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Those Who Are Left Behind
Aren't the Krenim wonderful? With all the messing around of timelines they've done, we've got tons of alternate universe stories we can write in. This is one of them. In this one, "Day of Honor" has a very different and much sadder ending. Because Tom and B'Elanna are not on *Voyager*, subsequent episodes would necessarily be very different. Here is my concept of how their absence might affect things shown during the first half of the fourth season.
General Disclaimer: The characters all belong to Paramount and to Viacom. So do some of the story elements and lines quoted from episodes. I just played around with them a bit. No disrespect was meant, and no claims for ownership for these elements, either. I admit only to having a too-active imagination and a word processing computer to let others in on my fantasies. Proceed at your own risk.
Rest assured, writing this story will cost me money, not make me any!
Much of the dialogue at the beginning of the story between Tom and B'Elanna is taken from the script, "Day of Honor," by Jeri Taylor. Some other lines of dialogue were quoted from other episodes, including "Revulsion" by Lisa Klink; "Scientific Method," also by Lisa Klink with a story by Sherry Klein and Harry Doc Kloor; "Mortal Coil" Bryan Fuller, and "Waking Moments" by Andre Bormanis. If you follow the show, you'll know which ones they are. The same characters don't always deliver the lines, though, or if they do, it may not be in the same context, so you'll have to pay attention!
Summary: After Paris and Torres are stranded in space on the Klingon Day of Honor and die of asphyxiation, Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay, Harry Kim and Seven of Nine learn to appreciate how precarious--and precious--life can be.
Relationshipper's Warning: As noted above, three relationships are taken for granted in this story and will be portrayed in one form or another. If you actively hate one of these pairings, be forewarned--you will encounter them all in this story.
Other stories I've written can be found at: http://members.aol.com/jamelia116/meander.html
Thanks: To the PTFever mail list, especially Marianne, Kim, Margaret, Niomi, Julie, Julia, Patti, pjs, Monica & Courtney, for their help with this story.
Feedback, Please, to: jamelia116@aol.com
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Those Who Are Left Behind
by J.A. Toner
Space is infinite, dark, and empty. Airless. Cold. Light coming from widely scattered stars occasionally reflects off wisps of gas in nebulas or bounces off a solid body of matter that, for a moment, tumbles into the path of radiation in the visible spectrum. A brief flash illuminates the darkness, a scant moment in the scope of limitless time, before disappearing again into the ether.
Most of the time, said objects are inorganic bits of rock of various sizes. Some are planets, some mere grains of sand. It is rare, in the vastness, for the object to ever have had life. Rarer still is the object that is still alive in that emptiness.
At one set of coordinates in the area that beings from one culture refer to as the Delta Quadrant, two living creatures, clothed in white pressurized suits and tethered to each other by a thin line, clung barely to life. Their legs were linked together; the only sound audible over the intercoms of their EVA suits was labored breathing and a tinny computerized feminine voice reciting, ::::Warning, oxygen level at one hundred four millibars and falling.::::
"Tom," murmured one of the white-encased bodies, shaking her companion.
"Hmmm."
"Tom, come on, open your eyes."
"I was having a dream. A really nice dream. We were home . . ." Meeting her eyes through the plexiglas visors guarding them from vacuum and the almost absolute zero temperatures of space, he smiled, "Don't be afraid, B'Elanna. It's not going to be hard. It's going to be . . . peaceful."
Another warning of falling oxygen levels halted B'Elanna before she could continue, "Tom, there's something I have to say . . . "
"Me, too. I'm glad . . . the last thing I'll see . . . is you . . ." His labored breathing could not obscure the message beneath his words as he pulled her into his arms with his vanishing strength, his eyes conveying more of his longing for closeness than either speech or his actions could.
"No, something else . . ."
"What?"
Her breathing was almost as labored as Tom's as she continued, "I've been a coward . . . about everything . . . everything that really matters . . ."
His clear blue eyes gazed softly upon her, his face open, as it always was when he was not hiding behind the masks he had always been able to assume too readily. There was no more time for hiding from the truth, no mask over his face but the clear one that concealed nothing from her. "You're being a little hard on yourself."
B'Elanna's Klingon half would not be dissuaded. "No, I'm going to die--without a shred of honor. And for the first time in my life, that bothers me. So I have to tell you something. I have to--"
::::Warning, oxygen level at seventy-one millibars and falling.::::
During the interruption, Tom's eyes began to close again, although his arms still held B'Elanna close. She breathed out his name again, "Tom--"
Dragging himself back to consciousness, he said, "I'm here. It's okay. It won't be long now."
"I have to tell you the truth."
"The truth? About what?" He was interrupted by another warning. Sixty-two millibars of oxygen left now. Seconds of life remained. His mouth seemed to move in slow motion as he encouraged, "Better say it now. We don't have much longer."
Lightheaded, she took as deep a breath as she could, finally getting out, "I love you, Tom."
His eyes went wide, even as his mind seemed to slip away from the enormity of what she had said, the incongruity of the setting. Nothing came from his mouth as his head nodded, eyes drifting closed. That was not what B'Elanna was seeking, and she demanded in an intense whisper, "Well, say something!"
His eyes opened as a half smile graced his face. He looked at her again, searching for the words which finally came with a wistful sadness, "You picked a great time to tell me."
At another time, B'Elanna Torres probably would have slugged Thomas Eugene Paris for that statement. At another time, he undoubtedly would have delivered the line with a sarcastic swagger and a cockily raised eyebrow. This time, his words were merely a statement of the obvious. A slight smile that matched the one he wore came to her lips. Their gloved hands stroked the outsides of their helmets in vain attempts to caress the faces within. There were no more words to be said. Their hearts spoke now in the silence, in the embrace they shared as their heads moved as close to touching as the plexiglas would let them. Two bodies knotted together, adrift in the loneliness of space, finally at peace with each other.
When the transporter beam locked onto the bodies of Lieutenant Torres and Lieutenant Paris and reassembled their molecules in Sickbay two hours later, Tom and B'Elanna still embraced each other in death.
~~~~~~
Two data chips rested in his hand. Ensign Harry Kim of the Federation Starship *Voyager* didn't feel much like listening to either one, but he knew he had to. Tom Paris, who had saved him from the greed of a Ferengi barkeep on Deep Space Nine, and B'Elanna Torres, who had first dubbed him "Starfleet" when they were being held in a medical facility far beneath the surface of the Ocampa homeworld, had entrusted him with the duty and the privilege of listening to thoughts that were to be shared with him only after their deaths. Because of his friendships with them, he had to listen, even if he felt like he'd lost his best friend.
He had. Both of them.
Slipping the first chip into the player, Harry noted that B'Elanna had recorded it a few days after Kes had left *Voyager* so spectacularly. That wasn't surprising. Many of the crew had decided to update their final messages after Kes' death/transformation to a new life form--whatever had happened to her, she was no longer visible. Harry himself had recorded updated messages for his friends. His messages to them could be trashed now. Tom and B'Elanna would never see them.
As he listened to B'Elanna's message, he felt both smiles and tears come to his eyes. There wasn't anything in the message he hadn't suspected long ago. He wished Tom could have heard it.
Harry was struck by the similarity of Tom's message to B'Elanna's. He wasn't really surprised at the contents of Tom's, either.
Listening to both messages at the same sitting, one after the other, Harry easily grasped what neither had been able to say directly in words. A depressed Harry was certain that his friends had never been able to express their true feelings towards each other, either. Not before . . . .
Thinking of the twin torpedo casings being readied for the next morning's services, Harry realized he had a message of his own to give--to his captain.
::::Ensign Kim to Captain Janeway.::::
~~~~~~
"Janeway here. Yes, Harry, what is it?" Kathryn Janeway looked wearily up from the data PADD in her hand and glanced briefly at her first officer where he sat in his customary seat in her ready room. What *had* been Chakotay's customary seat up until recently, when their working relationship had been strained by their differing positions toward the Borg--one of whom was now a de facto member of *Voyager's* crew.
::::Captain, I just reviewed the data chips that Tom and B'Elanna left me. I think you should see them, Captain.::::
"Thank you, Harry, but they're your private messages."
::::I know, but I think you might want to adjust some of your plans for them . . . I mean, for their bodies. I don't think they'd mind if I showed you, Captain. You should call Commander Chakotay, too.::::
"He's already here in my ready room. If you think it's so important, come."
::::I'll be there in a few minutes. Kim out.::::
~~~~~~
As the message began, her smile brightened quickly to a broad grin, to quickly be replaced by a grim smile. "Hello, Starfleet. If you're listening to this, I must have died. I hope it was 'with honor,' so you can go to my mother when you get back to the Alpha Quadrant and tell her that her daughter 'went to Sto-Vo-Kor' the way she'd always wanted me to. Let her know about the chief engineer thing, too. She'll like that. She was always sure I was going to amount to something. I never told anyone that before, Harry. I always talked about the way we didn't get along, I know. It wasn't all bad, though. There's a data chip for her, too, Harry. Please make sure she gets it."
The image looked down towards her feet for a few seconds before again looking out squarely from the computer screen. "Harry, I want you to know how much your friendship always meant to me. You were the first person I ever knew who wasn't more interested in my being a Klingon woman than you were in B'Elanna Torres, your friend, the engineer. That may seem like a simple thing to you, but it isn't, Harry. I know.
"I hope you remember all the good times we had together. The meals in the mess hall. Sandrine's. Swimming at Neelix's resort. All those all-nighters working on the Warp 10 Project. You've always been there for me when I needed you, Harry. I really loved being your friend. Thank you, for everything.
"Harry, speaking of the Warp 10 Project, there's one more favor I need to ask of you. It's about Tom. You know how he's been lately. I mean, I'd have to have been blind not to know that . . . well, you know. With the dating, and all, we've gotten pretty close, and . . . well, I have a hunch he's going to take this pretty hard. Me dying, I mean. So, Harry, please help him through this. Stay with him. Don't let him go back to being 'Pig Paris' again. He's better than that, even though he tries to hide it. Maybe he hides it from himself, I don't know. I just know that if anyone can keep him from going over the deep end, you can.
"I don't know what else to say, Harry, except, maybe, ride herd on my engineers so they keep *Voyager* together. Get home safe and sound. Good-bye, Starfleet. Remember your 'Maquis.' "
~~~~~~
The ready room was completely silent while Harry exchanged Tom's data chip for B'Elanna's in the computer. Harry blinked when the image of the pilot appeared on screen. Tom's tall, lanky form was perched on the edge of a table, blue eyes staring down the recording device for his final message, almost as if he were daring it to record his thoughts accurately.
~~~~~~
"Hey, Harry. Hope you're doing well. I guess I'm not. Well, I don't think anyone's too surprised that I bought it; I've skirted on the edge most of my life. I just hope that when it finally happened, the only one who ended up dead was me. I wouldn't want that on my conscience. I've got enough dead people in there already. I always told you I wasn't a good luck charm, Harry! I hope you have better luck with your next best friend.
"And that's what you were to me, Harry. You were just about the best friend a guy could ever have. The moment I laid eyes on you in that bar on Deep Space Nine, I felt like you were the little brother I never had. But you turned into a lot more than that. Hell, most people fight all the time with their little brothers; we hardly ever argued. About anything important, I mean. And what fun we had! Sandrine's. The holodeck programs. Dating the Delaney sisters--and Harry, I *am* sorry I laughed about you and Jenny and the gondola, even though it was really funny at the time. And about that holodeck babe that turned out to be an alien, too. I shouldn't have done that. But we did have fun, didn't we?
"But Harry, that isn't what I really need to thank you for. It was for not believing what Cavit and Fitzgerald said about me--hell, what *I* even said about me. For being your own man. I told you to stay away from me, but I'm glad you didn't listen. I was a pretty despicable person when I first met you in that Ferengi's bar, but whatever good I ended up doing on *Voyager*, it started with you believing in me. That means a lot to me. Meant a lot. I never could figure out how you're supposed to talk doing one of these things. But Harry, you know what I mean, I hope.
"When you get back to Earth--when, not if! I know that Captain Janeway and Chakotay and Tuvok are going to get you home someday--I'd like you to look up my parents, if they're still alive, and my sisters. Tell them I wasn't always a screw-up, and that I got to do what I loved doing the most. I got to pilot a starship again. I hope they'll care. Whether they do or not, I care. So let them know.
"There's one other thing, Harry." Tom's eyes looked off to the side, as if to look at something in the distance, and a look of stabbing pain crossed his visage, just for a second, starkly visible during the brief hesitation in his speech. "I don't know if you've noticed, but there's someone who's really become special to me the last few months. B'Elanna. I want you to take care of her, Harry. I don't know how much she'd really care about . . . whatever happened to me, but . . . I . . . just in case she does care, I . . . " Tom looked down at his hands and clasped them, saying, "This is silly. It's not like we're married, or anything, but I'd like you to be there for her, Harry. Be good to her. I'd like to think that maybe you could make her happy. Hell, you'd be better for her than I ever would be. I should try to fix the two of you up! But I won't. Not while I'm still around--but hey--if you're listening to this message, I'm *not* around any more. So, go ahead, Harry. Make your move. But Harry, just make sure that she gets home okay, too."
The image of Tom Paris stood up, and at least a suggestion of the cocky grin he habitually assumed lit his face again. "So, anyway, Harry. Take care of yourself. And thanks again, for everything."
~~~~~~
Tom's image flickered away as the message ended. Kathryn Janeway's hand closed reflexively on the chips in her left hand, holding the final personal messages directed to her by her chief engineer and helmsman. She hadn't looked at them yet, thanks to the lingering complications the Caatati had caused for *Voyager*. She'd only had time to review the public messages, detailing the funeral arrangements each had wanted. Simple Starfleet services for both, with their bodily remains to be shot out into space, to spend eternity in the stars.
"Captain?" Chakotay was concerned by the grief-stricken, far away look he read upon his superior's face.
Her eyes met her first officer's, focusing upon his face for a moment and nodding slightly before they met those of the young operations officer again. "Thank you, Harry, for sharing these with us. I hadn't had a chance to play mine yet. You said you thought we might want to adjust our plans for the services tomorrow, based on these messages?"
Harry took a deep breath. "Yes, Captain. I know you were getting two torpedoes ready, to shoot out one after the other. But after seeing these, and seeing what they felt about each other . . . Captain, no one will ever know if they ever said anything to each other at the end; but from the way we found them, the way they were holding onto each other--I was thinking maybe they wouldn't have wanted us to waste the resources by using two casings. I think maybe, if they're going to be floating in space for as long as the galaxy lasts . . . one capsule is enough for both of them. So they can be together at last."
The captain nodded her head, mouth tightly pursed. From the look on her face, Chakotay could see that words would not come easily to her for several minutes. He took it upon himself to say, "See that it's done, Harry. Thanks for bringing this to our attention. Dismissed."
After Harry left, the two senior officers sat silently in the captain's ready room for several minutes. When Janeway finally trusted herself to look at her first officer, she could not see his face. His head was down, his eyes on his folded hands. Then he looked up, and a gleam of unshed tears was visible in his deep brown eyes. A slight choking sound escaped her lips, and his glistening eyes flew to her face. Her right hand flew up to conceal her eyes from him, but he caught a glimpse of what he fully expected to see in her blue-gray eyes.
Chakotay stood and took the three steps needed to cross the space between them. The awkwardness of the last few weeks vanished as he touched her shoulder in comfort. Her left hand dropped the two data chips upon her desk before she reached up, crossing her body, and grasped his wrist where it rested upon her shoulder. More emotional displays would come when they were alone in their quarters, reviewing the last words of their own personal reclamation projects. Projects which had come to untimely ends.
~~~~~~
Long after he knew the torpedo bearing his friends' remains could not be visible, Harry looked out at the stars receding behind *Voyager* as it raced towards the Alpha Quadrant. So much space. Such a little capsule.
It was a good thing that Tom was tall and lean while B'Elanna was diminutive. There hadn't been much space for two bodies in the capsule; their final resting positions were not flat on their backs, but tilted towards each other and side by side. Tom, in the red uniform of command that he'd worn proudly the last few years of his life, was lying to one side of the torpedo, arms wrapped around the golden-uniformed B'Elanna. She was lying on her right side, left arm thrown over his body as if they were lovers in bed, asleep. A casual position, but the captain and commander had agreed to this breach in the usual protocols. It simply seemed to be the right thing to do. The faces of the two lieutenants looked even younger than their years, all worry smoothed out of their expressions, peaceful in death. The bad luck and loneliness each had endured in their lives had come to an inevitable end.
Since the bodies had been in stasis from the time they'd been found, rigor mortis had not yet set in when they'd been laid to rest in their capsule, barely an hour before the brief memorial service. After the captain had finished those few and inadequate words she could say about her engineer and pilot without breaking down, the torpedo was launched. Aimed into space in the direction of the Alpha Quadrant, the coffin moved gently, not at any great speed relative to that of *Voyager*, to drift among the stars of the Delta Quadrant. The lives of B'Elanna Torres and Thomas Eugene Paris had changed for the better during their last few years in the Delta Quadrant, yet all were in agreement: it was appropriate their path still led towards home.
At the conclusion of the joint service, the off-duty crew had drifted to the mess hall for a quick meal in honor of the deceased. It was a good one. Neelix had been preparing it for Tuvok's promotional dinner, scheduled for the following day. The newly-minted Lieutenant Commander had suggested this use of the rations would be more beneficial to the crew than having a dinner in his honor. Under the circumstances, Tuvok noted, it would be illogical to celebrate his promotion. Janeway agreed, giving him his new rank pip in a private ceremony. Chakotay was the only other attendee.
As he watched the stars stream by the mess hall windows, Harry was startled by a short, flamboyantly-garbed figure suddenly appearing at his elbow. "Ensign Kim, may I offer you more of my special coffee blend?"
Harry made an attempt at smiling. He was about to decline the beverage, but changed his mind. One look at the Talaxian's face told Harry just how hard Neelix had taken the deaths--not surprising, coming as they did so soon after the loss of Kes. Dealing with them had been hard on everyone. For Neelix, it had to have been worse.
"Sure, Neelix. I was thinking of going to get myself another cup. Thanks for coming over." He held up his cup as Neelix poured it out. It was thick but drinkable.
"I was thinking about calling it 'B'Elanna's Blend,' you know. She had a little just the other day with the rokeg blood pie I'd made her for the Day of Honor. Just before she and Mr. Paris . . . well. She'd liked it when I gave it to her then."
"I'm sure she'd like to be remembered that way," said Harry, although he had exactly the opposite opinion. There was no point in hurting Neelix's feelings.
Neelix didn't move on after pouring. The crowd had thinned, and he seemed to want to talk to someone. As Neelix sank down into a chair, Harry turned his body toward the cook, resigning himself to listening to more reminiscences. That was how it had gone with almost everyone, all that day.
"You know, Ensign, that day she asked me if she should go forward with a holodeck program. The one that Tom had helped her write to observe the Klingon Day of Honor. Do you know about that?" At Harry's nod, the cook continued, "I told her that I thought traditions were good, and I thought she was going to do it. I never heard, though. Did she go through with it?"
"I'm not sure, Neelix. I know she ran the program, but with everything that happened that day, I'm not sure she was able to finish it."
"I see. You know, that day I offered myself to Lieutenant Torres to be her pressure valve. Let her yell at me, blow off steam when she needed to lose her temper. I *am* the morale officer, after all. She could be so tense sometimes. Then she'd blow up at anyone over nothing. Especially Mr. Paris."
Harry smiled in recognition. "She sure did. Tom got it more than anybody. Of course, he *asked* for it more than anybody. You know, when the Nyrians were taking over the ship? B'Elanna was demanding I tell her if she ever got hostile. Tom told me later she'd been swinging a bat'leth at him after they'd gone to the holodeck for an exercise program. I didn't know that then, but still, what could I say? 'Yes, B'Elanna, all the time?' She looked like she was about to breathe fire! I'm not even sure if I answered her, because the next thing I knew, I was transported to the Habitat . . . " Harry was about to say, "and met up with Kes," but he decided he'd said enough already.
"And what about the way they appeared back there, in each other's arms. There was a lot of talk about how they'd been keeping warm in that other habitat." Neelix was chuckling as he grinned. "Tom took a lot of ribbing about that, but he never said anything. I notice they seemed to be together a lot after that. It was inevitable; I already knew that. The way she bit him in those mine shafts--well, Ensign Kim, if you'd seen that, you'd have known where they were heading, even before what happened in the Habitat."
"That was the start of it all." And might as well have been the end, Harry realized. Tom had been circumspect about the extent of his relationship with B'Elanna, but Harry was sure they hadn't become lovers yet. No wild Klingon mating for Tom, although Harry knew he'd hoped for it. No time. His eyes began to sting again. Harry couldn't meet Neelix's gaze. If he did, he knew he's start blubbering again. He didn't want to do that, particularly not here in the mess hall in front of everyone.
Depressed, Harry looked out the window again. So many people had died already on this trip, and here he was, still being faithful to Libby, at least in body. Not much longer, though, and certainly not in mind, not anymore. Who knew how much longer they'd be out here, or whether he'd even live long enough to deliver those chips to B'Elanna's mother and Tom's family? How long was he supposed to put his life on hold, waiting to get back home to the Alpha Quadrant? Maybe it was time for Harry Kim to do the *carpe diem* thing--find himself someone to love before he ran out of time, too.
Except there wasn't anyone who excited him on *Voyager*, especially now that the two most attractive women, B'Elanna and Kes, both were gone. Seven of Nine was beautiful and exciting, of course, but making love to a Borg woman was unthinkable. Talk about intimidating! He'd already been clunked on the head by her once.
*No, thanks*, thought Harry. *I'll be keeping a wide berth from her. No sense asking for trouble*.
~~~~~~
"Sit down, Ensign Kim. The captain and I have an assignment for you. We've been talking about modifying some of the equipment on *Voyager*."
Harry took the seat that Commander Chakotay indicated. "What kind of modifications, sir?"
"The Astrometrics Lab. It hasn't been upgraded since *Voyager* left Space Dock."
Harry immediately felt enthusiastic about the project. Work was just what he needed to keep from dwelling upon the loss of his friends. "I'll start right away."
"Good. I've assigned Seven of Nine to work with you. She's agreed to provide us with the navigational data on this area she acquired during her time with the Borg."
Harry's face must have fallen, for Chakotay added, "Is there a problem?"
"No, no problem." Even to Harry, this sounded patently false.
"Try to make her feel like part of the team," encouraged the commander.
"Right. Part of the team."
"I'm sure you'll do fine, Ensign. Seven could use your assistance fitting in with the rest of the crew."
"Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir? I'd like to get started."
"Of course, Harry. Dismissed."
As Harry backed out of Chakotay's office, he felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was not looking forward to this at all.
~~~~~~
By the time Harry found himself standing before the doors of Cargo Bay 2, his stomach was no longer doing flips, but he didn't relish the assignment. Taking a deep breath, he entered the cargo bay, calling out his co-worker's name. "Seven?" There was no sign of her in any of the regeneration cubicles along the side of the cargo bay wall.
The sound of footsteps descending a ladder alerted him to her presence. "I am here," she proclaimed. Despite himself, Harry couldn't draw his eyes away from her shiny bodysuit, which accentuated every curve of her provocative body. If Seven had been anyone other than a Borg, Harry would have found it impossible to resist her. The stray thought that, in her case, resistance truly was futile brought a smile to Harry's lips. As she turned towards him, she asked, "Am I to work with you?"
"Oh, Hi, uh, yes. I thought we'd start in Jeffries Tube 32B--enhance the Astrometric sensors. If that's OK with you. Unless this is a bad time . . . " Harry avoided taking a backwards step as she moved towards him, but he couldn't stop himself from flinching as she came within hitting distance.
Approaching him, Seven observed, "Ensign Kim, you seem . . . apprehensive."
"No, not at all." *Liar*, Harry thought.
"The last time we worked together, I struck you at the base of your skull and attempted to contact the Collective."
"These things happen." *God, what is wrong with me? Really acting like Starfleet's Finest today, aren't we, Harry?*
"I assure you, it will not happen again."
"That's good to know."
"I've designed new navigational sensors. Some of the alphanumerics are Borg."
"No problem. I . . . I always wanted to learn Borg."
"That is difficult to believe." It seemed impossible, but she said this even more flatly than she had said anything else.
"I was kidding. It was a joke. You know, humor . . . "
"I understand the concept of humor. It may not be apparent, but I am often amused by human behavior."
Despite himself, Harry chuckled. Maybe this would go okay after all.
~~~~~~
Harry found that both his initial pessimism and subsequent optimism were misplaced. Working with Seven of Nine was neither as problematic as he expected, nor was it a wonderful experience. Sometimes she was easy to talk with, particularly concerning technical matters; at other times it was impossible to converse without frequent, intense declarations that the subject in question, especially if it were a personal one, was "irrelevant." Harry was confident that "irrelevant" was her favorite word.
He soon saw that the very concept of "personal" was something she needed to work on. Seven didn't understand the concept of "personal space" very well. She was constantly intruding upon Harry's comfort zone--not unexpected when her anatomical endowments protruded as far away from her body as they did. It made it difficult, however, for Harry to concentrate on work. He may have muttered that "hormones are irrelevant" a few times, but unfortunately, he didn't really believe it. They were all too relevant, a fact which was uncomfortably confirmed on several occasions, always at a very inconvenient time or place.
Seven *was* almost as efficient as she believed herself to be, however, to a degree which often surprised him. Confidently stating that "My experience as a drone has taught me to be efficient and precise," Seven was initially insulted on one occasion when Harry checked her work on the optical assembly with a tricorder.
"Just checking. Standard procedure," Harry assured her, but she was chagrined when he found that she had misaligned the optical assembly by point five degrees. She fixed her error promptly and, it must be admitted, efficiently.
When Harry tried to introduce the concept of small talk, he received only limited responses. To a query of what she did "for fun," Seven replied that "I regenerate in my alcove. I study the Starfleet Data Base. Or I contemplate my existence." Harry had mumbled that that was a lot of time spent by herself, and she agreed, succinctly, "It is."
As they moved down the Jeffries Tube to the main power supply access node nearest their work location, Harry was struck by just how isolated this woman was. Even B'Elanna, with all of the rejections she'd suffered during her life because of her half-Klingon heritage, had not been subjected to the degree of verbal abuse that the former Borg woman had by the angry Caatati, at least, as far as Harry knew. The crew as a whole still expected Seven to recontact the Collective and turn them all into drones. The remaining implants visibly marked her as Borg, and few really trusted her. She, in turn, was heedless of her own safety, risking her life to handle billions of gigawatts of power because she was sure her remaining exoskeleton would protect her. Safety procedures for a race that absorbed species whole, for whom each drone was easily replaceable, probably *were* a waste of time. To the one hundred forty-five souls on *Voyager*, careful adherence to safety procedures was a necessary condition of survival.
It didn't help when one attempt to keep her from hurting herself brought him nose to nose with her, looking into those huge blue eyes of hers. He became uncomfortably aware of his hands upon her shoulders and gasped for breath, simply from touching her.
There were good moments between them, though; and it certainly helped that whenever Harry was with Seven, he found his mind so occupied with the tasks they were doing that he didn't have much chance to dwell upon his recent losses. It took all his concentration at times simply to communicate, thanks to their very different life experiences; yet Harry found her offbeat phrasing and observations could be fun. Sometimes it seemed Seven was playing along, trying to provoke him into a smile. Her response when he discovered the error she'd made with the optical assembly charmed him. "It must have been my humanity reasserting itself. I will correct the error."
He also enjoyed her instructions regarding the removal of a piece of Borg equipment left behind. Without the proper tool to remove it, since the Doctor had discarded that attachment as extraneous when he'd removed most of her implants, Seven said, "I suggest a radical dislocation." At his puzzled stare, Seven clarified, "We need to pull it out."
And they had--but not without an injury to Seven. "I've been damaged!" she had cried. "As a drone I would have regenerated within seconds. I've become weak!"
Comforting her, Harry told her, "No more than the rest of us. You'll be fine. I'll walk you to Sickbay." During the walk there, Harry found his feelings were a mixture of concern for her welfare and pleasure that he was able to help such a strong, independent being. *I just hope I'm not going to fall in love with her*, Harry thought, not realizing then it might already be too late.
~~~~~~
"Lieutenant Carey needs more selenium and gallicite for the shuttle that's being built to replace the *Cochrane*."
"Have we been in contact with anyone who might be able to supply our needs?" asked Captain Janeway.
"No. Fortunately, he also said the *Sagan* has been repaired and is coming back into service. We're only two shuttles down at the moment."
*One lost with Kes, the other with Tom and B'Elanna*, rang in Chakotay's head. Glancing up at the captain, he could almost see the same thought flicker across her mind.
The captain sighed. "Move selenium and gallicite to the top of the 'critical supplies needed' list."
"Very well, Captain," replied the commander.
"How is Mr. Carey doing in Engineering?"
"He has it well in hand. The staff seems to have settled in. We should be all right as long as there aren't any major problems with anyone in this area, at least, not until the period of adjustment is over."
"The Bridge staff seems to have adjusted, too. How's the Astrometrics Lab progressing?"
"Harry and Seven are working well together. They're making good progress, I understand. As soon as they report on their plans, I'll give orders to begin construction."
"Good idea. A major project like that will be good for everyone. It's already been good for Harry. I was really worried about him, Chakotay. He was so depressed when we found Tom and B'Elanna, I didn't know what his reaction would be. He's young, though. Resilient."
"I was worried about him, too. Of course, youth isn't the only thing that's helping him bounce back." The dimples in the commander's face deepened with his smile.
"Oh, really?" The captain, whose eyes had been resting upon her PADD in front of her during most of the earlier part of the conversation, met her first officer's eyes. "What else is helping him? Or should I say, 'Who is helping him?' "
"Who, definitely. I know I wasn't particularly happy about Seven of Nine staying on board, but from the effect she's had on Harry, I'm glad she's here."
"He's not falling in love with her, is he? She isn't ready for anything like that yet," the captain said worriedly.
"Oh, I'd call it more of a crush at this point. She certainly can light up a room in that silver suit she wears. He's not the only male who has trouble knowing where to put their eyes when she's in view."
A throaty laugh erupted from the captain. "Her therapeutic suit is rather attention-grabbing, I'll grant you. I believe the Doctor will be allowing her to wear something a bit less provocative in a week or so. Her body has healed from most of the implant removals, but she'll be wearing some kind of corset thing under her clothing for a long while--it might even have to be permanent." Janeway shifted in her chair and looked over at Chakotay, saying in a lightly teasing tone, "So, Commander, have you been having trouble knowing where to put your eyes, too?"
His dimples deepened. "I can't say I'm totally immune. She's a beautiful woman, there's no doubt about it. And the implants that the Doctor left seem to accentuate rather than detract from her looks. But my eyes are usually on another woman, particularly on the bridge. I've been worrying more about her lately."
The atmosphere chilled perceptively. "I don't think you need to worry about her."
"I can't help it. It's my job."
"Chakotay, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."
"Kathryn . . . " Chakotay hesitated. Not long ago, when threatened by the Borg and Species 8472, they'd endured the most serious break in their relationship since Tom Paris had gone undercover as a malcontent to uncover a spy. Their rapprochement was still tenuous, but Chakotay could not remain silent. "Maybe everyone else isn't. You've been spending a lot of time with Seven, and that's commendable. But there are other people on this ship that need some of your attention. I don't think you've noticed their needs lately."
"Really? Who?" she drawled, getting even more annoyed.
Might as well get it over with. "Me."
"You? Chakotay, what's wrong?"
He remained silent, gathering his thoughts. He hadn't intended to bring any of this up now, in her ready room, but perhaps this was the place. Her turf.
"I'm reconsidering an agreement we made between us some time ago. An agreement about 'parameters.' "
"I'm sorry, but I haven't changed my opinion about that."
"Even after what happened with Tom and B'Elanna?"
That brought her up short. She couldn't deny that the circumstances of their deaths had affected her deeply. Chakotay knew that the data chips to the captain had conveyed even more clearly than Harry's had how much they'd cared for each other. So had his. Because of their delay, they'd died without expressing those feelings to one another.
"Kathryn, I'm not saying we need to pick up exactly where we left off on New Earth. We both agreed not to continue the life we had there. We never expected to have anyone else but each other for the rest of our lives then. It's more complicated here; I realize that. But I *do* want to have my confidante back, and I hope she wants hers. It's not like we have anybody else of an equivalent rank out here to serve that purpose."
"You just want to talk to me?"
He smiled again, sadly. "I'd like a lot more than that, Kathryn. I'm sure you can figure that out. The longer we remain out of touch out here, the more difficult it is. The lonelier it is. Especially when I remember what we had there."
"We agreed to sacrifice that life for the sake of the ship, Chakotay. In fact, as I recall, you were the one who said we couldn't go on 'fraternizing.' That we'd set a bad example for the crew."
Chakotay looked down and shook his head, and said softly, "We also agreed we could change our minds later, and *I've* changed my mind. If nothing else, seeing what's happened to B'Elanna and Tom made me realize the truth in that old saying, 'Seize the day.' Kathryn, we've made progress towards home, but we're still more than five decades away." He stood up and arched his tattooed brow with a melancholy grin. "I don't think even the highest ranking admirals in Starfleet ever expected the 'loneliness of command' to be this complete, for either of us."
Her smile matched his. "Perhaps not, but I'm not ready for anything else."
"As you say, Captain. Will that be all?"
Feeling an unexpected pang at his return to formality, she nodded.
After he left, she moved to the couch in her ready room and sat there for a long time, staring out the window. Her mind traveled back to a time and place where strong hands scrubbed her back while she bathed in an al fresco tub. She remembered how those hands had made her entire body feel afterwards, at a time when *Voyager* had seemed to be part of their past, when they had lived together in intimacy and joy. Back to a time when they had thought the rest of their lives would be very, very different than they were turning out to be.
~~~~~~
*Personal Log, Harry Kim, Stardate 51106.7.
*Working with Seven of Nine is getting a bit awkward. Anything more than friendship is a bad idea, I know. I really need to be careful. Seven was a Borg only a few weeks ago. No matter how beautiful she is, I know that inside she's still got a lot of Borg in her. She doesn't know who she is herself, let alone what it would be like to be with anyone.
*But I can't help it. There really is a woman in there, with a subtle, offbeat sense of humor. I can't stop thinking about her. My mind is in such a jumble. I know I shouldn't indulge myself like this. I wish Tom and B'Elanna were here now for me to talk to. Tom would tell me to calm down, or laugh about me falling head over heels for a woman who doesn't know what love is. I'd love to hear B'Elanna ask, "Hey, Starfleet, what's up?" so I could talk this thing with Seven out. I bet she'd set me straight in a hurry about "The Borg."
*I'll just have to try harder, because it's way too soon to even think about that kind of relationship with Seven--for her, or for me.*
Harry sighed as he closed his log entry. It was true. He knew it. Every word he'd just dictated was the truth. Too bad he wasn't going to listen to himself. He picked up the PADD he'd just been working on. Maybe he should just ditch it. Save it for the morning. Yes, that's what he *should* do.
Instead he hit his comm badge. "Harry Kim to Seven of Nine . . ."
~~~~~~
"You wished to see me, Seven?" Chakotay took to his feet as Seven strode authoritatively into his office. It was irksome to always stand around Seven, but she had been quite vocal about the fact that sitting was uncomfortable for her. He seldom could bring himself to sit while she stood. His Academy training in behavior proper to an "officer and a gentleman"--of whichever gender--always asserted itself at times like this.
"Here are the schematics for the Astrometrics Lab, Commander."
"That was quick," he commented as he accepted the PADD.
"With the exception of Commander Tuvok, Ensign Kim is the member of the crew with whom I have the least difficulty in completing tasks. Quick results can be expected. We work well together."
"I see."
"Ensign Kim's behavior is usually predictable, and it is reasonably efficient."
"I'd have to agree with your being efficient, Seven. You must have been burning the midnight oil to get this project done so quickly."
"I do not comprehend your meaning, Commander. We burned nothing to accumulate this data."
"It's just an expression. It means you worked a lot of extra hours on the project beyond your scheduled duty shifts."
"Oh, yes. You are correct, Commander. We worked on it together until late last night. I do not believe it was 2400 hours yet, however. In the mess hall."
"You worked last night in the mess hall?"
"Yes. Ensign Kim said that he'd had a 'midnight inspiration about reconfiguring the astrometric projectors' last night. He gave me the data, and I worked on it for several hours when I was not regenerating."
"I see. He didn't help you?"
"Not at that time. There was insufficient lighting to work long in the mess hall, although Ensign Kim did not appear to notice. I left him there after my lesson."
"Your lesson?"
"That is the proper terminology, is it not? When someone teaches a person something in a group or individual session? That is what Commander Tuvok calls it."
Chakotay straightened his posture. Seven did not seem at all perturbed, but the first officer could not help being somewhat suspicious. A late night rendezvous in a darkened mess hall to work? And then Harry lets her leave with the work? That didn't sound right to him.
"Tell me about this lesson, Seven."
"It began with a request for assistance with the Astrometrics project, but I believe that this was not the true lesson Ensign Kim wished to convey. He has been helping me explore complex human social interactions. This one appeared to be concerned primarily with courtship rituals."
"I see. What makes you say that?"
"At first, he stated he wished my help with the project. He said, 'This is tricky stuff,' and that it could use 'my touch.' He also claimed he needed to utilize the vision of my artificial eye, although I am not sure exactly what benefit he expected from this. I could see nothing in the data that the attributes of my eye could elucidate."
Chakotay stifled a smile. "What exactly did he say to you, Seven?"
"He said he wanted to utilize 'my way of looking at things.' Perhaps I misunderstood. Is this another alternate expression?"
"Yes, Seven. He thought that your thought processes might uncover something in the data that his had not. It had nothing to do with your eye, but with your brain."
"Ah, yes. I see. Thank you for explaining this, Commander. I confess I find many of Ensign Kim's expressions perplexing at times. I will need to study idiomatic expressions more diligently."
"That would be helpful. So, what did he say next?"
"He asked me to sit down. I told him that I preferred to stand. He told me that I would be more comfortable sitting. I said that comfort is irrelevant; that we were there to work."
"And . . . "
"After I activated the PADD to examine its contents, I informed him that there was insufficient lighting to see adequately. He said that lower lighting levels were relaxing. Then he began to speak out of context."
"Out of context?" Chakotay said, as he backed up far enough to lean his buttocks against the edge of his desk. It wasn't exactly standing, but it wasn't quite sitting, either. He had a hunch, by this point in Seven's recitation, that it was going to take a while for him to get to the heart of what had happened. Seven may have preferred to stand, but he didn't.
"He said that *Voyager* wasn't all cargo bays and Jeffries tubes. I am fully aware of that fact. I determined from this comment that Ensign Kim did not wish to talk about the Astrometrics projectors at all."
"A logical assumption."
"Then he suggested that when we had completed our task in the mess hall, we should go to the holodeck. He wished us to experience the K'Tarian moonrise simulation together. He expressed the opinion that it was beautiful and that I would 'love it.' I informed him that beauty is irrelevant. It was then I had a revelation. I asked him if he wished to change the nature of our affiliation. He asked me what I meant, and I told him."
Chakotay had a clear premonition that this evening had not gone as Ensign Kim had planned. Since it was his duty as the officer in charge of personnel, however, he knew he had to find out exactly what had happened. "What did you tell him, Seven?"
"I informed him that while I may be new to individuality, I was not ignorant of human behavior. The ensign has made many attempts to engage me in idle conversation, and I had observed the pupils of his eyes dilating when they looked at my body. I have also noted the increase in his respiration rate when we speak together. When I asked him if he wished to visit the holodeck in order to create a romantic mood with me, he claimed not to know what I was talking about. I do not believe that was true, Commander."
Chakotay's shrug was noncommittal.
"I asked if he were in love with me. He said he was not. From this response, I presumed his true intention was that he wished to copulate with me. When I told him to remove his clothing, however, he refused. I promised not to hurt him, Commander, but he said that he only wished to make me 'part of the team.' Then he suggested that we quit for the evening. I took the data with me when I left to work on the data on my own. Is something wrong, Commander? I thought I heard you choke."
He gasped and said, "No, I'm fine, Seven. I got something caught in my throat. Just let me clear it out." The commander coughed several times, his hand covering his mouth politely, as Seven had been told was appropriate by the Doctor.
While waiting for the commander to finish clearing his throat, Seven pondered what had transpired between her and Ensign Kim the previous evening. "Commander, I find that all of these elaborate rituals of deception are quite confusing. I did not anticipate that becoming human again would be such a challenge. Sexuality is particularly complex. As Borg we had no need for seduction, nor did we spend any time on single cell fertilization. We saw a species we wanted, and we assimilated it. Nevertheless, I was willing to explore my humanity, yet Ensign Kim was reluctant. I did not expect him to refuse. From my studies of human sexuality, all the signs appeared to be present for him to be sexually attracted to me. Was I in error, Commander Chakotay?"
"I don't think I care to address that at this time, Seven. I think you will need to take the subject up with Mr. Kim again in the future. But, if I may, a word of advice?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Give him a little time before you bring up the subject."
"A few days?"
"I would say several weeks would be better, unless he brings it up with you again himself."
"Your advice is acceptable. I did not know how to proceed. Do you think that Ensign Kim will wish to discontinue his association with me? He appeared to be quite distressed when I asked him to remove his clothing."
"Oh, I don't think you'll have any problems as long as you don't ask him to remove his clothing again. Particularly in public. But what about you, Seven? Do you have any reservations about continuing to work on the Astrometrics project with Ensign Kim, in view of what's happened?"
"Certainly not. As I told you, I can complete my tasks more efficiently with Ensign Kim or Commander Tuvok than I can with anyone else on board *Voyager*. Will that be all, Commander?"
"Yes, you are dismissed, Seven."
When he was sure that Seven was gone, Chakotay finally felt free to release the guffaws he'd been painfully holding in through most of his conversation with the young woman. *Changing the nature of their affiliation! I'll just bet!* He laughed for several minutes, until the tears ran down his cheeks. Then the tears continued, but without the laughter. This had been the first real laughter he'd enjoyed for quite a while. Long before they'd lost B'Elanna and Tom, really. There'd been too many losses, for a very long time. His father. Too many of his colleagues in the Maquis. His Maquis crew that had died coming here, and so many, both Maquis and Starfleet, since they'd boarded *Voyager*.
But this double loss was the worst. B'Elanna, so tough, so vulnerable, and the best engineer he had ever had the privilege to know. Tom, the cocky traitor who had turned out to be a brave and unselfish officer--and just as good a pilot as he'd thought he was. One a good friend, one never quite a friend, though they'd learned to work well together. Both gone now.
Chakotay found himself looking out the viewport of his office at the stars, wondering exactly how far that torpedo with their remains had traveled toward the Alpha Quadrant in the few days since they'd shot it away. Not very far. Not that it mattered for the two of them.
It was the rest of them, the ones that B'Elanna and Tom had left behind, that mattered now. And especially one person. Harry Kim. He'd been best friend to both of them. If Chakotay felt so badly about losing them, what must Harry be feeling? No wonder he was so eager for a friend that he'd approached the least likely person aboard ship. Smiling sadly, the commander realized, *But that's Harry. Defender of the outcast. He's doing it again, just like he did with B'Elanna and Tom. This time, it's with Seven of the Borg.*
Turning around to face his desk, Chakotay began, "Dictating:
*First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 51108.3.
*Seven of Nine came in today with a hilarious story about what happened, or more accurately, did NOT happen, between Ensign Kim and herself last evening. She assured me that she preferred working with Ensign Kim over anyone aboard ship, with the possible exception of Commander Tuvok, despite this miscommunication between the ensign and herself.
*If we were in the Alpha Quadrant, splitting them up as much as possible or even transferring one of them off the ship would be recommended. Out here, I have the opposite inclination. I cannot think of a more honorable young officer than Harry Kim. His refusal last night to take advantage of Seven's lack of sophistication in sexual matters is the proof. If anyone can help Seven with her social skills, it is Mr. Kim.
*By the same token, Ensign Kim's loss of his two closest friends on this vessel demands that he become involved in some ongoing project until such time as he has been able to complete the mourning process. Keeping him with Seven on the Astrometrics Lab project is a calculated risk, but it's one I'm willing to take. If anyone can distract Mr. Kim from his troubles, it is Seven of Nine.
*If this action blows up in our faces, I will take full responsibility. I could be accused of encouraging crew fraternization by doing this, I realize. But who, realistically speaking, can this crew fraternize with in the Delta Quadrant other than each other? It's time we recognized this fact and acted upon it. There are too many lonely people aboard this ship, and I, for one, am no longer willing to accept being alone.
*End personal log.*
As he ended his personal log entry, Commander Chakotay turned again to view the stars streaming by his viewport window, thinking about how far they'd already come on this journey--and how much further they had to go.
~~~~~~
"You know, I really tried very hard to keep the grin off my face while Harry gave me his report. I didn't want to humiliate him. A few times, though, he said things that were really hard to ignore. Finally, when Harry tried to say that Engineering could take over the project now, I couldn't help myself. I told him I thought he'd want to supervise the work himself. After all, the Astrometrics Lab was his baby. He tried to tell me it wouldn't be the best use of the ship's personnel, I said, 'I can rearrange the duty shifts.' "
Pausing with another forkful of her omelet in the air, the captain shook her head and laughed. "I never knew you could be so cruel, Chakotay."
He nodded, chuckling in agreement at this assessment of his character as he went on, "You should have seen him, Kathryn. He was just about stuttering. 'Oh, no, Commander, Seven can handle things without me.' I asked if he was having a problem with her. 'A little misunderstanding, that's all. Just your basic Borg-human cultural differences.' So I told him that Seven didn't say anything about that when she spoke with me."
"You told him she'd come to you? You truly are an evil man, Chakotay!"
He laughed with her outright this time. "I usually try to keep that part of me well hidden away, Kathryn, but I couldn't help myself. When I heard the panic in Harry's voice when he asked me what Seven told me, I almost relented. Almost. I let him know she thought he was 'reasonably efficient' and that we were all happy with their progress. Then I mentioned she'd said something about how he'd been helping her learn about our complex social interactions. 'Do you have any idea what she means by that, Ensign?' I thought he was going to faint."
The tears were running down the captain's face.
"Finally, I told them that the two of them made a good team and I wanted to keep them together on this project--and maybe others in the future. And then . . . I really do feel guilty about this, but I couldn't resist . . . I told him to 'have fun.' "
"You didn't! Chakotay!" They both laughed hysterically.
As she wiped the tears from her face, Janeway remarked, "I really feel guilty, too, laughing like this over poor Harry. But it really is funny. Was it as horrible as I think it was to keep a straight face through all of this?"
"My sides hurt holding in the laughter during both meetings. Seven was just so innocent about it all, and Harry was . . . Harry. He really is an 'officer and a gentleman,' Kathryn. Maybe it was cruel of me to keep them working together. I don't know. Time will tell."
Still smiling, but now a bit more sedately, Janeway nodded, "It does slip fairly close to encouraging them to have a relationship. Not the kind of behavior I'd expect from the man who was so against crew fraternization, Chakotay."
"I know. I dictated a personal log entry and an official one afterwards, taking full responsibility if there are problems because of this. You know that I've been rethinking my whole position on the fraternization policy, anyway. It really doesn't make sense to enforce anything like the regular rules out here; I can see that now. I'm not saying we could make everybody happy by ordering everyone to 'fraternize' with each other. But who else do we have? How many aliens are going to be willing to come along with us, the way Neelix has? If Rynax hadn't been destroyed, we wouldn't even have him with us, and I think Kes was the one who convinced him to come along, at that."
"I think you're right about Kes. She was so adventurous in that quiet way of hers." Janeway studied him intently for a moment, then said, "You don't have any other agenda for discussing the fraternization issue now, do you, Chakotay?"
"No, Kathryn. I'm talking about the crew, not anyone in this room." *I may be thinking it, but I'm not going to say it. I'm just happy that we're even having a conversation like this, over dinner in your quarters, instead of a formal meeting in the ready room . . . *
She gave out a quick, disbelieving little puff of air. *Very astute of her*, he thought, but said aloud, "Do you think we should just leave things as they are as far as the policy goes? I know of a few pairings already where the couple is living together in all but name."
"Let me think about that. I don't want to go on record about it if it isn't needed, although one couple has come to me about wanting to start a family already. Naomi is one thing. There wasn't anything we could do about her. She 'stowed away' inside Ensign Wildman! We really aren't equipped for a lot of children on board. But the longer we're out here, the harder it will be to ignore the urge to create new families. I realize that."
"Perhaps we could consider issuing a directive that as long as relationships do not interfere with on-duty performance, anyone wishing to change the 'nature of their affiliation' or the location of their quarters may do so?"
The captain mused for a few moments, then said, reluctantly, "Perhaps. That might be the best way to handle it, all things considered."
"So, not to change the subject too abruptly, but how is Lieutenant Carey?"
With an audible sigh and relieved expression, the captain said, "The Doctor says he'll be fine. He's still quite upset that a hologram could have attacked Mr. Carey. Dejaren was obviously insane . . . "
They chatted for some time after that about the almost-disastrous away mission that the Doctor and Lieutenant Carey had survived, although just barely. Chakotay felt that they were easier with each other than they'd been for a long while--since before the Borg had intruded on their journey homeward. They had nothing more to say about the trials and tribulations of Harry Kim or Seven of Nine. Any further reference to the state of their own relationship was avoided. The subject of Tom and B'Elanna never came up at all.
~~~~~~
"Don't fear the clay."
"I fear nothing."
Of course not! Janeway sighed to herself. Encouraging Seven to allow her imagination to run free was a huge undertaking, she was beginning to see. Sculpting had seemed like the perfect choice, since Seven's engineering abilities suggested an ability to work in three dimensions without much difficulty. Plus, it was a very forgiving medium, permitting the imagination to take flight, yet easily modified because of the plasticity of the clay. Besides, Seven needed to free herself of inhibitions. *What better way than making mud pies?* she had thought. Now, the captain was not so sure.
Patiently, she tried again. "Let your hands and the clay do the work, Seven." Handing her a lump of clay, Janeway suggested, "Here. The nose of this head could be a little stronger. You try it. You can use me as a model."
After examining and rolling the lump in her hand with an air of distaste, Seven shoved it into the sculpture in the general vicinity of the nose. Half-heartedly, she poked at the clay with a single finger. Once. Twice. Finally, she mashed it firmly into place, deforming the center of the sculpture's face as she did so. Meeting the eyes of her teacher, Seven proclaimed coldly, "This is a waste of time."
"Seven, working with clay is a wonderful way to relax. Just give this a chance and . . ."
"As a Borg, my time was spent working at a specific task. When it was completed, I was assigned another. It was . . . efficient. I had no need for relaxation in the Collective."
"You're not part of the Collective now. You need to learn how to relax, even play, It's an important part of a human being's life. Imagination frees the mind. It inspires ideas and solutions and provides a great deal of pleasure. Human progress, the human mind itself, couldn't exist without them. Look around you at Master daVinci's workplace. He was one of my great childhood inspirations. I even built many of the items in his workshop when I was a child, to emulate the Maestro."
"He was a very busy man," said Seven.
"Oh, yes, a prolific artist and a scientist as well. Far, far ahead of his time. He created a model of an airplane four centuries before one was actually built."
Seven looked up to where the captain was pointing. She had noted the object before and dismissed it as irrelevant. The model didn't seem like it could actually fly from the way it had been engineered. Now, however, Seven felt herself pulled away from the workshop on the holodeck. In fact, she seemed to be pulled away from herself. Another Seven of Nine flashed before her, running. Pursued by Borg.
The hum of many synchronized voices resounded in her ear. "Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated."
She was running down the confines of a long ship's corridor with Borg cubicles and junctures spaced along the way. Her heart was pounding, her breath came in gasps. A huge bird with a wide wingspan flew at her, accompanied by a cry, sailing above the nightmare screeching of the bird. A human voice called out, "Annika! Annika!"
A strange prickling attacked her limbs as she tired of her flight. Why was she feeling like this? These were her own, the Borg. Why was she running away, not toward them?
After a struggle, the emotion strangling her with its power yielded up its name. She, Seven of Nine, felt it. Fear. Paralyzing, petrifying fear.
A quick uptake of breath, and Seven became aware of another voice. A woman's voice. "Seven, are you all right?"
A jumble of objects came into sight. Tables. Paintings. Tools. A lump of mud on a pedestal. Blinking at the light flooding in from the window, Seven finally could answer the one whom she now recognized. Captain. Captain Janeway. Captain Janeway had asked her a question. An answer must be given.
"What's wrong?" repeated the captain.
"I don't know," Seven whispered.
~~~~~~
Wearing his usual "examination face," the Doctor peered at Seven. "Describe these visions you've been seeing."
Reluctantly, Seven related, "I have been subject to a series of disjointed images on three occasions. Each experience is similar--I'm pursued by the Borg. They want to assimilate me. I'm running from them, and then, each time, I see . . . a large, black bird, flying toward me. Shrieking at me. Attacking me."
"Hmm. I would say you're exhibiting classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder: dreams, flashbacks, hallucinations.
"That makes quite a lot of sense, Seven," seconded the captain. "You were assimilated by the Borg as a child. You've gone through an intense, prolonged trauma."
"I was not traumatized--I was raised by the Borg. I don't see them as threatening.
Why would I experience fear?"
"I can't explain it, Seven. Until I can, the Doctor's diagnosis is as good as any."
"Well, if you experience any more of these visions, notify me immediately. There may be some other tests to try, of course, if you stay here in Sickbay and let me examine you over time . . ."
"No." She was emphatic. "I do not wish to alter my routines in any way."
"Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to alter them somewhat. It's time that you commenced ingesting foods as well as liquids to supplement the energy you receive during your regeneration cycles. Here's a list of the nutrients you need to consume to maintain your health. I'm reluctant to impose this additional stress upon you, since Mr. Neelix will have to provide the food, but it can't be helped. Bring this list to the mess hall so you can begin your new menu immediately. And if you feel any visions after eating, relax. It's probably just a nightmare brought about by Mr. Neelix's cooking."
Seven looked at the list the Doctor plopped in her hand. Eating. Another step away from the Borg. What would be next?
~~~~~~
::::Personal Log, Ensign Harry Kim, supplemental:
::::Captain Janeway's team has finished combing Seven's "quarters" in Cargo Deck Two, trying to find anything which might explain what happened to her after she attacked Neelix in the mess hall. Did the fact she was taking in foods again suddenly unbalance her metabolism in some way? Obviously, when her Borg implants started to grow again, it would affect her, perhaps causing her to return to a Borg-drone state. But what made them start growing again? What mechanism was operating? Is this something that will happen over and over again in the future, after we get her back? I refuse to think we won't get her back safely.
::::I hate to admit to myself how hard I'm taking this. I mean, I know we only had a working relationship, but spending time with her has helped me so much since Tom and B'Elanna were . . . since they aren't around any more. And I thought the two of us were learning to work so well together. Even confide in each other a bit. I guess it was all one way though. She never mentioned having any problems on board the ship to me. Maybe I could have helped. But now that she's attacked Neelix and stolen a shuttle, who knows what will happen if Chakotay and Tuvok do catch up to her? And with all of that B'Omar saber rattling, I just hope Chakotay and Tuvok manage to catch up to her first.
::::I told the captain that I would try to translate the Borg data-link, which appears to be a succession of log entries written in Borg alphanumeric code. I'm getting pretty good with the Borg language, so I think I can translate it okay. It's funny. That time we first talked about the Astrometrics Lab project--when I told Seven that I always wanted to learn Borg--it was a joke. I studied it anyway, and now, I find I'm really glad I did it. I guess the joke was on me.
::::And at least it gives me something to do while I'm off-duty.
::::End Personal Log::::
Harry replayed his log entry. For a few seconds he considered erasing it and starting over, but he decided to leave it as is. It was his personal log. You're supposed to record your personal feelings, after all. It's not as if he'd recorded anything inappropriate. Still, he hadn't realized just how dependent he'd become upon being with Seven. While working with her during the building of the Astrometrics Lab, he had concentrated so much on the task itself he'd been able to ignore (most of the time) the fact that he needed to be in her company. Now he felt at sea because he couldn't go find her to work on the "social skills training," as the Doctor and he had come to call it, which had replaced building the Lab as an excuse to spend time with her, helping her to explore human social customs so that she would fit in better with the crew. *You'd think that with both of us working with her, she'd have come along farther than she has.*
He had to admit to himself, however, that even if they had made more progress, it may all have been washed away under the influence of those implants. And he felt so helpless. He couldn't do anything about it.
*First Tom and B'Elanna. Now Seven. Becoming my friend seems to be the kiss of d . . . No! I won't think that!* Harry shook his head, as if to shake off the wave of loneliness that swept over him. He needed to occupy his mind with something constructive.
Harry returned to his studies of the data-link, trying to tease out some of its secrets, to see if there was some way he could help. With the B'Omar keeping them from doing a proper search for Seven, however, the ensign couldn't shake his feelings of dread--that it was already too late for them to get Seven back.
~~~~~~
::::Captain's log, supplemental.
::::I've been trying to retrace Seven of Nine's footsteps . . . her actions during the last few days. But I'm still no closer to understanding what's happened.::::
Holding herself absolutely rigid, Janeway attempted to clear her mind of her individual thoughts, trying to imagine what it felt like not to be Kathryn Janeway, the captain of the Starship *Voyager*, but Seven of Nine of the Borg. One of many, with specialized tasks but one mind, her thoughts those of everyone--or perhaps, more properly--shared with everyone. Just thinking about what it would be like to be linked to the one hundred forty-six souls on *Voyager* made her head spin. No, make that one hundred forty-three, with Seven, Chakotay, and Tuvok off the ship. Finally, with a deep sigh, she gave up. Whatever it was that the Borg were to each other, it was beyond her comprehension. Jean-Luc Picard was the only one she knew who really understood. It nearly had destroyed him.
The ring of a pair of footsteps on the deck warned her that another was approaching, making her acutely conscious of the fact that she was looking rather foolish for a starship captain. Her eyes snapped open upon the friendly face of Ensign Kim, PADD in hand.
"Am I disturbing you, Captain?"
"Not at all, Harry. I think I've gone about as far as I can go in this exercise." She smiled slightly as she stepped down. Harry's hand twitched, almost as if he were about to offer her a hand as she left the cubicle but decided that he shouldn't, since she was the captain. Manners were engrained into the very fabric of the man, at war with his respect for her position as captain. It's something she'd noted Chakotay doing upon occasion.
As she stepped down, she noted that the ensign's smile never reached his red-rimmed eyes. "How are you doing?" she asked, a maternal note in her voice.
He stuttered, "Oh, I'm okay, I guess, . . . " before shrugging his shoulders. "I haven't been able to sleep very much. It's given me a lot of time to work on Seven's logs."
Nodding sympathetically, the captain gestured for the PADD he held. "Have you made any progress, Harry?"
"I've managed to decipher her log entries. There's nothing that indicates she was planning to leave the ship. The entries are pretty unremarkable. She describes her daily routines, the number of hours spent regenerating, that sort of thing. There were some personal log entries. Mostly observations about the crew's behavior." He shuffled his feet a bit and coughed before proceeding. "I'm . . . mentioned in quite a few of them. Apparently, she finds my behavior . . . easy to predict. Whatever that means."
"Don't take it personally. Coming from Seven, that's probably a compliment," the captain replied with a laugh. She was relieved when Harry eked out a wry chuckle of his own. *The poor boy. His affection for her is so transparent. Our "prescription" for helping him get over the loss of his two best friends seemed ideal--until now. And if she's gone for good, this will be exceedingly painful for him.* Realizing that anything she might actually say along these lines would probably only hurt him more, however, she merely held out her hand for the PADD. The Borg glyphs were in one column, while a Federation Standard translation was neatly transcribed in a second column to the right.
Harry's words broke into her consciousness. "The most recent entries are kind of strange. Descriptions of bizarre images--almost like a record of her dreams."
"Like hallucinations?"
"Maybe so. Sometimes she's in a Borg vessel running . . . or hiding behind a bulkhead. Falling down a shaft. Borg everywhere, chasing her. Nightmarish stuff."
"Have you seen any evidence of a 'bird'? Seven mentioned something about it in sickbay."
"She mentions it several times, Captain. It flies at her, shrieking. I don't know what it means."
The captain read from the PADD, " 'The feathers are black. Wingspan approximately one and a half meter. The eyes are yellow and it has a powerful triangular beak. When it looks at me . . . I am paralyzed. I cannot move. It seems to know me but I don't understand how that's possible. It's merely a bird, an inferior form of life. But the sight of it fills me with fear.' It sounds like she's describing a member of the corvidae family. Like a crow, or . . . or a raven . . ." The sudden image of a nightmare bird invaded her own thoughts for a moment, but a memory teased at her as well. Another connection between Seven and Nine and "Raven" suddenly clicked into her mind.
"She's describing a raven!" As the captain strode briskly out of Cargo Bay Two, Harry hustled to keep up with her.
"Why is that important?" asked Harry.
"Because now I know what to look for. Harry, we need to calibrate our long-range sensors to scan for any Federation signature other than our two shuttlecraft."
"Captain?" Harry asked in confusion.
"Yes, Harry. We need to bring the ship about and lay in a course for B'Omar space. I think I know what she's running to. Now, all we need to do is find out where that something is."
~~~~~~
As she sped to the rendezvous point in the shuttle, she could hear him, species 3259, moving occasionally behind the force field she had erected around him. Her prisoner. Her mentor. She did not fully understand why she had decided not to assimilate Tuvok. He would be a great asset to the Collective. Yet, somehow, she knew she could not do it. Perhaps it was because he had tried so hard to help her understand the Others on board the ship. Tried to make her see how being an individual could have its rewards, as well as its limitations. With his own otherness, he had been able to help her recognize that her uniqueness was not necessarily a threat to *Voyager*.
But she had damaged the ship when she had escaped. She had damaged the shuttle carrying Commander Chakotay, leaving him adrift in the space of a hostile race. She had attacked Commander Tuvok. *No, no, no. I must not think of it. I must rejoin . . . why must I rejoin . . . why am I doing this . . . wait. I am Borg. I am called back home . . . *
An image of a shrieking black bird filled her mind, obliterating her view of the shuttle console. She could hear her captive ask her what was wrong. Her blood hammered so loudly in her ears, she was prevented from formulating an answer. Tiny needles seemed to be assaulting her scalp. Her breath came shallow and fast. Her limbs felt heavy, as if she had run a very long way, under conditions that were . . . she could not identify the emotion for a moment, but then she knew it for what it was. Terror. She was terrified.
Seven of Nine moaned softly to herself and ignored the queries of the man behind her. This man, who had acted a father's part to her, was not her father.
Why, then, did she want to call out, "Papa! Help me!" over and over again?
~~~~~~
The homing signal called her to the moon of the gas giant. They would be there, waiting for her. Yet when they arrived, there was no Borg cube. There were no life signs of any kind, Borg, human, or B'Omar. Nothing but the signal itself, calling her to one place on the surface. One manufactured object on an otherwise primitive world, minus any life form higher than plants and simple animal life.
She turned to her companion, the representative of Species 3259. "The resonance signal is coming from the lunar surface. The Borg are waiting for me there." Returning to her controls, she tried to stem the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. There was no reason for her to feel this way! Yet she could not find the calm center of rationality of a drone. *That is it. When I have been linked again, I will be fine.* The very fact that she could even conceive of "fine" and "not fine" was resolutely pushed out of her mind.
The voice of her companion was soothingly calm in comparison. "You appear to have lost your confidence in taking this action, Seven. Are you frightened, for some reason?"
"Why should I be frightened?" She hesitated, however, before admitting, "I don't know why I'm frightened. They are my people."
"We can turn around. Return to *Voyager*. You will have no reason to fear anything there. You know the captain will welcome you back."
"My fears will go away once I'm again part of the Collective." Stiffening her back as if this would quell the rising tensions in her body, Seven turned her attention back to the sensor readings. The homing signal was in an area pocked with anomalous readings. Metal filled peaks and gorges made her attempts to pinpoint the location difficult, given the limitations of Federation technology. As an image came to mind she fought back the lump that rose unexpectedly in her throat. *Ensign Kim could have helped me find the best place for a successful transport. No, I will not think of that!*
"Deactivate the force field. I will accompany you to the surface. You do not need to go alone."
"But you will be assimilated."
"I don't believe I will. I think the situation is not what it appears."
"What else could it be?"
"I am uncertain, but I am willing to go with you to the surface to find out."
For several minutes, Seven stared into the face of her mentor. The chaos in her mind was not reflected in her expression. She did not wish to endanger Tuvok. Finally, however, she touched the control panel and lowered the forcefield. "As you wish," she said quietly.
~~~~~~
The surface was just as wild and rocky as she had said it would be. That this would be so he had accepted without question. Tuvok knew her capabilities. What was unexpected was that they would have to walk several kilometers before they saw it, perched at the edge of a rocky eyrie--had there been any eagle or similar creature around to build a nest on this desolate world, with so limited a repertoire of organisms. She called out in surprise, however, at the sight.
No, perhaps it was not so much surprise as recognition. The tricorder readings confirmed it. Here, impossibly far from Federation space, was a ship that had undoubtedly been built in the Alpha Quadrant. At least a fifty-years journey had taken place in order for the ship to have reached this final port of call--yet Annika Hansen had been born a mere twenty-four years ago in the Alpha Quadrant. How had this ship come to rest here?
Although she did not appear to be eager to explore this artifact, Seven followed him along a knife edge of rock until they could enter the ship. Federation registry numbers could be seen on very familiar looking doors. As they entered the ruin through a huge gash in its side, Tuvok's sensitive hearing picked up Seven's gasps and quickened pace of respiration.
"It happened here. This is where it began. This is where I was assimilated. This was our ship. We lived here. We lived here for a long time. My father did experiments. They were very important, and we had to travel a long way."
This was not the voice of the logical, coolly disapproving human/Borg woman Tuvok had been tutoring in the ways of her congenital heritage. This was Annika, not far removed from the child she had been the last time she had been on this world. "I had my birthday here. My cake had six candles on it and . . . and one more to grow on." Her voice trembled. "And then the men came. Papa tried to fight them, but they were too strong. I tried to hide. Maybe they wouldn't find me because I was little. But they did. Then Papa said we were going to crash and the big man picked me up and then suddenly, we
weren't on this ship anymore. We were somewhere else."
"And then I became Borg."
Tuvok considered all that Seven had stated carefully. Seven's family--Annika Hansen's family--may have had to travel a long way for their experiments, but how had they accomplished it? Had the Borg found them at the edge of the Alpha Quadrant and brought them here to assimilate them? This was not at all consistent with the habits of the Borg as the Federation had come to know them. With the Borg, every assimilation could result in a change in *modus operandi*, of course. Perhaps it had been different eighteen years ago; yet somehow, he did not believe this would be so.
From the reports to which he become privy as chief security officer of *Voyager*, Tuvok knew that Q had claimed the Borg had been decades away from discovering the Federation before Q's interference had brought Picard and the Enterprise to their encounter with the Borg deep within the Delta Quadrant. Yet here was evidence that the Borg had at least known of the Federation's existence much earlier. Seven's very existence confirmed it. This ship, *The Raven*, was here, deep in the B'Omar's Delta Quadrant sphere of influence. They had not bothered to come to the Federation for their technology. Why?
Had they already gotten a very desirable technology from the Hansens?
He turned his tricorder toward the propulsion system, or to where he surmised the propulsion system should have been. It was not there. He turned to the computer system, virtually dead for many years. The main files of the computer had been pirated, just as the propulsion system had been. Only the homing signal had been active, calling out to the prodigal to return home. The fact that the homing system had worked, however, bespoke of a power source of some kind, still active despite being unserviced for eighteen years. And if there were back up files anywhere in the computer, critical information still might be intact, available to be downloaded.
Had he been a human, Tuvok may have cried out in amazement as sufficient power up the computer for a transfer of backed up files flickered through the system. It was weak, and it wavered even as the tricorder signaled that it could hold no more data. Since Tuvok was not human, his face gave away nothing about what he was thinking or, possibly, feeling, about the information he had just obtained. Any reaction he might have been hiding was quickly suppressed, however, as the concussion of weapons fire struck next to *The Raven*.
The B'Omar had found them. Fortunately, a moment later, Tuvok's comm badge was activated as well. *Voyager* had found them, too.
~~~~~~
"I've got them all, Captain. The shuttles are both aboard, too."
"Excellent, Mr. Kim. Ensign Hamilton, let's get out of B'Omar space, immediately, if not sooner."
"Aye," responded Hamilton.
No saucy "Yes, ma'am." Just "Aye." Harry sighed deeply. With a wolf pack of angry alien ships chasing them out of the system and out of B'Omar space, this was one of those times Harry really missed Tom. His presence at the helm always made everyone feel confident that *Voyager* would escape from a situation like this. Hamilton was doing a good job--but Just-in-the-Nick-of-Time-Getaways had been more of a sure thing with Tom at the helm.
In almost no time, however, Harry was able to report that the B'Omar ships were giving up their pursuit of *Voyager*, just as the turbolift doors swished open behind the captain. Chakotay strode onto the bridge. To her unspoken question, Chakotay replied, "Tuvok's taken Seven to sickbay."
"Is she hurt?" asked the captain, concern evident in her voice.
"No, but she was pretty shook up by what they found on the planet."
Harry opened his mouth to request permission to go to sickbay, but before he could, the captain was leaving the commander in charge to go to sickbay herself.
"No shortcuts this time, I take it, Captain?" Chakotay asked as he took over the conn.
"No, no shortcuts this time," she replied with resignation.
Harry checked over the changes in course that would be required to go around B'Omar space. They would actually be backtracking a bit before being able to head toward the Alpha Quadrant again. Harry sighed. At this rate, Tom and B'Elanna's coffin might get to the Alpha Quadrant before *Voyager* did!
~~~~~~
The holodeck illumination was very low, provided only by means of the flickering candles the holomatrix provided the scenario. Captain Janeway could not help thinking about the last time she'd entered this scenario when it was lit like this--when she decided to take the actions which had resulted in the presence of the very one who was standing above her, on the balcony. Seven was staring at the Leonardo Plane, as she had the day her hallucinations had overwhelmed her. Today, however, Seven was looking at daVinci's invention from a much less intimidating angle than that day.
Softly, so as not to startle her, Janeway said, "There you are. I wanted to tell you that the doctor said he could adjust one of your implants so that you won't receive any more homing signals."
Seven's gaze slipped from invention to person. "Thank you. I hope you don't mind that I activated this program."
"Not at all," Janeway replied, kindly.
Looking back to the plane, Seven added, "I've been thinking about what you said . . . that this was a place to encourage your imagination."
"Is that appealing to you?"
"I'm not certain. I find myself . . . constructing scenarios. Considering alternative possibilities. What if my parents and I had not encountered the Borg? What would our lives have been like? I would have been raised by them, learned from them. They would have influenced what I became . . . who and what I am."
"And you would have done the same for them, you know. If you'd like to learn more about your parents, there's information in the Federation database. It seems they were fairly well known for being unconventional, as well as for some rather unique scientific theories. You might like to read what's there. It might . . . encourage . . . your imagination."
As Seven gazed uncertainly back at her, Janeway recalled what Tuvok had discovered about these theories. *"There is little doubt now where the Borg obtained the transwarp technology. The tricorder could only hold so much data, however, not all that we would need to reconstruct their experiments. Those fragments it does carry convey tantalizing hints, indeed, as well as leads we can follow. Coupled with Seven's knowledge of the Borg's refined technology, someday we may be able to utilize the theories of Seven's parents to find our way home."
Janeway had agreed with Tuvok's assessment, but she was not going to rush into conducting any experiments. Unlocking the imagination of her young charge might be the key to the successful implementation of this technology in the future--and, incidentally, might help Seven rediscover her humanity.
"Oh, excuse me, Captain. I didn't realize you were here." Harry, unaware anyone was with Seven until he'd heard the captain's voice, awkwardly halted his hasty entrance into Leonardo's studio. When he'd checked the computer for her location, she had been alone.
"No, don't leave, Harry. I was just leaving." Turning back to Seven, Janeway continued, "Just think about it, Seven."
"Perhaps I will, someday." She nodded her head slightly, acknowledging Janeway's request.
Harry fidgeted a bit after the captain left. He had hoped to meet with Seven alone as soon as he could after her return, but he hadn't been free until now. Obviously, he had interrupted a private conversation.
Seven seemed distracted as she walked down the balcony steps. Approaching Harry, she asked, "Ensign Kim, you wished to speak to me?"
Upon closing the gap between them, Harry opened his mouth to greet her. No words came. Suddenly, he was sure that anything he could possibly say would be unbearably inane. He could not speak. The puzzled young woman gently touched his cheek to catch some of the moisture that ran out of his eyes instead. "Tears? Ensign, I do not comprehend why you are crying. I have returned safely."
Harry nodded mutely, acutely embarrassed. Holding her right hand firmly to his cheek for several more seconds, he brought his flayed emotions back under control. Finally, he managed, "They're tears of joy, Seven--*because* you came back."
Her quizzical look was not completely erased, but she stood next to him silently for another minute or so, leaving her hand in his even after he'd lowered them from his face. After several deep breaths helped him become calmer, Harry extended the invitation he'd decided to offer her on his way to the holodeck. "I was wondering, would you like to come to the mess hall with me for something to eat? The Doctor told me that you'd be needing a 'nutritional supplement' right about now."
She looked away from him. "I did not plan to eat in the mess hall tonight."
"That's okay. If you don't want to, we could replicate something in my quarters and eat there, in private."
"Harry Kim, the last time I ingested nutritional supplements I attacked Neelix and stole a shuttlecraft. Have you no concern that I might do the same thing again?"
"No, Seven. I don't think you're going to do that again. Are you worried you might?"
Her large blue eyes met his gaze again. "I do not believe so, Ensign, but I cannot know for certain."
Harry's spirits brightened perceptively as he took her concern for him as a good sign. "Then maybe it would help to talk about it. That's a good thing to do over dinner, you know. Talk about things that are bothering you."
"You would wish to hear about my remembrances of my parents?" She hesitated. "You would wish to listen to me talk about my . . . confusion . . . about what I have discovered? I no longer know who I truly am. Am I Annika Hansen? Or am I Seven of Nine?"
"I think you're both of them. Seven, who is also Annika. You shouldn't try to separate them. Both of those names simply represent different parts of your life story. You'll have to reconcile them someday, I guess. Most of the time, people don't have such different lives, with different names. Other than that, though, you're just like everyone else, trying to live your life the best way you can."
"That will be . . . difficult."
"Sure. It always is. That's why it's good to have friends to help out."
"You wish to be my friend, Harry Kim?"
"Yes," he said sincerely, thinking, *There are never enough friends in this life.* Aloud, he continued, "In fact, as far as I'm concerned, I already am your friend. So, how about that dinner? My quarters, or the mess hall?"
She considered this a moment. "Your quarters. I do not wish to consume nourishment in public view. It is too soon since . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"Of course, Seven. My quarters." He extended his elbow out to her. She gazed at it intensely for a few moments before recognizing it for what it was--an offer to escort her out of the holodeck.
When they paused outside the entrance to the holodeck to close and save the captain's daVinci program, Harry Kim lightly touched Seven of Nine on the back to guide her into the corridor. He felt a strange thrill go up his spine as his hand made that contact but put it out of his mind, immediately. Romantic feelings were totally out of place. Totally. He simply was feeling great relief he hadn't lost another friend, especially since he had barely gotten a chance to know her.
Anything else was just--impossible.
~~~~~~
Had her Borg ocular implant been properly calibrated, she would have been able to detect another life form shadowing Harry and Seven down the corridor. Out of phase and therefore invisible to anyone existing at *Voyager's* level of existence, this being studied the medical instrumentation held in her hand with approval, checking on the adjustments to Harry's and Seven's endocrine systems that had been made moments before via an equally invisible implement while the couple, totally unaware of what was happening, stood outside the holodeck entrance and closed the daVinci program.
The being nodded her head in satisfaction. This promised to be among the most interesting of all the biochemical experiments planned upon the test subjects. She could barely wait to begin gathering the data.
~~~~~~
"Ensign Kim."
At the sound of Seven's voice, Harry's heart jumped. Leaped might have been a better description.
As he turned toward her he tried to control his errant organ's increasingly rapid pace. This was ridiculous. He couldn't understand why the simple sound of Seven's voice could be so . . . so stimulating to him. Every single time he was with her, all Harry wanted to do was throw her on the floor and make love to her. Passionately. And he knew he couldn't. She was still a child emotionally. Her recitation to him of her experiences with Tuvok on *The Raven* during conversations in the mess hall and in his quarters made it all perfectly clear. Harry had been right. Seven was not yet emotionally ready for romantic entanglements.
But oh, that body! Was that ever ready!
He tried to hide his disquiet by keeping his voice even and calm as he addressed her. "What can I do for you, Seven?"
"I require your assistance. We must make adjustments to the power couplings in Jeffries tube thirty-seven Alpha. The view screen will be damaged if the fluctuations in the power supply to Astrometrics continue."
"Of course. Lead the way."
The entire time they were walking to the nearest hatch for Jeffries tube thirty-seven Alpha, Harry tried to tell himself to "cool it," the way Tom would have if he'd been around to give Harry advice. Fortunately, they met only a few crew members along the way, and Harry was able to position himself behind Seven in such a way as they passed so that his personal discomfiture was not obvious to anyone. He hoped.
As soon as they descended the stairs and entered Jeffries tube thirty-seven Alpha, Harry scanned the area with his tricorder, giving special attention to the power couplings. The readings surprised him. "Seven, it looks to me like you've aligned the power couplings perfectly."
"I did."
"If you're so sure, then why did you need me to look at them?"
"I didn't."
At this declaration, Harry looked at Seven. Seeing her face made him lose his ability to breathe for a moment. Sternly, he forced his diaphragm to lower into his abdomen, then squeeze back up again, but Harry couldn't be equally severe with other parts of his body. The blood squeezing through his heart at an accelerated rate began to pound in relentless waves against his temples, increasing his feelings of confusion. "Seven, I don't understand. What's going on?"
"I have spent a great deal of time studying the database concerning human relationships since our miscommunication in the mess hall some time ago. I have discovered that humans sometimes require a . . . pretext . . . for being intimate with one another."
"Intimate?" Incredibly, the blood was rushing through Harry's extremities even more insistently at the word.
Seven grabbed Harry's shoulders, slamming him back into the wall of the Jeffries tube.
"Resistance is futile," Seven whispered, seductively wrapping her arms around Harry's neck and pressing her lips against his. Her inexperience was obvious, yet he couldn't prevent himself from responding to her. His lips moved against hers, demonstrating the action of a kiss far more effectively than any database ever could.
But it wasn't right. One of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life was to break away from that kiss, but he did it. Pushing Seven away, Harry tried to control his runaway emotions.
"Harry," she said, breathlessly, as their lips separated. "This is teaching me a great deal about my humanity. Do not stop now."
"Seven, we can't do this. Someone may see us."
"Who can see us here? We are not in a public corridor."
For a second, that almost sounded reasonable, but then Harry was able to choke out, "A Jeffries tube isn't private space either, Seven. We need to go someplace else. My quarters. Maybe your cargo bay. If we . . . we want to continue."
"No. I want to continue here. Now."
Seven thrust Harry against the wall again. As they kissed, all thoughts about Seven's emotional immaturity were erased from Harry's consciousness. Confusion was replaced by a desire for Seven so overwhelming, he could not summon up the will to stop. Resistance was, indeed, futile. Harry's mind became oblivious to anything but the delectable body pressing against his. *Not my mind. It's my body that's aware of her,* he thought, losing himself totally in the sensations rippling through him as he explored her mouth. Moaning slightly, Harry felt himself losing control of his hands as they began to travel slowly down her body, reveling in the feel of her beneath his fingertips. An avid student, Seven began to mimic Harry's motions with her own hands. Various noises escaped from both of them as their hands explored each other.
When they sank to the metal grid of the floor, Harry experienced a sudden, brief flash of mental coherence. The thought that the floor of a Jeffries tube was not the most comfortable place to initiate Seven into the joys of carnal knowledge crossed his mind, but just as quickly, the thought fled. There were worse places than a Jeffries tube for this. Much worse places. In fact, a Jeffries tube was just about the best place he'd ever been, right about now. All things considered.
The clearing of a throat from the ladder above their position momentarily disoriented Harry. He managed to disengage himself from Seven long enough to look into the searingly dark eyes of an unflappable Vulcan.
"T-Tuvok!" Harry stuttered, pushing a very reluctant Seven away from him.
"That is, indeed, my name. I am pleased you are aware of it. When you did not answer Captain Janeway's hail a few minutes ago, I came to look for you. Your presence is required in the conference room, Ensign."
"Oh, yeah, of course. Sure. I'll be right there." Scrambling to his feet, Harry straightened his uniform but could do very little to repair all of the evidence of Seven's eager explorations. Tuvok turned away; but Harry knew that what Tuvok knew, Captain Janeway would be sure to know, and soon. He was not looking forward to his next meeting with the captain.
~~~~~~
She knew she looked terrible. The excruciating migraine headache made her feel even worse than she looked. Even the prospect of investigating a unique phenomenon like the binary pulsar system that *Voyager* had just encountered was not enough to distract her from the pain.
And now this. The most trustworthy ensign in Starfleet, hah! Chakotay had said he would take full responsibility for any repercussions. Janeway certainly was going to hold him accountable for that promise, but first, she needed to assess the damage to Seven. Before any other action, however, the captain had to find a way to drag her attention back to the meeting.
". . . circling the two pulsars at a minimum distance of eighty million kilometers should minimize the radiation damage."
"Sir?"
"Yes, Harry."
"I think we might need to increase that distance because of the danger from proton bursts."
"Fine. Hamilton, let's make sure our position stays over ninety million kilometers from the pulsars." Hamilton acknowledged the order with a silent nod.
Turning to Tuvok, the commander added, "Let's raise our shields to maximum. Everyone needs to be on the lookout for any unusual occurrences. No matter how small, report any problems to me immediately."
"Thank you, Commander. Is there anything else?" When no one else spoke up, Janeway dismissed the staff--with one exception. "Ensign Kim, please remain. I need to speak with you about an important matter."
~~~~~~
Harry stood at attention in front of the captain, dreading what she might have to say. His apprehension was well-founded.
"I don't usually pry into the personal lives of my crew, but in this case I have to
question your recent conduct."
Harry closed his eyes as Janeway's voice rose in volume and in pitch. "You are a senior officer and a valued member of my staff. I expect you to maintain the highest of standards for the sake of the rest of the crew. But your behavior with Seven today makes me question my faith in you. To indulge yourself with an assignation inside a Jeffries tube is unconscionable, particularly with someone as ignorant of appropriate sexual behavior as Seven is!"
Stung, Harry opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. What could he say to defend himself? 'It wasn't that way, Captain! Seven came on to me, and I didn't have the self-control to stop myself from taking advantage of her!' It wouldn't help. It would probably make things worse, a lot worse. Chastened, a guilt-ridden Harry listened as the captain tore into him for several minutes. ". . . and if you choose to pursue a relationship with her, that's your business. But consider yourself under orders to use better judgment about it! I don't want her naivete taken advantage of, is that understood?"
"Yes, Captain. I'll be more careful in the future. I would never do anything to hurt her, believe me."
"Dismissed."
Harry almost crawled out of the conference room. How could he take advantage of Seven's innocence? Yet how innocent was she, really? Could she be responding to her memories from all those assimilated Borg? If so, why now? *Whatever it is, the only way I can be sure not to lose control is to stay out of her way. Don't be alone with her, ever.* As he relieved Ensign Lang at Ops, Harry promised himself that the only thing he was going to think about was work.
Then he caught a whiff of Lang's perfume, and his mind went racing off into visions of hot, wild sex with his coworker, who was very much involved, as Harry well knew, with the ex-Maquis Larson. When Harry finally managed to wrest his fantasies away from Lang, his mind was immediately awash with thoughts of Seven again.
Harry redoubled his efforts to concentrate on his tasks, completely baffled. Why did he want Seven so badly? Why did he suddenly want *IT* so badly that he could barely think of anything else? What was wrong with him?
~~~~~~
The Doctor did not like to admit this to anyone, especially the captain, but he was stumped. There was nothing available in his data base that was remotely like the symptoms that Commander Chakotay was experiencing. Well, almost nothing. There was that rare child's disease, but Chakotay was a man in his prime.
Had been a man in his prime. Now he was a man in his dotage. "I've found bone decalcification, tissue necrosis, decreased visual acuity--all classic signs of aging--but they've developed within hours, Captain."
"Any theories?" Chakotay asked, weakly. His skin was hanging from his face and body. His tattoo, faded as if from age, extended from his left temple and back over his ear. The part usually buried beneath thick black hair was open to view. His hair was totally gone.
"There's a rare genetic disorder, progeria, which causes children to age prematurely, but there's never been an adult case, and it was supposedly eradicated two centuries ago. Even so, I took a close look at your DNA. These strands regulate your body metabolism. My scans indicate that they've been hyper-stimulated somehow."
"What's the prognosis?" inquired the captain.
"I can't speculate on that until I've identified the cause. There's no sign of an infectious agent."
Approaching her first officer, the captain noted, "We've just spent several hours near a binary pulsar that was emitting intense gamma radiation."
"Our shields were operating. I don't see how I could have exposed to it," Chakotay said shakily.
"We can't afford to rule out anything. I'm going to take a closer look at the data we've collected."
His voice was a shadow of his usual tones as he said, "We should run scans of my quarters, my office and the bridge. Everywhere I've been recently." Chakotay sat up to swing his legs off the edge of the biobed to follow his own suggestion.
The Doctor intercepted him. "I'm not prepared to send you back on duty yet, Commander."
"I may look pretty strange, but my mind is perfectly clear. I'd rather stay busy than just sit here."
"I have no idea how your symptoms may progress. You should remain in Sickbay for observation."
"He's right, Chakotay," she agreed. "I'll keep you informed." Her intervention had the desired effect of obtaining the first officer's acquiescence. The Doctor left the two alone together for a few moments to give them the opportunity to speak privately, noting that the captain's discreet pat on Chakotay's thigh lingered rather a longer time than necessary. Hmm. An interesting development. He rather doubted that a pat on the leg from the EMH would have had such immediate results on Chakotay. Other, fascinating avenues of inquiry resulting from this observation would have to wait, however. First things first. He had to make sure that Commander Chakotay's condition did not become life-threatening. If it progressed much further, the Doctor feared it could be.
When the captain approached her chief medical officer, out of range of the commander's hearing (not far, since Chakotay's aural as well as visual acuity was much reduced because of his condition), the Doctor told her, "Whatever is affecting the Commander's DNA is working at a sub-molecular level. I'd like to set up an electron resonance scanner in the science lab to get a closer look."
"Use whatever you need. And ask Harry to give you a hand. We're a bit short in Engineering right now."
"I understand." Short in Engineering and Sickbay, as well as at the conn, because two key members of the crew were permanently unavailable for duty. "I don't have anyone but Samantha Wildman far enough along in their studies help me in Sickbay at the moment, but she'll do. She's shown herself to be competent to handle the run-of-the-mill emergencies and is well aware of her own limitations. She'll call me in case anyone else comes in with unusual symptoms."
The captain was rubbing her temples again, noted the Doctor. He really should give her another quick scan. Her pain had been going on for far too long. Carefully, he inquired, "Still having headaches, Captain?"
"I don't need any more lectures about working too hard! Commander Chakotay's the one who needs your attention right now," she told him forcefully.
If he'd had a real head instead of a holographic one, the EMH suspected that she might have bitten it off. Frankly, he wasn't in the mood to test the strength of his holographic neck by sticking it out any further at the moment. "I'll get to work on the scanner right away," he replied. His self-improvement program in "Learning When to Back Off" was paying dividends.
~~~~~~
Her headache still hammered away at her; but with Chakotay incapacitated, Janeway couldn't hide out in her ready room while her first officer took care of the bridge. The headache made her a bit short with everyone, but the bridge crew was very understanding. Tuvok was at Tactical, of course. Ensign Lang manned the Ops station with her usual steadiness. Hamilton had settled in as the chief conn officer, although he would never have the flair for the job that Tom had had . . . No, that was something she didn't want to think about now. She turned to analyze the data from the sensor sweeps that had taken place since they entered the binary pulsar star system.
A careful review of the sensor readings during their circuit of the pulsars revealed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The shields should have protected everyone. Certainly, she could find nothing that would indicate why first Chakotay and, shortly afterwards, Neelix, had suffered hyperstimulated DNA segments. The fact that Neelix had not suffered an accelerated aging process but instead had had recessive genes inherited from a Mylean great-grandfather suddenly become dominant was another piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. If her head didn't hurt so much, maybe she could make it fit.
Leaving the bridge to Tuvok, the captain returned to Sickbay. Fortunately, Ensign Wildman was on duty and willingly dispensed an analgesic (not that Janeway expected it would help) without imposing any personal opinions about the captain's tendency to overwork herself.
As she passed through the medical office, Janeway could see the area where Neelix and Chakotay were lounging. She approached, planning on asking how the two of them were feeling, pausing when she heard what the two of them were talking about.
". . . this could be worse. I still have my home on *Voyager*, my friends . . ."
"Your hair," responded Chakotay gloomily. The captain briefly smiled at that before the piercing sensation in her temples made her grimace again in pain.
"True, but I'd gladly lose my hair if I could get my taste buds back."
"At least you're not losing your eyesight. See that display over there? It's nothing but a blur," Chakotay's voice quavered.
"Do you think that's bad?" parried Neelix. "The Doctor said that my pupils have dilated sixty percent. I can't even *look* at that display. It's too bright!"
"Yeah, well, I've got chronic arthritis in my fingers. I can't even hold this glass without trembling." Chakotay held out a glass of water to demonstrate his shaky grip.
"That's nothing. My spinal column is fusing together. In a matter of days, I won't be able to walk."
"I've got you beat. I can barely walk now."
Janeway was about to put an end to this litany of old men's ills when Ensign Wildman rushed out of her office. "Captain, I'm going to have to release Neelix and Chakotay to their quarters. I'm getting reports of medical emergencies from all over the ship. Sickbay is going to get very crowded, very soon. Could you make sure they both get to their quarters safely?"
"Certainly."
With Neelix on one arm and Chakotay on the other, the captain and her escorts made a strange procession down the corridor to the turbolift. After dropping off Neelix, Janeway brought Chakotay to his quarters. Settling him in his chair, she asked, "Do you need anything, Chakotay? Something to eat? Drink?"
"No, I'll be all right. What about you? Your headache is still pretty bad, isn't it?"
"I'll manage. That medication Samantha Wildman gave me helped tremendously," she lied.
"You take care of yourself now." He sounded so much like an old grandfather, she wanted to laugh.
On impulse, Janeway stroked him on the side of the head, over the spot where the hidden part of his tattoo had been unveiled by his hair loss. In answer, Chakotay reached out a wrinkled, arthritic hand to softly hold her hand in place. His eyes looked deeply into hers, full of a longing that made her catch her breath. Her first officer, yes, but also her friend. And, for a brief while when they thought the rest of their lives would be lived on a planet where their only other neighbor was a monkey, her lover. Bending down, she gently kissed the top of his forehead. They stayed close together for a moment before she backed off, briskly announcing that she needed to get back on the bridge. "And you, Mr. Chakotay, are under strict orders to rest!"
"Aye, Captain," he answered. His voice bore only a shadow of its usual rich tone.
As soon as she exited Chakotay's quarters, Janeway grabbed her head. The pain in her temples was throbbing harder, but there was a greater pain in the captain's heart. Seeing Chakotay looking so frail, she knew what the Doctor had not told her about his condition. *If we can't find a cause and a cure soon, we might lose him. He might die! From natural causes--and barely forty years old!*
~~~~~~
By the time the EMH had returned to the science lab from treating the flood of new patients in Sickbay, he was desperate to make progress--any progress at all--towards finding a cure. With so many varied medical conditions, some grave, cropping up among the crew, *Voyager* was clearly in crisis. When Harry asked if everyone was bound to be affected, sooner or later, the Doctor refused to give a straight answer. He knew this was not exactly comforting, but he could not, in conscience, tell the ensign anything more optimistic.
After he'd checked the scanner settings one more time, Harry turned the equipment over to him with a confident, "All right, Doctor. Give the scanner a try."
Beginning with Commander Chakotay's sample, the Doctor intently examined the hyperstimulated DNA. He thought he saw something odd, a contamination of some sort that hadn't shown up on the first scans. Calling for maximum magnification, the Doctor peered into the eyepiece for several seconds before gazing off speechlessly into the distance.
Because of the extended silence, very uncharacteristic of the Doctor, Harry looked up and asked, "What's up, Doctor? What do you see?"
"I'm not exactly sure," the Doctor answered, his uncertainty evident in the tone of his voice. "See for yourself." The Doctor stepped aside, permitting Harry to look into the scanner.
At first, Harry didn't see anything. When he notice something, however, he was as surprised as the Doctor had been. "I'm no microbiologist," he said, "But that doesn't look like it belongs there."
"Believe me, it doesn't. I've never seen this. This level of sub-molecular technology is well beyond anything Starfleet has developed."
"What are those markings? Some kind of alien writing?"
"I wish I knew. It might help us determine where it came from."
"Who could have put something like this into the commander's cells with his knowledge?" Harry mused. "Let me see if a compositional analysis will tell us anything."
The EMH took another slide and put it into the scanner. He had to study it for only a few seconds before confirming, "It's in Mr. Neelix's DNA as well."
"Do you think this is causing the mutations?"
"A good scientist never jumps to conclusions, Ensign. But I'd say it's a distinct possibility."
Grunting in acknowledgment, Harry said, "I'm having trouble getting a clear reading from this sample. It looks almost as if this--whatever it is--could be slightly out of phase."
"That must be why my initial scans didn't reveal it."
"Could be. I'm compensating for the phase variance." After fiddling with the controls at his console for several seconds, Harry stared at the readings in disbelief. "You're not going to believe this, Doc, but I'm picking up an energy signature. This thing is transmitting some kind of signal!"
"To where?"
"I don't know. It's too weak to travel very far. Access the internal sensors and set them to a phase variance of point-one-five."
The Doctor moved to the sensor control panel to follow Harry's instructions. When his holographic image began to flicker wildly, however, the EMH called out a strangled, "Ensign!"
Harry ran to where the Doctor was flickering ominously. "Doctor! Your program is being deleted!"
"How?" the Doctor asked, in a panicky tone of voice.
"I don't know, but I'm transferring you back to Sickbay." Harry worked frantically, but before he was able to transfer the Doctor, the ensign started to choke and collapsed at his work station.
"Mr. Kim!" It was the Doctor's turn to scurry over to his patient, but the EMH began to flicker again. Activating the communications system and punching several other controls, the EMH said, "Science lab to the bridge. This is the Doctor." Before he could get any further, he flickered out. With nothing but air to hold it aloft, the holoemitter clattered to the floor of the medical lab.
~~~~~~
As she strode across Sickbay towards the bed Captain Janeway stood near, Seven tried to analyze the data about the many medical emergencies occurring on board *Voyager*. It was perplexing, not to mention dangerous, now that the primary provider of medical care was missing. Samantha Wildman, who was now the acting chief medical officer, clearly was out of her depth. There was a shrillness to the woman's voice that Seven believed was panic. If Lieutenant Paris were still available to provide care, the situation might not be so grave. From her perusal of the ship's logs, Seven had learned the late helmsman had been a competent field medic, as well as the best pilot on *Voyager*.
When she reached the biobed and looked down at