Kathryn

ooo

I'm wrestling a uniform jacket off its hanger when Tom softly calls my name.

"Uh, huh …" I murmur. I'm not in the mood for conversation right now.

"Kate." He's behind me, and something in his tone ... I turn a bit too quickly, and he grabs my arm to steady me.

"Look, I'm sorry," he begins. "We can work this out … Please don't leave."

Oh, hell; he thinks I'm walking out. And why wouldn't he? There's a suitcase on the bed, and I'm pulling clothes out of the closet.

I lay a hand on his chest. "Hold on; I've been ordered to headquarters. That's what Nechayev was calling about."

He sags, letting out a long sigh as he sits heavily on the bed. "How long?"

"I'm not sure. Nechayev suggested I clear my calendar for the next couple of days."

"Starfleet planning," he mutters as he scrubs his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, I had no idea things would blow up like that. I honestly don't know what I said to piss her off. But she snapped at me, I snapped back …" he shakes his head.

I sit next to him. "Honey, we're all worried about this clinical trial. There's a lot riding on it. But ..."

He tenses, anticipating a lecture.

"I can't control how you and B'Elanna interact," I continue. "Actually, I don't want to; I'm not a referee." He winces, but this has to be said. "But Tom, I do not want to listen to you two fighting in our home — especially where Miri can hear. She doesn't need that kind of stress."

I want to say more, but it will come out as an order, and there's been enough of that for one night.

He nods and takes my hand. "B'Elanna and I did agree to communicate in writing for a while," he says. "I'll call Miri's counselor tomorrow. I need advice on how to talk about all this."

He looks over at the suitcase. "Are you leaving tonight?"

"No, I have things to tie up at Daystrom. I'll leave from there."

"C'mere," he whispers as he leans back, pulling me with him. "I know I screw up a lot, but I'm trying to do better," he says as I settle against him. "I'll make sure the sound dampener is on, so Miri can't hear." He's quiet for a moment. "Maybe I should talk to my counselor, too."

"Not a bad idea," I allow. "We could all use some guidance right now."

He reaches over to tap the suitcase. "You did scare the hell out of me; I thought I'd lost you over a stupid argument."

"I'm more upset about Miri than myself," I tell him. "But I think it's going to take more than a stupid argument to get rid of me, Mister."

ooo

Dr. Pakell and Reseil have been told about Dr. Lejir, which makes my life easier. They came to morning briefing with a packet of information — a small packet.

"Lejir teaches at the Romulan Astrophysical Academy," Pakell summarizes. "Most of his research seems to be on nebulas. Outside of that .…" He shakes his head.

"So, no indication he works for the Tal Shiar," I say with a hint of sarcasm.

Both Pakell and Reseil shrug. "Daystrom is very cautious about relationships with Romulan scientists," Pakell says. "The assumption is that everyone is compromised."

"Willingly or not," Reseil adds.

"True," he agrees. "Admiral, Dr. T'prina made it very clear this morning that Daystrom can't risk its neutrality on anything connected to the Tal Shiar. Our security division is taking steps to guard against another breach, but this is Starfleet Intelligence's responsibility."

And there we stand …

ooo

It's 0630 when I materialize at headquarters, roughly a half-hour before sunrise — quite a shock since I left the East mid-morning. Two of Admiral Fujisaki's aides are waiting for me. One takes charge of my bag, the other escorts me through the small city populating the main hall.

The office staff is even more accommodating: I'm presented with code keys for a room and an office, plus a cup of my favorite coffee blend … now that is disconcerting.

Fujisaki and Nechayev are waiting, and I try an offered pastry while we make small talk. Nechayev quietly asks about Miral; I assure her that Miri was fine. "She just got a little overwhelmed," I say without elaborating.

Finally, we start. There's new info: Dr. Lejir is seeking asylum because the Tal Shiar reneged on a promise to evacuate him and his family. That's not a surprise, but this is: He also claims that the Tal Shiar may not be responsible for the virus in that transmission.

"If not the Tal Shiar, then who?" I ask. "And how did they let that happen?"

"Well," Fujisaki says, "this is where his story gets shaky. He says the Zhat Vash are involved but may not have planted the virus either."

Zhat Vash? "But that's a myth," I counter.

"That's the general consensus," Fujisaki replies. "But he claims they exist, though he's rather vague about the rest. We're hoping he'll be more forthcoming for you."

"I assume," Nechayev breaks in, "that you'd prefer to talk via subspace."

"I certainly would," I say. I learned the hard way that some first contacts should not be made in person. Given what I've just been told, I don't want to be caught out on a ship.

ooo

An ion storm near DS5 has scrambled communications, meaning I can't talk to Lejir until tomorrow. I'd prefer to get this over with, but I'll take the opportunity to work without interruptions. So I plow through, save for a snack to appease my stomach, which is firmly set on East Coast time.

Finally, late afternoon; early evening in New York: time to call home. Tom and I talk for almost two hours — mostly family logistics: Kathleen asked if we'll be home over the holidays; they're traveling through New York. Harry's departure left Tom with a spare hockey game ticket; he'd like to ask Nico since I'm not interested.

Miral, who's popped in and out of the conversation, asks when I'm coming home. "Tomorrow night, I hope. But I will call if I have to stay," I assure her.

After dinner, I take a walk through the gardens. They're lovely, but it's a melancholy trip. I still expect Boothby to appear with a rose in hand.

In VOQ, I begin to fine-tune my Columbia proposal, which goes to Dr. Reddick this week for final approval, contingent on Fleet's approval for my special assignment. I suspect my request won't be a problem. Unless Nechayev is considering a major personnel swap, my absence won't make much difference to the project.

ooo

During an early breakfast at the Officers Club, I run into Nori Simnashi. When I ask about Lumina's upcoming mission, she shakes her head.

"I'm grounded for a while. We're adding to the Simnashi-Kodo clan in about seven months," she says.

I congratulate her on the happy news, though I'm sorry she's been grounded. Unfortunately, patrolling near the Neutral Zone is rated as hazardous duty: No families, no pregnant crew members, which sounds ludicrous compared to Voyager's experience.

"In some ways, it's just as well," Nori continues, "my husband's going to be in Montreal for a few months; his company just landed a new project. This way, Simon doesn't have to stay with his grandparents."

Montreal? Hmm ... "Well, we're getting some turnover on my project. If something should pop up, would you be interested?"

"Oh, absolutely," she says gratefully.

ooo

Finally, the tech difficulties are cleared, and it's showtime. I'm sitting in a secure office; not that it matters: Half the admiralty is watching on another stream.

Dr. Lajir is older than I expected; his longish hair has a few streaks of gray. 'Fleet's trying to be hospitable: his room has a wingback chair, and there's a drink on the table next to him. I sit back in my chair and pick up a mug of coffee.

"Admiral Janeway, it is an honor to meet you," he says, sounding sincere.

"Thank you, Doctor," I say. "I trust you are being treated well." He nods, and I cut to the chase. "So, I understand you sent the data transmission to my project. Why?"

"I am an astrophysicist like you," he begins. "I am loyal to the Empire, but I have spent my life on the outskirts, you might say. I prefer to be left alone to do my work and raise my family. I succeeded at that until our sun began to die.

"I was one of the scientists chosen for a mission to study the sun. We were asked to determine if there was any way to stop the impending supernova." He shrugs and shakes his head.

This is useful, but not what I need. I try again. "So, was it your idea to send the data to us?"

"No," he says quickly. "I do disagree with the Senate's handling of this. Every scientist knows that our government is lying to you and our people. But I would not endanger my family by sending data."

"So what happened?"

"A few months ago, I was approached by a colleague who I thought had ties to the Tal Shiar. I was right. He asked if I would help 'unveil the truth' by providing scans from my trip. I declined." He grimaces. "He returned the next day with two 'friends.'"

"And you agreed."

"One does not turn down the Tal Shiar twice, Admiral," he says gravely. "They promised to manipulate the data to hide my identity. They also promised to evacuate me and my family. Not that I believed them."

I wouldn't either, to be honest. "All right, why is the Tal Shiar so interested in the 'truth?'"

He shrugs. "Embarrassment, I suppose. The Tal Shiar would have some advantage, or they wouldn't bother. I didn't ask for details."

"Did the Tal Shiar plant the virus?"

"My handlers seemed quite upset by the news." He smiles at my upraised eyebrow. "The Tal Shiar have eyes and ears across the galaxy, including the Federation." He looks at the floor for a moment. "The Tal Shiar may have been compromised. It seems the operative who sent the data is part of the Zhat Vash."

I don't bother hiding my skepticism, and he smiles. "Most Romulans don't believe it exists, either. Perhaps we were all misled."

"So why would the Zhat Vash want to kill my project?"

He shakes his head. "Their operative denies sending it; he said the Zhat Vash is also angry about it."

This now sounds like an overwritten holonovel. "Then who planted the virus?"

He picks up his drink and takes a gulp. "All I know is the Zhat Vash believes that artificial lifeforms will destroy the galaxy. They intend to eradicate them before that happens.

For a moment, I think my communicator has glitched. "You said eradicate?" He nods, and I'm suddenly very concerned for Lewis's safety. "What does this have to do with my project?

"The Zhat Vash are at war with someone. Artificial lifeforms, I don't know. Whoever it is, the Zhat Vash says this enemy tried to kill your project because our scans prove that it is trying to trigger the supernova."

I imagine a lot of jaws are dropping right now. I just manage to hold my command mask. "Show me the proof," I order. He reels off an image number and time stamp. I don't have to ask; the screen goes black, save for a floating vid of Lajir in the corner.

"What am I looking for?" I ask when the image comes up. He cites a grid number, and I see a somewhat familiar object. The probe that Nori Simnashi and I talked about? Can't be ...

"I see what appears to be a probe."

"It is a probe, designed to deliver a small amount of antimatter into the sun."

I'm doing mental calculations, but … "That might take a while," I remark. He smiles. "I would agree. I believe they're trying to speed up the process; it's easier to hide."

It's really too bad this is all classified; Tom could write a hell of a mystery. But I am out of patience.

"So this enemy wants to blow up the Romulan system. Why? What's the endgame?" I ask bluntly. "Your people are being resettled. It stands to reason that the Tal Shiar and the Zhat Vash eventually will be able to regroup, as will your government."

"The endgame?" he snaps. "I'm not ruling anything out. My grandchildren could spot an attempt to destabilize the Senate, making it impossible to regroup." Apparently, he's losing patience with me. Good.

"For all I know," he continues, his voice rising, "this is a ploy by the government. They ordered the Tal Shiar to destroy your project and place the blame on me." He snorts. "My handlers have conveniently forgotten their promise to evacuate my family. Fortunately, I was able to obtain a private transport."

He shakes his head. "I may not have all the details or even the correct details," he says more softly, But I believe something is happening, Admiral. The supernova is just the backdrop."

I soften my approach in return. "All right, let's say this is the case. But I am puzzled: You've had plenty of opportunities to tell your story. Why did you insist on telling me?"

He looks at me intently. "You are a scientist. You are held in high esteem by Starfleet and the Federation. They will listen to you. I'm just a small, unwilling piece in a larger game. Whatever that game may be, your Federation is in danger."

ooo

Once the screen goes black, I call my Daystrom office and ask Scott to run the last six months of data through the computer. "Look for a series of slightly elevated antimatter levels," I order, giving him a distance range.

"Right away, Admiral." He pauses, and I don't blame him for being puzzled. "Can you elaborate on that?"

"Not at the moment, Captain. Let's just say I've had a very interesting conversation."

ooo

"Your impressions, Admiral?" Fujisaki asks neutrally.

"Perhaps this is a case of one Romulan, two conspiracies," I open, using a play on the old saying. "But if he's correct that the Zhat Vash are real and gunning for artificial life forms, whatever their definition of 'life form' may be, it will have a chilling effect on the Federation."

"And there are plans to use synth workers to convert the evacuation ships," interjects Picard, who's joined us. "Though right now, I'm more concerned that someone may be trying to accelerate the creation of the supernova."

"I would agree," I say. "I asked my staff to rerun our data with a focus on increased antimatter particles. They found nothing. We and our patrol ships may have to recalibrate the search parameters and take a closer look at any probes out there."

"I agree, Admiral," Fujisaki says quietly. "However, this issue has now bounced to Security and Intelligence. Your project certainly will continue to collect and analyze data, but not for those purposes. Daystrom has made it clear that they'll pull out of the project otherwise."

Pakell had warned me about this. And it should bother me … but oddly enough, it doesn't.

"The bad news," Nechayev says, "is that we need some of your project's expertise. We'll have to borrow Captain Archadi for a few months." She looks over at Fujisaki. "I believe we agreed on three months?"

He nods. "Actually, Admiral, I wanted your input, too, but I was turned down."

"With Dr. Tatnim leaving, pulling you and Archadi wouldn't be wise," Nechayev says apologetically. "If you'd like, my office can ask Personnel to set up a candidate list …"

This may work out after all. "Thank you, but there's no need," I interrupt. "I have a candidate in mind. Captain Simnashi happens to be available, and she's an excellent analyst."

Nechayev is surprised but shrugs. "Write the orders, and I'll sign them. I'm sure you want to notify Captain Archadi of the pending changes, too."

ooo

Picard stops me at the lifts. "There is something I'd like to talk to you about," he begins. "It's a nice day; would you care to take a short walk through the Gardens?"

It is a nice day. "It does seem odd not to need a topcoat," I joke. He smiles. "I've spent too many years aboard ships, it seems. I'm staying at my family home in France, and I can't get used to the cold."

We walk on a bit ... "I can't ask this officially; I understand that you have a personal conflict," he begins. "We're having difficulty assembling the transport fleet for the evacuation. Wallenberg-class transports are being constructed, but we have to bring more ships online — immediately, if not sooner."

"I imagine so, considering what you see in my monthly reports."

"Indeed," he says dryly. "There are older transports available, but they must be refitted. Geordi LaForge is an exceptional engineer, but he tells me he needs a 'miracle worker' to do this — one who can use the resources available to create a redesign 'on the fly,' as he puts it."

And why do I think I know where he's going with this?

"Commander Torres' name is on our candidate list. From what I've read about her work on Voyager, she could be the miracle worker we need."

"You want me to vouch for B'Elanna being a miracle worker?" I ask lightly. "Well, to start, she kept a Maquis ship running." I pause to tamp down the memories. On Voyager … let's just say a full power supply was a luxury. Outside of critical systems, everything was rationed; more often than not, that included the use of Engineering's replicators. There were too many times that B'Elanna had to adapt things that weren't designed for an Intrepid class ship — and made them work.

At this point, I stop and spread my arms; might as well include a bit of theater. "But most importantly," I say, "I'm standing here. Does that tell you what you need to know? Unofficially, of course."

He laughs delightedly. "I would say that it does. Thank you."

ooo

I return to my office and call Scott, who takes the news well. Then quick update calls to Dr. Pakell and Reseil. I'm starving at this point, so I grab a late lunch before I try to reach Nori.

Maybe I should have skipped lunch: She's not in her office, and her communicator frequency is set to emergency notifications. One of the aides in Operations fills me in: she's collecting her son from nursery school. He also gives me her home vid code, which I use to send a message.

In the meantime, I write a preliminary set of orders, followed by a courtesy note to Nechayev, since Nori's — at least I hope they're Nori's orders — and my Columbia proposal should hit at the same time.

Nori calls within the hour. She's a bit shocked by the timing but still very interested. I give her a quick rundown on the post, including the possibility she'd have to oversee the project while I'm away. This is where it gets tricky: My Columbia stint runs from early May to mid-June. If Baby Simnashi-Kodo stays put until her due date, all will be well. If not, well, we will have to adapt.

With the parameters set, I start writing the official orders. I may need Nechayev's help to get Scott away from the Intelligence post on time, but that can wait.

It's nearly 1900 when I finish, meaning it's late in New York, and I haven't called home yet. I could send Tom a message, grab dinner, and take another look at that scan. I could … but instead, I turn my chair to face the windows. The Golden Gate bridge is aglow; the growing darkness is punctuated by the streaks of light from passing shuttles.

It's a wonderful view … just like the view from our family room at home.

Home …

It's ironic. Before Voyager, I always felt at home here in Headquarters. Why not? Starfleet has been my dream, my life for more than 25 years. But this time, it's like being at Mom's house. Part of me will always belong, but there are other places I call home now:

Home is a house in New York with a view of the river.

Home is waking up to find Tom wrapped around me, with Miri, Molly, and Tiger taking up the rest of our bed.

And home is the bridge of a starship.

I don't regret taking this post. It's important work, and I've learned a great deal. But my gut is telling me that I can't leave my career — or life — to the next set of orders or the next turn of political events.

I've already taken the first steps away from 'Fleet, with more to come — a set of short-term classes for Columbia and a rescheduled meeting with Pakell. But where that will lead … I'm not sure. Not yet, anyway.

One of the aides buzzes the com. "Sorry to interrupt, Admiral. I'm going off duty in an hour. Would you like me to order your dinner from the Officers Club, or would you prefer to use the replicator?"

"Neither, Lieutenant, thank you. I'll be leaving shortly," I say as I grab my briefcase. I've had enough introspection for one evening. It's time to go home.

ooo

Tom's waiting at the transporter when I arrive. I drop my bag, and he cups my face to give me a very sound kiss. I settle against him, and we hold each other for a while.

"Everything OK?" he whispers.

"It will be," I whisper back.