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before detection. It was the first application of the Vulcan Prime Directive.
    Commander T’Lera, offspring of the same Prefect Savar who had composed those words, stood before the current prefect, awaiting her final departure orders.
    “The commander’s choice of crew complement is of course at her own discretion—” Prefect T’Saaf began, contemplating the roster before her.
    “—nevertheless the prefect is justified in questioning at least two of my choices,” T’Lera finished for her, her voice perhaps a shade drier than the occasion warranted. “I am open to discussion.”
    T’Saaf moved her eyes away from the roster to the imperturbable face before her. It was said that T’Lera had qualified for the prefecture before her and refused it, preferring instead the reaches of space where she had spent most of her life. T’Saaf studied that face, handsome even in middle years, the eyes never quite fixed on any planet-bound thing but always elsewhere and afar, and could well believe it. So to her had fallen that which her abilities merited, but only because this one had refused it. T’Saaf would indeed welcome a discussion of the liberties T’Lera sometimes chose to take.
    “The choice of T’Kahr Savar as your historiographer—” the prefect began.
    “—was at his own behest, Prefect,” T’Lera said. For once her eyes came close to focusing on the near-at-hand. “My father is old. He has not many years left to him. If he wishes to spend them in service, it is my judgment he is within his right.”
    “He has served,” Prefect T’Saaf pointed out. “In the reaches of space, and in this office, for many years and admirably. No further service is required of him.”
    She got no answer to this. T’Lera’s true reasons, and Savar’s, were other than those stated.
    “Does his healer deem him fit for such a journey?” T’Saaf demanded.
    “He has made the journey thrice before the breaking of the light barrier,” T’Lera reminded her, not precisely answering the question. “Six decades of his life have been spent in the void between the stars. It is logical to assume that this mode is more congenial to him than the confines of any planet.”
    “Nevertheless, if he is unable adequately to perform his duties…”
    T’Saaf did not finish. The suggestion that her predecessor might be in less than optimum health or strength might be cruel, but its logic was unarguable. A scoutship’s personnel space was at a premium, its food supply limited. Every crewmember would be employed to the fullest, and no one, not even a former prefect, had the right to voyage as a mere spectator.
    “None can know the future,” T’Lera replied, though she did not offer it as an excuse. “Savar is well aware of his responsibility to the rest of the crew. He will accept the consequences.”
    In another the tone might be pleading; in T’Lera it was only reasonable.
    “If my father desires to make the journey one final time—”
    “‘One final time,’” Prefect T’Saaf repeated. “And if he does not return?”
    “That, too, at his own behest,” T’Lera replied. She unstiffened her rigid posture for the briefest moment, came as close as she could to making a personal request. “He has not long, and there is nothing that holds him to this world. One who has lived in space is entitled to die in space.”
    T’Saaf gave no answer, but locked her eyes with T’Lera’s, forcing the latter to focus down, to remain with the planet-bound, the temporal, the personal.
    “I accept the responsibility,” T’Lera said, undaunted, her far-searching eyes all the more penetrating for their narrowed focus. “For my father’s sake.”
    “ Kaiidth! ” T’Saaf acknowledged, and T’Lera had her will, at least in this.
     
    Yoshi and Tatya brought the hydrofoil back to the agrostation without speaking. There didn’t seem to be any words for this particular situation.
    Yoshi steered the foil one-handed around the perimeter