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catholiccom-blog · 8 years ago

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Catholic Publishing: A Game for Suckers

It’s a typical morning at Sophia Institute Press headquarters. Panting from my daily hike up the six flights of worn and uneven stairs that lead to our warehouse and office space—the penthouse suite of a semi-renovated nineteenth-century mill—I reach my desk and turn on the computer. Five new intra-office e-mails greet me, which can mean only one thing: publisher, marketing, and editorial (me) are still fighting over a book title. Past title wars are the stuff of legend around here, and this one has all the earmarks of becoming one for the annals. The author of this particular book, about Catholic family life, supplied his own title, but it never won any backers on our end. Now the manuscript is almost ready to go, but the lack of a title is holding up the works: copyright paperwork, cover art, prepublication promotion, all dependent on the final title. We thought we’d hit on a good one a few weeks ago, but it didn’t stick. After that we’d brainstorm sporadically—in impromptu meetings, via e-mail, over the water cooler. But we got no closer, and the latest messages on my computer don’t contain any breakthroughs. So this morning we gather in one room, close the door, and instruct warehouse staff not to let us out until we’ve picked a title or died trying. Publisher suggests a title that plays on the name of a fifties Beat Generation poem. "Wrong audience," replies marketing. "This book is written specifically for people who’ve never heard of Kerouac." He counters with a punchy two-worder taken from a theme in the book’s introduction. Now it’s publisher’s turn to object. "A short title would allow you to have nice big letters on the spine," he concedes, "but this one doesn’t really tell you what the book is about. It could be Catholic family life, or it could be Oprah’s latest diet book." I step into the breach with a particularly snappy title that came to me that morning as I was brushing my teeth. There’s a pause."That’s just stupid," publisher and marketing say together. And so it goes. Eventually we do break for lunch and attend to other matters. I wrestle with some editing for an hour. I send off another futile e-mail to a writer who took an advance from us then went incommunicado. I peck away at the mountain of proposals and unsolicited manuscripts on the desk behind me. The day is slipping away, and we still have this poor little book without a name. Then, later that afternoon, I wander past publisher’s desk. Why, I ask, couldn’t we pull a key adjective out of a subtitle that he’d tried unsuccessfully to mate with an early main-title prototype and add it to marketing’s short, punchy suggestion? That would sufficiently identify it for our readers, and the rest of the subtitle would slide in quite neatly—even euphoniously—behind it. He types it on the screen, and we both stare as if in a trance. The tumblers in our brains begin to click in unison. "I like it if you like it," publisher says finally. "Seriously, do you like it?" I say I do. We buzz over to marketing. He likes it if we like it. We have a title. Send up the white smoke. I get home that evening, and my wife asks me how I can look so ragged and beaten when all I do is read books all day. * * * The fact is that such contests of intellect and will aren’t the only.aspects of this business that gray the hairs and angry up the blood. Catholic publishing is a game for suckers. There’s no glamour in it. No wining and dining of authors, no junkets to exotic locales to scout new writing talent. My business card is not a ticket to free upgrades and courtside seats. Our sales goals are modest. Catholics do not read religious books in significant numbers anymore—excepting turgid novels about Vatican conspiracies or the end times. Five thousand copies of a title sold in a year is a successful run for us; this past summer The Da Vinci Code routinely would triple that number on a bad day. And yet, we wouldn’t publish the next Da Vinci even if it fell in our laps. Like many other Catholic publishers, we are a hybrid of business and apostolate, constantly striving to balance the twin goals of building up the kingdom of God and making enough money to pay the printers, the electric company, and the staff. Another Da Vinci might make us rich beyond dreams of avarice but at the cost of betraying the apostolate and its aims. But trying to sell large numbers of sound, orthodox Catholic books today is at best a dubious business proposition. We’re offering a product that few people want and most don’t realize they need. Not long ago, I helped man a table full of our best-selling books at a fundraising fair for my fairly active, solid, middle-class parish. We had a prominent location in "Ministry Alley" and a large sign announcing that 100 percent of the profits would go to the parish’s Respect Life group. After two days, thousands of passers-by, and hours of shameless hawking, we sold a grand total of two books. If this episode is by itself not proof of much, it is at least suitably iconic. Our market is a niche, and that niche comprises only a sliver of the millions of Catholics sitting in the pews—or for that matter, teaching CCD, attending Bible study, and baking muffins for the women’s sodality. Blame the many distractions of the modern media if you want, blame the catechetical vacuum of the last forty years, blame the Freemasons: Catholics aren’t reading. The market for good Catholic books of spirituality, apologetics, and popular theology—again, we’re not talking Andrew Greeley or The Prayer of Jabezhere—is by all comparisons tiny. (For the next fundraiser, the Respect Life group offered boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts as the Boy Scouts did. They sold out in two hours.) * * * Of course, a generation or three ago, when the Church in America had really come into its own, the English-speaking world enjoyed an unprecedented richness of Catholic books. It was love for those fine old books and a desire to re-introduce them to a modern audience that would lead former philosophy professor John Barger, in 1983, to set up Sophia Institute Press in his basement in Manchester, New Hampshire. Beginning with Dietrich von Hildebrand’s Marriage: The Mystery of Faithful Love, Barger and Sophia would go on to develop a reputation for resurrecting forgotten Catholic classics: hunting down forgotten works of theology, philosophy, and spirituality, and then, most importantly, editing them to modern standards of readability. New titles, contemporary fonts and layout design, and attractive covers typically complete the resurrection. In recent years, Sophia began adding to its catalogue new books by living authors, and today roughly a third of the twenty-four-some books we publish each year are new titles by current authors. In 1993, the company moved from the publisher’s basement to its current riverside offices in one of Manchester’s many converted textile mills. No longer a one-man operation, today we’d be considered a small-midsize publishing house, subsisting on just over $1 million in sales and another $150,000 in benefactor donations each year. As editor, I am primarily responsible for acquisitions and editing tasks: from evaluating proposals and manuscripts (and writing polite rejections to well-meaning folks who send us stuff like Thoughts and Meditations on God, Volume One) to working with authors to fine-tune their concepts and prettify their prose. During every stage of developing a manuscript for publication, I try to keep one question before me at all times: What about this book would compel someone to pick it up? In many ways, the evolution of a book works backwards: from the sale to marketing efforts to at least an initial vision of the cover and title and then finally to the concept and the text. Beginning with the end in mind keeps us ever-conscious of the needs and wishes of the members of our niche market. Staying true to our dual identity as business and apostolate—striving to give our audience what they want as consumers yet what they need as Catholics—sometimes calls for tricky balancing acts and strategic compromises. Although most members of our orthodox and socially conservative Catholic readership probably wouldn’t be too tempted by Greeley-style schlock or another Left Behind clone, in our market there are other types of books that might sell but nonetheless would be illicit for us to publish. We might be able, for instance, to sell large numbers of books harshly and uncharitably indicting certain bishops—say, the liberals or the homosexual/pedophile coddlers. With other readers we might have great success peddling sensationalistic accounts of the latest reported private revelations. But we couldn’t do these things while remaining faithful to our mission and principles. So when considering manuscripts our calculation doesn’t end (as it would for a strictly business publisher) with what the audience wants—that is, what would sell. We have to ask ourselves: What good will this do the Church? On the other hand, neither can the question of our readers’ spiritual needs be the sole criterion. Many an unsolicited manuscript has landed on my desk topped with a cover letter announcing that every Catholic in America needs to read this book! Embedded in each is some message guaranteed to make the reader happier, holier, and closer to God. They can be rich in Scripture, steeped in the wisdom of the early Church Fathers, and suffused with the piety and sincerity of the author. And we’d be lucky, in a year, to sell enough to pay the initial printing costs. If most people had the intellectual clarity to know just what they needed and then the supernatural integrity to want it, we wouldn’t have an out-of-print list filled with so many wise, edifying, and unsalable books. As it is, our business, like all others, is subject to the ravages of original sin. And so our challenge is to fulfill the mission of our apostolate by publishing books that Catholics need to read—books that will help them better to know, love, and serve God—packaged and presented in way that will make Catholics want to read them. This helps us sell enough books to support the business, and it also further serves the goals of the apostolate: If we publish good Catholic books that almost no one will buy and read, we’re just hiding our light under a bushel. But "spiritually beneficial" and "compelling to the buyer" still aren’t enough. In addition to these qualities, we look for manuscripts that are unique in some way. Until some enterprising author discovers a fourth person of the Trinity, there will be precious little new under the sun in Catholic publishing. Why should a Catholic bookstore browser buy this book on the rosary and not one of the hundred others that have come before it? How is this Defense of the Catholic Faith or that Learn How to Pray Better going to stand out on shelves and in catalogues stuffed with dozens of similar titles? Show an editor something really and truly different, and you will have caught his attention. (Although, sometimes we get proposals for books so different they border on—or cross over to—the downright bizarre.) Sophia founder and publisher John Barger is fond of reminding us that a new book is published every three minutes, around the clock. If our books can’t distinguish themselves in the overcrowded marketplace, if they can’t offer readers unique and compelling benefits, then both the business and the apostolate are likely to fail. * * * Of course, as editor you can pore over a manuscript and subject it to every test. You can deem it unique, compelling, and beneficial beyond question. You can read the market perfectly. You can slap on an inspired title and an arresting cover. You can publish it with fanfare—only to watch it flop spectacularly. In a couple of years, all those leftover copies of the book you thought would change the world will be turned into fireplace starter logs and blown insulation. In fact, some of our most notable failures have been books we were high on at printing time, books that I still consider among the best I’ve edited. A year and a half ago, for example, we published Adventures in Orthodoxy, a delightful Chestertonian waltz through the articles of the Creed, written by popular convert-apologist (and This Rock contributor) Dwight Longenecker. Never dull and at times brilliant, it was written with more stylistic flair than any manuscript that’s ever made its way out of my office. Beneficial spiritual insights galore. Unique? Show me another book like it. We gave it what we thought was a provocative cover—featuring an Indiana Jones-like explorer reaching to open the door of a church—and turned it loose on the masses. The masses shrugged. Why? Did we misjudge our modern Catholic audience’s appetite for the whimsical religious essays of a Chesterton-lite? Did we fail to promote it adequately? Or could it have been the title or the cover? In the past we’ve been able to turn some flops (or at least sleepy sellers) into hits by reprinting them with new looks and names. Perhaps a similar treatment someday will give Longenecker’s book the success it deserves. Conversely (and happily), sometimes the hundred-to-one shot gallops home; the stone that the builders rejected, as P. G. Wodehouse put it, becomes the main thing. That is, a book for which we had only modest hopes turns into a bona fide hit. Such has been the case just recently with A Mother’s Rule of Life by Holly Pierlot. We saw in it a fine little book that borrows from the wisdom of religious life to help Catholic moms organize their households and fulfill their vocations as wives and mothers. But we never reckoned on the rave responses it would receive from readers and the extensive word-of-mouth promotion among Catholic mothers’ groups and homeschoolers that would drive it to the top of our bestseller lists. It has opened our eyes to one of the hottest genres in our niche market: what one observer has dubbed "mom lit." Currently we are striking out for the first time in the direction of original children’s fiction. Children’s books are reliable sellers, and the word from bookstores is that Catholic parents continue to ask for kids’ books that are unambiguously Catholic and catechetical yet entertaining. We’ll take our first few tentative steps into this market later this year and next, and their success or failure will help guide future decisions. I for one am guardedly hopeful, if only because it would make my job easier. Half, if not more, of the proposals and manuscripts I receive are for children’s books! * * * Through all the unexpected hits and misses, notwithstanding every failure of our best-laid plans, we try to stay positive. Catholic publishing is a game for suckers, and that’s a relief—it means that our bottom line isn’t to be found on the sales sheet. It means we can hope for incalculable profits. We do work hard to focus our resources, talents, and experiences shrewdly and wisely; we do try all we can to jigger the game in a way that we believe will increase our odds for success. But in the end, it’s God’s work, and doing God’s work means recalibrating your measure of success. What began as one man’s labor of love has become an entire company’s daily act of faith.

#Catholic Answers #Todd Aglialoro #Sophia Institute Press #John Barger #Catholic Answers Press #Catholic Book Publishing

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voyagerafod · 8 years ago

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Star Trek Voyager: A Fire of Devotion: Part 1 of 4: Louder Than Sirens: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Seven of Nine awoke from her regeneration cycle to find herself alone. It took a moment’s reorientation to remember that Samantha had gone to bed early last night because she had a bridge shift this morning. Seven remembered that she had a scheduled maintenance inspection of the aft sensor array, and that Ensign Kim was supposed to assist her. “Computer, locate Ensign Kim,” she said. “Ensign Kim is in the mess hall,” the computer responded. Seven exited the cargo bay and headed towards the mess hall to meet with Harry.

When she arrived, she found Harry playing the Vulcan game of kal-toh with Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, a weekly occurrence. She looked at the game and saw that Harry was only one move away from winning, but from the way he was looking at it, she could tell he didn’t see it.

She wondered if Harry had found time to practice the game at any point during his year in an alternate timeline. “Seven,” Harry said. “You’re early.” “Seventeen minutes to be precise,” Seven said, wondering how Harry knew she was there without looking in her direction. “I allotted extra time for our task today to allow time for reading a text the Doctor recommended to me.”

“Good, good,” Harry said, still not taking his eyes off the game. “Care to take a seat? I think this is the closest I’ve ever come to beating this thing.” “Very well,” Seven said, wondering if Harry knew just how correct he was. She had to admit, she respected his ability to have gotten so far. From what she knew of the game, very few humans were capable of winning.

After a few more moments, Harry sighed. “Damn. I concede. Well played Commander,” he said. Tuvok raised an eyebrow.

“Ensign Kim, are you certain you wish to forfeit at this moment?” Tuvok said.

“Yeah. I’ve been looking at this one piece for what feels like forever, I’m just not getting it,” Harry said.

“‘Forever, as you call it, has only been three and a half minutes,” Tuvok said. “May I?” Seven said, holding out her hand, palm up to Harry. Harry looked at her, then at the kal-toh piece in his hand. He shrugged, then handed it to her. “You were in fact very close Ensign. if you look right-” The ship suddenly shuddered. It was subtle, several people in the mess hall didn’t seem to notice it right away, and the game was unaffected. “What was that?” Harry said.

Seven noticed out the viewports that the stars that had been streaking by before were suddenly still. “We have dropped out of warp,” she said.

---

Less than an hour later, at the request of Commander Chakotay, Seven was in engineering with Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres. “Any idea what this is about?” Tom said. “I believe the Commander will inform us when he arrives,” Seven said, the doors to engineering opening and Commander Chakotay coming through as soon as she said it.

Chakotay dispensed with any form of greeting, and quickly got to the point.“I’ve been informed,” he said, “that we’ll be undertaking a highly classified mission. Captain’s order are that information will be given out on a need-to-know basis.” “Classified? By who?” Tom said. “”By whom,” Seven reflexively corrected. She winced. “My apologies, that was unnecessary.” “You know Seven, just because you’re dating a parent-” B’Elanna started to say, but Chakotay cut her off. “Focus people. B’Elanna, the captain wants you to install multiphasic shielding around the warp core by 1100 hours.”

B’Elanna scoffed. “Less than five hours? Can’t be done,” she said. “The Captain wants it done,” Chakotay said. “at any cost. Go around any safety measures if you have to. Those are her orders.”

“Are we attempting to protect the core from some form of subspace radiation?” Seven said.

“I know about as much as you do,” Chakotay said, as he handed a PADD to Tom. “Tom, start modifying a shuttlecraft to withstand extreme thermal stress; 12,000 kelvins at least.”

“Aye sir,” Tom said. “Does this have anything to do with that secret message the Captain got?” B’Elanna said. “Rumor has it the captain’s been locked in her ready room since we dropped out of warp.” “Close,” Tom said. “She did come on to the bridge after we dropped out of warp and we got that omega symbol on all our screens.” “Omega?” Seven said. That’s what dropped us out of warp, she thought. There‘s an omega particle near-by. That means the captain is implementing the Omega Directive.

“It’s an old Earth symbol,” Chakotay said. “From the-”

“Greek alphabet yes,” Seven said. “Commander, I need to speak-” “With the captain?” Chakotay said. “Funny, she wanted me to send you her way. Whatever’s going on, I can’t ask. And you two,” Chakotay looked back and forth between Tom and B’Elanna, “no gossip. Focus on the tasks at hand. I’m sympathetic, I’m curious about all this myself, but Captain Janeway was very adamant about all this.”

---

On her way to see the Captain, Seven bumped into Samantha Wildman, almost literally. Her mind was so consumed with shameless excitement, an unusual emotion for her. The prospect of actually seeing an Omega particle with her own eyes... “Honey, where’s the fire?” Samantha said. “What?” Seven said. “An expression. You looked like you were in a hurry.” “I am, actually. The Captain wishes to speak with me.” “Is this about the shockwave that dropped us out of warp earlier today?” Samantha said. “I was on the bridge when it happened. Still not sure what it was, or why the computer decided to get all cloak and dagger on us.” “It’s part of the Omega Directive,” Seven said, flinching after she said so. In her excitement she had completely forgotten that Samantha, not being a Captain, would likely have never heard of it. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, please disregard.” “Passing classified information huh?” Samantha said with a smirk. “Don’t worry. You know how well I can keep a secret. Have fun with your classified mission,” she added before giving Seven a kiss on the cheek. Seven sighed. Classified, she thought. For now at least. Seven finally reached the Captain’s ready room.

“Come in,” Janeway’s voice said.

As soon as the doors closed behind Seven, Janeway immediately got to the reason she asked for her. "How much do you know about Omega?" she asked.

“As much as you do,” Seven said, grateful for the Captain’s directness. “Most likely that is.” “I thought as much,” Janeway said. “The Borg have assimilated Starfleet captains, it's not surprising that you would have at least some of their knowledge.”

“An accurate assessment,” Seven said. “Do you intend to carry out the directive?” “I do.” Seven felt her heart actually skip a beat in a way it hadn’t since Samantha had said “I love you” on the holodeck months prior. “Then you have found an omega particle,” Seven said, not caring in that moment if the captain could see her excitement.

“Ship’s sensors have, yes,” Janeway said. “The directive forbids me from speaking about Omega or what it concerns to any member of the crew. But, since you already know about it, you have two options. Help me, or I will confine you to the cargo bay until the particle has been destroyed.” “The latter then Captain,” Seven said without hesitation. “I refuse to aid in the destruction of Omega. It should be harnessed, not destroyed.”

“Harnessing Omega is impossible,” Janeway said. “The Collective believes otherwise. While I was a drone, the Borg did manage to stabilize a single Omega particle for one-trillionth of a nanosecond. The experiment allowed them to refine their theories about how to permanently stabilize it.” “I’m not impressed. One-trillionth of a nanosecond? A blink of an eye is a human’s lifetime compared to that. And what, may I ask, did this little experiment cost the Borg when they tried it?”

Seven looked to the side, not wanting to look Janeway in the eye, afraid the Captain would see the embarrassment in her own.

“Twenty-nine vessels, and 600,000 drones,” she said. Janeway crossed her arms. Seven continued. “And we, they, lacked enough boronite ore to create another.”

“Sorry,” Janeway said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t. “If someone out there is experimenting with Omega my orders are to stop them. Whoever is experimenting with it is putting this whole quadrant at risk.” “Captain, you must understand. As a drone, I only ever had one primary desire; perfection. Like all Borg. But, there was another. It’s as close to selfishness as I or any drone could’ve gotten. I want to see an Omega particle. Firsthand.” Seven closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I will assist you,” she said. “You will?” Janeway said, sounding surprised. “But just a few seconds ago you were-” “I still contend that Omega can be harnessed. But even if I cannot convince you to try, I can at least fulfill that desire to observe it through more than just a mere simulation. I will not deny myself that experience. Omega is infinitely complex, yet harmonious. To the Borg it represents perfection. I wish to understand that perfection.” Janeway nodded, her facial expression showing that she at least believed she understood where Seven was coming from. “Report back to your cargo bay,” she said. “assemble everything you have on Omega, then come back in one hour. You are not to discuss this matter with anyone. Especially Sam. That is an order.” “Yes Captain,” Seven said.

---

The next morning, Janeway entered the cargo bay. Seven had been running analysis on the data obtained from the shockwave that had hit them yesterday, even putting off lunch with Samantha to do so. Seven regretted the necessity of it, but due in part to the failure of the command staff to fully stop the ship’s rumor mill, Samantha understood that it had something to do with the classified mission Seven was brought it on by the Captain. If anything, far from being upset Samantha seemed to find the matter rather exciting, despite the fact that Seven was literally not allowed to tell her anything about it.

“Captain,” Seven said before Janeway could ask her any questions. “Upon further examination, it would appear that we are dealing with more than one Omega particle.” “What?” Janeway said in a shocked tone of voice.

“Possibly hundreds, within a radius of ten light years from our current position.” “That’s worse than I thought,” Janeway said. “Captain,” Seven said, knowing that the Captain was not going to like what she was about to say next. “I do not believe that the two of us are capable of completing this task alone. We will require the resources of the entire crew.”

“Transfer your data to the astrometrics lab,” Janeway said after a moment's pause, giving no indication that she had heard what Seven had said to her. “I’ll work on it there.”

“Captain,” Seven said. “Given the nature of the situation, there’s a distinct possibility that if we fail in our mission, we will be destroyed in the process. We must tell the crew something, even if it is a falsehood, in order to keep them from endangering themselves on a rescue mission.” “I’m working on that already. I’ll talk to Commander Chakotay, he’ll be given explicit instructions.”

“And what should I tell Sam?” Seven said, the sentence coming out of her mouth with more invective behind it than she’d intended, betraying her bitterness at the situation. Janeway sighed. “Samantha is a Starfleet officer. She knew when she signed up there were risks. She knows every time a crew member leaves this ship there’s a chance they won’t be coming back. You can’t dwell on that, Seven. When we’re out there I’ll need your undivided attention on the task at hand.” “I will perform my duties to the fullest of my abilities Captain,” Seven said. “I simply believe that as her romantic partner, she has the right to know about the circumstances of my death should that be the case.” “I don’t have time for this argument Seven,” Janeway said. “You are not allowed to divulge any details about the Omega Directive, or the omega particle. Beyond that, tell her whatever you think will make you feel better.” “It’s not my well-being I am concerned with Captain, it’s my girlfriend and her child I’m worried about.”

Janeway closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with a thumb and finger, a gesture that Seven noticed was common among humans when they were frustrated. “I’ve already had to amend the Omega Directive once for this mission, why not pile on. I’ll write something for the crew, to be declassified only upon my death. That way, if we don’t get home, all of them will know why, not just Samantha and Naomi. Is that good enough?” “Yes. And thank you,” Seven said, meaning it.

---

“Annie,” Samantha Wildman said as she entered cargo bay 2. “Brought you some lunch.” “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve already eaten,” Seven of Nine said. “Oh. Getting ready for the big mission huh? Harry’s not quite the gossip he used to be before his whole ‘year of hell’ thing, but even he couldn’t keep it secret that he and Tuvok are modifying a torpedo. From what he says, it sounds like you’re getting ready to blow up a small planet.” “This is inaccurate,” Seven said. “Though perhaps even saying that much was pushing the boundaries of what is and isn’t classified.”

Samantha chuckled at that. She imagined that it was difficult for Seven not to tell her what was going on. Seven often had difficulty keeping things from her, even things that Sam felt she didn’t really need to know having not yet mastered the concept of oversharing that she’d promised to teach Seven when they began sleeping together. Still, despite Seven’s tendency to say more than was necessary, Samantha loved her all the same.

“Well, who knows, maybe you can share with us after the fact. If you make it back I mean.” “Sam-” “Annika, I’m not a child.” Samantha hoped that Seven could tell she was sincere in what she was saying. “I’m a Starfleet officer. I know every time you leave this ship there’s a-” “A chance I won’t be coming back,” Seven said, stopping whatever she was doing on her Borg console. ”By coincidence I had a similar conversation with the Captain not more than a half hour ago.” “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared, Annie. But whatever it is you and the Captain are going to be facing out there, I know what you both are capable of. If anyone can make it back, it’s you and her. And I’ll be here, waiting.”

Seven opened her mouth to reply, but her comm badge chirped. “Chakotay to Seven of Nine, report to the briefing room.” “On my way Commander,” Seven said. She walked over to Samantha and embraced her, squeezing tighter than she ever had before but still holding back as she often did out of fear of her own Borg enhanced strength. “As strange as it may sound, I am glad I was assimilated by the Borg as a child. Had I not been, I’d never have met you.” Samantha closed her eyes, and kissed Seven on the forehead. “It doesn’t sound strange at all,” she said. “Now go out there and knock ‘em dead tiger.”

“Tiger?” “Trying out some new nicknames. You like?” “It’s inoffensive, but I’m not sure it works.”

---

Harry Kim found himself, for the first time since the Year of Hell, actually genuinely excited about a mission. He’d been excited when Voyager had begun receiving letters from the Alpha Quadrant, before they were forced to destroy a relay in order to save Seven of Nine and Tuvok from the Hirogen, but in terms of other things the crew had encountered since then, his once omnipresent enthusiasm for strange new worlds that he’d had with him since he entered Starfleet Academy had been gone. He wondered if this was a sign that finally the medication and therapy regime the Doctor had him on for his post-traumatic stress was finally paying off.

As soon as Seven of Nine entered the briefing room, looking somewhat uncharacteristically exhausted, the Captain began speaking to all the crewmembers gathered there; himself, Seven, Tuvok, the Doctor, Tom, and Chakotay. B’Elanna was still in engineering. “If we were in the Alpha Quadrant right now,” she said. “we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d be in contact with Starfleet Command and they’d be sending in a specialized team to deal with this. But I don’t have that option. For the time being, what training I’ve received and what knowledge Seven of Nine has retained from the Borg will have to suffice.” “Captain,” Seven of Nine said. “May I ask what brought about this, change of heart?” Janeway glanced over at Chakotay. “Let’s just say I got a much needed kick in the pants and leave it at that,” Janeway said. “That’s a figure of speech by the way.” Seven’s eyebrow raised. “I’m a Borg, not a toddler. I would not have assumed that the Commander had literally kicked you.”

Harry chuckled at that.

Janeway sighed. “Moving on,” she said, adding emphasis to the latter word. She tapped a few buttons on the console in front of her and pointed at the screen. “You’ve all seen this symbol I imagine in one context or another. Omega. Starfleet chose it as a symbol for something that threatens not only the Federation but the entire galaxy. The Omega Particle is the most powerful substance known to exist anywhere in the universe. A single Omega particle has the same amount of power as a warp core.” “Wow,” Harry said, unable to control his reaction. Janeway nodded and continued, not bothering to chastise Harry for his interruption.

“Omega was first synthesized by a Federation scientist named Bendes Ketteract in the late 23rd century,” she continued. “Upon creation, it exploded, destroying the entire facility. The explosion tore up subspace in the Lantaru sector over a radius of several light years. In the affected area, it’s impossible to attain warp speed, since a warp drive can’t work without subspace from which to create a warp field.”

“I’ve heard of that sector,” Tom Paris said. “We were told in the academy that is was a natural phenomenon that made warp travel impossible there.” “Obviously that’s not true,” Janeway said. “Only Starfleet captains and flag officers have ever been given full briefings on this threat.” She stood up. “What you are about to hear will not go beyond these bulkheads, is that clear?” Harry nodded, and he saw everyone else do at roughly the same time. Is B’Elanna going to be briefed later, or are we leaving her out of the loop? he thought.

“Good,” Janeway said before going over to the viewscreen. After a few button pushes, the Omega symbol was placed with an animation of a single particle, enlarged so the naked eye could see it. “This is Omega,” she said. She tapped a few more buttons, and the image of a badly damaged Starfleet space station appeared on screen. “This was the secret facility in the Lantaru sector. This image was taken from the sensors of the original U.S.S. Enterprise herself, under James T. Kirk’s command. The Enterprise was nearly lost. 126 of the Federation’s top scientists were even less lucky. Presumably they were hoping to provide the Federation with an inexhaustible source of energy” “Equally likely is that it was being developed for use as a weapon. According to the admittedly incomplete data the Borg obtained from assimilated Starfleet captains,” Seven said. “the Lantaru base was under the direction of a clandestine group within the Federation called Section 31.”

“Wait, Section 31 is real?” Chakotay said, echoing Harry’s own thoughts when he heard Seven mention the name. “I’ve heard stories about them, but even I never really bought it. Not even when I was on the outs with Starfleet when I joined the Maquis.” “I can in fact confirm Section 31’s existence Commander,” Tuvok said. “Many years ago, they attempted to recruit me into their organization. I declined, obviously.” “My Dad hated Section 31,” Tom said. “He always used to say ‘if you have to deny an action, it was a crappy action.’ One of the few things we ever really agreed on.” “None of this is relevant to the matter at hand,” Janeway said forcefully. “Starfleet Command at the time recognized the implications of the accident right away. An explosion of a large enough number of these molecules, even just a handful, would annihilate subspace throughout the Federation, or even the entire Alpha Quadrant. If that happened, warp speed anywhere in the quadrant would become impossible and subspace communication would no longer work.” “That would mean the obliteration of every interstellar civilization in the quadrant,” Tuvok said. “Every single planet in the quadrant would be permanently isolated, cut off from all others. Any civilizations that did not yet have warp drive would never discover it.” “Exactly,” Janeway said. “That’s the reason the Omega Directive exists, and why no one below the rank of Captain has ever been briefed on it. Until now. Starfleet buried as much of the data from Lantaru as they could, holding on to the rest as a way to research ways to safely destroy it. “Which brings us to today. That shockwave we encountered that dropped us out of warp was the result of an Omega particle explosion.” “I gathered as much,” the Doctor said. “I doubt you’d be breaking long-standing Starfleet protocol otherwise.” “The Omega Directive is a top-secret order instructing that, if so much as one Omega particle is encountered, it is to be destroyed at any cost, including ignoring any and all other orders and instructions, including the Prime Directive.” “Damn,” Harry muttered under his breath. He’d spent his whole life being told how sacrosanct the Prime Directive was, to the point where he sometimes wondered if people forgot that the directive had been written by sentients beings and wasn’t an edict handed down from a god.

“I’ve calculated the location of the Omega particles we’ve found here in the Delta Quadrant,” Janeway said. ”Tom, I’ll transfer the coordinates to helm. Take us there at full impulse.” “Yes Captain,” Tom said.

“I don’t think I need to tell you all what’s at stake here,” Janeway said. “This may be the most important mission we’ve undertaken since the Caretaker brought us here. We’ve got our work cut out for us. Dismissed.”

---

Seven of Nine was not one for pride, but she had to admit as she looked at the schematics for the device she’d just designed that it was almost a tragedy that she couldn’t share this accomplishment with Sam. It wasn’t entirely completed yet, but the groundwork had been laid and Seven had no doubts that it would be ready by the time Voyager reached its destination. Sooner even if she had assistance on the project, but the rest of the senior staff was busy with their part of the mission and she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else, though she doubted that anyone other than Captain Janeway, Ensign Kim, or Lieutenant Torres would be able to keep up with her. That sounded like pride to me, her inner voice told her. She was about to tell her inner voice to shut up, regardless of the fact that doing so would be a futile gesture, when Captain Janeway entered the cargo bay.

“Status report,” she said.

Seven motioned the Captain over to look at the console screen she’d been working on. “This is a harmonic resonance chamber that will dissolve the inter-atomic bonds of the Omega molecules, destroying them.” Janeway cleared her throat. “Good work, but I thought I asked you to work on the photon torpedo.”

“You did. But a torpedo may be insufficient. This is based on a Borg design. It was originally meant for containment, but as you can see here, I’ve made modifications.” Janeway took a look, nodding every few moments.

“Excellent work, Seven,” she said. “Thank you,” Seven said. “Additional modifications will be required, and the calculations are complex. I would like your assistance.” “All right,” Janeway said, immediately picking up another PADD and making entries. “I’m curious,” she said. “When exactly did the Borg discover Omega?” “229 years ago,” Seven said. “Through assimilation?” “Correct. Of thirteen different species, starting with Species 262. They were primitive, but their oral history-” “Bridge to the Captain,” Chakotay’s voice said over the comm. “Go ahead,” Janeway said. “We‘re approaching the coordinates,” Chakotay replied. “On my way,” Janeway said. She put down the PADD she’d been working on. “I’m leaving this project in your hands. Use whatever resources and personnel you need.” “Understood,” Seven said.

---

“I don’t get it. How could a pre-warp civilization be able to do research on something like Omega?” B’Elanna said. “Not all species develop along the same path technologically speaking,” Seven said. “The Borg have assimilated species in the past whose medical technologies, for instance, were centuries ahead of the Federations, yet their transportation vehicles still ran on steam power. It is illogical to assume that every species in the galaxy would discover the same technologies your people have in the same order.”

“Fair enough.” The door to the cargo bay opened, and gold-shirted crewmen began carrying equipment into the cargo bay, led by Joe Carey. B’Elanna stepped aside. “It’s your show,” she said. As she left she nodded to the crewmen. “Alright everyone, just remember, this device is Seven of Nine’s baby. Follow her orders like you would mine. I’ll be in engineering if you need me.” A chorus of “Yes sirs” and “Yes ma’ams” followed. Seven immediately set the crewmen to work building her resonance chamber. Of all of them, only Carey didn’t seem tense. She realized that she had never actually interacted with any of them apart from Carey. She considered making a joke of some kind to break the tension but decided against it as her deadpan delivery might lead to confusion that she meant what she said. “Here you go Seven,” Carey said, handing her a PADD. “This is everyone assigned to your team, including their fields of expertise and what areas they excelled at in the Academy, so you don’t put anyone on the team somewhere where they can’t give you their best.” “I appreciate it, Mr. Carey,” Seven said. She looked at the PADD and quickly scanned it. “For now we only need to focus on the casing for the chamber. Everyone listed here is perfectly qualified, and... huh.” “What is it?” “Sam’s name is listed here for the next shift. Her field of expertise is xenobiology.”

“True, but several of the personnel I wanted to add to this list are going to be planetside with the Captain, and if we’re going to get this thing built on schedule we need hands. Are you concerned her being here is going to be a distraction?” “Not at all,” Seven said. She tapped a button on the PADD. “I’ll have her work on the power relays with Ensign Kim. He’s more experienced, but it will require two sets of hands.” “Got it. Where do you want me in the meantime?” Carey said. Seven looked around the cargo bay, where the crew was already at work. “For now a supervisory role. Make sure everyone is working at maximum efficiency. I will be at the console, running additional calculations if I’m needed.”

---

When Samantha entered the cargo bay along with several other gold and blue shirted officers, the bulk of the work on Seven of Nine’s harmonic resonance chamber had been done. She still had no idea what it was for, but she was impressed nonetheless. “Samantha Wildman, reporting for duty,” she said with a wink. Seven simply nodded. “I’m afraid we’ll have to forgo our usual flirtation and innuendo for the remainder of this project,” Seven said as matter of factly as she would tell you what time it was. “The Captain wants this done within the hour. Did Mr. Carey give you your assignment?” “Affirmative,” Samantha said. Seven gave her a very brief smile.

“Ensign Kim is right over there,” she said, pointing. “He was early, so approximately ten percent of your task has already been completed.” “I see him,” Samantha said. “I’ll get right on it.” Samantha was not an engineer by any stretch, but there had been some basics about starship operation that she needed to know in order to graduate from the academy, so she didn’t need to ask Harry what he needed and immediately began assisting. While she was performing her assigned task, she spotted Commander Chakotay entering the cargo bay in her peripheral vision.

“How's it coming?” she heard him ask. “The crew has been very efficient,” Seven said. “We should be done ahead of schedule.” “How far ahead of schedule?” “Within two to three minutes,” Seven said. “That’s not a lot,” Chakotay said. “Agreed, but considering the lack of experience anyone on this ship, myself included, has in building such a device it was equally likely that we would be behind schedule. Thankfully that has not been a concern. Mr. Carey in particular has exceeded expectations.” “Okay then, I’ll let the Captain know.” “Has the Captain retrieved any new data from the surface?” Seven asked.

“Not yet,” Chakotay said. “Were there any survivors?” “A few. The Doctor is treating them right now.” Chakotay turned to leave. Samantha noticed that Seven had stopped working and was still looking in Chakotay’s direction, though not at him. “Sam, you okay?” Harry said, causing Samantha to look away from Seven. “Huh? Oh, yeah, fine,” Samantha said, not wanting to bother Harry with her worry about Seven’s sudden state of distraction. She wondered what it was that the Commander had said that caused that. Is it about the aliens in sickbay? she thought. She turned back to see how Seven was doing, in time to see her exit the cargo bay.

---

Seven entered sickbay. The Doctor was treating the injured aliens from the facility, each bio-bed sickbay occupied. She wondered if this were all the survivors total, or if there had been others who had been treated and released. Seven stepped up to the Doctor who was looking over a diagnostic. “Which of them is the senior researcher?” she said. “This gentleman,” the Doctor said, motioning his head towards the one who occupied the bio-bed in the surgical bay. “Why do you ask?” “He has knowledge I require,” she said. “He is barely conscious,” the Doctor said. “Can you come back later?” “Later may be too late Doctor,” she said. “The Captain left me in charge of our efforts here on Voyager. I would be negligent if I ignored a new source of information.” “Very well,” the Doctor said. He walked over to the bio-bed and began talking to the patient. “How are you feeling sir?”

“Fine, thank you,” the alien said, slowly but coherently. “Are you feeling well enough to speak with my shipmate here?” the Doctor said, motioning towards Seven. “I- I think so,” the alien said. The Doctor nodded. “Keep it brief,” he said to Seven. “How many of the particles were you able to synthesize?” she said. “200 million, I think.” “What is the Iso-frequency of your containment field?”

The researcher tilted his head slightly. “1.68 terahertz,” he said. “We used their own resonance to calculate the field. That should’ve been enough to stabilize them, but obviously it wasn’t.” “True, but your approach was innovative. Perhaps I can adapt your technique and improve upon it.” “I could,” the alien said, struggling to sit upright. “assist you. Our equipment was destroyed but if you could transfer the particles to your ship, maybe they can be saved.” “Assisting me in your condition would be inadvisable. I respect your dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, but we can handle this from here. We will destroy the Omega particles and-” “What?” the alien said, clearly trying to yell, but not yet strong enough to do so. “You can’t do that. This particle is the salvation of my people, our resources are nearly gone. The future of my people depends on this discovery!” “Doctor,” Seven said. “Your patient is becoming agitated. I will return to my duties.” She turned to leave. “You small-minded creatures,” the alien said, his voice getting louder now. “Destroying what you don’t understand! Rescue ships from my government are on their way. They won’t let you destroy our work.” “Sir, please try to remain calm,” the Doctor said, now standing beside Seven. “Thank you for letting me speak to him Doctor. His information will be most helpful.”

"You don't know what you are doing! You don't know what this means!" the alien researcher screamed at Seven as she left sickbay. Once the door closed behind her, she let out a sad sigh. “Sadly, I do know what it means,” she said quietly.

---

Seven looked at the completed device in the cargo bay with open admiration. Despite her having left them rather abruptly, the only thing that was still needed when she returned was the iso-frequency which she’d obtained from the head researcher. “Not bad, huh?” Samantha said. “An understatement,” Seven said. “I had projected it would be completed early, but even that proved to be underestimating the crew.” “Well, what can I say?” Samantha said, putting her arm around Seven’s waist. “We had a good team leader. Now if only I knew what it was actually for.” “That part is still classified, but thank you for the compliment. Perhaps I should consider taking command courses.” Samantha chuckled. “Captain Seven of Nine. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue does it?” Seven contemplated making a joke about tongues when Chakotay entered the cargo bay. After asking Samantha to wait outside, he relayed Captain Janeway’s orders that they would be using the resonance chamber to destroy the Omega particles as there were too many on the planet for their Plan A to work. “I do not believe we need to destroy them,” Seven said. “Using information I obtained from the head researcher of the complex, I am certain I’ve discovered a way to stabilize them. He had an approach that was unknown to the Borg. I can modify the chamber to-” “Those weren't your orders," Chakotay said. "The captain wants Omega eliminated, and that’s what we’re going to do." “That is still an option,” Seven said, struggling to remain calm. This was as close to a religious experience for her as she could ever have, something that even as a Borg drone she felt a desire for. She had to convince the crew to let her do this. “The chamber’s primary function, destroying Omega, will remain intact. My modifications will not interfere with that capacity.” Chakotay sighed, looking angry at having to have this conversation. “Show me what you've done,” he said.

Seven pulled up the simulation she’d put together while the crewmembers who had helped finish the chamber were clearing out, and explained in detail to Chakotay what she planned to do and why she was convinced it would work. “Looks great in theory,” he said. “But this is only a simulation. How are you going to test it?” “On Omega,” Seven said, surprised that Chakotay even had to ask. Chakotay scoffed, and Seven felt as though she’d been physically punched when he did so. “Bad idea,” he said. “One mistake and no one will be around for a second try.” “It will work,” Seven insisted. “Someday, maybe. For now we stick to the plan, but hold on to your research. Privately of course, I won’t tell the Captain if you don’t.” “In nine months of service aboard Voyager,” Seven said, feeling her voice crack the way it did when she was about to cry. “I have never made a personal request, never asked for a single favor. I am asking now. Allow me to proceed. Please.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Chakotay said.

Seven sighed, and found herself wishing Samantha was here. “As a drone, I was under instructions to assimilate Particle 010, what you call Omega, at all costs. The Borg believe it to be perfection embodied. The particle exists in a flawless state with infinite parts functioning as one. Even though I am no longer Borg, I want, no, I need to understand that perfection. I doubt that I will truly be complete without it. Commander, you are a spiritual man. If you had the chance to see your God, your Great Spirit, what would you do? This matter is as close to a spiritual one as I can get.” Chakotay nodded. “I would pursue it with all my heart. I understand your emotions here Seven, and I promise to talk to the captain about your idea, but for now at least, her orders still stand.” “Thank you,” Seven said quietly. Chakotay nodded, and left. Samantha re-entered the cargo bay. “More classified stuff huh? Whatever it is I- Annie? Are you crying?” Seven opened her mouth to speak, but realized that she couldn’t tell the woman she loved what was really going on. “Yes,” was all she could bring herself to say. “Can you tell me about it?” Samantha said, putting a hand gently on Seven’s arm. Seven of Nine could only shake her head. Samantha pulled her in close and held her. Seven welcomed the embrace. “I want to tell you, so bad,” she whispered into Samantha’s ear. “I understand why it’s classified, I really do, and I can’t hate the captain for this, but it is still difficult.” “I want to understand what you’re going through Annie,” Samantha said. “but I know I can’t. Just know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

---

The resonance chamber glowed blue from the Omega particles now residing within them. Voyager had had to get dangerously close to the planet, even with the pattern buffer enhancers aiding the transporter lock, but they had them. Seven found herself transfixed by the site.

The ship itself, she had been informed, was approaching the limits of the local subspace destruction, beyond which was an uninhabited region where they should be able to destroy Omega without condemning any world's population to never discovering warp drive, or bathing them with deadly theta radiation, should something go wrong. The alien ships behind them however, were likely to reach them before they are clear of the subspace destruction. Seven however was confident that they would not fire, since Voyager has their Omega, a confidence which the captain shared.

While she was neutralizing the particles as per orders, hopeful that enough would be left for her to attempt to stabilize if the Commander was able to convince Janeway to let her try, Janeway entered the cargo bay. “Captain,” Seven said. “Report,” Janeway said. “11% of the particles have been neutralized so far.” “Let's see if we can speed up that process a little.” “Did Commander Chakotay tell you about my hypothesis?”

“Yes, he did. I’m sorry, I can’t let you go through with it.”

Seven tensed up. “The Omega Directive is no longer relevant. I have found a way to control the particle.“ “I don't care if you can make it sing The Mikado in Klingon, we're getting rid of it,” Janeway said. “A foolish decision,” Seven said, abandoning all pretense of politeness. “Maybe, but it’s mine to make. Step aside.” Seven remembered something Samantha had once said to her about internally counting to ten. She did so, then spoke in a tone that was less angry, though only a little. “I could have done this without your permission, but I chose to follow your command structure. I should’ve made the attempt on my own.” “You still can I suppose, but I would be obligated to stop you.” Janeway sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Dammit, Seven, do you think I’m doing this to spite you? The safety of the quadrant is at stake. The safety of this ship. The safety of-” “Don’t,” Seven said, certain she knew what Janeway was going to say next. “Don’t try to use Sammy and Naomi against me. If I believed for a nanosecond this would endanger their lives we wouldn’t even be having this conversation because I never would’ve made the suggestion to the Commander in the first place.” Janeway took a step back, but not in a way that indicated any fear of Seven. “Okay, I won’t. What I will say is this; your idea is sound, I’ll give you that. But you have no guarantee that it will work. If it does not, it would be the end of us and the quadrant will be doomed. You know I’m right.” Seven stared at Janeway for a moment, then sighed. She didn’t want to admit it, but Janeway was right. “I will monitor the particles at the chamber's imager,” she said. “Would you be willing to replace me at the controls?” “It’s the least I can do,” Janeway said. Once Seven was at the imager, Janeway asked her what the status was now. “Eighteen percent,” she said. Janeway groaned. “This could take hours,” she said. “Fast, cheap, good, pick two,” Seven said. “What?” “An engineering joke I heard from Joe Carey earlier today. An oversimplification, but somewhat relatable to our situation.” “Could we increase the resonance?” “Not without rupturing the chamber,’ Seven said. Janeway looked like she was considering her options. “How many of the particles would be destroyed before the rupture?” “Fifty percent, at best. What are you suggesting?” Janeway didn’t reply to her directly, instead tapping her comm badge and calling Tuvok. When she told the tactical officer to prepare the gravimetric torpedo that had been their first plan before seeing how many particles there actually were. Seven figured out the rest on her own, and had to admit that it was a plan that was likely to succeed; destroy up to half of the molecules almost immediately, eject the chamber out into space, and the gravimetric charge would take care of the rest. As soon as Janeway told Chakotay to prepare to decompress the cargo bay, Seven spoke up again.

“A creative solution, Captain.” “Glad you approve,” Janeway said. Seven walked over to her alcove. She heard Janeway behind her say, “Seven, what are you doing?” “Anything unsecured in the bay will be blown out into space when the Commander decompresses it. I must find that drawing of me Naomi made several months ago. She would be quite displeased if I allowed it to-” The ship shuddered slightly, disrupting Seven’s train of thought. For a fraction of a second she thought that perhaps the aliens had fired on them, but quickly realized the vibration was wrong for that. “I believe the alien ships are attempting to lock a tractor beam on us,” she said. “No warp drive, but ships capable of catching up with us at sublight speeds, tractor beams, and the ability to create Omega particles? This species just doesn’t make any damn sense,” Janeway said. Seven quickly thought up several examples of races whose technological development was easily more unusual than this, but decided to wait until later to bring them up. The ship shuddered again. “That was definitely weapons fire,” Janeway said. “Agreed,” Seven said. On second thought, she thought, the Captain’s right. This race’s technological development doesn’t make any sense. “Eighty percent of the particles remain.”

“We need to get that down to sixty,” Janeway said as the ship shuddered again. “Any damage of our power grid and the chamber could overload.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Janeway said as she began hitting buttons on the console harder, as if hoping that would speed up the process. “We are now at seventy-two percent,” Seven said.

“That’ll have to do,” Janeway said, tapping her comm badge. “Bridge, start the decompression sequence.” “Acknowledged,” Chakotay said.

A noise began emanating from the resonance chamber. “What’s happening?” Janeway said. “The particles are stabilizing,” Seven said, shocked at what she was seeing on her PADD. “What?” Janeway said. “Did you-” “I did nothing,” Seven said, going over to the imager. “It’s occurring spontaneously.” “That’s impossible,” Janeway said, but Seven only barely heard her. She was only vaguely aware of all other sounds. She heard but didn’t process Janeway ordering her to follow her out of the cargo bay before the inner doors sealed shut. She heard but did not process the computer counting down. All her attention was focused on the imager. She watched the particles' component atoms swirl around each until they formed a perfect, complex, molecular lattice structure. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Seven? Seven?! ANNIKA!” Hearing her birth name called out by someone other than Samantha finally got her attention. “Decompression in ten seconds,” the computer’s voice said. “Come on, let’s go,” Janeway said, tugging on Seven’s arm. Seven dropped her PADD, picked up Naomi’s drawing, and ran for the door just steps behind Janeway.

---

The next morning, the ship’s rumor mill was in full force. Seven heard many things about what the chamber had been for, why it had been jettisoned into space and destroyed, why the alien ships had been chasing them. None of it was true of course, but she couldn’t confirm or deny any of the questions any of the crew asked her. Not even the one she desired to share her feelings with the most.

She entered Samantha’s quarters. Samantha and Naomi were eating dinner. Naomi smiled and waved. “Hi,” she said. “Hello,” Seven said back. “Annie, wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. I thought you had to recharge.” “The Captain ordered me to do so early,” Seven said. She sat down on the edge of the bed she sometimes shared with Samantha when she wasn’t in her alcove. “I had something akin to a religious experience today, Sammy. I don’t know a better word to describe it. I just wish it wasn’t all classified.” “What does classified mean?” Naomi said. Seven sighed. “It means I can’t tell you anything about what happened yesterday, ever.” The child pouted. “Well that’s not fair,” she said. “You’re right, it’s not,” Seven said. “Enjoy being a child, Naomi Wildman. Children generally don’t have to keep secrets from people they love.”

Samantha reached out to Seven, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’re already done with dinner, but you can have dessert with us if you want,” she said. Seven smiled. “As long as it is ludicrously unhealthy,” Seven said. “I believe the phrase is ‘comfort food?’ Whatever that is, I think I need a lot of it tonight.”

#a fire of devotion #chapter seven #part 1 #star trek voyager #fan fiction #sam7

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