“That’s the interior of a matter‑fusion assembly.” He glanced over and snapped, “Don’t touch it!”

“We’ll stay out of your way,” Jayme assured him, grabbing Starsa to make her come along.

“See that you do,” the director drawled, raising his eyes to the ceiling at the incompetence he had to put up with.

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” the EMH announced as it materialized.

“Okay, say I’ve got a double hernia and a severed spine,” Jayme suggested. “What would you do?”

The EMH turned, sweeping an arrogant look around the tiny holo‑imaging workshop. There was a plasteel wall protecting the neural gel‑packs, with only the emitters set up in the shop itself. “Where is the patient?” the EMH asked.

“This is a hypothetical situation,” Jayme told him.

The EMH drew himself up, remarkably resembling Director Zimmerman. “I do not deal in hypothetical situations.”

“Doctor, you area hypothetical situation,” she informed him. At his wounded expression, she added, “Come on, I’m dying of boredom here, running these imaging loops. You might as well test out some of your knowledge.”

“Hypothetically speaking?” he asked, edging closer.

“Have a seat,” she told him. “I’ll finish inputting these feeds, while you tell me what to do with a double hernia and a severed spine.”

The EMH hesitated, then glanced around. “I suppose there’s no harm in answering a few questions.” He settled back with his hands clasped, his tone taking on a lecturing quality. Jayme noted with approval the realistic way the overhead light seemed to shine on his slight balding spot.

“The situation you describe is an interesting one,” the EMH began. “The herniated discs must be isolated to ensure they are not causing the spinal distress . . .”

Jayme let it flow over her, smiling at the doctor’s dry enthusiasm. She had to admit that Zimmerman was right. He made the perfect template for a medical doctor.

“What’s going on?” Starsa asked, interrupting an engrossing discussion of neural surgery.

“I’m running the imaging checks,” Jayme said defensively, glancing at the EMH.

“It’s after 0100,” Starsa pointed out. “I thought you were supposed to do the graviton adjustments–”

“It’s that late?” Jayme jumped up. “End EMH program.” The EMH had a reproachful expression as he disappeared. “I’ve got to run.”

“You must have been daydreaming about Moll again,” Starsa teased.

“That’s not true. I just lost track of time.” Jayme started out the door. “I better hurry or Ensign Dshed will report me.”

Jayme walked along the narrow graviton conduits, tricorder in hand. Each section of the gravity emitter array had to be calibrated every day to compensate for the expanding and contracting ice mantle of Jupiter’s moon. Calibrating the system basically consisted of flushing the blocked gravitons caused by the rapid temperature shifts. It was menial labor of the most routine kind. But then again, Jayme was finding that almost all her engineering tasks were mind‑numbingly routine.

Except their imaging sessions with Zimmerman. The man always had some curve to throw them, some way to make her feel like he had seen right through her. Well into her third year now, she was becoming used to her professors’ disappointment at her lack of engineering skill, but she got the feeling that even geniuses felt stupid around Zimmerman.

She bent down to attach the pressure gauge to the graviton valve. The sensors were two microns off, so she brought the gauge back into line. Jupiter Research Station was one of the oldest functioning stations in the solar system–even the original Mars station had been abandoned centuries ago. All the equipment on Jupiter’s moon was like a creaky great‑great‑grandmother, not ready to retire but moving so slowly and stiffly that she might as well find a nice desk job somewhere warm.

Jayme wished Moll could see the station–she always liked anything that was old. Moll would also love the way Jupiter dominated the sky, as if you could almost fall off the station and down into the swirling clouds of the gas giant. Jayme had taped a message to Moll last week, with Jupiter visible through the window, but she was sure the impact wouldn’t be the same. She had suggested that Moll take a hop to Jupiter Station, but she hadn’t heard back. Not that she should be surprised. It was fairly typical of the ups and downs of their friendship.

Nobody understood their relationship, and she had almost gotten used to people dismissing her love for Moll as a schoolgirl crush. Nobody saw what happened between them when they were alone, up late at night talking about everything they wouldn’t tell another soul. But every time they took another step closer, Moll pulled back again. Jayme wasn’t sure why Moll wouldn’t commit to a real relationship with her, but that was just one of the mysteries about the Trill. She was different, special. She had always been different, Jayme knew that from the way Moll described her childhood on Trill, all those tests and displays she was forced to go through, showing off her rare eidetic memory for academics and officials.

Jayme would put up with much more than jokes from Starsa and Titus to win Moll’s love. Meanwhile, Moll was back at the Academy, beginning her last year, while Jayme was stuck on a two‑month field assignment to Jupiter Station, nearly frustrated to death. Starsa could be great fun, but she was no Moll Enor. And a steady diet of mundane engineering jobs was beginning to make her want to scream.

Jayme glanced around. She was in a secured area beneath the station. Why not?

“Aaahhhgghhhhh!”she screamed out loud, hearing her voice echo through the long conduit chamber.

“Hello?” a startled voice called out. “Somebody hurt down there?”

Jayme winced. She had forgotten about the access tubes. Her scream must have echoed up them like wells.

“Somebody screamed down here!” another voice echoed down.

“It’s all right!” Jayme called out, turning first one way then the other as people began to yell down the tubes. “I’m okay!I just . . . pinched my finger.”

The calling stopped, but Jayme caught one comment–“Some cadet!”–before the conduit chamber fell quiet again. Jayme sighed, moving on with her duties. There were valves to be gauged and adjustments to be made.

*   *   *

“. . . and the metatarsal, not to be confused with the metasuma,” the EMH was saying as Starsa came into the room, “should be anchored before beginning the procedure. . . .”

Starsa noticed that Jayme was startled when she came into the workshop. The EMH droned on about contusions and subhematoma somethings.

Starsa pointed her thumb at the EMH, “Why is he out? Don’t you get enough of Zimmerman making the loops?”

Jayme didn’t look at him. “He’s okay. He’s better than Zimmerman.”

“Why, thank you,” the EMH said.

Starsa narrowed her eyes at the EMH. “Do you think his smile is still a little too smug?”

Jayme considered the EMH, but he rapidly lost his satisfied look. “Smug?”he asked. “I beg your pardon, but I do notappear smug.”

“Maybe a little,” Jayme agreed.

The door opened behind them. “Is there a problem with the EMH?” Director Zimmerman asked.

Starsa thought Jayme looked guilty about something. “No problem,” she answered for them both.

“Then why is the EMH activated?” Zimmerman asked, closing the distance between them. “Haven’t you completed your imaging checks yet?”

“Yes!” Jayme answered. “That is, I’m just finishing.”

Starsa could tell Jayme needed a hand for some reason. “We were just discussing his smile. Do you think it’s too smug‑looking?”

Jayme kicked her while Zimmerman gravely frowned at the EMH. The holographic doctor wasn’t smiling. Actually, he had a rather disdainful expression, like he had smelled something bad.