*   *   *

Moll liked the way Jayme kept holding her hand or stroking her arm, as if she had to reassure herself that she was really there. Moll felt bad about how long it had taken for her to get a message through to Jayme, but she had been unconscious for nearly twenty‑four hours after the crash.

Now, as she hurried to get her orders–sick leave until she was recovered from her concussion, then two weeks R&R before she had to report to Starbase 153 to join an astrophysics team on Dytallix B.

“That’s not far,” Jayme said when she saw the orders. “Only a few hours away. How long will you be there?”

“Months,” Moll Enor assured her. “Maybe a year! There’s a neutrino migration taking place in the outer hydrogen‑reaction zone to the inner helium core of the star. It’s instantaneous as far as galactic events go–and incredibly complex.”

“You’re going to love that,” Jayme said. “And I’ll love it that we’ll get to see each other all the time. I was afraid I’d lost you when we just found each other.”

“You mean, just after I gave in and finally admitted that I loved you,” Moll said, only half teasing.

Jayme ducked her head. “I know it wasn’t until the Izad Revolution, when you saw that I could accomplish something, that you started to love me.”

“That’s not true!” Moll stopped her so she could look her right in the eyes. “Engineer, doctor, you know that doesn’t matter. I loved you long before the coup.”

Jayme furrowed her brow, shaking her head uncertainly. “You never said that before.”

“No.” She walked over to the railing overlooking Paris, twisting the disc with her orders. “It was Titus who convinced me that I was pushing your love away.”

“Titus!” Jayme exclaimed. “He did nothing but torment me. He kept saying I was ‘infatuated’ or ‘in puppy‑love.’ ”

“Well, before my . . . ourtrip to Rahm‑Izad, we somehow got to talking.” Moll’s smile was sad. “He brought youup, of course. He said that anyone who continued to love me for almost three years was worth giving a chance.”

“He said that?” Jayme’s mouth stayed open.

Moll nodded. “Actually, he said you were either completely ‘off‑your‑crock’ for being so persistent–or I was encouraging you. He was right. I did love you, I always have, and I’ve been telling you that in so many ways–except openly. I was unfair to you, but I’ve hardly known what I think since I got this symbiont.”

Jayme was still shaking her head. “You knew you loved me before Rahm‑Izad? Then why did you wait until after the coup to tell me?”

Moll Enor pursed her lips, knowing she was the image of her old, standoffish self. “You know why! You were chasing after me so hard that all I could do was run!”

Jayme looked sheepish, but she suddenly started blinking and Moll remembered, too–Titus. Moll felt her throat tighten again, as it always did, as it haunted her–Titus. Her only consolation was that his life wouldn’t be forgotten, not for a long, long time.

Jayme put her arms around Moll and leaned her forehead against hers. “I wish I could thank him.”

“So do I,” Moll agreed with a sigh.

*   *   *

Captain Picard faced the cadets in the grand assembly hall at the Academy. “We are gathered here together to remember our comrades who have fallen in the line of duty. Ensign Hammon Titus selflessly performed his duty on board the Enterprise, and for that he gave his life.”

Nev Reoh swallowed, bending his head. He was standing to one side of the stage, summoned there by an aide to Admiral Brand, who asked him if he would mind saying a few words about Titus. Reoh agreed, of course, but he really didn’t think much about it. There were dozens who would rise to speak about the spirited cadet who had been so full of life.

Reoh kept forgetting Titus wouldn’t stride into the room with a quip and a laughing jibe to send in his direction. Reoh had liked Titus because the cadet worked hard to make sure everyone liked him, especially those he teased the most. Look at Jayme–she was torn apart by his death, yet anyone at the Academy would have said the two squabbled like they couldn’t stand each other. Like they were brother and sister . . .

“Ensign Titus is in good company.” Picard’s measured tones were somehow soothing, a somber yet fitting closure for too short a life. “Captain James T. Kirk also gave his life to save the entire Veridian system, ensuring that 230 million people are alive and well today. They don’t know whom to thank for their survival, but we can remember the deeds of Captain Kirk and Ensign Titus, and we can look to their example. As . . . Jim told me, we must never stop trying to make a difference.”

On that ringing note, Reoh held his head higher, remembering how Titus wanted nothing more than to be the best Starfleet officer he could be.

“Now,” Picard added, “I would like to turn this over to one who is more spiritual than I, one who knew Ensign Titus and was a member of his first quad. He also went through the battle and crash of the Enterprise.”Picard somehow picked Reoh out of the crowd. “Ensign Nev Reoh.”

Reoh’s throat closed shut. More spiritual! He was supposed to speak after Captain Picard! No!

But the eyes of the cadets were urging him toward the stage. As he slowly made his way forward, he realized that many of the cadets knew him, more than he would have imagined. And he recognized the two people in the front row from their similarity to Titus, family members who had probably come for the memorial. How could he speak–he couldn’t even think!

Somehow he made it to the stage, where Captain Picard shook his hand, resting his other on Reoh’s shoulder. Reoh looked into his captain’s eyes, remembering in a rush the first day he had met Picard, reporting to duty on the Enterprise. It had felt as if, with one keen glance, Picard had taken his measure as a man.

Now he felt reassured by Picard’s sympathy, and by his murmured assurance, “Speak your heart.”

Reoh returned the pressure of his hand, straightening up. “Serving you was an honor, sir.”

Picard smiled, accepting Reoh’s acknowledgment.

Then he was facing the grand assembly hall, row after row of silent cadets, jammed in so tight that they were sitting in the aisles and standing along the sides and in the doorways. He knew his image appeared on every screen in the Academy, and everyone was watching because everyone knew Titus.

“We all miss Titus,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “The fact that I am standing up here today is a testament to his ability to draw people to him, to add everyone who came within his reach to his vast network of friends and allies. As far as I could tell, he only had one requirement for friendship. That you always do your best, and try your hardest to overcome your own limitations and those of others.”

Nev Reoh ducked his head for a moment, hearing perfect silence. “He once told me that he joined Starfleet because we were given the freedom to work for our rights, and unlike most people he knew, he didn’t believe those rights should be given to him or anyone. He was always more than willing to work for what he believed in, and to tell others they should work for what they believed in. Some people were irritated by his bluntness, his honesty–I don’t know, I always treasured that about him because I always knew exactly where I stood with him.” Reoh realized he was choking up. “We still need Titus, but now we’ll have to carry on his work for him, instead of with him.”

Chapter Twelve

Final Year, 2371‑72

A SHADOW PASSED over the window of Nev Reoh’s tiny associate professor’s office in the geophysics building. The structure had sloped sides, and the antigrav boarders couldn’t seem to resist using the updraft to skim their boards high into the air.

Nev Reoh cringed as yet another one went by. His office was on the fourth floor, higher than most antigrav boards were designed to go. He could hear the whine as the gears tried to resist the updraft. And the laughter of the boarders, floating near the first floor, taunting their friends to more daring heights.