Chakotay stepped into Janeway's quarters, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and something warm from the replicator greeting him. Their weekly dinners had become a tradition—a chance to steal a moment of normalcy amid the chaos of the Delta Quadrant.

He smiled slightly, about to tease her. "Tell me you didn't burn it this time."

But something was different.

The lighting was softer than usual. The temperature was warmer. The usual stacks of padds on her desk were still there, but the room itself felt... altered. Lived in, in a way it never had before. He noticed the couch, where a neatly folded blanket lay draped over the armrest. A small bottle warmer sat near the replicator, almost easy to miss. A few stray items, a tiny pair of socks, a discarded blanket all hinted at something he hadn't expected.

His easy expression faded, brow furrowing. He turned back to Janeway. She was standing near the table, posture too still, too composed, hands wrapped around her coffee as if bracing herself.

"Kathryn." His voice was quiet, but weighted.

She knew that tone. And she knew there was no way around this now.

With a slow breath, she set down her coffee, "There's something I need to tell you."

Chakotay crossed his arms, waiting. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her expression—something softer than command, heavier than words. Then, she turned on her heel and headed toward the bedroom. "Come with me."

The mechanical hum grew clearer as he followed her inside. And then he saw it.

A crib.

It was unlike any he'd ever seen, wood and reinforced with faint Borg-inspired technology integrated into the framework. Monitors quietly tracked vitals, adjusting environmental conditions in real time. The faint green glow of the interface cast shifting shadows across the room. And inside, bundled in the softest of blankets, was a baby regenerating.

His breath caught. Something unspoken flickered in his chest—a sense of recognition he couldn't quite place. He looked from the crib to Janeway, his mind scrambling to piece together an explanation. "Kathryn..."

She exhaled, stepping beside the crib and gently resting a hand on the edge. "Her name is Astrea."

Silence stretched between them.

Chakotay's expression was unreadable, his dark eyes scanning hers, searching. His mind raced—memories of the Borg children, of the failed maturation chambers Seven had uncovered. He had known about the survivors, had even helped ensure their safety. But this... this was different.

After a long moment, he let out a slow breath and shook his head with something between disbelief and inevitability. "You really never do anything the easy way, do you?"

A wry, almost nervous smile ghosted across her lips. "No. I don't."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before looking back at the child. "Tell me everything."

It took a while.

Back in the main area of her quarters, Janeway sat across from Chakotay at the small dining table, fingers wrapped around her coffee. The room was quieter now, except for the occasional hum of the ship around them. She explained everything—how she had found Astrea, how she had stared down every regulation and expectation telling her to let go, and how, in the end, she simply couldn't. How she had stood in Michael Sullivan's tavern and admitted it out loud for the first time: that Astrea was hers.

She told him about Seven's discovery, about the file buried deep within the wreckage of the cube—Astrea's assimilation record. Both of her parents were gone. There was no one left searching, no one to claim her that they were aware of. The thought had haunted Janeway, solidifying something she hadn't wanted to name. Astrea wasn't just an orphan.

She was alone, until now.

Chakotay listened. He asked questions where needed, his expression shifting between concern and reluctant understanding. Despite all his years of expecting the unexpected from her, nothing could have prepared him for this.

Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "You know, sometimes I think you wake up in the morning and ask yourself how you can personally make my life harder."

Janeway, utterly unfazed, took a slow sip of coffee. "That's only on Thursdays."

Chakotay closed his eyes briefly, because of course she said that.

The hum of regeneration ceased with a soft, final note. The monitors flickered as they adjusted, the chamber's glow shifting in response—subtle, but there.

Then, with a soft, drowsy shift, Astrea stirred. One tiny hand flexed beneath the blanket, her face scrunching in mild protest before relaxing again. A small yawn parted her lips, delicate and new, as if the act itself took all the energy she had. Slowly, hazy silver-blue eyes fluttered open, unfocused but searching, blinking against the dim glow of the chamber.

Janeway and Chakotay turned in unison, frozen in the breathless space between scientific reality and something unexplainable.

Astrea's gaze wandered, drifting as if still caught between sleep and wakefulness. Then, slowly, her eyes sharpened, focusing—finding Janeway.

There was no hesitation. Her small hand lifted, fingers stretching toward Janeway, not in reflex, not in programming, but in something deliberate.

She moved without a thought, crossing to the crib. Her hand found Astrea's, their fingers brushing.

A sound caught in Janeway's throat—half-sob, half-laugh. Her eyes burned. Everything she'd kept contained cracked open, spilling into the space between them.

Chakotay's voice was soft. "You okay?"

Janeway didn't answer.

Because that was when the chamber hummed.

Louder this time.

The interface lit up, shifting. Settings changed; oxygen mix, ambient temperature, regeneration timing, all recalibrating on their own.

Janeway froze.

Chakotay saw the shift in her expression and snapped to alert. "Kathryn?"

Her voice came out too fast. "She—she shouldn't be able to do that—"

"Do what?!"

Janeway's hands flew to the controls. "Override the chamber settings."

Chakotay looked from her to the baby. ""You're telling me she hacked her own crib?!"

Janeway spun on her heel, eyes wide, panic sharp in her voice. "Yes. She just hacked her crib."

A beat of stunned silence. The lights on the console flickered again, as if to underline the point.

"Kathryn, that baby just bypassed both Starfleet and Borg security protocols while waking up from a nap."

Janeway didn't respond. She was already moving—grabbing her tricorder, scanning Astrea from head to toe, her words tumbling out at warp speed.

"Her cognitive development is accelerating. The Borg nanoprobes. No. No, this wasn't supposed to happen yet."

"Yet?!" Chakotay took a step closer, alarm creeping into his voice. "What do you mean yet?!"

Janeway paused. Her tricorder beeped softly, oblivious to the existential crisis unfolding in the room.

She blinked.

Realized what she'd just admitted.

Chakotay folded his arms, his voice low and edged with disbelief.

"Kathryn. What. Do. You. Mean. Yet?"

She ran a hand through her hair, then pressed her fingers to her temples. "The Doctor and I had a theory. Her neural pathways were forming faster than expected. But she's an infant. This level of control—this kind of override—it wasn't supposed to happen for months."

Chakotay, staring between her and Astrea, his voice rough, "and now it has. So what does that mean?"

Janeway's voice dropped.

"It means I have no idea what happens next."

Before Chakotay could respond, her combadge chirped, the sudden sound cutting through the tense silence.

"Kim to Captain Janeway."

Janeway exhaled, steadying herself. "Go ahead, Harry."

There was a slight pause, then a hesitance in his voice.

"Captain... We just picked up a Borg signal."

Janeway went rigid.

Chakotay straightened beside her. "Where?"

Another pause. Then—

"Inside Voyager. Could it have come from one of the kids?"

"No, Harry. They were abandoned and severed by the Borg. I will look into it. Janeway out."

The words hung in the air, heavier than gravity itself.

Before Janeway could process what that meant, her door chimed.

She didn't even have to ask. "Come in."

The doors parted with a soft hiss.

As Janeway rose and moved toward the crib, she carefully lifted Astrea into her arms, holding her close. The baby shifted slightly, settling against her. Just as she turned back, the doors parted with a soft hiss.

Seven of Nine stepped inside, eyes immediately scanning the room. They landed on Astrea—and stayed there.

"Captain," she said without preamble. "We have a problem."

Janeway didn't flinch. "I'm aware. She just rewrote the chamber's protocol."

"That's not the problem," Seven replied. "At 21:00 hours, I received an unexpected transmission through my cortical node. It was faint, fragmented—nonverbal."

Janeway's blood ran cold. "A signal."

Seven nodded once. "Borg in origin. It came from her."

Chakotay's jaw tightened. "You're sure?"

Seven stepped closer, keeping her focus on the baby. "She didn't just override her regeneration chamber. She sent out a ping—a call. She reached for something—someone."

Janeway's voice was hoarse. "The Collective?"

Seven shook her head. "No. It wasn't strong enough. And it doesn't appear to have been received. But it was sent—and we don't know how far the signal reached or who might have been listening." She glanced at Janeway, her voice low. "She may not be connected to the Collective the way the others were, but we also can not confirm with Astrea if she can hear them or not."

Janeway sank slowly into the chair behind her.

Because this wasn't a fluke.

This was a ripple—an echo sent into the unknown.

And they had no way of knowing how far it traveled, or what it might have touched along the way. No way of knowing if something out there heard it... and chose to listen.

Somewhere, in the cold reach of space, that signal might still be moving.

And something—someone—might answer back.

Janeway didn't answer.

She just held Astrea tighter, feeling the small, steady heartbeat against her own. But Chakotay stepped forward, his composure finally cracking.

"That child is dangerous." The words came fast, almost too fast, like he hadn't meant to say them out loud. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "We don't even know how she did it, let alone how to stop it from happening again."

Janeway looked up, startled by the sharpness in his voice.

Chakotay exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "She could've alerted the Collective. Or something worse. We don't know who heard that signal—we don't know. How are we supposed to protect her? How are we supposed to protect the crew?"

He turned, looking between them, his voice rough. "We can't keep her safe if we don't understand what she's capable of. And we can't keep you safe, Kathryn."

The words landed heavier than anything before.

The room fell silent.

"You are wrong." Seven's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Chakotay turned, startled by the steel in her tone.

Seven had squared her shoulders, gaze locked onto him with something sharper than mere defiance. It was conviction. "Astrea is not dangerous. She is endangered."

Chakotay's expression flickered. "Seven—"

"No." Her voice didn't rise, but it didn't waver either. "You fear what she might become, but you have only just arrived. You did not see the connection between them in sickbay. You did not see the way she reacted to the Captain's touch. The Borg do not do that. Drones do not do that." Her jaw tightened. "She is not a drone. And she is not a threat."

Janeway exhaled slowly, watching Seven, something unreadable in her expression.

Chakotay hesitated. He wasn't used to Seven pushing back like this—not with that kind of emotion behind it.

Seven took a step forward, keeping her focus on him. "I was dangerous when Voyager found me. I had memories, programming, awareness. I had the ability to fight." Her voice softened, just slightly.

"Astrea has none of that. She is an infant. She does not even understand what she is. And yet you would call her a threat because of what was done to her?"

Chakotay exhaled, shaking his head. "Seven, I'm not—"

But Seven wasn't finished.

"She did not choose this," she said, voice edged with something almost too human. "And neither did I."

That landed.

Janeway saw it the moment Chakotay's shoulders dropped, the moment something gave in his stance—not all the way, but enough.

Seven folded her hands behind her back, steadier now. "She needs guidance, not fear. Control, not confinement." A pause. "And whether you accept it or not, she already has a home. Here."

The silence stretched long between them.

Janeway finally broke it.

"She's right." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Astrea isn't a threat. She's mine."

Chakotay let out a slow breath. He was still rattled. Still trying to catch up. But he nodded, just once.

Seven inclined her head slightly. Message received.

Janeway shifted Astrea in her arms, "Now. How do we make sure this never happens again?"

Janeway opened her mouth to speak—but the comm channel chimed, cutting her off.

"Tuvok to the Captain."

Janeway tapped her badge. "Go ahead."

"I've detected an unusual energy fluctuation at the edge of long-range sensors. It appears to be... a quantum phase variance—one consistent with Vaadwaur subspace technology."

Janeway's stomach dropped. "Do we know if it's heading toward us?"

"Too early to say. But the signature is increasing. It's possible Voyager has already been scanned."

Janeway stood, all warmth drained from her face. "Understood. Begin lockdown procedures. Shut down all secondary systems. Secure all decks."

Chakotay turned sharply. "Kathryn—"

She was already moving. "We don't know if they received the signal. But we know someone did. And if the Vaadwaur are listening—"

Seven's expression was hard. "Then they won't come asking. They'll come taking."

Janeway looked down at Astrea. The baby stirred, curling closer into her chest.

She lifted her chin. Her voice was steel. "They won't take her or anyone else from this crew."

The lights dimmed as Voyager shifted into lockdown. Outside the viewport, the stars kept moving.

And far beyond Voyager's reach, something stirred. It was old, it was ancient, with a presence that didn't simply exist but observed. Not just aware, but watchful. Listening for a sound it had been waiting to hear for a very long time.