Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

thing to attempt this when we thought it was a secret. But if the Borg are monitoring us—”
    The admiral cut her off. “There's no guarantee they won't try to assimilate
Voyager
even if we don't go back into the nebula.”
    “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
    “I'm not saying the Borg aren't dangerous,” the admiral insisted, “but from my perspective, they're thirty years behind the times!”
    “We shouldn't push our luck.”
    “Luck's not going to have anything to do with it. I know you don't want to hear too much about the future, but I ran into the Borg a few more times before I made it home. If I hadn't developed technology and tactics that could defeat them, I wouldn't be standing here today.”
    Would I?
    The older woman's unspoken question irritated the captain even more because she heard it in her own head. These professions of superiority were beginning to sound trumped up. The admiral could posture and puff all she wanted, but she was from a future that
hadn't
gone into the nebula with forty-seven Borg cubes inside. She might think she had already experienced everything, but this one would be new even for her.
    Captain Janeway resisted pointing that out, mostly because she didn't want her crew to lose what little confidence they had.
    “We'll maintain course for the nebula,” she said. Silently she added
for now,
and hoped the admiral picked up on the tail end of the message. “But we'll stay at red alert. And I want continuous scans for Borg activity.”
    “Aye, captain,” Seven responded. Eagerly she got off the biobed.
    “We'll need to find a way,” Janeway added, “to modify your alcove so the Queen can't hurt you again.”
    “I can help with that,” said her counterpart with a smile.
    “There's no substitute for experience,” she added.
    * * *
    Red alert. The astrometrics lab flashed with warning lights. The dome-screen's focus was at maximum readiness, displaying a starchart. The starcharts of the Delta Quadrant would be one of the little perks of this whole years-long problem.
Voyager
would bring back—or send back—the paths through otherwise uncharted territory.
    Chakotay hurried in, but at the last moment forced himself to quell his agitation. He strode quickly to Seven, who was busy with the admiral's conversions. She looked well enough, but electromagnetics were nothing to play with, never mind the Borg Queen's vindictive manipulation.
    “I heard what happened,” he began without greeting. “Are you all right?”
    “I'm fine,” she said. She didn't look at him.
    She was self-conscious, he could tell, probably worried not so much about herself, but that she might provide a conduit for the Borg Queen to infiltrate
Voyager.
    He tried to distract her with some mundane silliness. “ Because if you need time to rest,”he said, “I'm in charge of the duty roster.”
    Would she get the joke? Nobody played with duty rosters while a ship was on alert status. Maybe she didn't know that yet.
    “It would be inappropriate to allow our personal relationship to affect your command decision.”
    Was she smiling? Almost?
    Chakotay got the feeling she was getting the better of him. “You're right,” he murmured. “This is a time to keep things professional. So give me a report.”
    “There's no sign of Borg activity within a ten-light-year radius.”
    “That's good news, crewman.”
    She turned to him and suspended the effort to be icy. “Yes, sir . . . but we shouldn't underestimate the Collective.”
    “The admiral seems pretty confident we can get past them.”
    “Captain
Janeway is more cautious.”
    “Our chances,” Chakotay said, “would be good with
one
Kathryn Janeway on the bridge. But with two? I'd bet on this ship any day. If we do make it back to Earth . . . what are your plans?”
    Seven's enormous eyes grew misty and tightened slightly. Chakotay got the idea she hadn't made any plans, hadn't really absorbed the idea of getting back to their common homeworld, simply because she had never expected these things to occur which might shorten their trip by so much.
    “I assume,” she began tentatively, “Starfleet will want to debrief me. And then, I suppose, I'll attempt to find a useful position somewhere.” She looked up at him and they passed a charged moment together. “You?”
    Chakotay shrugged, and touched her chin with one finger. “I don't know yet either. But wherever I end up . . . I'm going to make sure it's within transporter range