"This way," An imposing Bolian, towering high above me, opens the last barrier separating freedom and me. Instead of this being a happy moment filled with elation and relief, I'm weighed down with leaden masses craftily constructed of dread and anxiety. I can't stop thinking about Jean Luc. Why would he confess to anything? The guard had said premeditated. It wasn't! What's really going on?

The light of the prison lobby opens to me and I suddenly remember something else the guard said; someone is waiting for me. I crane my neck, looking amid the busyness, trying to suss out any clue as to who it could be.

I see a familiar tall form in the midst of the crowd. "Wes!" He turns around. "Oh my God, Wesley!" I run to him with my last bit of strength and crush him against me. My resolve crumbles and I cry body-wrenching convulsive sobs. "Oh Wes," I mumble through the tears. "Why? Why?" I repeat over and over. "Why did he do it?" He says nothing; his only response is to hold me while I try in vain to glean any sort of comfort or solace. But the truth, however harsh, is that while I'm overjoyed to see my son, I feel incomplete without my husband. In the midst of my lament, however, I fail to realize the bigger picture; he's not alone.

"Mom," he takes my shoulders and gently pushes me back. "Mom," he beckons again, more emphatically this time.

I wipe my eyes. "I'm fine, Wes." I suck in air and breathe as deeply as I can, "I'm fine…" I can tell he wants to tell me something amid his concern. "I'm fine." I say one last time as if I'm trying to convince myself of it. "What is it, Wesley?"

He takes my arm and angles my body. "Mom, this…" a woman standing next to him looks up furtively from the floor. He holds out his hand in quiet presentation, "is Leah Brahms..."

I've only seen Leah Brahms once. She came aboard the Enterprise about three years ago. I don't remember formally meeting her, but I think I passed her in the corridor. And of course, none of us could forget the incidents between her and Geordi. Her big brown eyes expressively sweep the busy room and she moves closer to us. "Could we go somewhere else and talk?"

I, too scan the room, following her lead around. My eyes dart from the hodgepodge of people and species all here for a specific purpose, all around the windows ushering in the morning light, and up at the ceiling. What is she looking for?

"Uh," I brush my dirty, matted hair away from my face. "Of course, Leah. Wherever you'd like..." At this point, I'm intrigued and my curiosity, even if only for a moment, takes over my higher sense of grief and apprehension.

She keeps her hazel gaze downcast. "Somewhere," she takes my arm and again sweeps her nervous gaze, "without people..."

Again following her lead, I take one more look around the room, scanning confusedly for anyone or anything that might be watching us. I feel Wesley's hand on my arm leading me out the large, grey, imposing doors into the bright, white sunlight. The air is surprisingly cold and for a moment it stuns my lungs with its sharpness. Redolent of the beginning of summer, however, I let my mind take a momentary sojourn back home. I see Saoirse run aimlessly around the backyard while I garden and Jean Luc cuts the grass with the most ridiculous looking apparatus. I stifle a fleeting smile when I remember asking him about it. I suggested he just purchase an automatized lawn cutter and save himself the time. But he was so traditionally adamant about using the foolish antique contraption that he called a lawn-

"Leah," Wesley stops walking, breaking my idle musings, and looks back to the prison, mentally gauging our distance.

Her scrutiny follows his before she turns back to us. "I'm, uh, I'm so sorry Dr. Cr… Eh… Dr. Picard for everything that's happened." She shifts her weight on her feet before continuing, wasting no time. "You're in over your heads. The Daystrom Institute, they control everything."

I know we're in over our heads. But what I want to know is, "Who are they, Leah?"

Her hand snakes up to her neck, vainly massaging away the tension. "They're everyone. They control everything: Starfleet, the government, the media, the Academy… they plant people, and…" She grapples, looking up at the bright sky as she tries to come to terms with her thoughts.

"Wesley," I turn to my son with a gesture. "What about that list of names?"

He nods. "I was right; they are the Daystrom Institute."

"I don't understand, Leah," My eyes run back to her. "I had always thought the Daystrom Institute was an educational and research facility. That's after all why you came on the Enterprise all those years ago to help Geordi… Isn't it? To further your research?"

"Yes," she eagerly volunteers. "And you're right. It is an education facility. We do research there on everything: propulsion, temporal dynamics, interspecies biology, other things… And for the longest time, I thought that was all that went on there."

There's a pause and she lays out her hands as if in offering. "But over time I started to notice things..." Another deep, cleansing breath, "At first, I thought nothing of it, but there is no one listed as running the Daystrom Institute – not really. There are supervisors, though, that enforce rules and regulations… The building shuts down every day at 1700 hours and if you're caught there after that time, you're put on report. Most of the building is off-limits, shut away, and tightly locked with codes… There are other things, but I don't have time to get into them. But, uh…"

She looks down at the gravel and begins anew. "One night I was getting ready to leave when I saw dozens of very renown Starfleet admirals, politicians, entertainers, people in every position of power, enter the building. I was amazed and a little awestruck. So, I did something a little foolish…" She chortles and rubs her face as if in embarrassment. "I hid and stayed."

"And?" I goad impatiently.

She takes another breath. "And… I was shocked! They discussed everything; they orchestrated everything. They fastidiously planned Starfleet missions, for instance. Nothing you experienced aboard the Enterprise was spontaneous. All of your missions were scripted, so to speak; No stone was left unturned; no shred of detail was omitted. And they chose people... politicians, news anchors, journalists... Everyone you could think of!"

"But?" Wesley goads her knowingly.

She looks up, straight at me. "But they also planned assassinations, murders, exiles…"

I shake my head. "Leah, that's all fine. But, we don't have any proof. And if we go to the media or the authorities with any of this, it's solely your word against theirs… and," I point around us. "Their word has a lot more pull..."

A smile spreads over her face, "That's why I recorded everything." She pulls out a data microchip. "And over the next few months, curiosity got the better of me and I secretly stayed later and listened in on all of their meetings…"

"And no one ever caught you?" I'm astounded.

"No." She smiles deviously. "And, uh," she rummages in her bag. "You're going to need this," she produces another neon chip and hands it to Wesley. "It's communications, correspondences…"

"Ho-?"

With her devious grin still plastered, she holds up her hand to respond. "I had to know what was really going on. So, I planted a virus in the main computer. It was made to look like an unfortunate, but natural fallout of the program that I was designing. My supervisor was angry; he told me that whatever I had done, to fix it right away…" A breeze rustles through trees in front of us. Leah reaches up and brushes an errant strand of chestnut hair away from her face and mouth. "So, I used the opportunity to access restricted files all in the name of 'de-bugging'…"

"Files that even Data and I weren't able to access…" Wesley chimes excitedly.

"No one thought anything of it; I've been nothing but loyal to the Institute since I was a student. But," She chortles, "I found a 'papertrail': communications between Nechayev, Hayes, Nakamura, President Lewiston, and dozens of others. The files were highly classified and gave orders detailing assassinations, wars, negotiations, and conspiracies. I think you might remember the latest incident with the Romulans…? So," she pushes the chip into Wesley's hand. "This, is your salvation, Wesley… combine this with the information you told me that you already have and who knows – you just might be behind one of the biggest exposures in history."

"Thank you, Leah," I take her small hand in mine and then turn back to Wesley. "But," I'm still confused as to another matter that's cumbersomely weighing me down. "Why did Jean Luc confess to premeditated murder of Savet, Vera, and Jack?"

Wesley looks at me purposefully and seriously, reflecting what I already know to be true. "I think you know why, Mom..."

I do. He did it for love. I nod my head, stifling tears that will do no good.

"Leah," Wesley looks away from me, formulating a plan, and his grin suddenly returns. "Can we use your car?"

"Sure! It's the blue hovercar," she points close to our position. "There. But, you have to hurry with whatever you've got planned…. The media says that your husband's sentencing hearing is scheduled for later this afternoon. They're expediting the proceedings… And word is that authorities consider a Cardassian penal colony too lenient…"

I grab Wes' hand as panic and adrenaline bombard me like a meteorite. I feel the colour drain from my face and a cold sweat breaks on my brow and palms. Whatever Wes has got planned has to work. If they consider a penal colony too lenient, then the next logical step is the death penalty.