Abandon4

Part 4

~~~ You've Got Mail ~~~

	Kathryn scampered up the access web into the workshop, her body sweat slicked and glowing from her daily run. She had taken Queenie's advice literally and begun to jog again, picking a new destination to run toward each day. Today she had followed the cable car line from the Square, down to the docks, along the waterfront and back again. It wasn't much of a run, about four kilometers, but it was enough to pump up her endorphins and remove her middle aged morning creakiness. Always an early riser, she would set out at about dawn. The morning air was still heavy with fog, the sunrise just tinting the town with gold. It was still quiet and the place had a sleepy coziness in the early light that warmed her heart. It was Kathryn's favorite time to run. Everything seemed filled with possibilities at that hour.
	Queenie was already in the workshop, sipping coffee and spinning out a lustrous cinnamon colored thread. A basket by her side held three tidy skeins of the same color.
	Kathryn flashed her a smile as she emerged into the workshop. Inhaling deeply, Kathryn said, "You made fresh coffee!" She grabbed a cup on her way to the stairs to her atrium, calling back over her shoulder, "What brings you in so early?"
	"What, do you think I can spin this much thread in an hour our two sandwiched between facials?"
	Kathryn laughed and continued up the stairs. Yesterday, the 'girls' had decided that neither Kathryn or Queenie had much of an idea of how to enjoy being a woman and decided to give them 'facials'. Kathryn's skin shone after a mild exfoliating oatmeal rub but Queenie's chitin seemed impervious to oatmeal, cold cream or any of the other human concoctions the 'girls' used. Kathryn ended cooking up a wax-like substance that probably didn't improve the chitin at all, but did give it a wonderful polished finish.
	Queenie yelled after her, "You've got mail."
	Kathryn turned on the stairs, "Mail? Who would be sending me mail here?"
	Queenie made happy clicking noises and stretched out the drama of the moment, finally saying, "The Center."
	"The Center? Did they like the Kells?"
	"I have no clue. The message is not addressed to me. I didn't access it."
	"Well access it and turn up the volume so I can hear it while I'm changing."
	"No volume."
	Kathryn came back down the stairs, "What's the matter with the console? Do you want me to tinker with it?"
	"There is nothing wrong with the console. The new director prefers 'text only' messages."
	"Rather an odd duck, this director."
	"Many of the arty or guru types are, and he's both, apparently. As long as you're here, you might as well see what this 'text only' message has to say."
	"This is addressed to Jane E. Wayne. You told these people my name was Jane E. Wayne?"
	"You said that you wished to remain anonymous. I thought this was an apt 'nom de needle'."
	"I should have never told you about Tom Paris' forays into 20th century pop culture. You are as incorrigible as he is."
	"Why thank you....'pardner' but I'm not the only one to catch the craze. Anything a 'Voyager' was interested in is all the thing to do these days. I've even heard that there is even a small resurgence in ancient Gothic Romance novels, although Paris's 20th century cartoons seem the most popular diversion."
	Kathryn flushed a bit at that last statement but refused to rise to the tease. Instead, she turned to the message on the console. The 'text only' message had much to say and all of it complimentary. The director himself penned the letter and praised her work. He'd caught exactly what she was trying to convey. He was so pleased that he'd requested an additional set of panels.
	The Center was going galactic. Up until this point, the panels represented only Earth based philosophies. The new Director felt that this was too ethnocentric. The United Federation of Planets had adopted the Vulcan "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations" and he felt that a place of contemplation should at least make an attempt to present works conducive to contemplation for all known philosophies. This was a very ambitious project. He requested the next set of embroidery panels represent one of the Kolinar based Vulcan disciplines; that was easy, she thought, white on white. The others listed were Risian (that ought to be fun), Androian (a geometric perhaps, although she would suggest this be done as a quilt, perhaps using a Fibonacci sequence, it would be more effective), Lothian and, surprisingly, Cardassian. That last gave Kathryn pause. She knew that the Cardassians were a highly artistic people, but she would have to work hard to put her own dislike aside in order to see the beauty there. Perhaps she could have Sven trade with her. A woven design would work well with the abstract images she had seen listed as Cardassian. The pieces she had remembered were elegant in their simplicity and moved her almost to tears before she discovered where they originated. Then, she found, she could no longer appreciate them. It was a weakness within her, she knew, but she was hardly the one to celebrate Cardassian culture. Sven had a Native American panel he was to work on. She felt more comfortable designing something along those lines. She'd suggest it to the director when she wrote to him.
	Kathryn turned toward Queenie, "Well, that certainly is positive feedback. This could keep us busy for years. Starfleet is going to be so pleased when I extend my leave."
	"Then you'll do it? Wonderful. Why don't you just resign from the Fleet?"
	"It's not that easy for me...or for them. I was born into the Fleet. I'll be a Fleet brat forever. They don't know what to do with me so they keep me as a figurehead but they are trying to keep me, as in care for, care about, even when they are playing political games with my name. But I need to be doing something real or I'll go crazy. Neither of us are willing to let go just yet. We need to get used to not being together anymore."
	"You make it sound like a divorce."
	"Let's just say we are separated and working to reconcile our irreconcilable differences. So, are you going to draft the proposal for the panels or am I? What is this guy's name anyway? He didn't sign one. Let me guess. He prefers not to use a name."
	"Bingo...although I've heard him referred to as Bapu-ji. It means respected Father or something like that in ancient Hindi. The scuttlebutt is that he is rather reclusive and is extremely opposed to a cult of personality developing around the directorship, that it would overwhelm the purpose of the Center."
	"He is a Hindu?"
	"No, I don't think so. As far as I know, that title has always been used for the directors. Mata, for a woman, or Bapu or Pita for a man. We do know he's a man. Find out if he is married."
	"You are more than incorrigible. This is a job, Queenie. One does not 'hustle' one's boss."
	"Time's awastin' dear and this is not Starfleet. Real life does not have protocols. It wouldn't hurt to find out."
	"You find out. I'm going to take a shower."
	~~~ More Mail ~~~
	"You've got mail."
	Kathryn set down a sack of carrots and activated the message. "What again? Gads, this guy is persistent. Oh, great. How many times are we going to argue about this? He is bound and determined that Cardassian panel is going to be embroidered. I didn't have this many arguments with my XO over life and death issues, let alone something this trivial."
	"If it's so trivial, why are you arguing?" Queenie pulled a bunch of carrots from the bag. "What are these things and how many do I have to eat?"
	"It's the principle of the thing. I should have some artistic control over what I sew, shouldn't I? They are carrots and not many. I only need a skein or two. You'll like them. I'll sweeten them up with a bit of brown sugar. Will the brown of the sugar be enough to mute the orange down just a bit? I could always add coffee if it doesn't. That's how it works, doesn't it."
	"Don't you dare! If I have any more coffee, my chitin is going to dissolve. If you just want the thread muted a bit, the brown sugar should be fine. Yes, I can isolate the elements in what I eat and recombine them to spin thread in fairly precise colors, although I set the energy signature independent of the color. It helps to know the specific use the thread is being spun for. So, I thought your XO always went along with your decisions. I just assumed that he agreed with you. Why don't you ever call him by his name?"
	"Good, candied carrots it is then. Agreed with me? Hell, no. We had some real doozies of arguments, although that kind of faded toward the end."
	"Then why did he go along with you?"
	"Because I was the boss and, ultimately, it was my call."
	Queenie emitted a series of clicks.
	"You have an evil laugh, do you know that."
	Queenie emitted another series of clicks, "You still haven't told me why you never say his name."
	"I can deal with him as my ex XO. I've got a lot of wonderful memories about that time. We were a good team, but it's over. I can go on from there. That's the nature of professional relationships. But he was more than that. He was my closest friend and..and.."
	"And what?"
	Kathryn's voice dropped down to a whisper, "...and my secret love, though I didn't think it was that much of a secret." She shook herself, continuing more strongly, "Apparently, I was better at denying it than I thought. I held him firmly at arms length even as I held him even more firmly in my heart. And then he turned away. Oh, I know that's unfair to him. I was pretty nasty sometimes and I gave him no encouragement. I'll give him credit for never making it an issue. He was pretty classy about the whole situation. I just never expected him to give up. And he did and it's over and I should go on from there. But every time I say his name I can't go anywhere. I'm stuck."
	"Tell you what. Get yourself unstuck and write back to Bipbop there."
	"Bapu, you said he's called Bapu. I suppose I could give in and do the panel."
	"And, Janey."
	"Yes?"
	"Find out if he's married."
	~~ Mail? ~~
	"Do I have any mail?"
	Kathryn stumbled down the stairs, yawning and rumpled in baggy, faded sweats. Her comfort clothes were quickly followed by a comfort first cup of coffee. It was mid-morning, not her usual time to try to claw toward alertness. The 'girls' had already arrived at the workshop, but just barely and she had to wait in line to get that coffee. The three of them lowered themselves gently into their respective work areas and sipped on the coffee in a companionable and exhausted silence.
	"You all look particularly elegant this morning, another late night?" Queenie teased, considerately keeping her volume down to a soft, barely irritating scratch. Even so, all three winced.
	"Bunny shipped out last night. Was her farewell party." Kathryn gave the terse explanation and lapsed back into silence and sipping.
	"Bunny?"
	"Brunhilda," Raoul clarified.
	"Brunhilda? That Brunhilda?" She turned accusingly toward the men, "Don't you guys ever drag her into a straight bar?"
	They looked at each other in befuddlement, Sven commenting, "They have straight bars? Who woulda thunk."
	Silence again, broken only by the sound of sipping.
	Kathryn seemed to recover first, draining the first cup and rising to get a second. Stretching, she said, "I'm getting too old for this. I have to admit I'm rather relieved she'll be gone for a couple of years. It will take me that long to recover from the party. So, did I get any mail or not?"
	"You got mail."
	"From Bapu?"
	"From Bapu. Did you find out if he's married yet?"
	Kathryn returned to her chair and turned the console toward her, "Give it a break, Queenie. Oh good, he got the Kolinar panel. Now let's see if he understands."
	Sven was the next to recover, "Understand what? The Kolinar was the white one? I wasn't here when you did that one."
	"Yes, that's the one. That he would understand about the lighting. You see, Kolinar is very subtle. One seeks to achieve a blank slate emotionally. Emotions, perceptions, sensations may then be writ upon the slate for a logical contemplation of their relevance without these things ever marring the balance of the blankness. The Kolinar piece looks like a perfectly blank square of white linen when seen straight on, but, if one places it against a sunny, south facing wall and just sits and watches, the stitches I've used cast shadows that change throughout the day and in these shadows one can see... well.. runes, I guess you'd call them...that suggest areas of contemplation. I sent off the panel without any word of explanation. I wanted to see just how philosophical our dear director really is." She paused for a moment, reading on. "Yes! He got it! Way to go, PePe!"
	"PePe?" chorused three voices.
	She blushed, one of the few personal things he had told her about him was that he had a lock of white in a otherwise full head of more or less dark hair. He said even his mustache was dark. She had teased him about it, sending him a drawing of 'PePe le Pew' from an old cartoon Tom Paris had once told her about. The Director had signed his emails "Your PePe" ever since. "It's just a private joke," she said, quickly turning the conversation back to the panels, "At any rate, he saw the runes and is thrilled with the whole concept."
	Raoul finally joined the others in full consciousness, "So...is he married?"
	"You three are impossible." She gave a little half smile, "He is divorced. There. Does that satisfy you all? Don't answer that." She continued reading, gave another small smile, downloaded the file into a padd, deleted the message and turned off the console. "I'll just finish this upstairs." Her companions all started to speak. "Not a word, any of you. I'll be down in a bit."
	They all smirked as she left, Raoul, in a stage whisper, saying, "I can't wait for his reaction to the Risian panel."
	~~ You've Got Male ~~

	The sun had sunk low over the ocean, silhouetting the waterfront skyline and sending its last shafts of gold in narrow beams squeezed between the tallest buildings. Kathryn turned from the window and refocused on the work before her, adjusting her work light and restarting the music she'd been listening to, its low, powerful horns thrumming through her and wrapping her in sound. She pulled another strand into her needle, the steely gray luster gently throbbing in harmony with the music. And in her evening solitude, she sat in quiet, contented contemplation.
	It had taken a long time, months in fact, before she could find the proper place within her own mind to let this panel grow. First the colors were all wrong. Queenie had finally found the proper hue when she combined blueberries with licorice. Kathryn would have never thought of that combination but Queenie seemed to like it. Then the design had to be changed. Originally, Kathryn designed the panel based on the Cardassian paintings that had so moved her, but then she had discovered that the artist was half Bajorian. The paintings had reflected the girl's mixed heritage and were unique to her. The artist had died an early death, brutal and pointless. Kathryn intended to remember her and someday would embroider the designs, for herself, if no one else, but they didn't quite depict Cardassian culture. Something else was needed.
	Finally, it was PePe that helped her find her way to the appropriate image. He sent her the music she was listening to and had entered in a lengthy dialog with her regarding truly applying the IDIC ideal. Like so many of their generation, he too had to overcome tremendous antipathy toward Cardassians. It was through their arguements on the Cardassian panel, that she began to truly appreciate this man. His efforts to accept a culture that seemed so cruel and duplistic allowed her to see Cardasians in a way she never had before. It also allowed her to see what made Starfleet and Federation politics so difficult for her to accept any more.
	She had remembered a United Federation of Planets, and Starfleet, as its representative, personifying acceptance of other cultures, even when not in official alliances with them. That no longer seemed true. The only time tolerance was even discussed was during some pointless 'diplomatic meeting' in some cushy, exotic local and then it was only dragged out as part of the expected ritual dialog before the facade could be dropped and the real business of milking the system could commence. The true agenda was to jockey into a position of power and influence, solidifying one's own position at the expense of another's. There was no real cooperation toward a common goal, except the goal of personal benefit.
	PePe saw this too. He felt that people should bypass any system and find the connection to other cultures individually. Kathryn disagreed. A formal government did provide for order and a structure within which to work. If one ignored 'the system' too much, chaos would result and still people would come no closer to accepting each other. But, she did see that the only way Starfleet and the Federation would go back to the founding charter was if those from within the power structure insisted on service over self interest.
	She was about as within as one could get, having been born into the inner circle. If Starfleet didn't know what to do with her, perhaps it was time for her to tell them. Time was indeed awasting and it was now time to take a stand.
	It was also time to stop playing their little game. Kathryn and PePe had both agreed not to exchange identifying information nor search it out. She found it more fun to explore their growing friendship independent of her very famous face and career and he, for reasons of his own, felt the same. The essence of an individual could be shared more fully when the distraction of a physical body and real life existence didn't cloud their perceptions and his essence had filled her.
	She had never been so open with anyone. PePe had touched her in ways even Mark hadn't and Mark had known her as a child, before she'd developed a shield to hide behind. In many ways, he reminded her of Mark. Certainly he thought as deeply and profoundly as Mark had and he had Mark's gentleness but he was strong too. Except for Mark, every man she had cared deeply about, romantic or otherwise had been strong: her Dad, Justin, Admiral Paris, Tuvok....she had thought Chakotay was too, although he always gave the impression of holding himself back, saving his bouts of real spirit for when she proposed some of her more ...creative schemes. Mark was different. Although he wasn't weak, by any means, she never could get into a good fight with him. He'd always manage to discuss things with a sweet dispassionate tone, as if it were just a mildly interesting philosophical puzzle and then make his point in a rather circuitous fashion. It was the one thing about Mark that drove her up the wall. PePe could fight, though. Sometimes that seemed to be all they did was fight, but they were fascinating fights. And they always learned from them and became closer because of them.
	~~ Change of Address ~~

	Kathryn set down the small, chocolate cake in front of her friend and lit its one candle, "You can look now."
	Queenie did as requested. "Oh, this looks a lot more promising than those green stick things you forced on me last week."
	"They are called celery, and they are good for you. You can't only eat desserts. I had no idea a spider could have such a sweet tooth."
	"I don't have teeth, I've got mandibles, sharp ones." Queenie demonstrated by clicking vigorously in Kathryn's direction. "So, is this going to be as sweet as it looks?"
	"Even more so. It's called Devils Food Cake. It ought to be sweet enough even for your taste. I should have known you had an ulterior motive for urging me to take baking lessons."
	Queenie clicked again, chuckling. She poked at the candle. "Am I supposed to eat that while the fire is still on?"
	Kathryn laughed. "No, you don't eat the candle at all. It marks an anniversary of sorts. You make a wish and blow it out. I'll get you some coffee to go with the cake."
	"Easy for you to say. You're going to have to do the blowing part. Must I do the coffee part? What anniversary?"
	Kathryn closed her eyes, leaned over and blew out the candle. "Well, traditionally I should bring you milk to have with cake, but we know what happens when you drink milk. I thought I'd darn near killed you getting enough white thread for the Kolinar. Besides, coffee is the right color. Do you know that I wandered into the workshop a year ago today? I just wanted to celebrate that," She paused, "especially since I may be leaving soon."
	Queenie looked up from her cake, "Why, aren't you happy here?"
	"Oh, dear friend, I've been wonderfully happy here. You've given me a safe haven and provided me with love and support while I did some mental housecleaning. You've given me the opportunity to productive and competent outside of Fleet parameters. I've never had that, not in my entire life, not even when we were stranded. Do you know how wonderful it is to know that I can exist separate from Starfleet if I ever need to. And can you even guess how liberating it has been to go bar hopping with those two loonies downstairs? I've cut loose and cut up more in the last year than I've ever done in my whole life. I've lived just to have fun. And it's been grand, but it's time for me to stop drifting and set a new course."
	"It sounds like you've already plotted the coordinates."
	Kathryn smiled. Perhaps she had. For a long time, she'd believed herself incapable of loving again. So far, each time she had, it had resulted in a loss of one kind or another and she just wasn't sure she could bear much more of that particular kind of pain.
	But it had happened again, almost without her noticing it. There was something so incredibly intimate about just writing to someone. She still didn't know his name, didn't know what he looked like, where he lived or much personal information at all. Nor did he have any idea who she was. As famous as she was, this was a relief. His response to her was just to her, not some icon created by Starfleet with no relationship to the inner person at all. No, they had no external societal props to fall back on or hide behind. The only things they could share were their minds and their hearts and quite with out realizing it, Kathryn had fallen in love again, not just with the man, but with his goals. She didn't know what he looked like, but she knew how he thought and understood and shared his vision for the future. She wanted to help him achieve it.
	When he said he planned on making the Center galactic, he meant it literally as well as figuratively. He had managed to convince someone in the United Federation of Planets that now, when so many ideas and alliances in flux, that it was more important than ever to try to understand each other. It had given her the hope that there were still people within the system that felt as she did. He had even talked the Federation into making an old cargo barge available to him, and he had found the personnel and funding necessary to refurbish the barge into a state of the art (and of the technology) vessel capable of roaming among the stars, yet still managed to keep the project free from political entanglements. These days, that was quite an accomplishment.
	He was going to lead that mission as soon as the ship was ready and she was bound and determined to leave with him. She could envision a role for Starfleet in this and felt that maybe for once her name would be used for a purpose she could support. Ultimately that would be PePe's call, but she had more than her name and connections to offer. She was a good engineer, a decent pilot, a good administrator and a fair hand at needlework. If the arts could really reach into the heart of each culture, then he would need a complement of artists at hand. One way or another, she would be an asset to his mission and one way or another, she was going with him.
	It was time to cut plasma or go to warp. She had invited him to pick up the Cardassian panel personally and he had agreed. He was coming tomorrow and when he took away the panel, she meant to leave with him.
	"Well, what do you think? Am I crazy or am I just getting carried away with an ideal. This guy is so exciting. Starfleet has changed. So many of the people there are out to carve their own little empires of power. There is no sense of service to a greater ideal. PePe..Bapu-ji has none of that. I don't think he much cares who controls things. He is trying to connect into the essence of each person and help each individual understand the interconnectedness of all individuals. I want to be a part of this."
	"Janey, you don't have to convince me that this man's vision is noble, but what about the man? What about his reaction to you? Are there any sparks between you apart from his goals?"
	Kathryn turned red and smiled slyly at Queenie, "Oh yes, you could say there has been a spark or two."
	"You've been holding out on me. Come on, I want details!"
	"Queenie!"
	"Tell me. You know you want to."
	She did really. After all, what were girlfriends for, if you couldn't gossip? PePe and she hadn't limited their communication just to business or discussing alien philosophies. There had been a certain amount of teasing and flirting that had developed between them, and without the restraint of a real world relationship, their flirting had become decidedly erotic. This man was sensuality personified and she had actually written of doing things that she hadn't even fantasized about during all those long years of celibacy in the Delta Quadrant, and she'd had been so many fantasies there that she had begun to number the 'Motifs'. Now, just the sound of the console cueing her to a new message was enough to make her glow. She was a tad worried about being able to present the inner, warm and sensual Kathryn to this man, however. The outer Kathryn was still pretty straight laced and cool (if one didn't include the bar hopping expeditions).
	Queenie looked her over. "I've got an idea or two. Let's start by opening up that porthole to your living room. You can tell me a few of your 'Motifs' as we do."
	"Which one do I start with?"
	"Start with Motif Number One."

	~~~part 5 - Motif Number One ~~~

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