PART ONE

1. The Orders

Will Riker answered his door at the first signal, the smile of greeting on the younger man's face changing into a look of surprise, bright blue eyes widening; clearly expecting to see someone other than his Captain at the door of his quarters. The Second-in-Command of the Enterprise was dressed in exercise clothing, a lethal-looking bat'leh in his hand; coupled with Will's height and evident muscular strength, he was the picture of a man at the pinnacle of his physical powers.

Picard nodded. "You're on your way out," he said, and he started to turn away, glancing at the weapon in the other man's hand. "I take it you were going to meet Worf."

"Just for a little exercise; that can wait," Will answered, hastily stepping aside. "Please, come in, Jean-Luc."

He might have left anyway, except that he'd heard the quick interest in his Second in Command's voice. Instead, he stepped into the quarters and walked over to the table. The work screen was up, a few programs pushed off to the side, nothing important, he could see at a glance. Nothing that would keep his Second-in-Command from a good, hard workout, especially welcome, he was sure, after all their weeks of seeming inactivity, frustrating to a man of action like Will Riker.

"Can I give you some tea? Please, sit down," Will said, setting his weapon carefully on a chair and coming over to the table.

There was true hospitality in the deep, pleasant voice, a genuine welcome. Picard looked up into the other man's eyes. From the first day meeting William Riker, he had counted it as a blessing to be able to look into that open countenance in any situation and find in the expression not only his First Officer's excellent judgment but a man's honest sentiments; even when he didn't always like what he saw. He had never liked men around him who couldn't, read wouldn't, tell him the truth, even very unpleasant truths; it had occurred to him to wonder if that wasn't a measure of his own insecurities.

He raised his hand to stop his friend's kind attentions. "I'm only here for a moment, Will. We've just received our orders," he said, calmly; certainly he was calmer now, than when he had gotten the word an hour ago.

At the news, he could almost see the pulse quickening, feel the eager curiosity, in the younger man: Where, what place, what challenge lay ahead, what adventure awaited them? Will smiled. "At last. I was beginning to think they'd forgotten us out here."

"Not at all," he replied. "I'd say just the opposite, in fact." He touched the smooth, cold tabletop with his fingertips, looking at the reflections in the glass a moment, before turning back to look into the other man's eyes. "I thought you should know first. We're being ordered into the Corridor."

The expression didn't change, the eyes never even flickered: Ah. His First Officer had a formidable reputation as the best poker player on the Enterprise and here was certain proof that he'd earned it. Tell the man they were headed into the most sensitive spot in the entire Federation, the place many were starting to suspect would see the beginning of the conflict with the Romulan Empire, and Will Riker didn't so much as turn a hair on that handsome head.

He nodded briskly. "I won't keep you any longer. We'll discuss the mission at the staff meeting in the morning," he said, starting for the door. "Good luck with Worf tonight."

And then he was out of the room, and down the passageway separating the Commander's quarters from his own.

He had just settled in with a cup of Earl Grey, black, boiling hot as he preferred, when his door signaled. It was Will, and in uniform, like himself. He felt more than a little relief at the sight, he readily admitted to himself, and no wonder. Will had a knack for doing the right thing at the right time. Now it was he offering a seat and refreshment. The young man sat down, politely declined tea, anything else.

He ran his fingertip lightly along the handle of his cup, looking over at his friend, musing for a moment. "Why won't you take the helm in your own ship, Will? You're eminently qualified to be a Captain, you know, certainly better prepared than I was on my first command."

His friend smiled, the blue eyes quick with amusement. "Why haven't you let them make you an Admiral, Captain?"

He laughed: Touché. "Someday, you know, they'll pry both our fingers off the bridge of the Enterprise." He felt a great sigh building in his chest, released it, as he sat looking at his friend. The Corridor. That was what had brought Will here, they both knew it. "We're being sent along to the Corridor on a routine tour of our Outposts there," he said at last, aware that he was being consciously reasonable in his tone.

Will was springing to his feet. "Good God!" His Second-in-Command balled his hands on his hips. "Is that what they're calling it? A 'routine tour?'" Almost spitting the words out, the expression on the younger man's face plainly speaking his incredulity.

"Mm. Not initially, no. The plan ... well, was quite different, originally, you may be interested to know. There was talk of sending an entire squadron in, for 'exercises', if you can imagine it." He had allowed himself to arch an eyebrow, on the word 'exercises'. "It was all I could do to talk us out of that particular scenario. That was the delay, you see."

Will's eyes had widened. "I think I'm beginning to," said his friend, finally, slowly, sinking back down into the chair, as if trying to absorb the meaning of all he had heard. "So our going was a compromise. Between sending in too damn many ships, and none at all. Well, but, I still don't understand why they're sending us - why any Star Fleet ship this size needs to be sent into the Corridor. The status quo's held good all this time, why do anything to ... " He saw the realization dawning in the other man's eyes. " ... upset it? There's more to it than that," his Second-in-Command said. "You know, I'm having a hard time, frankly, figuring how all this came about, Jean-Luc. Suppose you help me out."

An invitation to unburden himself from the secret he'd been carrying. Yes, he would tell Will, tell him everything, hold nothing back. He set his tea cup aside, and folded his hands.

"This actually began at the Admiral's Dinner," he said.

[***]

Will was long gone, his own tea ice-cold, and still he sat on, brooding.

By God!

He sat up and pounded his fist against the table. His teacup jumped, the brown liquid inside sloshing, spoon rattling in the saucer.

By God, the Rebellion! He'd rather face Romulans bare-handed, by God, than fight the Rebels!