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The Einstein

KATHRYN JANEWAY NEEDED TO SEE IT FOR HERSELF.

She had read the detailed reports provided her by Seven of Nine. She had spoken at length with Captain Jean-Luc Picard, about whom she was still seething. In short, she had all the information she really required. Going to the Borg cube wasn't going to accomplish a damned thing.

Yet here she was, on her way, just the same.

Although she was entitled, by her rank of vice admiral, to commandeer an entire starship for the purpose of essaying the trip, she had opted not to do so. She considered it a waste of resources. Instead she had been content to catch a ride on the Einstein, a standard science exploration vessel. The commander of the Einstein, Howard Rappaport, had been enthused to welcome Janeway aboard. Short and stocky, but with eyes that displayed a piercing intellect, Rappaport had peppered her with questions about all the races that she had encountered during the Voyager's odyssey from the Delta Quadrant. It hadn't been something that she'd been overly interested in discussing, but turning down Rappaport's incessant interrogation would have felt like kicking an eager puppy, and so she had accommodated him during their trip as often as she had felt reasonable.

At least she knew he was paying attention, because not only did he hang on every word she spoke, but he kept asking intelligent follow-up questions. Still, at one point he said eagerly, "I wish I'd been there."

Upon hearing that, Janeway had promptly shut him down with a curt, "No. You really don't." When she said that, he looked as if he wanted to ask more about her attitude in that regard, but he wisely opted to back off when he saw the slightly haunted look in Janeway's eyes.

There were three other Starfleet officers traveling on the Einstein with Janeway, all of them purported experts on the Borg. The officers—Commanders Andy Brevoort and Tom Schmidt, and Lieutenant Commander Mark Wacker—were experienced xeno-biologists who had been given a simple mandate by Starfleet: find a way to develop an absolute protection against the Borg should they launch another attack. The general feeling of the United Federation of Planets Council and Starfleet in particular was that, even though they had managed to dodge destruction at the hands of the Borg each and every time, they owed a measure of that success to sheer luck. The plan was to try to remove luck from the equation and replace it with a practical, proven solution.

The Einstein was long on durability but short on amenities. It was designed to cater to scientists, not to top brass or ambassadors or any of that ilk. Janeway's quarters were consequently the most luxurious the ship had to offer yet still quite spare. The admiral didn't care. She didn't tend to stand on ceremony in such matters. Give her the Einstein's breathable atmosphere, functioning gravity, and a steady source of coffee, and Janeway was content.

The admiral was worried she was becoming an addict. The last time she'd been on a starship, she'd studied the warp core too long and decided that it looked like a gigantic antique coffeemaker. She'd sworn—at that point—to give up the hideously addictive brew. Yet here she was now, nursing a cup of black coffee while she read over yet again the reports from all the various sources about the monstrous Borg cube that the Enterprise had managed to take down pretty much single-handedly. There was a transcript of all Picard's log entries on the subject, as well as the entries from other crew members including, most notably, the Vulcan counselor, T'Lana. Janeway shook her head as she read it, still bristling at the very thought of all that had transpired contrary to her orders.

"How could you, Picard?" she asked rhetorically of the empty room. "How could you put me in that kind of position, just on a hunch?"

"It's what I would have done."

The voice caught her by surprise, because she had naturally thought she was alone. She turned and, uncharacteristically but understandably, let out a startled yelp.

James T. Kirk was standing in her quarters.

"What the hell—?" Janeway was on her feet, gaping.

Kirk was wearing a very old-style Starfleet uniform, a simple yellow shirt with black collar. He smoothed it down and gave her a wry smile. "Hello, Admiral. Or Kathryn, perhaps? Would it be too forward if I addressed you as Kathryn? Feel free to call me Jim."

Fortunately Janeway had been in enough bizarre situations, had enough experiences that would have made lesser men and women question their sanity, that she was thrown for only a few moments. She recovered quickly from her initial shock and then said briskly, "I'm quite certain I'm not dreaming…"

"How would you know?" said Kirk. He walked casually around the small quarters, looking disapproving.

"I know because I dream in black and white."

"Perhaps you're only dreaming that you're dreaming in color," he countered. He gestured around himself. "Space may be infinite, but obviously not in here. They couldn't provide you with larger accommodations?"

"I wasn't expecting to share them. Who are you?" she demanded. She felt no need to summon help at that point; she didn't believe she was in any immediate danger. Besides, it was a science vessel, not a starship, so it wasn't as if a crack security team was going to come running.

"I'm James T. Kirk." He tilted his head slightly, quizzically. "Are you having short-term memory difficulties? You may want to see somebody about that…"

"I know you're supposed to be James T. Kirk. That's who you're presenting yourself as. But obviously you're not."

Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc.