A Flat Note In The Harmony

DISCLAIMER: As I am sure you have all seen many of these before, I'll spare you a long read. Other than this storyline and a couple new characters

I DO NOT OWN THIS!! PARAMOUNT DOES!!!!

Also, a warning to all the picky people out there. I haven't seen every episode of Voyager, and so there's likely to be a few choice bits of info missing and/or incorrect, the most glaring of which will be the decided absence of Mizoti and the twins. It may be that in some episode they did actually leave, or maybe they're still there, but I dunno, and I have no room for them in here, and they're about to be supplanted anyhow. Don't get bent out of shape about it. There's no pressing need to correct me on it. Don't spoil my illusions. This is only my first fic all. Consider it a little bit of an AU . . . .

This story is rated PG

Since none of the three on the ship required much light to work in, the interior of the small craft was dim beyond a few lights on the work consoles, and the characteristic green gloom of a ship inhabited by Borg. Two of the three on the ship stood in repose in their alcoves, while one was effectively "pugged in" to the main console of the tiny bridge. She was quite awake, but blind to the ships interior, using the ship's sensors as her eyes. Had her eyes not been open, one could assume she was in a very active state of REM sleep, so fast were her eyes moving.

The main optical implant on her left eye had been excised long ago and replaced by an expertly cloned organ. She still possessed superior sight, but for now was seeing in the monochrome readings of the ships sensors. She had seen nothing of note for many hours, and was considering letting the small ship have control of it's sensors back. But suddenly something was there, moving slowly alongside a large nebula. It became apparent that the object was doing scans of its own, and that it was artificial. A ship.

A ship full of humans.

Terminating her interface, she turned to the back of the small bridge, towards the two regenerating. She slapped a control panel in a very un-Borg movement and the lights came on. The computer uttered a protest as one of the two regenerating forms stepped forth with an incomplete cycle to his credit. He looked cooly at the other.

"What cannot wait another hour?" he demanded a little tersely.

The other turned back to her console. "A ship."

"Specify. There are many ships out there."

"A ship of humans. A Star Fleet vessel."

"Voyager."

"Yes. Should I hail them?"

"No. Exiting the corridor at this time would be unwise. We would only startle them into a conflict."

"Agreed . . . We should follow them, though."

"Yes, but they are not going anywhere. What are they doing?"

The female tilted her head, signifying digressive thought on her part. "They are scanning the nebula. Our scans show many elements which they would find useful. Perhaps they mean to mine it."

"They have performed this action before. A logical assumption. Resume scans, and stay within hailing distance of Voyager."

"Agreed."

The female turned, once again interfacing with the console. The male returned for the rest of his regeneration cycle. The lights dimmed again as her optical functions were linked to the sensors. Very quietly, and efficiently, Voyager was put under surveillance.

***

"Bridge to the Captain."

"Ugh. . . ." A hand reached from beneath the covers to tap the comm badge, or rather to slap it as if it were at fault. "What is it now?"

"The shuttle has returned, with a very good payload I might add. Shall we leave now? Or do you want to go in for more?"

"Don't your dare be smug with me, Chakotay. So I was wrong! Is that any reason to deprive me of my sleep?"

"I'm not depriving you of anything. It's 0600."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm afraid not."

"Please?" she pleaded.

There was a small laugh."Shall I tell Neelix to put the coffee on?"

"Only if you want to survive. Janeway out."

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager sat up with an audible groan, running a hand through her sleep-mashed hair. Put quite bluntly, she looked a wreck, but she decided it wasn't anything coffee couldn't remedy, provided she got to spill some of it on her sure-to-be-smirking First Officer. She crawled rather stiffly out of bed, straightened it and herself out and rather bitterly demanded that the computer turn her shower on.

Having the sleep blasted out of you but sonic pulses can revive a person, and at the same time aggravate them more with its constant buzz. Most hailed the sonic shower's merits, and dismissed its sound as white noise easily ignored. Kathryn Janeway was not one of these this morning. Any other time, she might have been.

She dressed swiftly and fixed her hair, barely spending five minutes with her makeup. So what if she looked awful in the morning? No one ever had the guts to tell her except Chakotay, and he was easily dealt with. She grabbed her comm badge off her night stand and attached it to her uniform calmly, her famous (or infamous) composure regained after a few minutes internal ranting. Chakotay just better have gotten that coffee.

She strode purposefully from her quarters to the nearest turbolift, unintentionally giving the unfortunate passing crewman what was jokingly termed behind her back "the look of death." Having thoroughly scared about five lower crew members, she finally reached the turbolift.

It wasn't long before the "look of death" was turned on the bridge staff -most particularly at Chakotay, who merely smiled his infuriating smile at her and held up two coffee mugs and a thermos. She glared at him for as long as she could before it got to her. "It" being that positively subverting smile of his. She could never withstand it for long. It was like mind control.

She sat in her chair and wordlessly accepted a full mug, drinking deeply before speaking.

"Status, Mr. Paris."

He flinched infinitesimally at her tone. She supposed she sounded a little out of sorts. Well, they'd all have to live with it for now. "The shuttle has returned, engineering has got it's much bewailed deuterium and helm is on standby. Awaiting orders."

"Resume course and speed, Lieutenant." Did the orders ever change?

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a small change in the ship's customary hum as the warp engines came online. It was so small a change, Kathryn wondered if anyone ever noticed it besides herself and the engineering staff. She sipped her coffee quietly, enjoying the caffeine hit. The Doctor had nagged her many times about her more-than-borderline addiction to the substance, but she paid it no heed.

She was moderately sure that without it, she'd go completely insane.

Tom Paris turned from the conn to face her, looking apologetic. "I have something to report, Captain."

She looked at him for a moment. "Go on."

"B'Elanna might be AWOL for a few hours today. She wasn't feeling her greatest."

Kathryn smiled slightly. AWOL? Leave it to Tom Paris to resurrect old expressions like that. "No problem, Mr. Paris. I'm sure the Engineering staff needed a break today too." If there was any woman not meant for childbearing, it was B'Elanna Torres. Although, the Chief Engineer showed more restraint than was expected at times.

"Captain?"

She sat up at the sound of Chakotay's voice. "What?"

"You were looking a little comatose for a moment."

She shot him a sour look, even though she knew it never affected him. Chakotay could never be deterred from a lecture. She though he enjoyed it, when it wasn't deadly serious. She was probably right. "Lovely way to put it, Commander," she muttered.

"It was the truth. You shouldn't have stayed up so long in your ready room."

"Don't start with me today, Chakotay. I'm not in the mood for your nagging."

He gave her a cross look. "I turn you over to the Doctor again. He'll have you on decaf for sure. I can't say how that would help though." That tactic had been tried before, with limited and nearly violent results. That was the first time Kathryn had realized that there could be great satisfaction in spilling coffee on one's First Officer. Of course not hot coffee, she wasn't that cruel . . . but with enough temperature to get a reaction at least.

"I don't think that it would," she said, rather icily.

"Then I'll just have to nag you in front of the crew."

She smiled a false smile. "You're the one acquiring the reputation, Chakotay, not me."

Tom Paris guffawed loudly.

"Something to say, Mr. Paris?" the Captain asked. Tom Paris was too prone to eavesdropping for his own good.

"No, no, sorry, Captain."

Kathryn glanced around at her snickering bridge crew. Here goes another story into the rumour mill, she thought. Sometimes she lamented the loss of formality on the ship. Other times it was downright funny. She supposed she should be happy with arrangements. The crew possessed a good-humoured respect for her. They allowed her the necessary foibles of a human being without compromising her command. She had also observed their almost fanatic loyalty to her at times. It was almost frightening, to have so much trust for the people she had nearly killed more than a few times. Chakotay was another matter. At one time, she was his enemy and now she was . . . what? His friend? Well of course his friend. His commanding officer? She sometimes wondered if it weren't the other way around. . . .

"Captain." The tone was a little to admonishing for her tastes. She was his friend, but she wasn't about to let him grouse at her all the time.

She rolled her eyes. "Leave it be, Chakotay. Your job is to make sure I don't collapse entirely, not to babysit me."

He found that funny. It was not intended to be funny! He laughed silently at her with his eyes. The coffee wasn't to hot to throw on him . . . was it?

Tuvok spoke behind her. "Captain, long range scans are picking up what appears to be a damaged ship."

Lieutenant Paris inspected his own readings, as did Harry Kim. Tom made a noise. "That's not right," he muttered. "Captain, it looks Borg. I'm not reading any activity . . . It's drifting."

Kathryn shuddered, glancing at Chakotay. "Last time I remember finding drifting Borg vessels, it landed me in an alliance with them."

"Captain, I am reading weapons signatures," Tuvok reported stoically.

Tom Paris grimaced whole-heartedly. "Someone's besting the Borg again," he said with a hint of dread.

Tuvok's brow was furrowed slightly, the closest thing to an expression he ever managed. "Apparently, the Borg have bested themselves. All the weapon signatures are Borg, but the vessel in question is disabled. I believe it fought with another Borg vessel."

"No life signs either," Harry Kim reported.

"Sorry to repeat your words Tom, but I agree. That's not right," the Captain said, frowning. She knew the Borg rather well, unfortunately, and even the Collective would have

"Maybe our prayers have finally been answered, and the Borg are finally bent on self destruction," Tom said hopefully.

"Or maybe their having a civil war," Chakotay mused.

She shot him an odd look. "We tried that before. We know where that got us. Malfunction?"

"Possibly," Chakotay agreed. "But we'll never know by speculating."

Tom grinned maliciously, knowing exactly what Chakotay was getting at. Time to break out the tricorders. "All right, who wants to go cube crawling?" the lieutenant asked.

***

'Regeneration cycle complete.'

Seven of Nine stepped from her alcove feeling a little more rested than usual. She glanced at the alcove's chronometer. The cycle regulation was off by an hour again. The Doctor was going to think she was running her holoprograms again if he caught wind of her "oversleeping." But that was irrelevant. Either the alcove was having yet another malfunction, someone with knowledge of Borg computers was tampering with it, or she had forgotten how to repair a simple alcove. She favoured the former in a quite human manner. It was easier to deal with and, conveniently, the most logical. Ichep was the only other person on the ship with sufficient knowledge to reprogram the cycles, and he had no grasp of practical jokes. In point of fact she didn't quite understand practical jokes either, nor Lieutenant Paris' love of them. Ichep was discounted, and as far as she knew, her mnemonic systems were intact and the natural memory she possessed was intact as well. Thus, malfunction.

She manipulated the Borg console with less of her former ease than times before, but that was due to the fact that there was no need to use it often. "Rusty" was the term often coined for the condition. She still knew what she was doing. The alcove system, suffice it to say, found no fault in itself. The computer was convinced her cycle ran to 0700 instead of 0600 like it should. She frowned sightly.

I am applying conditions to the computer which it cannot have. A computer cannot be convinced of anything, she thought to herself. Metaphors and other related subtle functions of language were not Seven's forte. Communication skills had not been stressed in her unbringing.

She returned he thoughts to the alcove. She retrieved a tricorder from the Cargo Bay workstation and scanned the troublesome thing. When the scan found nothing out of the ordinary, Seven simply reset the cycles and put down the tricorder, thinking that perhaps she should have a medical one turned on herself.

She turned to leave for Sickbay when she was suddenly confronted by the Doctor himself, with one of his unreadable expressions on. It was one of the many that he seemed only to direct at her. She was not a good judge of unobvious facial expressions even yet, and so remained unsure of it. Seven had a hard time anymore convincing herself that the facial expressions of a hologram were irrelevant.

"Can I help you, Doctor?" she asked, appearing nonplussed by his silent appearance, when he had, if fact, startled her.

"Sleeping in, Seven?" he asked.

She gave him a long look. "My alcove seemed to be malfunctioning, but I found no error in its systems. I was about to report to Sickbay to see if the problem was not mine, after all. I thought I had corrected the error already, but apparently not. May I ask why you are here?"

"Naomi came looking for you. She said she couldn't wake you up. She was worried."

"I cannot be woken when I am not sleeping, but it is strange that I did not regain consciousness if she was as strenuous about my "waking up" as she usually is."

The Doctor, in his usual manner, began a scan of her without so much as a by-your-leave. Seven was used to it, and submitted without comment. He frowned at his readings, another habit when he was not quite pleased with them. The Doctor often exhibited a strong fixation with . . . perfection. Scans were rarely to his liking.

"Seven, have you been hearing anything strange lately?"

"Specify."

"If I must. I mean anything in your mind. Voices, sounds . . ."

"No," she denied quickly, frowning. It was a topic she did not enjoy. Voices in her mind.

"Well, it seems something has accessed your main cortical node. I can't tell what the purpose was though, or what exactly it was. Nothing appears changed, nothing added . . . can you offer anything?"

She shook her head, though barely noticeably. "No. I have experienced nothing out of the ordinary."

He frowned, staring at the tricorder for several moments. "Well it appears we have a mystery on our hands."

"Janeway to Seven of Nine."

Seven tapped her comm badge. "Yes, Captain?" The Doctor feigned studious indifference to the ensuing conversation.

"Are you picking up that disabled cube out there?"

The Doctor shot her a sharp look. Seven ignored it for the moment. "No, Captain. I am not in Astrometrics. My alcove was not set to the correct cycle. You must contact Ichep."

"All right, Seven. Report as soon as you can. Janeway out."

The Doctor sighed audibly. "Of course they don't bother to tell me."

Seven arched an eyebrow. "A disabled cube poses no medical problem."

"Well it might be," he said, giving her a pointed look.

"Doctor, we have encountered Borg equipment before, and it posed a threat to me only once. We cannot assume that it is the problem."

"We can assume it might be," he said tersely.

She felt an uncharacteristic flash of frustration. "Doctor, you are overprotective," she stated sharply. "Until there is more evidence to support the theory that somehow an offline Borg vessel is accessing my cortical node you cannot continue to . . . hover over me in this manner." When she said the word hover, she just happened to make a rather strange gesture with her hands.

He visibly suppressed a laugh. "Seven, if I didn't any know better, I'd say you were talking with your hands."

"I was not," she said coolly, her composure regained.

He shook his head at her. "You are a positively awful liar, Seven."

She did not reply, hoping to make him uncomfortable with her silence. But he only laughed and handed her a cortical monitor. "Just in case it happens again," he said. He left with as little ceremony as he had entered.

She attached the monitor below her ear and headed to Astrometrics.

She soon entered the lab to see a full screen view of a severely damaged Borg cube. It gave her pause for a moment, until she turned her attention to Ichep, who was giving the bridge a concise report on the readings he had taken. Apparently, Astrometrics had not missed her.

Astrometrics is not an entity. It is not capable of missing anyone, she told herself tersely as she approached the console beside Ichep, who glanced at her before continuing his report.

The console read only Borg weapons and debris, immediately suggesting something that to her mind was impossible. The Borg did not fight each other. It was not possible to fight something you were mentally linked to, because an attack could not be staged. In the Collective, the need-to-know-basis was reduced to the simple idea that everyone needed to know everything. You could not win a battle that way, and nor would you even want one at any point. There were no life signs aboard the cube . . . but there were no bodies either. Odd, to say the very least. Most interesting of all, the central plexus in the ship showed signs of long disuse, as did the nearly every system that governed the link to the Collective. It looked like the ship Ichep, Mizoti and the twins had been found on, only worse.

Seven could only hypothesize.

***

"Why is that here?" the female demanded, seeing things beyond the hull. "We left that behind long ago."

"And turned back from it. Maybe it simply drifted back into our path. The question is, why were they firing at it?" the male said, looking at his console.

"We left false life sign readings. Perhaps they were making sure we were destroyed," supplied a second female.

"Why take such trouble for one drifting cube? It's inefficient. They could have salvaged the vessel at least," the first one replied.

"It's been drifting in space for nearly a year and a half, Yvarra. I doubt it's worth the effort," the male said.

The second female looked at the view screen. "But it was worth destroying?"

Yvarra, the one linked to the console, stared blankly. "Well, Voyager is certainly interested. Look at their scans, Andrew."

Andrew did, and then looked back at his second counterpart. "How is that communication coming, Kara?"

She shook her head. "Not well, the communications systems are still not functioning properly. I think I only succeeded in disrupting her regeneration cycle again. I'll try again, but I think they are probably suspicious by now. Or at least they should be."

***

Chakotay sat patiently in his quarters, reading a book as he waited for Kathryn to arrive. It was his turn to replicate supper, and based on past experience they were both better off that way. The Captain had no talent for cooking, and she seemed similarly cursed when she tried to program a new recipe into the replicators. Of course she was fine if the recipe was already there, but she had no aptitude for entering her own. Phenomenal officer she may have been, with command skills to envy, but domestic skills she lacked. She claimed food had always been left to her mother and sister, and she'd never had time to learn. Chakotay thought that maybe she was just embarrassed not to be good at something for once.

The door beeped politely. Chakotay much preferred the sound of a knock, but that was the way ships were.

"Come in," he said, setting his book down.

The Captain entered with a padd in her hand. She was dressed casually in a dark blue tunic and pants. That was as per her usual when off duty, but Chakotay could never doubt the impact the woman had whenever she entered a room. It was as if she owned everything she looked at.

She looked at him with an odd expression on her face, proffering the padd. He took it. "What's this?"

"News from the Star Fleet datastream that came in this afternoon. I think you should read it."

Chakotay did, and he wasn't quite sure how to react to what he saw.

"Another war?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she agreed rather sorrowfully. "For once I'm glad we're not there."

He continued reading. "I never thought the Federation would get into it. They'd always seemed pretty implacable to me." How am I supposed to take this?

"The Federation . . . was always sympathetic, Chakotay. Officially we had to claim at least disappointment, but we weren't ready to put up with much out of Cardassia."

"Could've fooled us."

"Cardassia was more than sympathetic to their colonists. They started supplying weapons." Was there a touch of anger there?

"So I read." He put the padd down, sighing audibly. The Maquis had Star Fleet right behind them for once, and he wasn't there to see it. He passed a hand over his eyes in consternation. "Are the borders back to where they were?"

She nodded. "It said as much to me. Cardassia isn't in the best shape they've ever been. I think they're a little afraid. They withdrew farther than they expected."

"The Demilitarized Zone isn't demilitarized anymore."

Kathryn looked at him quizzically, not quite understanding the intent of the comment.

"At least, when we were all forced through the checkpoints, the Zone was relatively safe. It took so much effort to find supplies, that there were no random battles. No outright civilian attacks anyhow. But now. . . ."

"You're worried about them," she stated sympathetically, but quickly switched tones. "I know you won't get this, but what about the Cardassian civilians? I sincerely doubt that they want a war either. Maquis and Cardassian soldiers aside, what about the families?"

Chakotay snorted. He could give a damn about Cardassian civilians.

She gave him a level look, then shook her head. "Have you ever heard about the Suez Crisis, Chakotay?"

He frowned. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

"In the twentieth century, one of the old Arab states in the Middle East, Egypt, attacked eastward across the Suez Canal, at the Israeli state in order to establish Arab dominance in the area. Britain and France, two major powers, had a vested interest in the Canal, since it was a major trade route. Pretty soon the fighting got out of hand, and the European powers started attacking Egypt when they refused to withdraw. The Federation's old predecessor, the United Nations, decided that they would send a peacekeeping force to the Canal Zone to supervise a cease fire. It was hailed as a brilliant move by most, except by the warring parties."

"Sounds a bit familiar. What's your point?"

She sighed. "The point is . . . is that everyone is ignoring an ugly precedent here, even if it was only restricted to Earth at the time."

He shook his head. "I'm no history buff, Kathryn. I don't see how that operation is a bad precedent. It succeeded didn't it?"

"Not entirely. There had been fighting between the Arab states and the Israelis before, and it wasn't long after that crisis that someone broke the agreements and the Arab-Israeli wars went on and off for almost another hundred years. The Federation and Cardassia are no different."

Chakotay looked at her. She was right. There was a certain morbid congruence. "What finally stopped them?"

"It was ridiculously simple, Chakotay. They got over past grudges, and realized that they were no different in the basic sense. And don't you argue with me. The Cardassians were just like us before the military government came to power. The governments of Earth realized something bigger was a stake."

"What's at stake here?"

Kathryn sat down beside him, literally staring into space. "I'm not clairvoyant, but I think everyone should take an eyeful of the Borg. They tried to get the Alpha Quadrant once, they'll try again."

"This is a very depressing turn of thought," Chakotay muttered.

"We can't ignore it, even if we are still what? Fifty . . . forty years away if we're lucky?"

"You have to be more optimistic than that. We've gotten breaks before." He rose to go to the replicators. He wasn't so hungry anymore, but he knew that at least she should eat. He'd seen her ingest nothing but black coffee all day. What he replicated was nothing fancy, just some simple spaghetti, a salad and garlic bread, since she enjoyed the stuff so much. Chakotay was no aficionado of Italian food, but it beat leola root all to hell. And there was wine, which was better than nothing at all.

He gestured her over as he set the meal down, and she sat quietly, watching him as he returned to the replicator for the rest of their meal. She watched him an awful lot lately, and to tell the truth it made him feel . . . odd. The Captain watching him was something that was a matter of course, but there seemed to be difference between the Captain and Kathryn. Kathryn was watching right now. She smiled her characteristic crooked smile and raised her wineglass to him.

"To peace, Chakotay," she said.

"Peace," he replied solemnly.

"And to finding out what the hell happened with that Borg cube." She paused to sip the wine. "Speaking of which, how went the 'cube crawling?'"

He laughed. She switched topics faster than anyone he knew. "It was dark, cold and downright imposing as always. But the thing hadn't been inhabited for months at least, maybe a whole year. I have no idea why they would fire on it."

"Did it fire back?"

"Couldn't have. No power."

"Where they trying to destroy information? Another pathogen?"

"The computer core was still intact, if offline. We downloaded two years worth of data. Seven and Ichep are going to try and sort it all out. It'll take a while though, since its so degraded . . . and then there's the pure volume of it. You'll have to wait for that, since my report tomorrow will confirm I know absolutely nothing."

She raised her glass again. "Another productive away mission," she laughed.

He made a wry face. "Seven was a little annoyed with us."

Kathryn looked interested. "Was she now?"

"When I left she was muttering something about 'antiquated data from derelict, obsolete cubes.' Sounded annoyed to me."

"Do you figure that's growth or momentary lapse?"

Chakotay chewed thoughtfully on some salad. "It's hard to tell with her," he said finally. "Apparently she's been having trouble with her alcove. Maybe she hasn't been getting enough regeneration time in."

"From what the Doctor said, she's getting too much. He's all up in arms about something trying to access her cortical node. I took at look at the readings myself, and there's no mistaking a transmission, but have you ever noticed how much he-"

"Fusses over her?" Chakotay supplied. "Shall I ask someone to start another betting pool?"

Kathryn gave him what could only be categorized as a flirtatious look. "Actually, he reminds me of you," she said, sipping her wine.

Chakotay proceeded to nearly choke on his salad.

She laughed at him. "If Seven drank coffee, I'm sure she'd get as much hell about it as I do. Are you all right?"

"Fine," he croaked. Now what had she meant by that? Was she only getting at the coffee thing, because he had been pretty sure she'd been thinking in other directions . . .

"Chakotay, calm down," she said, smothering a laugh. "I swear to God, you're jumpy lately."

He coughed. "Must be the company I keep." Now what possessed me to say that?

Her eyebrows nearly climbed to her hairline. "I think I'll take that as a compliment," she said primly after a moment, taking a bit of garlic bread.

Spirits save me from this woman . . . Save me from myself! I'm flirting with my superior officer . . . with Kathryn. He coughed again, red from more than choking.

She looked at him over the rim of her wineglass, eyes unfathomable. Chakotay dreaded the times when he had to try and match wits with her, because he always seemed to come up short. When it wasn't anything important, she seemed to enjoy arguing with him. Perhaps that was because he was one of the few people who would argue back instead of taking her rank into account immediately and deciding he'd better let the Captain win.

"Chakotay."

"Yes?"

"You're staring."

He blinked. "Sorry. You started it. I was just thinking."

She set her glass down, surprisingly looking a little flushed. "About what?"

"About how I always seem to be the target when you want to argue."

She straightened in her chair, managing to look haughty. "Captains never just want to argue, Commander."

"Well you do sometimes," he said, laughing at her expression. "Haughty" was not a look that suited her, especially when she was feigning it. She was a bad actor.

They were silent for a few moments as they both ate. He enjoyed their dinners together, firstly because it enjoyed her company and secondly because it saved him from another evening of Neelix's often rather suspect fare. At least he could trust the replicator . . . unless Kathryn was operating it for some purpose other than black coffee.

His thoughts turned back to the Alpha Quadrant before he could stop himself. War with the Cardassians again. Could the Federation stand another one? They were already at war with the Dominion, or as far as he knew they still were. There was always the odd border skirmish to worry about near the Zone, but rarely all out war, thanks to the almighty diplomacy the Federation loved so much. What had happened to the colonies? It was likely that was where the big problem initially started. And whose fault was it? Cardassia's? The Federation's? The Maquis'? He favoured the former, but he had to wonder. What if that bloody treaty had never been signed in the first place? Maybe his people would be safe. Maybe his comrades for the Maquis cell, whom he might never have known otherwise, would be home now. Then Voyager would never have chased them into the Badlands. They would never have ended up in the Delta Quadrant.

He would never have met Neelix or Kes or Seven, Ichep, Naomi Wildman, the Doctor, Harry Kim, Tom Paris . . . any of them. Maybe not even B'Elanna.

He'd certainly have never met Kathryn.

Fate was a cruel thing sometimes, but then again, who had ever seen anything like what they had aboard this ship? Frankly, he found he wasn't up to trading the war for it, selfish as the thought was.

"You look sad, Chakotay," she said gently, watching him over the rim of her glass again.

"I think I am. I was thinking of all the things that never would have happened if that stupid treaty had never been signed with Cardassia."

She looked pointedly around her. "Honestly, I don't like the idea. We wouldn't be here. We wouldn't have seen so much, and we'd never have met or become friends."

"I'm kind of hopping the fence on that one. But yes. This would be sorely missed."

She smiled at him. He'd never admit it outright, but that smile had a tremendous effect of him. "I could do without all the trouble, of course, but we've managed rather well, haven't we?"

"Yes, I do believe we have. Or rather you have."

"That can be attributed to a positively amazing crew and, by my estimates, a good thousand litres of black coffee."

"Probably much more than that."

"What can I say that I haven't already said? It keeps me awake."

He made an indelicate noise. "Sometimes not even that, I've observed."

She gave him one of her many acidic looks.

"You should attribute most of your dignity to site to site transport. How do you think the crew would react to see you carried from your ready room to your quarters?"

She grimaced. "With hilarity I'd imagine."

"Positive glee," he agreed, sipping his wine. "I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't try it sometime. Tom Paris would have a field day."

"At both of our expenses," she reminded him gravely.

"True. It would still be funny though."

"It's funny to dump coffee on you in the morning too," she muttered, removing the serviette from her lap and setting it on the table. "Lovely dinner, Chakotay, but I'm afraid I must leave in favour of a pile of reports I'm supposed to read. You'll excuse me?"

"Just don't fall asleep in the ready room, or I may carry out that threat."

"Was it was threat?" she asked innocently, rising from her chair. "I didn't notice, actually. Have a nice evening."

"Likewise." Was she up to something?

She smiled a little as she left, which only made him nervous.

***

"Bridge to the Captain."

She rolled over to look at the clock. 0200, still the night watch. Why didn't Harry call Chakotay? She muttered a few unsavoury things under her breath and hit her comm badge. "Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but I thought you'd like to know."

"Get on with it," she growled. She was usually not so terse with Harry, but 0200 was not her finest hour. The whole morning was not her finest hours. She had a feeling most of the crew realized that, and so she reluctantly admitted that this was probably important if they woke her up for it.

"Sensors are picking up something behind us. It looks like a Borg transwarp signature. From the readings, it looks like it's been following us for quite some time."

She sat up in the dark. That blasted cube! "What? Why didn't we detect it before?" Seven's cortical node. . . .

"It looks like there's a very sophisticated dampening field around it. I almost can't read it right now, but it's definitely there."

With herculean effort, she willed herself out of the bed and into her uniform. Maybe the Doctor was right to be concerned. Maybe the Borg were trying to get at Seven again, or maybe all of Voyager. She had known that cube was a bad omen. She'd felt it. Of course her skin always crawled when the Borg turned up.

"I'll be on the bridge soon, Harry. Wake Chakotay up, I have to go check on something."

"I already have, Captain. Kim out."

She exited her quarters as quickly as her virtual state of somnambulance allowed her to. She also managed to run straight into Chakotay, who was heading to the bridge and looking no more a alert than she . . . until he got a good look at her, that was.

He made a sincere effort to hide a wide grin.

"What?" she demanded.

"You've got pillow creases on your face," he said, lips twitching.

She put her fingertips to her cheek, and sure enough it was a little more textured than usual. She groaned. "Leave it to you to make the morning worse. This is serious, Chakotay."

"I know, I'm sorry. " Yet he still seemed on the edge of laughing.

"No you're not," she corrected, fighting a smile of her own.

"You're right, I'm not."

"It's mutiny, I swear." She suppressed a laugh.

"At least I didn't have to carry you to your quarters," he said just as one of the on-duty crew members walked by.

"Be quiet," she snapped, suddenly serious again, and a little embarrassed. "Go to the bridge before Harry has an aneurism. I have to check on Seven."

"Oh, right. Her cortical node . . ." His eyelids drooped for a moment.

She pushed at him. "Go before you fall asleep right here."

He nodded, and continued on his way while she continued on hers. Thankfully, she wasn't so sleepy that she couldn't find Sickbay in a hurry. The Sickbay was empty however, and the Doctor offline.

"Computer, activate the EMH," she demanded.

"Please state the nature of the . . . Captain? Is there a problem? It's 0200 . . ." The Doctor happened to be behind her, which to her dismay, startled her.

She spun around. "Not with me, besides the obvious. Sensors picked up a Borg transwarp corridor following us. I thought maybe your concerns about Seven might be well-founded."

He retrieved a tricorder quickly and fairly slapped the mobile emitter into place, almost out the door before the computer transferred his program into it. She followed him.

"My concerns are rarely unfounded," he said in his rather abrasive manner. He often reverted back into being positively caustic when he was worried or angry. And he appeared to be both those things at the moment.

"I wouldn't go that far, but I'm concerned too. Has Ichep had any trouble lately? With anything?"

"Not that I know of," the Doctor replied shortly. "But then again, he rarely brings his problems to me. I'm beginning to think that he thinks he can fix everything himself. Not an uncommon condition aboard this vessel, I might add." He obviously meant her.

"Speak for yourself, Doctor," she replied. Turn-about was fair play, after all.

They entered the turbolift, and after snapping her command at the computer, she took a long look at the Doctor. It was not encouraging.

"You're really concerned about Seven, aren't you?" she asked.

He jumped slightly, as if she'd disturbed his thoughts. "Well, yes . . I, well, I'm concerned about anyone on this ship who may be in medical trouble."

"Uh huh," she said, unconvinced. "It's funny, Doctor, but I could almost swear you pay her special attention."

The turbolift stopped, and the door opened. The Doctor left in what almost seemed like more of a hurry than before. "This is hardly the time for idle banter."

She followed him. "You're avoiding the subject with a surprising lack of skill, Doctor."

He did not reply, and paused almost unnoticeably in front of the Cargo Bay door, waiting impatiently for it to open. Inside, Seven was already awake, and tapping away at the alcove console with the closest thing the Captain had ever seen to outright aggravation on her normally calm face. She looked up at them, instantly returning to her normal state of icy calm.

"More trouble, Seven?" the Doctor asked, beginning an immediate scan of her.

Her lips twitched infinitesimally in a downward direction. "I was disturbed by what I thought was . . . a voice. I believe it was the computer."

The Doctor fairly glared at his tricorder. "Well, I don't believe it was. Something has accessed her cortical node again . . . is still accessing it."

Wordlessly, the Captain grabbed the tricorder off of the Cargo Bay workstation and ran a scan of the room for transmissions. Sure enough, there it was . . . but it wasn't on one of the usual Borg frequencies. Seven inched away from the muttering Doctor to look at it herself.

"That is not a Borg transmission," she stated with a touch of relief. A tiny touch.

"I know . . . but who else would be hiding in a transwarp corridor sending messages to your cortical node? Who else knows you have a cortical node?" Kathryn demanded, pretty much of no one.

Seven actually frowned this time. "I do not know."

"Maybe it's a mistake," the Doctor suggested. "Maybe they're trying to contact the ship instead, and Seven's cortical node is just picking it up."

"Unlikely," the Captain said. "It takes a certain knowledge not to target everyone on this ship with Borg implants, and Seven is the only one it's being sent at." If it wasn't a direct transmission, maybe even she would have heard something. She shuddered at the thought.

Seven blinked three times very slowly, and raised one hand to her temple. "It's a female voice," she stated.

Kathryn felt the beginnings of an old dread forming.

"They are not hostile, they are . . . free of the Collective. They are from the Alpha Quadrant. They were afraid if they contacted the ship directly that they might initiate a conflict they did not want, and so they tried to contact me. The drifting Borg cube is the one they abandoned a year ago, but they are not sure why the Borg fired upon it. They want . . . assurance that you will not attack them."

Needless to say, this was much to take so early in the morning. Here she was expecting the Borg and she had . . . what? She shook herself. "I'll give it to them, if they'll receive a hail."

"They are giving me their coordinates."

"Where?"

Seven blinked. "It is in Borg spacial units. You would not understand. I must report to Astrometrics. They say they will hail the ship."

"Go then. I'll be on the bridge." They both headed purposefully for the doorway.

The Doctor spluttered behind them. "I wasn't done scanning her!" he protested.

"No need," they both said at once as they exited the Cargo Bay. They glanced at each other, Janeway sheepishly, Seven with no discernable emotion.

They parted ways in the corridor. Kathryn wasn't quite sure what to make of the message. Clearly Seven wasn't suspicious of it, but perhaps that was coloured by the relief of at least thinking it wasn't the Borg. Seven claimed to still be rather lacking in the emotional department, and she certainly put on a good show of it, but every so often she could be found in a state like the one in the Cargo Bay. The ex-drone seemed to have a good grip on annoyance at least. Now if only she'd learn to laugh once in awhile. . . .

She entered the turbolift swiftly, almost reluctant to stop because she was becoming fairly sure she might fall asleep where she stood.

"Bridge," she said.

And she'd be damned if she was going to let Chakotay see her dozing off in a turbolift. As an afterthought, she touched her cheek. Well, at least the evidence of that little embarrassment was gone. Next time she'd at least glance at a mirror before leaving.

Focus! she commanded herself. Hell with mirrors, I've got Borg to think about . . . albeit disconnected Borg. Were they from that planet Chakotay had been stranded on so long ago . . . ? She didn't like that idea for some indiscernible reason, and it was more than highly unlikely.

The rhythmic swish-swish of the turbolift was lulling her into semi-consciousness. Her eyelids were leaden and she was beginning to give serious, but drowsy, thought to sitting down on the floor. But that was before the turbolift halted and the doors opened, and the last face she wanted to see was there.

Chakotay looked relieved. "Good, I found you . . . Kathryn, are you falling asleep?" he asked innocently as he entered the turbolift to stand beside her. "Bridge," he said absently to the computer, looking at her with amusement.

She jolted awake, coming out of her slight stupor glaring for all she was worth. "I was not, and why are you not on the bridge? And why didn't you just call me over the comm?"

"Because your not wearing your comm badge and I didn't want to wake everyone with a ship-wide bridge call," he replied oh-so-reasonably.

She leaned on the wall of the turbolift, looking sheepish, but glaring all the same. "Oh. Why did you want to find me?"

"That ship out there just hailed us. I thought you'd like to see for yourself."

"See what?" she demanded as the turbolift stopped again, and the doors opened.

And there on the screen, as she stepped out, were three very surprising faces. It woke her up to say the very least. The one in the foreground was a beautiful Klingon girl of perhaps twenty . . . make that half Klingon, judging from the understated ridges -the left part of which were obscured by dully gleaming Borg metalwork- and her large blue eyes, light brown hair and very un-Klingonly pale skin. The second figure was what looked to mere observation like a tall, blonde human boy with an implant extending from the bridge of his nose, under his eye, to his right ear. The third was the one who gave her the most pause, a young Cardassian woman with no implants to speak of on her proud face, but with her bared left arm covered almost completely in cybernetics.

There was little doubt that these three had run into some very skilled doctors.

"Captain Janeway?" the half-Klingon asked. Definitely half Klingon, judging from her euphonious voice.

"I am," she replied. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Yvarra," she supplied. "These are Andrew and Kara. Did we frighten her?"

Janeway was taken aback. Concern from Borg. Ex-Borg, she corrected herself. "Pardon me?"

"The person we . . . contacted."

"Oh. She's fine. It takes a lot to frighten Seven."

"Please convey our apologies, if we do not get the opportunity ourselves."

These were the most atypical- Janeway mentally chastised herself. They were not Borg anyhow. "How can we help you?" she asked, making her way to her chair.

"You are not curious as to the reason for our presence . . . ? Never mind. This is and answer to both. We want to join you."

"Join us?" Surprising people, especially so early in the morning.

"This vessel is insufficient to convey us to the Alpha Quadrant. It is not large enough, and nor is it able to ward off many attacks. Your vessel stands a much greater chance of ultimate success . . . and we also require medical treatment, which we do not have the capacity to provide to ourselves."

"Medical treatment? How so?" Janeway asked, frowning.

"Kara's immune system is rejecting the implants in her arm. I am having a similar problem with my cortical node . . . and Andrew seems to have contracted a noncommunicable catarrh. We do not possess medical knowledge or supplies."

She didn't know about them joining Voyager, but she could certainly suffer them a little medical help. The Doctor would hardly object. "Prepare to be beamed to our Sickbay. Lock a tractor beam on their ship. Chakotay, Tuvok, accompany me to the Sickbay."

***

Yvarra watched silently from where she stood has the uniformed hologram performed a scan on Kara's rather inflamed-looking arm. He frowned at the readings on his device and retrieved a small instrument from the tray beside him, pressing it to Kara's neck.

"That should take care of the inflammation and the fever, but I'll have to remove some of those implants. You may lose some of the feeling in your fingers."

Kara looked at him calmly, though Yvarra knew she was a little alarmed. "I will adapt," she said stoically.

"Good girl," the hologram muttered.

He turned to Yvarra, waving the second part of his device about her head, nodding as if he had discovered something he understood. "You have activated the failsafe in your cortical node, though I'm surprised you're not worse off than you are."

"Failsafe? Explain."

"The Borg invented a nasty little systems failure triggered by excessive emotion. Wait a minute . . ." He looked at her frowning. "You're half-Betazoid." It sounded like an accusation.

Yvarra nodded. "I am."

"To my knowledge, Klingons to not often mate with Betazoids."

"True," Yvarra agreed.

He frowned again. "Well, unfortunately for you, I don't know how to counteract it. I can stabilize your cortical array, but there's nothing stopping this from happening again."

"Understood." What an odd program this hologram had. But for the absence of emotion, she'd have thought him quite human.

He directed his scan at Andrew, who watched him carefully, with slightly fevered eyes. Andrew rarely trusted anyone, corporeal or otherwise. "You have an infection in your throat. Easily treatable." The hologram pressed another of the medicinal devices to Andrew's throat. "That should clear it up completely. I must commend you. You're in remarkably good shape for people who haven't seen a doctor in . . . how long again?"

"Five months, fifteen days, four hou-"

The hologram interrupted her. "Spare me calculations to the exact hour, please."

Yvarra tilted her head. "I have calculated it to the minute, actually."

The hologram made a rueful face.

The doors to the Sickbay parted, revealing the Captain, a Vulcan man, a human man with a tattoo on his forehead. There were two other humans in gold-shouldered uniforms, carrying firearms who entered on their heels. Security. Reasonable, Yvarra supposed. She realized she knew the Captain and her Vulcan officer. They had been drones for a short period. Unfortunate.

The Captain greeted them with a small smile. She was uncertain, defensive and painfully curious. The Vulcan was a blank to Yvarra, one constant note of pure, if alert, calm for the moment. The human man was tense, bearing a muted, indirect hatred towards Kara. No, not Kara, Cardassians. He was also rather firmly placing himself between the Captain and the seated Kara, who had made no movement whatsoever to indicate that she was any threat. The security personnel were merely alert and slightly curious.

"This is Commander Chakotay, my First Officer, and this is Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, my Security Officer." She offered no introduction for the other two. "I hope everything's all right?" She directed the question at both Yvarra and the holographic doctor.

"Kara will need surgery on her arm," Yvarra stated, before the doctor could. "There is little help for my condition, and Andrew is improving already."

"Glad to hear it."

"Captain, I would like to make you aware that I am both empathic and telepathic. It seems appropriate that I should mention that to you."

The shorter woman's eyebrows climbed. "Empathic? Are you half Betazoid?"

"I am. I assure you, however, that I will not utilize my telepathy without the express permission of the . . . subject."

The Captain nodded. "Very good. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course."

"How did you escape the Collective?"

That cut right to the point. "Through mere luck, I'm afraid to admit. The cube I was aboard came under attack while I was still in my maturation chamber. I was forcibly disconnected from both the chamber and the Collective. I panicked at first, but soon realized that the other drones on the ship were not interested in my problem. I was angry that they did not care. We defeated the attacking ship and started the assimilation process. That reminded me of where I was and of how I had got there. I do not remember very well, but it seems to me that I took the opportunity to shut down the cube's primary interlink systems and the engines. Assimilation was halted, and the drones mostly went to their alcoves to await the Collective's retrieval of us. While we were drifting, I managed to disconnect Andrew and Kara as well as a few others and the people that had just been assimilated. We reinitialized propulsion and deposited the rest of the drones on an M-class planet with a distress beacon. We didn't want to kill them. We took the cube to the home world of the species who attacked us . . . species 8321, the Ilaranorans. They were grateful to us and helped remove most of our implants. Many of the drones who escaped stayed on Ilaranora, many went to their home worlds in the Delta Quadrant and we modified a ship to take us to the Alpha Quadrant. We soon realized it was insufficient, and have been searching for you for three months."

Having been inundated with all that information, the Captain looked a little dazed. "I see. Luck indeed. We never encountered the Ilaranorans."

"That is because they are in the wrong direction from the course to the Alpha Quadrant.

We had to make a wide course change to intercept you."

"Understand, Yvarra, that I cannot guarantee anything right now," the Captain said, obviously referring to their request.

"I do understand, Captain. You must confer with your crew."

The other woman was relieved. "I'm glad you do."

***

"I'm open to all comments," the Captain stated from the head of the table. "This isn't a decision I can make entirely on my own."

The Doctor ahemed slightly. "Well, from a strictly medical point of view there are any number of good reasons for them to stay . . . cortical node malfunction, infection, serious injury, inoculations, maniacs with weapons and a grudge against the Borg. . . . But I can't tell you anything about how they might affect the ship. It could be positive. Their knowledge could certainly be used, but that Klingon-Betazoid one concerns me. She's an emotional time bomb. Living on a ship full of humans could give her cortical array failure, mood swings . . . who knows what else?"

Seven had stood silently by the table. She frowned slightly. "They could pose a threat. The Borg showed an interest in their derelict cube, and may pursue them again. That, and they may not be trustworthy."

The Captain sighed. "No offense, Seven, but neither were you at first. You were downright violent. These one's want our help, from the outset." Harry Kim winced.

Lieutenant Torres looked uncomfortable as she spoke up. "That Cardassian, she said they'd be willing to help install their transwarp coil in Voyager's engine. She said with the proper equipment it would last much longer than our last one . . . it could save us thousands of light years."

Tuvok looked at her. "But could you work with her without wanting to commit homicide afterward? You may pose a threat to their safety."

B'Elanna glared at him. "Watch it, Tuvok."

Tom Paris took her hand, hoping to calm her. "I'd like to know what we'd do with them if we refused? I don't know about you guys, but I'd feel a little guilty about turning them out now. They're a bunch of kids, technically speaking."

The Doctor nodded. "I agree. Yvarra, without the help of a maturation chamber, would only be about fourteen years old if what she told me is correct. They're all definite individuals, but they still need guidance. There's little difference between them and Ichep actually upon initial inspection." He shot a look at Seven. "But my other concerns still stand."

Chakotay had been musing silently for quite awhile, but finally offered something. "If we let them stay, and it turned out they were a problem, could we bring ourselves to turn them out later?"

It seemed rhetorical, but the Captain answered anyhow. "I certainly couldn't. I don't discard difficult people, personally, and I'm hardly about to start. And there may be no trouble at all. But I have to ask you specifically, Seven, what do you think? It's highly likely you'll be in primary charge of them . . . at least at first."

The tall ex-drone looked mildly uncomfortable. "I think that they could very well cause Voyager avoidable problems . . . but so did I, and you decided I was an acceptable risk. My personal feelings are irrelevant right now. Precedent dictates that we accommodate them, despite the risk. We should not allow personal bias to colour our decisions."

"Agreed," the Captain said decisively. She looked around. "Anything else?" Her senior officers indicated the negative. "I'll tell Neelix before he starts climbing the Mess Hall walls waiting to go introduce himself. Are they still in Sickbay, Doctor?"

"Yes, actually. I should get back to them."

***

Yvarra sat patiently beside Kara, studying the two security officers at the door. She was making them uncomfortable, she knew. Kara on the other hand was inspecting her left arm . . . for what must have been the thirtieth time. It didn't look so inflamed now, her dusky skin carrying less of its unhealthy purple tinge. Andrew stood where he had since the holographic doctor and the others had left them. He was in distant thought about something, most likely about whether they would be allowed to stay.

It was the closest thing to a hope they possessed . . . to belong somewhere again, to get back to the Alpha Quadrant, even though it was likely very different from their sketchy memories. On the colder side of it, there was pure logic. They could not survive the trip in such a small ship without assistance. They could offer something to this crew, and their relative safety could be assured. The survival instinct was strangely potent. The Collective must not be sacrificed, after all.

The Sickbay doors opened to admit a short individual with a wide grin on his face. Yvarra stopped herself before she applied a number to him. Talaxian. He was Talaxian . . . and in a euphoric good mood. It gave Yvarra pause for a moment.

"Good morning," he said in an enthused voice. "I'm Neelix, ship's cook, Morale Officer and Ambassador! Whom do I have the pleasure of introducing myself to?"

"I am Yvarra, this is Kara, that is Andrew. We are pleased to meet you. Is the Captain's meeting over?"

The Talaxian grinned even wider. "It is. Let me be the first to welcome you to Voyager's crew."

At that moment, Yvarra found his mood slightly infectious. She smiled. "That is . . . good news. Thank you, Mr. Neelix."

"Happy to be the bearer. I always welcome new crew members."

"Some people do not," Kara said rather unhappily.

Neelix's good mood became coloured with concern. At least he had no preconceptions about Cardassians. Kara was highly atypical anyhow. "Has someone given you trouble already?"

"Some people . . . do not like Cardassians. It was nothing overt, but I am not blind," Kara said.

Neelix nodded. "Ah, I see. We do have some former Maquis aboard, and some of the others are none too forgiving either. I'm sure they'll get over it. If you have trouble, you come to me. I'll straighten them out for you."

Kara looked unconvinced. After being disconnected from the Collective, Kara had whole-heartedly dropped the Cardassian penchant for arrogance and coldness. She said it was too akin to the Collective's attitude. This was not to say that Kara didn't have her disagreeable moments, but on the whole she was quite sensitive for a Cardassian. That was part of the reason Yvarra liked her.

Neelix patted her shoulder in an attempt at solace. "Don't worry. The Captain wont let it go too far. You should feel free to bring concerns to her too. She's very approachable . . . most of the time."

"Unless she's being stubborn," the Doctor amended as he entered. "I assume you've informed them of the Captain's decision?"

Neelix nodded.

"Good," the hologram said. "She's expecting them in her ready room."

***

"You were very quiet in there," Kathryn said quietly as she and Chakotay waited for the newcomers. She had seen from the outset that he had a bit of a problem with Kara. She hoped it was nothing that would cloud his good judgement.

"I suppose," he admitted. "I just didn't have much to say." He stood in front of her desk, gazing at the door.

"What about Kara?"

Chakotay's expression did not change. "What about her?"

"I sense a little discomfort, Chakotay. Are you going to let it get to you?"

"I don't trust Cardassians," he grated.

"Neither do I, and I'm no particular fan of the Borg either, but I'm not holding that against her or any of them. That would be unfair."

He never took his eyes from the door. "You can be disconnected from the Borg. You can't be disconnected from your DNA."

"The Borg manage to do it rather well," she retorted. "Am I going to have to say it, Chakotay?"

"Say what?"

"Don't you play dumb on me."

He frowned stonily. "Go ahead then."

"Commander, you will afford that girl the exact same courtesies that you would give any other member of this crew. And I expect you to moderate anyone else who has problems with her, including our irate Chief Engineer." He was being idiotic. She knew his experience with Cardassian crew members was less than encouraging, but he didn't even seem ready to give the girl a chance. "I'll not have you alienating her, or there will be trouble."

"Understood, Captain," he said coldly.

The door chimed.

"Come in," she said, sitting down at her desk.

To her eyes, all three seemed to immediately sense the waves of antipathy emanating from Chakotay. They stole a simultaneous glance at him and without any attempt to disguise it, moved around so that the other two were between Chakotay and the Cardassian ex-drone, who looked quite uncomfortable. Emotionally challenged they may have been, but Kathryn knew closeness when she saw it, and these three were a unit. A surrogate family to each other. And if the impassive were ever livid, Andrew looked it. His very stance challenged Chakotay to say something, to give him an excuse.

She managed to smile at them through the tension. "I would like to welcome you officially to Voyager," she said.

All three nodded shortly. "Thank you," Yvarra said. "We are grateful."

"I have to ask, what were your usual uh, duties aboard your ship?" She avoided the word function purposely.

"I was usually interfaced with the sensors and the helm, it was easier than waiting for a sensor report and keying in commands. Kara dealt with the engines and the communications. Andrew was largely responsible for general maintenance, or whatever needed to be done at the time. He is also a skilled tactician. However, we can assist almost anywhere aboard this vessel."

Captain Janeway pursed her lips. "You're a pilot?"

"In a sense."

"Are you any good?"

"When provided with adequate sensor data, I can navigate anything," Yvarra replied without a touch of self-pride.

"Good. Tom could use some qualified backup. Other than that, how would you feel about working in Astrometrics?"

"That would be an efficient use of my skills."

Seven could use another pair of hands. "Excellent. What about you, Andrew?"

The boy looked away from Chakotay almost reluctantly, as if he was sure her First Officer would try something funny if he was not closely watched. "Pardon, Captain?"

"Working in Astrometrics? Or Engineering?"

"Whatever you determine is acceptable, Captain. However, it would be inefficient to have too many people working in Astrometrics."

"All right, Engineering then, for now. Kara?"

"I must assist your Chief Engineer with the installation of the transwarp drive. Unfortunately, we only have one coil, but it will be sufficient to take some time off your journey if installed correctly. Will more regeneration alcoves be required as well?"

"No. There are vacant ones. Cargo Bay 2, if you're looking to adapt them for your use."

"Understood."

"Well, if that's that, you two should report to main Engineering and meet Lieutenant Torres. Yvarra, you go have a good look at our helm system. If you need any help, ask Lieutenant Paris. Alpha Shift should have started by know. Maybe run a holoprogram or two so you can try it out. After that, report to Seven of Nine in Astrometrics."

"Yes, Captain," they acknowledged.

"Dismissed, then."

They turned to leave. Once the door closed, she took the opportunity to direct a long look at her icily silent First Officer. "You're going to have to do better than that, Chakotay. It's hard to know what members of the crew are up to if you can't talk to them."

He didn't reply, but fixed her with a look of his own.

"Come off of it, Chakotay. I know there's more to you than old grudges, you know that. I know it's close to you, I know it's personal, but you can't let it compromise your duties. That girl out there has done absolutely nothing to you, and frankly you came off on the wrong foot with all of them. Andrew dislikes you already."

"I am not in the mood for a lecture, Kathryn," he muttered.

"And I am not in the mood to drop formality right now, Commander. I'm your friend Chakotay, but be aware that both your friend and your Captain think you're wrong to judge them so quickly. What is the exact problem, Chakotay, and I mean it."

He kept his stony expression, but for a split second it cracked, showing something that was not unlike remorse. "Beyond my obvious problem . . . I don't want to talk about it."

"You feel sorry for her," Kathryn stated, "and your almighty Maquis prejudice is disgusted with you. That's it, isn't it?"

He glared at her. "No," he said, after a slight hesitation. She saw right through him.

"You do feel something for those hypothetical Cardassian civilians don't you? Guilt? You just can't admit it, either not to me or not to yourself. Your Maquis side is asserting itself, Chakotay, and it's not pretty."

Some of the fight went out of his gaze. "She's a child, Kathryn . . . albeit a Cardassian ex-drone child. I could see it in her eyes. Only Cardassian children show that kind of emotion."

"And you're finding it hard to hate her? Your loyalty to your principles are commendable Chakotay, but they're wrong. You dropped the Maquis thing long ago, became a Star Fleet officer, earned the respect of this crew, earned my respect . . . are you going to drop all that for something that's fifty years away from us? Just to satisfy some prejudice they instilled in you? It's not like you, Chakotay."

"I'm not finding it hard to hate her. I don't hate her. I'm finding it hard to even try," he admitted finally.

"Begging your pardon, Chakotay, but you're an idiot. That sort of feeling is commendable, not something to beat yourself up about. You're not betraying the Maquis, not B'Elanna, not your people, not this crew and certainly not yourself. Now get over it and apologize to that girl you recently made doubt her welcome on this ship . . . at some point in the near future."

He smiled slightly. "You always knew how to shame me into things. Is that an order then?"

"Consider it an appeal to your good senses . . . if that doesn't help then yes, it's an order, Commander. Now please go make sure that B'Elanna doesn't try to throw Kara bodily out of Engineering for suggesting she alter her domain . . .one or both of them will get hurt in the process and we've got that baby to worry about."

"Aye, Captain," he said, fighting a small smile.

"Dismissed, Commander."

***

When Tom Paris saw the tall, beautiful, and rather pale, half-Klingon ex-drone bearing down on him, he assumed he was up for a trip to the ready room or something. Instead she paused at his shoulder, and gave the conn a minute visual inspection. He got the chilling feeling that she had just gleaned every trick he knew from that look . . . a thing he did not like at all. It always comforted him to know choice little bits of information that others did not, a habit which aggravated B'Elanna to no end. Although, it never took much to aggravate her, especially lately.

"Can I help you?" he asked a little nervously, trying to move away from her. The Borg had no appreciation for personal space. She was standing almost close enough to make him have to cross his eyes to see her clearly. He noticed Harry smothering a laugh in the back. He'd get him for that.

"The Captain instructed me to familiarize myself with the ship's helm controls."

Tom grimaced. "Am I out of a job?"

She smiled slightly. "She described my function as 'qualified backup.'"

He laughed a little. "Careful, you'll insult the duty officers. Uh, would you mind not standing so close?"

"I apologize," she said, backing off far enough to give him some breathing room. "Does this comprise all of the helm controls?"

"Unless we route them somewhere else, yeah."

She bent slightly at the waist, ostensibly to inspect the conn again. Some of her rather unkempt, wavy brown hair fell in her face. She seemed to ignore it, shaking her head with something akin to disappointment.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"It will be incompatible with my Borg systems, and I doubt that adaptations would be authorized. I shall have to manipulate it manually."

He blinked in confusion. "What other way would you manipulate it?"

"On our ship, I was customarily directly linked to the ship's sensors and helm. It was unnecessary to key in commands."

"You were mentally interfaced with it?"

"Mechanically interfaced," she corrected, holding up a left hand comprised mostly of metal and also indicating the implant above her eye.

He nodded, but didn't quite comprehend. "I was interfaced with a ship once . . . it didn't turn out well for me."

"Mentally interfacing with foreign technology is ill-advised," she agreed in a rather Borg way. Only they would specify foreign technology as opposed to technology in general. "Could you recommend any scenario programs for the holodeck?"

Only certain types of people requested holodeck training programs. He sighed. "I can't think of any specifically," he said as the Captain and Commander exited the ready room doors. "I should probably go help you. 'Qualified backup' and all of that. Is that all right, Captain?" He asked, rising from his seat.

She nodded. "By all means, Mr. Paris. Although, the bridge will sorely miss you."

"I'll bet you will. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he cautioned the approaching duty officer, who merely smiled at him. "Off we go then," he said to Yvarra.

***

The door opened to show a scene of a pristine, but empty bridge, except for a slightly frowning Tom Paris and a rather involved-looking ex-drone sitting at the conn, her hands flying over the controls as the computer blurted various helpful bits of simulated sensor data. Harry Kim went to stand beside his friend.

"How's the new recruit doing?" he asked in a low voice.

Tom scratched his head in consternation. "I think I'm out of a job," he muttered. "She's been flying circles around this thing for hours, and I've got it up to the highest difficultly level possible. I think I'm going to be her backup. Agh . . . she just nailed the lid of my coffin shut!"

Harry glanced at the screen. Yvarra, if he remembered her name correctly, had just successfully navigated her way through a rather unlikely situation consisting of a highly unstable wormhole and two heavily armed -and speedily pursuing- Cardassian warships. Harry couldn't hide his appreciation of the feat, despite his friend's look of doom.

"She's good," he said, nodding. "Well, Tom, at least you know the ship's in good hands."

"You're not helping."

Harry gave him a consoling pat on the back, fighting the urge to laugh. "I don't think they're ready to get rid of you yet."

The young woman at the helm rose from her chair upon being presented with a blank screen. "I believe the simulations are over. I must admit, they were challenging."

"It sure didn't look like it," Tom replied morosely. "Computer, end program."

The bridge disappeared, leaving the three of them standing in the bare holodeck. Tom looked at Harry, eyes narrowed.

"You look tired," he stated.

"I am. I've been awake since the night watch. Usually I get some sleep before Alpha Shift starts." With that said, he yawned. "It think the Captain's ready to collapse."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, Harry, quit the damn Gamma Shift. You've already got Janeway and Chakotay convinced your God's gift to Star Fleet. What more is there to it? Besides sitting in the big chair and bugging the duty officer at the conn?"

"You really do look fatigued, Ensign," Yvarra said, fixing deep blue eyes on him. "I'm sure the Captain would excuse you."

He laughed ruefully, partly in order to get his attention off her amazing eyes. Leave it to him to pick out the impossible ones. He always did that. "She already kicked me off. I was about to go for a late breakfast, but then I thought I'd see how things were going here. Would either of you care to join me?" he asked politely.

"I've got to get back to the bridge. I have to see the 'honestly, I can take the bridge, Captain' exchange . . . as the Captain dozes in her chair and tries to hide it behind about fifteen cups of coffee and a monumental glare," Tom said, smirking. "But you should go, Yvarra. When was the last time you ate anyhow?" He eyed her thin frame as he spoke.

"I do not require a meal at this time. I must report to Astrometrics."

"Seven can wait. She has a lot of patience. And you didn't answer my question."

"It has been eighteen hours, twenty-two minutes since I last ingested any nutritional supplements. I can wait. My Borg physiology-"

Tom frowned at her. "Eighteen hours?" he interrupted. "I'm sure your Borg physiology is fine, but what about the rest of you? Go eat something."

Harry knew that his friend was up to something, and it most likely had to do with the fact that Tom always seemed to know when he was discomfited about something, and exactly what it was. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that his friend was already slipping into matchmaker mode, even after mere hours of knowing the other party. It did not agree with him at the moment, but he fought the urge to frown. His last run in with Tom's advice on Borg women had ended with less than favourable results.

After being subjected to more nagging than she'd probably heard in a long while, Yvarra reluctantly admitted that she was a little hungry. "I will join you, Ensign," she acquiesced.

"All right. Let's go then. See you, Tom."

Tom grinned a little maliciously as they exited the holodeck, heading for different turbolifts.

Harry didn't give up the opportunity to give his meddling friend a dark look.

They entered the lift silently, until Harry had to speak to the computer.

"Deck two," he said, and the turbolift began moving.

Yvarra looked curiously at him, or at least it looked like curiously. Her brow furrowed. "You are uncomfortable. Why?"

Didn't she realize that sort of question only made it worse. "I doesn't matter. How did you know."

"I am empathic."

Oh help me! "Really? No one told me that."

"I am half Betazoid. I must admit I find being on this ship . . . disconcerting. Andrew and Kara have such muted emotions, and they were the only others on our vessel. . . . Of course, the Ilaranorans were very emotional, and we lived on their home world for a time, but I've been out of contact with such things of five months."

"It must be confusing," he said sympathetically. "But does it help at all? I mean, to understand your own emotions?" Now that was rather personal, now that he thought about it. . . .

"It does, unless my example isn't quite sure what to do themselves. Andrew and Kara were poor teachers, but my experiences on Ilaranora helped greatly. It helped me to help them, many times. Especially Kara."

He nodded politely. "Well, I hope it doesn't give you any trouble."

"It already has. My cortical node is unstable, and I occasionally have unfortunate vicarious episodes. However, I believe the Doctor can remedy the cortical node problem at least."

"He usually can. And he has some experience with it. Have you met Seven or Ichep yet?"

"I have not. I will when I reach Astrometrics."

He hoped this wouldn't cause trouble. The fact that it was only about six hours since Yvarra and her companions had been detected, and only two since their admission to the crew had been approved by the Captain, would either ameliorate Seven's increasingly frequent dark moods, or just make it worse and push her in for her first bout of real annoyance. But he doubted Astrometrics would fall apart without it's newest recruit, or that the ever-logical Seven would begrudge Yvarra a long-overdue meal. Provided Neelix had made something edible that day.

The turbolift stopped and the doors opened into the corridor in front of the Mess Hall. When they entered, it was largely empty, but a few curious eyes turned all the same. There was a bit of whispering. Neelix, as always, beamed at them.

"In for a late breakfast, Neelix," Harry said, silently dreading a good look at the menu. He spared Yvarra the mild lecture she'd get if the Talaxian were to be told how long it had been since she'd last eaten anything.

Two trays were produced. "You're not late at all! It's only 0800 . . . or so."

"It's late for me. I'd still be on the bridge if the Captain hadn't decided I was done until next Gamma Shift."

Neelix put some rather innocuous scrambled eggs on the trays . . . along with some rather suspect concoction that resembled yellow-green hash browns. Harry sighed. What he wouldn't give for some real ketchup around here. Yvarra looked without prejudice at the food, seemingly content to eat whatever she was about to be presented with. A slight crease in her brow suggested otherwise, however.

Neelix gestured with his spatula. "The Captain's a smart woman. You look exhausted." He paused, looking meaningfully at the two people in front of him. "Though if you ask me, the Captain should learn to take her own good advice . . . don't tell her I said that."

Harry grinned. "Don't worry, Neelix. We can keep our mouths shut. I can't say the same might go for Chakotay though. If you said that to him, he'd use your opinion as leverage."

The rather ambiguous relationship between the Captain and the Commander was a sort of ongoing joke aboard Voyager. Oh, it was all in good fun, nothing disparaging . . . at times it was more than slightly familial. Of course their illustrious Captain seemed studiously blind to all the gossip . . . and Chakotay, who noticed everything, couldn't seem to notice it. B'Elanna had once observed sourly that though Chakotay was quite spiritual, he wouldn't have known "predestined" if it kicked him right in the face. The old Harry fought to say it was none of his business what his superiors were up to, but usually whoever he was now won out.

"There you are," Neelix said, presenting their meals to them.

They thanked him and sought an empty table, of which there were many. Yvarra seated herself first, sampling the dish before her. She seemed to pronounce it acceptable as Harry did the same. The eggs were nothing intimidating, but whatever that other stuff was-

"This crew seems quite concerned with the situation between the Captain and Commander Chakotay," Yvarra said thoughtfully. "I must admit, it is a odd thing. This crew is very idiosyncratic."

Harry coughed slightly on his eggs. "Pardon me?" Situation?!

She directed a long, almost wry look at him, one eyebrow raised slightly. "Put bluntly, Ensign Kim . . . it does not take an empath."

Now he had been quite fully prepared for some approximation of what Seven did for the most part . . . talk of duty, undemanding silences and a total disregard for the social aspects of a meal. Yvarra was something different. She was a little too cool about things to appear completely at ease, and the implants subtracted something . . . but Harry could almost believe she'd never come into contact with the Collective at all. No, that wasn't quite right. There was also something else missing . . . ah. Klingon. There seemed to be no iota of it in her. Stop assuming things, Harry! he admonished himself mentally. You're not here to analyse her. Back to that other thing then. . . .

"No," he replied after a moment. "I suppose it doesn't."

Yvarra was chewing thoughfully on her breakfast, eyes locked on him. She swallowed. "Then again . . . I suppose it's none of my concern."

He snorted. Oh, charming. "Are you kidding? On a ship this small, everything is everybody's business."

An unreadable expression crossed her face. "It is good to know things are not so different," she said finally.

"Pardon?" What did she mean?

"I have spent the greater part of my life in places were people and things are . . . close. Betazed, the Borg Collective, Ilaranora, our small vessel. I am not used to places were people do not . . . talk to one another at least. Perhaps that is why I disliked the Klingon home world so much. They share nothing but aggression there."

"That seems rather personal, Yvarra," he said gently. "You might save yourself trouble if you get to know people better before you say things like that."

She blinked. "But Ensign, I know quite well that I can trust you. I know I can trust the Captain . . . even Commander Chakotay who despite his prejudice towards Kara strikes me as someone who would trade himself for her life despite it. Such is the quality of my talents. And . . . I do not wish to be excluded from everything for any longer than I must. Andrew and Kara are content with that, and I already know that Seven of Nine is of a similar disposition, I however require companions. Friends. It may be surprising, but I do not believe my sojourn with the Borg was half as invasive to me as to them. I am used to . . . the occasional other voice in my mind."

"You never went from hating to be alone to hating to be in crowds," he stated. Seven certainly had, surprisingly quickly, and Ichep was hardly a social creature either.

"I have always hated to be alone. That is why I disabled the cube in the first place. I was angry because they would not let me back in, or a least acknowledge me. It is a failing of mine which I have never managed to correct. I turn quite antisocial when ignored for long periods of time."

Harry winced, his mind scrambling to make sense of her. "Astrometrics may not be the right place for you then. Seven and Ichep have been known to be silent for entire shifts."

"Silence does not bother me," she stated, raising her fork again. "Silence is not the same as . . . what happened to me on the cube. At least I will know that they acknowledge me, even if they do not speak. The drones did not even realize I was there." She sounded a little bitter.

"Well don't worry, Yvarra. No one will fail to realize you're here. But if you do have trouble, talk to the Captain or the Commander . . . or if all else fails Neelix."

"I was not in fear of that here. I think that most of the difficulty will be Kara's. Some of the people on this ship dislike her already, only through knowing that she is Cardassian."

Harry nodded ruefully. "I'm afraid that won't be easy to get rid of."

"Even you are apprehensive about her, Ensign." She wasn't accusing, she was stating.

"I can't lie. Yes I am. But I'll give anyone a chance."

"I know you will, Ensign."

***

"Honestly, Captain," Chakotay murmured. "I can take the bridge."

She shot him a withering look, and then directed it at a sniggering Lieutenant Paris. She was in "I'm not going anywhere" mode once again, though practically falling asleep and consuming almost dangerous levels of caffeine. She was tired, she was cranky, she had three new crew members to worry about and she was downright intractable. But she was also unaccountably endearing to him.

"I'm fine, Chakotay," she hissed back. "And you got up the same time I did. What makes you any better suited to staying?"

If she wanted reasonable, she'd get reasonable. "Because I am less sleep-deprived than you. Because I do not rely on coffee to keep me up to all hours and then to wake me up in the morning. Because I am not an overtaxed, overworked Captain who is about to fall out of her chair and embarrass herself."

She sat up from her slump, glaring around the bridge and then at him. "Say it a little louder, Commander. I don't think they heard you lecturing me on deck fifteen."

"I might, if it'll move you out of that chair."

Glowering blackly, she rose from her chair, but Chakotay harboured no illusions that he had won. Sure enough, she headed, rather numbly it seemed, to her ready room. The resisted the urge to make an exasperated noise. Instead, he stood and nodded for Tuvok to take the bridge, following the Captain at a safe distance and entering her ready room without using the summons.

She turned on him as soon as the doors closed, he braced himself for yet more acrimony from her. Instead of yelling at him, or at least raising her voice, she remained balanced precariously on her heels, eyes more than a little glassy. She rolled her eyes in apparent disgust.

"How do you do that to me?" she demanded, leaning against her desk and crossing her arms.

He was momentarily confused. "Do what?"

"Convince me I'm wrong?" she offered with a small smile.

"Would you rather it be a failure on your part or one mine?" This was unexpected. . . .

"Yours of course," she said with a touch of tired laughter. "You know well enough that it's never my fault."

She straightened her stance, only to walk around and fairly collapse onto the couch near the viewport. She gazed out into space as he had observed her doing many times before. She did her best to stifle a yawn. "This has been a long morning," she muttered.

"It has, but everything turned out well."

She made a noise. "As far as I know, it has. I seem to be a magnet for lost souls, or at least the ship does."

"That's because what ever sends them around to you knows you'll take care of things. Don't worry so much, Kathryn, especially when there's nothing to worry about."

She smiled softly, tiredly. She was beautiful. "There's always something to worry about, Chakotay. Attacking ships, first contact, sick crew members, ship maintenance, Borg maintenance, morale, replicators, supplies, Naomi Wildman, B'Elanna and Tom's baby, what Neelix is concocting, ship gossip . . ." She looked down at her coffee cup. "Whether I'm running out of coffee," she added.

Unasked, he sat down beside her. "Let me worry once in awhile. It could hardly hurt you."

"I'd worry that you were worrying too much. I'd worry about why I wasn't worried. Face it, I'm doomed to worry forever!" she said melodramatically.

He smiled back at her. "Hopefully not forever."

Then he realized why her eyes were so bright. He'd have never had believed it if he hadn't been sitting right there, but Captain Kathryn Janeway was on the verge of tears. He experienced a moment of helplessness . . . and something else.

She fought to stop herself, but one tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped at it almost furiously. "I'm sorry, Chakotay. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"What's bothering you?"

She sighed deeply, looking at her coffee cup and passing one hand over its surface. "I'm just so tired, Chakotay. Not just because I lost sleep . . . I just haven't been able to 'not worry' lately. I used to be able to, sometimes . . . but I just have no time anymore." Another tear slipped out.

Before he could think to stop himself, he had taken her in his arms, overwhelmed with is own indiscernible emotion. He cradled her small form against him. He'd never realized how small she was, diminutive really. She didn't protest, or draw away, instead she hid her face in the front of his uniform and let a wracking sob take her. She was exhausted, he could feel the tension in her, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd collapsed at some point that morning. In fact he blamed himself, he should have been watching more closely, listening more closely. Something. He was learning the hard way that a crying Kathryn was hard to endure.

Despite that, he let her cry. It would be selfish to stop her, since maybe crying would help. At least it would eventually put her to sleep, which was her immediate need. He rested his chin in her hair, hoping to maybe alleviate the violent sobs that shook her whole frame. Then he found something else that was also a little hard to take, the scent of her hair. He could feel her heart beat, he could certainly feel his own. The blood pounded in his ears. He was going to have to let her go before. . . .

But when he tried to disengage her hands from the front of his uniform, he found he couldn't without seriously disturbing her. She looked up at him through her tears, and slowly let go of his jacket, trying to smooth it for him rather absently. It was a lost cause now, and there was a large wet spot where she had cried. One of her hands moved to his shoulder, while the other wiped tears.

"I'm sorry, Chakotay," she said, this time embracing him, and resting her head on his shoulder, causing him to have to do the same. Her breath was hot on his neck. She trembled. They remained like that for awhile until Kathryn's tears abated somewhat. Chakotay was becoming more uncomfortable by the second, for more reasons that one, the most disturbing of which was that she was pressed so close to him that it was as if he could feel every-

"Chakotay," she said, tone strange.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for just . . . letting me cry."

"Could I have done any less?"

She drew her head back, gazing at him with reddened eyes. One of her hands stayed up to rest at the back of his neck, the other taking a firm fistful of his jacket.

He drew himself quickly away before she did what she seemed to be about to, though without part of him a little disappointed. He held her hands in his as he rose. "No, Kathryn. You're exhausted, you're distraught . . . and I can't let you do anything you'll regret. Not now."

She just continued to stare at him strangely.

"Computer, site to site transport. Beam the Captain to her quarters . . . Go sleep, Kathryn."

She dematerialized, still staring.

***

'Regeneration cycle complete.'

Yvarra stepped from her alcove as the still-unfamiliar computer voice reported to her. She had only been on Voyager for three days now. The small, unnamed ship had been towed into Voyager's shuttle bay and was in the process of partial dismantlement. Lieutenant Paris had said that with a little work on the navigational controls, weapons, a small living space in place of alcoves and a better power distribution system, the Borg-enhanced craft could be an asset to Voyager's collection of smaller vessels.

She had traded in her rather careworn, plain gray outfit she had arrived in for the garments Mr. Neelix had replicated for her upon collecting donated replicated rations from the crew. Yvarra and her companions had thanked them as effusively as they were capable. She was dressed now in something consisting of a short light blue tunic and dark slacks. Clothing was irrelevant, but she found herself rather grateful not to be wearing Seven's usual form of vestment. It bothered her, but she knew she was slowly creeping up on the full realization of a human's well-learned sense of shame. She did not like it in the least.

Lieutenant Paris had been absent from his post for two days due to his wife's increasing indisposition. She could feel without effort the emotions of the pair, several decks above her. Emotionally speaking, they were both quite . . . loud. Anyone with an iota of the sympathetic sixth sense could tell when B'Elanna Torres was in a bad mood. And in a bad mood she was. Hence, Yvarra had served at the conn for the past two Alpha Shifts, and was pleased to note that the Captain seemed more than satisfied with her performance, even though she had done little to warrant it so far.

Within close seconds of her, Andrew, Kara and Ichep stepped from their alcoves. Seven was already gone. They all exchanged silent glances and the other three went on their ways.

She tapped her newly acquired comm badge. "Yvarra to the Captain. Will I be required on the bridge this morning?"

"I think so. See you there."

"Acknowledged," she replied, heading for the Cargo Bay door right on the heels of Kara. The Doctor had repaired her arm, and there was much less metal covering her skin now. Kara had lost almost all feeling in the fingers of her left hand due to a major nerve that the Doctor could not disengage from the implants but one he had to tamper with all the same to remove something else. Her companion was now frequently seen to be flexing her numbed hand into a fist, as if it had merely not received enough blood for a moment. Yvarra knew it was bothering her.

"Has your arm healed completely?" she asked solicitously.

Kara looked at her expressionlessly. "It is functional."

"Has the sensation in your hand improved?"

"No, but I can adapt. I must report to the shuttle bay to resume disassembling the engine. I will join you for our meal in four hours."

Yvarra nodded once and turned down the corridor towards the turbolift. As soon as the lift began to move upward, she felt something . . . wrong. She couldn't discern it immediately, but it was familiar. Muted, unimaginably huge . . . she shook herself. There was nothing. The feeling faded suddenly, leaving Yvarra to wonder if she hadn't imagined it. Still, it had been disturbing.

The doors opened onto the bridge, and Yvarra went silently to the conn and tapped the duty officer on the shoulder, indicating that he was relieved. He gave her a short report on the status of the helm. She thanked him and sat down, eyes skimming the console, hands resting at the edges.

The Captain entered the bridge a few seconds later, looking tired as usual. As soon as she looked at the Commander Yvarra felt a wave of uncertainty wash towards her, among other things. The same was echoed by the Commander as he rose politely from his seat.

Something was terribly wrong, not with the Captain or the Commander, but with the bridge in general. There was something huge out there, constant calm, many but only one, cold, impassive . . . coming.

Yvarra swivelled in her chair, anxiety gripping her. She was not in full command of her voice at the moment, and uttered a distressed nonsense syllable.

The captain looked at her, frowning. "Yvarra?"

She sprang from her chair, gaining momentary control of herself. "Borg!" she cried.

"What?"

The drones materialized on the bridge. There were two of them.

Her rage was suddenly overpowering. The mingled, unvented rage of millions.

***

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