Starsa stood up with a huge sigh. “If you’re just going to counsel me, I might as well go confess to Admiral Brand and get my official counseling over with.”
Reoh tried to stop her. “Don’t go, Starsa. Talk to me about this–”
“Gotta run.” She grinned, that old sly look in her eyes. “You never know what trouble I could find between here and Brand’s office.”
He couldn’t keep her from jumping on her grav board and taking off. She skimmed around two cadets, then did a somersault over the fountain, making his heart leap into his throat. Then, with a wave, she was gone.
He sat back down, his heart pounding. Starsa had never been cruel before. Thoughtless, yes, but no one could ever call her unkind.
“That girl has a problem,” someone said from behind the bench.
Reoh turned to see Boothby, the oldest gardener at the Academy. “Hi, Boothby. Haven’t seen you lately.”
“Been tending a hillside of blueberries behind the recycling center,” he said, very satisfied with himself. “I see you’re taking up cadet counseling on the side.”
Reoh shifted, remembering how he used to come to Boothby when he needed advice. “It’s part of my job. Do you want to know something? I’ve been chosen to be the cadet advisor for an incoming student–a Ferengi. He’s the first Ferengi to apply to Starfleet, but he used to live on DS9, so they thought a Bajoran would be a familiar face for him.”
“What is this place coming to?” Boothby said in mock‑wonder. “But I know nothing will top our first Klingon cadet.”
“What about a Borg cadet?” Reoh offered. “Or a shape‑shifter?”
“We can only hope it comes to that,” Boothby agreed seriously. He cleared his throat. “About that girl; she’s in big trouble.”
“Oh, Brand will give her a reprimand and some community service. I’m afraid she’ll enjoy the attention more than anything.”
Boothby shook his head. “No, she’s in trouble. She needs help.”
“Help? What kind of help?”
“Medical help, if you ask me,” Boothby said.
“You think she’s sick?” Reoh knew better than to question Boothby. “I thought she’d been acting oddly, but nobody would believe me.”
Boothby shouldered his spade. “See what you can do about getting her to a doctor.”
“Of course!” He started toward the medical building. “I’ll tell them to call her in right now!”
Starsa didn’t like doctors. She had never been sick in her life until she left her homeworld and went to the Academy. Then it had taken nine long months for her to acclimate, and she had hardly been able to run up a flight of stairs without killing herself. She hated her medical monitor so much that, when they told her she no longer needed it, instead of turning the device back in she had thrown it off the top of Quad Tower Two.
So, at first, she resisted being called in by the doctors to be prodded and analyzed again. But when they started giving her hormone and biocellular treatments, she began to realize how ill she really was.
“Hi,” Reoh said, edging his wrinkled nose past the door. “Can I come in?”
“I was wondering when you’d visit,” Starsa told him. “I have to thank you for getting me into medical.”
Reoh grinned shyly. She was struck by how it lit up his face. “You were pretty angry at first.”
“I didn’t realize how bad I was. I was wound so tight I was hardly sleeping. These hormones,” she said, shaking her head. “You had to go through this when you were twelve years old? That’s so young.”
Reoh swallowed as if she had asked an awkward question, but she was used to that. “Bajoran puberty lasts several years and isn’t as . . . dramatic as yours.”
“I’ll be glad to get it over with.” She looked down at her chest. “I’m developing, aren’t I?”
Reoh turned beet‑red. “Uh, I think I’ve got to go.”
Starsa laughed as he ran out of the room, but later she felt awful for making him uncomfortable. She started to cry about it and couldn’t stop. Eventually a nurse noticed and gave her another hormone shot. Starsa fell asleep feeling lost and alone.
“Our doctors believe Starsa should be returned to her homeworld for treatment,” Admiral Brand explained to Nev Reoh. “Her body is reacting abnormally for her species, and they believe it is due to the environment.”
“It will take several weeks for her to get home,” Reoh said, already thinking about how to accomplish whatever was necessary as fast as possible. “Will she be all right until then?”
“With treatments and environmental adjustments to her quarters, Starsa should arrive fine. But the doctors say it will be emotionally as well as physically difficult for her. They recommend that someone accompany her.” Admiral Brand smiled slightly. “Starsa asked if you could go with her.”
“Me?” Reoh asked, feeling very much the odd choice.
“She says you are one of her first friends here on Earth. You are also the one who alerted us to her problem. We could arrange to have your classes taken by the other professors, if you would agree to go.” Brand spread her hands on her desk. “It would take you at least six weeks, maybe longer.”
Reoh already knew it would take longer, because he would have to stay to make sure Starsa was recovering. “I’ll do it. When do we leave?”
* * *
Red alert klaxons sounded for the third time since they had neared Klingon territory and the supply lines passing through numerous inhabited sectors, including Bajor. Clearly, Klingon fingers were stretched toward Cardassia since the recent invasion.
As Reoh ran to Starsa’s rooms, he wondered what the alert was about this time. Last time it had been two jumpy Cardassian escort ships and an arms freighter passing through to refortify one of the border planets. The time before that, it had been a pleasure yacht that the Maquis had outfitted with a fairly hefty phaser capacity.
The U.S.S. Cochranewas only an Oberth‑class starship, one of the smallest Starfleet science vessels, but she had ably defended herself and given chase to the yacht. Yet other duties called, and their captain had been forced to transmit the Maquis ship’s last coordinates to Starfleet Headquarters.
The Oberthhad been ordered to transport dignitaries from the far reaches of the Federation back to Earth to discuss the Dominion and the new danger they posed to the Alpha Quadrant. Even before they left the Academy, Reoh had heard that Starfleet Command was concerned that shape‑shifters could have infiltrated the Federation High Command.
Then, hardly an hour ago, President Jaresh‑Inyo made an announcement about the bomb blast that had disrupted a major conference between the Romulan and Federation governments at Antwerp on Earth. It was the worst crime to occur on Earth in a century–twenty‑seven people were killed. President Jaresh‑Inyo had declared a planetwide day of mourning, but Reoh could read more than grief in the eyes of the Starfleet admirals, including Admiral Leyton, standing to one side of the president in his office.
Reoh was knocked off his feet as the Cochranewas hit by a phaser shock wave. His stomach clenched as body‑memories of the battle at Verdian III came back in a vivid rush. He could almost feel the disrupter blasts, over and over again. Then the panic of the saucer separation. And the crash, when he had screamed like he had never done before, certain he was going to die–
“There you are!” Starsa exclaimed, leaning out of her quarters, eyes wide with fright. “What’s happening? Who’s shooting at us?”
The deck jolted again. “That feels like a phaser hit. The shields are trying to absorb the shock.” Reoh pushed Starsa back inside her quarters, heading toward the couch. “Better sit down and hang on.”