He almost laughed in spite of himself. But it wasn’t his laughter he was worried about. “I haven’t told anyone because…it’s embarrassing. It seems so petty.”

“Ev, you’re obviously grieving for somebody. That can’t be petty.”

“But I didn’t lose a mate or a son or a mother or…anyone like that.”

“I’m listening,” she said, crossing her arms.

He sighed. “It was…Germu. My wadji.”

“What’s a wadji?”

“My…pet. A small furred mammal native to Arken. She had such beautiful fur, so many colors…” He was silent for a moment. “I left her with my brother on Alrond when I went on this mission. I hated to be without her…we were so close. Wadjiare a self-sufficient breed, often aloof, but she was so affectionate when the mood struck her. I felt honored that she would bless me with that. But wadjicannot stand being cooped up in small spaces, so I had to leave her behind.”

“What happened? I assume your brother survived…”

Eviku nodded. “When the Borg attacked Alrond and the evacuation was called, Germu…escaped in the turmoil. My brother lost his grip in the push of the crowd, and she fled for some safe hiding place, no doubt—she never did well with strangers. I don’t blame my brother—he almost missed the evacuation shuttle searching for her. He did everything he could.” He lowered his head. “The whole planet…its entire surface was rendered lifeless. Germu…Oh, she was so beautiful.”

A moment later, he felt Bralik’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Ev. You loved her.”

“But so many others are mourning families, cities, whole worlds that were lost. To tell them I am mourning for a pet and claim my grief is comparable with theirs…it seems arrogant.”

“Hey. It doesn’t matter what they think. It doesn’t even matter if they disapprove. She was a part of your family, as much as anyone. Just because she couldn’t talk or count latinum doesn’t mean your pain is any less meaningful. Don’t be ashamed that you loved her.”

Eviku couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They poured out of him for a time he couldn’t measure. When it was over, he didn’t feel particularly healed or cleansed, but there was a sense of release, as though a sealed door had finally broken open, letting in fresh air.

“Thank you, Bralik,” he finally said. “You’re very understanding.”

“Hey. I grew up on a world where females were treated as little more than pets. So I guess I have a soft spot for underappreciated creatures. It’s nice that you loved her so much.” Her hand rested atop his. “I bet you gave her a very happy life.”

“I tried to.” He was quiet for a time. “But I will never get past the fact that she died alone.”

“Hey—like you said, she was self-reliant. She made her own choice. Maybe it didn’t turn out well, but she owned her own life at the end. I admire that.” She sat on the side of his bed, still clasping his hand. “I bet I would’ve liked the gal. Why don’t you tell me about her?”

So he began to speak of Germu and her antics, and soon he was laughing even as he wept.

HEAVY SHUTTLECRAFT HORNE

Doctor Ree had locked Deanna and Nurse Ogawa in the Horne’s aft compartment, nominally for their safety, and had only come back intermittently over the past two days to check on the health of mother and child before returning forward. It had given the two women little chance to reason with Ree, but plenty of time to talk and figure things out. “We understand why you’re doing this,” Deanna told the doctor as soon as he entered for one of his periodic checkups.

“Try not to talk,” he advised. “You need to conserve your energy.”

“Doctor,” Alyssa said, “lying around like a lump and losing muscle tone won’t make delivery any easier for her. You know that.”

“She is also recovering from an injury. Remember who is the doctor here.”

“You’re not thinking like a doctor right now, Ree,” Deanna said. “You’re thinking like a Pahkwa-thanh male. In your species, the males do the main work of guarding the eggs, isn’t that right?”

“That is our privilege,” he conceded. “Which is why you should trust that I have your baby’s best interests in mind when I advise you to be quiet and rest.” There was an edge in his voice as he spoke.

Deanna swallowed, but kept on despite her visceral fear. “There are those fierce protective instincts of a Pah-kwa-thanh male. You’re in guardian mode, Ree.”

“That is unlikely, Counselor. I am obviously not the father of your child. And Alyssa,” he went on without turning, “I would advise you to put the hypo down and return to where I can see you. I would regret having to do anything to you that I do not have the facilities to mend.”

Alyssa quickly complied, but said, “Ree, we’re just trying to help you. You have to see that you’re behaving in an…extreme manner.”

“Warranted by extreme circumstances.”

“No,” Deanna said, keeping her tone gentle. “Triggered by extreme emotion. It started when we were in sickbay, when I felt Will…was in danger.” She knew he was still alive; she could feel it in the core of her being. And she wouldn’t even entertain the possibility that it was wishful thinking. “I feared losing him, and it triggered the memory of my grief at losing our first child, nearly losing this one. It was amplified by my awareness of Tuvok’s grief at losing a son.

“Somehow, my overwhelming fear for the safety of my child must have affected you, triggered an intense surge of paternal instinct—the instinct that evolved to protect your young from predators even larger and fiercer than you.

“But you must realize that we aren’t on the Pahkwathanh homeworld. That those instincts don’t apply here.”