For the #ficwip January drabble challenge, "How did you get this number?"


(but I thought you might) take me home

Korath's device strands her too far and not far enough. Hubris, or sabotage—she'll never know which. She thinks of Reg, left to wonder why time creeps along unaltered. She thinks, Tuvok, a wound that never heals.

When the telephone on the wall rings, years into her exile on ancient Earth, she startles. Lifts the receiver and waits, breath held; through static, she can just make out, "Kathryn?"

But that isn't her name, here. The almighty Temporal Prime Directive. "How did you get this number?"

The voice speaks again, clearer now, urgent. She gasps.

"We're coming, Kathryn," Tom Paris says.