"Nyota."
She stood before me, uncertainty and unhappiness evident in the lines of her body.
"Please, come in." I closed my computer terminal and moved to make some tea. "Would you like your usual blend?"
"Yes, that would be wonderful."
She sat down in her customary chair and relaxed. Nyota usually begins conversation between us, making some comment about her day or a particular thought that struck her. Today, she was silent. Her eyes were far away in the space of her thoughts and sorrow. She did not notice when I presented her with the tea.
"Nyota."
Humans have a great capacity to process emotion. At times, there can be too much to bear alone. I reached towards her.
That gesture was all she needed.
She leaned into my embrace and slipped her arms around my torso and began to cry.
Emotions flooded my awareness—sadness for her own loss, a desperate desire to make sense of the arbitrariness of Liz's death, pride that Liz didn't give in to the megalomania that took over Mitchell, grief for this new lacuna in the universe, anger against Starfleet for assigning the mission in the first place, understanding that this is truly what she signed up for when she took her commission, a struggle to accept all these facts, loneliness, gratitude towards James, a deep knowledge that this will pass.
Baada ya dhiki faraja, her mother whispered. After hardship comes relief.
Her sorrow ebbed away, leaving behind fatigue and weariness. For several minutes, Nyota remained in my arms, her thoughts beyond the reach of my telepathy.
Suddenly, she spoke.
"You asked me a few weeks ago what I thought of the captain."
A strange topic choice.
"It is not necessary for you to give me your opinion right at this moment, Nyota."
"I know," she nodded. "But I thought I might as well."
"Speak your mind, rafiki."
She released her embrace and moved back to her chair. Nyota gave a little laugh, and humans are wont to do after such emotional reactions. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and began to drink her cold tea. I moved to heat it for her again or make a new cup, but she motioned for me to stop.
She sat and sipped, again lost in thought. When the tea was gone, her emotions had settled back to cool stability. We remained silent, Nyota serene and myself carefully watching her. After a moment, Nyota moved towards the door to leave. I followed behind her.
She turned around abruptly and said, eyes bright, "Jina jema hungara gizani." Then she embraced me once more and whispered, "I've missed you."
"And I you," I replied with fierce honesty.
She let go and opened the door. "I'll see you later."
I nodded and watched her walk down the corridor to her own quarters.
A good name shines in the dark.