The door hissed open to darkness and low hums. Cargo Bay 2 was quiet, familiar. But tonight, it felt heavier—like memory pressing in from every wall.

Seven crossed to the regeneration alcoves, her boots echoing across the floor. She opened a panel and accessed the internal relay directly, her left hand—still partially fused with Borg technology—moving with sharp, fluid precision. Her movements were exact, but there was a restrained, sharp intensity to them.

She activated the diagnostic relay. The interface flickered green. Seven stared at it, unmoving. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. She paced once. Checked a calibration. Adjusted a node with her left hand, the one still partially fused with her Borg interface port. Static murmured through the console—faint but persistent.

She stepped back, just barely, eyes narrowed in thought.

The doors opened again.

"Seven."

She turned. Icheb stepped in, a padd clutched tight in his hand, his expression serious.

"I ran deeper scans on the signal traces. It's not just residual Borg code. There's structure—but it's incomplete. Like an echo without a source."

Seven took the padd, scanning it quickly. Her brow furrowed.

"There's no origin point. Just trails."

Icheb nodded. "They loop. Pulse outward, then vanish. Something is disrupting the continuity."

Seven moved to the nearest alcove and began adjusting the interface. Her tone shifted—professional, yet almost ritualistic.

"I will attempt to interface directly with the fractured signal using the regenerators as a static grounding point. I'll follow the path through the conduits."

"Seven," Icheb said gently, "this will be different than accessing your memory engrams. You'll be threading through decaying Collective infrastructure."

"I know," she replied. "That is why I must be careful."

She stepped into the alcove. The lights intensified. The hum rose.

Seven closed her eyes.

And then—contact.

Silence first. Then a snap—like air breaking open. A rush of pressure behind her eyes.

She wasn't in her body anymore. She was in data. The Collective's underlayer—endless, vast, cold. Like standing at the edge of space and falling sideways through light.

:: Searching... :: Integrating... ::

Thread 1 located. A visual: a cube—dark, silent, dead in the water.

:: Thread 2... located. :: Another. Half-submerged in a gas cloud. Its surface crackled faintly.

:: Thread 3... stabilizing. :: The last cube—hidden inside a fractured asteroid field. Blinking. Waiting.

Each location pulsed with fragments—data points, corrupted messages, shards of signal like broken glass floating in liquid static.

She reached out—mentally. Followed the threads.

Nothing human. No heartbeat. No child.

No Astrea. No Naomi.

:: Signal pattern incomplete ::

Seven opened her eyes with a sharp breath. The connection severed in a blink.

Icheb was there, watching her.

Seven steadied herself against the edge of the alcove. "There are three. The signal is distributed between them. Three Borg cubes. Disabled. Spread across different sectors."

Icheb's eyes widened. "That many?"

"The message was fractured. Scattered across dormant nodes."

"But no trace of the girls?"

Seven's jaw tightened. "No. Not yet."

Icheb nodded slowly. "Then we go cube by cube."

Seven steadied herself as the alcove powered down. Her breathing was controlled, but her fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the console.

"Should we tell the Captain?"

Seven didn't answer right away. She turned toward the console, her eyes focused, but her mind clearly weighing more than just strategy.

"She has been unconscious for approximately three hours. Her vitals remain stable, but recovery is not complete."

She looked at Icheb—steadfast. "Not yet."

She tapped her comm badge. "Seven of Nine to Commander Tuvok and Commander Chakotay. Please report to Astrometrics."

Chakotay's voice replied first. "Acknowledged."

Tuvok followed. "On my way."

Seven ended the transmission and exhaled quietly.

"Icheb, compile your findings. I want a full overlay of the signal threads and any resonant echoes—however minor. We'll analyze it again in Astrometrics. There may be more hidden beneath the corruption."

He nodded. "I'll bring it immediately."

They both moved, tension humming beneath every step.

Astrometrics – 02:00 Hours

The curved screens glowed soft blue, casting long shadows across the lab. The three dormant cubes rotated slowly, their surfaces scarred and silent.

Chakotay stood with his arms crossed, watching the display. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. This kind of spread—it's deliberate."

"A signal routed across three derelict cubes cannot be accidental," Tuvok agreed.

Seven remained focused on the console. "We should wait to inform the Captain. Waking her now would be unwise—and provoke the Doctor."

Chakotay's jaw tightened. He nodded, but didn't move right away. "We should have made her slow down."

"She would not have allowed it," Tuvok said simply. His tone was level, but something flickered beneath it. "Captain Janeway has long understood the limits of her own endurance—and chosen to ignore them."

Chakotay gave a quiet huff. "And the rest of us let her."

"In situations such as this," Tuvok said, gaze steady on the rotating cubes, "the only way to slow her down is to let her break."

Tuvok paused, his eyes tracking the slow spin of the cubes. He did not look at either of them, but his voice, when it came again, was lower. Measured.

"She would argue that breaking is the price of command. That to stop—even briefly—risks everything."

"It is not ideal," he added quietly.

Seven finally looked up. "She has been unconscious for three hours. That alone is a measure of how far she pushed herself."

Chakotay exhaled. "We'll hold the line until she's back."

"We must," Seven said, her voice cool but resolute.

He nodded. "I'll take the night shift, adjust Voyager's course. We'll stay just outside their scan range."

Seven looked to Icheb. "He and I will regenerate. We must remain fully functional."

Tuvok lingered a moment longer. His posture straight, hands behind his back. But his voice, when it came, was softer.

"I will... return to Sickbay."

Chakotay glanced at him, recognizing something unspoken. He didn't press.

No one did.

As the others filed out, Seven remained a moment longer, staring at the cubes.

"We'll find them," Icheb said quietly, his voice just behind her.

She didn't look away.

"We must." Her voice was low, but certain. Then, quieter still, she added, "She is the sole reason why you, Mezoti, the twins, Astrea, and I are free from the Collective."

Then she turned and followed him out, the screens behind them still glowing.

Sickbay – 09:00 Hours

The lights in Sickbay were dim, casting a calm yet serious ambiance. Monitors hummed softly in the background. Captain Janeway lay on the primary biobed, her expression relaxed in deep sleep.

Tuvok stood sentinel nearby, his posture still and vigilant. He had not moved in hours. His stillness was meditative—but within, he monitored every flicker of her vitals. He had seen her fall before. But not like this.

This collapse was not the product of a sudden injury or external force. It was wear—layered and internal. A slow erosion beneath unyielding will. He had warned her before, in ways both direct and indirect. But Janeway only listened to reason when it suited her. Often, command came first. Logic second.

She would never ask for help. And so, when the moment came, all one could do was catch her.

And wait.

The doors hissed open. Seven entered, her steps deliberate as she crossed to Janeway's side. Her look quickly swept over the biobed, then shifted toward the Doctor's office.

"Report?" she inquired succinctly.

The Doctor looked up from his terminal. "Her vitals are strong; neural readings are stabilizing. She should wake up soon."

Seven nodded. "And Samantha Wildman?"

"Released half an hour ago," the Doctor confirmed. "She's resting in her quarters now."

As the Doctor stepped out of his office, he glanced at Tuvok. "You've been here for several hours, Commander. I recommend some rest. In something other than a chair. I'll notify you immediately if there's any change."

Tuvok acknowledged with a nod. "Understood." He paused, his eyes lingering on Janeway. "The Captain would benefit from a familiar presence upon waking. I believe you are well-suited to remain."

Seven positioned herself beside the biobed, her face unreadable yet resolute. "I am not going anywhere."

An hour later, Janeway stirred. Her fingers twitched; her eyes blinked open, momentarily disoriented, then sharply focused.

"Seven?"

"Captain," Seven replied gently.

Janeway tried to rise, but Seven's hand pressed gently against her shoulder. "Not yet."

"I need to—"

"You were sedated after collapsing," Seven informed her calmly. "You needed to rest."

Janeway sighed, clearly frustrated. "And now?"

"Stable," the Doctor interjected from nearby. "You are cleared for duty so long as Seven or Tuvok is watching over you."

Janeway turned her attention back to Seven. "Status?"

Seven took a moment to ensure clarity and emphasis, knowing the importance of what she was about to disclose. "We received—well, rather, Icheb received—a transmission. It was Naomi. She said, 'We're alive. We are on a Borg cube. They think Astrea is a map.' It was distorted and meant for me. You can listen to the whole message in Astrometrics. We used it to trace back, and found three cubes."

Janeway's expression tightened, a mix of concern and command flickering across her features. Her voice dropped just slightly. "Did you find them?"

"Not yet," Seven continued. "The transmission was split and embedded within each, likely to hide its trail."

Janeway closed her eyes briefly, letting the weight of it sink in. The sound of Naomi's voice echoed behind her eyes—tired, strained, and far too brave for her years. A child caught in something vast and dark, clinging to hope because she had no other choice.

Her jaw tensed. She drew in a slow breath, willing back the wave of protectiveness that threatened to break past command.

When she opened her eyes again, they were clearer. Sharper. "Show me everything."

Seven glanced at the Doctor, who sighed. "First, hydrate. And remember, no heroics."

Janeway offered a thin smile, her resolve unshaken. "Doctor—"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and interrupted her, "Don't... I will list them, Captain."

With Seven's assistance, Janeway sat up, her look steely and determined. "Let's get to work."

Briefing Room – 10:00 Hours The senior staff assembled quickly, the air in the briefing room taut with anticipation. Janeway stood at the head of the table, spine straight, uniform crisp despite her recent collapse. There was still fatigue in her features—but it had been buried beneath focus and fire.

"Captain Janeway to all senior staff and Ensign Wildman," she'd said over comms just minutes earlier. Now, they were all here. Waiting.

Seven stood to her right, hands folded neatly. Icheb beside her, padd in hand. Tuvok was composed. Chakotay alert. Tom leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed. B'Elanna tapped her fingers against the table, restless. Harry waited quietly. Ensign Samantha Wildman sat at the end, posture stiff but eyes sharp—bracing herself, ready to do something.

Janeway didn't waste time.

"We've confirmed the origin of Naomi Wildman's signal," she began. "It was split—deliberately—and routed through three disabled Borg cubes in separate sectors."

She let that settle.

"There were no life signs," Seven added, "but the signal carried biological markers from Astrea's cortical node. There's a reason they used her. She's connected to the technology in ways we still don't fully understand."

She glanced toward Janeway, then added, "The transmission itself was Naomi's voice. Distorted, but unmistakable."

Janeway took a step forward, look sweeping the table.

"We go after the signal. But we do it smart. We split into three teams," Janeway continued. "Each team will approach one cube. No one boards. You scan. You analyze. You come straight back to Voyager. Understood?"

Heads nodded. No one interrupted.

Janeway's voice cut through the quiet. "Team Delta Flyer: myself, Chakotay, and Paris."

She let the names settle before continuing. "Team Sacajawea: Seven, Harry, and Samantha."

Another breath. No questions, only nods. "Team Baxial: B'Elanna, the Doctor, and Neelix."

She didn't explain why. She didn't need to. Each person at the table knew exactly what they brought to the mission—and why they were chosen.

Janeway looked at each of them in turn.

"You each know your teams. Your strengths. You've served together for years—you know how to trust each other. That trust is what's going to bring those girls home."

She paused, then added, quieter: "We don't leave family behind."

The room was silent, but something charged passed between them—a shared sense of purpose. A quiet, collective fire.

Janeway straightened.

"We depart at 1400. Get what you need. Study the cubes. No unnecessary risks. That's an order. And when we bring our girls home, we will have a pip ready for Naomi."

Samantha Wildman blinked quickly, her jaw tight. Her hands were folded in front of her, knuckles white, but she gave a single nod. "Thank you, Captain," she said quietly. "She'll want to earn it. And she will."

Janeway looked at her, voice steady but warm. "She already has."

Preparing for Departure – 1300 Hours

Corridors buzzed with quiet urgency. Crew members moved with purpose, gathering supplies, loading tricorders, prepping shuttle diagnostics. The shuttlebay pulsed with low light and quiet tension as the Delta Flyer, Sacajawea, and Baxial stood ready—each one fueled and humming with anticipation.

In Engineering, B'Elanna calibrated a custom sensor array, brow furrowed in concentration. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Every readout had to be perfect. The Doctor checked his medkit twice, then again—his fingers mechanical, his expression unreadable. Neelix paced just outside the Baxial, hands wringing behind his back.

In the shuttlebay, Seven handed Samantha Wildman a specialized scanner.

"It is tuned to detect cortical micro-signatures. It may help us isolate Astrea's signal."

Samantha accepted it with quiet gratitude. "Thank you."

Nearby, Harry watched the exchange, then turned back to his console. His fingers hovered a moment—hesitating—before diving back into telemetry projections.

Janeway moved through it all like gravity. She walked the line of the shuttlebay, boots echoing faintly on metal flooring. She paused briefly beside the Sacajawea, her hand brushing the hull in passing. She didn't speak. She didn't have to.

Mission Launch – 1400 Hours

The shuttles lifted off in formation—tight, controlled, silent. Janeway stood in the Delta Flyer's cockpit, watching as the bay doors peeled open and space greeted them—vast, cold, waiting.

"All teams, proceed to designated coordinates," she said over comms. "Maintain silence unless critical."

"Acknowledged," came Seven's voice. Then B'Elanna's. Then Tom's nod beside her.

Janeway sat. Her fingers brushed the armrest as her eyes drifted to the stars. The silence felt heavier now. The weight of responsibility pressed in—not just command, but something more fragile.

Fractured Orbits – 1800 Hours

Baxial approached first.

"Target in visual range," Neelix announced, steadier than usual.

"There it is," B'Elanna murmured.

The Borg cube hung in space—scarred, silent. Its hull was blackened, fractured. Like it had been burned from the inside out.

"No life signs," the Doctor said. "But something forced its way out. The structural warping is... violent."

Sacajawea dropped out of warp near the second.

Half-shrouded in a violet gas cloud, the cube pulsed faintly—like something trying to remember how to breathe.

"Some systems are attempting to reboot," Seven observed. "They are failing."

Samantha's grip tightened around the scanner. "Let's hope the girls aren't on this one."

Delta Flyer emerged last, skimming the edge of a fractured asteroid belt where the final Borg cube loomed—half-hidden among shattered rock and debris, like a predator lying in wait.

"There," Tom said quietly.

Janeway stepped forward. The cube was buried in shadows, its structure jagged. Half-submerged in silence.

"Scan," she said.

Chakotay nodded, fingers flying across the console.

Three teams. Three derelict ghosts. And one fractured signal calling through the dark.

Return to Voyager

The silence stretched all the way home.

Each team returned on schedule. No one spoke over comms unless necessary. The landings were precise, uneventful, heavy. Metal feet kissed Voyager's deck one after the other. The doors opened. The crews stepped out.

No one said it, but every face said the same thing: We didn't find them.

Astrometrics 2200 Hours

Engineering thrummed. Astrometrics glowed like a storm about to break. Consoles lit up with fragmented signals, overlapping encryption, and more silence.

"Prioritize biological trace detection," Janeway ordered as she moved through the bridge like a stormfront. "Flag every fluctuation. Any cortical spike, no matter how minor."

Seven was already at the interface. Harry adjusted filters. Samantha matched biological markers. B'Elanna worked without blinking. The Doctor checked neural maps, growing tenser by the second. Tuvok observed, still and watchful.

Briefing Room – 2300 Hours

Janeway stood by the viewport. She hadn't sat. Arms folded. Shoulders squared.

"Each cube was empty," she said. "No drones. No Vaadwaur. No bodies."

Seven didn't look up. "But we confirmed the origin points. Naomi's message passed through all three. Fragmented intentionally."

The Doctor added, "It wasn't random. Whoever did this scattered the signal on purpose. Possibly to obscure it. Possibly to test us."

"A diversion," B'Elanna offered. "Keep us chasing ghosts."

"Or a test," Tuvok said. "Observe our patterns."

Chakotay's brow furrowed. "Naomi's voice—she sounded rushed. Like she didn't think it would reach us."

Janeway didn't speak for a moment "We work faster. We tear the signals apart if we have to. They are in one of those cubes, they have to be."

The doors hissed open.

Icheb entered, out of breath and a padd clutched tightly in both hands.

"Captain," he said, voice sharp with urgency. "I have an idea!"

Every head turned. Silence shifted into something electric.

Hope, just barely, beginning to stir.