Sam Wildman and the Delaney sisters finished their drinks as their laughter slowly died away, their eyes sliding away from one another's. They had been meeting during off-duty time in Sandrine's for a few weeks, now, having realized that they enjoyed each others' company. Their gatherings had begun as bitch sessions about the usual things-work, their respective bosses, ex-lovers, and being trapped in the Delta Quadrant in general. As they continued to meet, their discussions had widened to include their personal histories, their fears, hopes, and dreams. They had found their increasing intimacy to have a salubrious effect upon their lives. How could they have forgotten what most women knew almost from birth, that simple girl-talk could be so therapeutic?

Tonight, however, had been different. What had begun as typical complaints about being trapped in the Delta Quadrant had morphed into more pointed, personal jibes. General discontent aimed at no one in particular soon became barbed comments about Captain Kathryn Janeway's command style, which then gave way to bitter recriminations about the Captain's decision to leave them all stranded 70,000 light years from home. Now, ten years later, they were still looking at a lifetime in exile.

"Well, I might enjoy my work, at least, if I didn't have to come into almost daily contact with the Ice Queen," moaned Sam. "You'd think after all this time aboard Voyager she'd loosen up a bit."

"At least she's easy on the eyes," observed Jennifer.

"Yeah. I get to work with the Doc!" chimed Megan. "Seven's built like a brick shithouse."

"Right-an ice-brick one!" giggled Sam. The Delaney sisters joined in.

"My boss is hell on wheels," complained Jennifer. "Torres has been on some kind of tear lately."

It was true. B'Elanna Torres, the resident Klingon-human hybrid, had been testy recently, at best. The Engineering crew had been trying to keep out of the Chief's way for days now. Had they given it any thought, they might well have wondered at the source of their Chief's discontent. It couldn't have been her on-again, off-again relationship with Lieutenant Paris. No, they had permanently called it quits well over a year ago, and Paris had most definitely moved on. In fact, the two had maintained a friendship, one that sustained Lieutenant Torres in a way that had surprised her. Even the Chief, herself, was at a loss to describe her malaise. A vague restlessness had beset her, and her temper was fraying more and more quickly the longer the unnamed complaint dragged on. Her unfortunate staff had borne the brunt of their boss's ill-ease. Perhaps her "date" with Tom later on that evening would shake her out of her funk. There was nothing she found more exhilarating than running a Klingon battle program with the safeties set to minimum! Ensign Delaney had felt a shiver run down her spine when she saw the malicious smile break across the Chief's otherwise beautiful features. She had made an abrupt about-face and found something to do in another part of Engineering rather than cross paths with the Lieutenant at that particular moment. Jennifer shook her head at the memory of the Engineering crew ducking their normally beloved boss.

"Something's up with her, that's for sure," she mused. "Maybe she's tired of trying to keep the engines working while Janeway keeps getting us into one tangle after another."

"I know I would," agreed her sister. She brightened as a new idea took hold. "I'll bet she'd make a better captain than Janeway."
"Torres?" asked Sam. "She's too much of a hot-head. Seven'd be a better one."

"But you said it yourself, Sam," interjected Megan. "She's nerveless. With the ice water running through her veins, she'd get us into more trouble than Janeway ever has!"

"Yeah," said Jennifer. "Torres at least would have some feeling for her crew. Her sense of honor would prevent her from putting us thoughtlessly in harm's way."

"But Seven has a strong sense of duty to us-her 'collective.' She'd be hesitant to put this crew into the kind of peril Janeway consigned us to!" Sam insisted.

"Let's test this theory out, then, shall we?" asked Jennifer.

"What do you mean, Jen?" asked her sister.

After another hour of drinking, plotting, and giggling, the three raised their heads from their close collaboration and sat back.

"Well," said Sam, "where do you want to meet again? In the mess hall, someone's quarters, or the holodeck?"

"The holodeck!" Jennifer smiled. "I know for a fact that Torres and Paris are running a Klingon battle program right now."

"Ah! When the Klingon's day is done!"

"When the battle's over and won!"

"When the program has been run!"

"Then meet back here, in front of Holodeck 2, in twenty minutes!" said Jennifer as the three women clasped hands to seal their plans. "Up is down and down is up. Janeway will rue the day she ever drank from this cup!"

Making sounds that could only be described as cackling, the three women rose and disappeared through the exit.


Scene ii-Up is Down

In her ready room, Captain Kathryn Janeway paced. Back and forth, she measured the length of the small room a dozen times over, stopping to sip from her coffee cup at regular intervals.

"Chakotay!" she fumed for the hundredth time. She had half a mind to bust him back to Lieutenant for this. Normally, when she and her first officer disagreed, they treated each other with courtesy, Chakotay deferring to his commanding officer, and Janeway being careful of her number one's ego. But this time she was distinctly angry at him, feeling as she did that he had embarrassed her by disagreeing with her in front of the emissary from the people whose planet they had been orbiting. Any other time, she would not have minded that he would suggest a different course of action from the one upon which she had decided. But any other time he would have consulted with her privately, not contradicted her publicly before her crew and visitors. For reasons she could not explain, she could not calm her anger at his temerity. Quite the contrary, she felt her anger build. Just who in the hell did he think he was? He ought to thank all the spirits in his pantheon that she had made the dirty Maquis traitor her second in command instead of throwing him into the brig as he deserved! Well, she'd see about this! She'd been feeling the need for a change lately-some vague, disturbing sense that things needed shaking up. Well, there was no better time than the present, and she knew just whom to promote to the position of Commander. She strode over to her replicator.

"Pips-rank of Lieutenant Commander," she requested. The three golden items gleamed into existence. Smiling, she took them up in her hand and placed them into a small, velvet-lined box.

She slapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Torres." No response. "Computer, state location of Lieutenant Torres."

"Lieutenant Torres is in Holodeck 2," came the mechanized reply.

"Very well," thought the Captain as she headed out the door. "I'll deliver the good news to her personally."

On her way to the Holodeck, Janeway literally ran into Jennifer Delaney, causing her to drop the small box she'd been carrying.

"Pardon me, Captain," said Jennifer, stooping to pick up the box, which had sprung open upon hitting the deck. She handed the box to her Captain, but not before noticing what lay in it.

"Thank you, Ensign," said Janeway, snapping the box shut. "Have you seen Lieutenant Torres?" she asked.

Jennifer's eyes grew large. "She's in the Holodeck, ma'am," she told her, while telling herself to calm down. Wouldn't do to let on to the Captain that she'd put two and two together. "She's running a program with Lieutenant Paris, but she won't be finished for a little while yet," she offered.

Janeway wondered at the volunteered information coming from the Ensign, but just as quickly realized that she'd been indiscreet, herself. She didn't normally give herself away by asking crewmembers questions about other crewmembers as she'd just done. The thought suddenly occurred to her that she really ought to tell Chakotay of his demotion before she promoted another in his place. Might as well do this properly. Inexplicably, she committed yet another indiscretion.

"Janeway to Chakotay."

"Chakotay here, Captain," her comm badge chirped.

"My ready room," she said frostily.

"Yes, Captain."

As the Captain turned and strode in the other direction, Jennifer Delaney smirked gleefully. Things were falling into place quite nicely. She hurried toward the Holodeck as if chased by demons.


Scene iii-Something Stupid this Way Comes

Jennifer Delaney caught up with her sister and Sam Wildman outside of Holodeck 2. They giggled conspiratorially at one another.

"Where have you been, Sis?" asked Megan.

"Killing time," Jennifer replied, smiling. "Where've you been?"

"The mess hall. I sent Neelix on a wild goose chase and while he was gone, swiped a bunch of goodies from his larder. We can divvy them up later if you want," Megan told her fellow plotters, holding up a sack for their inspection.

"I'll have some now," said Sam, reaching into the sack. "I'll have some, too!" cried Jennifer, snatching the bag from her sister.

"Look what I have!" said Megan, grinning, as Jennifer and Sam shoved Neelix's latest batch of cookies into their mouths.

"What?"

"Show me!"

"I have got the Talaxian's ear, but quite literally, as you see here," Megan cackled. The three women howled with laughter as they ate the cookies and passed the grisly trophy back and forth.

"I suppose the 'wild goose chase' was to send him to Sickbay," observed Sam.

"Yep!" chirped Megan. "Look, girls, I'm all ears!" she said as she placed the morale officer's ear up on the top of her head.

They doubled over in peels of laughter just as the Holodeck door swished open.

"Hush, hush! It's Torres and the putz!" whispered Jennifer.

"I love the smell of Klingon blood in the evening!" said Lieutenant Torres expansively as she and Paris walked out of the Holodeck. She slapped her former boyfriend on the back heartily. She'd had a great time slashing and eviscerating Klingon warriors, even if they'd been holographic ones. Tom, however, seemed a bit worse for the wear as he limped along at her side. "Yeah, Klingon blood, my favorite," he winced as he absorbed the friendly blow. Then he noticed the three waiting women.

"What are you girls up to, hanging around the hallways this late into the evening? You look weird-what do you have there, Megan?" He made as if to reach for the item she had quickly moved to hold behind her back. "And what's with the sack? What's going on here? You look like you've been drinking." They giggled and looked back at him with wildly glinting eyes.

Tom's easy smile faded as he looked from one to the other of them. They were certainly behaving oddly. Paris had privately thought that the Delaney sisters had less than half a brain between them, but this was passing strange. "Don't you have a shift tomorrow? You should be sleeping, not carrying on like you're trick or treating or something."

"Ho."

"Ho."

"Ho."

"We know something you don't know!"

The three women surrounded him and began to move about him in a circle. He was getting dizzy from watching them. "What are you three on about?"

"What are they on? That's a better question," smirked Torres.

"Lesser in rank than Torres, yet much ranker!" said Megan.

"Now, wait a minute!" Paris protested.

"Now much happier, yet less happy!" sang Jennifer.

"Huh?"

"You've touched greatness, yet shall touch it not!" chimed in Samantha.

"What the hell?" Tom turned to B'Elanna and looked at her quizzically. Torres shrugged, drawing the attention of the weird women to her.

"We salute you, B'Elanna Torres, Chief of Engineering!" said Megan.

"We salute you, B'Elanna Torres, Lieutenant Commander!" sang Jennifer.

"We salute you, B'Elanna Torres, Captain hereafter!" chimed in Samantha.

The three snapped to attention and saluted her smartly. Then they turned and ran down the hall, practically shrieking their laughter.

"I have got to keep Delaney busier in Engineering," mused Torres, shaking her head, looking after the three women.

"Yeah. And someone should keep the other two out of the cooking sherry. What was that crack about being ranker than you, anyway?" He lifted his arm and sniffed his armpit. "I took a shower! And what's this about you being Lieutenant Commander, and then Captain? I didn't know you had such ambition!" Paris joked with her as they began walking toward the turbolift.

"Well, you know me, clawing my way to the top!" B'Elanna chuckled. She maintained her outward demeanor of humorous befuddlement at the ramblings of the Delaney sisters and Ensign Wildman, yet something uncomfortable stirred deep within her. A building desire, a sense of excitement and yearning began to gnaw at her. She tried to shake it off. "Wildman is already appropriately named, but we'll have to start calling the other two the Delooney sisters, if you ask me," she told him. "And what's this about you 'touching greatness' but not touching it? Was that it? What's up with that?"

"Don't ask me," chuckled Tom as they stopped in front of the turbolift.

They were prevented from entering the turbolift by the exit of Captain Janeway.

"Ah! Just the woman I want to see, Lieutenant Commander Torres," Janeway smiled at B'Elanna.

"Captain?" asked Torres, thunderstruck.

"Oh, I know I should have done this with more pomp and ceremony, as I usually would, but I just couldn't wait to give you these." Janeway pushed the small blue box into Lieutenant Torres's hands.

B'Elanna opened the box and stared at the three pips gleaming as they lay on the deep blue velvet. She looked up at her Captain in amazement.

"But what about Chakotay? Is this a joke? Do you decorate me with impermanent pips?"

"It's no joke. Congratulations, Commander. I expect you in my ready room at 0800 hours tomorrow. I want to get my new number one up to speed. Carry on. Good evening, Commander, Lt. Paris," she nodded at him, seemingly noticing him for the first time.

And with that, Janeway turned and re-entered the turbolift, leaving Tom and B'Elanna staring open-mouthed at one another.


Scene iv-A Room with a View

The ready room doors opened promptly at 0800 to admit the newly-minted Lieutenant Commander, B'Elanna Torres, to her Captain's presence.

"Commander Torres reporting for duty, Captain," said Torres as she stood at attention.

"Well," breathed Kathryn Janeway, rising from behind the desk to greet her new number one. "You look magnificent in red, B'Elanna." She opened her arms as she approached the first officer then embraced her warmly.

"Thank you, Captain," said the somewhat flustered Commander, as she and the Captain released each other. "I saw that you had authorized the uniform, so I replicated one this morning." She still couldn't believe this recent turn of events-that she had been elevated so precipitously, and that it had been foretold to her just moments before Janeway had promoted her-in the hallway, of all places!

Janeway looked her squarely in the eyes for a long moment. "I expected no less, Commander." Then she smiled and moved to her replicator, indicating that the number one should take a seat.

"Coffee, black," she told it, "and, ah, raktajino, I believe?" she asked over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," said B'Elanna as she perched on the edge of the couch.

The Captain waved her hand. "Oh, belay that 'ma'am' business. Right here, right now, it's Kathryn, B'Elanna." She smiled widely as she handed Torres her cup of raktajino. "I like to be on a first-name basis with my first officer when we're in my ready room, having a nice, informal chat." She sat next to Torres.

"Yes, ma'am-uh, Kathryn," smiled B'Elanna hesitantly as she began to relax into the welcoming atmosphere established by the Captain.

"I know this has come as a bit of a shock, B'Elanna," the Captain began.

"Well, yes. It has," admitted Torres. "And frankly, I'm a little concerned about Engineering."

"How so?" asked Janeway, her face becoming serious.

"Well, I've had so little time to prepare my replacement. I know it's going to be Carey, but I haven't had a chance to tell him that he's going to be the new Chief, and there are several projects I need to go over with him that-."

The Captain cut her off. "I know that you can take care of this today, and I trust your judgment in choosing your replacement implicitly," she said. "Right! The senior staff meeting begins soon, and I want to show off my new first officer. Is there anything else?"

B'Elanna hesitated. "There is one more thing."

"Yes?" asked Janeway, frowning slightly.

"Chakotay, Captain," B'Elanna stated.

"Well?" Janeway looked impatient.

"Well, where is he?"

Janeway stood up abruptly and waved her hand. "He's in the brig," she said tersely.

"The brig, Captain? What did he do, if I might ask?"

"He's to face court-martial for insubordination," Janeway stated as she turned to look at Torres.

"Court-martial! Insubordination? Chakotay? Kathryn, I don't mean to be pushy, but won't we need him? We still have a rather long way to go, if I'm not mistaken-."

The Captain held up her hand. "Oh, nothing he did for this ship served it like his leaving it! We'll all be better off without him, B'Elanna," the Captain said as she took a sip of her coffee. She looked over her cup at Torres and winked at her, her ease and good humor restored. "You'll see."

"Yes, Captain," said Torres, an incipient smile beginning upon her face.

"Now, let's go join the others, shall we?" asked Janeway. Torres stood and walked with Janeway toward the door. She took a deep breath as she and the Captain stepped into the conference room, Janeway's hand resting gently on her back.


Scene v-Fate and Metaphysical Aid

The entrance of Captain Janeway and Commander Torres into the conference room brought the spirited debate to an abrupt halt. The curious department heads grew silent, waiting for their Captain to fill them in and confirm or deny the rumors they'd heard. Three empty chairs around the table had fueled much speculation, and despite the reasonable suggestion by Tuvok that they wait until they heard from the Captain herself before jumping to unwarranted conclusions, Paris, Ensign Harry Kim, and the Doctor had been beside themselves with impatience to know all. Only Seven of Nine, who had no knowledge of the matter to impart, had remained silent.

At the first sight of B'Elanna's red shoulders, Paris thumped the table top.

"There!" he exclaimed triumphantly, looking around the table, "I told you she'd been made Number One!"

"But where's Chakotay, B'Elanna?" asked Harry, smiling. "You bump him off on your way to the top?"

"Lieutenant Chakotay is in the brig and will remain there until he can be court-martialed," said Janeway, frowning at Kim's joke. "Until I am ready to convene the court-martial and that matter is resolved, we'll have no more discussion about him."

Harry and Tom looked at one another in surprise. Tuvok's eyebrow shot up, but he said nothing. The Doctor was about to say something but thought better of it after his eyes met Janeway's. They practically dared him to speak. Only Seven failed to react to the news. Barely registering the Captain's words, she'd been unable to tear her eyes from Commander Torres since the two women had entered the conference room. As the years had passed on Voyager, Seven had slowly come to terms with much of what it meant to be human, including the fact that humans responded powerfully to certain reactions within their brains caused by close proximity to other humans. They dressed it up in romantic language, calling it "falling in love" or "feeling attracted to" someone or some other sentimental nonsense. But the fact remained that what they experienced was a chemical reaction, purely and simply. It resulted in illogical behaviors and often included much physical contact that was excruciatingly embarrassing to witness. When the chemical responses changed, as they inevitably did, the sullen emotional backwash that she and other crewmembers had to wade through until those involved "got over it" was unrelentingly tedious. She had never experienced this particular chemical response and was relieved at being spared that indignity, at least. The other, more mundane bodily functions that she had had to accept as part and parcel of her human condition were humiliating enough, thank you very much. Frankly, she envied the Doctor his lack of corporeal existence at times.

But now, she was, and really there was no other way to put it, hot and bothered. She felt an ache deep within her as she stared at the beautiful half-Klingon in the arresting command red uniform, the three gold pips on her collar glinting in the overhead lighting. A wave of heat washed over her, making the blood rush to her face as her heart raced. She stirred uncomfortably in her chair, feeling the need to relieve a sudden pressure that had built inexplicably between her legs.

Torres, who'd been standing next to Janeway with her hands behind her back, looking off into the middle distance, swept her eyes around the table as if to determine the level of acceptance of this startling turn of events. When her eyes met Seven's, she stopped momentarily, frowning, then moved away. Almost against her will, she looked at Seven again. As their eyes met and held, Seven felt the blood suffuse her face anew. She dropped her eyes in acute embarrassment but found that she was unable to look away for long. She raised her head and met Torres's gaze once again. To her horror, she realized that her lips were parted and that she was breathing heavily. B'Elanna frowned more deeply and forced her eyes away to look at Janeway, as it was clear that the Captain was preparing to make the official announcement.

"I'm more than pleased to announce the promotion of B'Elanna Torres to Lieutenant Commander. She'll be taking over as my first officer effective immediately. As always, I'm sure that you'll extend to her your utmost respect and cooperation," stated Janeway, smiling around the room. "B'Elanna?" she turned to her new number one.

"Yes, thank you, Captain," smiled Torres as she brought her hands from behind her back and gazed around the table at her seated colleagues. "While I enjoy working in Engineering, I look forward to this new challenge. And it goes without saying that I'm grateful for your support in the past and hope that I can count on its continuing." It wasn't exactly deathless speech-making, but it was appropriate and the best she could do under the circumstances. If the truth were told, she still felt awkward about the whole situation. It was damned peculiar, almost as if unseen, unknown forces were at work, controlling their actions, their circumstances, hell, their very thoughts. Well, she couldn't untangle it all just now. She just wanted this initial moment of her service as first officer over with so she could get on with her duties.

The longer she stood next to Janeway, looking around at her colleagues, the more disturbing the thought that there was some discontent with her promotion became. As she took her seat next to the Captain, she cast surreptitious glances about the table, trying to get a feel for who seemed happy about the situation and who did not. She had her suspicions about Tuvok, naturally, the duplicitous bastard. She'd never quite been able to get past his treachery, his working with the Maquis as a Starfleet operative. Harry looked like he wanted to cry. She mentally shook her head. He was her best friend, next to Tom, aboard Voyager, yet she knew he respected Chakotay. The poor sap probably didn't know what to think or how to feel. Then there was Tom. He was frowning deeply, the lines between his eyes having deepened over the years. In the ten years they'd been trapped in the Delta Quadrant, Tom had matured more than any of the crew. Growing up from a hot-headed kid into a thoughtful, measured adult, he and B'Elanna had shared the most intimate of relationships. That stage of their relationship was past, but they had maintained a close bond. If anyone could be counted on to support her in her abrupt elevation to second in command, it should have been Tom. B'Elanna's eyes narrowed as she took Tom's measure down the table. He looked profoundly troubled and wouldn't meet her gaze. The Doctor seemed the least affected by the changes, seemingly unaware of the undercurrents flowing through the room. If he didn't seem to offer much encouragement, likewise he didn't seem to project any misgivings about her assuming her new role. That left Seven.

She wasn't sure, but it seemed to B'Elanna that Seven had been unable to take her eyes from her since she and the Captain had entered the conference room. And it wasn't as if she was staring daggers at her. If anything, she seemed to be fighting something in herself. If the idea were not so ludicrous, she'd almost swear that the woman was sexually aroused-by her! Torres fought the urge to smile. Seven would be a valuable and powerful ally. Perhaps it was time to cultivate a closer alliance with the Chief of Astrometrics. As the meeting wore on, Commander Torres decided that she would spend part of her first day as first officer by paying a little visit to Cargo Bay 2.


Scene vi-Hex Me Up, Sex Me Up

The door to Cargo Bay 2 safely shut behind her, Seven of Nine slumped against the bulkhead, letting the pent-up feelings she'd been fighting all day have their sway. Heat surged through her once again, and she knew her face was flushed. A remote part of her conscious mind registered an elevated heart rate and body temperature, but she couldn't spare any thoughts about that now, aware as she was of the throbbing of a previously dormant part of her body. She didn't know why this was happening to her. There was nothing different about B'Elanna Torres beyond a different color uniform and a change in rank and position. Why she should suddenly be in thrall to base desires and physical demands she was unable to discern. But she was. She let herself picture Commander Torres in her red-shouldered tunic, exuding power and confidence. The proud Klingon ridges, the café-au-lait skin. She ran her hands along her sides, feeling for the first time the firm flesh beneath the slick biosuit, imagining what it would be like if Torres . . . .

She gasped as her hand found her sex, and she removed it to grip the console she'd managed to move to stand beside once she'd entered the Cargo Bay. What in the name of the Borg Queen had come over her? And when had she started invoking the Borg Queen? The thought gave her pause. Oh, it was irrelevant! What did it matter in the face of these overwhelming impulses? She knew that she wanted to experience the act of sex, the feelings of desire and release, the giving over of herself to another being in an ecstasy of abandon. And she wanted to experience it with Commander Torres. She brought her hands again to her sides. If the sight and thought of Torres in the rank of Commander moved her to such passion, she wondered, what would they do to her if Torres were in the position of Captain?

She would know! She would give herself to her Commander and in so doing spur Torres to greater heights, greater power.

"Come to me, you human desires, feelings, and sensual powers," she thought, running her hands over her breasts till her nipples became painfully, deliciously erect. Oh. That's what those things did. "Bathe me in your juices and fill me head to toe with womanly essence. Make sweet my sex, make fast my blood, and stay the conscious thoughts of reason that would put the lie to your logic and stop me and my ministrations. Come, maddening minions that drive such creatures as we are to leave our thoughtful purposes to dive headlong into the crazed morass of roiling passions. Cloud the pure, clear light of reason seated in our high machine, let slip the beast that dwells within our nether region, and strangle in its birth the thought that maybe this isn't such a good idea."

Seven groaned, her eyes shut, her head thrown back, and her hands everywhere on her own body.

She was startled by the sound of the door to Cargo Bay 2 swishing open.

"Commander Torres!" she exclaimed, her eyes flashing, her hands slowly sliding from her body.

Torres walked up to Seven and stopped mere inches away from her, looking at her sharply.

"So, do you want to fuck, or not?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest and cocking her head to one side.

"That depends, Commander," smiled Seven, trailing her long fingers along Torres's red-clad shoulders. "Will you wear your red uniform? Will you keep it on the whole time? Will you let me call you 'Captain,' my Captain?" She moved even closer to B'Elanna until her breasts lightly touched the first officer's folded arms. She ran a finger down Torres's cheek until it reached her collar, where she touched the pips on it.

"'Captain'!" exclaimed Torres, tearing herself away from the siren that Seven had become and taking a few steps away from her. She walked over to the console and idly picked up a PADD and put it down. She turned to face Seven.

"Aren't you being a little premature? I've only now been promoted to number one. I'd like to enjoy this for a little while before entertaining the notion that I could ever be anything greater."

Seven advanced on B'Elanna, backing her up until she could back no further, braced as she was by the console behind her.

"It is but a small step to the captaincy, B'Elanna," cooed Seven into Torres's ear. "Authority becomes you. You are destined for this position. It is written in the stars." She rubbed her smooth, soft cheek against B'Elanna's face, her hands traveling up her arms until they reached her shoulders, where she kneaded the tense muscles. Then she licked B'Elanna's cheek, producing an involuntary growl from deep within Torres's throat.

"But she's been so nice to me," protested Torres, pulling out of Seven's grasp. "How can I betray her kindness, her trust? And just what are you saying-that I should kill her? Where is the honor in that?" She had her wits about her again and she would put an end to this crazy, seditious talk. She turned to leave.

Seven caught her by the arm and turned her to face her again, pulling her against her body and enclosing her in a tight embrace.

"Hush, my beloved," murmured Seven, moving her face to B'Elanna's again. "Your Klingon honor does you credit." She paused to place a soft kiss on B'Elanna's neck. "It stands you in good stead . . . ." She kissed a little higher up her neck. ". . . and will be your guiding influence when you achieve the greatness . . . ." She kissed B'Elanna's face. ". . . you so deserve." She sank her teeth into B'Elanna's cheek, drawing blood.

Emitting a sound midway between a growl and a groan, Commander Torres bent Seven back in her arms and took her lips in a bruising kiss. As they sank down to the deck, Seven broke the kiss and whispered into B'Elanna's ear, "Put the coming business into my hands, beloved. Leave everything to me."


Scene vii-The Sticking Place

"Well, B'Elanna," said Captain Janeway as she gazed around Commander Torres's new, bigger quarters. "I see that you're all settled in. How does it feel to have all this space?" she smiled as her executive officer handed her a freshly replicated cup of coffee.

"I hardly know what to say, Captain," said Torres, meeting her eyes for the barest minimum of time before sliding them away. "They're better than I could ever have imagined. I guess I hadn't thought that the quarters came with the job."

"You deserve them, Commander," said Janeway, settling her cup into its saucer delicately. She strolled around the living space, her attention drawn to Torres's bat'leth hanging in its place of honor above the sofa. "I may be wrong, but I think I'm the first Star Fleet Captain to have a Klingon-or at least a half-Klingon-as her number one. Plus, there are damned few ships in the fleet in which women serve as both Captain and XO," she mused, gazing at the bat'leth. She put her coffee down on the low table before the sofa and turned to face her first officer. "You don't know how proud I am to have you serve at my side, B'Elanna. You do me great honor. I so look forward to our working together." She gripped Torres firmly by the upper arms and gave her a squeeze and a little shake.

"The honor is mine, Captain," choked Torres, again unable to hold her Captain's gaze.

Janeway smiled at her first officer, who seemed overcome by the emotion of the moment. She'd often seen promotions have that effect. "I'll let myself out, B'Elanna. I'm sorry to have dropped in unexpectedly like this, but I just wanted to make sure you were all stowed away in your quarters." She gave Torres one more little squeeze and let her go. "See you bright and early tomorrow, Commander," she said as she turned to go.

"Aye, ma'am," returned Torres, watching her leave. As soon as the door slid shut, she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her shoulders drooping and her hand going to her forehead. "Kahless, but I wish this were over!" she muttered, massaging her ridges.

"Well," came the icy voice from the bedroom doorway. "That was certainly impressive."

Torres turned to look at Seven of Nine as she stood leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. It struck her that she'd never seen Seven take up such a casual position. "Look, I'm not going to go through with this, okay?" she exclaimed as she made to move past Seven and into the bedroom.

"Can you say this?" demanded Seven, following B'Elanna. "After what we'd talked about? After what we'd agreed to?" Her voice softened. "After what we've been to each other?"

"How can I just kill Captain Janeway?" Torres asked, moving to stand before Seven and taking her arm. "You'd have me become an assassin! Do you know what happens to assassins? They get assassinated!" Seven pulled out of Torres's grasp and turned abruptly away from her. "Plus I'd be damned to Gre'thor for sure," said Torres, turning Seven to face her again. "I'm Janeway's number one. I should be protecting her against challengers to her authority and position, not stabbing her in the back myself! Besides, Janeway has been a decent Captain. She's been more than fair to me. Hell, she could have thrown all of us Maquis into the brig after our ship was destroyed and we came aboard Voyager. But she gave me a chance! She made me Chief of Engineering! And now first officer! No. I won't do it, Seven." She looked deeply into Seven's steely blue eyes. "I can't," she said, imploring her to accept her decision.

Seven flung off B'Elanna's hand and stood up to her full, imposing height. She looked down at her lover and said haughtily, "bIHnuch! I see that I have misjudged you. I thought you were a warrior, not the p'taQ I now see that you are! I am ashamed to have let you touch me. I would sooner bathe myself in veQ than to have you touch me again!"

Torres, who'd been staring at Seven in disbelief as she began her harangue, became enraged as the insults became more and more infuriating. She lashed out at Seven in a blind rage, her right hand striking the taller woman across the face with such force that Seven's ears rang and she tasted blood.

B'Elanna stared at the ex-Borg in hatred as her chest heaved with exertion and emotion. Seven, whose head had been thrown to the right by the savage blow, slowly turned to face the enraged half-Klingon. Feeling the blood ooze from her split lip, she paused for a long moment, watching Torres as her eyes became focused on the sight. The vein in the Commander's neck began to throb, and a low growl began to rumble from deep within her.

Seven smiled and stepped even closer to Torres. "You are beautiful when you are feeling the bloodlust, my beloved," she whispered. "baQa'!" cried Torres as she grabbed the taller woman and threw her onto the bed, ripping at her biosuit. Once she had Seven naked she began to kiss and bite her in wild abandon, letting her rage and lust expend itself upon the pliant flesh beneath her.

The half-Klingon Commander's woman laughed as her lover moved above her. She exulted in the pain of the warrior's bites. She thrilled to the feel of her superior officer's hands and mouth on her body, bringing her to the edge of release.

"Now, stiffen your resolve and forge ahead with our plans, beloved," she whispered into B'Elanna's ear as the executive officer took her forcefully, her hand plunging rapidly in and out of Seven's body. "What heights will we reach with our forces so joined!" she cried out, her voice rising with her orgasm.

"Seven," panted Torres as she collapsed onto her lover's body. "I never thought I'd say this, but sometimes you talk too damn much."


Act II

Scene i-Last Night I Dreamed I Went to Gre'thor Again

Lieutenant Tom Paris and Ensign Harry Kim sat in a long-deserted Sandrine's. Harry watched his old friend worriedly. Something was eating Paris. They'd drunk well into the night, as they often did, but no matter how many the helmsman threw back, nothing could shake him out of his black mood.

"What time is it, Harry?" asked Tom.

"Well past four bells," answered Harry yawning, using the old maritime duty watch measure.

"And last call was at 0100 hours," mused Tom, looking down into the dregs of his beer, swirling them around in the bottom of the glass. "That was already some time ago."

"I'm calling it a night, Tom," said Harry, rising from his chair.

"Wait a minute," said Tom sharply, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him back into his seat. "You can sleep when you're dead. I tell you, Harry, I'm feeling really weird about this whole B'Elanna-Chakotay thing. I wish I could close my eyes-sleep . . . ." He relaxed his grip on Harry's arm and sat back in his chair, his eyes shutting for a few seconds, his face losing its tension. "Gods! The things that come to me in my dreams since this whole business happened! Where's my phaser?" He half-rose from his chair, his hand moving toward his sidearm as the door to the bar swished open to admit Commander Torres.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Harry, placing a calming hand on Tom's shoulder and easing him back down into his chair. "Take is easy, buddy!"

"What's this, Tom, you old helmrat! You going to shoot me?" smiled Torres as she paused to stand next to their table.

"Just a little jumpy, I guess," answered Paris, not meeting her eyes. "Not in bed yet? An executive officer's work is never done, I guess." He forced a smile and looked up at her. "The Captain retired hours ago."

"I was just checking as to why this program is running past closing time, boys," said Torres, folding her arms and looking down at them in mock severity. "I think it's time we shut this down, don't you?"

For some reason, Paris couldn't stop himself from speaking the thought that flashed in his mind. "It's been pretty quiet tonight, sir. You know, last night I dreamed of the witches of Voyager. It seems they knew what they were talking about." His eyes narrowed as he watched her reaction to his words.

"The 'witches'?" asked Torres, frowning. "Oh, Wildman and the Delaneys! I'd forgotten about them." She made a study of her fingernails. "Actually, Tom, I'd like to talk with you about that some time," she said, looking at him directly, trying to read his expression.

"At your convenience, of course, Commander," he replied, dropping his eyes and inclining his head deferentially.

"Very well. I'll let you know, then," stated Torres, straightening her posture, responding to the helmsman's formality in kind. "Carry on."

"Yes, sir," said Paris before turning and walking rapidly toward the exit.

"Good night, Commander," said Harry as he turned to follow Tom out the door.

Once the two men had left and the door swished shut behind them, B'Elanna collapsed into the chair just abandoned by Paris and ordered a bloodwine. No sense in letting this quiet time alone in Sandrine's go to waste. She took a long pull on the mug and sat back, letting her eyes become unfocused and her mind drift. Seven was going to signal her tonight when she was sure that the Captain was asleep. She had rigged the sensors monitoring Janeway's quarters to recognize Torres and allow her entrance unimpeded. Seven was good at this shit, if B'Elanna did say so herself. She'd covered her tracks, avoiding all Borg encryption codes, and she never did anything in the computing system without leaving her Borg fingerprints all over the datastream. By the time anyone could crack the mystery of who'd entered the Captain's quarters in the wee hours of the Gamma shift, she'd be Captain and Seven could bury the data even further.

Suddenly Torres sat straight up in her chair, staring into the distance in wide-eyed alarm. What was this that was approaching her, seemingly out of the ether? A temporal anomaly? A force field? A small area of space a few yards before her shimmered as slowly a savage-looking weapon took shape and hung in mid-air.

"Is this a kut'luch I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Just what I was going to use! Let's have you, then! What's this?" She made to take the handle, but her hand passed right through it. "I can see it, but I can't grab it! What the fuck?" she demanded, looking around her in panic. "What is this, a hologram? Is someone playing a trick on me?" she shouted, standing up and looking wildly around. "Or is it my own guilty conscience, stabbing me in my Klingon heart, like this very kut'luch, made to do more damage coming out than going in?" She watched in horrified fascination as the kut'luch shivered and turned red. "It's still here, only now it's dripping in blood! Human blood! Kahless! What's the matter with me? This isn't real. I must be losing my mind. Ha! I'll be losing more than that! Seven'll kill me if I don't pull it together." She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "All right," she breathed, looking up and squaring her shoulders. "Keep your secrets, old girl," she told the ship as her eyes became more focused and she stared at her surroundings in Sandrine's. "The decks themselves should swallow my steps or the walls would ring out my murderous path to my fourth pip. Just do it, Torres," she told herself, "and it's done!" Her comm badge vibrated.

"The signal! It's time. She's asleep. The kut'luch leads me!" She looked down as the weapon materialized in her right hand. "Don't look now, Katie! Your time is nigh. You'll be dispatched in the near by and by."

With that, the Commander moved resolutely out the door, the bar dissolving into nothingness behind her.


Scene ii-Sleep No More

Seven paced around B'Elanna's quarters as she awaited her lover's return from her grisly errand, wondering at her indefatigable energy level. "The night," she murmured, "which brings weariness and relief to most of Voyager's crew, energizes me! The thought of bloodshed, which unmans the bravest of this puny lot, makes me laugh and wish I could take the kut'luch to her myself. If the memory of her mother-like behavior towards me had not stayed my hand, I would have done it, swiftly and surely. B'Elanna is bound to make a hash of it." She paused in her feverish pacing. "I mean of her!" She threw her head back and laughed at the macabre joke. "B'Elanna!" she cried as the door to the quarters slid open.

"It's done," said B'Elanna as she leaned back against the door, her legs buckling. She reached a hand up to push the hair out of her eyes but stopped and stared at it.

"This is a dishonorable sight." She raised both hands before her and looked from one to the other in increasing horror. Her horrified eyes traveled from her hands to her clothing. It seemed that her entire body was caked in drying blood.

"Nonsense!" snapped Seven as she pulled her away from the door and led her into the bathroom by the wrist. Seven began pulling the reeking uniform from her beloved's body and dropping it on the floor.

"I had to kill two crewmen who saw me leaving the captain's quarters looking like this," said B'Elanna, staring at some inward vision as she stood and let Seven strip her. "One of them told me that Halloween was already past and the other laughed." She spoke with no emotion, her voice curiously flat. "Then they stopped laughing. They said 'Commander, no!' and 'Please, spare us!'" She turned to focus her eyes on Seven's. "I told them I was sorry, but I couldn't. I had to kill them. Why did I have to kill them, Seven?" The rising panic in her voice was unnerving.

"Think no more upon it," ordered Seven as she shoved B'Elanna into the sonic shower.

"They'd done nothing-just showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I told them I was sorry! Sorry as I killed them!" B'Elanna was getting hysterical.

"You must not think so deeply about it. You will drive us both mad if you continue," Seven told her as she held her under the sonic rays.

"Then I thought I heard a voice say 'Damned to Gre'thor! Torres shall be damned for all eternity to Gre'thor!' Gre'thor! Where the dishonored go! Where there is no rest, no respite from the shame!"

"B'Elanna! You must cease this unprofitable recriminating," stated Seven as she helped her out of the shower and pulled a night shirt over her head and down her body.

"And still the voice cried 'Damned to Gre'thor!' to all the ship! 'Torres shall be damned! Miral shall be damned! All the house of the half-human hybrid shall be damned!'" B'Elanna was becoming increasingly agitated, but then again so was Seven. She found among B'Elanna's discarded clothing the kut'luch, covered in gore.

"Why did you bring this back here with you? You should have left it with the crewmen. Go and take it back and lay it by them!" Seven ordered.

"Not me, sister," said B'Elanna, coming back to herself a bit. "I can hardly think about what I've done. I sure as hell can't bear to look at it again."

"Ohh!" cried Seven, exasperated. "Superstitious fool! I will take it. The dead cannot hurt you, B'Elanna! Nor can they stand up and accuse you. I will make it look as if they killed Captain Janeway. Then I am going to go back to Cargo Bay 2. We must not be seen together. When the deed is discovered, all must appear as normal between us." She paused and looked deeply into B'Elanna's eyes, taking her by her upper arms. "A moment's courage, my love. Let us brazen it out through this night, and we will have achieved our ends!" She kissed the half-Klingon soundly before releasing her and letting herself out of Torres's quarters.

Once alone, Torres wondered into her living room, holding her hands to her ears. "Again with the 'Damned to Gre'thor' shit! Tell it to someone who cares!" she shouted, looking around her quarters as if to find the source of the maddening accusations. She dropped her hands to her sides in defeat. "I guess they are," she mumbled.


Scene iii-Strange Screams of Death, and Prophesying

Tucked safely away on Deck 7 of Voyager, within the heavily guarded, electrostatically protected area known as the brig, Lieutenant Chakotay was pacing. He was having a hard time sleeping this night, and it had little to do with the uncomfortable, narrow bunk in his cell. An old spacedog, Chakotay knew to trust the strange sensations, the prickling of his flesh, the rising of the hair on the back of his neck, the eerie sense that all was not well aboard the ship. Superstitious mariners had long regarded signs and other portentous happenings when at sea or in space as serious matters, perhaps because they had entrusted their fortunes and lives to the vagaries of natural forces beyond their control. And even in this age of scientific knowledge that rendered even the most astonishing of phenomena comprehensible, many still carried with them a faith in good, old-fashioned feelings. The fact of his being an old school mariner and a Native American in the bargain made Chakotay a likely candidate for carrying around the odd rabbit's foot or worry stone. At any rate, tonight he could not rest, and it did not surprise him, even at this late hour, when the door to the room in which his cell was located slid open. He stopped his pacing and looked up as Tom Paris and Harry Kim approached the force field-protected opening to his cell.

"Chakotay, we need to talk to you," said Tom as the two men halted in front of the aperture.

"What's happened?" asked Chakotay.

"Nothing, really," said Harry. He turned to Tom in exasperation. "I told you we shouldn't bother him!"

"What is it?" insisted Chakotay. "What's going on?"

Tom stood for a moment, looking into Chakotay's dark, intelligent eyes, seemingly debating with himself about something. Then, apparently having arrived at a decision, he turned his head and gave a command.

"Computer, disable force field." Immediately, the force field fell and Tom stepped into the cell.

"Chakotay, I want you to come with us."

"Tom, what are you doing?" demanded Harry, looking over his shoulder, fearful of the entrance of a security officer.

"I'm breaking Chakotay out of jail," he told Harry. Then he turned to Chakotay. "I think we're in trouble, and I'll just feel a lot better if you're out of here."

"Let's go, then," said Chakotay. "You can tell me what's up as we walk." The three paused outside the door to the holding area, looking for unwanted company, and then slipped quietly down the deserted hallway.


Scene iv-A Most Bloody Piece of Work

"Sorry," murmured Lieutenant Carey, Voyager's new Chief of Engineering, as he hurried through the door to the Briefing Room and took his seat at the conference table. "I was kept in Engineering by a pressing matter." He looked around at those gathered and immediately felt the tension that flowed through the room like an electric current. As he took in the faces of the senior staff as they sat around him, he realized what was wrong-the Captain's chair was empty. He turned to look at Commander Torres but was surprised to find that her eyes were trained on Tuvok. He dutifully followed her gaze and looked at the Chief of Security's severe expression. He felt himself grow tense.

"I have called you to this meeting to announce the commission of a crime," Tuvok began. Wasting no time in dramatic pauses, he continued after the briefest of hesitations. "Captain Janeway is dead-murdered."

"Murdered?" cried Carey, looking around at the others in stunned surprise.

Tuvok's eyes made a quick scan of the reactions of Voyager's senior staff, and he did not like what he saw. Lieutenant Paris looked sick. Ensign Kim was fighting back tears. Carey seemed unable to believe his ears, and the EMH's face registered sadness. Commander Torres had not spoken but appeared ready to bolt from the room and that only by a supreme act of will was able to remain seated. Seven of Nine looked to be on the verge of a swoon.

"Doctor, see to Seven of Nine," commanded Tuvok as the ex-Borg slid from her chair, unconscious.

"Oh, my goodness!" said the Doctor as he started up from his chair. He hurried to where Seven lay on the deck and began trying to revive her.

"Who? What?" sputtered Harry. "Who would do this?" he demanded, looking around the table as if the answer were forthcoming from one of them.

"How did it happen?" asked Tom quietly. Tuvok noticed that Lieutenant Paris seemed unsurprised by the announcement, almost as if he had been expecting it.

"She appears to have been stabbed to death," stated Tuvok matter-of-factly.

"Stabbed!" repeated Carey. He was having trouble assimilating the information. He had felt buffeted by the abrupt changes in his life recently, but this was impossible to comprehend. He found himself hoping to awaken from what had become an intolerable nightmare.

"In addition, Crewmen Jones and Snodgrass were also murdered last night, probably killed by the same weapon," Tuvok went on. "There is more. Lieutenant Chakotay has escaped from the brig and is presumably in hiding aboard the ship."

"What?" demanded Torres. Tuvok wondered that this had brought a reaction from the first officer while the murder of three members of the crew, including their Captain, had elicited no verbal response. She had been staring slack-jawed at the prone form of Seven of Nine as the EMH worked over her. "Now, how did that happen?" she asked, glancing around the table before settling her gaze upon Commander Tuvok.

"I am unsure at this time of many things, Commander, how Lieutenant Chakotay escaped from the brig but one of them," replied Tuvok.

"I want a full report in half an hour," ordered the number one. "I'll be in the Ready Room." She rose from her seat and made to leave the Briefing Room but turned to the EMH. "Doctor, please inform me when Seven regains consciousness." With that she disappeared into the Ready Room.

"Well, glad to see someone's in charge," cracked Paris, looking around at the rapidly shrinking group of senior officers.

"Lieutenant," admonished Tuvok, "I suggest that you refrain from adding to an already difficult situation. Lieutenant Carey, you are dismissed to Engineering."

"Aye, Commander," replied Tom.

"Aye, sir," said Carey, relieved to be leaving the Briefing Room. Maybe things would make more sense when he got back to the familiar, comforting surroundings of the Engine Room.

"I'll be at my post. Come on, Harry," Tom said as pulled the silently weeping Ensign Kim out of his chair. "Let's get to work." He helped his friend out the door and onto the Bridge.

"Doctor, how is Seven of Nine?" asked Tuvok.

"She's coming around now," replied the EMH as he helped Seven from the deck and into a chair.

"B'Elanna?" said Seven, looking around the room as she slowly regained her faculties.

"Commander Torres is in the Ready Room, Seven," the Doctor told her gently. "I think she wants to see you."

"Yes, I shall go to her at once," said Seven, getting unsteadily to her feet. "Thank you, Doctor," she told him, disengaging his hand from her arm. "I am recovered now. Commander," she said to Tuvok. Then she walked purposefully to the Ready Room, leaving the EMH and Tuvok staring after her.

"Have you finished your post mortem examinations, Doctor?" asked Tuvok, turning to look at the EMH.

"Yes," he answered. "They were all killed by the same weapon, that vicious Klingon dagger you brought in with the bodies."

"It is called a 'kut'luch,' Doctor, and it is the preferred weapon of Klingon assassins."
"Well, I don't care what it's called," sniffed the EMH. "It made mincemeat out of the victims. Whoever did this must have been drenched in blood."

"Indeed," agreed the Security Chief. "And it is the blood that will catch our assassin out when civilization is on the rout."


Act III, Scene i-Our Time Does Call Upon Us

In his quarters located on Deck 3, Lieutenant Tom Paris prepared for the away mission Captain Torres was sending him and Ensign Kim on in the Delta Flyer. Later that evening, he and Kim were to attend the special dinner the Captain had planned to celebrate her elevation to Commanding Officer and, not incidentally, he thought, the recent naming of Seven of Nine to Executive Officer. Torres had made a special point to invite him to hurry back from the mission, in which he and Harry were to act as envoys to prepare the way for trade negotiations with the people on the planet around which Voyager was now orbiting. That she had made such a point of publicly inviting him personally to hurry home made him uncomfortable in the extreme, let alone the inappropriate speed with which such a celebration was being held, with Captain Janeway practically still warm down in Sickbay's morgue, two other crewmen dead, and no rush to pursue the killers on the part of the new Captain. Indeed, mused Paris, the "celebration" followed hard upon the memorials-so hard that he wouldn't have been surprised if the funeral-baked meats didn't coldly furnish the party table set up in the Briefing Room for tonight! "Thrift! Thrift!" thought Tom wryly. "Captain Torres is to be commended for her conservation of the ship's energy stores."

"Captain Torres," indeed. How he missed Janeway! How he yearned for the order and straightforwardness of their former Captain's command. In the short time since Torres had assumed the captaincy he didn't know if he was serving in a circus or a seraglio. Torres seemed unwilling to venture very far from her Ready Room, preferring to relay her commands through Lieutenant Ayala, to whom she'd given the position of Ops Manager so she wouldn't have to make many appearances on the Bridge. She'd rather spend her time in the Ready Room playing with her second in command, Seven of Nine. And what about Commander Seven? The first time he'd seen her in her command red biosuit replete with plunging cleavage he thought he'd never recover. Janeway would never have allowed such an overtly sexual display of feminine attributes. Normally he wouldn't have complained, but this excess made him distinctly uncomfortable. Captain Torres had held a brief reception in the mess hall for her new XO, at which Seven had made her first appearance in her eye-popping new "uniform." The devastatingly precipitous plunge of her neckline led the eyes inevitably downward to the two peaks poking through the fabric with such definition that he had leaned over to Harry and muttered, "Are those her pips or is she just happy to see us?"

Commander Seven had heard the low exchange, of course, and had merely looked over at them and arched her ocular implant-and her back-and smiled.

As he pulled his dress uniform from his tiny closet to hang out to change into later, he felt the weight of the past few weeks begin to overwhelm him. "You have it all, now, B'Elanna," he thought. "Chief, Commander, Captain, all, just as the weird sisters promised. Yet I'm afraid that you've come by it most bloodily." What was it that those silly women had said about him, again? Lesser in rank, yet ranker? Happier, yet less happy? Touching greatness, but not touching it? Targshit. The vulgarism gave him pause. He stood as if struck, sabotaged by the memories evoked by the Klingon expression. B'Elanna and him, against the world, taking on all comers. Tinkering with Alice, the old shuttlecraft. Building the Delta Flyer. Playing Constance Goodheart and Captain Proton. He sighed. When had it all gone bad on them? And how was it that now he didn't even recognize his old love? Maybe this mission would cheer him up. Getting away from the farce that life on Voyager had become, even for a little while, would surely do him good. After the dinner tonight he'd find Chakotay and talk to him some more. The thought that together they might be able to arrest the Klingon and her Borg consort in their transformation of the formerly trim little ship into a couch for luxuriousness and debauchery cheered him in no small measure. He shook his sense of sorrow and foreboding off and strode out of his quarters toward the Shuttle Bay.


Scene ii-Things Bad Begun

"Come," called Captain Torres from the overstuffed couch she'd had replicated for her Ready Room. Much as she wanted to continue her delightful activities with her second in command, who lounged upon her lap, her biosuit undone, her delectable feminine attributes exposed to her Captain's wandering fingers and eager lips, she had business to attend to, and this could wait a few minutes.

"Ah, Lieutenant Ayala! I'll be just a moment," she told her new Ops Manager. No fool, Ayala abruptly turned his back and studied the passing stars out the viewport.

"We shall continue our discussion of the system upgrades at our leisure this evening, Commander Seven," she told her number one as Seven covered herself and fastened the blood-red biosuit, adjusting the suit to display her deep cleavage to its best advantage.

"As you wish, Captain," murmured Seven, rising from her commanding officer's lap and stepping through the door to the Briefing Room.

"A pleasant afternoon, is it not, Lieutenant?" asked Torres, rising and fastening her tunic, as she stared at the door to the Briefing Room. If the truth were known, Captain Torres wanted her executive officer clean in this particular operation. The fewer who knew, the better. Besides, she realized that she wanted to shield her lover as much as she could, knowing full well that Seven was up to her teeth in their doings. If she could keep her out of anything more, she was willing to do so.

"Yes, sir," said Ayala, his voice and face carefully neutral.

Torres walked over to the table, upon which stood an ever-present jug of bloodwine and mugs, one of the many improvements she'd made aboard Voyager since taking command.

"Pour you a drink?" she asked him, pausing over the mug. At his polite "No, thank you, sir," she shrugged and poured herself a healthy draught. In one motion, she tossed it back and then wiped her mouth with her sleeve, sighing in deep satisfaction.

"You've taken care of the little errand I asked you to do for me?" she asked him, looking him directly in his eyes, alert for any hint of dissembling.

"Yes, sir," answered Ayala immediately. "You have nothing to worry about."

"No chance of a misfire or malfunction in the device?"

"None, sir. I stake my reputation on it," pled Ayala earnestly.

"There'll be more than your reputation 'staked', if there is. Do you read me, Lieutenant?" she glared at him.

The former security officer blanched slightly. "Yes, sir!" he responded, coming to full attention.

"Good," Captain Torres smiled, pouring herself another. When she turned back around, she found that Ayala was still standing at attention. "Oh, you're dismissed," she said.


Scene iii-Come, Death, and Welcome

The planet loomed in the viewscreen of the Delta Flyer as Tom Paris flew the shuttlecraft toward the landing coordinates he'd received from the people he and Harry were to meet below on the planet's surface. They were about ready to enter the atmosphere when the small ship was rocked by an explosion in the starboard nacelle.

"She's not answering her helm, Harry!" Tom shouted as the little craft rolled sickeningly over and over on its side, venting precious oxygen into the vacuum of space. If the Flyer entered the atmosphere at this angle and speed, with no ability to be righted, she'd burn to a cinder. That, or blow up. Paris realized that the best he could hope for was to get Harry out as he tried to stabilize her long enough for the escape pod to jettison safely. "Send a distress call to Voyager and get the hell out of here!"

"No, Tom! You're coming with me. We put two escape pods in here for a reason! I won't leave without you!"

"Harry, get down to the surface," Tom ordered as if he hadn't heard his friend's response. "Don't contact the Captain. When you can, contact Chakotay. But whatever you do, don't let Torres know you're alive!" he commanded.

"But, Tom!" Harry protested.

"Harry, go! That's an order!" He looked across the small space between the chairs at his old friend, their eyes meeting in a long look of comprehension and utter clarity.

"Tom," Harry whispered. Tom nodded and smiled. Then Harry rose and entered the escape pod. Paris watched in satisfaction as the pod was jettisoned from the Flyer. He then continued to try to correct the badly wounded bird's erratic flight path. If he could right her, he'd try to enter the planet's atmosphere and land her, but he knew even as the thought occurred to him that it was hopeless. She was losing speed, and it was taking every ounce of strength he had to maintain even a modicum of control over the little ship as she fought the helm.

He felt a sense of relief when the warning light blinked on the console, informing him of dangerously low levels of oxygen in the cabin. He let go of the controls, and the Flyer began to spin in a circle, caught now in the planet's gravitational pull. It would be over soon, one way or another. He felt the heat begin to build in the cabin, and he idly wondered if he should have inspected the Flyer more carefully before he and Harry had left Voyager. It didn't matter. No, in fact it was better this way. If she wanted his life, she could have it. He felt an immense sadness as he looked around at the shuttle he and his former love had helped to build.

The heat in the cabin was becoming unbearable, and he knew he had but seconds before the Delta Flyer became a ball of fire streaking across an alien sky.

"Lanna!"

From the tiny window of the escape pod, Harry Kim watched the fireball as it exploded in a burst of red, yellow, and orange tracers.


Scene iv-Blood Will Have Blood

"Commander Seven and I appreciate your presence here tonight as we celebrate our taking command of Voyager," said Captain B'Elanna Torres, standing at the head of the luxuriously appointed conference table in the Briefing Room. "I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know that we are embarking upon a new era aboard Voyager. And while we remember and honor the past, we look forward to a bright future, a new way of thinking, and a change in direction. I look forward to serving with you. To the future!" She paused dramatically, raising a glass of bloodwine, waiting as her guests somewhat hesitantly picked up their glasses, which gleamed opaquely with the thick, scarlet vintage. In attendance were Seven of Nine, resplendent in her blood-red biosuit, cleavage flying; Commander Tuvok; Lieutenant Ayala; Lieutenant Carey; and the Doctor. Neelix hovered in the background, dressed in white, with a towel draped over one arm, awaiting orders to begin serving the sumptuous meal. Two chairs were conspicuously empty.

"To the future," murmured her guests, taking reluctant sips of the viscous, potent brew. Seven tossed her glass off in one swallow, her head thrown back. She set her empty glass back down on the table and looked around, her eyes glistening, bloodwine dribbling down her chin. Captain Torres leaned down and took her lips in a long, wet kiss, which ended with Torres licking the dribbled wine from her executive officer's chin.

"Captain," interjected Tuvok, eager to break up the unseemly consorting of the ship's first and second in command. "Are you implying that we shall be deviating from our objective since becoming trapped in the Delta Quadrant? Will we no longer be searching for a way back to the Alpha Quadrant?"

Torres looked up from her task, her eyes unfocused. Then they cleared and she sat down and snapped her fingers to Neelix, who rushed over with the jug of bloodwine and refilled her and Seven's glasses.

"Later, Tuvok," she told him. "I have many plans for the good ship and crew of Voyager. But there's plenty of time to discuss those plans in the coming days and weeks. Tonight let us eat and drink and enjoy each other's company."

"But where are Tom and Harry?" asked the Doctor. "Weren't they due back from their away mission some time ago?"

"What are you talking about, Doctor?" asked Torres, frowning. "They're right here. Or at least Tom is. Where's Harry, Tom?" she asked the empty spaces. Her guests looked at her and each other in alarm. Seven spoke up. "What the Captain means is that she is aware that they are here in spirit. Their devotion to their duties has kept them longer at their task than had been anticipated. Till they return and take their positions in corporeal flesh, that are here held by our fond thoughts of them, let us pledge ourselves to them by raising another glass. To Tom and Harry!"

Seven raised her glass and was satisfied when the senior staff dutifully raised theirs and took another tentative sip of the scarlet wine. She was worried, however, that Captain Torres sat dumbfounded, staring at the two empty spaces in increasing agitation. She ordered Neelix to begin serving.

"Will you get hold of yourself!" she whispered into Torres's ear, leaning over to her so she could cover her exasperation with a show of affection. "Stare not amazed! Make not your face to be so contorted! You stare but at emptiness!"

"You can't prove I did anything!" said Torres, as if to the ephemeral air. "Don't raise your burnt and chary hands to me!" She pushed herself from the table and stood, the chair crashing to the deck.

Seven stood hurriedly, herself, and tried to remove Captain Torres from the room by taking her arm.

"Sit and eat, everyone," she said, looking around at the crew as they watched their Captain with eyes rounded in shock. They looked at each other incredulously.

"It is but the Captain's little joke," dissembled Seven as she continued to pull Torres toward the Ready Room door. "Remain seated. That is an order!" With that, she succeeded in pulling the Captain out of the Briefing Room and into the relative safety of the Ready Room.

"For shame!" railed Seven at her dishonored Klingon. "This is a figment of your imagination! This is the air-drawn kut'luch that you said led you to Captain Janeway! This is not real. A Klingon warrior would not stand so unmanned before mere shadows! You show yourself as a frightened tika cat in a room full of targs!" She grabbed the Captain by the arms and struck her three times across the face, causing the half-Klingon's head to whip back and forth.

"If morgues and space itself send back their cargo and those whom we dispatch, our memorials shall be but fictions, our hopes and dreams writ small and as if in water," murmured Torres, still staring wide-eyed into the distance.

"What, quite disarmed! You lack, not the courage to act, but the sticking power that bears the weight of actions taken to achieve desired ends," said Seven, shaking her head sadly as she searched the face of the woman with whom she'd thrown in her lot. "All may yet be saved! Come, beloved, back to those assembled, and put the lie to the shameful behaviors witnessed else they take back to the ship the talk of their Captain holding discourse with the very air."

"Aye, my love," said Torres as she straightened her dress tunic and took her second in command by the arm. "Come, we'll go in together."


Scene v-Strange Fits of Passion

"This whole thing stinks," said Lieutenant Carey, sitting back after watching the Captain and Commander depart.

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" asked Neelix, who'd sat down in an empty chair after the two women left. "I'm sure that the Captain is just a bit fatigued from the disruptions of the past few weeks. That, and her new duties and responsibilities must be quite draining."

"Hmph," Carey spat.

"Lieutenant Carey," said Tuvok. "This is neither the time nor the place to air your grievances. Let us speak no more about this."

"Yes, sir," murmured Carey, looking down at the food cooling and congealing on his plate. He'd lost his appetite long ago, yet he picked up his fork and began toying with his dinner.

While Tuvok shared Carey's suspicions about their new Captain and her executive officer, he did not want to tip his hand, uncertain as he was about the loyalties of all those gathered around the table. He eyed Ayala surreptitiously. Anyone promoted by Torres immediately fell under suspicion in his book. He would continue to investigate the murders of their Captain and crewmembers, gathering evidence to build a case against the half-Klingon and ex-Borg. In the meantime, he was growing increasingly disturbed by the tardiness of the Delta Flyer in returning from her mission. He found that he could not shake a growing dread, and he began to fear for the lives of Paris and Kim.

The door to the Briefing Room slid open, and Seven of Nine and a newly refreshed and recovered Captain Torres walked in arm-in-arm.

"Have no fear, everyone. I am quite recovered. It's just a bit of fatigue and a touch of the nehret, I'm afraid. I'm not as young as I used to be," she laughed. "Neelix! Fill 'er up!" she said as she held her glass to Neelix who filled it up again with bloodwine. She looked around the table again and smiled.

"I drink to the success of our Captaincy, to the health of all of you gathered, and to our dear comrades, Tom and Harry, would that they were here!"

"Cheers," said Carey under his breath. He closed his eyes and drank his glass off in one gulp. He wanted to get blind drunk tonight. He held the glass out to Neelix and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his uniform jacket.

"Now, Carey, you're drinking like a proper Klingon!" roared Torres in approval. "Again!" she ordered and tossed back another glass.

The tension eased as more and more bloodwine was consumed. Only the Doctor and Tuvok remained unaffected. Both men kept watchful eyes on the command staff. They would meet later tonight and continue their quiet investigations.

Suddenly, all attention was again drawn to the Captain, who dropped her wineglass.

"Away!" she shouted. "Leave me alone! Go back to space, where I consigned you! I can't bear to look into your eyeless eyes-they damn me with their love!" Once again, Captain Torres seemed to be speaking to someone who wasn't there, whom only she could see.

Seven had heard enough. "Clear the room!" she ordered. "The Captain is unwell. She but needs rest. All will be well by morning."

The senior staff came to their feet and moved quickly out the door and onto the Bridge.

"Well, now you have done it, B'Elanna," fumed Seven as she escorted Torres back into the Ready Room through the other door. "There will be a general mutiny by the morrow or I am a cloistered nun!"

Torres grabbed Seven by the arm and turned her roughly to face her.

"Where's Chakotay? How is it that we cannot find him? I know he's on board, the sneaking bastard!"

She released Seven and turned away, clasping her head and closing her eyes.

"How am I to sleep knowing he's out there, plotting my overthrow? I will tomorrow to the Weird Sisters. I'll use the worst means to know the worst," she muttered, pacing in the small space, completely unaware of Seven's presence.

"I'm in so deep now to go ahead is no worse than turning around. I'll be just as steeped in blood one way or the other. There's more blood yet to be let." She stopped, arrested by a thought. "Ha! I have become quite the blood-letter! I wonder the Doctor has not recruited me to aid him in Sickbay! Come, Doctor. Let us be leeches together!"

"Hush, beloved," soothed Seven, taking her Captain by circling an arm around her waist and leading her to the couch. "You must rest. Things will be clearer in the morning."

"What?" asked Torres, seemingly only now becoming aware of Seven's presence. "Oh, yes, yes. Let's to sleep, Seven. Let us cross the River Lethe, go," she said, sinking wearily with Seven onto the couch, hoping it might be so.


Scene vi-Royal Visitor

Deep within the bowels of the good ship Voyager, in an unused section of Deck 15, three bedraggled figures huddled over a holographic fire, burning cheerfully if fraudulently along, illuminating the glittering eyes and monstrous faces looming over it. What were once crisp, tidy, Starfleet uniforms were now torn and incomplete, augmented with tattered Starfleet-issue blankets and replicated clothing from numerous cultures. The three women looked less like officers than they did street people, the biological detritus to be found in a sweep of any large city on any planet in any galaxy. Most disturbing of all about their appearance, though, were their faces. Formerly beautiful features were now contorted in ugly grimaces. Once flawless skin sported wrinkles, spots, and moles, and there wasn't a complete set of teeth among them. On the deck, near them, sat a pile of charms and amulets-small bones, feathers, and what looked to be a shriveled ear, dark, leathery, and desiccated.

Their attention was directed to an alcove set into one wall by its sudden blinking into life, a greenish glow emitting from a round disc at its top. They watched as the cybernetic woman stepped from the alcove and walked over to where they were squatting.

Sam Wildman looked up at her and asked, "What's up, Queenie? You look pissed."

The Borg Queen, eyes flashing in anger, took them sternly to task.

"Do you not think I have cause, stupid bitches that you are, saucy and overreaching? How dare you to tinker with Torres in riddles and affairs of death, when I, the one who is many, queenly creator of all that is bad, was out of the loop, not given the poop, so now to beg knowledge I find I must stoop! And, what is worse, you have chosen one to support who has more honor than sense, whose ties lie not with me, who am the Borg, but rather with Kahless, a pitiful blusterer who would rather sit in a circle and blubber about long-ago battles than go about the important work of assimilation!"

"Jeez, we're sorry, your Borgness," cringed Jennifer Delaney. "You want a swig of bloodwine?" she offered, holding the bottle out to the Borg Queen.

The Queen had been pacing between her alcove and the weird sisters since she finished her tirade. Suddenly she stopped and faced them once more.

"Put yourself in Torres's way again tomorrow and you may yet make amends. I will meet you there. She will seek you, to know her destiny. You will provide, by your charms and portents, what she seeks. I will above, and this night shall weave a dismal and fatal end. Much business must be wrought ere then, and by my careful ministrations shall put forth such illustrations that the Klingon, in her comfort, will mistake the false for true. As for you," she looked each woman in the eye in turn, "that you make much ill eruption shall excuse your interruption."

Then she disappeared in a shimmer of sparkles, leaving the weird sisters staring at the space she'd just occupied.

"Frigid bitch," muttered Megan to the delighted squeals of her sisters.


Scene vii-Two of a Kind

In another part of Voyager, two other crewmembers were yet to find sleep. Commander Tuvok stood next to the EMH in his office in Sickbay, speaking in low tones.

"Captain Torres will announce in the morning that Harry Kim, who has apparently escaped, had rigged the Delta Flyer to explode, thereby killing Lieutenant Paris."

"But why? What would Ensign Kim gain by killing Paris?" asked the EMH. "This is making no sense."

"Perhaps to cast suspicion upon one or both of them, Doctor," said the Vulcan patiently. "They are much easier to blame in their absence than if either were here to defend himself."

"I can't believe it! Poor Tom." The EMH shook his head sadly. "He had the makings of a physician. He just couldn't tear himself away from his original loves-engines, flying, and B'Elanna Torres."

Both men fell silent as each was lost in his own memories of better times.

Tuvok mentally shook himself out of his reverie. "Be that as it may, Doctor, we will need to keep our wits about us in the coming hours. Captain Torres may begin to feel trapped. If that happens, we may come to blows within our very ship."

"Have you spoken with Chakotay?" asked the Doctor.

"I have," answered Tuvok. "He is biding his time, and I am not completely in his confidence. He wishes to keep his plans to himself for now. This may well be a wise course of action. Torres does not trust me. I may be arrested at any moment."

"What? I thought Vulcans were strong enough not to break under torture," jibed the Doctor gently.

"This is true, Doctor," responded Tuvok, "but I do not trust Seven of Nine. Given the right provocation, she might well assimilate me to gain the knowledge of Lieutenant Chakotay's plans."

"Now, there's a horrible thought," muttered the Doctor.

"Indeed," nodded Tuvok. "Assimilation is an unpleasant experience." He knew of what he spoke.

"Oh, not that!" interjected the EMH. "I mean the thought of you and Seven of Nine, well, joined or that is to say . . . ."

"Good night, Doctor," said Tuvok. Turning on his heel, he left abruptly.

"Well, don't go away mad," called the Doctor after him. "Horrible thought," he repeated before deactivating himself.

Act IV-Scene i-Secret, Black, and Midnight Hags

Outside the doors to Holodeck 2 on Deck 6, the weird sisters had set up shop. They were sitting cross-legged around a holographic Bunsen burner, heating up a large Petri dish that bubbled thickly, emitting a smell that caused crewmembers who might have been heading to the Holodeck for a bit of entertainment to find other ways to spend their off-duty time. The lights in the hallway had been dimmed, and the shadows cast upon the walls by the open flame added to the decidedly unStarfleetlike atmosphere.

"Thrice the tika cat has mewled," intoned Sam Wildman.

"Thrice, and once the hedgehog blubbered!" added Megan Delaney, rubbing Neelix's severed ear for luck.

"Boatswain pipes 'it's time, it's time'!" said Jennifer Delaney.

"Then circle round the burner, so; in the rancid items throw. Toenails of the Klingon Kahless, full of fungus, like a cheese press. That's the first into the dish, close your eyes and make a wish!" Sam chanted.

The weird sisters at this moment closed their eyes, clasped their hands, and jigged around the cheerily burning flame, bobbing up and down with each step.

"Dribbles, dribbles, boils and Tribbles, we the wise and knowing sybils," cackled the three in unison.

Suddenly they ceased their circling and stared again at the bubbling goo in the Petri dish.

Megan held out her hand and tossed some gruesome items into the mix. "Implant of a broken drone, wires crossed and circuits blown. Spot of Trill, a forehead ridge, Vidiian scab and blackened midge. Whisker of a dead Talaxian, hip-swish of a gay Cardassian. Make a charm of awful portent, sorrow's springs and dire torment."

"Dribbles, dribbles, boils and Tribbles, we the wise and knowing sybils," they chanted again, and again they bobbed and weaved around the burner.

Jennifer Delaney then hobbled up to the apparatus of their unhallowed arts and flung her own contributions into the foul and fetid brew. "Earlobe of the vile Ferengi, hacked as he cursed and blasphemed me. Lock of Kazon, curly, stylish; heart of human, full of anguish; bile of Hirogen foiled; all into the dish and boiled! Kneecap of that strange to-do, Species 8472; Bajoran earring; Trabe-lips, sneering; all to make the worst appearing."

For the third time, the witches clasped hands and circled counter-clockwise around the bubbling brew. "Dribbles, dribbles, boils and Tribbles; we the wise and knowing sybils."

Finally, Sam Wildman added the last ingredient, bringing their grim work to its culminating fulsomeness. "Now, set it up with Janeway's blood, then the charm is thick as mud."

At that moment, as the foul, black smoke rose from the dish, the Borg Queen shimmered into existence.

"Ah, that's better! I commend you. Now, you do the blackened arts, blackened so as are your hearts, this great justice! By my Borgness, I would have you, and your foul mix, part of my great Unimatrix! Now, about the burner chant, let us blather, rave and rant! And the business you've begun shall this day its courses run."
With that, the Borg Queen disappeared, leaving the weird sisters primed and ready to deal with Captain Torres, who had just then turned the corner of the hallway.

Jennifer cackled, "By the smarting of our bums, someone nasty this way comes!" The three weird sisters howled their laughter at the sexual innuendo. "Open, legs, whoever begs!" she smirked.

"What ho, you filthy, rank, and poxy hoes!" ventured Torres. "There is something I would know!"

"Anything for you, Captain!" smiled Megan toothlessly as she ran her gnarled, knuckly hands over Torres's breasts.

"You have only to ask, oh great leader!" cackled Jennifer as she plastered herself to the Captain's backside.

"We await your bidding, B'Ellllaaaaaaaaaannnnna!" smarmed Sam, her fetid breath wafting into Torres's face.

Captain Torres pulled Sam Wildman's arms from around her neck, as she breathed through her mouth, and tried to put some distance between herself and the three witches, who seemed oblivious to their hideousness.

"Everything you've said about me has come true," she told them. "Now I want to know more. Tell me! By whatever means you use, by whatever unholy method at your disposal, though it loose the very hounds of Gre'thor and crack the firmament through which we travel, I would know my fate! Answer me! Or by Kahless I swear you'll be flying without a ship, you desperate hags!" In her fury, she had grabbed Megan by the throat and was throttling her, but this merely had the effect of making the weird sisters act even more lasciviously toward their Captain.

"Oh, Captain, you're sooooo stroooonnnnngggg!" giggled Jennifer.

"Can I be next, Captain, please?" begged Sam.

Flummoxed by their behavior, Torres released Megan and stared at them in confusion.

"Would you hear it from us, or our betters?" asked Megan, the red marks on her neck livid.

"Whoever you choose," answered Torres threateningly. "But tell me now!"

Then the three witches called upon the bubbling goo in the Petri dish. "Come out, come out, whoever you be! But show your face for Torres to see!"

The flame sputtered a brief moment. Then a ghostly form took shape in the smoke that rose from the dish. It was a Terran native chieftain, dressed in full feathered regalia, and it pointed its spear directly at the Captain. "Torres, Torres, Torres! Beware Chakotay! Him heap big stuff! Do not dismiss him! Now, enough!" The specter disappeared back into smoke.

"'Beware Chakotay'! Thanks for nothing!" cried the Captain. "That's it? That's all you three can conjure up?" She turned on the witches, preparing to shove them out an airlock.

"Stay your wrath!" cried Jennifer. "Here's another. Hear her!"

And it was true. Another shape was forming in the smoke above the sputtering Bunsen burner, but this shape was well-known to her, and well-beloved by her. It was the image of Seven of Nine. She felt her heart catch as she stared at the shadowy image of her woman. She held her breath as the specter began to speak.

"B'Elanna Torres, my one true love!" the smiling image of Seven said. "Fear no man aboard, nay, nor woman, either, for only one known to me as you are, my beloved, can bring harm to you!" The spectral image of Seven of Nine blew a kiss to Torres before disappearing into the smoke.

Torres broke out into a relieved smile at this news. "'Only one known' to her as I am! That's I alone! Seven came to me with her maidenhead intact, and no man, nor woman, either, has been in my place with her!" she mused aloud.

"Ooooohhh, you're such a naughty Captain!" giggled Jennifer. "Will you take my maidenhead, too?"

"Mine, too!" said Megan.

"And mine, too!" smirked Sam.

"I cannot take what is no longer there to be taken, silly slags!" chided Torres. "Is there news else?"

"Watch and see!" cried Megan, raising her hand toward the smoking apparatus, as if invoking the next specter.

The smoke rose high above the deck and gradually coalesced into the very image and likeness of her former captain. Torres rubbed her eyes and looked again, hoping she had not seen what she thought she had. But there was no mistaking the specter. It was the very form of Kathryn Janeway when Torres had last seen her, her body bleeding from the vicious wounds Torres had delivered, her blood pouring from her mouth, her face a deathmask of terror and pain.

"Janeway!" she breathed. "How is it that the dead do move among us and hold discourse through bloodied lips and with torn hearts?" she asked the three witches.

"Listen to her, Captain," said Jennifer. "She speaks the truth."

The specter turned sightless eyes to Torres and spoke as if unable to move her mouth properly. "Take heart, B'Elanna, and be sure of purpose. Fear no one's censure or damnation. You shall stand unbloodied and unbeaten till Kathryn Janeway returns to Voyager." Then her image wavered and dissolved like the smoke it was.

"Till Kathryn Janeway returns to Voyager? But she's dead, so she can't return! I guess I'm in the clear!" Torres took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes in relief. "Thank Kahless! Perhaps all this bloodshed can now come to an end."

"Beware Chakotay, Captain! Don't forget!" chimed the weird sisters.

"Damn!" cursed Torres. "Chakotay! I must not dismiss him. Isn't that what the specter said? Where is he then?" she whirled on the witches and demanded. "How is it we can't find him anywhere on this ship? It's like he's of the very air, or like these specters here today-unbodied yet sensible. I must find a way to draw him out, the silent-footed bastard!" She began pacing back and forth in the hallway in front of the Holodeck. Suddenly she stopped and smiled at her companions. "I have it!" she cried. "If I can't kill him, I'll kill the things he loves the best and by this bring him out, the pest!"

With that, the Captain strode to the turbolift and, upon entering it, turned and faced the doors, barking out her destination. "Hydroponics!"


Scene ii-Chicken in the Morning, Chicken in the Evening . . .

Neelix loved working in the Hydroponics bay on Deck 13. He enjoyed the fact that the vegetables that he grew he'd eventually use in his recipes to nourish the crew of his beloved Voyager. He felt connected to the cycle of life this way. Life aboard a starship was an unnatural existence. It was difficult for him to feel close to the diurnal rhythms of nature in artificial lighting, eating "food" replicated from the bulk matter fed into them. Fresh vegetables and fruit tasted so much better than replicated items, no matter how realistic or close to the originals. The rich, loamy smell of the nutrient-rich soil substitute in which the vegetables grew reminded him of his garden back on Rinax before his life took the drastic turn that had led him to the Starship Voyager. Oh, he didn't regret finding himself among the friendly, accepting crew of the Alpha Quadrant vessel, and it went against the grain of the inveterately cheerful Talaxian to spend time pouring over the past with sorrow and regret. But sometimes he missed his home, his family. The way they'd been taken from him during the Haakonian conflict would have given even the most optimistic soul cause for sadness.

Neelix sighed as he checked the nitrogen levels of the ersatz soil. No, no point in dwelling on things beyond his ability to change or even to understand. He had a good life aboard Voyager. He liked being chief cook and bottle-washer cum morale officer for the motley crew. Taking care of Hydroponics allowed him some alone time, as well. He enjoyed his solitary task among the vegetables for another very good reason. It was here that he felt closest to Kes, who'd first established the hydroponics bay shortly after they had joined the crew of the trim scout ship. Kes. Another source of sorrow for the little Talaxian, another challenge to his philosophy of cheerful acceptance. It had hurt him when she had broken off their relationship; he couldn't deny that. But wasn't it better to let her go than to cling to something that wasn't there anymore? And wasn't it better to have taken the friendship she'd offered than to deny himself any contact with the Ocampan woman? A friend was still a friend, even if he'd felt more than she did. In the years since she'd left the ship, he'd been comforted by his memories of that friendship.

His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of Captain Torres into the Hydroponics Bay. Neelix was taken aback by the fierce look on the Captain's face as she strode into the bay.

"Captain Torres!" said the little Talaxian. "What can I do for you?"

Torres was looking intently around the bay until, not finding what she wanted, her piercing gaze settled upon him.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

"Captain?" asked Neelix, befuddled.

"You know what I mean," she accused him. "Those creatures! His menagerie! Where is it?"

"Oh, I see," he smiled. "Right over here, Captain." He turned and led the Captain to the small hatch in a bulkhead. "Here they are. I've been taking care of them for Comman--, er, Lieutenant Chakotay. They're really no problem. In fact, I've grown rather fond of them. . . ." He prattled on until tapering off into open-mouthed silence as Torres pushed past him and into the small enclosure.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asked uncertainly but was cut off from inquiring more when the hatch was closed rudely in his face. He stared at the hatch in confusion. Why would the Captain suddenly be expressing interest in Chakotay's collection of Terran barnyard fowl specimens? Chakotay had replicated a few several months ago as an experiment. When they'd not only survived but propagated, Chakotay had decided to raise them. They'd become pets of a sort, and he'd spent hours down here feeding them, building them cages covered in an odd sort of wire Neelix had never seen before, and simply talking to them. And their ova! The crew had been cheered immensely when he'd begun serving various dishes containing the yellow and white matter contained in the fascinating little shells produced by the females every day. Such a small thing, really, but Neelix couldn't begin to describe how pleased and satisfied he was to be able to bring them this pleasure.

He was jerked from his thoughts by a violent, disturbing cacophony of squawking, indeed, screeching by the Terran fowl. This went on for several unnerving seconds as Neelix alternated between standing on one foot and then the other, wanting to intervene yet uncertain of the reception his presence would be met with by their increasingly unstable Captain.

Finally, the horrible squawking stopped and a terrible silence descended. Then the hatch opened, admitting Torres and a swirl of feathers. Torres's face was smeared with blood, and blood spattered her uniform. White, red, and black fathers stuck to the blood in places, and if the truth of her actions were not so gruesome, the overall effect of the Captain's appearance might have been comical.

As she stepped through the hatch, she handed Neelix one of the dead fowl, its pitiful neck wrung. "Here," she said as she thrust the carcass at him. "We eat tonight!" she smiled in a feral way that made a chill run down the Talaxian's spine. Then she laughed and strode toward the turbolift, leaving Neelix in a wake of floating feathers, the only sound the drip, drip, dripping to the deck of blood from the plundered cages behind him.


Scene iii-Meanwhile, Down on the Planet

"Chakotay!" cried Ensign Harry Kim. "You're sure a sight for sore eyes!" He grabbed the big man and gave him an exuberant hug.

"Good to see you, too, Ensign," smiled Chakotay.

Kim, his face grown serious, looked up at him. "Shall we sit and tell sad tales of fallen Captains and absent friends?" he asked.

"I'm afraid our sorrows will have to wait, Harry. We have much to do if we're to wrest control of Voyager away from Torres and Seven. Now, tell me of this alliance you've made with the natives of Birnamwud."

The two men sat in the shade of a large deciduous tree upon a small hillock on the main continent of the planet Birnamwud so Harry could fill Chakotay in on what he'd been up to since his escape pod had landed here. Harry'd been busy. He'd explained the situation that had developed on Voyager to the representatives of the nation upon which he'd landed. The Birnamwudians, seeing a chance to interact with this strange species from another part of the universe, had agreed to come to the aid the affable human. Of course, the promise of shared technology made by Ensign Kim upon the successful mutiny against Captain Torres and her consort, ex-Borg Seven of Nine, had considerably sweetened the deal for the cagey Birnamwudians. Nothing that would violate the Prime Directive, of course. If the Borg-enhanced capabilities of the bio-neural circuitry of Voyager were a bit beyond the Birnamwudians' own development, well, perhaps this tiny infraction against the supreme rule could be ignored. Just this once. What was a little violation of a foundational principle of the United Federation of Planets, which it should be noted was 60,000 light years away, against the retaking of Voyager, their home for crying out loud, from a lust-crazed, power-mad half-Klingon seemingly intent on killing every one of them? They'd face the consequences, if there were any, later, once they had their ship back. Once they'd avenged the deaths of their Captain, helmsman, and other crewmen.

As they sat and talked, Chakotay's comm badge chirped to life.

"EMH to Lieutenant Chakotay."

"Go ahead, Doctor," replied Chakotay.

"Lieutenant, are you sitting down?" asked the Doctor, his voice full of concern.

At the disconcerting tone of the EMH's voice, Chakotay rose to his full height. "What is it, Doctor?" After what they'd all been through, it would take a tremendous blow, indeed, to cut the intrepid old warrior off at the knees.

"Chakotay," the Doctor began. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"I'd gathered that, Doctor," said Chakotay, beginning to lose patience. "Is it about the ship? Or is it personal?"

"I'm afraid it's personal," responded the EMH. "And I deplore that I should be the bearer of this new sorrow, Lieutenant."

"You can't mean-"

"I do. Because she couldn't find you to kill you, she killed-she killed . . . ." The Doctor couldn't make himself deliver the horrible news.

"Gods in their heavens!" exclaimed Kim, grabbing the big man as he slumped to the ground. "Let it out, Chakotay. Let it out."

Chakotay covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook.

"All my pretty ones? Did you say all?" He raised his tear-stained face to the sky. "What, all my pretty chickens and their dams at one fell swoop?"

"The roosters, too," said the Doctor.

"Take it like a man, Chakotay," advised Kim, his hand upon the stricken man's shoulder.

"You better believe it, Ensign," said Chakotay as he rose from the ground. "But I feel it as a man, as well. She goes too far! To kill a man's chickens! When I wasn't there to take her wrath myself!"

"That's it, Lieutenant," urged Kim. "Let this heinous act spur you to action! Let your grief burn your sorrow away to anger."

"Oh, I could play the Klingon with my wrath and boasting, but I'll let this do my bragging for me!" He pulled his phaser from his belt and looked at it with hard, cold eyes.

"Now you're talking, Chakotay," said Kim enthusiastically. "Come on! The Birnamwudians have a ship and men to help us. Torres has asked for this. Find what comfort you may. No cock will crow, nor chicken have her lay."


Act V, Scene i-Walkin' after Midnight

"Tuvok, we've been at this for hours now, and I've seen no evidence of the Commander's sleep-walking. If you're so worried about her, why don't you just bring her to Sickbay?" Tuvok had just spent the better part of a third consecutive night hanging out in the hall near the Captain's quarters. He'd called on the Doctor to confirm Seven of Nine's bizarre Gamma shift meanderings, which he'd witnessed, and the EMH was there to treat her if she was, indeed, demonstrating symptoms of an illness.

"I am not ready to confront the Commander yet, nor to alert her or the Captain to my investigations. To suggest that she report to Sickbay for treatment for somnambulism would be to reveal that I have been observing her," Tuvok replied.

"I see," the Doctor nodded. "Has she said or done anything while sleep-walking?"

"You may observe for yourself, Doctor," said Tuvok as the door to the Captain's quarters slid open and Seven walked through it.

Her eyes were open, but it was clear to both men immediately that she was not sensible of her surroundings. Rather, they were turned upon some inner vision, and then she began staring at her Borg-supplied left hand, turning it and looking at it from every angle.

"Why is she staring at her hand?" whispered the Doctor.

"This is her wonted action these past three nights, Doctor," replied Tuvok. "I have observed her look at her Borg hand for as much as a quarter of an hour at a time."

"I cannot get it out!" Seven cried in exasperation, staring at her implant-adorned hand.

"What's that she's saying?" asked the EMH.

"I do not know what she means, Doctor," said Tuvok. "We shall have to wait for more."

"Desist from clogging my implants!" Seven demanded. "Desist, I say! I shall never get this out! It is time! What? A Klingon and so frightened? No one shall question our power! But how could I have known the old girl would have so much fight in her?" At this point she had stopped staring at her hand and had raised her eyes, as if addressing someone in front of her.

"What do you make of that, Tuvok?" asked the Doctor with a knowing look.

Tuvok held up his hand to silence the EMH. Seven was speaking again.

"Voyager had a captain. Where is she now? What, will my implants never be cleared? No more of this, B'Elanna! You will ruin us both with your carrying on so!"

The Doctor again turned to Tuvok. "How did she know that Captain Janeway had put up a fight?"

"Indeed," replied Tuvok. "She speaks of things of which she should have no knowledge."

"And still my implants are clogged with blood! All the tools in Engineering will not clear these wretched implants. Oh! Targ balls!" Seven swore as she shook her left hand convulsively.

"Well!" exclaimed the Doctor, "I certainly never taught her that kind of language when she was under my tutelage. Hmmphh! I can see that Captain Torres's influence has been detrimental in more ways than one!"

Tuvok's expressive eyebrow shot up. "Indeed, Doctor," he observed dryly, "We shall undertake the rehabilitation of her manners while she spends the rest of our journey in the brig."

"Well," said a slightly chagrined EMH, "I simply think that such language is never necessary. Captain Janeway would have been hor-."

The Doctor's protestation was interrupted by Seven as she spoke again in her sleep.

"Get in the sonic shower! Put this nightgown on, and go to bed! I tell you, beloved, Tom is dead. He was incinerated in the explosion of the Delta Flyer! He cannot reassemble his atoms from the vacuum of space!"

"I've heard enough!" said the Doctor.

"Let us to bed, beloved. Give me your hand. What's done is done. We cannot bring the dead that we have sent on back to us."

Still shaking her left hand and staring at it in frustration, Seven of Nine turned and went back into the Captain's quarters.

"You say she has done this now three nights running?" the Doctor asked, turning to Tuvok.

"Yes, Doctor. Perhaps it would be wise to keep her under constant surveillance."

"Hmmm," agreed the EMH. "She has a troubled conscience. I suggest a suicide watch. Why not arrest her and place her in protective custody?"

"As I have said, I do not wish to alert Captain Torres to our suspicions. I have been in touch with Lieutenant Chakotay. He is preparing his attack. We will not act until he is ready."

"Well, morale is at an all-time low. I hope he decides that he's ready soon. I've been treating too many cases of depression lately."

"Yes, let us go," observed the security chief. "Unnatural deeds disturb sleep, and corruption above breeds discontent below."


Scene ii-Now Does She Feel Her Secret Murders Sticking on Her Hands

Captain B'Elanna Torres sat in her Ready Room, worriedly swilling bloodwine. She was adrift without her second in command. The distance she felt from her crew was now magnified without the enticing distractions formerly provided by Seven of Nine. It was almost as if she could feel the enmity toward her seeping through the closed Ready Room door.

"Ghuy'!" muttered Torres as she took another swallow. "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

The Ready Room door hissed open to admit the Emergency Medical Hologram.

"How does the Commander, Doctor?" asked Captain Torres, putting down her cup and rising from the couch. "Is she all right?"

"I'm afraid her troubles stem from psychological problems, rather than physical ones. She seems more in need of a counselor than a physician," the EMH reported.

The Captain cleared her throat and turned away, walking over to the table upon which stood the jug of bloodwine.

"Can't imagine what's troubling her," murmured Torres. "Can you sedate her?" she turned toward him again with a fresh cup of bloodwine in her hands.

"I tried that," the Doctor answered. "But Commander Seven's nanoprobes are working to counteract the effects of the sedative. To put it bluntly, she's stuck in overdrive and can't turn off. I worry that she'll burn herself out, both literally and figuratively. Perhaps she'd feel better if she unburdened herself to someone, as she seems to be bearing some crushing weight." The Doctor raised his eyebrows at the opening he'd left for the Captain, hoping she'd respond to the gambit.

"Stick to the body, Doctor, and leave the soul to someone a bit more, shall we say, incarnate?" sneered the Captain.

"Hmm." Unfazed, the EMH peered a bit more closely at the Captain's eyes and face and raised his medical tricorder to her, scanning it and nodding sagely. "Been indulging in a bit too much bloodwine, haven't we, Captain? I'd say your liver is well on its way to being the star attraction in a lecture to first-year medical students on how to recognize cirrhosis, to say nothing of your bloodshot eyes. Perhaps you have a bit of unburdening to do, yourself?"

"Dismissed, you photonic quack!" roared Torres. The cup of bloodwine shattered against the Ready Room door as it shut, the Doctor having just escaped before the wrath of the half-Klingon expended itself upon his holographic head.

"God-damned doctors!" muttered Torres as she paced in her small Ready Room. She stopped at the table and was about to pour herself another bloodwine but then paused, remembering the doctor's diagnosis.

"BaQa'!" she swore as she turned away from the table and continued her pacing. She was worried about Seven. How would she face the coming onslaught without her? Chakotay was out there. She stopped and stared out the viewport at the planet below them. She knew he was plotting her overthrow. She could feel it. She doubted she'd have much support from her crew. Sentiment was running against her and her first officer below decks, and she could feel all that she and Seven had hoped for and achieved slipping away from her. Now, even her lovely Seven of Nine was beyond her reach.

"But what have I to fear?" she railed. "The witches said that only one who is known to my beloved as I am can bring me harm, and Seven was a virgin when we first made love! And I will remain unbeaten until Captain Janeway returns to Voyager! Surely that should put my mind at rest!"

And yet, the Captain could not quell the fear and dread rising within her. Deep down, she knew that all of this was going to end only one way. Fuck it. She'd be ready for any and all contingencies. If she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting. She slapped her comm badge.

"Ayala!"

"Here, Captain," the assistant security chief responded.

"My ready room."


Scene iii-The Bitch Is Back

Captain Torres looked up from her desk as her Ready Room door slid open to admit, not Lieutenant Ayala, as she had expected, but the EMH. The look on his face made her hearts plummet.

"Is it Seven?" she asked, rising.

"Yes," he said gravely. "I'm truly sorry, Captain."

"Wha--," she began and paused, her voice suddenly failing her. "What happened?"

"It appears that she committed suicide."

Torres collapsed into her chair, her eyes unseeing. "How?" she whispered.

"Tuvok found her in your quarters after hearing her scream. She had plunged her assimilation tubules into her neck. Upon examining her I found that she had re-implanted her cortical node. I can only presume that the violence of her emotions caused the failure of the node, and thus her own death."

"Oh, Seven," murmured Torres. "You were always too smart for your own good."

"Can I do anything for you, Captain?" the EMH asked gently. In spite of all that he and Tuvok suspected of her, he couldn't help but pity her in her loss. He had repressed his own sorrow at Seven's death. There would be time enough to allow himself to feel the pain of all that had happened aboard Voyager later.

"Yes, Doctor, you can," stated Torres as she rose and walked around her desk to face him, fixing her glistening eyes on his. "You can load me so full of sedatives that I never awaken! Or you can take this phaser right now and shoot me where I stand!" She pulled her sidearm and held it out to him. "Can you make me a hologram, like you? Can you remove my hearts? Can you cut out the part of me that feels as if I'm swallowing shards of broken glass?" She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her body and began to rock back and forth. The EMH knelt next to her and gently raised her. Then he walked her over to the couch, where they both sat down. He kept his arm around her as she continued to hold herself and rock, tears streaming down her face.

This was the sight that greeted Lieutenant Ayala as he entered the Ready Room.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said, dropping his eyes and stopping just inside the door as it closed behind him. "But sir, I have some news. . . ." He stopped as if unsure how to go on.

"Well, what is it, Ayala?" choked out the Captain. She sat back up and wiped her face. "Out with it."

"Chakotay and Harry Kim are aboard a big ship that's standing off to port, sir. They are demanding our surrender and that we prepare to be boarded!" He looked as if there was more.

"They can demand all they want, Ayala. Prepare to engage them!"

"But, sir!"

"What is it?" demanded Torres, standing and stalking over to him.

"I hardly know how to tell you this. . . ."

"Tell me what, dammit? What's got you standing so amazed?"

"It's what Chakotay said, Captain. I was at my station on the Bridge when the Birnamwud ship approached, sir. Then Chakotay identified his ship as the Kathryn Janeway!"

"You lie, p'taQ!" cried Torres.

"I swear on the lives of my sons, sir!" Ayala exclaimed. "What are you orders, Captain?"

Torres turned in shock and took a few steps away from him. "I shall stand unbloodied and unbeaten till Kathryn Janeway returns to Voyager! That's what the witches told me! And now the bitch is back." She slapped her comm badge. "Battle stations!" she cried. "Looks like it all ends here and now, one way or another. Come, Ayala! Sound the klaxon! Breach, hull! Melt, core! There's not a woman on this ship but she's a faithless whore!"


Scene iv-Now Cracks a Klingon Heart

Captain B'Elanna Torres sat in the command chair on the Bridge, the red alert lights glowing off and on at regular intervals, the comm system repeating over and over the message from the Kathryn Janeway, the renamed Birnamwudian ship, the command to surrender and prepare to be boarded. Torres sat in the chair, her legs spread, her uniform jacket open, and her chin resting on her fist. The two ships had so far exchanged phaser fire but neither had suffered any damage, their shields absorbing the blasts.

"Ayala! Cut that off!" Torres commanded as she turned in her chair. Her nerves were jangled enough without that incessant droning.

"Aye, sir," said Ayala from the Ops station, and the voice was suddenly silenced.

"What are they waiting for?" Torres pondered aloud. The Birnamwudian vessel was a warship, and she had the little scout ship outgunned. After the brief exchange of phaser fire, the two ships had remained in a holding pattern, each marking the other. "They could blow us out of space without working up a sweat."

"Since this vessel is carrying Chakotay and Harry Kim, we can assume that they do not wish to destroy Voyager, only to reclaim her," Tuvok replied.

Torres turned her head back toward the viewscreen, considering Tuvok's words.

"Helm! Get us out of here. They may be able to outgun us, but we'll outrun them. Warp 9!"

Instead of punching the order into the console, Ensign Jenkins looked over to Tuvok, who nodded his head almost imperceptibly. The helmswoman then punched in a different order. "Shields down, Commander," she told the Vulcan. The mutiny had begun.

"QI'yaH!" cried Torres, falling upon the hapless woman and beating her about her head and shoulders as she sat at the conn.

Before anyone could react to the Captain's fury, several men beamed over from the Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay and Kim among them.

"That's it, B'Elanna," said Chakotay, his phaser pointing at her. "It's over."

"Nothing's over, you pitiful p'taQ!" cried Torres, releasing her stranglehold on Jenkins and pulling her own phaser. "You can't touch me! I fear only one known to Seven as I was, and that's no man! Take your pathetic mutiny and ride your 'Kathryn Janeway' away." She sneered at him. "I'm guessing that's the closest you'd ever got to being inside her, you insignificant Qa'Hom!"

Chakotay smiled coolly at her. "Who needs Janeway when I could put it to Seven of Nine?"

Torres paled. "You lie!" she whispered.

"Oh, it was a hologram of her, true, but close enough. Didn't you find that little starburst implant on the inside of her left thigh to be delicious? I remember how much she liked it when I focused my attention there." He watched Torres as she took in the implications of his revelation. She was standing as if struck dumb, unable to react.

"She's dead now, isn't she?" Chakotay goaded. "Too bad. But my program is still in the system. She used to squirm when I looked at her at times around the ship-in the mess hall, across the table during a briefing, whenever I got her alone. I used to give her this little smile as I looked her up and down. It made her very uncomfortable. I'm going to miss that."

"Die, taHqeq!" roared an enraged Torres as she closed with Chakotay in desperate hand-to-hand combat. She wanted to rip his beating heart from his chest and eat it over his lifeless body.

Torres slowly backed toward her Ready Room as she and Chakotay exchanged blows. She knew that she could take the larger but inherently weaker human, but she was losing the desire. What did she have to look forward to, even if she prevailed over him? A lifetime in the brig? Exile on some barren rock in the Delta Quadrant? Nothing seemed worth the effort without Seven by her side. And how could she look at Chakotay knowing he'd tormented Seven with his lascivious leering? Oh, Seven, she thought. I will be joining you soon. When she could get them both inside the Ready Room, she could let it all go. She'd be damned if she would be killed before that pack of mutineers on the Bridge.

As the Ready Room doors hissed shut behind them, B'Elanna Torres dropped her arms, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It will be but a moment, my love, she thought, and I will hold you once more.


Scene v-All's Well That Ends . . . Well, That Ends, Anyway

The Birnamwudians and Bridge crew alike stared at the closed Ready Room doors. After a moment, Harry Kim turned to Tuvok.

"It's good to be back home, Commander," he smiled.

"Indeed, Ensign. I find it gratifying to have you back aboard Voyager safely." He paused a moment. "I regret the loss of Lieutenant Paris." He knew that the helmsman and Kim had been friends.

Kim lost his smile. "Yes," he said. "I'll miss him."

"We shall be mourning many losses for many days," replied the Vulcan. Though he would never reveal it to anyone, he was thinking of Seven.

At that moment the Ready Room doors swished open, and Chakotay walked through carrying a gruesome trophy-the dripping severed head of B'Elanna Torres.

"Jeez, Chakotay. Couldn't you have just taken her scalp?" asked Harry Kim, who'd turned a bit green about the gills at the sight.

"My knife slipped," replied Chakotay. Then he raised the hideous trophy high and looked around the Bridge. "Thus to all over-sexed half-Klingons and their fiendish Borg bombshell XOs. Tuvok," he turned to the highest-ranking officer left. "The ship is yours."

Tuvok took a few steps until he was standing by the command chair. "I shall continue Captain Janeway's quest to return this ship and her crew to the Alpha Quadrant. As we make our way toward that goal, let us remember our debt to the Birnamwudians, our absent comrades, and the lessons that our recent experiences have taught us-violent passions lead to violent ends, and Renaissance tragedy with science fiction is not a good blend."


And Then Some

Tuvok paused and there was a moment of portentous silence, the only sound the distant hum of the warp core. Then the silence was shattered by the sudden eruption of applause and cheering.

"Bravo! Bravo!" said the tall, dark-haired man who had just materialized on the Bridge among them, wearing a Starfleet admiral's uniform. Then an entire seating section of similarly-attired beings appeared, many of them holding what were once known as opera glasses in their hands. They appeared to be sitting in chairs arranged in three rising rows, and many were applauding enthusiastically.

"Q!" cried Chakotay. "You've done this?"

"And it was magnificent!" replied the unctuous being.

"But how could you let us, let us murder each other like this?" Chakotay was almost inchoate with rage.

"Oh, they're all right," waved the Q. "Here they come now."

The door to the Bridge swished open, and in trooped Seven of Nine, B'Elanna Torres, Tom Paris, Crewman Snodgrass, Crewman Jones, and, finally, Captain Janeway. Each held a bouquet of roses in his or her arms, and each looked stunned. Not to be left out, the Doctor blinked into existence on the Bridge, as well. Then Samantha Wildman, Jennifer Delaney, and Megan Delaney walked onto the Bridge from the turbolift. "What's going on?" asked Jennifer.

Tuvok noticed that the Birnamwudians, as well as the former Captain Torres's severed head, were nowhere to be found. He checked the sensors, and, as he had suspected he would, found no large ship standing off to port.

The newly re-animated crew members slowly became aware that what they'd experienced, though it had felt real, had in reality been something like a dream. Yet the memories of their experiences remained.

Captain Janeway took a deep breath to calm herself. The Q had gone too far this time. She strode to where the tall Q dressed in the admiral's uniform stood and paused in front of him.

"Oh, Kathy, it's so good to see you up and about again," he smiled. "I hated to see you go so early in the production, but that's what the script called for."

"Am I to understand," she began slowly, "that you have put us through some kind of play for your entertainment?"

"Macbeth," he replied. "It's so delightfully bloody. All those 'vaulting ambitions,' all that violence. But I must say, I hadn't realized what adding a lust-filled half-Klingon and a beautiful ex-Borg into the mix would do," he smiled as he looked over at Seven of Nine and B'Elanna Torres. Both women suddenly found they could not look the other in the eye. "What an unexpected pleasure, right, crew?" He turned to the bank of Q sitting and observing the proceedings. They all nodded enthusiastically, and a few began fanning themselves with what appeared to be programs. One had raised his opera glasses and had trained them on Seven of Nine.

He walked over to where B'Elanna was standing. "You were stunning, 'Captain' Torres," he told her, bowing slightly at the waist. "I must confess that I had no idea that you tended that way." He nodded his head toward Seven.

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest. "Get lost, you pervert!" she snapped.

He chuckled and moved away from her and over to Seven of Nine. "And you!" He picked up her right hand and kissed it, lingering over it and looking up at her. "Exquisite, my dear."

She pulled her hand abruptly away from him and linked her hands behind her back, trying to find some normalcy in a situation for which she had no frame of reference.

"Once again, you were all marvelous! Simply marvelous!" He led the other Q in another round of applause. "You're welcome on our stage anytime."

"That's enough, Q," said Janeway acerbically. "I think we're going to need another little talk on the misuses of the power of the Q Continuum. I can't believe that I have to point out the impropriety of manipulating mortals into heaven only knows what kind of situations against their will or even knowledge."

"Oh, Kathy! That reminds me," said Q, going up to her. "I've found the most wonderful novel in Voyager's databanks." A leather-bound book appeared in his hand. "We'd love to see it acted out some time. It's called The Story of O."

Captain Janeway paled. "Come on, Q, let's have a chat in my Ready Room." She looked around at her crew. "As you were-before the play, that is. We'll do some debriefing as soon as I set a few things straight with our guest here." She turned and led the still-chattering Q into her Ready Room.



It was a few weeks before B'Elanna could work up the courage to approach Seven of Nine and talk about what had transpired between them while they were under the Q's power. They had successfully avoided one another in the days following their disturbing experiences. The crew-especially those who'd experienced violence and death-had been ordered to receive psychological evaluation and counseling from the EMH, who'd had some reprogramming done on him prior to the sessions. They'd all accepted that they were not to be held responsible for their actions during that time, from about the moment when they'd begun to have strange and untoward impulses and desires. And while everyone had settled back into their usual routines, not a few crewmembers had lain awake at night and pondered the significance of their behavior or tried to dispel disturbing memories of death and dying. It would take some time, they'd all been assured by the EMH, but more than one crewmember had been noticed going about his or her business with haunted eyes.

B'Elanna, perhaps more than most, had felt the need for atonement and absolution. Captain Janeway had finally taken her into her Ready Room and talked with her at great length, reassuring her that no one, herself especially, held her accountable for what had happened. After much heartfelt encouragement, she'd finally persuaded B'Elanna that the extra duty shifts and additional work she'd taken on in an awkward attempt at penance were unnecessary and, if anything, made the crew uncomfortable around her.
Janeway's calm, soothing voice and loving tone finally broke through the half-Klingon's protective shell, and B'Elanna had begun to accept that the crew did, indeed, hold her as much a victim as any one of them had been.

Eventually she and Tom resumed their easy friendship, and she was able to get past the nasty business that had transpired between Chakotay and her. If she rode Jennifer Delaney a little hard in Engineering now and then, it was nothing more than Jennifer, herself, thought she'd deserved.

That left Seven.

Rumor had it that Seven had, if anything, become even more Borg-like, behaving much as she had during her first year on Voyager, keeping everyone at even more of a distance than usual. She'd even retreated from the Captain, and no amount of counseling by her or the EMH could get the ex-Borg to open up about what she'd experienced.

So it was with more than a little trepidation that B'Elanna walked into Cargo Bay 2 and found Seven of Nine at work, as usual, one evening after her duty-shift.

"Lieutenant Torres," said Seven, turning from the console. She clasped her hands behind her back and regarded the Chief with an unreadable expression.

"Hey, Seven," began B'Elanna. "I've been wondering, you know, how you've been since, well, since the Q thing." She stopped and ran her hand along the console to give herself some place to look other than at Seven.

"I am functioning within acceptable parameters," replied Seven coldly. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Have you been sent by either the Doctor or the Captain?" she asked.

"No," said B'Elanna, turning to look at the ex-Borg. "I just thought that we should talk."

"Is there a problem with the warp core?"

B'Elanna blinked. "No, why do you ask?"

"Is there a problem with Voyager's bioneural circuitry?"

"No!" B'Elanna was getting angry at the woman's deflections. "There's nothing wrong with the ship! I wanted to talk to you about what happened between us!"

Seven abruptly turned away from her and resumed entering data into the computer. "What happened between us is irrelevant. We were not to blame for our actions. I do not see the need to discuss it."

"Well, I do!" cried B'Elanna, going up to the exasperating woman and turning her to face her. "We can't continue to avoid each other forever. We've got to come to terms with what we did so we can look each other in the eye, for Kahless's sake!"

"I do not know what you mean, Lieutenant," said Seven as she turned her eyes upon those of the Chief of Engineering. "I have no difficulty looking you in your eyes." As if to prove her point, she looked directly into B'Elanna's eyes.

B'Elanna held her gaze. She was determined to win this stare-off or to prove to the infuriating ex-Borg that they needed to clear the air between them. They continued to look into one another's eyes until finally Seven slid hers away. She looked down at her hands clasped before her.

"Perhaps you are right, Lieutenant," she conceded, turning away from B'Elanna slightly. "I do not know what to say to you." At this point she turned her head and looked at B'Elanna with unhooded eyes for the first time since the Q had left them. B'Elanna was taken aback by the confusion she saw in them.

"To be honest, I don't know what to say to you, either," confessed B'Elanna. "But rest assured that because we, I mean, even though we, you know, did . . . what we did, doesn't mean that we have to keep, you know, doing it . . ." she trailed off, running her hand through her hair. This was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated.

"Indeed, Lieutenant!" Seven was quick to pick up the thread. "We are under no obligation to continue with our . . . physical relationship now that the Q have gone, especially as neither of us is of a mind to pursue that aspect of our relationship further." Seven was feeling better about things now. Perhaps she had been wrong about the need to discuss one's feelings.

"Right!" agreed B'Elanna. "That's what I think, too." B'Elanna stood with her hands linked behind her back, a variation of parade rest. She and Seven could now return their relationship to its professional footing.

She was about to turn and leave when their eyes met again and flew away from each other's. Then B'Elanna unclasped her hands from behind her back and brought them to her hips.

"So, do you want to fuck, or not?" she asked archly.

Seven's head whipped around to face her. "That depends, B'Elanna. Will you wear your red uniform?" she smiled.

"I will if you will," replied B'Elanna, looking Seven up and down with a seductive smile. "That was some biosuit, Seven."

"Acceptable," said Seven, resuming her Borg posture, hands behind her back, her head tilted to the side. It was her usual position, yet now she looked more relaxed somehow. "May I use the replicator in your quarters?"

"Sure thing, Seven," said B'Elanna taking Seven's arm as they leisurely strolled out the door and into the hall toward the turbolift. "You can replicate anything you want to-except for bloodwine. I'm off it for some reason."