Part 1

They say memory is the purveyor of reason.

It is the vessel that holds our sanity within its arrayed sequenced divisions. We creatures of habit are creatures gifted with memory and endowed with a thinking mind---one that retains knowledge of the past we’ve experienced, hoping to keep it safe and secure within its secret folds.

But my reason is lost. There’s a fissure in my thoughts, a yawning gap that threatens to envelop me into its needless, incomprehensible vacuity. What happened to me? I ask the face reflecting back at me from the near-transparent sheen of my office’s viewport. The face frowns, the dark brows furrowing in deep thought, and I hear a long sound escape from the back of my throat---a staggering sigh, lined with weary desolation.

What’s wrong with me? I squeeze my eyes shut a moment and then open them once more, sighing again. Oh gods, I don’t know. I wouldn’t have known anything but the emptiness inside that crosses the threshold of mind and memory and slinks down to the depths of my soul---leaving me restless---if it hadn’t been for the letter.

Four pages of replicated even-lined writing paper. A strange handwritten account of events otherwise unrecorded addressed to me. Addressed by me. I don’t know what made me look for the clean pair of uniform boots in the last drawer of my bedroom’s wardrobe. After all a pair of boots can’t really fit in a drawer, can they?

But there I was, running late for the Rumbari reception which was to be held planet-side in a little under forty minutes, dressed in my Starfleet issue dress shirt and pants, when I realized my clean boots were nowhere to be found. In a manner of minutes my room looked like a cyclone had hit it---let it be officially noted down that a person as meticulous as I’ve become in my years on Voyager surely knows how to devastate any semblance of neatness in life when the time calls for it. It usually occurs during these rare panic-stricken search raids for little lost personal items. And sure enough, despite the upheaval I caused, I couldn’t find the damn boots no matter where I looked.

And it was while I was rummaging through the lower cabinets---hunting for the said boots to no avail---that I pulled open the last drawer of the closet and saw the stack of papers lying there.

The steel covered stout writing pen sat on top of the stack in quiet declaration, the first few words staring up at me in their bold uncial letter writing in a sort of peerless challenge.

/READ THIS,/ The heading said. /AND TRUST YOUR HEART./

I remember frowning at the words at first as if they were no more than an unwanted distraction, for which I really had no time of course. But then, as always, curiosity got the better of me. I picked up the stack of papers and began to read.

And forgot all about the boots.

I remember still sitting in front of the wardrobe in the same half crouch, still reading the account, virtually lost to the universe, when Kathryn commed me twenty-five minutes later. She was asking why I wasn’t in transporter room two with her, getting ready to beam down to the surface with the Voyager entourage. If it hadn’t been for that call, I probably would’ve missed the reception.

I don’t remember much of the Rumbari gathering either. All I know is that I had to wear the same old boots I had worn during the alpha shift that day after all. And that we secured the trade agreement with our gracious hosts. With or without my help.

Most likely without, though, since my mind was too distracted to be of much help to Kathryn and Tuvok during the trade talks.

My thoughts confused. My reason lost.

The computer beeps a warning and shaken out of my thoughts, I turn to the chronometer. It’s gone past the usual lunchtime now and would be safer for me to go have lunch peacefully since the alpha crowd must’ve gone back on shift by this time. I realize I’ve wasted another morning session on idle, pointless brooding---ignoring the steadily growing stack of padds that has been lying on my desk since leaving Rumbari space a week ago; brooding that will get me nowhere, of course.

After all there’s no official, concrete way to verify my handwritten memoirs, is there?

I slowly make my way to the messhall, answering the respectful greetings of the few crewmembers I meet on the way. Neelix is clearing up the place and there are only a few people left in the messhall now, but I know he has kept lunch for me and others like me who are here for a late lunch.

I am not a recluse by nature. I don’t really mind crowds and my job as the XO means interacting with my people on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis is part of the deal. But the events of the last few days have left me unsettled; the need to be left alone and undisturbed consistently pressing down on me with a quiet resolution.

"Commander," Neelix beams happily as he sees me. "You must try the Spicy Silkari Brown Rice I’ve prepared today. The accompanying Fujakan Potato Sauce makes it a most delightful combination."

"Thank you, Neelix, I'd love that." I smile back at him, dreading the worst. Spicy and Neelix can often be a deadly combination. But his enthusiasm is contagious and I find myself warming up to his chatter as he ladles spoonfuls of the green potato sauce on top of the rice. The smell is surprisingly quite favorable, and I tell him so.

"Trust me Commander," He leans in close, almost conspiratorially. "It’s been a hit with the vegetarians on board. Commander Tuvok even took three servings and everyone knows he never takes more than two. The original recipe for the sauce called for carrots, but I now know how much you dislike them."

I contemplate the tray in my hand, not sure if the Tuvok reference scores any favorable points for Neelix’s latest culinary creation. And then it hits me like déjà vu’. Carrots. Not many people know I hate carrots. Of course Neelix is one of the few who have finally figured it out, which is a good thing since he is the cook. But, who else? My thoughts whirl inside my head. Did I tell someone about the carrots? Who did I tell?

Did I tell her?

I come out of my musing as Neelix waves his hand in front of me. "Commander, are you all right?" His voice sounds a little panicked, and I wonder how long I’d been standing there---lost in my thoughts.

I blink and stare at the Talaxian for a second, noting his eyes have widened with concern. Then I take a deep breath and shrug. "Sure, Neelix. I am fine."

I take my tray to a corner table and settle down. I know Neelix is still looking at me, standing at his counter, so I make a display of scooping up a generous spoonful of rice and sauce and take it inside my mouth. As I chew I realize the flavor really isn’t half-bad and the genuine smile of thanks I send the Talaxian’s way apparently satisfies him and he smiles gratefully before going back to work.

But the tasteful food isn’t enough to keep my mind focused on it for too long. My thoughts soon return to the object of my discontent. The letter. Her name was Kellin. She was Rumaran, a beautiful woman as per my written notes, belonging to a world that didn’t appreciate anyone leaving the bounds of their closed society. According to the accounts, she was a ‘Tracer’, a bounty hunter given the job of tracking down people who attempted to leave their world. She had come to Voyager looking for a runaway hiding here and my letter says...

I pause and stare down at my plate. My letter says she and I... fell in love. With each other. Not once, but twice. I shake my head and frown at the rice. It supposedly had something to do with the biological characteristics of Rumarans, which ensured that the memories of her people couldn’t be held in the minds of other races. They can only be remembered for a few hours...and then the memories fade away.

I sense a sudden rush of maddening hilarity bubbling up inside me, a somewhat familiar feeling that I’ve felt every time I went over this part of the account over the past one week, and if the whole situation weren’t so damn pathetic I would’ve certainly burst out laughing. I stop myself in time, though, and the only residue of my restrained madness is a further gritting of my teeth as I let the fork held in my hand slip from my fingers. The utensil clatters noisily on the replicated china and I close my eyes again.

Gods, I don’t want to make some absurd XO-gone-insane scene in public. This has to stop. I am the First Officer here. Can’t have the second-in-commands chasing ghost lovers in the remnants of their brain’s tampered memory pathways, now, can we? But spirits, my heart...

I sigh, my eyes still closed, and rub my weary face with the heals of my hands. If it’s all really so unreal, if it’s all nothing but a foregone maniacal absurdity, then why the hell does my heart feel so empty inside? There’s no record of her being here, the computer virus mentioned in my account explains that, yes, but then why do I feel like I’ve lost something important, something real, something that was truly beautiful to me?

Was this why I’d been feeling so subdued in the last few weeks? Could my heart have known I’d lost someone I’d loved even if my mind couldn’t acknowledge it?

Gods, why did I leave myself this account? What was I thinking when I wrote this? Wouldn’t it have been infinitely better if I’d stayed quiet, if I’d let this get lost along with everything else that was supposedly lost after she left? Spirits, I don’t even remember what she looked like.

All of a sudden I get the feeling of being watched. Startled, my eyes fly open and I quickly, furtively, scan the room for whoever has caught the whiff of my restrained madness. My eyes lock with the clear blues of my interloper’s. It’s Seven. I inwardly groan as I realize my madness isn’t that restrained after all, as I return her curious, direct gaze with as much efficacy as I can.

I really don’t think I have the patience to answer any of her inquisitive queries. What has she noticed anyway? How long has she been watching me? I feel a slight flush heat the skin of my face as I contemplate breaking the eye contact and looking away from her...

When she breaks it herself. And something quite exotic, something I’d never seen on her face before, an alien blend of uncharacteristic abashment intermingled with characteristic Borg indignation perhaps, crosses her features and she looks down at her own meal.

I blink at the strange display. Seven of Nine embarrassed? My brows furrow. Of what? Have I stepped into an alternate universe? What did that look on her face mean?

I look down at the now cold rice and realize my appetite is lost. I have to get the hell out of here, my heart and brain tell me in unison. I stand up, pick up my half-eaten meal and take the tray to the recycler. I ignore Neelix’s outraged protests as I empty the plate into the apparatus, set the serving dishes on the counter, and walk out of the messhall.

For a moment, I feel myself shiver as the heat of her gaze lingers on my back. And then the messhall doors close behind me.

* * *

The star-chart on the Astrometrics screen shifts under my new commands and we see a fresh trajectory replace the old display.

"The three planet system you see on the top left corner is the closest on our current course." I say. "We’ll have to divert the route for four light-years in order to reach it."

"How long would it take on our current speed?" Captain Janeway asks. I quickly compute the distance. "Approximately eighty-four hours." "And according to your data, they’re all uninhabited?" She looks at me closely.

"The Borg didn’t find any civilizations or technology worthy of assimilation in this entire region." I turn to her. "According to my data, only lower life forms and vegetation prevail in that system."

"All the more reason for us to go exploring." She gives a rueful smile.

"Neelix has been eager to restock his food stores, and B’Elanna would love to look up any mineral deposits that might be useful."

She pats me encouragingly on my shoulder as she turns to leave. "Keep running scans and let me know if something new comes up."

"Yes, Captain." I nod as I turn to face the screen again, my fingers moving on the console in front of me.

I hear the doors open as she steps through the doorsill and then for some reason, she pauses at the threshold. I turn my head to look back at her.

"I’ll ask Commander Chakotay to prepare a schedule for away team rotations." Her eyes are on the star-chart on the screen, not me, her quick mind undoubtedly working ahead of schedule as usual, already planning and allocating tasks in her head. "If the scans show favorable results, we’ll need everyone working around the clock to alleviate the supplies shortage." Then she looks at me, smiles again, and walks out. The doors close behind her.

I stare at the closed doors for a moment, my thoughts in a complicated quandary, and then turn back to my console.

As I program the system to run continuous scans of the region along the trajectory we’ve decided to follow, my thoughts return to the perplexing situation of Voyager’s First Officer. My mind runs the scene observed earlier in the messhall over and over again but still comes up short when the need for a possible solution is acknowledged.

The Commander is disturbed, that much is certain from my recent observations of his otherwise inconspicuous behavior. The display in the messhall today indicates an obvious increase in the factors that have been contributing to his distraction---factors which would perhaps be unknown to the others onboard. Which brings me to the uncertainty of how his other crewmates will interpret his anxiety-filled behavior in the absence of any known reasons. I am also uncertain as to what measures I can take to assist the Commander in relieving the stress he’s under.

After all, the circumstances affecting him are not completely unknown to me.

I wouldn’t have found out anything at all if Borg Alcove Beta, the Alcove I always use for my regeneration cycles in the cargo bay, hadn’t malfunctioned. When Lieutenant Torres ran a diagnostic on it, it turned out that the primary relays in the microcircuit sub-processor had gotten fused and the Alcove would be inoperative until they were replaced.

While the Lieutenant was certain she could get the problem resolved, she had as much inclination to spend her off-duty hours fixing my Alcove as I had to endure her scathing impatience. I allowed her to get Alcove Gamma operational, which hadn’t been used during the past one year, for my use that night and was immensely relieved when she left---her reluctance to spend too much off-duty time in my presence is another peculiarity I undoubtedly share with her.

As I stepped into the new Alcove, the programming in the Alcove itself as well as my own Borg physiology reset itself to match the new environment---as is the case every time a drone is reassigned to a new vessel or division. No data or information is wiped out in the process, only all the Borg implants and systems within my physiology are resynchronized so that they can match the new setting and the regeneration cycle can commence.

The beginning of each cycle is vague, filled with familiar faces and images that help center a Drone’s thoughts and memories---much like what human individuals would call the ‘dream state’. The onset of this state in a Drone’s case, though, is instantaneous---unlike humans who would take some time before they will fall asleep. Even though my link to the Collective has been severed for almost a year, my regeneration cycles bring me closer to my Borg half more than anything else I’ve ever experienced as an individual.

This time, however, my thoughts were filled with faces unknown to me. Unacquainted, alien, and yet still somehow strangely, inexplicably, familiar.

A smiling humanoid female. Her ears slanting upwards to a pointed peak, her hair light and her eyes a shade darker than mine. An individual I’d never met before. Or perhaps an individual I thought I’d never met before.

A face animated in conversation---his face, a strangely familiar flush coloring the darker hue of his skin further. The sound of laughter, theirs---the two of them sharing a carefree meal in a corner of the messhall, oblivious to their surroundings.

Another female, a human this time, her hair the same light brush of burning embers silkily framing her face, her large eyes expressing compassion---her face a familiar one, her words the same I’d heard thousands of times before in my dreams and in my nightmares: "Hear our voices. Open your mind to our thoughts. Feel the connection. Don’t be afraid. Our strength is your strength." His memories.

An old man leading me into a path inside a jungle, or perhaps leading him. A flash of lightening, or perhaps a discharge of powerful weapons fire, scorching the earth, the life, the old man in front of me---or perhaps in front of him---to glowing cinders. All life burnt to ashes in one vicious strike. The sounds of screams rising and reverberating inside my skull---his skull---and the jolt of pain freezing me---him---stealing my breath---his---making me fall to my knees, tears running down my face. His face. His pain.

His face again. This time alone at a corner of an Observation lounge, perhaps somewhere on Deck Five. Deep in thought, not noticing my arrival, his eyes dull with loss and hurt---his face quietly expressive in the solitude of his own company and in the absence of protocols that constantly reaffirm his own loneliness. My loneliness. And then the sudden onslaught of silence---followed by a skin-tingling, throat-constricting plunging of utter darkness.

When I came out of my regeneration cycle that night, I found myself drenched in a light sheen of perspiration. The images were confusing but then again some of them were familiar too. It was obvious that the memories I had retained from my brief link to Commander Chakotay a year ago had been prevalent in this cycle, but what was I to make of the other unfamiliar faces?

Who was the first female I saw in my mind? Was she a remnant, a figment of some individual’s memory---maybe someone who had been assimilated by me in the past? Why did I see Commander Chakotay in those memories then? Was my flawed human brain fusing separate images and unmatchable memories together? Was this what Lieutenant Paris would call a haphazardly drawn ‘jigsaw puzzle’ that wouldn’t make sense no matter how hard we tried to piece it together?

As I checked, I realized a long time had passed since I’d initiated my cycle. I had completed much of my needed quota of regeneration, even if it had left me mentally unsettled---a human weakness no doubt---and now I had no desire to go back to it.

And that was exactly what I did.

I stayed away from the Alcove, even after Lieutenant Torres fixed the problem in Alcove Beta the next day. A week passed without regeneration because, to elucidate myself, I was a little uncertain how it would effect me again. The Doctor soon intervened with complaints of falling electrolyte levels, though, and I had no choice but to return to regeneration.

However, this time I kept my fears at bay, and my determination to find some answers foremost in my mind.

By the time my second regeneration cycle had ended, I had most of the puzzle resolved.

The answer lay within my Designator Interface Circuit. It is a small circuit located on the exterior of Drones and contains information on our numerical designation as well as information we have accumulated since being last connected with the Collective. Its one of the implants that the Doctor was unable to remove from my exoskeleton because attempting to do so would’ve resulted in the activation of a self-destruct program that would’ve vaporized me.

This circuit, being an external unit, stays disengaged during my normal regeneration cycles. Its function is to record a sequenced form of the data that already exists in my Neuro-Processor. The main and incidentally only implant that interacts with the Alcove during regeneration is the Interlink Node. But it seems that using the new Alcove, which resulted in the resetting of all my Borg systems, reintegrated that data---and thus the memories contained within---into my Neuro-Processor once again.

Now that the Rumaran virus no longer exists within Voyager’s computer, there is no concern for this data, and these memories, of being erased from my system again.

The one uncertainty that does confound me is the question of which individual on Voyager I should relay this revived information to. Or perhaps whether I should inform anyone at all.

That brings me back to the subject of Commander Chakotay. I am unsure what, if anything, he does remember from the events of our contact with Kellin and her people. There isn’t any record in the ship’s database. I have even discreetly run algorithms against his own personal files---the ones I could access, that is---as well, and have found no clues that he has any information recorded in his stored data files regarding the incidents. Unless, of course, he has employed some crude method of storing information that proved to be somewhat efficient for him.

Although I am not sure the stressful state he’s in right now is indicative of any actual efficiency in relevance to the method he may have used.

His replicator usage shows his nutritional consumption levels have dropped in the past one-week or so, and how well he’s taking his meals in the messhall became quite evident today. The increasing lines around his eyes can also only be explained by the fact that he’s not getting the physical rest, which the vigorous level of activity that comes with his position as the First Officer entails.

That leaves me unsettled for some inscrutable reason.

For someone to come and disrupt the equilibrium of a person’s life so close by---my own life---and then leave thinking they’ve left no traces behind. When in fact the opposite may be the truth---not just in my case, but his too. It’s so inexcusably... inefficient.

No wonder the Borg never assimilated any Rumarans, despite their superior stealth and weapons technology. I can’t imagine what the consequences of a Collective slowly losing its memory, in case one of them was liberated, would have been like. Even if it was only until their collective Borg Alcoves reset themselves.

Which, like the unending circle this plight has become, brings me back to Commander Chakotay again. Ascertaining from the reaction I got from him this afternoon, it doesn’t appear he is anymore comfortable in my presence than Lieutenant Torres is. Which would make sense since the two of them are close friends---her being one of the few people he socializes with on the ship other than the Captain.

Only, Lieutenant Torres doesn’t seem to be aware of the stress her friend is under. Nor is the Captain apparently aware of the anxiety Voyager’s First Officer seems to be going through at the moment.

I am uncertain as to what steps I should undertake.

The Borg part of me---the part closest to my thoughts and mind and the decision-making centers of my cerebrum during my nightly regeneration cycles---tells me to simply let it be. That time will heal his wounds and he’ll get over these needless inefficient emotional entanglements.

And yet the human part of me---the part that brings all those familiar images and individual memories alive when I close my eyes during the same regeneration cycles---feels my chest constricting with a strange, mysterious feeling.

The feeling of my human heart---aching in pain. For him.

Part 2

"Now that’s a sight for my sore aching eyes."

Tom Paris sighs happily in the pilot’s seat by my side, his eyes riveted to the main viewport in front of us.

I, sitting in the co-pilot seat of Davies, steal a look at his rapturous expression from the corner of my eye and shake my head knowingly.

The sense of marvel and excitement filling the Lieutenant’s eyes is one that I can share. As a fellow pilot, I understand that nothing can compare to the sheer excitement that comes with taking the helm at one of these small beautiful ships. The sheer exultation of flying into virtually unknown territory, the thrill of exploring, and the freedom that comes with it---it’s all an exquisitely privileged experience; one I am grateful to be a part of.

The easy familiarity that comes with this feeling almost makes me forget all my confusion and worries of the last few days, as if they’ve been blissfully left behind in a past life. As if they were all part of a bad dream, and should cause no more confusion than the slight disorientation which descends for a few dizzying moments upon waking up from one.

But things are never that simple and not everyone can be as easily impressed by the mere joy of gazing out a shuttlecraft’s viewport window, as us small-minded individuals can.

"You find a Type 3 asteroid field dense with severe gravitational disturbances leading to a planet’s stratosphere which is filled with heavy ionic activity---an appealing sight!" The slightly affronted observation comes from the science station behind us.

There’s a slight pause during which I can’t help but feel the corners of my mouth twitch at the incredulity in her tone of voice. She can’t help it, I know. I also know that she’s trying to understand Paris’s perspective, trying to dissect the data available to her as efficiently as possible. But its not going to work. She doesn’t have the correct frame of reference.

The Borg obviously never assimilated a sense of wonder.

As Paris rolls his eyes and comes back with a drawn out, drawled out rejoinder for our reluctant ex-Borg colleague, the feeling that I might be judging Seven a little too harshly in this instance pricks at my conscience.

After all, if I am to be completely honest with myself, she isn’t the same Borg Drone we liberated from the Collective a year ago. She has changed, is still changing, learning and picking up things along her decidedly laborious journey of discovering humanity for the first time in her adult life.

I always knew Seven---no matter how sure Kathryn was of her success---was going to be a difficult assignment for all of us. Always knew it was going to be hard, if not impossible, for the vulnerable young woman who was emerging from under all those Borg implants to fully embrace her humanity.

I never really expected her to change overnight.

I slightly tilt my seat sideways to glance back at her, as she answers Tom’s good-intentioned counters with her own, almost painfully precise responses, and silently berate myself for lying so blatantly to my own heart.

It’s not that I never expected her to change overnight.

The thing is I never expected her to change, period.

The fact that she has changed, that she has surpassed my obvious doubts, proved wrong my secret fears, and gone beyond any reluctant hopes that I may have held regarding her, has me thoroughly and truly confounded.

Seven of Nine is an enigma, she always has been, and even daring to attempt to seek out all her secrets, and to solve the puzzling contradictions within her personality feels to be a Herculean task indeed. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Seven." Paris is still at it, patiently trying to convert her way of thinking even though she now seems to be adamantly, almost stubbornly, holding her ground. "Look at the asteroid belt, its absolutely breathtaking," he gushes "And the navigational challenge the gravitational pull, not to mention the ion storms in the atmosphere, will present our descent sequence---should be any capable pilot’s idea of a really, really fun ride."

I stoically keep my smile hidden from view.

He’s right about the challenge part at least. When Voyager had reached the system we’d laid a course for three days ago, our sensor readings had been a little chaotic, if not completely discouraging. The initial scans indicated that of the three planets, the only one that was M-Class also had thick blustering ion storms roaring in the lower atmosphere that made it nearly impossible for our sensors to penetrate the disturbance. Not to mention the fact that the same disturbance made transporters usage a no-option as well.

All we had been able to come up with were some hints and scraps of readings between the tiny fragmented windows that opened whenever the storm activity decreased: Oxygen-Nitrogen atmosphere. Some suggestions of water bodies large enough to be dubbed oceans perhaps present.

Considerable doubts of any larger predators looming about. No traces of toxicity in the planet’s atmosphere.

As it dawned on us soon enough, if we wanted any more clues about what was down there, we’d have to take a shuttle down and explore. And that’s exactly, as the following briefing had decided, what we were about to do. I turn to look back at my two partners and wait for the next rejoinder. It is brisk in coming.

"Beauty is irrelevant." Seven shoots back, her eyes cool.

I bite back a snort as the pilot throws up his arms in resignation.

"Fun is irrelevant," She marches on, unchallenged, "And the assumption that your flight’s descent down to the planet’s surface will be a worthwhile challenge at all weighs entirely on your own supposed ‘capability’ at the helm." She finishes, her single unhidden brow raised in a deliberate challenge.

"Seven, I am offended!" Tom’s mock-insulted outcry is almost drowned by the sound of Ensign Kim’s chuckle over our open comm-link from Voyager.

"Nice going, Tom." Harry’s grin is audible over the link.

"Glad to hear everything’s going just as normally as we expected, Commander." Kathryn’s amused voice comes over the comm.

"No need to worry, Captain. Everything’s going smoothly." I throw a crooked smile at Tom.

"Yeah, smooth for you, Commander." Tom huffs dramatically. "You didn’t just get your feelings trampled on, did you?"

"Relax, Lieutenant," I give him a bemused look and glance back at our Astrometrics Officer, strangely warming up to the banter between my crewmates---reluctant or not. "I am sure Seven didn’t mean anything by it."

"It seems Lieutenant Paris’s personal shields are malfunctioning." Her steel blue eyes are on the pilot, and what looks like cool amusement vying for its place next to smooth victory plays on her delicately sharp features. "I am afraid in their absence, the journey through the asteroid field to the surface below would be a formidable task for him."

As Tom concedes with a laugh, Seven’s eyes shift from his frame to settle on my face. Her eyes lock with mine and for one long moment, I am caught in the deep swirling blues of them. The direct gaze seems to be probing, their penetrating effect on me almost intrusive, as she apparently studies the contours of my face, her wandering look both intent and intense---the silent inspection leaving me quite unsettled.

And then, just as quickly as her eyes had begun their visual forays on my face, she breaks the contact as well. As if caught red-handed doing something unauthorized, a strange look of contrite uncertainty---the same abashment I’d first seen on her face three days back in the messhall---replaces her confident foraging of a moment ago, and she abruptly drops her gaze. As I stare at her crimson face, I realize I find her uncertainty even more unsettling than her haughty over-confidence; my brain puzzling over the mystery of her ivory-hued cheeks suddenly flushing with something akin to embarrassment, as her eyes turn away.

"Commander, let us know as soon as you have set up the subspace transceiver on the other side of the disturbance." The Captain’s over-the-comm voice breaks through the haze like a blast of phaser fire and I almost jump in my seat.

I swallow a couple of times to wet my suddenly dry mouth, as I turn back to my console.

"Affirmative, Captain." I look at my readings as Paris’s flying fingers prepare the shuttle for our entry into the thick asteroid belt. "Once we enter the stratosphere, forming a direct comm-link won’t be possible, but we’ll contact you as soon as we’ve set up the assembly."

"Understood," Janeway replies. "Its still impossible to get a clear picture of what’s down there from our sensors. Keep us posted when you can, Commander. See you soon."

"Will do so, Captain, and yes, we’ll see you soon." I assure her. "Chakotay out."

With the link to Voyager closed, I turn my full attention to the task at hand. I hear Seven relaying sensor readings to Paris’s and my stations concurrently and shift my mental gears to set my private observations of her behavior aside. That can come later. Right now, we have a stream of flying asteroids to navigate through.

Irrelevant or not, for a moment as we hurtle onwards to meet the skimming chunks of rock and the shimmering crystalline fragments glowing and flying in our path, we’re all transfixed by the sheer magnificence of the spectacle. It was impressive from afar, but at such close proximity as we are about to experience the entrance at full throttle, and with the asteroids screaming along their orbits like a racing traffic of high-speed fleet of ships, a collective surge of adrenaline spikes through our bodies.

"Okay, here we go." Tom swallows audibly, as he keeps one hand on thruster controls, slowing and controlling the shuttle’s speed, as he expertly guides the small craft into the field.

Slight tremors go through the vessel upon our entry, as Paris turns the shuttle this way and that, his fingers flying to dodge the bigger chunks, as I keep an eye on the navigational deflector---watching it force the micro-meteorites and other smaller debris away from our haphazardly shifting course. The gravitational pull is heavy indeed and we struggle to keep the shuttle’s trek through the asteroids smooth, but Tom’s legendary talent at the helm isn’t just mythical after all, as he valiantly skips past zipping hunks of rocks and planet debris strewn across our path.

As we reach the middle of the belt, the rush of asteroids zooming under and over and along the shuttle’s path becomes heavier, and the gravitational pull denser. The few sharper tremors felt inside tells us of the occasional chunks barely grazing past our defenses, the thickness of the pressure acutely felt as the vessel makes its way across the field.

"Shields holding," Seven confirms as I recheck the deflector readings, my eyes shifting from the viewport to the sensor readings, and back again. Everything checks out fine.

With a last heavy shudder that jolts through the shuttle’s frame, as we dodge a final cluster of asteroids along the edge of the belt---their one final bumpy farewell which Paris rides with his usual flying flair---we clear the belt and come through the other side of the spectacle.

"We’re through." Paris releases his breath and I feel myself relax incrementally in my seat.

"Good work, Tom." I nod at him.

"Thanks, Commander." He sighs gratefully.

"Five point seven seconds to enter planet’s atmosphere." Seven announces as my eyes fly back to rest on the sensor readings.

"Reading heavy ion storm formations in the lower stratosphere." I read from my console.

Tom’s fingers are once again moving on the console with lightening speed. "Distance from the surface twelve thousand kilometers."

"Temperatures rising to six thousand six hundred degrees." Seven reports. There’s a jolt as our shields compensate for the varying temperature changes as we slide through the thick atmosphere. At the uppermost levels of a planet’s atmosphere, as you go through each distinctive layer, the temperature changes from kilometer to kilometer, and a lesser vessel might not be able endure the complexities as easily. But Davies is equipped with Borg-enhanced shields, which were designed especially for this mission by Seven and Harry, and a few shudders and jolts are all that we feel as we make our descent.

"Sensors detecting high concentration of ionized particles," Seven counts the numbers from her console. "Hull temperature dropping to two hundred degrees, region dense with a heavy concentration of chemicals in the atmosphere which are reacting with the solar energy coming from the system’s sun."

"All right folks, I’ve got the touchdown spot noted." Tom announces jubilantly. "This is gonna get a little bumpy before it gets better."

"But I am sure we couldn’t be in safer hands." I grin as my eyes linger on my readings. "Distance one fifty kilometers."

As we enter the troposphere, I watch as the silvery-white fog of the thick clouds swirling around the vessel suddenly replaces the blackness of the space.

"Air pressure rising to fifty kPa. Wind activity increasing." Seven intones.

"There we go, baby." Tom murmurs softly as he tames the thrusters under his adept hands, his voice gentle and low, as if he’s speaking to the vessel itself---and judging from the rapt expression on his face, he probably is. "I see the spot, lets take it nice and easy now."

"Eighty kPa." Another jolt as Seven speaks. "Temperature dropping to seventy degrees."

And suddenly, we watch as the clouds part to reveal a lush green terrain filled with trees and patches of water spattered across its surface. I gasp, feeling Paris too freeze next to me for a second, as the sheer beauty of the world is finally revealed to us.

"Thirty five degrees. Twenty. Pressure up to hundred and ten kPa." Even Seven sounds awed, her voice a little distracted.

Tom’s fingers guide the vessel down as all the shuddering and jolting finally ends and with a final smooth thump, barely felt, the shuttle lands on the clear patch of grass the pilot had already noted for touchdown from several hundred kilometers above.

He looks at Seven and me expectantly, and I smile at him, "That definitely was a 'fun ride', Lieutenant," getting up from my seat.

"A most ‘capable’ performance at the helm indeed." Seven rises from her console as well and her remark brings out a radiant smile on his face. "Gee, thanks Seven, that almost makes up for you breaking my heart earlier."

I bend over the sensor readings once more. "Gravity 1.2 Earth normal, tropical weather conditions, temperature 40 degrees Celsius, plenty of water, fertile soil, dense vegetation and abundant mineral deposits." I turn to my crewmates and smile. "Neelix and B’Elanna will be damn happy. I think we’ve found the perfect place to stock up our draining supplies."

"Oh yeah, and no large life forms registering either." Tom jumps up from his chair. "If the weather clears up, we might even be able to get the Captain to approve a shore-leave schedule."

"One thing at a time, Tom." I shake my finger at him, not wanting to but still feeling the reluctant need to suppress his bubbling exuberance. "I don’t suppose I need to remind you why we’re here in the first place."

"Oh great, I know," Tom grimaces. "A day long happy expedition of collecting samples, mapping areas and taking readings of where and in what concentration the minerals are located, not to mention ‘which’, so that we can point out the perfect spots to begin excavation when the teams start arriving."

"Right."

"You’re no fun, Chakotay." He pulls a face and sighs. "Lets hope those vegetation patches provide for something better than Leola Root."

"In that case, I suggest we get out and begin our ‘exploring’." Seven announces as she moves to the aft of the shuttle and releases the hatch of the shuttle door. We follow each other out of the shuttle and walk into a miniature version of what looks to me like heaven in the delta quadrant.

The first thing to greet me is the clean, fresh, terrestrial air---thick with tropical humidity---filling my lungs. The lushness of the endless greenery around soothes my eyes, as I take in a long deep breath of the refreshing air. With the sweetness of the various scents permeating the air filling me, I scan my surroundings.

We’ve landed in the middle of a small basin, a grass-filled plain that is naturally formed in the shape of a slightly sunken few hundred meters wide oval, and is surrounded by groves of trees covering us on all sides. Low patches of greenery and stalks of grass cover the ground around us, which roll sedately as a soft breeze flows down from the upland.

My brows wrinkle at the thought that the trees around the plain obstruct our view of what lies beyond. Even as my spirits lift at the pleasant change of environment, I feel this clearing is a little isolated and gives a perception of being confined. In a strange alien environment, one must be aware of all the possible dangers involved---and for that one must know the terrain.

I flip open my tricorder as I make my way out into the grassland, walking in a small circle as I make an initial circuit of the perimeter around the shuttle.

"There’re rock formations about three hundred meters beyond these trees," Tom’s voice breaks into my haze, his eyes on his own tricorder. "Probably a mountain face of some sort, and scans indicates raw Deuterium deposits."

"I see them," I nod my head, without looking up from my readings. "Along with Titanium, Beryllium and scattered deposits of several Magnesium compounds. I also read thick vegetation that could prove promising in the edible department right up ahead, Lieutenant." I glance his way. "You up for a small sample collecting trek?"

"Sure, Commander." He shrugs.

We turn back to the shuttle, and Seven who’d been listening in to our conversation follows us inside.

"I’ll set up the Dual Subspace Transceiver so that we can make contact with Voyager." She says, taking out the paraphernalia B’Elanna and Harry had packed into the back of the shuttle. The idea was to have a transceiver on both sides of the disturbance---in our case the ion storms in the planet’s stratosphere---so that boosting a comm signal via radio connection, through the small cracks occasionally forming in the disturbance, could become easier to accomplish.

"Do you need a hand?" I ask her.

"No, I am certain I will be able to complete the task before you are back from your small ‘sample collecting trek’." She replies.

I let a hint of a smile show as I nod. "We’re not going very far. We’ll stay in a 300-meters perimeter around the shuttle and I insist we keep an open comm-link at all times. And better keep the shuttle hatch closed while you’re here. I don’t like the idea of leaving anyone alone for any period of time."

She stands back and takes out her phaser, and we watch as she changes the setting on the weapon with a flick of her thumb before putting it back in the pocket at her right hip. "My phaser is now set on heavy stun. Don’t come in unannounced."

Tom chuckles as we both get the message succinctly. The two of us go back to the aft of the shuttle and take out the containers and equipment we’ll need for collecting samples and specimens, and are soon on our way.

We’re in no actual hurry as there’s plenty of vegetation around in all directions to explore, and the initial scans have shown the potential this planet holds as far as needed minerals are concerned, so we make our trek a leisurely stroll up the grassland. Paris keeps up a continuous chatter by my side, commenting on every strange alien plant or rock or bush he sees, while I make mental notes of everything that comes into view.

We climb up the gracefully sloping incline that leads to the woods, step onto the platform, the grass lush under our feet, and pause, hovering at the threshold. The woods are thick, the trees bristly with leafy, blooming branches that almost bend to the ground with the lush weight of the strangely shaped fruits and leaves, giving them an exotic alien appearance.

I slowly turn around to look down the meadow at the shuttlecraft. She is standing peacefully in the middle of the grassland, and I note the vista behind her is a beautiful blend of color and vitality, the daylight peering down at the meadow through the thick clouds. I look up at the sky and surmise the time right now must be the season’s mid-afternoon, when it suddenly occurs to me that Paris has fallen silent next to me. I turn to look at him and find his head tilted to one side, a slight frown on his face.

"What?" I ask.

His head tilts further and his eyes squint as if focusing on something far, far away. "Do you hear that?" His eyes shift to me.

I feel my heart give an uncertain thud as I peer at his scowling face, and strain to listen to the mysterious sound he’s talking about.

"It’s like a strange droning..." His voice trails off as he looks off in the distance.

And then I hear it: an unending buzzing sound, a strangely continuous flat drone, that I’d probably mistaken for the normal rustling that is usually associated with forests. But now that I can isolate it in my head, I realize it’s actually quite different from any sound I’d hear in forests. An odd hissing murmur that is ever present, like an ominous distant droning of bees, humming about in earnest.

"I hear it too." I nod at Tom.

"Insects?" He states the obvious and I nod again.

"That’s what it sounds like... some kind of bees maybe."

He looks about in consternation. "But you can’t see anything."

I follow his gaze. He’s right. We haven’t seen any life forms so far; no crawling insects, no flies buzzing around, no fuzzy little critters scampering about. I look up at the sky. Not a bird in sight. We couldn’t even tell if there were supposed to be any birds in this world or not. "But the initial scans proposed there were probably no larger animals registering, we should see some small ones." I look at my companion again and raise a brow when I see him fiddling with his phaser.

"Planning to shoot at bees with your phaser, Paris?" I grin at him.

"No, I had just forgotten to set it on high stun." He shoves it back in his pocket and then frowns at me. "How the hell do you escape from an attack from bees in a crunch anyway?"

I look down at the ground and see several pieces of fallen branches scattered ubiquitously, and scuff at a couple with the point of my boots. "Well, for starters you could build a makeshift torch by binding the bark of some trees to one end of this branch. Smoke tends to avert or distract an attack like that while you make your escape."

"Oh great," Paris gives me a funny look. "I’ve heard all about your fire-starting skills, Commander. You’ll probably get us all killed while you’re trying to start that fire."

I chuckle at him. "Well, if you don’t trust my survival skills, you can always find a body of water to jump into, Lieutenant. Bees don’t swim."

"Hey that’s a great idea." Tom smirks, as he starts to walk again. "Let’s go look for water to jump into in case we get attacked."

I shake my head at him, as we enter the forest. "You know what?" I ask him, my eyes again surveying our surroundings---the continuous strange drone somehow sounding thicker in the thickness of the woods.

"What?" He asks.

"If you don’t like either of those ideas, you can always take out the spray can with the title SE-IA from your backpack. The title stands for ‘Survival Equipment---Insects Attack’. It sprays a cloud of cool compressed gas that is specifically used for situations like that." I smile. "Its part of every survival kit and has proven to be very effective in tropical climates."

Paris glances at me, an incredulous expression on his face. "And I always wondered what the ‘IA’ stood for. I never had the need to use it on any of our survival skill hikes."

"Then consider yourself lucky." I smile as I open my tricorder again, beginning my scanning of the vegetation once more. My eyes linger on the pathway we’re on and look at the trees on both my sides.

"Look at this trail," I point to Paris. "It’s almost as if it is a usual one taken by an animal, judging from the worn out shrubs along its sides."

"Yeah," Tom bends down to look at the low-lying underbrush at our feet. "It looks a bit trampled."

I join him on the floor, picking at the leaves with a pair of pliers I’ve taken out from my pack. "Yes, but the degree of discoloration suggests the trampling must have happened quite a while back." I point the tricorder at the bush. "According to this, the decaying of the leaves occurred approximately seven weeks back. Since then, the plant has grown back but at a sedate rate perhaps."

"Maybe it’s just the season, the climate, maybe they just grow slow in this season." Tom suggests.

"Perhaps." I nod at him. "That sounds very plausible."

"That means there should be animals visible around, right?" He looks at me.

Before I can answer him, though, our combadges crackle into life. "Janeway to away team."

I smile at the pilot as I answer the hail. "Chakotay here. Its good to hear your voice, Captain."

"Its good to hear your voice too." Kathryn responds. "We’ve been waiting on the edges of our seats to hear from you."

"Good work, Seven." I speak into the combadge, as both Tom and I get up from our crouch---suddenly realizing that I’d forgotten my own instructions of staying in constant touch with each other, so engrossed I was in the alien surroundings. "That surely was efficient work. Thanks." "No need to thank me, Commander." Seven’s voice comes from behind us as we turn around to watch her coming into the foliage to join us. "I had as much ‘fun’ putting the transceiver together as evidently you and Lieutenant Paris had discussing probable methods of escape from bees attacks and ascertaining the decaying factor of dead vegetation."

Tom grins at her and then at me, as Kathryn’s husky chuckle comes over the comm-line.

"I can see you’re still having a good time with those two, Commander." She says.

"As always, Captain." I look closely at Seven, a small smile on my face, as she returns my gaze for a few seconds before looking around at her surroundings.

"All right, back to business." Kathryn says, her tone quickly shifting from playful to serious. "Now that the transceiver is working on the other side, we’re not only able to establish a communication link with you, but also our sensors are able to penetrate the disturbance now."

"That’s great." I answer. "What do you read?"

"In the western hemisphere, where you’ve landed, and which evidently is the only place our sensors can effectively work because of the booster signal originating from there---there is plenty of mineral deposits that we could use, and possible edible fruits and vegetables as well."

"Yes, our scans indicate we could harvest some of these vegetables for the food stores." I look at Tom who nods at me. Both our readings so far indicate the same.

"Perfect." Janeway replies. "Perhaps you can start collecting some samples while you’re exploring."

"We’re on it, Captain." I say.

"One more thing," Janeway says. "Our sensors picked up just one single type of native life form in your area."

My brows wrinkle as I look at Tom. "Just one type?"

"I noticed it as well." Seven speaks. "I checked the several bio-signatures of the life signs our sensors were detecting in this area, and they’re identical in all ways. There’s only one kind of life form in this perimeter at least."

"That is strange." I look from Seven back to Tom.

"But it’s a smaller life form, from what our sensors can detect." The Captain sounds slightly apprehensive.

"That is correct." Seven replies.

"Have you seen anything?" Janeway asks.

"No, but we believe we’ve heard something." Tom answers, looking at me.

"All right. Please report once you’ve surveyed a larger area, and if you find anything unusual." The Captain says. "Janeway out."

With the link from Voyager disconnected, I turn to my away team. "All right, let’s get to work, and stick close." I turn back to the trail Paris and I had been following earlier and am about to start walking when the pilot stops me.

"Commander, maybe we should take a round of this area in the shuttle," He says. "Look around the terrain, pick out the best spots for foraging or excavation or whatever."

"Maybe later," I shake my head. "Right now I want to keep doing what we’re doing. Spend a few hours on foot. There’s plenty of area we can check out that way."

"But if I take a short trip in the shuttle," Tom begins again. "I can figure out the surroundings of this area, while you guys explore on foot." I turn to face him completely. "No." I tell him firmly. "I told you we won’t separate. We have no idea what lies beyond these trees."

"But we have already separated once." It’s Seven, who looks at me with her direct gaze, her one brow raised in a question. "You left me in the shuttle, while you and Lieutenant Paris came here to explore."

"But we hadn’t gone far away." I make an effort to keep my voice controlled, as I feel my patience suddenly running thin. Had to be my luck to be stuck with the two people who would always question my orders. "We could still see where the shuttle was. We were in direct comm-link. If anything had happened, we could always return to the shuttle. We will work together, all three of us. If there had been a fourth crewmember, I would’ve allowed us to break into groups of twos, but that is not an option right now."

"That is an inefficient way to work." Seven’s voice turns cold, her suddenly blazing eyes making me feel like a specimen in one of the EMH’s petri dishes. "If we break off in singles, we could get the work done faster."

"Inefficient or not, it is the safest way to work in an alien environment such as this." I grit my teeth and stare hard at her. "I can’t allow any of us to get separated, especially now that we know there is only one kind of life form prevalent in this environment, one that we haven’t the slightest idea what its like. And that’s an order. We will stay together. So that if anything goes wrong, we can help each other. Do you understand?"

There’s a long moment as the ex-Borg looks at me with strangely glistening eyes, her jaw set. And then she swallows and nods curtly. "Yes, Commander."

I turn to Tom. "Paris?"

"Yes, Sir." The pilot nods, a slightly repentant look on his face. He probably had no idea his suggestion would spiral out of control like this.

"Good." I nod at both of them, and then turn around. "This is where we were headed earlier. Let’s continue on our trail."

The three of us follow the trail, the air strangely thick with tension as I feel their silence hanging around me like a suffocating curtain of intractability. I am not sure whose obstinacy it is that I feel, though, theirs or mine?

The silence finally breaks as we come across a carcass of a small animal. I crouch down and study the bones closely. The state of the cadaver suggests the flesh was ripped apart right from the bones, no sign of skin or flesh remains on the carcass. I look at my tricorder readings and nod.

"The bone decay suggests it was killed around seven weeks back." I look up at my companions. "The same time as the trampled plants."

"Do you think this is our lone life form?" Tom looks at the corpse.

I shrug---a stray bleak thought coming to my mind, which I try to ignore as I get up.

"Or perhaps, it is the victim." Seven looks at the bones and then at me, as if she’s read my mind.

"I was afraid to say that." I look at her, sensing a change in her mood. Her eyes have lost their hard glint, and her mouth has softened as she looks down to the cadaver and back at my face. I look at Tom’s suddenly pale face and realize that after seeing this evidence, neither of them would want to be separated from the rest of the team.

I nod at them reassuringly. "Come on. Let’s start collecting samples."

We get to work. Harvesting edible fruits and vegetables isn’t that hard to do so when there’s so much variety around. Take a sample of the vegetable or fruit, put it in the test-kit, key in the code to assess the viability and to see whether its edible or not, and then if proven to be okay, put it in a separate labeled container. We did throw away quite a few samples because they were toxic, or as Tom said: "too close to Leola Root in appearance", but within two hours since we’d begun our harvesting, we’d collected a pretty good variety of fresh vegetables, fruits and seedlings.

The three of us take several trips back and forth from the shuttle to leave our harvested supplies in the aft portion, always staying together, and expand our surveying perimeter a few meters ahead every time we begin a new round. Finally, while following the same trail, we come across a second clearing that is very much like the one our shuttle has been parked in. This was where, as we realize, the mineral readings had come from.

In front of us are several hilly areas that we’d detected from the shuttle, along with a thin creek filled with sparkling clear water. With the tricorder, we assure the viability of the water---it’s drinkable---and take detailed readings of the places where the needed minerals can be detected and then, return to the edge of the woods again, going back to our vegetable hunting.

I find another set of bones next to a tree and hunker down to take more detailed readings. My brow wrinkles as I realize this carcass is different from the last one we’d seen---this one was a different species than the one we scanned before. I shake my head, my mind puzzling over this mystery. We’ve only seen cadavers and not a single living animal around so far. What could this mean? What happened on this world?

It’s while I am noting the scans giving information about the tissue degradation on the cadaver when I suddenly realize that the forest has gone absolutely still. I feel the tiny hairs at my nape stand up as a shiver goes through me at the realization that even that ever present strange droning has ended. Not a peep can be heard from anywhere around us. I look up at the sky and determine the time to be around late-afternoon---the light has gotten dimmer with the passage of time and with the cloud covering becoming thicker.

I look for my team and see Paris scraping away at a bush a short distance away, but find that Seven is nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, I get up from my crouch, my brows wrinkling at the thought that she may have disobeyed my orders and gone her own separate way and am about to hit my combadge when I hear a rustle behind me.

"Commander." I almost jump at Seven’s voice, startled by her sudden appearance.

"Seven!" The surprise in my voice is clear and the expression on her face changes to one of apology.

"Commander, I didn’t mean to startle you." She explains.

"That’s okay," I shake my head as I stand up straight. "You just took me a little by surprise. What did you want?"

She hesitates a moment before squaring her shoulders and looking straight into my eyes. "May I ask you to turn off your three-way comm-link for a private conversation?"

I stare at her face a moment, puzzled by her strange request. "Seven, if it has anything to do with your suggestion of breaking off into singles..."

"No. It has nothing to do with this mission." Seven interrupts me. "It’s a personal matter."

I stare at her a second, my mind puzzling over what she may have to say to me, and then look at Paris---only to find him looking at both of us from his bush several dozen meters away, obviously having heard our conversation up till now.

"Stay in sight, Tom." I instruct him and after getting his affirmative reply, I punch my badge to close the link. Seven does the same.

"I am all ears." I turn my attention to her.

She looks at me a little uncertainly, swallows and then looks down at the ground---obviously nervous about something. I am perplexed and a little doubtful of what she wants to say as well---I’ve never seen her so undecided before.

"Seven, what’s wrong?" I ask, feeling my brows furrow in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," She begins, looking up at my face again, "I mean no, there is a matter of deep concern that has me somewhat conflicted." Her brows furrow and then once again, she squares her shoulders and straightens her spine. Her eyes lose their uncertain glint and she looks me straight in the eye, as if coming to a decision. "Perhaps, this might sound a little intrusive to you, Commander, but I’ve noticed your slight distraction over the last few days."

She pauses for a breath and within that second, a sudden infusion of bewildering, confusing thoughts floods my mind. What the hell is she talking about?

"Distraction?" My voice turns cooler.

"Yes," She continues on, not noticing my sudden aversion to this topic---whatever this topic is. "You’ve seemed a little subdued than your normal self. You’ve been avoiding crowds, interacting with less and less people, coming to the messhall for your meals when none of your friends are there..."

"With all due respect Seven," I interrupt her bluntly, feeling hot fury suddenly inundating my whole being at this forced infringement. "How I spend my off-duty hours shouldn’t be anyone’s concern but mine."

"You don’t understand," She stares at me hard. "I know about Kellin." I know my mouth has fallen open at this revelation. I find myself unable to form a response as my mouth works for a few seconds in vain but no words come out.

"You do know about her." She looks at me closely, her eyes probing, the same feeling of being closely scrutinized by her that I’d felt in the shuttle once again overwhelming me. "You did keep some kind of record."

"How the hell do you know about that?" I finally find my voice. "There were no records in the ship’s database, how can you know that?" I growl at her, once again feeling like a specimen in that petri dish, so vulnerable this feeling of being needlessly exposed is.

She hesitates. "My Borg systems enabled me to keep a record of those memories."

I snap in impatience, suddenly turning from her and walking into the woods. "You’ve known all this time and you kept this to yourself? Why didn’t you make a report of your findings to the Captain or to me?"

The expression on her face changes to one of surprise, perhaps at my sudden explosion of anger, as she follows me into the grove. "Commander, I only found out ten days earlier. I didn’t make an actual connection with you until I realized your replicator usage for nutritional consumption had drastically fallen and then..."

"You’ve been keeping tabs on my replicator usage?" My voice rises in outrage. I can’t believe what I ever did to warrant such wanton meddling in my personal affairs. "What else have you been doing? Breaking into my private records, snooping behind my back at everything I do?"

I realize something is wrong with this whole scenario, that I am reading the situation completely wrong, the moment a look of something I thought I’d never see on Seven’s face passes through her sparkling blue eyes---genuine unadulterated pain.

"That's not how I'd intended it to be seen," she chokes out, her eyes suddenly dulling as she presses her lips together.

I don’t get a chance to think about her reaction, though.

Because suddenly the whole forest comes alive.

The buzzing sound, that insistent continuous droning, that had disappeared a while back, suddenly comes back in full force---only this time its much stronger, its intensity almost ferocious. Startled, I look around us, seeing the concern on Seven’s face as well, and start when I hear Tom’s shout.

"Commander."

I scramble out to the clearing, my ears ringing at the fierce noise, and see Tom running to our side, his face pale with what can only be described as fear.

"Chakotay, look at that." He turns and points to the horizon.

I stare at the spot in the sky where he’s pointing and feel my heart start to thud in trepidation. From the distance it looks like a dark cloud racing down to the forest, something alive, bustling, roiling with life. The first thought that comes to me is that they’re a flock of birds, flying in a formation or something. And then I look up at the sky---the sound of ominous droning rising with every passing nanosecond and suddenly, I have made the connection.

"What the hell do you think they...?" Tom starts but I don’t let him finish. I push him towards the trees and turn to Seven and yell.

"Start running---to the shuttle."

"I left my equipment back at that site." Tom begins but I grab his arm and pull him into the woods.

"FORGET IT." I scream. "Now MOVE!"

They get the message as the swarming cloud of whatever the hell those creatures are dives down at the clearing and we dash into the woods, running for our lives, our phasers out in our hands, our feet stampeding through the trail as we weave our way through the trees.

The swarm follows us, hovering about the trees, their buzzing louder, somehow sounding different at this close proximity---almost like a snarling hiss that sends shivers down my spine. The distance to the shuttle is not that large, only four hundred meters or so, but running between the bristly thick trees while making sure we don’t fall down is difficult, and the swarm’s presence above is blocking the sunlight---making it difficult for us to see our way ahead.

Suddenly, one of the creatures dives inside the trees and I fire at it and miss, the phaser blast instead hitting a tall tree---and a branch breaks and falls behind us.

"Keep RUNNING." I yell at my companions, as the same creature changes directions and comes at us from the front. I aim my phaser at it and fire again, this time my blast joined in force by one from Tom’s weapon. Just before it explodes in the phaser beam, we get our first look of the creature---grisly ugly head, large compound eyes, veined wings, bristly antennae, sharp fangs---it’s almost like a huge foot-wide flying insect of some sort.

"Oh SHIT." Tom groans as the severity of the situation dawns on all of us. We’re in deep trouble. In the trees there’s at least a slight cover---though not real protection---but what will happen when we make our way to the shuttle under the clear sky? I bend down and grab a few thick branches from the ground, throwing one each at my companions as I shove mine into a hoop hanging loose from the trekking belt I’ve got around my waist, my feet never halting in their steady dash behind my crewmates.

More creatures dive, more phaser blasts are fired---all three of us firing in reckless abandon---as more branches burn and fall around us. Stumbling, rolling, staggering, we run almost blindly, barely keeping our feet on the trail, until finally, with our chests heaving with exertion, we’re out of the grove and under the open sky. The shuttle is visible from this point, standing in the middle of the meadow---the sky is darker above us, even without the swarm at our heels.

This time a drove of flies descends on us. Tom has taken the SE-IA can out of his pack and he uses both his weapons simultaneously---sending a fog of condensed gas up at the snarling beasts as well as the phaser blast pointed at one of the creatures. I watch two creatures fall to the ground as the three of us keep our steady stampede down the slope and into the grassland.

I suddenly feel myself stumble and stagger on the unsteady ground, barely catching my step, as I hear a gnarling hiss from right behind me. I turn around and aim at the fly diving for me, my other hand on the branch, ready to use whatever means I have at disposal to fight for my life as I fire. As the creature falls to the grass in front of me, I hear Tom’s painful scream from behind me. I turn around and watch aghast the horrifying sight of my pilot struggling with one creature that has grabbed him by its snapping jaws.

"Tom!" I yell as I fire at the fly attacking him and curse as I miss the aim. I run towards him, barely aware of the cover Seven is providing me as she fires at the swarm above us, the branch held in my hand like a sword. The huge fly’s fangs are closed around Tom’s nape, and with a blind rage, I shove at the ghastly beast with the end of my stick, its wings continuously in motion. Its jaws loose their grip and I fire at it at point blank range and watch as it shrivels into a burnt mass of melting flesh.

I grab Tom before he can fall to the ground, but his eyes are losing their focus, his body almost limp in my arms.

"COMMANDER." Seven yells. "We must MOVE."

"Tom, you’ve gotta WALK." I urge the pilot.

"I can’t..." He chokes, his breath coming short, as he blinks up at my face, "I can’t move, Chakotay."

I throw my arms under his shoulders and pull his feet up, straightening his body. "You have to TRY." I order. "I’ll HELP you."

I drag him towards the shuttle, now barely a hundred meters away, while Seven keeps up a steady stream of weapons fire at diving droves. But in a manner of seconds, it has become clear to me that whatever was in that fly’s bite has affected Tom’s mobility. He barely twitches as I lay him down on the ground, turning to fire my phaser at another attacking fly. "Commander?" Seven looks at me in confusion.

"He can’t WALK." I tell her as I bend the pilot’s body at the waist, pulling his arms over my shoulders. "So I am gonna CARRY him." I hoist him up on my shoulders and with a grunt, stand up, feeling his dead weight along my limbs as I once again hustle my way towards the shuttle. My hands struggle as I strain to keep the pilot’s body balanced on my one shoulder and I realize I can’t use my phaser anymore so I throw it to Seven. "LEAD THE WAY." I nod at her.

She gets the message. From that point on, I have no idea how many creatures dove down and attacked us as we staggered towards the shuttle through the knee high grass. All I am aware of is the steady flow of phaser fire from the two weapons held in Seven’s hands as she aims with what must have been remarkable accuracy, because the attack of fangs on my neck or shoulder that I’d been dreading since the swarm first appeared never came.

Finally, we reach the shuttle and Seven briskly opens the hatch as I stagger inside with my weight. Just as soon as all of us are inside and the hatch is banged closed, we hear the sound of creatures slamming into the hull---the sound of their thudding against the titanium plating full of anger and hostility. I lay Tom down on the portable biobed that slides out of a wall in the aft section at the push of a button, as Seven brings out a tricorder and begins scanning him.

I hear her read out the diagnosis---unknown toxic substance has damaged the nerve tissue, resulting in partial to complete loss of the ability to use involuntary muscles---her voice strained with worry, as with shaking hands I establish a link with Voyager again.

"Chakotay, what is it?" Kathryn asks.

"We’re in trouble. Tom is hurt. We were attacked. Can you establish a transporter lock on him through the transceiver?"

There’s a pause as she checks the status with Harry. And then she replies. "Negative. The subspace signal is too weak for a transport attempt. What happened?"

"I have no time to explain. I am establishing a datalink through the transceiver. Please get the Doctor online, we’ll need his advice RIGHT AWAY."

"You’ve got it." Kathryn’s worried voice comes through.

I power the engine and bring the shields back online and with that, hear the furious thumping against our hull fizzle out. Then I go back to the biobed where Seven is working on Tom. His breathing is labored, his eyes closed. The tricorder scans tell us that his heart is closing, slowly losing its ability to beat because of the paralysis spreading. I watch as Seven places a small device on his forehead.

"A Neural Transducer." She explains. "It should transmit the nerve impulses it receives from his brain to the affected involuntary muscle groups."

I stare at our gasping helmsman, see his dwindling bio-readings on the tricorder, and realize he needs to be in the sickbay. Neither Seven nor I are trained to help him in the condition he’s in.

As the EMH comes online and starts speaking to Seven, I look at her and realize she’s no less affected by the situation than I am. Her brow is wrinkled with fear, her throat convulses as she swallows a knot of worry with much difficulty. My eyes fixed on her face, I hand her a hypo the EMH advises to be injected into Tom and place my hand on her wrist. "Work on Tom." I tell her as she looks into my eyes. "Listen to what the EMH says. I am gonna get us out of here right now."

With that I turn around and walk back to the helm, settling in the chair with a quiet determination.

I am not going to let Tom die. I won’t fail him, won’t fail Seven. Not when it was only supposed to be an innocent harvesting mission. I can’t afford to.

I fire the thrusters and the shuttlecraft lifts up, my eyes fixed on the readings. I hear the Doc announce that Tom desperately needs to be in the sickbay to be treated properly and I softly murmur under my breath.

"Hang on Paris. We’re on our way."

The ride back up the atmosphere isn’t laden with the same sense of awe we’d encountered on our way down. The rise and drops in the hull temperature doesn’t fill me with the sense of wonder I felt while Tom was at the helm. This time around, the only thing on my mind is that I have to get out of the disturbance as soon as possible, so that Tom can be transported to the sickbay. I take no notice of the jolts and shoves and jabs the shuttle experiences as we pass through the heavy ion activity in the stratosphere. I see the green blues of the damned world below us get replaced by the swirling nebulae of silver-white clouds and heave a strange sigh of relief.

The computer announces the sudden temperature drops and increases in its mechanical voice, as we rise through the atmospheric levels, and I only lend half an ear to them---my fingers constantly moving on my controls, my eyes firmly fixed on the viewport in front of me.

My attention strays back to the aft of the shuttle where Seven is still working on Tom, even as we break atmosphere and the blackness of space finally comes into full view.

"Voyager, can you get a lock on Tom now?" I growl into my combadge. "Negative." Kathryn’s worried voice comes over the link. "Chakotay, the gravitational pull in the asteroid belt is interfering with the signal. You’ll have to..."

"Fine, we’re coming through." I announce, cutting her off in the middle, as my fingers fly on the console as if moving of their own accord. I steady the speed of entry as I plunge into the asteroid belt, not caring about anything but to get my crewmates home safely---in one piece.

There’s no finesse in this return voyage through the asteroid field. My eyes don’t linger on the flying chunks of rocks hurtling past our shields to admire their spectacular beauty but rather to think up ways to barely evade the wonders as best and as fast as possible. We get hit a few times, the jolts nearly dislodging me from my seat but I hang on with a strange, energizing sense of resolve.

Tom will probably make fun of my flying, but he’ll be amazed at my speed record.

"Shields down to seventy percent." I hear Seven’s voice behind me from the science station. I don’t ask her why she is sitting there and not standing at Tom’s side, my heart shrinking in fear at the thought of what her answer might be.

And at last, after what seems like an eternity, with one final lurch as we bump past the thick, streaming edge of the field, we’ve cleared the asteroid belt.

"Voyager?" I yell into the combadge.

"We’ve got a lock on him." Kathryn replies. "Energizing." And then after a moment, "We’ve got him. Good work, Chakotay. We’re coming over to meet your shuttle at mid-point."

I feel myself go limp with relief as I punch the auto-pilot on and turn to face Seven.

She’s sitting at the science station, her head bowed in abject misery, and my heart thuds at the picture of sheer helplessness she paints. "Seven, how was he?" I ask her, trying to keep my voice calm.

She looks up and her fear-filled eyes meet mine. "Unconscious. Barely breathing. His heart was struggling. I injected him with the antidote and implanted the Neural Stimulator into his central nervous system."

"You did all you could." I tell her. "He’s going be all right."

She drops her eyes, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere on the floor. I watch as she swallows heavily. "If we’d done as I’d suggested, if we’d broken off in singles, when the creatures attacked, all of us would’ve been defenseless."

I frown at her. "But we didn’t."

"If I’d persuaded you to let Lieutenant Paris take the shuttle for that survey," She looks up at my eyes. "We wouldn’t have been able to return to the shuttle in time."

"But we didn’t break off, Seven." I tell her, as I feel a strange lump forming in my throat at her unfounded guilt. "We stayed together."

"But if he had taken the shuttle," She implores at me with her shimmering blue eyes. "If he’d gotten attacked while he was away from us, or if we’d gotten attacked while the shuttle wasn’t close by, one of us or all of us could’ve gotten killed."

"But we didn’t, Seven." I raise my voice in desperation, trying to penetrate through this strange haze she’s fallen into. "I wouldn’t have let you do that. We stayed together. And we’re all right. Tom is going to be all right."

She stares at me for a long moment and then drops her eyes again. I stare at her drooped shoulders, my heart beating furiously in my chest at the sight of her so filled with pain and self-recrimination.

The strange angry conversation I’d had with her, right before the attack, comes back to me---and in this new perspective, it finally occurs to me that I had been wrong to judge her so harshly. She wasn’t trying to be intrusive. This woman who is sitting in the chair in front of me, feeling guilty about things that are not her fault, couldn’t have meant to hurt me. I misunderstood her, criminally so.

"Seven," I call out her name. "I am sorry for how I spoke with you down on the planet."

She looks up at me, her eyes squinting in question.

"When you tried to tell me about how you know about Kellin." I swallow hard. "I was wrong to speak with you like that. Please forgive me."

She stares at me as if she can’t understand what I am saying. "There’s no need to apologize, Commander." She blinks. "It was my fault. I should never have violated your privacy like that."

I frown at her. "No, you don’t understand what I am saying, Seven." I sigh impatiently, upset at the fact that she isn’t accepting my words. "I am apologizing to you. You’re not at fault. I am."

"You’re wrong, Commander." She straightens her shoulders, a hint of her characteristic stubbornness returning to her posture. "It was my fault. All of it."

"Seven!"

My exasperated cry is drowned out by the computer’s announcement that we’re approaching our destination. I turn around and see Voyager’s welcome appearance looming at us from the viewport.

I glance back at her and notice her eyes on her sensors, her jaw once more set. I want to speak to her, to clarify things, to make her understand that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t do anything wrong, but there’s no time right now.

Voyager’s shuttlebay doors are opening. The Captain’s voice is on the comm welcoming us back. Its time to go home.

* * *

"I must say, Commander Chakotay’s and Seven’s timely intervention and the subsequent emergency treatment of Mister Paris as per my apt instructions helped save his life." The Doctor is speaking to the Captain, as Seven and I stand to one side of his office and listen. "Also if Mister Paris hadn’t gotten back to the sickbay as fast as he did, thanks to the Commander’s astounding flying skills, he wouldn’t have been recovering as nicely as he is right now."

"Agreed." The Captain nods. "How long before he can get back on his feet?"

"Although all traces of the toxic substance have been purged from his system," The Doctor replies. "He went through severe neurological and cardiovascular trauma. All the damage has been repaired but I’d like to keep him under observation for the next twenty four hours."

"Very well." Kathryn agrees. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Well, now that this task is done, I must return to my patient." The EMH says as he picks up a tricorder and walks out of the office, leaving the three of us alone.

Kathryn looks at us. "I’ll wait for you to submit your reports in forty eight hours. You are both off duty until then. I can wait to hear about what the hell happened down there until you’re ready."

I nod at her. "It was a chaotic situation. Out of our control. It will all be in my report."

Janeway shakes her head. "A simple harvesting mission. You never know what you’re going to find out there."

"My data was inadequate." Seven’s spine straightens as she looks at Kathryn. "I should never have suggested we explore this system."

I sigh in aggravation, and am about to tell her how wrong she is when Kathryn beats me to it.

"It wasn’t your decision." The Captain looks straight at Seven. "Your data wasn’t inadequate, it was simply promising, just like all such data that needs exploring. Anything can happen on an away mission, that possibility is always there. If there’s anyone to blame for what happened, its me. I ordered you to go down there."

Seven blinks, not saying anything.

Kathryn continues, her tone softer this time. "You did an exemplary job on this mission, you saved Tom’s life. Do you understand?"

The ex-Drone swallows before squaring her shoulders. "Yes, Captain."

"Go get some rest now." The Captain instructs her. "You’re all exhausted."

Seven nods, her suddenly unreadable eyes shifting to me for a second, before she turns around and walks out of the sickbay.

"What happened, Chakotay?" Kathryn is asking me. "Did Seven have a problem with you down there?"

I look at the Captain, marveling at her keen perceptiveness. "No, of course not." I reply, keeping my voice calm. "She’s just upset that Tom got hurt, that’s all."

Kathryn stares at me a moment and then nods. "Well, if that’s the case then she’ll soon be all right, I am sure."

I nod. "Don’t worry, Kathryn, I’ll speak with her." My eyes shift to stare at the closed sickbay doors. "She’ll be all right." I sigh. "Everything’s going to be all right."

Yes, everything will be fine.

That’s the only thing I am sure of right now. I don’t know how but I just know that somehow I’ll work it out.

Somehow I’ll make her understand.

Parts 3 to 4