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Five....
Shit, Shit, Shit.
She wished she could pound her head against a wall. But she couldn't. There wasn't a wall and she was pinned in her chair by the lights and cameras like an insect on a mounting board.
Only the bug was probably more comfortable. At least it was dead and couldn't suffer any further pangs of mortification.
This wasn't turning out at all the way she'd planned.
Four....
Mark Johnson, her once-upon-a-time fiancé, had called ten days after Voyager's very public homecoming. He had tremulously asked her a favor. And she had been happy to oblige. Really. She'd wanted to let him know that she had forgiven him for reneging on their engagement. After all, she couldn't really blame him for thinking she was dead. The entire Alpha Quadrant had thought she was dead.
Three....
Voyager's spectacular arrival in the home system with an exploding Borg Sphere in her wake had made for some very splashy--and good--publicity for StarFleet. And the brass was eager to capitalize on it. They had urged her to show her face and make the rounds on the Netzines and the Chats. So when Mark had shameless traded on their former relationship and asked Kathryn if she would be interested in appearing on his wife's Netcast, she'd said 'yes.'
Two....
A bead of sweat traced along her hairline and slithered down her nape.
Oh, she wasn't ready for this. She really wasn't. In fact, right now she'd much rather be back in the Delta Quadrant facing down an entire Borg Armada than sitting in this chair.
She had never met Mark's wife, although she knew that she was a good fifteen years younger than Mark. (And by implication, younger than herself since she and Mark had been playmates and classmates since they were five, age peers lockstepping together all the way through school. But strangely that thought had never even occurred to her--until just now.)
The woman was beautiful. There were no other words to describe her. And she was impeccably groomed with her wheat straw blonde hair coifed and shining above the just-right make-up tones. Her fashion sense was remarkable. She was dressed in perfect blend of trendy-hip and classic-timeless--and she made Kathryn feel hopelessly dowdy and out of date.
One....
The hostess leaned over, placing on manicured finger on the edge of Kathryn's seat, as if she was loath to make any actual physical contact. She smiled a professional smile--meaning it did even come close to reaching her eyes. "Nervous?" she chirped nonchalantly. "Don't worry. I'll have all the hard parts. All you have to do is answer any questions I ask? Ready?"
Go....
"Good morning and welcome to Kitchen Talk. I'm Marcia Stewart and today
my guest is Kathryn Janeway who has recently returned to Earth from the
Delta Quadrant....Kathryn, I understand that you and food replicators have
had a long and checkered history together. I read in Voyager's Galley log
that your ship's cook once banned from ever using the mess replicator for
fear of unsightly accidents and your Chief Engineer's technical log
reveals that more than once you managed to explode a pot roast inside your
personal replicator. So, I guess, the question that the audience is waiting
to hear is.....while you were exploring unknown space and forging new frontiers,
did you ever find a really good solution for removing burnt-on grime from
a replicator's interior. I mean there are times when a phaser blast just
won't do....."
The End