“But those are low-probability events, wouldn’t you say?”

“A kilometer-scale asteroid impacting a planet a mere eleven days after our arrival there is also a very low-probability event, Counselor, even in a system as rich in asteroids as this. Yet Titanis currently responding to such an event. The improbable does occur.”

“That’s true.” Deanna considered her words. “But if you want to prepare them for anything, doesn’t that suggest using a wide range of different training exercises? Is there a reason you use the Borg simulation so often?”

Tuvok sighed. “You seek to elicit an admission that I am exacting a form of symbolic revenge against the Borg for the death of Elieth. I would point out, Counselor, that I am far from the only member of this crew to have lost family, friends, or colleagues to the Collective. I believe that the simulations can be cathartic for many members of my staff.”

“Interesting,” Deanna said—and the word was not merely the boilerplate “interesting” that therapists used to sound supportive. It genuinely was interesting that Tuvok had become comfortable enough with the idea of manag ing rather than repressing emotion that he would use it as a factor in his training decisions, and that he would be empathetic enough to want to offer his subordinates such a catharsis. Still…“That may well be. But many members of this crew suffered post-traumatic stress in the wake of the invasion. Your Borg simulations are giving some people nightmares.”

She wanted to stand and walk around a bit to inject a pause in the conversation, gather her thoughts—hell, just to get the circulation back in her butt. But standing up would be such a time-consuming production that it would derail the conversation. “Tuvok, I’ve found that indulging anger doesn’t really relieve it—more often, it simply feeds it. If you—your personnel can’t be allowed to move past their rage toward the Borg, if they’re made to channel and express it over and over again, it just delays their recovery.”

He caught her in that no-nonsense gaze of his. “By which you implicitly mean my recovery as well.”

“Yes. But both are worth considering.”

For a time, the centenarian Vulcan pondered her words. “Perhaps I have…imposed my own needs too much on my personnel. I shall endeavor to refine my training to suit their needs better.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

He gave her the look she’d come to recognize as amusement. “Obviously you have never trained under me.”

But the moment was fleeting, and soon she felt the returning weight of his grief, his bitterness. “But what I choose to simulate in my own private training sessions…is my business, Counselor. Perhaps I am simply…not ready to let go yet.”

Unconsciously, Deanna wrapped her arms around her belly. She could feel the gaping wound in his soul where his youngest son had been, so much like the one in her own where her daughter’s unborn predecessor had lived for so tragically brief a time. She felt his frustration at his inability to protect his flesh and blood, and she understood it for reasons that had nothing to do with Betazoid senses. “Let go of what, Tuvok?” she asked. “Of futility? Of the desperate fantasy of going back and making it not happen? How do you hold on to Elieth’s memory by continuing to take revenge against an enemy that no longer exists?”

“Elieth’s last moments were spent defending against that enemy. His life was lost only because he chose to stay and defend others.”

“To help them evacuate—not to fight the Borg himself.”

“He defended in his way, as I do in mine. He gave away his life to confront the Borg. That is what I have left of him, Counselor.”

“He…gave awayhis life? Why that choice of words?”

“Federation Standard is an imprecise language. There are many ways to convey the same concept. Is this relevant?”

“Everything’s relevant in here, Tuvok.”

“No. You simply try to make it so.”

Hostility. Interesting.It was an almost refreshing change from the grief. “Another thing about anger, Tuvok…sometimes you can’t let it go until you realize just who or what it is you’re angry with. When it’s displaced, it brings no satisfaction, no resolution.”

He stared, brows furrowing. “With whom or what would I be angry if not the Borg?”

“Well, who else made a choice that contributed to Elieth’s death?”

“The question is so broadly defined that there are countless possible answers. The admirals who failed to defend Deneva successfully. The Denevans who approved his employment there. Admiral Janeway for crippling the Borg’s transwarp network and triggering their mass retaliation. Captain Picard for choosing not to use the Endgame program to destroy the Borg thirteen years ago. There are many other possible answers to your question.”

Deanna shrugged. “We’ve still got half an hour. Let’s consider some.”

“Commander, we have a problem.”

Christine Vale suppressed a wince at the fluting observation from Ensign Kuu’iut, the lanky Betelgeusian who stood beta-shift tactical. She always hated to hear those words. “Don’t keep it to yourself, Ensign.”

“Close-range scans show the asteroid to consist of considerably denser materials than expected. Possibly large deposits of rodinium, diburnium, indurite. Its mass is sixty-eight percent greater than previously estimated.”

She sighed. “Making it sixty-eight percent harder to deflect. Or is it the square of that? I forget which.”

“One-half the mass times the velocity squared,” said Peya Fell, the Deltan woman at sciences. “Goes linearly with mass.”

“That’s something. Thanks, Ensign. Kuu’iut, can we still deflect it successfully?”