Anders Tudor watched the runners as they made another lap around the track. The view from his office took in the track as well as the ball field and diving pool. He wanted to join them, thinking back to his academy days when he was on the track team... but there wasn't time today. He turned his attention back to the tournament listing, planning how they would juggle two swim meets, a parisses squares tournament, and a horse race. The horse race would prove their biggest task, setting up and preparing places for the animals to stay. He loved the work and had no regrets about the situation that had gotten him discharged from Starfleet. He would do it the same all over again, even though he sometimes missed the uniform and hearing 'lieutenant' before his name. Of course, he reflected, there were some regrets... a wish that Starfleet hadn't come down so hard on him, that the Prime Directive had not ruled his actions so very wrong, that the shuttle hadn't crashed on a pre-warp world to begin with.

But all of those things had happened. And Anders could only be grateful that Captain Hulse had pulled enough strings to get him this job and that he liked it so well. Being an athletic director, if not his first choice for a career, was an excellent second. And there was always Kimberly. It was for her that he would make the same choice again. Saving her from execution might have cost him his professional future, but perhaps it had granted him a fair trade. Perhaps one day... he shook his head, promising himself not to rush things. Before he could return his attention to his work, Clair Hull came up.

"Clair," he nodded to the security chief, "what do you need?"

Hull, striking with her Arabic complexion and blue eyes, smiled in greeting. She was good-natured and well liked among the crew, though her own department insisted that she was a slave driver. A kind task master, they allowed, but a slave driver nevertheless. "Anders," she began, "I need a favor from you."

"Sure," he agreed, scratching at the collar of his rec department polo shirt. Sometimes... sometimes he did miss that uniform.

"I think my crew needs a change in their training," she leaned against open archway that had no door, "they've all learned academy standard combat and most of them know a formal martial art in addition..."

"But you're thinking of something more?" he prompted. Clair, he knew, had studied both karate and jujitsu for many years, but he didn't know what rank she held.

"Well, something different. A little variety. But I didn't notice any listing for anything besides tae kwon do on the class schedule."

He nodded, "That's all we've got right now, I'm having trouble finding instructors."

"It's a good sport," she hastened to add, "but the risk for injury is pretty high, I was thinking of something more balanced... tai chi or mok'bara maybe."

"Actually," he confided, "I was hoping to find some instructors in your department, so we could offer some classes to the crew and civilians..."

She sighed, "I had considered the same thing, but there are only a few that hold a teaching rank and none of them are available because of family schedules or prior commitments."

He grinned, finding humor in their shared dilemma, "I had thought of asking you..."

"I'd be glad to do some classes for the civilians," she nodded, "but I'd like my officers to learn from a variety of teachers so they can apply different perspectives."

They fell silent for a moment. Finally Anders said, "With a recreation facility of this size we really should have more to offer in combat sports. Commander Giovanni agreed to speak with me tomorrow about hiring professional instructors," he didn't add that he had been encouraged to utilize the skills of already- present crew members.

"I'll stop by and put in an encouraging word," she promised, and then checked the chronometer, "I'd better go, school will be out for lunch and Ivan will be waiting."

Anders had meet her nephew once before, and asked, "How's he fitting in with the other kids?"

"He's pretty quiet," she shook her head, "he spends more time hanging around in my office than with the other children."

"Well, send him down here," Anders invited, "I'll take him to the climbing wall again."

She smiled in sincere gratitude, "He'd love that... thanks."

"Sure," he waved to her as she turned to go. He contacted the racing director to find out how many horses to expect and learned that there would be a week's delay in the races. That freed up the schedule considerably and he left for lunch in his usual cheerful spirits.

Kimberly met him in the station's newest cafe, Bristol Dreams. Anders joined her at their favorite table, the one that gave a view of the people passing by in the main hallway. Rather, it was Anders favorite table... Kim herself preferred the secluded booth in the far corner. Today, as with each day for the past two weeks, Kim meet him with tired eyes and a short temper. Anders worried about her, knowing that something was wrong, but having no clue of what it might be.

"Hi," she greeted, stifling a yawn.

He smiled, glad to see her no matter what her mood. She was intelligent, athletic, and adventurous - all the qualities he most loved. At least, she used to be those things. Now, with the pressures of being crewmaster on the new station, she had less time for sports and little time for fun. He wondered when had last heard her laugh... and couldn't remember.

She propped her chin on her fist, glancing around distrustfully, "Why don't we ever go to the garden restaurant?"

"It so formal," he pointed out, "plus they really make real food here..." he paused, "I thought you liked it."

"I do... it's just... just..." her voice and eyes both trailed away to destinations unseen.

"It's K'Larla, isn't it?" he guessed, referencing the shop's Betazoid-Vulcan owner. "She been giving you trouble about the remodeling again?"

K'Larla had requested for modifications on her shop, which Kimberly had approved. Commander Giovanni had not been especially impressed when half the station lost power for a day due to a miscalculation in the remodeling. But that was not the source of Kim's uneasiness. And Anders stumbled upon the truth before she could answer.

"It's that she's a Betazoid," he realized, saying no more when she looked up sharply.

"What?"

"I mean," he paused, puzzled, "I've noticed that you seem uncomfortable around anyone who's from Betazed."

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, "I don't like how they can get into my mind," she allowed, "that's all."

"But you can do that too," he pointed out. And though he had no empathic abilities, Anders knew that there was more to it than that.

They got no further before Vester Olsen came in and spotted them. Vester, the station's resident architect, could guarantee additional work just by entering the room.

"May I?" he paused at their table, looking nervous.

"Have a seat," Anders welcomed, unperturbed by Vester's manner, for the architect was always, always nervous.

"The security chief," he began, unravelling a thread from his shirt sleeve as he spoke, "wants me to add a staircase to her department's exercise room."

Anders nodded, Clair had spoken of it weeks ago.

"But, but," Vester pulled at another thread, "there's no place you need to get to with a staircase! And she's got it all planned out and I can't change her mind!"

"She wants it for training," Anders explained mildly, "stairs are wonderful for cardiovascular and strength training. I was thinking of having you add some to rec center."

"But, we can't just go about adding things on as we like!" he protested.

"Why?" Kim asked in a tone that bordered on sarcasm, "What's the worst that could happen?"

He gave her a look that went from blank to horrified.

Vester had already anticipated and imagined every detail of the worst that could happen.

Kimberly shook her head in exasperation and stood up, "I've got to get back to my office."

"What about lunch?" Anders tried not to show his surprise.

She waved absently, "I'll talk to you later."

Anders sat back and stared at her empty chair. Something was very, very wrong. That was not the woman he had started to fall in love with. Not the person he lost four racquet ball games to. Not the crewmaster who had everything under control a month ago. He considered sharing his concerns with Counsellor Sorenson... but Vester interrupted his thoughts.

"Here comes K'Larla."

The Betazoid-Vulcan, wearing an apron, came over to talk with them. "Hi," she gave them a copy of the day's menu, "got a question for you."

"Fire away," Anders glanced at the door one last time before committing his attention.

"Would anyone mind if I set up a chula game?"

"Chula?" Vester wondered, unable to place the name. Anders considered it, "In here?"

"That's what I had wanted to do..." she explained, "but I didn't know how well that would work."

"I might could find you some room in rec center, would that be all right?"

"Sure."

"Do I have to do anything?" Vester wanted to know.

"No, just come and play when we get it ready," she told him reassuringly.

"I don't even know what it is."

"I don't think you'd like it Vester," Anders advised kindly.

"No," the architect stood up, "probably not." He bade them farewell and wandered away.

K'Larla took a seat, "Where's Kimberly today?"

"She was here... but she left right before you came."

K'Larla studied him for a moment, "Is she okay?"

"Why? Could you... tell... um, something?" he wondered if she had sensed anything.

K'Larla laughed, "I'm as empathic as you are, Tudor. Actually, one of my kitchen help - Jacey - found her asleep in the holodeck yesterday."

"That's odd," Anders worried, "anything else?"

"She doesn't look well..." K'Larla shrugged, "but maybe she's just working too hard."

"Maybe..." he turned to see a boy peering around the corner at him, "Ivan?"

The slender, dark-eyed child smiled and came over slowly, "Hi."

"Where's your aunt Clair?"

"She had to talk to the commander," he looked at K'Larla, but said no more.

"Want to have lunch with me then?" Anders invited.

Ivan nodded and sat down, grinning when K'Larla gave him a cookie from her apron pocket. Anders ordered their lunch, glad of the child's company. He would have preferred Kimberly, but looked forward to the fun of seeing the world as a ten year old again, if only for an hour.