The night air was cool, damp, and thankfully free of the bizarre storms that had been afflicting the colony in the wake of the weather control system breakdowns. Jean-Luc Picard knocked on the wooden door of Felisa Howard's home and studied the façade as he waited for Beverly to answer. It wasn't that dissimilar from his boyhood home in La Barre, he reflected, with a sturdy construction and Tudoresque aesthetic—albeit this home was on a world far from its country of inspiration. Still, he'd never noticed this unlikely similarity in how they'd spent much of their childhoods, living in old-fashioned houses with parents, or in her case, a grandmother, who eschewed most modern technology in favor of more time-honored methods of carrying out their vocations. In the case of his father, it was tending vines; for her Nana, healing with herbs and holistic remedies...and yet, despite or because of it, he and Beverly had both chosen lives on starships, far from the land. He would have been interested to spend some time here if Beverly had invited him, and he expected she might have done so before the ship departed from Caldos—until, of course, this distressing turn of events that had been precipitated by Ronin. Whoever he was. Picard's faint smile turned to a grimace.

Not hearing any movement behind the door, he knocked again and tried the doorknob, pushing the door open cautiously when he found it was unlocked.

He didn't know what he'd expected to find, but it was most certainly not what he did find: she was reclining in her long, filmy nightgown by the fireplace, eyes closed, body moving in time to little sighs of pleasure...and no one was with her. His mouth went dry. In any other circumstance he would likely be intensely affected by the sight in front of him, but he reminded himself again: something wasn't right, about any of this. He forced himself to speak with an even tone as he tried to attract her attention. "Beverly."

Her eyes flew open and she looked at him in dismay, swallowing hard. "Jean-Luc."

"I'm sorry I startled you," he said, crossing slowly toward her. "I knocked, but there was no answer. The door was open. I hope you don't mind."

She fumbled with her robe and pulled it closed around her. She didn't even acknowledge his words, he noted, but only seemed to resent the intrusion. "What do you want?"

I want you to come home. He swallowed the words, knowing she wouldn't respond well to them now, and instead kept his voice mild. "Well, I'd hoped to meet your new friend, Ronin."

She blinked rapidly, not meeting his gaze. "He's not here."

"Well, perhaps I could wait, if you don't mind." Though he was being polite, he admitted to himself that he had no intention of leaving without figuring out what exactly was going on. He couldn't fathom why she wouldn't want to share even the barest details of this relationship, if there weren't something to hide. He prodded gently. "I'm really anxious to meet this remarkable young man who swept away not just one, but two of the Howard women."

Beverly walked unsteadily toward him, gripping a candle in one hand. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Jean-Luc."

She was trying to get a rise out of him, but in such a transparent manner that he had no difficulty dismissing it. In fact, if he hadn't already understood that she was impaired somehow, the very clumsiness of the attempt to drive him away would have convinced him. Their relationship could be described in any number of ways, but "petty" was never one of them. He studied her face more carefully now in concern, noticing that her normally bright blue eyes were reflecting differently in the candlelight. "Have you changed the color of your eyes?"

She touched a hand to the side of her face, as if confused, and stammered a bit. "I just grew tired of the other color. Don't you think it suits me?"

He might have no objection to the jade hue—green always looked flattering on her—but he certainly did object to the distance and agitation he saw there, so far from her usual lucid, intelligent gaze. "I think that I preferred your eyes the way they were before," he answered, folding his arms and speaking gently. "I think I preferred you the way you were before, Beverly."

He hoped his words might connect with her, but she was too much under the influence of whatever fog was clouding her mind. "Well, this is the way I am now," she said defensively. "And this is my life. I've made my decision and I'm not going to change my mind, so please leave me alone." She tried to push him towards the door.

"Oh, no, there's something's wrong here." Picard calmly but firmly resisted her weak efforts, hands gripping her upper arms as he tried to get through to her. Come on, Beverly, this isn't you. It was time to be more direct. "Beverly, this is more than just an obsessive love affair that has got out of hand. Tell me, why is it that no one has seen this Ronin except you?"

She stammered again, unwilling or unable to answer him, he wasn't sure... and then they both turned at the sound of footsteps on the wooden staircase. "All right, Captain. Here I am. I believe Beverly asked you to leave her alone." The tall man descending the steps looked like something out of an eighteenth-century romantic holonovel, with his knotted tie, formal vest, and heavy topcoat—not to mention perfectly coiffed hair. He was handsome enough, Picard conceded, but the overall look was oddly out of place, even in an intentional colony like Caldos. Well, if he was really from here, it would be easy enough to establish—and if he wasn't, Picard would do everything he could to make Beverly see it.

Before he had a chance to say anything, though, Beverly had rushed away from him to embrace Ronin, raising her chin in defiance at the captain as if to say, See? I told you he was real.

Somehow I don't think so, Beverly. Picard raised an eyebrow and affected a conversational tone, ignoring the direction to leave. "So, you're Ronin. It's a pleasure to meet you. Where are you from?"

"Earth. Scotland."

He smiled pleasantly. "How long have you been on Caldos?"

The younger man had little patience for even the most basic questions, it appeared. Tightening his arm possessively around Beverly, he declared, in an arch tone that was intended to conclude the discussion, "All that matters is that I'm here now, and that Beverly and I plan to be together for the rest our lives."

Romantic holonovel, indeed. A bit frustrated, Picard flicked his gaze to Beverly, clinging to Ronin's side defensively. The strong woman he knew would never be this passive if the man weren't somehow controlling her and impairing her judgment. He just didn't know how yet.

His communicator beeped and his second officer's voice came across. He tapped the comm badge, keeping a focus on the man in front of him. "Go ahead, Data."

"Captain, we have located the source of the energy residual," the android reported. "It appears to be concentrated within Felisa Howard's coffin."

"We'd like permission to exhume the body," La Forge added.

Ronin took a half-step forward. "You can't do that. Leave her alone."

Picard eyed the taller man warily. "Why not? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," he replied, in a wholly unconvincing manner. "But I cannot allow you to desecrate her grave."

Picard was nothing if not respectful towards other cultures' burial rituals, but he doubted Ronin had any legitimate claim on Felisa's remains—and Beverly, he realized, was silent. Was there possibly a flicker of doubt in her? She was the one who'd identified the anaphasic energy signature that killed Ned Quint; she would surely want to know if something untoward had happened to her grandmother as well. Picard held Ronin's gaze and spoke into his communicator. "Data, ask Governor Maturin's permission to exhume the body. Picard out."

"I won't stand for this. I'll go to the Governor myself." Ronin projected outrage, but Picard was now confident his bluff could readily be called.

"Go on," the captain challenged him. "I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't know who you are. He'll probably have the same questions that I do. How did you get here? What ship did you come on?"

"Jean-Luc, leave him alone." Beverly was becoming increasingly agitated, but he thought, or hoped, it might be because she was conflicted that his questions were getting at the truth, since Ronin was not replying to any of them.

You know this isn't right, Beverly. He didn't pause, advancing on Ronin, trying to provoke the man into revealing who, or what, he really was. "Why don't you answer my questions? What ship? I'd like to look at the passenger list. Where have you been living here? What's your position? Who are your neighbors?"

Abruptly, Ronin vanished in a green mist in front of their eyes. The anaphasic energy residue, Picard realized, his mind racing. That was the answer—Ronin was a manifestation of the energy. Somehow he wasn't surprised, but he was a bit alarmed. If the energy had affected Felisa Howard's body, Beverly must be affected by it, too. Even if she'd known Ronin wasn't real, he—it—would still have clouded her judgment, just as he'd seen. Did she know anaphasic energy needed organic hosts to maintain cohesion? He shuddered at the implications, but in her current state there didn't seem to be much use in explaining—she still seemed too disoriented.

He reached out urgently for her arm, determined to get them both back to the Enterprise as soon as possible. "Come on, Beverly, we've got to get out of here—" Before he could touch her, he felt a painful surge of energy snap through him. Distantly, he heard her horrified cry, and then he collapsed into unconsciousness.