Fate Needs a Push
 
Part 2: Average Specimen
 
When the fuzz finally cleared from her eyes, the first thing she saw
clearly was a woman in her forties bending down closely to her and
looking extremely concerned. "It's all right now," the lady said in a
soothing tone, "You're among friends now."
 
"What the hell," she murmured as she tried to sit up, but a strong
hand pushed her back down. A young lady in a cat suit with blonde hair
and some extremely strange piercings took her hand away from her
forehead and straightened up. "You require additional rest," she said
in a mechanical tone.
 
"Where are you from?" the older woman asked.
 
The newcomer reached for the pocket of her jeans, but there was no
rectangular bulge where there should have been one. "Where are my
cigarettes?" she whispered to the woman.
 
A dark-haired, balding man approached her, holding one of her smokes
between his thumb and forefinger. "I assume you mean these," he said.
"I removed them from you for closer examination. I have heard of these
things, but I have never had the chance to examine one." He paced
around the room and found his way to the side of the young blonde lady.
"It's no wonder legal production of this commodity ceased two hundred
years ago. I found carbon monoxide poisoning and slight tar build-up
in your lungs."
 
The newcomer rolled her eyes. "You sound like my parents." Suddenly,
she was gripped by a fit of dry hacking coughs.
 
"Looks like it's time for another injection," the balding man said,
bringing a device to her neck. She cringed a little, but when all she
felt was a gentle pressure against her skin, she relaxed with surprise.
"You've been coughing like that for over 24 hours now. I came to the
conclusion that your coughing spells concurred with your body's cycle
of nicotine cravings. I've created a sort of nicotine substitute,
since the real substance is too toxic for me to use in better
conscience. It has a similar chemical makeup and it breaks down in
almost the same way, but it produces none of the harmful side-effects
most stimulants produce."
 
The newcomer looked around nervously. "How long have I been out?"
 
The older woman responded, "Almost two and a half days." She took the
new girl's hand and tried to be comforting as she could. "My name is
Kathryn Janeway. What's your name?"
 
"Miranda," she said, creasing her brow. "Miranda Johnson, but
everyone calls me Randie."
 
"Pleased to meet you," Kathryn Janeway said. "This is Seven of Nine,"
she said, indicating the blonde girl, "And this is The Doctor," she
said, nodding to the balding man.
 
"Captain," the Doctor said, "There are a few things I need to discuss
with you about our . . . visitor."
 
"Seven, will you stay with our patient while I talk to the Doctor?"
Seven of Nine nodded, and Kathryn Janeway went with the Doctor to a
secluded part of the room.
 
**********
 
Randie sat up in bed, eyeing the very, very well endowed woman
standing like a U.S. Marine before her. "So," she said cocking her
head to the side, "Seven, is that your real name?"
 
"That has been my designation for the last twenty years," Seven said,
relaxing her stance a little.
 
"That's a weird name to give your kid," Randie said, scooting a little
closer to Seven.
 
"That name was not given to me by my parents. It was given to me by
the Borg." Seeing the confusion in Randie's face, Seven elaborated.
"A cybernetic super-race bent upon conquering and assimilating sentient
life forms and their advanced technology."
 
Randie raised her eyebrows. "Ooohkaaay," she said, but then became
thoughtful. "I'm assuming you weren't with these guys the Borg your
entire life," she said, "So what was your name before meeting up with
them?"
 
Seven straightened up again. "My . . . name . . . was Annika Hansen."
She seemed to almost choke on the sentence.
 
"Annika," Randie said, rolling the name around in her mouth. "Annika.
Interesting. Can I call you Nikki?"
 
"I would prefer it if you call me Seven."
 
"Whatever." Something the Doctor said caught Randie's ear, and she
yelled in their general direction, "I heard that!" But she immediately
turned back to Seven and said, "I don't want you to think I'm hitting
on you or anything, but you're really, well, guys must be banging your
doors down."
 
Seven turned to the new girl and raised an eyebrow. "Now why do you
say that?"
 
"Well," Randie said, "Look at yourself. You're . . . uh," Randie
gestured up and down at Seven's physique, but was at a loss for words.
"Well, just look at yourself. And I'll bet you're smart also."
 
"Your assumption is incorrect," Seven said to the young lady. "I have
not had much experience with romantic encounters involving the opposite
sex. The experiences I have had have been less than favorable."
 
"Perhaps," Randie said, looking thoughtful again, "Perhaps you're
barking up the wrong . . ." but Janeway and the Doctor returned,
cutting Randie off.
 
**********
 
" . . . The only conclusion B'Elanna was able to come to," Janeway
said to the Doctor after they had wandered away from Seven and Randie,
"Was that the anomaly must have been interacting with our warp field."
 
"It would explain why our guest seemed to come flying out of the warp
core," the Doctor said, studying the padd which contained the data he
had accumulated about Randie over the last few days. "Hitting Seven
must have been like hitting a brick wall."
 
"We're lucky it was Seven and not someone else who broke her fall."
Janeway looked at the padd the Doctor was reading and began to take it
out of his hands. "May I?" she said.
 
"Of course," the Doctor replied, handing the padd to the Captain.
"This is the data I have managed to obtain about our guest and some of
the conclusions I have come to. Judging by her clothing and the data
from the anomaly, she appears to have come from the mid-to-late 1990s.
According to the tar samples I obtained from her lungs, she has
probably been smoking cigarettes for approximately three and a half
years. Given the nicotine levels in her bloodstream when we found her,
she was apparently smoking at the time she was catapulted into our
time. Aside from nicotine, I found trace amounts of alcohol and THC in
her blood, small amounts of fluoride in her stomach, and an assortment
of other chemicals we would consider hazardous. She is almost 22 years
of age and about 70 pounds overweight." The two heard the phrase "I
heard that!" come from the other side of the room, so they lowered
their voices. "All of this information supports my theory as to when
she came from."
 
"I don't see how the weight issue applies," the Captain said curiously.
 
"Well, after doing some research, I discovered that in the 1990s, the
citizens of the U.S.A. experienced a dramatic average increase in
weight. To this day historians are still sure not exactly as to why,
but they think it has something to do with a trend of depression that
spread across the country."
 
"Is she depressed?" Janeway asked, indicating Randie.
 
"Slightly," the Doctor answered. "She does have a slight chemical
imbalance in her brain, the origin of which is still unknown. All in
all, though, she is an average specimen of the late 20th century."
 
The two walked back to Seven and Randie, and putting her arms around
Randie's shoulders, guided her off the bed and to the doors. "I know
you're probably tired, so we're going to give you a place to stay for
right now. Later on, though, I might come back and ask you a few more
questions."
 
"Okay, whatever," Randie said as she allowed herself to be led out of
sickbay. Seven followed the two closely.
 
**********
 
Tom Paris's ears pricked up when he heard the phrase, "Average
specimen of the late 20th century." This could prove to be
interesting, he thought to himself as he straightened up sickbay. Very
interesting indeed.
 
 
_____________
 
Fate Needs a Push
 
Part 3: The Secret Order of USA 20
 
It had been two weeks since the accident and Randie had adjusted to
life so quickly on Voyager that it seemed unreal. Some of the crew
members, like Commander Chakotay, refused to believe that she had
merely been walking home from the convenience store when this thing
appeared in the sky and sucked her in. Randie had managed to unnerve
him pretty quickly though, by telling him during the conference that
his tattoo was "bitchin'." The Commander's face had turned beet red,
and Tom Paris had snickered a little. When the meeting was over, Tom
had indicated for Randie to give him a quiet 5 behind his back, and
when she did he slipped her a small piece of paper, giving her a deck
number, a room number, a time, and instructing her to eat the paper as
soon as she had memorized the location.
 
Randie had decided for the most part that the twenty-fourth century
was pretty lame and no one knew the first thing about having fun. The
only people who intrigued her at all were Tom, because he just seemed
cool, and Seven, whom Randie had a funny feeling about but didn't want
to share that with anyone. She felt pretty isolated from everyone
else, and that was understandable; she was the only person who really
liked all of Neelix's cooking . . .
 
(Sitting at a table in the mess hall her second day of consciousness,
she was presented with a tray of something fairly foul-looking, but
still good-tasting, at least to her. "Neelix, my man," she had said,
"You are a credit to your profession. This is wonderful."
 
At the table next door, B'Elanna turned to Tom and said, "How can she
eat this and like it?"
 
Tom tried to defend her by saying, "She wasn't raised on replicated
food."
 
Captain Janeway, after lifting up a forkful and letting it plop back
down on the tray, stated, "Neither was I.")
 
She insisted upon dressing in her usual fashion, sticking out like a
sore thumb . . .
 
("You don't look very comfortable," Sam Wildeman told Randie as the two
were walking down the corridor towards the mess hall. Naomi was giving
a voice recital at Neelix's urging. "Aren't those a little tight?"
 
Randie looked down at her black denim jeans. She was a little
insulted, but tried not to let it show. "No," she responded.
 
"Suit yourself," Sam said, and proceeded down the corridor in front of
Randie, not saying anything else.)
 
And Randie didn't even want to think about the incident with the sonic
shower. Right now she was just happy to be visiting someone who did
accept and respect her. The note had told her to come in her ordinary
"duds" (that's what it really said) and to tell no one about where she
was going. Because she liked Neelix's food, she used her replicator
rations to make a nice Gap sweater. It's nice to finally have someone
actually invite me somewhere, she thought to herself, reflecting upon
the last few weeks of loneliness aboard the ship.
 
When she approached the door, she pushed the button that rang the bell.
No one answered right away, so she rang again. She heard Tom's hushed
voice on the other side. "Who is it?"
 
"It's me," she said, rather loudly. "It's Randie."
 
"Shhh," he said, "Are you trying to give us away or something?"
 
"Give who away?"
 
The door slid open and Randie was practically dragged inside. The
lights were dim but she could barely make out seven figures standing
around and sitting in the darkness. Four of them were playing poker.
Two were sitting in front of a screen watching what looked like
Scooby-Doo. And the last person, Tom, was holding Randie by the elbow
just inside of the door. "You can't tell anyone about this," he
repeated, as the lights began to brighten. "Captain Janeway doesn't
look very favorably upon small, elite organizations. She says that
they detract from the family atmosphere of the ship."
 
"This can't be the only one," Randie said, folding her arms.
 
Someone else approached the pair. Randie recognized him as Harry Kim.
She had actually called him a "wuss" to his face a week earlier. She
hoped he had forgotten. "Of course this isn't the only one," he said
to Randie, adding the phrase "stuck-up bitch" under his breath.
 
Randie smiled at Harry. "I'm sorry about last week, I was just really
pissed off at everyone and didn't know how to deal." She held out her
hand. "Are we cool?"
 
Harry reluctantly took her hand. "Fine," he said. "But next time
don't assume that none of us are up to your 20th-century lingo."
 
Randie giggled. "Lingo?"
 
Before Harry could feel insulted again, Tom led Randie around the room.
"As you can see, there are seven of us here. Each one of us
specializes in a certain decade, from the 1920s to the 1980s. We call
ourselves USA 20, because we're mostly interested in American pop
culture."
 
"Why did you bring me here, then, if you already have your
specialists?" Randie said, her attention being slowly drawn to the vid
screen.
 
"None of us know much about the 1990s. But here, let me introduce to
you everyone. I'm the 1960s buff, and Harry is the 30s expert. This
is Ensign Sandra Bellows," the redhead in bellbottoms waved, "And she's
our 1970s specialist. The guy sitting next to her is Lieutenant JG
Stan Handley, and he's interested in the 80s. I think you know
B'Elanna Torres, my fiancée, and she's sort of here by default because
of me. She concentrates on the 50s. This over here is Crewman Shelley
Jameson, she's got the 20s, and last but not least is Ensign William
Tucker, who's interested in the 40s."
 
Randie eyed the motley crew, and then turned back to Tom. "So how did
you get this whole thing started?"
 
"Well," he said, rolling his eyes upward, "Harry and I discovered a
while back that we were both into 20th-century popular culture, like
cars and movies and stuff, and when I had my monster movie marathon
about a month ago, a few more people showed up, and all in all we
discovered that seven of us were really into the 20th century as a
hobby, so we decided from then on that we would meet once a week.
However, things are kind of slow; we're not exactly sure as to the best
way to really enjoy our interests together."
 
"So let me get this straight," Randie said. "There was a monster movie
marathon and I missed it? Damn it. But that's okay. Anyhow, a movie
marathon is a good start, but I think what you guys need to do is get
out more."
 
"And go where?" Harry butted in. "Three people at most can enjoy our
Captain Proton holodeck programs at one time."
 
"Holodeck?"
 
"It's this room where you can program any sort of scenario you want,"
Tom explained. "It's like you're actually there."
 
"Seriously? Whoa, that sounds pretty cool." Randie's face lit up and
she grabbed Tom's arm. "I have the perfect idea. You want me to teach
you about the 1990s, right? Well, what if I took you somewhere in this
holodeck of yours, somewhere that's really popular for people my age in
the 90s? I guarantee you'll love it."
 
"Where?"
 
"It's a surprise," Randie said mischievously.
 
"Okay, then, we'll meet you at holodeck 2 next week at the same time,"
Tom said, "And this had better be fun."
 
"Oh, it will," Randie said. "I can promise you that."
 
 
_________________
 
Fate Needs a Push
 
Part 4: Q and A
 
Randie felt like she was under interrogation as she sat on the sofa
with seven sets of eyes staring at her. To break the awkward silence,
she slapped her hands on her knees and said, "So, what d'ya wanna know?"
 
Sandra's eyes got big. "Everything," she said.
 
"Like what?"
 
"Anything you want to tell us," Harry said.
 
Ugh, Randie thought to herself, it's going to be a long day. "Well,
should I go by year or by topic? What do you want to learn about
first?"
 
Everyone looked at each other, but finally, Tom spoke up and said,
"Television. Movies."
 
Randie stood up and began to think. She smacked her lips together and
said, "Okay. Television. Umm, TV of the early 1990s wasn't much
different than that of the 80s, except for cartoons, which took a
dramatic turn from what they had been. Stan, you're the 80s man, you
tell us what cartoons were like."
 
Stan had to think a minute before he could respond. "Well, they were
fantastic and unrealistic, but at the same time managed to convey very
strong moral messages."
 
"Very good. By the early 1990s the opposite was beginning to take
hold; cartoons were more realistic but less morally strong. One of the
things that sort of helped this change along was the advent of the
animated sitcom. A show known as `The Simpsons' aired in 1989, and
this was considered the first real animated sitcom. Soon afterwards,
in 1990, a children's show known as `Tiny Toon Adventures,' with
characters based on popular Warner Bros. characters from decades
before, aired on television, and began this widespread change."
 
"It seems kind of, well, stupid that parents would have allowed their
children to watch such mindless entertainment." Stan was perplexed.
"According to my research, the fantasy toons of the 80s were wildly
popular. How could one or two shows change all of this?"
 
"In my opinion," Randie said, sitting down again, "I don't think
fantasy cartoons ever lost their appeal. My belief is that parents
probably encouraged the more realistic cartoons because they believed
that the fantastic toons weren't teaching their children enough about
the real world. The rise of anime in the US in the late 1990s is proof
that kids never stopped liking fantasy, but we'll talk about that
later."
 
Shelley was sitting on the edge of her chair. "Tell us more," she
said.
 
"Umm, well . . ."
 
**********
 
It was getting late. "Thanks for coming over, you were really great,"
Tom said, taking Randie's hand. "It's really neat to be able to
actually talk to someone who lived through that time."
 
"It's not as glamorous as it seems," Randie said, "We had a lot of
problems."
 
"Still," Tom said, "I never knew that the subculture behind cartoons
had become so involved by your time."
 
"Well, by my time cartoons had stopped being for kids and were
becoming more and more for adults. Hey," she said, looking at Tom
thoughtfully. "I don't know how long I'm going to be here. I know
B'Elanna's working on a way to get me home. You need someone more
permanent to become the 90s expert for you. Someone that can learn
everything he or she needs to know in a short period of time. A quick
study."
 
Tom gave Randie a strange smile. "I know just the person."
 
**********
 
Randie was really tired of being stared at. When will people get
tired of me? she asked herself. Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay
were sitting across the table from Randie, eagerly looking at her while
they were eating their soup. Randie had barely touched her food. "Uh,
thanks for inviting me to your quarters for dinner, Captain Janeway."
 
"Please," the Captain said, "Call me Kathryn."
 
"Okay, whatever, Kathryn."
 
Chakotay leaned in towards Randie a little. "So," he said, "I hear
that your first few weeks have been a little rough." He took a bite of
his soup and swallowed quickly. "By the way, what exactly does the
term `bitchin' mean, anyway?"
 
"It means it's cool, your tattoo." Chakotay was still confused, so
Randie continued. "It means I like it, I think it looks good."
 
Kathryn seemed to laugh a little. "I never did understand 20th
century slang. Tom tried to explain it to me once, but I just was
never interested in learning about the culture of that time. Tom seems
so interested in it, though, I'd swear that's all he does with his free
time."
 
Randie coughed on her soup at that comment. "Is something wrong?"
Chakotay asked.
 
"No, nothing," Randie said, putting her spoon down and reaching for
her iced tea. After taking a few sips, she tossed her dark blonde hair
back and looked at the two of them sitting together. "Hey, you guys
aren't, you know . . ."
 
"What?" Kathryn asked.
 
"Y'all aren't, like, together, are you?" Randie lowered her voice to
a whisper. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."
 
Kathryn and Chakotay looked at each other, and then back at Randie.
Both of them burst out laughing at the same time. "No, no," Chakotay
said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Not us . . ."
 
"Although," Kathryn said as she calmed down, "I don't think you're the
first person to wonder about it. Why, do you think we should be?"
 
Randie put her glass down. "Oh, no, god no," she said, reaching for
the rolls. "From what little I know about you, I can already tell that
you two would be so wrong for each other. But I have a question: why
do you guys eat together like this and stuff if there's no romance
behind it?"
 
Kathryn and Chakotay looked at each other. "Well," Kathryn said, "You
don't have to be romantically involved with someone to enjoy their
company."
 
"But," Randie said with her mouth full, "Wouldn't you rather be with
the one you are involved with?"
 
Kathryn looked down at the table. "I'm not involved with anyone. And
neither is Chakotay. If I were still on Earth," she looked out the
window, "I would be."
 
Randie could feel the Captain's pain, though Kathryn tried very hard
not to show it. Randie thought about Earth a lot also, about those
long hot summer days, about school and her friends, and mostly, about
someone with blonde hair and glasses with cute rosy cheeks and a sunny
smile . . .
 
"Well," Chakotay said, interrupting the musings of both ladies, "I'm
sorry to say, Randie, that we're not any closer to solving your
problem. We're doing everything we can, though. B'Elanna is the best
engineer I've ever known."
 
Randie thought for a moment. "What about that other girl, Seven?
Isn't she helping B'Elanna?"
 
Kathryn looked at Chakotay. "Didn't you assign Seven to help
B'Elanna?"
 
Chakotay looked back in surprise. "I thought you did."
 
Kathryn put her napkin on the table and stood up. "Well, no wonder
progress has been so slow."
 
"What are you suggesting?" Chakotay asked, looking up at the Captain.
 
"No offense about B'Elanna was intended," she said, "But you and I
both know that the two of them work faster together."
 
"If they don't kill each other," Chakotay added.
 
"I'll be right back. Excuse me." Kathryn disappeared behind the
sliding doors.
 
After Kathryn had left, Chakotay pointed at the door with his spoon.
"That woman needs more time off."
 
Randie eyed the door with an amused shine in her blue eyes. Her
appetite had returned. "Oh, she needs something all right."