Se’hraqua stood there, torn, for long moments more. Finally, Deanna felt him make his choice. It was a choice he still had doubts about, but he had made his decision and would abide by it. His eyes went to Aq’hareq’s, held them for a time—and then he stepped over to stand by Qui’hibra and his clan.

“A foolish choice,” Aq’hareq said. “And one you will pay for, Hunter.”

“Perhaps,” Se’hraqua replied. “But at least it is my choice.”

“As you will. But you and your clan are no longer welcome on this mount. And neither are your people, Riker. All of you, know that if our paths cross again, it will be as enemies.”

Qui’hibra ignored the other elder’s rhetoric, and came over to Riker and Troi. “It seems we must go now. Thank you for all you have done—for my people and the skymounts, and perhaps the galaxy.”

“Glad we could help,” Riker said.

“But the burden remains ours to carry. As you said, you have your own mission to resume.”

“We could stay with you a while longer,” Deanna said. “Help you with the transition.”

“No. This will be a difficult enough adjustment to make—if it is to work, the Pa’haquel must know that it is our own adjustment, not one imposed from without.”

Deanna nodded. “That’s very true.”

“However, I would accept your cadet’s offer to join us, if you will grant her leave.”

Riker looked to Orilly. “All right—let’s call it leave, then. An extended leave, until you decide to come back to Starfleet. Granted effective immediately.”

“Thank you, sir,” Orilly said. “I’ll try to do the Federation proud, as well as Lru-Irr.”

“I know you will be an asset to the Hunt,” Qui’hibra said.

That reminded Riker of the one thing that was still troubling him about this. “One more thing before you go,” he said. “I’d like you to consider something. In the past couple of weeks, you’ve learned that you can coexist peacefully and beneficially with two species you formerly believed you had to kill. I hope you—and your people—will keep in mind the possibility that the same could be true of the other starbeasts. That maybe the jellies and the branchers are only the first in this new covenant.”

The elder looked at him skeptically. “I am an old hound, Riker, slow to change. I may have reached my limit of changes by now.” He threw a look at Se’hraqua. “But maybe younger minds are more flexible. And it may be the wish of the Proplydian, of the Spirit. I will pass along the suggestion.”

“Thank you.”

“I will pass it along as well,” Orilly said. “On my world, living as one with our biosphere is second nature. Perhaps I can offer insights in how to coexist within the galactic biosphere.”

Deanna smiled at her. “If anyone can, Malar, you can. Good luck.”

Qui’hibra led Orilly over to stand with his group, and signalled his skymount. A watery shimmer came over them, and then they were gone. Riker looked around him one more time. “And I for one am tired of standing inside a corpse. Deanna—let’s go home.”

Epilogue

Captain’s Log, Stardate 57223.6

Since the breakup of the Conclave, there have been several mutinies aboard various Pa’haquel fleets, as additional junior elders have chosen to reject the so-called Proplydian Covenant and join Aq’hareq’s dissident group. And there are still countless more Pa’haquel fleet-clans scattered throughout the Gum Nebula, clans that weren’t involved in the Conclave and will have to be persuaded individually to change—or to resist change. So far, though, the majority are abiding by the Covenant, and Qui’hibra believes that will continue. He’s also convinced that the dissidents are doomed to failure as they eventually run out of skymounts and are outcompeted by the new alliance. The process could take generations, though, and I fully expect us to find ourselves dealing with its consequences somewhere down the road.

For now, though, things seem well enough in hand, and the process will likely go better without further interference from us. But we haven’t yet said our last good-byes to the star-jellies. At their invitation, we are returning to their breeding world in the Kyle system for shore leave and scientific research—which I suspect are much the same thing as far as Jaza and our science staff are concerned.

T’Pel quirked a brow at Tuvok as she came out of the bedroom to find him standing near the entrance to their quarters. “Is it not time for your daily meditation?” she asked.

“Yes. However, I wished to see you off.”

“That is not necessary.”

“No.”

“But…I appreciate the support.”

“As I have appreciated yours, my wife.” Their fingers touched. “And I am certain that Dr. Ree, Nurse Ogawa, and the Bolajis will appreciate your assistance as well.” After finding a sense of purpose in tending to the Shalra refugees, T’Pel had proposed to Ree that she could be of value as a sickbay assistant, taking some of the responsibility for the care of the premature infant Totyarguil Bolaji along with other duties as needed. Ree had readily accepted her offer, and Ogawa had suggested that those other duties could include tending to the needs and education of her own son, Noah Powell. T’Pel had welcomed the opportunity to care for children once again, and she displayed a palpable eagerness to begin her work. Not that she was emotional about it, of course; it was simply an accumulation of energy which could be directed into her work. Eminently logical, as always.

After she left, Tuvok darkened their quarters and sat before his meditation flame, contemplating it, yielding to peace and clarity. A sizable fraction of the crew was taking leave on Kyle III right now, with others awaiting their turn, but that held no allure for him. To a Vulcan, to rest was to rest,to cease using energy.

The presence of the star-jellies on Kyle III was not a factor in his decision. He could detect their telepathic communications just as strongly here in orbit as below. But their ongoing chatter posed no obstacle to his ability to meditate. His melds with Counselor Troi had helped him recover much of his shielding ability, though it would never be as strong as it once was. And though some residue of the star-jellies’ emotions continued to pervade his awareness, he was confident now in his ability to manage them.

But when he rose to respond to the door signal and found Melora Pazlar standing there, he realized he still needed to work some on managing his own.

“Mr. Tuvok, can I talk to you?” the Elaysian asked with apparent unease.

“Certainly, Lieutenant. Please come in.”

She walked in slowly, leaning on her cane, her motor-assist servos whirring softly. She gladly accepted his offer of a seat. “I am gratified to see you regaining your full mobility at last,” Tuvok said neutrally.

“Yeah, I’m almost there. Good as new.” She took a deep breath. “Physically, at least. Tuvok, I’m going to be frank with you.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

A nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. Look. Ever since the…since you attacked me, I’ve been—hell, I’ve been scared. I’ve…it made me feel so helpless, so violated, and I’m—I’m kind of nervous to be in the same room with you.”