"Sir?"

Admiral Paris looked up, surprised. It wasn't a typical reaction of his. "Kathryn. Congratulations on your promotion. Do you have your bags packed?"

I had already gathered the few things I wanted to take with me—a few mementos, so to speak—so I nodded. "Ready to be on my way, sir."

"Good. Have a nice time, lieutenant." His gaze sadly returned to the pictures on his deck, of his wife, his daughters, and his son. "Lieutenant Commander, rather."

I couldn't stand to see him like this. He was normally such a powerful man—one who took action. But what could he do?

"Sir?"

"Yes, Kathryn?" he said, his eyes not moving from the pictures—one picture in particular.

"Is there anything I can do?"

A sad smile came to his face. "I know I'm not taking this very well," he said. "But it hurts me to think it might be partially my fault."

I stood there, waiting for him to continue.

"Perhaps I pushed him too hard to be in Starfleet. It hurt knowing that the Paris tradition of Starfleet excellence might end. Maybe more than I realized." He sighed. "I didn't push any of his sisters as hard as I did him. It was okay when they wanted to pursue other careers—I always had Tom to fall back on."

Not sure what else to do, I nodded sympathetically.

"And now the Paris tradition of excellence in Starfleet truly has come to end."

"You don't know that, sir," I tried to say comfortingly.

"None of the girls' kids are going to be in Starfleet—I'm sure of that. My great-grandkids might make damned good officers, but I won't be around to see it."

It surprised me to hear him say that. Every year the average lifespan grew longer. The oldest person in Starfleet, Admiral McCoy, was 132—old enough to see his great, great grandchildren grow up if he had had any kids. (Had he? I remember there being some talk once of his having had a daughter--but that seemed to have been nothing more than an idle rumour of the sort which is all too commonly circulated at the Academy.)

He seemed to know what I was thinking—one of his many abilities. "I'm an old man, Kathryn. Older than I look. I've been through a lot. Compared to much of it, the Cardassian torture was a walk in a holopark." He shook his head. "It all takes its toll on a man."

He got up slowly and walked toward the replicator. "Coffee, black." Once it materialized, he handed me the steaming mug.

Then he walked out onto the bridge. I followed him, drinking the coffee.

"What's our ETA?" he asked.

"Ten minutes," answered Lieutenant O'aet.

"Well, there you have it, Lieutenant Commander. The ultimatum. Ten minutes until we drop you off at Starbase 236 and fly away at top warp."

Commander Jolson, the chief engineer, was on the bridge at the time, and decided to take advantage of the moment. He picked up a padd and walked towards us. "Admiral, I finished those modifications you wanted. We should be able to make warp 9.8."

The admiral frowned. "Not good enough. I want at least 9.9."

At this point, I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. After that, both the admiral and engineer quickly started guffawing with me. The rest of the bridge joined in.

I'm not normally that emotional. But heck, it was my last ten minutes—and laughing was better than crying.

This was the ship I had served on for the last three years, and the commander I served under since I graduated from the Academy. And now I would be going on. To bigger and better things, they say. Sure, it was a bigger ship. But I had been through a lot on that ship.

"Well," I said, "I had better go get my bags."

Admiral Paris nodded. I began to leave.

"Kathryn."

I turned. "Sir?"

"Goodbye."

I nodded, and stepped into the turbolift. "Deck Four," I said.