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  “I do. Though I don’t know that I have ever reveled in it to such a degree as you do.” He ducked under his tricorder’s strap and slung it at his side, against his parka. “Is your fascination with natural gravity wells a product of your upbringing in space?”

  “Probably.” She knelt down and picked up a small rock. “On a ship, you learn the quirks of its artificial gravity fields. Where they taper off, where they curve, where they intersect. Once you get a feel for them, you can find your way around blindfolded, just by feeling the shifts in the AG. But on a planet?” She hurled the rock at the mountain. It caromed off the tower of stone above them, bounced over the ledge, then plummeted into the misty abyss. “Consistent.”

  Hesh watched the stone vanish into the foggy depths until vertigo compelled him to step back and adjust his anlac’ven, a slender headset that helped Arkenites, who had built their civilization on platforms in the open sea, maintain their equilibrium in other environments.

  Cahow patted his back. “You okay? You look a little green in the gills.”

  “My species does not possess gills.”

  “It’s just a saying. It means you look queasy.”

  The adjustments to his anlac’ven took effect, and he stood taller as his dizziness passed. “I am fine. But thank you for asking.”

  He still found it odd, the casual familiarity that governed relationships between the ship’s commissioned officers and its enlisted personnel. However, he had come to accept it by thinking of his shipmates not in terms of their ranks or billets but as fellow members of a small but elite sia lenthar, the fundamental social bond group of Arkenite society. Within the sia lenthar, they all had their own responsibilities, but they were also kin.

  A shriek of bracing wind slashed between them, fluttering his jacket and whipping her hair. Once it abated, he pointed at the mountain’s peak. “I need to collect ice samples from the summit. I will understand if you wish to return to the ship rather than continue the ascent.”

  She pulled up the hood of her parka and cinched it tight around her face. “Lead on.”

  “Are you sure? The higher we go, the colder it will get.”

  A fervent nod of confirmation. “I know. Still beats going back to the ship.”

  He trudged upward through knee-deep snow. “I thought you liked being on the ship.”

  “No, I like being inside the ship.” She plodded up the slope at his side. “Threx and the Master Chief like being on the ship—and that’s what I want to avoid.”

  Hesh was unable to decode the significance of Cahow’s selectively emphasized prepositions. “Forgive me, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, Hesh. You’re happier not knowing.”

  • • •

  The chief engineer of the Sagittarius, Master Chief Petty Officer Mike “Mad Man” Ilucci, folded his hands behind his head. “I’m telling you, Threx. This is the life.”

  “You can say that again, Master Chief.” Petty Officer First Class Salagho Threx was lying a few meters away from Ilucci, his long arms splayed at his sides with palms facing up.

  The two men had a lot in common. Both were unmarried, heavyset, hirsute engineers. Both were noncommissioned officers. And at the moment, both were stark naked and lying on top of the ship’s oval primary hull, soaking up a well-earned dose of afternoon sun. If not for the dramatic, serpentine facial ridges and longitudinal cranial crevice that identified the taller, brawnier Threx as a Denobulan, a casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking the two men were brothers.

  Even with his eyes closed, Ilucci knew the sun was shining down from a cloudless sky because of the intense crimson glow through his eyelids. Muscle memory guided his hand to his thermos, which was filled with a blend of iced tea, lemonade, and contraband vodka. He twisted off the cap, downed a swig of the sweet beverage, then spun the cap back into place.

  True downtime was rare during a deployment. In all of Ilucci’s nearly three decades of service in Starfleet, he could count on one hand the number of times he had been able to kick back and just relax when he wasn’t officially on leave.

  Aboard a ship, there was always something to do, even when all systems seemed to be working perfectly. Routine maintenance. Filing reports. Reading other people’s reports. Reviewing new manuals and scientific literature. Cleaning. Making sure other people did their fair share of cleaning. Updating duty rosters. Revising the duty rosters when someone else’s problems inevitably fouled them. Arbitrating disputes between subordinates. Escalating the conflict resolution protocol to the next step up the chain of command when people failed to heed good advice. And, when there was nothing else that needed doing, there was always a standing order to paint a bulkhead or seal microfissures in the hull.

  It was a mantra drilled into cadets and recruits alike during Starfleet basic training: If it’s broken, fix it. If it’s working, fine-tune it. If it’s tuned, clean it. If it’s clean, paint it. If everything’s painted, volunteer for hull inspection. Then file a report and do your reading.

  Every centimeter of the Sagittarius was working to perfection, clean as a whistle, and freshly painted. Even its hull was pristine, thanks to a recent repair and refit at Starbase 12. No matter where or how hard Ilucci had looked for busywork, he hadn’t found any.

  So it was that he had ordered Threx to keep him company while he worked on his long-neglected tan. By fortunate happenstance, the ship had landed with the front of its saucer facing south, affording them the best possible angle for solar exposure.

  Ilucci had just started to slip away into a daydream of basking seaside in Capri when Threx broke the spell with his rumbling baritone of a voice. “You know what’s missing?”

  He was almost afraid to ask. “No. What?”

  “A pool.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Wouldn’t it be great if we could dive off the bow into a deep, clear pool?”

  “That would be great, Threx. You volunteering to dig one?”

  The fire of Threx’s enthusiasm dwindled. “Forget I said anything.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Warm breezes caressed Ilucci back toward a waking dream. A stunning Deltan woman brings him a cold margarita and a plate of hot steak tacos in soft flour tortillas, on the private beach of a tropical isle on Risa, the pleasure planet that everyone he’s met lately can’t shut up about. The bald beauty sits down beside him, hands him his drink, and smiles—

  The hydraulic gasp of the topside hatch shattered his reverie. He cracked open one eye and squinted against the sunlight to see whose footsteps were thumping across the hull. As he’d feared, it was the ship’s chief surgeon, Doctor Lisa Babitz.

  Ilucci covered his groin with both hands as Babitz strode toward him. Threx looked up long enough to note the doctor’s approach, but he made no effort to conceal his genitals.

  Must be nice to live without nudity taboos, Ilucci thought with mild envy.

  Babitz loomed over Ilucci. The tall, svelte human woman wore her blond hair in a tight beehive, and her features, though attractive, were cast in a mask of disapproval. “I take it neither of you read my advisory report concerning ultraviolet radiation exposure from this planet’s star.”

  “I read it,” Ilucci said. “Good plot, but the dialogue needs work.”

  He saw her anger simmer to the surface. “I hope you’ll think it’s this funny when you end up with melanoma.”

  A derisive snort from Threx. “One hour in the sun won’t give us cancer.”

  “Is that what your extensive medical experience tells you?” She reached into a cargo pocket on the leg of her coveralls and pulled out two cylindrical spray dispensers. “Well, just in case you’re wrong, I want you both to apply this on all exposed areas. Right now.”

  She lobbed the cylinders at them—first to Threx, then to I
lucci. He lifted his hands to catch the dispenser, then blushed as he realized he had exposed himself.

  Babitz rolled her eyes at his embarrassment. “Relax, Master Chief. I’m a doctor. It’s nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before.” Self-conscious in spite of her assurance, Ilucci returned one hand to his crotch. She smirked. “Okay, gentlemen. Spray it on. That’s an order.”

  The chief engineer grimaced. I hate it when the officers pull rank.

  Ilucci and Threx took their time spritzing the aerosolized sunblock over their limbs and torsos. After Ilucci had finished all the places he could reach, he tossed the canister back to Babitz. “Mind doin’ my back, Doc?”

  “My pleasure, Master Chief.” She waited until he turned his back to her, then she misted it from his shoulder blades to his sacroiliac. Then she made him jump by adding a zap of cool mist in a spot where he definitely hadn’t wanted any.

  “I don’t think the sun shines there, Doc.”

  “You know me. I like to be thorough.”

  When she looked at Threx, he was already dousing his own backside and nether regions. He waved her off. “S’okay, Doc. I’m good.”

  “All right, then. That should give you men about two hours of protection. Enjoy.” With a smile that was equal parts sweet and smug, she turned away, walked back to the topside hatch, and climbed back down inside the ship.

  Threx and Ilucci stood facing each other, shaking like dogs fresh from a pond, trying to force the damp patches of sunblock to dry more rapidly. The engineer’s mate sighed. “Two hours of protection. Isn’t that thoughtful of her?”

  As ever, it was up to Ilucci to show Threx the upside of their situation.

  “Look at it this way, Threx: She did us a favor. Instead of sunning ourselves and drinking spiked tea for two hours, now we’ll just have to do it for four hours.”

  A broad grin. “Yeah. I like the way you think, Master Chief.”

  They settled back on the hull, hands behind their heads, to let the sun do its work.

  “This is what life in Starfleet is all about,” Ilucci said. “Living dangerously.”

  • • •

  Neck and neck, they raced through the trees and brush, swatted their way through vines, hurdled over fallen tree trunks. They ran flat out, toward the promise of daylight dead ahead.

  It had been a long time since Senior Chief Petty Officer Razka had met a humanoid who could keep up with him, on the ground or in the water. The lanky Saurian had always assumed that when he met his equal, it would be another reptilian, or a field scout like himself.

  Instead, it was the ship’s nurse, Lieutenant Nguyen Tan Bao, who was pushing him to his limits and beyond. The human was lean and compact, but what he lacked in length of stride he made up for with stamina and agility. He dared to take riskier paths through the jungle than Razka did, because he was small enough to slip through narrower gaps.

  They had left their jumpsuits, boots, and equipment inside Vixen, the ship’s amphibious rover vehicle. Barefoot in their underwear, they braved the uncertain terrain of the jungle. Razka had thought their lack of footwear would hamper Tan Bao’s mobility, since he lacked the wide, leathery feet that Saurians took for granted. Half an hour and ten kilometers through untracked wilderness later, the scout realized he had been sorely mistaken.

  He can pace me on foot. Let’s see if he has the nerve to follow me over the top.

  Together they burst through the jungle’s green curtain to find themselves at the top of a cliff. Without missing a step, Razka launched himself from the edge, into open air, arms wide, legs together, in perfect form for a swan dive to the deep azure lagoon thirty meters below.

  His widely set eyes caught the blur of motion in the air to his left—Tan Bao had matched his daring. To Razka’s surprise, the human looked almost serene; he tumbled with languid grace in free fall. Razka saluted him with a corkscrew turn before pulling himself into a dartlike pose.

  They plunged into the warm water, only a fraction of a second apart. Razka searched for Tan Bao and found the human looking back at him, grinning as he exhaled, wreathing his head in bubbles. They kicked their way back to the surface. Tan Bao swept his long black hair from his face and laughed. “That’s what I call a race, Chief!”

  “Well run, sir.”

  They treaded water and admired their surroundings. The ruddy cliffs that ringed the lagoon on three sides were overgrown with vines and moss; the shore on the open side was choked with flowers whose blooms seemed to comprise every hue of the visible spectrum.

  Razka paddled toward the beach. “We should head back, sir.”

  The pair swam to the shallows, then waded ashore. Water beaded off of Razka’s scaly hide, but it seemed to cling to Tan Bao’s bare skin. They stood and enjoyed a moment of sunlight on their shoulders and soft white sand under their feet.

  The human used his hands to push the excess water off his limbs and torso. He gazed into the jungle, which was alive with the rasping music of insects, the shrieks and chattering of birds, and a symphony of croaks, hisses, and distant roars. “It really is a beautiful planet.”

  A roll of clicking noises signaled Razka’s agreement. “Indeed.”

  “A shame we have to let colonists come and make a mess of it.”

  “Perhaps we could persuade the captain to omit this world from the log.”

  A low, cynical chortle. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Our own little private retreat.”

  “Maybe you should plant a flag now. Stake a claim for your retirement.”

  Tan Bao grinned. “Maybe we both should.”

  Razka led the lieutenant back into the jungle. “I don’t plan on retiring, sir.”

  “Really? You see yourself as a lifer?”

  An indifferent tilt of his head. “I’ve seen how civilians live. It’s not for me.”

  “What about a home? A family?”

  “I have both.” He snapped vines as he pushed ahead, blazing the trail for Tan Bao. “Sauria will always be my home. And I took a mate about ten years ago.”

  The human sounded surprised. “Really?”

  “Really. I have four sprogs, and a fifth hatchling incubating now.”

  “Quite a brood you’ve got there.”

  “Believe me, I know.” He shot a toothy grin at Tan Bao. “Why do you think I’m here?”

  • • •

  Alone. Just the idea of being on her own had filled Ensign Taryl with nervous excitement. Roaming solo through the verdant depths of an alien rainforest, she felt on the verge of bliss.

  She had long since accepted the necessity of living among other people. True independence was difficult to achieve. Few people had the fortitude to grow their own food, build their own shelter, make their own tools and clothing, tend their own illnesses, and stand fast against nature’s cruel indifference without anyone else to call upon for aid. The concept of living as an island was a romantic fantasy, one for which Taryl knew she wasn’t suited.

  It hadn’t stopped her from trying to isolate herself.

  Given her predilection for isolation, applying to Starfleet Academy had seemed a counterintuitive choice. Her decision had been swayed by a recruiter, who had regaled her with tales of the brave Starfleet scouts who ventured into unknown space, trod the surfaces of virgin worlds, and acted autonomously for weeks at a time, far beyond the bounds of explored space. It had sounded too good to be true, but she had reasoned any career that could get her off the Orion homeworld as a free woman was worth pursuing.

  The reality of her service as a Starfleet scout hadn’t proved quite so glamorous as her recruiter had promised, but it was far better than the life she had left behind. Taryl had been born without the ability to generate the pheromone that enabled an elite caste of Orion women to calm and control the brutish males of their species. Without that biochemical advantage, she had found he
rself relegated to the bottom rung of the social ladder, perpetually deprived of options and freedom. As one of the common folk, all she could have looked forward to on Orion was a lifetime of menial service at best, and horrific enslavement and a degrading early death at worst.

  Swearing an oath of allegiance to the Federation in exchange for freedom? She’d jumped at the chance and boarded the transport to Earth without wasting time on farewells no one had cared enough to hear. She doubted anyone on Orion missed her; she knew she didn’t miss them.

  Now, after months cooped up in the sterile confines of the Sagittarius, it was a delight to be back out in a wholly organic environment. The air itself felt alive. It resounded with whistles and whoops, cacklings and snaps, the bright laughter of a gurgling creek, the white noise of a waterfall. She had brought a phaser and a tricorder but hadn’t touched either in the four days since she had made her way into the primeval wilderness. Her tricorder had been set to make silent, automatic scans of all flora and fauna it sensed, leaving her hands free so she could climb over gnarled tree trunks twice her height and push through damp curtains of hanging moss.

  Drawn by the sound of water, she kept to an easterly heading. She stopped just shy of venturing past the tree line into a small clearing on the edge of a deep grotto. The place looked to her like paradise. On the far side of the rippling pool, a high waterfall spilled over a black cliff and turned to mist where it met a stand of jagged rocks that stabbed up from beneath the water. An elaborate damask of flowering vines covered the rock walls.

  Gathered at the water’s edge just a few meters from Taryl was a group of seven small, golden-furred creatures. Based on their sizes, she guessed the two largest ones were the parents, and the rest were their kits. She could see they had small teeth, long ears, and large round eyes biased toward the sides of their heads—classic hallmarks of prey animals.

  She retrieved her holographic scope from a pocket on the leg of her coverall, which, like her backpack, boasted a special camouflage pattern made for nature surveys. Her green skin and wild thatch of pixie-cut black hair had been a perfect match for the ensemble.