It was barely five hundred hours as the first faint glimmer of sunlight stole into Christine's small bedroom. Taking a few minutes to stretch out her sleep stiffened muscles, and gather her thoughts she rose and programmed a small pot of strong coffee. While she'd enjoyed last night's dinner with Ambassador Spock, it had set her behind on the myriad of little tasks that needed to be completed before the wedding.
Of course the details of the actual wedding itself fell within the domain of Kayla Weston, the society wedding coordinator that Roger had hired. The woman was what her father used to call a "force of nature"; and in truth Christine was a bit afraid of her, and had taken to referring to the iron willed event planner as "Admiral" Weston. Within the first five minutes of their initial meeting she'd dismissed every idea Christine had for the wedding and had outlined the ostentatious nuptial circus that Roger apparently desired.
Her only wish that the Admiral and Roger had begrudgingly granted was allowing Nyota to be her maid of honor. Now, with the reassignment of the Enterprise, Nyota would be leaving and Roger's assistant Andrea would be stepping in to replace her.
"The wedding is just a day Chris," she reminded herself as she slipped on a comfortable pair of jeans and t shirt, "it's the marriage that matters."
It was the marriage that mattered to her. Somehow, the Ambassador's revelation that she and Roger had married in the original timeline has salved the prewedding jitters that had been plaguing her thoughts the past few days. She had barely two hours to pack up the memories of her previous life, memories that would have no place in the luxurious townhouse in the most exclusive area of San Francisco where she and Roger would start their married life. It was a far cry from the tiny flat on Via del Orochiolo in the shadow of Santa Maria del Fiore where she'd lived with her parents.
The meeting with the interior designer had gone no better that the meeting with the wedding planner. Roger had strong and quite particular tastes, and the design staff was only too happy to accommodate him. It had all seemed a bit much to Christine, but he had taken pains to remind her that their home would be seen as an extension of the Korby Foundation, and it was important to maintain a certain impression with the important people they would be entertaining. In fairness to Roger, Christine didn't really care that much about the décor of their home, except that she was hoping to be decorating a nursery before the year was out.
Two hours and three cups of strong coffee later she watched as the movers carried the last of the twelve boxes of books and mementos out the door. Uncharacteristically emboldened, she'd held out one box of her most prized, though "aesthetically unsuitable" treasures which she had decided to smuggle into her new home. The antique Florentine pottery bowl from the Ambassador, the royal purple ball cap with the red fleur de lis that her father bought for her at her first Fiorentina game, a handful of family holos that she'd been able to retrieve from her home before Roger whisked her off to San Francisco and lastly, her mother's Venetian lace wedding gown. An hour later she hopped on a Public Transport bound for Roger's lawyer's office.
It was nearly noon by the time Christine left the posh legal offices. For someone with next to nothing, signing over her worldly possessions had taken up most of the morning. Roger had explained the reasons behind the paperwork, but it had all been a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo to her. If she wanted to catch Leonard before lunch she would need to hurry.
She'd seen the public transport headed toward the Academy pull out as she approached. It would be half an hour until the next one. There were only a handful of people waiting at the public transporter station. It was expensive, but she would get to Leonard's office in minutes instead of an hour.
She withdrew her credit chip from her wallet and slid it into the ticket machine.
"One passenger to stop 223.17 Starfleet Academy main entrance 75 credits you will transport in two point three seven minutes. If you wish to purchase this ticket say "yes" if you would like to plot another destination say "new trip".
"Yes"
"Thank you Doctor Chapel. Please move to transporter pad 9."
Moving toward the transporter pad she attempted to ignore the butterflies that had apparently had taken up residence in her stomach. Born in the Tuscan region of Italia, the first of a handful of countries to declare itself an historic cultural preserve, she had grown up with little exposure to the modern technology most Terrans simply took for granted. There were only two transporter stations in the entire country; the station at Fumicino outside of Roma that serviced the south and the station near Milano which serviced the North.
After an initially rocky beginning she had eventually made the transition to the high tech environment of San Francisco, but still found herself unnerved by the transporter. The idea of some machine scrambling her atoms, and then arbitrarily reassembling them still terrified her. Swallowing hard she climbed up onto the transporter pad.
The tingling sensation slowly faded, though the nausea remained in full force. The transport tech signaled that she could step down from the platform.
"Miss, do you need assistance?"
Christine turned to find a young Fleet officer offering her his hand..
"No, thank you," she responded tentatively. "I'm just a bit disoriented. I'll be okay in a second."
She wasn't entirely sure that was the case, but wasn't particularly interested in an audience if her breakfast was going to be making an appearance.
"Chapel, right? Chris Chapel?"
"I'm sorry do I know you?"
"Kirk, Jim Kirk. Come on, give me your hand," he flashed a charming smile, "I promise I won't bite."
"Okay, if you promise," she laughed nervously grasping the proffered hand.
"Better?" he asked solicitously.
"Better, thanks for your assistance. I'm still not comfortable with using transporters."
"You're starting to sound like Bones."
"Captain Kirk," Christine's blue eyes widened realizing that her Good Samaritan was in fact Leonard's good friend Captain James Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise and the reigning golden boy of the galaxy.
"Jim," he corrected with a slightly crooked grin, the one she'd heard Nyota call his 'Iowa corn boy' smile. "I'm off duty for ten more minutes. And Bones tells me you've jumped ship in favor of Holy Matrimony."
"Not exactly jumping ship, just going on the inactive list, they can still recall me for three years."
"So what brings you here?"
I'm hoping to catch lunch with Leonard. You'd be welcome to join us."
"I wish I could," he said and his smile faded, "but I've got to head over to the Vulcan Embassy and deliver some bad news."
"Bad news?"
"The Federation was only able to give them half of the supplies and equipment they need for colonization."
"Only half, I don't understand?"
"Most of the Federation resources are tied up in rebuilding the Fleet." There was a high pitched beeping sound and Kirk nodded to the transporter tech. "I've got to get going. It was good to see you again Christine."
"Good to see you too. Thanks again for your assistance."
Kirk watched as she turned and walked across the lobby. She really was a stunning woman, and at one time he'd briefly considered getting to know her better. But McCoy had declared the shapely blonde strictly off limits. It was funny, he had almost forgotten about her until Ambassador Spock had asked him about her during their trip back to Earth.
There had been something fleeting in the Ambassador's reaction to his pronouncement that Christine Chapel had possibly the finest ass in the entire galaxy that was something more than simple Vulcan prudery. As he watched her walk away he decided that the votes were in and there was no "possibly" about it, the woman's backside was a work of art.. He couldn't help but wonder what place she had occupied in their lives in the other timeline.
