“Well, there you are.” A tall, mature man with a neatly trimmed, subtly graying beard, dressed in modern attire that would not be out of place in San Francisco or Utopia Planitia, leaned against the frame of the kitchen door. “The great Starfleet hero finally deigns to grace us with her presence.”

“Malcolm, don’t start,” M’Umbha chided. “You know what your sister has been through.”

“Is she? My sister? Or have we let a stranger into our home? She’s certainly treated us that way.” Doctor Malcolm Uhura held Nyota’s gaze, coolly scrutinizing her reaction. “At least until she needed something from us.”

“Come on, Malcolm, no getting out of your work,” came a deeper voice from the kitchen. “Don’t let the sukuma wiki get mushy. It’s almost ready.”

“Yes, Dad.” Malcolm rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen.

Once her brother was out of the way, Nyota could see the older man who had spoken, a rotund, gray-haired gentleman with a medium-brown complexion, wearing a light-hued dashiki and a cylindrical kofia hat. “Hello, Nyota,” he called through the door as he bustled around the stove. “I’m Omar Ghalib, your stepfather. I hope you don’t mind that I’m too busy to greet you properly, but dinner will be ready shortly.”

Nyota smiled at his easy acceptance, a relief after her brother’s cold treatment. “That’s fine, Omar, thank you. It smells delicious. Nyama choma and ugali?”

“With pilau rice and matoke for dessert. It’s your first time home in so long, we thought you might like something traditional.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“Ah, so do you, my dear. You have your mother’s euphonious tones. They were what drew me to her in the first place.” As M’Umbha moved past Nyota into the kitchen, Omar’s eyes roved up and down his wife’s figure and his smile widened. “Many other things followed.” The couple shared a lascivious laugh, making Malcolm wince in embarrassment. Nyota found it adorable—and wondered if she should regret that detachment from childhood baggage.