Author's Note: The wool mentioned in this chapter is not just a convenient plot device. Wool truly can take days to dry out (especially thicker clothing).
Fun fact: both Denise Crosby and Dwight Schultz share a birthday (24 Nov) ten years apart. When I initially conceived this idea, I did not know Schultz had the same birthday – that was a pure coincidence.
Funny how those things work out sometimes.
Lore rapped his fingers on the bannister as he stared down at the entrance hall.
He was on the second-floor landing, trying to make up his mind about where to search next.
There was a flash of light and Q appeared next to Lore with an audible 'pop.'
Lore didn't bother to look up.
Q leaned in close.
"They're not there," Q whispered, acting as if Lore just couldn't tell.
Lore rolled his eyes.
"I must admit, they've proven more challenging than expected," Lore confessed.
"They slipped out right from under your prominent nose," Q said, taunting Lore as he wiggled the end of Lore's nose.
Lore batted his hand away.
"Oh, come now. Be a good sport," Q said.
Lore did not respond.
"The rest of them will be back any minute," Q warned.
"I need more time," Lore urged.
Q turned, leaning his back on the rail as he studied his fingernails.
"I could give you another three days. You still wouldn't find them," he said.
Lore glared at Q.
"Oh… oh it's not you, dear," Q said with mock sympathy. "They really did give you the slip."
Lore didn't like making mistakes. Even worse, he didn't like having those mistakes rubbed in his face.
"You could search the whole house from top to bottom – you still wouldn't find them," Q said.
Lore was about to tell Q off when he thought better of it.
"They've left the manor," Lore realised.
His eyes narrowed.
"You have them somewhere," he thought.
"I have all of you somewhere," Q threw back.
But Lore wasn't in the mood for Q's word play.
"You need to be gone before Jean-Luc and his team get back," Q said. "They must continue to think dear Geordi and Tasha are in mortal peril."
"But we don't have them," Lore replied with an irritated shrug.
"Ah… but the truth does not matter. All that matters is what people will believe," Q said.
Everyone had finally returned to the manor house.
In spite of everything that had happened in the last few days, there was a sense of relief to be out of the maze and the forest.
The manor felt like base camp, and they were glad to be back – even if it was only a short reprieve.
"Alright then, everyone," Picard said. "We've got a lot of ground to cover and not much time left."
Captain Picard checked the time on the great grandfather clock that stood in the entrance hall.
"It's nearly 15:00 hours. Let's get to work and plan to meet back here in two hours," Picard said.
"Wow, look at all these jewels," Sonya remarked.
Deanna, Beverly, Sonya, and Guinan were upstairs in the late Lady Moran's personal bedroom.
"She certainly had taste," Beverly said as she admired a pair of earrings.
"These must be old. From before – you know, before the estate was financially ruined," Deanna said.
She frowned.
"I wonder why they couldn't just sell all this?" Deanna asked.
There were so many diamonds and furs, gold jewellery, precious stones, and high-quality tailored clothing that it seemed Lady Moran was sitting on a small fortune just within her wardrobe.
"Because they're fake," Guinan said as she studied one of the rings.
"Fake?" Deanna asked.
"Mmm hmm," Guinan confirmed.
She reached for a strand of pearls and ran them along her teeth.
"I'd bet all of this is fake," Guinan said.
She figured the entire jewellery box was nothing more than rhinestones and trinkets.
"To fund the gambling addiction?" Sonya guessed.
"She wouldn't be the first," Beverly replied.
"Well, it's something," Deanna said.
They had torn apart Lady Moran's bedroom. Sonya had combed through an old date book and found nothing.
Beverly and Guinan had located a small chest with old cards and letters.
But as they skimmed the contents, they didn't learn much.
Lady Moran liked to gamble. She enjoyed her horses and was an avid gardener.
"Aside from the gambling addiction, I don't really see anything that's out of place," Beverly said.
Guinan was still looking through the jewellery. There was something awfully familiar about the fake sapphire necklace – but she couldn't quite place it.
"Do we know how Lady Moran died?" Guinan asked.
Everyone stopped. A look passed between the four women.
"No, but I think I know how we could find out," Deanna said.
The boat ride out to the small island was brief.
And yet it felt like it took forever as Jean-Luc and Chief O'Brien rowed the team out there.
There was just a few strokes shy of the shoreline when Jean-Luc caught Lwaxana's gaze.
"I don't sense them," Lwaxana answered honestly.
"Well, let's just see when we get there, eh?" Picard replied.
He was clinging to hope.
Jean-Luc hopped out of the boat and pulled it ashore.
"Mrs Troi," Reg said, offering Lwaxana a steady hand as she stepped out onto the grass.
"Thank you, Mr Barclay," she replied.
Jean-Luc tied the boat to a nearby stone and then turned to face the tomb. It was an impressive marble structure.
During his own time trapped inside with Beverly, Picard had tried to search as much as he could. They had found nothing save for the chess piece inside.
At the time, they had assumed the chess piece was the only clue and thus had not searched the exterior.
"Let's get the access hatch off the top and start inside," Picard said.
It would be dark in two hours, and they only had the one torch. It would be easier to search the outside in the dim light than trying to study the inside of the tomb after dark.
The tomb had no door. As they had previously discovered, the only access was through the roof.
Barclay and Miles climbed up on top of the tomb with Captain Picard. Together, the three of them were able to shift the heavy hatch off the top.
Just as Lwaxana had predicted, the tomb was empty. There was no sign of Geordi or Tasha – they weren't even any clues to indicate they had been there.
Picard released a heavy sigh.
"We'll find them," Miles said with a sense of certainty.
Picard wanted to believe that. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible. Ever since their first interaction with Q, Jean-Luc had felt awful anytime there was that flash of light.
Q's fascination with Picard put the whole crew in danger.
"Q's just having a laugh. Once he gets bored or we do what he wants, they'll turn up. I'm sure of it," Miles said brightly.
"I hope you're right, Chief," Picard replied.
Data, Commander Riker, Worf, and Keiko stood at the entrance to the stables.
There were four horses stabled in the barn. Three were the personal horses of the family and a fourth was Lady Moran's broodmare.
Keiko cautiously approached her and spoke softly as she stroked the horse's neck.
"She's beautiful. Hard to believe they're all holographic," Keiko said.
"They do not smell holographic," Worf grumbled.
He waved his hand to try and disperse the pungent aroma that clung to every available inch of air.
"There is an office ahead."
Data directed their attention to a door on the opposite end of the building.
It wasn't locked and they were able to slip in straightaway.
Keiko made a beeline for the desk while Data searched an antique filing cabinet along the wall.
"We should see if we can find that stud book," Keiko suggested.
Data handed a stack of papers to Commander Riker and Worf.
They set to work skimming through them for any clues.
"These look like receipts, gambling tickets, newspaper predictions for races," Riker said.
"Schedules, feed advertisements," Worf went on.
None of it was of much value.
"Is there anything about the debts in there? Maybe how much was owed?" Keiko asked.
Worf scowled and shook his head.
"There are some news clippings about the mare," Worf said.
He handed the file back to Data so he could take a look.
"It would seem this mare has produced a number of exceptional foals. She earned 'Blue Hen' status," Data explained. "She has birthed six successful champions."
"Poor thing," Keiko remarked.
Riker laughed.
"According to these receipts, Lady Moran certainly spoiled the old gal," Riker said.
By all accounts, the animals were well loved and fed, exercised regularly, and had been provided with the best available care.
Keiko slid open the drawers on the desk one by one. With each drawer, she felt around the side and back in search of any hidden compartments.
Data pulled everything out of the filing cabinet and did the same – running his hands across every inch in search of the elusive stud book.
Commander Riker checked the objects on the wall. He shifted paintings and lifted horseshoes, tacks, and other equipment to check for any hidden latches or levers.
"A stud is a male horse, correct?" Worf asked.
"Yes," Data answered.
"Then why are we searching for a stud book?" Worf pressed.
For a moment, his question hung in the air unanswered. No one wanted to make Worf feel stupid.
"Well, because that's what Lady Moran's date book said. There was a note to check the stud book on the day she died," Keiko explained.
"But why would she have a stud book?" Worf asked.
Keiko shrugged.
"Because it's a normal thing for horse breeders?" she guessed.
Worf smirked.
"But all of these horses are mares," Worf pointed out.
Everyone fell silent.
Data's neural net ran through a glossary of terms. He tapped into his database of knowledge on equestrian information to try and determine what Lady Moran's note may have meant.
"Stud book, herdbook, husbandry, breed registry," Data rattled off.
He gasped softly.
"Breed registry," he repeated in a whisper.
"Inspector?" Riker prompted.
Data was still teetering on the brink of a flash of brilliance.
"Debrett's, Burke's Peerage, the Complete Guide of Peerage and Social Registry," Data went on.
His eyes flit back and forth so fast that they were nearly a blur.
Then he stopped.
Data slammed the door shut on the filing cabinet.
"Come. I believe we are looking for a book in the library," Data said before he swept out of the room.
"Oh, it's no use!" Lwaxana huffed.
"Come on, everyone. Let's try it one more time," Picard ordered.
Wesley rolled up his sleeves. Reg cracked his neck side to side. Miles dabbed away the perspiration on his forehead with a clean handkerchief.
The five of them took up a position next to the stone sarcophagus that held Lady Moran's empty tomb.
A thorough search of the mausoleum had turned up no new clues. They were now working on a theory that the sarcophagus led to a hidden chamber or path.
"Alright, heave!" Picard ordered.
They grunted and groaned as they strained to try and push it aside.
"Heave!"
"Arrrrrgh!" Reg growled as he put all of his strength into pushing.
He lost his footing and slipped. Lwaxana gave up and collapsed back against the tomb.
"It's too heavy," she said.
"Sir, I don't think there's anything under there," Wesley said.
"Maybe we could come back and try again with Commander Data and Mr Worf?" Miles suggested.
Data could probably lift the whole thing on his own.
"No, Mr Crusher is right," Picard said. "It doesn't make sense that a hidden doorway would have such a difficult access point."
Jean-Luc rubbed his chin as he walked back through the mystery.
"We're missing something," Picard said.
"Well, there's nothing here in this old tomb," Lwaxana said.
Barclay's brow furrowed. His gaze shifted to the wall as he thought back to the initial clues contained in the character cards.
Captain Picard recognised that look.
"If you have a thought, Mr Barclay, we'd all be grateful for you to share it," Picard said.
Reg cleared his throat.
"How uh… how did Lady Moran die? I don't believe it was ever revealed," Reg said.
"So, you think Worf and I were right. She's not really dead?" Miles asked.
Barclay shook his head.
"No. I think she was murdered. But the clue said Lady Moran took the secret of the treasure to her grave," Barclay said.
Wesley peeked into the tomb again.
"I think someone forgot to tell Lady Moran that," Wesley remarked.
Barclay stood up and surveyed the room.
"This is a tomb – but it's not necessarily her grave," Barclay explained.
They had found no body and nothing to indicate she had ever been there.
"I don't think this is her grave. I think it's a red herring," Barclay said.
Captain Picard snapped his fingers.
"Then we need to find out where Lady Moran died," Picard said.
Lore poured himself a tall glass of wine.
He set the bottle down next to the bathtub. Then he laid back, closed his eyes, and savoured that first sip.
"Ah," he said with satisfaction.
There was a sudden flash of light and Q popped into the room, sitting atop the sink.
"Do you have to do that?" Lore asked.
Q raised one eyebrow in Lore's direction.
"You are judging moi?" Q asked as he brought his hand up to his chest.
"Do you do this to your precious Jean-Luc too?" Lore inquired.
Q chuckled.
"Don't flatter yourself," Q said.
He hopped down from the sink and turned to pick his teeth in the mirror.
"In any case, I might be less judgemental in your position," Q said. "You're supposed to be out chasing down our rogue prisoners."
"I'm soaking in the ambience," Lore said.
"No. You're soaking in your brother's bathtub. Should I read something into that?" Q asked.
Lore didn't answer.
He slipped further down in the water until it covered his shoulders.
"Hmm… you used his dressing gown too, I see," Q remarked as he picked up the fine silk brocade garment.
Lore sat in silence as he sipped his wine.
"It will be dark soon," Q warned.
"Exactly," Lore said.
He took a long drink.
"They fear the dark. They can't see as well in it. The woods only add to that terror. But me? It's my natural habitat. I can hunt them in the dark," Lore said with menacing flair.
Q chuckled.
He was genuinely impressed by Lore's devious plan.
"I must admit that I like your style," Q said.
"Of course, you do. That's why you brought me in," Lore said, raising his glass.
Captain Picard's team ran into Guinan's group at the exact same time.
"I thought you were searching Lady Moran's quarters?" Picard asked.
"And you were supposed to do the tomb," Beverly said.
They were standing outside of Lord Moran's private study.
"We came to see if there were any news clippings or information about how Lady Moran died," Deanna said.
"Then it would seem we have the same idea," Picard said.
He gestured to the open door.
"After you," Picard said.
"I remember seeing some information about Lady Moran in one of these scrapbooks," Deanna explained.
"Many hands make light work," Picard said as he began to pull them off the shelf.
He distributed the books.
While Guinan, Mrs Troi, Wesley, and Deanna combed through the pages, the rest of the team searched the drawers and cabinets for any information.
They were checking everything now – even shaking the books to see if there was anything hidden in the pages.
"Now this is interesting," Jean-Luc said as studied a letter that was tucked away inside a book.
Everyone stopped.
"It's a letter from Lord Moran to Miss Marlowe Mansfield," Picard explained.
He set the book down on the surface of the desk so that he could read the contents aloud. The letter confirmed the hunting lodge was indeed the base of their secret rendezvous.
"I know that we had planned to meet on the evening of 2 April but ask that we instead move our meeting to 3 April," Jean-Luc read aloud. "As my wife is entertaining that evening. She has a meeting with Blackjack Murphy and will be occupied well into the night."
Picard flicked the paper in triumph.
"There you have it," Jean-Luc said.
All eyes fell on Miles.
"I don't know anything about it. Honest," Miles said as he put his hands up.
His character card had contained no information about a secret meeting.
"So, we're right back where we started," Wesley said.
"Ah ha!" Deanna shouted.
She tapped the scrapbook excitedly.
"Here it is!" she said.
Deanna set the heavy book down on the desk. Everyone gathered around so they could see for themselves.
"It's a police report from that night. Lady Moran was discovered dead by her husband," Deanna said.
"Hmm," Picard said. "Then it must have been late if he was Miss Mansfield."
Lwaxana pointed to a line on the report.
"After midnight. I knew you had it in you, Jean-Luc," Lwaxana said as she nudged the Captain.
From across the desk, Beverly caught Jean-Luc's line of sight. Captain Picard cleared his throat.
"According to this report, Lady Moran was found in the entrance hall at the foot of the main staircase," Deanna said.
"That's right under her portrait," Wesley realised.
Guinan reached into her pocket and fished out the fake sapphire necklace.
"That's where I've seen this," she said.
"You pinched that from her jewellery box," Beverly said, surprised.
Guinan shot Beverly one of her signature deadpan looks.
"First of all, she's a hologram. Secondly, she's dead," Guinan pointed out.
Guinan raised the necklace up so they could all get a good look at the piece.
"I think this is a clue," she explained. "But I need to look at that painting again."
"There, do you see it?" Guinan said.
The group was huddled together at the foot of the grand staircase as they studied the painting.
It was a portrait of Lady Moran that towered over the entrance hall. Two metres tall and more than a metre wide, the painting featured Lady Moran with her horse.
Her right hand held the reins. In her left hand, she was clutching some sort of spherical object. The object was gold, but there were no distinguishing features.
In the background, sat the island and the mausoleum.
And around Lady Moran's neck was the sapphire necklace.
"See?" Guinan repeated.
"Sorry, but I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for," Miles said.
"The necklace. It's not the same," Guinan pointed out.
Miles scowled.
"Guinan, I don't-"
"No. She's right," Picard realised.
The more he studied the two, the more the differences became obvious. The necklace in the portrait featured three pear-shaped sapphires with diamond accompaniment.
The one Guinan had found had round sapphires surrounded by rhinestones.
"So, she's got a lot of jewellery?" Reg asked.
"I think this is a replacement for that," Guinan said, pointing at the painting.
The team didn't follow.
"I suspect Lady Moran was trying to keep up appearances. Trust me, I've seen wealthy people do before when faced with financial ruin," Guinan explained.
Lwaxana snorted with laughter.
"She's right, you know?" Lwaxana said. "When Rem Jebro, the daughter of the Third House, lost all her money in a scam, she tried to pass off a chintzy replica as their family diadem. I could tell it was a Ferengi-knock off from across the room!"
Guinan grinned.
"That's what I mean," Guinan said. "I think Lady Moran sold all of her jewellery and furs – anything she had to raise the money to pay her debts."
"All that jewellery must have been worth a small fortune," Beverly added.
There had been boxes and chests of earrings, bracelets, fine necklaces, and rings.
"I bet an old place like this was probably full of heirlooms and antiques too," Sonya chimed in.
Picard nodded furiously.
Now it was all coming together.
"And you think this is the treasure she took to her grave?" he asked.
Guinan shrugged.
"I don't know about that," she acknowledged. "But I have a feeling it is related to the mystery. And if I'm right-"
Guinan paused as she approached the portrait.
"Ah ha! This portrait is dated from March 1952," Guinan announced.
It was in the bottom corner where the artist had signed his work.
"Then this was painted shortly before her death," Picard realised.
"Which means the sale of those items was also a recent change," Deanna said.
Jean-Luc stepped forward as he studied the portrait.
"What are you hiding?" he pondered aloud.
The team retired to the library to regroup while Guinan and Mrs Troi headed off to brew a fresh pot of coffee.
They were all fading fast from lack of sleep.
Captain Picard sat down in one of the plush armchairs near the window.
The clock chimed that it was 17:00 hours. The sun dipped low in the sky as the last orange glow of the evening streaked across the treeline.
The sun would go down soon and that meant they had a little over six hours left to solve the mystery and save their friends.
A familiar shadow appeared in the doorway.
Captain Picard turned to see Data and his team arrive.
"Inspector?" he asked.
"Did you find any clues?" Sonya asked.
Riker flashed her a sympathetic smile.
"Not exactly – but we think there may be something we overlooked here," Keiko said.
"Well, if it's about how Lady Moran died, we can save you the search," Deanna offered.
"While that is fascinating, it is in fact a matter of birth we have come to investigate," Data shared.
Jean-Luc leapt up from his seat. He loathed waiting around and was ready to get to work.
"Alright, how can I help?" Picard asked.
Data instructed everyone to look for any book with a title including terms like peerage, social lists, or baronetage.
A wry smile broke out on Picard's face.
"The stud book," he realised.
"I believe so, sir," Data said.
As the sun began to set, hot coffee and buns made the rounds.
Data had found the book in question. It was a thick old book with a spine that had been barely cracked.
Borgin's Guide to Peerage, Baronetage, and Landed Gentry – 14th edition, 1938.
Data flipped open the page to the Moran family and skimmed over the contents.
The information contained within that book aligned with everything they had already learned from their character biographies.
"Anything of interest?" Picard asked.
Data frowned and shook his head.
He checked the page before and the page after. There was nothing.
"There must be something here," Data said.
"Keep working," Picard urged.
While Data skimmed through the book, the rest of the team did anything they could to keep themselves awake.
Commander Riker had sat down in the corner. He insisted he was just resting his eyes. Worf paced in front of the fire. He couldn't stand sitting still for too long.
Miles and Keiko reviewed her notes while Beverly bustled about checking if anyone needed more coffee.
Wesley had picked up a copy of the Tatler and Bystander from the coffee table. He casually flipped through the pages while they waited for Data to finish his work.
It was a magazine that focused on the lives of the rich and famous. It wasn't really the sort of thing Wesley normally read – but he was starved for something to keep his mind occupied.
And sandwiched between the pages of adverts for Rothman's King Size cigarettes and Brylcreem, Wesley spied a photo of a familiar face.
"Whoa," Wes remarked.
He glanced up and caught Miles's attention.
"Hey Blackjack, you might want to see this," Wesley said, calling him over.
"If it's another Health and Efficiency – you see one, you've seen them all," Miles said.
"No. You're in here," Wesley said brightly.
Miles blinked slowly.
"I'm what?"
Wesley got up from his spot and plopped the issue down in front of Chief O'Brien and Keiko.
"See? Between somebody named Tony Curtis and this Clark Gable fellow," Wesley said.
And indeed, he was.
It was black and white photo of Miles on the glossy pages of the magazine along with a number of other paparazzi-style snaps of different celebrities and socialites.
"What's it say?" Sonya asked.
"Oi! That's me!" Miles exclaimed.
Keiko snatched it before Miles could get his hands on it.
"International playboy ooooo-"
Keiko paused to razz Miles. His face flushed.
"International playboy, Blackjack Murphy, was spotted coming out of the exclusive London Coco Club after a night spent in the company of the mysterious Miss Barbara Collins."
Keiko gasped.
"Oh! Oh, that's me!" she said.
Keiko did feel slightly dejected she wasn't in the picture.
"It says, it's rumoured that Mr Murphy was on hand because he may purchase the Coco Club to add to his business empire," Keiko said, reading the story.
"Must be part of all the ambience," Beverly said as she snatched the magazine to get a good look.
In spite of Q's involvement, they couldn't deny he had style. He'd gone to great lengths to submerge them in the story and feel of the setting.
"Or not," Rike said.
His brow furrowed as he studied the page.
"Right there. 3 April," Riker said, noting the date on the photograph. "Sort of blows a hole through the theory that old Blackjack offed Lady Moran over the debt."
"Not necessarily," Reg said.
Everyone turned, surprised Barclay had spoken up.
Reg did have a theory, but he wilted under the pressure of attention.
"Say it," Lwaxana encouraged.
"Well, I just mean that uh-"
Barclay paused to compose himself. He reminded himself that they were all trapped together. Captain Picard was counting on him.
Geordi was counting on him.
Lieutenant Yar and Data too.
Reg squared his shoulders.
"He's a mob boss, right? He probably sent someone to take care of it," Reg said.
Guinan nodded slowly.
"He's got a point," she said, offering her endorsement of the theory.
Miles laughed. He slipped his fingers under his braces as he scanned the room.
"Do I look like the type of fellow to send someone else to do my work for me?" Miles asked.
Keiko pursed her lips. She got up from her seat and rested her hands on his chest.
"Of course, you don't! But it's not really you, is it? It's the character."
Miles was eager to get himself off the hook.
"But… but for all we know I may have needed that debt money to buy this Coco Club!" Miles protested. "I mean a place like that won't come cheap. Prime location, looks real upmarket. Probably have staff to retain – bartenders, entertainers, probably cigarette girls-"
"And you would know, wouldn't you? From experience?" Riker teased.
Miles blanched.
"I… erm-"
The Chief stammered. He tugged at his collar.
"Awfully hot in here all of a sudden," Miles remarked.
Riker felt bad for teasing him.
"Relax, Chief. Just trying to lighten the mood," Riker offered.
Keiko slipped her hand into Miles's.
"I think it's great how you get so into character," she said.
Captain Picard stepped forward.
"I think we've strayed from our work," Picard said, drawing their attention back to the present.
He was ever mindful of the time – and of how little they had left.
"Sorry, Captain," Keiko apologised.
"We're sorry, sir," Wesley added.
Jean-Luc put up his hand to stop them before they were knee-deep in apologies.
"It's quite alright. This is an intriguing theory and one I'm sure we can revisit. But for the time being, let's keep our attention focused on the manor, any clues from the painting, and-"
Picard glanced back at Data.
"Inspector? Have you found anything?" Picard pressed.
Data looked up from the book.
"No, sir," he answered solemnly.
Tasha watched as the final brilliant flash of the sun's dying rays faded overhead.
She sighed and pulled her blanket tighter.
"Milk?" Geordi asked.
Tasha turned away from the window and nodded.
"Coming right up," Geordi replied.
He shuffled over to the fireplace with a tray of tea and any little nibbles he managed to find in the kitchen.
Their foray into the woods had led them to the hunting lodge.
It was far better shelter than either of them could have hoped for.
Their clothes were slung over the grate by the fire. Geordi had put the kettle on and now they were settling down for a much-needed cup of tea.
"Thanks," Tasha said.
She could feel the warmth emanating out from the mug between her hands.
Geordi blew on his own tea before he took a sip. He groaned with delight the moment the hot liquid hit his lips.
"Nothing a good cuppa can't fix," he remarked.
"Except we're trapped on a holodeck under Q's control. Lore is on our tail. We may be the only two left and we have wet socks," Tasha said.
Geordi laughed.
"Not for long," he said to cheer her up. "Good thing you got that fire going."
The hunting lodge didn't have heat. Temperatures had dipped along with the sun. Geordi and Tasha were both huddled under blankets they had found near the sofa, but they had been wet and cold for the better part of the afternoon.
It was the sort of chill that settled in the bones and took time to banish.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence with their tea. The fire crackled and popped as their soaked woollen suit coats began to dry.
"Happy Birthday, Data," Tasha said.
Her shoulders slumped.
"We'll find him," Geordi said. "We'll find all of them. Don't worry."
He bumped into Tasha, making her smile.
"He's probably having the time of his life with this mystery," Geordi said.
"I hope so," Tasha replied. "I just… I really wanted this to be perfect for him."
Tasha felt terrible. The whole weekend was supposed to be about Data. They were supposed to have fun and forget about work, their life on the Enterprise, and let go of obligation and duty.
Tasha glanced out the window.
"He's out there somewhere. And if he's not in danger, he's working," Tasha sighed.
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
"I just know he's working," she said. "And he shouldn't have to. Not on his first proper birthday."
Tasha started to pick at her fingernails.
She knew just how important this weekend was.
Like Data, Tasha had chosen her own birthdate. It was how she'd first stumbled on the idea for Data to pick a birthday.
Birthdays weren't celebrated on Turkana. They used the cycle of the moon to tell time.
Tasha had only known that she was born under the Thunder Moon. It was a time toward the end of the Turkanan year when the great storms swept across the land and the days grew short.
Data and Tasha had both been found by Starfleet.
And both had chosen those days as their respective birthdays.
Tasha just wanted to give Data that experience of celebration surrounded by good food and his circle of friends.
Whenever Data tried to do something ordinary, he was constantly confronted with the reality that he wasn't ordinary.
"He tries to have a normal relationship and we get dragged in front of a disciplinary hearing! All he's ever wanted is a family, a sense of belonging," Tasha went on. "And his first family reunion is ruined when his brother tries to destroy this ship!"
She visibly grimaced.
"He meets the only other person like him in the universe and turns out his brother is a bloody psychopath," Tasha grumbled.
The fire popped.
"I just wanted this for Data. For him to have that feeling of belonging. For once," she confessed.
Data had shared that the holodeck was really the only place he truly felt like he could be an ordinary person.
"He said he doesn't feel out of place here because everyone's pretending to be someone else," Tasha shared.
"Well, that's not entirely true," Geordi said.
Tasha kept her gaze low. She didn't want Geordi to see that she was on the verge of tears.
"Data told me that he feels that way when he's with you," Geordi revealed.
Tasha wiped her eyes.
"Thanks, I know you're trying to-"
"That wasn't just a line, Tasha," Geordi insisted. "He really feels that way. He said that in being together with you, he's found home."
Tasha rested her head on Geordi's shoulder.
"I'm glad Data has you," Tasha said.
"I'm glad he has you," Geordi replied.
Geordi set his mug down on the coffee table.
"You know, if you two had never, well-"
Geordi trailed off and rocked his head side to side.
"I'd still be on the holodeck with Data every night. Never would have met Sonya," Geordi said.
Tasha's heart sank.
"I'm sorry. This was your first-"
"First time I invited her to anything with my friends," Geordi finished for her.
He didn't watch Tasha to get the wrong impression. Geordi and Sonya weren't officially anything – they were taking things slow to see where it went.
The differences in their ages and ranks was a hindrance. Geordi was so worried that people would misinterpret their intentions. He didn't want anyone thinking Sonya got special treatment or had only advanced because of her relationship with the Departmental Head.
"She was so nervous about coming along," Geordi said. "And I promised I would be there the whole time."
He felt awful for betraying that trust.
"I'm sure she'll understand. It wasn't your fault we wound up separated," Tasha assured him.
"We need to find them soon," Geordi said.
Tasha got up to flip her socks over.
"I agree – but we can't go anywhere in wet clothes. We'll freeze out there," Tasha said. "We won't be able to rescue anyone if we turn into popsicles first."
Geordi turned and studied the hunting lodge.
In their haste to shed their wet, freezing clothes they hadn't really dug through the contents of the closets.
"I wonder if there's something here we could use?" Geordi pondered aloud.
Geordi and Tasha exchanged a knowing look.
"I mean, there was that Gamekeeper and all. All the wardrobes back home had stuff in them. There's got to be something," Geordi said.
He shrugged.
"I'm game. You know me, function over fashion any day of the week," Tasha replied with a grin.
Captain Picard put his hand over his cup to stop Commander Riker from filling it. Jean-Luc had already had enough coffee in him for one night.
"No, thank you," Picard said.
Riker nodded and moved on, offering Lwaxana and Guinan a warmup.
Miles, Keiko, Sonya, and Mr Barclay had set up camp at the table in the library. Together, they worked through all the available news articles and old magazines they could find.
Worf had decided to keep guard at the door. Lore was still out there, and it was possible he would turn up again.
Wesley Crusher had been ordered to bed. He'd refused, of course. Wes wanted to help his friends. But he'd dozed off somewhere between the 1939 and 1940 estate records.
Now he was slumbering on his mum's shoulder.
"I'll have a pot of stew ready in the next forty minutes. An hour tops," Riker promised.
He'd been unable to sit still and needed something to occupy his mind. They'd nibbled out at the hunting lodge. But no one had eaten a proper meal since the night before.
So, Will had set to work in the kitchen and Deanna had offered to supervise.
Captain Picard had endorsed the idea. He thought they might all work better with a full belly.
Meanwhile, Data was still at the desk, flipping through the same book.
It has to be here. Data thought.
He had already checked the entry for the fictional Moran family, the biography of Lady and Lord Moran, and he'd read through all of their respective familial entries dating back to the Norman Conquest.
"Maybe if you took a break and came back to it?" Picard suggested.
Data stopped and looked up.
"Sir, because of my internal chronometer, I am uncomfortably aware of the passage of time," Data reminded him. "And that I have only five hours, forty-three minutes, and eighteen seconds to find Geordi and Tasha."
If Data's chronometer wasn't enough, the magical clock in the corner still listed their status as 'mortal peril.'
It was an ominous reminder of what was at stake.
"Data? Could you take a look at this?" Keiko asked.
Reluctantly, Data abandoned his post and went over to the table.
News clippings, letters, and notes from Keiko's work were spread out on the table.
"We think we've established a timeline," Sonya said.
"We don't know what it means – but we thought you might be able to see something here," Miles said as he gestured at the table.
Data cocked his head to the side as he skimmed over the contents.
"We think Lady Moran's gambling debt was going on for years," Guinan explained as she pointed to a number of letters that backed that conclusion.
Data nodded in agreement.
"But the decision to sell all her belongings to raise the funds to repay that debt was recent," Sonya went on.
There were enough photographs and receipts to support that theory.
"In fact, that decision came shortly after the engagement announcement," Keiko said knowingly.
The first receipts from the jewellery were dated just days after the news broke of her daughter's engagement. They had been sold at auction.
"You are referring to the engagement between Duke Finley and Miss Moran?" Data clarified.
The team nodded.
"The one that's supposed to save this estate," Miles reminded the team. "From what we know, that's the only reason this wedding is going forward."
"All the information from the character cards indicates neither Miss Moran nor Duke Finley want to go through with it. But they have to in order to save this place," Guinan said.
Keiko picked up the sapphire necklace and handed it to Data.
"I think the question is – why did Lady Moran want to stop this wedding?" Keiko asked.
"Okay, what about dirty laundry?" Deanna asked.
Keiko set down her bowl of stew and began flipping through her notebook. She frowned and shook her head.
"I don't have any notes on anything like that. No unsavoury habits. No hidden vices," Keiko said.
Deanna smirked.
"I meant actual dirty laundry," she clarified. "Like pyjamas. Shorts."
Deanna poked Will with her foot.
"Socks," she added with a knowing smirk.
Will grinned around a spoonful of stew.
It was nearly 19:00 hours and the team was still in the library.
"So, we've ruled out a number of possible motives. I don't think it has to be anything extreme – we know they didn't want to get married. Isn't that enough?" Miles asked.
They weren't having much luck in the new theory department.
"But why would Lady Moran want to stop the wedding? Why go to all this trouble to pay her debt now?" Sonya asked.
"And why kill for it?" Worf chimed in.
Lwaxana nodded in agreement.
"Exactly," she said.
Even Jean-Luc had to admit that Mrs Troi had a point.
"I love you, little one – but even I wouldn't kill to stop your wedding. Divorce is much simpler. In any case, Betazoid women often outlive their partners," she said.
Lwaxana cast a wary eye over Will Riker as he slurped his stew straight from the bowl.
"I find I'm in complete agreement. I love my son, but I can't see killing someone to try a stop a wedding," Beverly said.
She nudged Wesley enough, guiding him toward the armrest and away from her shoulder. It was a lot harder to sleep on mum at fifteen than it had been when he was three.
Wes stirred and rolled onto his side. He snuggled down against the sofa and was back to dreamland. As he moved, the cricket ball fell from his pocket and rolled across the floor.
Beverly moved to fetch it – but Jean-Luc stopped her.
"Allow me," Picard said.
He scooped up the ball and tossed it, catching it once more in his hand.
"I'm going to take a short walk. I need to clear my head," Picard announced.
While the Captain took a stroll through the corridor, Data and the rest of the team tried to determine the connection between Lady Moran's death and her daughter's engagement.
"Mr Barclay-"
Data stopped himself.
"Duke Finley," he quickly correctly. "Did you have any clues in your character card? Any objects that may point to the conclusion of the mystery?"
Reg shook his head.
"No," he answered. "Only that I wasn't keen to wed. And didn't quite see eye to eye with my intended – but had to go through with it to save the estate."
Data cocked his head to the side.
"But it is not your estate," Data said.
Data's eyes narrowed. His neural net surged.
Human custom surrounding inheritance was such a strange notion in the twenty-fourth century.
"Ooo! Ooo! I've got it," Sonya said.
She remembered reading something about that.
Sonya scrambled over to the bookshelf in the corner.
"Here it is!" she cried out, waving a letter.
The team had initially discarded the letter from Lord Moran's solicitor because it dealt with Lord Moran's estate and titles.
There was nothing connecting it to Lady Moran.
And the contents had not roused suspicion. It all seemed rather routine.
"In the event of Lord Moran's death, the estate is to pass to his daughter first and her heirs. But in the absence of any heirs, the estate is to pass to Duke Finley and his heirs," Sonya read.
"Is it dated?" Data demanded.
Sonya's eyebrows shot up.
"January 1926," Sonya said.
Even with the change in attitude about inheritance and material wealth, the team recognised this was odd.
"Why would Lord Moran will away his estate to a neighbour decades before their engagement?" Riker thought aloud.
"Why indeed," Data remarked.
Data didn't quite feel he grasped this concept of inheritance – but he knew enough to understand it was strange.
With such a big estate, Data figured this couldn't have been the only version of Lord Moran's will. He had likely always had one and updated it as necessary.
"Is there any clause or language to point to an earlier version?" Data asked.
Sonya nodded furiously.
"It says this document replaces any previous version of the will," Sonya answered.
"We need to find that document," Deanna declared.
"Absolutely," Keiko said as she leapt up from her seat.
She rushed over to the filing cabinet and started delegating search tasks for everyone.
"Then that document may hold the clue to this entire mystery," Data announced.
Geordi climbed down from the loft sporting a fresh suit. It was a bit tight in the chest and arms – but at least the length was close on the trousers.
His own dress shoes were nearly dry. The wool on the other hand was still soaked. It would need a day or two in front of the fire before it was dry enough to wear again.
Geordi and Tasha didn't have that kind of time.
As Geordi had suspected, there was clothing and dry socks in the bedroom above.
"All set?" Tasha asked.
"I think so," Geordi replied as he brushed off his suit coat.
He was just glad to be warm and dressed once more. The sooner they could leave the hunting lodge, the sooner they could resume their sea rch for Data.
"You know, I think this place might have been used by Lord Moran and that Miss Marlowe character," Geordi said.
"Oh?" Tasha replied.
She climbed the ladder up to the loft.
"There's a whole closet full of women's clothing up there and well-"
"Oh, give a us break!" Tasha huffed as she flung open the closet door.
Geordi bit back a snicker of laughter.
"Well, I'm sure you know what I mean," Geordi called up.
Tasha collapsed onto the bed with her head in her hands. After a long groan, she peeked out from behind her hands to study the contents of the closet again.
Geordi's analysis was right.
This clearly had to be some sort of rendezvous point for Lord Moran and Miss Marlowe. If the isolated location and champagne weren't enough of a giveaway – the silk dressing gown and kitten heel slippers with marabou trim sealed the theory.
Tasha scrambled over the bed and ripped open the wardrobe.
The only thing inside was a pair of men's silk pyjamas and a dressing gown. They were far too short and thin to provide any sort of coverage against the crisp Autumn air.
Tasha turned back to the closet and scowled.
Data. She reminded herself.
This was no time for Tasha fret over impractical clothing. Data was out there somewhere, and they had an obligation to help.
As the minutes ticked by, Geordi checked the time on his watch and then started to pace around by the fire.
"Do you need help?" Geordi called up.
Tasha chewed on her lip as she studied the options before her. She had pulled out anything that looked reasonable and laid them on the bed to try and fashion something.
Tasha didn't care about colour or style. She needed something that afforded the ability to run, jump, climb, or fight if necessary.
And she needed something warm.
"Any chance anything's dried out down there yet?" Tasha hollered.
There was a short pause.
"It's wool, Tasha. This stuff probably won't dry out until 1960," Geordi teased.
Ten minutes later, Tasha descended from the loft wearing a frown and a mint green party dress and a frown.
She would have preferred the two-piece suit – only the skirt didn't offer enough room to move.
Tasha had used her switch blade to cut all the tulle out from under the skirt of the dress. At the very least, she would be free to move without attracting unwanted attention.
Geordi whistled.
"Don't," Tasha warned.
"I'm sorry," Geordi apologised. "You do look lovely. The gloves and fur are a nice touch."
Tasha rolled her eyes.
"Honestly, I'm only wearing them for the warmth," Tasha replied.
She sighed and tugged at the seam.
"I think you are right about this being for Beverly's character," Tasha said.
She had tried to wear the jacket from the suit with her dress. But she slipped on the sleeves, Tasha couldn't get arm through.
The good Doctor didn't quite have the same muscle tone.
"It's all made for somebody with twiggy little arms," Tasha grumbled.
Resigned it would have to do, Tasha and Geordi slipped back into their old shoes – the only thing that had managed to dry out.
Tasha was just lacing up her boots when something caught her eye in the window on the west side of the hunting lodge.
It was dark. The sight that made Tasha's blood curdle stood out against the woods.
Lore grinned.
Tasha squeezed Geordi's arm so hard that he yelped in pain.
"Tasha? What on-"
Geordi stopped.
He stumbled off the sofa and back toward the door.
Without a second thought, Geordi raced to lock the door.
"Help me with the sofa. We can use it as a barricade!" Tasha said.
Geordi stopped and backed away toward the centre of the room.
"It won't matter – he could rip through these walls if he wanted to," Geordi pointed out.
They were trapped.
"The loft might be better cover if-"
Geordi stopped as he heard the tell-tale click of a firearm.
"What are you thinking?" Geordi cried. "Tasha, please put the gun down. What if it isn't Lore?"
"It is," she replied as she aimed the ancient double-barrelled shotgun at the door.
Geordi glanced at the door and back at Tasha. Lore hadn't even so much as knocked.
Why hasn't Lore come in yet? Geordi thought.
There had to be a catch.
"Tasha, what if… what if he has someone else with him?" Geordi protested.
"Then I better not miss," she threw back.
Tasha knew they were at a serious disadvantage. But if she could hit one of Lore's primary systems - like an optical receptor – they might stand a chance of getting away.
At least she could even the odds.
"This could be a trap! Another test!" Geordi said.
Tasha didn't care.
Lore had hurt Data. In her mind, Lore was responsible for all of this. She could just imagine that Q had put them all there to pit Lore and Data against each other.
Outside, Lore threw back his head and chuckled.
They were terrified.
He had them right where he wanted them.
Geordi and Tasha both jumped when the clock struck 8:00. The great grandfather clock that stood in the corner chimed eight times – each one bringing a new, haunting sound as it echoed against the silence.
Geordi breathed a sigh of relief when it was over.
Then Lore kicked the door in.
The first shot impacted Lore's chest cavity. It did little more than pepper Lore's bioplast coating with superficial damage.
He chuckled.
"Well, go on. Give it your best shot," Lore taunted.
He threw out his arms to give her a clean view of his body.
Tasha's hands were sweaty. She could hear her heart pound in her ears as she kept the gun steady.
She fired, aiming for his face in hopes of knocking out one or both of Lore's optical sensors.
Tasha was stunned.
She had missed.
Lore glanced down at the smattering of lead.
"Right in the heart, darling," Lore said.
Lore grinned as he closed in on them.
He had his hands around Geordi's throat before either of them knew what was happening.
Lore snatched his VISOR.
"Curious," he said.
"Leave him alone!" Tasha demanded.
Lore tossed Geordi into the far wall. Geordi hit the wall with a sickening crunch before he slumped to the floor.
Then Lore took the gun from Tasha's hands. He bent the barrel before throwing it aside.
He pulled Tasha into his arms.
"It's not really your colour, cupcake," he said, eying her dress.
"I've got it! I've got it!" Lwaxana cheered.
She waved an old copy of a now defunct will in her hand.
The team had divided the workload with everyone taking a different stack of old files. Worf and Mrs Troi had dug through the estate records from 1915 – 1921.
Keiko snatched the document from Lwaxana – only to have it subsequently ripped out of her hands by Miles.
"I want to see!"
"You're too tall!" Deanna argued, elbowing Commander Riker out of the way.
"Excuse me," Data said as he took the document.
It only took Data a matter of seconds to process the entire document. That was long enough for Guinan to realise he was onto something.
"What is it?" she prompted.
Without a word, Data returned to the desk. He began to flip through the same book as before. His fingers worked so quickly that he found the page in a matter of seconds.
"Ah ha!" he cried.
Everyone waited with anticipation for Data to explain his latest stroke of brilliance.
"Well, don't leave us hanging!" Lwaxana urged.
She clutched the edge of her chair so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.
"This document," Data began, shaking the older version of the will. "Was created in December 1917. Duke Remington Finley was born 24 November of that year."
Barclay perked up.
"Hey! That's my birthday!"
It was, in fact, his real birthdate.
"According to these records-"
Data tapped the page in the book on the desk.
"The Finley estate and titles have a strict requirement of agnatic primogeniture," Data said, reading on.
"A what?" Miles asked.
He wasn't the only one with that question.
"It means that the inheritance of the estate and title is locked into an antiquated system of gender discrimination," Worf said.
He was familiar with such rules from his understanding of Klingon law. In spite of centuries of protest, the Klingon High Council operated much in the same way.
Women were forbidden membership, and it remained a hotly contested item of debate.
The Moran estate had no such requirement. Under the terms of the will, it would pass to Natalie Moran and her heirs.
But the neighbouring Finley estate would be forfeit without a male heir.
"It means the boys get everything," Lwaxana translated.
The disapproval in her voice was evident.
She rolled her eyes.
"Typical," Lwaxana scoffed.
"You know, mother. We have the same system on Betazed. Only our is matrilineal," Deanna pointed out.
Lwaxana waved her off.
"And we don't have these problems. You don't see women squabbling over land," Lwaxana threw back.
Riker stepped forward and scratched the back of his neck.
"Look, Data. I'm still not sure I see how this all adds up to murder," Riker confessed.
"Lord Moran updated his will after the Dowager Duchess gave birth to Mr Finley in November of 1917," Data said.
Riker shrugged.
"And?"
"And the Finley estate requires a male heir," Data said.
Miles dropped his head back and groaned as he rubbed his eyes. Lwaxana blinked slowly, making no move to hide her obvious annoyance.
"The last Duke Finley was killed in the Great War," Data explained.
He picked up the book and read aloud the accompanying biography.
"Died in defence of the realm in the Somme. November 1916," Data announced.
The group fell silent as Data placed the book back down on the surface of the table.
Beverly was the first to catch on.
"Oh."
