Author's Note: Thank you so much for your support with this series.

We are *almost* through this arc which serves as the catalyst for what comes next in the Conspiracy arc.

This chapter contains quite a bit of Data/Tasha fluff and it's a lovely relief to be writing it again!


Sleep did not come easy to anyone on the Enterprise that night.

In spite of her exhaustion, Beverly had tossed and turned.

Sleep eluded Jean-Luc as well. Knowing he would find no rest, Picard opted for a lonely, late-night stroll around the ship.

Miles lost track of time. He rolled onto his side and watched Keiko as she slept peacefully. They had patched things over, but Miles knew it was just that – a patch.

The lingering secret festered within him.

Data had collapsed next to Tasha and pulled her close, holding her almost possessively until his rest programme initiated.

And in his guest quarters, Richard Castillo stirred in his sleep.


"Hey! No," Richard hollered.

He scowled as he watched Tasha waddle down the length of the dock toting a heavy cooler. He set his son down on the sand before rushing off to catch Tasha.

"Allow me," Richard said, taking the cooler from her hand.

"I'm fine," Tasha protested.

She may have said that – but she was puffing hard.

As he felt the weight of the cooler, Richard shot her a disapproving look.

"What?" Tasha asked, knowing full well why he was giving her that look.

She bit her lip.

"It's not like it weighs any more than your son," Tasha said, casting a glance back over her shoulder to check on the baby.

He was a great big chunk of a toddler with a mop of unruly curls and a smile that would break hearts one day.

Lucia Castillo had said Richard was like that too at that age before he grew into his lanky frame.

At present, her son was toddling about at the edge of the water – running back from each wave before creeping close again.

"Mummy! Look at me!" Sela cried out before she ran and leapt off the edge of the dock.

She emerged a moment later, wiping the water from her eyes to ask if it was a bigger splash than the last jump.

Suddenly, Tasha hissed and clutched her bump, her touch was delicate as she tried to somehow communicate to her unborn son that he had no need to tap dance against her rib cage – she was already keenly aware of his presence.

"Tuula?" Richard asked, concerned.

"It's fine. I don't think we're going to make it past Labour Day," Tasha remarked.

Richard's eyes went wide with fear. He dropped the cooler.

"Honey?" he pressed as he rushed to her side.

"No, no. I'm fine. I just mean I don't think this one wants to wait that long," Tasha assured him.

Richard was still trying to come to terms with the fact there would be a new life in their home at some point in the next three to five weeks.

Sela had been early – her brother too. In fact, he'd come so early that Richard had been gravely worried. He was the tiniest baby Richard had ever seen.

Now he was the biggest toddler in existence and a perfectly happy little boy that liked to eat dirt and yank on his sister's braid.

"This will probably be the last day out on the boat, Mr Castillo," Tasha said with a strange sense of knowing.

She flashed him a smile.

"This is your fault, you know," Tasha teased.

Richard flashed her a goofy smile.

"I don't recall you complaining at the time," he said.

He closed the distance between them and captured her lips with a soft kiss.

"Our boy," he whispered.

He was bursting with pride as he rested his hand on her bump. Richard felt a smug sense of satisfaction in knowing he could point to Tasha and her bump and say 'see? Do you see this cute blonde that's about to pop? I made that' in the same way Sela got excited showing off her latest macaroni masterpiece on the fridge door.

Richard was grinning like an idiot. Out of nowhere, his face fell as he looked over his wife's shoulder.

"Hey, no. No," Richard said, repeating it twice as he eyed his son about to swallow a rock.

"Papa! Mummy. Look at me!" Sela shouted as she made another run for the water.

Richard chuckled and shook his head. The kids were restless. They needed to get out on the water before they got too wild.

"I'll get the tot. Can you… uh?"

Richard trailed off and gestured toward the boat with his head.

Tasha flashed him a grin.

"Aye aye, Captain," she responded, offering him a teasing salute.

While Tasha climbed onto the boat to remove the cover, Richard snatched his son up and threw him over his shoulder.

"Ready to go out?" Richard asked.

"Boat! Boat!" he replied.

"Slow down, please. We're going to leave soon," Richard warned as Sela buzzed past him.

There was a large splash.

It was immediately followed by a yelp.

Richard looked up – fully expecting to find Sela sobbing after tripping at the end of the dock. To his horror, Tasha slipped and rolled off the front of the boat. She hit the deck and then hit the water.

Hard.

She emerged a moment later, spluttering and gasping for air.

By the time Richard got to her, blood had started to pool in the water around them.

"No, no, no, no, no," Tasha said as she pulled one trembling, bloody hand from the water.

Richard pulled her back against him and clutched her tight as if there was anything he could possibly do at this point.

They were going to lose their son.

Richard was a pilot, not a doctor. Still, he knew they were going to lose their son.

And he knew it was his fault.

"I never should have asked you to… oh gods, I should have done this myself," Richard remarked.

Richard cursed himself for putting her in danger.

"It's cold," Tasha said.

And she was cold.

The water was cold too. This was not the late July heat it had been a moment earlier. The water around them had frozen.

There was blood on the ice.

And Richard could feel the very life slipping away from Tasha.

Softly.

I will leave you softly.


Richard Castillo woke up in a cold sweat.

He shot up in bed, clutching his chest as his eyes adapted to the dark.

You're on the Enterprise. Richard reminded himself.

For years Richard had been plagued by a strange mix of dreams and nightmares. There was the recurring dream where they were snuggled together and there was never enough time to enjoy being in her arms again.

And then there were the nightmares where it was as if a switch was flipped, and the home of his dreams became a gory scene of horror – the woman he loved dying as she demanded to know why Richard had failed to protect her dead son.

Richard closed his eyes and flopped back onto his pillow.

It had just been a dream. Nothing more, nothing less.

But was it? Asked a pesky voice.

This featured a unique twist, a new theme that wasn't present in the last sixteen years' worth of nightmares.

He had put Tasha in danger.

This is your fault.


Data's eyes fluttered open.

His rest programme had struggled against his neural net and lost.

Tasha was fast asleep next to him. She was lying on her side, the sheet resting at her hip. She had slipped off to dreamland shortly after they made love and would sleep the whole night through.

But Data found rest evasive.

He rolled onto his side toward her. Data's fingers ghosted along the length of her exposed spine. He wanted to kiss her, to press his lips against the nape of her neck and linger there.

He did not for fear of waking her.

Something Chief O'Brien said earlier had planted itself in the back of Data's mind. The idea had taken root and grown until Data could no longer ignore it.

Miles was concerned. It didn't sit right with the Chief that he had to keep this conspiracy a secret from Keiko.

How do you build a marriage on that? Miles had asked.

That question had lingered in the forefront of Data's mind since. As Data watched the gentle rise and fall of Tasha's chest with each breath, he didn't have an answer.

Hours earlier, when their bodies had been tangled together, Data had made a promise that he would do whatever it took to protect this.

For her.

For the family they wanted.

For us.

In the earliest days of their relationship, Data and Tasha had made a promise to one another that they would never allow their personal feelings to interfere with their duty.

They hadn't just promised each other – they had promised Captain Picard.

And in making that vow to the Captain, they were making a promise to Starfleet too.

To their colleagues.

The lives of the people that depended on Data & Tasha to carry out their duties and keep them safe.

Hell, they had sworn it in front of dozens of witnesses at a public hearing.

Starfleet may have changed. But when Data took that vow, he wasn't making a promise to an institution. He had made that vow to what Starfleet represented, to the principles on which the organisation was founded.

Data and Tasha had given their word.

Now Data was seriously considering throwing that out in order to destroy that Romulan Starbase. He was ready to destroy an entire solar system in order to ensure they could make it to Føroyar.

It was their best shot to deliver a devastating blow to the Romulan invasion. They would still have to deal with the infiltration in Starfleet Command.

But to cut off the metaphorical head would be a good step toward regaining control.

If this worked, they could be to Føroyar in a matter of months – maybe even weeks. And if it worked, it would take years for the Romulans to recover (if they ever did).

But it would come at the cost of billions of lives and the extinction of an untold number of species.

The Chief's words echoed in Data's mind.

How do you build a marriage on that?


Data was quiet at breakfast.

It was not the usual comfortable silence they enjoyed while Data and Tasha skimmed through Federation news and shinty scores over Raktajino and tofu scramble.

No, today the silence was suffocating.

Tasha glanced up from the latest shinty scores to catch Data looking at her again.

She flashed him a cheeky smile over the edge of her morning Raktajino. It was the sort of hazy grin that followed the morning after a night that left her feeling sore in all the right places.

Data wanted to reaffirm that he would do whatever it took to see that same smile for the next hundred years.

Only he couldn't.

He couldn't set aside the guilt and shame that came from even thinking of harming others to protect himself.

As they dressed for the day, Data could barely bring himself to look in the mirror. He didn't want to meet his own eyes.

And when he slipped on his boots, Data's discomfort reached a fever pitch.

"I am having second thoughts," Data announced.

Tasha froze.

"Data?" she prompted.

"I have doubts about our plan. The mission. I am-"

He hesitated.

"I believe that if we are to go through with this plan that I will… I will be adversely affected," Data concluded.

Is this nausea? He wondered.

Data kept his back to Tasha. He felt ashamed. He had been chastised in the past (on many occasions) for voicing uncomfortable opinions.

There were many instances in which Data's ethics contradicted the safe choice.

The convenient choice.

Data couldn't shake the feeling that this was one of those times. That his protest would be just that – a protest. It would join the long list of formal protests Data had logged over his two decades in service to Starfleet.

And like Velara and Minos and countless other instances before, this would be ignored.

The greater good.

"I cannot go through with this," Data said.

His hands were trembling.

"I fear that our safety would come at too high a cost. Every time I would look at you, every time we would make love, I would see it," Data shared.

His neural net surged. Data squeezed his eyes shut. His coolant system was struggling to keep up with the demands of his power cell.

Data knew that he would see it in Tasha's eyes. He would see it in the faces of the children they planned to adopt one day.

He would never be able to look at them without the knowledge that his family came from the senseless destruction of so many.

Tasha threw her arms around Data and buried her head between his shoulder blades. She clutched the uniform on his chest.

"I am sorry," Data apologised. "I am sorry I cannot do this."

"And that's why I love you," Tasha said.

It took Data a moment to register what Tasha had said. He opened his mouth to apologise again when it hit him.

He cocked his head to the side, perplexed.

"That's why I love you," Tasha repeated.

She looped her fingers through Data's and nuzzled against his back.

"You have the biggest heart of all of us," she remarked.

"My ethical programme is a weakness," Data said.

"It's not a weakness," Tasha insisted.


When they said farewell to one another that morning, Data was still feeling rattled. Tasha was proud of him.

After a quick peck on the cheek, she told Data it was extremely attractive to know he was not only thinking of his own mental health, but that he was open to discussing it.

"Very sexy."

Tasha sent Data on his way with one of her million-watt smiles.

They were due on the Observation Lounge at 08:00. It was only 06:48. But they both had regular duties to keep up with in addition to this pressing matter of the Romulan threat.

There were reports to be filed and requisitions that required approval. As departmental heads, both Data and Tasha had a mountain of work that awaited them – even more so for Data as Second Officer.

Data found this routine work soothing in a way.

It allowed him to do something familiar and focus his attention on a matter other than Romulans for a time.

Data considered that perhaps he could put together a report detailing what an exobiology goldmine this star system offered.

He quickly dashed that idea. His knowledge of the system was limited to Federation long-range sensor data that was decades old (at best).

In any case, he couldn't see Captain Picard stepping down because of a butterfly or whale.

Humans were like that.

They had an inherent superior view of their place in the Universe. Though fascinated by humans, Data did find such a bias to be… unique.

Humans had many shortcomings. Data found them endearing. But he recognised that they were, in a way, flaws when compared to other species.

A soft chime brought Data back to the present.

It was Geordi and he had an update on the ship.

"I was up early and wanted to check the ship," Geordi began.

Just because they had stopped didn't mean the work was over. They had left a number of programmes running overnight. Most were diagnostic but there were a handful of automated repair programmes they were able to interface with the Romulan system.

"Ensign Gomez has completed work on the power cells, and we should be able to install them today," Geordi explained. "She's reworked the regulators too. Should be a little more stable for our interface."

Romulan D'deridex cruisers were faster than their Galaxy-class Federation counterparts. They boasted an impressive weapons array too – certainly more deadly in a face off.

But it came at the expense of notoriously dangerous power requirements.

Their shields weren't as strong, and consoles had a nasty habit of overloading.

Particularly during battle.

They had not yet been tested against a Galaxy-class ship. But in their skirmishes with the Klingon and the Breen, it was evident the D'deridex cruisers were the new deadliest thing on the block.

And according to Castillo and his team, there was an entire armada of these ships just waiting to cross into Federation territory.

"I think with these modifications that we may be able to tap into the Romulan central network," Geordi added.

Data's eyebrows shot up.

"If you think you can hack it?" Geordi teased.


"Don't. Even. Try."

Verax could not stress enough how great the risk was.

"Mr Data is capable of-" Picard began to say.

"You don't understand. They'll be able to track you," Verax explained. "And I guarantee there is already a bulletin out with orders to capture or destroy that ship."

"He's right," Castillo chimed in.

They had tried years earlier to hack into the Romulan Central Computer Network (RCCN) and failed.

"Gave away our position. Led them straight to us," Ghost said.

"We lost eight men that day," Castillo added.

That had been the beauty of their hiding place on the planet Tantalus. The Romulan outpost on that planet was already tied into the network. They could use the system there to listen without tipping the Romulans off to their presence.

"I will confess that I would feel a little more at ease if we had more information," Picard admitted.

Any information.

The idea sounded almost too good to be true.

For a brief moment, the cynical voice in Jean-Luc's head warned that this must be another layer of the conspiracy – dangle Jean-Luc's white whale, lure them in, capture the Enterprise.

Before Picard could consider sending his team into the Neutral Zone, he needed information.

It was called Lantera.

Jean-Luc had immediately recognised the word from years of research chasing the ghost of the ancient Iconians.

At the height of the Iconian Empire's power, it was said these great orbital stations functioned like a shield grid, an ancient Maginot line guarding entrance into Iconian space.

Historical accounts described a defensive line that transcended star systems, spanning across a region of space that ancient astronomers and navigators could only dream of.

They were like lighthouses guiding Iconian ships to safety. And like a lighthouse, it had a large, powerful beam that could be seen from great distances as it cut through the darkness.

Only this beam had also cut through ships. Fleets of ships. And (it was said) entire planets.

But these had only ever been legends.

No one had ever found evidence of such installations. It was hard to accept that such a massive, powerful defensive line could completely disappear without a trace.

Just like the Iconian doorways? Picard mused.

"It's a weapon," Castillo announced.

Specifically, it was the big honkin space gun Riker had asked for.

"The facility is mostly intact. There are a handful of portions on the lower levels exposed to space. And some weak points on the upper pylons," Verax explained.

"We think they were living quarters," Ghost said. "Nothing that would be necessary for use."

A deep furrow of worry settled on Picard's brow.

"How do you know all this?" Picard inquired.

An uneasy look passed between the four remaining men of Richard's team. They were neither archaeologists nor tactical experts. There had been no engineers left among them.

Iconian history was shrouded in secrecy. Furthermore, the discovery of any ancient installation would require at least a basic primer in order to understand the advanced Iconian language.

"We have collected extensive information on Lantera. Survey missions too," Castillo answered.

Arandev could sense this did little to satisfy Picard's curiosity.

"The planet that we have called home for the last few years – Tantalus – you are aware it had a Romulan communications outpost," Arandev said.

"And that we put it to good use when we could," Castillo chimed in.

A heavy sigh escaped Picard's throat. He rubbed his forehead.

"So, the Romulans are aware of it," Picard said, piecing together how these men had uncovered so much information.

Castillo nodded.

"It's why we were hesitant to mention it before," Castillo added.

At least that had been part of the reason.

The Romulans had studied Lantera for years. They were hungry for any Iconian technology or research that could be used to further their own advances.

In the eyes of the Romulans, cannibalising from the Iconians was only natural. After all, they saw themselves as their descendants.

The next great generation. The legacy of an empire that spanned tens of thousands of years.

"We've intercepted months of logs and transmissions from the Romulan science teams deployed to study Lantera," Castillo said.

He took a slow breath and rocked his head side to side.

"We've been able to learn about it but-"

Richard trailed off.

"We have never had the numbers, knowledge, or technology to make it operational," Ghost finished for him.

Picard perked up.

"And the Romulans haven't?" he asked.

A broad grin broke across Richard's face.

No. The Romulans had never been able to figure it out. They'd come close – overloading the power system and nearly destroying Lantera in the process.

"That's when General Morak ordered the project shut down," Richard said.

The Romulans had started work on Ekloire shortly thereafter – going so far as to use the concept of Lantera these Iconian lighthouses as the inspiration for Ekloire Starbase and her impressive shield grid.

"There occasionally dispatch a small research team to collect information. But it's all been moved to labs. There are no more active tests," Castillo shared.

The Romulans couldn't risk destroying such an important piece of technology.

It was an enticing offer. Yet, Jean-Luc remained hesitant.

"If a team of Romulans with years of experience couldn't make it work-"

Jean-Luc frowned.

"I very much doubt we could swoop in and get it up and running," Picard said.

"I'm no engineer, but we think the issue was with their power systems," Castillo offered.

Verax's lip curled as if there was something sour on his tongue.

"No stability. Poor regulation. Prone to overload," Verax said in disapproval.

Even before his time as a rebel, Verax had railed against Romulan engineering for its focus on armament and offensive technology rather than the stable energy the Empire so desperately needed.

Picard's hesitation softened.

Data and Geordi had mentioned something about power regulation issues. They were concerned about blowing the consoles on the ship. And it was why Jean-Luc had reluctantly agreed to allow them to bring in Ensign Gomez to assist (provided the true nature of the work remained hidden).

"If there is anyone that can figure this out…" Richard said, gesturing casually.

Taking a page from Castillo's book, Jean-Luc decided this was not a decision he could make alone.

"Let's take it to the team," Picard said.


By the time Data reached the morning briefing, he had worked up the courage to voice his opposition to the plan.

Data had run through no less than a thousand different possible approaches. He decided announcing his opposition during the meeting was the best choice.

It would be seen as feedback in such a setting. Data could fall back on his role as both advisor and Chief Science Officer.

Data was also hoping that it would spark momentum for others to consider his warning.

As the team assembled, Data slipped into his traditional seat next to the Captain and directly across from Commander Riker.

Castillo's team was present too. It was further confirmation that the Captain must have decided in favour of the plan to use an artificially triggered supernova to destroy the base.

Data cleared his throat.

"Captain? If I may, I would like to say something before we begin," Data requested.

Data caught Tasha's eye from across the table. Wordlessly, she communicated her support with a hint of a smile.

Picard was so preoccupied with thoughts of Lantera that he assumed Data's request was an update on the ship.

"By all means," Picard said.

"Sir, I cannot and will not participate in a plan to destroy an entire solar system," Data declared. "As an Exobiologist and a lifeform that, at times, has been seen as disposable – I will not participate in the slaughter of billions of-"

"Data, please," Picard said sharply as he put up his hand.

"No, Captain. I will not cease. And should you order me to do this, know that I intend not to comply," Data announced.

Tasha was ready to pounce across the table and kiss his adorable, persistently honest lips.

"Data, I appreciate your sentiment but-" Picard said, trying once more to interject.

But the ship had already left spacedock.

"This is not sentiment, sir," Data said in a firm, polite voice. "It is not for us to decide what lifeforms deserve the chance to survive and which ones must be sacrificed. I understand that billions of people in Federation worlds will be at risk and likely fall."

Data paused. He straightened his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height in his chair.

"But I will not cast aside my very sense of self nor throw out the ideals I hold dear because they have become inconvenient to protecting human interest," Data concluded.

The room sat in stunned silence.

Jean-Luc cleared his throat.

"We have an alternative idea," Picard said softly.

In that moment, all of Data's righteous fury evaporated.

"Oh," Data said with polite curiosity.

Geordi grinned. Riker fought the urge to smirk. Deanna covered her smile with a cough.

Data's soapbox was one of the many reasons they adored him.

Everyone waited in anticipation for the Captain to announce this alternative plan. Questions circulated through Data's neural net.

Had the conspiracy that gripped Starfleet been discovered and stamped out?

Was there a fleet of ships already en route to support them?

Perhaps allies like the Klingons were ready to apply pressure to the Romulans?

Jean-Luc gestured for Richard to fill the team in on this new plan.

"Lantera," Castillo said.


Shortly after noon, Picard ordered some food sent up for the team. They would work straight through the lunch hour, passing around boxes of takeaway from Ten Forward as Castillo's team filled them in on the details of this unlikely find.

As he dug through a box of grilled sweet and sticky pork and pineapple, Geordi voiced the collective sense of the room.

"I won't lie – it's an exciting prospect. But I'm not entirely sure we could pull it off," Geordi said.

They knew so little about Iconian technology.

Their only experience with the long lost empire had been cut. They had barely made it out alive. It was hardly time to study or gain any familiarity.

"I mean this stuff is way, way beyond us," Geordi went on as popped a piece of pineapple into his mouth.

"I have to agree," Data chimed in.

It was a thrilling notion. Nonetheless, Data had reservations.

Data pointed out that it could take weeks – years even – just to figure out the controls.

"Sir, I am confident that we could eventually learn enough to create a stable power interface-" Data prefaced.

That had been the main problem the Romulans faced.

"But I cannot give you an accurate time frame for that project," Data concluded.

Richard glanced at Ghost as if the two men were having a silent conversation.

"We may be able to help," Ghost said.

"The information we brought you is just a fraction of what we've managed to gather in our years on Tantalus," Richard explained.

They had gathered and transcribed nearly all of the information transmitted by the Romulan science team that had studied Lantera.

"We could show you exactly where the Romulans went wrong," Richard said.

For the first time since he'd come aboard (and realised this was not the afterlife) Castillo was excited.

"I mean, I don't understand any of it. But you will," Castillo said as he turned to Data.

Data spun in his seat to face the Captain.

"This would significantly reduce our workload," Data said.

Worf was on guard. He growled and leaned forward in his seat.

"One problem – that information is not here," Worf pointed out.

It had been abandoned on Tantalus during their hasty escape. If they were to recover this information, it would require a trip to Tantalus too.

Lantera was abandoned. But Tantalus was still a Romulan outpost, and it was very possible they were combing the planet looking for anything left behind.

"There's no guarantee our base is still there," Ghost acknowledged.

"And no guarantee it isn't," Riker said.

He scanned the faces of his colleagues around the table in search of support.

"C'mon," Riker said. "We have a cloaked ship."

Miles grimaced.

"We have a ship that theoretically can cloak. At the moment-"

Miles trailed off and made a noise of uncertainty as he twisted his hand back and forth. The team had made progress overnight, but it would take another full day of work before they could even start testing it.

"Say we get it up and running with minimal effort after repairs are complete – we're still forty-eight hours out before she'll be flight ready," Geordi advised.

Picard sat back and folded his hands in his lap.

"Well then, you have your charge," Picard said.


The mood on the ship that afternoon was sombre.

Data, Geordi, Miles, and Worf had all been dispatched to the Romulan ship to prioritise repairs. Verax and Ghost had gone along to offer what knowledge they had on the Romulan operating system.

Captain Picard had asked Tasha and Commander Riker to interview Castillo and Vil Arandev in hopes of learning more about the other great threat.

Mechs.

With all the attention focused on the Romulans, the team had barely had a chance to digest this warning of unstoppable biomechanical hybrid people.

Technically, Captain Picard had asked Deanna to join them too.

But she had another task she needed to see to first.


"Come," Picard said.

He didn't need to look up from his desk to recognise the petite shadow.

"Captain?" Deanna asked as she stepped into his Ready Room.

She didn't need to preface the purpose of her visit and Jean-Luc had never much bothered with pleasantries.

"Captain, have you spoken with the survivors about the emotional toll of this mission?" Deanna inquired.

"We spoke this morning," Picard answered.

Deanna made a face.

"Sir," she said knowingly.

Jean-Luc sat back in his seat. He said nothing, patiently waiting for Deanna to continue.

"For the survivors this is a worst-case scenario. They're being asked to go back to the very place they escaped from once already to confront an enemy that tormented them for decades," Deanna said.

Picard had considered this. He suspected it was why they men had been reluctant to mention Lantera before. It was a last resort.

"It's like asking a burn victim to run back into the fire," Deanna pressed.

Deanna's primary concern was for their mental health. But she also had a responsibility to consider the safety of the team – her team.

"Trauma is complex. People cannot know how they will react. Captain, I wouldn't be doing my duty if I did not raise this concern," Deanna explained.

She paused.

"What if something goes wrong?" she asked.

Her question hung in the air unanswered.

They both knew what trauma could do. They'd seen it happen time and again. Officers that suffered mental breaks after years of repressed trauma.

There were people with PTSD from the Border Wars. They went months, years even doing great in therapy only for a new mission involving the Cardassians suddenly trigger violent nightmares.

Two years prior, a Tactical officer on the USS Neville had been sent back to duty too soon. He'd suffered a complete breakdown when the ship encountered a Cardassian cruiser. The officer had been petrified by fear. He had failed to raise the shields.

Thirty-six people died.

"These men have had no time to process their experience. They've had no counselling, no therapy, no reprieve," Deanna went on.

Deanna could feel it radiating out from them.

"They're pushing themselves because they feel obligated. A sense of duty," she shared. "But this isn't their responsibility alone. They shouldn't have to feel the need to shoulder this."

If only you knew. Jean-Luc mused.

"Sir, we could be putting our own people at risk. If one.. just one thing goes wrong because someone freezes or even unintentionally tries to self-sabotage the mission-"

Deanna stopped herself.

"Captain, our own people look at Mr Castillo and his team and they wonder what will await them if they fail," Deanna said.

A sudden icy sense of dread gripped Deanna.

Her breath hitched.

"You do too," she observed.

She could sense Captain Picard was afraid.

"You should know that I intend to make this mission voluntary," Picard said.


"We encountered them about a year ago," Castillo said.

Scouting parties had reported observing a strange new lifeform – part man, part machine with only one goal in mind.

Consume.

"At first we thought maybe they were automatons built by the Romulans," Richard continued.

In most of their early encounters observing these new aliens, they seemed wholly focused on stripping raw materials.

It wasn't uncommon for the Romulans to repurpose every available resource from one old outpost or ship to construct or repair another one.

"They consume everything in their path. Everything," Arandev stressed.

"Entire planets stripped of all their resources," Richard shared.

Romulan outposts on Colonia Zantan and Nimes had been obliterated overnight.

"It's like they just vanished. No trace that anything or anyone had ever been there," Richard continued.

Arandev shook his head. A glum look crossed his face.

"We found no survivors. No trace of any explosives or weaponry," Arandev said.

That was in and of itself odd. Even in the cleanest of Romulan extractions there was always something left – a trace of disruptor fire, a tachyon signature.

"We started picking up on reports from the Romulans. Missing ships. Outposts that had disappeared," Arandev continued.

The Romulans weren't doing this to repurpose resources. They were just as befuddled by the loss as Castillo's rebels.

"Then a few months after that we picked up some chatter from a Romulan ship. They were under attack," Richard said.

The mechs had rolled over an entire Romulan D'deridex class cruiser with almost no resistance. It was all over in a matter of hours.

"We tried to make contact. We thought maybe they would be a useful ally," Richard said.

Now the thought made him grimace.

"There was no talking to them. No conversation. No reasoning. They simply came at us," Castillo said. "It took four men including two Klingon warriors to take one of them down."

Richard had never seen anything like it.

His face was ashen, the memory disturbing enough to bring nightmares even to the likes of Ahn and Sodan.

"We cloaked and ran. Got out of there as fast as we could," Richard admitted.

They had kept tabs on the mechs and steered clear. They had lost more than a few good people that way.

"I couldn't read them. Their thoughts were-"

Vil Arandev trailed off and frowned.

"I have never met anyone, any people, with such a singular, focused collective mind," Arandev said as he struggled to describe the feeling.

It was more than just the concept of the 'hive' mind. There was no individuality – none, whatsoever – and not a single ounce of the fear or curiosity that came from encountering people on a planet.

"They just kept repeating the same thing over and over again," Richard said.

It haunted his thoughts.

Riker eyed Richard.

"What?" he pressed.

"Resistance is futile," Richard and Arandev answered in unison.

Resistance is futile.

Tasha made a note on her tablet. She did not wish to downplay the seriousness of this threat. And the fear felt by Castillo and Arandev seemed genuine.

But she had to bite back a snort of laughter.

Resistance is futile? She mused.

These mechs sounded more like scripted villains from a paperback horror story than a new species set on terrorising the Beta Quadrant.

"What can you tell us about their anatomy? Physiology? Any specs on their ships?" Tasha asked.

Castillo's face scrunched up. They were difficult to understand and even harder to describe.

"They're not quite machines," Arandev began.

"But they're not quite people either," Castillo concluded.

Tasha felt a flash of anger rise in her cheeks.

"And how do you know they're not people?" she asked in a terse voice.

Castillo was at a loss. He didn't.

"I guess… I don't.. uh," he shrugged, fumbling for an answer.

"Just because they're mechanical in nature doesn't mean they aren't people. There are synthetic lifeforms," Tasha said.

Her comment had come across much harsher than intended.

Clearly this was a sensitive topic. Castillo recalled that the Tasha Yar he knew sometimes spoke of the android. When she had done so, it was always with kindness.

She had called him a friend.

Richard surmised that she must share those feelings in this timeline too.

"I'm sorry," Richard said.

His response was quick but sincere.

"I'm doing a terrible job at this. But what I mean to say is that these mechs are not like the android Data," Castillo said.

"Machine and man melded together," Arandev offered.

Richard nodded.

"Yeah. Wires and cables coming out of 'em. Tools and saws for arms. And underneath this bizarre… armour would you call it?"

Richard looked to Arandev for his assessment. The Betazoid nodded in agreement.

"Under that armour they're like zombies," Richard said.

Castillo shuddered.

Verax had told him stories of Ganmadan.

Castillo took a sip of water. His hand shook as he lifted the glass.

"And I… I can't be certain," he started to say.

Castillo closed his eyes and sighed.

"No. It's nothing," he said quickly.

He was worried they would think he'd finally gone mad.

"Any information could be helpful," Riker said.

Richard scratched the back of his neck as he weighed how to respond. Tasha would tell him honesty was best. He could just hear her chastising him.

You've already opened your big mouth. No going back now.

"A while back we had a scouting party that disappeared and we didn't know if the Romulans got them or the mechs or the Breen," Richard went on.

Hell, for all they knew it was entirely possible their repurposed shuttle had suffered a critical hull fracture. It was nearly a century old and already on its last leg.

"But then about three months ago we were scouting a Romulan farming outpost," Richard went on.

It was a location of minor importance to the Romulans. With a dwindling workforce there had been some chatter the Romulans might consolidate the labour force on that outpost with another sector.

Richard had taken a small team to check it out in the hope they could cultivate their own crop with what the Romulans left behind.

Castillo took a slow breath. He swallowed hard. If he would have come home and told his mother this story, Lucia Castillo would have laid into him.

She would have assigned him extra chores and chastised him for staying up late to catch the Saturday night scary movie rerun.

And his butt would have been in a church pew that Sunday with a stern warning about monsters being nothing more than fantasy.

"When we got there we encountered a mech scouting party. And-"

Richard paused.

"And I could swear one of them was Anthony Phillips," Richard confessed.

It was the first time he had spoken this aloud to anyone except Ahn.

"It… wasn't him. It was one of those things. But… but it was him," Richard said.

He shook his head in disbelief.

"I could swear it was him under all that," Richard concluded.

Arandev could sense Richard's honesty. This wasn't a nightmare. He wasn't trying to just supply information they wanted to hear. And it wasn't faulty recollection.

This memory was clear as any of the other numerous tragic, shocking things Richard had seen during his time in Romulan space.

The image of Phillips under all those cables and shuffling about like a mindless automaton was burned in Richard's core memory.

"And the Romulans have no idea who they are? Where they came from?" Tasha inquired.

"It is as much a mystery to them as it is to us," Arandev said.

"They don't even believe they're real. They think we were responsible for the outposts," Richard informed them.

This news surprised Vil Arandev and it was obvious to everyone. Arandev's brow furrowed.

"How could you know that?" Vil asked.

They had picked up no transmissions that mentioned the rebels as the cause.

Castillo dropped his gaze to his lap. He fidgeted in his seat.

"I um…"

He sighed. There was no point in denying it now. It didn't matter anymore.

Sela was dead.

"Before we escaped I spoke with one of the Romulans that had come to apprehend us," Richard confessed. "I warned her about the mechs. She thought I was stalling."

In her heart, Sela had known Richard was telling her the truth. He would never deceive her. But in that moment, that final conversation, she could not bring herself to admit it.

Riker blinked rapidly as he tried to piece it together.

"Why?" Tasha asked bluntly.

It was an odd thing to confess. Castillo's use of language seemed unusual too.

Warn them? Tasha thought.

Alarm bells blared in Tasha's mind.

"Why would you warn them?" Tasha pressed.

Richard hesitated. Arandev looked to Castillo for an explanation – almost in a way that indicated he knew the reason.

"I was cornered by a Romulan. She was a child that grew up on the estate where we were held. For a time… she was as surprised as I was. She could have killed me, but she didn't," Richard said.

Richard had clung to that.

Sela had a choice.

And she had chosen to let him live.

A look of sorrow settled on Castillo's hardened features.

"It doesn't matter anyways. She's dead now," Richard said.

Tasha's mind briefly drifted to the ribbon she'd found when they put Castillo into the Brig. He had mentioned the recent loss of a child.

Could it be? She wondered.


A loud clang sounded on the Bridge of the stolen Harrier-class ship. It was followed by a yelp of pain as a slew of curses rolled off Miles O'Brien's tongue.

Data had always found his soft lilt fascinating, almost hypnotic in the way words seemed to float, almost musically, from the Transporter Chief.

The discrepancy between Miles's tender voice and crusty exterior had long been amused Data.

"Can you hand me that hyperspanner?" Geordi asked, pulling Data back to the task at hand.

"Here you are, Geordi," Data said.

Data's long arms made it easy to reach tools. Given their tight schedule, every second counted. They were making good progress on the repairs.

In spite of Verax's insistence that he wasn't much help, Verax had proved an invaluable resource in translating the Romulan language and provided insight on the operating system.

Data was fairly certain that he would have a full working knowledge of the standard Imperial Romulan dialect by the end of the day.

The Romulan language had numerous spoken dialects. Imperial Romulan (or Rihan) was the official state language used for all state business, religious services, education, and news distribution.

Many of the people in and around the capital city spoke in a dialect known only as Aventine. It was fast and full of colloquialisms.

The Ratag Rag (or simply 'Rag') was spoken by most Northerns whether they be humble serfs or landowning Equitas class. It was considered harsh on the ear. Many Romulans struggled to understand Northerners.

Southerners had their own dialects too. There was the lazy drawl of the Naovi from the Naovon province and the staccato-like Lam from the city of Lanum.

And those of a certain aristocratic background, the old families as they were called, spoke with a unique speech pattern called the Golden Tongue.

Less than one percent of Romulans spoke with this archaic dialect (and the numbers were dwindling). But among the oldest families, the ones where years of selective breeding had kept their bloodlines closest to their Vulcan cousins – the Golden Tongue remained the standard.

It was easy to distinguish between nouveau riche, self-made men (like Commander Jarok) that had risen through the ranks from the Equitas class to the upper echelons of society and those that felt they were truly entitled to be there by virtue of the House.

And like so many Romulan practices where the days were numbered, the aristocracy clung to their language as one final bastion the masses could not seize from them.

Data found the Romulan language fascinating.

Though it sounded like Vulcan and shared a similar root structure, Romulan and Vulcan script could not be further apart.

Vulcan was a beautiful language in both spoken and written form. The swirling, artistic flow of the Vulcan language looked like music.

But Romulan was harsh. It shared none of the same emotion as Vulcan.

The corner of Data's lip curled upward into a small smile as he considered this notion. Ask a Romulan why they loathed Vulcans and they would usually cite their lack of visible emotion.

Romulans prided themselves on being passionate.

And yet Vulcan art, prose, and even the language evoked images of beauty and dreamy themes of ethereal worlds.

By comparison, Romulan culture was spartan.

Geordi slid out from under a console. He dropped the hyperspanner before he threw his arms up into a mighty stretch.

He'd need a hot shower later to work out the strain from all this repair work.

Geordi detached his VISOR. He took a swig of water and then started to massage his temples.

"Ah," he sighed with relief.

Data immediately stopped and sat up.

"Geordi, are you alright?" Data asked.

"I'm alright," Geordi assured him. "Just need to stop for a moment."

His VISOR caused migraines – particularly with prolonged usage. With all the hours they'd put in lately, Geordi was starting to feel the strain.

"Hey," Geordi said suddenly, stopping Data as he turned back to his work.

Data cocked his head to the side and waited for Geordi to continue.

"Are you okay? I mean… are you okay with all of this?" Geordi asked.

Data's brow furrowed. His mind wheeled.

"Please specify what 'this' to which you are referring," Data requested.

There were an awful lot of things happening at once.

Geordi shrugged.

"I dunno. I guess I mean this ship," he said as he gestured vaguely. "The Romulans. The plan to cross the Neutral Zone again."

He paused.

"This Lantera," Geordi went on.

He scowled.

"I mean we were lucky enough to get there and back in a one piece beforehand," Geordi remarked.

"You are concerned," Data observed.

Geordi nodded.

"I know we have to go. I know this is the right thing. And believe me – I get how important this is," Geordi assured him. "But-"

Geordi felt ashamed. He was usually the last person to worry about his own butt in a crisis.

Granted that was before.

Before Sonya. Geordi realised.

"The odds of this plan succeeding are low," Data acknowledged.

Geordi couldn't help but laugh.

"Thanks. Great pep talk," he threw back.

"But I will go to this mission willingly. And I will take heart in the knowledge that if we succeed, we will ensure the safety of billions," Data said.

He felt a small swell of pride.

"And I will find peace of mind in knowing that safety does not come from the senseless destruction of those who have no say in this matter," Data added.

An impish grin spread across Data's face.

"This is my choice to go," Data said.

For once in his career, Data had made the decision to partake in a dangerous mission not because of duty or a disregard for his own worth.

No, this time it was personal. Data was doing this to protect Tasha and the life they had planned. He was doing this for his friends, for the family he hoped to have someday.

Data was doing this for himself too.


Sonya Gomez sat perfectly still – unmoving, not breathing – as she stared at the saucer on the desk in front of her.

A gentle whiff of steam rose from the cup.

And though the aroma was enticing, Sonya could not bring herself to take a drink.

This was no standard issue Federation mug from a replicator. It looked so dainty, as if she might break it the instant she squeezed the handle.

And that was a problem.

Because at the moment, it was sitting atop the desk in Captain Picard's Ready Room.

"Milk?" Picard asked.

Sonya jumped off her seat in terror. She clutched her heaving chest in an effort to calm her frayed nerves.

She had never before been called to the Captain's Ready Room on her own. Coupled with her conversation with Geordi the day before, Sonya was a bundle of anxiety.

"Please, at ease," Picard said softly.

He had already moved anything of value well away from his desk. His electronic devices were all safely stored in the drawers below. He had moved his priceless artefacts to the shelf in the corner.

Even the picture of his nephew, Rene, had been moved clear from the splash zone.

"Do you know why I've asked you here, Ms Gomez?" Picard inquired.

Of course, she knew.

Geordi had warned her not to even think about the Romulans. He'd urged her to put it out of her mind.

And Sonya had done her darndest to honour that promise.

But thoughts of Romulan conspiracies and fears about what fate may befall them all had been hard to ignore.

Sonya had not mentioned it to anyone. She had not used any computer terminals or tablets to look up information.

Stay cool. Sonya told herself.

"No, sir. Captain. Sir," Sonya squeaked.

She gulped.

Jean-Luc said nothing as he poured a dash of milk into his own cup of tea.

"I wanted to talk with you about your recent project," Picard announced.

Sonya shivered.

"Mr Data and Mr La Forge have spoken very highly of your efforts," Picard said.

All of this was lost on Sonya. She was only half listening as she struggled to formulate a response.

"What would you like to know, sir? Power regulation output? We went through thirteen models before we found a suitable component using an adapted using a palladium based-"

Sonya was babbling.

She had fallen back on her typical, anxious stream of speech because it was comfortable. It also was usually enough to distract whoever was making Sonya nervous.

Her endless word vomit had a way of putting off questions.

Sonya reached for the saucer in front of her out of habit. Her monologues usually ended with a sip of hot chocolate.

"Or the equation we worked out to convert the Romulan numeric-"

Sonya gasped.

She clutched her hand over her mouth.

In doing so, Sonya sent her saucer (and its contents) flying into the air. It landed with a soft thud on the carpet.

"Oops," she said.

"That's why I wanted to speak with you," Picard said.

Sonya's eyes went wide with fear. Picard put a hand.

"I want to assure you that you are not in any trouble, Ms Gomez," Picard said.

It was inevitable. Sooner or later information about the situation was bound to trickle. So was the nature of conspiracy.

"Lieutenant La Forge and Mr Data never-"

"I believe you," Picard interjected with a small smile.

He trusted his team. He knew they would not reveal this information.

"You're a bright engineer, Ensign," Picard went on. "It was bound to happen sooner or later – particularly given your work on this project."

Sonya relaxed just a little.

Jean-Luc folded his hands on top of the desk. He scooted forward a little as he prepared to make his ask.

"I would like to talk with you about an upcoming mission. One for which I will need people with an expertise on power generation and your proven ability of discretion," Picard began.

Jean-Luc has already had a dozen of these meetings already. He had more scheduled that evening. They were all names from a list compiled by Geordi, Data, Tasha, and Beverly.

Names of officers they trusted.

Commander Riker had final approval before presenting it to Captain Picard.

The best of the best. Riker had said before handing over the list.

Some of the names come as no surprise to Jean-Luc – Tracee Jae, Cecily Wu, Oliver Adams, Michael Vance.

He prided himself on the fact that he knew his people.

But there were others that gave Jean-Luc pause. He trusted his team and respected their recommendations – but he couldn't ignore his concern.

Some of the names were young like Sonya Gomez and Tobey Jeffords.

Others seemed wholly unsuited for this type of covert operation. Captain Picard had considerable doubts about the likes of Reginald Barclay behind enemy lines.

"This is not a routine mission, Ensign Gomez. And I cannot guarantee the safety of those officers that volunteer," Picard warned.


At 16:00 hours, Castillo was summoned to the Captain's Ready Room.

Jean-Luc passed a tablet across his desk. Richard picked it up and skimmed through the information on the page.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Read it," Picard replied.

It was a mission checklist – but one unlike Richard had ever seen before.

Phasers needed to be recalibrated to automatically overload in the event of unauthorised use. If the Romulans went poking around, they would a nasty surprise waiting.

The team would have to be trained. There would be two codes – their own command authorisation for use and a secondary emergency code to trigger the overload in the event of capture.

The power generators, tools, all of it required similar contingencies.

Data had suggested a gooey substance developed by the chemistry lab. It had been intended as an emergency seal in the event of a hull rupture. The project had been scrapped months earlier as the gel had a nasty habit of eating through anything it touched (save for the specialised canister delivery system).

Richard frowned as he read through the list.

"What is Litilydroalnitroidsine-3?" Castillo inquired.

"A fast acting alkaloid poison," Picard answered.

So, Picard took my advice. Good. Richard thought.

It was developed from the same poison they had encountered more than year earlier during that fateful mission on Ligon II.

"Death is instantaneous," Picard explained.

"Good," Richard replied without hesitation.

Jean-Luc couldn't hide his own distaste at the thought. Richard could sense Picard needed some assurance.

"If it comes to it – your people will thank you. I thank you," Richard said.

"You sound as if you think this is the end," Picard remarked.

Richard chuckled and shook his head.

"My life was over a long time ago, Captain," Richard said.

It had died that day when Sela handed over her ribbon and declared that every part of her that was human died with her mother.

Richard Castillo wasn't angry. His voice carried no hint of bitterness. He did not feel cheated of the life he should have had.

He clung to hope that there was something more. He had clung to his sense of duty.

Richard had held onto the belief that he would see his Tuula again and that she would be at peace.

He had never imagined it would happen the way it did. But he knew he could go to his grave safe in the knowledge that she was happy.

And that maybe – just maybe – this Tasha Yar would never have to know the torment of General Morak. She fought and died for this timeline, this peace. In Richard's eyes, Tasha absolutely deserved to enjoy it.

"If we succeed, we're one step closer to getting you home," Picard pointed out. "You could return to Earth. You'll probably have a bright career ahead of you in Starfleet Command or consulting."

"I spent twenty years as a captive and on the run. My youth is gone," Richard replied.

Jean-Luc bristled. He had at least ten years on Castillo.

"We're not that old," Picard replied a little defensively.

Richard flashed him a sheepish grin.

"No offence intended, Captain," Richard apologised.

He turned his hands over to study each leathery knuckle.

"Years of hard labour take their toll," Richard concluded.


The survivors (with the exception of Proventus) were now free to wander the ship.

Verax didn't like pretending to be a Vulcan. But he was grateful for the chance to walk as a free man for the first time.

That night, Richard found his feet carried him to Ten Forward.

There was a sense of the familiar in being in Ten Forward – particularly on the eve of a dangerous mission.

It would be another day before the stolen Harrier class ship would be ready for a test at warp. There was a meeting scheduled in the morning, a conference to brief the volunteers on the mission.

But that night, for the first time, Richard had nowhere to be and nothing to do.

Guinan offered him a polite smile as Richard saddled up to the bar.

"What'll you have?" she asked.

"Do you have any lousy whisky?" Richard asked.

Guinan responded with one of her signature deadpan looks.

"I have some really good, smoky, quality whisky," she responded.

Castillo grinned.

"I didn't mean to insult your offering," he apologised. "It's just… the good stuff's lost on me. Never did develop a taste for it."

"You want something that burns," Guinan said as she studied him.

Richard nodded.

He did.

He wanted something to remind himself he could still feel, something that called back to cold nights on a frozen rock when the brandy burned and so did she.

He longed to remember that feeling.

The first one went down easy enough, burning in just the right way. Richard shuddered when he slammed the second one.

Then he licked his lips and slid his glass forward to the end of the bar for another one.

After the fourth, Guinan offered to leave the bottle.

"Why don't you just keep this?" Guinan suggested.

She could sense he needed this. And Guinan would be right there to ensure he didn't get too drunk.

The door to Ten Forward slid open. Richard whipped around to hide against the bar, praying they didn't see him as Tasha, Deanna, and Beverly meandered over to an open table.

It was their usual Girls' Night.

With all the long hours and added stress of the upcoming mission, the three friends had decided to forgo their typical evening of drinks over games and gossip.

They had agreed to stop into Ten Forward for a quick drink so they could spend the evening with their respective loved ones.

Guinan had seen them come in too.

Nothing got past her.

She busied herself prepping a tray with their usual favourites – a white wine for the Doctor, a Samarian Sunset (made in the traditional way with dark Orion Rum) for the Counsellor, and a smoky whisky for the Security Chief.

She scooped a shaker of ice and tossed in the rum and fresh squeezed pomelo juice. Guinan added a dash of lime and Campari.

Guinan was just about to shake it when something caught her eye.

Castillo had turned to glance over his shoulder at the table. He had intended only to glance but found he could not bear to tear his eyes away.

"Everything alright?" Guinan asked.

"She's glowing," Richard said in a strange, faraway voice.

It wasn't the first time Guinan had seen a patron make an utter fool of himself, lovestruck across the bar.

"You've got a thing for blondes?" Guinan pressed.

She was prepping to steer him toward one of the other blonde crewmates present that was unattached and likely more than willing to share an evening.

Guinan couldn't fault him. She could sense his feelings were well-intended. Though unable to fully explain it, she knew this man and she knew he was a good man.

When he didn't answer, Guinan sighed.

Oh, he's got it bad.

"Hey. Hailing Lieutenant Castillo," Guinan teased, snapping her fingers to catch his attention.

"No, no I… it's not that," Richard said quickly.

He turned back to the bar. It didn't last long as he glanced over his shoulder again.

"I just mean she's beaming. Radiant," he remarked.

A heavy sigh escaped Richard's throat before he threw back his head and slammed his drink.

Guinan's line of sight drifted up to the table where the three women were chatting. Deanna must have said something funny.

From this distance, it looked like she was imitating her mother. Beverly roared with laughter. Guinan's gaze settled on Tasha.

Tasha's shoulders shook as a smile broke out across her face.

For the first time since their uncomfortable early morning conversation the other day, Guinan studied her friend.

Guinan froze.

She recognised that glow.

"I'm sure they're busy," Beverly said as she glanced around the room.

"I'll go," Tasha offered.

Tasha slipped out of her seat and moseyed over to the bar.

Guinan took a bottle of a twelve-year single malt and smashed it against the heavy wooden counter behind the bar.

Richard flinched. Though he had never developed a taste for decent whisky, he knew that was a loss.

"Guinan? Are you alright?" Tasha asked as she rushed up to help.

"I'm fine. Just clumsy," Guinan lied.

"Can I help with anything?" Tasha asked.

She reached over the bar and snagged a clean towel.

"No, no," Guina said, shooing her away.

For weeks Tasha had only drunk synthehol. She was training again for the upcoming sparring tournament and wanted to be in peak condition.

But somehow Guinan knew Tasha had been planning to opt for the real thing tonight.

She always did on the eve of a dangerous mission.

"I'm sorry that was my last bottle," Guinan lied.

"Oh, no worries! I should probably stick to synthehol anyways," Tasha said.

Crisis averted. Guinan thought with relief.

"Stick tight. I'll have your drinks ready in a moment if you want to run them out," Guinan said.

Tasha was only too happy to help.

One seat over, Richard was feeling happy too.

Tasha cast a quick eye over the partially empty bottle as he struggled to line it up on the edge and pour another drink.

"Here," Tasha said, holding it steady.

Her first impression of this man had been lacking. He came across as a big oaf with a cold attitude toward the lives of his men.

And that was completely setting aside the unexplained, spooky way in which he had somehow known Turkanan custom, the word Tuula, and her name.

A big, goofy smile spread across Richard's face. His drink sloshed as he raised his glass to Tasha.

"Cheers to you, angel face," Richard said.

Tasha's expression soured. He hiccupped.

"I mean.. um my guardian angel," Richard said.

Just drunk enough to dance.

Richard physically shook himself.

Get a grip, Castillo. A voice warned.

Tasha was happy and she deserved to stay that way without him mucking it up.

As Tasha waited for Guinan to mix their drinks, she could feel Castillo's eyes watching her. And after days of confusion and frustration, Tasha finally found the courage to ask the question.

"How do you know me? How do I know you?" Tasha demanded.

Richard snorted.

"You don't know me. At least not yet anyways," Richard answered.

Guinan panicked.

Fortunately, the gravity of his words were lost on Tasha. In this setting it came across as a cheesy pickup line.

"Oh right," Tasha replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I didn't mean-" Richard began to apologise. "I would never drop a pickup line like that on you."

Tasha felt a pang of outrage. She blinked in disbelief.

"Mmm hmm. You thought I would jump at your offer? And when I won't, now it's all 'oh I would never try to pick up you?' Right," Tasha scoffed.

Tasha knew the type, the cocky men that sent message after message demanding time or attention.

Hey beautiful. Are you up?

The minute they didn't get what they wanted there was usually 'fat bitch' or 'whore' that followed in short order.

"Look, another time… another place, I think someone like you could have really fallen for me," Castillo said.

He was hoping to settle the matter, to end the conversation before he risked another stupid mistake.

His comment did not have the desired effect.

Tasha made a face as she considered her response. She was sick of men making comments like that. She'd heard her own fair share of them during her Starfleet career.

And Tasha hadn't quite forgiven this Castillo for his comments about the mechs and his habit of calling Data 'the android.'

"Because women just fawn over you, huh? And I should be grateful you would ever even consider 'someone like me' eh?" Tasha pressed, throwing his words back at him.

She knew the type. The men that would put one woman down while praising another. The kind that used passive aggressive comments to make women feel beholden because they were told no one else would make them feel special.

"I should be thanking my lucky stars a man like you would ever give me a passing glance then, hmm?" Tasha went on.

Castillo felt small. In a flash, that same banter they'd shared on Narendra was once again back.

"No, no. Quite the opposite," Richard confessed.

He turned in his chair and met her eyes. The look was enough to give Tasha pause.

Richard desperately wanted to tell her that he was already in love with her. That he had loved her since the first time she smiled at him.

But he couldn't do that.

"I am sorry if I offended you, Lieutenant," Richard said. "Please believe that was not my intention."

His mouth went dry as he reached for her hand.

"I truly never meant to cause you distress. And I wasn't trying to pick you up," he said with a sad smile. "I mean… I'm an old man. You're-"

He stopped himself before he said something he would regret.

"You have every right to sock me in the mouth," Richard said as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Tasha didn't know what to say as Castillo looked her up and down. It wasn't the kind of voyeuristic look drunk patrons sometimes cast at others from across the bar.

It was a look of longing. Of fondness. The kind of look Data sometimes gave her when he was at workstation and Tasha was off doing her own thing on the other side of the room.

"Believe me when I say that I could spend a lifetime loving you," Richard confessed.

Tasha stood in silence as Richard pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

"Forgive me, you… remind me of someone I once knew," Richard said.

Castillo shot a quick glance at the dwindling contents of his whisky bottle.

"I fear I have had quite enough," he said in the hope Tasha would overlook his behaviour and write it off as influenced by the whisky.

Without another word, he left – snagging the bottle on his way out and leaving a stunned Tasha in his wake.

"Oh. My. God," Beverly said.

Beverly and Deanna had witnessed the entire encounter. They'd abandoned their table when they first noticed Tasha bristle at the conversation.

They had stood directly behind Tasha intent on jumping in if she needed support only to realise the conversation couldn't be further from what they expected.

"Too bad you're taken, eh?" Beverly quipped as she nudged Tasha with her elbow. "That man is a true romantic at heart."

She sighed.

"Imagine that. Longing for a lost love after all these years," Beverly went on.

She turned to Deanna.

"I wonder if she's still alive? If she's waited for him all this time?" Beverly asked with an excited whisper.

For all her practicality, Beverly was a sucker for a good romance.

"He is awfully handsome," Beverly added with a smirk as she watched him slip away.

Deanna's head was swimming. She clutched her forehead and steadied herself on the back of a barstool. Tasha was the first to notice Deanna wasn't well.

"Deanna?" she asked, squeezing her shoulder for support.

Deanna looked up at the door. Her skin was flushed.

"That wasn't just a line, Tasha. Those feelings are genuine," Deanna said.

She was confused. She couldn't quite explain it. Deanna surmised it must have been transference.

Because what she had felt inside Castillo – hell, radiating off of Castillo – had been genuine, deep affection for Tasha Yar.

"Excuse me," Tasha said before she rushed out after Castillo.


Tasha felt awkward as she waited for the lift.

She couldn't rationalise it, but her brain was screaming that she needed to apologise.

And probably see him home.

The last thing they needed was an intoxicated, stumbling Enterprise-C survivor outing the true nature of their mission to some unsuspecting Ensign.

The lift doors swung open, and Tasha was surprised to find Richard Castillo still there. He was hunched over, struggling to decipher the manual control panel built into the wall.

"Computer, Deck 4," Tasha ordered.

Richard squeezed his eyes shut and hissed.

"Oh. I keep forgetting its voice activated," Richard confessed.

The Enterprise-C had been voice activated too. But Romulan lifts all operated via manual control as a security parameter.

"I'm sorry," Tasha said.

Her posture was stiff. She stood straight with her hands folded behind her back.

"I didn't mean to be rude. I was just… taken aback," Tasha settled on.

Only she wasn't settled. She had never felt so unsettled.

Richard bit back a laugh. It was just like those early days when he'd been a fumbling idiot trying to impress her and she had been cool and calculating, too afraid to let her guard down.

He stumbled into the edge of the lift as it jerked slightly to travel upward.

Tasha whipped around. Tempting fate for information had always been her greatest weakness.

There was a real possibility that Castillo would never even recall this conversation when he sobered up.

"You know something. Something you don't want to tell me. I can feel it," Tasha said.

Castillo's mouth went dry. The whisky tasted foul in his throat. It made his stomach uneasy and his mind foggy.

"I told you. You remind me of someone I loved," Richard said.

It was almost the truth.

Richard couldn't say she was someone from his past because technically she was from his future, from days that had yet to come.

"I don't believe you," Tasha said.

Castillo laughed but did not elaborate.

He understood Tasha well enough to know she wasn't buying it. Yet as much as he yearned to spill his soul, Richard couldn't bring himself to ruin things for her.

They stumbled down the corridor to his guest quarters. Tasha kept her arm around his waist to support the weight of his lanky frame.

It was humiliating for Richard. The second time in fourteen years that they'd been this close and once more she was saving him.

"Well, then have you ever been to Nesreldine? Turkana IV? That sector?" Tasha pressed.

She had to know.

"Like I said, you remind me of someone I love," Richard repeated.

Tasha noted that discrepancy in his excuse. At times he referred to this love in the past tense. Other times it was the present.

She blamed the whisky.

When they stopped at his door, Richad clutched the frame for support.

He could read her face. He knew Tasha was still a bundle of questions.

"You're too clever, you know that? You can see right through people," Richard said.

Tasha tensed as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. He smelled like whisky, but this was no sloppy attempt to cop a feel.

It was tender.

Chaste.

"Goodnight, Tuula," he whispered.

When the door closed, Tasha was left alone and flabbergasted in the corridor. She instinctively clutched one arm across her body.

Her mind reeled.

What did you think would happen? A little voice asked.

Tasha kicked herself.

Once more she had gone poking around.

And once more she was left with more questions than answers.


Data padded across the carpet as he lit the candles he'd spread out in various places around his quarters. They lined the shelves and the surface of his workstation. There were two on the end table and a small arrangement of various heights in the middle of the table.

With that finished, Data checked the temperature on the stasis field. He pressed two fingers against the bottle of red wine to confirm it was at an ideal temperature.

Then he adjusted the table settings, straightening a fork that had been three millimetres to the left of perfect positioning.

One of the candles in the corner caught his attention.

Data moved it across the room to balance out the soft glow.

Then he checked the time, took a quick glance in the mirror to smooth his hair, and then stepped into his slippers.

He checked the time again before moving the candle in the corner back to its original place.

As he turned in front of the mirror to inspect the quality of his fine silk dressing gown, Data was antsy.

It was possible that Tasha's drink with Deanna and Beverly had gone longer than intended. The three dear friends had a habit of losing track of time when together.

But Data couldn't shake the fear something was wrong.

"Computer, what is the location of Lieutenant Yar?" Data inquired.

"Lieutenant Yar is on Holodeck Two," the computer answered.


Tasha felt incredible.

It had been months since she'd last had a good, long, absolutely knackered and ready to sink into a hot bath run.

Running had always been Tasha's refuge.

She could clear her head.

No thoughts of Romulans plots or the millions of possible ways their mission could go wrong.

No thoughts of the secret wedding and frustration that came from the travel restrictions.

And certainly, no silly ideas about the illness that had plagued her weeks before making Tasha consider that the improbable, utterly impossible, could really happen.

She grinned at herself, amused that she could ever really think she was pregnant.

Tasha smiled because she had to.

The thought had been terrifying, enough to make her hands tremble and to recall the terrible memories of her own mother's death in childbirth.

And yet…

It had felt wonderful to think that she was carrying Data's child, that they would really have that family they'd dreamed of.

To imagine the way Data's eyes would light up.

Yes, it had felt wonderful to dream – even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

Tasha shook away the thought as quickly as it came.

She couldn't have a baby. She had adamantly insisted that they would adopt a child.

Someday.

Tasha let her head empty as she pushed herself through the last leg of her run.

No thoughts of children.

Nor Romulans.

And certainly, no thoughts of the romantic dinner she had planned to share with Data that evening.

Tasha was so wrapped up in the blissful burn of her sore legs that she didn't even notice the arch slide open.

Data stood still in the doorframe, watching her for a moment in her natural element.

Tasha slowed her pace and eventually dropped to a brisk walk. She threw her hands up overhead and breathed deep, relishing the simulated salty air.

Data suddenly realised this was Føroyar. Specifically, it was the coast near the capital city.

He couldn't be mad. Even when she wanted to run away from everything, Data was still in her thoughts.

Tasha closed her eyes as she reached back to stretch her quad.

Tasha flinched as she was scooped off her feet.

"What the-"

Her anger dissipated as she recognised a familiar pair of golden eyes.

Tasha cringed and bit her lip.

"I'm so sorry. I forgot about dinner," Tasha said.

"I know," Data replied.

Tasha felt terrible.

"I needed this. I'm sorry, I just needed to forget about everything for a little while," Tasha confessed.

She squirmed in his arms, wordlessly indicating she wished to resume her stretching.

Before Data had arrived, Tasha had fully intended to stretch and then hit the fitness centre for a little time at the bag.

"Data, please," Tasha urged. "I need to work off some of this-"

Data put a finger to her lips to silence her.

"You will come home. You may stretch there. I will draw you a bath and you will eat," he described as he carried her toward the arch.

Data was counting the hours to the warp test on the stolen ship. He knew they had two, maybe three days at most to spend their nights together.

Something inside Data urged him to hold onto this, to hold her tight because their time together would be too short.

Even if Tasha lived to be hundred and thirty it would hardly be enough time.

"And I will kiss away any doubt or fear that creeps into your head," Data whispered.


They were lying together in Data's oversized tub. Tasha's head was buried against Data's chest where droplets of water clung to his bioplast like iridescent, glistening gems.

Tasha was well past the point of pruney but had no desire to get up.

She closed her eyes and breathed easy as Data's fingers trailed the length of her spine. He kissed the top her wet hair before his chin came to rest there.

There was a stack of empty plates next to the tub. Below that was a damp towel from where water had sloshed over the edge.

In the end, Tasha had gotten to enjoy another bout of cardio after her stretch.

Not that Data was complaining. He'd simply kissed her cheek and slipped away – bringing dinner right to her in the tub.

He had worked out the tension in her muscles while Tasha had scarfed down three servings of Data's roasted mushroom linguine.

And when she had finished and licked her lips, eyeing Data like she could devour him too, Data had climbed back into the tub to oblige her.

"I prepared a frozen raspberry-" Data began to say.

"Stay," Tasha said, clutching her arms around his body.

She lifted her eyes to look up at Data.

He was the one person that made her feel truly safe enough to be vulnerable.

"I love you, Data," Tasha said.

"I love you, too," he said.

Neither of them spoke. Data brushed a wet strand of hair back behind Tasha's ear as he held her gaze.

And in that moment, a plan began to formulate in the back of Data's mind.


The frozen raspberry dessert was left untouched under the stasis field. They would eat it in the morning as they often did with dessert after a night together.

Tasha shivered against the cool atmosphere-controlled temperature of Data's quarters. After a brisk towelling off, she made a beeline for bed.

She eschewed her pyjamas and slipped right under the sheets.

Her hand shot out to catch Data's wrist as he opened the drawer on his dresser.

"Not tonight, let's sleep like this," Tasha said.

Data climbed into bed next to her and pulled Tasha flush against his body. The heat from his power cell started to warm the space beneath the sheets.

After a few minutes, she stopped shaking and relaxed.

If the test went well, then tomorrow would be their last night before the mission.

Data had every intention of making that time count.


Richard Castillo woke the following morning with a dry mouth and a heavy dose of regret.

He rushed for the loo and hurled, gagging as his empty stomach had nothing to produce.

For once, Richard's sleep had come without dreams.

Or nightmares.

He popped his toothbrush into his mouth. There was, in a way, a sense of loneliness in that thought. Most of the time, his dreams ended with Tasha urging him to wake up.

She was there, somewhere across the ship. And after their encounter the night before Richard prayed she had spent the evening in the arms of someone that loved her and not confused or angry about things he couldn't explain.

Castillo used the replicator to fashion an antacid before jumping into the shower. It took him a few moments to turn up the water temperature.

He was so accustomed to washing in cold, half-frozen water that he forgot these luxuries were readily available on the Enterprise.

Castillo could have spent all morning under that hot water but Arandev, Verax, and Ghost were due to stop by for breakfast.

And sure enough, Richard had everything set when they did arrive.

"I'll play mother," Arandev offered as he poured the tea.

Verax sniffed at his plate as if he were trying to determine if the contents were edible.

"It's from the replicator," Richard assured him.

Verax frowned.

"Forgive me, but human food is so…. bland," Verax said.

The four friends shared a laugh.

"Wait until you try my mother's chilate de pollo," Richard warned as he smeared apricot jam on his toast. "Even you will need a glass of milk."

"And who says I plan to visit you when this is all over? I'll be glad to be rid of your ugly mug," Verax teased.

The mood was jovial as they all tried to focus on anything except the mission ahead.

Suddenly, Verax's face darkened.

Vil Arandev could sense something was wrong.

Ghost and Richard didn't need Betazoid abilities to know just what dark thought had crept into the forefront of their Romulan colleague's mind.

"We won't let them lock you away," Ghost promised.

"Not a chance," Arandev added.

"I'll hide you in the crawlspace up in the garage," Castillo offered.

Verax grinned.


"Alright, bring the sublight engines online," Riker ordered.

Geordi flipped the command switch and fired up the sublight engines.

A gentle hum emanated through the bridge of the stolen Romulan ship.

Everyone held their breath as the ship drifted out away from the Enterprise-D. There was a small crew aboard for the warp test while the rest of the senior officers watched from the viewscreen on the Bridge.

"Plasma injectors are online," Geordi announced.

"We've got charge in the core. It's holding steady," Sonya said.

"Shields are charging. Seventy-four percent and rising," Miles added as the flight team ran through the checklist.

Data had longed to be present on that ship for the test. He had poured so much of himself into repairing it. But Captain Picard had insisted Data remain on the Enterprise.

Gods forbid anything go wrong. But if it did, Jean-Luc needed to ensure that one of his three best engineers survived.

As Second Officer, Data had been the obvious choice.

"Captain, we're ready on our end," Riker announced.

Jean-Luc waved for Tasha to open a communication channel back to the ship.

"On your order, Number One," Picard replied.

For a brief moment, the ship vanished before registering again on the sensors a short distance away.

"I've got them, sir," Tasha reported.

The screen at the Tactical station blinked.

"Incoming transmission," Tasha announced.

Riker's voice boomed across the communications array.

"We're still in one piece. She seems to be holding," Riker informed them.

One down. Picard thought.

"With your permission, sir, we're going to swing around the Keflonia VI and back," Riker said.

It would give them a chance to test the engines and hull at a higher warp speed. If they were headed into the Neutral Zone, Jean-Luc wanted that ship in peak condition.

"Make it so," Jean-Luc ordered.


By the afternoon, the team had completed a number of significant tests. The ship had a maximum speed of warp 6.

It wouldn't last long at the speed, but it would be enough to leapfrog across the quadrant should the need arise.

They had run a series of tests throughout the course of the day. The ship would make a small jump, then a little bigger one.

Work would pause as Geordi, and the engineering team ran an overhaul inspection to check the structural integrity of the hull and the main deflector.

The team made minor adjustments here and there, recalibrating power levels and rerouting to bypass damaged systems as necessary. Even the cloak (which had been unfamiliar technology for most of the team) was up to spec.

Their work had paid off.

Normally, this sort of success would be greeted with a round of applause. It spoke to the talent of the crew.

But on that day, there was no joy on the Bridge of either vessel. With each passing checkmark on Picard's list, the crew grew increasingly disheartened.

The mission would go forward.

There would be no delay.

And in twenty-four hours they would be behind the Neutral Zone.

Data turned his seat at the Operations console and nodded to the Captain.

"That was the final test, Captain," Data announced.

Before he turned back, Data caught Tasha's eye. From the back of the Bridge, they exchanged a knowing look.


The last time the team had made use of the large conference room had been during the Iconian doorway incident. The coffee and light refreshments in the corner seemed almost insulting given the gravity of their mission.

Cheese Danish hardly seemed appropriate when discussing certain death.

But it was standard for any meeting in the conference area and Picard couldn't begrudge a sense of normalcy.

Outside of diplomatic negotiations, the room was rarely used.

Except in a crisis.

Data had arranged for a team from Operations to lay out the room like a classroom. It was done under the guise of a training exercise and there were more than a few hurt feelings for those lucky officers left out of the loop.

You have no idea what you're missing. Riker longed to say to them.

There had been a great debate among the senior officers about choosing names. The mission was voluntary, but that opportunity had only been presented to a select few.

Tasha had found herself in agreement with Castillo.

She argued that they should only approach officers without families.

She couldn't bear to break the news to another family that their parent wasn't coming home.

Beverly and Worf had contested this notion.

Hotly.

I have just as much right to be on that mission, to ensure my family is safe. Beverly argued.

Worf had shared that sentiment and pointed out that no one was being forced to go.

This mission has ramifications for all of us. Worf added.

In the end, there were thirty-eight names.

And thirty-eight volunteers.

To the credit of Jean-Luc's crew, all of the individuals they approached had willingly offered to step up.

Picard had gone to great lengths to clarify the risk. It was an extremely hazardous mission. There was no possibility of rescue or reprieve if things went wrong.

They not only had orders but encouragement to inject the poison dose they were supplied with in the event of capture.

Record a message for your loved ones. You will not be able to reveal the nature of this mission. They will think you died during a training accident. Picard advised.

It was an effort to preserve the secrecy of their mission.

And it would prevent the Romulan puppet conspirators at Starfleet Command from painting these officers as traitors.

It was bad enough to lose a loved one. But Jean-Luc refused to allow them to strip away any awards or pensions their families were entitled to.

Jean-Luc had never been a man of war.

He found it archaic and abhorrent. He'd seen his fair share of action during the war with the Klingons and a little in the early days of the Border Wars with the Cardassians.

On the whole, Jean-Luc was lucky that he had been shielded from war for most of his career. The Stargazer had been primarily a science vessel.

With the exception of her grisly end, her tenure had been mostly peaceful.

But as Jean-Luc stepped up to the front of the room to address these volunteers, he found himself longing to have had that experience.

He wished he had words to give these volunteers.

They deserved a rousing speech with a mix of wisdom and encouragement. Jean-Luc wanted to give them a proper send off, to rally his forlorn troops.

As he surveyed the team before him, Jean-Luc found himself recalling the words of the bard.

Those that would come home – if they came home – would remember this day.

Would they live to see old age?

Would history remember them?

Or would they be forgotten like their predecessors on the Enterprise-C?

His eyes travelled over the table where Castillo and the dwindling band of survivors were sipping on Raktajino and waiting patiently for the briefing to start.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

Data would probably be the only one in the room roused by the St. Crispin's Day Speech. Beverly would call him a sentimental toff. Picard could just see Worf's sneer as he politely explained some legend of Kahless and the importance of a stirring speech on the eve of battle.

What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words.

This story shall the good man teach his son.

Picard's eyes fell on his Second Officer.

Data was sitting next to Tasha. There was no outward suggestion of a more familiar intimacy between them.

He hoped that they would survive to one day have that son.


It was all over by 18:00 hours and the team dispersed to spend one last evening with their loved ones or friends before the mission.

When Miles got home, he kicked off his boots and made a beeline for the liquor cabinet. It was rare for him to drink anything more than a pint of synthehol.

But tonight called for a nip of liquid courage.

"Hi Miles," Keiko said.

She was over in the corner up on a step stool spritzing her plants with a bottle of water.

"What do you want for dinner?" Keiko asked.

"Plankton loaf," Miles answered without hesitation.

Keiko set down her spray bottle and marched over to the door. She put her hand on the back of his neck to check his temperature.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Miles said, feigning a jovial attitude.

"And you want plankton loaf? That wasn't a joke?" Keiko pressed.

It was his least favourite dish.

"Uh huh," Miles replied.

Keiko scowled.

"Alright, who are you and what have you done with my lover?" Keiko teased.

Miles chuckled. He set down his glass and pulled Keiko into his arms.

"You hate plankton loaf," Keiko reminded him.

"I know," Miles replied.

His expression softened as he eyed Keiko with a fond smile.

"But you love it and I love when you smile," Miles said.

Miles closed his eyes and kissed her forehead.

"I want you to be happy always," Miles whispered.


Richard had decided to check out the Arboretum.

The Enterprise-C had featured an extensive Botany lab. It was nothing like the size and scope of this vast indoor space.

It had been ages since he had last seen lush, green terrain bursting with colour and the smell of fresh plants.

In fact, the last time he had seen green like this had been on Morak's estate.

The hothouse.

There were sprawling gardens. But it was cold in the North of Romulus and even the neatly manicured gardens had never been as vibrant as the plants that grew in the hothouse.

Richard learned later that Morak kept such lovely flowers for a practical purpose.

Poison.

Richard spied several poisonous plants in this space. All gardens had snakes. But here they were clearly labelled and kept only for study.

Castillo strolled past the rosebushes and tulips in every conceivable colour.

The crop garden in the centre brought back fond memories of snapping beans when the days were long, and Richard would sit and listen to his mother and her friends gossip and sip sun tea around the kitchen table.

A small, hearty plant in the corner caught Richard's eye.

The N'aajej Blossom was the only flowering plant strong enough to survive the bitter, desolate conditions on Narendra III.

During their time there, Richard and Tasha had eaten them to survive.

Years later, Ahn had shared that Klingons considered the N'aajej Blossom to be the greatest symbol of love.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.

Richard had always associated that little flower with its soft, blue cherry-blossom like plant with his Tuula.

They grew on Romulus too in the land around Morak's compound – including the great Yew tree at the edge of the woods.

The tree that was theirs.

The tree where he had laid her and their son to rest.

Every year up to their eventual escape, Richard had returned to lay a N'aajej blossom there on the anniversary of the afternoon when they held one another and dared to whisper their love aloud.

The last warm day of summer when they had made sweet, comfortable love under that tree.

The final time he would ever truly hold her.

The day they conceived their son.

Like this little flowering plant, their love had bloomed in adversity.

And now here it was growing, a symbol of hope in the midst of all this darkness.

Castillo took it as a good sign.

And for a split second, Richard was reminded of that lively, unstoppable blue-eyed girl he'd met so many years before.


Richard was not alone in the Arboretum.

Across the green, Data was trying to decide on the right flower to set the mood. Data was one of the only people Keiko trusted to snip and pick as he pleased in the Arboretum as she knew he would respect the work they put in and would never abuse that privilege.

As he surveyed the options available, Data felt completely overwhelmed by the choices at hand.

His love of botany combined with his knowledge of symbolism meant Data knew almost too much information to make a decision in a timely fashion.

Richard was surprised to find an android in the Arboretum.

There had been no Arboretum on the last Enterprise-D, the one Richard had known from the temporal displacement.

And why shouldn't he? Richard found himself asking.

The Data he had heard about from Tasha was a gentle soul. She had once said he'd hidden his love poetry and sketching for fear that Starfleet would think it was a malfunction and have him scrapped.

Castillo hoped that the Data in this timeline had the freedom to explore art and poetry and anything else he found fascinating.

"They are most beautiful," Data said as he approached Castillo's position by the bed of N'aajej Blossoms.

"She is, isn't she?" Richard replied.

Richard shook his head.

"I mean, yes. They are," Richard corrected himself.

"You know they are native to Narendra III," Data said.

A strange smile spread across Richard's face.

"Yeah. Yeah they are," he answered with a nod.

Castillo sighed.

"I was lucky enough to see them there," he remarked.

Data cocked his head to the side. His mind reeled with curiosity.

"Then you spent time on Narendra before you were captured?" Data asked, full of questions.

"Yeah," Richard said without elaboration.

Data's expression changed. Richard had never envisioned a mechanical man could be so expressive.

"I am sorry we did not find you in time," Data apologised.

He had waited twenty years to say that to someone – anyone – from the Enterprise-C.

In an instant, Richard recalled those fateful last moments on the ship when sparks were flying, and they were doing anything they could just to buy time.

Data's voice had been their last contact with the outside world.

Richard put his hand on Data's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's alright," he said in earnest.

Castillo truly meant it.

"I found love there," Richard shared.

He wasn't just speaking of Tasha. His thoughts were also of Sela, the girl that had stolen his heart from the moment she had first come into the world red-faced and wailing.

Richard thought of the child Tasha had lost, the boy they had laid to rest at a cairn overlooking the sea as they grieved together.

And he thought of the son he had never known. The only time Richard had held the boy was on that lonely day in the woods. He had held him briefly before he had laid his son to rest safe in Tasha's arms.

Richard had never felt him breathe or cry, but he loved him all the same.

Tasha had once said that she would never change of it – the pain, the prison camp, the torture. No, she would endure it all again if it meant having Sela.

And Richard would do it all again too, even losing Tasha, for Sela.

He sniffled and wiped his eyes.

"You must think me a sentimental old fool," Castillo mused.

"Not at all," Data said.

For a brief moment, Richard considered Data may be incapable of understanding. But then Data said something so unexpected that it shattered Richard's preconceived notions of this gentle android.

"I believe there is no greater power in the known universe," Data remarked.

His eyebrows shot up and he shrugged casually.

"And I have studied three thousand eight hundred and seventeen different forms of power," Data said.

Castillo laughed.

"Was that a joke?" he asked.

"Not entirely," Data answered honestly.

Data's chronometer reminded him of the time.

He knelt down next to the bed of flowers and snipped one of the N'aajej Blossoms.

"Excuse me," Data said. "I have a prior engagement."


Data counted all seven hundred and twenty-four steps between the Arboretum and Tasha's quarters.

When he arrived, he was shocked to find them an absolute mess – and Tasha sitting smack in the middle of it.

Her face was scrunched up in concentration as she surveyed the room.

"You're back," she said brightly as she spied Data in the doorway.

He frowned.

"You are.. taking inventory of your personal possessions?" Data inquired.

Tasha giggled.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

She lifted her hand and beckoned him over with one curled finger.

"Come here," Tasha said.

Data had to carefully step over piles of clothes and stacks of equipment to reach her.

"What are you doing?" Data asked.

Whatever it was, Tasha was clearly excited at the prospect. She had her tablet open and was cross-checking different piles as she went.

"Packing," Tasha answered.

She flashed him a cheeky smirk.

"I thought we could do it together," she explained.

Data cocked his head to the left as he studied the clothing and equipment that were sprawled out over every conceivable inch of floor space.

"Tasha, much of this equipment and clothing is impractical for the mission," Data said, casting a wary eye at the swimming costume thrown haphazardly over the back of a chair.

Data frowned and considered that she was, perhaps, overcompensating for her fears about the upcoming mission.

He had observed humans do so in the past, pouring their uncertainty into unnecessary preparations.

"The environmental system are functioning on the ship. A parka is not required," Data said. "And I can fathom no reason you would require rudimentary cooking equipment."

He picked up a cast iron pan and examined it before setting aside.

"We will bring rations," Data said.

Tasha lunged and captured his lips in a long, leisurely kiss.

When the broke apart, she nuzzled his nose.

"I'm packing for Føroyar. For our wedding," Tasha clarified.

"Oh," Data replied softly.

A hint of a smile crept into the corners of his mouth.

So much of their loves felt out of control. But this, this was one thing they could do on their own terms. Tasha had always found work soothing.

Since work itself wasn't an option at the moment (and the source of her stress), she decided it would be fun to start packing.

"It could be months or even years before we go," Data reminded her.

"That's alright," Tasha assured him.

Much of the equipment was Tasha's own personal cold weather camping gear. She had only used it a handful of times in the last decade. Most of the time it was stuck away in storage.

"But what if you need something you have packed?" Data protested.

Tasha shot him a playful look.

"And when have you ever seen me wear this?" she asked, dangling a bikini in front of him.

Data reached for the piece and turned it over in his hand, surprised by the revealing nature of the garment and thoroughly confused why anyone would design something that tied together in key areas with string.

Most impractical. Data thought.

"It's not like I wear this sort of thing when swimming here," she said, snatching it back.

Data's brow furrowed.

"Tasha, the average temperature on-"

She silenced him with a peck on the lips.

"The hot springs," Tasha said when they broke apart.

"Oh," Data said.

He froze and eyed Tasha. She bit back a smirk as realisation dawned on him.

"Oh," Data repeated.

Suddenly, Data realised that there may be an element of fun in this packing and planning.

He looked almost embarrassed as he found the courage to ask a burning question.

"And will you… will you pack the chemise? The one you purchased after the hearing?" Data asked.

His pupils were blown as he recalled the memory of that night.

"The one I like?" Data pressed, his voice had dropped so low it was barely a whisper.

"Just for you," Tasha replied as she gripped his chin.

She poked the tip of his nose before turning back to her list.

"Can you please hand me that lantern?" Tasha asked, pointing to the coffee table.

Data handed over the object in question. Behind it was a box Data had never seen before. He picked up the package and was about to open it when Tasha's hand slammed down on top of it.

"Ah! No!" she cried.

She snatched the small box and clutched it close to her chest possessively.

"Not this. You don't get to see this," Tasha said.

Data felt awful. It had never been his intention to upset her.

"At least not yet," Tasha added, sensing Data's guilt.

Wordlessly, Data indicated his curiosity.

"And what are you hiding?" he inquired.

"Something… something you get to unwrap when we get there," Tasha said with a coy smile.

She asked Data to avert his eyes as she hid the box among her bags. She didn't want him stumbling across it or sneaking a look beforehand.

"Have you eaten yet?" Data asked.

Tasha suddenly realised she was famished.

"No," she answered, shaking her head.

"Good," Data replied.

He had plans for that.

"Do you want me to get a Chinese from Ten Forward?" Tasha offered. "Honestly, I could a murder a pan of that tuna thing you made the other night."

Her eyes lit up.

"Ooo! Ooo! What about-"

Tasha stopped as she felt Data slip something behind her ear.

She reached up and felt the soft velvety petals of the flower there.

"Marry me," Data said.

Tasha grinned and chuckled.

"I already told you yes," she replied.

Data cupped her face, turning it toward him.

"Marry me," he repeated.

Tasha didn't follow.

"Marry me. Tonight. Right now," Data explained.

Tasha's breath hitched.

Data ran his eyes over her face. He smiled as his thumb ghosted across her cheek.

"Let us do it. Right now. Right here on the ship," Data said.

The question had burned in his mind since the night before.

"I love you so and I cannot bear to think of leaving tomorrow for the mission without making this commitment," Data confessed.

He longed to call her wife, to know that they had taken that step together.

"We do not know what will happen. The odds do not favour success," Data went on. "And I would go easier to my grave so to say knowing that we had taken that oath."

Tasha was stunned.

"I have already made arrangements on the Holodeck. Captain Picard and Geordi will meet us there," Data said.

His thumb brushed across Tasha's bottom lip.

"And someday if it is safe to travel again, I will take you to Føroyar. We could go for a honeymoon or to celebrate our anniversary," Data suggested.

It was important to both of them.

"I promise I will take you there," Data assured her.

They sat in silence, holding one another's gaze as Tasha processed this ask.

"No," Tasha said.

Data's heart sank.

He was terrified that their months of planning and preparation had been for nothing, that Tasha was spooked.

That now when they stood at the precipice of that commitment, she had grown gun-shy.

Data felt hurt. He felt betrayed.

Moisture pricked at the corner of his optical receptors. His mind began to spiral.

Was it all for naught?

Had Tasha only agreed to make him happy?

Would the same change of heart carry over to starting a family?

"Why?" Data managed to choke out.

Tasha's eyes went wide with fear. She clutched Data's hands.

"No, no, no. I haven't changed my mind," she said quickly.

It hurt to see Data so pained.

"I love you, Data," she insisted. "I love you and I am going to marry you. I want to marry you."

Tasha brought his hands to her lips and pressed a long, reassuring kiss there.

Data's eyes flitted back and forth rapidly in the way they did whenever Data's anxiety got the better of him.

Tasha cupped his face.

"I am so sorry," she apologised.

Great. Now you've really mucked things up. She kicked herself. And of all the times…

She kissed him all over his face, her lips touching his wet cheeks and the corner of his mouth. She kissed his eyelashes and along the line of his jaw.

Tasha rested her forehead against his own.

"I love you, Data. And I'm going to marry you," she declared.

Tasha paused.

"And I want to marry you the way we planned. On Føroyar. I want to take that oath with you beside that tree, under an open sky, with a clear view of the moons," Tasha explained.

This was what they had planned. They had promised each other that it wouldn't matter how long it took to get there.

"We did this for us," Tasha went on. "One thing Starfleet and duty and emergencies and whatever else the universe throws at us, one thing they can't take away."

So much of their lives revolved around duty. They were always on call, always rearranging their plans to answer a call, or put in extra hours, or because a situation demanded their attention.

"This trip is ours and damn anyone or anything that tries to take it from us," Tasha declared. "We made that promise to ourselves, Data. I intend to keep it."

"But the mission-" Data protested.

Tasha shook her head, smiling.

"I have hope," she said with a nonchalant shrug.

She laughed.

"I can't explain. Please don't ask me to. But I…. I have hope," Tasha confessed.

She was always the most pragmatic of the group. She didn't share Worf's death wish. And she didn't have Data's ability to calculate every possible outcome.

Most of the time, Tasha was the first to voice concern when someone got cocky about mission survival.

"I just know we're going to come back," Tasha said.

She had a feeling.

Deeper than a gut feeling.

"You once told me that I would die in your bed," Tasha reminded him.

She smiled against his lips.

"I have hope that we're going to Føroyar. For us. For the cat," she added.

They had agreed they would adopt a cat to ease into starting a family.

"We're going there. I can feel it," Tasha urged. "And we're going to put down this thermal bag."

She guided his hand to the thick thermal sleeping bag on the floor next to them.

"You're going to lay me down in front of that tree," Tasha breathed.

She slipped two fingers under his chin.

"And you will make love to me until the sun comes up," Tasha said, almost as if she were delivering an order on the Bridge.

Data blinked in surprise at her tone.

"Tasha, given the tilt of the planet's axis, the sunrise on Føroyar is not until-"

"Until the sun comes up," she repeated slowly, emphasising each word.

Even if Data had wanted to go to the Holodeck, there was a rather pressing matter in his trousers that would need to be dealt with before he could anywhere.

"I want to be thoroughly exhausted by the time it starts to peek over the horizon," Tasha said.

Her eyes were ablaze. It was the same look she'd given Data the first night back in his bed after Timothy's adoption.

"I'm going to collapse on top of you and sleep the deepest, sweetest sleep," she murmured against his ear.

Tasha sat back and bit her lip.

"I don't know how. I don't why, but I know that's what awaits me on Føroyar," Tasha shared.

She had never been more certain of anything in her life.

"Føroyar," Data agreed.

The feeling was contagious. And Data realised she was right. This was a moment that Data and Tasha had planned for themselves, and nothing was going to take that away.

Data tapped his combadge to page the Captain and Geordi, advising them to stand down.

"Is everything alright, Data?" Geordi asked.

"Never better," Data replied cryptically.

He scooped Tasha up and carried her toward the bedroom. Data was nearly to the door when paused and turned back, snagging the same swim garment she had teased him with earlier.

Tasha threw back her head and laughed.

"You can't be serious," she said.

Data wasn't laughing.

"But I am serious. I have very determined plans to untie these strings with my teeth," Data said as if they were discussing isolinear chips.

Tasha scoffed with embarrassment.

"Data," she said.

"You do intend to wear this for my benefit, do you not?" he asked. "That is the purpose of the garment?"

Tasha's face flushed.

"Uh huh," she answered meekly. "I mean… when we're there…"

"I want a preview," Data said with a little smirk.


Commander Riker shifted in the Command seat aboard the Romulan vessel.

There had been a rather terse conversation between Riker and Picard that morning. Jean-Luc had struggled to accept that he could not accompany them on this mission.

He had an obligation to the Enterprise. Moreso, if things went awry, Jean-Luc couldn't find it in himself to leave Riker with that burden.

"Report?" Riker asked.

"Engineering reports all systems go, Commander," Data said.

"Shields are online and holding," Tasha chimed in.

"Course laid in and awaiting your order, sir," Lieutenant Jae said from the helm.

From his position at Operations, Data shot a brief glance in Tasha's direction. She was manning Tactical. With the layout of the Bridge, they were directly across from one another.

Data certainly wasn't giddy about the mission. But he had woken up with butterflies in his abdominal cavity and a distinct pep in his step.

Data and Tasha shared a quick smile.

And a sense of hope.

"We're all set, Captain," Will reported.

"Understood. Godspeed," Picard said.

As he sent them off, there was still a hint of disappointment in Jean-Luc's voice.

The universe willing, they would touch base again in forty-eight hours.

Jean-Luc Picard could count on one hand the number of times he had prayed in his life – the night his mother died, the last moments of Jack Crusher's life, when he gave the order to abandon the Stargazer, the seconds before the ruling at Data's trial.

His family had never been terribly religious. But Maurice Picard had dragged his wife and children to mass every once and while on holidays or certain feast days because it was what his father had done, and his father before him.

Jean-Luc would lay his head in his mother's lap as she weaved fantastic tales based on the stained glass windows to entertain her son.

As the ship cloaked and Picard watched it disappear from the viewscreen, he found himself praying to any deity that would listen.

Bring them home.