“Torres left the Academy,” Chapman said, his voice hardening with resentment.

Jayme tightened her lips, somehow frightened by the idea of leaving Starfleet. She had been shocked when she had found out Torres had left–the half‑Klingon who was ten times the engineer she would ever be. “I hope I don’t have to quit the Academy,” she said fervently. “I don’t know what other life I could have outside of Starfleet.”

“Well, it hasn’t come to that,” Chapman said, somewhat mollified.

“It will if I have to keep studying engineering,” Jayme said slowly. “I’ve been able to fake it up to a point, but now I have to make a real choice. Now I’m endangering people.”

“You will have even more responsibility as a medical doctor,” Chapman cautioned.

“That sort of pressure I can handle, I know it. You must agree that having a passion for something makes for nine‑tenths of the success.”

“What about your field assignment at the Jupiter Research Station?” Chapman asked.

“I’ll finish here, of course,” Jayme quickly said, realizing that was the only right answer.

“Very well then, you may submit an official change of majors, Cadet Miranda. I will approve your choice pending a thorough discussion with a premed advisor, so you know what you’re up against.” Chapman shuffled through electronic padds piled on his desk. “I’ll try to track down an understanding advisor. Give me a few days, will you?”

“Thank you, sir!” Jayme exclaimed, grateful that she wasn’t going to be denied her chance to try for medical school. She knew better than anyone if her grades weren’t good enough, no amount of wanting it would get her in. It wasn’t like she had a slew of relatives who were doctors who could vouch for her.

“. . . and clamp the artery at the base of the aorta.” The EMH was describing a procedure, his hands twisted to show the angle. “That will allow you to staunch the flow of blood to see the angle of intrusion–”

“Why are you always talking to that holo‑doc?” Starsa asked, coming up behind Jayme.

“At least he’s not an engineer,” Jayme told her. “There’s nothing but engineers on this station.”

“And you,” Starsa said helpfully.

“What am I?” Jayme retorted.

Starsa shrugged, her eyes wide. “Whatever you are, you’ve got a call coming in.”

Jayme turned to the EMH. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

The EMH nodded to her, giving Starsa a reproachful look. “Don’t bring your friend next time.”

Starsa was looking with interest at the EMH. “Hey, are you the one who brainwashed Jayme into quitting engineering?”

“Cadet Miranda will make a fine medical student,” the EMH calmly replied.

“Who are youto judge?” Starsa told him. “You’re gonna have to learn to stay out of people’s minds or you’re going to get into lots of trouble.”

“ Iam not in trouble,” the EMH said smugly. “I am a emergency medical hologram. I perform my duties flawlessly.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jayme hastened to say. “End EMH program.”

As Jayme left the lab, Starsa called out, “You know, holograms can be dangerous for your health if you hang around them too much.”

Jayme sighed. Her transfer request had been submitted, and now the calls from the relatives were starting to come in.

“But, honey, how can you possibly get into Starfleet Medical School?” her mother asked in concern. She was so busy, as usual, that she was speaking from a station near the warp core of the U.S.S. Gandhi.

“Mom, all of my electives have been science courses. I’ll have enough credits to be accepted if I take summer courses the next two years and concentrate on biology/premed seminars.”

Her mother glanced sideways, probably in the middle of some diagnostic on board the Gandhi, the Ambassador‑class starship she had served on for the past six years. Jayme considered the Gandhito be her second home, but the last time she’d been on board was at the beginning of the summer break. She had only spent a couple of weeks with her mom, as usual rotating among the starships and starbases where her favorite cousins and aunts were posted.

“I don’t know, honey, it sounds risky,” her mother finally counseled. “You’re so close to graduating.”

“You’re right,” Jayme agreed. “But nothing else in my life has been risky, so I think I can handle this.”

When Jayme got back to her quarters a few evenings later, with only one week left in her tour of duty on Jupiter Station, there was a message waiting from Moll Enor. Her dark, serious face was so beautiful that Jayme reached out and touched the screen.

“I’m sure you’ll accomplish whatever you set out to do,” Moll said simply. Then she smiled, and for a moment, it was like they were talking in real‑time, Jayme felt so close to Moll. Then the blue Starfleet symbol filled the screen and the transmission was over.

The other message was from her older sister, Raylin, stationed on Deep Space Station 2 in the Allora Prime system. Raylin had already made Lieutenant, and was third in command of engineering on DS2. Jayme remembered how their mother had cried when she found out.

“Jayme!” Raylin exclaimed, her expression horrified. “You don’t even like to get a hypospray! Remember how you screamed when I sliced open my thumb with the laser cutter–”

“Don’t listen to her, Jayme!” her sister’s husband cried out, as Raylin tried to shove him out of the viewscreen. “We needa Miranda in blue!”

Raylin pushed him from the view, holding him off as she tried to talk over his babble, trying to put some sense into her little sister.

Jayme started smiling, then giggling, holding her stomach she was laughing so hard. Her brother‑in‑law was right–it was about time a Miranda represented Starfleet in the blue uniform.

Chapter Eight

NEV REOH SAT GLUMLY waiting in yet another dark and dingy bar on Station 14, in orbit around Beltos IV. This bar was just like the one last week on Station 26, and the one the week before on Station 7–a warren of narrow ledges and tables bolted to the walls around a space of zero‑g in the center.

The weightless center was where the Orion animal‑women danced. The thrumming beat of the music vibrated from the beam supports of the bar, and tiny laser lights called the exotic green women to shadowed ledges.

What made it worse was that Reoh knew someone like Titus or Jayme or Bobbie Ray Jefferson would revel in this exciting environment, while he kept trying to loosen the collar of his new Starfleet uniform, still uncomfortable after a month on active duty as a grade‑three ore examiner for the Beltos IV mining colony.

Every shipment of dicosilium (and the rarer dilithium) that was sold to the Federation had to be checked for purity and radiation‑contaminant levels. The Beltos IV mining settlement was near the Rigel system, in the most densely populated area of the Milky Way Galaxy, yet it was under rule of the Pa’a. The Pa’a had thus far refused to become a member of the Federation.

Hence the need for a rotating crew of ensigns with geophysics qualifications. Reoh had dragged his spectro‑analyzer through more broken‑down freighters and storage compartments than he could count while making his way among the orbiting string of transfer stations around Beltos IV.

Every one of the stations had at least a dozen dancing bars like the one he was in. It made Reoh uncomfortable to know that the Federation couldn’t do a thing about the exploitation of the Orion animal‑women, except to ensure that no slaves were exported out of the solar system. Here and there, Reoh could see the Starfleet uniforms of the officers who ran the border patrols, ensuring that this pocket of Pa’a corruption was contained. Yet even the Starfleet personnel were drawn to see the Orions–who could resist their magnetic pull?

A green hand clasped the pole near his feet, then another appeared, as the sweetheart‑face of an Orion animal‑woman emerged from the darkness, pulling herself up to his perch. Her lips parted as she glided through the air, undulating as she came closer. Her dark green eyes were filled with promise as her tongue slipped between her teeth.