“I’ll miss you,” John told her.

“And I’ll miss you,” she replied. As she gazed into his blue-gray eyes, she thought she saw a mix of emotions there. She knew that he did not want to say goodbye—neither of them ever did—but they both carried greater burdens than that. In the days since they had arrived here at KR-3, they’d been able to continue their time together, but they’d also been required to prepare for their next assignments. John would be leaving on Enterprisein just a few minutes on a classified mission, and tomorrow she would be leaving for her new posting, Helaspont Station, near the Tzenkethi border.

“I love you, Amina,” he said.

“I love you.” She glanced in each direction down the corridor on KR-3, and then past John into Enterprise.Seeing nobody, she leaned forward and kissed him, softly, romantically.

When she pulled back, he said something that neither of them ever said: “Be careful.”

Sasine had always assumed that the risks inherent in their positions prevented them not only from saying such things, but even from thinking too much about them. She knew that if she focused for any length of time on the danger John faced as a matter of course—and even more so in the current political climate—she would be unable to function at her best. She simply had to accept the nature of his duties and trust in his abilities, just as he did with her. Admonitions to “be careful” or “stay safe” were unnecessary, and even potentially dangerous; as experienced Starfleet officers, neither would act recklessly, but if, at the wrong moment, thoughts of their commitment to each other intruded into their minds, it could undermine their decisions and thus pose a threat to themselves and others.

And so John’s comment surprised her. Rather than reproving him for it, though, she simply said, “I’ll be careful. I always am.” Then, playfully swatting him on the shoulder, she said, “You know that.”

“I know,” he said. “I do. I just…” He shrugged. “I just love you, and I don’t trust the Tzenkethi.”

“You’re a wise man, John Jason Harriman,” she said. “I mean, I don’t know about the Tzenkethi, but as far as women are concerned, you have exceptional taste.”

John smiled, and she was happy to see that. In the past few days with him, she’d seen it a great deal. And John rarely smiled in a small way; when happy or amused, his mouth widened broadly, his joy apparent. She had always loved that about him: he enjoyed being happy. It seemed an odd thing to consider, but Sasine had known many people who could not exist within a moment, could not live for the simple but important pleasures life could offer. But John loved life as he loved her: fully. That did not mean that he didn’t suffer difficulties or doubts—life always provided such obstacles—but John never appeared to take for granted the things that brought him happiness.

“Yes, I do have great taste in women,” he joked, “but I have to wonder about your taste in men.”

“I do too,” Sasine said with a smile. “I mean, a merestarship captain? You’d think I’d rate a commander in chief.”

John playfully wrinkled his nose. “Admiral Sinclair-Alexander isn’t really your type, though, is she?”

Sasine shook her head. “No. A little too severe for me,” she said. “Which means I suppose I’m stuck with you.” She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “So will you marry me?” Then she stepped back and looked at him, allowing him to answer.

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“When?” she asked, just as he had when she’d first seen him back on Foxtrot XIII.

“Every day,” he said.

Sasine smiled, perfectly content with the vitality of their commitment to each other. “I’ll contact you once I’m settled in at Helaspont,” she said.

John nodded, and then turned and boarded Enterprise.She watched him go, and when he turned a corner and disappeared from sight, she headed for the nearest turbolift. She would go to an observation lounge with a view of Enterpriseand watch as the ship departed the station. It would allow her to feel connected to John for just a little bit longer. And even after the time they’d just had together, she wanted to continue to experience that connection, even if for just a few more seconds.

As Harriman watched the image of Space Station KR-3 start to recede on the bridge’s main viewscreen, he decided that he detested farewells. He pictured Amina back on KR-3, where they had just parted, and imagined her standing at a viewing port, gazing out at Enterpriseas it fled into the eternal night of space. The thought saddened him. He supposed that he should have become inured to such experiences by now—after all, his relationship with Amina had strung together a long series of goodbyes over eight years—but he found each new parting more difficult to bear than the last.

“Viewer ahead,” Harriman said from the command chair, fully aware of both the irony and the denial inherent in the order. For reasons personal and professional, though, he actually wouldlook ahead to the future. But he also knew that there would be no renouncing his emotions; he might be able to bury the sadness of his separation from Amina, but it would never leave him.

“Viewer ahead,” Lieutenant Tenger echoed from his side of the tactical-and-communications console. The main screen blinked and the scene on it changed, the three-armed, honeycombed form of KR-3 disappearing in favor of an empty starscape.

“Ensign Tolek, plot a course for the Bonneville Flats,” Harriman ordered.

“That course has already been plotted, Captain,” the navigator responded. He tapped the controls on his console with the long, slender fingers common to many Vulcans, then turned and glanced over his left shoulder at Harriman. “And now it’s been laid in,” he said, and smiled.

Harriman felt momentarily startled, still not quite accustomed to Tolek’s demeanor. Harriman had served with several Vulcans during his Starfleet career, but until Ensign Tolek had come aboard Enterprise,none who’d ever smiled—or laughed, or frowned, or fraternized with the crew, or engaged in any number of other behaviors considered anathema to Vulcans. To mostVulcans, anyway; there were also the V’tosh ka’tur—Vulcans without logic—but Harriman knew that Tolek did not count himself among their number.

“The helm answers ready,” Lieutenant Commander Linojj reported.

“Take us to warp nine, then,” Harriman said.

“Warp nine, aye,” Linojj replied, her hands skipping nimbly across her station.

Around Harriman, Enterprisecame alive, an awakening more felt than heard as the warp drive engaged. After eighteen years commanding this vessel, Harriman could tell the condition of the engines simply by feel. And as the stars began their relative movement on the main viewscreen, he knew Enterprisewas not just healthy, but vigorous.

“Time to arrival at the Bonneville Flats,” Tolek said, “forty-seven hours, fifty-three minutes.”

“Thank you,” Harriman acknowledged. Tolek had been assigned to Enterpriseless than two years ago, and promoted to alpha-shift navigator just within the last six months. Despite his unusual manner, at least in terms of typical Vulcan customs, Tolek claimed to live as most Vulcans did: according to the tenets of Surak, a philosopher who, two millennia ago, espoused the employment of logic and the suppression of emotion.

When Tolek had chosen to enter Starfleet, though, and therefore to live among humans and members of other emotive species, he had concluded—by way of logic, Harriman assumed—that he and his crewmates would be best served if he could develop a means of smoothly integrating with them. With that goal in mind, he had set out to become a student of social interaction, eventually putting into practice what he learned. According to Tolek, no happiness resided behind his smiles, no humor behind his laughs, no sorrow behind his frowns; he only emulated such expressions in the appropriate contexts in order to better interrelate with his crewmates.