p a r t f o u r

I send Tuvok and Tom ahead. I know Tom will want to speak to B'Elanna, and Tuvok will unquestionably want to check that the Flyer is as prepared as it can possibly be for a potential confrontation with the Borg.

The Borg. I shiver. In my dreams I still feel the sharp pain of assimilation tubules piercing my neck, and the muted but still-seductive whisper of the Collective and the Borg Queen's voice. I've lost count of the number of times I've wakened, gasping and shaking, only to turn thankfully into the safety of Chakotay's arms.

At that memory, guilt courses through me. He was frantic the last time, but at least then we took all possible precautions and went in prepared for assimilation. This time, we haven't even been able to use the suppressant. If the Borg do return to the debris field as Tuvok suggested…

"Captain?" I turn at the sound of Icheb's voice. He's lost that Borg certainty, and his confidence has been further undermined by that incident with his parents… I pause and smile encouragingly at him.

"Have you talked to Seven?" he asks.

I glance down at my padd. "Just a few minutes ago." Poor Icheb, I think. He's devoted to Seven, he must be devastated.

The young man's next words make me stare at him in puzzlement, as he expresses his belief in my disapproval of- something. His disappointment is palpaple. I rub the bridge of my nose.

"Disapprove of what?"

He looks surprised. "My request."

I try not to frown. "Request?" This is the first I've heard of it.

Icheb's face falls. "I'm sure Seven will discuss it with you when she has the chance," he says, sounding hurt and offended as only a teenager can. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

I shake my head in an attempt to dispel the fogs of confusion and fear. Finally, realisation seeps in, and it dawns on me that Icheb still hasn't been told about Seven's illness. I say as much.

This time it's Icheb's turn to look puzzled. "Told me what?"

I explain Seven isn't well, that her cortical node is failing. I speak as gently as I can, but the wave of panic and despair that crosses the teenager's face is unmistakable. "She's going to die," he says with a finality that echoes Seven's own, in sickbay.

I put my hand on his shoulder and put as much confidence as I can muster into my voice. "Not if we find a new node," I tell him. "We're on our way to search a Borg debris field."

A light returns to his eyes. "I have experience in Borg technology. Let me come with you." It's a plea.

I shake my head. He's too young. It's too dangerous.

"I'm willing to take the risk," Icheb argues, just as Seven has. So many times

This time, I'm not giving in. "I'm not willing to let you," I tell him firmly, in the voice of command. He looks distraught, and I soften. I squeeze his shoulder again.

"I'll let you know how we did as soon as we're back," I say. I hope I sound reassuring. I force a smile. "Don't worry," I add.

It's a futile thing to say, and I know from the long look Icheb sends me that he knows it too. All the same, Borg or not, he's still young enough to be awed by authority and age, and he backs down. I watch him disappear down the corridor. Seven, I know, would never have acceded so meekly. At this point I'm glad she hasn't succeeded in influencing her protégé to that degree. This mission will be difficult enough. I don't want a teenager with us to complicate matters further.

By and large, our trip to the debris field is a quiet one. I'm torn between memories of my assimilation, my fear that it could happen again, and my determination to help Seven. I glance at Tuvok, and wonder if somewhere beneath that Vulcan composure he shares my feelings.

Tom, bless him, is concentrating on what he does best: piloting. Despite the danger, I know he's probably enjoying himself on some level. This shuttle- the Delta Flyer- was carefully and lovingly designed by himself, B'Elanna, and Harry a year ago. It's been patched up and rebuilt several times since then. I note with fleeting amusement that they've even replaced Tom's beloved twentieth century joystick.

"I have isolated a section that contains the bodies of approximately thirty seven drones."

I look up at Tuvok's words, my heart pounding.

Tom chips in, irreverent as always. "Thirty seven doesn't sound approximate to me, Tuvok." He does love to bait our Security chief, just as he loves torturing the doctor.

Tuvok gives Tom the Vulcan equivalent of a glower and explains. "These drones were killed in an explosion. There are only a few left intact."

I finish my own scans and interrupt. "Looks like there's still a breathable atmosphere inside. Any sign of any active Borg ships in the vicinity?"

Tom checks his own readings and whirls to face me. "Nothing on sensors, Captain."

I bite my lip. "That could change in a hurry. Run continuous scans."

"Yes, ma'am."

I shake my head slightly. Tom's the only one of the senior staff who regularly addresses me as "ma'am" but I don't mind it, despite my usual dislike for that mode of address. From him, it's a term of affection, rather than a response to authority. I wince at a memory in my ready room, nearly eighteen months ago. Most of the time…

I give Tom the usual instruction: if something happens, if the Borg appear, or if he's threatened in any way, he's to try to beam us out. If that doesn't work, he's to high-tail it back to Voyager with orders to warp out of this sector. Especially if it's the Borg. I won't have my entire crew threatened for my crusade.

Tom looks mutinous, but agrees. He knew, I think, that this order would come. He's been with me long enough to know how I operate by now. I squeeze his shoulder and join Tuvok on the Flyer's transporter pad.

"All right, Tom. Energise."

He nods and the tingle begins, whisking us from the familiar confines of the shuttle, and placing us in the equally familiar, but immeasurably more sinister, environment of a Borg cube.

I take a moment to orientate myself, and then start scanning with my tricorder. Tuvok, after checking, and confirming with me, that we're the only life signs on the cube, does likewise. We've calibrated the tricorders to detect the readings that emit from cortical nodes, and it's not long before my tricorder beeps and blinks.

"Tuvok, here," I call as I note the pile of debris covering the humanoid figure on the floor. I can see his feet.

For a split, ridiculous moment, I find myself reminded of the early twentieth century film The Wizard of Oz. Tom insisted on showing it whilst Tuvok, B'Elanna and I were recovering after our last encounter with the Borg… I snap myself out of it.

"Help me get this off him," I order, continuing to scan. "There's no apparent damage to the cortical node."

Vulcans are stronger than humans- just as they have better eyesight and hearing, and it's not long before I'm kneeling beside the fallen drone. I need to steel myself to touch his waxen face, pale with more than death, but I manage. I follow the Doctor's instructions carefully. He warned me that the cortical node is a fragile piece of technology. It would be ironic to come this far, to safely retrieve the node, only to damage it in the process of returning…

"Captain, you've got company," Tom's electronic sounding voice says through my com badge. "There's a ship." He doesn't say what kind of ship. My hands shake a little as I place the node carefully into the provided box and rise, a little unsteadily, to my feet. I turn to meet Tuvok's eyes, and he nods slightly as he taps his badge.

"Two to beam out."

Nothing. I tap my own badge.

"Delta Flyer, respond!"

Tuvok speaks with as much urgency as I've ever heard from him. "Captain, three humanoids have just transported aboard this vessel."

I swallow and moisten suddenly dry lips. Not again… "Drones?"

Tuvok does not get a chance to respond. The humanoids appear in front of us, looking menacing- and surprisingly like our old enemies, the Kazon. I relax. At least they're not the Borg.

One of the aliens advances on me. I'm the smallest member of the party, and he's obviously decided I'm the most vulnerable, the easiest to overcome. He sticks his face into mine, so close I can see the flecks in his irises and smell his foul breath. "The only drones here are dead, and they belong to us. Who are you?"

I hold my ground and refuse to flinch away. I meet his eyes, willing myself to give him my most fearsome glare. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager," I respond, my tone as hostile as his. So much for First Contact protocols.

The Kazon- like alien wags his head in a fashion that's almost funny. The look in his eyes, however, is not. "This is my debris field, Captain!" he spits, making a mockery of my title. I step back. His saliva has sprayed over my face.

I do my best to sound conciliatory: "We weren't aware of that."

It doesn't work. He steps forward again. "What have you taken?"

"A cortical node. We need it to save one of my crew." I won't back down. They're not the Borg, these people. Resistance is unlikely to be futile, and we need that node…

The other alien speaks up at that point. "Everything here belongs to us!"

This is ridiculous. We'll never get out of here at this rate. I realise I'm still holding the laser scalpel I used to extract the node from the dead drone. Moving quickly, I grab the alien in a neckhold- one he'd find difficult to break, despite our differences in size- and I hold the scalpel to his throat.

"Put down your weapons and I'll consider not activating this laser scalpel," I snarl.

It's probably not the best idea I have ever had. With a movement as quick as mine, the alien manages to break my hold. His eyes are wild with rage and I think, I know, he's going to return the favour- and then some. Tuvok is struggling with the other alien, but he's distracted. He keeps looking at me, checking I'm safe. It's his undoing.

A shot is fired. Tuvok drops to the ground. I try to move towards him, breathing heavily. The aliens are standing together, advancing. They look more like Kazon than ever, wide, unpleasant smiles sending shivers of fear through me……

The tingle of a transporter beam has never been so welcome.

I exhale a long breath of relief as I rematerialise on the Flyer. Tom turns to look at me as I help Tuvok to a seat.

"Sorry about the delay," my pilot apologises. "They knocked our transporters offline."

I nod and continue checking Tuvok with my tricorder. Given the nature of this mission, it's a medical one and not one of our standard scientific appliances. My concentration is broken as the shuttle suddenly swerves, and only an outstretched hand prevents me from lurching onto Tuvok. I'm barely recovered when the Flyer drops again. The aliens must have followed us. They're certainly determined- and greedy, I think resentfully. There's any number of dead drones on that cube, and we've only taken one node.

"Captain!" Tom's voice is peremptory. "I need you at tactical." I nod at him and move towards the station. He's still talking, firing out instructions. "When I bring us around, target their engine core. Got it?"

I shoot him a look of mingled amusement and irony. "Aye, sir." He grins at me, quickly, and turns his attention back to his flying, just as the alien ship appears ready to target us. We're in position. I fire, and check the sensors. My shot went home: their engines and weapons are offline.

Tom evidently agrees. "Nice shot," he says, his tone admiring. He checks his own readings, and flashes me one of his trademark smirks. "They're breaking pursuit."

I relax and turn to look at Tuvok, who is his usual stoic self. Somehow, he's even managed to repair the damage he suffered. Evidently he was shaken rather than hurt, and I sink into a chair, suddenly exhausted.

We sit in silence. A console beeps.

"We're being hailed."

I manage a grin. "Voyager?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Captain Paris? Answer it!"

Tom's own grin reaches nearly ear to ear as he activates the link. "Captain Paris of the USS Delta Flyer reporting, Voyager."

There's a pause. I'm smiling. Tom looks abnormally innocent.

"Tom?" Chakotay's voice says. He sounds cautious, as if wondering whether Tom's temporarily taken leave of his senses- or been commandeered by an alien. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Relax, Commander," I call. "We're all here. It was just a joke."

"Ah. I see. Mission accomplished, Captain?"

"Which one?" I ask facetiously. Relief sometimes makes me silly.

"I don't mind, I just want a report," Chakotay responds. I can hear the amusement in his voice.

I nod at Tom. "Mission accomplished successfully," he says.

"Thanks, Captain Paris." Chakotay's tone is dry. "When may we expect you back?"

"Approaching co-ordinates now, sir," Tom says, serious again. "Shuttle bay ready to receive us?"

We can hear Chakotay giving instructions to allow us access. "It is now. Glad the mission went off well. See you soon. Chakotay out."

"Okay, people, let's go home!"