Текст книги "The Best and the Brightest"

Автор книги: Susan Wright

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Titus swallowed, imagining the professor, along with a bunch of young lab techs–including the one with the black hair and merry eyes–reading his movements like he was writing on a wall. He felt himself go red.

“Relax, Cadet,” Professor B’ton told him, chuckling slightly at his embarrassment. “You deserve the recommendation. Do a good job at the Assembly, and I’m sure you’ll get whatever field assignment you want.”

His eyes went wide. Could she read his mind?

“Never underestimate a communications expert.” She winked at him, exactly like the young lab tech the day before. “Good‑bye, Cadet Titus. I believe you have an interestinglife ahead of you.”

Chapter Seven

Third Year, 2370‑71

“MOVE A LITTLE TO YOUR LEFT,” Starsa called out.

Louis Zimmerman, Director of Holographic Imaging and Programming at the Jupiter Research Station, inched slightly to his left.

“Now to the right–” Starsa started to say.

“That’s good enough,” Jayme interrupted, realizing from Starsa’s smirk that she was having a good time at the director’s expense. She had to put a stop to it before Dr. Zimmerman’s dissatisfied expression turned on them.

“Hold . . . three, two, one,” Jayme said. “That’s it. You can move again.”

“I appreciate that,” Dr. Zimmerman said dryly, returning to his computer.

Starsa ran the hololoop to make sure they had gotten a good feed. “If you hadn’t made yourself the template of the Emergency Medical Hologram, then we wouldn’t have to keep bothering you.”

“And who would you prefer the EMH to look like?” Zimmerman inquired, concentrating on his screen. “One of you?”

Starsa giggled and raised her hand. “Pick me, pick me!”

Zimmerman looked at them closely. “You aren’t my regular holotechnicians. Where are they? Well, speak up! Are the cadets the only warm bodies we can muster around here?”

“The others got sick,” Starsa said artlessly.

“They have a couple of emergencies down in the power station,” Jayme corrected, giving Starsa a hard look.

“I see,” he said, as if he doubted their sanity more than anything else.

Jayme kept smiling, trying to push Starsa out of the director’s lab. They couldn’t tell Dr. Zimmerman that the technicians had eagerly shoved the dozens of routine imaging checks that had to be run every few weeks onto the unsuspecting shoulders of the cadets on field assignment from the Academy. It only took a few days to figure out why–Dr. Zimmerman wasn’t the most pleasant man when he was interrupted, and that’s what they had to do in order to run imaging checks.

But Starsa was perversely drawn to the imaging devices sitting on the counters of the room, supporting half‑completed holographic models.

“What’s this?” she asked, sticking her finger through an engineering schematic.

“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.

Zimmerman turned back to them. “I think he looks nearly perfect.”

“So do I,” Starsa agreed. “Come on, Jayme, we have to get to Lieutenant Barclay’s seminar on warp dynamics.”

On their way to the warp‑core simulator, Jayme didn’t thank Starsa for helping her out. In fact, Jayme seemed preoccupied with something. Starsa didn’t mind–her friend sometimes got moody. That’s just the way she was.

Lieutenant Barclay was waiting for the twelve cadets to assemble who were currently assigned to Jupiter Research Station. For once, Starsa wasn’t the last one there, and she had a few moments to tease Barclay by asking questions about the simulation that he set up for them. “Is it a warp breach?” she pressed. “I hope not, because last week’s warp breach was a real loser, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Barclay smiled uncertainly and stammered, “N‑no. This week, it’s a . . . well, you’ll have to wait until we start the simulation, Cadet.”

“Come on,” Starsa urged, “give us a hint. Please?”

Barclay kept hedging, but Starsa was surprised that Jayme didn’t nudge her to stop, as she usually did. Starsa finally let up when Barclay began going through the duty roster for the simulation, and each cadet took charge of a station. Starsa was on her way to the warp‑nacelle monitor when she noticed Jayme, paused next to Lieutenant Barclay, the last cadet to receive her assignment.

“Lieutenant,” Jayme said. “I wondered if I could ask you a personal question.”

Barclay shifted his eyes, catching sight of Starsa. She pretended to be busy with the monitor, but she was all ears when he replied, “A personal question? I don’t know if that’s quite . . . I’m not sure . . .”

“I was just wondering why you chose to go into engineering.”

Barclay really looked nervous, as if he wished he had been firm and told her to report to her duty station. But they all got away with murder with Barclay. Starsa liked him better than any of their other field professors.

“Why d‑d‑do,” he started, swallowing to get the word out, “do you ask?”

“I’m just curious,” Jayme said quickly. “You seem to enjoy it so much, I wondered when you first knew engineering was for you.”

“I’ve always liked working with machines,” Barclay admitted, smiling shyly. “I feel more comfortable with them, I guess.”

Jayme was nodding seriously, as if he had given her something to think about. Starsa wasn’t sure what that was, but one thing for sure, her old quadmate was certainly acting strange. Then Starsa forgot all about it as the fascinating simulation began. She had just been teasing Barclay when she said the warp core breach had been boring. He came up with the trickiest programs that were incredibly fun to figure out.

The next day, Starsa asked Jayme to stop by her quarters before dinner to see something special she’d been working on.

“There!” Starsa dramatically gestured to the device on her desk. “It’s an anti‑aging device.”

“Starsa . . .” Jayme groaned. “Why are you messing around with mechanical gerontominy? You know all the advances in the past two centuries have been biochemical, not electromagnetic. It’s like going back to astrology to understand the stars.”

“Humph!” Starsa snorted, turning to beam with pride on her gerontometer, giving it reassuring pats. “At one time people thought the transporter was a looney idea.”

“That’s true, in a twisted sort of way.” Jayme came closer. “Why are you building it?”

“Why not?” she replied. “I got the idea from something Zimmerman said a few weeks ago, so I just started.”

“Yea,” Jayme agreed wryly, “It’s finishinga project you have trouble with.”

With a pout that acknowledged the hit, Starsa raised her chin. “Where’s the fun in engineering if you don’t build things?”

Jayme didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want to admit that she’d been thinking the same thing for weeks–where’s the fun in engineering? At night, the mess halls were filled with talk of the new warp designs being developed at Utopia Planitia, so that starships could exceed warp five again. But Jayme couldn’t see the thrill in the need to eliminate subspace instabilities. The thought of twiddling away on a gerontometer or anything like it made her want to yawn.

In some strange way, Starsa reminded Jayme of her mother. Commander Miranda always had a project or three underway in her quarters. Her great‑aunt Marley Miranda’s home in France also looked like an engineering lab. Growing up, Jayme had a permanent image of her great‑uncle gamely smiling from behind piles of coupling rings and conduit bundles, trying to watch the news on a padd in one vacant corner of the room.

Starsa started to ask, “What’s wrong–”

Suddenly the floor lurched under them. Even unbalanced, Starsa dove for her gerontometer and caught it before it could hit the ground.

“What was that?” Jayme asked, afraid of what it mightbe.

Starsa settled her gerontometer back on the desk. “It felt like the graviton array went out of synch for a microsecond.”

“Maybe it’s another tremor,” Jayme suggested, holding her breath.

Another jolt shook the floor. Starsa was ready that time, and she cushioned her precious device safely on the bed. “That’s no tremor. That’s a system failure–”

The yellow alert began to flash, and the computer announced, “Yellow alert! Emergency personnel to their stations.”

Starsa made sure her gerontometer wouldn’t be knocked off the bed. “I’m supposed to go to the environmental support substation this week. I think . . . what about you?”

Jayme was already heading out the door. “I’ve got to get down to the graviton conduit chamber.”

“See you later,” Starsa called merrily. Jayme wondered how someone could be that oblivious about people and still be such a great mechanical genius. Then she remembered Barclay, who was not very personable himself, but she sincerely hoped he was working on whatever was going wrong down there.

The jolting continued to rock the decks of Jupiter Research Station as Jayme rapidly made her way down to the graviton chamber. Personnel were rushing to their alert stations, purposefully crossing paths. Strictly speaking, Jayme wasn’t supposed to be belowdecks, but she grabbed a kit from the rack and followed a work crew down the access ladder, crossing her fingers that they wouldn’t notice an extra person.

“This valve hasn’t been vented in three days!” Ensign Dshed exclaimed, leaning over to check the gauge.

“This one hasn’t either,” a technician further down the conduit confirmed.

“The graviton distortion waves are phasing into synch,” Barclay informed them, concentrating on his tricorder. “We better get these valves vented fast!”

Jayme grabbed a siphon and ran to check the next valve. It wasn’t vented either. In all, more than half a dozen valves in the section hadn’t been vented. They were throwing off the synch of the entire array. She hung onto the conduit walkway as the station shuddered, almost knocking her from her perch to the floor a few feet below. She hoped they could get the valves vented before a synchopathic wave ripped the station off the moon.

The next graviton slip was so strong the walkway seemed to fall out from under her. “Ohh!” she exclaimed, landing hard on the conduit walk.

One of the other technicians grabbed her arm, and helped her hang on. He looked at her. “What are you doing down here, Cadet?”

Her stomach leaped into her throat, threatening to strangle her. Her mouth opened wordlessly as the full import of her mistake hit her.

“Never mind,” the technician whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “I always wanted to be in on the action, too, when I was a cadet. But you better get out of here before the lieutenant notices.”

Jayme nodded, her eyes wide, as she backed away. Then she turned and ran down the conduit, barely grabbing hold of the ladder as another graviton slippage hit the station. For a moment she hung there, staring back at the others, attempting to fix the damage she had done to the conduits, while she had to climb back up where she belonged, unable to help.

“This is gross negligence, Cadet Miranda,” Commander Aston of Jupiter Research Station said slowly, considering the report handed in by his first officer. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“No, sir,” Jayme said stiffly, staring straight ahead. She couldn’t think of another Miranda who had received as many reprimands as she had accumulated in two‑and‑a‑half years at the Academy. She wondered if she was destined to mess up with every commander she served under. If so, it was bound to be a very short career.

“I must say, Cadet Miranda,” Aston said severely, “the reputation of your family members led me to expect a much different officer.” The commander regarded her thoughtfully, a specimen in a jar.

Jayme winced. “I’ve been preoccupied lately, sir. It won’t happen again.”

The commander seated himself. “What’s on your mind, cadet?” When Jayme hesitated, Aston urged, “Out with it! I want to know what’s keeping you so busy that you neglect your simplest duties.”

“I‑I’m not sure I’ll be happy, sir, as an engineer,” Jayme said in a rush, letting out her breath in surprise that she had finally voiced her deepest fear.

“Cadet.” The commander stood up and leaned forward, crooking his finger at Jayme. Startled, she leaned forward to hear his low order. “I don’t care if you jump for joy all the way from your quarters to your workstation. But you don’t let your personal feelings interfere with the safety of my station. Do you understand?”

Jayme snapped back to attention. “Yes, sir!”

The commander consulted his screen. “You’ll continue your graviton adjustment duties, but you’ll alternate with Cadet Sendonii in the aft conduit chamber. That way you can’t make too much of a mess of my array.” Jayme squirmed as the commander added, “We’ve suffered some structural damage, especially to the lower two decks, so you’re to report to Lieutenant Barclay for extra maintenance and repair duty in the evenings.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There will also be a formal reprimand put on your permanent record.” The commander’s voice softened somewhat, his dark eyes looking on her kindly. “Good luck figuring out your career choice, Cadet. I know how difficult it can be sometimes. I thought I wanted to be a counselor for my first two years at the Academy, but as it turns out, I ended up right where I belong, holding this station together for some of our best researcher engineers.”

Jayme looked at Aston with surprise, but before she could thank him, the commander seated himself. “You’re dismissed, Cadet.”

*   *   *

Jayme could handle hearing Starsa joke about her blunder–she was used to her former quadmate’s completely irreverent attitude about the most serious things. But Jayme hated knowing that everyone else was talking about her incompetence. When she and Starsa went to Zimmerman’s lab to run the imaging checks, she had to hear it all over again.

“That was a fine trick you pulled, Cadet.” Dr. Zimmerman narrowed his eyes at her. “Come this way. Look at that!” The random pieces of one of his experimental holographic imagers was gathered into clumpy piles. “Ruined! Three weeks of work, destroyed!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jayme said through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t done on purpose.”

Zimmerman drew himself up. “I should hope not! Not when there have been so many inconvenienced by your negligence.”

“I’m sorry, “Jayme repeated. Starsa glanced up, for once noticing the edge in her voice.

“You’ll have to be more than sorry,” Dr. Zimmerman continued blithely. “You have to look alive to be an engineer–”

“So maybe I should quit,” Jayme interrupted. “Sir,” she added belatedly.

“Quit? Starfleet?” Zimmerman rolled his eyes. “Now, let’s not be dramatic.”

“No, I mean quit being an engineer. Obviously I’m not cut out for it.”

Starsa was staring at Jayme as if she had just swallowed the holo imaging scanner. “Quit? You can’t quit!”

“Quite right,” Zimmerman agreed, turning to Jayme. “Don’t be absurd. You’ll make a perfectly acceptable engineer. Ifyou can keep your mind on what you’re doing.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be an engineer,” Jayme insisted.

“Why not?” Starsa spoke up, her voice cracking in utter surprise. “I thought you always wanted to be an engineer. Everyone in your family is an engineer!”

“Maybe I’m not.” Jayme stubbornly set up the scanner and began her work.

“Well,” Zimmerman said doubtfully, “you’ll probably feel better in the morning.”

“It’s not a stomachache,” Jayme said in exasperation. “It’s not something I can just get over.”

“Perhaps you should speak to your advisor about this,” Zimmerman suggested, eyeing her in disbelief. “Or a counselor.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jayme said flatly, concentrating on the imager, trying to get the work done so she could get out of there. The silence was thick with resentment and unspoken criticism.

Once they were back in the corridor, Starsa asked, “Are you serious? You’d really quit engineering?”

“I just said that to get under his skin,” Jayme tried to pass it off.

“Really?” Starsa didn’t seem convinced. “You’re more than halfway through the Academy. Why change now?”

“You’re right,” Jayme agreed, walking very fast, trying to get away from her, too. “I’d be crazy to switch majors now.”

“You want to quit engineering?” Professor Chapman asked.

“Yes, sir,” Jayme said, holding her chin level.

“To do what?” Chapman asked incredulously.

“I want to try to get into Starfleet Medical School, sir.” Voicing her desire for the first time, especially to her academic advisor, was more difficult than she had imagined.

“Stop acting so formal,” Chapman ordered irritably. “How can I have a conversation with you when you’re at attention, staring over my head?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jayme apologized. “It’s been a difficult decision.”

“I can imagine,” Chapman agreed with understatement. “Isn’t this a rather sudden change for you? Your secondary schooling was pre‑engineering, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t mention you had doubts about your work at our beginning‑of‑the‑third‑year review.”

“No.”

“Are you going to speak in monosyllables this entire converation, Cadet?”

Jayme swallowed, realizing she had to snap out of it. Professor Chapman had always been sympathetic, and the two classes she had taken with him proved he was a brilliant engineer.

“I’m not cut out for this, sir. I love diagnostics, but the routine maintenance work is driving me crazy. You . . . you know about the graviton system malfunction on Jupiter Research Station?”

“I was notified,” Chapman admitted. “I’m starting to get used to hearing about your reprimands.”

Jayme blushed. “I’m not suited to engineering.”

“But you are suited to medical studies? Which you’ve had no preparation for.”

“Sir, I know I want to be a medical doctor. I’m an excellent diagnostician, and I’ve realized I would much rather work with people than machinery.”

“Yes, but a doctor?” Chapman seemed doubtful.

“Yes; I’ve been working on the EMH here at Jupiter Station, and it’s fascinating. I would much rather talk about speculums and seepage rates than rerouting circuitry.”

“The EMH? Isn’t that Zimmerman’s program?” Chapman muttered more to himself than Jayme. “I should have known he was involved in this somehow.”

“It’s not Director Zimmerman,” Jayme assured him. “I’ve been talking to the EMH holoprogram tied into the medical database. I’ve known what I really wanted to do for a while, but I couldn’t face it until that graviton accident.”

“You can’t let one mistake upset all your hard work. Your grades aren’t as high as they could be, granted, but you’re not failing.”

Jayme shook her head. “I’m barely a good technician, and that’s taken every bit of effort I can muster. I just don’t have my heart in it. You have to admit, sir, I’m no B’Elanna Torres.”

“Torres left the Academy,” Chapman said, his voice hardening with resentment.

Jayme tightened her lips, somehow frightened by the idea of leaving Starfleet. She had been shocked when she had found out Torres had left–the half‑Klingon who was ten times the engineer she would ever be. “I hope I don’t have to quit the Academy,” she said fervently. “I don’t know what other life I could have outside of Starfleet.”

“Well, it hasn’t come to that,” Chapman said, somewhat mollified.

“It will if I have to keep studying engineering,” Jayme said slowly. “I’ve been able to fake it up to a point, but now I have to make a real choice. Now I’m endangering people.”

“You will have even more responsibility as a medical doctor,” Chapman cautioned.

“That sort of pressure I can handle, I know it. You must agree that having a passion for something makes for nine‑tenths of the success.”

“What about your field assignment at the Jupiter Research Station?” Chapman asked.

“I’ll finish here, of course,” Jayme quickly said, realizing that was the only right answer.

“Very well then, you may submit an official change of majors, Cadet Miranda. I will approve your choice pending a thorough discussion with a premed advisor, so you know what you’re up against.” Chapman shuffled through electronic padds piled on his desk. “I’ll try to track down an understanding advisor. Give me a few days, will you?”

“Thank you, sir!” Jayme exclaimed, grateful that she wasn’t going to be denied her chance to try for medical school. She knew better than anyone if her grades weren’t good enough, no amount of wanting it would get her in. It wasn’t like she had a slew of relatives who were doctors who could vouch for her.

“. . . and clamp the artery at the base of the aorta.” The EMH was describing a procedure, his hands twisted to show the angle. “That will allow you to staunch the flow of blood to see the angle of intrusion–”

“Why are you always talking to that holo‑doc?” Starsa asked, coming up behind Jayme.

“At least he’s not an engineer,” Jayme told her. “There’s nothing but engineers on this station.”

“And you,” Starsa said helpfully.

“What am I?” Jayme retorted.

Starsa shrugged, her eyes wide. “Whatever you are, you’ve got a call coming in.”

Jayme turned to the EMH. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

The EMH nodded to her, giving Starsa a reproachful look. “Don’t bring your friend next time.”

Starsa was looking with interest at the EMH. “Hey, are you the one who brainwashed Jayme into quitting engineering?”

“Cadet Miranda will make a fine medical student,” the EMH calmly replied.

“Who are youto judge?” Starsa told him. “You’re gonna have to learn to stay out of people’s minds or you’re going to get into lots of trouble.”

“ Iam not in trouble,” the EMH said smugly. “I am a emergency medical hologram. I perform my duties flawlessly.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jayme hastened to say. “End EMH program.”

As Jayme left the lab, Starsa called out, “You know, holograms can be dangerous for your health if you hang around them too much.”

Jayme sighed. Her transfer request had been submitted, and now the calls from the relatives were starting to come in.

“But, honey, how can you possibly get into Starfleet Medical School?” her mother asked in concern. She was so busy, as usual, that she was speaking from a station near the warp core of the U.S.S. Gandhi.

“Mom, all of my electives have been science courses. I’ll have enough credits to be accepted if I take summer courses the next two years and concentrate on biology/premed seminars.”

Her mother glanced sideways, probably in the middle of some diagnostic on board the Gandhi, the Ambassador‑class starship she had served on for the past six years. Jayme considered the Gandhito be her second home, but the last time she’d been on board was at the beginning of the summer break. She had only spent a couple of weeks with her mom, as usual rotating among the starships and starbases where her favorite cousins and aunts were posted.