Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: The Next Generation and The Pretender. I write these stories for my own amusement and make no profit from them.

Act III

Scene 1

Angelo dragged Jarod's silver briefcase with the DSA recordings into one of his favorite hiding places just before the people in gold came in and started searching the quarters. He felt the anger in the tall man in red. He also felt the confusion.

"Help…Jarod," he muttered. "Help…Jarod. Help…children."

Scene 2

Sydney, Broots, and Parker all stood at the door of their cell and stared across the aisle at Jarod in his cell. He still sat with his head down on his arms propped up on his knees. He hadn't moved in an hour, since he had quietly taken off his Starfleet uniform jacket and folded it neatly on his bunk. Even Miss Parker hadn't had the heart to taunt him…yet. Sydney's face was calm—no one would have known that something inside him was yearning to help the boy he had raised. The boy he was proud of.

"Jarod," he ventured, "are you alright?"

"No," Jarod muttered without lifting his head.

"Jarod, you've done the best you could. Whatever it was you were doing here, I know you did your best."

Now Jarod raised a raging face. "Then my best wasn't good enough, Sydney! I could have saved them! I know I could have saved them!"

"Who, Jarod?"

"The children. The children." His head went back down.

"What is it with him and children, Syd?" Miss Parker muttered. "Everywhere we chase him, children appear."

"It's himself, Miss Parker," Sydney answered in a low voice. "When he's saving children, he's saving himself."

Miss Parker's face was thoughtful, quiet. She said nothing more, but Sydney knew her inside and out and knew that somewhere inside she was thinking, Why couldn't he have saved me, too?

"What children were they, Jarod?" he asked.

Jarod looked up at him, his face bitter. "What children? Just guess, Sydney. Guess very close to home."

"The Savant Project, you said. Extraordinary children taken for intelligence purposes?"

"It's a newer project than yours, Sydney. I suppose it took the Federation longer to attract that sort of person than our government did. But they're doing exactly the same thing. And I had a chance to cut it off at the root."

"This isn't your world, Jarod. It isn't your responsibility to put it to rights."

"Then whose responsibility is it?" Jarod blazed at him. "You have always made things my responsibility. I'm only continuing your legacy."

"Jarod—" Sydney begin, but Jarod put his head back down and would not respond. Sydney turned away and sat on his bunk, his head tipped back in thought. Why was it that when he felt most involved he became most detached? He saw Jarod in agony—many times he had spoken to him on the phone at the emotional height of one of Jarod's Pretends and heard the agony in his voice—and always his own voice came out calm, detached, in control, like every good psychiatrist should sound. Just when he most wanted to reach out, his coolness put another brick on the wall he had built up. He couldn't help it anymore. It was more natural than giving in to the warmth of his feelings. He could almost be amused at his own pathology—if it didn't hurt so much.

Scene 3

"Should we release Nurse Onatah?" Riker asked.

Picard shook his head, still staring at the computer recording. "No, Number One. I am still not fully convinced that this man is quite what you think he is."

"Captain, I think he's Maquis, sent to keep us running around in circles after our own tails while they carry out some raid under our noses!"

"Number One, we are nowhere near Cardassian space. Why should he come here rather than to some ship in that sector? I think it is more likely that he is a freelance operator. He had to be here, on the Enterprise."

"Then what do you think he's up to, sir?"

"I don't know, Number One. If he is acting, he is giving a first-class performance of a man who wants to rescue kidnapped children, even while in our brig. His conversation with his friends carries out the same theme, even while it confirms that he is not Starfleet. Before we do anything, Will, I think we should confirm that the Savant Project does not, in fact, exist, don't you?" He tapped his communicator. "Picard to Doctor V'Lan. Join me in my ready room immediately, Doctor. I have a special project for you."

Scene 4

Beverly Crusher had been thinking about Timmy so much recently that initially it did not surprise her when he shuffled into her office. Nor did she consider how she knew he was Timmy. He was there, and he was Timmy.

For a moment she looked at him as he looked vacantly around her office, and then she rose slowly, the true nature of reality coming back to her. "Timmy?"

"Timmy…gone," he informed her. His diction changed. "Now he shall be called Angelo."

"Angelo?"

"Jarod…help Angelo. Angelo…help Jarod."

"How did you get here?"

He came close to her, hand outstretched. She didn't quite recoil. He touched her shoulder, and his heavy brow furled. "Beverly Crusher…worried. Sad. Beverly Crusher is Jarod's friend."

"I thought I was. Now it seems he has been lying to us all."

"No! Jarod is Beverly Crusher's friend! Jarod…cares for Beverly. Jarod…cares for Wesley. Help Jarod!"

Staring at him, Beverly touched her communicator. "Doctor Crusher to Counselor Troi. You'd better come to my office. There's someone here you'll want to see."

Deanna was as confused and discouraged as she was, Beverly could see. Her shoulders were slumped as she came in. But then she halted as if she had run into something. She stared wildly at Angelo, her hand spread on her ribcage.

"Deanna, what are you feeling?" Beverly asked.

"Me—you—reflections—echoes. Everything but him! This is what I have been feeling all this time! What is he?"

"He is an experiment gone wrong, Deanna. Once an intelligent little boy named Timmy. Now an emotional reflector or absorber…named Angelo?"

"Angelo," the young man with dull eyes and bushy hair confirmed.

Deanna came close to him and put out a hand to him as he had to Beverly. He grimaced at her.

"Jarod…help Angelo."

Beverly nodded. "Jarod has been helping Angelo. He told me about him and asked me to find a way in which he could be helped medically. I've found a promising possibility, but it still needs work. I did not, however, know he was here."

"But where did he come from?"

"My guess is Jarod's homeworld, possibly the same way the three in the brig got here. I have no way of knowing where it is, and I doubt Angelo could tell us."

"So he's been cloaked, the way they were. Aboard all this time, and we never knew. He's an extraordinary presence, Beverly."

Beverly nodded. "Jarod called him an empath but said he was different from you."

"He explains everything, Beverly. There's nothing wrong with me. I've only been feeling him feel everyone on the ship. Angelo—is that your name? What do you feel, Angelo?"

"Deanna Troi…sad…confused…hurt."

She gasped as her own emotions came, intensified, back at her. "Angelo, please stop feeling me. Feel Angelo. What does Angelo feel?"

He grimaced again, and Beverly realized it was a smile. "Jarod…Angelo's friend. Help…Angelo."

Beverly saw tears coming into Deanna's eyes. "Deanna?"

"I'm feeling Angelo for the first time, Beverly. He's—Oh, Angelo." She put her hand on his cheek. "What did they do to you? He is hardly able to feel his own emotions, Beverly. He's always feeling everyone else's. But when he does, he feels fear…and love."

"Fear of the people who did this to him," Beverly said. "And love—for Jarod?"

Deanna sighed. "You know he has to be reported to the captain."

Beverly sighed too. "Yes, I know."

Scene 5

Picard had, when petitioned, given Beverly and Deanna permission to accompany Angelo down to the brig. He had even agreed to secure guest quarters for the shambling empath, but a confrontation with Jarod was the first order of business.

Riker was already there, stalking up and down between the two walls. As the doctor and the two empaths entered, Jarod was shouting, "I am not Section 31! I would die before working with them!" Then he and Riker both saw Angelo, and his voice died. "Oh, Angelo," he whispered.

The three other prisoners, watching with various forms of interest, sprang up and rushed to the door of their cell. "Angelo?" Sydney said.

Miss Parker shook her head. "It's about time he showed up."

"Anglo, why are you here?" Jarod asked softly. "Why didn't you stay hidden?"

Angelo smiled at him. "Angelo…helps Jarod. Bring…Beverly. Bring…Deanna." He looked at the two women. "Help Jarod! Help children!" He put his hand on Beverly's arm. "Beverly…cares. Children are…hurt. Sad. Scared. Alone. Help Jarod help children."

"Oh, Angelo," Jarod said again. "You're here so we can help you. Beverly, I brought him here so you would give him asylum and cure him. He can't ask for it himself, so I am asking for him. I'm the closest thing he has to family."

"Hey!" Miss Parker exclaimed. "He belongs to us!"

"He belongs to no one, Miss Parker!" Jarod shouted at her.

Sydney's hand fell on Miss Parker's arm. "Parker, be quiet," he said.

Riker turned on them. "I'd like to know what this man has to do with you. Are you Section 31, and have you been keeping him against his will?"

"Technically no and yes," Broots said. He flinched at Miss Parker's glare.

"These three are from my world, Commander Riker," Jarod said. "They work for the Centre, which is nearly indistinguishable from Section 31, only culturally different. For thirty years they held me captive there, and Angelo nearly as long. Now I am requesting sanctuary for Angelo from the Federation."

"No," Angelo said.

They all stared at him. Jarod choked, "What?"

Angelo made an effort. He came close to the forcefield and whispered, "Can't help Jarod here." He grimaced his grin at Jarod, whispering again, "Angelo hid DSAs. Jarod can find DSAs." Then he pulled something out of his pocket.

"The recall device," Jarod whispered. "No, Angelo."

Angelo smiled at him again and touched the control.

"No!" Jarod cried as Angelo disappeared before their eyes. "No, Angelo!" He turned away and fell to his knees. "No, Angelo! I wanted to help you!"

With a glance at Riker, Beverly deactivated the forcefield and entered the cell. She knelt next to Jarod and, reaching out, turned his face toward her. "You did help him, Jarod. Do you hear me? You loved him. You of all people should know that that is a better help than all the medical treatments and political asylums in the world."

His face was the face of a child again. "I'm failing, Beverly. I'm failing at everything. I'm failing the children—as I was failed."

"You won't fail, Jarod." She got up and left the brig.

Scene 6

"Jean-Luc, we need to talk."

Picard examined for a long moment his red-haired friend and colleague. Her face was pale, her eyes bright, and her mouth set in that way he knew meant she felt strongly about something and wasn't going to back down from it. "What's the matter, Beverly?"

"Jean-Luc, you know you have to let Jarod finish his mission."

"Beverly, you know that's impossible. He is not a Starfleet officer and can't be allowed to act as if Starfleet vessels are his own private playground."

"Playground? Do you call it playing to dedicate your life and risk your safety to save children from slavery?"

"Do you believe that is what he was really trying to do, Beverly?"

"Yes!" She took a deep breath and sat down. "Jean-Luc, let me tell you some things about Jarod you don't know. He's from the same planet as his friend Angelo. I don't know what planet or where, and I don't care. Those two young men were brought up together in precisely the same circumstances as the ones he is now trying to eradicate. They held him like a slave, and they still consider him their property. When he speaks of the children he wants to rescue, he is speaking as one who has been where those children are now, kidnapped and terrified."

Picard listened gravely. It was not the face of a doctor or a Starfleet officer across the desk from him but the face of a mother, and that was something not even a starship captain wanted to cross.

"Beverly, I believe you. I liked the man, and I believed implicitly in what he was doing. From Doctor V'Lan's mindmeld with Nurse Onatah, it looks like he really was trying to do precisely what he said he was. But the case against him stands. He impersonated a Starfleet officer, forged documents, and engaged a starship in a falsified mission. He used us—"

"Yes, he used us!" Beverly was standing, leaning on his desk with both hands, and glaring at him as only a red-headed woman and a mother can glare. "He used us to do our work for us! This is a Federation problem, Jean-Luc! Why isn't the Federation doing something about it? Why does it take an outside problem-solver to do our work for us? This is our work, Jean-Luc. We Federation officers who have sworn to uphold the tenets this Federation stands by. In this case we've had some outside help, a stranger whose actions must compel us to action. But we can't leave him out of it. It's his case now, as much as it is ours. If we turn him over to Starfleet, we will be committing an act of injustice against those children, against him, and against the Federation."

"Beverly—"

"Jean-Luc—!"

"Doctor." Now he was a starship captain again, not a friend and confidant. "I understand you, and I will take what you say into consideration."

And Beverly was an officer again, who obeyed her captain. "Yes, Captain. Thank you."

Scene 7

Riker was about to restore the forcefield, but Deanna's hand forestalled him. "Will, wait."

With a sigh, he stood aside. She entered the cell and let him activate the field behind her.

Jarod sat on the edge of his bunk and watched her, his eyes smouldering and his mouth drawn into a tight line.

"Jarod, you deceived me."

"Yes," he said. "I did. About everything except what was in my heart."

She shook her head. "You used Angelo to confuse me."

"No! I didn't know that was going to happen. I wanted to help Angelo, not hurt you. Deanna, I have never wanted to hurt anyone! I wanted to help them! It's what I have given my life to."

"And you do it by masquerading?"

"Pretending. It's the only thing I know how to do. I can't be me. I don't know who I am."

Deanna stared at him, and her face was stony. "I don't like being lied to, Jarod."

"Deanna!" he cried. "I am not lying to you! Stop putting up walls! Feel me! Feel everything I am feeling and then tell me I've been lying to you!"

It wasn't every day that someone laid himself bare instead of covering up everything inside. With a sigh, she sat down next to him and began demolishing her shields. It had taken a long time to learn to put them up so that every passing person didn't invade her, and it wasn't often she allowed them all to come down. Now she remembered why. Feeling the deepest intensity of another person's emotions could be crippling.

"Deanna?" Will said from the doorway. "Are you alright?"

She put up her shaking hand and nodded wordlessly, sobbing. How could he bear this, day by day? Such loneliness—such need that went unfulfilled and hopes continually dashed. Helpless rage and aching pain, fear of the past, guilt and confusion. And also—compassion as deep as the pain, a thirst for justice, a need to make things right. And love that she could hardly understand—how could he find these things in himself, amidst the pain?

He could bear it because he fought. His pain gave him purpose. How many other people could say that? The more he hurt, the more he strove to help others who hurt.

While Deanna cried his tears, Jarod sat with an oddly calm look on his face. A look perhaps of peace. When her sobbing had stilled, he said, "You understand."

Still unable to speak, she set her hand over his heart. He curled his hand around it with a smile that, for the moment at least, had no pain in it.

"You understand."

Riker said gently, "Deanna."

She got up, withdrew her hand, and left the cell. As she passed the cell of Jarod's three pursuers, Sydney said, "Counselor."

She stopped and looked at them. Broots looked shaken. Even the Klingon woman, the hard, harsh, angry, frightened, hurt, desperate woman, was pale and gentle of eyes. And Sydney—he said, almost in a whisper, "Please help him, Deanna."

She looked him in the eyes and nodded.

Scene 8

Riker went out and found a chair, brought it up to Jarod's forcefield, and sat down. "Westmore," he said, "tell me your story."

Jarod looked up at him slowly. Then he got up and came to sit on the floor across the forcefield from him. "In the first place, my name is not Westmore. It's Jarod. I don't know the rest."

Scene 9

Picard rose from his desk. "Deanna? Are you alright?"

"No, Captain, I'm not. Captain, I have to ask you to release Jarod and let him finish what he started."

Picard sat down again and stared at her. Had his entire medical division run suddenly mad? "Counselor, what has happened?"

"I've been him, Captain. That's what he does. He becomes people inside and out and knows them better than they know themselves. But he doesn't know who he is. Sometimes it seems as though it'll kill him, but it only makes his determination stronger. He could easily use his talents to his own advantage, sell them to the highest bidder, be more successful than the Ferengi, more learned than the Vulcans. But instead he spends his life finding people who need help and helping them. It's his passion., what gives him a reason for living. He is the Federation, Captain! Everything we were meant to be. But there's more. I can't—I can't explain in words all he holds inside himself. Except that it's necessary for him to do this. If you have any compassion at all, you'll let him do it. If you don't, you might as well just tell him that the pain and horrors he has gone through don't matter—to us or to the Federation! And we're better than that, Captain! We are the kind of people he believes us to be, the exact opposite of the people who have hurt him so deeply. Please, Captain, let's prove it to him. Let's not hurt him anymore. Oh, Captain, if you could feel him as I have—"

"Deanna," Picard said softly. "You told me in the beginning I could trust him, didn't you?"

"Yes, Captain, and it's more true now than ever."

"Counselor, do you know you have stood here and told me exactly what Doctor Crusher told me not half an hour ago?"

Deanna's mouth opened, then closed. "No, Captain, I didn't know."

"Well, I'll tell you what I told her. I have heard you, and I understand your viewpoint. I will make my decision soon."

Deanna took a few deep breaths. "Yes, Captain."

When she had gone, Picard steepled his fingers and stared over the top of them at his fish tank. Livingstone went round in circles. Two faces, Deanna's and Beverly's, floated before him, the same indignant passion lighting them. Then another came into view, a round face crowned with bushy reddish hair, the eyes dull until suddenly alight with something like the same passion. When Picard had gone down to Sickbay to investigate the strange empath Jarod had brought aboard, the man had touched him and spoken to him in his slow, heavy voice.

"Jean-Luc…is a good captain. Jean-Luc…is a good man. Jean-Luc…does good. Jarod does good. Jean-Luc…help Jarod."

A good man, the empath called him, as if seeing him at his core. And what if good required him to go against Starfleet regulations, which required him to turn in a fraud?
With a sigh he tapped his communicator. "Doctor V'Lan, please come to my ready room. I have another project for you."

Scene 10

The Vulcan doctor entered the brig and drew Riker to the end of the corridor, speaking quietly to him. Jarod heard Miss Parker muttered, "Oh, good. The human semi-truck again. Just what I need."

Broots chuckled. "He's not Human, Miss Parker. He's Vulcan. See the ears?"

"Yes. They're…attractive." She looked at the Vulcan speculatively.

"You can forget trying to tempt him to release you, Parker," Sydney smiled. "Vulcans have no emotions."

She and Broots both looked at him in surprise. "No emotions?" Miss Parker repeated at the same time that Broots said, "I thought you didn't know anything about it, Sydney."

"I know that much at least," Sydney said. "It stayed in my mind because it interested me."

Against his will, Jarod grinned, mostly at himself. Yes, that would interest Sydney.

Riker called in a security guard and left the brig. V'Lan came to Jarod's cell. "Captain Picard would like me to perform a mindmeld on you. Will you allow me?"

Jarod's eyes widened. "A mindmeld! Yes! I would like that!"

Both the doctor and the security guard gave him odd looks, but the guard released the field, and the doctor entered the cell. "Please sit down," he said and sat beside him. "You will experience disorientation and emotional confusion. You will experience my mind and memories as I experience yours. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The Vulcan put out his right hand, pressed his fingers to Jarod's left temple and cheekbones. Jarod briefly felt the tingling energy in the fingers as the Vulcan intoned, "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts." And then he was plunged into a kind of intimacy he had never experienced before, an alternate universe within his own mind.

Parker, Broots, and Sydney jostled for position to see what was going on. "Broots," Sydney whispered, "what is he doing?"

"A Vulcan mindmeld," Broots whispered back, awed. "He's linking their minds together, so he can see Jarod's and Jarod can see his."

"What?" Sydney laughed softly. "Such a thing is possible?"

"Here it is. Gosh, I can't believe I'm actually seeing it!"

Miss Parker shuddered. "The idea makes me sick."

"Too much exposure for you, Parker," Sydney said. "Too much honesty."

She glared at him. "Oh, you're as bad as a Vulcan, Syd."

"That's a compliment, Miss Parker," he smiled.

V'Lan and Jarod sat for a few moments after the meld had been broken, recovering. The Vulcan was shaking. He raised wide eyes to Jarod. "You are alien."

"Yes," he acknowledged.

V'Lan slowly got up and went to the entrance. The security guard released the field.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes." He left the brig.

There was a long silence.

"Jarod, are you alright?"

"Yes, Sydney."

"What was that like?"

His voice was a little shaky as he answered. "Like the most real Pretend imaginable. When I became someone, I really am him, for a moment. But this was…even more real. I was him. He was me. I have just lived a complete Vulcan life. It is…dissipating now. It is less like real memories than remembered images. But to be a Vulcan is unlike anything I have never been before. The rewash at one and the same time great calmness and great turbulence. Vulcans are emotional people, wildly so, but they put on calmness and logic like a shield and seek to keep the emotion so contained that it no longer has any impact on their lives."

"Ah, fascinating," Sydney breathed.

"It is a crippling way to live life!" Jarod flashed.

"Yes, it is, Jarod," Sydney said. "But one can see why they would choose it."

"Yes, he answered, subdued. "One can."

Scene 11

"Captain, I agree with Deanna and Beverly."

Picard stared at Riker. "You agree with them, Number One? You were the one who suspected him to begin with and convinced me to let you investigate them."

"I know, Captain. I had a feeling that he wasn't what he said he was. Well, he wasn't, and we found him out. But now we've found out that he is what he said he was. Intrinsically he is the man he said he was, doing the work he said he was doing. Our work, as Doctor Crusher said."

Picard leaned back in his chair. "It must be an extraordinary person who has made two of my senior officers so passionately willing to circumnavigate regulations on his behalf."

"We have circumnavigated regulations before, when the cause was more urgent than the regulations. Five Federation administrators whose work is undermining what the Federation stands for are nearly here and will be expecting Jarod to meet them. I say we let him do it."

Before Picard could respond, the door opened and Doctor V'Lan entered. He stood at attention before the captain.

"Your report, Doctor?"

"The prisoner holds no threat for the Federation, Captain. Quite the contrary. He wishes to see it prosper as much as we do. He also feels very strongly about the mission he has created for himself. He saw a need and had no hesitation about expending himself to fill the need. That is one of the major goals of his life." The same passion that had been in Beverly's Deanna's, and Angelo's eyes was quietly in the Vulcan's. "It ought also to be one of our goals. Do we not on this ship often act as though it is?"

Picard understood then something about the man who had called himself Jarod Westmore. For a few moments he had suspected that the man was forming a personality cult around himself, but it was different than that. Jarod received the loyalty of the people around them because he understood them, because he cared for them, and because his passion and his goals awakened their own often dormant passions and goals. Many of his people, he knew, had joined Starfleet because they wanted to change their worlds. Daily life could easily drown out those old passions. But Jarod lived his passions in his daily life, and he reawakened the core values of the people around him.

"Captain?" Riker said when Picard's musing silence had stretched out uncomfortably.

"Thank you, Doctor," Picard said. "Is there anything else?"

V'Lan hesitated. "Captain, there could be a great deal more. I experienced his whole life in a few moments. There are things inside his head that have confounded me. He is far more alien than anyone you will ever meet on any planet you discover. But I do not think I should tell them to you. I will if you order me to, but it would be better if you did not."

Picard examined him for a long moment. "What you learned disturbed you."

"Yes, sir. But it is not about Jarod himself. It is about—" The Vulcan hesitated. "Reality. The reality of his world."

"Reality?" Picard's eyes narrowed. "Do you judge that this would have any bearing on his mission here?"

"No, sir. I do not believe so. Otherwise I would have told you immediately."

"Then reserve the information for such a time as you deem it necessary to tell us. Thank you, Doctor. Dismissed."

V'Lan nodded and left. Riker gave Picard a look.

"Well, Captain?"

Scene 12

"Jarod, tell us about the children," Sydney had said. So Jarod had told them, and they all listened. Broots' emotions showed clearly on his face. He had a child of his own. Sydney leaned back with his face tipped up, thinking who knew what. Jarod could have figured out what, but he didn't try. He was tired of trying to be Sydney in his mind. Miss Parker listened quietly, too, and he knew she was remembering. Remembering their years in the Centre together, she the boss's little daughter, he the company's pet experiment, two lonely children who found a friend in each other. How had it come to this, her vivacity and sparkle subsumed under a hard exterior, their old friendship turned into a cat-and-mouse game? The Centre, of course. It had taken away who she was just as it had taken away who he was. That was why he could never bring himself to give up on her and treat her completely as his enemy, why he hunted her past as he hunted his own and reached out with veiled compassion. The Centre had hurt her as it had hurt so many others. He couldn't believe, though, that the change was as permanent as the change Angelo had undergone. He knew his old friend still hid somewhere inside his new enemy.

Another visitor came to the brig, and like the good Starfleet officer he wasn't, Jarod rose to meet him. "Captain Picard," he said.

"Jarod," Picard said, "put your uniform jacket back on."

"Sir?"

"You have a mission to complete." He released the forcefield. "The jacket, Jarod."

Dumbly Jarod put the jacket back on. Then he stood at attention as Picard came up to him. "I am granting you a field commission. You will be an acting lieutenant. Which means that you need to give me one of those pips."

Still dumbly, Jarod plucked it off his collar and gave it to him.

"Acting-Lieutenant Jarod Westmore, you are authorized to complete your mission. Geordi is waiting for you in Engineering with the cloak nearly complete."

"Thank you, sir," he said automatically. "Sir? To what do I owe this honor?"

"To your own character, Jarod, which shines out of you so completely that you have had half my senior officers storming my ready room on your behalf. Including Commander Riker."

"Commander Riker?"

"You will find, Jarod, that though it takes time to earn his trust, when you have earned it, there is no one more loyal than William Riker."

"I believe it, sir."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Jarod flew—but before he flew, he paused before the others' cell, and he smiled at them. Broots' grin back was full-hearted and enthusiastic. Jarod was living his fantasy, and Broots did not begrudge it to him. Sydney, too, gave him a smile that told him, like a shot, that he was proud of him. And Miss Parker put her hand against the forcefield and gave him a small nod. Do what my mother tried to do, she might have said. Succeed where she failed.

Then Jarod flew.

Scene 13

Five Federation officials converged on the same point of space within a few minutes of each other. There were two Starfleet admirals, a lowly lieutenant who held a very sensitive position in an Intelligence office, a commander with Starfleet Medical, and a single civilian, from the President of the Federation's office. As was typical of Section 31, some of them didn't know the others, and only one knew who each one was. That was the civilian, a female Coridanite named Kyan Cosam. The commander, a male Tibronian named Seriv, was involved in the development of the experimentation that would be used on the young research subjects in the Savant Project. The lieutenant, a male Human named Jefferson Nguyen, was a trained intelligence gatherer and obfuscator, trained in deflecting attention away from Section 31 and the Project. The two admirals, a female Human named Juanita Rosario, and a male Andorian named Wolosh, had worked together on development of the Savant Project under the oversight of Kyan Cosam. They arrived first in their shuttles and warily contacted each other.

"Rosario? What are you doing here?"

"Wolosh?—you're not—?"

"Were you expecting someone?"

"Were you?"

After a moment, they relaxed. "You got a message, didn't you?" Admiral Rosario asked.

"Yes, from a complete fool who needs to be taken care of," Admiral Wolosh growled. Their communication link crackled. "Are you having instrument malfunctions?"

"Yes. It's the proximity to this star system. Wasn't the Enterprise supposed to be here collecting data?"

"They were, but I intercepted a communication saying they had gone to check out an emergency call."

"Hmm. Would you wager me that the 'complete fool' is a crewmember aboard?"

"No wager. You're probably right. We have two agents aboard. He might have been there collecting information on them. What does he mean by bringing two of us here? He's at a disadvantage."

"Three," a new voice cut in. The civilian, Kyan Cosam. "What are you two prepared to do about him when he shows up?"

"You too?" Rosario exclaimed. "This person knows a lot, Cosam. Too much. We have to pretend like we're going along with him while we find out precisely what he knows, if we can't turn him over to our side, we kill him, make it look like a systems failure because of the interference from the star."

"You're the expert in systems, Admiral. You plan it while Wolosh and I tackle him."

"Reading another shuttlecraft!" Wolosh exclaimed. "Shuttle, identify yourself."

"Admiral Wolosh?" the newest person cried. "Surely it's not you—"

"Commander Seriv," Cosam said decisively, "we are all friends here. It appears we are all waiting for the same person."

"What kind of an idiot is he?" the commander muttered. "Bringing us all to the same place—"

"Another shuttle approaching," Admiral Wolosh warned. "Shuttle, identify yourself."

"Lieutenant Nguyen of Starfleet Intelligence! Identify yourself."

"So you're the traitor we're all waiting for."

"Admiral Wolosh, don't be a fool," Cosam snapped. "He's with us too."

"This is ridiculous," Admiral Rosario said. "We were never meant to all know each other. It's a security risk."

"The intelligence officer who brought us here is an even greater risk. What is he waiting for?"

"I was just waiting for you all to arrive," a deep, jovial voice answered. A sixth shuttle was suddenly among them. "So glad you could make it. My name is Lieutenant Jarod Westmore." His image suddenly sprang up on their viewscreens, a man with dark eyes, dark hair, and dark smile. "No need to introduce yourselves. I already know who you are. I also know what you do for a hobby."

"Who have you talked to, Lieutenant?" Admiral Wolosh snapped.

"Well, I recently had a nice chat with a Vulcan named Sirok. Now he's gone tearing back to your bosses for reassignment. The people he talks to are being monitored as we speak. The people they talk to will be monitored. Do you remember the old poem about the war lost 'for the want of a six-penny nail'? Now your Project is lost for the want of a six-penny field agent."

"What do you want, Westmore?" Cosam asked calmly.

"I already told you. The Federation might not use money, but plenty of other worlds do, and I want you to get me enough gold-pressed latinum to make me a king on the planet of my choice. I chose the five of you because you have very secure positions. Sirok's information won't take any of you down, but I have information that will, unless you pay up."

"Show us this information."

Instantly their screens were filled with documents, scrolling down to show how much information he really did have.

"Well, Lieutenant," Cosam said, "you are one good operative. Let me offer you something."

"What's that, Cosam?"

"A position of prestige with Section 31. It's just your sort of organization. You have more freedom of movement than with Starfleet Intelligence, and we can make it much more worth your while. It would be a great pity to lose someone with your brains. You wouldn't really want to settle down on some dull little planet somewhere, when you can play our dangerous game within the Federation, would you?"

"You're a good judge of character, Cosam. I won't deny that I have considered it. After all, Section 31 isn't held back by all those limiting moral considerations that impede Starfleet Intelligence. How many times have I asked my superiors to let me go after a target and been turned down because of the Prime Directive or some such rule?"

"That's exactly why Section 31 is here, Westmore. We don't let such things hold us back. We do things no one else is willing to do. And we do it all for the sake of the Federation. No traitors here."

"Well, it's temping, but I have to refuse. I'm tired of this game, always running and hiding, almost being found out, never sitting still for a moment. I would like to experience a quiet life for once. I'll take the latinum."

The Coridanite woman's lips curled in a cruel smile. "You're a fool, Westmore. You must know we'll never let you escape alive."

"I'm not worried. My shuttle is well protected."

"Doubly a fool, Westmore. When you selected this star system for your rendezvous, did you take into account the stars' effect on your systems? And if you had done your research, you would have known that Admiral Rosario is an expert in starship security systems. Admiral?"

"I'm through his shields, Cosam."

"Lock on and fire."

Their blackmailer stared around frantically and worked his controls. Moments later his shuttle exploded under Rosario's phaser fire.

Scene 14

"Well done!" Admiral Wolosh exclaimed. "Lock tractor beams and tow the debris into the nearest star."

"Yes, well done indeed," the deep voice with a smirk in it responded. The blackmailer's image in his red and black uniform appeared on their screens again. "You didn't really think I was on that shuttlecraft, did you? While we're at it, do you really think you're still on your own shuttlecrafts?" His lips curved in a cruel smile of his own.

Their shuttlecrafts and the view from the viewscreens all disappeared. Their heads swam and felt suddenly heavy, everything dark. Once by one they felt the heaviness being yanked off their heads, and then they saw they were together in a small grey room. Jarod Westmore was piling five holoprojector helmets in a corner.

"You see, the moment you entered this system, you were beamed onto my ship. You've been held unconscious in stasis for a week while we traveled to the planet we're now on. Yes, you've lost a week of your lives. My little holographic scenario was clever, wasn't it?"

"What was the point, Lieutenant?" Admiral Rosario asked, stripping off the gloves that went with the helmets.

"To get you to give me verbal confirmation of your involvement with Section 31. It worked, didn't it? Your murder of me was an added benefit. Only one thing remains. At least one of you knows the location of the children who have been kidnapped for the Savant Project. You will tell me where they are."

"Actually, we won't." Cosam glared at the other four. "Say nothing."

Jarod shrugged. "It's your choice. I'll have to ask you to come with me."

Admiral Wolosh stepped up to him, impressively, though his blue antennae barely tickled Jarod's chin. "Lieutenant Jarod Westmore, I am still a Starfleet Admiral, and I order you to stand down."

Jarod smirked at him. "Tempting, but you know, you only have authority over Starfleet personnel. And I'm not really a Starfleet officer. Guards!"

Five large guards entered the room and took the five of them well in hand. Admiral Wolosh, the one who might have had a chance to fight his way out, had a very tall Vulcan guard who kept a hand on his shoulder, ready to pinch him unconscious the moment it became necessary. They followed Jarod out of the room, down a dull grey corridor, and into another room. This one was quite large, on two levels; the prisoners followed Jarod onto the top level and sat down on a balcony overlooking the lower level.

Jarod tapped his communicator. "Bring them in."

Below they watched more guards—not in uniform as Jarod was—bring in nine figures. Small figures. Admiral Wolosh jolted to his feet.

"Sath!" he shouted. "That's my son! What are you doing with my son? Sath!" Below the small blue figure with white hair and antennae whose angle spoke of great distress did not look up from his dejected contemplation of his feet.

Now the others realized what they were seeing and rushed to the rail. "That's my brother!" Lieutenant Nguyen cried.

"My children!" Cosam pointed a shaking finger at three small figures, all identical.

The lieutenant turned on Jarod. "What are you doing with our children?"

The guards firmly restored the prisoners to their seats. Jarod stood in front of them with crossed arms. "They can't hear you. They don't know you're here. Here's the deal. You have twelve children held captive for your Savant Project. I have your nine children—and brother, Lieutenant—held captive here. One of you will tell me where to find the first group, or you will join their parents in never seeing your children again."

"Westmore—!" Admiral Wolosh shouted.

"Now, now, Admiral. Don't be so upset. Those are just nine resources at the Federation's disposal down there. What shall we do with nine warm bodies equipped with brains? Train them as assassins? That would help with the Cardassian problem, wouldn't it? Or take the two who are extraordinarily intelligent—" he nodded to Admiral Rosario—"and develop their minds to deal with special problems—like the Q, perhaps. Or maybe just give them away to some highly-placed Federation officials who are wanting to adopt children. They will never know what happened to you. They may even forget you and who they are."

Below them they could see that some of the children were crying. One of the Human children asked a guard plaintively, "Where are my mom and dad? You said they'd be here."

Commander Seriv sprang up. "Westmore, how can you do this?"

Jarod took him by the collar and slammed him down in his chair. "How could you do this? This is what you are doing! Imprisoned in that little research lab at Starfleet Medical, making your little plots, did it ever occur to you what you were going to do to real children? Well, now you'll understand! And if you don't speak, your children will be gone! Permanently!"

"I don't know," he cried. "I would tell you if I knew, but I don't! That wasn't my job!"

"Well, your job, which you did so very well, will lose you your children, unless one of the others tells the truth."

"Cosam!" the commander cried. "Tell him! Tell him the truth!"

Cosam's lips tightened. Jarod tapped his communicator. "It's time to tell the children about the terrible accident their parents were in." He smiled at Cosam. "It'll be traumatizing. They'll never fully recover. That that's the price we pay."

"Wait!" Cosam cried, her composure finally crumbling. "Wait! I'll tell you!"

Jarod put his face down close to hers. "It had better be the truth."

With trembling lips, she told him. He tapped his communicator again and repeated the information.

"Now let them go!" Cosam shouted.

"No, now we wait to see if your information was true. You'd all better hope it was."

They waited an hour, possibly two hours, every second dragging out. Below, the children milled around, some still crying, scared, even bored. Jarod stood leaning against the rail the whole time, his back to the children, his narrowed eyes on the parents, his arms crossed. Finally his communicator beeped.

"They've been found, Jarod. All safe." The accented voice sounded familiar.

Jarod sank down on his haunches, his shaking hands going over his face. "Thank God," he muttered. "Thank God." Breathing hard, he stood up again. "Thank you, Captain Picard."

Picard?

"Computer, end program," Jarod said.

And the room, the guards, and above all the children disappeared to be replaced by a holodeck grid.

"Wha—" The prisoners' heads swam again.

"Welcome to the Enterprise," Jarod said.

"The Enterprise?" Rosario gasped. "We detected no ships!"

"She was cloaked. We picked you up as soon as you entered the star system a few hours ago."

"A few hours?" Lieutenant Nguyen gasped in his turn. "Not a week?"

"No."

"I'm not even sure what's real anymore."

"That's an effect Section 31 will have on you. Welcome to Oz."

Scene 15

When the prisoners had been led out by real Enterprise security guards, Jarod followed them slowly out. Deanna met him in the corridor outside, smiling broadly. She spread her arms wide, and he stepped into them and hugged her.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Westmore," she laughed. "The children are safe. Their parents have been contacted and are on their way to meet them."

His eyes were bright with tears and joy at the same time. "Someday that will be me."

"It will be. It must be. Come on. You're due for a debriefing."

As they walked, Jarod said, "Thank God Starfleet was willing to act on my evidence and go in search of the children when we got them the location."

Deanna grinned. "I understand there was a considerable uproar, Jarod, but there was enough evidence there—particularly the recordings from Sirok—that they were willing to forestall committee meetings and follow the evidence. They had ships and security teams ready to go anywhere. They did not expect them to be in Australia! Some remote asteroid outpost, maybe."

"They were playing it very close to their chest."

The door of the briefing room swooshed open, and Jarod was met by cheers and applause. He blinked, taken aback and strangely moved. Many times he slipped out of a Pretend before anyone could think to thank him. On rare, cherished occasions, he received a tearful hug from a family member. He had never received a standing ovation.

The officers crowded around him. Beverly gave him the same sort of hug Deanna had. Geordi pumped his hand. "Brilliant, Jarod! Brilliant!"

Worf growled at him in Klingon, "wa' DolnIvDaqmatay'DI' maQap," an expression of honor loosely translated, "We succeeded together in a greater whole."

Data said formally, "Congratulations on your success, Lieutenant."

And then Riker was holding out his hand with a grin and saying, "Well done, Jarod." Jarod squeezed his hand with a smile.

"Acting-Lieutenant," Picard said over the noise. Jarod came to attention. "You have an odd way of accomplishing things, Jarod, but we are all thankful you have accomplished them. Now have a seat. We have a debriefing to do."

Scene 16

Jarod went down to the brig for the last time. He was carrying his silver briefcase of DSAs that Angelo had hidden away for him. It also contained the formula Doctor Crusher had come up with. Now he only had to find a way in which his world could isolate the serotonin isotope and deliver it to Angelo's brain.

Sydney met him with a smile. "You did it, Jarod. They let us watch your mission."

"I know. I asked them to."

"You did it!"

Jarod smiled. "Yes, I did."

"The holodeck was a brilliant idea," Broots said. "I'd never have thought of that. But I don't understand—"

"Later. We have to go now." Jarod released their forcefield.

"Go?" Miss Parker frowned.

"Before Starfleet Security arrives to collect the prisoners. Technically Captain Picard should turn us all over to them, but he is delaying his complete report until we're safely gone."

"Breaking a rule?" Sydney asked.

"Circumventing it. Be grateful. We won't have to spend any more time in Starfleet brigs."

"Where are we going?" Miss Parker demanded.

"Home, of course."

"Home? But you said we couldn't go home! Angelo had the recall device, and he took it with him."

Jarod grinned. "All it requires is a very complex transportation formula, and that I've got in my head."

She wheeled on him. "You mean we could have gone this whole time?"

He shrugged. "Sorry. I couldn't risk it. Now go." Something silver in his hand pointed at her.

"That's my gun!"

"You'll get it back, Miss Parker."

Broots was looking hurt. "My little girl's going to be frantic. I've been gone nearly a week. You—you shouldn't have done that, Jarod." He flinched as Jarod put out a hand to his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Broots. I'll get you back before she even notices you're gone. Now come on!"

In the elevator, a Vulcan joined them. Miss Parker glared at him, but he didn't even look at her. "You wished to see me, Jarod?"

"Yes." Jarod handed him a small package. "A young doctor named Julian Bashir works on Space Station Deep Space Nine. He will need this information in 2374. Will you see that he gets it?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, V'Lan. It has been an honor working with you."

"And with you." V'Lan spread his fingers in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Jarod."

"Mene sakhet ur-seveh, V'Lan."

The Vulcan stepped off the elevator. Broots looked wide-eyed at Jarod. "Doctor Bashir! You're going to give him the evidence to take down Section 31?"

"From the most recent episode, we know Section 31 survives at least another seven years, long enough to try to get him involved. Well, maybe now he will have a chance to do something about it. Here's our deck."

A number of people awaited him in the transporter room. He had already said goodbye to Data, Geordi, Worf (who had told him seriously, "Dajonlu'pa' bIHeghjaj," a wish that he would die before he was ever captured, a wish Jarod echoed), and Guinan, as well as the children he had briefly taught. Now Picard, Riker, Beverly, and Deanna stood waiting. He nudged Miss Parker, Sydney, and Broots onto the transporter pad with the gun, which he then tucked into his waistband. Broots showed Parker and Sydney where to stand.

Picard had dismissed the transporter operator. Jarod entered the coordinates, so complex an entry that Riker stared. Then Jarod turned to his friends.

Beverly came and hugged him for a long moment. He put his face on her shoulder and pretended, for a moment, that he had found his mother. Sydney raised an eyebrow and smiled a little.

Riker put out his hand. "It's been an adventure working with you, Jarod."

"With you, too, Will," Jarod said with a smile.

"No hard feelings?"

"None. You do your job well. Captain Picard is fortunate to have you for his Number One." He put out his hand to Picard. "Captain, thank you for trusting me."

Picard shook it. "Thank you for teaching us our job, Jarod. You are officially relieved of duty."

"Thank you, sir."

He turned to Deanna last, sighed and shrugged a little, at a loss for words.

She smiled at him. "Goodbye, Jarod." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him softly on the lips.

With one of his painful smiles, he stepped up on the transporter pad. He raised an eyebrow and held up his hand in the Vulcan salute, directed a smirk at Miss Parker. "Back to life as we know it. May you live long but not prosper, Miss Parker. At least in catching me."

Riker activated the transporter.

Scene 17

Miss Parker, Sydney, and Broots stood in the lab staring at the machine.

"We've been dreaming, right?" Miss Parker murmured.

"Mass hallucinations are the stuff of fantasy, Miss Parker," Sydney answered.

"And that was fantasy," Broots chuckled. "I guess Jarod must have put in two different sets of coordinates."

"He still has my gun!"

One of Broots' fellow technicians hurried into the room with a box. "Oh, there you are! I've been looking for you for like an hour!"

They all three slowly turned and stared at him.

"An hour!" Miss Parker repeated.

He backed away a step. "Uh, yes, Miss Parker. Someone said they saw you in here an hour ago, but you were gone. I figured you'd gone to lunch, but everyone said you'd never left."

"An hour? What's the date?"

"The—date?"

"The date, moron!"

"Uh—uh—" When he floundered helplessly, Miss Parker grabbed his arm and looked at his watch, dropping it as if burned. She wheeled back to the other two.

"It's the day we left!" she hissed.

Sydney's mouth opened. "What?"

"A hole in space and time," Broots breathed. "He put us back where he wanted and when. And my little girl will never even know I was gone."

The technician was staring at them. "Um—Miss Parker? We found this. It was buried at the bottom of a big box of Jarod's stuff."

She took it. It was a white box tied with a black bow, labeled "Miss Parker." Hurriedly she tore off the bow and opened it. And there nestled in white tissue was her silver Smith and Weston.

She, Sydney, and Broots gaped at it for a moment. Then she turned on the technician. "Where did you say you found this?"

"In a box of stuff Jarod left in that warehouse! Strange pieces of technology we can't figure out."

"Has anyone else been in there since…" she floundered. "Since we brought the stuff back?"

"No! Just those of us working on it. And it's all locked up when we aren't using it."

"Hey, Miss Parker," Broots said, "here's something I didn't notice before. See Jarod's uniform? It had two lieutenant's pips when we brought it here. But Jarod was a commander when we arrived—he had three pips. He didn't get his commander's pip taken away until…earlier today, I guess. Or would that be a week from now?"

The technician still stared at them.

"Anything else?" Miss Parker demanded.

"No…but—what—?"

She smiled her coldest smile at him. "We're practicing for the company play. Now leave!"

He left.

"What are you saying, Broots?"

"Uh—time travel?"

Sydney turned to him. "Do you think Jarod arrived before he left?"

"Well, how else did her gun get put back there?"

A faint squeaking suddenly galvanized them. They turned toward the door as Mr. Raines came slowly in, dragging his oxygen tank behind him.

"Have you figured it out yet," he rasped. "This machine Jarod left?"

"Yes," Miss Parker said. "It's a dud. A red herring to keep us from going after him. Sydney thinks he's on some special case that means a lot to him. Meanwhile we've been playing with this stupid thing for days."

"Miss Parker—"

"You don't need to lecture me! I'll get him next time."

"You'd better, Miss Parker." He walked slowly out, dragging his oxygen tank behind him.

"Zombie," muttered Miss Parker.

"Protecting Jarod, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked with a smile.

"No, I'm not protecting Jarod! But can you imagine what would happen if the Centre got their hands on that universe? Your Deanna Troi would be sharing ventilation shafts with Angelo."

Broots chuckled. "The Centre could never get the better of a starship crew, Miss Parker. You should know that by now."

"Well, listen, Broots. You make sure this machine doesn't work anymore. I do not want a repeat of this week. Ugg," she groaned. "I can't believe I've been wearing the same clothes for a week. I'm going to burn this suit. See you guys tomorrow. I'm going home."

A familiar sound made them all jump, a quiet sort of beep. "Jarod to Miss Parker," a disembodied voice said.

"Where is he?" Miss Parker hissed.

"The communicator!" Broots gasped and snatched it up off the table. "It really works!"

Miss Parker grabbed it from him. "Jarod! Where are you?"

"You have to tap it, Miss Parker. And you don't have to hold it to your mouth like a microphone."

Miss Parker hit the little metal badge in her hand. "Jarod, where are you?"

"In a different time and place than you are, Miss Parker, but, strangely enough, using the same communicator you are. I just wanted to make sure you'd gotten home alright. I couldn't be quite sure of that equation. Time travel isn't the easiest thing to get right."

"I lied to Raines for you, Jarod!" she snapped.

"I gave you back your week, Miss Parker. We're even. Did you get your gun?"

"Yes, I did. Broots thinks you've discovered time travel."

They could hear the smirk in his voice. "I should tell you that I set a timer in my transporter. It won't work anymore."

"Good. The thing's a menace."

"In the wrong hands it certainly is. Miss Parker?"

"What, Jarod?"

"Take care of Angelo."

"Jarod—Jarod? Jarod, are you still there?"

There was silence. Jarod had disappeared into the world outside the Centre again.

Scene 18

Jarod had materialized in his warehouse. He glanced around for a few moments to get his bearings before tapping his communicator and speaking to Miss Parker. Then, with a grin, he plucked off the communicator and headed out of the warehouse.

The owner lived nearby. Jarod knocked on his door.

"Oh, hey, Jarod. Wow! Nice uniform! The convention must have been good. You look all excited."

"The convention was incredible, Steve. Look, I'll be leaving tomorrow, and some friends of mine will be coming to clear out the warehouse. I got one of them a gift. Will you see that she gets it?"

"Sure, Jarod." He admired the communicator. "Boy, that's a beauty. Not like those plastic ones they make."

"Do you have a little box to put it in? I'll pay you for it."

"Forget it. I'll find something. How will I know your friend?"

"Oh, you'll know her. She's very beautiful, but not very happy. Thanks, Steve."

He went back to the warehouse and made some alterations to the transportation machine. When he was done, he found a box and some tissue and a ribbon that had accompanied his Starfleet uniform when he ordered it from a fan club in California. Removing Miss Parker's gun from his waistband, he put it in the box, tied it up neatly, wrote her name on it in his precise handwriting, and buried it in the bottom of a box of spare components.

A hand landed on his shoulder and spun him up and around. He caught his balance and grinned at himself. His younger self stared, wide-eyed, and then laughed. "So it works!"

"It works. I was just leaving something for Miss Parker. Look, I'll get out of your hair. There doesn't need to be two of us here. Just a couple of things. Don't make any changes to the timers in the transportation machine, but once you've activated your own transport to San Francisco, set it to transport the second time to a Jeffries tube on the Enterprise."

His younger self knew better than to ask why. He nodded. "Why don't you sleep at the apartment tonight? I have things to finish here. You'll need some different clothes."

"Whereas you won't." He grinned at the uniform with its three commander's pips folded neatly on a chair. "We'll leave the uniform I'm wearing here for Broots. He'll enjoy that."

His younger self grinned back. "Anything else I should know?"

"No. You know what they say in Starfleet. Any knowledge of your own future could have serious consequences for the timeline." He shrugged. "For all I know, I could be wrecking the space-time continuum by standing here talking to myself."

His younger self chuckled with him. "Where are you going now?"

"I thought…Los Angeles." He put out his hand and wryly shook with himself.

He was out of the apartment early the next morning, having packed up his few things, all except the Starfleet uniform with two lieutenant's pips and the things he had taken with him to the world of the Federation. A short time later he sat in his rented car and watched himself enter the apartment and come out with the things he had left. His younger self caught sight of the car and gave it a jaunty wave.

Later that evening he was outside the warehouses, in his car again, and he watched as Miss Parker, with Sydney and Sam the Sweeper in tow, pulled up in a large black car and met Steve the distraught warehouse owner. He smiled. Welcome to the adventure. Putting the car in gear, he pulled away and found the road for Los Angeles.

Scene 19

Following Captain Picard up to the bridge, Riker said in a low tone to Deanna, "What was that about?"

"What?" she asked in the tone that hid a laugh behind it. He knew that tone well.

"That kiss. Are you in love with him, Deanna?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Will, but no, I am not. That kiss was…an acknowledgement."

"An acknowledgement?"

"That despite Jarod's extraordinary gifts and curses, he's just a Human, like the rest of us, and deserves to find happiness and peace just as much as the rest of us do. I'm not sure he's fully aware of that yet."

Riker raised an eyebrow. "You can communicate all that with a kiss?"

Deanna laughed at him.

They stepped out onto the elevator and took their seats. Data told Picard, "The course is laid in for our rendezvous with Starfleet Security, sir."

Thinking of the report he had to give, Picard shook his head wryly. "Engage."