The Daystrom Institute is set apart from the rest of the city. Whereas most colleges, Starfleet headquarters, and the Academy are well integrated into San Francisco's landscape, the Institute is segregated away from city life; in fact, I've never even seen it. We have good reasons for taking our time in getting there. No, no it's not that we don't want to get to Wesley as soon as possible, but if we take public transport or if we were to cut through the Academy's campus, there is always the distinct possibility that we might be recognized.

At this moment, however, I'm hot and wish upon all things that we weren't so notorious in this town. It's still cool in Yakima, and as such I'm dressed more for that type of weather rather than this sweltering, muggy heat. I notice that my husband feels the same way when I see a lone bead of sweat meander its way down his neck.

"Have you been there before?" I have no idea what to expect when we get there. I know that Leah Brahms, a young woman that Geordi was briefly enamored with (or so I was told by Deanna), worked at the Daystrom Institute. But, other than her and Wes' brief connection, I don't know much about it other than its reputation for being an avant-garde think-tank.

"No," he states, leading me down another series of unfamiliar streets.

It's been a while since I was properly in San Francisco. I should know the city a little better than I do. After all, I went to college here and, subsequently, I worked here for a year. However, I have to admit that I was a little insular during both those periods of my life. When I was a student, I made school my first priority. My only other connection outside the campus was the hospital, and the city centre. And when I was head of Starfleet Medical, I spent most of my time at the hospital or in my office. I'm happy though, for this small diversion and to get away from the crowds. I'm also appreciative that these streets proffer some shade from the oppressive sun.

I have a myriad of questions that are bubbling out of me. "Jean Luc?"

"Mmm?" He's lost in his own thoughts on how to best get to the Institute, and, more importantly, what he's going to do when he gets there.

I know he's only working it out in his mind, but I ask it anyway: "What are we going to do when we get there?" I continue, partially answering my own question. "We can't just barge in and demand to see Wesley, can we?"

He looks up at the street sign. "Almost there," he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "I don't know, Beverly." He again turns his gaze to our feet, "I don't know who is holding him. I don't even understand how he was able to contact us so easily if he was being held hostage, God forbid! The Captain in me tells me to be wary of this situation; I can't help but feel that something's not completely right…" He's again silent, allowing me to add to his musings. When I'm hushed in response, he continues, "And I can't figure out why he would go. I mean why would he just get up and leave? Are they threatening him because he turned down the position? Is there more to that story than he initially let on?" And then something hits him. "Ron."

"What Ron Gerhardt? Do you think he has something to do with this?" This is turning into an even bigger debacle than I initially presumed!

"He's been gone for several weeks. He, uh, well I thought nothing of it at first. He said he was going to take some time with his family, but that could mean anything, especially considering that Ron is divorced. I remember Wes mentioning that he thought it was strange. Ron, though, just encouraged Wes to keep going with his work. He said he'd be back soon and then Wes could report everything that he'd accomplished at that time. But, that was over a month ago and Ron hasn't come back…"

He stops his story and brings our walk to a stop. "There," he points to a hill in the distance. "Do you see that glass building, just right over there?"

I use my hand to shield the sun from my eyes as I strain to see what he's pointing to. "It's quite well hidden," And it is; it nearly blends in with the foliage.

"Yes," he continues our pace, "that's the Daystrom Institute."

I estimate that it's going to be another thirty minutes until we get there. "Is there anyone that we should call? Do you think Geordi could contact Leah Brahms? Could she be of any help to us?"

"No," he states plainly. "I'm not even sure how to contact Geordi anymore. Remember a year ago how hard it was to get in touch with anyone in Starfleet?"

I remember what a hassle that was. The two of us were practically banging our heads against a brick wall! I let out a sigh, "I just wish there was something we could do; I wish that we weren't walking in blind!"

"I know," He lets go of my hand and snakes his arm around my waist as he slows his pace and plants a quick kiss on the crown of my head. It's a simple gesture, nothing overly romantic or suggestive. But, in this moment, I need it. I need his strength. I need to know that he's here with me and that he's in control. "We'll manage," and with that, he retakes my hand and we continue our journey. "And," he breathes, "we'll get him back."