cascades of electricity to race down her spine,
while the other kept teasing her nipple with its palm. Lips met and parted, changing
pace and depth randomly, but with inflamingly synchronous timing. Seven's own palms
had been appraising the beautiful curve of Kathryn's shape, pushing her palms down all the
way to the top of her hips and then drawing her fingertips up...and up...and up to brush
along the sides of her breasts. Her mind had gone into meltdown: all that existed
She had felt the Captain's hands slide around her waist inside her jacket, then use the
pressure of her hold to pull Seven into the shadow of a large tree, their lips never
losing the rhythm of their contact. Seven's hands had found the top of Kathryn's
dress, the shawl falling away to the ground and worked their way inside the tight fabric
to cup the soft breasts. Janeway was caressing her back and sides under her jacket
with thrilling sensuality. Seven ran her thumbs over the older woman's erect
nipples, feeling the responsive tremors of pleasure rippling through her body.
She felt fingers move inside her cummerbund, fingertips stroking her delicate waist in
a way that set the inferno between her legs on overload.
She swept her hands up to the Captain's shoulders and snapped her back away from her,
breaking all contact between them.
Janeway was in shock, "Seven, what is it?" She stepped towards the
Seven moved away, deeper into the shadow of the tree. "No. This must
stop. Now." She watched the Captain of Voyager struggling to recover her
breasts into her dress and felt utter shame. "Look at you. This isn't
"Seven?" Kathryn made as if to move towards her, then stopped herself
not wanting to cause the younger woman to flee. "Wait. Hang on a
minute." Janeway was trying to catch her breath, to compose herself. She
looked around for her shawl which was glittering on the ground behind her, but did not
move towards it.
"We were going too fast for you, I'm sorry. I-" she moved towards the Borg,
who held up her hand to stop her. It worked.
"This was a game, a masquerade, which got out of hand. It should not have
"-it was not a game for me." Kathryn's voice was quiet.
"It should not have occurred." Seven's voice was cold and angry.
"You are the Captain," she said, as if this explained it all. Kathryn's
eyes sparked, she put her hand on her hip.
"Thank you very much for reminding me. However, while we may have been
indiscreet in getting quite so carried away, I was aware of the privacy of our location
and that there was no one else around. As for my rank......I am also a woman, Seven,
one who has not felt this way in a very long time... If ...ever." The last bit
had cost her and Kathryn ran one elegant hand over her face. Her eyes were searching
"Feelings are irrelevant. The-"
"-They are not!" Kathryn exploded. She caught the look on Seven's
face and tried to calm herself. "Okay. Look, you are upset and I am sorry
about that, but in the interests of discretion why don't we take this discussion to my
Seven's eyebrows shot up in alarm, "No!"
"I won't touch you, Seven, I swear, not unless you ask me to. I promise.
We'll just talk. After all these years we can still do that, can't we - just
talk?" Her hands were making placating gestures in the air.
"I will not come to your quarters!" Seven was almost shouting.
"There is nothing to discuss. You are the Captain and it would damage this ship
"Shh! Okay." Janeway's mind kicked back in. "Listen, I could not
and do not want to force you to do anything that you don't want to. Okay?" Seven
nodded. "Okay, but there is the question of what just happened, we cannot
simply ignore it. Maybe I was too flirtatious, misread your signals, but in my heart
Seven, I believe that you meant every gesture, every kiss. You said so yourself,
Borg do not lie."
"You are twisting my words! Manipulating me. What happened is
irrelevant. I should not have touched you. I will not touch you again.
There are rules, Captain, against fraternization. For the good of the ship!"
Janeway sighed, "Oh, well let's just throw ourselves in the brig and be done
with it." she waved her hand dismissively. "Or perhaps, I should
turn my Ready Room into a nunnery, with only one occupant - me! I could sit
behind a grille and insist that you only visit me if you are covered from top to toe in
Seven was fiercely straightening and smoothing her jacket. "I am glad you
can find levity in this, perhaps you are not well and should go to sickbay!"
Suddenly the Captain was back, her eyes ordering respect.
"Seven," she said warningly, "you go too far." The
younger woman moved as if to leave. "No. Stay! ... Look... these
rules...they only apply to Captains and members of their crew, which means Starfleet and
you are not Star-"
"- A pathetic technicality. Insufficient. For years you have
reconditioned me the Starfleet way and now, when it suits you, you disregard your
own rules, to suit yourself. To serve yourself. I am disappointed in you,
Captain. I thought you were more honourable than this. Less selfish.
Less self serving. You are in error, but I think that you will come to see things
with more propriety when you have had a chance to think. Goodnight!" With
that Seven of Nine spun on her polished heel and stormed out of the garden, leaving a
stunned and outraged Kathryn Janeway.
Kathryn had found a quiet spot to sit and process the evenings events. She felt
humiliated, abandoned and more sexually frustrated then she could ever before remember
experiencing. She did not want to go back to her quarters alone.
And she had been told off, just when she was reaching forward for
love. A floodgate in her sophisticated system of personal self-possession had been
breached. No, she had let it down and invited the invader in. She had
no idea how to rebuild it. She didn't even really want to. The waters of need
had been eroding her defences for so long that even this disaster was a relief of sorts
and she was not about to let go of her desires, yet.
"Very good, B'Elanna!" Janeway's voice held admiration. It echoed
around the holodeck, adding weight to the sentiment. B'Elanna looked
nonchalant. Inside, she glowed. "And Seven is still looking for the ship
beyond the boundaries of Voyager?" The Captain asked. B'Elanna nodded.
She searches for thieves beyond us. How very appropriate. Kathryn snapped
her attention to the case in hand. "I don't want them to know that we have
located them. Not until we understand how they moved through Voyager's security
grid. Not until we can see them. Can you perform a full sweep of their vessel
without alerting them?"
"By modifying the wave analyser that Seven is searching with: that could mask a
sensor sweep. Particularly if we don't change the pattern she is using. I
guess the first thing to look for would be Starfleet signatures, to see if they're using
our technology against us. I'll have to work with Seven, though and there is no way of
knowing whether they are monitoring communications in key departments."
"Understood. Work out the modifications, first, then we'll find a way of
telling Seven. I want them, B'Elanna. They made fools out of us... Let's
turn the tables on them." The Captain slapped her on the back.
"What do you have in mind, Captain?" B'Elanna felt like this was old
times, when she and the Captain regularly found the solutions to their problems, like
"My guess is, that this a small ship, more suited to stealth then open
confrontation. If that's the case, I'd like to tractor them straight into Cargo Bay
One and then throw them in the Brig until we have recovered our property. If, as you
are doing that, we discover ways to strengthen Voyager's defences, so much the better.
B'Elanna grinned, "Yes Ma'am."
Janeway tugged her uniform into place. "Carry on." She marched
out of the holodeck, buoyantly. Things were looking up.
Several hours later, the Captain of the Starship Voyager sat with kinetic stillness in
her chair on the bridge.
Modified sensor sweeps had revealed what she considered to be a rather quaint, tatty,
little craft, 800 metres off the starboard bow. Aside from Voyager's plasma relays,
they also had an old Starfleet shield generator which was tuned to Voyager's current
shield frequencies making it invisible to the ship. Small personal cloaking devices
had been located and been rendered useless by the five occupants' DNA patterns that the
doctor had programmed into internal sensors. There were also anomalous technology
signatures which neither Voyager's database nor Seven of Nine had any knowledge of.
Janeway looked across at Lt Torres, who nodded. One enhanced tractor beam
online. She inclined her head in acknowledgement, then looked at Chakotay who
tapped his comm badge. "Seven of Nine to the bridge." It always paid
to have Seven around.
"Red alert." Janeway's throaty command fired the command centre.
The Captain's anticipation was rising, "Take us in, Mr Paris, nice and
slow. Let's catch us a mouse." She concentrated all of her attention on
the chase, refusing the nervousness that was jangling in her with the imminent arrival of
Seven to the bridge. I should have talked to her, before now.
"Yes Ma'am." Tom Paris eased the ship towards the little vessel.
"One quarter impulse."
Janeway heard the Bridge doors open and she felt, rather than saw, Seven assume her
post. Her mood both dampened and sparked like the first drops of rain and electrical
flashes before a summer thunderstorm.
"800 metres, 750, 550 , distance 450 metres," called the helmsman.
"Full stop. Engage tractor beam." Janeway watched B'Elanna key
the orders and then mutter under her breath. "What the?"
She glanced up at the view screen, the little ship had shot sideways and upwards hotly,
followed by the green beam. It bounced downwards and to the right.
"Whoa! Hotshot flying!" Tom Paris was doing his best not to
totally crack up at the picture of the Klingon and the mouse in space.
"Mr Paris." One note of warning, he usually required level five
minimum. She noted his shoulders were tense with barely concealed restraint.
"Damn, this is like trying to catch a bug with a shovel. Ah, they've brought
different shields online. Trying to establish a lock." B'Elanna was joined by
Seven in frantic programming and reprogramming. "Damn, they're slippery."
Paris exploded with laughter.
"Mr Paris!" Level six. Janeway was not in the mood.
"They're hailing us." Ensign Kim would never laugh at B'Elanna.
It was too dangerous. He looked tight around the edges.
The Captain drew her graceful frame erect and focused on the monitor. "On
The view screen flickered and then filled with a tall elaborately costumed youth.
Young. Military. Scared. Aggressive. He glared at her angrily,
puffing his chest out menacingly. "You will cease your attempts at capturing
us!" The effect was somewhat undermined by the jolting of the ship under his
feet as it tried to avoid the tractor beam.
Captain Janeway felt her cloak of patience settle about her, humour wrestling with
"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship -"
"-We know who you are!" He waved his arm at her with imperious,
dismissive intent, but ended up having to use it for balance.
"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Her lazy ease was just
the tiniest bit insulting. B'Elanna and Seven were still frantically working the
"I am Kir Flenn, Captain of the Royal Flytten Vessel Sheneth. I am warning
you to cease all hostile activities." He eyeballed her like a bar room brawler.
Janeway leaned on her right armrest, chin in hand.
"Ah. Well, Captain," she sniffed, "You
are no match for Voyager. We wish only to recover some stolen property that is on
your ship, ask you a few questions and then -"
"Got them." She heard B'Elanna in the background. The Sheneth
was being drawn towards them.
"I am warning you!" He menaced.
"..we will release you. No harm will come to you, your crew or your
ship. I suggest you stand down. Now." She enunciated the last word
Tuvok's weary voice announced weapons discharge from the little ship.
"There was no discernible effect."
Janeway leaned forward. "Kir Flenn, you have been most ingenious in your
attempts to evade us, but this incident is now over," she watched him signal to an
unseen crewman, "so, stand down and prepare to be boarded."
"You do not want to fight us!" he shouted.
"No. You are right. I do not want to fight you." She waved
her hand across her throat to signal the termination of transmission to Ensign Kim.
"Lock on to their signals and beam them all to the Brig. Lt Torres, take a team
over to the Sheneth to make her safe, then tractor her to Cargo Bay One.
Seven," thrills shot through her, "work with Torres. Let's see
if there is any useful information aboard. In particular I want to know how they
came by a Starfleet shield generator."
Seven looked at her and for a nanosecond, it felt like all the universe stood between
"I will comply."
Lt B'Elanna Torres looked across the tight confines of the Sheneth's engine room
at the Borg quietly working to remove the Starfleet shield generator. As usual,
Seven of Nine had offered no conversation but to convey or respond to work related
matters, yet B'Elanna thought she detected a different quality to the blonde's silence -
as though she were worried about something.
"You piss the Captain off or something?" B'Elanna asked tactfully.
Seven paused momentarily in her movements. "Why do you ask, Lt Torres?"
"It just seems that Janeway's ...I don't know...giving orders with venom, when
she's giving them to you. What did ya do?"
Seven swallowed, what didn't I do? She knew answering with the truth would
escalate the current stand-off way beyond her control and she still had her own plan to
put into action to relieve the situation. A lie is required. She felt
panicky: B'Elanna was waiting for a reply with increasing fascination. Seven could
see all the complement of Voyager standing at her shoulder, waiting to engage in the
latest scandal. I will not provide it. Everything I am doing is to protect the
Captain and Voyager. She paused in her work and turned to look at the engineer.
"We had a difference of opinion."
B'Elanna shrugged. "Yeah, so what's new? " She looked perplexed.
"On the subject of humanity and civilisation. How the one works to serve and
create the other." Seven returned to her work.
"I don't get it - that's hardly a reason to build up such a head of steam and
you're obviously worried about it." B'Elanna leaned against the wall waiting
Unbidden, to Seven's mind came the image of Kathryn looking up at her with that half
grin as they had walked in the garden. It made her feel weak.
"I am Borg." she said firmly, applying more pressure to her work.
"Oh....and the Captain wants to turn you into a fluffy kitten, is that
it?" B'Elanna sounded sympathetic. Seven turned and looked at her again,
a smile breaking out across her face, which Torres returned gleefully.
"I am unfamiliar with kittens and I doubt if the Captain would appreciate your
insight, but Borg are never fluffy." Seven turned away again.
"Well.." Torres thought about how she used to enjoy fighting with
Janeway. "I'd advise you to resist, but you are Borg and I guess, in
that case, it would be futile for Janeway to persist." She watched something
close to amusement pass over Seven's face.
"Of course," the engineer offered helpfully, "I've never known the
Captain give up on anything....."
Captain Janeway pinched the bridge of her nose with dramatic grace. It served to
briefly mute the headache that was building behind her eyes and it always entertained her
to make humanly silly gestures when she was having briefings with her Head of Security,
He regarded her stoically. He had made his report - none of the Flytten would
speak, except Kir Flenn and he was uncooperative. Only Tuvok could infer rudeness,
immaturity and aggressiveness with one weary word.
"Very well, I'll talk to him Tuvok, but B'Elanna is pretty convinced that the
shield generator was obtained from the Equinox - by fair or foul means we don't know, as
"That would be the most logical conclusion, Captain. Between Captain
Ransome's unorthodox methods and these particular Flytten's fondness for thieving there
could be any number of scenarios as to how they came by it. I will inquire among the
Equinox's remaining crew. We shall see how well their memories are functioning in
Janeway looked ruefully at him, her headache building. So many divergent
issues to keep on top of. Perhaps Seven is right. Her heart began to feel like a
lead weight. She sighed.
Kir Flenn crossed his arms over a silken jerkin and sneered down at the petite Captain
of this alien ship. He seemed to make Voyager's cell look small. The youths in
the other cells were lounging about in an overstated show of unconcern.
"You are outsiders, here. Vulnerable. Complacent. You must be
stupid also to make an enemy of the Flytten. Do yourself a favour and release us
Janeway could feel her neck muscles aching as she looked up at him, but years of
command would not be dented by teenage posturing.
"Do your parents know you're out?" Her eyes mocked him. Ah.
The young man blushed scarlet. He tried to cover his discomfort with attack.
"I am a member of the Royal Household of Flyre. My House is powerful,
well armed and loyal. We outgun you on every level." His mouth contorted
"Would that be more powerful than your little ship Sheneth, Captain?
I hardly think I am going to lose any sleep over that." Her voice was smooth,
she raised her hand to silence him, "Just tell me how you came by the Starfleet
shield generator and no one may ever need know about this unfortunate incident in your
collective," - her hand took in the other youths, "military careers."
Flenn sneered again. "If you release us now, no harm will come to you. If
you do not, by the time we have finished with Voyager, she will be fit only for storing
animal excrement and your crew will be sold as slaves."
Janeway shook her head slightly. "Are these the diplomatic skills that equip all
members of your royal household or did you just skip that class?"
He spat on the ground before her. "I will take you myself to clean my
Janeway held his gaze for a moment conveying the indulgence of an adult to a
child. Then her expression hardened.
"Perhaps your comrades should elect someone to speak for them with better manners,
or at the very least, a basic grasp of your situation here." She stepped
up to the forcefield. "But let me make one thing clear, Kir Flenn, the sooner
you answer a few simple questions, the sooner you will be freed. For now you may
Janeway walked out.
The doors to Cargo Bay one slid open and Seven heard the unmistakable sound of the
Captain crossing the deck.
"Seven, report." Her voice was deep and soft, but still authoritative.
"All plasma relays are accounted for. The shield generator has been
removed. There are traces of at least six other alien technologies. This is a
strange vessel, Captain, more like one of Mr Paris' holo-simulations then a worthy space
going craft, except for a few vital systems - the communications array, the environmental
controls and the high grade alloy that forms the ships main structures - these are all far
superior to Voyager. Lt Torres is attempting to bypass their computer security
system." Her analysis was precise, but her delivery was fast and nervous.
The Captain thought of Flenn's threats. "Given the advanced nature of these
systems, would you expect these people to have an advanced defensive capability as
"Thank you." She paused, not looking at the Borg, "Seven, we
need to talk."
"Agreed." Seven looked at her compassionately. Janeway felt a
huge burden dropping from her.
"Well then...I" She was interrupted by the change of lights to Red
Alert and Chakotay's voice over the comm:
"Captain to the Bridge."
Janeway felt the swirl of energy around her as she was transported directly to the
"Report" The Captain made her way speedily to the command chair.
"A large vessel has decloaked off the port bow and is scanning us. They are
three times Voyager's mass, with more sophisticated weapons and they could outrun
us. As yet they have neither armed their weapons nor raised their
shields." Chakotay looked worried.
She assessed the huge dart shaped black vessel that seemed to blot out space and felt a
tremor of apprehension. "Get Seven up here."
"They are are hailing us, Captain." Kim sounded perturbed. She
heard the transporter deposit Seven at her station.
"Have you come across this ship before?" Seven swept her gaze over the
monitor and then her console.
"Negative, Captain." Janeway nodded.
"Look for tactical weaknesses, people."
She nodded again encouragingly. "On screen."
The view screen revealed a tall, strikingly beautiful woman dressed in a similar
uniform to Voyager's prisoners, except hers obviously denoted higher rank, with a line of
silver braid around her collar and a small rectangular midnight blue ribbon attached above
her left breast. Her chestnut hair fell in waves to her shoulders, although there
was a hint of grey above the ears. She was sitting in a black leather chair.
Intense hazel eyes scrutinized Janeway.
"I am Gianna Dulwois, High Commander of the Royal Flytten Fleet and Captain of the
Battleship, Orwellus. I greet you." She inclined her head
Janeway inclined her head also. "Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation
Starship Voyager." She paused and added throatily, "I greet you."
Dulwois' eyes twinkled, then returned to business.
"We are responding to a distress call from one of our vessels, the Sheneth. Our
sensors indicate that both the ship and her crew are aboard Voyager - may I enquire as to
Straight to the point. Janeway was reminded of how she had observed
Flenn. No contest. She regarded the High Commander evenly.
"The Sheneth is on board, yes, as are her crew, who are unharmed.
Three days ago, Voyager experienced the disappearance of some of her technology, which we
traced to the Sheneth. We have recovered our equipment and are happy to
return the vessel to you." She paused. Why does Dulwois look so
amused? "We do however, have questions, that have not yet been adequately
answered by her crew. When they have been, I will hand them over to you." Janeway
tensed her jaw.
The Flytten Commander raised her head challengingly, her eyes less friendly.
"So, they are your prisoners?"
Captain Janeway met the challenge head on. "Yes. You are welcome to send a
representative to establish their well being and circumstances. You may also send a
representative to observe their interrogation."
"Have you not talked to them, Captain? Are they not being
co-operative?" Dulwois looked mildly bemused, slightly disbelieving.
"I have spoken with Captain Kir Flenn myself, yes." Janeway
paused - Dulwois' face was a study of betraying nothing - "His attitude has not
been helpful." She watched Dulwois consider this information. There was a hint of
irritation. The Commander came to a decision.
"Do you have a record of these interviews? I would like to see them."
Masking her own surprise at the Flytten's non-concern of the suggestion of thieving by
the youths, Janeway nodded at Tuvok.
"They are being transmitted to you now. Will you send someone to see
"Thank you, Captain. Where are they now?"
"In the brig."
"Leave them there. I'll get back to you, Dulwois out."
The bridge relaxed audibly as one.
"Tactical?" Demanded Janeway. She looked at Seven. Damn my
"They have superior capabilities on every level, Captain. They are not
threatening us because they do not need to." Seven's eyes held hers.
"Or," Commander Tuvok interceded, "they do not want to. High
Commander Dulwois did not seem surprised by the Flytten youths' activities. Perhaps
they are escaped criminals."
"Stand down Red Alert. For now, the Orwellus is not hostile."
Seven re-examined the data pouring across her console. The Captain had instructed
her to look for tactical weaknesses in the Orwellus and the Borg saw no reason not
to extend that search. Seven didn't like the way the Flytten commander had treated
the Captain. The easy, powerful charm, so reminiscent of the Captain herself.
The fact that Janeway was even now escorting Gianna Dulwois to review the prisoners in the
Brig disturbed her. So, Seven was looking for trouble and she was looking for a way
out of trouble.
Captain Janeway and Tuvok led the tall Flytten and her escort of two equally tall
guards along the corridors. She may be shorter in the leg than these flamboyant
aliens, but Kathryn Janeway always met stature with stature. In the flesh, High
Commander Dulwois was very impressive indeed, exuding confidence and intelligence in equal
measure and with a wry, slightly understated humour that conveyed so much understanding
about the stresses of command.
Sweeping into the Brig, the party came to a halt before the cells. To a man the
young men leapt to attention, alarm plainly showing in their faces.
Well, that's new. Thought Janeway.
Dulwois cast her eye over them and then returned her gaze to Kir Flenn who stood ramrod
straight, the blush creeping back up his cheeks. She allowed it to continue so that
the pressure was built on all five young men.
"Cadet Flenn." He ground his jaw, shot her a look as if he was
about to argue a point and then thought better of it, returning his gaze to the wall.
"High Commander. Ma'am!"
Janeway raised an eyebrow at him and then looked at Dulwois. For now, this was
the Flytten's show and the Captain was rather enjoying herself.
"Cadet Flenn." His face was now scarlet, but this time his gaze
didn't falter. "You have been caught in possession of stolen property.
What do you have to say for yourself?"
He swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted smoothly,
"Perhaps you would care to leave references to animal excrement and slavery out of
your reply." It wasn't a question. Her voice held a deadly tone. Her eyes
nailed him. "Well?"
"I have no defence, Ma'am." There was that streak of pride again.
"You surprise me, I would have thought to at least been offered the position of
cleaning your boots." She waited. Janeway wondered if he was going to
Typical bully, she thought observing him, all threat and no substance.
"I believe that is a role Flenn has got earmarked for me." she said
mildly. Helpfully. Her eyes regarded Dulwois with amusement. The High
Commander cocked her head and looked at Captain Janeway with bright hazel eyes.
"Really?" she said in mock surprise.
She turned back to Flenn. "Really?" He was staring at the ground
miserably. "How very noble of you, Flenn. How.." She paused, her
eyes boring into him in censure, "...sagacious. You display an innovative
approach to management. Not to mention Interspecies First Contact." She
leaned towards him. "These people have given you a lesson in fair and judicious
procedure. All you have supplied is disgrace."
His voice was hoarse. "I...'m sorry Ma'am." He turned to
Janeway. "Captain, Ma'am, I apologise." The Captain regarded him
expressionlessly and then inclined her head. It was the High Commander who spoke.
"You are sorry you have been caught, Flenn, but believe me, you will be
sorry for your conduct and you will have plenty of time for genuine remorse." Dulwois
sounded absolutely certain of that fact.
"Now, you will ALL answer all the questions put to you, politely. When
Commander Tuvok is satisfied, you four will be escorted to the Brig on the Orwellus, but
you, Flenn, will remain here and clean every pair of boots the Captain possesses. Is
"You will all face charges when we return home." The Flytten
looked expectantly at the Captain. "If I may confer with you privately,
Captain?" she asked charmingly.
Janeway was stunned. Oh. She thought, thinking of her shoes.
She looked at the High Commander and then at Flenn. Oh well, each to their own.
"Of course, High Commander, please come with me."
Seven of Nine watched the doctor talking excitedly with Neelix in the mess hall and
headed towards the exit. Now is the perfect opportunity. She paused to allow
several crewmen to enter when the doctor's voice caught her,
"Why, Seven? I do hope you will be wearing the more traditional attire for a
female this evening? Should I help you replicate some?" She turned
"I have no plans tonight, Doctor." Her heart felt heavy. Except to
talk to the Captain.
"But surely you have heard?" He bounced to join her. "Why I
was just telling Mr Neelix - funny really - as he is the entertainment's aficionado
and I a mere medical hologram, but there, raw talent always surfaces. I do believe
it is a law of nature."
Seven stepped to one side of the busy doors, raising her ocular implant as she did
so. "I was not aware that the 'Laws of Nature' covered inorganic life
"Hm. I think I need to invent a new social lesson entitled 'Helpful Facts
That Ease A Social Situation Versus Clumsy Facts Expressed At Inopportune And
Inappropriate Moments." He mused to himself busily.
She inclined her head affectionately. "What is happening this
His attention snapped back to her. "Ah! Well...As you know, the captain has
been showing High Commander Dulwois the ship - she was most impressed with sickbay,
especially with my holographic nature." He looked smug. "She
is quite charming, don't you think?" Fortunately, he didn't wait for Seven's
response: she was glad, Dulwois' visit to Astrometrics had been as tortuous for the
matters needing to be said between Seven and the Captain, as for the Borg's unease at the
unrivalled privileged ease that rank gave the Flytten and the Captain. They were
comfortable with each other. Her attention came back to what the Doctor was
saying. "...well...never having been in a holodeck before, Tom Paris keyed in
that wonderful tango party setting from the other night and the Flytten were just
taken. Of course, the captain seized the opportunity to forge better relations and
so, tonight Voyager is hosting a Tango party in honour of the new friendship between our
peoples." He beamed at her.
Seven felt cold. Oh no. She thought frantically, I will not
I have not been ordered to attend, I could finalise my plans, before addressing the
problem with the Captain tomorrow.
"We have ah..about three hours before the party begins - shall I -" He
was interrupted by the chirrup of her comm badge.
"Janeway to Seven of Nine. Report to my quarters." Seven's heart
thumped in her chest. The Doctors eyebrow's shot skyward.
"Oh well, I shall just have to assist Mr Neelix. See you later
Seven." He wandered off.
"I will be ten minutes, Captain." Seven was shaking. Now or
"Understood. Janeway out."
"Come." Seven entered the Captain's quarters with her usual speedy grace,
carrying a small tool kit from Astrometrics. She came to a halt exactly half way
between the door and Kathryn, adopting her favourite formal stance with her hands behind
"You sent for me, Captain." Kathryn looked up at her, seeking the other
woman's mood. She was greeted with the resolute gaze of righteousness.
"Have a seat, Seven." Her voice was light and gentle.
"I prefer to stand." Seven was working at her formal edge. I am your
crewman. I stand before my Captain. In her eyes, there was a glint of
Kathryn ran her gaze over the coffee table so as to not let her frustration show, then
raised her own determined expression to hold the Borg's.
"Sit." Her tone was quiet. It brooked no argument. She
watched the Borg hesitate, swallow and then move with just a hint of rebelliousness to the
seat opposite hers, as far away as possible, placing the tool kit neatly in front of her
on the coffee table between them. For a few seconds, her posture remained at
attention, perched at the edge of her seat, but then, deliberately, she moved deeper into
the soft recess and adopted a casually graceful position, legs crossed at the ankle, hands
relaxed in her lap, head and neck poised and focused. Seven of Nine waited.
Kathryn looked at the tool kit and dismissed it as a distraction.
"First of all, I would like to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I was out
of line, I truly did not mean to hurt you, I certainly should not have tried to strike
you. It was wrong of me - I'm sorry." She looked at Seven, trying to
decipher the potent mix of vulnerability and intelligence in the other woman's
"I was not hurt. I am not offended, but I thank you for your
concern." Seven's eyes held hers, but she fiddled briefly with the implant on
her thumb, then consciously, stilled the movement. She was glad the Captain had not
"Can you forgive me? You deserve better."
The blue of the Borg's eyes seemed to expand and encompass her. "So do
you." She said firmly.
Kathryn could already tell where this was heading. "From myself, I
suppose?" Her mouth pursed, but she tried to keep the anger out of her eyes,
with limited success.
"Yes." Seven's voice held the strength of one who speaks the
unspeakable in the certain knowledge that it will not be well received. Kathryn could hear
her mother's voice saying It's for your own good. Oh boy.
She didn't want to go there.
"Accepted." she said. Go with the flow, she thought.
"And what of passion?" She kept to the low, gentle tone. There would
be no sparks here, no duelling, no enraged exits. She brought her attention to
relaxing her chest and to reinforcing the dam behind which she kept her tears.
Seven stirred in her chair, one thigh rising up slightly, before it was schooled back
to its casual position. She had underestimated the difficulty of the task at
hand. The Captain's unexpected demeanour was touching her more profoundly then a
more forceful approach.
"Passion is not the issue here. I am embarrassed to talk to you of duty,
Captain, but I truly believe that mine is best served by not engaging further in a
romantic liaison with you." She tried to communicate her sincerity through her
The Captain held up her hands. "Yes, I know. I accept that, Seven. I
do. It is a valid protocol and one that Starfleet has founded itself on for
years. I have never doubted the justice of it, till now." She wanted to
cry and throw herself at Seven's feet.
"You have said to me many times that rules are there to be followed. It is
possible that your judgement is being affected by your emotions." The Borg
leaned forward fractionally, to press her point. Kathryn found herself thinking how
lovely she looked. How devastatingly sexy.
She let out a sigh. "Oh, undoubtedly." Seven was right: of course
Seven was right, but her evaluation was based on incomplete data. Kathryn wondered
if she really could beat this argument with talk of love . No, I won't go
there. Play the game. She took a moment to calm her tone and then said,
"If I resigned as Captain, would you go out with me?" A shock
tactic, delivered softly. There, inquisitive, academic, but she wondered if
Seven was monitoring her accelerated heart beat.
Seven looked shaken. "You must not." She said, sliding to the
edge of her seat. "I will leave this ship, before I will let you do
that." Seven's breath caught in her throat, her face a picture of
Kathryn held up her hand again. "Voyager needs you, Seven, just as much as she
needs me - no listen - I would not ever contemplate that." Seven moved to
interrupt her again. "No, I am talking hypothetically here. We
have just agreed that my judgement as Captain is impaired... because...because I am in
love with you." Kathryn couldn't help herself, she had to see how her words
were affecting the Borg, but all she could see was dissension and determination.
"I have a remedy for that."
What? For the first time, Kathryn felt the stirrings of dread in the pit
of her stomach.
"Do you?" It was the Captain's turn to be surprised.
"There is a medical antidote to love." Seven's gestured at the tool
kit. "I have brought you some." She looked at the Captain,
Janeway was dumbfounded. Her ears were ringing, the room was distorted by
distance and the tears that had been so co-operative till now, were storming her
horizons. "No." she said. It sounded like a plea.
"It will ease your pain." Seven had picked up the little box and slid
along the couch to sit closer to Janeway.
"No." Kathryn was fighting for breath. "You would give this up so
....? What? ... A chemical fix for an untidy emotional problem?" She
rubbed her face.
"Yes." Seven moved closer.
"Me? You think you can fix me?" Kathryn turned to face her
wildly, she was reeling and she was losing the discussion. She reached out her right
hand to touch Seven and found it caught and held in strong, capable hands.
Seven was at war with herself, the certainty of her mind being constantly challenged by
her body's yearning to offer succour to the best of her friends, to the woman she
loved. Love is irrelevant. She gulped, wondering why she could not
force the tension around her mouth to cease, but she ploughed on,
"Please, Captain. It is only a hypospray. It will help you until the
feelings have passed, until..." Her throat snagged at the end of the
sentence. She couldn't say it. Until you don't love me any more.
Kathryn twisted her hand from the lulling warmth and softness of Seven's grip, backing
off desperately as she did.
"I will not listen to this." Emotion choked authority. She was
losing. Her left arm hugged the back of the couch, fingers digging in, trying to
imbibe strength from the upholstered surface, as she part shielded her vulnerability from
"No," Seven's voice was impossibly soft. "You must."
She opened the little case and removed one of the two hyposprays.
Tears were leaking from Kathryn's eyes. "I forbid it," she
gasped. "I will give it no second thought. Put that away!"
Seven watched her, the hypospray still in her hand. She was snared between
accomplishing her task and a pit that had opened up and threatened to engulf her, right at
the moment of her victory. Compassion. She looked at the Captain and then at
the medical instrument. Slowly her hand moved to set it back in the tool kit.
She left the lid open.
"We will discuss this further, Captain."
Kathryn sat upright, rubbing the tears away from her face and forcing their flow to
stop by dint of iron will. She released the tension in her lungs and dried her hands
on her trousers. She did not look at Seven, but focused all of her control into the
setting of her jaw.
"I will only consider your solution if you consider mine. You must hear me out,
Seven." She raked a fierce look over the Borg's face, waiting for the younger
woman to pick up the challenge.
"Acceptable." Seven leaned back, but she was annoyed.
"Proceed." She made it sound like this was nothing more than an
irritation, a minor inconvenience. She folded her hands in her lap and returned the fierce
look with force.
"This is not a medical condition, like a broken leg where there is no doubt that
healing is required and about the nature of the treatment." Her voice was
shaky, throaty. She waved her hand. "Yes I know, there is a chemical
reaction in the body, there are categorizable symptoms, but the condition is not life
threatening and it is not an illness." She paused to gather her thoughts,
allowing Seven to step in,
"When Mr Kim was in love, you nearly confined him to the Brig for refusing
medication." Seven's voice was wilful. Part of her didn't want to win
this argument. It wouldn't stop her trying.
Kathryn nodded, "...and then I understood something about what we are doing
here. Love is a rite of passage, Seven. It is biological, emotional,
psychological, but it is one of the great experiences, one of the stages of life, that
helps us to grow and if we don't allow ourselves that growth, then all of our laws, our
principles and directives are empty, hollow devices that serve only to keep us small.
Seven was staring at her. Her annoyance was growing by degrees. Her mind
had clattered shut. She held her hands tightly together, so that she did not speak,
honouring her agreement. Kathryn took the silence as encouragement and carried on.
"Humanity is an evolving species. It is how we survive - we adapt to hostile
physical conditions, to outside factors, but we learn from our experiences. Our philosophy
and evolution go hand in hand: this is the matter, the substance of societies, of
civilizations, of culture. Within that, the diverse ways we as individuals respond
to the growth moments in our lives, is what keeps our species strong and what keeps our
lives vibrant." She waited for a response and got none.
"It is our nature and conversely, I now believe that to deny those
moments when they come, to refuse to drink at the chalice if you like, is wrong, for it
will make us the weaker for it. I know you love me. That you desire me, I felt
it in your touch, I saw it in your face, in how you were with me." She tried to
reach the young woman's hands, but there was something that prevented her. "I
am not wrong in that, am I?" Seven still said nothing, her energy blasting
Kathryn with solid resistance. Kathryn wavered. "Am I?"
"And what of Starfleet regulations? The rule of law?" The sheer
moodiness of Seven's dismissive glance shot knives into the Captain's heart.
"Answer me, Seven! Do you love me?"
Seven examined her Borg implant, flexing each digit individually. "Love is
"To the Borg maybe, but not to me. I never thought I could feel like this -
I don't think I even understood really how utterly momentous the fusion of reactions is
when you meet the right person. I want to go there with you, Seven and nobody but
you. If you feel the same - and I believe you do - join me, allow us our moment of
Seven looked up at her contemptuously. "So Starfleet got it all wrong,
then?" To her, Kathryn Janeway was more than a friend or commanding officer,
she was the frame that made the Borg's world feel safe. She was the law and
now this woman wanted to undermine everything that held Voyager together in order to
change, for a few bittersweet personal experiences. She waited Kathryn out.
"Have you heard nothing I've said?" Kathryn sounded tight, raw.
Her throat was dry.
"You do not answer, because you do not have an adequate response. If we were
in some normal situation, then...perhaps. But we are not and though you might think
it draconian, the laws we follow - the ones you made me learn - are as they are for
exactly this moment. To prevent weakness on the Captain's part, for the good of the
collective - the ship. For the survival of this crew. You may think your
personal growth is more important than that. I do not. The greater good must
and will be served here. Take the medicine... Perhaps.... there is something else to
be learned from this situation." Seven leaned forward and picked up the
hypospray. "Do not resist. You will feel better."
Janeway felt like she would both explode and cave in, it was but a matter of time
before the agony in her heart expressed itself and she had no more strength left to deny
it. And I'm in love with this woman?
"Please leave. I will deal with my emotions in my own way." Seven
hesitated. Then, painstakingly placed the hypospray in the case. She snapped
"I am sorry, Captain." There were tears coursing down the Captain's
cheeks, which the older woman tried to conceal by turning away from her. The Borg
rose and swept towards the door, the economy of her movements mocking the anxiety in her
heart. She heard a sob behind her as the doors slid open, but made it to the hall
and then stepped backwards into the room.
The doors closed in front of her. As they stilled, she heard Kathryn break down
and turned to look at the older woman. Kathryn's eyes were shut, her mouth gaping as
her sob wracked body convulsed in agony.
Seven made it across the room in four long strides, kneeling on the floor by the end of
the couch. She dropped the tool kit behind Kathryn and gathered the rigid frame into
her arms. Kathryn's head jerked up in surprise as long warm arms enfolded her in
their embrace. Seven hung on.
"Shh, Captain don't. Don't." Her right hand drew Kathryn's head onto
her chest as her left pulled her closer and stroked her back. The Captain wept
uncontrollably. Her struggling for air was punctuated by the sounds of her
crying. Seven closed her eyes and allowed the moment, her lips brushing the Captains
hair. She swept her hand down along the shaking woman's spine and then her eyes
opened and she looked at the box.
She brought her hand upwards, slowing the pace and pulling Kathryn's head tighter into
her shoulder. Then she let it trail down again, deliberately dawdling. This pain
is too much. She will thank me. As her hand neared the small of Kathryn's back,
she sent her assimilation tubules to open the little toolkit, all the while making
soothing sounds to mask any slight metallic noise they might make. The palm of her
hand rubbed in slow circular motions as tubules from the back of her hand wrapped
themselves around the hypospray and she started to retract them, bringing the device into
"It's going to be okay". She had heard Ensign Wildman comfort her
daughter like this when she was weeping. Her hand was now sliding up the Captain's
spine, but the comfort was conveyed through the side of her palm. Her right hand
gently stroked Kathryn's hair, massaging each strand away from the desolate woman's
neck. "Shhh. Don't cry." Seven took a breath and drew the hypospray
towards the naked skin.
Janeway froze and then her arm shot back to knock the Borg's hand away, catching her
wrist. She half turned to stare at the hypospray and then she leaned her head back
and looked at Seven of Nine. The Borg felt absolute terror. She saw something
in the Captain's eyes she had never seen before. Revulsion.
"Tell me about perfidy, Seven."
Kathryn's face had been red and blotchy from her crying, now it had a purplish
hue. The tears had stopped.
Seven slowly raised herself minutely backing away. Her hands came up in surrender
and very carefully, she placed the hypospray on the table, as though it were a
phaser. She felt like soft prey in a hunter's sights. The Captain's eyes still
held that dreadful expression, so she stepped up and back, never daring to take her eyes
from Janeway and inched towards the door. The room was deathly silent, only the
movement of her retreat broke its pressured spell. It was like moving through dark
water because all the while Janeway's eyes were threatening her very existence. She
heard the doors open behind her, stepping through them as the Captain suddenly made to
stand up. Their locked gaze was broken by the closing of the doors.
Seven of Nine found herself alone in the corridor, she turned and ran for the
turbolift. There was something much, much worse than not being loved by Kathryn
Janeway. Being hated. Being loathed.
Kathryn stood staring at the closed doors, willing her emotions to remain shut down in
a manageable place. Too hot. This is all too hot. Paradoxically,
the Captain herself was totally cold. She checked her clock: very aware that in no
time at all she would be serving as the Federation's sole Ambassador in the Delta Quadrant
and with one of the most skilled diplomats she had ever met as her opposite number.
This is exactly the potential crisis that Seven is talking about.
As a woman Kathryn knew that she was outraged and bereft at the loss of her fleeting
relationship. Seven was more stubborn than anyone she had ever dealt with on an
intimate level: holding onto her judgement against all odds, without even giving one crumb
of information as to how she actually felt. Kathryn knew she felt cheated and
enraged. Behind the numbness.
As a Captain, Kathryn felt at a loss: Seven of Nine had been about to commit assault - whatever
her 'altruistic' motives. Technically, the Borg's actions amounted to attempted
assault and Janeway was coldly furious enough to have her thrown in the Brig. She
considered handing the whole mess over to Tuvok, let him sort it out - meter out
punishment - while she withdrew and took care of her own emotions.
What stopped her was the thought of High Commander Dulwois, with all her wit and style
delicately explaining the high jinx culture of young Flyre warriors, which inspired their
infraction into Voyager. They had broken key directives about suitable targets for
testing their skills, for which the Flytten had offered a formal apology and suggested
replenishing some of Voyager's reserves by way of compensation. Somehow, a
potentially disastrous first contact had been smoothed away with polish and dignity. How
sordid this seems in comparison.
She looked at the hyposprays and felt sick, closing her eyes to hide from the utter
disaster that all her aspirations had met. At least this is so bad that I
probably won't cry for months. She snorted. The night time does not
Personal and professional pride competed to spur her into regaining her
composure. Kathryn made herself move from her rooted spot. Seven would be
dealt with firmly and fairly. After the Flytten were gone. At least she no
longer wanted to pursue any kind of relationship with Seven. Not unless it involved
a phaser and an airlock.
No sir. Not with someone who could cross the line so easily. From now on
Seven of Nine would be relegated to the coldly civil territory that Kathryn Janeway
reserved for those who had hurt her most.
The Captain started dressing for the dance. She would not think of Seven and the
last Tango party. She would not consider the significance of the second
hypospray. She picked them up from the table and the couch and recycled them.
Curled up in a Jeffrey's tube, so deep in the belly of Voyager that the hum of the
engines vibrated the air around her, massaging her very skin, Seven of Nine wept tears of
desolation. She had been here before, often, in the early days, when Janeway would
not let her return to the simplicity of the Collective with its one mind. When being
in the company of the lowly, insignificant humans made her feel so desperately
alone. They didn't understand her, they mistrusted and avoided her.
How could they know her solitary shrieking mind was terrified at all the choices?
That she doubted herself in everything? They had seen genocide when they looked at
her. How could they know that she was paralysed with fear, all the time? They
saw her as a monster and she had known that it was true. She did not belong.
She wanted to go home. You will return this Drone to the Collective. She was
small. Janeway was the monster.
And so, here she had come, seeking comfort from the roar and shake of the machine,
pressing her palms into the gratings, longing to be assimilated into the body of the
ship. Then she would feel nothing, just information and energy and power. She
could love the ship. Everyone on board seemed to love the ship. If she were no
longer Seven, but a part of the ship, they could love her too. She had beat her
hands bloody, in the agonising longing for the redemption that would be Voyager. Please.
Her new human word. Please.
She paused in her sobbing, her cheek comforted by the rough feel of metal, fingers
curling around the gaps in the surface - when was the last time that she had come here
to cry like this?
She could not remember and for a while she took respite in searching her eidetic memory
for a clue. Why had she come here the last time? All she knew was that
suddenly she had felt that she didn't need this place anymore and had felt foolish,
returning almost immediately to Cargo Bay Two. She remembered the feeling of
satisfaction, as if she had passed some test. She had outgrown her shameful, weak
place. A new wave of heartbreak burst from her - how cruel then, that she should be
back here now, after all this time and more lost than ever.
The Captain would tell everyone. That Borg tried to force me. She
assaulted me. She would have got away with it too, had I not been so quick to her
inhuman ways. Seven let out a low groan of anguish, Captain. They
would be looking for her to punish her for her crime. Her stupid foolish crime, the
crime only a Borg could make. She thought about running, taking a shuttle and
leaving. She could leave a message for Kathryn. I'm sorry. Fresh
tears poured from her at the thought of leaving Kathryn, the woman who had forged for her,
from out of all her clumsiness, a life she loved. The one individual who never
ceased to surprise, intrigue and delight her, even at her most infuriating. Even
when they argued. Seven could be as rude and Borg like as she felt and the Captain
would always handle it, would just come back at her with her wonderful, steely patience.
Seven sat up. She did love the Captain. She had fantasized about
her. She ignored the guilt she felt about that. She wanted her. Now,
when all possibility of a relationship was gone, Seven returned to that overwhelmingly
lonely place that she once knew so well. She could smell Kathryn's fragrance from
the tango party. 'A woman must have her secrets, you know.' Kathryn's
eyes sparkling up at her. She moaned. She could feel strong, gentle hands on
her back. Hot, outrageously sensuous kisses, driving her wild. Kathryn.
A thought came to her. The Doctor had suggested that she study love stories from
different eras, Romeo and Juliet, Pride and Prejudice, Tosca, The Vulcan Night....what
was that one...? Othello. A stupid play, she had reasoned, for the plot
all hung on a receptacle for nose fluid, a handkerchief. Ridiculous. Despite
herself and her dislike of the jealous Lord, she remembered his final speech, because it
had touched her:
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak
Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well;
........................................of one whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe.....
Richer than all his tribe. That was it. That was her with Kathryn -
richer than all her tribe - and she had thrown it away.
Seven sat propped against the tube wall, considering her reasons. Of one thing
she was certain: love causes trauma and irrational behaviour. How could the Captain
of a starship alone in hostile space, risk her own emotional well being, so? Seven
could never keep up with her, she would always be making mistakes, disrupting the
Captain's life, distracting her from her duties. Keeping Voyager safe. Surely
that was the priority. She found her belief in the rightness of her decision
returning. L ook at what happened to Othello. Love was a mistake.
She looked at her comm badge. Still there and the Captain hadn't sent
security to arrest her. Perhaps, if she apologised and ...Seven's mind
replayed the look on Janeway's face. Revulsion. Tears started coursing down
her cheeks again. She watched them dripping through the mesh floor.
"Tell me about perfidy, Seven."
She was alone. She was small. But she was also becoming impatient with
herself. No I am an individual, a woman, I am only as small as my
actions. I may be unacceptable now, but I will try to make amends. At
least the Captain will not suffer from loving me anymore. Seven rested her head
on her knees. Soon the tango party would be underway and the guests of honour would
be monopolising the Captain's attention.
She thought about the smooth High Commander of the Royal Flytten Fleet, her charm and
composure, her dry humour, so like the Captain's. She wondered if Gianna Dulwois
knew how to tango. It made her feel queasy. Perhaps Chakotay would put her
off. She huffed some hope.
Perhaps she should make an appearance. It was inefficient to sit and
wonder what was going on, when she could be observing for herself and anyway, even if
Janeway did hate her, she, Seven of Nine, knew that the right thing to do was to
apologise. There was nothing left that she could do.
It was the logical course of action.
"Hey, Tom," B'Elanna was on the top of her form tonight, "did you hear
about that boy's punishment for being rude to Janeway?" Her eyes gleamed with
satisfaction as she handed him a glass of wine.
"Yeah, yeah , he's got to clean all her shoes, I know." He sounded long
suffering. He took a sip.
"Do you think I should tell the Captain that such a punishment would be more like
a dirty weekend for you?" Her voice held that tone which said she was seriously
He tried to bat his eyelids at her only to be put off his stride by hers fluttering
back up at him. "B'Elanna, it wasn't the Captain's choice, it was Dulwois' and
I really can't see Janeway dishing it out just because, you know..." He knew it
"...because humiliation is so effective for immature youths?" She
looked across the brimming holodeck towards the Captain and Gianna Dulwois, sitting at a
table. "You have to say that the High Commander's got style. Janeway's
His head shot up with interested. "Really? You don't
think...." but B'Elanna was gone, swept up in a security officer's arms to
tango onto the dance floor.
Janeway smiled at Gianna's description of her first diplomatic mission. "I'm
sure you have never been at a loss for words, Gianna." She complemented
Hazel eyes met hers warmly. "Well...no..probably not...In fact, my greatest
trial has been to learn to say less." She grinned back at the starship captain.
"Then, this evening, you must allow yourself the indulgence of your favourite
pastime and me the pleasure of your uninhibited conversation." Kathryn
raised her glass. "To... discourse."
"Ah!" The Flytten's own glass met hers. "Indeed."
They sipped their wine. "You know, Captain, one of the great privileges of my
position is that occasionally I meet people who are truly delightful and
interesting. It so makes up for the times when despots are trying to kill one."
Kathryn roared with laughter. "Tell me about it." She said wiping
a tear from her cheek. "No, actually, I bet I can outdo you on the despotic
Gianna's face went still. "In Flyre, Kathryn, we hold wagers to be a very
serious business indeed. This may take some time to sort out. Still, in the
interests of intergalactic stability I could allow you to withdraw from the field right
away." Her eyes twinkled daringly.
Kathryn picked up the bottle to refill their glasses. "Not a chance."
Leaning against a wall in the shadows, Seven had been watching the Captain for an hour,
confused by the mixture of emotions she felt at seeing the older woman so relaxed and so
apparently happy. Relief warred with disappointment. Guilt castigated her for
the last. What did she expect? Not this. Not this easy
flirtatious manner. So soon after...
She wondered if the Captain had taken the hypospray after all and her heart felt fit to
burst. She has discovered I am unworthy: so it was easy. Annoyance
surged through her. It was one thing to insist that the Captain should cure herself
of her love for Seven, it was quite another for her to do it so willingly.
But then again, she looked so happy. Is this how she looked with me? For
a while, Seven processed her memories, flashing image after image of Kathryn up to compare
with the charming face that lit up with pleasure at Dulwois' stories.
There was intimacy, there was the friendly openness. Sexual charm and casual
contact. It seemed colder than Seven's own memory of being the focal point of the
Captain's passion. Not that softness, not that love. Her heart
constricted. What have I done? Suddenly, she was much less certain of
her own ability to ignore the expression of love and desire between them. She could
not go back. She could not push this self-awareness into the obscurity of
ignorance. She knew. It was too late.
Seven had loved before, in Unimatrix Zero, but as real as that had seemed, the memories
had quickly taken on a dreamlike quality - she could get them out and put them away
again. This is something other. The physical presence of her rejected
lover would haunt her waking hours by the absolute nearness of what she could no longer
have. Bitterness began to eat at her. She had discovered a whole new aspect of
For the first time, the Borg found herself wondering about the Captain's solitary
life. "Or perhaps, I should turn my Ready Room into a nunnery, with only one
occupant - me!" The Captain's voice in her inner ear no longer laughed at
her, she sounded desperate.
Seven heard another roar of laughter from the Captain's table. She pushed herself
away from the wall and stood up, straightening her jacket as she did so. The crowds became
a blur of movement and colour, but she threaded her way around the floor towards the
Janeway was listening intently to another story from Dulwois, smiling and
nodding. Seven's pulse was racing in fear. She raised a hand up to her collar
to loosen it slightly and stopped dead in her tracks twenty feet behind the Flytten's
chair. The Captain had raised her head and met her gaze, her expression changing
instantly to a cold hostile warning. Don't you come near me.
For a brief second she battered Seven's senses with it and then cut her glance
dismissively, returning with a soft apology to the High Commander. Dismissed.
Seven stood awkwardly, her eyes misting with grief before she collected what was left
of her courage and sped out of the holodeck.
Kathryn entered her quarters without bothering to turn the lights on. She was
bone weary. Dumping her shawl on a chair in the lounge, she moved through her
darkened bedroom and into the bathroom, her heels echoing on the cool shiny floor. A
satisfactory outcome. And I feel so damn low. She rested her hands on
the little basin and leaned forward, allowing her head to touch the mirror. The
music of the tango played in her mind, filling her heart just as much as Seven's early
exit from the party had made it ache. Oh what a tangled web we weave.
Well, Seven was just one more problem to be dealt with in the morning. She waved her
hand over the mirror light switch, setting it to a dim glow.
Her resolution refound, Kathryn raised her right hand to her hair, pulling out the
pins, so that it tumbled to her shoulders. She stood upright, bringing her hands to
the back of her neck, to unfasten her necklace, when her eyes connected in the mirror with
Seven of Nine's. Kathryn froze. The Borg was standing behind her in the
shadows, the black of her outfit all but concealing her in the barely lit room, but she
could see her face and she could see her eyes. Eyes that were fixed on hers with
such intensity that the smaller woman stood transfixed.
Neither of them made a sound.
Seven's hands were in her pockets, a fact Kathryn became aware of as the blond woman
slowly slid them into the open. Fear shot through her and Seven seeing this, raised
her hands slightly so that she could see that there was nothing in them. Then, with
a deliberately measured motion, she ran them down her own body, pulling her jacket apart
at the end of the run. No hyposprays.
Kathryn's eyes had followed the invited inspection, understanding its' message, but now
they jerked back up to try and estimate the Borg's intentions. What she saw held her
at the mirror, more securely than words. Seven's eyes held pain.
Vulnerability. Intense apprehension. Sorrow. Kathryn kept her own
expression hard, she wasn't in the mood for any more trauma, but still, she didn't want to
break the spell. Slowly, elegantly, she lowered her forgotten hands to the cool
surface before her. The necklace clattering into the sink. Your move, I am
all out of moves. Her eyes narrowed.
The Borg held her gaze and then lowered it to the older woman's neck. Kathryn
could see her chest heave with emotion and then the huge blue eyes were looking at her
again, communicating a need, a wish.
She remained impassive, neutral. Not inviting, not rejecting. Not
forgiving, yet. Seven moved cautiously towards her, the heat of the taller woman's
body warming her back, but still she held the gaze in the mirror. The sole
indication beyond her command mask of any personal reaction to this approach was palpable
only to her, as her nipples hardened against her dress.
Seven stood so close to her that the warmth enveloped her like a physical touch,
Kathryn's right cheek coloured as the Borg's left moved within inches of it as they looked
at each other in the mirror. Then, with appeasing care, Seven raised her left hand
to move the hair away from Kathryn's neck, lowering her eyes to examine the revealed
flesh. Beautiful. She thought. She is so beautiful.
She met Kathryn's eyes again, which were alive and fierce. She didn't see
permission, but she didn't see refusal either, so she lowered her head as her hand
gathered the hair further away to the left at the nape of her neck. Janeway's eyes
were becoming increasingly dark and no amount of willpower could keep them open as Seven's
lips connected to her skin, just behind the ear. A soft kiss of apology, followed by
an erotic kiss of adoration, chased by open mouthed caresses that thrilled her as they
trailed to her shoulder and then began to retrace their path.
Kathryn arched back into Seven's body, a moan dragged out of her on her breath.
Her right arm came up to cup the golden head while Seven's left hand slid around her
cupping and holding the curve of her belly, pulling and soothing the silky cloth of her
dress. Seven's right hand began a long sensuous descent from the side of the older
woman's breast over exquisite curves to the bone of her hip. Kathryn's left hand was
stroking the soft metal on her hand, her head flung back to rock against her shoulder as
Seven's lips worked their way to her throat. Oh God.
Kathryn made a small throaty sound, need demanding the Borg's lips on hers. She
nudged the golden head with her chin, coaxing, her mouth seeking and finding
Seven's. A breathy cry left the younger woman and filled her mouth. Kathryn
kissed back harder. Her body was being ravaged with caresses, she wanted to turn
around, but she was held in the sweet prison of Seven's arms.
Breaking for air, Kathryn felt the Borg's cheek touch hers as hot breath moaned into
her ear and gentle teeth nipped the back of her neck. She let out a demanding cry,
wriggling against the silver hand that was now stroking the line between her belly and her
sex, responding to the slow pulse of Seven against her buttocks.
Seven looked up, stilling the larger motion of her hands, but palms still gently
rubbing in circles over outrageously sensitized skin through silk. Her eyes held
excitement, trust, daring. She smiled into the mirror at the older woman and Kathryn
felt as if a million sunrises had all come up - for her. She made another
pleading noise, but Seven had her own plans: her hands stroking from hips to buttocks in
perfect unison. Round and round. The shuddering, heaving movement of the
smaller woman connected directly to the wet place between Seven's legs. She
lowered her chin to Kathryn's shoulder, watching the redhead's face and then, with
lingering slowness, brought her palms round to Kathryn's belly and slid them
upwards. Kathryn saw the hands travelling up her own body, observed a tongue run in
circles behind her ear and found herself panting out of control. Seven nudged her
with her nose, her hands stilled again. Wait.
She caught Kathryn's gaze and held it, then moved her hands to cup rounded
breasts. Fingers began to slide along the juncture between satin and skin
teasingly. Seven watched her hands, then Kathryn's face, as her fingertips
delicately worked the tight fabric, pulling it down and moving in to entice the Captain's
stiff pink nipples out and leaving them resting on the top of the garment. She rubbed her
thumbs provocatively over the top of them, cupping the roundness in her palms.
Kathryn's breathlessness echoed in the rhythmic motions of her buttocks against Seven,
driving her almost to distraction. She took hold of the shapely hips and pushed into
muscular softness - Kathryn grabbing the front of the sink unit for support and raising
her pelvis to receive the slow grinding thrusts and maddening kisses on her back.
Seven allowed herself to get lost in the overwhelming pleasure of the sweet friction,
watching the bounce of breast and the deep reciprocal moans in the mirror, her eyes half
closing, her mouth open, heat pouring into her cheeks. She moved her hands to the
unit to cover Kathryn's, lowering her body along the beautiful back, one wet tongue
tantalizing between shoulder blades, then she deliberately stopped all movement but the
delicate investigation of hot nipples between fingers and thumbs. Squeeze and
roll. Slide. Squeeze and stroke. Cup. Circular thrust. Kathryn's
eyes opened, her face flushed and dreamy, low moans were spilling from her chest, from her
mouth. She eased Kathryn back upright against her, reaching round to capture the
sound against her lips in a kiss. Their tongues explored wetly. Hot breaths
taken, given. Her mouth found Kathryn's cheek. Her neck. Her
shoulder. Little nips and kisses that covered them both in shivering electrical
charges. She raised her eyes again.
Kathryn's eyes were on her, dark and wild. Seven's hands came back to loosen the
catch of Kathryn's dress, then slid in and around to pull it down and expose the breasts
completely. Seven moved to cup their fullness, but Kathryn turned around, sliding
her hands up to cross behind her neck catching the Borg's mouth in a wide open,
passionately deep kiss, her naked breasts pushing into the taller woman's black jacket.
She felt palms running down her naked back, moving the dress down around her
hips. She broke away to focus on Seven's jacket, fingers entering and rushing up to
the shoulders to sweep the garment off and to the floor, the hot, sweet fragrance of
Seven's body surrounding her. She approached the bow tie with her teeth, loosing it
in tug, fingers sliding it from the collar. She looked up at her Borg,
wickedly. I can do erotic too.
Seven felt weakness surging through her as Kathryn began tugging at her shirt, she
found lips offered up for kissing and met them with emotional intensity. Her shirt
was snaking its sensuous way up her body. She felt Kathryn leaning her head against
her to concentrate on her task as her shirt buttons were nimbly undone. The smaller
woman moved back minimally to undress her lover, opening the shirt, inviting the cool air
in - as physical a sensation as her eyes feasting on Seven's bounteous chest, but Seven's
right hand had found the zipper to her dress. One tug and a warm caress over hips
and the dress fell to her ankles.
Kathryn watched the younger woman look at her, seeing in her face the hungry need to
see and touch more. She slipped her right hand down along the shirt sleeved arm to
Seven's left hand and took it, feeling and loving the warm texture of Seven's
implants. Kathryn Janeway smiled and stepped back out of her dress, leading the
young Borg into her bedroom, one sensual step at a time. She came to a halt at the
foot of the bed.
"Computer. Lights. Low." Her voice was deep and
rough. Breathy. Seven continued coming until she stood touching Kathryn.
Her hands smoothed over hips, down to run along the line of Kathryn's panties.
Kathryn was gasping and leaning against her, letting her lead. Seven kissed the
beautiful neck, bringing her hands inside the garment as she did so, to stroke sensuously
on the curves within. Kathryn arched back, so that Seven had to balance her with her
hands on her pelvis, kissing the front of the Captains offered neck. A low, longing
moan erupted from Janeway and Seven brought her right hand up to the small of her back to
gain the entranced woman's attention. Smoky eyes looked at her. She moved her
hands back to the silky garment and moved it slowly over the small hips, bending her knees
to accompany its descent to the floor with kisses that trailed down over her belly.
Kathryn's musky fragrance creating a renewed urgency to spur her on. Her mouth found
the source of the scent and lips massaged gentle erotic tribute as her heart vocalized her
adoration. Hands that had helped Kathryn step out of her undergarment, mimicked the
silk on the backs of her thighs and between. Seven's tongue parted lips and licked
the swollen bundle of nerves repeatedly. She pushed deeper and sucked the nub into
her mouth and drank in Kathryn's pleasure.
Kathryn was wet and on fire. She felt her legs begin to buckle and was caught in
strong arms around her that lifted and lowered her on to the bed. Hands deftly
removed the stilettos and Seven's shoes. Kathryn's breath was coming in short little
gasps as she watched the object of her dreams slide along her body, tenderness causing her
to pause and kiss at her waist, her right hand balancing with a caress on the other
side. Then Seven's eyes were up and focusing on her next objective: her breasts and
the beautiful still-clothed woman was bringing herself down and along her naked body as
her mouth began to lap at Kathryn's firm nipple. Kathryn lost herself in the
sensation, but her mouth needed those beautiful lips. Wild eyes sought Seven's,
fingers pulling the pins from the gorgeous blond hair, throwing them off the bed, then she
ran her long elegant fingers through to gently pull Seven up to cover her and begin the
overwhelming kissing that seemed to connect with every part of her being.
Her thighs were being parted, strong palms urging them higher, wider. Her neck
was being ravished as long fingers asserted themselves between their bodies, sliding into
the soaking channel to curl up and claim her most private pleasure. Sweat broke out
all over her as she jerked and fought the rolling thrusting ecstasy. The steadily
building rhythm of Seven's loving potency. Kathryn roared her passion into the
night, throwing her head back into the mattress, crying her name and clinging to Seven to
remain inside of her. Half sobbing, she moved to kiss and was kissed, the beautiful
Borg holding her in azure eyes. Slowly, sweetly they eased to brief hot stillness,
before lips were parting to let a tongue taste the moisture at her throat.
Kathryn needed skin, now. She ripped at the linen shirt, sweeping it away
over Seven's graceful shoulders, out of one arm, down to the wrist that was still
connected to her. The white cotton vest was tugged out of the black pants and
similarly dispatched to settle around the wrist.
Wide lips claimed each other, the rolling movement of their bodies, re-igniting her
molten core. Kathryn broke away, fingers plucking the cummerbund from around Seven's
waist, unbuttoning the black dress pants. Seven was biting at her neck, kissing her
shoulders, licking back up to capture her lips, pulsing her fingers inside her dripping
wetness. She unhooked her bra, releasing the stunning breasts and slid it off to
join the other garments. With fiercesome care she encouraged Seven's hand to leave
her, stripping away the bunched up clothes. Seven held herself on her hands as
Kathryn moved down underneath her to slip her trousers over the rounded hips.
Panties followed and Seven, feeling the cool air on her sensitized buttocks, moaned down
into her, connecting their wet sex in urgent driving rhythm. She brought her hands
up to experience Seven's naked breasts for the first time, hard nipples rolled, lips
reconnecting, as Seven's breathless momentum gathered speed and force. Kathryn
encouraged the movement, grabbing the pounding hips, thrusting up into her. Seven's
rapid tempo ignited her, so that when the release shot through the Borg in one rigid
pressured thrust after another, Kathryn came again.
Seven was still balanced on her hands, perspiration running from her, light filling her
nerve endings, her head thrown back. She dragged a shuddering breath in and released
She began to sag, arms giving way, opening her eyes to find the woman she loved adoring
her. "Omega." she said again. Kathryn grinned that half grin and
drew her down into her embrace, her feet sliding the rest of Seven's clothes down her legs
and off. She snuggled into the naked wetness of her blown-away lover. Holding
"I love you, Seven of Nine." She could feel tears on her
shoulder. "I'll always love you... in fact.... I haven't even begun to
love you, yet."
Dreamy eyes opened and smiled at her through tears.
"Acceptable." She whispered.