Personal Log, Commander Chakotay. It sounded like a good idea – a moonlight sail on Lake George. Neither of us had really had a chance to de-stress since the crash. I still felt tighter than an admiral’s …well, I was still on edge, and I thought she must be, too. Which is more stressful, I wonder – nearly dying, or watching someone you care about nearly die?

When she suggested sailing on Lake George, I thought she meant a larger boat, with someone who knows what they’re doing manning the sails. She didn’t.

When I met her in the holodeck at 1800, the program was up and running. It was a gorgeous, clear night. A full moon reflected on the water and the familiar stars of Earth lit the sky. She was waiting for me at a dock, dressed in white canvas pants and a blue and white striped shirt. "Good," she said enthusiastically. "Are you ready?"

Tethered to the dock was a piece of wood with a sail that might hold two people, if they held their breath. At least, that’s what it looked like to me. I had never been on a boat like that in my life. "You’re kidding. I thought you meant we’d sail on a boat."

"I have one just like this, back on Earth," she said, her smile unfazed. "You have sailed before, haven’t you?"

"Look, I grew up on a jungle world," I reminded her. "River boats I understand but recreational sailing wasn’t part of the lifestyle." I watched dubiously as she stepped on board. "Are you sure that thing is safe?"

"Absolutely." She offered me a hand and a blinding smile.

Gods, that smile.

She took us out to the center of the lake before we opened the champagne. We had to huddle shoulder to shoulder on the tiny boat, and I began to appreciate her choice of craft.

As we drank, she pointed out her cabin on the shore. "It’s an extravagance to keep it, since I’m home so infrequently. But when I am on Earth, I love to spend time there." She told me about a winter week she’d spent there once, and about her dog that loved to fish, and how her sister had spent a whole day on the dock painting the scene, only to have that fishing dog knock the easel and painting into the water.

Her voice trailed off, and I was suddenly afraid that she was homesick, or worse, that she was thinking about that alien again. The impersonation of her father had rattled her. When I looked at her, though, she seemed at peace. Noticing my concern, she closed her hand over mine. "I haven’t thought about any of that for a long time," she admitted. "Thanks."

When the champagne was gone, it was time to head for the dock. "Turning can be a little tricky," she warned me. "You’ll have to lean over the side while I bring the sail about."

I leaned. It sounded simple enough, but we probably shouldn’t have had all the champagne before we attempted this maneuver. I leaned, and leaned a little more, and then… I fell into the water. None too gracefully, either, headfirst and on my back is not a dive I ever practiced.

Always meticulous, Kathryn had seen to it that this program is climatically correct. I can now testify that Lake George in late April is cold, especially at night. I broke upwards through the water, sputtering and shaking my head like a terrier.

Once she realized I wasn’t hurt, she started to laugh. The humor of the situation was escaping me just at that moment, so when she held out a hand to help me up, I couldn’t resist. It only took two good tugs to pull her in with me.

Even before the splash I knew I might have made a mistake. One doesn’t pull one’s Captain into cold water, even on a holodeck after duty. But when she surfaced, she was still laughing, and I began to laugh, too. It probably wasn’t that funny, but after all the tension of the past 24 hours, we needed the release. We tread water and laughed for a long time, then splashed each other a bit like we were kids again.

Finally, she called for an end to the program, and Lake George, the boat and the mountains disappeared. We wound up sitting on the floor of the holodeck, still wet and still laughing.

It felt good to laugh that much again.

We left the holodeck looking like a couple of half-drowned dogs and said good night. It was the best possible ending to the day – I’d been afraid that I was going to relive the horrible experience in my dreams, and watch her die on the ground of that planetoid again. Now, I’m pretty certain, I’ll dream about her laughing, her hair slicked back against her face and her eyes alive with mischief.

Much better.

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