Note: For those who need to be wary of such content, this chapter contains depictions and discussion of self-harm.

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Chapter X: Wounded Spirits

Julian reached calmly for the dermal regenerator. With a gloved fingertip, he traced the path of the curved wound, scant millimetres above her rent skin. "This is what happened to your hand?" he asked.

She nodded numbly. "The knife slipped," she said, very quietly. "It's never happened before. I was always so careful. But tonight… my hands were shaking, and I used too much force. I'm out of practice."

Now Julian could see the scars: dozens of them, perfect parallel lines striping both thighs. The medial aspect was clearly her site of choice, but there were scars on the lateral side of each leg as well. "These are all old scars," he said. "Years old."

"Yes." Jaxa's voice was fragile. "I haven't done it in ages, not since I left the camp. It… it used to take the pain away, at least for a little while."

"I see," said Julian softly. "And tonight?"

She made a strangled little sound in the back of her throat. "Tonight, after everything that's happened, I just… I needed some way to centre myself, some way to feel… something else. Anything else." She closed her eyes and sucked in a sobbing breath. "I'm not suicidal, Doctor. I promise."

Julian could not catch her gaze while her eyes were screwed shut like that, but he looked at her anguished face anyhow. Sincerity and genuine compassion were in his voice as he said; "I never for a moment thought you might be, Jaxa. Self-harm doesn't necessarily mean self-destruction. Quite the opposite, in many cases. For a lot of people, it's a mechanism for survival: proof they don't want to die, but want to go on living regardless of how painful it might be."

Her eyes shot open, wide with astonishment. "Yes!" she breathed. "Yes, that's just… how did you know that?"

Julian ventured a small half-smile. "I'm a doctor," he said. "Well, nearly. You're not the first patient I've treated who's used this coping strategy."

That was true, but he had never seen a patient who showed signs of such prolonged, sustained practice of the method. He supposed that was because within the Federation it was easy to obtain the means to heal such wounds without lasting scars. A couple of passes with a dermal regenerator could erase all evidence of ritualized cutting, and physicians were not the gatekeepers of that tool: every well-appointed first aid kit on the planet had one.

He'd never seen anyone cut themselves this deeply, either: her resolve was astonishing. And heartbreaking.

"The first thing we need to do is stop the bleeding, Jaxa," he said gently. "Bend your knee for me, please."

She did as she was asked, Julian slipping his hand behind her leg to draw it up into the necessary position. He stance next to the biobed so that he had a clean angle of approach. As he activated the instrument and set to work on the first of the perfectly straight wounds, she shivered.

"I thought I'd left this behind," she said. "I didn't… I knew I shouldn't… they— they'll put me on psychiatric leave, won't they?"

Julian couldn't deny it. In most situations, it was exactly what he would recommend himself. "That's standard procedure when a cadet inflicts intentional harm on themselves," he explained. "There are resources for counselling and support, and they want to make sure you're fit for duty before putting any further pressure on you."

"They'll never clear me," she said with bleak certainty. "They won't let me come back."

He couldn't help a small sound of disbelief. That was a common fear, and it often prevented people from seeking timely aid in their mental health struggles. Centuries of chipping away at ancient stigma had won great advances and protections for those who most needed them, but personal attitudes were more intransigent, and the dread of judgment still lingered. If that was true even for patients who grew up in the Federation, how much more real must such a prospect seem for Jaxa?

"Of course they will," he said reassuringly. "Starfleet doesn't operate that way: emotional distress and trauma is just as valid as a physical illness or injury. You need support and care, not judgement. That's why these programs are in place. When you're well enough to get back to your studies, of course they'll clear you."

Jaxa shook her head. She couldn't meet his eyes, and her hand was twisting the hem of her nightgown. "Maybe that's true for other people," she said. "But not for me. Not for us. Not for Nova Squadron."

It had been on the tip of Julian's tongue to protest that if she felt she was in danger of discrimination because of her species, she could fight that with an arsenal of laws and regulations that had been meticulously designed to prevent such barbarism. But her last words drew him up short.

"I don't…" he began. Then, horrified; "Did they tell you that?"

"Tell me…" She looked bewildered for a moment, and then shuddered. "They didn't have to tell me. It's true. They'll be watching us all — Jean and Wesley and me — for any sign we're unfit for duty. After what we did… if… if they see any reason to suspect we're emotionally unstable, they won't give us the benefit of the doubt. Would you?"

Julian's mouth was dry. It was easier to focus on her leg than on her words, and he busied himself in repairing several more of the pearlescent scars as he tried not to entwine her fears with his own. They struck a little too near the mark. Questions of his own emotional stability would be brought to the forefront if his own secret ever came out. The debate wouldn't be whether he was sane enough for Starfleet, which was barred to his kind regardless of mental fitness to serve, but whether he was sane enough to walk free at all. In the first year after he had learned the truth, as he'd grappled with the destruction of everything he'd believed about himself, the newfound inability to trust either parent, and the terror of discovery, Julian had been in a constant state of anxiety. He had feared his psychological turmoil was proof that he was unsound, that the alterations to his brain had brought with them the side-effects that conventional wisdom still held were the inevitable consequences of genetic enhancements to human intellect. He had very nearly condemned himself: he knew that society as a whole would not stop at very nearly.

Sito Jaxa's fear was not unfounded. Julian didn't want to believe that Admiral Brand and the rest of the Academy administration would cast away any cadet because they struggled with self-harm and despair. But he could not promise his patient they would not. The conspiracy of lies spun around the crash and the death of Cadet Albert did raise serious questions about the integrity and stability of the conspirators. If Jaxa's cutting also came to light now, especially in such close proximity to the verdict, questions would be asked, and the decision might not come down in her favour. All the more so if there had been any reluctance to keep her and the other two at the Academy in the first place. They wanted to expel all of us, she had said. There might be those who would welcome a second chance, whatever the excuse.

"You need treatment," Julian said quietly. "Counselling. Someone to monitor you as you work on the emotional landscape that led you to hurt yourself tonight. I can't… I can't pretend this never happened, or that I'm not aware you're struggling. Doctors in the Federation take an oath, Jaxa. I haven't sworn it yet, but I try my best to live by it all the same. Primum non nocere. First, do no harm. If I don't take steps to secure you the treatment you need, I'll be harming you."

She nodded stiltedly, taking in a shaky breath through her nostrils. Her eyes were screwed tightly closed. "I know. You have to report it. I understand."

Julian glanced towards the terminal where her chart was still on display. Her straightforward and spotless medical record, differing from those of most of her classmates only because of the malnutrition regimen she'd been put through in her first term. A malnutrition regimen she had needed because she'd grown up on a planet devastated by a brutal occupation by one of the most xenophobic powers in the Quadrant. When faced with the prospect of expulsion, the stakes for Sito Jaxa had been far higher than the stakes for the human members of Nova Squadron. She hadn't feared the humiliation of heading home to her parents in disgrace, or the awkwardness of trying to carve out some alternative career path within the fertile expanse of the United Federation of Planets. She had feared being driven back to that: to starvation and slavery and constant terror.

That wasn't rational, perhaps. Even without Federation citizenship, she could claim asylum that would almost certainly be granted. But when were a person's darkest terrors rational? Julian knew his own were not. He dreaded discovery, so much so that he had climbed back into bed with a woman who despised the very core of his being, rather than give her the slightest grounds to question his nature. Rationally, he had kept the secret for over a decade, and his parents for almost twice as long. He had made it through psychological testing and physical assessments without ever once raising the eyebrow of an examiner. Statistically, if he had kept the secret this long, he could keep it forever. And yet the dread remained.

Jaxa might know she would never be deported back to a conquered world in the stranglehold of Cardassia. That didn't make the fear of such a fate any less real, or any less motivating, or any less likely to torment her every waking moment.

"I didn't say I have to report it," he murmured, the words out before he could weigh the merits of the choice. Before he could even pause to contemplate the possible repercussions for his own Academy standing, and his own Starfleet career, if what he was contemplating somehow came to light. "I said I have to secure you treatment."

She looked at him at last, her eyes glistening with tears she'd proved too strong to shed. "I don't understand," she said, her voice husky and uncertain. "If you refer me for treatment, you'll have to tell the counsellor why…"

"Not if I'm the one to counsel you," said Julian. "I could… I'm not a fully qualified counsellor, but I do have mental health training. I excelled on my psychiatric rotation, and I have access to all the same resources and materials Starfleet's counsellors do. Your case… it seems very straightforward to me. When you were young, you coped with an untenable situation using a desperate but common strategy. Tonight, faced with a new stressor, you reverted to old patterns. Does that sound about right?"

She nodded. "That's it exactly," she said. "I knew I shouldn't have picked up the knife, but… but it seemed like the only way to take control."

Julian nodded gently. It was a textbook situation. He was in the last weeks of his training: all that separated him from the independent practice of medicine were a few exams and some paperwork. In his upcoming postgraduate residency, he would be practicing as an independent physician at the orbital hospital at Ligobis X. He was more than confident in his ability to give her a proper assessment and some immediate strategies. If anything arose that was beyond his scope… well, even a few days' distance from Admiral Brand's verdict would allow tempers to cool and the emotional fallout to settle. If he had to refer Jaxa on to someone more experienced — someone fully licensed, his rational mind reminded him sourly — then at least he would have bought her a little time for those weighing her fate to calm down.

"You might feel more comfortable talking to someone who focuses on mental health care," he said, carefully offering her a way to decline. "Or someone who's working under a proper licence, instead of a residency permit. Or someone who might have a more personal understanding of the barriers you've had to overcome. If any of that is true, I'm more than happy to—"

"No!" She almost yelped the word, then took a deep breath to compose herself as she reached to pluck at his sleeve. Julian shifted his arm, offering his hand instead, and she took it. She squeezed emphatically. "I'd rather talk to you. Even if… even if you have to report me, I'd rather you took on my counselling than anyone else. I… I trust you, Doctor. And you… you've been kind."

Her voice faded almost to a whisper on those last words, and for a moment she looked dreadfully lost. Julian understood. Since the verdict had come down this afternoon, she hadn't experienced much kindness. From the sound of things, there hadn't been a whole lot to go around from her teammates in recent days, either. And he sensed that perhaps her loneliness ran far deeper than the last tempestuous week.

"All right," he said quietly, tightening his own hold on her hand just a little bit. "Now, if we're going to keep this out of your medical file, we'll need to arrange for a place to meet. If you turn up here every week, the other students and the medical staff will—"

Her eyes were wide, and she stared at him in confusion. "Keep it out of my medical file? I thought… I assumed… don't you have to keep a record, even if you don't refer me?"

She was right. He was required to keep records of all treatments and assessments. Failure to do so amounted to dereliction of duty, and was a serious transgression for any medical officer. For a cadet in training, it could be construed as evidence of a grave deficit in judgement. If he was caught giving under-the-table medical care to another cadet, Julian would be subject to reprimand and disciplinary action. The consequences to his own career…

He shut his mind to that spiral of doubt. The consequences to his own career would be less severe than expulsion, or the denial of a return from psychiatric leave request that could be dragged out for months or even years to amount to the same result. He might feel his position was precarious, contingent upon keeping his grim secret, but as long as that truth remained in the shadows, he was very secure. He was well-regarded by the Medical Academy faculty. He was in good standing with boards and professional organizations that governed the practice of medicine within the Federation. Even his classmates who didn't like him had to respect his work. He was an upstanding example of everything Starfleet loved to uphold. If he was caught, he'd likely receive little more than a slap on the wrist. At worst, someone might question his own emotional state, and he'd be remanded for counselling himself. He was risking an untarnished graduation, maybe his place as valedictorian, but he was certainly not risking his Starfleet commission.

"I am supposed to keep a record," he admitted. "But I'm willing to forego that in your case. I'll need to update your chart tonight, of course. I can detail the treatment you received for your hand, and I'll report it as a cooking accident — a little more believable than your hyperspanner story," he added with a lopsided little grin.

Jaxa flushed — a promising sign, given the blood loss — and let out a tiny laugh. "I knew it wasn't a very good lie," she said. "It was all I could think of in the heat of the moment."

Julian nodded appreciatively. "Yes, well, a cooking accident's more plausible, believe me. Much more in keeping with the data from the scans. But I don't need to record the other wounds, or the repairs to the old scars. We'll call it… an oversight in the documentation. You and I can meet socially, once a week for the next nine weeks. If at any point either of us feel you need care I can't provide, we can deal with that decision when it arises. But I think…"

"You think you can help me," Jaxa said softly, almost reverently. "And Admiral Brand won't have to know."

"Yes," Julian said firmly. In that moment, he saw that he truly did believe it. "I believe I can help you. And if I can, no one will ever have to know."

Jaxa made a sound that was midway between a sigh and a laugh. Suddenly she was sitting up on the biobed, and she flung both arms around Julian, pulling him into an unexpected embrace. For a moment he was rigid with surprise, and then he relaxed. He braced one palm against the angled head of the bed, and rested the other gently between her shoulder-blades, withdrawing as soon as she started to pull back.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said, brushing the back of her thumb across each eyelid as she settled back on the bed. "I don't know what I've done to deserve it, but the Prophets put me in your path tonight."

Julian wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he found himself smiling again. "I'm not really a doctor yet, you know," he said. "Perhaps you ought to call me Julian?"

Jaxa's own smile was warm and radiant. "All right," she said. "Julian."

"Good," he lauded, retrieving the dermal regenerator. "Now, I just need to finish up with the scars."

She rearranged her nightgown and repositioned her legs. Then she looked down at her lap, thoughtful, and pointed to one of the marks. "Can you leave that one?" she asked. "I want to keep it, as a reminder. Of where I've come from, of how far I've gone. Of my mistakes."

She was courageous enough not only to face her mistakes, but to want a memento of them. Julian regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, this young woman who had overcome unimaginable hurdles to be here, who had fought so hard to pursue a dream that must have seemed impossible in the dust and deprivation of her homeworld. Whatever had swayed Admiral Brand and the board of inquiry to keep Sito Jaxa in the service, the decision was the right one. She was Starfleet material, no question.

"Whatever you want," he told her. "You're the patient: you're the one in control."

He set to work again, restoring the damaged tissue with a skilled hand. And Jaxa watched with wonder.

(fade)

Jaxa was not eager to leave the Infirmary, so Julian brought her a blanket and she dozed on the biobed while he updated her files with the details of the palmar laceration and laid away all of the equipment in its proper place. He went out into the main room to check in with Nurse Petrakis, and then knocked at Doctor Shirakawa's door to inquire if she needed anything from him. She didn't, and Julian made his way back out to the front just in time to assist a cadet who had turned up nauseous and more than a little inebriated. That was his last patient of the shift: no one else turned up in need of aid, and by the time T'Priel arrived to relieve him, the Infirmary was in pristine good order.

Julian briefed her on the cadet now hooked up to a rehydration IV, and then went to look in on Jaxa. The obelisk of brighter light that spilled over the biobed as the door opened seemed either to awaken her, or to coax her out of a near-doze: she squinted into the glare, and then smiled when she recognized him.

"I suppose someone else needs the bed, Doct— Julian?" she asked, catching herself on the title he hadn't quite earned yet.

He shook his head. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. But my shift is over, and I need to get some sleep before my first class. I'll be heading out, and I wondered if I could walk you back to your quarters."

She sat up, brushing the blanket off her legs. "Oh, that's really not necessary…" she began, demurring.

Julian wasn't at all certain of that. He had not forgotten what she'd said of the way she had been treated in the mess hall last night. Someone had spat on her, and cruel words stuck more insidiously than saliva. He didn't think his presence would prove an earnest deterrent to anyone who might wish to volley similar abuse, but at least if they tried it, Jaxa would have someone to speak up on her behalf.

"Maybe not," he allowed nonetheless, conscious of her dignity and her right to feel safe on campus — something he refused to take from her by voicing his doubts. "But it's no trouble, and perhaps we could grab something to eat. Night shifts throw off my appetite, but I could just about manage tea and scones."

Her smile grew warmer, and she slipped down off the bed, uniform boots hitting the carpet with a syncopated thump. "That sounds nice," Jaxa said.

Dawn was breaking behind the gossamer mist as they stepped out onto the dew-kissed grounds. The air was warmer than Julian had expected, and he was glad: he was in full uniform, of course, but Jaxa was still wearing her nightclothes. He let her set the pace, and they strode briskly up the tidy path. It was studded in places with tiny white circles, thin as the skin of the eyelid and delicately diaphanous in the grass: the first fallen petals from the cherry trees. Overnight, it seemed, cherry blossom season had turned. San Francisco had begun the swift, sweet climb to summer.

Jaxa led the way to the doors of the Solkar Building, and it put an ache in Julian's chest to see how she peered anxiously around the vestibule before crossing the threshold.

"If you'd rather," he said, both reluctant to speak and unable to be silent; "I could go and order breakfast, and bring it up to your room."

"That won't be necessary," Jaxa assured him; "though it's a very kind offer. This time of the morning…" She peeked around the arch that led to the dining area, and then nodded with satisfaction. "Deserted," she said, and beckoned him in.

She could not know, of course, that an empty mess hall was just as much of a relief to Julian as it likely was to her. He knew that the days of dissecting the news from Belgium were probably at an end: unless something incredibly sensational happened to the Moab IV colonists, the scandal close to home would hold the general interest at least until Commencement and the end of term for the officers' training streams. After that, most of the residents of this building and the three nearby would leave campus: headed back to visit family, or off on vacation, or taking up remote training assignments. Then he'd only need to worry about the gossip among the medical and nursing students.

Jaxa was probably looking forward to the quieter weeks of the summer hiatus, too. Julian realized belatedly that he had simply assumed she'd be staying on campus, and that he'd be able to meet with her every week until he left for his residency. She had not corrected him, but it seemed prudent to clarify.

"Are you staying in San Francisco over the summer?" he asked, as her tray materialized in the replicator. She had ordered poached eggs and toast, and — he was touched to note — a dish of sliced papaya.

Jaxa nodded, suddenly grim. "I was supposed to take my Level 4 pilot certification at Proxima Centauri, but my flight privileges have been suspended."

"I'm sorry," Julian said, inadequately. He hadn't meant to remind her of her punishment. But he was also very impressed. If she'd been planning to take her Level 4, she already had her Level 3, which put her on par with the requirements for a primary helmsman. Level 1 was standard for all officer candidates by the end of third year, but Level 3 was extraordinary enough.

She sighed, looking down at her tray with stern resolve. "It's all right," she said with a visible but determined effort. "There's always next summer." Then she turned and strode for the nearest table.

"Hot buttered scones with blackcurrant jam," Julian said to a replicator he was not looking at. His eyes tracked Jaxa instead. She stabbed one of her eggs so the yolk burst, spilling brightly across the plate. "Tarkalean tea, extra sweet. Hot."

His breakfast — or dinner, rather, coming as it did at the end of his shift — materialized, and he took the tray. He wondered whether she would still welcome his company, and then decided that if he was going to be her caregiver, he had to start now. He laid his tray across from hers, and slid into the chair. The scents of his meal made his stomach come eagerly alive, and he realized that he had forgotten to eat mid-shift, as he customarily did.

"It's all right to be angry," he said quietly, splitting one of his scones and biting into the flaky warmth.

"No, it isn't," Jaxa muttered, glaring down at her food. She didn't seem to want to eat, but there was a soft slurp in the back of her throat as she swallowed excess saliva: she had missed her dinner at least, and Julian didn't imagine she'd eaten much before the final hearing. "I should be grateful."

"It's possible to be grateful and angry at the same time," he said. "Grateful you've been—" He didn't want to say allowed: it made it sound like the verdict was an act of charity, instead of what was beginning to look to him like barest justice, at least where this particular cadet was concerned. "Grateful you've retained your place at the Academy," he amended. That was better, and it reiterated her right to be here, despite her mistakes. "And angry that you have to face such grave consequences."

She looked up at him in astonishment. "How can you talk like that? It's as if you believe I've got a right to stay. After what I… what we did… a lot of people are going to say I don't belong here."

That struck a little too near Julian's own dread, again. He curled a hand around his glass mug, feeling the radiating warmth of the tea sink deep into his bones. It anchored him, and helped him to focus on his patient. He knew what she needed to hear: he would have loved to hear the same thing himself, if it hadn't been impossible.

"That's probably true," he said; "but it doesn't matter what they say. Or what they think. As long as you know you belong here, that's the only important thing."

Jaxa's eyes blazed like the flash of a vessel leaping to warp. "I do belong here," she said fiercely. "I've worked and I've sacrificed, and I've earned it!"

Julian wanted to smile, but restrained himself. This was a cause for celebration, but it was also a gravely important realization for her to come to. "Good," he said firmly, instead, meeting her fiery gaze. "You're going to have to hold onto that, no matter what other people say. It's why you chose Starfleet in the first place, isn't it? Not because it was your only option, but because it was the best one: best for your talents, best for your interests, best for your heart."

"And my soul," she agreed, her expression softening. She smiled down at the burst egg as if looking at an old friend. "I prayed about it, the night before I left to take my entrance exams. I couldn't ask Ranjen Yassim: she'd been taken in a sweep the month before. But I prayed. I asked the Prophets if this was the right path for me. They didn't answer, not with words. But I knew in my heart…"

Julian nodded. In his reading about Bajor, he had come across mentions of the ancient faith practiced on that world. Such matters were foreign to him: his parents weren't religious, and he'd been raised in a society where most people didn't practice any particular faith. He had, however, been taught to respect such beliefs, and he knew the deep meaning they could have for the devout. Yet his understanding of Jaxa's words ran considerably deeper than that: he'd had his own long night of contemplation, just before his entrance exams. He'd had to weigh the same question: was Starfleet the right path for him? Was it worth the work, the effort and dedication that lay ahead, and was it worth the deception that lay behind? The deception he would have to uphold all the rest of his life, if he intended to follow his dream.

And he'd known, even as he grappled with the choice, that he would have to uphold that deception regardless, if he intended to follow any dream at all. Starfleet, medicine: these had simply been the brightest and the best of those forbidden options. It hadn't been a choice between Starfleet and something second-best. It had been a choice between lying about his enhancements, or doing nothing at all with his talents. Under Federation law, genetically enhanced humans were barred from almost all post-secondary education. Even their right to high school education was a matter for debate. As for the career paths they were permitted to follow… restrictive was too gentle a word.

That was why he'd followed the Moab IV colonists with such interest, finding new hope every time another placement was announced for them. If they were allowed to hold fellowships at major universities, to pursue internships at museums and libraries, to work with Starfleet (if not precisely to join Starfleet) as consultants, that would mean there was room to reconsider the age-old laws. That there was a chance, however slim, that one day people like him wouldn't have to hide in the shadows. That was why he knew he was going to continue to follow the story, as painful as it was to subject himself to it. Because as long as those placements were upheld, there was hope, whatever the savage outcry in the streets of Ghent.

"Are you all right?" Jaxa asked, her soft voice bringing Julian back to the present. His hand was frozen, teacup halfway to his lips. He blinked at it, brought it the rest of the way, and sipped as he nodded.

"Fine. I'm sorry. It's been quite the weekend," he murmured.

She laughed quietly, a little ruefully, and took another forkful of egg. She'd made considerable headway into her breakfast while he was lost in thought. "That's one way to put it," she said. She swallowed, and stifled a yawn into her curled fist. "I feel like I could sleep for a week!"

"That's not a bad idea," Julian said. "Sleep, I mean. I know it might not seem like it, but the worst is behind you now. You've faced the hardest part of all of this, and now you just need to push on towards your brilliant future."

"Dig myself out of the ore pit, you mean," she said, but she spoke the words wryly, without despair. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you suppose they'll inform my sponsor?"

"The officer who wrote your Academy endorsement?" Julian asked, sifting through his precise memories of the night to come up with the descriptor she'd used. "The captain of the Cairo?"

Jaxa nodded and tore a bite out of her toast. "He's going to be disgusted with me," she said.

"Do you know him well?" Julian asked.

She swallowed. "Not well, no," she admitted. "I met with him a few times. He has very high standards for the young people he endorses. And he took us all to dinner once, when the Cairo was in orbit." She snorted a little. "All of us. There were only five. One in each year of officer training, and one postgraduate fellow. As I said, Captain Jellico has very high standards."

"Then he ought to be proud of you for deciding to stick it out," Julian said, spreading jam on a new piece of scone. "It must have occurred to you it could be easier to walk away."

He was sounding her out, and she probably knew it, but Jaxa nodded nonetheless. "Easier, maybe," she said. "But not more worthwhile." She sighed then, fiddling with her spoon before shearing off a piece of papaya. "Can we talk about something else for a little while? I know you're meant to be treating me, but…"

She gestured helplessly. Julian understood. She had already been dwelling on all of this far too much in the last twelve hours. Even apart from the verdict, the lies and the strain of the coverup, her guilt at her comrade's death: all this had probably been consuming her since the crash.

"Yes, of course," he assured her. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Tell me about the Medical Academy," Jaxa said, a little too brightly, as she forced a smile. "I've only been in the building for my first aid training, and I'd love to know how the program compares. Did you go through officers' school already?"

"I did indeed," Julian said warmly. Sometimes patient care meant offering distractions, as much as treatment. He could oblige her while they finished their meal. "Premier Distinction in exobiology, micropathology, and xenotoxicology."

Jaxa whistled softly. "How did you find time to sleep?" she asked.

Julian shrugged. He still wasn't sure. Taking three simultaneous majors certainly wasn't recommended, and his academic advisor had tried several times to talk him out of it. But neither was it unheard-of: several of his present classmates, including Cadet T'Priel, had done the same, and there had been rumours while he was in the program of someone a year or two ahead of him who had been juggling four — the first since Cadet Data to attempt it and, according to the grapevine, neither an android nor a Vulcan. When he'd first heard that, Julian's competitive spirit had been piqued, and he had considered taking on yet another specialization. He'd decided against it in the end because it seemed too conspicuous. Excellence was one thing, unnatural excellence quite another. Over the years he'd perfected the art of succeeding extravagantly but never too spectacularly: never enough to arouse suspicion.

He'd become a bit careless with that over the last year or so, he realized. Frontrunner for valedictorian, captain of the sector champion racquetball team, one of the most trusted residents, maintaining a flourishing romantic relationship, all at the same time…

The last was at an end, now, anyway. It was just that no one knew it yet. The thought of Palis, fleeting though it was, took some of the pleasure from his next bite of scone. He had to wash it down with a swig from his cup, because his mouth had gone suddenly dry.

"It's really not all that different from officers' training. Medical school, I mean," he said. "We have more remote assignments, of course: at least two a year, though they're shorter than the second-year field studies placements. And…"

He went on, saying little of consequence, and she listened contentedly. The truth was that neither of them much wanted to think right now. It was a relief simply to coexist, and to pretend to forget.

(fade)

Medical and Exobiology Glossary

Palmar: involving the palm of the hand.

Exobiology: the study of life not indigenous to one's own planet.

Micropathology: the study of disease processes at the cellular level.

Xenotoxicology: the study of poisons and other toxins, including medications in overdose, not indigenous to one's own world.