When Margaret Thorpe gracefully descended from her shuttlecraft shortly after daybreak, she did not find Kathryn in any of the customary places, and had to walk all the way to the river's edge to find her.
And Kathryn, dressed in nothing but a flimsy nightdress, kneeling by the water in a figure of great distress, did not hear Margaret's authoritative footstep behind her.
"Goodness, are you ill?" Margaret's sharp black eyes widened in fear as she contemplated the possibility that her prized aviator might not be in a condition to take to the skies.
When Kathryn rose, and turned to Margaret revealing a face that was unharmed physically but drenched in tears, Margaret was entirely taken aback and found herself almost wishing that she had been ill. Illness was something that was entirely straightforward and reasonable – and could in all likelihood be dealt with by means of a hypospray. Margaret could not remember when she had last seen someone cry. The Cassandras were certainly capable of it, but they rarely expressed anything other than rage, pure or distilled, depending on the occasion. And a Starfleet Captain? Margaret would have thought Kathryn Janeway as tough as nails only a few short days ago. A terrifying thought crept into her mind.
"Kathryn, are you having second thoughts about contacting the Borg?"
In anyone else, Kathryn's expression would have aroused a sense of sympathy, but in Margaret it evoked only bewilderment, and panic for the state of her own projects. All of a sudden Kathryn seemed to her small and fragile, and perhaps psychologically incapable of handling the mission that was before her. But it didn't make sense – she had been so motivated to join Apocrypha! And this planet was completely desolate, there was no one for thousands of miles who could have talked her out of it.
Kathryn lowered her head for a moment, the early morning sun dancing on her tear-stained cheek, and then she looked at Margaret, resigned.
"No," she said. "I'm fine."
Margaret's lips tightened into a tense smile which, if it had not been as tense as it was, might have made her very handsome. "Good," she said, "because I've got news. We have located the central nexus, Kathryn. It's time."
Kathryn nodded. "All right. But there's something I have to do first."
She turned to walk towards shore, but Margaret caught her by the arm and held her tightly.
"Just promise me you'll come back with some answers. Promise me that."
Kathryn met her gaze with tired eyes. "I can't even promise you that I'll come back alive. I think you know that there are some hazards involved in this work."
Margaret searched for a sign. She had picked this woman, she had known that this misunderstood, angry red-haired woman was a fighter from day one, the only person capable of truly vindicating Apocrypha.
"You will not die out there," she ordered Kathryn quietly. "You will remember what you're fighting for, and that memory will remain in your mind always, and give you strength. Some warriors have lovers waiting for them when they return from battle; others of us aren't so lucky. But we have justice on our side, and it won't be done unless we survive. You may have thought that your destiny was to die aboard that ship of yours, or else, crashing into a neutron star on a dare. But if your past has proved anything, it is that your destiny is to live."