As a Borg, Seven of Nine had never experienced fear. It was one of the few things she missed about being a part of the collective. Especially now that her life was in mortal danger.

Chakotay sat next to her, chattering aimlessly away, merry as could be. “...And so I said to Captain Janeway from the past, ‘You love music, but you never learned to play an instrument, something you still regret...’”

It is simple for him; he never dies in his own shuttle crashes, she thought with a bit of resentment. Her own negative feelings towards her new partner surprised her, and she spent a moment analyzing them, trying to ignore him as he continued, “...I just grabbed Kathryn, hauled her up (I’m much stronger than her, by the way), pressed that hypo against her neck...”

I initiated romantic intimacy with Commander Chakotay... so why aren’t my emotions reflecting my success?

Truth be told, he had been irritating her for a few days.

First, he suggested he’d find it unbelievably sexy if she cut her hair and dyed it reddish-brown. Seven told him she’d take it under consideration, but privately she balked at the suggestion. From the research she’d conducted on male sexual arousal patterns, she’d discovered that her blonde hair could be an asset. The suggestion that her research did not apply to the commander left her... unsettled.

Then, he had casually mentioned how nice a uniform would look on her. He’d replicated her a red, Starfleet uniform, with four pips. He then initiated sexual intercourse with her. Afterwards, he’d inquired about the situation with her hair. “What do you think of the red suggestion?”

“I do not believe I will dye my hair, Chakotay. Perhaps another time.”

He looked somewhat disappointed, and left abruptly for the bridge. When she saw him the next evening, he pulled out a short, reddish brown wig. “I have a present for you!”

Frequently, he dressed her up in a Starfleet captain’s uniform, requested she put on the wig, and then directed her actions, for example, “Put your hands on your hips,” “Cock your head to the left,” “Try smirking a little-- yes, that’s it, just on one side of the mouth,” “Order me to your ready room... A little more command in your voice... Um, try to sound a little sharper...”

He repeatedly moaned, “Kuffrim” in his sleep, and often the word slipped out during intercourse. Seven of Nine did not know anyone named ‘Kuffrim’, so she quickly assumed it was, what humans termed, a ‘pet name’ for her.

A few days ago, Chakotay had suggested she accompany him on a trip, and he had insisted over her objections that he pilot the shuttle. As Seven of Nine had walked to the shuttle bay this morning, the crew had gazed at her with sad, tragic eyes. Some wept. They all knew of Commander Chakotay’s proclivity to crash.

Kathryn Janeway had met her at the shuttle bay, and had enveloped Seven into a big hug. Seven could feel the dampness of the captain’s tears against her cheek.

“You’ve always been like the daughter I never had, Seven. I hope we meet again... but if not, please know I’ll always remember you.”

Seven of Nine found this especially curious as she entered the shuttle, seeing as the captain was 45 years of age, and she herself was 32. She mulled over how she could qualify as a daughter figure to a woman only thirteen years older than her, and then concluded that Captain Janeway’s childhood home, a small farm community, would enable her to be classified as a ‘redneck’, and therefore reduced the average expected age of childbirth.

She felt strangely touched by the captain’s words, and for a while, that had distracted her from Chakotay’s erroneous piloting. However, it was a small comfort in the long term, and soon Seven’s knuckles were clenched, and her breathing erratic with fear.

She looked over to see him still talking, “...I said to Kathryn, ‘You seem happy here,’ but she obviously wasn’t, or else she would have told that Jaffen creep to stay on the ship. I never saw the appeal of that guy--”

BOOM!

This is it. My life is over... Seven thought.

“Aft hull breach! Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have piloted through that asteroid belt...”

They zoomed through space, and the cacophony of alarms and ripping hull fragments filled Seven’s ears.

I will not allow him to terminate me! She leaped over through the spark-filled air and ripped Chakotay’s hand from the controls.

“I will attempt a landing! There’s an M-Class planetoid less than a light year away...” With her superior Borg strength, she held Chakotay back away from

Vaguely, she heard Chakotay complaining, “Kathryn never pushed me away from the controls...”

The shuttle veered chaotically towards a white, blue, and green world. Seven’s heart pounded in her ears as the shuttle hurled into the atmosphere, and white fire surrounded the hull.

They veered through layers and layers of clouds, and suddenly hit the earth with a hard jerk. Seven’s head crashed against the control panel, and her world was swallowed into darkness.

She came to sitting against the wall in what looked like a primitive shuttlecraft. As her eyes focused, she saw a handsome, blonde man only a few years older than her. He wore a yellow uniform with a primitive Starfleet insignia, and he was leering at her.

“Wh--Where am I?” Seven demanded.

The man smiled, and Seven felt flutters in her stomach.

“Is something wrong, Yeoman?”

As he spoke, her Borg memory files suddenly activated, and she recalled this man-- James T. Kirk of the original Starship Enterprise. He was likely the most famous man in Starfleet, and was included prominently in the databases of every Federation, Klingon, and Romulan Starship the Borg had ever assimilated.

“Captain--Kirk... I am fine,” she told him carefully. She didn’t know the situation; she didn’t want to draw suspicion on herself.

“That’s excellent, Yeoman. I wouldn’t want you to miss our dinner tonight.”

“We... are dining together?” Seven said slowly.

Kirk grinned, showing a set of polished white teeth. “We weren’t before, but I’m glad you accept.”

Seven of Nine shifted uncomfortably, and glanced down at her own attire. She was wearing a red shirt, attached to a revealing miniskirt and knee-high black boots.

“Nervous about your first away mission, Yeoman?” Kirk asked her.

“Away mission?” Seven looked incredulously back at her attire. “This outfit is inefficient for an away mission! It would be better suited for ‘can-can’ dancing.”

He leaned closer, practically drooling. “You can can-can dance all you want in my quarters later, Yeoman.”

Seven fought to draw a steady breath. The sexual magnetism this man had was... staggering. Chakotay suddenly appealed to her about as much as festering cow feces.

“Captain!” A petite Russian man called from the front of the shuttle. “We have landed.”

“Excellent!” Kirk said jovially, leaping to his feet.

Seven, the Russian, another red shirt, and a Vulcan she recognized as Mr. Spock followed Kirk out. She tried to look natural, to follow procedure as though she were this Starfleet Yeoman whose place she was occupying.

“Hmm... Chekov, Spock, you’re with me. We’ll explore this open thicket right here. Yeoman... Yeoman...” he appeared to be fumbling for names, and then finally settled with, “Uh... you, and you,” he pointed to Seven and the red shirted man. “Investigate those strange, beastly claw prints that lead right behind that giant, jagged boulder over there!”

Seven looked at the direction Kirk pointed, and sure enough, there were strange, beastly claw prints. Reluctantly, she and the redshirt scanned their way along the footprints. As they rounded the boulder, a giant monster leaped at them with a deafening roar.

She heard the shrieks of the other red shirt as he was mauled to death by the slimy lizard-bear-beast. Seven of Nine pulled out a phaser, but before she succeeded, a giant claw swiped across her face, and blackness overtook her.

She came to with a start, her heart pounding in panic.

Dead.... I thought I was dead... She almost wept in relief to find herself alive in some darkened quarters. The rush of human emotions momentarily overwhelmed her.

Seven of Nine rose to her shaky feet, and looked around. The quarters were dim, and quite luxurious. More elegant than the quarters on Voyager at least. A Klingon clearly occupied them. A painting of a Klingon warship hung on the wall, and macabre Klingon warrior paraphernalia was strewn throughout the room.

“Computer,” she called out.

“Acknowledged,” the crisp female voice responded. Seven of Nine felt great relief to hear the familiar words.

“State my location.“

“USS-Enterprise E, Lieutenant Worf’s Quarters.”

“State my role and identity.”

“You are Lieutenant--” The computer’s words were drowned out as the door to Worf’s quarters slid open, and a burly Klingon stepped in.

Seven gaped at him a moment, then felt flustered. “I apologize for intruding in your quarters. I will leave.” She started to walk towards the door, but he stepped in the way.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice deep and gruff.

“This is clearly your living domicile; I do not belong here.”

“You’re my wife. Of course you belong here.” His eyes narrowed. “Has something happened to you?”

Seven of Nine took a step back. “My designation is Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct to Unimatrix 0-1. I was in a shuttle crash, and I have found myself in two different locations since that point. I have never met you, Lieutenant Worf. I just arrived--”

“Perhaps I should take you down to sickbay for a medical exam.”

“No,” Seven said firmly, “I have died twice recently, and I prefer not to die again. Any motion might cause another death. If you would kindly step aside--”

He was staring at her in confusion, when suddenly the door to his quarters slid open, and a dozen rabid Klingon Warriors poured in, bat’leths raised.

Worf immediately engaged them in combat, while Seven wondered about the cause of this altercation. Suddenly, a Klingon came and plunged a bat’leth into her torso. She collapsed to her knees.

The last thing she felt was Worf’s arms around her. She could hear him screaming into the air.

“This must end!” Seven of Nine declared aloud as she snapped into consciousness again. She could remember the pain of dying three times over, and it infused her with a fear and dread as she looked around and once again didn’t recognize her location.

She rose out of an uncomfortable bed with a triangular pillow, and looked around the dim, metallic living quarters. The view ports were enormous, and she could see as much space from these quarters as she could from the mess hall on Voyager.

“Computer, state my location!” she called out.

“Lieutenant Dax’s quarters, Deep Space Nine.”

Seven of Nine glanced down at her attire, and was shocked to see herself only in a nightie, with spots running down the sides of her body. She rubbed at the spots with her fingers, but they failed to come off. She wandered over to a mirror and looked at herself. The spots ran up the sides of her head, and under her hairline.

“Species 2005, Trill,” she clipped. Then she realized that she didn’t have her ocular implant. Where was the source of her knowledge?

And then she could feel its presence. Something was implanted in her torso, another being. She pressed her fingers against her stomach, and felt the bulge of it move against her. “A symbiont...” she whispered.

The doors the quarters slid open, and a beautiful, brunette woman pranced in.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” the woman said with a large smile. “I brought you a racktijino.” She proffered the mug to Seven, and Seven took it gingerly.

“Are you Lieutenant Dax?” Seven inquired.

Dax smiled. “Is this some sort of game, Lieutenant?”

Seven frowned. “I... cannot remember your first name.”

The woman laughed. “Don’t tell me you had that much to drink. Jadzia.”

“My name is Jadzia?”

The woman laughed again. “No, my name is Jadzia, silly!” Her arm fell around Seven’s waist, and she pulled her in for a kiss. Seven pushed her away.

“This is inappropriate.”

Jadzia smiled coyly. “That’s not what you said last night.” With a dramatic sigh, she walked across the room away from Seven. “It’s always so marvelous to be with another host. Between us, six hundred years of sexual practice...”

Seven felt a dark blush color her cheeks. “I must depart.”

Jadzia whirled around and called out, “Wait!”

Seven ran out into the corridor.

She wandered aimlessly around Deep Space Nine, trembling. She would die again soon. She just knew it. All she wanted was a quiet place to think.

She found a Bajoran temple, and sat down. She needed to analyze her situation.

Jadzia Dax started to enter the temple, but spotted the blonde host, and decided to wait. She’d give her friend more time alone.

Suddenly, Seven heard someone behind her, and turned to see a large Cardassian. He raised a phaser, and shot her. The world faded to black around her.

“Come into my Matrix....” an aging man in a vice-admiral’s uniform demanded.

Seven of Nine looked about her, saw the mess hall of Voyager. She, this man, and his whirling vortex were the only things there. She met his eye boldly.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Eddie Janeway.”

Seven remembered reading a log about this, and suddenly her situation made perfect sense. An alien, trying to entice Janeway into his matrix, and made her live her death repeatedly, and then appeared to her as her father.

“I know who you are,” she told him. “You are attempting to deceive me. I have only one question.”

He looked at her sternly. “I’ll answer all your questions in the matrix!”

“Why appear to me as Captain Janeway’s father and not my own?”

He looked confused. “Who are you, if not Kathryn Janeway?”

“Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix 0-1.”

“This is a trick! I glanced into the mind of the male... he believes you and Captain Janeway are one and the same!”

Seven rejoined, “He also believes in the boogeyman. He frequently requests I spend the night merely to protect him against that fictional being. I would disregard Commander Chakotay’s thoughts.”

Janeway’s father looked down at himself, said a curse beneath his breath. “I didn’t realize you weren’t Kathryn Janeway. You humans all look alike to me. Go back, stay the hell away from my matrix.”

And Seven’s eyes opened.

She was lying on the flat earth of a stormy planet, Chakotay and Tuvok and the Doctor hovering above her. Tears were running down Chakotay’s face.

“Kathryn!” he called in anguish. Then he noticed her opened eyes, and he quickly said, “I mean, Seven!... You’re alive!”

The men helped her to her feet. “I am very much alive...” Seven of Nine replied triumphantly.

The next day, Seven of Nine was working in astrometrics, and Chakotay marched in, carrying a pink flower.

“Thank you,” Seven replied.

Chakotay started talking endlessly, and then he finished, “--I think that alien met Ka--Seven of Nine, and knew he’d met his match...”

She looked up at him sharply. “Commander, because you insist on prattling endlessly about the captain, I feel this relationship will not work out.”

He looked at her, dumbfounded. “But... there’s so much I can do for you. I’m first officer, I have power.”

“I am the captain’s ‘daughter’, and she has more power. Now excuse me.”

Seven of Nine walked past him out into the corridor, leaving Chakotay staring into empty space.

She could hear him mutter, “Kathryn would never have dumped me like that...”

Seven of Nine walked down the corridor feeling liberated, free, triumphant. She had escaped death. Nothing could kill her.

Suddenly Voyager shook with an alien attack.

“Senior officers, report to the bridge,” Janeway said over the comlink.

Seven of Nine was about to proceed, then she froze.

She was standing next to a console.

Damn.

It abruptly exploded, and this time it killed Seven of Nine for real.