=/\=

The corridors were familiar. Why did they feel so different?

He was different.

If he ever did see Mezoti in person again, he would no longer be able to communicate subvocally with her. He'd lost that ability by giving Seven his cortical node, yet sacrificing it meant nothing to him now. Seven was well. He was getting better. Even the Doctor seemed to be pleased by his progress when he released him from Sickbay. Of course, the Doctor sternly admonished him, as he left, "Take it easy, Icheb, and for goodness sake, stay out of Engineering! Who knows what Lieutenant Torres will allow you to do? You need to finish healing, young man! No overexerting yourself, in any capacity!"

He didn't have to ask what that was all about, thanks to his conversation with Lieutenant Torres. Icheb began to chuckle softly. Seven turned towards him, with a concerned wrinkle in her brow. "Are you having a relapse?"

"No, Seven. I just thought the Doctor was acting like . . . like the Doctor. He can be very funny sometimes."

"Yes, he can be humorous. Also obtrusive and much too inquisitive. You are well enough for our subspace transmission?"

"Of course. I will make an effort not to look like I just came from a biobed in Sickbay. Even though I just did."

Seven looked at him askance, but she did not pursue the matter. They'd arrived at their destination.

They entered Astrometrics together. Ensign Kim was at the console. "Hey, Icheb! You're looking much better today. Feel up to this?"

"It's today or not for a very long time," Icheb replied. Mentally, he added, "or never," but chose not to vocalize that part of his response. They'd come to Astrometrics to speak with Mezoti, Azan, and Rebi over subspace for the last time. Within an hour or two, Voyager would no longer be in range of face-to-face transmission with Wysanti, and Icheb was eager to speak with her one more time. Ensign Kim, Lieutenant Torres, and Seven had discussing methods of making subspace transmissions functional at greater distances by adapting some of the Pathfinder Project's discoveries, but it might take years to develop that technology. Practically speaking, this could be the last time they spoke together through any mode of communication. It saddened him to think this, but it was how it had to be. Mezoti had made her choice, just as Icheb had made his. What if Icheb had not survived the Doctor's surgery to transfer his cortical node to Seven? And if it had not worked for her, Seven might have died, too. If Mezoti had decided to remain on Voyager, who would care for her? It was dangerous on a ship, especially now.

The Antarean Ambassador O'Zaal had warned the captain about this part of the Delta Quadrant. From the planet of the Wysanti onward, this area had been in dispute for a long time, even longer than the discord which existed among the systems that had celebrated their recent treaty with the Antarean Transtellar Rally. Everyone on Voyager was aware of this.

Whether Mezoti's decision was right or wrong, Icheb knew he would always miss her. His sister. He wondered if she felt the same way, if she thought of him as her brother.

Ensign Kim had to work the controls for several minutes after Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay arrived before successfully making visual contact with Wysanti. When the faces of Mezoti, Azan, and Rebi appeared, with the grandparents standing in the background, Icheb felt relief mixed with an undeniable sadness. They all looked so well. Azan and Rebi were as verbally reticent as ever, greeting them briefly, answering a few questions about their school and their activities (sports, almost exclusively, from what Mazani said), and then asked to be excused because they were due to meet their new friends to attend a sporting competition. Once the twins left, the grandparents discreetly moved out of visual range of the communication device to allow Mezoti to speak freely.

She enjoyed her new school. She'd made great progress in learning the Wysanti language, but she was continuing her studies in Federation Standard as well as Borg Alphanumerics. :::My teacher says you never know when you might need to use another language. Arebi agrees with her.::: She was studying ant colonies native to the planet in the wild, with specially placed sensing devices and cameras, instead of keeping them inside a glass ant farm. :::Ants always seem to have queens. Isn't that interesting? Perhaps the Borg Collective originated with a race of giant ants,::: she said this with a straight face but mischievously dancing eyes. Icheb laughed. He might not be able to communicate subvocally any more (and wouldn't have been able to anyway, from so far away), but he could still tell when Mezoti was joking.

They visited for over an hour. If Mezoti noticed Icheb had little to share with her, other than the fact that he was taking the Academy Entrance Examination in six days, she didn't mention it. Details weren't important, not really. What mattered was seeing their smart and "sassy" Mezoti, as Lieutenant Paris often described her.

Once Ensign Kim called out that the signal from Wysanti was beginning to weaken, the captain sent wishes for a wonderful, successful future to them all. The commander seconded those sentiments, and both stepped away towards the door, leaving the remaining minutes of contact to take place between Seven, Icheb, and Mezoti.

Mezoti's face had been alive with enthusiasm while she spoke about her new life on Wysanti, but now it changed completely. Her eyes drooped, her mouth trembled, and her shoulders slumped slightly. ::: This wasn't long enough. I had so much more I wanted to say to you. I miss you every day. I even . . . cry sometimes. I do like it here. Mazani and Arebi are very nice to me, but I wish I could have stayed with you.::: She sniffed, and Icheb could see a few tears glittering in Mezoti's eyes, despite the distortions in the communication viewscreen. She wiped them away before turning her attention to Icheb, admonishing him, :::You look very tired, Icheb. You must be working too hard on your studies.:::

He glanced quickly over at Seven. Her eyes were cast down at the floor. Icheb had to answer Mezoti. "I had a slight . . . medical problem, Mezoti. The Doctor gave me treatments in Sickbay for a few days, but I'm much better now. I promise I'll take good care of myself . . . if you will promise to take good care of yourself, too. Don't forget us, Mezoti."

:::I couldn't ever do that, Icheb. Seven. Tell everyone on Voyager I miss them. Tell Naomi especial . . . :::

Mezoti's image blinked suddenly away as the audio transmission hissed into silence. A field of stars was all that was visible on the viewscreen. Ensign Kim fiddled with the controls for a few minutes, but then he shook his head. "We've lost contact. We're too far away. Icheb, Seven, if you'd like to send a written message to say good-bye, since you didn't get a chance today, we'll still be able to do that for several weeks, but a real-time visual isn't possible anymore."

"Thank you for your efforts, Ensign Kim. Thank you for making this possible, Captain."

"It was a pleasure for me to see her, too, Seven. She looks happy."

Mezoti did look happy, Icheb thought. As much as he missed her, Icheb was sure she was turning into a fearless individual who could appreciate and utilize humor in her life. He hoped Mazani and Arebi understood and accepted how special she was. She deserved a loving home.

At this thought, Icheb glanced towards Seven. While they'd been able to view Mezoti's image, Seven had smiled slightly, in that way she had, with more communicated through the expression of her biological eye - and, somehow, through the prosthetic left eye, as well - than by the upturning of lips. He wondered if Mezoti had noticed the tear drifting down Seven's right cheek towards the end of their communication, once they knew it was about to come to an end.

He was sure Seven felt as he did about Mezoti. They both loved her. They might be parted physically now, but they were still connected in ways only those who had lived as Borg could fully appreciate. At that moment, Icheb vowed to do anything he could, once he was in Starfleet, to find a way to travel back this way, so he could see Mezoti again.

=/\=

The conversation with Mezoti was the catalyst. Icheb had to address one subject with Seven that evening. "Seven, are we a family?"

For several minutes, Seven was silent, but finally she said, "We are."

"Part of Voyager's family, or a family made up of the two of us, like Naomi and her mother, or Aimee and Marla?"

"Samantha and Naomi Wildman are mother and daughter. So are Marla Gilmore and Aimee, but they are also part of Voyager's family, even though they each form their own small family group. I would assess our relationship as being much the same as theirs."

"Seven, you know I will never choose to leave Voyager now, the way Mezoti did."

"We will all need to leave Voyager when the ship arrives in the Alpha Quadrant."

"But that will not happen for a very long time. I hope not, anyway. I don't ever want to leave you, Seven."

"It is likely you and I will remain here on Voyager for a very long time, but you are growing rapidly into an adult. In time, you will not need me to guide you as I have up to now. You will have a life of your own to lead."

Icheb's gaze flitted all around Cargo Bay Two, their "Borg Central" home. "I don't believe that's completely true. While I will live independently as an adult someday, I will always want to gain your opinion concerning events happening in my life. Even adults sometimes need guidance from their families, don't they? You're the only one who has ever truly cared for me. To my biological parents, I was always just the means to an end."

Seven met his steady gaze. "I have been your teacher and your mentor, but you are speaking of something else, aren't you? Of the ties of parents with their children."

"I am."

"Let me say this. As long as I am alive, you will have a home with me, in the same way Naomi Wildman will have a home with her mother Samantha. Just as Aimee will always have a home with Marla Gilmore. Naomi's mother gave birth to her. Marla Gilmore is adopting Aimee. Do you wish to formalize our relationship, in the process Marla Gilmore is utilizing for Aimee?"

"You mean adopt me? Are you old enough to be my mother?"

"I'm an adult, which is a requirement for a person to adopt. While you are no longer a small child, you are not yet legally an adult. I've read the literature about adoption. A large gap in years between the parent and the adopted child is not specified. At times, older siblings adopt younger ones when their parents are gone. Our relationship has always been much like an older sister mentoring a younger brother, and both of us are without parents."

The idea that Seven had "read the literature" concerning adoption pleased Icheb more than he was willing to say, but rather than mention this, he observed, "In my case, that is not strictly true. My parents are alive, Seven. At least, I assume they're still alive."

"The fact they still live doesn't matter, Icheb. By their own actions, they gave you up by abandoning you to the Borg - twice. Even on Earth, parents don't always care for their children the way they should, and another family is allowed to adopt them. You may be almost grown, but we can still legally form a family, if you wish it."

"You said I would always have a home with you. Would adoption make that official?"

"It would."

"Then yes. I would like you to adopt me." Icheb smiled his shy, gentle smile, matched seconds later by a similar expression on Seven's face.

"If you prefer, after you are adopted, you may still call me Seven. But once I am your mother, you are NOT to go against my wishes like you did when you disconnected your cortical node!"

"I no longer have a cortical node to disconnect, Seven, but even if I did, I hope we never have to face a choice as terrible as that one again."

Seven put her arms around Icheb and embraced him. Tears fell from her eyes, greater in number than the ones he'd seen on her face in Sickbay, when they were reunited after their transplant surgeries. Her tears were not the result of an ocular implant malfunction, any more than the ones falling from Icheb's were a sign his eyes were damaged. They sprang from their feelings for one another. As the EMH might have said, their eyes were "functioning perfectly."

=/\=

That night, for the first time, a new personal log was established, to be sent through the next datastream and archived by Starfleet in the annals of USS Voyager.

Personal Log, Stardate 54175.4

My name is Icheb, a Brunali who lives in Cargo Bay Two of Voyager with Seven of Nine, who is also known as Annika Hansen. Tonight, she promised to officially adopt me through Starfleet and Federation legal proceedings.

Lieutenant Thomas Paris and Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres suggested I should maintain a personal log of my thoughts and emotional status. Most Starfleet officers do this on a regular basis. Since I am planning to make Starfleet my career, I believe it would be to my benefit to follow this practice from now on. This is the initial entry in my personal log.

Cargo Bay Two is referred to as "Borg Central" by most of Voyager's crew. That is because Seven, who was assimilated by the Borg at the age of six years, has lived here for the past three years, ever since she was severed from the Collective. For the last several months, I have lived here, too, since I was rescued from a dying Borg cube. I once had two brothers and a sister who were rescued with me from the same Borg vessel, but they no longer reside here with us. Azan and Rebi are twins of the Wysanti species. Their grandparents are raising them on their home planet. Mezoti is Norcadi by birth, but Arebi and Mazani are raising her now, too.

I am happy for the twins. They deserve to live with their relatives. I miss Mezoti very much. We spoke to her through a subspace communication today. She seems happy, but I think she could have been just as happy living with Seven and me on Voyager. I have learned that all individuals make choices in life, however, and staying on Wysanti was Mezoti's.

I cannot record any personal memories about my life on Brunal before my assimilation by the Borg. I have none. I do have a few from a brief . . . visit . . . shortly after I arrived on Voyager. The story of that visit is a difficult one to relate, but if this is to be a true personal log, I must be honest and record the painful, as well as the pleasurable and exciting.

But to begin, when I woke up on the Borg cube for the first time, I did not know who or what I was. Nothing made any sense . . . .

=/\=

End

=/\=