Reoh was the only one who understood she was simply curious, that she wasn’t deliberately trying to be annoying. There were so many strange customs she didn’t understand her first year, and without Reoh’s hesitant suggestions–which she had usually laughed at, but basically tried to follow–she would have gotten in twice as much trouble.

The comm told her it would take five days for her message to reach the rescue ships, so it was routed to Earth to await the return of the Enterprisecrew‑members.

Starsa checked her passage back to Earth, departing early the next morning. It would take nearly a week to return, but with some creative juggling, she still might make it before the rescue ships returned to Starfleet Headquarters.

Chapter One

First Year, 2368‑69

JAYME TOOK THE STAIR‑LIFT two steps at a time, but the antique monorail let out a melodious chime, announcing the closing of the doors. Using the guardrail as support, she propelled herself onto the platform as the monorail began to silently slide away from the Academy station.

It was nearly midnight, so there were no people on the platform and few were inside the monorail. Jayme ran alongside the train, nearing the edge of the platform, unable to stop and give up. She could see Elma sitting inside, her head held high and her back stiff, unable to relax and lean back even in the empty passenger compartment. Jayme could also see her own tricorder in Elma’s hand.

She scrabbled to get hold of the monorail, but its smooth, modular design gave her no purchase. As it began to pick up speed, Jayme lunged desperately at the rear of the last car. One of her booted feet got purchase on the small brake box protruding right over the rail.

Her fingers strained to hang on to the groove of the rear window, and she realized she had made a very bad mistake. She was wearing the new waffle‑cut style shoes instead of her regulation Starfleet‑issue boots. As the monorail pulled out of the Academy station, heading into San Francisco and parts unknown, along with Elma and the tricorder, Jayme’s foot slid off the brake box.

Jayme hit the rail with a solid ooff!and tried to grab on. The double rail was about a meter wide, and her arms could barely get around it. As her legs went over, she had nothing to grab hold of. She hung for a second by one elbow, and almost stuck her hand into the tempting grooves on the side of the rail. Anyone else would have, but Jayme’s trained engineering reflexes made her jerk away from the highly charged conduit.

She had just enough time to congratulate herself on her own wisdom before she fell.

It flashed through her mind during the twelve‑meter drop that it was her own fault if she got killed. Then she hit something solid, but not solid, sending a tingling energy shock wave through her body as her stomach seemed to keep on falling. She let herself go limp, knowing better than to resist a forcefield.

All she could see beneath her were the orange, gaping mouths of Ibernian tulips, freshly planted and protected from dimwits like her by a force field bubble. She slid off the side of the bubble, headfirst into the grass.

Rubbing her head, Jayme groaned at the rips in her cadet uniform. One sleeve was hanging by a few threads, looking exactly the way the pulled muscle in her shoulder felt. Next to her, the blue residue of ionization crackled over the flowers before the forcefield became invisible again.

At least it was the dead of night, so there wasn’t a crowd gathering around. Jayme knew she should feel lucky at her narrow escape–the cobblestone pathway was two paces away–but she was upset about Elma getting away. Where was Elma taking her tricorder? She knew her roommate had taken it before, but the temporary memory of the tricorder was always erased after Elma used it. So Jayme had been watching her carefully for several weeks to catch her in the act.

She pulled a small device from the roomy trouser pocket of her cadet uniform. With a few keystrokes, she activated the homing beacon she had recently planted inside the tricorder, and a map appeared on the tiny holoscreen. A green blip appeared, moving slowly across the grid as the centuries‑old monorail system carried Elma east of the Presidio, into San Francisco. Jayme glanced around, looking for the Golden Gate Bridge to orient herself. The graceful span of the bridge was visible from almost everywhere on the Academy grounds.

“That was pretty impressive,” a voice said right behind her.

The homing map flew into the air as Jayme startled. If it wasn’t for the forcefield, she would have crushed the tulips a second time.

Her hands clutched at her chest, staring at the intruder, her heart beating faster than it had from the fall. “Who are you?”

A woman stepped forward, letting the light of the monorail tower fall on her smooth, dark skin. For a moment, from the strange shape of her head, Jayme thought it was an alien she’d never seen before–and she had seen more than most. Then she realized the woman was wearing an odd, bulbous hat made of some kind of plushy maroon material.

“I’m Guinan. And who are you?”

“Cadet Jayme Miranda,” she replied, straightening her uniform. She ignored the hanging rags of her black sleeve as she tried to regain her dignity. “You’re not Starfleet, are you?”

“Not exactly. I’m the bartender on the Enterprise.”

“The bartender?” Jayme repeated incredulously.

Guinan stooped and picked up the homing map, considering it. “You know, on Earth, electronic eavesdropping is illegal.”

“It’s my own tricorder,” Jayme quickly defended herself. “My roommate took it.”

One smooth brow lifted, slightly incredulous. “Your roommate stole your tricorder? Is that why you almost killed yourself?”

Jayme wasn’t about to mention the extra gadgets it had taken months to jury‑rig into that tricorder. “It’s more than that. Elma’s a member of my Quad, she’s my roommate. We’re responsible for each other.”

Guinan’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if considering the well‑known Starfleet policy that made a unit out of the eight cadets living on each floor of the dormitory towers. The Quads were often a cadet’s first taste of what it took to be a team. If a cadet got in bad enough trouble, the members of their Quad were questioned and if negligence was found, then they were disciplined as well.

Overhead, a monorail chimed as it pulled into the tower station. Voices emerged from the cars and a few cadets descended the stair‑lift on the other side of the station, disappearing toward the Quads. The hum of the white monorail as it smoothly passed by overhead wasn’t loud, but Guinan watched it with interest as if she had never seen anything like it before.

Jayme decided to take the offensive. “What are you doing here? I thought the Enterprisewas in the Signat system for those trade negotiations.”

“They are. I’m here to see a friend.”

“Here at the Academy?” Jayme asked doubtfully, eyeing the bartender’s outlandish costume again. If she had a few hours and a bonding tool, she might be able to make something interesting out of Guinan’s tunic and that hat–but right now all you could see was the round oval of her face.

Guinan’s pleasant expression never changed. “You may know him. His name is Wesley Crusher.”

Jayme stopped herself from letting out a laugh of disbelief. Wesley Crusher?Who didn’tknow Crusher and the rest of the Nova Squadron, who had tried and failed to perform a Kolvoord Starburst?

“Yeah, he’s in the class ahead of me,” Jayme said diplomatically, leaving out the fact that the members of Nova Squadron were repeating a year.

“You don’t sound very sympathetic,” Guinan told her.

Stung, Jayme protested, “There’s only so much you can sympathize, especially when people do stupid things. Besides, we’re allgetting punished because of Joshua Albert’s death. The Academy has clamped down on everyone, like we can’t be trusted because a few cadets made a mistake.”