The two junior officers made their way back to the rest of the group, who were busy assembling their lunch plates. Sheppard's eye was immediately drawn to the dish before Worf. Red, gelatinous clumps huddled together beneath a dark sauce. A pungent odor wafted from its slick, oily surface.

"What is that?" he asked, nudging Carmen.

"Oh, we must be having sandwiches!" She licked her lips hungrily at the horrendous sight.

"Sandwiches?" Sheppard failed to make the connection. "But...what's that stuff for?"

Worf threw him an offended look. Carmen, too, was staring at him as if he had just insulted her honor. "For the peanut butter, of course," she said. "Don't you like peanut butter and jelly?"

"That's...just jelly?"

Nearby, Troi burst out laughing. "It's jelly made from targ hearts. I wouldn't eat it unless you fancy a belly ache for the rest of the day. Here, have some ham and cheese instead."

Carmen dismissed her with a wave. "Heart of Targ is good for you! And some even say that consuming it on a mission will bestow you with supernatural courage. Isn't that right, Worf?"

"Indeed." He gazed down at the young woman with a hint of pride, then offered her the foul-smelling bowl. She accepted it gladly.

Riker clicked his tongue. He sat on the ground with a knee drawn up and a plate of food balancing on his lap. "What nonsense have you been teaching her, Worf? I'd stick with Starfleet basics, if I were you."

"But I am not you. I am Klingon."

Troi snickered. Riker opened his mouth to make a retort, but none came to mind. "That's...a good point," he finally conceded. Light laughter drifted up from the others.

Once everyone had finished prepping their plates, they took their respective places around the fire. Worf stationed himself closest to the open doorway, paying no heed to the little puffs of dust that blew at his back. He was flanked by Riker and Bettencourt. Carmen and Sheppard settled down on the other side of the fire, under Riker's wary eye. Troi joined them, giving Carmen's shoulder an affectionate squeeze as she sat down next to the young woman. Silence ensued as each got to work quelling their hunger.

After a time, Carmen wiped the corner of her mouth with a sleeve and looked to Riker. "What are we doing here? I mean, why aren't we eating on the Enterprise?"

Sheppard paused mid-bite, eager to hear the answer and hoping that the commander would be more straightforward this time. Riker set his plate on the ground before speaking. "Picard is interested in the people who tried to take you."

"In Wharton, you mean."

"Wharton?" Bettencourt echoed. "Who is Wharton?"

Riker slung an arm over his drawn up knee. "Wharton is commander of the U.S.S. Artemyev."

Carmen coughed on the bite of food she had just swallowed. She pounded a fist against her chest to clear her airway. "The...what? What are you talking about?"

"Haykov told us about the day you were taken. He said you mentioned Wharton in your ramblings. So I looked him up. He's not posted anywhere near this sector of space."

"But it was him! I recognized him! I mean...he never took off his mask. But he was commander of my Enterprise for years. I know Wharton. It was him, I tell you."

"Carmen, you've been very sick. You didn't even recognize me when you first woke up."

"Sir," Sheppard politely chimed in. "When the shadow people had us cornered, one of them called the other by name. That name. I heard it myself, and I'm not sick."

Riker squared his jaw. "Bettencourt, your scan was...comprehensive?"

"Yes, sir. No traces of anything foreign in Sheppard's blood."

Carmen narrowed her eyes. "You don't trust him?"

"He...well, he spent a great deal of time alone with you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just saying maybe your delusions got to him somehow. He's been under a lot of duress while you two were stranded down here." Carmen threw him a glare, but it merely bounced off of the commander's stony exterior.

"Wait-this Wharton guy, he serves with Starfleet?" Bettencourt asked. "Then-say it is him-why would he want to attack an away team?"

"Because he never shied away from doing someone else's dirty work." The corner of Carmen's mouth twitched into a brief snarl. "He was an ignorant man. A violent man."

"We're not speaking about him," Riker reminded her sternly. "This is a different Wharton. Not the man who killed your captain."

Sheppard's eyes widened. "He was a traitor in your universe?"

"No," Carmen glumly replied. "I was the traitor."

Sheppard's head buzzed with questions, but Riker wasn't finished asking all of his yet. "You said you saw a Romulan shuttle. What would humans be doing with a Romulan shuttle?"

"I don't know, sir," he admitted. "But they were not Romulan. They were from Starfleet. One of the others, he had an accent. An Earth accent."

"That doesn't mean they were from Starfleet," Riker pointed out.

"No, sir, but...the combadge!" A piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. "I saw a combadge, sir! On the body we found. I could show you!"

The commander reclined back, processing Sheppard's offer. "Actually...you could do better than that. If you've seen their shuttle, then you've seen their camp, right?"

Sheppard nodded, following his train of thought. "Yes, sir. It's in the city, on the northern end. It's where they were keeping Carmen."

A cold grin crept across Worf's face. He pushed his plate aside and cleared his throat. "I would like to pay them a visit, sir."

Riker grinned back. "What do you say, Carmen? Up for a little detour?" Yet when he turned to look at her, she did not appear as heartened as he had expected.

"None of this matters," she muttered. "We're just wasting time."

"Wasting time?"

"They are coming, commander." Her statement sent a shiver across Sheppard's skin. He remembered the voices in his head repeating those very words as they fled from the Chamber of Hearts.

Riker's brow drew down in concern. But as he studied the despair tucked into her eyes, an image flashed through his mind. It wavered in and out of focus. Still, Riker could tell that it looked like the doors to sickbay. He shook his head, casting the image out. "Carmen? What's wrong?"

"It's not the poison," she said. "Though I know you have trouble believing that. We have to go to the Chamber of Hearts. You have to see for yourself."

Again, an image flashed through Riker's mind. This time, he saw the inside of sickbay. A man's body lay stretched across a cot. His hand hung over the edge.

"See what?" Troi asked the young woman softly.

"What happened to the Zinorians. It's what they tried to show you, counselor. It's what they've been trying to show me."

"You know what happened to the Zinorians?" Worf leaned forward, his dark eyes ablaze with intrigue.

"The same thing that happened to my people." She met Riker's gaze. The image sharpened. It was him. It was him lying on that cot, eyes turned lifelessly upward and a bloody, gaping hole in his chest. He flinched as a wail pierced his thoughts-the wail of a little girl crying out for her father.

"It's them, commander," Carmen said. "The Borg. They took the Zinorians. They're here, in your universe. Just as I feared."