"Come back for me in two hours."

Picard waved away his personal driver in the smoothly floating vehicle and turned back to the loose collection of prefabricated buildings. It was not exactly a housing project, it was more of a pencil draft on a piece of scrap parchment.

He looked up at the grey sky which benefitted from global weather control but none of the pollution protection. It seemed odd that someone would be burning fuels in any part of modern Earth, but there were always dirty corners in the cleanest of houses.

Picard checked that he was at the correct intersection and counted along the featureless, unmarked doors. He pressed the analogue door-button and waited.

It was the most familiar of faces, but also the most impossible to understand. "B4? It's me. Jean Luc."

The grey skin, so like and yet unlike his lifelong friend, caused a warmth to flash briefly within him. "Come in, Captain Picard." The blank face turned to the side and indicated that he should enter. "I understand you have been promoted to Fleet Captain. A much deserved honor." B4 gestured into the apartment.

Picard entered, awkwardly holding his jacket open, not sure whether to remove it or keep it on. He looked briefly around the gloom of the small apartment. There were no sub-divisions, just areas of floor, and very little lighting. B4 was nowhere near as socialized as his brother had been. But there were signs of interest in the concepts of family and crew. A few printed out pictures adhered to one wall: sea-craft, early NASA personnel, odd wildlife, and former crew mates.

"Something of a compromise," Picard replied. "I wanted to stay on a ship - I've lived my life in space - they wanted to second me to the Executive of Starfleet. A lot of meetings, but thankfully I'm away on business a lot too."

"You have a shrewd character, Fleet Captain," B4 said. "This role will suit you." He looked up at the ceiling and the inactive air conditioning ducts. "I would adjust the light and heat for your comfort, but you have arrived at a rationed hour."

Picard raised his eyebrows. "Power shortages in this day and age?"

"Not a lack in technology Fleet Captain. A lack of community will. My fellow residents - the local tenants - cannot agree an energy plan among themselves. Nor with the general supplier. There is a lot of shouting, particularly from the young men and women." He attempted a shrug. "All the services in the project area have been run down to a basic level."

Before Picard could reply, B4 gestured to the center of the room where a single table was flanked by two simple chairs. "A fellow resident leant me this furniture for your visit. I forget his name, but he insisted on regularly referring to me as 'neighbor'. Between mouthfuls of stimulant drink. I hope not to talk him too much when his furniture has been returned."

Picard thought of his own peculiar neighbors and their regular infringement on his family property. There was something to be said for isolation, but this situation seemed intolerable. "I'm sorry, B4. I haven't visited as much as I had hoped. This part of France is so close to where I live, and yet so far away. In fact, it was easier for me to come here directly from ISS-23."

"I understand, Fleet Captain," B4 nodded curtly. "There are duties. Then there is life. And there is opportunity, the random chance that you like to call good fortune. All conspire to confound the best of intentions." He pored heavily over the chess pieces laid out in a classic encounter.

"Yes," Picard sighed. "The best laid plans of mice and men." He looked at the board and pieces, probably a holo-set rather than full-on replicated pieces. A good approximation of hand-turned ebony wood and ancient ivory, characters chosen from Alice and the 'Wonderland' stories.

"Indeed. Your Steinbeck has the measure of the dilemma."

"And a British poet before him. What is the opening?" He pointed to the barely constructed strategy.

"A variation on Schmidt. I hope to strengthen his fundamental weakness by careful consideration of several million endpoints."

"Excellent. Myself, I start with the Scotch Game and go downhill from there." He smiled modestly and tried to catch B4's glance. There was no reaction. He nodded and cleared his throat. "Where will you publish?"

"Publish? I had only thought of this as an exercise. Would there be interest in such a theory?"

"There is always interest in ideas, B4. There's always a place for broader thought. I can send you the name of a journal that will publish a letter if you note your solution."

B4 thought stiffly. "That creates something close to appeal in me. We should make it so." He blinked.

"I would be delighted." Picard returned to the remains of the game.

B4 paused and kept staring at Picard. He raised his eyebrows.

"It would please me too," Picard continued, awkwardly.

B4 raised his eyebrows and pulled in his cheeks like a smile. "You missed my humorous reference, Fleet Captain." B4 shook his head stiffly. "Of course, I was too flat in my delivery."

Picard blinked. "Yes, of course." He had become bored of the phrase over the years, rarely used it now. "We shall make it so." He forced a chuckle and looked out of the apartment window where crows fought over carrion.

There was a pause, and then another pause. Then they both started to talk.

"I saved a replicator token..."

"After the 'Scimitar' explosion…"

"Pardon?"

"Sorry, you first."

"The 'Scimitar'?"

"The replicator?"

"I…"

"I…"

They both stopped and looked down. The silence was filled only by the creaking of the heating pipes and the distant murmur of other people in the same building. The sounds of arguing and laughter diffused thru.

"Tea? Earl Grey? Hot?" B4 attempted to start his half of the conversation again.

"Make it so," Picard nodded with a sad smile.