I’m such a stupid git, Pennington berated himself. That’s exactly what I thought. “Yes, you’re right.” It was all he could think to say. He began to feel sick. Then he recognized the sensation: It was the yawning chasm of dread that always preceded the news that he was about to lose someone he loved. Loved. The very fact of it was like a cruel joke. It had started out as harmless flirtation, but in swift measure it had turned serious, become tempestuous, and finally had spun out of control. Caught up in the erotic thrill of every illicit moment with Oriana, he had allowed himself to forget about Lora. About his wife.

Oriana finished gathering her things into her overnight bag. Then an idea struck Pennington. “If Robert sees you holding that, won’t he realize you were planning on staying somewhere other than the Bombay? Won’t he ask questions?”

She looked at the bag in her hands. “Damn.” Frowning, she handed it to Pennington. “Okay, hang on to it. My friend Katrina will come by later and take it down to my storage locker.”

“Sure.” He put the bag on the chair beside his dresser, then turned back toward her. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“It’s goodbye for now.” She grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled him to her. Their lips met with practiced ease, and their arms snaked around one another. He lost himself in her hungry, defiant kiss. After several intoxicating seconds she gently nibbled his lower lip. “The Enterprise is just passing through,” she said, her whisper warm and intimate. “Bombay is here to stay.” She punctuated her point with a quick flick of her tongue against his. “And I’ll be back.”

She was out the door before he could bid her farewell.

So much for spending the weekend in bed, he brooded.

“Enterprise, this is Vanguard control. Prepare to release your navigational systems to our control in twenty seconds.”

“Vanguard, this is Enterprise,” Kirk said. “Standing by for handoff.” No matter how many times James Kirk reminded himself that letting the spacedock team guide his ship into the docking bay was the safest possible option, relinquishing control of his ship never came easy. He sat in his chair on the bridge and leaned forward on his left elbow, the thumb of his closed fist pressed thoughtfully against his lower lip. As the Enterprise began its final approach toward the slowly parting docking-bay doors, he took his first good look at the new, pristine gray surface of Starbase 47 on the main viewer.

Vanguard was enormous—no mere G- or K-class station, with a few airlocks, shuttle bays, and spare, utilitarian habitat modules. Nearly a kilometer tall and almost as wide, Watchtower-class space stations were more on the order of small cities. Designed for complete self-sufficiency, they were capable of lending support to colonial operations or serving as home base for missions both exploratory and military, in remote areas where no other Federation support was available. He recalled that, at peak capacity, it would be capable of hosting up to four Constitution-class starships in its main spacedock, as many as twelve other large to midsized ships on the spokes of its massive lower docking wheel, and no doubt dozens of smaller craft in the numerous hangar bays along its broad central core.

Emblazoned on opposite sides of the central core and on the top of the primary spacedock—in Arabic numerals almost as tall as the Enterprise itself—was the facility’s numerical designation, 47, sandwiched between the words STARBASE (above it) and VANGUARD (below). Flanking the name and number were the crimson starburst and banner icons of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets.

Ensign Varsha Mahtani keyed in a command sequence at the helm. The soft-voiced Indian woman turned toward Kirk and said, “Navigational control transferred, Captain.”

“Thank you, Ensign.” Kirk glanced over at Spock, who stood at ease next to his science station, watching the image of Vanguard’s expansive spacedock swallowing the Enterprise. “Thoughts, Mr. Spock?”

“Most impressive,” Spock said. “This far from a habitable system and civilized Federation worlds, the acquisition of raw materials for this station’s construction must have posed a formidable challenge.”

From the other side of the bridge, at the auxiliary engineering station, chief engineer Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott turned and leaned on the low railing that ran the circumference of the bridge’s upper level. “Aye,” he said, joining the conversation. “Movin’ that much matériel this far from home this quickly would be a job and a half. Four dozen ships, at least.”

“Apparently,” Kirk said, “someone thought it was worth it.”

Spock descended the short stairs to stand at Kirk’s side. He lowered his voice, implying a need for discretion. “This far from Federation territory, a small facility would not be uncommon, as a border outpost. But a facility of this size and complexity…implies a mission much larger in scope.”

There was no need for Spock to elaborate. Kirk understood his first officer’s point: Something important was afoot here on the outskirts of explored space, something so crucial that the Federation was willing to commit itself to the Herculean task of establishing a major starbase that would then be left to fend for itself, come what may.

It was a mystery that now had Kirk’s undivided attention.

Reyes strode swiftly through the corridor circling the middle deck of the main spacedock. He was headed to bay two, where the Bombay currently was berthed.

The passage bustled with throngs of officers debarking from the Enterprise and the Bombay. For Reyes, it was easy to tell which crew was which. The Bombay personnel had recently received the new Starfleet duty uniforms, which featured more intense primary colors and, for female officers, a one-piece miniskirt. Both the men and women from the Enterprise wore the previous generation of shirt-and-trouser uniforms, whose colors were more muted, and lacked the new black collar.

It never ceased to amaze Reyes that, in an organization as large as Starfleet, with all its personnel and its fleets of starships spread across the galaxy, whenever two ships managed to make port at the same time, so many members of their crews seemed to know each other. Already clusters of Enterprise crewmen were mingling with Bombay officers. Back-slappings and shouted salutations filled the wide, bulkhead-gray corridor with the sounds of joyous reunions, of friends and colleagues and academy cohorts too long separated by the call of duty.

The swelling tide of happy bonhomie brought a broad smile to Reyes’s weathered face. It had been a few years since he had commanded a starship, but he remembered well the unique joy that coursed through any vessel at the utterance of two simple words: Shore leave.

Reyes recognized the stylishly tousled flaxen hair of the Bombay’s commanding officer as she exited the gangway into the corridor. As he approached, he shouted to her. “Hallie!” The attractive, fortyish captain looked around, apparently unable to determine who had called her name. He waved to her, and once again was thankful that his lunar upbringing had made him taller than average for a human. “Captain Gannon!”

This time she saw him. Stepping quickly and with grace, his former first officer from the Dauntless slalomed through the moving wall of bodies to join him. He fell into step beside her.

“Commodore,” she said brightly. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Captain. Everything went smoothly?”

“By the numbers,” Gannon said.

“Good, good.” He hesitated, telegraphing with silence what he had to say next. “I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”

“I figured as much. What can I do for you?”

“Priority signal from Ravanar.” The two officers detoured around a large knot of personnel who were moving slowly up the center of the corridor. As they reunited in front of the group, he continued, “We need to get some gear out to them, pronto.”