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Kathryn nestled back into what had become her favorite chair, the nearly finish sampler in her lap.
"Hand me the red floss, will you?"
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Queenie passed the thread to Kathryn and reached to take a closer look at the sampler. She clicked her
mandibles in pleasure, "You really are an accomplished needle woman, Janey. Where did you say you learned?
This is almost an unknown art form anymore."
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Kathryn chuckled, "My poor long suffering traditionalist Mother taught me. It's the only one of the traditional
skills I would willingly practice without a fight. I've always loved feel of the thread and the colors and I get
a great deal of satisfaction of seeing something beautiful grow."
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Queenie clicked a chuckle back at her, "You sound more like a gardener than an embroideress."
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"I've been known to dabble in gardening too, just not when I was a kid."
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Queenie studied her with two eyes, keeping the other six glued to the work in front of her, "I sense another
story there, how full is the coffee pot? Right here, this series of stitches, this is exactly the kind of
design transition I'm trying to get with the "Kells" piece."
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Kathryn took back the offered sampler, "Now that you've mentioned the "Kells", I know you've planned working it on
a stiffer canvas, but believe me,
a nice, fine linen with just a hint of nubble would work much better. You know I've been thinking of that design.
Do you mind?" Queenie waved her to continue as Kathryn pulled a console to face their work area. "If you modify
the design here and here, and add these intertwines at the corners, you are going to get a much more authentic
Celtic feel to the piece. Do you see what I mean?"
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Queenie scuttled over to take a closer look, "That's it! That's just the part that seemed unbalanced to me." She
turned all eight eyes onto Kathryn, "I'm going to presume on our rather new, yet ever so close and intense
friendship, dear. The 'girls' just aren't up to doing this. Sven is a wonderful weaver
and Raoul is a fantastic quilter, but neither have a really good hand for embroidery and my embroiderer fell in
lust with an Andorian and just walked out on me to follow him. I'm running out of
time and the installation date for this panel is on the eighteenth of next month. I can't tell you how
important this contract is for the workshop. This will make or break our reputation. So far, the Center has
been delighted with everything we've sent over. Would you be willing to translate your ideas into reality? I
will provide you with coffee for life!"
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"Queenie, I'm flattered, but a panel this complex would take more than the few hours I have in the evenings.
I don't think I could finish it in time."
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"So quit your job, you hate it anyway."
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"I'm an Admiral, I just can't quit. Starfleet has been my whole life."
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"But you hate what you are doing now and you told me you feel even more disconnected from
Starfleet since you have came back than when you were stranded. They are not giving you any
projects to really sink your teeth into nor have you been able to finagle any. You don't socialize with anyone
there. Actually, you don't seem to socialize with anyone but this certain large bug." Queenie gave her a quick
affectionate twitching of her front legs and continued, "You love this! You are a truly gifted artist...and..
and..." Queenie clicked her mandibles maliciously, "and it will drive your brother-in-law crazy that your art
work is hanging in such a prestigious place, and his isn't. Haven't you got any vacation time?"
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Kathryn laughed, "Well, there is that...and I do have a year or two of back vacation. It is tempting, Queenie.
This would be so different from anything I've ever done before...and I am very fond of a certain large bug, even if,
technically, she's not really a bug."
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"Ever the scientist," Queenie sighed melodramatically and turned all eight eyes pleadingly at Kathryn.
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Kathryn tinkered
with the design, adding a flourish to the inner border. She turned to Queenie, "I'll consider it."
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~~~Changing Tracks~~~
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Kathryn watched the departing backs of the Starfleet team sent to talk her out of taking an extended leave.
They hadn't been
able to offer her anything but more of the same; more vapid meetings with an assortment of other Admirals,
pompous jackasses without an original idea and only interested in protecting their turf and limiting the power of
the other guy; more meaningless jaunts to exotic locales to help woo visiting dignitaries, fluff trips to fluff
places that were meant only to provide the fat cats with luxurious vacations, at Starfleet's expense. It was all
so pointless. The real work was being done off planet and Headquarters was unwilling to have such charming bit of
propaganda, personifying the courage and nobility of Starfleet, go off planet, when she was so valuable as a
pawn in their little power games on planet. She felt neither courageous nor noble in that role and decidedly
more grouchy than charming.
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She turned back to survey the living room. It didn't look particularly lived in. The walls were still bare.
There wasn't one personal memento on display.
The rented Starfleet issue furniture was placed efficiently at one end of the room. One sofa,
large enough for three medium sized humans, was pushed against a wall. A long, low table was placed in front
of it. Upon the table were data pads in five neat stacks awaiting her comments and signature.
They were as useless as the long list of scheduled meetings gleaming from the console sitting primly to the
right of the pads. Chairs were pulled up to either side of the table, flanking the sofa. One chair was occupied
by her very uncomfortable Ensign, sitting at attention and pretending to be invisible. The other side of
the room was curiously bare. But for the aging Admiral looking quietly out of the window at the quad below,
it was empty. He turned to her.
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"I can't see how you are going to stay on the fast track if you go traipsing off for so long. Where did you say
you were going?"
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"I didn't say. What fast track, Owen? Playing patsy with a bunch of self important boobs is the fast track?"
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"What you are doing here is very valuable to our ally building program, Kathryn."
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"That's just so much plasma exhaust! I was born into this life, I know the party line when I hear it. This is
meaningless make-work, empty. And I'm empty doing it. I've been running on a personal empty for eight years.
I've got to open myself up to something, anything....and I can't do it here. I can't free myself of Fleet
expectations here. I can't even find out who I've become here. All I can do is just keep playing the part."
She held out a pad to him and leveled a commanding stare at him, "Sign it, Owen."
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He reluctantly took it from her, "You are just phasering away any chance for a more active assignment, you know
that, don't you?"
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"That assignment was phasered away when I dropped out of the loop for seven years and you know it. The powers that be
don't believe I'm capable of learning all the political nuances and shifts that have occurred in my absence. They
may be right, Owen. When one lives on the edge of daily extinction for so long, politics and power plays become
an expensive and useless indulgence. I can't be bothered. There are so many things more important."
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"Like what?"
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She smiled, "Like waking up and smelling fresh brewed coffee." She put her hand on his chest, "Let me go, Owen."
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He pulled her into a bear hug, "Are you sure this is what you need, Katy?"
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"You haven't called me that since I was a little girl," she returned the hug, "I'm sure."
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He kissed her on the forehead and pulled away, affixing his signature to the pad. "If you change your mind, or you
need anything, like the counselors you've been avoiding, anything, you call, hear me? You are not going off to
do anything dangerous or foolish are you?"
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"Foolish? Maybe. Dangerous? It will be no more dangerous than Aunt Tillie's sewing circle."
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"That gives you considerable latitude. Vice Admiral Tillison was a hot ticket and that 'sewing circle' of hers
was filled with a bunch of women no man in his right mind would turn a back on. Try to stay out of trouble."
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He strode to the door stopping only to tell the Ensign now standing at attention,
"And, if I hear anything that went on in this room floating around Headquarters, I'll bust you down so far, you'll
have to look up to a flea. Do I make myself clear?"
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The young man stood even straighter, "Yes, Sir! Admiral Sir! Perfectly clear, Sir."
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Kathryn closed the door and turned to the still rigid man, "Relax, Ensign before.."
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"I know Ma'am, before I sprain something. Private joke."
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"She gave him a warm smile, "That's right, private joke. Don't worry about Admiral Paris. His bark is much
worse than his bite."
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"No offense, Admiral Janeway, but I've seen him bite Ma'am. His bite's worse, much, much worse. But I wouldn't
say anything anyway."
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~~~Movin' On~~~
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Kathryn placed her hands on her hips and turned around the room, smiling in contentment. In lieu of a salary,
she had accepted Queenie's offer of the atrium studio above the workshop. Light seemed to flow in from
everywhere, the windows lined two walls from floor to ceiling, with real wooden beams stretching from each corner
of the studio to the center of the high, arched ceiling. From this point hung an old fashioned lamp, all colored glass
and dripping crystal teardrops. It was outrageous, and huge and garish. Kathryn loved it. The windows
overlooked Ghiardelli Square, with its cable cars and not too far in the distance, the ocean peeked between the
buildings lining the waterfront. Of the remaining walls, one was bare with just a door leading into the small
bedroom and bath. The other had a long polished wooden bar with the brass foot rails, separating the kitchen
area from the rest of the room. Kathryn walked over to stroke it lovingly. She took a cookie from the plate on
the bar. "This is from downstairs! I remember it." She walked behind the bar to survey the kitchen area,
picking up another cookie as she did so. "Um, these are good. My Mother would have loved this place!
Does all this stuff work?" Two ovens, one above the other were placed in the exposed brick wall. A marble
counter was tucked in next to the ovens, with a stovetop set into the counters. A brushed steel vent hood
hovered like an approaching shuttle above the stovetop. More counter space, then a large refrigeration unit
completed the kitchen. "Where is the replicator?"
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Queenie placed the last glass from the box in front of her onto an open shelf beneath the bar, "Of course they
work. Where do you think the cookies came from?" she said, pushing the plate over to the Ensign as he placed
another box on the bar. Smiling at Queenie, he took couple of cookies as he left to retrieve more boxes.
Queenie winked an eye or two at him and opened the next box, "Replicator? There is no replicator.
You've got a fully functioning kitchen. Why would you need a replicator?"
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Kathryn watched the retreating back of her Ensign as he disappeared down the back stairs, then turned to Queenie,
"Because I can't cook. To be honest, I can barely turn out a decent meal on the replicator. I gave my Mom such
a hard time on that one, she finally gave up trying to teach me."
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"Well," said Queenie as she removed the empty boxes from the bar and scuttled over to add them to the pile in the
corner, "if you plan on eating, this would be a good time to learn."
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Kathryn looked around the pleasant kitchen, "Yes, I think it is."
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"So, you were telling me more about that hunk of a first
officer you were trapped with." Queenie clicked her mandibles, "I remember my last first officer."
She gave Kathryn an evil leer, "He was delicious. How about you little Ensign, are you delicious?"
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The Ensign put another box on the bar, "This is the last one Admiral."
He snagged another cookie, "No Ma'am. Too stringy. You'll have to fatten me up first."
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"That shouldn't take too long, at the rate you're hitting on those cookies." She turned to Kathryn, "What is it
with you Fleet types?" she said, slapping away the grinning Ensign's hand hovering over the cookie tray,
"Isn't anybody scared of spiders anymore?" She pushed the box toward Kathryn, "Here Janey, open
the last box, then you'll be home."
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Kathryn lifted a large glass pitcher out of the box, "What's this? I don't remember having this. It's beautiful."
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"It's from me, Ma'am."
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She turned to the Ensign, "I love it, but I don't understand. Why, Ensign?"
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He smiled, "My name's Bucky, Ma'am. It's for when you are all filled up. This is for the overflow."
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She turned to him, hugging the pitcher to her breast, trying to blink her eyes clear, "Thank you...Bucky."
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~~~part 3 - Color Coding~~~
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