Then something caught her ankle and jerked her in a big circle. Jayme cried out as her leg was practically pulled from her hip joint.

When she was convinced she was fully stopped, she checked to make sure the hole was safely far away. Then she finally rolled into a sitting position.

“Did you have to pull so hard?” she asked Bobbie Ray, digging into her pocket for the portable biogenerator that came in standard cadet first aid kits. Between the shoulder injury from the monorail and now this, she was beginning to realize why doctors were routinely assigned to away teams.

Bobbie Ray showed his teeth–his way of laughing. “Kvetch, kvetch, kvetch. Why doesn’t anyone ever thank me?”

Starsa was rubbing her head, mussing her thick curly ponytail as she glared at the Rex. “Can I have that when you’re done?” she asked Jayme.

Jayme handed it over and went to the access port. The tertiary mirror was positioned inside and down a few meters on its own steerable truss. A catwalk ran along the inner edge, with an antigrav lift right next to the cable that carried the amplified radio signal down into the receiving station.

“Well, we’re halfway there,” Jayme said, trying to think positively. “Let’s get going.”

Moll Enor woke from a deep sleep as the beeping got louder and more insistent. For a moment, the tonal quality reminded her of the wake‑up chime at the Symbiosis Institute and she thought she was back on Trill, awaiting notification that a symbiont had been selected for her.

As she struggled to sit up, still mostly asleep, she realized she was in the Academy Quad. The beeping was the sensor on Starsa’s pulmonary support unit and physiostimulator pack, warning that her activity was exceeding recommended limits. In the four weeks Moll Enor had known Starsa, the girl had exceeded her recommended physical limits thirty‑one times. The beeping was so routine that Moll had become accustomed to it and ignored it, knowing that the relay would buzz uncomfortably on Starsa’s implant, warning her to slow down.

But when she glanced at the time, she realized that T’Rees was still out, giving a workshop on extended meditation techniques. Usually Starsa’s Vulcan roommate took it upon himself to monitor Starsa’s habits and scold her when she was thoughtless.

Moll couldn’t understand what could be causing a medical alert at this time of night, when Starsa was usually in bed asleep. She quickly got up, noticing that Nev Reoh was still sleeping soundly in his bed, his mouth open and his face pressed against a pillow, with the blanket twisted impossibly around his body. One bare foot jutted over the edge. He didn’t even shift as the beeping escalated.

Moll Enor ran the few steps down the circular hallway and knocked on Starsa’s door. She could hear the beeping more loudly, and she knocked more insistently. When there was no answer, she went inside. But both the beds were empty, and a quick check in the refresher reassured her that Starsa wasn’t lying on the floor in distress.

With a sinking feeling, Moll checked the other two rooms in their Quad and found both empty. All four of the first‑year cadets were probably together–they had seemed to bond fairly quickly. But Elma’s absence surprised her. Elma was a year ahead of Moll, but until they were assigned to the same Quad, she had never seen the Holt woman. And Moll made it a point to notice everything. As the first host for the Enor symbiont, it was her duty to provide a solid foundation of experiences, as well as a wide‑ranging understanding of the numerous alien races that inhabited the Alpha Quadrant.

But Elma was a nonexistent presence in the Quad, and Moll was at a loss as to why she would be gone so late. She had never even seen a friend of hers come to the Quad.

Returning to Starsa’s room, Moll glanced around, but Starsa’s pulmonary support unit and physiostimulator pack were not immediately identifiable among the wreckage on the girl’s side of the partition. The room looked schizophrenic, with the Vulcan half painfully neat and bare while Starsa had almost covered her walls with pictures and holoscreens that ran loops of her favorite shows and family members performing odd customs. Moll had thought it was bad living with Nev Reoh, but at least the former Vedek maintained order on his side of their room. It was his verbal messiness that wore on her. He would ramble cheerfully for hours while she tried to concentrate on her studies, but he was so awkwardly eager to please that she never censored him, resolving that the experience must be good for her symbiont in someway.

Moll tapped the wall comm. “Computer, location of Cadet Starsa Taran.”

“Cadet Taran is not on Academy grounds.”

Moll could hardly think of the implications of that as the maddening beeping chose that moment to escalate to its highest level.

“What are you doing?” Nev Reoh suddenly asked behind her.

Moll Enor started, feeling guilty in spite of herself. “I’m looking for Starsa.”

Reoh sleepily rubbed his face, glancing from the empty beds to Moll Enor. Starsa noted the way even his pajamas bunched in odd places, just like his computer‑fitted cadet uniform somehow never seemed to hang right. He was wincing at the sound of the medical alarm.

“Did the first‑year cadets say what they were doing tonight?” She had to raise her voice.

“I don’t know.” His mouth hung open as he thought about it. “I don’t remember anything–”

The door whirred electronically and swung open. Moll Enor felt a leap of relief, but it was T’Rees, not Starsa. The Vulcan pulled back in surprise to see them.

“Hi,” Nev Reoh said innocently.

T’Rees tightened his lips, vexed at his slight display of emotion. “What are you two doing in my room?” Moll Enor gestured, but he had already noted the sound of the physiostimulator pack. “Where is Starsa?”

“We don’t know,” Reoh said. “The others are gone, too.”

T’Rees lifted one brow. “Everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Did you report this?” T’Rees asked, turning to the comm.

Moll crossed her arms defensively. “We were just about to.”

T’Rees pressed the emergency sequence. “Then we shall delay no longer.”

At the Deng Observatory, the four cadets stood on the circular platform of the antigrav lift as it gently descended into the receiving station. Bobbie Ray and Starsa gazed over the side, but Jayme never wanted to see another drop like that.

From the maintenance tubes at the base of the well it wasn’t far to reach the computer rooms. In the darkened, vaulted chambers, the radio signals were displayed on screens in colored patterns moving across the recording graphs. Numerous digital sequencers flashed the numbers of incoming data streams.

This was the part Jayme had been waiting for, sneaking up on Elma and catching her red‑handed. Her tricorder was out, recording the activity in the room; it indicated there was a human female on the opposite side.

Jayme tried to stay in the lead, but her team had other ideas. They fanned out among the terminals, making much more noise than she had anticipated. “Psst!”she hissed at them, trying to get them to fall into position. But Titus didn’t even glance her way, trying to take the lead as always, while Starsa was apparently mesmerized by the shifting abstract images on a large colorful display. Bobbie Ray had disappeared. Jayme forged on, clenching her teeth but determined to make it work out in spite of her team.

Suddenly the lights came on and Elma stepped onto an elevated platform. The cadets froze, absurdly caught in their stalking positions.

But Elma was clutching the rail, her knuckles white as her gaze shifted desperately from one to the other, as if shewas one who was caught.

“What are you doing here?” Titus demanded, pointing an accusing finger up at Elma.

“I was working . . .”