(By Penny A. Proctor. Based on spoilers for "Endgame." If TPTB are going to force C/7 on us, then I'm to going explain it. What it lacks in logic is made up in sheer vindictiveness. I'm posting before the finale airs in a pre-emptive gesture of my own. I hope, hope, hope that I'll owe TPTB an apology later.)

Captain Janeway -

The delivery instructions for this message were quite specific. If you're watching this, it means I failed. Either I failed to convince you to adopt my plan and change what happened in my timeline, or we tried and it didn't work.

I hate failure. So I don't intend to give up. This letter is my back-up plan. Having turned my back on the Temporal Prime Directive once already, I have no qualms at all about ignoring it again and telling you what I didn't tell you before.

You're curious, aren't you? You suspected there was more to the story than the summary I gave you, but you didn't ask. Always the dutiful Captain. Well, I've got new for you: by the time you are my age, you will realize that there are things more important than duty and more necessary than Prime Directives, temporal or otherwise.

The Office of Temporal Investigations has been expanded in my time. It's now the Department of Temporal Security, as if time were something that they could lock up and keep under glass for viewing during prescribed visiting hours, like the Hope Diamond or the Federation Charter. You and I both know that's not accurate. Time is fluid, twisting and pinwheeling along until it's nudged in one direction or the other.

DTS has decided that nudging time is bad. But should the past be sacrosanct just because it is the past? There are some things that just aren't supposed to be. I don't mean things on the grand scale, like war or epidemic or flood. I mean things on the human scale, the things that happen to one individual. The big things are going to happen anyway; inertia carries them along. It's the little things that count.

By now you are tapping your finger impatiently against the coffee mug. Get to the point, you are thinking. All right. All right.

I told you that Voyager would be in the Delta Quadrant for 16 years. I told you that by the time it got home, Tuvok was irreversibly mentally ill, a condition that could have been cured in its early stages quite easily if he had only been able to make physical contact with his family. That was true, and it was complete. I have lived with the guilt of that for a very long time. Tuvok was the only one with me when the Caretaker died; he advised against the destruction of the array. If I had listened to him and used the array, we would have been home when he became ill.

I told you that Chakotay and Seven got married and were happy together. I told you that Seven died in his arms. I told you he was never the same after that. All that was also true, but it was quite incomplete. There is much more to that story. It's going to sound a little like a bad holonovel in places, but it's what happened. It's what is going to happen, unless you do something about it.

By our twelfth year in the Delta Quadrant, it was evident to everyone that Seven was carrying a torch for Chakotay. Her expressions, her voice, her whole body language was different when she was near him – and she looked for excuses to be near him. Chakotay was aware of it and at first he shrugged it off as a crush; after all, in terms of social and emotional development, Seven was still a late adolescent. After a year or two, though, he realized that it was more than a simple infatuation. He always treated Seven with great respect and gentleness, but did nothing to take advantage of her.

You probably want to know how things stood between you and him by then. I can answer that in two words: status quo. You both adhered to your resolution to not get romantically involved until the ship was safely home. So you remained friends and companions and confidantes and just about anything that two people could be to one another, except lovers.

Then, one morning in that twelfth year, the Doctor asked to speak with Chakotay and me. He came to the ready room and I knew before he spoke that he had very bad news. I had never seen him so shaken; he seemed to be on the verge of tears. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's Seven," he said, then stopped. He had to take a moment to compose himself. "She's dying, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"What?" I was stunned. Seven had been a little quiet lately, but I hadn't noticed anything else. "What's wrong with her?"

"It's the remaining Borg implants. They are beginning to fail." He shook his head. "My best guess is that they were never intended to operate so long independent of a full Borg cybersystem. Without the feedback from the other components, they are simply wearing out. Regeneration has kept her going this long, but it's not enough any more."

"Can you remove them?" Chakotay asked.

"I'm afraid not. They've taken over several key functions that sustain both her life and her cognitive abilities. If I remove the implants, Seven's body is incapable of supporting itself."

"What about transplants?" I asked. "Or artificial parts?"

"I've attempted to clone organs for her repeatedly over the years. It's proven impossible. I suspect the Borg manipulated her DNA deliberately at the time of her assimilation as a security measure. As for artificial organs -" he shrugged. "There is no mechanical device, at least in our technology, that can replace a brain stem."

I couldn't believe it. Seven had come so far, and accomplished so much, since leaving the Collective. It was monumentally unfair that she should simply die now. "I won't accept this," I said. "I want you to work with B'Elanna. If anyone can begin to understand that technology, she can."

He nodded. "Of course. But you have to understand, Captain, there isn't much time left."

"How much?"

"It's hard to say. Her regeneration cycles will need to increase in frequency and duration. If she sticks to the schedule I give her, then she's got three months, perhaps six. No more, unless Lt. Torres can find a solution."

"Does she know?" Chakotay asked quietly.

The Doctor shook his head again. "No. I – I couldn't bring myself to tell her yet."

"You have to," he said. "It's only fair."

"Besides," I added, seeing how miserable the poor Doctor looked, "perhaps the horse will learn to sing."

"I don't understand."

I waved my hand. "An old folk tale, repeated in some speculative fiction centuries ago. It means that a lot can happen in six months, even something that seems impossible."

Little did I know how truly I spoke.

Seven came to my quarters the next evening. We sat and shared a pot of tea. She was, as usual, perfectly composed although she seemed pale. "I believe the Doctor has shared my prognosis with you."

If she had cried, I would have been able to retain my poise. But her calm acceptance showed so clearly that I felt the sting of tears. "Yes, he did. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am, Seven."

"Your sympathy is unnecessary. Even if I had known that this would be the outcome of being severed from the Collective, my time as an individual has been extraordinary. I do not regret your decision."

I winced inwardly. It was true; it had been my decision to cut her off from the Borg and my decision to prevent her return to them, on more than one occasion. If I had known that individuality meant an early death, would I have been so quick in my judgment? "Thank you," I said. "But we aren't giving up hope. There's time for the Doctor and B'Elanna to come up with a solution."

She smiled sadly. "Luck is irrelevant. Borg implant technology is designed to promote the collective consciousness. I don't believe it can be thwarted without being destroyed. It's all right, Captain. I am resigned to my fate."

Her voice was low but even, and I thought she was terribly brave.

"In the time remaining to me I would like to pursue some interests that I had been deferring. It occurs to me that saving things to do 'later' is no longer an option."

"Of course," I said, grateful that she was taking such a constructive approach. "What do you have in mind?"

"I wish to approach Commander Chakotay about a romantic relationship."

The sip of tea I had just swallowed suddenly shifted to my windpipe and I began to cough. I had fully expected her to say she wanted to study the harp or take up grand prix racing on the holodeck; this caught me completely off-guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"I wish to approach Commander Chakotay about a romantic relationship." She actually blushed. "It is not a secret, I think, that I find him attractive. I had thought to remain silent unless he showed an interest in me, but now – I do not want to die without even trying."

The audacity of the request left me momentarily speechless. After a dozen years together, there were no secrets on Voyager and I had taken it for granted that the crew understood the nature of my friendship with Chakotay. Certainly no one had tried to intrude upon it for years. Seven's open infatuation had not been threatening in the least – until now.

But was it really a threat? Over the years, I'd given every signal I could that Chakotay was free to engage in romantic liaisons and from time to time he had; yet he always came back to me. Or at least, that was how I saw it.

And Seven was dying.

"It's not up to me," I finally said. "That's between you and Commander Chakotay."

"Yes, but I wish your permission to proceed."

Did she know what she was asking of me? At the time I didn't think so. I thought she sought the Captain's consent to pursue a relationship that could be disruptive to a senior officer, or perhaps my personal approval as her surrogate mother or however she saw me.

She was dying, and she was lonely, and she wanted to understand love. How could I say no? "Go ahead, Seven. As I said, this is between you and the Commander."

She smiled gratefully. At least, that's how I remember it.

I didn't warn Chakotay; I wanted him to react honestly, without any influence from me. He called me several hours later and asked if he could come talk to me. It was very late, but he was still in uniform when he came to my quarters. "Do you know what Seven asked me?"

Nodding, I indicated his usual chair and went to the replicator. The situation seemed to call for more than tea or coffee. "Two glasses of dry sherry," I said. "She told me."

He shook his head and dropped into the chair. "I couldn't believe it. I thought she was all over that."

I couldn't help smiling as I handed him his glass. "You're not that easy to get over."

Our eyes met, and he returned the smile.

"What did you say to her?" I asked.

"That I'd think about it. I didn't know what else to say. She was actually humble. I never expected that from her and it threw me."

I think that was what did it. The idea of a humble Seven was so striking that it was almost painful. Staring at the untasted sherry in the glass, I said, "Would it be so hard?"

He stared at me. "What?"

"Would it be so hard? To be romantically involved with Seven?"

The stare narrowed. "I'm not in love with her."

"Perhaps not. Does that mean you couldn't be if you tried?"

Silence. A silence that grew and lengthened. Finally he said, "I can't believe you meant that."

"She's dying, Chakotay. She's dying, and she adores you. It would make her so happy."

He was angry. It showed in the way his whole face shut down. When he seemed as controlled as Tuvok, I knew he was barely managing to hold his feelings in check. He set his glass down and walked out of my cabin without another word.

I didn't sleep much that night. I kept thinking about what I'd said, and how truly unfair it was. What had I been thinking? Even if he were able to put everything else aside, how could I possibly ask him to get involved with someone just because she was dying? How much hurt did I think he could absorb?

By morning, I knew I had to apologize quickly. He missed pre-shift coffee in the mess hall, so I didn't see him again until we were both on the bridge. I asked him to join me in the ready room. "I want to apologize for what I said last night. It was out of line."

He wouldn't look at me. "There's no need. I thought about it later. Seven's done a lot for this crew. We owe her. If I can make her last months happy-" he shrugged.

I sat down, stunned. Somehow I never expected him to agree, and now that he had I wanted to talk him out of it. The irony of my reaction did not escape me. "Well. Have you told her?"

"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first."

Everyone wants my permission, I thought. It felt unfair. "All right. I hope – I hope it all works out."

Only then did he turn to me, his dark eyes saying more with a look than all the words we had spoken in a dozen years. It took my breath away. "Kathryn."

"I'm not going anywhere." My voice was low and rusty, and the words scraped against the sudden lump in my throat.

And so began the courtship of Seven of Nine.

I tried not to follow it too closely, but it was impossible to ignore completely. The ship's grapevine held no other topic for weeks after their first date, and the betting pools saw more action than they had in years over whether, and when Voyager's newest couple would "do the deed."

I didn't need the betting pools to know when it happened. Seven reported for duty with an expression of smugness that was ineffably different from her normal aloofness, and Chakotay wouldn't look at me at all.

I kept telling myself that the important thing was that Seven was happy.

After two months, Chakotay called me late one evening and asked if he could come talk to me. This time I wasn't expecting it; since he started seeing Seven, all of his off-duty time had been devoted to her. It was almost pathetic, how glad I was that he called. I had missed him.

He looked almost haunted when he came in. Instead of sitting, he began to pace. I sat and waited, knowing he would tell me what was bothering him when he was ready.

"She wants to get married," he said.

If a passing fairy waved a magic wand and turned me in a statue, I could not have been any more cold or still.

"Did you hear me? She wants to get married."

I wet my lips; they had dried in an instant. "And you?"

He had stopped in a pocket of shadow and I couldn't quite see his face. "She's dying."

"Ah."

"It would make her happy."

I hoped that he couldn't see me any better than I could see him. "I'm sure it would."

"She's really very sweet, you know."

"I'm sure of it."

"Will you marry us?"

I meant to say, I was going to say, "Are you asking?" but instead I heard my voice say, "Do you love her?"

The words hung in the air like thunder in early spring. I should have apologized, I should have retracted them. I didn't.

Finally he said, "In a way."

He was so honest, that man. It was his greatest virtue and his greatest flaw. I wish he could have lied to me once in a while. I rose and we stood like that for a long moment, meters apart and neither of us trying to close the gap. "Tell me when," I said at last, and went into my bedroom.

I didn't hear him leave.

The ceremony was a week later. Celes and Naomi put together a party that would have done Neelix proud. We all gathered in the holodeck, programmed to resemble a village of Chakotay's people on Earth, and he and Seven repeated the vows of his tribe. Then, just to assure the legality, I added the required words granting the blessing of the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet Command.

Seven positively glowed with happiness. She had never looked so lovely. She kissed me on the cheek and thanked me for giving her so much joy.

Chakotay was solemn throughout the ceremony, but his attention was focused on his bride. Once my part was over, I stayed as far away from the happy couple as I could.

I wasn't the only one. As I lurked under a small stand of trees, wondering when I could leave without causing gossip, B'Elanna came over. "Well," she said conversationally, "Seven got her way again."

"That's not very kind," I said, but mildly.

"It wasn't meant to be." She watched Seven feed Chakotay a piece of cheese and grimaced. "Haven't you noticed that Seven always gets what she wants? She always has, ever since she came on board."

"She's dying, B'Elanna."

"We're all dying. It's inevitable. Is that how she did it? Is that how she got you to stand by and nod like you're happy about this?" She turned now and her eyes began to flash. "She made you feel guilty, didn't she? Poor Seven, disconnected from the Collective against her will and now she's dying because of it."

With an inelegant snort, she turned aside. "That conniving bitch."

I should have chastened her, but something she said struck a chord. "Are you saying she planned this? She is dying, isn't she?"

"There is a problem with her implants. Will it kill her? Eventually. Next month? I doubt it. Did she plan this?" She looked again at the bride. "I'd bet a year's rations on it."

"You're wrong," I said, but in my heart I wondered. I wondered.

Something happened the next month. Rather, nothing happened. Seven didn't die.

And she didn't die the next month, or the next. Or the next.

Finally I asked the Doctor about it. "I have to admit," he said, "I am somewhat baffled. Pleased, but baffled. Her implants seem to have stabilized. I think we've hit upon the right regeneration cycle."

I don't remember what I said after that. I just remember leaving Sickbay thinking that Seven had known all along. Of course, that was silly, I told myself; she had believed she was dying just as we did.

Of course she did.

A few days later, when Seven was regenerating, Chakotay and I ran into each other in the mess hall. It was after hours and no one should have been there. I was a frequent visitor on nights that I couldn't sleep. "Want some company?" he asked.

I gestured to the chair opposite me. "Be my guest."

He sat, and I had a sudden flashback. That was where Neelix sat when he decided to leave the ship. I was suddenly fearful that Chakotay was going to tell me the same thing, that he and Seven were going to settle somewhere.

We sat silently for a little bit. In the past we had often shared companionable silences but this was the first time in a long time, and it felt awkward. Finally he said, "I miss Neelix."

"I was just thinking the same thing. He and I used to have some fine conversations just like this, right here."

"Sometimes I think he was our ship's counselor. You could talk to him about anything."

I nodded. He seemed uncomfortable. "What's wrong, Chakotay?"

"She's not going to die."

"I know."

There was another long silence before he said, "Maybe I shouldn't be here."

"I thought we were friends."

"We are. But …but I need to talk to my Captain now, not my friend."

I straightened. In all our years together, it was the first time he had ever said such a thing. "All right, Commander. The Captain is listening."

He straightened as well, as if a degree of formality between us made it easier for him. "We didn't intend for this to happen, but Seven and I have created a neural link between us. In essence, we're a collective of two."

I'm sure I blinked. Chakotay was one of the most courageous men I have ever known, but his greatest fear was losing control of his mind. It was hard to fathom that he could sit so calmly and tell me that he had surrendered any degree of control. "I'm afraid I don't understand. How could this happen?"

He flushed. "It was an accident. Seven forgot herself during … an intimate moment and injected me with nanoprobes."

I held up a hand. "Thank you, Commander. That will suffice." She'd tried to assimilate him during sex. That image was not one I needed. It's stayed with me a long time.

"It's happened more than once," he went on. "The result is a kind of telepathic link. I can hear her thoughts now, when she wants me to. And she can hear mine, when I want her to. I thought that as Captain, you needed to know that."

Actually, it explained a lot. Lately, I had noticed that Chakotay would chuckle to himself for no apparent reason and once he had excused himself from the bridge rather hastily, his face as dark as it was that moment. In retrospect, I suspect his wife made a rather explicit suggestion. She has never been one for subtlety.

He went on, "I think it may be one of the reasons that her condition has stopped deteriorating. The feedback from our link seems to be enough for the implants."

"How fortunate," I murmured. I was thinking of Riley Frazier, of Tuvok and T'Pel. An open telepathic link during sexual contact was the ultimate fantasy, the pinnacle of giving and sharing pleasure. He would never leave her now. "The sex must be terrific."

His eyes widened slightly, and I was horrified to realize I had spoken out loud, and with a good deal of sarcasm. "My apologies, Commander. That was out of line."

"Kathryn-"

I stood. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Commander. Although it is an unexpected development, I trust it will not interfere with your duties in any way. If there is nothing else, I believe I will retire now."

Retire? I ran. Not literally, not until I was out of the mess hall, but then I jogged to the turbolift and then to my quarters. I was so damned angry I had to do something to work off the energy.

That's right, I wasn't hurt, I was angry. Because I knew, I knew with absolute certainty, that nothing about it had been accidental. Seven had planned it all, every step of the way. In retrospect, I can't be sure of that. But I am sure of this: from that moment forward, I never trusted her again.

We found a new rhythm on Voyager as relationships sorted themselves out. After a period of tension, Chakotay and I found our way back to friendship. Seven still had to regenerate for extensive periods once a week, and during those times we would have dinner together like the old days. Neither of us mentioned his wife during those occasions, except for one time, just one time.

I don't remember what set us off, but we were laughing uncontrollably about something. My sides hurt from it, and he wiped away a tear. "That feels so good," he gasped. "I haven't laughed like that in ages. Seven doesn't understand my sense of humor."

That was all. The laughter died in my throat at this first glimpse of a chink in paradise, but I set it aside. I am, after all, a noble captain who never put her own desires ahead of the welfare of her crew.

Do I sound bitter? Then pay attention.

It was just before their first anniversary – actually, our 5000^th day in the Delta Quadrant - that Seven went on an away mission. Thank whatever gods may be, I did not send her. That guilt would have been just a little too much. Actually, it was Tuvok who suggested that she go. The decision was probably an early symptom of his illness, but at the time we didn't realize that. We sent Seven and Harry to negotiate with a race that had been decimated by the Borg. The government was a military dictatorship, and the Governor General did not take kindly to the presence of a former drone. The Flyer barely got away, and Harry barely got Seven back to Voyager alive.

The most horrible aspect of it all was the Seven began communicating with Chakotay as soon as she was injured. He sat beside me on the bridge, silent and sweating with the effort of holding back screams of pain. Once, I urged him to go to Sickbay, but his only response was to look at me. Even though there was no link between us, I knew him well enough to interpret that look: he wanted to stay on the bridge. He could maintain control there. In Sickbay, where the pressure of duty was lessened, he could not – and he needed to be in control. I think he was keeping Seven alive.

For 5000 days I had sat beside that man. When he reached for my hand, I gave it to him. He clutched it so tightly that he broke a dozen bones. It didn't matter. The pain he was experiencing was worse, far worse, than the burning in my hand. His soul was in agony but had no way to vent itself.

When the Flyer returned, he did not ask permission; he simply let go of me and ran off the bridge. I could not rebuke him, not then and not in my logs. How could I? He was suffering as Seven was suffering.

If it had been her alone, I would have been less compassionate. I think… I think I would have thought it was what she deserved.

He arrived in Sickbay in time to hold her, to share a thought with her, before she died. And she grabbed on to his mind and gripped as if he could prevent her death. Some might say it was an act of desperate love. I am not among them.

When she died, I was standing about one side of the biobed, watching Chakotay's tear-streaked face as he held her. Then Seven's eyes opened abruptly and she stared up at me over his shoulder. She knew me, I'm sure of it, and I'm also sure that there was a cold triumph in her eyes. Then she lifted one hand, her Borg hand, and the assimilation tubules snaked out and pierced his neck.

She collapsed entirely then, as if the effort had required all her strength, and her eyes closed. Barely a second later, Chakotay, too, pitched forward, still clutching her.

The Doctor and I leaped forward at the same time. He was focused entirely on Seven. "She's dead," he said brokenly.

"What about Chakotay?" I demanded, pulling him away from her as if physical proximity were a factor.

Since the Doctor the seemed incapacitated, Paris hurried over. "He's alive," he said after a quick scan. "Help me get him over here."

Together we dragged him to another biobed, and it wasn't easy; Chakotay was completely unconscious and a dead weight. I stepped back to let Tom work.

"He's full of nanoprobes," Tom said, frowning. "Literally millions of them. They're clustering in the cerebral cortex and the hippocampus."

I felt a shiver of déjà vu. Years ago, when we first encountered Species 8472, they had hyperstimulated areas of Kes's brain to enhance her telepathic abilities. My throat constricted. "Tom. Chakotay told me about this. He said he and Seven were a collective of two. Could his consciousness be connected to hers now?"

He looked surprised, then checked his scanner again. "Doc," he said, and there was urgency in his voice. "Doc, I need you."

The Doctor was smoothing hair from Seven's face. "Yes, Mr. Paris?"

"You need to look at this."

"What?"

"Doctor." I used my command voice, and it got through to him. "You have another patient."

He hurried over then, and looked at the readings. He frowned, and then the frown deepened. "Excuse us, Captain, we need to run some tests."

I moved out of the way and waited. Fully engaged now, the Doctor began giving Tom instructions and they ran one diagnostic exam after another. After a while, I returned to the biobed where Seven's body lay. Even lifeless, she was beautiful; despite her injuries, her face was unmarked. She looked peaceful, I thought, peaceful and content.

That was when I realized that she had died smiling.

It was nearly two days before Chakotay regained consciousness. By then the Doctor had a theory as to the function of the nanoprobes, but it could not be confirmed without speaking with him. Just by luck, I was there when he awoke.

I had stopped by for an update and quick visit, and was standing beside him when I spotted movement beneath his eyelids, the kind you see in REM sleep. "Doctor," I called, leaning forward to be certain of what I was seeing. It was the first movement of any kind, apart from autonomic responses, he had made since the moment of Seven's death.

Before the Doctor arrived, his eyes opened. "Hello," I said softly.

He looked at me, and after a moment that caused my heart to quake, he seemed to recognize me. "What happened?"

"It's a long story," I said. The Doctor had arrived and was checking him over. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I…I was holding Seven," he said slowly. "She was dying."

"Yes."

"Where is she?"

As gently as I could, I said, "I'm sorry, Chakotay. She died."

"No," he said with surprising calm. "She's not dead. I can hear her. Where is she?"

The Doctor looked at me, his theory confirmed. "I'm afraid she is indeed dead, Commander. But you probably are experiencing something that seems like she's talking to you. We believe she injected you with nanoprobes carrying memory engrams just before she died."

His eyes widened with disbelief, then seemed to lose focus. "She says it was more than just memory. She downloaded all of the data from her cortical node. She says … she says her body may be dead, but her consciousness is right here."

Then his eyes squinched shut. "Be quiet. I can't think." Then, "It's not the same. I don't want you there, not like this." He looked again at the Doctor. "You have to do something. She's in my mind. It's not like before. She wants control."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said. "The nanoprobes have become too integrated into your brain functions. If I try to remove them, you'll suffer permanent brain damage at the very least."

"Get them out!" he shouted, sitting up and grabbing the Doctor's tunic. "I don't care, get them out."

Without blinking a holographic eye, the Doctor administered a hypospray and sedated him.

Over the next few days it became apparent that Seven and Chakotay could not co-exist peacefully in the same brain. Perhaps her fear of death was equal to his fear of losing control of his mind. He continued to beg for the removal of the nanoprobes, and finally, convinced that he had the right to make that choice, I ordered the Doctor to try.

The rest of the story doesn't take long. The Doctor was able to remove about half of the nanoprobes. That wasn't enough to eradicate Seven's presence, but apparently it was enough to let Chakotay control it. The surgery was long and delicate, and did result in some permanent damage. After the surgery, Chakotay had some memory gaps and was never able to work up a great passion about anything. His emotions narrowed to a small range - anxiety instead of fear, distaste instead of hatred, contentment instead of joy, regret instead of sorrow, affection instead of love.

There was a certain amount of irony involved in watching Tuvok gradually lose his control and logic as Chakotay became almost emotionless. And the hardest part for me was that neither of them realized anything had changed.

After we got back to the Alpha Quadrant, Chakotay resigned from Starfleet. He took up residence on a new colony begun by the survivors of his tribe and I remained on Earth. We stayed in touch and visited as frequently as we could, but it wasn't long before he died. I'm told that towards the end, he was observed talking to himself frequently and they said he heard voices no one else did. His death was called an accident, but I have always wondered if the voice of Seven hadn't begun to assert itself again. He would have preferred to end his life rather than live like that.

There was never anyone else of significance for me. I've had lovers when I wanted them, but no one who ever touched me deeply again. I don't know if that was my fault or just fate.

That's the whole story. I admit, I am ascribing emotions to Seven based entirely on my subjective memories. Perhaps I am being unfair to her.

But I don't think so.

So, Captain Janeway, are you going to let that happen? Because it will unless you do something to pre-empt it, it will happen just the way I said. You'll have the pain of watching your two best friends deteriorate into shadows of themselves only this time you'll know – you'll know – that you could have prevented it. If you think you've felt guilty over the Delta Quadrant, just wait.

Believe me, I know. Why do you think I didn't hesitate to steal the temporal transmitter when I learned of it? Why do you think I violated the Temporal Prime Directive without thinking twice? The guilt of watching Tuvok and Chakotay slip away, thinking that somehow I should have been able to prevent it is what motivated me. It's not nobility, it's not loyalty, hell, it's not even because I think that if the ship gets home in the seventh year I'll wind up happy ever after.

I just can't live with the guilt any more. And I don't think you can, either.

Do something, Captain. Do something now that will change their lives, and your own in the bargain. If you can't get them home in time, at least take a chance with Chakotay. Otherwise, when you're my age all you'll have will be memories of being alone and watching other people be happy. Don't let that happen again.

Sincerely,

Admiral Kathryn M. Janeway