I thought about her and scratched an itch on my arm right were the hibiscus is tattooed.

Damn her! Damn her for infecting my mind! Ten years and I couldn't let go. Ten years and I could only say I was sort of healed, never completely. I would never look at another woman the same again. Every time I would see a human of Asian decent I would think of her and wonder what she was doing.

Then of course I was the one who chickened and ran from the relationship, ran from STB 71 like a scalded cat. I heard later she was doing alright, and that life went on.

Then again I've always been taking things hard. Loosing my dad was hard. The man who choose to raise me, the man who dragged me across the Quadrant, were ever assignments too him. The man who tried to pressure me, mold me like clay, because that was just his way of expressing love. I was already in Starfleet when he was lost, I was torn between Engineering and Medical: and he had pushed command school. Be like your old man, be an officer. I didn't like it but you know what? I'm happier now in command track then I ever was. Funny how he had me pegged early on. I guess that's why he was who and where he was.

I looked at my packed stuff and let out another sigh. Dad would have liked Alex Zukoft: she's right up his damn ally. Cripes almighty! It was eerie talking to her. I answered her just like Dad. And knowing what people like HER are like I probably lost the interview.

I never intended to grow my hair, it just happened, and I like it. Its different. She'll probably shave my head as well as my ass. The beard was a bet. The earring was in direct response to Dad on a fourteen year olds assumption that he knew better. The tattoo was a drunken thing, and Emmi Chin's fault. She's the one who did it. Drunk as skunks on some fermented pineapple juice thing, drunk on love. She patiently used the old techniques and put her mark on me. She left more of a mark on my thoughts, hence why I can still smell ginger.

Emmi Chin is tiny, you'd scarcely notice her in a room of officers. She has large expressive, nearly black almond eyes. She has a sweet soft voice. Oh man though, she can dance! I have never seen anything, not even one of the Orion Slave Women, that can sway and wiggle like she can. And it doesn't matter what style: she does them all with panache and style. Rumba and Tango simply sizzle with sensuality. Belly with more shake then any sheik could stand. It goes on, but I've never seen someone that could dance like her, and I donut think I ever will.

As a counselor, Emmi had a gift. She could see into situations more clearly then anyone on the STB 71 staff. She made me look like a dumb insensitive jerk. She made me see that while psychology was an interesting subject, I was not cut out to be a counselor and help people. As she put it: I was into analysis. My people skills were just not up to par. Oh I've tried over the years to be less brittle, but I am who I am, and some of that brittleness just never goes away. I work around it. Emmi never confirmed it but somewhere in her family there must be a Betazoid, she's got that knack I've seen from them, and only from them.

I miss Emmi. I miss her dearly, but I couldn't stand the heat and I had to go away: it was too intense. It wasn't a matter of career, it was just too intense.

Being here, in San Francisco for this interview, has brought back a lot of memories, and I'm hoping that…I know that they make me who I am.

I hope, though, somehow that stiff neck bends and I get the assignment. I have the feeling that I'm not going to get the mission. Capt. Bach thinks that Id be doing the old man proud with this. If the Explorer doesn't work, there will be other ships, I'm sure. This one just struck a chord, despite the Captain's stiff neck.

Say la Vie!