She faced him squarely. “I asked you, my husband, to inform me of the logic underlying your decision. I have not heard logic. I have heard fear. Refusal to undertake a task because of speculation about possible negative results is not logical. Not unless the probability of such negative outcomes can be demonstrated to be unacceptably high. I am not as trained in risk assessment as you; can you demonstrate this to be the case?”

Tuvok’s lips narrowed. “No. I cannot. Clearly my judgment is still impaired.”

“In which case, you would no doubt benefit from further counseling by Commander Troi. She has been of considerable assistance in helping you to adjust this past year.” And in helping me adjust, T’Pel added to herself. Though she was completely committed to her husband, his increased emotionalism did sometimes prove…difficult to live with. Difficult to respect. Counselor Troi was the only person T’Pel had been able to admit this to. “And since Commander Troi will be remaining aboard Titan, it follows that it would be in your best interest to remain aboard as well.”

Frayed discipline or not, Tuvok still retained the ability to make quick decisions when needed. After a few more moments’ thought, he nodded. “Very well. We shall report aboard Titanby stardate 58250.”

“We have until 58260,” she reminded him.

“Indeed. But as second officer, I have an example to set.”

Her fingers brushed his once more in approval. He was starting to sound like his old self again.

U.S.S. TITAN, STARDATE 58327.6

“I can assure you, Counselor Troi, that there is no need to worry.”

Somehow the reassurance was less convincing coming from the knife-toothed mouth of a predatory sauroid. Deanna Troi knew it was unfair to Doctor Ree to perceive him in that way, but convincing her mercurial hormones was another matter. “Doctor, I collapsed in the middle of a briefing.”

“That is a bit of an overstatement. ‘Swooned’ would be more accurate. Your electrolytes are simply low.”

“And you’re sure it’s nothing wrong with the baby? This pregnancy feels…different somehow.”

“At the risk of sounding insensitive, considering how your last pregnancy went, I would consider that a good sign.” Deanna winced at the reminder of the miscarriage she had suffered last September. Even though the Caeliar had healed her fetus’s damaged genes, it was hard not to fear a repetition.

“In fact,” Ree went on, “your daughter is developing relatively more rapidly than usual. At this rate, I would estimate she will come to term in no more than three months.” Deanna’s eyes widened. That was a month early for a human, two for a Betazoid. “Possibly even less. No doubt her accelerated growth is making increased demands on your metabolism, which is why your electrolytes are so depleted. I will prescribe a more robust diet and plenty of fluids.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” she asked with a trace of heat. “Could it be a sign of some problem? An aftereffect of the Caeliar treatment, maybe?”

“I was not yet sure. The gestation rates of humanoid hybrids are often unpredictable, especially in cases where genetic therapy is performed to enable the hybridization. It is possible that the Caeliar treatment had some effect, but it could simply be the vagaries of a mixed human-Betazoid biology.” He laid a scaly hand on her shoulder. “Rest assured, there is no risk to you or the baby. Indeed, the Caeliar restored you to the peak health of a woman two-thirds your age. You should be able to handle an accelerated pregnancy with relative ease—with the proper diet and hydration,” he stressed.

Once she left sickbay, now fortified with a sports beverage and a vitamin shot and carrying a padd containing the doctor’s new dietary recommendations, Deanna felt embarrassed at her anxiety. Now that her emotions were settling, she was able to recognize how irrational it had been. She knew she and her baby were in extraordinary health—“obnoxiously good health,” as Christine Vale teasingly described her post-Caeliar condition—and that the doctor would not keep the truth from her if anything were wrong with her pregnancy. (She had had more than ample proof of that back in February, when it had seemed they would lose this baby as well.)

In truth, she understood, the anxiety she felt was not entirely hers. Just before the briefing, she had been counseling Tuvok. His profound sense of loss resonated strongly with Deanna’s own grief at the loss of her and Will’s first unborn child, still a knife in her soul after nearly seven months. That pain had been so overwhelming that when Ree had informed her that the daughter she carried now was doomed as well, she had been unwilling to terminate the pregnancy even though the alternative was her near-certain death. She had simply been unable to face the prospect of losing another child. Even after the Caeliar had saved her daughter, even with the joy she and Will had felt as this robust new life grew inside her, the memory of that anguish still lingered within her. When she counseled Tuvok, when his own parallel grief fed into her, it tended to amplify her own anxieties.

Sometimes she wondered if she should ask Haaj or Huilan to take over Tuvok’s counseling; perhaps she was too close to the matter to be objective. But as an empath, she couldn’t accept that being able to identify with a patient’s traumas was intrinsically a bad thing. As long as she kept a check on her own judgment and continued to receive regular counseling from Haaj, she believed she could manage. And ultimately it was Tuvok’s choice. She had raised the matter with him before, and he had insisted on keeping her as his therapist. The two of them had a good, established rapport, a bond forged during their encounter with the Pa’haquel last year, and it would be difficult for him to open up to another counselor.

Lost in thought, Deanna almost collided with another woman who was rounding the corner at some speed. “Oh! Excuse me, Counselor. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“It’s all right,” she said automatically. It was one of the new enlisted security guards, Ellec Krotine—a lean Boslic with bright cherry-red hair. Deanna had seen much the same color on Christine Vale a while back, but she believed Krotine came by it naturally.

“I guess I’m distracted by where we’regoing,” Krotine added. “Just another two days, and we’re into the unknown. I can’t wait.” The golden-skinned young woman’s angular brow ridges gave her an elegantly hawkish look—and indeed the trifurcated indentation in her forehead resembled the track of a bird of prey—but she was quiet, even-tempered, and inquisitive, even her expression of excitement sounding casual and laid-back. Despite her security background, her time aboard the U.S.S. da Vinci—one of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers’ top “troubleshooter” vessels—had awakened in her a fascination with discovering the unknown and solving scientific and technical problems. Though she wasn’t formally trained in those fields, she had told Deanna in her initial interview that she enjoyed participating in them vicariously and picking up what knowledge she could in the process.