"Well," Dakunia sighed, "they couldn't just return her to her own time, for obvious reasons, but they were still hoping to find a way to somehow reverse the effect and 'reintegrate' her. So they spun her a tale about some rare and aggressive kind of leukaemia, conveniently one that caused hallucinations and blackouts, and kept her isolated and mostly sedated to perform all kinds of medical tests on her, while Starfleet's finest engineers and scientists were working on the technical side of things. She never even realised she'd been catapulted two centuries into the future. A hospital will always look like a hospital, I guess."

McCoy didn't appreciate the admiral's weak attempt at humour. He was beyond appalled. Just the thought of how lost and scared Hope must have felt, finding herself hospitalised and faced with a deadly disease without so much as her family around for support, was breaking his heart. Yet, he tried to keep focused on Dakunia's account, pushing aside all images of Hope being 'medically tested' with the means and methods of a century ago.

"When they still weren't any closer to a breakthrough a couple of weeks later," the admiral went on quietly, clearly avoiding to meet anyone's eye now, "they decided to put her in stasis for the time being. With no danger of her disappearance causing harm to our timeline, she was little more than collateral damage to them. Basically, all Starfleet did was to have time travel prohibited altogether, and then, as time went by and other projects took priority, all but forgot about Hope, leaving her 'shelved', in case someone stumbled on a solution one day."

By now, McCoy's blood was boiling with helpless rage and disgust, and he was hardly able to keep the angry tears at bay, that were starting to form in his eyes. This kind and wonderful woman, who meant the world to him, who'd been put in this terrible and frightening position through no fault of her own, who'd depended on these people's help and care, and, knowing her, probably trustingly so, had simply been dismissed as collateral damage. Low priority. Deprived of all human rights, of a life. Shelved!

"Like some goddamn specimen!" he snarled, casting a dismayed glance at Kirk, and finding a bit of comfort in seeing his friend's face darken with the same outrage he felt.

"You'd really think that people, Starfleet, less than a century ago would have been more enlightened," the captain snapped, glaring at Dakunia. "What way is that to treat a life?"

"I know, Jim," the admiral responded dejectedly, eyes still cast down. "What can I say? The first I ever heard about any of this, was only after you'd successfully restored Captain John Christopher to his own time, and Hope was taken out of stasis to be restored to her time in the same way." *

Even Spock was leaning forward in his chair now, clearly intrigued, and possibly appalled, by all the unexpected turns Dakunia's account of Hope's past had taken.

"Needless to say, it didn't work out," Dakunia continued, grimacing. "Apparently, Hope's case is not comparable to Christopher's after all. So, suddenly finding myself in charge of the highly classified 'Hope Project', there was no way I was allowing the scared girl to be put back in stasis, of course. But I didn't want to condemn her to a life as guinea pig, a specimen as you called it, Doctor, either."

The admiral's eyes found McCoy's, conveying what seemed to be genuine concern for Hope.

"She's so young and brilliant, far too precious to be regarded as some sort of experiment, some unexplored life form. But then, of course, no one deserves to spend their life as a lab rat. Luckily, records weren't kept as diligently in the last century as they're now, ensuring that only a handful of people knew about Hope and the closer circumstances surrounding her in the first place. So, I was able to spare her that fate. Up to now, that is."

McCoy had been hanging on every word the admiral had said and was struggling to find his voice, his mouth dry as a Vulcan desert, and his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest. He was far from ready to forgive Dakunia yet, but he did feel more lenient towards him than only minutes ago.

"So, you stuck to this hare-brained leukaemia story," the doctor rasped. "And you weren't entirely lying, when you told her that keeping shtum about it all was for her best. In fact, you most probably did save her from a miserable existence and gave her the chance to actually live. Shame you forgot to consider what keeping all of this to herself would do to her psychologically. Emotionally."

"I'm sorry about that, Doctor," the admiral acknowledged remorsefully, "and I've felt guilty about it ever since we last talked more than a year ago. But I'm no psychologist, and Hope always seemed to take everything in her stride, happy, in fact, to be here and alive, eager to make the most of her 'second chance'. And when she turned out a gifted linguist and an impressively quick study to boot, I suggested a career in Starfleet for her, convincing everyone else in the know that this would give her the opportunity to live a normal life, while still making it possible for us to keep a close eye on her."

Through all the pain McCoy felt on Hope's behalf, he also felt a sudden surge of gratitude. To Dakunia, and to fate, for bringing her to the Enterprise and into his life. For giving him the chance to take care of her. To ease and maybe even make up for some of the emotional hurt that had been inflicted on her.

"But how could you keep the truth even from her?" Kirk wanted to know, looking accusingly at Dakunia.

"I," the admiral hesitated, looking a little embarrassed, "thought it kinder not to tell her. A mistake, maybe. But she wasn't aware that almost a century had passed since her initial tests, and we never anticipated her to remember anything past her physical age to contradict our version of her history. Another mistake, obviously, and the very reason I had to contact you immediately. Because if word comes out, it will not only pique the interest of scientists throughout the Federation and beyond, but it will also bring her back to the attention of Section 31. So far, she's been classified as 'inconsequential'. But now that those memories have emerged, who knows what other surprises are lying dormant within her. Section 31 doesn't like the 'unknown', and they certainly don't like 'loose ends'.

McCoy felt a chill running down his spine, the implications of what the admiral had just casually mentioned too terrifying to even consider.

"So, that would leave exploring the phenomenon and monitoring its effects on Hope to us here on the Enterprise, I assume?" Spock spoke up. "Since those memories exist, and are surfacing, they cannot simply be ignored. But we can certainly limit knowledge of Lt. Hope's personal circumstances to a minimum of confidants."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Dakunia was actually smiling now. "That's exactly what I was hoping for. I have no idea how, but she must still have been connected to her counterpart in some way after the separation. All I know is that when we first talked to her, she was just a young girl, who simply wanted to go back to her parents, her friends, to university."

McCoy had to close his eyes and clench his teeth hard not to lose his poise. Remembering the timid girl sitting on his biobed during her first physical, he could just picture Hope shyly asking to go home, only to learn that that would never be possible again. Had anyone even bothered to comfort her then? To tell her that she'd be all right? That she'd be taken care of? Maybe even taken her in their arms and held her for a minute? He guessed not. It was more likely that she'd just been given the cold facts, and then been left to come to terms with her new situation on her own. No wonder she'd never wanted to talk about those first few days and weeks. All the love and security he could give her would never be enough to make up for what she'd been through.

"Perhaps the part of her, that already existed in 1991, was somehow extracted, yet retained echoes of her older self's mind," Spock mused, all eyes on him now. "A mirror, or an image of what Vulcans would call her 'katra', maybe."

"Does she have any memories beyond 2016?" the admiral asked on impulse.

"We have no idea, she's barely begun to remember the time before!" McCoy grumbled irritably, struggling to keep from breaking down under all the new fears and worries he'd just been burdened with, in front of the others.

It was still going to happen, of course, once he'd had time to actually digest everything Dakunia had told them. Although it had better not. He couldn't afford to break down, not when Hope needed him most. He'd have to be strong for her. His amazing fiancée had been nothing but strong ever since she'd woken up in this century, but even she had her limits. Now it was his turn to be strong for her.

"What we do know," Spock offered, "is that, apart from the love for her children, she remembers places, music, literature, basically all innocuous, positive or neutral, non-personal things after 1991."

"I'm no expert, and no psychologist, as we've already established, but has it occurred to you that Hope herself might have repressed her personal memories for some reason?" the admiral ventured a guess. "Maybe because she's much happier in her new life and wouldn't even want to go back? I, for one, am very glad that she's found a new home on the Enterprise and has your unfailing support, gentlemen. She certainly deserves it. And I certainly made the right decision, when I saw her disappointment at not being cleared for starship duty and, knowing what an asset she would be to your crew, entrusted her to you, Jim."

"You actually care for her, don't you?" McCoy asked, suddenly seeing the admiral with new eyes, and feeling genuinely grateful for everything he'd done for Hope.

"I do," Dakunia confessed softly. "She impressed the hell out of me the first time I met her."

Same here, the doctor thought fondly.

"This girl," the admiral went on, smiling at the memory, "this slip of a thing, disoriented, fragile, lost and scared, cut off from everything and everyone she'd known. Yet, underneath that vulnerability, there was this feistiness, this boundless strength and optimism. The determination to keep going, holding her head high, eager to learn and make the best of her situation. Dead set on seeing everything as an adventure rather than a misfortune. And never an angry word, no self-pity, no looking for someone to blame. No, she was always friendly and polite, always accommodating. She never once doubted the leukaemia story either, and even thanked us for curing her. That really made me feel uncomfortable, believe me. So, I made it my mission to help her in any way I could. To make it possible for her to live the life she deserved. And finding her such a brilliant, talented young lady made things easier, of course. I just couldn't let some random, ancient medical issues take away her chances."

For the first time since the beginning of their conference, McCoy smiled. A genuine, heartfelt smile, directed at Dakunia, no less.

"One more thing," the doctor suddenly remembered to ask. "Can Hope get access to the rest of her personal belongings? I recall her mentioning that Starfleet is holding back some of her things."

"Oh, there's obviously been a misunderstanding, I'm afraid," Dakunia looked apologetically at McCoy. "We're not holding back any actual belongings. There's nothing more than the things she had on her when she first … er … arrived in the 22nd century. A small suitcase holding some clothes and a few other items, that's it. Apparently, she was just about to go on vacation when she was … snatched away, or she wouldn't even have that. But I have accumulated quite an extensive collection of data about her old life. Before and after. Her career, her personal life, her family, including audio and visual material. I'll have them sent to you at the next opportunity."

The doctor nodded his thanks, sorry to have to add yet another disappointment to Hope's growing list. Although it probably didn't really matter anymore, it somehow pained him to think that her well-loved pink elephant, a picture of two girls she'd once known, and a couple of flower-print dresses were indeed everything she'd possessed when she'd started out on her new life.

Jim must have had a similar train of thought, because he tentatively asked, "What about her financial resources? I don't mean to pry, but after what we've just learned, I don't suppose she has any funds to speak of? How could she even afford the Academy?"

McCoy had to smile at the open concern on his friend's face. Seeing other people care about and look out for Hope, too, always sent a comforting warmth to his heart. And he had to admit that he shared that particular concern. Although she'd never appeared to be, and certainly had never complained about wanting for anything, he'd long suspected that Hope's funds were rather limited. But she'd just skirted around the subject, whenever he'd tried to ask her about it, and so he hadn't been able to do more for her than pay for the odd meal on shore leave. She'd always been very modest, not seeming to need a lot, and he liked that about her. But now he couldn't help wondering, if she'd come by that quality not entirely by choice.

"We took care of her Academy fees, board and lodging, of course," Dakunia answered Kirk's question, "but I also set up a small kind of reparation fund for her, as I think of it. Not a lot, mind you, little enough not to draw attention, and certainly not enough to actually make amends for what we've done to her, not that that could even be measured in credits. But it helped towards leading a normal life. You know, buy some nice clothes, go out with friends, that sort of thing. Although there's still most of it left. She's not a big spender."

"Figures," the captain grinned, casting McCoy a warm glance. "Anything else wouldn't fit in with the Hope we know and love."

"I guess it wouldn't," the admiral smiled back, "she certainly is a lovely, and very special lady. And you can be sure that I'll keep doing my best to protect her. But even so, I need you to understand that if word gets out about her unexpected memories, I don't think I'll be able to keep the bloodhounds off for very much longer."

"We understand, Sir," Kirk confirmed formally, looking satisfied at Dakunia's assurance to continue his endeavours to protect Hope. "We'll keep you informed, but other than that, no word about any of this is leaving the Enterprise. We'd never do anything that might put Hope in danger."

"Very well," the admiral replied, and if McCoy had any doubt left about his sincerity, the undisguised relief on Dakunia's face took that away. "And please remember, gentlemen, Hope may have the memories of a woman twice her age, maybe even some of her wisdom. But when it comes down to it, she's still a very young woman, only just starting out and gaining experience."

McCoy felt his heart melt at Dakunia's words. It was exactly how he felt about Hope, too. How he had, in fact, always felt, even before he'd known the whole truth about her. No matter how much he admired and respected her, even relied on her, she'd always be his girl. His to take care of. And his to love and cherish forever.


*) Reference to the TOS episode "Tomorrow Is Yesterday".