“Cadet Miranda will make a fine medical student,” the EMH calmly replied.
“Who are youto judge?” Starsa told him. “You’re gonna have to learn to stay out of people’s minds or you’re going to get into lots of trouble.”
“ Iam not in trouble,” the EMH said smugly. “I am a emergency medical hologram. I perform my duties flawlessly.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Jayme hastened to say. “End EMH program.”
As Jayme left the lab, Starsa called out, “You know, holograms can be dangerous for your health if you hang around them too much.”
Jayme sighed. Her transfer request had been submitted, and now the calls from the relatives were starting to come in.
“But, honey, how can you possibly get into Starfleet Medical School?” her mother asked in concern. She was so busy, as usual, that she was speaking from a station near the warp core of the U.S.S. Gandhi.
“Mom, all of my electives have been science courses. I’ll have enough credits to be accepted if I take summer courses the next two years and concentrate on biology/premed seminars.”
Her mother glanced sideways, probably in the middle of some diagnostic on board the Gandhi, the Ambassador‑class starship she had served on for the past six years. Jayme considered the Gandhito be her second home, but the last time she’d been on board was at the beginning of the summer break. She had only spent a couple of weeks with her mom, as usual rotating among the starships and starbases where her favorite cousins and aunts were posted.
“I don’t know, honey, it sounds risky,” her mother finally counseled. “You’re so close to graduating.”
“You’re right,” Jayme agreed. “But nothing else in my life has been risky, so I think I can handle this.”
When Jayme got back to her quarters a few evenings later, with only one week left in her tour of duty on Jupiter Station, there was a message waiting from Moll Enor. Her dark, serious face was so beautiful that Jayme reached out and touched the screen.
“I’m sure you’ll accomplish whatever you set out to do,” Moll said simply. Then she smiled, and for a moment, it was like they were talking in real‑time, Jayme felt so close to Moll. Then the blue Starfleet symbol filled the screen and the transmission was over.
The other message was from her older sister, Raylin, stationed on Deep Space Station 2 in the Allora Prime system. Raylin had already made Lieutenant, and was third in command of engineering on DS2. Jayme remembered how their mother had cried when she found out.
“Jayme!” Raylin exclaimed, her expression horrified. “You don’t even like to get a hypospray! Remember how you screamed when I sliced open my thumb with the laser cutter–”
“Don’t listen to her, Jayme!” her sister’s husband cried out, as Raylin tried to shove him out of the viewscreen. “We needa Miranda in blue!”
Raylin pushed him from the view, holding him off as she tried to talk over his babble, trying to put some sense into her little sister.
Jayme started smiling, then giggling, holding her stomach she was laughing so hard. Her brother‑in‑law was right–it was about time a Miranda represented Starfleet in the blue uniform.
Chapter Eight
NEV REOH SAT GLUMLY waiting in yet another dark and dingy bar on Station 14, in orbit around Beltos IV. This bar was just like the one last week on Station 26, and the one the week before on Station 7–a warren of narrow ledges and tables bolted to the walls around a space of zero‑g in the center.
The weightless center was where the Orion animal‑women danced. The thrumming beat of the music vibrated from the beam supports of the bar, and tiny laser lights called the exotic green women to shadowed ledges.
What made it worse was that Reoh knew someone like Titus or Jayme or Bobbie Ray Jefferson would revel in this exciting environment, while he kept trying to loosen the collar of his new Starfleet uniform, still uncomfortable after a month on active duty as a grade‑three ore examiner for the Beltos IV mining colony.
Every shipment of dicosilium (and the rarer dilithium) that was sold to the Federation had to be checked for purity and radiation‑contaminant levels. The Beltos IV mining settlement was near the Rigel system, in the most densely populated area of the Milky Way Galaxy, yet it was under rule of the Pa’a. The Pa’a had thus far refused to become a member of the Federation.
Hence the need for a rotating crew of ensigns with geophysics qualifications. Reoh had dragged his spectro‑analyzer through more broken‑down freighters and storage compartments than he could count while making his way among the orbiting string of transfer stations around Beltos IV.
Every one of the stations had at least a dozen dancing bars like the one he was in. It made Reoh uncomfortable to know that the Federation couldn’t do a thing about the exploitation of the Orion animal‑women, except to ensure that no slaves were exported out of the solar system. Here and there, Reoh could see the Starfleet uniforms of the officers who ran the border patrols, ensuring that this pocket of Pa’a corruption was contained. Yet even the Starfleet personnel were drawn to see the Orions–who could resist their magnetic pull?
A green hand clasped the pole near his feet, then another appeared, as the sweetheart‑face of an Orion animal‑woman emerged from the darkness, pulling herself up to his perch. Her lips parted as she glided through the air, undulating as she came closer. Her dark green eyes were filled with promise as her tongue slipped between her teeth.
Horrified, Reoh forced himself to look away. He wouldn’t contribute to the degradation of these poor slaves.
“You want me,” she whispered, her hand clasping his perch.
“Uh, no, thank you, Ma’am.” Reoh uneasily smiled to let her know it was nothing personal. “I don’t think so.”
“You are unhappy . . .” she murmured.
“No, really, I’m fine, thank you. I’m waiting for my next appointment to arrive.”
“I think you wait for me. . . .”
Reoh tried to look at her, but she was drawing herself up behind him. “No,” he told her uneasily, “it’s a Pa’a captain.”
Her hands slipped over his shoulders, her kneading fingers sending shivers down his spine. Her rumbling purr moved near his ear, then an icy‑hot trail flashed up his skin as she licked his neck.
Reoh tried to untangle her green arms from around him. How had she managed to do that so fast?
“I think you have the wrong customer,” he told her. He could barely make out the other animal‑women– sometimes two or three women–twining themselves around the men resting on the nearby ledges.
“Please . . .” He had to lean closer to hear her breathy little voice, which hardly penetrated the thrumming music. “I will be in trouble if you send me away.”
Reoh stopped trying to hold her off, looking her right in the face. “Are you serious? You mean you’re punished if a customer doesn’t pay for a dance?”
She nodded, busy nestling closer.
“All right, give me your finger,” he agreed, holding the tab so she could press her delicate hand against it. He felt bad. He had been sending women away all day, waiting for Captain Jord to let him inspect her cargo of dicosilium. From what he’d learned in the past few weeks, allbusiness was done in the dancing bars. “Are the other girls punished for not getting dances?”
“I know only my master,” she murmured, seemingly content with curling up next to him on the ledge. But he kept having to capture her wandering fingers, lulled by her gentle stroking of his hand or his chest.