"Definitely no alphabet soup after the Enterprise last I was on her bridge," he says, though somewhere inside, he's hedging. He's yet to see the A branded on her hull in Yorktown's shipyard, but he's seen the registration forms, and he's had time to mull over getting used to it. And the debate over whether or not to keep or abandon the Constitution class.

His own photos go into a pocket, forcing himself not to linger over it. He'd rather not know what he might feel if he looks at them long enough to begin to make out features of his friends, animated and alive. Pacing the stasis chambers isn't the same.

"What'd he do, ask you on a date?" Eyebrows.