Part 10 -13

I will not go to bars to pick up women.
I will not go to bars to pick up women.
I don't go to bars to pick up women, but I took one home anyway.
Shit.

Kim Legaspi recited the mantra as she ran along Lake Merced. She'd dropped Kathryn off at the Bart Station in Daly City and then feeling restless decided to jog around the lake. Fortunately, she kept a pair of jogging shoes in the trunk, along with a gray sweat shirt and pants so she could change. There was nothing special about this fashion ensemble, unlike her favorite Chicago Bears outfit that she had left behind at Kerry's and which she was never getting back.

After twenty minutes she was well into the rhythm of the run, legs striding purposefully, Nikes landing heel to toe on the paved path. A woman friend, Anya, lived a few minutes away from the end of the next stretch. Kim had collaborated with her on an article on new anti-psychotic drugs for schizophrenics. She was also her therapist.

What would she think about Kathryn? Maybe she ought to pop in on Anya and bring her morning paper. Tell her all about the date that had turned out to be a bust. Interesting granted...alley fight, new med tech gadgetry, missing person faxes, but still a bust where it counted. In the bedroom.

The chill wind slapped Kim's cheeks as she headed into it, her thoughts focused still on Kathryn. Once that tricorder hummed, the Navy captain had showed her stripes and shifted into full military mode, grabbing her vest and prepared to set out east where the homing signal indicated her friend Annika Hansen was located.

"That must be coming from across the bay in Oakland or Berkeley."

"How do I get there?" The redhead's voice was clipped, no nonsense, all Navy captain.

"I could drive you. It's less than an hour."

Kathryn shook her head. "I won't allow you to do that at this time of night. There must be another way."

"Catch BART. Bay Area Rapid Transit," she translated when Kathryn threw her a puzzled look. "A train will take you across the bay."

"Good." Kathryn tucked the tricorder into her vest, prepared to get going. "Just tell me how to get to the train station?"

"I'll drive you there." Kim heard the words and wondered why she'd uttered them.

Kathryn's chin lifted a fraction. "That's not necessary."

"Tell me something I don't know," Kim deadpanned. "I'm not crazy about any woman trudging the streets at four in the morning. Even one as self-sufficient as you." That was the word for Kathryn, all right. Self-sufficient.

"Self-sufficient?" Janeway didn't know whether to be pleased or offended. She certainly couldn't argue with the blonde's assessment. The command mask was hard to put aside after six years tangling with any Delta Quadrant species that wanted a piece of Voyager or her.

"You're wasting time if we argue about it," Kim said, dangling the car keys in front of Kathryn's face, one fingertip in a light, almost caress of a classic cheekbone. "Shall we **do** it?" she smirked.

Kathryn inhaled sharply then nodded. Wordlessly, Kim locked up and they climbed into the Subaru. Kim wasn't in the mood to talk as she drove along the darkened streets. Any question she might pose about the tricorder reading would have been parried by Kathryn, and small talk seemed ridiculous at this point. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she let the other cakewalk on the radio buttons, switching channels at random, trying to find a song that didn't make her want to throw up. At four in the morning the radio waves were either filled with sports talk or songs about love going wrong. Wasn't there anything else for songwriters to write about? Annoyed, she switched the radio off.

"Not a music buff?" Kathryn asked. Her voice sounded even throatier in the warm cocoon of the car.

"Nothing suits the mood, if you know what I mean?"

"Yes." Kathryn almost added, "I'm sorry," but bit the words back. She'd apologized enough to this woman. Better to just get out of her life quickly.

The Subaru hit a pot hole the city hadn't gotten around to filling.

"Yii!" Kim bounced and hit her head on the car ceiling. The shorter Kathryn bounced but didn't make contact.

"You okay?"

"Yeah...Damn pot hole."

To Kim's surprise the captain leaned over and ran her fingers through her blonde locks, feeling for a lump.

"You might need to ice that."

"No, it wasn't that bad." She moved away from Kathryn's touch. "I was just more surprised than anything." And even more surprised by her reaction.

"Rubbing it might help," Janeway said, letting her hand fall back in her lap. "How much further?"

"We're nearly there," Kim said, her mind no longer on the BART station but on the tingling sensation of her scalp being massaged gently by the redhead's fingers.

"Heads up around the station. Sometimes the homeless hang out at night," she continued.

"I'll be fine."

"Right, I was forgetting about your phaser thingie."

Kathryn's lips parted in an involuntary smile. "Thingie?"

In spite of herself Kim laughed. "Well, it looks like a thingie to me." She pulled the Subaru into the BART parking area. "You get a fare card from the machines inside."

**Money. Now that could be a problem.**

"Will the machine take a hundred dollar bill?" Kathryn asked.

Rolling her eyes, Kim opened the ash tray that she never used and pulled out the singles and change she kept there for tolls and parking. "Here." She handed Kathryn the singles.

Janeway fished the hundred dollar bill from her pocket. "Then you get this."

"No way. Forget it."

For a moment Kathryn was tempted to argue. Instead, she opened the car door then gazed back at Kim. "Good bye and thanks for everything."

"Good luck," Kim started to say then Kathryn's mouth was suddenly on hers and talk was the last thing she wanted to do with her tongue. Not when she could slide it into the warmest, wettest, sweetest place it had been in a long time.

Abruptly, Kathryn broke away, slammed the car door and strode off, leaving behind a hundred dollar bill on the seat she had just vacated.


 

Ten minutes later Kathryn boarded the train headed for Richmond. It was one of the first trains of the day and only a smattering of passengers were in the cars. She found a seat and sat back as the train rumbled along. On her lap she kept the tricorder, still showing the Borg read out.

In the 24th century Berkeley and Oakland had been merged into the greater region known as San Francisco. The Berkeley Institute of Astrophysics was a leading center for Starfleet cadets wanting to interact with the leading civilian scientists. Perhaps Seven had headed there for help? But the Institute hadn't been built until the 23rd century.

The train stopped at Powell Station and Market. Kathryn remembered exploring the area with Mark as they tried to decide where to live after they were married. If she had time it would be nice to see her old haunts again. But first she had to find Seven.

Thinking of Seven made her think of the other blonde, Kim. Why the hell had she kissed her? As a diversionary tactic to distract the woman, it had certainly done the job. It very nearly had distracted Kathryn as well, almost didn't remember to leave behind the hundred dollars.

Distraction, and something else. Maybe simple human desire, long denied and suppressed since being marooned in the Delta Quadrant. She could still feel the shock of Kim's mouth opening to hers and those soft lips and that strong tongue answering hers. Her fingers tingled now as she recalled the kiss.

What was wrong with her? She didn't go around kissing women or men either for that matter. Hadn't even kissed Chakotay when they were stranded on that damn planet for three months and thought that was forever. So why now in the 21st century and why a woman, one she was sure she'd never see again.

Kathryn stared at the advertisements on the subway train as the car began to fill with commuters. Of course, that was it. She knew she'd never have to see Kim again and had surrendered to an impulse. It was too complicated to be impulsive on Voyager. A Starfleet captain couldn't have a relationship with a crew member. And she was the captain every single minute of the day on Voyager. Here, however, she wasn't the captain. Her ship was two centuries away. Maybe, that's why she'd indulged herself.

Certainly the attraction to Kim had been there from the start at the bar and even in the car when she'd lightly stroked the blonde's scalp.

A young man swung into the seat next to Kathryn, glancing down at the tricorder resting on her knee.

"Hey, is that a new Game Boy?" he asked, pointing to her machine.

"Uh...you could call it that."

"Cool." He brought out his unit from his backpack. "Wanna swap?"

"No thanks. Mine isn't ready for market yet."

"You're a beta tester?" An envious look came into his dark eyes. "Cool. I wanna be a game programmer when I finish college."

"Good for you."

The young man put on his ear phones and soon was absorbed in his game. It had to do with pudgy little men in overalls running up and down pipes.

Kathryn glanced down on the tricorder screen. The train was getting closer to the point where the signal originated. Time to get off and continue the search by foot. She left the train at the next exit, joining the line of people headed up the stairs.

The sky had lightened when she emerged. Many of the passengers she had followed out of the subway were grabbing something to eat at the row of kiosks. One in particular seemed busy. She wondered what they were offering then she smelled it. The delicious aroma of non-replicated coffee.

She followed her nose and the crowd to a kiosk adorned by a green circle and stars. Starbucks. A fitting name for a Starfleet captain, Janeway thought. On the board was a listing of the different coffees available. Her mouth nearly watered at the thought of something besides Voyager coffee, or even the replicated Klingon raktajino.

Her eyes pondered the choices. House blend with a distinct Latin American taste. The herbal and spicy Sumatra. The most popular single origin coffee.

Five minutes later she took her first long swallow of the house blend. She sighed with pleasure as her mouth filled with the smooth comforting liquid. What had happened to Starbucks between the 21st century and the 24th? Was it just a California company? Perhaps the purveyors hadn't wished to expand to the other regions of the country. Maybe replicators had made coffee kiosks a forgotten thing.

She headed up the street, drinking her coffee and feeling the familiar rush of caffeine recharging her body. Her rescue mission was underway and she felt glad to be doing something. All the hours of waiting with Kim gone. She felt a sudden pang as she thought about the blonde psychiatrist.

Until Kim had made that romantic overture in the bedroom, Janeway had never considered a same sex relationship. There were same gender couples on Voyager, but it had never entered Kathryn's mind for herself. Perhaps it was her background. She had been raised as a Traditionalist in an agricultural park in Bloomington Indiana. Growing up, she had one of the few 24th century bedrooms boasting a patchwork quilt on the bed.

Maybe that's why she had been wary of even inter-species relationships with males. She'd only had three lovers, all of them human males: Cheb Parker, Justin Tige and Mark Johnson. On Voyager she had stuck to a strict regimen of work, work, work, to alleviate whatever sexual discomfort she had experienced. And when need had gotten too great she had availed herself of a holodeck program.

A female lover. An intriguing idea. Not that she could ever indulge with a female crew member. All the same she had grown quite fond of the various women on board Voyager. Sweet Kes, gone but not forgotten, with her empathic quality, fiery Torres, who she had battled with at first and now who grudgingly accepted her counsel and leadership, and Seven.

Seven most of all. Ever since rescuing her from the Borg, Kathryn had made it a point to be available for Seven: to answer her questions about humanity, to play Velocity, to meet in the DaVinci program on the holodeck, and to indulge in philosophic discussions in the middle of the night. And sometimes to watch her regenerate in her Borg alcove in Cargo Bay 2. But that didn't mean anything did it?

The Borg had an electric aura. Kathryn could feel it emanating on the bridge when the doors to the turbo lift opened and before anyone could say a word. She was always acutely aware of Seven's presence, as though she possessed a sixth sense when it came to the young woman. It had been that way from the start, when the Borg was so uncooperative that Kathryn felt tempted to give in to her wishes and send her back to the Collective.

They shared a bond.

**Yeah, right, Kathryn. A spiritual, ethereal bond.**




"Can you image that damn woman, kissing me then throwing money at me," Kim said, seated in Anya's kitchen, a cup of tea and a blueberry scone on the plate in front of her. "That'll teach me to stay away from redheads."

An older woman with salt and pepper hair, Anya had shown no surprise at finding her young colleague on her doorstep with the paper.

"Money given the morning after by a date signifies what?"she asked. Her voice had an East European lilt.

"That she thinks I'm a whore."

"And that suggests sexual services were rendered. Were they?" Anya's eyes met Kim's over the delicate porcelain tea cups.

Kim snorted. "I wish. It was just a kiss." But wow what a kiss.

Anya hid a smile and picked up the honey server. "It's not just the money that annoys you."

"She annoys me and all her military mumbo jumbo."

"Forget the military trappings. What really happened last night between you and this woman?"

"She needed a place to stay for the night, so I offered her one. I also helped fax information out on her missing friend."

Anya swirled honey onto the side of Kim's scone and her own.

"Your helpful nurturing nature shows itself. And then?"

"I made a pass at her." Kim grimaced.

"And your sexual id pops up too."

"What was I thinking?"

"Her reaction?"

The blonde licked her finger where the honey had dripped down the scone she was now holding. "She turned me down."

"Something you are definitely not accustomed to." Anya put the honey server down.

"Are you talking as a shrink or as my friend?" Kim asked. Was she like this to her friends?

"Both."

Kim broken off a corner of her scone and chewed for a moment. "She was so apologetic. It was Thanksgiving all over again with Kerry. In fact she reminded me of Kerry. The red hair. The I-can-do-anything-by-myself attitude." Always in control. Except in bed where Weaver had been gloriously out of control and Kim had been gloriously out of her mind because of it.

"You have unresolved feelings for Kerry," Anya said.

Kim flushed, feeling as though Anya had read her mind just now.

"The two of you never had closure."

"Can't always have what you want," Kim said nonchalantly as she brushed crumbs on her plate with a finger.

"Maybe you didn't want closure."

"That's shrink talk."

"Maybe because you didn't want the relationship to end."

"I really should get a therapist who's not as smart as you are."

Anya bit into her scone and chewed delicately.

"Or maybe I should just stop bringing redheads home."

"Or if you do, make sure that you nail them in bed."

"Anya!" Kim burst out laughing.
 

 

REDHEAD/BLONDE/REDHEAD

"Janeway to Voyager. Come in."

No answer.

Where the hell was her ship? In frustration she hit the comm badge and once again nothing except static. It had been that way for the last half hour.

Not such a shock. Temporal mechanics didn't usually allow for communications. Maybe Chakotay had moved Voyager out of range. Still, she wished she knew what was happening with the ship. **Probably nothing at all. It was in Chakotay's hands and he was a damn fine captain.**

Kathryn drained the last of the coffee then tossed the empty Starbucks container into a trash receptacle. Berkeley was a green community, a 21st century euphemism for environmentally conscious and Janeway, a child of the 24th century, heartily approved. Do your share to keep the earth for our kids, a flyer exhorted from a bookstore window, a bookstore that her mother Gretchen would undoubtedly have loved. The Telegraph Avenue area of Berkeley was certainly quaint enough to warm a 24th century Traditionalist's heart with its row of bookstores and pizza parlors. Already, college kids circled around her as she moved along the sidewalk.

Ten minutes of brisk walking brought her to the visitor center at the Berkeley campus where she did a few quick computations from the map display, relying on the Borg coordinates from her tricorder. From the look of the sprawling campus she had quite a hike to get to the Geophysics Building where the Borg signal originated.

Frowning, Kathryn pushed her comm badge. "Janeway to Seven. Come in."

No answer.

Odd. At this range, the ex-drone must surely be close enough to communicate. Unless her comm badge was defective. Or maybe Seven had found a means to regenerate or her nanaprobes had put her body into stasis. Kathryn had tallied fifty other grim possibilities by the time she reached the Geophysics Building.

People were already arriving in the building, more of them faculty and staff than students. Their conversation was startlingly similar to a student's.

"Grading tests is for the birds."

"Trade you your tests for these papers."

"If you don't want to read them...don't assign them."

Laughing, the faculty diverged into their respective offices. Surreptitiously, Kathryn pulled her tricorder out. Yes... Another fifty meters upstairs. A few minutes later she was directing a level 4 glare at the Out of Order sign taped to the lift's doors. The nearby stairs were cordoned off by yellow security tape.

"Can I help you?"

An Asian man about her age approached, and as she slipped the tricorder into her pocket and turned on the patented Janeway charm, Kathryn hoped he wasn't a security officer about to demand an identity card.

"I wish you would," she said with a smile. "My friend told me to meet her upstairs, but I find my way blocked."

"Is your friend a researcher?" the man asked, looking less than dazzled by her efforts. She'd had better luck with the Kazon.

"Temporarily."

"A temporary hire," he said, nodding. "I bet she knows a lot about astrophysics."

Janeway was jolted. "That is her area of expertise. How did you know that?"

"Upstairs is research for the space museum and NASA subgrantees. Come on. I'll take you up." He reminded her of a more mature but just as helpful Harry Kim.

"You're very kind." He offered her a hand over some concrete blocks.

"Watch your step. They're making this building quake proof."

"Quake proof?"

"You must be new to California."

"Actually I just arrived yesterday."

"Earthquakes are a fact of life here. San Francisco lies right on the San Andreas fault. Sometime this decade the Big One is supposed to hit us, at which time we'll disappear into the Pacific and Arizona will be the new West Coast."

"Really." Janeway was fascinated by this 21st century mindset. A pity that she could not go against the Prime Directive and reassure him that California was still intact in the 24th century. Or perhaps it was because of the 21st century earthquake proofing that California had been kept together for her century.

Just as they reached the second floor a pager went off, and Kathryn's guide grimaced. "Late for a meeting. Hope you find your friend."

"Thank you."

He disappeared down the stairs again. Discretely Kathryn moved down the corridor, glancing into the rooms as she passed. She was nearing the Borg coordinates A blonde woman darted out from a room, startling Kathryn at first before she turned, and Janeway realized that her face was much wider than Seven's.

The captain entered the last room. Her heart sank as she recognized the only occupant: large, heavy and nothing like her lanky blonde Astrometrics officer. And according to the copy printed on the clear transparent case it had been lifted from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean during the past decade.

**A meteorite.**

Swallowing her disappointment, Kathryn cursed, employing a particularly colorful Klingon phrase gleaned from Lt. Torres. Just a stupid meteor that had probably crashed into a Borg cube and spun off in space. Enough of the Borg element had been carried with the remaining fragment to generate the Borg signature. Now she was back to square one and it was not a Parises Square.


 

Seven sat in the land vehicle, feeling dissatisfied with the slow nature of 21st century transport. Whether to blame what Weaver called rush hour, or the Chicago expressways was problematic. The doctor herself seemed agitated by the traffic, alternately pressing the horn on her silvertone Saturn or leaning her head out the window to yell at an errant driver. On the latter occasion she reminded Seven of B'Elanna Torres, and the Borg wondered if she should introduce Weaver to the chief engineer's favorite insult: Pa'tak!

To add to Seven's discomfort the music that Kerry had chosen for their ride to Evanston had a raucous, pulsating beat that set up an annoying resonance pattern in her Borg-enhanced auditory system. Why did the doctor wish to listen to someone named Willy and the Poor Boys and want to meet some one down at the corner?

The only thing that did not displease Seven was Weaver singing along to the music, in a charming, off key voice.

"Don't you like classic rock n roll?" Kerry asked.

"I prefer music with softer decibels," Seven said politely, remembering the EMH's socialization lessons.

"How's this?"

Kerry pushed a button on her CD player.

"Die Zauberflöte, The Magic Flute by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart." Seven identified the music as it filtered through the speakers.

"You like opera?" Kerry asked. The woman could program computers, disarm muggers and now showed an interest in classical music.

"The EMH is a great fan of that musical form and is known to sing this particular birdcatcher aria while working in sickbay."

"Does he? How great for his patients."

"You have not heard his voice." Then again, his voice was better than Weaver's.

Seven sat with her perfect posture in the passenger seat, listening to the baritone while Kerry mangled the German lyrics.

"Any other preferences?" Kerry asked when the piece ended.

"The captain is fond of Irish music."

"Wouldn't have thought a 24th century captain would have time to dance a jig."

"I believe her interest was sparked by an encounter in a holodeck program called Fair Haven with a character by the name of Michael Sullivan."

"Sullivan, huh? Talk about a good Irish name." Expertly Weaver found an opening in traffic. "What's a holodeck?" she asked when they had squeezed through.

"A computer generated program where one can interact with lifelike computer images."

"Interactive computer game?"

"Yes, however, not just games are played there. Voyager's crew uses the holodeck to plan battle strategies and simulations. A few times the EMH has simulated medical procedures to assess their chance of working in real life." She did not add that on several occasions the Doctor was attempting to see if procedures to be done to Seven and her Borg implants would be successful.

"So the captain was interested in this guy Sullivan," Weaver said as the car crept along the Chicago expressway.

Captain Kathryn Janeway. If she wasn't playing peeping Tom with Seven she was lusting after a computer character.

The Borg offered no further comment on Michael Sullivan. She'd heard a disturbing rumor that Janeway had fallen in love with the holodeck bartender. But she had never thought to ask the captain about it. For some reason, it disturbed Seven to think of the captain in the arms of anyone. Even a pretend Irish bartender.

"Well, in honor of the captain, how's this..." The track from Riverdance began to play.

"Are you Irish, Kerry?" Seven asked as they listened to the lively music.

"I don't know what my ethnic background is."

"Explain."

Kerry glanced over at the other woman. The blue Cubs cap was sitting slightly askew on the top of the blonde head, giving her an endearing look. "I was adopted. Adoption is the form of obtaining a child from parents who can't care for it."

"I understand the concept," Seven said. "The Borg adopted me when I was quite young." Although assimilation was the word more commonly for the Borg's form of adoption.

Weaver honked as an SUV cut in front of her. "Damn gas-guzzler!" she shouted. "I guess I have the temper and the red hair that the Irish are supposed to have."

"At least you know you are human."

"Isn't everyone?"

"No," came the prompt response. "Mr. Tuvok is Vulcan. There are also Bajoran and Bolians. My friend Naomi Wildman is half Katarian."

"Tell me about your friend Naomi. Does she serve on your ship too?"

Seven shook her head. "Naomi is only five and too young for duties.
Occasionally she acts as the captain's assistant. Her mother Samantha Wildman works in Astrometrics under me."

"You sound fond of the little girl."

The blonde nodded. "Sometimes we play Kodiskot together. She is my only friend."

The matter-of-fact way that she said this gave Weaver pause.

"How large is your ship? How many people serve on it?"

"It is an Intrepid class Federation Starship and houses approximately 145 crew members."

"Really? I would think that on a vessel of such size and with so many people you would have many friends."

"I am Borg."

"You keep saying that," Weaver said with a touch of asperity anyone in the ER would have recognized. "What exactly does that mean?"

"The Borg assimilate other species to add to the perfection of the Collective. I was assimilated as a child and I participated in the assimilation of many others as a drone. Consequently many on Voyager are frightened of me."

"And just how did you assimilate others?"

"Through the use of my assimilation tubules," Seven said, lifting her mesh covered left hand and allowing two thin assimilation tubules to protrude.

**Oh sweet Jesus.** Only with the greatest effort did Kerry keep her trembling hands on the wheel. She was glad that Seven couldn't see her eyes through her darkened sunglass lenses.

"My nanoprobes would be injected into their necks and the assimilation process would cause them to become drones within minutes."

To Kerry's relief Seven retracted the assimilation tubes and her hand returned to normal. Or as normal as that left hand was going to get.

"Sometimes the assimilation process is not successful."

"Meaning?"

"The individual dies."

Weaver could think of nothing to say to that. I'm sorry, certainly didn't cut it.

"Naomi is the only one who seeks out my company, eats a meal with me and engages in social intercourse. The others merely tolerate me. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes," Kerry said, remembering how far out of the ER social whirl she was before Kim.

She cleared her throat. "How old were you when you were assimilated?"

"Six years."

"And how long were you with the Collective?"

"Eighteen years, until Captain Janeway severed my link. She was determined to restore my humanity to me. However, I find humanity sometimes puzzling. As a Borg I never had to worry about matters such as friendship."

"Everyone was a friend in the Collective?"

"Friendship was irrelevant. We shared the hive mind. Our thoughts were one. Trivial things and petty jealousies did not matter. Captain Janeway changed all that. Without the thoughts of the others I felt so alone. Just one mind. My thoughts the only thoughts."

"The change for you must've been difficult."

"Indeed. However, I am Borg. I adapted."

The lively Irish music felt inappropriate now. Seven reached a long arm out and pressed another button. Someone began singing a plaintive song about being on her own.

"On My Own from Les Miserables," Kerry identified the song for her. "A great musical with great songs, some a little glum."

On my own pretending she's beside me.
All alone I walk with her til morning,
Without her I feel her arms around me
and when I lose my way
I close my eyes and she has found me.

Kerry drove, feeling the music wash over her and half whispering the lyrics to herself.

In the darkness
the trees are full of sunlight
and all I see are her and me
forever and ever.

Seven glanced over at the woman behind the steering wheel. Thanks to the Borg's enchanced optical implant Weaver's expressive eyes were visible through her sunglasses. The enhancements to her auditory system made it possible for Seven to catch the soft words the doctor whispered. They did not match the lyrics coming from the stereo speakers.

And I know
It's only in my mind
that I'm talking to myself
and not to her.
And although I know she is blind,
still I say
there's a way for us.

The moisture was back in the green eyes. Seven leaned forward in her seat, ready to switch back to Mozart. She did not like this song or its effect on Kerry.

I love Kim.
I love Kim.
I love Kim.

Seven startled at the name, her hand midway to the dashboard. Kim? Immediately her thoughts flew to Ensign Harry Kim on Voyager and the way he had flirted with her in the beginning of her life aboard the vessel. Surely, Kerry did not mean him.

She felt a growing warmth in her chest when she contemplated the small redhead in the driver's seat. Her hair had been so soft when she had stroked it on the pillow. She clasped her hands together now so that she would not be tempted to do so again

Despite her threats to eviscerate the various drivers on the expressway, Kerry was kind-hearted, and Seven found her surprisingly easy to talk to. Seven did not converse much with others on Voyager except when it related to her work in Astrometrics.

Sometimes late at night she and the captain indulged in philosophic discussions. During these talks she felt comforted as she did now with the 21st century doctor. Maybe more with Kerry since this redhead was not her superior who could order her flatly to obey a command she disagreed with.

Realizing that she had been totally absorbed in the music, Weaver turned her head and found two pale azure eyes staring at her with a single-minded intensity.

"You know that song well," Seven said.

"Listened to it often enough, I guess," Kerry admitted, feeling embarrassed and wishing that Seven wouldn't stare so hard at her.

Thankfully the young woman said nothing more until the car was headed off the Evanston exit.

"Have you ever been lonely, Kerry?" she asked Weaver the question she had often yearned to ask the captain.

It was on the tip of Kerry's tongue to deflect the question, instead she nodded. "Many times." Too many times, in fact.

"It is not a comfortable feeling."

"No, it isn't."

"You miss your friend, don't you?"

The Saturn almost sideswiped the Volkswagen in the next lane.

"What?"

"You miss your friend. The one whose garments I wore last night. Your scent was mixed with hers in the fabric."

Borg-enhanced olfactory system no doubt, Kerry thought dryly.

Seven waited patiently.

"Yes, I miss her," Kerry admitted.

"I miss the captain," she said and very gently laid her hand on Kerry's.
 

 

Meanwhile back in the Delta Quadrant

The alarm klaxon sounded Red Alert. Voyager's entire crew scampered to their battle stations. The alpha shift bridge crew was already in place. They had seen the Folkir ship powering up their weapons through the ion cloud.

"Fire phaser bursts," Chakotay ordered just a second before Voyager was rocked by phasers from the other vessel.

"Phasers fired," Tuvok replied calmly, hanging onto his console at tactical. The command deck shuddered with another incoming blow. "We have targeted engines one and two."

"Report!"

"We have sustained a direct hit to deck seven. Damage minimum. Shields are holding," the Vulcan said calmly.

"Just a friendly warning to us?" Paris asked.

"Commander, they're powering up again." Kim recognized the energy signature.

"Evasive maneuvers, alpha twelve," Chakotay barked. He couldn't see the damn ship but he knew it was out there.

"Aye, aye, sir." Paris grinned, the pilot in him wanting to cut loose and show what he could do...even if the larger Voyager's maneuverability wasn't quite up to his beloved Delta Flyer.

The evasive maneuvers were underway just in the nick of time as a photon torpedo landed a punishing blow to the starboard side of Deck Two.

"Minor hull breach. Mess hall has sustained moderate damage. No serious injuries to personnel." Tuvok reported.

"Wish I could say that about Neelix's cooking," Paris chortled.

He nearly bit his tongue in half however as another torpedo blew into Deck Eleven. That was Engineering.

"B'Elanna, report!" Chakotay shouted.

"Warp core is holding, Commander," Torres's voice came on line. "Some damage to bio-neural gel packs. Plasma is venting in half a dozen spots. Trying to secure. What the hell is going on?"

"Structural integrity field is holding," Tuvok said.

"Didn't even give us a chance to negotiate," Harry Kim offered from ops.

"Commander, they're powering up phaser banks. Looks like they're going to take another run at us," Paris said.

"Tuvok, power up our quantum torpedos one and two."

"Torpedos ready." Tuvok said.

"Tom, take us to warp 2 on my mark. Tuvok, launch torpedos. Do it, Paris!"

The starship went to warp just as Tuvok launched the torpedoes.

 

REDHEAD/BLONDE/REDHEAD

"Find your friend?"

Kathryn whirled, startled. How long had she been staring grimly at the meteor fragment in the empty room?

The older Harry Kim lookalike was back from his meeting.

"No, I guess I got the wrong building."

"Easy to happen. Want to call her? You can use that phone." He indicated a device on the vacant desk.

Janeway crossed over to the desk instrument. She had seen people at the Starbuck's communicating with these devices. Luckily, she had memorized the number on the missing person's fax Kim had sent out last night.

She pressed the numbered buttons now. To her relief she recognized the soft melodic voice that answered, but it was just a recorded message, asking callers to leave a message and she'd get right back to them. Kathryn listened to a beeping tone then could think of nothing to say so she hung up.

A plan. She needed a plan, with choices to be made and a decision forthcoming. Striding across campus again, she headed down Telegraph Avenue, straight toward the green sign with the symbol of a woman and stars. She always planned better with a cup of coffee in hand.

Standing in line at Starbucks, she decided on the Sumatra blend. As she waited for her order to be filled, she reviewed her options. She still had no idea where her astrometrics officer was or even if this was the right century to find her. Voyager had failed to answer her hails, and she couldn't even trust her tricorder. No telling how many Borg readings would be given out by meteor fragments in the various museums and science research centers on earth.
Her only hope was that somewhere someone had seen the face of Seven of Nine on the missing person's fax and contacted Kim.

**Kim.** Kathryn frowned, almost regretting that goodbye kiss she had planted on the blonde psychiatrist. Would the woman even speak to her again. And where did she live? Kathryn didn't know the answers to these questions. And she didn't like that one bit. A Starfleet captain always knew what she was doing, was always in control, even during an away mission two centuries in the past. Her mentor at Starfleet Academy, Admiral Paris would not be pleased.

"Coffee, ma'am?" The clerk gestured for her to pick up the steaming paper cup.

She sampled the Sumatra as she walked toward the subway station, feeling the hot spicy liquid tickle the back of her throat as it slid down. More passengers were now making the commute into the city. She would go back into San Francisco and find Kim's residence and see who had called in information on Seven. Kim had mentioned her work place. San Francisco General. If necessary, Kathryn could always go to the hospital and ask for her there, although she suspected that Kim was not accustomed to having women she met in clubs follow her to her workplace the morning after.

She would also need more money, especially if food cost as much as a cup of Starbuck's coffee in this century, and if she needed to find a place to stay. That meant finding another pawn shop or possibly a jewelry store or someone who knew the black market. Slowly, her plan began to take shape as she went through the turnstile with the crush of commuters. Failure is not an option, she reminded herself, citing a familiar chapter in the Starfleet Officer's Manual.

The crowd's surge took her on board the subway car after the train arrived. There was a quick scramble for the vacant seats. Kathryn was content to hang onto a strap and drink her coffee.

As the train lurched its way under the bay, Kathryn felt a hand stealthily approaching her back pocket before it paused a fraction of a centimeter. Deftly she aimed a swift kick at the perpetrator's shin and simultaneously tipped the hot coffee against his wrist. The bone knitter he was trying to grab from her vest pocket started to fall. She caught it before it hit the floor and put it back in her vest pocket.

"I'm sorry. Is that your foot I stepped on?" she asked. Her steely gaze made plain that the young man, a teenager, had chosen the wrong victim. And he'd made her spill her precious coffee.

"No, it's okay."

"Isn't this your stop?" she asked.

"Yeah, you're right." He seized the opportunity to retreat. Unfortunately for him, Kathryn pushed her way through the crowd and came after him.

"What's your problem, lady?" he confronted her as she dogged him through the underground station. He wore a T shirt with METALLICA emblazoned on it and a pair of blue trousers that hung down his hips.

"I don't like being robbed for a start."

"I didn't rob you. You stopped me before I got started, remember?" He leaned down and rubbed his shin.

"What's your name?"

"What's it to you?"

"Just wanted to make sure you got the proper credit when I talked to that nice security guard." She indicated a subway guard walking nearby.

"Toby, my name is Toby," he muttered.

"Got any other wallets in there?" she asked, nudging his backpack.

"No." He scowled. "You were my first mark of the day."

"Lucky me."

The security guard glanced Kathryn's way.

"Problem, ma'am?"

"No, officer. This nice young man was just giving me directions."

The officer nodded and walked on. Kathryn pulled the nice young man toward the stairs and the two of them emerged in Market Street. Commuters dispersed toward the waiting buildings and tourists took their place on the streets.

"You don't want directions?" the teenager scoffed, his courage back now that daylight was hitting his face.

"Actually I do. Where can I get an identity card?"

"Fake ID?" Toby laughed. "Lady, you're kinda old to get carded at a night club."

Kathryn was quite sure she'd just been insulted but she let it pass.

"And anyway, IDs are hard to score these days. Lots of places folded, tired of FBI hassles. Everyone's scared of terrorists."

"Do I look like a terrorist?" Janeway asked impatiently.

"Black turtleneck, black pants, cool vest. Yeah lady, you do."

Kathryn was quite sure she'd just been complimented.

"I'll pay you a finder's fee of twenty dollars."

"Hey, why didn't you say so. I know just the guy."

"I'll also need the name of a pawn shop."

"Lady, just who the hell are you?"

"I won't know that until I get that identity card," Kathryn smirked.

A half hour later she was standing in a second story Chinatown office. The man in the leather chair was Italian, not an Asian. Through the open window something delicious and garlicky floated in from a nearby restaurant.

"Grimaldi, Mike Grimaldi."

"Pleased to meet you."

"May I say you're the prettiest alien I ever met."

Kathryn laughed. He hadn't met Seven of Nine. The Borg owned that particular title.

"Thank you." Was it just her or did this particular 21st century male seem condescending? "I understand you can get me a new passport?"

"Sure. U.S. British. Australian. It's more difficult nowadays."

"I'm sure nothing is impossible for you," Kathryn said, her voice falling into the slow growl that only a few had been privileged to hear the captain utter.

Grimaldi preened visibly.

"It will be expensive."

Kathryn placed a hundred dollar bill on the desk.

"That's a down payment right? Lady, the real passports cost that much. The fakes run you more."

Janeway frowned. "Maybe I don't need a passport. How about something smaller."

"Sure. That's easy enough. Driver's license or state ID?" the man asked.

"How much for both?"

"Two hundred."

"All right. How soon can I get them?"

"Wait a minute..." He darted into a back room and came out with a small camera. "Smile, sweetheart."

Kathryn did no such thing. Eventually he took the photo anyway.

"Here sign this. Whatever name you want to use."

She took the pen from him and signed the card. Kathryn Janeway.

"Okay, Ms. Janeway. Come back in an hour."

An hour. Fair enough. That was enough time to find a pawn shop and get the two hundred fifty dollars she'd need for the identity cards. As she exited the office and went down the stairs she saw Toby, lounging across the street. He had led her to the Chinatown contact and seemed content to stand on the sidewalk, chewing on a piece of sweet roast pork. In the 24th century no one ate real animal flesh. Just the same, she had to admit the aroma coming from the nearby shops smelled delicious even if the sight of the roasted fowl hanging from hooks in the window gave her pause.

"The Italian gonna help you out?"

She nodded. "Now where's the closest pawn shop?"

"Try Emmet on Soma."

"Soma?"

"South of market. You can't miss him. He buys and sells stuff. You get there on the cable car."

Cable car? Kathryn's face lit up. The quaint street cars were obsolete in 24th century San Fancisco except for a replica in a historic museum. In the 21st century apparently they were still a viable means of transportation.

"Just be careful of pickpockets on the cable cars," Toby warned.

Kathryn laughed. "Here..." She slipped the teenager the twenty dollars she owed him then went off in the direction of the nearest clanging trolley bell.

Emmett of Soma turned out to be a surprisingly respectable jewelry shop. Just the same Kathryn shifted her phaser to her pants pocket before entering the establishment. A husky man in a crisp white shirt and tie stood behind the counter and smiled a greeting.

"Help you, ma'am?"

"I hope so. I have a few pieces of jewelry I'd like to sell."

"We are not a pawn shop," he said softly.

"I'm sorry. You were recommended by a young man Toby who I met on a Bart train."

Emmet sighed. "You met him on the Bart?"

"He was in the act of picking my pocket."

"Shit. You're not an undercover cop, are you?"

"No."

"Thank God. And thank you for not busting his sorry ass. He's my brother. What can I do for you?"

Kathryn brought out two of her diamonds. Emmet slipped on his jeweler's loupe.

"I also have this gold chain," she said, producing the chain and gold square.

He picked it up and frowned. "Good grief, I haven't seen this quality gold ever. Where did you get it from?"

"Family heirloom."

"It's not hot, is it?"

"Hot?"

"Stolen. I'm not a fence."

"No, it's not stolen."

"Okay. I'll give you five hundred each for the diamonds and another five hundred for the gold necklace and pendant."

"I'll keep the gold necklace and pendant and just sell the diamonds."

"It's a deal. Who should I make the check out to?"

"I prefer cash."

His mouth opened and closed. "Of course you would. One moment." He disappeared in the back, allowing Kathryn time to look around the shop. One of the last things she had done in San Francisco with Mark was to shop for an engagement ring. She hadn't worn it, since Starfleet regulations strictly forbade jewelry on officers, simply keeping it on a chain draped on the holoimage of the two of them in her quarters. After receiving Mark's Dear Kathryn letter, she'd put the ring away in the bottom drawer of her ready room desk. Someday she'd have the guts to hurl it out of the nearest airlock.

"All right. Fourteen hundred dollars." Emmett was back, counting out the hundred dollar bills one at a time.

"You wouldn't have change for a hundred dollars, would you?" she asked.

"What am I, lady? An ATM." Emmett grumbled as he put five twenties on the counter and took back a hundred dollar bill. "And if you ever want to sell that gold chain and pendant, give me a buzz."


 

Harry Nielsen's ruddy face gleamed with honest pleasure as he began to write down a series of mathematical equations on his white board. They were followed by another line of complex algorithms, Borg algorithms, a contribution from Seven.

The rotund time travel expert had listened to the Borg's story of coming from the 24th century and had fallen in enthusiastically, trying to devise a 21st century method to return her.

"Won't that cause an internal feedback loop?" he asked now, pushing his fingers through the flop of brown hair falling on his forehead.

"That's why we compensate with this...." Seven said, beginning to diagram a schematic on the white board.

The scientist watched for several minutes, scratching his head, as he attempted to follow. "I don't quite understand all this," he admitted.

Seated nearby, Weaver felt sorry for him. They would need a bigger white board, judging by the equations filling the present one. She had been relieved to find Nielsen a good sport, having feared that he would call the police when Seven started babbling about the 24th century. Nielsen, however, had been delighted by the young blonde in the baseball cap, his initial misgivings thrust aside when Seven began reciting data presented in papers over the years, information she had gleaned from the Internet from Weaver's laptop.

"Do you understand enough to be able to construct a device that will emit poleron emissions and allow me to return to my time."

"Yes, theoretically, but it's risky."

"The .005 variable is acceptable." Seven said, laying down the colored marker.

They had been going over the rudiments of the time travel for the past two hours. The scientist had grasped the essentials but the details were giving him trouble. Seven felt frustrated. Even in the best of circumstances she lacked the vocabulary to get her message across to people. Of course, if she assimilated him then he would know all that she knew about time travel and they could proceed. However, she had promised the captain never to do that again. Besides, she had seen the way Kerry had reacted to her assimilation tubules in the car and she did not want to scare the doctor.

She darted a shy glance over at Weaver who was staring at the complex equations with such a baffled expression that a warm glow once more filled Seven's chest. If she and Nielsen were successful she would be returned to the 24th century and she would not see the redhead again. Another emotion began gathering within her. She identified it as sadness.

"Are you feeling all right?" Weaver asked. She had taken advantage of the lull between the time travel enthusiasts to crutch over to Seven with a water bottle in hand.

"I am not functioning within normal paramaters," Seven responded truthfully. A tendril of blonde hair had gotten loose from the scrunchie and fell now against the side of Seven's cheek with the starburst implant. "My nanaprobes are compensating and I am functioning within 76% efficiency."

"Drink," she ordered. "Nanaprobes or no nanaprobes, you're probably dehydrated."

"I could use the electrolytes in liquid refreshment," Seven agreed, drinking from the Poland Springs water bottle.

She felt it odd that her temperature had risen with the closer contact with the small redhead. Perhaps her biometric suit had been damaged.

Kerry took the water bottle back and swallowed a mouthful herself. Seven watched the movement of her throat muscles as they moved up and down.
She reached out her right hand and lightly touched one of the scars on the other woman's throat.

"You were damaged here?" she asked, running a finger tip over the doctor's delicate skin.

"Tracheotomy scar," Weaver said, tensing her body automatically until she realized Seven was using her non-artificial hand then she relaxed. "When I was a child, I choked on an acorn shell."

"Unfortunate. A dermal regenerator would have left your skin without a scar."

"I gotta get me one of those," Weaver joked. "It's okay. The experience got me interested in medicine."

Seven's thumb had joined her finger and was lightly stroking Kerry's throat. She had to control herself not to lean into the innocent caress. If she turned her head a fraction Seven's palm would cup her cheek. Another turn and she would be pressing her lips against Seven's palm.

**No, you don't,** she told herself, immediately breaking the contact with the blonde. She would be as bad as Janeway if she allowed that to happen.

"Maybe eating something would up your efficiency level. You just had that shake this morning and last night. We should get something solid to eat."

"Since I cannot regenerate, nutritional supplements may be of assistance," Seven agreed.

Nielsen had been copying the equations into a marble composition book. He lifted his head now. "Oh my God, food. Where are my manners?"

He opened up his refrigerator and let out a sound of dismay. "Sorry, I don't have much of a pantry." He reached in and brought out a potato that had a green crust from old age.

Weaver pushed him aside the way she would a dithering resident in the ER, and swiftly took stock of what was on the shelves. She did see some eggs and cheese, and found a can of mushrooms in his cupboard. After resurrecting a skillet from under the sink, she got busy cracking eggs.

"Omelets are not just for breakfast," she informed Seven who had followed her over to the small kitchen.

"You are most efficient."

Kerry knew enough of the young woman's expressions to realize that this was a compliment. Together they watched the eggs sizzle in the pan.

"It is more difficult than I expected," the blonde said, her beautiful face, half hidden by the bill of the baseball cap.

"Making the omelet? It's easy, really."

"No, I mean returning to my time. I had assumed that Dr. Nielsen could provide the way once I provided the missing information. There are things he does not have available."

"Such as?"

"Polaric energy devices, an inversion wave or even a wormhole. All three could be useful to make my trip back through time."

"Really?" Kerry glanced over Seven, at a loss what to believe about the young woman. Last night outside the ER it had been so simple. Annika Hansen was mentally unbalanced. Right now, this very minute, Weaver wasn't so sure.

Nielsen had bought completely into the time travel story that Seven had related. The professor was even now meticulously reviewing the equations at the white board.

"Does it always expand like that?" Seven asked, returning to the matter of the omelet.

"When you do it correctly," Kerry said, sliding the puffy mushroom and cheese omelet onto a plate.

She picked up a fork and blew on the bit of omelet she had broken off before offering it to Seven. "Here, take a bite. Careful, it's hot."

Seven opened her mouth dutifully, and her tongue accepted the sliver of egg and mushroom hanging at the end of the tines. Methodically, she chewed.

"Well?" Weaver asked.

"Very acceptable."

The redhead grinned. "Good." They shared the omelet while Nielsen phoned in an order for Chinese food from a nearby restaurant. He volunteered to go and pick it up.

"Could you hurry?" Weaver asked, walking him to the door. "I need to get Seven back to the city and have her talk to a friend."

"Another scientist?" he asked, suspiciously.

"No. A psychiatrist."

"A shrink? Why does she need a shrink?"

Kerry lifted an eyebrow. He had to be kidding. "You don't find her story of being from the 24th century just the slightest bit odd?"

Nielsen shrugged. "It's no odder than us being from the 21st century."

"You can't really believe you can safely send her back to the 24th century?"

"Dr. Weaver, I know many consider me a deranged lunatic. Those algorithms of hers. I've never seen anything like them. With what Seven has given me to work with, I could probably construct something that would indeed send her back to her proper time zone."

"How long would that take?" Seven asked. Unnoticed, she had slipped behind Kerry.

"Three or four days, maybe a week to be on the safe side."

"That is not acceptable," the Borg said flatly.

"Why not?" Kerry asked, turning around.

The blonde hesitated a moment. "If I do not regenerate in the next 47 hours, I will start to deteriorate."

"Deteriorate how?"

"My Borg implants will start to consume my human tissue. I will die."