“Seven, look at this. How did they get that much Borg technology?”

Seven adjusted the display, highlighting the sublayer Janeway had isolated. Green lattice patterns flickered across the screen—fractured pieces of Collective architecture spliced into Vaadwaur systems.

“This code…” she said quietly. “It was gifted or stolen.”

Janeway’s lips pressed into a thin line. “From who?”

Seven’s fingers moved across the console. “Unknown. But the pattern is precise. Deliberate. Not reverse-engineered. They had a source.”

Janeway leaned in closer, tracking the thread. “Then we find it.”

She didn’t notice the way her hand trembled slightly against the console. Didn’t notice how her focus blurred for just a second too long before snapping back.

But Seven did.

She glanced sideways—not intrusive, just assessing. She saw the tension in Janeway’s shoulders, the faint lines of strain around her eyes, the way she blinked just a little too slow.

“You have not eaten.”

“I’m working.”

“You have not slept. Its been 32 hours.”

“I’m functioning. And, I know how long it's been.”

Seven said nothing for a moment. Then, very softly, “For now.”

Janeway didn’t respond. Her fingers kept moving.

But when she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. Thinner than before.

“They’re using her like a data node. She’s a map, Seven. They know it and now we do too.”

Seven didn’t argue. Didn’t remind her that she already knew. She simply stepped closer, hands flying across the interface.

“Then let’s find out where they’re going.”

Janeway nodded. Didn’t move from the console.

But her balance shifted again—just enough for Seven to catch the faint stumble, the subtle moment where her body betrayed her focus.

She didn’t say anything yet.

But she noted it.

Because she knew, Janeway wouldn’t stop until she collapsed.

And that moment? It was coming.

—

The room was dim but warm. The lights above were filtered through a mesh panel, soft enough not to hurt Astrea’s eyes. The walls were smooth, slate-coloured. No windows. No visible doors, except the one that hissed open and shut at unpredictable intervals.

Naomi sat on the floor with her back to the far corner, just as Tuvok had taught her. Never sit with your back to the door. Naomi's legs curled to the side, Astrea tucked against her chest. The baby was fussing, not crying, not quite—but the restless kind of squirming that came before a full wail. She was hungry. She needed changing. She needed comfort. She needed Janeway.

Naomi had done what she could. Rocked her, hummed to her, whispered stories her mother used to tell her—but Astrea was only twelve weeks old.

And Naomi was still just a kid herself.

The door opened.

Naomi’s body snapped taut, one hand instinctively shielding Astrea, the other curled into a fist.

But it wasn’t one of the soldiers.

It was a girl.

Vaadwaur. About sixteen, maybe seventeen. Taller than Naomi, but not by much. No uniform. No weapons. Just a cloth bundle in her arms and a cautious expression on her face.

She paused just inside the doorway.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said, quietly. “I brought supplies.”

Naomi didn’t move.

The girl knelt and opened the bundle—revealing a soft towel, a sealed pouch of wipes, two cloth diapers, a small stack of folded linens, and a bottle. Steam curled faintly from its tip.

Naomi’s eyes locked onto the bottle.

“I sterilized everything,” the girl said. “She’s very young. She can’t go too long without feeding.”

Still, Naomi didn’t speak. She didn’t trust her. Not yet.

But Astrea whimpered—a low, desperate sound.

The girl gently placed the bundle on the floor and backed away. “My name is Teska. I come in twice a day. To check. To make sure they don’t forget the ones they take.”

Naomi’s voice was hoarse. “You’re one of them.”

Teska didn’t deny it.

“I was born Vaadwaur. That doesn’t mean I believe in everything they do.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes.

Teska nodded toward the baby. “Do you want me to help you change her?”

Naomi stiffened. “No. I can do it.”

Teska accepted that. “Okay.”

She stood. “I’ll come back later. If you need more wipes, or bottles, just ask. I’ll bring them.”

She hesitated at the door.

“She likes the stars,” Naomi whispered.

Teska said softly. “There’s a viewport, down the hall. Maybe… maybe I can get permission to bring you there. For a few minutes.”

Then she was gone.

The door hissed closed behind her.

Naomi exhaled, slow and shaking. She looked down at Astrea who was now softly chewing on her own hand.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “We’ve just gotta hold on.”

She picked up the bottle, tested it on her wrist like Samantha had taught her, then gently offered it to Astrea.

And in the quiet hum of the room, the baby latched on.

—

Ready Room – Day Three

The light in the Ready Room felt clinical. Merciless. Every panel too white, every surface too loud under her fingers.

Three days had passed.

Seventy-three hours, nineteen minutes, and counting since Astrea Halley Janeway and Naomi Wildman were taken from their ship, their home.

And Kathryn hadn’t slept. Not in any way that counted. She’d dozed once—in a chair, upright, still in uniform, a padd in her lap and a coffee cooling by her side. She’d eaten even less. Coffee, hot and black, had become her only constant. Her anchor. Her armor. And even that was wearing thin.

Her spine was rigid, shoulders squared as she stood behind her desk, eyes scanning the Astrometric scans Seven had sent moments earlier.

The doors hissed open behind her.

She didn’t look up.

“Captain,” Tuvok said evenly, stepping into the room. Calm as always.

Chakotay followed. Then Seven. None of them sat. They knew better.

Janeway didn’t look away from the console. “Report,” she said, her voice rasped from too much caffeine and too little care.

Tuvok began, ever composed. “We have recalibrated long-range sensors for phase irregularities, gravitational distortions, and transwarp residue. Thus far, there is no discernible trail.”

Janeway’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

Chakotay stepped forward, voice soft. “Kathryn… we’ve done everything we can right now. But you need to rest. Even just for a few hours.”

She finally looked up. Her expression was hollow and sharp all at once.

“I don’t have time to sleep, Chakotay,” she said, each word brittle as glass.

“You’re not well,” he pressed, trying to reach her. “You’re running on fumes, and you’re pushing everyone to the edge along with you. You need to delegate, step back before—”

“Before what?” she snapped, louder now. “Before I crack? Before I fall apart and let someone else lead the search for the girls?”

She stepped around the desk, eyes locked on them. Controlled. Measured. Dangerous.

“You think I don’t know how close I am to the edge? I feel it in every breath. But I don’t get to fall apart. I don’t get to collapse. Not when Naomi Wildman is out there—Naomi—the first child born on this ship, the one we have all watched grow up in corridors and engineering bays and crew lounges. She was taught diplomacy by Neelix, physics by B’Elanna, Federation ethics by Chakotay. And security drills by Tuvok.”

Her voice trembled—not from weakness, but from too many emotions in too little space.

“She’s just a child,” Janeway said, quieter now. “Not a soldier. Not trained for this. She’s brave—braver than most adults I’ve known—but she was never meant to be taken. She was never supposed to stand between my baby’s crib and an armed invader. And now she’s somewhere I can’t reach her, probably still standing guard while Astrea cries in the dark.”

She swallowed hard. Her jaw clenched.

“And you want me to rest?”

Seven stepped forward gently. “Captain, no one is questioning you. But your body—your mind—”

Janeway’s hand slammed against the edge of the desk, making them all flinch. Her coffee sloshed dangerously in the mug.

“I’m the only one who can’t afford to slow down! Because if I do, if I even blink, I’ll see their faces and realize I’m too late.”

Her vision blurred. The heat in her chest burned too fast, too hot.

“And I cannot—will not—be too late.”

She took a breath, but the floor shifted beneath her.

It tilted—suddenly, sharply—and her knees buckled before she could stop them. The mug hit the ground and shattered, dark coffee splashing across the carpet as Janeway crumpled to her hands.

“Captain!” Chakotay was already at her side, dropping to his knees.

Seven knelt opposite, already scanning her vitals. “She’s dehydrated. Blood pressure is dangerously low. Heart rate is erratic—she hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten—”

Janeway tried to push herself up, but her arms trembled too hard.

Tuvok crouched beside her, one steady hand at her back. “You do not have to prove anything more, Captain.”

She let out a breath—half growl, half exhale—as her strength gave out entirely and she slumped forward, caught between the three of them.

And as her eyes fluttered shut, she whispered, “Don’t stop. Keep looking.”

Then, darkness. Captain Kathryn Janeway hit the edge of exhaustion.

—

Sickbay – Moments After Janeway’s Collapse

In a flash of blue light, Janeway materialized directly onto the biobed.

She didn’t stir.

Her uniform was wrinkled, sweat clinging at the collar, her skin pale beneath the lights. The force of her collapse had stripped away every barrier of command, leaving behind only Kathryn. A woman, A mother, and one who had carried too much for too long.

Seven stood rigidly by her side, her hands at her sides, eyes fixed and unblinking. Chakotay hovered nearby, arms crossed tight over his chest. Tuvok remained near the wall, unmoving but deeply present.

The Doctor moved quickly, scanning her vitals. “Severe dehydration. Cortisol levels off the charts. Neural fatigue. Just as I thought—she never slows down. No wonder she dropped. She’s been running on stress and caffeine for days.”

“She refused to rest,” Chakotay muttered, guilt threading through his tone.

“She refused to stop,” Seven corrected, more clipped. “There is a difference.”

“I’ll stabilize her,” the Doctor said, already pressing a hypospray into her neck. “But if she gets out of this bed before I say so, I’m confining her under medical lockdown.”

“She will not listen to that,” Tuvok observed dryly.

“Then one of you better make her,” the Doctor snapped.

Janeway stirred.

Her fingers twitched first, then her eyes fluttered open. The moment she realized where she was, she tried to sit up.

“No—no, I have to get back—”

“Captain,” Chakotay said, stepping forward to gently but firmly press her back down. “Kathryn, stop.”

“NO!” Her voice cracked, hoarse and raw. “They need me. I have to keep going.”

Seven leaned in from the other side. “You collapsed.”

“I don’t care,” Janeway rasped. She tried again to rise.

This time, the Doctor moved with practiced speed and pressed another hypospray to her neck.

Janeway blinked in surprise.

Her strength ebbed instantly, her body slumping back against the biobed. Her limbs heavy. Her voice a faint breath.

“You sedated me.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said flatly. “And I’ll do it again if you so much as twitch toward that doorway.”

Her protest faded into nothing. She was out within seconds.

Seven watched the rise and fall of Janeway’s chest, the fight temporarily eased from her frame.

Her comm badge chirped.

"Icheb to Seven of Nine."

Seven tapped the badge. "Go ahead."

"I've been analyzing the Astrometric data. The Vaadwaur Borg fragments—they’re more advanced than we initially believed. I've isolated—"

"Not over comms, Icheb," Seven interrupted, her voice firm and immediate.

A brief pause, followed by Icheb’s steady, controlled reply. "Understood."

Seven looked once more at Janeway—still unconscious, fragile yet fiercely resolute, even now. "I'm on my way."

She turned sharply, addressing the Doctor. "Inform me immediately of any changes."

"Of course," the Doctor replied briskly, his attention already refocused on Janeway’s vitals.

Seven strode from sickbay, her departure leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.

It lasted mere seconds.

The Doctor spun toward Chakotay and Tuvok, his voice clipped, his expression severe.

"As for you two," he snapped, irritation clear, "might I remind you that human physiology has limits—limits our captain has clearly surpassed. She is your captain, yes, but also your friend. And right now, she needs both a friend and a commanding officer willing to say ‘enough’ before she collapses on my sickbay floor or worse!"

Chakotay sighed, absorbing the reprimand. "We know," he conceded softly.

"Then do better," the Doctor said pointedly. "Because next time, there might not be anything left for me to fix."

Even Tuvok inclined his head slightly, acknowledgment silent yet clear.

Satisfied he'd made his point, the Doctor turned back to his patient, determination replacing frustration as he resumed his careful watch over Kathryn Janeway.

—

Naomi and Astrea

The door hissed open quietly, barely louder than a breath.

Naomi tensed instinctively, shielding Astrea protectively with one arm. But she relaxed slightly when she recognized Teska, who stepped silently into the room, eyes cautious.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Teska whispered. “I brought extra blankets. And this.”

She carefully placed the bundle down. Among the supplies, Naomi noticed a small silver packet. Curious, she tilted her head.

“What is it?”

“Food,” Teska explained softly. “For you. It’s simple, but it’s safe.”

Naomi hesitated only briefly, feeling the ache in her own stomach. “Thank you.”

Teska watched her for a moment, then cautiously lowered herself onto the floor a short distance away. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” she said quietly, her voice sincere.

Naomi met her eyes. “Why are you helping us?”

Teska glanced away briefly, her expression conflicted. “My people…they’re not all like this. I didn’t choose this. Using children as tools—” She shook her head sharply. “It’s wrong. Not everyone sees it, but I do.”

Naomi softened slightly. “You could get in trouble.”

Teska smiled faintly, tired and sad. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment, broken only by Astrea’s quiet fussing. Naomi gently rocked her, soothing her back to sleep.

Teska hesitated, then quietly spoke again. “I think I can get you to the viewport. It’s not far. But…it’s off-limits. They wouldn’t want you to see anything.”

Naomi frowned, wary. “Why risk it?”

Teska looked at Astrea, sleeping now, peaceful and unaware. "Because maybe it'll help if you know exactly where you are."

Naomi thought of Captain Janeway, her mother, Neelix—all of Voyager. She imagined the stars, even briefly, and the familiar comfort they brought. She made her decision, lifting Astrea carefully. “Okay.”

Teska stood quickly, motioning Naomi to follow her quietly. She hesitated for a moment, noticing how carefully Naomi held Astrea. “Would you like me to carry her? Just until we get there. It might be safer.”

Naomi hesitated, torn between caution and gratitude, but saw only sincerity in Teska’s expression. Slowly, she nodded, gently handing Astrea to Teska. As they moved swiftly through corridors dimly lit and eerily quiet, Naomi’s heartbeat quickened, but she kept her chin up, reassured when Teska carefully handed Astrea back to her just before they reached the viewport. 

They reached the viewport. Teska hesitated only briefly before pressing a small panel to lift the shade.

Naomi’s heartbeat quickened, but she kept her chin up, Astrea tucked securely against her. She reminded herself she was Captain’s Assistant, and that Voyager was surely already searching.

Naomi stepped forward eagerly—but froze in shock.

Outside stretched not stars, nor empty space—but an immense metallic expanse glowing sickly green, its angular architecture unmistakable and terrifying.

A Borg cube.

Teska watched her quietly, regret deepening her eyes. “It was abandoned. Mostly inactive. They thought it would hide them.”

Naomi’s breath caught sharply in her chest. She'd never been inside one, but she knew exactly what it was—every angle, every sickly green glow from her studies with Seven. Her heart pounded painfully fast. She tightened her hold on Astrea, fear washing through her, cold and sudden.

Teska watched her quietly, regret deepening her eyes. Suddenly, alarm flashed across her face. “We have to go. Now!”

She quickly took Astrea into her arms and guided Naomi back down the corridors, urgency in every step. Once safely inside the small room, Teska exhaled sharply, her hands shaking slightly as she turned to Naomi.

“There’s something else you need to know,” she said, voice tense and strained as she handed Astrea back to Naomi. “My father—he’s the one leading this. He’s trying to reconnect your sister to the Cube. If he finds out I’ve helped you—” 

Naomi shook her head quickly, correcting her gently but firmly. “Astrea isn’t my sister. She’s… more like my cousin. I was the first baby born on Voyager—the only kid, until we found Astrea and the other Borg kids.”

Teska took a breath, absorbing the clarification with a thoughtful nod. “Still, they’re using her because she’s so young and connected. My father believes she’s the key. I’m sorry—I didn’t want any of this.”

Naomi’s mind raced, recalling something Seven had once explained during her studies. “Seven told me once how Captain Janeway used a microfilament from her comm badge to tap into Borg tech. Could we do something similar? Could we get a message out?”

Teska’s eyes brightened with determination. “I can get a microfilament from one of the old drones I've seen on the Cube. If we connect that filament to the nanoprobe nodes above Astrea’s eye, we could try sending a subspace signal through the Borg conduits directly to another Borg on your ship. It’s risky, but—”

“Let's do it,” Naomi said, with excitement in her voice.

Teska nodded quickly. “Stay here. I'll get the filament and come back.” She slipped out quietly, returning after a tense, anxious wait with the tiny filament carefully concealed in her palm.

Naomi held Astrea steady, watching carefully as Teska gently completed the connection. Naomi leaned in urgently, speaking clearly and quickly, though unsure exactly how to direct the signal. She only hoped it would reach Seven. 

“Seven, it’s Naomi. We’re alive. They’re holding us on a Borg cube. They think Astrea is a map. Please