Harry was more than annoyed when he rematerialized in the docking yards.

Seven was just a few feet away, standing next to a ship quietly punching data into her tricorder. The soft whine of the transporter alerted her to his arrival, and she immediately looked up.

"I could have just walked here, you know."

"It was necessary for you to be here as soon as possible."

"Of course," he answered dourly. "By the way, what's this about?"

Seven had been scanning an alien transport, roughly the size of the Delta Flyer. It gleamed a bright sea blue under the afternoon sun, the rays reflecting nicely on its extended wings.

"Now that's what I call a ship," he said drolly. "Taking an interest in the competition?"

"It is a personal transport. The race official said that it will not be competing in any of the events, it is merely docked here. He went back to call his supervisor before I could question him further."

Harry blinked at the quick change.

"Question him?" Harry asked, confused What's this all about, Seven?"

Seven hesitated before going further, which worried Harry. Seven never hesitated. Not for anything.

"At the races engineering center I was informed that there had been a change in docking spaces. The Delta Flyer had been moved to the East Side Yards, this side. I asked if they could provide me the new location, but the clerk handling my documents was already busy attending to another participant."

"So?"

"I decided to come here and look for the Delta Flyer myself."

Harry looked around the airfield, taking stock of hundreds of ships, in different shapes and sizes. It would have taken Seven all morning and the better part of the afternoon looking for the Flyer.

"As you can see, it would have been inefficient for me to look for it. So I decided to scan for the Delta Flyers specification, as well as its warp signature."

"And?"

Seven handed him the tricorder, which he dutifully read. It listed a Starfleet flight and warp signature, the Delta Flyers specifications, weapons array…the weapons array…

His eyes widened as he ran down the suddenly extended list.

"Seven, what the hell is this?"

The first thing that registered in Tom's mind was Harry and Seven arguing, a sight that had grown rather common as of late.

"Now, now children. What did I tell you about fighting?"

The two didn't even look up.

"This is a bad idea." Seven was saying.

"What else can we do?" Harry snapped back. "Stand here and analyze more data? The two of us have done what we can and it's time we brought in someone else." "We should at least call Voyager"

"I think we should verify facts."

"And you think Tom Paris is the proper authority for that?" she hissed.

Tom would have been insulted if the situation hadn't distressed him. It was the first time that Seven had referred to him without his rank, much less his full name. It was also the first time he saw two of his friends so angry. They looked almost ready to hit each other.

He was almost afraid to speak up, thinking that any sort of movement or interruption at this point would cause the volatile pair to explode.

"I don't care," Harry snapped. "It's his ship, he deserves to know."

"Deserve to know what?" he asked immediately, "Guys?"

The seemed locked in a staring match until Harry broke off to explain.

"The Flyer was assigned a new parking space," Harry told him. "We weren't informed, but apparently it was tractored to this side of the docks this morning. Seven couldn't wait for her escort so she decided to look for it herself. She ended up here."

As if on cue, they looked up at the vehicle in front of them.

It was late afternoon, Harry and Seven had been arguing for close to two hours. It was an activity foreign to their relationship so neither one of them knew how to concede. That they had wildly opposing opinions only exacerbated their current dilemma.

Tom was staring at the transport, feeling like he was looking at a contained ocean. The metal was made of a bright blue reflector panel and caught the lazy rays of the Azarran sun. It was sleek, with the nacelles tucked to its sides but its wings still admirably extended.

He instantly felt a bit jealous.

"Now that's what I call a ship."

Harry tossed him the tricorder, pinning Seven with a stare when she moved to stop him.

"Retractable nacelles, multiphasic shielding, borg weaponry…"

Tom's blood turned cold as he read on the specifications.

"I don't understand; we just checked on her this morning. It couldn't have been…maybe it's some sort of cloak…"

"This isn't the Delta Flyer Tom, it's the Maltan Transport Vessel Ghetti IV."

Only one thing came into mind. "B'Elanna."

"I thought the same thing," Harry answered. "Whoever built this ship must know where she is."

"No, no," he said, his eyes wild. "There are too many coincidences, they couldn't have built something like this through instruction, she…she's here Harry."

Harry was instantly alarmed.

"Tom…"

"No!" Tom insisted. "This is B'Elanna's work, I know it, this is her ship."

Tom was beside himself, rounding the ship in quick paces and running every scan he could using just a tricorder. Every once in a while, he would rub his hands on the ship, as if the metal held some sort of indication of B'Elanna's presence.

"DNA's degraded, can't do a scan, but I can tell that she's here," Tom was mumbling to himself. "I can sense her, I can sense her."

The two other crew members watched as the pilot tried to make sense of the information in his hands. He seemed so agitated that Harry doubted if Tom would be able to accomplish anything.

Harry was surprised to see the flash of emotion in Seven's eyes as she observed the incoherent lieutenant. "I warned you not to call Lt. Paris her.e"

"It's expected that he be overwhelmed."

"He is irrational," she bit back."We should have told the Captain."

"I thought it was better to tell Tom first before we told anyone else."

"He has made even more ludicrous conclusions," she argued. "An alien ship could have scanned the Delta Flyer and copied its systems. This ship has an arsenal of weapons rivaling that of a standard fighter; we should be regarding this as a security breach and not some futile reunion!"

Her eyes were blue chips of anger. Harry ran his hands on his hair, frustrated.

When he first saw the scan, his first thought had been of B'Elanna.

An alien ship, a transport, heavily armed, but with the Delta Flyers specifications; a similar Starfleet signature… but what did him in was the Borg technology present on the ship.

Without Seven, knowledge of those systems were hard to replicate. Only B'Elanna, who helped pioneer the incorporation of its technology, had intimate knowledge of the Flyer's systems.

Seven, ever the logical one, sought the more feasible explanation.

Technological piracy.

Imitation may be the best form of flattery, but not when you had a race to win and the replica was armed to the teeth with a vast array of weapons: Borg and then some.

They'd scanned the ship argued long and hard over the best course of action.

"I'm calling Tom."

"That would be unwise."

"Watch me," he had warned

Thus the conclusion of his supposedly unwise decision was falling apart in front of him.

And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, a portly race official was now approaching them, shouting for them to step away. Two armed guards were flanking him, as well as a dour looking man with a long beard, carrying a rather huge PADD.

"I gather that this was your escort?"

Seven ignored his remark and glared.

"Perhaps it is wise to tell someone now."

Harry sighed, taking one last look at Tom before tapping his commbadge.

"Kim to Captain Janeway. I think we need you here."

There was a brief pause before the Captains worried tone came on the line.

"Ensign?"

"Captain, there've been some…complications."

"Stop!"

Harry and Seven looked calmly at the approaching party, presenting a united front as Tom continued to frantically prod the ship.

"This ship is restricted, the shorter, rounder official told them.

"Funny, I didn't see a sign," Harry answered.

"Then let this serve as your warning," the taller official with the beard said, motioning for the two guards to advance.

"I believe we have the right to ask questions," Seven interjected. "This vessel possesses the same specifications as our own Delta Flyer."

"Some ships share the same fundamentals."

"We do not share Borg technology," she insisted, her implant rising up a notch "I have submitted my claims to this official. I gather that he has brought you with him to answer my questions."

The taller official glared. "This is a private transport."

"That doesn't mean you can't answer any of our questions." Harry demanded.

"This vessel is classified."

"Yet your rules present us with a right to challenge," Seven said, waving a PADD "I have read the manuals. It states that I can ask you about any vessel docked on the race proper providing I had good reason."

"Not this ship. It is under diplomatic immunity."

"That's an excuse," charged Harry.

"No! It is the truth!" the shorter one cut in. "You don't understand, this is one of the flag bearers of the diplomatic fleet. See that symbol over there?"

They looked up to see him pointing at a symbol much like a coat of arms.

"That is the Maltan Royal Seal."

"Which means…"

"It means," the taller official responded with a forced sigh. "That you are accusing the Prime Minister of Malta of technological theft."

What now?

That was Kathryn Janeway's last thought as she beamed down, smiling as she waved goodbye to her first officer.

It seemed like every time Harry and Tom were left on shoreleave, something "complicated" happened.

Yet the situation that greeted her seemed far more serious than any of those two's usual shenanigans.

Two guards with what looked like regulation compression rifles hovered nearby Harry and Seven, who were arguing with what she'd come to know as officials from the race.

The two officials looked none too happy, while her crew were agitatedly making a point. This was the most expressive that she'd seen the both of them: Harry was making huge gestures with his hands while Seven seemed to openly glare, her voice coming in higher decibels.

And Tom…

She took a step forward and found her Chief Helmsman inspecting a ship, a very distressed look on his face.

"Gentlemen, Seven," she addressed the group.

Everyone, save for Tom, seemed to look up and take notice of her.

"Care to tell me what this is about, Ensign?"

But it was Seven who made the introductions as well as supplied her with the explanation, her voice curt and her words to biting.

When she finished, Kathryn found herself just as upset as her crew and just as bothered as the two Azarrans who were now trying to make their sides heard.

"To accuse a Royal of such things is a serious crime" the taller official, Benn, was telling her "We also happen to know that the vessel was created months before you even registered. It was a classified project. The Prime Minister himself was not even allowed to see it until it had been completed, and its creator was his daughter."

Tom, who had been doing something near the belly of the ship, crawled out and joined them when he heard this precious bit of information.

"His daughter?" he asked.

"The Lady V'On Ghetti," Benn answered. "A Provisional Crown. Her induction to the Lower Council is already planned for the next season."

But Tom didn't seem to hear any of it. What mattered to him was that a woman had invented this ship and that seemed closer to the truth. Or his truth, at least.

"That's her Captain, I swear it is!" he exclaimed.

"Relax Lieutenant. As Seven said the most probably cause is technological theft. We still have no reason to believe that this could be her work."

Yet Kathryn had her doubts, and Tom sensed that. She was thinking the same thing he was, but chose to follow the more logical explanation that Seven presented.

"Captain, you have to believe me," he begged.

"A lot of women have designed ships," Seven was saying. "That does not prove anything."

"Then I'll look for more proof!" he announced, stomping back to the ship

Tom was clearly not himself, and Seven followed the distraught Lieutenant, fearing that he'd hurt himself. That left Harry and the Captain to deal with the two agitated race officials.

"All things considered, none of what you're saying still explains why an alien vessel has nearly the same specifications as my ship."

Benn was tight-lipped, but Assa, the shorter one, decided to explain.

"This is Malta's first entry to the races after a long absence. They have been recovering from a world war and for the past years have been too busy in reconstruction that they had no time to engage in such activities. They are a hospitable people, but after years of hardships they are…sensitive to anything that might end that respite."

"I understand," she answered. "But is it still possible for us to arrange a meeting with the ships designer? We won't accuse her of anything. We just need to know how she came across some of her designs."

The two officials looked at each other as they thought it out.

As Seven had pointed out, they had the right to question the origins of this vessel. They had sufficient cause to issue a challenge that could delay the race and possibly cause a scandal.

As visitors to the system, they were granted an honorary status. But to put them in conference with the Maltan's with these kinds of allegations…it was a matter of political finesse.

Taking advantage of their hesitancy, Kathryn decided to play her trump card.

"Please gentlemen, this is important to us," she implored. "A year ago a member of my crew was abducted in a planet some systems away from here. She is one of a select group of people who knows how our ships are designed." She had their attention now. So Kathryn threw logic to the wind and continued. "I believe that Ensign Kim may be correct. It may be possible that whoever made this ship has encountered my missing lieutenant and could tell us where to find her."

"Your lieutenant has been missing for a year, that's a very long time," Benn told her "There is a very high possibility that she could be dead."

"But there is an even higher possibility that she could be alive," Seven blurted.

All six heads turned to look up on her perch. Seven was standing high up the ships tail, examining something.

"Have you found anything?" Tom called, climbing up after her.

"Unless you can explain this, we have every reason to believe that Lieutenant Paris may be right."

It was luck that she even saw it.

In those few seconds where the sun was making its afternoon turn, beginning its decent to end the day, it shone its bright light on the top right wing, bringing a shine to something that would have been missed had it not been for Seven's Borg enhanced vision.

A mark deliberately hidden by painting the same color as the ship, so easily overlooked unless you knew how to look—or had the same modified vision as Seven.

"It is the Maker's Mark," Assa told them.

The four of them were convened on an anti-grav platform, while Tom and Seven stood, looking at the blank space that Seven indicated.

"I can't see anything," Tom seethed, staring at the smooth surface with his fists clenched in frustration.

"It is here," Seven insisted. "Why is it hidden?"

"Of course, it is hidden." Assa explained "It is customary for a ships designer or chief engineer to place a mark to distinguish his craftsmanship, but not to brag about it. It is a signature to be read by other craftsmen like them. In most cases it can be a symbol, or a word, perhaps a saying. Here."

The portly official produced a small object that looked a lot like a flashlight.

"You can see it through this."

There was no mistaking it. As soon as the black light hit the spot Seven had indicated the four people from Voyager had reacted.

The three-winged spiral and the familiar symbols underneath were proof enough for them.

"It's the seal of the Klingon Empire," Harry read. "And what's this…"

Harry struggled to read the Klingon words underneath, "Seven, can you get your tricorder to read this?"

But Captain Janeway didn't need a tricorder to read the word. It was a word that she had learned read and say a multitude of Federation languages:

Voyager.

"It's her," Captain Janeway said.They stepped off the anti-grav panel, leaving Harry and Seven to examine the rest of the hull, looking for more markings.

Tom kept his anxiety in check, letting the Captain make the necessary threats.

"You say your ship has traveled across this Quadrant, maybe she has heard of it?" Benn told her. "Around the time that she acquired the specifications-"

"Oh stop it," she hissed. "Why are you eluding this? Are you hiding something?"

"We are not hiding anything," Assa was quick to placate her.

The Captain was in full command mode, back straight, chin up, and that patented glare set to kill.

"The Prime Minister is very protective of his daughter; we don't know how he will react to such accusations. If you could wait awhile, we could put this through the necessary channels-"

"I could have my whole crew bombard your agency with enough complaints to shut this race down. Arrange a meeting now."

"It is not that easy."

"Then make it easy," she threatened. "Or else I will accuse the Prime Minister of abduction."

"That won't be necessary."

That familiar voice—long since heard but not forgotten—rang clear across the field.

All parties turned towards the source, currently walking down towards her ship, guards in tow.

"I heard that someone was making persistent inquiries about my ship. I thought I would answer these…questions myself."

The Voyager crew thought that they were looking at an apparition.

Even if she did look different...

Her hair was longer, the dark waves gathered up in a ponytail. She was wearing a teal colored flight suit decorated with a few decals, the Maltan royal seal prominent on her left breast. But what made the change was her face: it seemed clear, relaxed.

"I would have come down sooner, but there was some business that I had to attend to with my father at the Ander Complex."

The two race officials seemed to recover first, surprised that such an important guest would give such a personal response. This was not standard protocol for most Maltans, but she was after all an off-worlder, clearly of a different race even from their Voyager guests.

Nonetheless, they were quick to apologize for the inconvenience.

"I'm sorry M'lady, it wasn't necessary for you to come down here yourself-"

"It's my ship," she snapped. "Of course I would come down her myself!"

Now that was familiar.

"My brother will be here shortly, in the mean time, I am here, and they can deal with me."

Her eyes narrowed to reveal her point, and the two merely nodded their heads. This seemed to satisfy her, turning away from them to look at the visitors, who were watching her with stunned expressions.

They seemed to waiting for her to do something.

The oldest one, a woman wearing a uniform, looked like she was about to laugh or cry. Behind her, a statuesque woman and a dark haired young man were watching her with much expectation. It appeared like they wanted to say something but didn't know how.

And last was the tall young man with golden hair who stared at her with such open affection that it scared her.

But it was his eyes, so blue, that seemed to draw her in. They looked at her with such haunting intensity that it felt as if he could see right through her, as if he really knew her…

She felt herself wanting to reach out to this stranger, even as her mind rationalized a million times on why she should say no.

But then he said her name…

The world seemed to stop as wave upon wave of emotions washed up on Tom with an intensity he couldn't describe.

His legs couldn't move and his eyes…his eyes reached out to her, wanting to grab her, hug her, crush her in his arms. It seemed like his whole body and soul, everything that was Tom Paris, was reacting to the mere sight of her. And after being so long deprived they just didn't know what to do.

At last, something seemed to click inside Tom's head and everything started spinning as his voice choked up one word.

"B'Elanna"

He saw her eyes flash with recognition, a reaction that flooded Tom back with reason. So he did the first thing his rational mind could do.

He took a deep breath, his leg finding its strength set out to move.

To meet her, come to her. Be with her, hold her. To Seek and grab onto that reassurance that she was here, returned to him after so many months of searching. Of heartache. Of thinking that he would have to spend the rest of his life alone and haunted by a dream.

"B'Elanna!"

A certain dimness seemed to pass over her gaze, removing that calming look that connected them, replaced by fear and slowly growing panic.

"B'Elanna?"

Strong arms grabbed onto his shoulders, stopping him. He looked up and into the face of Asher, stoically shaking his head, as if warning him to stop or suffer unknown consequences.

But he could no more stop his advancement than he could tell himself to stop breathing.

"Asher?" he pleaded, "Please let me go to her, Asher, please."

"I'm sorry Lt. Paris, but you need to stand down," he explained calmly. "If you do not, you might be accused of assaulting the provisional crown and the last thing you want to happen is for you to get arrested."

He looked past the guards restraining him and onto B'Elanna, shocked and confused with the situation…just like he was.

"Please Tom, let her go," Asher told him. "For now."

With that, Tom immediately lessened his struggles but did not stop his movements. After being denied for so long, he just simply couldn't understand why she was acting this way.

What was she doing? Why was she just standing there?

A senior official was now standing next to her apologizing for the commotion. Although distressed, he could see how she collected herself, straightening her back and taking control of the situation.

She looked…put-together. Calm. Negotiable.

What had happened to her?

"Do you recognize this young man, M'lady?"

The question momentarily snapped her inner layer of control, and Tom could sense the desperation coming from even as everyone else waited on her calm reserve.

This was his B'Elanna, no doubt. She was there, he knew it. Whatever it was that happened, he hadn't lost her. Not by a long shot.

Their eyes met and locked, and Tom braced himself as she assessed him to give her answer.

"M'lady?" the official prompted. "Do you now him?"

B'Elanna! It's me!

"No."