Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

Starfleet officer first and forget her role as mother to the immediate nestlings? What was her obligation now?
    Might as well get both feet wet.
    “Could we install these systems on
Voyager?”
she asked.
    So much for divorcing herself from the future.
    “The stealth technology is incompatible,” Seven reported. “But I believe we can adapt the armor and weapons.”
    The charged moment fractured her from those around her.
    Luckily, the admiral had accepted that the decisions still belonged to Kathryn Janeway the First.
    “Well, Captain?”
    Janeway eyed her with undisguised annoyance. She didn't like being pressured, but—
    The Borg . . .
    She turned to Seven. “Do it.”



CHAPTER 13

    Captain's Personal Log
    Stardate 54973.4
    We've begun outfitting
Voyager
with Admiral Janeway's upgrades. There are dozens of crewmen in environmental suits crawling all over my ship, more than we've had working in space for over a year. Maybe I'm getting soft, but it makes me nervous to have them out there. I've gotten used to the idea that the ship is our cave, our protective shell, and really our entire universe. If they're not aboard, I can't feel as if they're safe.
    Possibly my unease comes from the fact that we're mounting what adds up to alien technology on our only lifeboat. I really don't know this woman. I know who she used to be . . . I know what she appears to be. But the rest is a mystery. The question is—should I let it remain a mystery?
    Despite her personal discomfort, Torres is overseeing the conversion. The engineering department is fairly swarming with activity. We've pulled crewmen from almost every other section on the ship,
just to have enough hands at work to do this quickly. I have to trust her to notify me if there's anything we might not be able to control. I will not give up control to the admiral, no matter what she claims to be or know. I have to work in the present. That's my only anchor.
    All this activity, and it might come to nothing more than a blip on the Borg Queen's victory roster. Compared to the complexity and sheer size and numbers of the Borg Collective in the Delta Quadrant,
Voyager
is a very, very tiny force. We have to be careful not to forget.
    How can I know the right thing to do? This ship is a spark in a forest fire when it comes to fighting the Borg. On the other hand, if the admiral's right and we can blast our way through the Borg and into the correct wormhole—something on which I'm still reserving both judgment and hope—I might be morally and dutifully obliged to do just that, to return the ship to the Federation and
Voyager
's firepower to the whole of Starfleet.
    If only there were a regulation for this—maybe I'll install one when I make admiral.
    As soon as the major modifications are complete, we'll reverse course and head back to the nebula. Though I've certainly had some strange experiences in my career, nothing compares to the sight of my future self briefing my officers on technology that hasn't been invented yet.
    But everyone is working hard, and the mood on the ship is one of cautious optimism. If I give them that one gift, at least they will have had a shining new hope for a little while. Janeway out.
    * * *
    “Computer, begin regeneration cycle.”
    Seven of Nine settled into her alcove, bringing with her troublesome feelings of uncertainty. Regeneration would clear her mind, calm her thumping heart.
    The computer murmured its response, reassuring bleeps and twinkling noises which took her back to a more secure time, the immeasurable years as one of the Collective, absorbed in a life without questions.
    Seconds passed, only seconds before she was without body or form, drifting. Her biofunctions and cybernetic implants began to merge in their sustaining function.
    A green glow formed in her mind. Within it, faces, many faces. The captain . . . the admiral . . . dreams of past and future . . . all just out of reach as she stretched the fingers of her thoughts.
    Soon, a voice in the green mist.
    “Seven of Nine. Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One.”
    Seven felt her body tighten. The seductive voice of the Borg Queen.
    Her eyes snapped open. There was no more
Voyager.
Only the green glow. Within it hovered the head and chest of the Borg Queen, with just a hint of shoulders.
    “It's been too long,” the Queen murmured. Her pasty lips curled up at the edges into a bittersweet smile.
    Seven tried to look around, but eyes were not necessary to know