Usual Disclaimer: Star Trek: The Next Generation and all its components belong to Paramount, Viacom or whoever. No attempt to violate copyright is intended.

A MATTER OF TIMING

by Eve Robinson

Stardate 46136.2

As the door sighed shut behind her most difficult client, the ship's counselor headed towards the replicator in search of comfort.

Waiting the scant seconds while the hot chocolate materialised, Deanna rotated her shoulders wearily. She couldn't shake the nagging conviction that she had not made a very good job of that counselling session. It was so difficult, being unable to sense anything from him, it was like working blind. And on top of that, having to try and maintain scrupulous logic, when she was more at ease with intuitive understanding—it was hard work.

But this one had been particularly difficult, and, sitting on the plush sofa and sipping meditavely at her hot drink, Deanna doubted whether she had been any help at all.

Data seemed to be able to counter all her arguments, and her suggestion that Dr Soong had not said he loved his android son simply because he was too inhibited to reveal his emotions... wasn't an explanation that satisfied her either. In fact, when she considered the matter, it was difficult to find any evidence that Soong had loved Data. Soong had abandoned him—and Lore, though that was perhaps more understandable—and then summoned him back ruthlessly, without a moment's thought for the problems this might have caused. Had caused, indeed. He had tried to provide Data with rudimentary emotions, it was true, and there seemed to have been some kind of approval embedded in this new dream program, but...

"Couldn't you at least have told him you loved him?" she said aloud, exasperated. "Euphemisms don't work with Data!" No human being had ever told Data that he—or she—loved him. That would have struck her as unbearably sad, if not for the fact that Data was incapable of feeling the loneliness it entailed.

It was strange, though. Data had almost seemed to want to believe that his father had not loved him. He had certainly countered her suggestions very neatly. And today, Deanna's own logic had been faltering.

Ah, Data. Humans are too complicated.

Love is too complicated.

Perhaps she needed a counselor to counsel her. No, no, she knew what the questions were, she even knew what the answers were, it was just believing them that was so hard. She felt as though she'd been travelling through time, back eight years to when Will was still Bill and her imzadi in truth as well as name, back to the heady sensation of being loved, passionately and comprehensively loved.

Trouble is, that I'm not the same person I was then. I've grown wary. I've grown up.

There was also the strange perception that, while Thomas Riker was still the man who loved her—and left her, just as he had done eight years ago—the Deanna Troi of the here and now liked the Will Riker she knew today better than the man she used to know. Even though he no longer loved her, he was her friend. Solid strength, a warm shoulder when she needed one, a teasing smile.

But oh, to be loved like that again.

Deanna's chocolate was nearly gone. She grimaced at the emptying cup. It wasn't really enough bolstering for the trial ahead, but she didn't really want another, and unfortunately, she couldn't put it off any longer.

A message from mother. No doubt Lwaxana would breeze in like a loving hurricane, scatter Deanna's emotions and leave her breathless and overwhelmed, as usual. What would it be this time—some new, unexpectable trouble, or just a repeat of the favourite theme? My Little One must find herself a husband and start producing the next daughter of the Fifth House, someone to hold the Sacred Chalice and wear the Holy Rings seventy years from now. Hah, Deanna thought rebelliously, just wait till you have to introduce some handsome new man to your grandchild, mother, then see how you feel about it!

She reconsidered. Mother would probably be delighted to flirt with a new prospect and show off her grandbaby at the same time. But I'm not ready for that yet, she told herself. I have other things to do first.

Only, it would be nice to think that, one day... It wasn't something she could admit to her mother (who probably knew it anyway), but she did hope that somewhere in her future was a lover who wouldn't leave, and a child who would grow up.

Better see what she has to say, Deanna told herself bracingly, but was reprieved.

Senior staff to the Observation Lounge for a briefing in thirty minutes.

Deanna smiled.

* * *

There was an air of concern in the Observation Lounge. All the ship's senior officers were gathered for the briefing: this had the potential to be a rather delicate mission, and unfortunately, whoever went on the Away Team would be working, if not precisely in the dark, certainly in the twilight.

"The Veldor system consists of five roughly earth-sized planets and one gas giant," Lt Cdr Data explained. "Of the smaller planets, one is M-class, the third from the star. It has one large satellite, 20% of the —" the android's head gave a tiny, surprised jerk as he stopped, mid-sentence. Round the table, heads swivelled to see, at the far end of the room, a red-uniformed Ensign materialise from the familiar silvery blue shimmer of the transporter beam.

"What are you doing here, Ensign?" Picard snapped, getting to his feet. "Explain yourself!"

"Certainly, Captain Picard," the stranger replied. He was tallish, lightly built, with high cheekbones, a riot of dark red hair, and a nose that had plainly been reset by some doctor with a strange sense of humour. No-one had ever seen him before.

"In my left hand," he continued, almost conversationally, "I have a hypospray. In my right, I have a bomb." He opened his palm so that all could see the small, dull brown slab he held. "Miklonite and nitro-glycerine, a primitive combination but highly effective. Don't —" he gestured towards Lieutenant Worf, who was half-rising from his seat in taut Klingon alertness, "— don't even consider coming within three metres of me. I promise you, this little concoction is sensitive enough to react to any sudden movement, and more than powerful enough to blow the top deck right off the Enterprise."

"Lieutenant." Picard's flat voice held an implicit order. Slowly, reluctantly, Worf lowered himself back into his seat.

"You will find," the unknown Ensign continued, "that your communicators have been disabled. I assure you this is only a temporary measure; they will be back to normal when you require them again."

So much for a cry for help, thought Will Riker.

"Doctor Crusher." The invader turned to the CMO, sitting immobile and very angry between the captain and Data. "You will please deactivate Lt Cdr Data." The silence took on, if possible, an even more horrified quality. How did this interloper know about Data's off switch, and more, how did he know that Beverley was able to use it?

"What is it you want?" Picard asked carefully. "Surely there is no need for —"

"Quiet! Just do as I say."

With extreme reluctance, Dr Crusher reached an arm round behind the second officer and felt for the off switch. The android officer sagged gracelessly onto the table.

There was a telling hiss, and Lt Cdr LaForge slumped onto the table. Bypassing Counselor Troi, the strange ensign swiftly rounded the table and applied the small medical device to Cdr Riker's neck, to the captain's, and then to Dr Crusher. Then he returned to Deanna's side and placed the device on the table in front of her before stepping back a pace. "Use it, please, on your head of Security." As she hesitated, he gestured with the hand that held the explosive. "A double dose, if you please." Helpless to discover an alternative, Deanna rose from her seat and took the hypospray round to Worf, held it against his neck and squeezed the trigger. "Again." She complied.

The intruder took out a tricorder from his belt holster and carefully scanned up and down the table. Then he sat down, waved the astonished Counselor back into her chair, and smiled.

Deanna was completely confused. This stranger, this... terrorist? beamed into the senior officers' briefing, threatened to blow the lid off the Enterprise, and he was sitting down as calm as you please, and feeling... amused?

"Who are you?" she asked. "What is it you want?"

"My name is not important. As for what I want..." he smiled, an attractive, if somewhat rueful smile. "At the moment, what I want is a couple of hours' quiet conversation with you. Unfortunately, I only have a few minutes, and that's shockingly self-indulgent. Chocolate?"

"What?" She watched in astonishment as he broke a piece off the block of explosive, and offered it to her. Shrugging, he placed it on the table between them, and broke off another piece for himself. Disbelieving, Troi inched her hand towards the lethal brown chunk and picked it up. It looked like chocolate, smelt like chocolate, tasted like chocolate... the Enterprise had effectively been hijacked by a man wielding a slab of confectionery! No wonder he was amused.

"Please, Counselor, don't worry. Your friends will wake up in less than thirty minutes with no ill effects. And so will you. But before I have to put you to sleep as well, tell me, where do you come from and do you have any children?"

Deanna's extrasense had been giving emphatic notice of the stranger's interest, so the questions did not surprise her. Nonetheless, he was definitely taking liberties, whoever he was. But she sensed no hostility, no malice, and though there was a definite firmness of purpose in his thoughts, there was no desire to cause any harm. Rather against her will, she found herself beginning to like this stranger. He certainly had a disarming grin. It reminded her of – something – of... Will?

"I'm half human," she answered, "but I was born on Betazed. I get my empathic abilities from my Betazoid mother, and no, I don't have any children."

"Betazed. Mmm. Do all the women there have eyes like yours?"

"Everyone does."

He said nothing further, just stared at her, gazing with patent masculine admiration into her mysterious dark eyes, until with a sigh he reached for the hypospray and stood up. "I'm sorry about this, Deanna," he apologised, and drawing her thick mane aside, applied the anaesthetic device to her neck.

Picard and his senior officers filed back onto the bridge and resumed their seats.

"Helm, set course one zero five mark three two," the captain instructed. "Warp two. Engage."

A few minutes later the conn ensign announced that the Enterprise was approaching the Trigan system, and was ordered to slow to impulse.

Data scanned his ops panel. "Sir, sensors are detecting unusual activity in the vicinity of the fourth planet of the system. I am reading high levels of dolamide and ultritium dust, most likely explanation, weapons discharge."

"Continue analysis, Mr Data. On screen as soon as we are within range."

Data's console revealed, and the viewscreen confirmed, that the two vessels currently engaged in battle around the third moon of the gas giant Trigo Four were an Antican hero-class ship and a Seli marauder. Even as the Enterprise hastened closer, the antagonists sent out a devastating exchange of fire and within seconds, both exploded into shards of useless wreckage.

"Mr Data, were you able to identify the ships?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Please inform the Seli and Antican governments of the incident. Mr Worf, prepare a modified photon torpedo casing. All stop."

"Answering all stop, sir," the conn ensign replied dutifully.

"Fire when ready, Mr Worf."

"Firing, sir."

They watched the screen thoughtfully as the disarmed torpedo impacted on the moon ahead.

"Helm, resume course for the Veldor system. Warp five. Engage. Senior staff conference," Captain Picard announced and led the way to the Observation Lounge.

LaForge was the first to waken, groggily coming back to consciousness and remembering with a flood of adrenaline why he had been sleeping during a staff briefing. But the mysterious ensign was gone, and the other officers round the table were gradually beginning to stir. Except for Data. Geordi suppressed a shudder as he looked at his friend's frozen form. Quickly he located the switch on Data's back and reactivated him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Riker expressed the confusion they all felt.

Deanna was still asleep, sprawled in a graceful tangle of curls. Slightly concerned, Dr Crusher moved round to take her friend's pulse, and was relieved to see the ship's counselor begin to come round.

Everyone's attention focussed on the captain. His face was set, and not one of his officers would have relished being the target of that veiled fury. "Mr Worf, instigate a ship-wide search. If that Ensign is still aboard, I want him found. If not, I want to know how he got here and where he went. Mr Data, run a full analysis of all ship's systems, see if anything has been affected and what exactly has been happening while we've been in here. Mr LaForge, I want an inspection of everything in engineering to see if there has been any tampering. Dr Crusher, examine this room for DNA traces and anything else that might provide us with some clues to his identity. Now, let's get back to the bridge and find out where we are." Stiff-backed, the captain strode back to his bridge and seated himself firmly in the command chair. Riker and Troi flanked him and Data resumed his station at Ops while the other officers crossed to the turbolift to get on with their tasks.

"Helm, what is our course and position?" said Picard brusquely.

The Ensign seemed confused. "Heading 246 mark 37, sir, speed Warp Five. We will arrive at the Veldor system in twenty-three hours."

Picard and Riker exchanged glances. Same heading and speed as before that curious incident... What in heaven's name had been the purpose behind that unknown Ensign's visit?