Riker and Worf languished in the belly of the Bird-of-Prey for what seemed like centuries. Without their combadges or any of their gear, it was impossible to tell how long it had actually been. There was no sign of Carmen or the Klingons, besides the occasional jug of dirty water brought their way by a grumbling guard.

Then, the monotony was finally broken. The brig door swung open. Raucous sounds of revelry rose in the distance. Carmen stumbled forth with an armful of food.

"Dinnertime!" she announced, tossing them some questionable-looking spindles of meat. "Krada legs all around!"

Riker squinted. "Are you drunk?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but a hiccup fell out instead. A sheepish grin crawled across her face. "I may have partaken of some bloodwine."

Riker scowled, thoroughly disgusted. "You need help, Carmen."

"I need help?" She stifled another hiccup. "You're the one behind bars. But don't worry-the Enterprise is on its way."

"The Enterprise? Why?"

Her grin suddenly fled. One of her hands flew to her belly. "Oh no. If only I had more than one stomach, like you Worf…"

"Focus, Carmen!" Riker snapped. "Did you contact the Enterprise?"

She shook her head. "No sir. Jarat did."

"Jarat?"

"He told them-hic-that he found our damaged shuttlecraft. That a Klingon and two humans were aboard, in need of medicin-medic-meda-" She fumbled with the word. "In need of help."

Riker narrowed his eyes. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work."

"Just...just eat your krada legs," she urged, sloppily wiping the corner of her mouth with a sleeve. "They're delicious. Although I think I had one too many. Maybe five too many."

Folding his arms, Riker scoffed aloud. "One, I'm not touching those. Two, you really think you'll be able to commandeer a ship like the Enterprise?"

Carmen's face drew long and serious suddenly. "Yes, commander," she replied. "I have done it before."

Riker's jaw slackened. "What? But how-but what-what do you mean?"

Still leaning against the bars, she slowly slid down to the floor. Her legs folded beneath her, crumpling beneath the weight of her guilt. "The Final Frontier, they called it," she mumbled bitterly. "People back then, they thought...they thought the future was somewhere out there. But I've been out there." She rapped a knuckle against her chest. "And there is no future. There is only death."

"The Enterprise, Carmen," Riker reminded her. "You were talking about the Enterprise."

She blinked up at him. "It's gone! I watched it happen, you know. Watched the end."

"Before that," Riker pressed. "What happened before that? Think, Carmen!"

She looked to the far side of the brig as if searching for the answer. "They...they knew Picard wouldn't give up the Enterprise without a fight, see. And that's what I was good at. Fighting."

"Who knew?"

"The council."

Riker stumbled back a step out of shock. "The council?"

She nodded grimly. "They asked me to turn on him. To turn on the man that my father looked up to. Wharton didn't think I had it in me."

"Wharton?" Riker looked questioningly to Worf, who shook his head.

"I have not heard of him either, sir."

"No, no," Carmen said, waving her hand with an exaggerated gesture. "You wouldn't know him. He wasn't assigned to the Enterprise til after your funeral."

The commander took another step back. Bloodwine had blurred the lines between Carmen's realities.

"I still think about it, you know," she continued. "Your funeral, I mean. Haven't played my trombone since. I was too mad at you." Her eyes glossed over as her mind drifted to another time, another place. "You know what it was like, to go back to our quarters alone? To clean up after the pancakes we made that morning..." She slouched against the bars and stifled a sob. Then, as if to console herself, she began singing softly under her breath in a drunken, off-key tune.

"No more fears and no more sighs,

No more tears, I've said my last my last good-byes

If trouble beckons me, I swear I'm gonna refuse

I'm gonna settle down, there'll be no more blues."

It dawned on Riker then, what she was singing. It was his favorite song. He had just played it in the shuttle before they were captured-No More Blues, by Carmen McRae. Her namesake, he suddenly realized. He recalled her outburst upon waking up to that song, and felt foolish for not making the connection sooner.

Riker crouched beside the bars, pity deepening the lines of his face. He reached through and placed one of his hands over hers. "Carmen, listen," he entreated. "You're not well. Something tells me that you haven't been well for awhile. Why don't you open this gate and let me help you?"

Her eyes wandered back to him, and back to the present. "Hey, I saved you some krada legs!" She pushed away from the bars and climbed unsteadily to her feet. "Eat up! You'll need...you'll need them. Just don't let Jarat see." She stumbled towards the door.

"Wait-please! Carmen! Come back!"

But it was too late. Riker and Worf were alone in the brig once more. The commander sighed in exasperation as he slid to the floor.

"Well, sir," Worf piped up. "At least we have food now."

Riker looked down at the krada legs with disgust. "Eat all you want," he offered. "I've lost my appetite." He flung one towards the Klingon. Then he froze.

For there, beneath the krada leg he had just picked up, lay their combadges.