Nobody understood their relationship, and she had almost gotten used to people dismissing her love for Moll as a schoolgirl crush. Nobody saw what happened between them when they were alone, up late at night talking about everything they wouldn’t tell another soul. But every time they took another step closer, Moll pulled back again. Jayme wasn’t sure why Moll wouldn’t commit to a real relationship with her, but that was just one of the mysteries about the Trill. She was different, special. She had always been different, Jayme knew that from the way Moll described her childhood on Trill, all those tests and displays she was forced to go through, showing off her rare eidetic memory for academics and officials.
Jayme would put up with much more than jokes from Starsa and Titus to win Moll’s love. Meanwhile, Moll was back at the Academy, beginning her last year, while Jayme was stuck on a two‑month field assignment to Jupiter Station, nearly frustrated to death. Starsa could be great fun, but she was no Moll Enor. And a steady diet of mundane engineering jobs was beginning to make her want to scream.
Jayme glanced around. She was in a secured area beneath the station. Why not?
“Aaahhhgghhhhh!”she screamed out loud, hearing her voice echo through the long conduit chamber.
“Hello?” a startled voice called out. “Somebody hurt down there?”
Jayme winced. She had forgotten about the access tubes. Her scream must have echoed up them like wells.
“Somebody screamed down here!” another voice echoed down.
“It’s all right!” Jayme called out, turning first one way then the other as people began to yell down the tubes. “I’m okay!I just . . . pinched my finger.”
The calling stopped, but Jayme caught one comment–“Some cadet!”–before the conduit chamber fell quiet again. Jayme sighed, moving on with her duties. There were valves to be gauged and adjustments to be made.
* * *
“. . . and the metatarsal, not to be confused with the metasuma,” the EMH was saying as Starsa came into the room, “should be anchored before beginning the procedure. . . .”
Starsa noticed that Jayme was startled when she came into the workshop. The EMH droned on about contusions and subhematoma somethings.
Starsa pointed her thumb at the EMH, “Why is he out? Don’t you get enough of Zimmerman making the loops?”
Jayme didn’t look at him. “He’s okay. He’s better than Zimmerman.”
“Why, thank you,” the EMH said.
Starsa narrowed her eyes at the EMH. “Do you think his smile is still a little too smug?”
Jayme considered the EMH, but he rapidly lost his satisfied look. “Smug?”he asked. “I beg your pardon, but I do notappear smug.”
“Maybe a little,” Jayme agreed.
The door opened behind them. “Is there a problem with the EMH?” Director Zimmerman asked.
Starsa thought Jayme looked guilty about something. “No problem,” she answered for them both.
“Then why is the EMH activated?” Zimmerman asked, closing the distance between them. “Haven’t you completed your imaging checks yet?”
“Yes!” Jayme answered. “That is, I’m just finishing.”
Starsa could tell Jayme needed a hand for some reason. “We were just discussing his smile. Do you think it’s too smug‑looking?”
Jayme kicked her while Zimmerman gravely frowned at the EMH. The holographic doctor wasn’t smiling. Actually, he had a rather disdainful expression, like he had smelled something bad.
Zimmerman turned back to them. “I think he looks nearly perfect.”
“So do I,” Starsa agreed. “Come on, Jayme, we have to get to Lieutenant Barclay’s seminar on warp dynamics.”
On their way to the warp‑core simulator, Jayme didn’t thank Starsa for helping her out. In fact, Jayme seemed preoccupied with something. Starsa didn’t mind–her friend sometimes got moody. That’s just the way she was.
Lieutenant Barclay was waiting for the twelve cadets to assemble who were currently assigned to Jupiter Research Station. For once, Starsa wasn’t the last one there, and she had a few moments to tease Barclay by asking questions about the simulation that he set up for them. “Is it a warp breach?” she pressed. “I hope not, because last week’s warp breach was a real loser, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Barclay smiled uncertainly and stammered, “N‑no. This week, it’s a . . . well, you’ll have to wait until we start the simulation, Cadet.”
“Come on,” Starsa urged, “give us a hint. Please?”
Barclay kept hedging, but Starsa was surprised that Jayme didn’t nudge her to stop, as she usually did. Starsa finally let up when Barclay began going through the duty roster for the simulation, and each cadet took charge of a station. Starsa was on her way to the warp‑nacelle monitor when she noticed Jayme, paused next to Lieutenant Barclay, the last cadet to receive her assignment.
“Lieutenant,” Jayme said. “I wondered if I could ask you a personal question.”
Barclay shifted his eyes, catching sight of Starsa. She pretended to be busy with the monitor, but she was all ears when he replied, “A personal question? I don’t know if that’s quite . . . I’m not sure . . .”
“I was just wondering why you chose to go into engineering.”
Barclay really looked nervous, as if he wished he had been firm and told her to report to her duty station. But they all got away with murder with Barclay. Starsa liked him better than any of their other field professors.
“Why d‑d‑do,” he started, swallowing to get the word out, “do you ask?”
“I’m just curious,” Jayme said quickly. “You seem to enjoy it so much, I wondered when you first knew engineering was for you.”
“I’ve always liked working with machines,” Barclay admitted, smiling shyly. “I feel more comfortable with them, I guess.”
Jayme was nodding seriously, as if he had given her something to think about. Starsa wasn’t sure what that was, but one thing for sure, her old quadmate was certainly acting strange. Then Starsa forgot all about it as the fascinating simulation began. She had just been teasing Barclay when she said the warp core breach had been boring. He came up with the trickiest programs that were incredibly fun to figure out.
The next day, Starsa asked Jayme to stop by her quarters before dinner to see something special she’d been working on.
“There!” Starsa dramatically gestured to the device on her desk. “It’s an anti‑aging device.”
“Starsa . . .” Jayme groaned. “Why are you messing around with mechanical gerontominy? You know all the advances in the past two centuries have been biochemical, not electromagnetic. It’s like going back to astrology to understand the stars.”
“Humph!” Starsa snorted, turning to beam with pride on her gerontometer, giving it reassuring pats. “At one time people thought the transporter was a looney idea.”
“That’s true, in a twisted sort of way.” Jayme came closer. “Why are you building it?”
“Why not?” she replied. “I got the idea from something Zimmerman said a few weeks ago, so I just started.”
“Yea,” Jayme agreed wryly, “It’s finishinga project you have trouble with.”