“Okay,” Vale said. “But what am I supposed to do when you and he have a consultation I’m not even privy to?”

“That’s a valid point. I’ll talk to Will about it—we’ll both make more of an effort to avoid that in the future.”

Deanna’s gentle, wise openness defused Vale’s anger…although a part of her still envied how easy Deanna made everything look. “Okay.”

“And keep one more thing in mind, Christine: Will Riker chose you. He pushed for you, courted you until you said yes. He arranged for that fast promotion because he felt there was no one better suited for this job. He values you as his first officer, his partner. And take it from me: He’s very committed to his partnerships.”

Vale smiled, heartened by her words. “I’ll remember that. Thank you, Deanna.”

“My pleasure.” She looked up. “Computer, resume.”

The lift went on its way again, and the two women stood there in companionable silence for a moment. Then Vale said, “So, uh, what do you think I should do about Jaza?”

“I can’t tell you what to do….”

“I know, but if you have any thoughts…”

“Computer, hold,” Deanna said, and the lift stopped again. “I think it’s important to find your comfort level. If you’re unsure of yourself right now, if you want to find balance in your career, then maybe this isn’t the time to pursue a relationship. It isn’t always necessary to rush into what you want. My relationship with Will didn’t go smoothly the first time, because we were both young and unsure of what we wanted. But on the Enterprise,we had the time to grow together, to build the foundation of a strong personal and professional partnership, and our love eventually grew from that.”

Vale nodded. “Okay. But on the other hand,” she said, remembering how she’d felt after Oghen, “either one of us could get killed at any time, and then we’d have missed our chance.”

“That’s true too. There isn’t always a simple answer. Some relationships do require time and patience, but there’s no guarantee of getting it. Whichever way you go, it’s a risk.”

“Great. So you’re saying there’s no way to decide.”

“I’m saying that maybe the decision comes down to your other priorities. If your career is what’s most important to you right now, and if you feel a relationship with Jaza would disrupt that, then that’s a perfectly valid choice to make.” Deanna touched her shoulder. “What matters is that you make the choice based on the factors in your life and Jaza’s. It shouldn’t be about Will and me, or you and me.”

Vale took a moment to absorb that. “Okay, then. Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime. Computer, resume.”

Another companionable silence arose, to be broken again by Vale. “Um, what I said about your decades of experience…I wasn’t calling you old or anything.”

“No, of course not. I understand.”

“I just meant—”

“I know.”

“A little maturity, it’s very becoming on a woman.”

“Certainly.”

“You’re definitely still hot.”

Deanna threw her a sidelong look. “You better believe it, kiddo.”

The jellies’ destination was a star system with a G8 primary, smallish and yellow-orange, surrounded by five planets and a brown dwarf which orbited at about sixteen AUs. The dwarf’s gravity had perturbed any outer planets out of the system, but had also cleared the inner system of most of the asteroidal and cometary debris which could have posed an impact hazard to its planets. The second world had a nice low-eccentricity orbit right in the heart of the star’s habitable zone. The star itself was stable, with minimal flare activity, and it was comfortably far from any potential supernova stars, pulsars, stellar nurseries, or other celestial hazards. All told, it was one of the safest abodes of life they were likely to find this close to the Vela Association.

“So what do we call it?”

Riker turned to Deanna and quirked an eyebrow at her question. “Don’t the star-jellies have a name for it?”

“Nothing that translates into words,” she answered with a shrug. “Just a general sense of safety, family, nurturing. Perhaps ‘Nursery,’ but that’s more its category than a name for the particular place. So you’re free to call it whatever you want.”

He grinned at her. “Captain’s prerogative, eh?”

“It’s one of the perks of the job. So what’s the first place name that Captain Will Riker adds to the almanacs?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Deanna’s Star, of course.”

She blushed, laughed. “Oh, no. Will, please, no. That would be too embarrassing.” She exchanged a look with Vale. “And not entirely appropriate.”

“All right, then, how about I let you name it instead? What would you like to call it?”

Deanna again looked at Vale, as if for approval. The younger woman shrugged assentingly. Deanna gazed at the star on the viewscreen for a moment. “How about Kestra?”

They exchanged a long, meaningful look. That would be an even better gift to Deanna, he thought. “Kestra it is, then. Mr. Jaza, please log it as such.”

“Aye, sir.”

Although the planet—which he could now call Kestra II, Riker supposed—was a fairly safe place as far as cosmic hazards were concerned, it was still girded by a cordon of star-jellies, dozens of them patrolling its orbital space in armored mode. Below them, scans revealed other, unarmored jellies at various altitudes, apparently keeping watch over their sessile young on the surface.

“The planet is fairly active geologically,” Jaza reported. “I’m reading star-jelly-like biosignatures congregating around zones of hydrothermal activity—hot springs, alkali lakes, and the like.”

“That fits with what Se’hraqua said about them burrowing their roots to feed off their planet’s warmth,” Deanna said.

Jaza nodded. “And the Bandi sustained their captive jelly with geothermal energy. It must be their preferred energy source during their sessile phase.”

“That might be why the wounded jelly came to their world in the first place,” said Riker, remembering that geothermal energy had been the one resource Deneb IV had possessed in abundance.

“One thing puzzles me,” said Vale. “If the Pa’haquel have been hunting them for millennia, they should’ve been able to find this world by now. Why haven’t they attacked it?”

“I’ve been wondering that too,” Jaza said. “For that matter, why haven’t the Pa’haquel come to one of these breeding worlds and domesticated its jellies, rather than going to the trouble of hunting them in the wild?”

Riker frowned. “You saw how much their culture revolves around the hunt.”

“That wouldn’t explain it,” Deanna told him. “Even the most ideologically driven cultures, when you get right down to it, base their ideologies on their practical needs. If those needs then change, the culture may cling to its traditions for a while, but eventually later generations will grow up seeing more harm than good in them and rebel, replacing them with a reformist ideology that suits their needs better. So there must be some other reason why the Pa’haquel have kept their hunting traditions.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Vale said, “we’ll have to ask them. I doubt we’ll find it here.”

“We never know until we look,” Riker reminded her.

Soon Titanand the jellies’ funeral procession had reached the orbital cordon. They passed through it without incident; no doubt the defender jellies had been advised of Titan’s friendly status. However, one armored jelly broke formation and took station several dozen kilometers off their stern, keeping unobtrusive guard. The other armored jellies in visual range signalled with their meridional chaser lights in acknowledgment of the bereaved school.

Soon the school settled into a low orbit above Kestra II, with Titanand its shadow following suit. The pallbearers released their charge and let it float free. This continued for a full orbit, taking over an hour. Those jellies above and below, tending to their duties, blinked their lights and commiserated telepathically (so Deanna reported) as the procession went by. Those that could spare the time flew up alongside and exchanged solemn tendril-caresses with the grieving school, although they left the corpse untouched. Deanna narrated the whole affair in somber tones, her tears flowing freely. After a while, concerned at the sheer volume of grief she must be processing, Riker leaned over and whispered, “Can’t you block out some of what they’re feeling?”