Disclaimer: No money is being made from this and no infringement is intended on the Star Trek copyright.

James Kirk looked slowly around his apartment, feeling almost like a stranger. He tried to conjure up a feeling of "home," but his eye went immediately to the holo on the wall. Scotty had captured her as she was entering Starbase XIV, where he was waiting to overhaul her with a passion Kirk understood all too well. He sighed. Nothing lasts forever, but a piece of him had died, seared in the atmosphere of the Genesis planet.

"I guess I should get some real art for the walls," he muttered aloud. Only he was partial to his personal photographs, like the cherished holo of Sam and Aurelan. He began to chuckle at the next one—of Bones, his eyebrows slanted and his ears pointed, his hand struggling with the Vulcan salute. McCoy had had it taken in one of those costume holobooths on some shore leave, and he'd given it to Jim as a joke, but it was too good to pass up, so he'd hung it in his quarters, to McCoy's verbose perturbation. Jim had relented before Spock ever saw it, but recently he'd taken it out of storage and put it on the wall. Neither of his friends had seen it there yet.

Then there was the latest addition—Gillian Taylor. He'd had it printed from the records of her testimony before the Starfleet brass. She was standing tall and proud, her eyes glowing as she looked at the future ahead of her. And behind her. He shook his head. That had to be something, having three centuries of future behind you. He wondered what Spock thought of it—he hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it. He mused for a minute about all the times they had interfered with the time-space continuum, and how Spock was always preaching about not altering anything; and of course he'd seen firsthand the dire consequences in the future the smallest action in the past can have. Suddenly troubled, he instructed the comm unit to call Spock.

"Captain," he said, his eyes glancing up for only a second from the terminal at which he was working. "Has Mr. Scott finished his repairs already?"

"No, Spock. I'm calling to ask you about Gillian Taylor."

Now Spock looked up. "Interesting, Captain. I was just doing some research on Dr. Taylor."

"And?" encouraged Kirk.

"I find almost no mention of her in the data banks. Most records were lost in the earthquake of 2016, but as far as I can tell, she made no significant contributions to history."

"On the contrary, Spock, she saved the Earth."

"Quite. But that was in her future."

"Which was our past. Which is hers now, too."

"Exactly, Captain. And that's what concerns me."

"But, Spock, if her coming forward in time made any changes in the timeline, then we wouldn't have returned to the same Twenty-third Century."

"Did we?" he questioned, punctuating it with his eyebrow.

"Explain, Spock."

"Well, Captain, we returned to find the probe attacking Earth, and Starfleet, and people we knew, but how can we be sure that nothing had changed?"

"Perhaps something had, but nothing important."

"We do not know that, Captain. We have not yet checked recorded history against what we remember to be true. I have been running T'Laq's new equations."

"T'Laq—the theoretical historian?"

"Yes. If seven projections are run from a given point in time, to a given point further on in time, there is a ninety-eight point seven percent chance that the actual history will be among those seven alternatives."

"Let me get this straight, Spock. You plug in data about something from one time, tell the program to project ahead a given number of years, and there's a ninety-eight percent chance the actual data for that period will appear in one of the first seven projections it creates?"

"Ninety-eight point seven percent, yes."

"Amazing! But think what this means. With this program you could make a killing at the races!"

"You wish to slaughter horses, Captain?"

"Gambling, Spock! You place seven bets and you have to hit the winner!"

"That hardly seems lucrative, and, unfortunately, the calculations require enormous computer power. I have had to make do with Starfleet's Omni Ten facility. I could perform the calculations in half the time if I could use the H'Gal 714 at the Vulcan Academy."

Kirk swallowed hard. Make do with the Omni Ten? The largest self-generating multi-parallel quantum computer in the Galaxy? Except for the 714 on Vulcan, of course, and word was no human had ever been granted access to thatt. Not that Starfleet was overly liberal with access to the Omni Ten. Come to think of it... "Spock? How did you access the Omni?"

"Starfleet Security has a flaw in one of its programs," Spock answered with his usual straight face.

"And you've kindly discovered it for them and have a report on how to plug the leak all prepared."

One brow raised slightly. "As soon as my calculations are complete, Captain."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. Go on," Kirk said, covering his smile with his fist.

"I went back three hundred years in Vulcan records and selected an individual who did not appear again in the records after his death. Then, I ran the equations, having removed that individual, to produce the first seven projections." He lifted a thick pile of printout.

"How long have you been working on this, Spock?" asked Kirk.

"Three point nine five days, Captain."

"But we've only been back four!"

"Four point..."

"Belay that, Spock," said Jim, tensing in frustration. Did Spock do that just to annoy...no, he couldn't. Could he? "What did you get?"

"In four of the seven scenarios, Vulcan failed to join the Federation. In two of them, T'Pau was never born. And in one of them..."

"Yes?"

"In one of them James T. Kirk was killed in kal-if-farr." Their eyes locked for a moment, and Spock added, "And this time he stayed dead."

Kirk broke off the stare. "Well, Mr. Spock, then what conclusions do you draw from your research?"

"It is too preliminary for conclusions, Captain."

"Could you make a preliminary summary?" he responded, trying to hide a smirk.

"Well, if T'Laq's equations hold, and if we assume that the timeline is indeed linearly integral, and aberrations in it irreversible, and if we assume a random assignation of alternatives when an aberration occurs..."

Spock noticed Kirk's expression and started again, "If my hypotheses are correct, I would have to agree with T'Laq, who argues that it is impossible to alter the timeline in any way without dire consequences."

"But that would include bringing George and Gracie here."

"Precisely, Captain. There were, however, persuasive reasons for doing so."

"But that action changed the future, and not just by saving the Earth. It also changed the time between 1986 and now."

"Irrevocably, yes. And we do not know to what extent. Whole planets of people might not exist that would have otherwise, and other planets, which never were in our timeline, could be extant. Some of my research suggests that our removal of those two whales may have precipitated the extinction of their species, the very cause of the Earth's predicament when we went in search of them."

"Fascinating, Spock. But you aren't suggesting we take George and Gracie back, are you?"

"The whales, no, Captain."

"But Gillian?" he asked.

The Vulcan lowered his gaze. "Insufficient data, Captain."

"Damn it, Spock! You're saying she should never have come."

"That was apparent at the time, Captain."

"So you think she should go back now, don't you?"

"I cannot say. I was going to perform some more calculations before bringing this matter to you. And we can compare historical records with our memory of history as we know it."

"Well, get on with it then! Let me know when you've come to a conclusion." He cut the connection. Frustrated, he sat down on the bed and reached for his tunic's opening. After fumbling for a few seconds he laughed at himself and pulled the civilian shirt off over his head.

Sleep wouldn't come easily, though. Sometime after midnight he drifted off fitfully. He was haunted by images in the Guardian of Forever—visions of hordes of people, whole civilizations arising and vanishing as he and Spock jumped helplessly in and out of the picture. And then another mass of humanity was chasing whales, alternately harpooning them and netting them for aquaria. Superimposed were scenes of the Earth boiling under some idiot alien vessel's death ray. Across the din he heard a voice scream, "Admiral, if we assume that the whales are ours to do with as we please, we would be as guilty as those who caused their extinction!" He turned to see Gillian, struggling to stay afloat in a vicious sea. He moved to swim to her aid just as a violent explosion sent a mushroom of water spewing into the air. Suddenly, all the activity ceased, and Kirk found himself treading water in a perfectly calm, empty ocean. He woke up in a sweat.

Spock looked up from the computer and scanned the lab with his eyes. Something deep, deep within him had...twitched. Jim. Since his recent "rebirth," Spock had not often felt the mental link with his captain that his memories told him he had once had, but now the vestigial energy was vibrating. Kirk, too, was concerned about the situation. He addressed the computer, "Coordinate this projection with the last fourteen hundred. Produce..." He paused. Shopping lists, that's what they were. Lists of admirals, lists of federated worlds, list of antiviral agents. He kept trying to find parameters on which the alternative histories could be compared. "Produce list of convicted felons, United Federation of Planets, first half of this year."

"Working," came the atonal voice of the machine.

A sheet shot from the slot. Spock read down it. His brow shot up as he read the sixty-third entry in the zero-power projection, the actual historical record: V'galszh, Nei'i Lu Zaan, convicted 8161.3 of piracy and sedition, incarcerated Rehab 99-V. Prosecuting attorney, Colonel Khan Noonian Singh.

"Indeed," he said aloud, and went back to his calculations.

Kirk turned over and groaned, "Window clear," then immediately grabbed the covers over his head when the brilliant morning sunlight stabbed his eyes. With the end of his dream had come a deep sleep, and he'd overslept. The sun was already high. His spirits matched the bright day, and he whistled to himself while he showered and dressed. By the time he was standing in front of the glass wall with his second cup of coffee, soaking in the view he never seemed to get enough of, he had made his plans for the day--he was going to call up Bones and ask him if he wanted to go camping. Yes, that was it! He hadn't been camping in... Well, in a long time. Fresh air, campfire, no communicator...ah, yes! But where? Where else--Yosemite. El Capitán...a little climbing. Maybe Spock would...no, probably not, but he'd ask him. Nothing was going to spoil this!

He spun around from the window at the sound of the comm.

"Captain. You are finally awake." Jim thought Spock looked like he'd been up all night—all refreshed as usual.

"Ah, yes. I...had a rough night. Sorry about the comm—I left it off."

"No problem, Captain. I have that preliminary summary you requested."

It was just a coincidence, wasn't it, that a dark gray cloud chose that moment to cover the sun over San Francisco. Kirk sat down at the desk and said, "Good, Mr. Spock. Let's have it."

"These results are, of course, tentative."

"Of course, Mr. Spock. Go on."

"My projections indicate that the longer Dr. Taylor remains in our century, the more damage is being done. The same is true for the amount of time she remains away from her own century."

Kirk's shoulders slumped. "Did you run those first seven projections that you say have a ninety-eight percent accuracy for Gillian?"

"I ran a set of projections with Dr. Taylor remaining in her time, and a set with her remaining here." He paused ominously.

"And?"

"In four of the seven first projections, I could detect few differences in any parameters, whether she remained in 1986 or not. Of course, I checked only seventeen thousand parameters."

"Only. And in the other three?"

"No consensus. In one Admiral Nogura was never born. In another, fourteen of the Federated Planets were never colonized, and there were six new planets in the Federation."

When he didn't go on, Kirk prompted, "And in the seventh?"

"In the seventh, Captain, the human race did not survive beyond the year 2011."

Kirk whistled under his breath. "You puts your money, you makes your bets."

"Captain?"

Kirk straightened. "But we know that's wrong, since we're still here. And I saw Nogura yesterday, and the Federation is as we remember. Isn't it?"

Instead of answering the question, Spock said, "Give me the name of someone you known on...Caliphon VI."

"Caliphon...Bruce Reuter—he's an architect."

"One moment, Captain...he appears on three of the four projections, and... The computer affirms he does exist."

"There!"

"Captain, there are trillions of sentient beings in the Federation alone. The chance of our hitting a missing one among our acquaintances is approximat…"

"I get the idea, Spock. But if that's all, we can take the risk, can't we?"

"I do not know. The problem grows the farther you pursue it, considering future ramifications. That's why I ran the projections from now into the future."

"Okay, what did you get?"

"Pursuing the parameter I have labeled "General History of the Federation," which is an amalgamation of thirty four hundred sixty-eight separate parameters, of the seven projections with Dr. Taylor remaining here, in two of them war with the Klingon Empire occurs within a decade, in two of them the Klingon Empire joins the Federation within the century, in one of them Admiral James T. Kirk becomes the President of the United Federation of Planets..."

"Hell, that better not be the true one!"

A raised brow was Spock's only response to the interruption. "And the sixth and seventh were virtually indistinguishable, except for the curious fact that in the sixth, all records of Dr. Taylor disappear."

"Disappear? Explain, Spock."

"I cannot, Captain. And it becomes even more curious when we examine the data for the projections considering Dr. Taylor to go back to her own time. In the seventh of this series, exactly the same thing happens, all references to Dr. Taylor disappear from all historical records."

"All? Do you mean even for the ones from her own time, and from the retrieval of George and Gracie?"

"Precisely, Captain. She simply vanishes."

"Vanishes? Spock, what is the probability of two projections coming out the same like that?"

"Approximately one chance in fifty-six trillion."

Approximately? Kirk eyed him strangely and said, "Well, they have to be the actual projections, don't they? I mean, if it's so unlikely to get them both by chance, don't they have to reflect the real alternatives?"

"Negative, Captain. Extremely low probability does not mean impossibility. Take your Earth, for example. It is highly unlikely that both the sun and the moon of a given planet will subtend the same visual angle in the sky, making them appear the same size. It is even less likely that this will occur during the time that sentient lifeforms evolve on that planet, yet that is exactly what happened on your Earth. Extremely unlikely, but true. In this case, the extreme unlikelihood of the two events co-occurring does not rule out chance, so even the extreme coincidence could be just that, and not due to any outside influences."

"You mean like the truth."

"The more I deal with alterations in the time-space continuum, Captain, the less suitable I find the word "truth" to describe any one alternative. If we figure in the effect of the Uncertainty Principle in these matters, what should be, what might be, and what actually is tend to blur together."

"I'm beginning to see what you mean."

"That is not all, Captain. Consider the classic time paradox, where one's tampering with the time continuum appears to cause the actual state of events before the tampering, as when I was trapped in the past in Seattle and seem to have played a role in bringing together two of my ancestors."

"You're thinking of the whales, aren't you, that projection you mentioned where our bringing the whales to our time caused their extinction in the past."

"Among other things, yes. Since the whales were, in fact, extinct before we went back for them, then if our bringing them contributed to their extinction, it must have been 'planned on' in a sense in the continuum."

"Then we didn't change time by going back!"

"Perhaps, Captain. But only perhaps."

"This is giving me a headache. Listen, I've got a great idea. Why don't we forget all this for a couple of weeks. We're on leave, theEnterprise isn't ready yet, let's go camping!"

"Camping, sir?"

"Yes, you know, sleeping under the stars, a roaring campfire, fresh mountain air, beautif..." He broke off as Spock pulled one of his most exaggerated perplexed looks. "Whatsa matter, Spock, haven't you ever been camping?"

"Affirmative, Captain. I have often been required to provide for myself under primitive conditions. I am merely contemplating why humans, for whom creature comforts are so important, would voluntarily do so."

"For fun, Spock!"

"Fun? Then camping is a ritual form of amusement?"

"You...might say that. Yes! Will you come? I'm going to ask Bones, too."

"Does Dr. McCoy consider camping fun, as well?"

"Of course! He's an old boy scout at heart."

"Indeed. In that case, I cannot pass up the opportunity to observe this ritual. I shall conclude my work here and join you."

Kirk chuckled as he shut the comm, thinking of how transparent Spock was to him after all these years. His face had remained in its usual stoic straightness, but the anticipatory smile was clearly evident in his eyes. The old phony. It would be interesting having him on a camping trip. And, he was sure, Spock would contribute several surprises to the adventure.

His thoughts were disturbed by the insistent shrillness of his private comm line. "Kirk here," he responded, opening visual.

Uhura's face filled the screen. He couldn't remember her ever looking so distraught. "Uhura! What's wrong?"

"Captain, last night I almost killed my husband."

"Your what?"

She swallowed hard and said, "I was listening to some whale song tapes last night when I heard my apartment door open. This guy walked in all smiles and made to grab me."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. He's a bit worse for wear."

Jim unsuccessfully suppressed a smile.

"It's not funny, Captain. When he was able to talk, he said he was my husband."

"I didn't know you were married, Uhura."

"Neither did I, Captain, as you damn well know! Only it seems I am. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I might. Stand by, I'm going to call Spock."

A minute later, Jim's screen was split, Uhura one side, Spock on the other. The Vulcan raised a brow at Jim's strange expression, and, fighting a grin, Kirk explained, "Spock, Uhura's husband surprised her last night in their apartment."

"Fascinating, Captain. It seems our parameters are converging upon us."

"Mr. Spock! What the hell does that mean?" asked Uhura.

Spock briefly explained his research into the alteration of the time continuum. When he finished, she said, "Great! We save the world and wind up strangers in our own homes. Well, what are you two going to do about it?"

"Us?" asked Kirk innocently.

"Yes! You got us into this mess."

He looked up at Spock for help, but Spock said, "Correct, Commander. I bear some of the responsibility for this situation, since it was I who identified the nature of the probe's message."

"But I'm the one who suggested going back for the whales," said Kirk, realizing as he said it that Spock had maneuvered him into accepting the blame.

"Captain," complained Uhura, "how am I supposed to deal with a husband?"

"Spock," said Kirk, turning quickly to him. "What's your advice?"

"I suggest that we redouble our research efforts in order to determine the full extent of the time-space alterations."

Uhura glared at him. "Mr. Spock. You can take your research efforts and—"

"Uhura!" interrupted Kirk. "You said your uh...he...he was injured?"

"Yeah, he's in regen at Bay General."

"How long is he going to be there?"

"How should I know? I didn't stop to ask the transporter medics. I really don't care if he stays in that tank for good!"

Spock said to Kirk, "I have never observed the commander give vent to her emotions so strongly before. By human standards, does this situation warrant such a display of—"

"Listen, Spock!" interrupted Uhura. "You think this 'situation' is so damned interesting and scientific and 'fascinating'! Perhaps you shouldn't be so objective about it. Have you checked home on Vulcan? Maybe T'Pring is holding supper for you!"

Kirk's jaw dropped at her shocking intrusion on Vulcan privacy, but Spock merely responded, "That is illogical, commander. If in this time-space my betrothal to T'Pring did result in our marriage, it is highly unlikely that I would still be a Starfleet officer. And furthermore, Vulcan wives do not 'hold supper' for their husbands."

"Go to hell, Mr. Spock," said Uhura with a murderous look.

When Kirk could catch his breath, he said, "Uh, Spock, why don't you get on those calculations?"

When Uhura once again filled the whole screen, he continued, "Listen, I'll go see this guy when he gets out of regen, and I'll explain it all to him. Spock is working on this, and he's never failed us yet. Let's give him a chance, okay?"

Some of the bluster went out of her, and she answered, "I don't have much choice, do I?"

"No," he said apologetically, "I guess you don't."

When she'd cut the connection, he muttered aloud, "Go to hell, Mr. Spock? T'Pring holding supper? And Bones missed it!"

Scotty's face positively glowed, and his eyes were radiant. Anyone could tell he was in love. It was the object of his adoration that was harder to understand. There in the middle of the Hangar Deck on the Enterprise was a shuttle which must have been long in service when Scotty was still in diapers. Its much-dented, somewhat-corroded hull accurately reflected its venerable age, and the odd concatenation of weldings- and boltings-on implied a considerable gap between the specifications of its original design and the replacement parts it had come to acquire. Chekov and Sulu were not doing a good job of hiding their amazement at the focus of Scotty's attention, or their bewilderment of why he had excitedly called them to the hangar.

Sulu cleared his throat. "Uh, Scott? Where'd you get this...uh...this?"

"Ain't she a bonnie lass?" he replied dreamily.

"I have never seen a wessel of dis age before," Chekov said tactfully.

"Aye, the truth, man! There be not many of them still in service."

"Is this one?" asked Sulu, and Chekov shot him a cautionary look.

Scotty didn't notice. "Aye, lad. She's a wee bit in need of a facelift, but her components are solid. They dinna make 'em like this any more!"

"Thank goodness," muttered Sulu to Chekov, then he asked, "Is she yours?"

"Aye!" came the proud reply. "I was the highest bidder."

"Dat shouldn't have been hard," whispered Chekov to his companion.

"Aye," said Scotty to no one in particular, "soon she'll be in fine trim!" He shook his head, breaking from his reverie. "But now there's other work to be done. Lads, we canna just stand around admirin' the lassie! We've got to get this bucket of short circuits and design flaws into something worthy of her name before the captain needs her! Sulu, have you finished repairing the navigational circuits?"

Sulu had to shout his answer, since Scotty was halfway across the hangar, yelling orders at some technician. He turned to Chekov, and they both began to laugh.

After Kirk called McCoy and got his eager acceptance of the invitation, he contacted Yosemite and got a clearance pass. By then he was feeling so good he decided to go sailing. Yes, an afternoon on the Edith Keeler was just the thing he needed.

Only it wasn't. The thrill of salt and surf were usually enough to purge his momentary melancholy every time he saw the boat's name painted on the hull, but today he kept finding himself wrestling with time paradoxes, and in the end he cut his sail short and was back in his apartment before dusk. He didn't activate the lights and was sitting watching night fall over the bay, sipping a drink, when he glanced at the picture of Gillian. He thought of her authority, self-confidence, and her dedication to her work. So dedicated, she couldn't even give you a decent kiss, he thought sadly. He reached for the comm unit. Then he remembered—he didn't even have her comm number. Well, that was really no problem for a Starfleet captain...

A week in the future hadn't dimmed the glow in her eyes. "Captain Kirk!" she cried.

Well, at least she seemed happy to seem him. She raised her brows expectantly while he tried to think of something to say. "Uh, how're George and Gracie doing?"

Her face lit up with excitement. "Just great! They're about a thousand kilometers off the Alaskan coast, in the open sea, the same as when..." Her eyes dulled for a moment, as if the monumental weight of all that had happened recently finally impressed itself on her, but then the gleam returned, and she said excitedly, "Tomorrow I go aboard a research ship. We're going to monitor George and Gracie closely. You wouldn't understand how magical the available technology seems to me! Sometimes I just can't believe I'm really here, that it's not just some crazy dream."

"Dream, Gillian, or nightmare?"

"No, Captain! Not at all!"

"Call me Jim."

She hesitated, then her face relaxed into a small but warm smile. "Sure, Jim."

He realized he was just smiling stupidly back at her and shook himself. "Uh, Gillian, uh, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner...I mean with me."

"Uh...Jim...I'm really swamped. You wouldn't believe what it's been like! There are always a room full of historians begging for an interview, and then when they're done, a horde of biologists want to see me to discuss cetaceans in general, and George and Gracie in specific."

"You're a celebrity," he said with a smile.

"Hardly, but I am an anomaly. Anyway, I'm so behind on my labwork! It took me two days just to assimilate this wonderful equipment. I never dreamed half these machines could exist! Do you know a friend of mine spent six years on her dissertation doing something one of these machines can do in fifteen minutes? It's amazing!"

"Sounds like you need a break to me, a chance to relax," he tried, grinning.

She hesitated, then, "Well, I was going to read some reports, then I might have a free hour or so..."

"Hour's plenty for dinner. Are we on, then?"

She smiled naughtily. "Italian, Jim?"

He laughed, "Sure, why not? Outside your lab in a half hour?"

"Make it an hour. Be on time."

"I'll bring Spock to keep me to the nanosecond."

Her face tightened for a moment then broke into a grin. "I'll trust your accuracy, captain."

"Very well, doctor."

She broke the connection.

When he arrived, she was still wearing her labcoat, which she shucked and threw over her shoulder. As they fell into step together she asked, "So, where are we going?"

"Mama Fratelli's. You'll love it."

She broke stride and made a face. "You're kidding."

"Hey," he said, raising his hands in protest, "you converted me. When I got back the first thing I did is look up an Italian restaurant."

She still wasn't walking. "Bull," she laughed. "You probably searched one out when you hung up after talking to me."

"Hung up? Oh, you mean switched off. Well, I cannot tell a lie. You're right. And I don't guarantee the place. The ad said Mama Fratelli is a native Italian and her specialty is authentic vrotlik parmigiana."

"Vrotlik? What the hell is that?"

Kirk fought back a grin. "It's a shellfish native to...Rigel IX."

"Oh, great!" Gillian choked out, laughing, "I can't wait to see this authentic old Italian restaurant!"

The vrotlik was wonderful, if inauthentic, and Mama Fratelli's accent was more Outer Sagittarian than Italian, but the food was delicious, the wine was smooth, and the conversation light and relaxing. Just as Kirk had promised. And he got her back to the lab in just a little over an hour, as he had also promised. This time he got a decent kiss, albeit just a friendly one.

When Kirk got back to his apartment, his comm was flashing a message. It was from McCoy, who wanted to know when they were leaving. He was already packed. Kirk smiled. Bones must really need a vacation.

Over the next two days, Gillian spent almost thirty hours making observations of George and Gracie as they swam across the Pacific. She could not get over her amazement at the sensors in the shuttlecraft the skipper of her research vessel signed out to her. From ten meters above the surface of the ocean, she was able to record more physiological data than she would have been able to get with direct-contact measurements in her own time. By the end of the second day, she was exhausted but ecstatic. She was, in fact, too excited to go to sleep so after she grabbed a quick supper, she headed over to the lab to work on the data she had collected.

She sat down at her desk and reached for the computer keyboard, then stopped herself and chuckled. "Computer," she called out with an excited grin.

"Working."

"Integrate new physiological data on George and Gracie with current files. Cross reference for basal metabolism rates under..."

Before she could say anything else, the door chimed.

"Who's there?" she called out, proud that she remembered that the computer would patch her in to the door intercom.

"Nyota Uhura," came the response.

Gillian jumped up excitedly and opened the door.

Uhura was laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Gillian.

"I requisitioned a solo shuttle to come out here to cheer you up in case you were getting lonely, but your face is enough to cheer up a Vulcan!"

Gillian laughed, "Lonely? Nyota, it's so exciting! There's so much to learn, I'm sure I haven't assimilated a tenth of it yet! But do come in, have a seat. It's so good to see you again."

"Well, I just couldn't wait to bring you this chip with my preliminary findings. I've been running the tapes you gave me through the linguistic computer on board the Enterprise. I can't say anything definite yet, but it looks like we might be able to talk to the whales pretty soon."

"That's fantastic! I can't believe you've done so much in such a short time. I've been working with whalesong for years!"

Uhura laughed. "But not with the Enterprise's computer! We have the advantage of data on thousands of communications systems in addition to the several hundred human, Vulcan, Klingon, Romulan, Andorian, and Tellarite languages."

"Boy, I wonder if I could get a chance to use that computer."

"You'd have to ask Captain Kirk that. Have you seen him recently?" asked Uhura.

Gillian bit her lip and turned to adjust a stack of printouts. "I had dinner with him a couple nights ago," she said softly.

"Oh?" asked Uhura, her tone saying the rest.

Gillian spun back to face her. "It's nothing like that! He just bought me dinner to get me out of the lab for a little while. I needed a break."

"I'm sure you did," Uhura said, grinning.

"Nyota, you're impossible!" laughed Gillian. "Jim and I are just friends."

"Jim?"

"Will, you cut it out! Look, are you interested in this whalesong business or not?"

Uhura smiled one last teasing look. "Okay, okay. Look, tell me what you think of what's in that chip. I've got to run. Scotty's been slaving over the Enterprise, and if I know him, he hasn't stopped to sleep or eat."

Gillian laughed. "That sounds like Mr. Scott. Doesn't he ever take a break?"

"Well, the one time all his crews were working to his satisfaction, instead of resting he went down to the Hangar Deck to work on that jalopy of his that he's always cajoling people into inspecting."

"Jalopy?"

"His shuttle. It's an ancient wreck, if you ask me, and the captain says it's a piece of junk, but I think he's prejudiced."

"Why's that?" laughed Gillian.

"Because the computer Scotty put into it is always getting the captain's name wrong. Called him 'Captain Quirk' once!"

"I'll have to see that!"

"Don't worry. If you ever get near it, Scotty'll give you the grand tour. And who knows, that computer might take a liking to you. I think it's partial to women. It was very flattering to me."

"Really?"

"Well, it told me I was the smartest blonde it had ever met."

"Blonde?" choked Gillian.

"Well," Uhura laughed, "Scotty was afraid to put a vidlink into it. It's bossy enough without being able to see everything you're doing."

"Sounds like an interesting computer."

"That it is, but not enough to keep Scotty from overworking, so I think I'll go grab some dinner and take it to him. And you better take it easy too. You've got three hundred years to catch up on, you can't do it in a week or two."

Gillian saw her to the door, then she spun slowly around, her eye falling on eachpiece of lab equipment in turn. Three hundred years. It was going to take a while, but she was going to make every minute count. She'd been given a second life, and she wasn't going to waste it!

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