"Adapt"

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: A few weeks after the triumphant arrival of the Starship Voyager, meetings between the crews of the Voyager and the Enterprise create unexpected results. This will be the first of a few short stories. This one features a meeting between Seven of Nine and Captain Picard.

DISCLAIMER: Paramount is running the whole thing, as we know. This tale is for fun, and not based on any novels out there. This is my first ST:TNG-era tale.

[San Francisco, Cochrane Plaza, Starfleet Academy - two weeks after Voyager's arrival on Earth]

Seven felt awkward at these sorts of parties. This would be her fifth party ... or "soiree" as The Doctor tended to refer to them.

The official festivities hadn't started yet. "Seven, enjoy yourself," Ensign Harry Kim had told her. "It's not everyday the Starfleet brass throws you a party in your honour!"

In the distance, Ensign Kim and Lt. Torres were sharing a joke with ...

Seven paused, then accessed her memory files:

Accessing ... crew of the USS Enterprise, flagship of Starfleet ...

Her eyes widened in recognition. They had shared a joke with Lt.- Cmdr. Geordi Laforge, the Enterprise's engineering chief. It was apparently very funny, because Lt.-Cmdr. Laforge was laughing hysterically.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Seven! Did you stop by the sushi bar?" The Doctor inquired. Before she could answer, he continued, and shoved a sushi roll in her face. "You really must have a taste. It's absolutely exquisite! Oh, forgive my manners." His arm was looped around another doctor's arm.

Seven's eyes widened, as she recognized her friend's companion.

"Dr. Beverly Crusher, medical officer of the USS Enterprise," Seven replied.

"Seven!" Crusher beamed. "It's soo good to finally meet you. I've heard all about the Doctor's work with nanotechnology. We really should compare notes sometime."

"I would appreciate that, very much," Seven stated clinically.

"Is that the dean of interstellar microbiology?" The Doctor's eyes darted towards an elderly man in a Starfleet Academy lab coat. "Beverly, dear, we mustn't dally, the dean is expecting us."

"We'll chat soon," Dr. Crusher nodded to Seven as The Doctor yanked her away.

Seven found herself alone again. She nodded awkwardly to a multitude of faces in uniforms. They had all heard of her. She acknowledged them as a courtesy, but she honestly didn't know most of these people.

"The cream of the crop," Lt. Paris had grumbled hours earlier, as he had piloted the Delta Flyer towards San Francisco. "You'll be meeting the elite of Starfleet. Decorated captains of the Dominion War, veterans of the recent Borg conflict. I'm only just wrapping my mind around that one! I even hear Captain Jean-Luc Picard will be at this party."

"I bet I'll get an autograph from Picard way before you, Tom," Ensign Kim had remarked.

Seven smiled to herself at that memory. The finest minds in all of Starfleet were coming to this party ... to meet the Voyager crew.

She felt what could be classified as anticipation, even excitement. Seven stopped at the sushi bar and sampled a roll. Across the plaza, she noticed the distinctive full-length, red dress uniforms of Starfleet admirals. In the centre of that ring stood Admiral Paris, with his son, Lt. Tom Paris.

Paris seemed uncomfortable, surrounded by this 'cream of the crop'. His father apparently made another joke at his son's expense. Paris spotted Seven and quietly mouthed "Help!"

Seven immediately strolled towards the ring of admirals.

"Lt. Paris, I have an urgent message from the captain," Seven declared.

"Excuse me, gents," Paris smiled apologetically. "Duty calls."

When they were out of earshot, Paris clasped Seven's shoulder in gratitude. "Thanks for the save, Seven. If I had to hear another ancient, cognac-swilling admiral brag about his youthful exploits against the Klingons, I was going to gag!"

"Do you require medical attention?" Seven asked.

"No, no," Paris grinned. "It's an expression. Trust me, half an hour with the brass is enough for me."

"I gathered as much," Seven noted. "You seemed ... uncomfortable."

Paris peered over the heads of the party-goers. "Is that Commander Riker? Excuse me, Seven, I may never get a chance to meet the infamous William T. Riker again!"

Seven found it slightly amusing the many of the Voyager's crew held the Enterprise's crew in such esteem. It bordered on celebrity- obsession. Yes, the Enterprise took risks and accomplished much. But didn't the Voyager's crew, too?

Captain Janeway had recently given her a synopsis of the Enterprise's bold confrontation with the Borg. They had saved Earth shortly before the Voyager disappeared in the Delta Quadrant.

"You seem perplexed?" a voice murmured.

Seven turned around. A man - or was he? - in a gold Starfleet uniform extended his hand. "Lt.-Cmdr. Data of the Enterprise. And you must be Seven. Or do you prefer Seven of Nine?"

"Seven will suffice," Seven stated. She accessed her memory files. "You served with the Enterprise since the encounter at Farpoint."

"You are correct," Data replied. "Are you enjoying the festivities?"

Seven paused to consider her reply. "It seems overwhelming, at times. The crew of the Voyager simply did their duties in the Delta Quadrant."

Data pondered the reply. "I believe the celebrations are being held to honour those duties. It is a credit to your crew that you survived seven years without the resources of the Federation or its allies."

"I suppose," Seven replied. "I am glad Starfleet wishes to credit the crew. They are glad to be home at last."

"There were those in Starfleet who were prepared to give up the search for the Voyager," Data added, "but there were many more who did not give up hope. The Voyager's return has vindicated their belief."

A group of ensigns passed by, then glowered at Seven. One ensign, who apparently had too much synthehol, stumbled towards her.

"What the hell's a Borg doing on the Academy grounds!" he demanded.

"I am a member of the Voyager crew," Seven stated.

"A Borg in Starfleet," the drunk ensign spat out the words, "that's like sending a Klingon to conduct peace negotiations."

Data sensed that the situation might get out of hand. "At attention, ensigns." The group of ensigns seemed to ignore the order.

Data grabbed the drunk ensign by the shoulders, raised him two feet above the ground and forcibly planted him down. "At attention, ensigns!" Data ordered. His tone implied that he expected the order to be followed. Now.

The group of ensigns stood up straight. "Yes, Commander!" they uttered in unison.

"Seven and the crew of the Voyager have clocked more experience in the Delta Quadrant than most of you have combined," Data lectured. "As long as you wear that uniform, you will demonstrate the courtesy expected of Starfleet officers. I have the authority to summon the Provost Marshal's officers. They will arrest you, detain you, and likely revoke your flight privileges. I suspect you do not want that to happen."

"No, sir, we don't," the lead ensign mumbled sheepishly.

"Return to Starfleet barracks now," Data began, "and I may choose to overlook your mis-step."

"Yes, sir," they replied. Data stopped the drunk ensign. "Choose to dishonour that uniform again at your peril. If I so much as hear a rumour about another indiscretion, I will have your commission. Is that understood, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir," the ensign stated. The once-rowdy group dispersed into the crowd.

Seven was visibly disturbed at the confrontation. She was aware that the people of Earth might have difficulty adjusting to independent- minded Borg beings. The disgust in that ensign's eyes was shocking.

"I feel I must apologize," Data said. "Their behaviour was inexcusable. If you would like, I can file a formal complaint with Starfleet Academy ..."

"No," Seven stated. "The ensigns are young and naive. A formal complaint might jeopardize their careers."

Data raised an eyebrow in surprise. This former Borg drone had learned much about tact and diplomacy. He changed the subject.

"I find these parties uncomfortable, too," Data admitted.

"Really?" Seven wondered. "So I am not the only one."

"On the contrary," Data nodded towards his commanding officer, Captain Picard, dressed in full dress uniform. "Capt. Picard prefers the company of a few close friends. Note his mannerisms."

Seven studied the legendary captain. Picard smiled politely as an admiral cracked an off-colour joke about Vulcan mating rituals.

"It appears as if the captain would prefer the bridge of the Enterprise to this party," Seven observed.

Data nodded in agreement. "I know few of the guests here, but one commonality I have noticed is that they enjoy talking about the weather. Endlessly."

Picard caught Data's glance. And quietly mouthed "Help!"

"I suggest you inform your captain of an 'urgent message' from the Admiralty," Seven quipped.

Data's eyes darted rapidly. "Probability of success: 93.333% Good advice. If you will excuse me ..."

Seven poured a goblet of punch, as Commander Riker approached.

Riker took a double-glance at the female with the Borg implants and grinned. "Seven, is it? Captain Janeway has told me a lot about you."

Seven shook his hand. "It is good to meet you too, Commander." An opportunity to practise social skills, she thought. "How do you find weather in California? Do you not find the Pacific Ocean's moderating effects quite pleasing this time of year? Or do you prefer the subzero temperatures of your native Alaska?"

"Uhh ... good, yes and, actually I rather enjoy the cold, crisp air," Riker smirked. He sipped some punch. "Nice party, don't you think?"

"I suppose," Seven remarked.

"Although if you ask me," Riker grumbled, "I've had it with whiskey-breathed admirals bragging about long-ago Romulan skirmishes."

"I gather that the Admiralty does not hold the degree of esteem it believes it deserves," Seven noted.

"That's one way of putting it," Riker smirked as he took another sip of punch. "Officers like Capt. Picard and your Capt. Janeway have done so much to uphold the Federation's values. Sure, there's some bending of rules now and then, but if you ask me, they deserve far more credit then they've got so far. The powers-that-be are quick to remember failures and slow to recognize success."

"What sort of credit do you think Capt. Janeway deserves for bringing Voyager back home?" Seven asked pointedly.

"Yikes, you're putting me on the spot," Riker laughed. "But I'll bite. If I were a Starfleet admiral -- knowing that Janeway survived seven years in an undiscovered quadrant of space -- she'd be on the fast-track. Command of a neutral-zone fleet. The admiralty within a year ..."

"An admiral?" Seven was pleasantly surprised at Riker's frank assessment.

"But I'm just a commander," Riker stated. "You'll find that Starfleet Command has other ideas about promotion. Though Admiral Janeway has a nice ring to it." He spotted Commander Worf -- with furrowed brow -- pondering the hors d'oeuvres table.

"Excuse me, Seven, I just saw an old friend of mine," Riker stated, and sprinted towards the Klingon.

Seven frowned. Just when she was getting used to an interesting conversation, she was interrupted by the demands of this party. Friends meeting friends. Officers meeting former shipmates.

Tuvok approached. "Seven, your presence is required. Stage left. The formal proceedings are about to begin."

"Finally," Seven muttered under her breath.

The next hour consisted of elaborate speeches about the "glorious return of our beloved Voyager".

She glanced at Lt. Paris, who rolled his eyes and yawned -- before Capt. Janeway darted a disapproving glare at him.

Another speech about the "expansion of the frontier" and the "marvels of Delta Quadrant scientific discoveries". The Doctor grinned, relishing every word of the speech.

In the VIP section of the audience, the crew of the Enterprise listened politely. Capt. Picard squirmed in his lawn chair. Worf began to nod asleep, until Laforge elbowed him in the arm.

Admiral Jellico, who had catapulted into the higher echelons of Starfleet Command, began to praise the Voyager crew's "courage, dedication and commitment to Federation values."

The medals were distributed in their blue velvet cases, embossed with the seal of the Federation.

Then, the crowd roared in applause. It seemed like the emotions were contained until that moment. The guests were on their feet. A standing ovation! Seven could only guess that Starfleet was indeed happy that their little ship had returned home.

The dignitaries lined up to meet the Voyager crew. Pleasantries were exchanged. They shook Seven's hand, but said little to her.

Seven caught part of Admiral Jellico's remarks to Janeway. "The Admiralty has their eye on you, Kathryn. They know you've got a royal flush. All you have to do is play your cards."

Then, Capt. Picard climbed the stairs to the stage. Kim and Paris immediately jostled each other to meet the renowned captain of the Enterprise.

"Lieutenant, Ensign," Tuvok remarked, "Please observe the protocol of the occasion."

"It's quiet alright," Picard smiled. "Although I'm the one who should be asking all of you for autographs. What you accomplished is nothing short of remarkable."

When Picard reached Janeway, he was ecstatic. It was his turn to drop protocol, as he gave her a warm hug.

"Kathryn," Picard began, "this is your day. Enjoy every moment of it."

Janeway beamed. "I intend to, Jean-Luc."

Picard knew of Starfleet's on-again-off-again commitment to the search for Voyager. Conflicting priorites, some in Starfleet had complained. In whispers, sometimes in open council. The Dominion, the Cardassians, the Borg, the Romulans and Klingons -- they all demanded attention. He was disgusted by the politics, the pandering. For seven years he had watched as the Voyager's loss dropped off the list of Starfleet priorities. He could not reconcile the fact that Starfleet did not, in fact, marshal all their available resources to shorten Voyager's harrowing journey.

Picard sighed, as he recalled seven years of petitions, debates and a handful of actions bordering on insubordination -- all to cajole and prod Starfleet into continuing the search. For one of their own.

"I want you to know that, since your ship disappeared from the Badlands, we did not let Starfleet abandon you," Picard began. "I could never allow that to happen."

Janeway muffled a sob as she hugged Picard. Only now did it dawn on her that she was truly at home. This was no holodeck illusion. "There were times," she sniffled, "that I actually believed they did forget us."

Picard was about to speak, but checked himself. There would be time for political analysis later. Not now, not in this moment of glory for the crew of the USS Voyager.

"Starfleet may claim credit for your return, the Federation may claim credit for your discoveries," Picard mumbled in her ear, "but never, ever let them claim the honour of your success. That belongs to your crew. And only your crew."

Seven politely shook the hands of the dignitaries. She smiled as she met Crusher, Data and Riker again. She was eager to meet Picard at last.

Picard shook the hand of The Doctor, exchanged a few words with him, then moved towards Seven.

"Captain Picard, it is an honour to meet you," Seven announced, as she extended her hand.

Picard saw the hand, with its implants. He froze. Torres and Paris shared a wide-eyed glance at the awkward moment. "Uh oh," Ensign Kim gasped.

"This is Seven," Riker tried to introduce the captain. "She was part of the Voyager crew."

Picard briefly nodded to Seven, then took his leave abruptly.

"I think the Talaxian chili didn't sit well with him," Riker joked, but he was clearly surprised at Picard's impolite behaviour.

The hushed murmurs began to annoy Seven. They were all talking about her! Dr. Crusher quickly chased after Picard, followed by Riker.

Data quickly took Seven aside. "I'm sure he meant no disrespect."

"I am aware of his role as Locutus of Borg," Seven grumbled.

"The experience was -- is -- traumatic for him," Data offered, "It has been several years, however. I was certain he had sufficiently recovered."

They noticed that Crusher was having a heated discussion with Picard. Riker seemed to be trying to diffuse the situation.

"If he has recovered," Seven complained, "then why did he refuse the courtesy of a handshake! I would expect a Starfleet captain to be cordial. Apparently, that courtesy does not apply to me. Because I was a Borg." Seven stormed off the stage.

"I'll check on her," Janeway remarked, as she chased after her crewmate.

Laforge, Torres, Paris and Kim gathered around Data. "What just happened?" Kim inquired.

"I'm afraid that Captain Picard," Data replied, "has hurt Seven's feelings. She was looking forward to meeting him."

"And Picard just threw it back in her face," Laforge groaned. "Ouch."

"I guess this doesn't bode well for my invite to the Enterprise," The Doctor whined.

"Doc," Paris scolded, "now is one of those times you should keep your thoughts to yourself."

"The Borg robbed him of his identity," Worf interrupted, "They stole his dignity. His honour! That is not easy to forget."

"That was years ago," Paris protested. "He's had some time now to cope with it. He seemed fine to me."

"Seven's not a Borg," Torres growled. "Not anymore!"

"Once a Borg, always a Borg," Worf snapped back.

"Alright, alright," Laforge tried to soothe the rival crews. "Whatever we may think, it's something only Seven and Picard can sort out. Let's give them some space."

"I agree," Chakotay nodded. "I'm sure Cmdr. Riker and Capt. Janeway are doing their best to smooth things over. There's still the Federation Ball to look forward to."

With a few grumbles, and a terrifying scowl between Worf and Torres, the crews of the Voyager and Enterprise left the empty stage.

"Somehow, I don't feel so festive anymore," Kim mumbled. He imagined Seven was wandering around the vast campus of Starfleet Academy. Isolated once more because of her past as Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 001.

Somewhere else, the celebrated captain of the Enterprise had allowed his personal demons to hurt a shipmate's feelings.

It wasn't fair.