Too Late
 

Earth.

I had often commented to Naomi Wildman that I found nothing particularly remarkable about the planet. It was M-Class, oxygen-argon atmosphere. . . She agreed. Voyager was our home. I shared the sentiment.

But as I stand here, on the bridge, I see that to this crew, who are standing. . . �mesmerised� by the sight of the planet on their view-screen, it is �special� to them. Even Neelix believes it to be 'special' in some way. It is a shame he isn't able to come to the bridge to see it for himself.

I stand, on the platform above the Captain and the Commander�s chairs. Behind me, I hear a swift intake of breath, probably from Ensign Kim. I turn to look at him, but he remains frozen at the sight, awed by the planet�s presence. Even Commander Tuvok, beside him, seems overawed by Earth. Only I can see the gesture of two fingers on Harry�s. It is unusual for the Commander to allow such personal contact on the bridge, but this situation is exceptional. . .

Neither notices my observation, so I turn back to the view-screen. Just in front of it, Ensign Paris remains rigid. His shoulders are straightened in a posture unusual for him, except when in confrontation with another crewmember, or a hostile alien race. This posture has become particularly frequent for the ensign, since the ending of his relationship with Commander Chakotay approximately three months ago. He has faced hostile verbal exchanges with many of Voyager�s crew, particularly those formerly affiliated with the Maquis under Chakotay�s command.

We are moving steadily closer to the planet, I notice on our scanners, absently. I shrug off the momentary notion that I too, am becoming enthralled in the same way as the rest of the bridge crew. I intend to remain detached. . .

There is movement in the corner of my eye. I see Commander Chakotay come to stand behind the Captain. I feel an odd sensation in my body, centring on the abdomen. . . it is useless to pretend to myself that I do not know what this sensation is. . . it is jealousy. But I attempt to suppress this sensation, reminding myself that the Captain herself told me that any romantic feelings for the Commander had subsided almost three years ago, after their relationship on an isolated planet had ended. . . It is a hard emotion to suppress. It grows increasingly harder everyday. . .

"Seven?"

Tuvok�s voice, breaking the silence, and the spell of those around me, except for the Captain, who takes longer to turn around at Tuvok�s voice. That thought angers me, and I am at a loss to explain why. Perhaps it was that I was caught not fully concentrating. . . I do not want to lose myself in further speculation, so I turn to the Commander.

"The shield harmonics are fully operational, Commander."

He nods, once, as he operates Tactical from Harry�s station. I sense that he may understand the reason for my lack of concentration. I have broached the subject with him before, when discussing the notion of human relationships. He provides a refreshingly unsentimental view of �love� and �romance� that is uncommon among the crew.

The rest of the senior staff turns back to the view-screen. I notice that Tom Paris takes longer to turn than the rest, his eyes resting on Chakotay a moment longer than necessary. His eyes express deep, unspoken emotion. . . I feel saddened. Here is another who may understand me.

Lieutenant Torres stands to one side, her arms crossed. Behind her, an ensign stands, motionless. A Bajoran, recently transferred from sciences, I believe. I am disturbed that my memory is not what it used to be. The Doctor patiently explained to me that as my body rejects more of my Borg implants, I will lose the additional technological benefits they provide me with. I sometimes wish that I could lose some of the human emotions that have taken their place.

But that is an ungrateful attitude to have, when I have been privy to the extreme kindness and understanding of this crew. I do not wish to become part of the Collective again, but sometimes. . . my thoughts are too much to bear alone.

We are being hailed by Starfleet Command. I transfer the hail to the view-screen, obscuring, at least for the moment, the image that has slowly transformed from an unremarkable planet, to a threat to me. The pain that the thought of Earth brings me at night, since I have stopped regenerating, is greatly surpassed by the overflow of emotions that I feel now. Desire, need, longing, regret, anger. . .

There are too many to catalogue. All I need know is that I feel them. I stand placidly, hands behind my back, as I listen to Kath. . . the Captain converse with Starfleet Command about docking procedures. The Admiral is shocked to say the least. Starfleet had no warning that Voyager was on its way to Earth. . . It is not surprising, since the slipstream technology we have adapted since our first attempt a year ago, meant that we travelled by other systems undetected, at a phenomenal rate. Phenomenal rate. . . that word would have no meaning in the Borg. To the Borg, everything is attainable. Perfection is the ultimate goal. . .

I still strive for perfection, but as a human, I have realised slowly that perfection itself is unattainable. It is not possible to be perfect. Unlike the Borg, each human, Vulcan, Bajoran. . . we all have differing ideas on what perfection is. My original idea of perfection was Omega. A chain of molecules that I, and only I, saw stabilise. Infinitesimal power, infinitesimal beauty, infinitesimal harmony. . .

Perfection. But my image of perfection has altered somewhat. And whenever I think of Omega, I think of Kathryn Janeway. Power, beauty, intelligence. . . Kathryn Janeway is not perfect. She can be overzealous in some instances, overcautious in others. She can be over-emotional, commanding. . .

She is humanity. At first, I believed that the reason my thoughts of her were increasing, was because to me, she represented humanity. I believed that since my goal was to become more human, I must be wishing to strive to be her. . . but I was wrong. I cannot say when I realised. Perhaps my feelings were originally like that, I cannot say. I am at a loss. . . This is what Kathryn Janeway does to me.

We spent many hours talking in her ready room and her quarters. Literature, humanity. . . the conversations broached onto love. . .

After an incident with B�Elanna Torres, in which she found out that I had been studying her sexual relationship with Tom Paris, over a year ago now, she had asked me why I had collected 30 000 gigaquads of information on the subject. I could not answer her.

Then.

The Admiral is requesting to see Kathryn in her office. There is a strange demeanour to this Admiral. She is petite, with white hair. Perhaps fifty years of age, she looks as if she has seen many a struggle. It occurs to me that she did not look overwhelmingly pleased to see Voyager. . . this puzzles me greatly. I looks over at Tom Paris, and I notice him turned halfway, as if he was going to speak to the Commander. His face is a mixture of apprehension and some confusion. I turn to Tuvok, who merely raises an eyebrow.

But his hand remains on Harry�s.

After an eternity of only ten minutes, Kathryn and the Admiral step out of her office. The Captain looks weary. I want to hold her. . .

Surprisingly, she walks to where I am on the bridge, standing next to me. I hide my sudden delight through an arched eyebrow, but she doesn�t notice this.

"Admiral Nechayev has given me some. . . distressing news. Due to the recent war with the Cardassians and a Gamma Quadrant ally, the Dominion, we will not be able to dock at Starfleet Command straight away."

Tuvok raises an eyebrow. Harry�s grip on Tuvok�s hand suddenly tightens. B�Elanna glances at Chakotay, who then turns to stand behind Tom. They know what�s coming. . .

"Furthermore, as a result of the Cardassians� weakened state, the *Admiral*. . . " there is disgust evident in her voice here, but Kathryn continues. I feel a hand reach out on the panel, and tighten around my own. She is unperturbed by the metal. That thought comforts me.

"The Admiral has declared that all security risks need to be evaluated. . . including the status of the Maquis."

There are tears in her eyes. She has brought us *home*, but to what?

The Admiral speaks now. She addresses the crew, who stand or sit, stony-faced at her. She is unaccustomed to this. Starfleet protocol dictates that members of a starship crew stand when an Admiral enters. But noone who wasn�t already standing chose to comply with this protocol.

"As you can understand, measures need to be taken to protect the security of the Federation and Cardassia. . . "

"You choose to protect Cardassia after all they�ve done?"

B�Elanna stands now. It is not a choice to comply with the protocol. It is a stand of defiance.

"Lieutenant. . . ?"

"B�Elanna Torres." There�s a pause, and then she crosses her arms. The other Starfleet protocol is to salute the Admiral, I remember, somewhere. . .

"Admiral, meet my Chief Engineer, B�Elanna Torres."

Kathryn tightens her hold on me, before she lets go and walks toward the fuming half-Klingon.

Nechayev looks at B�Elanna, but then she turns to the Captain.

"Maquis?"

The single word hangs in the air. Noone moves.

"A valued member of my crew."

The Admiral nods, her suspicions confirmed. "You allowed a Maquis to become your Chief Engineer?" Her voice is incredulous. I don�t mistake the subtle inflections of her speech for fascination.

"I allowed a Maquis to become my first officer."

And now Tom is standing, his own arms crossed in a show of defiance. I wonder at this for a moment. Tom and Chakotay have no romantic attachment to eachother. . .

But then I remember the fleeting glances Tom and Chakotay occasionally share. It seems that now, it may be too late to do anything about those glances.

Nechayev also turns at this movement, seeing the pilot and the commander standing side-by-side.

"Captain Chakotay?"

"Commander Chakotay. I relinquished that title when I became Kath. . . Captain Janeway�s first officer."

She studies him for a moment. The four stars on her collar appear to give her some sort of power, presence, but noone here is perturbed by it. This crew has seen too much. I feel an odd sort of pride feel me. This is the crew I have served with for three years. . . I am honoured.

"And you?"

She addresses Tom Paris now, whose shoulders are stiff. The threat of confrontation. . .

But he does not have a chance to answer her, as she suddenly tilts her head to one side, and smiles. . . it is not pleasant.

"Thomas Eugene Paris."

"That�s me."

Harry takes another swift intake of breath at this, but I don�t turn.

"*Resigned* from Starfleet due to charges of falsification of a report, later convicted of flying for the Maquis under the command of. . . " she raises an eyebrow, and a knowing smile crosses her face. It is not pleasant. ". . . Captain Chakotay. Sentenced to four years at the Federation Penal Settlement in New Zealand."

"You�ve been reading up. . . Admiral."

Dangerous words. But Kathryn does not stop him. The Admiral is taken aback by his cold reply, but she soon recovers.

"I work with your father."

Tom tilts his head higher, defiance in his posture. Behind him, Chakotay�s hand rests on the small of his back. The Admiral cannot see it, but Tuvok, Harry and I can clearly see it. It is comforting, in a small way.

I am the next on the list of the Admiral�s observations, it seems. She walks to the Captain�s chair, standing in front of me, staring up, as I stare down. There is a perverse satisfaction in our positions.

"You�re Borg."

"I was severed from the Collective three years ago. My name is Seven of Nine. My former designation was Annika Hanson."

But she ignores me, it seems. She turns to the Captain as I finish speaking.

"A Borg, Captain?"

"A valued member of my crew. And a close friend of mine."

The words take me aback, but they feel me with pleasure, even in this hostile encounter. I smile at the Captain and she smiles back. I don�t smile very often, I find the pose somewhat. . . unnatural. But it comes easily, even in the face of this.. woman.

It seems as if the Admiral�s study is complete, because she taps her badge to be beamed back to Starfleet Headquarters.

But instead of her dematerialization, other figures materialise on the bridge. Dressed in an alien Starfleet uniform, but the gold in their collar denotes them as engineering. . .

Or security.

Their phasers are drawn, and their targets are clear. They don�t shoot, but two are dispatched to certain crewmembers. We do not have a chance. . . B�Elanna, Chakotay, Tom. . .

And me.

A phaser is levelled at my head, as I hear Kathryn tap her commbadge. "Security to the bridge. . . "

"I�m afraid that *Starfleet* security is on every deck. It�s over, Kathryn."

Over

The Admiral taps her commbadge, and I feel the transporter beam wash over me. It�s a sinister feeling. The last thing I see is Kathryn, her hand resting above her heart, and mouthing two words. She has no time to do anything else. She looks straight at me, regret, longing in her eyes. . .

I'm sorry

---

TBC