Star Trek by Christie Golden

but he didn’t quite get it, I think.”
    Another journal entry described a severe bout of home-sickness. A third had the girl, who finally identified herself as Jaldark, describing how she and Friend had navigated a treacherous asteroid belt unscathed.
    â€œIt was the most amazing sensation, to be linked with him while we did that!” Jaldark enthused, practically bouncing up and down in her chair. “I just love Friend
so much
. He’s the most wonderful ship. I’m so glad I’m bonded with him for the rest of my life. He seems to be so much easier to get along with, temperamentally, than the trainer ships, but maybe that’s because they are constantly bonding and breaking bond with new pilots. Maybe they never get to settle into being themselves. Poor things.”
    The grin—the wonderful, wide, endearing grin—crossed her face again. “I guess I’m just the luckiest girl in the universe.”
    But you weren’t, Jaldark,
Duffy thought, feeling slightly sick. And sure enough, on the next tape, the trouble had already begun. Jaldark looked thinner and paler. There were deep circles under the green eyes, and she wasn’t smiling.
    â€œSomething’s wrong,” she told her recorded journal without preamble. “Friend can sense it, but I’m not telling him any more than I have to in order to maintain function. He knows we’re turning around and heading back toward Omearan space at our top speed, but I don’t know that we’ll make it in time. I hate lying to him like this.”
    She swallowed hard, licked dry lips, and continued. “I think it’s the implants. I’ve passed the rejection window, so it can’t be that. They’d never have let me go on a deep-space recon mission if there was a possibility that they’d be rejected. But they’re failing somehow. I can’t get sustenance from Friend anymore.”
    Jaldark pressed long, thin fingers to her unusually deep temples. Twin implants pulsed beneath the skin at her touch.
    â€œI have these terrible headaches. And the arm sheathes—they ache whenever we join.” She looked dreadfully unhappy. “That means that, whenever we join, I’m in a lot of pain. So, of course, I come up with excuses not to join as often. Friend hasn’t said anything much, but I know his feelings are hurt. He’s the last person—well, thing—I’d ever want to hurt, and I just hate it that this is happening!”
    Tears welled in her eyes, trickled down her freckled cheeks. She wiped at them angrily. The gesture afforded Duffy a good look at what Jaldark called the “arm sheathes.” They were three conical tubes that had been implanted on both lower arms. The spikes on the chair that Duffy and the others had first assumed were torture devices, and later thought were evidence of Borg technology, were links with the ship’s computer. They created a way for a lively young woman to be close to a machine that had transcended its hardware and become a friend; a way to attain the sustenance that would keep Jaldark alive.
    There was nothing sinister about the spikes anymore. There was nothing sinister about anything now—only sorrow.
    Still crying, Jaldark reached and turned off the recording device. But there was one more entry. Kieran didn’t want to see it, but, along with the others, he couldn’t look away.
    Jaldark looked awful. She had lost a lot of weight and was obviously very ill. She was silent at first, but in the background they could all clearly hear “Friend’s” voice: slightly metallic, but filled with concern.
    â€œJaldark?” Friend called. “Please respond. Are you angry with me? Is there something wrong? I am an Omearan Starsearcher, a top-of-the-line vessel with extensive and flexible programming. I am certain there is something I can do to help you. Please respond, Jaldark. Please respond.”
    â€œDo