Her summer had been a series of farewells, ever since the Starfleet recruiter had come in her pressed black uniform, a padd offered in front of her like a ticket to her future. Nyota had been reveling in her graduation from the Institute for Advanced Mathematics, her diploma recently framed and a stack of job offers on her parent's kitchen table when she heard the door chime. Starfleet had belonged to her brother, and to a handful of other acquaintances, so when the officer asked to speak to her, it was the first time that the dream of stars had begun to become her own.

Language, and the mathematics of the rhythms and music behind it, had driven her through an elite preparatory school and secured high honors for her in college. She had traveled, and studied abroad, but her experience with Kamau's career path was mostly warp engine sketches hung up in his room and his talk about weapons and firefights in the Neutral Zone.

"Diplomatic Corps," was her easy answer when the recruiter asked after her plans, echoing the dreams of her parents, and the dreams they held for her. The recruiter had then spun a very pretty picture of the other side of Starfleet, the image of Nyota seeing planets she hadn't heard of yet, and being the first to learn about new cultures, to listen to new languages.

"You'd be living and working with species you have no contact with now, and the people you meet will change your life. You will be challenged, and exhausted, and tested in ways that you cannot now fathom, and the intellectual stimulation and personal and professional rewards far exceed that of other work," the woman had said. "Starfleet takes the best of each generation of students from across the Federation. We want you at Starfleet because you are the best, and your record indicates that you want to work with the best. This is not an easy path, but I don't think that's what you want."

Nyota said no three times before she called the recruiter back and said yes. When she told her parents, the stars shone in her eyes and her father had cried, hugging her to him before stepping back, his hands on her shoulders. "You will excel at whatever you attempt," he said. Her mother had pressed her lips together and said nothing, but the morning Nyota picked up her bag and stepped out of her parent's home, she had pressed their hands together. "Learning about other cultures shows us a reflection of our own," she had said and the words echoed a memory that Nyota pushed down, far away where she kept such things. "We have traveled with you since you were young, and met many people and seen many places. It is your own journey now you must take. Do not forget your home."

Nyota did not cry. She had said other goodbyes and the brush of her mother's worn hand ached in her throat as she blinked, her eyes hot. She had sat with her grandmother and grandfather the day before in their cool living room, speaking in a language she would soon grow to miss. She and her sister had shared a pint of ice cream, divided their clothes and jewelry, and fallen asleep in the same bed, just as they had before Nyota left for college. "Meet some space cowboy for me," Makena had whispered. "Blonde, blue-eyed, bad news that Mom and Dad wouldn't want you to bring home." The new ring on her left hand had glinted and Nyota had smiled. "I'm going to be an old married woman. I need some stories."

Her brother waited at the door to the flitter, his red shirt with its silver Lieutenant Commander stripes a sharp contrast to the green of her parent's front yard. Nyota did not cry, but her brother squeezed her hand as they drove away.

"Oh, Ny," Kamau said, squeezing her to him when they arrived at the transport station. "This is just the beginning. You're on an adventure now. You'll meet so many people!" He kissed her cheek as her stomach clenched at the thought. He backed up and handed over her bag. "See you in the stars." He smiled at her, and she wanted to walk forward to him again, but her stiff red uniform didn't seem to let her move. He climbed back in his flitter, giving her the small wave he had given when he had left for the Academy, and he would give his parents when he boarded the USS Eisenhower in three days.

He was her last goodbye, and she swallowed and put her bag on her shoulder. Five uniforms, two pairs of boots, underwear, socks, and a sundress that Makena had promised was imperative to Nyota's social life. When she got to the Academy, the sun only rising there as it set over her family's house in Mombasa, she would find a mandazi from her grandmother and her mother's matoke. It would be the first meal she shared with her roommate, and her last taste of home for months.