Except that, no matter what Tolek claimed, there seemed to be more than mere imitation behind his conduct. If there hadn’t been, then no matter how much he attempted to fit in with his crewmates, he would have been perceived as dishonest. Harriman believed that Tolek acted as he did in order to satisfy, at the very least, an intense curiosity about other species and other individuals. And so his behavior did not simply reflect his abilities to mimic others, but his genuine interest in their lives, their beliefs, and their activities.

By all accounts Harriman had heard, Tolek had succeeded well, even holding a measure of popularity among the crew. He had even been known, on occasion, to entertain them. Not long ago, Harriman had been passing by the crew mess and had heard Tolek telling a rapt group: “A Vulcan, a human, and a Klingon are stranded on an uninhabited planet.” Harriman hadn’t had time to stop, but he’d intended to ask Tolek later to share the rest of the joke.

The memory of that incident suddenly made Harriman feel alone. He peered around the bridge at his crew—at Demora Sulu and Xintal Linojj, at Tenger and Ramesh Kanchumurthi, at Borona Fenn, at Rafe Buonarotti up from engineering—but doing so failed to alter his sense of isolation. Harriman considered these people closer to him than family, but he felt disconnected from them right now.

Uncomfortable, he stood from the command chair. “Commander Sulu,” he said, unable at that moment to use her given name, “you have the bridge. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Sulu looked up from where she stood beside Ensign Fenn at the sciences console on the port side of the bridge. “Sir?” she asked, obviously surprised, but Harriman headed for the turbolift without offering an explanation. “Yes, sir,” he heard her say behind him, acknowledging and accepting the order.

He entered the turbolift and waited for the doors to close. Once they had, he stated his destination, then leaned heavily against the wall. What’s wrong with me?he thought as the lift descended. This feeling of seclusion that had washed over him, this melancholy…he didn’t understand where these emotions had originated.

Maybe itwas saying goodbye to Amina again,he speculated. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to leave her again. The times they’d spent with each other during the last several days—first on Foxtrot XIII, then on Enterprise,and finally on KR-3—had been absolutely wonderful. Unlike their trips together, when they met in some interesting place to enjoy one activity or another—sailing the garnet seas on the Canopus Planet, donning artificial wings to soar through the low gravity of Izar’s Shroud, spelunking the bottomless ice caves on Catulla—they’d remained almost exclusively in their quarters this time. With Amina commanding Foxtrot XIII—and soon Helaspont Station—and Harriman commanding Enterprise,propriety would not have permitted them to do otherwise.

The lift slowed its descent, came briefly to a halt, then started to glide laterally. Harriman shifted his weight and straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. Thinking of the last few days with Amina, he smiled. They’d talked and laughed, they’d danced, they’d watched some of the old films that they both loved so much: Greer Garson in Mrs. Miniverand Random Harvest,Frank Capra’s amazing It’s a Wonderful Life,the magical and powerful An Ancient Season.And more than all of that, they had simply reveled in sharing each other’s company. Parting today had been torturous, unquestionably more difficult for him than it had ever been.

But isn’t that the way it always is?Harriman asked himself. Isn’t the most recent farewell always the most difficult? That made sense; time blunted memory, assuaged emotion. That would be the case this time too, he was certain: as time passed without Amina by his side, the ache of their goodbye would fade.

Except that he was no longer sure that he wanted time to pass without Amina by his side. But then, that was one of the prices he paid to be a starship captain.

The turbolift eased to a stop and the doors opened. Harriman exited into the corridor and started for his quarters. On his way, he passed several of the crew, and he nodded automatically in their direction as he passed them, a long-standing habit of a life lived almost entirely aboard starships. Harriman had been born on U.S.S. Sea of Tranquility,and then had moved to numerous other vessels as his father—John “Blackjack” Harriman, now an admiral—had advanced through Starfleet. As a result of Blackjack’s life aboard starships—and therefore of his own such life—the first time that Harriman had spent more than a couple of weeks planetside had been when he had traveled to Earth to attend Starfleet Academy. His three years there—he’d been approved to take an accelerated course of study, in addition to receiving credits for duties he’d performed aboard his father’s ships—had been the only time in his life when he hadn’t called a Starfleet vessel home.

He reached his quarters and strode inside. He stopped for a moment, considering what to do. He eyed the arc of his desk sitting in the near left corner of the cabin, but realized that he didn’t feel up to concentrating on any work right now. The door to his bedroom stood open in the wall beyond the desk, but neither did Harriman feel like sleeping. Instead, he crossed the room to the outer bulkhead and stared out at the stars slipping by as Enterprisewarped through space. His quarters sat on the starboard side of the ship, so the stars raced from left to right across his view.

After a few minutes, his thoughts wandered back to Amina, and his emotions back to being apart from her. Frustrated, Harriman dropped onto his back on the sofa, thinking that perhaps he could rest for a while and refocus his thoughts. He attempted to blank his mind, closing his eyes to shut out the rest of the universe, but before long, he found himself staring at the ceiling.

That’s something that never changes,he joked to himself: starship overheads. They all had that same off-white color, that same beam-to-beam construction, that same pattern of lighting panels. And I should know,Harriman thought; for the vast majority of his life, such a ceiling had been his sky.

He recalled those first weeks he had spent on Earth after he had joined the Academy. He’d felt helpless, and even fearful, being outdoors and under a wide, open sky so often, a condition he’d self-diagnosed as mild agoraphobia. He had never revealed that experience to anybody but Amina—and certainly notto his father. At the time, he had chosen to suffer through the unhealthy emotions, convinced that he could help himself past the problem. He’d read psychological texts regarding the condition, and had researched the techniques people utilized to overcome it. Within just a couple of months, he had gotten better, and by the end of his term at the Academy, he’d actually come to appreciate and take pleasure from outdoor activities.

Once he had graduated, though, Harriman’s Starfleet career had taken him back aboard ship. He had never really wanted another way of life. Truthfully, he had never even considered it.

Of course not,he thought. The admiral saw to that.

He swung his legs down to the floor and sat up on the sofa. Is that it?he wondered. Was Blackjack’s presence on the upcoming mission what had led to his own pensiveness and sense of disconnection? Other than in an official capacity, the admiral hadn’t spoken to him in seventeen years, since an incident in which Harriman had transported Blackjack from the bridge of Enterpriseand into the brig. At the time, Harriman had been under orders from Starfleet Command to track down Excelsiorand escort it back to base. He had instead helped Excelsior’s captain—Hikaru Sulu, Demora’s father—rescue her from Askalon V; Demora, Enterprise’s navigator back then, had previously been believed dead.