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Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"Thank you," Tristan said, catching his breath. He looked up to get a glimpse of the man who had just saved his life. "Sir?"

"Who I am is not important," the human said quickly, after he had helped Tristan to his feet.

Despite his appearance in the light of a cigar from far away, the fellow wasn't at all ghastly now that Tristan could see him up close. He was middle aged and slightly overweight, with deep furrows in his face and sorrowful blue eyes. His hair was all gray, but Tristan guessed that it must have been blond once. Hence the name "Blondie."

The people around them in the meantime had gone back to their drinking and carousing, so no one took notice of their conversation.

"Why did you save me, then?" Tristan asked, getting right to the meat of the matter. He had inherited more than his looks from his father.

"Because of who you are."

"Oh?" the younger returned sarcastically. He was grateful to the man, but he couldn't understand why he was beating around the bush. "Who am I, then?"

The elder's face softened slightly. "Well, I don't know your right name. But I do know that you are the son of Lady Guinevere and…Bochra, judging by your appearance," he added with a scowl.

"How do you know that?" Tristan was nearly dumbfounded. "Did you know my parents?"

"I knew your mother," was all he would admit.

Tristan swallowed, somewhat afraid to ask the question that was burning in his mind as a result of that statement. He didn't like this man's familiar tone with regard to her. After all he had seen over the last few days, however, nothing was impossible anymore. "Were you and my mother lovers?" he finally succumbed.

The man smiled sadly and sighed. "I wish the answer to that was yes, but unfortunately, it's no. No," he said again, "she had eyes only for your father. I was never a consideration as far as she was concerned."

Tristan stared at the man for a long time. "So, you saved my life, because you were in love with my mother. Yet you don't want to tell me your name. Why? Are you afraid?" he challenged.

"Are you?" the human countered. Then he chuckled softly. "Yes, Bochra is your father, isn't he? But I do see a good deal of Lady Guinevere's personality, too." His face became serious again, as he was still considering whether or not to give the young man the information he desired. "Come," he gestured toward his table.

All the while, a fat Ferengi was hanging from the chandelier, howling wildly like a Bardakian proghorn moose (or so the other customers said), and belting out a song called "Melor Famagal." He didn't finish his serenade, however, as he had had one too many drinks. He passed out and dropped to the floor. Everyone laughed, including the stranger.

Now, I've seen it all... thought Tristan.

The bartender finished cackling and leaned on the counter. "Hey, Blondie, what can I get you now?"

"Well, Miss, it's been a tough day," he grinned back at her. "I think we'll have whatever that gentleman on the floor is having."

"I'll just have a Chartreuse on the rocks," said Tristan, still staring in disgust at the unconscious Ferengi.

"Coming right up!" She scuttled off to get their drinks, but not before giving Tristan a warning look.

"Now, the question is," the man began after they sat down, "what are you doing here? Word on the street is that you want passage to the Ellison system. You know the Federation doesn't allow just any ship to go there?"

The younger man nodded cautiously, and accepted the cigar that was offered to him.

"You're looking for the Guardian of Forever, aren't you?"

"How do you know about that?" Tristan asked. He couldn't deny it, since he knew that his facial expression had already betrayed him.

The man called Blondie leaned forward. "I've been there."

Tristan felt his heart leap. Finally, he had found what he was searching for! But he didn't want to get his hopes up too quickly. He studied the man carefully. "How do I know you aren't lying?" he asked.

"Do you want to go to the Ellison system or not?"

"Yes. Can you bring me there?" His instincts told him that the man wasn't trying to deceive him. And if he truly loved his mother as he claimed, surely he would not wish to harm her only son? Tristan deduced that he had no choice but to trust him.

"Perhaps. Why do you want to go there?"

There was only so far Tristan would be pushed. "I have my reasons."

Blondie studied the youth carefully. "Definitely Bochra's son... Alright, then. What will you pay me?"

"How much do you want?" Tristan knew that he was at a disadvantage in that the man knew he was a member of a royal house. He could only hope that he also knew that his world was still recovering from the considerable amount of destruction that had occurred during the Dominion War. Perhaps he would be reasonable for the sake of his mother.

"A thousand bricks of gold-pressed latinum—all in advance," he said firmly.

"What?" That callous, money-grubbing old blackguard! Love for Lady Guinevere indeed! He could buy his own ship for that much! But Tristan was no pilot, and he didn't know the exact location of the planet. He forced himself to calm back down. Vexation would only cloud his judgment and get him nowhere.

"I have ten bricks with me now," he said evenly, "Then, I will pay you 1,500 upon the successful completion of my business and my return to Nua Breizh." He was well aware of the power of greed as a guard against treachery.

"You'll pay me 2,000 when I return to Nua Breizh," Blondie insisted.

Tristan felt his blood boil. He was desperate, and the old coot knew he had him over a barrel. He would have to call in every favor he and his mother had in order to scrounge up that much of the coveted substance. But he was mostly confident that it could be done. No price was too high for his father's life, after all. "Alright, damn you!" he snapped. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"Good," the man returned with no small amount of satisfaction. "Meet me at docking bay forty in two hours." He rose and began to walk away from the table.

"You still won't tell me who you are?" he called after him, still exasperated.

The man stopped and turned. "DeSeve," he introduced himself at last, "Stefan DeSeve."

Tristan blinked in astonishment, and he felt his temper cool. "My mother told me about you. But I thought you were dead."

"Well, obviously I'm not. Not in this lifetime, anyway."

Now what was that supposed to mean? Tristan shook his head in frustration, and decided that it wasn't worth trying to figure it out at that particular time. This pursuit is becoming more and more bizarre by the minute...