A/N: Whew, sorry for the delay. Real life is making far too many demands on my time of late. Thank you to all who read, reviewed, and faved my story so far. It's nice to know someone is reading it! So here's the latest chapter. Hope you enjoy, if not thoroughly, at least mildly!

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Forget Me Not

Chapter Four

"You did what?"

The Doctor was unfazed by Chakotay's outburst. "I fail to see the problem," he said with a casual shrug. "I simply recommended that Jordan Starling should remain aboard Jupiter Station for the duration of her recovery."

Standing beside him in the station commander's office, Chakotay raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as if he were suddenly developing a headache. "Doctor... I wish you hadn't done that. Starfleet wants Miss Starling brought to Headquarters as soon as possible."

"I expected nothing less," the hologram replied. "But my first duty is to my patient. Always. You know that, Chakotay."

At her desk, Commander Akshara Bhat sat calmly, her hands clasped before her on the gleaming surface. Though it was the early hours of the morning, she possessed all of her usual poise, and not one hair on her head was out of place. "But Miss Starling is not just any patient, Doctor," she pointed out. "She is one of only a handful of people from the twentieth century to be successfully revived from cryostasis. She's living history. She personally witnessed events that we have only read about. You must understand, that makes her of great interest to Starfleet."

"Of course I understand, Commander." The Doctor's tone was at its most bitter and acerbic. "I'm sure countless scientists and historians back on Earth are already waiting in line to poke and prod her. That's precisely the problem."

She shot him a warning look, and he checked himself with an effort; his temper would do nothing to help matters here. "She is under a tremendous amount of stress at the moment," he said slowly. "Subjecting her to even further trauma would be, not just irresponsible, but cruel."

"What about her relationship to Henry Starling?" asked Chakotay. "She was close to him. She has first-hand information about him that could be important."

The Doctor had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "The man is dead, Chakotay. The information can wait a little while longer. Besides, he was her uncle. Forcing her to talk about him would just bring up painful memories."

He tried to ignore the fact that his former commander was looking at him as if he had slipped the surly bonds of his sanity. "I thought you hated him, Doctor."

"I loathed him," he said impatiently. "That's beside the point."

"Is it?" Chakotay pressed. "Less than a day ago, you were having doubts about reviving her. Why are you protecting her now?"

"Because she's a person, not a lab specimen!" he snapped, losing his temper at last. This briefing was not going at all like he had predicted.

He forced himself to continue more calmly. "Yes, I had reservations. But then I woke her. I spoke with her. She's not a threat to anyone. She's just a very sick young woman who has suffered a terrible loss. She needs time to recover, to grieve, to start a new life for herself. If we send her back to Earth in her current condition, it could trigger an emotional breakdown." He paused to let his words sink in. "Do you want that on your conscience? Because I certainly don't."

"The Doctor is right."

Surprised, the Doctor turned to Seven, who had been silent during most of the briefing. "When my link to the Collective was severed," she went on quietly, "I was frightened, confused, angry. Adjusting to my new life, to the very concept of individuality, was a long and difficult process. But I am convinced that the small, close-knit environment aboard Voyager greatly aided in that process." She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. "It is... unlikely that I would have adapted as quickly if I had been on Earth. I believe it would be best if Jordan Starling remained here until she has adapted as well."

The Doctor gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Seven."

Commander Bhat gazed down at her clasped hands, deep in thought. "You all make valid points," she said at length. "Ultimately, it is Miss Starling's decision. We cannot force her to return to Earth." Finally she raised her gaze to meet the Doctor's. "Perhaps Starfleet can wait. Provided you send them regular reports on her progress."

He nodded, relief flooding his algorithms. "Of course, Commander," he said, beaming.

Chakotay sighed, shaking his head. "All right, Doctor," he conceded. "We do it your way. Just... keep something in mind."

One of the more unfortunate traits of a Zimmerman EMH was a tendency toward smugness. Having gotten the commander on his side, the Doctor now found it difficult to conceal his satisfaction. "Hmm?" he said blithely. "What's that?"

The man surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can't keep her sheltered forever," he said in a low voice. "I understand you want to protect her. But sooner or later, she'll have to face the real world. I just hope she's ready for it."

For once, the Doctor was not quite certain how to answer.

The medical bay of Jupiter Station was cold. Or at least, Jordan thought it was cold. For all she knew, the temperature was probably quite comfortable. But she couldn't seem to stop shivering. No kidding, genius, she thought ruefully. You've only been frozen for nearly four centuries.

At least she was no longer wearing that paper-thin hospital gown. She had been given a set of dark blue, loose-fitting clothes, as well as a pair of thick, fluffy socks that were softer than anything she had ever owned. The color and cut of the clothing only accentuated her bony frame and sickly pallor, but it wasn't as if she was going to be winning any beauty contests anyway. A hat or a scarf for her head would have been nice, though.

As she sat on her narrow bed in its alcove against one wall, Jordan watched the holographic doctor consult the electronic readout on a small handheld device. He waved it like a magic wand up and down her body, while it emitted mysterious little beeps. He was in high spirits this morning; she assumed it was morning, though she had no way of knowing. He seemed a little overly fond of the sound of his own voice, but Jordan didn't mind. His easy chatter was a welcome distraction from her own gloomy thoughts. The full impact of what she had been through still hadn't fully set in, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

The Doctor set down the strange device and picked up another one — a thin, flat object with a screen that contained writing, sort of like one of those Apple Newtons, only not as lame. "Before we begin the procedure, I'd like to ask you a few questions," he said. "I was able to retrieve your medical files from historical records, but I need you to confirm some things."

Historical records. If he was able to find information about her, perhaps she might be able to ascertain what had become of her family and friends. The thought made her heart rate increase. "All right," she managed to reply.

"You were born on July 18, 1967, correct?" Jordan nodded her confirmation. "And your current age?"

She couldn't help herself. "Four hundred-thirteen." The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, bad joke. I'm twenty-nine."

"Then you were placed in cryostasis in 1996," he said. For some reason, this caused him to frown pensively to himself. After a moment he shook his head. "You were first diagnosed with cancer in 1991?"

And there it was. Her least favorite word in the English language. "Yes. It started in my lungs, and then moved on to my spine."

He consulted his little Newton-looking device again. "According to your medical history, your paternal grandmother died of lung cancer."

"Yeah, but she smoked like a chimney practically her entire life," said Jordan. Her words seemed to puzzle him. "Cigarettes?" she clarified. "People literally called them 'cancer sticks'."

"Ah, of course." He looked up at her. "And did you ever...?"

"Smoke?" She pulled a face. "No. It dulls your sense of taste. You kind of need that when you're a chef." She blew out a breath. "I'll save you some time, Doctor. I never did drugs. Only had a few alcoholic drinks a month. Tried to eat healthy and stay in shape. And I got cancer at twenty-four." She gave a humorless laugh. "My great-grandpa never took care of himself, and he lived to be ninety-three. How's that for fair?"

The Doctor's wide mouth twitched in a wry smile. "Yes, some people seem to live in spite of themselves. My friend Tom Paris is a classic example. And his wife." His brow furrowed. "Come to think of it, an alarming number of my friends behave as if they're hell-bent on getting themselves killed. I wonder what that says about me."

"That you're in the right profession?" He rolled his eyes, and she smiled. "Don't worry, Doctor. I won't cause you any trouble. I'm an exceptionally boring individual."

"I'm sure that's not true," he replied graciously.

At that moment the main doors of the medical bay slid open with a pleasingly futuristic hissing sound, and the Doctor's assistant entered. "Ah!" the hologram exclaimed brightly. "Ensign Moss, punctual as always. I was just filling in some gaps in Miss Starling's medical history. Whenever you're ready, I'd like the first injection of nanoprobes, if you please."

"Yes, Doctor," he answered. As he prepared to do... whatever it was he did, he glanced up at her. "Miss Starling," he greeted politely.

He was rather handsome in a sharp-featured sort of way, with pale blond hair and clear blue eyes. He spoke with a clipped English accent. "Hello again," she said. "Simon, right?" He nodded curtly. "Call me Jordan. That goes for you, too, Doctor."

The man inclined his head. "Jordan," he amended with a slight smile. "Welcome to the twenty-fourth century."

"Thanks. It's very... gray."

He barked a laugh. "Wait until you see the rest of the station."

"You're not preparing the nanoprobes, Mr. Moss," the Doctor said in a sing-song voice.

Moss sighed and resumed his work, while Jordan watched, anxiously chewing her lip. "You're certain this is safe?" she asked, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. "It's just, I've had a lot of doctors recommend treatments, and then the laundry list of side effects were even worse than the cancer."

Ensign Moss snorted. "I'm not surprised. Radiation and cytotoxic chemotherapy were some of the biggest embarrassments in the history of medicine, and only marginally more effective than bloodletting."

"That's not entirely accurate," said the Doctor, casting a slightly reprimanding look at his assistant before turning to Jordan. "They were proven effective in treating some types of cancer, including leukemia and Hodgkin's lymphoma. But on the whole, I'm afraid their results were not worth the damages they caused. And few people who underwent such treatments enjoyed the benefits for very long."

Although hearing all of her suspicions confirmed was a relief, it was also rather demoralizing to know that all the suffering she endured had been for nothing. "I always had my doubts about it," she murmured. "The whole idea of injecting your body with poison in order to heal it seemed counterintuitive."

"Fortunately, since your time, incredible advances have been made on that front," the Doctor told her. "Cancers are no longer treated using harsh chemicals. In fact, there are several techniques we could try, but since your cancer is of such an aggressive variety, I believe nanoprobes are our best option. And yes, it's perfectly safe," he assured her, taking note of her dubious expression. "Unlike cytotoxins, which destroy the body's cells indiscriminately, nanoprobes are programmed specifically to attack the cancerous tissue. Your immune system will still be very weak, so you'll have to receive hormone treatments for a while, to build your T-cell count back up. Is that all right with you?"

Jordan smiled in relief. "It's the best news I've heard in centuries."

"Ready, Doctor," said Moss.

"Excellent. Miss Starling — Jordan — please lie down on the bio-bed." She stretched out on the narrow bed, taking a deep, calming breath. "It won't take very long for the nanoprobes to reach the affected cells and begin attacking and destroying them. Borg nanoprobes are extremely efficient."

This was a new word to Jordan. "Borg?" she repeated, curious. "What's that?"

Ensign Moss gave an awkward cough. "Do you want to field that one, Doctor, or shall I?"

The Doctor cleared his throat, looking suddenly ill at ease. "The Borg are... a species of cybernetic beings composed partly of organic tissue and partly of machinery. They operate as a collective linked to a single hive mind."

Freaky, Jordan thought. "Why would anyone want to be part-machine?" she wondered aloud.

"Oh, they don't have a say in the matter," Moss muttered under his breath.

"Ensign!" hissed the Doctor, glaring at his assistant.

Jordan propped herself up on her elbows. Something very weird was going on. "What does he mean by that, Doctor?" she asked in growing alarm.

The Doctor sighed. "The Borg aren't exactly the friendliest species in the galaxy. They're obsessed with perfection, and in order to attain it, they... assimilate other species." He hesitated. "To put it simply, they abduct people, strip away their individuality, and turn them into drones, to serve their collective."

Jordan felt a shudder which had nothing to do with her current body temperature. The future, evidently, was not quite the utopia she'd been told it was, despite its free medicine and its technology which bordered on wizardry. "Well, that's... horrifying," she said. Then she frowned as the realization hit her. "Wait a second. You're using Borg technology to treat me?" Abruptly, she sat up, fighting the familiar wave of dizziness. "What the hell, Doctor? I thought you said this was totally safe!"

"It is safe," the Doctor insisted. "The nanoprobes have been reprogrammed. Their ability to assimilate has been disabled."

"Golly, what a comfort," she said sourly. Though she was sitting, she felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her. She felt tricked; betrayed, even. This was just like those damned doctors back in her own time. There was always a catch with those people. This treatment will kill the cancer cells, but it will also destroy your immune system and turn your fingernails into parchment paper. These magical little nanoprobes will cure you, but there's a slight chance that you'll become a mindless machine. How could she let this happen again? When would she learn to stop trusting doctors?

"If it's so safe, why didn't you tell me earlier?" she demanded. "I deserve to know exactly what sort of nightmarish little alien machines you're proposing to put inside my body."

"The lady has a point, Doctor," Moss chimed in.

Ignoring him, the Doctor moved to put his hand on Jordan's shoulder, but she flinched away from his touch. "Jordan," he said patiently. "Try to understand. I am a physician. It's not just what I do; it's who I am. To heal is my primary function. If this treatment posed any danger to you whatsoever, I would never have recommended it to you." Jordan relaxed, though only fractionally. "Yes, Borg nanoprobes have a rather ghoulish reputation," he went on. "But in the right hands, they have proven to be very beneficial. They can repair damaged cells, rewrite unhealthy DNA, and even restore necrotized tissue. I speak from personal experience. One of my friends was dead for over eighteen hours, and Borg technology brought him back to life."

Jordan felt her eyes widen at this. Eighteen hours? How was that even possible?

If these nanoprobes could do that, then maybe...

"This will work," the Doctor said earnestly. "Please, trust me."

Damn her foolish optimism, damn her inability to learn from her mistakes, and damn this hologram's big, expressive brown eyes. "God help me," she whispered, dragging a hand through her short, scruffy hair. "All right. This is insane, but... all right. I trust you."

He smiled. "Thank you. Lie down on your side, please."

Before abandoning all rational thought and doing as she was told, she caught the Doctor by the sleeve of his uniform and stared up intently into his craggy, lined features. "I'm counting on you, Doctor," she told him.

He was the very embodiment of confidence. "I won't let you down," he replied.

The treatment was an enormous success, as the Doctor knew it would be. Almost the very instant he had injected the first dose of nanoprobes into Jordan Starling's spine at the base of her skull, they spread throughout the spinal meninges and the subarachnoid space, hunting down and destroying the cancer cells like the efficient little predators they were. Within minutes, many of the malignant sarcomas had been either greatly reduced in size or had disappeared completely. The Doctor could not have hoped for a better result.

Eventually, the nanoprobes would themselves be destroyed by the body's own defenses, which was why additional treatments would be necessary. The treatments had been scheduled over the next week. In the meantime, the Doctor decided it was time his patient had a change of scenery.

Leaving Ensign Moss in charge of the medical bay, he led Jordan down the corridor and to the nearest set of turbolifts. As they walked, his trained eye noticed an immediate change in her gait; her steps were not quite as wobbly and uncertain. The spinal growths that had been affecting her coordination had been almost fully eradicated. She was still very frail, of course, but that would change, once she regained her muscle mass. Soon she would be like a new woman.

They passed a young science officer, who offered a polite "Hello, Doctor" as he walked by. Jordan raised her eyebrows. "Everyone seems to know you," she remarked with some surprise.

The Doctor gave an awkward chuckle. "I suppose you could say I'm something of a celebrity," he had to admit. "I am the first and, so far, the only hologram to be made a Starfleet officer. Much less the chief medical officer of an entire space station."

"Starfleet?"

Oh, dear. There was so much that was completely new to the woman, so much that would have to be explained. Fortunately, the Doctor was never one to pass up an opportunity to expatiate. "Starfleet is an organization that is maintained by the United Federation of Planets," he said. "Its function includes scientific exploration, research, and defense, as well as maintaining peace between the planets. To date, there are over one hundred fifty planets in the Federation, and many species live right here on the station: Vulcan, Andorian, Bolian, Betazoid..."

"But no Borg, right?" Jordan asked nervously.

He smiled grimly. "No. For obvious reasons, the Borg are not part of the Federation."

They reached the turbolifts, and stepped inside. "Observation Deck Alpha," he told the computer.

The lift took off with a slight jolt, and the Doctor steadied his patient with a hand on her arm. "Why aren't there any other holograms in Starfleet?" she inquired.

He sighed. "Typically, holograms are not sentient. They're programmed to serve a specific function, and that's all they ever know. They aren't even aware that they are holograms. When I was first activated, I wasn't much different. I knew I was a hologram, but I didn't consider myself to be a person. I was a piece of technology — a highly sophisticated piece of technology, but a piece of technology nonetheless. But over time, and with the help of the Voyager crew, I realized that I could be more. I began pursuing my own interests, developing friendships. I became more than my programming. I became..." He smiled wryly. "A real boy."

Jordan's pale lips curved in a smile. "That's a wonderful story," she said. "I would never have believed it, if I hadn't heard it straight from the hologram's mouth." He chuckled. "Are there any others like you? Sentient holograms, I mean?"

"A few," he replied. "Actually, one of them is here on Jupiter Station. My sister, Haley."

The Doctor watched in amusement as Jordan's absurdly oversized eyes grew even larger. "You have a sister?"

"In a way," he said. "She and I had the same creator, Dr. Lewis Zimmerman. A brilliant man, but as pleasant as a hiatal hernia." She snorted a laugh. "I'll take you to meet them some time. Lewis is a handful, to put it mildly, but Haley is a gem."

The turbolift slowed to a halt, and the doors hissed open. "Are you certain you're ready?" the Doctor asked.

Jordan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she nodded. "Yes. I'm ready."

He ushered her through another set of doors, and then they were in the observation lounge on the highest deck of the uppermost port side saucer section. Scattered here and there were tables and booths, mostly empty for the present. Along one wall was a small galley and a bar, with a row of barstools. The opposite wall was a bank of massive windows, commanding a spectacular view of the planet Jupiter.

The Doctor watched as Jordan's gaze was transfixed by the sight before her. The gas giant took up most of the view outside the window, its Earth-sized Great Red Spot swirling and churning in its southern hemisphere, but one of its moons was also visible. Small shuttlecrafts zipped to and fro, arriving and departing the station. Even to the Doctor, who had lived there for over a year, it was an arresting sight.

Slowly, as if sleepwalking, Jordan approached the windows on increasingly unsteady legs. Quickly, the Doctor pulled out a chair and helped her to sit down. She seemed unable to take her eyes from the view outside. "I never," she said softly, "I never thought that... it would be so beautiful." She lifted a finger toward the moon, just at the edge of their vision. "Is that... Europa or Io?"

"Europa." For some reason, the Doctor found himself matching her hushed, almost reverent tone. "You know your Jovian satellites."

She gave a little shrug. "I did a report on them in sixth grade. I remember the names, but that's about it." Her hand was resting on the window, her long, slender fingers splayed on the glass. "I can't believe I'm here. That all this is real. It's beyond anything I could have ever imagined." Suddenly she smiled. "For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see; Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be."

It was from a poem, but the Doctor had yet to familiarize himself with many of Earth's ancient poets. "That's lovely," he said. "Who wrote it?"

For a moment it seemed Jordan had not heard him, so intent was she on the view of Jupiter. "Tennyson," she said at last. "It's from 'Locksley Hall'."

He made a mental note to look it up later. In the meantime, he was beginning to worry that he had been precipitate in exposing his patient to too much stimuli too soon in her recovery. "Are you all right?" he asked, before realizing how inane the question sounded. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive."

She put her hand on his. To his temperature-reading tactile sensors, her fingers felt abnormally cold. "It's okay," she told him. "To be honest, I don't know how I am. I lost everyone and everything I ever cared about. Not only am I far from home... I don't even have a home anymore. And no matter how much I wish I could go back, it's finally dawning on me that I never will."

The Doctor felt a stab of sympathy in his emotional subroutines. She was such a sweet young woman; nothing like her megalomaniacal uncle. She didn't deserve any of this — not the cancer that had stolen her health and her youth, not the devastating loss of her family, not the shock of waking up in a frightening new environment. He wished there was something more he could do. He had promised he would help her, but those words seemed so empty now. He could cure her body, but what about her soul?

"I should be devastated," she went on. "Inconsolable. But I'm not. I mean, I'm sad, but... I'm also excited. Elated, even. I'm just so glad to be alive. Not just alive, but soon I'll be healthy again. I can barely remember being healthy." She finally tore her gaze from the viewports and smiled at him. "And it's all because of you."

Abruptly the Doctor felt a simulated lump in his throat, and cursed his creator for making him so realistic. "Oh, please," he said lightly, waving a dismissive hand. "It's... what I do."

Jordan gave a breathy laugh. "No. It's who you are." Her fingers tightened around his. "Thank you."

The Doctor was touched by her genuine appreciation. "Think nothing of it," he murmured. He cleared his throat. "Now, I believe it's time we returned to the medical bay. You'll be pleased to know that I've arranged for you to have your own private room. The decor leaves something to be desired, but it does have a rather nice view."

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Lead the way, Doctor."

A week ago, if someone had told the Doctor that he would be strolling the port observation deck with a young woman from the twentieth century on his arm, he would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of the idea — even though it was by no means the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. And yet, despite the incongruity of the situation, he had to admit he was grateful to Seven and Chakotay for bringing Jordan Starling to him. Over the past few months, life aboard Jupiter Station had grown a bit stale and mundane. He certainly couldn't say that now.

As one of the station's few Klingon residents passed by, Jordan gasped and tightened her grip on the Doctor's arm. Yes, he thought with a wry smile, things are definitely going to be more interesting from now on.

There was something going on, and Harry Kim was going to find out what it was. Seven and Chakotay were staying aboard Jupiter Station, having made no announcement of their arrival beforehand. Neither had told him how long they planned on staying, or even why they were there. The last he had heard, they had both been in the middle of an archaeological expedition back on Earth. And yet here they were. Why?

The Doctor was behaving strangely, too. It was one of their customs to get together every Thursday night to practice the clarinet and piano together, but the hologram had cancelled at the last minute. Kim had asked Haley if she knew what was going on, but she had been as concerned as he was. Zimmerman seemed to know more than he let on, but was, unsurprisingly, no help whatsoever.

All day, Kim had been busy overseeing the repairs to the starboard turbolifts, but now his shift was over, and he was going to get some answers.

He was making his way to the guest quarters where Seven and Chakotay were currently staying, when he turned a corner and quite literally ran into one of the people he was trying to track down. So swift and purposeful was the former Borg drone's stride that she nearly knocked him over.

"Seven!" Kim exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you. What the hell's going on?"

She barely slowed in her pace. "Now is not the most convenient time for this, Harry. I have an appointment."

Undeterred, he fell into step alongside her, wondering how she walked in those heels. Though she no longer wore the close-fitting bio-suits which had helped her human skin to regrow after she had been liberated from the Collective, her shoes were still ridiculously tall. "For what?" he demanded. "You and Chakotay have been dodging my questions ever since you got here. What are you guys up to?"

An irritated look crossed her features. "We are not 'up to' anything," she replied tersely. "And that phrase vexes me with its depictive inaccuracy."

"Seven..."

She appeared to soften slightly. "I apologize. We have simply been occupied."

As they walked, Kim tried a different tack. "If there's anything wrong, you know you can tell me," he said. "I'll do whatever I can to help. That's what friends do. Get my drift?"

Seven sighed. "Yes, Harry, and you are exemplary in that regard." She cast a sidelong glance at him in her clinical Borg way, as if assessing his value as a sentient being. "You are aware of our archaeological expedition to explore beneath the ruins of Los Angeles?" she asked at last.

"Yeah, sure," he answered. It was where they were supposed to be at that moment.

She hesitated before continuing. "We uncovered a subterranean laboratory belonging to Henry Starling."

"Henry Starling?"

"Lower your voice," she hissed at him. "Humans." She shook her blonde head despairingly. "Inside the facility was a woman in cryostasis," she went on; "Starling's niece. She had been in the terminal stages of cancer, and was placed in stasis until a cure could be found. But it appears she was forgotten. Until three days ago, when the Doctor revived her, here on the station."

Kim was aware that his mouth was hanging open. "She's here? What's she like?"

Seven shook her head. "The last time I saw her, she was weak, emaciated, and understandably agitated. The Doctor is currently treating her illness, but he is allowing Chakotay and myself to see her." She gave him another long, appraising look. "You may accompany me, if you wish. But do not speak of this to anyone. If news of this woman's presence on this station were to spread, she would be inundated with unwanted attention."

"Of course," he agreed quickly.

Kim followed her to the medical bay, his curiosity growing by the second. Henry Starling's niece? That meant she was from the twentieth century. Did she know about Starling's timeship? Or about his involvement with Voyager?

His skull nearly bursting with questions, he followed Seven to one of the patient rooms. Inside, Chakotay and the Doctor were conversing with an extremely thin, pale young woman sitting up in bed. She was not more than thirty, and she had large gray eyes and a head of short, fuzzy dark hair which reminded him of one of those old brush-like devices people once used to clean their teeth. She was obviously very sick; her wrists were like twigs and her cheekbones jutted from her face. But at one time, she must have been quite pretty.

The Doctor turned toward him, clearly surprised by his presence. "Harry!"

Chakotay looked askance at his wife. "Seven?" he inquired.

Kim held up his hand. "It's all right. I've been sworn to secrecy."

The Doctor sighed. "I suppose it was only a matter of time," he muttered, shaking his head. He addressed the woman in bed. "Jordan, this is Harry Kim. He's Chief of Operations here on Jupiter Station, as well as one of my oldest friends. Harry, allow me to introduce Jordan Starling."

The woman extended her hand toward him. "Hello," she said in a low, smokey voice. "Call me Jordan."

In a bit of a daze, Kim came forward and shook her hand, feeling every joint in her knuckles. "Sure," he managed to reply. "Nice to meet you."

"Miss Starling," said Seven without preamble. "Have you improved in your metabolic functions?"

Kim watched as the woman's eyebrows climbed upward. "I... believe so, yes."

"Has she experienced any adverse reactions to the nanoprobes?" Seven asked the Doctor.

"None at all," he answered, beaming. "She's had a touch of nausea and dizziness, but those are simply lingering side effects from her chemotherapy treatments. So far she's responding very well."

Miss Starling — Jordan — cleared her throat. "The Doctor tells me that you supplied the nanoprobes," she told Seven. "Thank you."

Seven smiled a rare, genuine Seven of Nine smile. "You are welcome. I am pleased they are being put to good use."

Chakotay reached into a pocket and drew out an object. "I have something for you, too," he said. In his outstretched palm was a small wooden carving of a turtle. "In my culture, turtles represent longevity and good health," he explained. "Think of it as sort of a Get Well card."

Jordan took it from him with a smile. "Thank you, it's lovely." She cast an expectant gaze on Kim. "Well, what did you get me?"

He found himself at a loss for words. "Uhhh..."

She chuckled. "Sorry, bad joke," she said, to his relief. "So what does a Chief of Operations do?"

Gradually, Kim started to get over his nerves. "I'm in charge of monitoring and maintaining the station's systems," he said. "Making sure everything runs smoothly and efficiently. Grunt work, in other words."

"When he's not forcing everyone out of Deck Eleven, Section Six with his clarinet practice," the Doctor added jokingly.

Kim smirked. "Hate to break it to you, Doc, but most people like the clarinet. Can't say the same for opera."

The Doctor cast a cutting look at him. "Shouldn't you be repairing a replicator or something?"

"I can feel the love," Jordan remarked with a smile.

Chakotay shook his head in good-natured exasperation. "Seven and I have to be getting back to Earth to resume our work," he told the young woman. "We wanted to check in on you first, make sure you're all right."

"I am. I will be. I think." She winced. "I'm sorry I'm not better company right now, but I really am grateful to you both... for finding me."

He patted her arm kindly. "We'll visit again soon." He stepped back. "Don't forget to keep in touch, Doctor."

"Of course I won't forget. I have perfect recall."

Chakotay caught Kim's attention and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "See you later, Harry," he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Take care, Chakotay."

After saying her goodbyes, Seven turned to the Doctor. "May I speak to you outside for a moment?"

"Yes, of course."

They moved into the hallway, leaving Kim alone with Jordan Starling. There was an awkward silence, which they both chose to break at the same time.

"So how do you know the Doctor?"

"So where're you from?" Kim chuckled. "Sorry."

Jordan smiled. "It's okay. I'm from Stamford, Connecticut. That's still a place, right?" He nodded, suppressing a smile. "I lived in Boston while I was going to culinary school, and then when I got sick, my whole family and I moved out to California. My uncle wanted all of us to be close, in case..." Her voice faltered, and her eyes grew moist. "Oh, boy. Here we go again."

Damn. He'd known her for less than ten minutes, and he'd already made her cry. "You don't have to talk about it," Kim said quickly. He cast about desperately for a change of topic. "Seven told me the Doc's been treating you. How's that going?"

As he had hoped, this had the desired effect. "Great. I feel better already. He's really something." She cleared her throat. "How do you know each other?"

"We go way back, me and the Doc," he said. "We served together on the same starship, Voyager. For seven long years."

Jordan hesitated, biting her lip. "And... just to be clear, you're not a hologram, too, right?"

Kim laughed. "No, just a regular old human," he assured her.

At that moment, of course, the Doctor returned. "Don't worry, I've never held it against you," he said flippantly.

"Gee, thanks."

The hologram was holding a glass of something thick, viscous, and truly vile. "Your supplement solution," he said, offering it to the sick woman.

She took the glass and examined it warily, as if expecting its contents to attack her. "Oh, hey," she dead-panned. "Look at that. Pond scum. Just what I was craving."

Kim coughed into his hand to conceal a laugh. "Be sure to drink it all," the Doctor told her. "Your next treatment is in a few hours, and you need to keep up your strength."

She gave him a salute. "Yes, sir."

As much as Kim wanted to stay and learn more about this woman, he knew it was probably not a good time to bombard her with questions. He'd learn more from the Doctor later. "Well, I guess I'll get out of your... hair." His gaze fell on Jordan's fuzzy head and the Doctor's own unadorned scalp, and abruptly realized his mistake. "I mean... Sorry." Idiot. "It was nice meeting you, Jordan," he offered feebly.

She simply smiled. "You, too, Chief. Come back again and tell me more about Voyager."

He nodded and left the room. As he began to make his way out of the medical bay, the Doctor caught up to him. "Harry," he said in a low voice. "A word of caution. Jordan is not aware of her uncle's... temporal indiscretions."

It took a second to decipher his remark. "You're saying she doesn't know that Starling made his fortune using stolen twenty-ninth century technology?" he asked.

"Precisely. What's more, she has no idea of his involvement in our history. And I'd prefer to keep it that way for the time being."

Kim looked at him, slightly taken aback. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Harry, think. In her eyes, Henry Starling was a great man — a brilliant inventor, a philanthropist, and a beloved family member. Would you want to shatter that image? Especially now, when she's already extremely emotionally fragile?"

It was hard to refute his friend's logic. "Well... no," he admitted. "No, of course not. But she does deserve to know the truth. And whether you tell her, or she hears it from someone else, she's going to find out eventually."

At this a pained look stole over the Doctor's face. "I know. And I will tell her. When the time is right. But until then..."

"Keep my mouth shut. Got it." The Doctor's relief was almost palpable. "I just hope you know what you're doing, Doc."

"Actually," he muttered, "I haven't the foggiest."

As Kim turned to leave, he couldn't resist teasing the hologram one more time. "You know," he remarked, "she's pretty cute."

"Out."