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of functioning in normal society, he was allowed to keep his license and commission.
G: That was my understanding as well. So what does all this have to do with you? Was he a friend?
L: Julian? I didn’t even know he existed in med school. Until we met on DS9 a few years after we got out, I thought he was someone else entirely—an Andorian, in fact. And considering what he’s done since … well, he didn’t do it, directly.
G: I’m not following.
L: Captain, I outperformed a genetically enhanced human. That’s like beating a Gorn at arm wrestling. It’s unheard-of.
G: And yet you kept up with him. That’s impressive work.
L: Yes. Starfleet thought so too. That’s why I was investigated.
G: Investigated? There’s none of this in your files.
L: There damn well better not be. I made sure that it was all taken out. It was a baseless accusation. But it still made a mess out of my life. Here we were, in the middle of the war, and we get a request to dock at Starbase 314. Captain Eberling called me into his ready room, and there were two security officers there from the starbase. He said, “These are Lieutenants Cioffi and Shvak. They need to bring you onto the starbase and ask some questions.” And I was carried off to a lovely little suite inside the station where I had everything but a way to open the door. The starbase commander was a Phil Selden, and I stayed a month in the Selden Arms while they tried to prove that I was also genetically enhanced.
    I wasn’t even told about Julian for the first two weeks. I had no idea what they were digging for. My family history was investigated eight ways from Sunday; I found out later that my mother had been detained and investigated as well. They were convinced I was covering up. They talked about sending me away to the Institute where they keep all the other people who were genetically enhanced—they alternated that with threats of criminal proceedings. It took a month of combing over my back history before they would let me go back to active duty. And of course, the
Lexington
was long gone.
G: They left you behind.
L: They were ordered to the front lines.
G: They still left you behind.
L: It was orders. There was a war on. Surely, Captain, you understand.
G: Yes. But I can’t imagine you liked it.
L: By the time I could catch up with the
Lexington,
two-thirds of the crew had been killed in battle or rotated off the ship, including Captain Eberling—he died in one of the first skirmishes of the war. So I never got a chance for an apology from him.
G: What did he owe you an apology for?
L: For not supporting one of his officers. For jumping to conclusions.
G: I see. Sorry for interrupting.
L: I never got to say good-bye to any of them. Gaines, Leff, Bowdren, Twistekey—gone. When I came back, I didn’t know who half the crew was on the ship. They didn’t know me, either; they thought I was some rookie freshly promoted. Commander—sorry,
Captain
Anderson was promoted to the center chair from XO, and she and I never got along well. She kept insisting I call her “Heather.”
G: Did you feel like you let them down?
L: What do you mean?
G: I mean, do you feel that if you were still there on the ship, you would have been able to keep those crewmembers alive?
L: I—Maybe. I don’t know.
G: Your staff was, I assume, more than competent; I doubt you would have accepted less. You couldn’t have done more if you were there.
L: You don’t know that. I don’t know that.
G: Yes, you do, Elizabeth.
L: Do you know what the hell of it is? He flubbed the question.
G: I’m sorry, what question?
L: A question during the oral section of the finals. If Bashir hadn’t mistaken a preganglionic fiber for a postganglionic nerve, he would’ve been valedictorian instead of me.
G: You didn’t crack, and he—
L: You’re missing the point. Preganglionic fibers and postganglionic nerves