Blond/Readhead

Part 01- 04

BLONDE

Two a.m. and no one was waiting in chairs. Two hours earlier an MVA had come in but now everything had quieted down. Enough for Kerry Weaver to curl up on the couch of the staff lounge and Randi, the night desk clerk, to thumb through the pages of Vogue magazine.

Standing at the admit desk, John Carter, Chief Resident, swallowed a mouthful of tepid coffee from the styrofoam cup and scribbled the orders for the MI in exam room two.

"That it?" Abby Lockhart asked, taking the chart from Carter.

He nodded. They both looked up as the entrance doors whooshed open. Three people entered together.

The lone female of the trio was statuesque, almost six foot tall, clad in a brown skin tight unitard with blonde hair pinned up in a bun. Definitely not his Gamma's type of bun, Carter thought, eyes glazing over.

"Get a bib, Carter, you're drooling," Abby said to her sometime boyfriend.

"Now that's hot," Randi murmured, running an appreciative eye over the woman who sported a very nice pair of 36Cs, as well as a silvery starburst on her right cheek and metallic eyebrow arch over her left eye. Cool. High heels and unitard. Must be a fashion shoot in town.

The only one not gawking at the blonde was Lydia. The spry ER nurse was more intrigued by her husband Al sandwiched between the blonde and a scruffy looking guy, holding his left shoulder and howling in pain. She hoped her cop husband wasn't responsible for that shoulder injury.

"Is anyone going to help me or do I have to die first!" the man screamed.

Lydia sidled over to her husband's side. "Hey big guy, what's up?"

"Caught the groper on the El."

"Is that the creep?" Randi asked, overhearing. She rode the El to work and knew all about the guy who made a nasty habit of touching women's breasts in the crowded cars.

"He tried to grope the wrong blonde," Al snorted. "She set him straight."

"The bitch nearly broke my arm!"

"Good for her," Randi crowed, leaning over the counter.

The blonde had been standing, hands clasped behind her back, quietly surveying the room. Now she turned and fixed her attention on Randy. The cocky desk clerk felt a laser chill from those baby blues.

Whoa, Nellie. She'd been analyzed and dissected. That disdainful expression was definitely super model worthy. Nearly as bad as Weaver's Look when she was in a snit, Randi thought.

"What's her story?" she asked Al. The blonde wasn't a hooker. She didn't look like one.

The policeman rubbed his chin. "She had a few bruises from the scuffle. I thought it best to bring her in. She didn't have an I.D. with her."

"No place to put it on that outfit," Randi cracked.

"Is there some reason everyone is standing around here?" A voice boomed.

The ER staff jumped into action. Carter took the shoulder injury, hustling him into exam room one. Lydia suddenly recalled the supplies she needed and trotted off to find them down the hall. Abby went off to find the MI.

Seven of Nine gazed at the small red headed woman who had caused this sudden burst of activity. Her air of command suggested that this territory was her domain, an attitude that reminded her of Captain Jayneway on Voyager's bridge. Just who was this small woman who walked with the aid of an ambulatory device?

"Isn't the board cleared yet?" Kerry Weaver demanded, sounding crankier than usual. She'd worked a double shift and had only a few hours sleep.

"Not yet, Dr. Weaver," Randi said, hiding her Vogue magazine and wanting nothing more than for the board to clear so her boss could go home. "We have a couple more." She indicated the blonde.

"Contusions, result of scuffling with the Groper on the El. The Groper lost."

"Really?" Kerry glanced over at the woman standing nearby. A tall beautiful blonde. Where had she seen that combination before. She felt a momentary pang then shook it off. Forget blondes. Blondes were bad luck.

As though she'd read her mind, the blonde cocked her head to one side and gazed intently at her. Hadn't anyone told this woman it wasn't polite to stare. What was her problem?

"So you took out the Groper, huh?" Kerry asked, leading the woman to an examining room. "Pity."

Seven turned, puzzled. "Explain."

"I ride the El myself. I was just waiting for that guy to try something so I could brain him with my crutch. You beat me to it."

The blonde looked confused. "Indeed," she said finally.
"Have a seat on the bed."

Gingerly, Seven sat on the edge of the bed. This place with its antiseptic odors reminded her of sickbay where she had to submit to regular examination of her Borg implants. She enjoyed none of it.

She inhaled a breath, a Vulcan exercise that Commander Tuvok had taught her that helped to clear her thoughts. Thoughts that had to do with only a few hours ago being in the Delta Flyer with Lt. Paris, the two of them testing the slipstream technology that would bring the entire ship back to the Alpha Quadrant.

The experimental drive had sputtered but eventually ran. However they had encountered a space anomaly as they returned to Voyager, and she had emerged not in the Alpha Quadrant of the 24th Century but an earlier one. As to the whereabouts of Lt. Paris, she had no idea. Had he made it back to Voyager?

She had landed in that Old Earth form of transport known as elevated subway. Then came the unfortunate incident with the man called the Groper who had run through the crowded compartment, touching women's mammary glands. She had detained him for the security detail and now that same security detail had escorted her to this place.

Kerry stepped closer to the bed. From a distance she had noticed the cool Nordic beauty of the woman. Closer, she could see the details, the blue eyes, the smooth flawless skin, the full lips and the breasts that jutted out round and firm.

**God, Weaver, you're as bad as the Groper.** She picked up the woman's wrist to check her pulse. It was 120, a little rapid but not too bad.

"What's your name?"

"Seven of Nine Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One."

Kerry grimaced. "Look, Miss, I don't have time for jokes. What is your name?"

Seven hesitated. The woman appeared to want a human designation. She searched her eidetic memory and provided one. "Annika Hansen."

"That sounds Scandinavian."

"Indeed?"

"All right, Ms. Hansen, you can sign the form later and fill out the rest." Kerry put the chart down. "Let me listen to your heart."

"I will not comply."

The flat emphatic intonation the woman used grew even more emphatic.

Kerry rubbed the end of her stethoscope, warming it up. "I just need to check you out."

"I am functioning within normal parameters."

"Someone mentioned you had minor contusions."

"My nanoprobes have repaired them."

"Your Nana what?"

"My nanoprobes."

"Mind if I just double check?" Kerry asked, figuring she'd save the stethoscope for later.

"Double check?"

"I'm just going to see how well your nanoprobes did their job," she explained.

Seven did not object as the doctor who seemed as efficient as Voyager's own Chief Medical Officer, drew closer and examined her face.

No lacerations. No sign of injury. "Well your nanoprobes seemed to have done just fine," she said drily.

"I told you. I am functioning within normal parameters. I wish to leave this place. What is it called?"

"This is the emergency room at Chicago County General," Kerry said, holding up an opthalmascope to look into the woman's right eye. Seven jerked her head back but not before the pupil had dilated normally.

"You are a doctor?"

"Kerry Weaver, chief of Emergency Medicine."

"You are the chief of this sickbay?"

Kerry laughed. "Don't tell me you're a sailor."

"I am not."

"I guess you could call it a sickbay. Now just hold still and let me take your blood pressure and listen to your heart."

"I want to leave this place."

"You and me both," Kerry said, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around the blonde's arm.

"No!"

Seven ripped the blood pressure cuff off and jumped down from the bed, towering over the smaller woman.

"Miss Hansen," Kerry laid a hand on her wrist.

Using only one fourth of her normal Borg enhanced strength, Seven lifted the fingers off her wrist. Nonetheless she heard the sharp gasp of pain and saw the doctor's face wince. For some reason that made her feel a pang of remorse. She had no wish to hurt her, unlike the Groper whom she was only too willing to inflict pain upon.

"Goodbye and thank you, Doctor," Seven said, remembering her socialization lessons from the EMH as she strode out of the curtained room.
 

REDHEAD

"Report!"

Lt. Tom Paris, focused his attention one centimeter from the blue-gray eyes blazing at him. Captain Kathryn Janeway did not like missions that went awry and losing a six foot Borg astrometrics officer no doubt came under that category. She paced in her ready room, her fiery mood matching the auburn hair and watched closely by Paris as well as her first officer Chakotay who knew better than to utter a word.

"Captain, Seven and I completed the test on the slip stream drive when we encountered the spatial anomaly. A temporal rift occurred, and Seven was gone."
"How was it that you were not gone as well?"

"I don't know." Paris ran his fingers through his blond hair. "She was in another part of the Delta Flyer and adjusting the frequencies. I passed out from the rift and when I came to I was still in the Delta Flyer and Seven was not."

"Did you try to find her?"

"I sent out a hail and scanned for Borg signature. I found no response after an hour. Then I thought it best to rendezvous with Voyager."

"Do you know where the temporal rift occurred?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what era Seven may have been beamed to."

"No, Captain. I couldn't say even where or what quadrant she may be in."

Janeway pressed her lips tighter. "Report to sickbay and have the Doctor check you out. Dismissed."

Paris turned on his heel, relieved to be out of there.

"Set a course for the coordinates of the temporal rift the Delta Flyer encountered," Janeway ordered. "We're going after her."

Chakotay nodded and left the ready room.

Alone at last, Jayneway sank down on her sofa. Damn. She hated temporal mechanics with a passion. A scientist, she wanted facts not the mumbo jumbo, space time continuum nonsense that temporal mechanics dealt with. She knew the slip stream experiment had been dangerous and had taken the necessary precautions only to be blindsided by this temporal rift that had taken a crew member.

Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One, was no ordinary crew member. She was Borg. Ever since Janeway had severed Seven from the Collective, she had felt a responsibility to the young woman that far exceeded what she felt to the other crew members. She had gotten the Voyager crew into the Delta Quadrant mess by pursuing a Maquis ship, however the Voyager crew had signed on and knew the possibility of danger that came with the Starfleet uniform. The members of the Maquis had willingly taken arms against Starfleet, so they too had gone into the conflict with their eyes open. Seven, however, was different. She'd been assimilated by the Borg when only a child of five and those memories of humanity had been wiped out during her years as a Borg drone.

Ever since the severing the two women had clashed as Janeway sought to steer Seven in the direction of her new found humanity and Seven had sought to point out the error of her command decisions. Janeway flushed as she thought of the unassailable arguments that Seven had sometimes issued to her, as she questioned her orders. Worse than Tuvok sometimes. Tuvok knew Starfleet protocol. Seven didn't give a damn about Starfleet. On occasion Janeway had been reduced to saying: Because I said so, and I'm the captain, that's why. Hardly in keeping with Starfleet rules of command.

She rubbed her temples now, feeling the familiar knots of tension in her neck and shoulders. "Computer, access files on temporal mechanics, theory and fact."

"Accessing."

There were over a thousand files. If she were in the Alpha Quadrant she could call upon Dr. Nielsen, the leading expert on temporal mechanics in Starfleet. But she wasn't there, Janeway reminded herself as she had daily for five years. She was marooned in the bleak and dangerous Delta Quadrant.

The bell on her ready room door chimed.

"Come."

Tuvok the tall black Vulcan security chief entered.

"Yes, Tuvok," she said glancing up briefly from the computer screen.

"Are you planning to retrieve Seven, Captain?"

She gave him her complete attention. "Is that a rhetorical question, Commander?"

"My apologies, Captain. I am aware that Seven has been a source of conflict to you ever since she came aboard Voyager. Some might consider it a waste of resources to retrieve her."

Janeway laid one hand flat on her desk as she rose. A compact woman, she moved around the desk with the stealth of a Nilian Tiger.

"Do you think that way, Tuvok?"

"Voyager does not have an infinite number of resources."

"Don't you think Seven worth the search?"

"It is not important what I think."

"I will not abandon any crew member."

"Technically Seven is not a member of the crew."

"She is our astrometrics officer. I will search for her as I would for any other member who was taken by a space anomaly whether it takes days or weeks."

"The search should not extend more than four days."

"And why not?" Her voice was at its most dangerous register. Her blue eyes glittered, enough to warn off anyone. Tuvok however had known her the longest and served with her before, so he was not afraid of these external signs.

"Captain, Seven needs to regenerate every 96 hours. If you do not find her in four days she will undoubtedly perish."

Janeway stared at the Vulcan, realizing that he was right. How could she forget about Seven's need to regenerate. Lately, she had been thinking of her as more Human, but the Borg implants were intricately linked to her body and controlled vital functions.

"Duly noted. We will expedite the search." She tapped her comm badge. "Senior officers to the conference room."

Down in engineering, B'Elanna Torres, swore at the interruption then made her way to the nearest turbo lift. Meetings. The Human/Klingon hybrid hated meetings. In truth, she hated anything that took her away from her engines. She had an inkling what this was about since Paris had popped in on his way to sickbay to fill her in on what had happened to Seven. Still the slipstream drive had worked. That was good, wasn't it?

The command staff was assembled and seated when Torres arrived. As usual she felt like a space monkey with the conduit fluid stains on her uniform. She slid into place without a word, noticing that Janeway's command mask was frozen more than usual.

"Lt. Paris will explain what happened when he and Seven were on their way back from testing the experimental drive."

Paris quickly went through the gist of what had happened.

"There was no warning. One minute space was clear and the next the rift had appeared and we were in it."

"How big was it?" Harry Kim asked.

"Approximately 100 meters."

"We are proceeding at warp two to the coordinates that Lt. Paris has provided," Janeway took over. "We will conduct a search for Seven. The search will take no longer than 92 hours. As Tuvok has reminded me, Seven must regenerate every 96 hours. So time is of the essence."

"Captain, we have less time than that," the Doctor spoke. "I checked the regeneration records. Seven's last regeneration took place 12 hours before she and Mr. Paris left in the Delta Flyer. They were gone for 26 hours. That means approximately 58 hours."

"About two days and a half," Chakotay murmured.

Janeway's lips tightened. But she kept the rest of her features still. Their time frame had been halved. Why hadn't Seven regenerated earlier? Was it sheer stubbornness? Sometimes Janeway had had to order her to her alcove and stand there to set the regeneration cycle herself. Then she felt a twinge of conscience, remembering the last minute instructions she had sent to Seven about the drive. More likely the Borg had been so busy attending to these last minute instructions that she had put off regenerating.

"What will happen to Seven if she can't regenerate?" Kim again.

"She will tire and her nanoprobes will not work as efficiently.
Eventually they will order her living functions to shut down and she will die."

"That will not happen," Janeway said, her voice sharp enough to cut duranium. "We will conduct a search for Seven and bring her back to Voyager. Mr. Kim, Lt. Torres, consult the database on temporal mechanics and find a way to form a temporal rift once we reach the coordinates."

"Aye, Captain," Kim said, peering over at Torres. The Captain didn't ask for much.

"Captain, my database has some information about the health risks of temporal incursions if that may be of assistance," the Doctor volunteered.

"Work with Mr. Kim and Lt. Torres, Doctor. I want a plan in an hour. You three are dismissed."

Looking grim, Torres left, flanked by Kim and the EMH.

"Mr. Paris, you will pilot the Delta Flyer, once we get to the site. It's my hope that some of the Delta Flyer's molecules may trigger a resonance field that can help us locate Seven."

"Aye, Captain. I'll check her out right away." He left the room.

Next, Jayneway eyed her First Officer and Security Chief, knowing that neither of them would like what she said was about to tell them.

"I will head the away mission."

"Captain!"

"That seems illogical. If anything happened, you might be stranded in time."

"As long as it's not the Ice Age. I read the accounts of Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy when they went back in time. I have no wish to fight a saber-toothed tiger, which reminds me, Tuvok, I should pack something warm."

"Your levity is misplaced."

"Captain, as First Officer, it is my place to go on the away mission."

"Chakotay, I am overruling you."

"Why, Captain?"

"I am not usually required to explain my decisions to anyone, even you, Chakotay," her voice said, an octave lower than usual.

"Captain, no offense, but I can conduct the search as well as you. You are too important to this ship. If anything happened and you were stranded..."

"You would assume command and take over and get them back to the Alpha Quadrant," she said. "This is no different than if I were taken ill or incapacitated in a fight with the Hirogen."

"This is different. You are deliberately placing yourself at risk if you head the away mission."

"It is illogical," Tuvok agreed.

She stared at the two men. "We are under a time limit to get Seven back. Chances are the person who can predict what she will do under the circumstances is the one who will be able to find her."

"You and Seven have never exactly been in tune before," Chakotay spoke again.

"Nevertheless, I am the one who has had the most interaction with her. We have clashed, I admit, and perhaps that makes me know her better than either of you. I share a bond with Seven that makes it helpful in locating her."

"Female intuition is a well documented method of deduction," Tuvok said.

"Thank you, Tuvok. And now gentlemen, time is wasting."

Janeway left the conference room and stepped into the turbo lift.

"Deck three," she called out. When the turbo lift doors opened again, she strode down the corridor toward her quarters. She felt revved up, the way she often did in time of crisis. In her quarters, her first move was toward the replicator.

"Coffee, black," she ordered.

She sipped the coffee, wishing that the replicator made a more palatable blend.

Then she changed from her Starfleet uniform, laying aside the gold pips of command onto the night stand and pulling on a pair of black pants, black turtleneck and vest. She would need to ask the Doctor what to take in the way of hypospray and medicines in case Seven had been injured. Janeway sipped the rest of the coffee, gazing out the window of her quarters at the vast expanse of space. Somewhere Seven was out there. Was she hurt? Afraid? The young woman usually was disdainful of injury and fear. And yet as her need to regenerate took over what would she do? What would she become?
 

REDHEAD

"Damn."

Kerry shook her hand. Her fingers tingled slightly from being bent back. No broken bones, thank God. She was tempted to call security, explain that the patient had attacked her, except she hadn't been attacked exactly. All that would take time and explanations. Damn it she was beat and wanted to go home. And if the patient hadn't signed the form there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

"You finished with the patient, Dr. Weaver?" Lydia asked, after Weaver emerged from the exam room.

"Yeah. She didn't have any contusions. Al must've gotten the wrong info."

"Al doesn't make that kind of mistake," the nurse replied defensively.

"Well, she had nothing on her face. No cuts or abrasions. Nada." Kerry changed the subject. "How's the Groper?"

"Carter's working on him."

A scream from behind the curtain confirmed that Carter was indeed treating the Groper.

Kerry grimaced. "I'm out of here. Give any incoming to Carter."

In the staff lounge, she shrugged out of her lab coat and pulled on her jacket. She tucked her purse under one arm and headed for the exit. As she passed the desk, Randi waved.

"Give it to Carter," Kerry said, without breaking stride.

"Just thought I'd let you know about Blondie."

"She refused treatment," Kerry called over her shoulder.

"Before she left she asked me what century this was."

Kerry stopped and stared at the desk clerk, hoping this was another of Randi's jokes.

"It's the truth, Doc."

Wondering why she hadn't settled for a nice office practice, Kerry left the hospital, keeping an eye out for Annika Hansen. Why was she bothering? The woman had refused treatment. As luck would have it, she found the tall Scandinavian by Doc Magoos. A carload of teenagers leaned out the window to whistle and ogle the young woman.

"Miss Hansen!"

The blonde turned. "Dr. Weaver." She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, almost at attention.

"Randi told me you didn't know what century this was. Tell me you were joking."

Seven hesitated. During her time on Voyager she had heard much about the Prime Directive and how the crew must never interfere with developing worlds. As a Borg she paid this edict scant attention, however Captain Janeway had been most insistent about holding to it.

"Do you always know what century it is?" Seven countered.

Kerry made a face. "I still think it's the 20th century instead of the 21st."

"Indeed." What would happen if she told this woman she needed to go back to the 24th century? Would she help or not? Seven took note of the woman's small form, that belied the considerable force she exerted in the sickbay. Now, outside of it, she seemed almost frail, leaning her weight on her crutch. As part of the Collective, Seven was used to having access to the hive mind. As a human she had found individuality a great challenge. To get back to Voyager she would need the help of others.

"I am from the twenty-fourth century," she said, deciding to take a calculated risk.

Kerry blew out a breath.

"You do not believe me. You think I am lying? I assure you, Doctor, Borg do not lie."

"Borg?" Kerry asked, not really wanting to know. It was the middle of the night, and she was having a conversation with a woman from the 24th century who was standing dressed in a unitard and high heels. A brisk wind blew in and Kerry pulled her jacket tighter.

"I am part human and part Borg." Seven explained.

**Okay. Definitely a psych consult.**

Carefully, Kerry chose her words. "Ms. Hansen, come back to the ER, please. You must be cold."

"My biometric suit is environmentally controlled."

"We'll help you get back to your own century."

Seven gazed into the green eyes of the red-haired doctor. Her Borg enhanced hearing could make out the increased respiration of the woman's breathing. Her optical implant denoted the facial expression of concern, pity, and disbelief.

"You do not intend to help me get back to my own century. You are dissembling," she said flatly. She should not have revealed herself to this woman.

"Let's go back. I will help you there."

"The only help I require is to return to my century. I do not require the help of doctors. I need an astrophysicist. Are there any at your hospital?

Kerry hesitated. "No, however, I do attend the symphony and the guy who sits next to me every season is an astronomy professor at the University of Chicago."

"Sufficient. Take me to him."

Kerry laughed. "It's after two in the morning. I'll give you his name and phone number tomorrow and you can see him then."

"Acceptable," Seven said, wondering what a phone number was.

"Good. So you'll go inside now." Kerry laid a hand once again on the woman's wrist.

"No." The woman pulled away. The sheer strength in that arm left no doubt that she could have hurt Kerry seriously if she had wanted to.

"Fine, suit yourself." Kerry threw up her hands. "I'm a doctor, not a social worker."

She started to crutch away. After a moment Seven followed.

"Where are you going?" she asked, catching up with her much longer stride.

"To the El to catch my train home."

"The transporter...transportation system. I shall accompany you there."

They fell silent as Kerry climbed up the steps, pausing to catch her breath at the top. She was a slight woman and Seven wondered why she had not used a bone-knitter to repair her leg. Or perhaps bone-knitters weren't available in this century.

"At least we don't have to worry about the Groper. How did you catch him?" Kerry asked.

"He put his hand on my left mammary gland. I detained him from doing so on my right."

Involuntarily, Kerry glanced over at the mammary glands in question. Then she looked away, feeling flushed.

"That's good," she muttered. "Just where are you headed now?"

"Since I do not have quarters of my own at this time, I will share yours."

Kerry stopped in her tracks and turned around. "Ms. Hansen, don't make me call the cops."

"I prefer to be called Seven of Nine. You may call me Seven."

The blonde spoke softly, more gently than before. Her demeanor no longer seemed haughty but instead shy.

Kerry blew out a breath, feeling the unexplainable tug of attraction. The woman was clearly demented and so beautiful.

"I am not sharing anything of mine with you, Seven. If you want to stay at the ER, I'll let security know that you can wait in chairs. It's against hospital policy but I can help you out that far."

"Unnecessary. If you are unwilling to share your quarters I will spend the night on the train."

"It's dangerous to sleep on the train."

"I will not sleep. I usually regenerate in my alcove. Since I do not have one here, it is irrelevant. I will meet you back at your sickbay in the morning."

"I'm off duty tomorrow," Kerry said. She wondered why she was continuing to talk to the woman. Probably just punchy from lack of sleep. "Your scheme is off the wall, you know that? And I don't suppose you have a CTA card for the EL."

"No." Seven replied, as she pondered what the wall had to do with any plan she might formulate.

"My treat."

Kerry put in five dollars and took out the fare card. What was she going to do with this woman?

Simple, Kerry. Take her home with you. She felt her stomach drop at that idea. If she started to take in ER strays her home would be over run in a week.

"Fares are $1.50. You can ride from one end to the other. If you're lucky that should keep you going all night," she said, handing the card to the woman.

Seven obviously was strong enough to fend for herself. Kerry inserted her fare card into the turnstile and went through. Seven followed, copying her actions. Together they waited by the track until a train lumbered to a stop. After Kerry entered the compartment, Seven followed quickly. The car was empty except for a guy reading the Chicago Trib. With a sigh of relief Kerry went over to a seat and sat down. Her hip ached from her long day and the climb up the station stairs. Seven remained, standing in the aisle.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Kerry asked, as the train got underway.

"Unwise," Seven whispered. "That man has a weapon under his reading matter. If he tries to accost you, I would like to be near at hand."

Paranoia to add to the dementia, Kerry thought until she saw the glint of metal as the man folded the newspaper. Seven bent down, still whispering.

"Do not be afraid, Dr. Weaver. I will protect you."

Kerry didn't hesitate. She jumped up and prepared to pull the emergency cord.

"Touch that and you're dead," the man said. He advanced toward them, gun in hand, crumpled newspaper discarded on the seat.

Swallowing hard, Kerry put her hand down. Seven stared impassively as the gunman approached.

"Nice boob job, baby. Now how's about some money."

"What is money?" Seven replied.

"Don't get cute."

"Fifty dollars, that's all I have," Kerry said, searching her wallet.

"You will not take her money," Seven informed the man.

"And you're going to stop me? Just how you plan---?"

He didn't get another word out, as Seven pivoted. Curved blades jutted from the side of her Borg enhanced left hand. They whirred and sliced the gun in two, the pieces falling to the floor of the car.

The man swore in disbelief while Kerry blinked hard. She had to be seeing things. She was hallucinating, working too hard. The man stared at Seven, dumbfounded. In another second she had grasped his shirt front. As the train came to its next stop, she hurled him out the open door.

Seven turned back to the red-haired woman. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Kerry murmured.

Nonchalantly the blonde sat in the seat across the aisle from her. Her left hand had transformed itself back into a hand again and grasped the nearby pole. Kerry bent down and picked up the two pieces of the automatic.

"His weapon was inadequate," Seven pointed out.

"Apparently."

"You will be safe."

"Indeed."

REDHEAD/BLONDE

The Delta Flyer glided into position in sector 563, the region of space where Seven had disappeared. At the helm Lt. Paris glanced at the auburn-haired woman to his right.

"We're here, Captain," he said.

Off the starboard side of the ship lay the gleaming silver hull of Voyager with Chakotay and the rest of the Voyager crew.

Janeway nodded. "Mr. Kim, we are in position. Begin sequence to generate an ion storm."

"Aye, aye, Captain," came the reply from the starship. "Beginning initial sequence."

Janeway's lips tightened and her blue eyes stared fixedly into the viewscreen. Would this plan concocted by Kim and Torres work?

"Ion storms?" she had asked skeptically when they had laid out the plan to her in her ready room. "Explain."

"Harry and I have been doing some research, Captain," Torres, the half Human, half Klingon hybrid said, laying the padd on Janeway's desk. "Ion storms can generate spatial rifts, anomalies responsible for the temporal fluctuation. According to historical data that area of space is particularly prone to ion storms."

"They're generated twice every twenty five hours, Captain," Harry said eagerly.

"We could produce our own ion storm to generate a spatial rift," Torres said. "However we do not have the resources to generate a storm large enough to form a 100 meter spatial anomaly. Doing so may cause an overload of our plasma relay."

"You say the ion storms recur twice a day. Why not wait until one is underway," Janeway asked.

"They don't occur with enough regularity to pinpoint the time," Harry answered.

"Time is of the essence, is it not?" Torres asked.

A not so subtle hint that Seven needed to generate within the next 57 hours.

"We'll proceed with your plan," Janeway said.

"Ion storm underway, Captain," Paris reported now. "It will last for approximately 15 minutes." Enough time to generate that spatial rift.

Impatiently, Janeway rose from the co-pilot's seat. Waiting was not her strong suit. Her nerves, on edge ever since Paris returned without Seven aboard the Flyer, churned now in her brain with possibilities on making this plan work. And if it didn't?

She had done enough research on her own to be wary about temporal displacements. Some of it was factual but some no more than conjecture. She had accessed the logs of Frederick Nielsen, the leading expert on temporal displacement and learned more than she wanted to know about parallel universes, alternative time lines and alternative selves. Apparently meeting an earlier version of herself would be the ultimate temporal paradox, when all bets were off.

"What exactly was Seven doing just before the temporal disturbance occurred?" she asked Paris.

"She was at the science station, attempting to download some data on the spatial rift," he replied.

The captain turned on her heel and walked over to the science station in the back of the Flyer, next to the replicator and the ensuite. She sat down at the unit, realizing that the last one to access this station had been Seven herself. Quickly, she called up the access logs and quickly followed the command sequence that Seven had launched.

Seven had searched the data base on spatial anomalies. Janeway felt a momentary excitement when she saw that the database had been historical, and had terminated at the 21st century. Seven had gotten no farther than the 21st century when her search had terminated.

"Chakotay to Janeway."

"Janeway here." The broad face of her first officer loomed in the viewscreen. His wrinkled brow made his tattoo appear a more severe than usual.

"Captain, we will be standing by on Voyager to bring the Delta Flyer back once Mr. Paris has gained consciousness again. We will duplicate this procedure twice a day for the next three days. That should be enough of a window for you and Seven to get back."

Janeway checked the pocket chronometer in her vest. 56 hours and forty nine minutes to get Seven to her Borg alcove to recycle.

"Understood. Chakotay, if we are not back within three days you are to resume your course for the Alpha Quadrant. That's an order."

"Understood, Captain. Good luck."

"Thanks, I'm going to need it."

She turned her attention back to the spatial rift filling the view screen.

"Is this how it took shape before?" Janeway demanded.

"Yes, Captain," Paris said, experiencing a distinct case of déjà vu.

"How long?"

"Approximately nine minutes before I lost consciousness, Captain," he said.

Janeway glanced at the chronometer. Of course Seven would not have needed such a device. Her Borg enhancements worked on an internal chronometer. She would know what the time it was. She returned to the science station and took her seat, conscious that the last time Seven had been aboard, she had been seated here, her long slender fingers flying over the command switches.

"Captain!" Paris called out.

Janeway felt herself dematerializing, the sensation similar to the transporter. And yet much different. One second she was looking at the view screen and the very next she was standing outdoors at night on a planet. She lifted her face up to the stars, feeling her heart fill as she recognized the Big Dipper. And that bright, luminous moon could only be earth's. She was home. Back in the Alpha Quadrant.

The honk of a swerving motor vehicle brought her to her senses. She was standing in the middle of a street. Quickly, she crossed and got into the line of people, customers waiting to get into an establishment. A restaurant, perhaps? Raucous music and laughter drifted out. Not a restaurant, a nightclub.

Had Seven materialized here, Janeway wondered, looking over her shoulder and feeling another jolt of surprise. Through the swirling fog she could see the lit outline of a bridge. The Golden Gate.

San Francisco. The wind nipped at her and she hugged her vest tighter. Good heavens, she was in San Francisco, where as a Starfleet cadet she'd seen the bridge countless time. She knew this city by the bay, especially the steep hills where she had run up and down for Starfleet conditioning. Her calves hurt just thinking about those runs. What century was it? Did Starfleet even exist?

The line of people inched forward, taking Janeway with it. She spied the neon sign on the nightclub window. Purrfectly Find. A woman passed her a handbill, touting the band, ALL RIGHT, performing at the Moscone Center on Saturday July 16, 2002.

The early twenty-first century. One question answered. The same time period that Seven had been researching when she had disappeared.

At the door to the club, a doorkeeper checked identity cards.

"You think they're going to check our purses for weapons?" someone asked.

"This war on terrorism sucks, you know that?"

Janeway frowned. She was sketchy about the war on terrorism that had been fought in the early twenty-first century. A weapons search, however, would certainly reveal the tricorder and phaser she had in her vest.

For a moment she considered stepping out of the line then she saw the two people who had been turned away were no more than teenagers.

"Kids, trying to sneak in with a fake ID," a woman ahead of her said.

"Too bad we don't have that trouble any more, not looking twenty-one." Her companion laughed and kissed her.

Janeway was waved through without a problem. Once inside her eyes burned and her ears were assaulted with what had to be the music of the period, a mixture of hard rock n roll and something called heavy metal. She let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Women were dancing, standing at the bar or seated at tables drinking. This was apparently a women's club. Janeway saw the line of liquor bottles lining the bar and licked her lips, feeling a genuine thirst for a glass of non-replicated whiskey and soda. Paying for it would be a problem, because she lacked the currency of the day. Tuvok had provided her with several pieces of gold jewelry and a handful of diamonds, that she could trade.

Her first step in this away mission was to blend in and that meant get a drink, dance with a woman, or go to the back and play pool. Dance, drink, play pool.

*Drink.* She walked toward the bar, jostled and jostling others in her path. She was nearly there when a woman suddenly pushed back her chair, ramming her knees and then spilling the drink she was holding onto the front of the captain's vest.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, laughing at her clumsiness. She was tall and blonde and for an instant Janeway thought it could be Seven. However there were no metallic implants on her face and the blue eyes were warmer than the cool gaze of the Borg. "I'm a real klutz. Let me help you dry off." She dabbed a napkin on Janeway's vest, almost touching the hyprospray in her breast pocket.

"Nice move, Kim," her friend at the table chortled.

Annoyed, Janeway leveled a Force Ten glare at the woman who had spoken. The corners of the blonde's mouth turned up in amusement at how her friend was suddenly silenced.

"Can I buy you a drink? I need a refill, anyway," she offered.

Janeway nodded. She probably would look more at home if she had a drink in hand. The blonde cleared a path to the bar.

"What'll it be?" she asked. Soft blonde curls cascaded to her shoulders.

"Whiskey and soda."

"And a gin and tonic for me." The blonde smiled at the captain. "I'm Kim."

"Kathryn."

The bartender placed the drinks in front of them.

"Cheers, Kathryn." Kim lifted her glass.

"Cheers."

The whiskey slid down Janeway's throat, caressing her tonsils. Oh my. She sighed with pleasure. Replicated whiskey was nothing like this bourbon.

"Been a long time?" Kim asked.

"What?"

"The way you drank that down. You're not in AA or anything?"

"It just tasted better than usual."

"I know what you mean. So what brings you in, Kathryn?" she asked. Her voice was melodic and soft, as if accustomed to eliciting confidences from people. "Not the music, you don't strike me as the rock type."

"Maybe it's just the whiskey," Janeway countered.

"I doubt that."

Janeway was not in the habit of revealing anything but she did need to find Seven.

"I'm looking for a woman."

"Aren't we all." A wistful look crossed the blonde's face.

Janeway took another sip of the bourbon. "I was supposed to meet a friend here a few days ago and got delayed. I thought she might still be around. She's tall and blonde, very beautiful, wearing some jewelry on her face."

"I can't remember running into anyone like that. But I'm not here every night. Marsha, the bartender might help you out." Kim raised her hand and the bartender came over, wiping a glass.

"Need a refill, Doc?"

"Trying to find a woman."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you," Marsha teased.

Kim blinked. Then blinked again twice more. Janeway wondered if the dust and smoke filled room was bothering the woman.

"Tall blonde wearing facial jewelry. Nope, that one didn't cross my path." Marsha said.

"Thanks," Kathryn said, hiding her disappointment. She slid off the bar stool. She'd better look for Seven somewhere else.

"Going so soon?" Kim laid a hand on her elbow.

Janeway turned. In the crush of people she was nose to nose with the blonde, or actually nose to chin. "I need to find my friend. Thanks for the drink. I owe you one."

Lucky friend, Kim thought as she watched the redhead move toward the exit. Not just move, she almost marched toward the exit. Probably ex-military.
Something about her bearing, shoulders back as she walked.

"Got shot down, Kim? Now that's a first," Carol joked back at the table.

"Cut it out."

"Forget her. That all black outfit is so yesterday. Plus she's short and bossy."

"Yeah," Kim said. Short, bossy redheads. She had to remember to stay away from that combination.