Part 05-09

BLONDE/REDHEAD

Seven followed the redheaded woman up the small steps leading to her domicile then through the doorway. The doctor's residence was large, more than sufficient for a dozen drones.

"You live here alone?" she asked.

The woman called Kerry Weaver frowned and an expression of unease came over her face. Seven had seen that same expression on her face when the gunman confronted them. As a Borg she had also seen that expression when she assimilated species.

"I have a tenant," Kerry said. She slipped off her jacket and hung her purse on a rack by the door, then ran her fingers thru her hair. "He's a student at the University, plays football."

"Indeed." Seven remembered the EMH's lesson on reassuring people when they learned she was Borg. He had mentioned smiling to show that they had nothing to fear. Cautiously, she attempted to lift the corners of her mouth.

The effect was unsatisfactory. Weaver bolted into the next room, the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry?" she called over her shoulder.

Seven did not require food in the way that others did, however since she did not have a regeneration cycle, her body undoubtedly could use the nutritional supplements.

"Thank you. I would appreciate that."

Weaver washed her hands at the sink.

The kitchen was bright and airy with an abundance of food stuffs lay on the counter. Yellow fruit hung from baskets from the ceiling. "You enjoy cooking," Seven deduced.

Weaver nodded, drying her hands on a dish towel. "I find it relaxes me. However, the chef's a little tired tonight, so it'll be either leftover pasta or nutritious shake."

"A shake?"

Weaver patted a small machine on the counter. "A healthy shake full of vitamins, proteins, and strawberries," she said, holding up a basket of small red fruit.

"That would be sufficient."

Weaver laughed and began to add things and liquids to the machine. "You have a way with words, Seven, you know that?"

"My vocabulary is limited," Seven said stiffly. This was a weakness she was attempting to overcome. "I have been told that before. I am attempting to enlarge it."

"Sorry." A look of embarrassment crossed the doctor's face. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No harm done," Seven said, recalling one of the EMH's pat phrases. "Dr. Weaver, the gunman I disarmed what did you call him?"

"Mugger. Robber, someone who tries to steal your money on the street."

"Mugger," she repeated.

"Why don't you have a seat. Two shakes coming up."

Seven perched herself on the wooden stool in front of the counter and watched as the smaller woman assembled the items she needed. She cut the red fruit and tossed them into the glass container, then added a powder and some yellow liquid from a jar.

"That's just apple juice," Kerry Weaver explained. She was a methodical worker and Seven approved of her efficiency. She would have made a superior Borg drone once the Borg had replaced her leg.

Kerry placed the container on a stand then pushed a button. The unexpected whir of the machine jolted Seven, the sound even louder to her Borg-enhanced hearing. Then another button was pushed and the noise ceased. Weaver poured the pink foamy liquid into two large glasses and slid one over to her.

"Enjoy."

"Thank you."

Weaver sipped her drink as Seven drank hers. The green eyes looked amused as she handed Seven a napkin. "You have a pink mustache."

Puzzled, Seven took the paper square.

"Your upper lip." Weaver patted hers.

Seven mimicked her gesture.

"That's better," Kerry said. She sat next to the blonde, wondering if she had lost her mind. Bringing someone mentally challenged home, even someone who had saved her life wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do. She was a little apprehensive, and yet the woman had a child-like naivete, and for all 24th century nonsense, she seemed harmless.

"How long have you been in Chicago?" Kerry asked.

"Approximately 2 hours and thirty-nine minutes."

"That doesn't sound approximate to me."

"My internal chronometer may have been affected by my time travel. I cannot be sure exactly."

"My watch doesn't keep regular time either. So how do you like the shake?"

"It is very adequate."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Dr. Weaver..."

"Call me Kerry."

"Kerry. Your transport system."

"The El?" Kerry peered at her over the rim of the glass.

"Is it always frequented by gropers and muggers?"

Kerry half swallowed, half snorted the shake back into the glass. Seven passed her a napkin. "I believe you may need this," she said.

Weaver wiped her chin. "To answer your question, Seven, sometimes. It's usually safe to ride on it during the day. At night, you just have to be on the lookout."

"For muggers and gropers."

Kerry laughed again. She paused. "Your left hand was certainly a surprise to the mugger."

"Indeed."

"What happened to your real hand?"

"It was severed by the Collective," Seven replied.

"Farm accident?"

"It happened when I was a child. I do not remember all the details."

"Your artificial limb is really sophisticated."

"The Borg are technologically advanced." Seven paused then remembered the Doctor's lesson on small talk. When asked a question, respond and then ask one related to the same topic. "What happened to your leg?"

Well, ask a blunt question, get a blunt question back, Weaver thought.

"An accident also," she said vaguely.

"Ah...There is no bone knitter in this century?"

"No."

Seven finished the shake. She felt better with the replenishment of the liquids her body needed. Ready to begin her search for a way back to Voyager. However, the woman Weaver did not seem energized. Her form had been drooping on the way from the transport station and now, even with nutritional supplements, she show unmistakable signs of drowsiness. She had also winced when walking a few times, unmistakable signs of pain no doubt from her leg.

"You need sleep," Seven said now.

Caught in mid-yawn, Weaver nodded. "Sorry. I just got off a double shift."

"I have worked double shifts myself," Seven said. The increased hours of work did not bother her, but she knew her non-Borg crewmembers were often so fatigued they fell into sleep as soon as they reached their quarters.

"You should retire now."

"I won't argue with you there." She left the dishes in the sink and then walked to the foot of the stairs. "There's a guest bedroom for you upstairs. Bathroom's on the left. Hey, what the hell."

Seeing the inefficient way that Weaver was attempting to mount the stairs, Seven had swept the smaller woman up in her arms and was climbing the steps, two at a time.

"Put me down, damn it!" Weaver was furious, banging Seven's back with her fist. Seven reached the top of the stairs and then complied, depositing the woman upright on her feet, crutch in arm.

"What do you think you were doing?" she hissed.

"This was a more efficient way of coming upstairs," came the reply. "You were tired. Your leg was bothering you."

"That didn't mean you should carry me. I'm not a child!" Kerry fumed.

"Has no one else assisted you up these stairs in that manner?" Seven inquired.

"That's not the point," Kerry said, reminded of another tall blonde who had indeed carried her up the stairs a couple of times. "This is my home and I won't be treated like a child or a cripple."

The blonde's metallic jewelry quirked as an eyebrow lifted.

"I apologize, Dr. Weaver. I meant no offense. I observed that you were tired and the stairs were steep."

Weaver had a hunch that apologies did not come easily to this woman.

"All right. Guest room is to the right. In the linen closet you'll find a blanket if you get cold." She paused and Seven waited for her to speak. "Do you need something to change into when you sleep?" Or did the woman sleep in the nude?

"I usually recycle my biometric suit. You do not have recyclers that clean and press your dirty clothes?"

"I wish." The twenty-fourth century sounded pretty good with its bone knitters and recyclers.

"Then I may need additional garments."

Kerry went into the guest bedroom and opened a drawer with sweat shirt, pants, night gown, under wear, socks, all items that Kim had left behind. "These may fit you."

"These do not belong to you," Seven said, holding a shirt up to her shoulders. "They are too large to fit you."

"A friend left them behind and since she is not coming back, you can use them."

"You are sure she is not returning?"

The doctor nodded, a sad expression in her eyes. "Yes. I'm sure. She moved away."
 

 

BLONDE

Kim Legaspi surveyed the cars on either side of Clement Street with growing alarm. Where was her Subaru? She could have sworn that she had parked along this stretch. Of course, Carol, a native of the Bay area, had been giving her directions at the time. Kim just hoped she had remembered to curb her wheels on the hills.

Shivering from the damp fog, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black leather jacket. Funny how California could get as cold as the Midwest sometimes. Her bones felt nearly as chilled here as standing on Lake Shore Drive with the wind blowing off Lake Michigan.

She paused at the corner, the calves of both legs screaming in protest. Only a Midwestern idiot would wear high heels while walking up these hills. Where was that blasted car? Even after almost a year in San Francisco, she still felt like a visitor. Ergo she was lost. Or rather, her car was. There was no simple east, west, north, south, here. She was still wrapping her mind around the differences between East Bay, which had water, and North Beach, which did not.

Probably shouldn't have left Purrfectly Find by herself but there was only so much bad music and mindless chatter she could tolerate. Carol, had gotten lucky with a sultry brunette, and had lingered behind.

"You don't mind, Kim?" she asked.

"Course not. Have fun," Kim replied before heading off.

To get lost. Damn, she should have been paying more attention. What was with her, nowadays. Like spilling her drink on that cute redhead with the laser blue eyes. Kim smiled, remembering how Carol had nearly swallowed her tongue after just one look from the redhead.

Kathryn was her name. All ramrod straight spine, shoulders back and husky voiced.

Stop it. She didn't need to think of that woman right now. The woman was gone, looking for her friend. No sense crying over spilled milk. If she wanted to do that she could cry over Kerry Weaver.

Oh, brother. She better find that car fast. She didn't want to think of Kerry. Had steadfastly refused to think of the ER doctor/closet case back in Chicago. And yet sometimes Kim dreamed of her. Fodder for her therapy sessions. She turned up the street, wondering when she would stop dreaming about Kerry. Maybe about the same time she found her damn car.

She'd parked near an Italian restaurant? Or maybe it was Greek.

Key shop, nope. Pawn shop, nope. Finally she spied her green Subaru on the other side of the street. She started to jay walk when she heard a sudden cry from the side of the storefront.

"Get your hands off of me."

Each syllable was distinctly enunciated. The voice was unmistakable. The redhead from the bar.

"Lady, there are two of us and only one of you. So why don't you hand over the three hundred bucks you got on you..."

"Go to hell."

"Bitch!"

"God damn it."

There was a crash, followed by the sound of a scuffle. Forgetting her car, Kim hurried over to a small alleyway just as a body collided with a trash can. The sturdy redhead was pushing the head of another man into the brick wall.

"Kathryn?" Kim called out.

The sound of her name caused Janeway's eyes to shift a fraction. Enough for the guy she was fighting to slam a punch to her back, right in the kidneys.

"Damn..." Her knees buckled.

"Get the money!" The first guy scrambled up from the rubbish can. "I'll take care of Blondie."

Kim stood perfectly still and held out her hand, palm up. Her psychiatric training had always defused violent situations before. She'd faced down schizophrenics and psychotics. "Listen, no one is going to hurt you," she said softly. "Why don't you just leave. No one's seriously injured yet."

"Not yet, they aren't," the guy agreed, grinning nastily as he slashed at her suddenly with a knife. She felt a sharp pain on the side of her right forearm and gazed in disbelief at the blood dripping from the flesh.

"No!!" Kathryn roared to life from the ground, catching the guy searching her pockets by surprise. A brisk knee to the groin and he doubled over. Utilizing the Vulcan neck pinch she had learned from Tuvok, she felt him sag to the ground unconscious.

"Hey, what did you do to Pete?" the other robber said.

"The same thing she's going to do to you, if you don't get out of here..."Janeway said, nodding over to Kim and hoping she had enough brains to play along.

The man looked at his unconscious friend and at the woman advancing toward him weapon in hand

"What's that?"

"You don't want to know, my friend," Janeway said, her voice at its lowest and most dangerous register.

"Fuck it." The man said and disappeared.

Catching her breath, Janeway stopped next to the blonde and recognized her from the nightclub. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I heard the fight. I thought you might need help. Two against one. Obviously, I was wrong. Oww..."

Blood dripped from a nasty gash on the blonde's forearm. Kim turned pale, looking queasy from the sight of the blood, a curious reaction, since the bartender at the club had called her a doctor. Maybe just not a M.D.

"Don't faint," Janeway ordered, the way she would an airsick cadet.

"Sorry, blood always does that to me. One reason I went into psychiatry."

"Don't look at it."

The blonde obeyed, keeping her face averted. Janeway put her phaser away and dug out her dermal regenerator from a pocket of the vest, running it carefully along the jagged edges of the wound. The skin folded over neatly, leaving no trace of a scar.

"What are you doing?" Kim asked, as her arm felt a warm sensation and then a tingling on her skin.

"Just a little first aid." Kathryn replaced the dermal regenerator and took out a handkerchief from another pocket She bit a corner of the cloth, tore it in two, then used one half to pad the area of the wound and the other half to tie around Kim's arm. An unnecessary precaution since the wound had healed. She just didn't want the woman asking questions.

"It bled but it isn't that deep."

"Thanks. It feels a lot better."

"We'd better get out of here," Janeway said, nodding over at the man lying on the ground. "I'm not sure how long he'll be unconscious."

"My car's across the street."

The two women were just getting into the green Subaru when a flashing police cruiser screeched to a halt. Obviously someone had heard the fight and called the cops.

"Should we stay and tell them what happened?" Kim asked.

"No." Kathryn slammed the door shut.

Kim started the car and pulled out from the curb.

"Any luck finding your friend?" she asked, chancing a look at the redhead, who scowled an answer to her question.

After leaving Purrfectly Find Janeway had tried a couple of other night spots along the block and come up empty. No one had heard or seen the missing astrometrics officer. Then she'd passed a pawn shop window and remembered the diamonds in her vest pocket.

The captain flushed as she stared at the swirling fog licking the edges of the high beams. Honestly, she really was no better than a first year cadet on shore leave. The pawnbroker had taken his time assessing the worth of the diamond she laid on the cloth.

"Fifty dollars."

"Ridiculous."

"Seventy-five."

"If you're going to waste my time."

"How much you want for it?"

She didn't have a clue of the currency worth in this century so she multiplied the first offer by ten.

"Five hundred!"

"Too much. This stone has some flaws....see for yourself." He handed her his eye piece. "That is not a flawless stone."

"Four seventy-five."

After haggling, they settled on three hundred. She hadn't noticed the other customer who had been following the exchange with interest, until he had followed her out of the shop and down the street. When he had been joined by a burly companion she crossed the street and turned into what she thought was a connecting route. It had been a blind alley.

The first exchange of blows had left her breathless, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Luckily her Starfleet training kicked in, those sparring sessions in the holodeck paying off and she was taking care of the two robbers when the blonde had popped her head in.

She glanced over at the woman in the driver's seat, feeling annoyed and frustrated. She needed to find Seven, not get involved in street brawls. Another rookie mistake. For one second she'd been distracted long enough for the blonde to get hurt.

"What were you thinking, Kim?" she asked now, the lash of command coming through as a rebuke.

Kim flinched. "I don't know, that you needed help?" she snapped back.

Janeway paused. There had been an unexpected fire to the blonde's reply.

"I had things under control."

"I didn't know at the time you were such a martial arts hot shot," Kim shot back.

"Hardly that," Kathryn said ruefully and gentled her tone. "Do you always jump into the middle of a fight?"

"When I know the people involved."

Janeway arched an inquiring eyebrow.

"I recognized your voice," Kim said. "It's pretty distinctive."

Kathryn chuckled. "I've heard that a few times before. And thanks for trying to rescue me."

"The operative word is try. You do the bulk of the rescuing, I suspect."

"Sometimes," Kathryn admitted, "if I'm lucky." And she hoped she had another rescue mission to add to her credit when she found Seven.

"I can drop you at your hotel if you like," Kim said, noticing the pensive expression on her companion's face.

"Actually, I haven't had time to find a hotel room yet."

Kim's eyebrow shot up. "It might be hard to find one this week. The Restaurant Association is in town. 70,000 conventioneers. You're not a chef, are you?"

"I can't even make a decent cup of coffee," Janeway said dryly. That's one thing she missed in the Delta Quadrant. Coffee.

Kim came to a decision. "Look, it's after midnight and if this is a bad idea just say so."

"Don't worry, I will," Kathryn said. "What's your idea?"

"You can have my living room couch for the night."

Kathryn considered it for all of ten seconds. "I think under the circumstances I will take you up on your offer."

"Good." Kim wondered why she felt so pleased that Kathryn had agreed to stay the night. Since that fling with Lori in Chicago she didn't make a habit of bringing women home from bars. So why was she suddenly Ms. Hospitable?

Silence filled the green Subaru as Kim drove to her small home on the outskirts of the city. A downtown rental was out of her price range, since San Francisco was the epicenter for high tech workers and an affordable rental was unknown here. Although the tech bubble had burst this year that hadn't caused rents to go down, an odd lesson she had learned from the rental agents she consulted her first week in town, and she counted herself lucky to find a one bedroom apartment that was a third of the size of her Chicago home and didn't even come with a parking space. Fortunately, a neighbor who preferred to take the cable car rather than hassle with a car let her use his space and she pulled in neatly now.

"You have a lovely home," Kathryn said, stepping into the cozy Victorian apartment.

"Thanks. I just moved here not too long ago...so it's still coming together." Kim shrugged off her jacket, leading the way into the living room. For a moment Kathryn stood, surveying the black leather couch and matching arm chair, the coffee table with its small rock fountain with water trickling through a bamboo shaft. All of it, peaceful and serene, rather like Kim herself.

"Do you see patients here?" she asked abruptly, remembering that the woman was a psychiatrist.

"Sometimes." A smile. "Usually I work out of my office at San Francisco General. If you prefer I can sit on the couch and you can take the chair."

"I didn't mean to imply..."

"It's okay. No one likes getting their heads shrunk. Can I get you a drink, another whiskey and soda?"

"I think I've had enough whiskey for one night." Janeway sat in the chair while Kim settled on the couch, long legs tucked under her.

"You just had one at the club."

"And two more at a couple of other places. Three's my limit."

"Three drinks. My, you've been popular," Kim smirked.

"Neither of them was as gracious as the woman who bought my first drink," Kathryn replied, and noticed that the smirk vanished to be replaced by a flustered expression. "But that's why I wasn't paying attention to what was going on and didn't see that guy following me in the street." Janeway was still kicking herself about that.

"You're military, aren't you?"

"Good guess." So much for the art of camouflage. Tuvok would have to give her pointers when she got back to Voyager. "How can you tell?"

"The way you size up people and places, plus you have a military bearing, spine straight, shoulders back, looking someone right in the eye, and you seem to issue orders."

"Do I?" Kathryn said, trying to hide her chagrin. "How gauche of me."

Kim laughed, warming up to the redhead. It didn't hurt that she'd kicked those two guys asses. "So which branch? Air Force?"

"Navy pilot, actually."

"Rank?"

"Captain."

"So it's Captain Kathryn..." the voice was soft and expectant.

"Janeway," she filled in. "And you're Dr. Kim...." The husky voice paused.

"Legaspi." Kim blinked once, twice and three times.

The two women smiled. Both satisfied with the name exchange, blue eyes meeting blue.

"Your woman friend, any luck finding her?" Kim asked, then regretted it as Kathryn's eyes lost a little of their glow.

"No. And I need to find her soon. What time is it?"

Kim checked her watch. "Two a.m. Pacific Time."

0200 hours Janeway translated silently.

"Is she AWOL?"

"Not exactly." Just how far should she take this woman into her confidence, Janeway wondered. "She has a physical condition that needs monitoring. I have to find her within 54 hours."

"Oh my. She's a friend you say?"

"And a member of my crew."

"Do you have a photo of her?"

"Just a sketch." Compliments of the Doctor from the time he had painted Seven in the holodeck.

"Wow," Kim said aloud as she took the sketch from Kathryn. The woman was beautiful and exotic. Her eyes were frank, assessing and yet curiously naive. "She's unusual-looking."

"She is unique," Kathryn said proudly.

"You could always run this through missing persons in the police department."

"No, I don't want to bring the police in just yet."

"Have you checked the hospitals?"

"No." Janeway bit off her next words and automatically Kim put her hand on Kathryn's to calm her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to suggest anything." She stared intently into the other woman's eyes. "It's just that I work in a hospital and sometimes people arrive disoriented, even hurt. If you like I could make some calls and check if anyone matching your friend's description showed up."

"Do it," Kathryn said, realizing that she had just barked another order at the woman, who seemed to take it in stride, getting up from the couch and searching for a pen.

Idly Janeway rubbed the top of her hand where Kim had touched it. She had to remember this woman was a civilian, and not order her around. But it was hard to remember anything the way her fingers tingled from just that momentary contact from Kim's longer fingers.

"Let me just get a few more details. You said she was tall."

"Six feet. Blue eyes. Light blonde hair. She always wears that jewelry."

"Name?"

"Annika Hansen. Her nickname is Seven."

"Lucky Seven?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You sit tight. I've got a fax machine. I'll call the area hospitals for you and fax over the sketch. Let's just hope her luck holds.
 

Seven lay in bed, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. This natural human condition was one she had not perfected, since Borg regenerated standing up and she found it difficult to lie horizontally on a soft sleeping area.

Kerry Weaver had no such trouble. Thanks to her Borg-enhanced hearing, Seven could hear the rhythmic breathing from across the hall and through the closed door. The inhalations came in slow, even breaths at louder decibels than regular breathing. The good doctor was snoring.

She knew about this phenomenon from the accumulated memories of humans she had assimilated while with the Collective. It was a common occurrence in humans over forty, particularly in sleepers who were fatigued, although the snoring made it difficult for their companions to sleep. However Seven could not blame her restlessness on Kerry.

Abruptly, she sat up, tired of the effort to sleep. She would go downstairs. She rose and walked unerringly to the doorway, her optical implant giving her superior night vision. Her body temperature was not as warm as it was in her biometric suit so she dragged a blanket with her, draping it over her shoulders as she went down the stairs.

The heating in this domicile was insufficient, and she would have to inform Dr. Weaver when she woke. Or maybe, it was just that the sweatshirt and pants were inadequate. The clothing also smelled of a unique scent.

Perfume. And something more. The clothes retained a blend of perfumes and human odors, not only Weaver's but of another. It was undoubtedly the scent of the woman who owned the clothes, the friend who had moved away, the one whose absence made the doctor look sad.

Seven came to the room dubbed computer room by the redhead and approached the small computer on the desk. She must find a way back to Voyager. This computer had a fruit on its cover, the same fruit that she had noticed on the jar of liquid that the doctor had used when compiling the nutritious shake. Apple juice, that's what she had called it. It was a curious picture to put on one's computer.

Seven opened the computer. "Computer, access files..." she commanded.

The blank screen stared back at her. This computer was malfunctioning. She tried unsuccessfully to command it to list its files but it refused to comply. Frustrated, she gazed over at the row of books on a nearby shelf. Computer DOS for Dummies. Diagnostics. Computer manuals. Intrigued, she pulled one out and began to read, her memory making quick work of the commands and languages and keyboard usage.

"Ah..." she reached down and turned on a switch. The machine came to life. Quickly, she listed and examined the files, finding the operating system cumbersome. Was this typical of 21st century technology?

The slow computer eventually listed a number of programs and she tried each one before coming to something called the Web. This was the antiquated Internet once called the World Wide Web.

"Time travel," she said, then realized there was no voice activated control. She typed in time travel.

The list of documents relating to time travel comprised at least a dozen pages of text. She quickly accessed and read through the articles, memorizing the contents and the names of the authors. One in particular kept recurring. Harry Nielsen of Northwestern University, a time travel enthusiast, called a hack. Seven paused to access the meanings of the word. He could not be a taxi cab, nor someone who accessed computers illegally, or someone who did inferior work. Why then did they call him a hack? She memorized Nielsen's address, found the university exchange number and decided that she would call on the man in the morning.

She rose, discovering that her mouth was dry and recognizing that this thirst could be quenched with liquid from the kitchen. She had seen Kerry obtain water from a series of tubes and pipes and was gratified to see the clear liquid pour forth when she turned a knob. Seven filled a container and drank, needing to replenish herself. Since she had not regenerated she was conscious of a decrease in her strength by 10 percent. According to her cortical node she would continue to decline in function by five percent every three hours.

Seven wished to speak to this man Nielsen, but she was obliged to wait until Kerry woke up. According to her internal chronometer it was now 0600 hours. Perhaps the doctor was awake? She climbed the stairs then paused at the gentle snoring she heard through the bedroom door, clear evidence that Kerry was still sound asleep.

Curious, Seven opened the door to Kerry's bedroom and walked over to the bed. She hesitated to wake the small woman since she had been fatigued and no doubt required rest. Perhaps if she waited nearby, the redhead would stir and she could explain the necessity for leaving quickly.

The doctor's crutch was propped against the bed, undoubtedly the first thing she would utilize upon awakening. Seven frowned. The Borg would have given Weaver a much more efficient leg after her injury so she would not have need of the crutch.

She gazed down at the slumbering Weaver whose breathing was definitely loud and rhythmic. Rather like the sonorous cries of the Chybian bear that lived on the planet Forquer. Kerry was much smaller than a Chybian bear and took up very little room on the bed. Seven decided she could sit on the bed and wait for her to awaken. As she sat down on the edge, the doctor shifted and rolled over, coming to a rest on her back, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Gingerly, Seven pushed herself onto the bed until her back was against the wooden head rest. Weaver's face was relaxed and peaceful, her breath coming in long slow rhythm, a droplet of saliva at the corner of her mouth. Seven began to match her respiration to that of Kerry's, a meditative exercise she sometimes enjoyed with Commander Tuvok in his holodeck program. A sense of relaxation wafted over her, her emotions mixed as she watched the other woman.

Several times on board Voyager she had ended her regeneration cycle to find the captain waiting for her. It gave her a warm feeling to know that the captain had been watching over her.

Seven laid her head to rest on the pillow next to Kerry. She had forgotten her blanket downstairs and pulled at the one bunched under the redhead's body, freeing it so it covered the two of them. Kerry made a sound and burrowed in closer to Seven, the way Naomi Wildman, a child on Voyager, used to when Seven read her a story at night.

She stretched her arm out and slowly touched the soft red strands. The fiery color reminded her of Captain Janeway, though she would never dare feel the captain's hair in this manner. She didn't know why she felt the urge to touch the doctor's now. Perhaps it was instinctive. The touch changed as she stroked along the scalp. Unfortunately Seven had used her mesh covered left hand instead of her more human right one, and when she stroked Weaver's hair, the force she exerted was enough to cause Kerry to feel as though her head was being raked by a steel garden rake.

"What the hell?" Weaver woke and through the blur of sleep saw the woman's face inches away from her.

**Oh God, was the delusional woman trying to kill her?** She backed away quickly. "Get that hand away from me. Don't touch me!" she cried out.

Seven's hand halted in mid-air. "I will not," she agreed.

"What are you doing in my bedroom and in my bed!" Weaver demanded, drawing the sheet up around her.

"I was watching you sleep."

"What? Why?"

"I could not sleep and I thought I would wait here for you to awaken."

That's crazy, Kerry started to say, then bit her lip. Don't antagonize people who are mentally unbalanced.

"Seven, you just don't sneak into someone's bedroom and watch them sleep."

"Odd. The captain watches me when I regenerate in my alcove."

"Your captain?"

Seven nodded, appearing puzzled. Her blonde hair had fallen loose from her austere bun and hung to her shoulders. "I did not mention that I serve aboard a starship commanded by Captain Janeway, did I?"

"No. You kind of left that out of the equation," Weaver said, rubbing her eyes. How deep did this young woman's delusions run. Maybe she should just play along until she could find her psychiatric help. "If I were you I'd tell him to stop sneaking into your alcove."

Seven's lips lifted in a half smile. "The captain is a woman not a man."

"Same difference. She shouldn't be watching you sleep. That's creepy."

"Creepy?"

"Inappropriate. Uncomfortable. Disturbing."

"I do not feel uncomfortable or disturbed," Seven said. "I feel warm and protected. Previously I did not understand why the captain might wish to watch me. But now that I have watched you I can see why she does it. I felt good watching you sleep. And I enjoyed hearing you snore..."

"I don't snore!" Weaver said. The woman was beginning to bug her. "My breathing just gets a little heavy now and then especially when I'm tired and taking medication."

"Pain medication for your leg?"

"Will you stop harping on my damn leg?" Weaver growled, reaching for the blanket.

Seven was about to point out that she had not used the doctor's damaged limb as a musical instrument then realized that now was not conducive to such a statement.

"Where is my blanket?" Kerry grumbled, finding it wrapped around Seven.

"I was cold," the blonde explained, pulling the blanket down and revealing the Chicago Bears sweatshirt she wore. Kimmy's favorite team. Kerry swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat as memories of the last time Kim had worn the sweatshirt flooded back.

"Could you just go back to the other bedroom?" she asked softly and rolled over on her side, her back to Seven.

"I have upset you," the Borg said, making no attempt to comply.

Kerry snorted. "That's putting it mildly."

"You were not upset earlier when you woke."

"Wanna bet?" The redhead turned back to face the blonde.

"You were angry and alarmed but not upset the way you are now. Your voice is different. It resonates at a different, higher frequency. There is moisture forming in your eyes. It is because of these clothes I wear."

"Just go to the other bedroom, please."

"I can take them off," Seven said, pulling the sweatshirt over her head before Kerry's startled eyes.

Firm round breasts topped by pink nipples jutted out in the cool morning air. Weaver stared, then swallowed hard, and noticed the metal casing on the abdomen immediately below the breasts.

"What's this? What happened here?" she exclaimed, reaching a hand out automatically to touched the area.

"It is my abdominal implant," Seven said, gazing down matter-of-factly. "Part of my Borg physiology. It controls my digestion."

Weaver sat up in the bed, all thoughts of sleep gone, curiosity definitely getting the better of her. In the world of biotech medicine there had been great strides. People who had been burned had been treated with artificial skin, new types of plastic surgery, but this metal sheath was something else.

"May I examine the implant?" she asked. "Can you take it off?"

"I do not put it on or take it off," Seven said, mildly amused. "It is joined to my flesh."

Weaver turned up the lights and blinked. When her eyes had adjusted, she looked closely at the implant. The pink flesh was actually bonded to the metal like nothing that she had ever observed before. Kerry knew of the sophisticated research in the current world of bionics, but Seven's implant was truly extraordinary. Had the woman been injured in a car rash? Who had done this to her? Was it a covert military operation? She couldn't possibly have done it to herself. And the metal itself.

"How does it work?"

"The Borg technology is quite complex," Seven spoke tolerantly as though to a child. "Captain Janeway would not approve of my divulging it."

Weaver snorted. "Your captain is a fine one to approve or disapprove of anything."

"She is a fine captain," Seven agreed. "I must follow her instructions in this regard."

"Were you in a hospital when this implant was surgically attached to you?"

"I was in the sickbay on our starship. The Doctor worked on it."

"Doctor? So a doctor was involved? What's his name?"

Seven frowned. "I do not know. No one knows his name."

No wonder there.

"Tell me, has the captain seen your abdominal implant?"

"Several times, usually when I am in sickbay having it adjusted," Seven said. "A few times she has assisted the doctor."

"I just bet she has."

Seven cocked her head to the side, catching the expression of what the EMH called sarcasm in the redhead's words. "You disapprove of Captain Janeway."

"Sorry. It's just that your captain sounds like a dirty old woman."

Seven frowned. "She is neither dirty nor old. Except when perhaps we are playing Velocity because she will dive for every disk and gets dirty. And she is certainly not old being only forty-two years of age. Or is that considered old in this century?"

"No, it isn't." Kerry agreed, wondering if the captain was real or just, a hallucinatory presence. At the very least she was a mother figure. Too bad the woman wasn't here to take care of Seven.

"You like your captain?"

Seven's pale blue eyes turned a darker shade. "I hold the captain in great esteem, Doctor. Captain Janeway severed me from the Collective. She is the one who has taught me all that I know about humanity. She is brave and intelligent. Although sometimes we have disagreed strongly."

"What do you think your captain is doing now?"

"She is undoubtedly on board Voyager, trying to find a way to retrieve me."

"You are sure of that?"

"The captain would never abandon a crewmember."

"From your statement I suspect you're more than just a crewmember to her."

Seven flushed. "I like to think the captain considers me a friend, but I really can't tell. I believe it may be difficult for the captain to be friends with a member of her crew."

Kerry felt a twinge of empathy for this imaginary captain.

"Still the captain must feel that you are special. You are Borg, and she severed your tie to the Collective, right?"

"Yes," Seven said. "I am still Borg, but my human side is reasserting itself."

"So one day you won't need the implant."

"I will always need some implants. My cortical node."

Kerry touched the metal over the young woman's eye.

Seven smiled. "That is my ocular implant. My cortical node lies below the surface of my forehead, here." She took Kerry's hand and placed the fingers against her skin. "It controls my implants."

Kerry's fingers trembled as they touched the smooth soft skin. This close to Seven she was acutely aware of the young woman breathing and the way her breasts softly grazed Kerry's nightshirt.

"You have more of these implants."

"Yes. My lower body. Would you like to see them." Seven said, preparing to pull down her sweat pants.

"No, that's all right," Kerry said putting her hands out to stop her.

"I repulse you."

"What?" Kerry was stricken to the core at such a heart-rendering comment. "No, quite the opposite."

Seven tilted her head. "Explain."

"I can't." Or **she** would be sounding like a dirty old woman.

"My body is not like a normal human's," Seven said after a moment. "The Borg implants make me appear different. Beauty is irrelevant to the Borg however I find it quite relevant to humans."

"Borg or human, you are beautiful. I can't speak for anyone else, but I am not repulsed."

"You are a doctor. You have seen many bodies."

"Yes. Yours is just fine," she reassured the young woman.

"You have not seen all of it," the Borg said, looking stubborn. "And as a doctor, you are trained not to be repulsed. Others may think otherwise."

"What others?" Kerry asked gently. "Is there someone you are afraid to show your body to? Your captain perhaps?"

Seven's cheeks reddened then she nodded. "I sometimes wonder what Captain Janeway might think."

"If she has half a brain she'll think you're a beautiful woman. And I'm speaking as a woman myself and not as a doctor." Kerry said emphatically, looking the woman straight in the eye and willing her to understand and believe her words. She knew what it felt like to think of oneself as damaged goods.

"The captain has a whole brain," came the shy reply.

"Good."

"Do you find my body adequate, Kerry?" Seven asked.

"More than adequate," she said. Any more adequate and her blood pressure would go through the roof.

Seven's face lit up in a smile. Weaver handed her the Bears sweatshirt. "Just put this on now, so you don't catch cold." If those nipples got any harder forget about high blood pressure, she'd stroke out.

"I will comply." Seven lifted her long arms to the ceiling and slipped the sweatshirt easily over her head, covering her beautiful breasts.

Redhead/Blonde


"Okay, thanks, Sheila. I appreciate a call if anyone sees or hears anything."

Lying on her bed, Kim clicked off her cell phone and crossed Mary's Help Hospital off the list on the notepad resting against her knees. That was it. None of the Bay Area hospitals she'd faxed had a Jane Doe resembling Annika Hansen.

Was it good news or bad? That was the question. She leaned back on the sunflower quilt, feeling something sharp digging into her spine. She reached behind and pulled out the clown doll that had fallen from the headboard.

Crazy ass clown doll, Tanya an early girlfriend had called it when she brought it home from an art show. It wasn't a clown. More like a hand painted Pierrot by a French artist, but Tanya didn't get it. Kerry had. She'd gotten it right away.

Kim put the doll back on the headboard and pushed herself up from the bed, annoyed to be still thinking of Kerry after a year apart.

Was it because of that other redhead in the next room? She walked over to the fax machine on her desk and pulled the document holder out of the tray. Annika's face sketched in sure even strokes gazed back at her. Kathryn had handled the sketch so delicately, as though the exotic-looking woman was someone precious. Was she really just a member of the crew or were the two women involved?

"Any luck?" a husky voice asked.

Kim turned, startled to see the Navy captain's compact frame filling the doorway. She shouldn't have been surprised since Kathryn had popped her head into the bedroom periodically in the last half hour.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Janeway said, restraining her impulse to bark out "Report!" the way she normally would aboard Voyager. Had to remember this woman was just a civilian.

"It's all right, come in." The blonde beckoned with her hand. "I just got finished talking to someone I know at the last of the area hospitals. She's going to post the fax in the ER and other departments but she doesn't recall your friend there.

Kathryn blew out a breath. "I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that," she said frankly.

Kim smiled encouragingly. "At least we know she hasn't been injured." She paused. "You're sure she's around here?"

"I'm not sure of anything right now," the other woman admitted.

"If you think she might be in another city I could fax the sketch to the National Hospital Missing Persons Registry."

"What's that?"

"It's a nationwide service. Similar to what I just did...but they send it out to all the hospitals nationwide and they put it on the Internet too."

"Good idea. Do it."

The psychiatrist curled her lip in a smile.

"Something funny?"

"People seem to do it a lot around you."

The words sounded even more risqué once they'd left Kim's mouth.

"Sorry, bad joke."

Janeway chuckled, a low throaty sound that made Kim's toes curl.

"It's all right. I could use a laugh. And as you point out I do make a habit of ordering people around."

"Goes with the uniform, I guess," Kim said, wondering what Kathryn looked like in uniform. **Or out of it.**

Oh God...**Leash that libido, Legaspi.**

"I'll get started on the nationwide registry. I doubt I'll hear right away."

"The faxing took a half hour." Janeway chafed at all the delays. 21st century technology was slower than her norm.

"That's not bad considering there are a dozen hospitals," Kim pointed out.

"It's just slower than I'm used to."

An arched eyebrow. "Do military fax machines run faster?"

"No, you're right."

"Why don't you try and get some rest."

The redhead wasn't tired, but she could use the time apart to contact Voyager and check in with Chakotay.

"Good idea."

"Do you need a blanket?" Kim stretched a long arm out toward the linen chest at the foot of her bed.

"I got it. You just send the fax out."

"Yes, sir."

Janeway's lips twitched as she lifted the top of the carved Chinese chest. The smell of camphor and lavender filled her nostrils.

"I prefer ma'am. Or just plain captain to you."

"You could never be plain captain to me."

Janeway chuckled as she pulled out the spare blanket.

"Then again, I'm not under your chain of command," Kim continued, surprised by the flirtatious lilt to her words.

"No," Kathryn said throatily. She gazed into the blue eyes, recognizing the warmth and humor and something else, the spark of desire. She paused, letting it pulse between the two of them and realizing that she wasn't just receiving that spark. She was giving it off herself.

"Although something tells me I might like to be," Kim went on, her voice a soft caress.

**Under her command.** Images of the golden blonde filled Kathryn's mind, and wet heat flooded her body. Carefully she placed the blanket on the bed. As Kim leaned over, soft strands of hair brushed against the captain's cheek.

"Later. Maybe. After you find your friend?" Kim asked, one finger stroking the delicate bones on the back of Kathryn's hand.

For a few seconds Kathryn allowed herself to feel that smooth silky touch then she pulled her hand away.

"After I find my friend we'll be leaving," she said abruptly. She and Seven didn't belong in the 21st century.

"You could come back for a visit."

"I doubt that."

Kim blinked. Just once this time, Kathryn noticed.

"I see. I guess I'll get started on that fax," the psychiatrist said, moving away from the bed.

Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. Put your heart out there and let it get stepped on.

"Kim...."

"It's okay."

"Is it?" the husky voice inquired. Kathryn had followed her to the desk.

"Yeah. I understand. It's fine." Kim fumbled with her rolodex, looking for the fax number for the registry.

"We met at the women's club tonight, so you might have thought I was looking for a relationship. Actually, I was just trying to find my friend."

Kim shot her a measuring look. "So it's your friend who's gay?"

Gay must be the 21st century colloquialism for lesbian, Kathryn deduced as she considered Kim's question. "I don't know." The captain wasn't even sure if Seven had a sexual interest. The Borg had gone on the one date engineered by the Doctor, but other than that had refrained from dating.

"That club was just our meeting place."

Kim fed the sketch of Seven into the fax machine again. "Sure. Two straight women agree to meet at the women's club, but neither is gay. I got it."

She sounded annoyed and angry and she had every right to be, Janeway realized. She had been so fixated on finding Seven that she hadn't thought twice about utilizing whatever resources she found, even if the resources including a lovely vulnerable woman.

"I'm sorry...So sorry." The words spilled out of Kathryn's mouth. "You're so beautiful. And I'm flattered...it's just..."

"...that you're straight and never really considered this before," Kim punched the words out emphatically as she punched in the fax number on the machine. "Is it Thanksgiving?"

"Thanksgiving?" the captain asked, baffled.

"Never mind. Let's not talk about it anymore."

Kim's brow was lowered, her lips tight, her expression making it clear additional apologies were unwelcome. Kathryn was bad at it, anyway. Starship captains didn't apologize very often.

"Whatever you say. I'll find another place to stay tomorrow."

"Suit yourself."

"Good night."

**Oh, Janeway, you made a mess of things,** Kathryn thought as she walked back to the living room. The bathroom door slammed, and she winced before dropping the blanket on the couch. Talk about bungling things. Surely, she could have turned down Kim with more finesse. Of course, the blonde was so beautiful it was unlikely that she had ever been rejected in her life.

Never mind. Her command training stepped in before her guilty conscience could plague her. Remember the mission. Regain focus. Find Seven and check in with Chakotay.

She dug out her communicator from the vest and pressed it. "Janeway to Voyager." She kept her voice to a husky whisper in the darkness. "Janeway to Voyager." Another try. No response. It had been a long shot, and Torres and Harry Kim had not been sure that the communicator would work after the temporal disturbance. Maybe the ship was out of range from another ion storm. Damn. She hated being cut off from the ship. And Seven.

Her face softened as she thought of the ex-Borg and all she'd been through in the last three years. Sometimes, it was hard to remember the full Borg who had threatened her with assimilation back in the brig. The one who had struggled in her arms like a frightened bird.

Kathryn pressed her comm badge again.

"Janeway to Seven."

Static then something else. The hair on the back of Kathryn's neck prickled. Was that Seven trying to communicate back?

"Seven? Do you read me? Are you there?"

The static-filled hum resonated in the room then died down.
"Damn!"




**Face it, Legaspi, you really can pick them.** Kim stared into the bathroom mirror. Blonde hair, blue eyes, good cheekbones, a chick magnet, Carol called her. Yeah, right. A chick magnet for straight redheads. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, embarrassed that her overture had been summarily rejected.

Oh so kindly and with a good many apologies but rejected nonetheless. And it stung.

Stay away from straight girls. When would she learn that simple fact of lesbian dating. There were women who wanted her and made that abundantly clear, so why did she insist in falling for someone who didn't want her. At least it hadn't gone that far with Kathryn. God knew she felt attracted to the woman but she hadn't fallen in love yet. And she wasn't going to get that opportunity. The captain had nipped those hopes in the bud.

Kim unscrewed a jar of cold cream then dipped her fingers into the white gooey mixture. As she wiped her face dry, she noticed that she had gotten the bandage on her forearm wet.

And hadn't Captain Janeway looked butch when she fashioned the makeshift bandage, holding one end of the torn strip between her teeth. Smiling in spite of herself, Kim snipped the knot off with a scissors and slowly unwound the bandage. Her smile faded into a frown when she saw there were no bloodstains on the cloth. No bloodstains anywhere.

What the hell? She had definitely been cut by that knife-wielding guy, blood had dripped onto the ground, so why the pristine bandage? Confused, she held her arm up to the mirror. The pink flesh was smooth and unmarked with no sign of an injury.

She remembered following Kathryn's command to look away while she dressed the wound. Kathryn. Someone who could definitely hold her own in a street fight and who claimed to be a Navy officer searching for her friend. Just who was this stranger she had brought home from the bar?

Leaving the bathroom, she padded silently down the hall to the living room to find the redhead standing near the window, her back to Kim. The Navy captain had taken off her vest and draped it on the arm of the chair. The same vest she'd pulled a weapon from in the alley fight. Not giving herself time to hesitate, Kim crossed the room with two long strides and grabbed the garment.

At the sound Kathryn whirled around. A device in her hand glowed.

"Kim, what are you doing?"

"Checking for weapons...Like this..." She pulled out the strange-looking gun.

"Be careful!"

Janeway cursed her own sloppiness. After attempting to locate Seven with the communicator she had taken out the tricorder to scan for Borg signatures. She had just programmed in the search codes when Kim had angrily descended on her.

"Who are you?" The phaser twitched in Kim's hand. Kathryn kept her body perfectly still. She had automatically turned the phaser off and Kim, she was sure, had turned it on, but had she put it on stun or kill?

"I'm waiting for an answer," the psychiatrist said coldly, showing little resemblance to the woman who had just made a romantic overture in the bedroom.

"I told you. I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway."

"Let's see an ID."

Kathryn repressed a sigh. What was it with the 21st century need for identity cards? The 24th century identity chip worn under the skin was probably an idea that hadn't been born yet. And a retinal scan would be useless in this century. "I don't have one with me right now."

"What about dog tags? Military all wear dog tags, don't they?"

If they did it was news to Janeway. Kim wasn't standing that far away from her. If she feinted to the left and dove for the weapon Janeway might be able to disarm the blonde. On the other hand...if Kim struggled and she might, the phaser might discharge a blast and one of them might be wounded.

"Kim, I'll explain. First you need to put that phaser down." Her command tone laced every word.

"Phaser, is that what this is?"

"Yes. You could get hurt using it. Just put it down slowly, please."

"Only if you shut off your weapon and put that down."

"Mine?" Kathryn glanced down at the half-forgotten tricorder in her hand. No sense explaining that the tricorder was not a weapon. She merely complied by placing it on the table. "All right. Now you."

For a moment Kim thought about refusing, but she didn't like guns and didn't want it going off accidentally. She put the phaser down on the leather sofa, near enough to grab in case Janeway tried anything.

The captain nodded. "That's better."

"Start talking."

"About what?"

Kim pointed to her forearm. "I just took off my bandage in the bathroom. Voila, no trace of bloodstains on the bandage. The flesh was healed perfectly."

"You would prefer a scar?" Kathryn asked blandly.

Dumbfounded, Kim stared, not believing her ears. The arrogance of the military.

"Damn it. How did you do it?"

"It's a new piece of medical equipment developed for the military," Kathryn said, improvising quickly. "It's called a dermal regenerator. If you look in the vest, you'll find it."

"Biotech stuff?"

"Yes. There's also a bone-knitter that helps to repair bones and a hypospray with the latest in antibiotics." The antibiotics were actually Borg nanoprobes in stasis and would be essential if she found Seven in a weakened state.

"And that?" Kim gestured to the device on the table.

"A tricorder. It scans for life signs like blood pressure, respiration, circulation."

"So whose blood pressure were you just taking?"

"I was scanning for Seven's unique signature," Kathryn replied.

"Signature?"

"That jewelry she wears has an emitter in it. I was trying to see if I could pick up anything."

"Like a GPS?"

"Yes," Janeway said, guessing that that was a geographic system.

Kim mulled over the explanation offered. It did make sense. With the war on terrorism going on anything was possible.

"So, did you find her?" the blonde asked, her voice now more like her normal one.

"You interrupted me and I shut it down."

"You can start it again."

"Thank you." Janeway picked up the tricorder and turned it on.

Kim handed the vest back to Kathryn. "Why do you have all this equipment?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you that." The captain picked up the phaser, clicked it off and returned it to a vest pocket.

"It's a military operation of some sort?" Kim guessed.

Janeway shrugged on the vest.

"Something tells me you're not an ordinary Navy captain."

"I can't talk about it. What I do is confidential."

"Special Forces?" Kim couldn't help the barrage of questions. She'd read about the covert operations in the San Francisco Examiner just the other day.

"We're so special no one knows us," Janeway said wryly.

"And you don't carry an ID?"

"I have one if you have a retinal scanner. Paper IDs can always be forged." She forced herself to meet the blue eyes as guilelessly as possible. She couldn't afford any guilt right now, even if the web of lies she was concocting wouldn't fool a Vidian back in the Delta Quadrant.

"I'm here on a mission," Kathryn continued, "to find Seven and take her back where she and I belong. I can't reveal more than that. Believe me, I just want to leave and I don't want you to get hurt."

Suddenly the tricorder started to hum and glow.

"What's happening?" Kim asked. "What does that mean?"

"It's picking up something."

Interlude 1 aka Meanwhile back in the Delta Quadrant

"Voyager to Janeway. Come in Captain." Harry Kim shook his head as he stood at opps, trying the hailing frequencies again. "No answer, Commander."

Seated in the captain's chair, Chakotay frowned. Three hours had gone by since the captain had left the Delta Flyer. A communication from her had reached them, but so poorly calibrated that the Starfleet encryption code had barely been discernible, probably due to the flux of the ion storm underway.

Knowing the unpredictability of the ion storm and the waves that it generated he'd moved Voyager away from Section 563 as both he and the captain had agreed in advance.

"Keep trying, Ensign."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Another wave coming," Paris yelled out a warning just in time for the bridge crew to brace. The wave hit the Intrepid class starship, causing the lights on the bridge to flick and a couple of unsecured PADDS to roll onto the floor.

"Shields are holding," Tuvok reported when the wave had passed. "Commander, I suggest we move further into Section 564 and wait out this particular ion storm."

"The captain and Seven might be coming out of the storm."

"They were snatched during an ion storm, however it is not yet apparent that they will return to our time period in the same way," the Vulcan said. "In any event if we stay here the ship will be battered and shield integrity will be compromised.

Chakotay stared at the chief security officer. "Very well. Lt. Paris, set a course further into Section 564 and hold there."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Kim looked down at the communication console. "Commander, we're being hailed."

"Belay that order, Lt. Paris. Is it the captain, Harry?"

"No, sir....the communication is coming from the ion storm."

"On screen."

"I have audio only, sir."

Chakotay leaned back in the captain's chair, fingertips pressed against one another in his lap. "This is Commander Chakotay of the USS Starship Voyager...who am I addressing?"

"This is Captain K'aflank of the Folkir. Your ship is trespassing in Folkir space. Leave or be fired upon."

Chakotay looked over at Tuvok, knowing that Vulcan had already begun scanning the ion storm for the presence of the unseen ship. "We were unaware that this piece of space belonged to anyone."

"Your second error. Leave at once."

"We have designated this as the rendez-vous point for two crew members. We can not leave this sector."

"You will leave or be terminated."

On that angry note the transmission ended. Chakotay rose. "The ready room, Tuvok."

The tall Vulcan nodded and followed Chakotay into Janeway's ready room. With Chakotay assuming the captain's position in her absence Tuvok had automatically assumed the First Officer's duties. Although Chakotay knew that he was the best security officer Voyager could have and that Janeway trusted Tuvok explicitly, he himself could not forget that the Vulcan had once been a Starfleet spy sent to infiltrate the Maquis cell that Chakotay commanded.

"Your thoughts on the situation?" he asked now, going over to the desk.

"The threat appears to be in earnest," Tuvok responded.

Chakotay waved the Vulcan to a chair.

"I prefer to stand," the security officer replied, hands clasped behind his back.

"What can you determine about their vessel?"

"The ship is cloaked, but its warp engines have left a distinct signature. It is approximately the size of Voyager with a crew of 145 aboard."

"Weaponry?"

"They possess a full array of phasers and photon torpedoes. Their weapons could pierce our shields and cause considerable damage."

"So if we engage them it'll be an even match."

"I do not know their tactical skill...so I would not call it even."

Chakotay smiled and scratched the tattoo over his left eye. Tuvok had taught advanced tactical training back in Starfleet Academy. "Why cloaked?"

"It gives them the advantage of surprise."

"Which they have lost by hailing us," he pointed out. "If they really wanted to engage in battle why not launch their weapons at us."

"Perhaps their species do not fight in that manner. A surprise attack might not be honorable. Many warrior species have strict codes of conduct on how battle is to be fought, for example, the Klingons."

"So they first send a message that they will fight if we don't leave."

Tuvok lifted an eyebrow. "You had already given Mr. Paris the order to head further into Section 564. Do you now wish to linger here merely because someone has ordered us to leave?"

Chokotay's eyes narrowed. The Vulcan thought his decision foolish?

"I just don't like being told what to do," Chakotay said, probably confirming Tuvok's previous opinion. "Neither does Captain Janeway."

"A trait common to all good Starfleet captains and children under ten. Is it my understanding that you wish Voyager to engage in battle with the Folkir? Our last encounter with an aggressor left us with three weeks of repairs."

"I don't want to fight them, but to retreat now would make them think that we can be bullied."

"We could seek a diplomatic solution."

Chakotay scowled. "The captain's the diplomat, not me."

"Agreed. Captain Janeway is superior when dealing with the different societies we have encountered. But perhaps an offer of a negotiation, coupled with a retreat temporarily will soothe the Folkir's nerves."

"I don't like limiting the captain's rendezvous opportunities."

"We were about to wait out the ion storm."

"I realize that. Are you so uncertain about the captain and Seven's reappearance?

"We know only that they were snatched during an ion storm. Their reappearance might happen in another manner. In any event, the captain knows the rendezvous time of 600, 1200, 1800 and 2400 hours. If we make it a point to reappear then, that may be enough of a window of opportunity to bring them back."

Chakota pressed his comm badge. "Ensign Kim, send out a message to the Folkir requesting a diplomatic meeting. Lt. Paris, take Voyager into the middle of Section 564 and hold at impulse power."

"If your negotiations fail, you plan to engage the Folkir," Tuvok said.

"That's the plan."

"Interesting. What would the captain's plan be, I wonder?"


Interlude 2 aka Meanwhile back in the ER

Randi slid a letter opener through the tape on the side of the Dunkin Donut box that a grateful patient had dropped off at the admit desk. Donuts and coffee went together, but drinking coffee from the ER would undoubtedly spoil the sugar high the donut would give. Better to eat it plain.

She spread open the lid and surveyed the assortment of jelly, chocolate, and glazed goodies in three neat rows.

"What have you got there?" Dr. Pratt, one of the new crop of residents, poked his nose over the counter.

"Donuts."

"Hey. Gimme one." His arm reached over. Jeez Louise, he was worse than Malucci had been.

"Go ahead." She placed the box on the counter.

Pratt stood there for a minute, trying to make up his mind.

"Hey, grab one before my shift ends," Randi muttered, one foot tapping impatiently.

"Anyone ever talk to you about your attitude?" The resident asked, picking up a glazed finally.

"Sure, the same people who talk to you about yours," Randi retorted, moving away with the donut box and glancing at the clock.

Six-thirty. Just half hour to go on her shift. In thirty minutes Jerry would stumble in from the outside, complaining about rush hour on the El. She put aside a chocolate donut for him and bit into the jelly one she'd chosen. Strawberry jelly spurted into her mouth sweet and sticky the way she liked it.

"Dr. Carter?" She saw the Chief Resident and offered the box to him.

"Thanks." Carter grabbed a glazed.

"Haleh?"

The nurse shook her head. "Uh-uh, girl, don't even. I'm on a diet."

"What about you Dr. Kovac?" Randi said, circulating with the donuts, as good a way as any to pass the remaining minutes.

Luka took a chocolate donut and bit into it gingerly. "It's good," he said surprised.

"Not like the ones they make in Croatia, eh?" Randi joked.

"In Croatia they do not make donuts. They make paprenjak with honey, walnuts and pepper.

"Sounds delish, Dr. Kovac."

"Randi, do you see my labs?" Carter asked, licking the sugar from his fingers.

"Yeah...in the tray."

Carter leaned down to grabbed the lab report and flipped through the pages, frowning. "Says that Northwestern was going to fax the kid's chemo report. Got that anywhere?"

"Probably in the fax machine. I'll look."

Juggling the donut box, Randi reached for the fax in tray. There seemed more faxes than usual. She recognized the Northwestern letterhead on several sheets and handed them to Carter.

The Chief Resident skimmed the pages. "The kid's chemo show lungs clear. Hooray. He caught a break." Chomping on his donut and smiling, he called out to Luka. "Hey, wait up."

The Croatian turned. "What?"

"Just wanted to give you the rundown on this kid and then I can get out of here." The two men walked down the hall.

The phone rang as Randi stood by the fax machine. It was sure churning them out today.

"County General. Emergency department," she said.

"Hey, Randi."

"Jerry?" Why was he calling in? He should be on the El.

"Bad news, Randi."

"Oh, no, you're not doing this to me, man."

"I can't help it. I feel terrible. My throat is all raw and scratchy."

"Everyone in the ER feels terrible. That's why they're here."

"I can't come in today, sorry."

"So who's your replacement?" Randi demanded. She'd be stuck all day if they had to wait for Human Resources to get a replacement temp.

"I called Almira. She agreed to work for me today. Trouble is she can't make it in until eleven."

Four hours more. Better than doing another eight.

"Okay, but she'd better be here, Jerry."

"Oh she will. Almira is reliable."

Randi slammed the phone down. Reliable. Fricking unbelievable.

"Problem?" Haleh asked.

"Jerry has a sore throat."

The nurse rumbled with laughter. "That he'll probably aggravate at Wrigley today. He scored Cubs tickets off his cousin."

"What?" Randi howled. "Why didn't he just switch shifts with me?"

"Probably cuz if he'd asked you'd have said no."

"Yeah, I guess so," Randi admitted. She bit into the chocolate donut she'd saved for Jerry. He wasn't here so it belonged to her. Chewing, she leafed through the last of the faxes, distributing them in the boxes as needed. Another handful waited in the machine. All the world loved to fax. She took a cursory look at the new batch then nearly choked.

"I don't believe this," she gasped, holding up the missing persons fax sent from San Francisco.

"What?" Haleh asked.

"This woman came in last night."

"You got a hit. Good for you." The nurse leaned over for a better look at the sketch. "Sister, she's something."

"Talk about attitude."

"Annika Hansen. Nicknamed Seven," Haleh read from the fax.

"She has a chart around here..."

Randi searched her desk area for the charts that had been pulled.

"Here we are...Annika Hansen. That's right. She didn't sign the consent form so Weaver couldn't complete the exam."

"Weaver saw this nice piece of eye candy?"

"Yeah, but Hansen refused treatment and wouldn't sign the consent form. And get this, before she saunters out of here, she asks me what century it was."

Haleh stared down at the blonde with the fancy eye jewelry. "Doesn't look like the haha type."

"She isn't. I told Weaver and she went looking for her."

"Weaver went looking for who?" Carter asked, overhearing as he signed out on the board.

"Remember her?" Randi passed Carter the missing person fax. "She came in with the Groper. Weaver saw her last night."

"Oh yeah." Carter smiled, remembering. "Hard to forget this one. A California girl, huh? Do we have an address on her?"

"Nothing. Weaver went looking for her but didn't come back."

"So Dr. Carter, you gonna call this number?" Randi asked.

"Uh-uh. I'm out of here. You go ahead, Randi. You spoke with her more than me. I'm going home to sleep."

"Leave it to Weaver," Haleh suggested.

"She's not in today."

"You can call the number and tell them what we have or you can call Dr. Weaver and see if she would like to call San Francisco herself," Carter said as he headed out the door.

"Haleh?"

"Call Weaver. Maybe she caught up with the woman and knows more about her."

That made sense. "At a quarter to seven in the morning, she's going to love me for waking her up."

"Like she loves you anyway?" Haleh smirked.

Randi picked up the fax. Yup, that was the woman all right. And the phone number that was printed below the sketch was clear and legible. Less legible was the signature.

The clerk frowned. That scrawling signature looked familiar. The first letter a large K then a period. Second name with a lead off looping L...Probably a doctor. Then in the middle two lower looped characters, g maybe, p, definitely....Oh shit, she thought as it dawned on her who had written the fax request. Life was definitely sweeter than a jelly donut.
 

A cold shower would do the trick. Kerry gave herself another few minutes under the icy spray to cool off. Shivering when she finally shut off the water, she gingerly pushed the curtain to the side, one hand hanging onto the safety rail. She half expected to find Seven waiting with a towel to help her out of the stall. But the young woman had obeyed her orders to stay out of the bathroom and go downstairs and see what she wanted for breakfast.

"I need my privacy."

"I would not be repulsed by your body," Seven assured her.

"Just go below," Kerry begged before the young woman had complied.

Now, Weaver shrugged on a pink terrycloth robe, grabbed her crutch and made her way to the vanity, her thoughts still dwelling on the blonde with the strange vocabulary, that amazing artificial hand, those strong arms, the pale blue eyes, the full pouty lips...Whoa. She didn't need another cold shower, damn it.

The beautiful guest under her roof was seriously disturbed. And who wouldn't be with the type of medical experimentation she'd undergone, that abdominal implant and God knew what else, courtesy of Captain Janeway. If the woman were real Kerry would haul her ass to court on Seven's behalf.

Of course, there was no way to determine if Janeway was just a figment of Seven's imagination. She had to get the young woman to see someone in psych. If Kim were around...But she wasn't, Weaver reminded herself for the hundredth time this year as she took the blow dryer down from its hook, plugged it in and turned it on. She'd just have to make do with DeRaad. Carl was actually a good therapist, but as chief of his department he was just drowning in forms and regulations like she was down in the ER.

Quickly Kerry moved the dryer over her damp red locks, fluffing them with her fingers and wondering if her highlights were fading. Automatically she noticed the time on the small digital clock set into the wall. 6:47 a.m.

In the kitchen Seven placed the last of the small red fruit, into the blending machine. She pushed the last button on the second row of the machine the way that Kerry had, satisfied at the whirring sound emitted moments later. She allowed a full minute for the contents to blend. Through the whirring noise her Borg-enhanced hearing picked up the sound of a voice. Cocking her head to one side, she turned off the machine, but there was no voice audible.

Was it someone from Voyager, trying to reach her? Earlier she had changed from her sweatshirt and pants back into her biometric suit, so she pressed the comm badge on her chest.

"Seven to Voyager. Come in."

No answer.

"Seven to Paris. Come in, Lieutenant."

No answer.

"Seven to Janeway. Come in, Captain."

Silence. If anyone had been trying to reach her perhaps they would call back.

Returning to the task at hand, she poured the nutritional shakes out into two tall glasses and placed them on the counter just as Kerry came down the stairs, dressed in a white sleeveless shirt and blue denim trousers.

"Good morning," she said, taken aback by the gleaming, spic and span kitchen. Where was last night's mess? Even her jumble of cookbooks had been neatly arranged in a row on the counter. "What's all this?"

Following the EMH's social skills lesson, the Borg was careful to return Kerry's greeting before answering her question.

"I made your kitchen more efficient. Having your pots and pans here will allow you to reach for them more easily."

"Did you rearrange my cabinets too?"

"I think it more efficient to have your glassware in this cabinet," Seven said, demonstrating by opening a cabinet door.

"You might need to leave me a map." Weaver didn't like the arbitrary rearrangement of her things, and yet she did see that the new system had its merits. "Thanks. Did you want a shower?"

"Since I prefer a sonic shower to a hydro one, I will wait until I return to my starship."

**The ship, right. Delusional, remember?**

"So you've prepared breakfast?" Kerry asked, eyeing the two glasses of pink froth.

The young woman nodded. "A nutritious shake. I hope you will find it sufficient."

"How?"

"I observed you making them last night. I simply reproduced the steps. I used all of the little red fruit."

"Strawberries." Kerry smiled at the phrase. "That's fine. I'll put strawberries on my grocery list when I go shopping."

"In the cookbooks an omelet was suggested as another choice for breakfast. However, your replicator is malfunctioning and would not respond to voice commands."

"Replicator?"

Seven pointed to the microwave.

"On Voyager, we simply say what we want and the replicator provides the food."

"Neat trick. That's not a replicator. It's a microwave oven and cooks food with high energy waves."

"Intriguing."

"I usually save the omelets for the weekend. However, I will need coffee..."

Seven looked momentarily abashed. "The instructions on how to make coffee were insufficient. They do not appear in any of your cookbooks."

"Probably because it is too simple. I'll make it. Watch and learn."

With the young woman standing at her elbow much as a med student would, Weaver measured out the Kona coffee beans and put them into a grinder.

"Your cooking machines are noisy," Seven commented.

"I guess they are." Kerry grinned. She placed a filter into her coffee maker, added the grinds then poured in the water. "Now we'll wait for a few minutes."

"During which time we could consume our nutritional shakes," Seven pointed out, taking a sip of hers. As a rule she paid little attention to food consumption on Voyager, content to still draw most of the energy needed from her Borg alcove. But she was curious to find out if she had reproduced the shake correctly.

Kerry sampled the drink and found it perfect. "Very good." Her green eyes glowed with approval.

The Borg felt an answering glow of pleasure in her chest. Usually indifferent to praise, she enjoyed it sometimes when it came from certain sources like the captain, Lt. Torres, and now Kerry.

"So you went through all my cookbooks just to find an omelet recipe?" Kerry leaned her crutch against the counter and hopped onto a bar stool.

"The omelet was not the object of my search," Seven clarified. "I was searching for a recipe for caramel brownies."

"Caramel brownies for breakfast!" Weaver lifted an eyebrow.

"Not for breakfast. They would be eaten between meals for a snack. The captain is fond of the ones her mother baked."

Back to the captain again. And now she had a brownie-baking mama.

"I may be able to get a recipe for you."

"That would be acceptable." An aromatic scent began rising from the coffee maker. Seven lifted her chin and sniffed the air. "That odor is different than the coffee on board Voyager."

"I'm not surprised. It's Kona coffee, the best."

"Captain Janeway enjoys her coffee."

"Most people do. What about you?"

Seven shook her head. "I have tasted it once and found the liquid bitter and sharp."

"I guess it is. You could always add cream and sugar to the coffee."

"The captain prefers hers black."

"Figures." Kerry drank more of her shake, amused when Seven handed her a napkin. She blotted her lips.

"What is the attraction in drinking something hot and bitter?" Seven wondered aloud as she rested her Borg hand on the counter, careful not to exert too much pressure on it. She had once damaged the duranium table in her astrometrics lab when she got careless with her implant.

"It's a learned behavior, I suppose. Coffee definitely keeps one revved up, makes you want to get up and go."

"Ah. Then you should drink more than one cup."

Weaver quirked a smile. "You want me to get up and go someplace?"

"To Evanston."

"What's in Evanston?"

"Harry Nielsen, this century's expert on time travel," Seven said. "I believe a descendent of his in the 24th century is the leading authority in that century."

"How do you know about this so-called expert?"

"I accessed your computer."

Weaver almost sprayed a pink mouthful into the air, but she managed to choke it down.

"What did you say?!" she roared in the voice that made first year interns quake in their shoes. Ignoring the napkins that Seven was handing her, she stalked over to the computer room. Her Apple laptop rested on her desk. "Please don't tell me you made this computer more efficient."

"Indeed," came the answer along with a proud smile.

Kerry held her head between her hands. She had more than a month's work on the hard drive. "Seven, you can't do that. Rearranging my kitchen stuff is one thing, though it'll take forever for me to find anything. But I have work files on this computer."

"Try it," the blonde suggested. "It responds to voice commands. You address it directly."

"I don't have voice recognition software!" Weaver wailed.

"The operating system was antiquated. I re-programmed it with Borg algorithms."

"God!!"

"You need not address the computer as a deity," Seven instructed. "Simply call it Computer. Please, give it a command. I believe you will find the changes adequate."

"All right," Kerry said, wishing she had a cup of coffee to sustain her while she found out the damages the other woman had wreaked. "Computer, find ER work schedule for the week of July 22nd."

To Kerry's amazement the computer turned itself on and the ER work schedule appeared on screen.

"Projections for end of month budget."

The projections appeared. She tried out a dozen more commands. Each time the appropriate file appeared.

"You input new data in the traditional way or by voice command too," Seven said. "Is it sufficient?"

"More than sufficient. It's amazing," Kerry said shakily. This woman knew how to program computers. Steven Jobs would pay good money to meet her.

"I accessed the antiquated World Wide Web and read through the data on time travel. I came upon this century's Nielsen and deem it probable that he would be the appropriate one to facilitate my return. He is a researcher at the University."

"Northwestern," Kerry shifted gears smoothly. "What about my contact at the symphony who taught astronomy?"

"Mr. Nielsen would get me back to Voyager faster. I already know more astronomy than your friend does."

Unable to refute that, Kerry crutched back to the kitchen, glad to find the coffee ready. She was going to need it. Now, where was her damn mug?

"You need not accompany me if you are busy," Seven said, handing her a mug.

Kerry poured herself some coffee and drank it quickly. What was she going to do with Seven?

"I am sure that I can find my way there." Seven drank down the last of her shake, languidly licking her lips with her tongue. Kerry stared, mesmerized for a few seconds before she forced herself to get a grip.

"If I take you to see Mr. Nielsen this morning, you must come with me to see someone this afternoon."

"Who?"

"His name is Carl DeRaad. He might be able to help you."

DeRaad was undoubtedly a doctor. But if her meeting with Nielsen was successful Seven would be back on Voyager by 1200 hours.

"I will comply. Shall we take the El to Evanston?" she inquired.

"I think you'd better stay off the El. You've had bad luck on it twice."

"You are in error. The Groper and the mugger had the bad luck."

Weaver conceded that point.

"Just the same I'll drive." As she placed her coffee cup in the sink, she darted a quick look at the young woman in the form fitting unitard and high heels. Her pale blonde hair was still loose, not in the austere bun from last night.

"Are you all right?" Seven asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Your eyes are dilated and your respiration has increased."

"I'm fine," Kerry said hastily. "We can get going now, if you like." The sooner they got to Northwestern, the sooner she could get DeRaad to see Seven. "The forecast is for another day in the 90s. Will you be cool enough in that outfit?"

"My biometric suit is environmentally controlled," Seven explained. She had no wish to wear the clothes that disturbed or saddened the doctor.

"Just the same, you might need a hat." Weaver went over to a closet and pulled out a blue Cubs baseball cap. "Bend down."

Obediently, Seven bent her head so Weaver could place the cap on her golden hair.

"Is this your friend's?"

"No. I bought it at a store near Wrigley. It looks cute on you. Maybe if we pull your hair back in a pony tail."

"A what?"

Kerry found a scrunchie and looped it twice around Seven's hair, then she tucked the pony tail into the back of the baseball cap. She pointed to the mirror on the door of the closet. Seven stared at herself.

"A different look. I find it acceptable."

Weaver grinned as she put on her silver sunglasses. "Good. Now let's hit the road."


In the ER Randi frowned at the phone. Every time it rang she pounced on it, sure it was the ER chief.

"Weaver call back?" Haleh asked.

"Nope."

"You left a message, telling her what it was about?"

"Not exactly. I just told her to call in."

Haleh shook her head. "She probably thinks it's some department budget thing that Romano has up his ass. You might have to call again." She picked up the fax. "You're sure it's Dr. Legaspi's signature?"

"I handle the charts. I've seen that scrawl a zillion times. K. Legaspi."

"And you planning to tell Weaver?"

Randi sent her a smug smile.

"Girl, you're asking to get fired."

"It'll get them talking. Maybe get them back together."

"Like either of them want that."

"You never know, Haleh. You never know."