Author's Note: Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU! My apologies for the delay. I've been writing a lot on the next arc – and it's been hard.

Long Chapter Alert! My compulsive tendencies demand that our next arc start with Chapter 100. Therefore, buckle up – this is a behemoth.

Your support is wonderful, and I relish each opportunity to hear about how a story has touched a reader whether it be making you laugh, cry, or simply enjoy some time with your favourite characters.

Quick on the Type-303 shuttle. This is something I invented for this story because the official "Fighter shuttle" just seemed bland.

303 is NOT named after SG-1's X-302/303/304s. (I LOVE Stargate, but this time it's not an SG reference) It's actually named for the 303rd Tadeusz Kościuszko Warsaw Fighter Squadron of the RAF.

Data & Tasha are great. And oblivious.

Tasha's pregnancy isn't something they're going to figure out today, tomorrow, or even for some time.

It has always been my goal to weave this story in with other Trek series in the franchise.

You may recall that in DS9's Broken Link, Garak implies that during his time as gardener at the Cardassian Embassy on Romulus, a number of prominent Romulans died – including a character known as 'Proconsul Merrok.'

In my story he is 'Morak.' And in this retelling, he's still alive.

There are DS9 and VOY tie-ins in this chapter and they will not be the last.

A scream rippled across the compound.

Dozens of victims squirmed against their restraints – young, old, Romulans that were victims of the last Tal Shiar raid, Klingon prisoners of war, human captives.

It mattered not.

They were all strapped to their cots. And they were all there for one purpose.

Behind a glass observation window one level up was a team of Romulan scientists and military personnel observing the experiment.

"How much longer?" whispered one of the scientists.

He had no stomach for this sort of project.

"Shhh," hissed a second one, concerned they would soon find themselves on the floor and strapped to a cot same as the others for expressing concern.

In the middle of the group stood a tall Romulan with his hands clasped behind his back. He closed his eyes and savoured the sound of the unwilling victims of his experiment as they flailed, crying out in agony.

As Supreme High Commander of the Romulan Fleet, General Morak had a reputation for being composed in the face of unspeakable terror.

But many failed to fully understand just how much General Morak seemed to enjoy it until they witnessed his cruelty first-hand.

General Morak wasn't just composed.

He felt serene.

Beside the General stood his daughter – the youngest Romulan Commander in history and a prime example of the worst kind of nepotism.

Normally she shared her father's amusement in the suffering of others.

At the moment, Commander Sela was focused on the sign in the back of the room below. It was just an ordinary warning sign that indicated the wall behind held a coolant pipe.

But for Sela, it was her refuge – something to focus on that was anything but the sound of the prisoners directly below them.

She had seen this particular experiment no less than half a dozen times already. And she had seen worse.

Yet on this particular occasion there was something Sela couldn't overlook. It wasn't the unbearable way in which the victims were fighting against the restraints nor the slugs that were expelled from their bodies, slipping out the ear and falling dead to the ground.

The victim in the third cot on the left couldn't be much older than twelve but that barely even registered with Sela because he was human.

And all humans were the same in her eyes. They were good for one thing and one thing only – labour.

But there were a handful of victims directly below the window that made Sela's stomach turn as they cried out, praying for death in a language foreign to the scientists and other personnel in the room.

Trocàirorm.

Mercy.

Commander Sela kept her eyes fixated on the sign on the far wall.

She stared. Unblinking. Stony.

A pillar of composure as the experiment progressed – just like she had been trained to do as a girl.

Fourteen Years Earlier

Sela tried to bury her head against the chest of her guardian. She didn't like the sight or sounds around her.

Her father was disciplining another one of their human labourers, making an example of him to the others.

And for a wee girl, it was frightening.

Sela was old enough to know that humans were bad. They were weak and could not be trusted. She was brought up to believe that her father was kind to the humans, showing them mercy and providing for them in spite of the fact they were unworthy.

General Morak's estate had many labourers - human, Reman, and Klingon. They were the spoils of war, captured by Morak during his numerous conquests.

He burned through them like fuel.

They were both forced slave labour that helped maintain the General's lavish lifestyle and entertainment. Whenever he was furious, looking to celebrate, or just bored, Morak took pleasure in tormenting his slaves.

And his daughter was raised to believe that her father was merely maintaining the natural order of things.

"Sela, you need to turn around," her guardian whispered.

Her guardian was a human.

When Sela was very young, this guardian saved her from an assassination attempt – an act that endeared this guardian to General Morak.

Sela didn't know his name. Nor did she understand why this human was so dedicated to protecting her.

She simply called him 'Lilo.'

And when her father was not looking, he called her 'Lala' and they would both giggle.

He was always present, carrying Sela around place to place and guarding her while she had her lessons. She was a pampered young thing – even in spite of the harsh upbringing that is the standard for Romulan children.

Tutors would come and go. But her guardian was always there.

Sela liked his wavy hair. Romulans didn't have wavy hair.

He had blue eyes like Sela – the only person she had ever known that had blue eyes like her. There were times when his eyes looked upon Sela with such a profound sense of sorrow that it made her feel sad too.

And sometimes when they were alone, he told her stories about her mother.

Sela liked these stories about her mother best. They were far better than the ones General Morak told. Because in the stories her guardian shared, Sela's mother was very brave. She travelled through the stars on a great ship. According to her guardian, her mother was strong too.

Clever.

Beautiful.

And she had loved Sela more than anything.

Sela had two tiny gold pips from her mother and a locket.

That was all she had of her mother, all that remained of the strange woman out of time.

The Romulans had called her 'Astradis.' In Romulan, it meant the woman that fell from the stars. It was far nicer than the words Sela's father used to describe her mother.

Sela's guardian had given her these trinkets. He warned Sela that they would have to be a secret and she was never allowed to show them to her father.

Whenever she felt afraid or overwhelmed, Sela liked to clutch these pips. In a way, she didn't feel so alone when she imagined what it would be like to have a mother that loved her.

But Sela couldn't do that now.

They were outside in the courtyard and her little golden pips were stuffed away, hidden safely under her bed.

So instead, Sela clutched her guardian.

"Sela, you have to turn around," her guardian whispered. "At least pretend you are watching."

She shook her head.

As stubborn as her mother.

"Sela, your father will know. You must pretend. Look at the tree back there, do you see it?" her guardian asked.

Reluctantly, Sela turned around and found the big tree that sat far off in the distance past the courtyard. Sela was shaking, terrified as her father brutalised another human.

Her guardian held her tight, reminding her that she was not alone. He was always encouraging Sela to keep a stiff upper lip in front of her father.

He knew it was the only way to keep her safe. A matter of survival.

Because as a half-human, half-Romulan, Sela's position was precarious at best and would depend entirely on her father's favour in order to avoid winding up like her mother.

And Sela's guardian would do anything to keep her from that fate.

"Look at that tree," her guardian instructed. "Just keep looking at that tree."

Present

Just keep looking at that tree.

Sela kept eyes fixated on the sign in the back of the room.

"As you can see from the monitors, there is no trace of the parasite's presence once it leaves the body," one of the scientists said.

"When the primary parasite or host is killed, all the subsequent offspring will be expelled from their hosts," another scientist added.

"And you have genetically engineered this set to release a toxin?" General Morak asked.

It was all part of their plan.

"Correct, sir. It will kill the host, thus erasing any possible evidence and eliminating the possibility of interrogation or capture," the first scientist responded.

"It is excruciatingly painful and takes several hours. However as you can see, none of these victims is in any state to conduct a coherent interview," the second scientist added.

Sela breathed a sigh of relief when several of the prisoners grew silent. The toxin had rendered them catatonic – still alive and conscious – but no longer capable of movement or speech.

"Well, I wish I could stay and observe your fine work," General Morak said. "But I have a pressing engagement."

He straightened his uniform, pulling himself up to his full, imposing height.

"Excellent work. Please continue," Morak said.

He turned to his daughter, catching her arm.

"I will leave you here to supervise. You may fill me in on the details later," Morak said.

"Yes, General," Sela responded.

She tensed as her father's strong grip tightened on her bicep, gripping her tight in warning.

"Fenthair," Sela said, correcting herself.

Sela would prefer to use rank only while on duty. But General Morak preffered she call him father. It's a reminder that everything Sela had was thanks to her father and that he could take it all away in a flash were she to ever displease him.

As soon as General Morak was gone, the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The scientists made a beeline for their workstations to check the readings on their victims. Sela was quick to follow.

It was easier to stomach looking at numbers instead of people.

"Hmm, three of them are already dead. That was fast," one scientist remarked.

The second one tapped the screen to look at which victims had expired already. In most rounds of the experiment, it took hours before the toxin became fatal.

"Cot 4C was quite elderly. And these other two were already weak when we got them. Part of that crop we bought from the Nausicaan," the scientist announced.

"That wasn't Nausicaan though," the second one pointed out. "Whatever that funny language was, we've got eight more. None of them are in great shape."

They were contemplating whether it was even worth testing the other eight given their poor condition.

"It's Turkanan," Sela said quietly.

"Hmm?" the first scientist asked.

"Turkanan. Those people. Their language. They're from Turkana IV," Sela explained.

The two scientists exchanged a glance and shrugged.

"Never heard of it," the first one said.

"Nor should you have," Sela replied.

She strolled around the console, walking her fingers along the panel and avoiding eye contact with the research team.

"It's a nothing little planet from a shit part of the galaxy," Sela said in a cold voice. "A planet so destitute with people so worthless that they aren't even useful as lab rats."

Sela chuckled.

She was compensating – even if she wasn't ready to admit it to herself.

"Incinerate the bodies," Sela ordered, motioning with her head to the chamber below.

The first scientist blanched.

"But Commander, they aren't dead," he protested.

"Yet," Sela responded with a casual shrug.

She turned and sauntered past the console on the wall, tapping different nonvital systems as she went.

"They will be soon enough, and I hardly see the point in wasting valuable bedspace or resources on the dying," Sela said.

She made a face.

"You're not feeding them, are you?" she asked, repulsed by the notion of such waste.

She simply wanted them gone.

Burning the bodies of their experimental victims was standard procedure – but only after they had succumbed to the toxin.

"Burn them," Sela repeated in her smooth tenor, speaking in the same tone as if she were ordering a course correction. "Throw the rest of the Turkanans in too. There's no point in keeping them alive or wasting a test on such weak specimens."

Sela turned on her heel and made for the door.

She was nearly there when she paused.

"And Doctor?" Sela asked without turning around. "You will never waste our time buying Turkanan test subjects again. If I ever find out that you have purchased even one more body from that cesspool, you will count yourself among those in the next experiment."

"Some days I feel like ninety-five percent of Wesley's room could be a laundry basket and he'd still manage to throw his socks in the five percent that wasn't," Beverly said.

She shook her and laughed.

"He said, 'mum, I'm due in Engineering.' And I suppose I should be grateful he's out doing that instead of what I was doing at his age," Beverly added.

Deanna chuckled.

"And just what were you doing at that age?" Deanna prompted.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Beverly replied with a smirk.

She paused to take a sip of her wine.

"Let's just say there are times I'm grateful he's an only child. I don't think I could handle two – and believe me, Wesley is an absolute delight," Beverly said.

Suddenly, her face fell. Beverly eyed Tasha's untouched glass of whisky.

"Tasha?" she asked.

"Hmm?" Tasha replied, absentmindedly.

For the last ten minutes Tasha had been staring at the wall, completely lost in thought. She wasn't focused on any one thing in particular. In fact, she hadn't been focused on anything at all – she had simply spaced out.

"I didn't even think," Beverly said in an apologetic tone. "I am so sorry. Here I am rambling on about Wesley and I didn't even consider how hard it might be, well, after Timothy."

"It's fine," Tasha replied.

In truth, her mind hadn't been focused on Timothy at all.

It wasn't that Tasha didn't think of him. She adored the updates Timothy sent about his new life as a Moran. Baseball was going well, and he had started swim lessons.

Tasha simply found that there were times her mind just started to wander. It was like being in a daze. She'd drifted off during the morning briefing and had struggled to keep her concentration on the Bridge.

Deanna could sense Tasha was telling the truth – she wasn't quiet because she was upset.

"Are you feeling alright?" Deanna asked as she reached to feel Tasha's forehead.

"You've barely touched your drink," Beverly said, motioning to her glass.

"Sorry, I'm just tired. And I haven't really felt much like drinking. I'm training again," Tasha said.

She was still firmly of the opinion that her increased fatigue was all a part of her training. Spurred by the success of her recent gains, Tasha was keen to push herself.

Beverly made a face.

"Tasha, it's alright. No one expects you to get over Timothy right away," Beverly said, reaching for Tasha's hand.

"I'm fine, really," Tasha insisted. "I wasn't thinking about Timothy."

"But you were thinking about children," Deanna observed. "Specifically, loss."

Tasha's mouth went dry.

"I-" she started to say.

All of a sudden, Beverly was struck with an idea.

"Tasha? Does this have anything to do with that person you were helping the other day?" Beverly asked. "No one ever did drop by to-"

"False alarm," Tasha replied quickly.

It may have been a false alarm and Tasha had told herself time and again it was all for the best.

But it didn't change the fact there was a small pang of disappointment knowing that's all it was.

"Have a drink, you'll feel better," Deanna said, encouraging Tasha.

Tasha eyed her untouched whisky and then bit her lip, mulling over her choices.

"You know, I think I'm going to stick with tea for now. I don't want to throw off my training," Tasha decided.

Jean-Luc was in his Ready Room enjoying his weekly chess game and book discussion with Data.

This week it was the Klingon masterpiece, The Ghost Orchid.

"I found Brelo'k's use of narrative style distinctly different than the descriptive style that is typically characteristic of Klingon prose," Data remarked. "I will admit I missed it compared to the works of his other Klingon contemporaries."

Jean-Luc bit back a smirk.

"Sir?" Data prompted.

"I just never took you for the type," Picard admitted.

"You do not enjoy classic Klingon literature?" Data inquired, surprised.

Jean-Luc paused, moving his bishop across the board to seize Data's pawn before answering. Picard was trying to find a way to best describe his feelings on the matter.

"Too flowery," Picard settled on.

"And yet Emily Brontë remains a personal favourite," Data said with just a hint of a smirk of his own.

Jean-Luc raised his glass.

"Touché," Picard said.

The two men toasted. In spite of all the pressure lately and the ongoing threat of the Romulans, Data and Captain Picard were making the best of their time by resuming their two-man book club.

Even before initiating his relationship with Tasha, Data had enjoyed these meetings for chess and conversation with the Captain.

It was one of the key friendships Data had from his earliest days on the Enterprise.

Captain Picard had come to appreciate Data's curious mind from their first encounter. He found that they could debate a topic to exhaustion and Data was more than a match.

In many ways, Data's friendship reminded Jean-Luc of his days with the likes of his old friends. Data's wit could rival Phillipa Louvois. He was as dependable as Walker Keel.

And like the late Jack Crusher, Jean-Luc could count on Data to provide him with honest, straightforward input during a crisis.

Data was a rare gem in that he was both an exceptional officer and wonderful friend.

Jean-Luc was in such high spirits that he wasn't even the slightest bit perturbed when Data swiped his queen.

There was nothing that could sour Picard's mood.

"Sir, may I ask why you seem to be more cheery than usual?" Data inquired.

Jean-Luc flashed him a rare smile as he leapt up from his seat to retrieve another bottle of wine.

"Because we're headed for Pacifica," Picard declared as he readied the corkscrew.

Data's brow furrowed.

The Enterprise was indeed headed for Pacifica for a long-overdue survey mission. The planet was often dubbed 'the jewel of the galaxy' for her warm sands, temperate waters, and breath-taking views.

"But sir, do the travel restrictions not yet remain in place?" Data inquired.

"Yes, but," Picard began as he twisted the corkscrew. "Though we are unable to leave the ship and partake in all of the pleasures Pacifica has to offer – we will still have a prime view of her greatest feature."

There was a small 'pop' as he pulled the cork from the bottle. Jean-Luc set the bottle down, allowing it time to breathe.

"The sea, Data," Picard said. "The open sea in all of her beautiful, strange majesty."

Jean-Luc stopped and took a long, slow breath as if he were almost able to smell the saltwater. He had always found the ocean to be beautiful – whether it was the bright, tranquil waters of Pacifica or the dark, churning tides of the Normandy coastline.

Their own trip with Enterprise was hardly on par. They wouldn't be able to beam down or spend any free time on the planet. Their mission to Pacifica was strictly limited to scientific observation via shuttle, probes, sensor sweeps, and submersible craft.

"Captain, if the travel restrictions remain in place then-"

"I'll admit, flying over the ocean and using the submersibles is hardly the same as swimming in moonlight," Picard acknowledged.

Data blinked in confusion.

"One can swim in moonlight?" Data asked.

Jean-Luc responded with a wry laugh.

"Oh yes," he said.

The Captain began to sing as he poured them both another glass of wine.

"La mer. Qu'on voit danser les long des golfes clairs," Jean-Luc serenaded, flitting across the carpet with two glasses of a bold pinot noir.

"Thank you, sir," Data said, accepting a glass of the dark burgundy liquid.

Jean-Luc sat back and tugged down his uniform shirt. There was a wistful look in his eye. His moment of bliss was cut short when Jean-Luc caught sight of Data staring down at his wine glass.

"Data?" Picard asked.

He did not look up.

"I recognise you have no way of knowing, yet I feel compelled to ask the question," Data said.

"Data?" Picard repeated in a softer voice.

Data lifted his chin to meet the Captain's eyes.

"Do you have any idea when the travel restrictions will be lifted, sir?" Data asked.

To most others, there would be no outward sign of Data's emotional state nor the weight of this question. But Jean-Luc could hear the hint of desperation in Data's voice. He could see the longing in his expression.

"Your secret wedding," Picard said.

"Yes, sir," Data answered.

A part of Data felt ashamed for even mentioning it. After all, everyone was subject to the same restrictions and Data was no exception. He felt a sense of duty to set an example for the others which was part of why Data had largely kept silent on the matter.

"I'm sorry," Picard apologised. "If I could, I would give you a shuttle and extended leave to go. Hell, I'd take you there in the Enterprise myself and send you off with a case of my Château Picard and caviar and order you not to come back until the two of you were sick of one another."

Oh how Jean-Luc wished he could do that.

"Data, my offer stands if you would like to have your ceremony here on the ship," Picard reminded him.

The Captain clasped his hands together and smiled.

"We would throw you the party to end all parties," Picard declared. "Even a proper stag night. It would be my honour."

He was getting ahead of himself.

"Between Guinan's expertise and our resident holodeck expert, Mr Barclay, I am certain we can devise a celebration that would satisfy your desires," Picard offered.

Data was touched.

"Sir, I am moved by your offer. However, the only thing Lieutenant Yar and I desire is to travel to Føroyar and be married in private at Skýr Point – along the ocean, by the large Yew tree that stands alone, in the moonlight," Data shared.

"A moonlit swim?" Picard teased.

A bashful look crossed Data's face.

"We do not intend to swim in the moonlight, sir," Data replied.

Before Jean-Luc could respond there was an urgent hail from the Bridge.

"Sorry to disturb you, Captain. We have an incoming message. Code forty-seven from the Horatio, sir," Lieutenant Hawk informed him.

Code forty-seven? Picard thought with alarm.

Data immediately rose from his seat to leave. He understood that a code forty-seven was for the Captain's ears only.

However, Captain Picard put out his hand.

"No, Mr Data. I'd like you to stay. Off-camera," Picard advised.

The Horatio was under the command of Jean-Luc's old friend, Walker Keel. After his encounters with Gregory Quinn and Donald Varley, Jean-Luc wanted to take no chances.

He wanted Data there to observe. Taking a page from Beverly's playbook, it seemed wise to have a backup in case Jean-Luc ever fell prey to this unusual conspiracy.

Data nodded and remained in his seat while the Captain went to his desk. Jean-Luc settled into his chair and then straightened his uniform.

"Pipe it through," Picard said, tapping his combadge to respond to the Bridge.

He tapped the computer screen to accept the incoming transmission. Before it could establish a channel, there was a warning from the computer.

"This is an emergency communique. It is not to be discussed with other officers unless deemed necessary by official order. There will be no computer record of this transmission," the computer announced.

Data knew this was only partially true.

There was always a digital trail.

And if their suspicions about a conspiracy were true, Data suspected the ship was likely under observation.

Wordlessly, Data conveyed this fear to Captain Picard. They had served together long enough to understand the message.

"Proceed with voice print identification," the computer ordered.

"Picard, Jean-Luc. Captain, USS Enterprise. Epsilon seven – nine – three – four – nine," Picard rattled off.

"Voice print verified," the computer responded.

There was a brief pause as the system secured the channel on both ends.

The screen blinked to life and Jean-Luc was greeted by the sight of an old friend.

"Walker," Picard said brightly.

"Hello, Jean-Luc. It's been a long time," Walker replied.

"Too long, old friend. You know I was just thinking the other day about that trip we took sophomore year," Picard said.

He was hoping to test if this really was Walker Keel.

Keel laughed and nodded, recalling the memory well.

"The Northwest Territories. Your ridiculous attempt to grow a beard. Jack Crusher's attempt to walk over the firepit," Keel recalled.

So far, so good.

"Those were the days, eh?" Keel said.

"Indeed they were," Picard agreed. "Almost makes me wish we could go back."

"Mmm," Keel nodded, concurring. "They were certainly better than what we face now."

The mood instantly shifted.

"I suppose you didn't contact me on this frequency just to reminisce," Picard acknowledged.

Keel let out a heavy sigh and rocked side to side in his seat.

"It was a difficult decision. Believe me, I wish there had been another way," Keel shared. "But it was a necessary risk."

"Risk?" Picard asked.

Like Varley and Quinn before him, Keel was skint on details.

"I can't explain now. We need to talk face to face," Keel said.

Jean-Luc scoffed in disbelief.

"You and I both know that isn't possible. We have protocols in place. Travel restrictions," Jean-Luc said.

Walker shook his head.

"No dice, Jean-Luc. We need to meet," Walker said before adding. "In full disclosure, it won't be alone."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow.

"Walker, you've known me long enough to understand I will not put my people at risk. You're on a code forty-seven frequency. Now what is this all about? And who is 'we'?" Picard demanded.

But Walker wouldn't budge.

"Not over subspace," Walker insisted.

Picard was visibly agitated. He bristled and sat up straight in his seat.

"Oh for God's sake, Walker. You need to give me something to go on here so I can adequately make a decision about the risk involved," Picard asserted.

"You always were a stubborn bastard. And I love you for it," Walker said with a warm grin.

Jean-Luc was overjoyed to see his old friend. But he was less than thrilled about their subject of conversation and Walker's coy attitude. Picard's patience was wearing thin.

"Walker," Jean-Luc said in a warning tone.

"You still reading those mystery books? What was it," Walker trailed off, snapping his fingers as he pretended to recall the series.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Ah! Dixon Hill," Walker said.

Jean-Luc pursed his lips as he rapped his fingers on the surface of his desk.

"I was just reading one of those the other day. The Gold Dust Caper. I believe it's number seven in the series," Keel said.

Jean-Luc was starting to grow concerned that maybe there was something wrong with Keel. It wasn't like him to waste valuable time on a secure channel chewing the fat.

"I heard you've got some of those programmes on your holodeck. We've got a few ourselves. Why don't I send you some and we could swap?" Keel offered.

He chuckled.

"Holodeck programmes are like gold – especially the good ones," Keel said. "And I'm sure your crew is itching for something new after months of these travel restrictions."

Jean-Luc bit back a smart remark and opted instead to rub his temple.

"Walker, if you called me to swap holodeck programmes-"

"I'll have my Chief Engineer transmit them shortly," Walker said.

That caught Jean-Luc's attention.

If Walker was close enough that he could transmit high-memory programmes like holonovels instantaneously then it meant the Horatio was in close proximity – closer than Walker was supposed to be according to the flight plan registered with Starfleet Command.

"The one thing I love about that Hill character is he doesn't trust anybody. He's a one-man operation. Doesn't take anything for granted. Always looking for what's beneath the surface," Walker said.

Walker paused.

"I hope we'll talk soon, Jean-Luc," Walker said.

Without another word, the channel was disconnected.

Jean-Luc fell back into his seat and stared at the computer screen as his standard Starfleet screensaver rotated slowly.

Either Walker Keel was going to great lengths to throw off any Romulan eavesdroppers or he had finally cracked under pressure.

"Mr Data, I don't know where-"

"Sir, we must get to the holodeck immediately," Data said.

He leapt up from his seat and made a beeline for the door – with Jean-Luc scrambling after him.

Jean-Luc barely caught the lift in time. He slipped inside just before the doors closed.

Data was on a mission.

"Data?" Picard inquired. "You made some sense of all that misdirection?"

"Indeed," Data replied.

They rode the lift in silence for a moment as Captain Picard awaited an answer. When Data didn't answer, Picard turned to him.

"Data," he prompted in a rather terse voice.

"The Gold Dust Caper is the ninth book in the Dixon Hill series," Data said.

Walker Keel's unusual behaviour was starting to make sense.

"I suspect that we will find further instructions on the holodeck," Data said.

"Then lead on Sherlock," Picard said.

Data cocked his head to the side.

"Sir, the programme is Dixon Hill. Not Sherlock Holmes," Data said, confused.

Jean-Luc chuckled.

"There's only one Dixon Hill on this ship, Mr Data," Picard remarked.

"Dytallix B," Data declared.

Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed as he studied the letter.

"How do you figure?" Picard asked.

"It is a simple cipher, sir," Data said. "Forgive me for the delay in determining the key."

Shortly after stepping into the new Dixon Hill programme, Madeline had perked up at her desk. She'd been pecking away at her typewriter when she recalled there was an important letter for Mr Hill.

Data had spent exactly four minutes and eighteen seconds decrypting the letter.

And only Data would find that to be an unacceptable timeframe.

"Are there any other instructions?" Picard asked.

"He requests that you come alone and unarmed. There are coordinates where to park the Enterprise and you are to go by shuttle the rest of the way," Data explained.

Dytallix B had once been a mining colony. It had long since been abandoned. The unique composition of the planet and her deep mine shafts made transporter use impossible.

"Alone," Picard mused aloud.

It wasn't an appealing offer.

"Does it say who will be present?" Picard asked.

"No, sir," Data replied.

Alone. No numbers. It was starting to feel like an ambush.

"But there is a note saying which ships will be in the vicinity of Dytallix B," Data said. "Including Captain Keel's vessel, the Horatio."

"And?" Picard pressed.

"The USS Renegade, currently under command of Captain Tryla Scott and the Thomas Paine, under the command of-"

"Captain Rixx," Picard finished for him.

All of a sudden, something out the window caught Data's attention. Picard assumed it was a clue.

"Data?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir," Data replied.

Picard crossed his arms.

"Data," Picard pressed.

"Forgive me, sir. The sun is beginning to set in this programme and the lights for the Stardust Dance Hall just came on," Data advised.

The Stardust Dance Hall was a staple of many Dixon Hill novels. The sign was visible across the skyline from the window in Hill's fictional office.

"The Stardust, eh?" Picard remarked. "You've been?"

"Yes, sir," Data answered.

After bidding goodbye to Madeline, Data and Picard walked out onto the street and back to the arch.

"I didn't know you used the programme. You're welcome to- of course. My line about one Dixon Hill wasn't meant to-"

Picard was kicking himself for saying that before. Data was the one person on the ship to take it literally.

"It is quite alright, sir. I do not use the programme for that purpose," Data shared.

Jean-Luc stopped.

"Data, if you're coming in here to practise or study human behaviour you should know this is all exaggerated. It's campy. It's fiction," Picard explained. "And outdated fiction at that."

The last thing he needed was Data using his mid-Atlantic accent on duty.

"No, sir. I take Lieutenant Yar here sometimes. To the Stardust," Data said.

"Dancing," Picard realised aloud.

"Yes, sir," Data confessed.

A broad grin spread across Captain Picard's face.

"Tasha dancing. I never would have believed it," Picard confessed. "I didn't even know she knew how."

It seemed so unlike her.

Data dropped his head, attempting to hide his bashful smile.

"It is my great fortune that she is quite terrible and will require a lot of practice," Data admitted.

Tasha stepped out of the shower in her quarters. After a quick stop at the replicator, she settled onto the sofa with her tablet and bowl of strawberries.

Girl's night had ended, and Data had yet to return home.

Must be some chess game. Tasha thought.

As if on cue, the door slid open. Only Data wasn't alone – Captain Picard was there with him.

Tasha leapt off the sofa and instinctively straightened her dressing gown.

"Forgive me for intruding," Picard said.

"Sir," Tasha said, standing at the ready.

Jean-Luc was about to speak when he stopped, momentarily struck by something he couldn't quite put his finger on. There was a change in Tasha's appearance.

She had colour in her face. She looked healthy – healthier than she had in months.

"Sir?" Tasha prompted.

"I'm sorry, I was-" Jean-Luc trailed off and shook his head as if to banish a thought.

Picard cleared his throat and straightened his collar.

"Tasha," Picard began.

Tasha?

Tasha was immediately on guard from the Captain's tone.

"I don't think I need to tell you that what I am about to share must remain confidential," Picard began.

Tasha nodded slowly and gestured for the Captain to take a seat at the table.

"Data, would you please the table for tea?" Tasha asked as she stepped up to the replicator.

"Oh, no. Thank you, but I simply wish to-"

Jean-Luc stopped as Tasha shot him a look.

"You simply came to relay information that needs to remain confidential in the midst of an ongoing Romulan conspiracy – one that we suspect has reach within Starfleet Command," Tasha said.

She paused and crossed her arms, leaning against the replicator.

"Sir, if someone were to go poking around and ask why you dropped in at this hour, I'd like to be able to say it was for tea without lying," Tasha said.

Jean-Luc realised Tasha was building an alibi in the event their logs ever were checked. A replicator order for three would go a long way in establishing that.

"Right. The tea," Picard said in agreement.

Tasha punched in the appropriate code to fill the teapot with hot water.

While Data set the table for three, Jean-Luc filled Tasha in on the details of the plan – what little was available to share. She had known Captain Rixx better than any of them. Picard wanted both her opinion of Rixx and the read of the situation based on her expertise in covert operations.

"It's an old covert ops trick," Tasha said as she stirred her tea.

They had used mines to pass information and meet covertly often during her time in the Border Wars. Mines were one of the only areas prisoners had unrestricted access to. They were the perfect place to hide things – including meetings.

"Transporters can't penetrate that deep. It's hard to maintain surveillance equipment down there. And if you were caught you could easily claim to be popping off for a bit of privacy to use contraband or take a tumble," Tasha explained.

Data's brow furrowed.

Tumble?

Data felt a subtle squeeze on his knee as Tasha wordlessly communicated she would explain later.

"Dytallix B is centrally located for all four ships expected to be in attendance," Data added. "The vessels in question could divert to Dytallix B without arousing suspicion. It is within the normal parameters for the flight log."

Data had a point.

Ever since the warning from Admiral Quinn and Commander Remmick, it was obvious Starfleet was watching flight logs closer than ever before.

"I've known Walker Keel all my life. He wouldn't go to these lengths unless-"

Picard trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

"Captain Rixx is a good man," Tasha assured him. "He wouldn't risk meeting like this unless it was important."

Jean-Luc took a sip of his tea as he mulled over his options.

"What are the chances this is an ambush?" Picard asked the table.

"Unlikely, sir," Data replied.

He'd already run the necessary calculations.

Twice.

"The mines aren't very stable. I wouldn't want to risk firing phasers or disruptors down there," Tasha explained.

"Then you two believe I should go?" Picard asked to clarify.

Data and Tasha turned to one another.

"Yes," they said together.

The next morning, the senior officers were assembled on the Observation Lounge for the morning briefing.

Captain Picard had just dropped the bombshell news about their detour.

"But, sir, there's nothing on Dytallix B," Geordi pointed out.

"And it's important everyone remember that," Picard said.

Jean-Luc took a slow breath as he surveyed the room.

"I have no right to ask you this and so I will not make it an order," Picard began to explain. "Anyone that does not wish to partake in this may step out. It will not be held against you."

Nobody moved.

"I am rerouting the ship to Dytallix B. This action will not be recorded. It will appear in no official nor personal log. And for all intents and purposes, it never occurred," Picard explained.

The gravity of their situation settled on the team.

"And you are not to speak of this to anyone," Picard commanded.

Deanna could sense Jean-Luc's reluctance to give such an order. That kind of secrecy went against everything he stood for.

Desperate times. She thought.

"How long do we expect to be there?" Riker asked.

"I don't know," Picard responded honestly.

"In that case we should take shifts," Riker suggested.

Picard's brow furrowed as he studied his First Officer.

"Shifts, Number One?" Picard questioned.

"Shifts, sir. If we're going to keep this under wraps, then we can't trust bringing anyone else on the Bridge. We'll need to man the Bridge, Engineering, and the Transporters," Riker explained.

Will's point was well taken.

If there was a Romulan spy or spies aboard the Enterprise, diverting course would surely raise alarm.

Captain Picard sat back in seat. He folded his hands across his lap and considered Riker's proposal. There really was no telling how long the ship would be delayed at Dytallix B.

Walker Keel had sent no time-certain for their rendezvous.

"You're right, Number One. But we don't have the numbers. And manning the Bridge in three person shifts is liable to raise suspicion as well," Picard said.

The team was in a real pickle and the clock was ticking.

Jean-Luc's eyes fell on Data.

"Mr Data, you have an hour to come up with a reason for us to divert course," Picard ordered.

He ordered Commander Riker to put together a roster for the Bridge of trusted officers. Geordi and Miles were ordered to do the same for Engineering and the Transporters, respectively.

"Then I want Lieutenant Yar and Counsellor Troi to look it over for any Security risks," Picard said. "I'll review it and we'll meet back here in an hour."

In addition to restricting access to key areas, Jean-Luc implemented a ban on outgoing transmissions. He ordered Geordi to discreetly cut all outgoing transmissions.

Normally, Captain Picard would be required to announce such a move to the crew. But in this case, he felt it was necessary to keep the action secret.

"Hopefully our journey will be quick, and the delay will be minimal," Picard said.

"Sir, if I may? I might be a bit careless when swapping out the comms array power converter after this meeting. Could take hours to fix," Miles offered.

Jean-Luc grinned.

"Oh dear, Mr O'Brien. That would be disastrous indeed," Picard said, thoroughly pleased at his crew's ingenuity.

Four hours later, the Enterprise reached the coordinates provided in the secret message from Captain Keel.

"Sir, we're approaching the rendezvous point," Riker advised from the Helm.

In an effort to minimise the people on the Bridge, they were all pulling extra duties.

"Parking spot is more like it," Picard quipped.

He was nervous and starting to use humour as a way to deflect.

Deanna was suddenly overcome with a heavy, sinking feeling. She turned to the Captain, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

"I am afraid this is where I must leave you," Picard said.

Commander Riker whipped around.

"Sir!" Riker protested.

"I don't know when I'll be back. I'll stay in contact. I will check in via subspace radio in four hours," Picard advised. "If I'm not back or if I miss that check in, you are to take the ship to Pacifica."

Riker was stunned.

"I've pre-recorded a message absolving you all of complicity in this move. You'll say the rerouting of our course and my absence via shuttle was my own order. Secret. None of you were the wiser," Picard explained.

"Captain, I must protest!" Worf exclaimed.

He didn't like the idea one bit.

"Let's hope this isn't my final order to you all," Picard said before turning for the lift.

Deanna could sense his mind was made up. She could also feel this was not a decision the Captain had made lightly.

Commander Riker was about to get up and physically stop the Captain, appeal to his good nature. But one look from Deanna and he plopped back down into his seat.

"Sir," Data said, catching Captain Picard just shy of the turbolift door.

"It's no use Mr Data, I'm going," Picard insisted.

"I just wanted to say – good luck," Data said.

Jean-Luc smirked.

"Let's hope we don't need it, but I'll take it all the same," Picard replied.

Jean-Luc set his shuttle down near the coordinates provided. As he approached, Jean-Luc could see there were three other shuttles present – two Type-6 likely from the Horatio and the Renegade and one Type-303 armed shuttle as was standard on a heavy frigate like the Thomas Paine.

The intense iron oxide in the ground and strong winds meant there was a nearly unbreathable atmosphere. Jean-Luc was grateful he'd opted to wear his breather mask to help filter out all the dust.

It blew steady, creating an eerie red glow.

With all the debris, his vision was obstructed. Jean-Luc could only see a few metres in any direction and had to rely on tricorder readings to get him to the right location.

All of a sudden Jean-Luc slipped, losing his footing. He caught himself just before he went over the edge.

For a few seconds, Jean-Luc stayed there on the ground as he tried to regulate his breathing. His chest was heaving. He had very nearly tumbled over the edge of the open mine shaft.

After picking himself up, Jean-Luc brushed off his uniform and prepared to move forward.

Fool. He chided himself.

It was pointless to try and dust himself off when the wind was blowing so. Jean-Luc was certain he had particles in his ears. He could already feel it working its way up his sleeves and down his collar.

Picard hugged the wall for protection as he worked his way down the outer edge of the mine shaft. It was a large, open pit mine. He was following a path that had been cut into the rockface.

As he drew further into the mine, the wind was reduced, and Jean-Luc was able to see further than up on the surface.

It looked as if the Dytallix mining company had simply left everything in place, like the planet had been abandoned in a hurry.

Derelict mining equipment and stabilising beams were simply left abandoned, rusting, and decaying under the stress of years of neglect. A bone-curdling metallic echo radiated throughout the shaft as some of the pieces creaked and groaned.

Towards the bottom, Picard could see perpendicular shafts that were dug into the pit.

Jean-Luc checked his tricorder against the coordinates and saw his goal was blinking just ahead.

The aged entrance ramp made a horrible sound as Jean-Luc's foot stepped down. He paused and took a slow breath as Tasha's warning echoed in his mind.

The mines aren't very stable. I wouldn't want to risk firing phasers or disruptors down there.

"It'll hold, unless you've been pampered on that luxury liner," a familiar voice called out.

Jean-Luc whipped out his phaser and crept down the ramp to find himself facing three other Captains – all armed with phasers trained right at him.

"You were told to come unarmed," Walker said.

Jean-Luc's hand tightened around his phaser.

"What is this?" he demanded.

To his surprise, Walker roared with laughter. Captain Rixx bit back a wry smirk.

"None of us has ever been very good at following directions," Rixx commented. "It seems some things haven't changed."

"Thanks for coming," Walker said.

Everyone dropped their phasers. Picard relaxed – but only a little.

"This is some greeting," he said.

He glanced around at their surroundings and fought the urge to shudder.

"What's with all the cloak and dagger? Ciphers? Mine shafts?" Picard asked.

While Walker asked the questions, Captain Rixx set about scanning Captain Picard with a medical tricorder. He circled him like a hawk, eyeing him up and down.

"What is going on?" Picard demanded.

"Do you recall the night you introduced Jack Crusher to Beverly Howard?" Walker asked.

That's not what happened.

Jean-Luc's mind signalled Red Alert. But mindful of his circumstances, Picard did his best to appear cool.

"You know full I didn't. I would never have introduced Beverly to Jack the lad," Picard said, playing it off as a joke. "You introduced them, Walker."

"My brother introduced them," Keel said without missing a beat.

Picard was having a difficult time keeping his panic in check.

"You don't have a brother," Picard said, his eyes narrowing on Keel. "Two sisters – Anne and Melissa. What the hell is going on?"

Jean-Luc was fighting to keep his composure. The setting and odd questions were enough to send a chill down his spine.

"And where did we meet Captain?" Tryla Scott asked.

Jean-Luc's brow furrowed.

"We have never met," Picard declared.

Two down. Right on both counts. Walker thought.

"What about me? Surely you couldn't forget a handsome face like mine?" Rixx asked in his usual way.

"G'kantal. Well, the G'kantal mission. If I recall, it was circumstances not all that different from our current setting," Picard said, glancing up at the abandoned mine.

Rixx did not react. While the G'kantal mission was classified, it was possible a Romulan spy in the right place could find that information.

"And who did I send to initiate that contact?" Rixx asked.

"Firefly," Picard said, hoping the use of her code name would be enough to appease Rixx.

Rixx tapped his tricorder and made another pass along Picard's spine.

"Eddington. Good man," Rixx said.

Jean-Luc growled in frustration.

"Natasha Yar," he snapped, irritated at these questions.

It was like they were feeding him intentionally wrong information to try and test Picard's memory. Picard adjusted his uniform, tugging his collar down and squaring his shoulders.

"In any case, you and I both know Eddington was always a bit of a self-righteous bastard," Picard grumbled.

Rixx chuckled and winked.

"And Tasha was always fond of reminding Eddington of that fact," Rixx replied.

"And you were always a bit of a scamp, Jean-Luc," Walker said, stepping in. "Natasha Yar. Codename Firefly. Wasn't that the blonde you shacked up with in San Francisco?"

Jean-Luc bristled.

"I most certainly did not," Picard huffed.

Walker opened his mouth to protest, but Jean-Luc cut him off.

"She was kind enough to lend me a spare room during the Stargazer proceedings," Picard said, thoroughly vexed by such an accusation.

When Jean-Luc had briefly lived in Tasha's spare room, Keel had come for dinner one evening after testifying as a character witness for Captain Picard. He'd cracked more than a few inappropriate jokes then and Jean-Luc was hardly in the mood to hear them now.

"And I'll have you know that Lieutenant is now my Security Officer. One more crack like that-"

"I've heard enough. I'm satisfied," Rixx said.

Rixx and Keel shared a small nod.

"My apologies, Jean-Luc. We had to make sure you were really you," Captain Rixx explained.

"Brain scan," Picard realised aloud.

The other three nodded.

Though Jean-Luc knew both Walker Keel and Captain Rixx, they were from completely separate parts of his life. He only knew of Captain Tryla Scott by reputation. She was the youngest person to ever make Captain in Starfleet history.

"What's going on?" Picard asked.

"About a year ago, I approached Commander Dexter Remmick of the Inspector General's office with concerns about unusual behaviour, strange orders, the sudden policy change on the Neutral Zone," Captain Rixx explained.

Jean-Luc nodded in understanding.

"Your ships were all visited by Commander Remmick and Admiral Quinn several months ago and cleared," Rixx explained. "And that's why you were informed of the strong likelihood of a Romulan conspiracy to infiltrate Starfleet."

The three other Captains listened intently, nodding along as Rixx recapped the events of the last year.

In spite of the travel restrictions and awareness of the Romulan threat, it persisted and haunted Jean-Luc's thoughts. There were strange patterns that had emerged in Starfleet's allocation of both people and resources to the Neutral Zone.

High ranking officials were backing irrational proposals.

Disappearances, accidental deaths, shocking reassignments, and retirements had followed.

Worst of all, no one was safe.

In their final meeting, Quinn had warned Picard to trust no one. It was a warning later echoed by his good friend Captain Donald Varley.

"The last time I saw Gregory Quinn," Picard lamented.

"Same here," Keel added.

Quinn had been both friend and mentor to the two men. It had been more than eight weeks since Admiral Quinn and Dexter Remmick had vanished. They were both presumed dead.

"May he rest in peace," Captain Scott chimed in.

Rixx turned to Captain Scott.

"I don't think that will happen," Rixx said.

Rixx had always had a dry, biting wit and dark sense of humour. It was a necessary survival tactic in his line of work. The possibility of death was so prevalent that sometimes Covert Ops officers came across as callous to outsiders.

Walker Keel bristled.

"You've got to be dead first in order to rest in peace," Rixx remarked.

Jean-Luc's mind began to race. He could hardly fathom what Rixx was implying.

"He's not dead?" Jean-Luc asked.

He needed to know.

"Fifteen days ago, the Dunderdale intercepted an emergency beacon. They followed the coordinates and located a small ship. The Kuiper," Rixx shared.

Rixx explained the ship was decommissioned six years earlier. She was a small survey Ship. Several months prior, she had mysteriously been moved from the depot near Utopia Planitia shipyard to an undisclosed storage location.

"Admiral Quinn worked it all out so he would have an unregistered ship. It was all to keep his movements out of the official flight plans," Rixx explained.

"Not much in the way of armaments on those little ships," Walker Keel remarked.

Rixx nodded.

"But they're small, fast, easy to hide and easy to staff – especially when it was just the two of them," Rixx said.

It explained how Remmick and Quinn had been able to criss-cross Federation space without rousing too much suspicion.

"How do you know this?" Captain Tryla Scott asked.

Aside from limited contact with Rixx, she really only knew these men from reputation. Even her previous communication with Rixx had been limited.

And Tryla Scott wasn't about to trust anyone without good cause.

"Admiral Quinn kept me apprised of his ship. And I have a source on the Dunderdale," Rixx informed them.

Scott was unconvinced. She crossed her arms and eyed Rixx with heavy scepticism.

"A source?" she questioned.

"A trusted source," Rixx said.

"Forgive me, Captain. But I find myself in agreement with Captain Scott. How can you be certain this isn't misinformation?" Picard pressed.

Rixx wasn't entirely comfortable revealing his source. A key component of their ability to stay under the radar relied on keeping contacts and information to a minimum.

However, Captain Rixx could sense his peers needed more to go on. After all, part of what made them trustworthy in this situation was their insistence on evidence. They didn't take anything at face value.

"Suder," Rixx said.

Scott frowned and shook her head.

"Suder?" she asked.

"Lieutenant Lon Suder. He's an engineer on the Dunderdale now," Rixx explained.

While Keel and Picard were satisfied with this information, Captain Scott remained hesitant.

"Who?" she pressed.

The three men launched into an explanation at the same time. Rixx and Suder went way back from their time in Covert Ops. Picard knew Suder through a series of joint support missions during the Border Wars.

And for Keel, Picard's word was enough to convince him the man was trustworthy.

"Forgive me, but I'm not in your Starfleet Boy's Club," Scott pointed out, crossing her arms and eyeing the three men with caution.

She had every right to be wary. Things were all too uncertain to leave matters of security to chance.

"You're right. You are absolutely right," Captain Rixx said, to everyone's surprise. "We're working without a net, wading into something bigger than any of us."

He sighed and frowned.

"I don't have all the answers," Rixx acknowledged. "But I will share with you what I know. Everything I know."

Captain Rixx reached into the case he'd brought down and pulled out four fresh water rations – all factory sealed to ensure no tampering.

"You three are the only three Captains I can trust. And we need to trust each other," Rixx said. "I recognise part of that is going to come from questioning each other and holding one another accountable. Never setting aside our doubts."

Keel, Picard, Rixx, and Scott were all cleared by Quinn. They all had reputations as independently minded Captains, willing to stand up to Command when necessary. They were proven leaders with service records noted for decisiveness, intelligence, and adaptability.

"And I fear we may be all that is standing between Romulans and their attempt to roll over the Federation," Rixx declared.

Back on the Bridge of the Enterprise the mood was tense.

Unlike their usual Bridge shifts, everyone was on edge. Tasha had her attention trained on the sensors, looking for any sign of Captain Picard's shuttle returning.

Worf was so still and stiff that he could be mistaken for a statue.

Commander Riker's jaw hadn't unclenched since Jean-Luc left the ship.

And Data sat at the ready, his hands hovering just above the console in case they needed to react quickly.

Deanna could sense all of it. It overwhelmed her mind. She had thought about suggesting a stretch or switching off for Raktajino's.

But the mental energy required was difficult to summon given the suffocating atmosphere. Deanna didn't even have it within her to react when she felt a friendly hand on her shoulder.

Tasha said nothing as she gave Deanna's shoulder a squeeze. Tasha had suspected this was difficult for Deanna.

A moment later, Deanna reached up to grip Tasha's hand – a silent understanding passing between the two friends as their thoughts remained with the Captain.

The conclave of Captains were sprawled out among the debris of the abandoned mine shaft.

"They recovered the wreck of the Kuiper and two men," Rixx shared.

"Then they're alive," Walker remarked in astonishment.

"Are they?" Rixx asked, turning a piece of rock over in his hand.

His question hung in the air as reality settled in. All four Captains had been warned by Admiral Quinn himself that they suspected the Romulans were trying to replace officers.

It remained unknown whether these replacements were truly new people acting as duplicates with some sort of elaborate disguise technology or simply the same individuals that had been subjected to conditioning or technology that influenced their actions.

"Why hasn't this been reported?" Picard asked.

There had been nothing in Federation news. There were no Starfleet bulletins announcing their triumphant rescue.

It was unusual given their status. Quinn was a highly regarded Admiral and Commander Remmick was a prominent fixture in the Inspector General's office.

"I can't answer that. I don't know. I have suspicions though," Rixx said.

"How is your source sure it's the Admiral and Mr Remmick?" Walker inquired. "I mean, have you taken any of this to Captain Blunt? Surely he could clear up-"

Rixx waved his hand.

"A few months ago, Suder came to me with concerns about Captain Blunt. He was late getting back from a training conference. Travelling alone. Couldn't account for his whereabouts aside from claiming to have encountered a nasty plasma storm," Rixx explained.

"But?" Picard prompted.

"But Suder found no evidence of damage consistent with a plasma storm on the Captain's shuttle," Rixx added.

It certainly was odd – and it fit with their theories about prominent people being snatched during travel.

Captain Rixx sighed.

"Captain Blunt assigned Suder to investigate the power cell from the wreckage of the Admiral's ship. And only the power cell," Rixx went on. "Normally a wreck like this would trigger an automatic court martial investigation."

"Standard procedure," Picard chimed in, recalling his own experience after the loss of the Stargazer.

Walker Keel and Tryla Scott nodded in understanding. They were all familiar with the process.

Except according to Lon Suder, the process on the Dunderdale was quite different. Captain Blunt and Admiral Quinn had instructed a team of engineers to complete the various investigative components.

Separately.

And a different team had been assigned to rebuild the Kuiper.

"Strategic division of labour," Rixx said in a dark voice. "It seems Starfleet wants to pretend this wreck never occurred."

Jean-Luc scratched his chin. There were a number of things that bothered him about this situation. But one thing in particular made the hair on his neck rise.

"The Dunderdale is one of the only ships left in the Archanis sector," Picard said.

The Archanis sector was located along the Neutral Zone.

"And that's significant because?" Keel trailed off.

"Because the Admiral and Mr Remmick disappeared somewhere between Starbase 47 and Starbase 114," Picard said.

"That information wasn't public," Rixx said, stunned Picard knew.

All eyes fell on Jean-Luc.

"I was told by Captain Donald Varley of the Yamato," Picard shared.

Suddenly, Jean-Luc's face fell.

"Speaking of which, where is Captain Varley? Surely of any of us, Gregory Quinn would have trusted Donald Varley," Picard insisted.

"He did," Rixx acknowledged. "But he couldn't clear Varley's crew. There were inconsistencies in the records. Crew members unable to pass Remmick's interviews."

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Jean-Luc's stomach.

"While he trusted Varley, he suspected some of his senior officers were compromised," Rixx explained.

Jean-Luc sat back and wiped his forehead.

"Picard?" Scott asked.

"There's something you all need to be aware of," Picard began.

"But you knew the travel restrictions?" Captain Scott said, dismayed by Picard's admission that he had violated procedure to host a series of games between the Enterprise and the Yamato.

"Varley insisted we needed a cover to meet. He passed along an isolinear chip of information," Picard explained.

Picard hadn't brought it along. Truthfully, he'd done almost nothing with the information since Varley had turned it over.

In Jean-Luc's mind, he was merely a safekeeper holding on to it in case something happened to Captain Varley.

"My medical staff ran complete exams on everyone following our contact with the Yamato. No one on the Enterprise showed any signs of this unusual parasite or implant," Picard said. "And we have a system in place to ensure that these results are accurate. No one person could influence or erase test outcomes."

Jean-Luc understood why Admiral Quinn did not disclose his concerns about the Yamato. Nevertheless, he was furious. He would never have authorised such an endeavour knowing there was cause for concern.

Rixx was familiar with the brain scans – at least as familiar as Picard was. His own Chief Medical Officer had detected a similar anomaly on the brainstem of the Second Officer at Starbase Yorktown.

They never got a chance to study it further. The medical records simply disappeared.

"We suspect it is some sort of implant or parasite," Rixx explained. "It would seem to latch onto the brainstem of the person in question."

"So we need cranial exams for all our officers," Scott said.

Rixx chuckled.

"We don't all keep our brainstems in the same place, Captain," Rixx advised.

It was much easier to subtly scan a human, Klingon, or Betazoid than it was a Rigellian or a Grazerite.

"I didn't know about these brain scans," Keel admitted.

This was all news to him.

Keel had recently docked the Horatio at Starbase 14 for resupply. In spite of the travel restrictions, Keel had permitted a new officer to come aboard.

"I've been waiting seven months for a new Tactical officer. He went through an extensive interview process, complete decontamination, and I've kept him under surveillance," Keel informed them.

No one knew what to say.

"His record is impeccable. He was on the Morse before transferring to my ship. Two years out on the Border trying to keep the peace with the Talarians," Keel said. "You can't get more removed from the Neutral Zone than that."

With everything going on and increased fears of war with Romulans, Keel had felt it was a calculated risk. If it really did come to open conflict, the Horatio would need a skilled Tactical officer.

Captain Rixx wasn't angry. He knew it was pointless – what was done was done. They could only keep moving forward.

"I say this only as a warning for the future – I suspect there's a mole at the highest levels of Starfleet Security. Someone in Admiral Henry's office. And there hasn't been a staff change there in nine years," Rixx said.

"Perhaps someone was persuaded to change allegiances?" Picard theorised.

"Or was planted there nine years ago. I wouldn't put it past the Romulans. They've had spies wait years, decades even," Rixx said with a nonchalant shrug as if he were discussing a cup of Raktajino. "It's an awful lot of work to put a spy in place. Why move once you're embedded?"

Data checked the time on his internal chronometer once more.

The Enterprise had been in position for nearly four hours - three hours and forty-seven minutes to be precise.

Data was uncomfortably aware of each agonising minute of that time.

Captain Picard had exactly thirteen minutes to either return or transmit a message. And he had yet to show up on scanners.

Tasha practically leapt up from her console when it started to blink.

"Incoming message," she announced.

It was audio-only.

"Patch it through," Riker ordered.

To their relief, the message was from Captain Picard. He advised he was safe and in conference – though he did not disclose the other members of this secret meeting.

"I will return or check in again in four hours," Picard said. "If I do not, my previous order stands."

As soon as the message disconnected, Tasha shook her head.

"It was a one way transmission only. No channel," Tasha advised.

Regardless, everyone on the Bridge found they could breathe easier.

Deanna closed her eyes and clutched her abdomen as a warm, wonderful feeling spread throughout her body.

Tasha laughed. Worf grinned with delight. Data's posture relaxed.

"Well, that's a relief. We know it's not an ambush," Riker said.

The team fell silent.

"Right," Riker nodded slowly, voicing their collective fear. "If it's not an ambush and they're meeting like this then it must be something bad."

"Very bad," Worf said in a low voice.

"Great. Just great," Riker lamented.

Data risked glancing back over his shoulder at Tasha. Their eyes met. An understanding passed between them without words.

Data's thoughts were on one thing and one thing only.

Føroyar.

If something bad was coming, that meant their wedding would inevitably be further delayed.

At the moment, no one was looking for them and Tasha risked clutching the front of her uniform, over her heart, to flash Data a glance of the ring she wore.

Tasha gave him a small nod.

It was alright. It would be alright.

Evermore wasn't just a word.

Riker was desperate to change the subject, to focus on anything other than Captain being in danger.

"Say, why was Dytallix B abandoned anyways if there's still heavy deposits left there?" Riker asked.

"Estipious Grandu," Data answered without missing a beat. "A deadly megafauna. They emerge from hibernation every thirty-nine years or so. The Dytallix mining company was unaware of their presence when they initially built the facility."

He paused.

"Their later emergence was unforeseen and… unpleasant," Data settled on.

He turned back to his workstation and resumed typing as everyone else on the Bridge was suddenly in a state of heightened panic.

Data stopped typing and turned back.

"They are currently in hibernation," Data assured the team.

"If Gregory Quinn has been compromised that could put the entire council at Starfleet Command at risk," Rixx warned.

"I think we have to assume he has been," Captain Scott said.

Picard nodded in agreement. It was difficult to stomach, but he couldn't deny the evidence.

According to Suder's reports from the Dunderdale, they were now on silent running. He wasn't even supposed to be transmitting.

And if it weren't for his years of expert training – he wouldn't be.

"He said they're headed for Earth under the guise of returning the Admiral and Mr Remmick to Starfleet HQ and the Kuiper to storage," Rixx explained.

"Or delivering a Romulan spy right to the heart of Starfleet Command," Keel said.

"If they aren't already there," Picard chimed in.

His shoulders slumped. Jean-Luc could hardly believe what he was saying.

"Interfleet communications are at a minimum. Flight logs are monitored more closely than ever. My ship, the bloody flagship, has spent more time on mapping missions than anything else," Picard shared. "It's like someone doesn't want anyone to put together the pieces."

"Because eventually if you follow enough breadcrumbs you'll find a Romulan," Rixx said, citing an age-old adage.

It was a path Jean-Luc wasn't too keen to walk. Yet he understood his duty.

"What comes next?" Walker asked.

Everyone looked to Captain Rixx, expecting him to have the answer. Rixx had a mind for strategy – but even he had to admit this far beyond anything he could have ever predicted.

"You were the one that put it all together, that organised this meeting," Keel said, hoping to bolster Rixx's confidence.

"You are the expert on covert operations," Picard added with a knowing smile.

"You know I never wanted to even bring Quinn in on this. I had reservations when Remmick suggested it," Rixx shared as a pained look settled on his face. "Now I've placed Quinn in grave danger – if he isn't already dead somewhere."

Captain Picard snapped his fingers.

"That's it," he said.

Walker raised his eyebrow.

"Quinn. That's it. That's our next step. You said he's returning to Earth?" Picard asked, looking to Rixx.

Rixx nodded.

"Who's scheduled to go to Earth next? Or could find a way to work it in? Hell, one of us may even be summoned," Picard said. "Could you trust Suder? If the Dunderdale is en route-"

Rixx put up a hand to stop him.

"We both know Suder acts like he's got a death wish, but he's not even supposed to know about this," Rixx reminded them. "He's one man. Brilliant, aye. But he's already worried Captain Blunt may be on to him. I can't risk losing him – he's the last reliable source I've got left out near the Neutral Zone."

Suder was a prime source of information and too valuable to risk losing.

"I think for now we stay in contact. Maintain the travel restrictions. Watch your crews. And the first chance we get – either a summons or an opportunity to head to Earth – we take it," Rixx suggested. "And stay in touch. Covertly."

It was an unsettling note to end on, but there was little they could do.

Four Captains hardly had any sway in a room full of Admirals. They couldn't simply go to Starfleet Security or even the Fleet Admiral Council with this – certainly not if the conspiracy ran as wide and as deep as they suspected.

"What I don't get is why?" Walker Keel confessed.

He paused and shook his head.

"What could possibly be worth all this? It can't have been easy for them," Walker said.

"Indeed," Rixx nodded. "But the cost of subterfuge is still less than open conflict. And if it fails, the Romulans can easily blame it on a rogue faction."

It wouldn't be the first time. The Treaty of Algeron certainly gave them plenty of deniability when it came to that excuse.

Romulans were always neat as a pin when it came to covering their tracks and that included treaty negotiations.

The only evidence required was an investigation by the Romulan Senate. It was like sending the fox to acquit himself after a go at the henhouse.

"I'm going to teach you all a trick my team used during the Border Wars. A way we can signal if discreet communication becomes unreachable," Rixx said.

As they prepared to go, Rixx caught Picard's arm.

"How is she?" Rixx asked.

"Tasha?" Picard inquired.

The last time Rixx had any communication with Tasha, it had been her message expressing her desire to stop any and all involvement with this Romulan conspiracy.

Rixx respected that. In accordance with her wish, he had stayed away.

"I think she's very ready for this conspiracy to be over," Picard said.

For both personal and professional reasons. Picard mused to himself.

"Give her my best, eh?" Rixx requested.

"Of course," Picard agreed.

Walker also had some words for Picard, though he waited until Captains Rixx and Scott had disappeared into the dust.

"Do you think we should warn Varley?" Walker asked.

Picard's shoulders slumped. He could understand Walker's desire to loop Varley in. After all, Donald Varley was one of their oldest friends.

"We can't," Picard said.

"But Rixx said Quinn cleared him," Walker protested.

"And couldn't clear his staff," Picard reminded him.

Walker shook his head in disbelief.

"He's one of us," Walker argued, gripping Picard's forearm.

"All the more reason we can't risk it," Picard said in response.

He shook off Walker's arm and began to pace back and forth.

"Dammit Walker, Starfleet is at risk here. The Federation itself," Picard fumed. "All these deaths, these disappearances. Now Quinn and Remmick? Could be us any day now."

He stopped and turned back to his old friend.

"I just… first it was Cort. Then we lost Jack. Now Quinn. Possibly Varley," Walker said, his voice full of pain.

Their group of friends had dwindled over the years. This meeting was a bitter reminder of that.

"I mean has anyone checked on Marty?" Walker asked, curious about the whereabouts of their friend Marta Batanides.

Picard chuckled.

"Beverly and Marta exchange correspondence – when she can. She's on a deep space exploratory mission past Nyberrite Alliance," Picard answered. "Beverly says it takes nine months to transmit a subspace communication."

Keel whistled low and slow.

At the very least, Marta was well removed from this conspiracy.

"And Beverly?" Walker inquired.

"Fine," Picard replied simply, trying to hide he was flustered by the mere mention of her name.

Walker smirked, knowing he had caught Jean-Luc. In a way, Walker was disappointed that the circumstances of their meeting meant he couldn't catch up with Beverly too.

"Hey, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. The blonde kid," Walker apologised.

"Lieutenant," Picard interjected tersely.

"Right. Look, I know you weren't fooling around with her. I was just trying to razz you," Walker admitted.

Jean-Luc's lips thinned.

"It wasn't funny twelve years ago and it certainly isn't now," Picard remarked.

"In any case, I know she's not your type. She doesn't have red hair," Walker said, playfully slapping Picard on the back.

Jean-Luc was not amused.

"You are one of my oldest and dearest friends, Walker. But you were an arse then and you're still one now. And if Beverly ever heard you talk like that she'd have more than a few choice words," Picard said.

His tone was not one of anger, but rather disgust.

Walker was taken aback.

"You've changed," he said with a simple shrug.

"And you haven't," Picard retorted without missing a beat. "You know, Captain Scott is remarkable. She said something earlier that struck a chord."

Her words had echoed in the back of Jean-Luc's mind since.

"Oh what? That boy's club bit?" Walker asked, laughing.

Jean-Luc responded wordlessly, turning his head, and quirking an eyebrow.

Walker's resolve faltered.

"I suppose she's got a point," Walker acknowledged as he scratched the back of his neck.

"She does, Walker," Picard said. "I'm lucky to have someone on my crew, including Beverly, in my ear. I count my blessings they feel comfortable enough to call me out whenever I forget that."

Whether it be Data, Mr Worf, or (more often than not) Beverly, Jean-Luc could count on his team to keep him on the right track.

"Do me a favour, Walker. Find those people on your team. And listen," Picard said.

Walker grinned. There were no hard feelings between them.

"Do me one too? Tell Beverly I said hello. And I'm thinking of her," Walker said. "After this all blows over, we'll need to get the gang together."

"If we survive," Jean-Luc quipped.

The two men shared a laugh.

As they prepared to leave, Picard caught Walker.

"One more thing – check your new Tactical officer," Picard warned. "A scan. Back of the neck. Here."

Picard gestured to the nape of his neck.

"I intend to check everyone on the Horatio," Walker replied. "I'm not about to let the Romulans take me down. I've got plans to go to Risa when this is all over."

"Captain's shuttle is approaching," Tasha advised.

"On visual," Riker ordered.

Worf tapped his console and brought the image up onscreen.

"Has there been any communication yet?" Riker asked.

"None, sir," Tasha said.

Data's brow wrinkled as he studied the shuttle's path on the screen of his console.

"Sir, it looks like the Captain may be attempting to avoid a small cluster of space debris," Data advised.

"Let's hope that's all it is," Riker said.

As Data theorised, Jean-Luc was indeed having to do some fancy flying. Piloting a shuttle alone was an easy task – provided it was a clear route.

Once free of the debris, Jean-Luc activated the communications array. He had a feeling his team was likely sweating.

"Picard to Enterprise," he said.

"It's good to hear your voice, Captain," Riker responded.

"Have the Security and Medical teams standing by," Picard ordered.

"Will do, sir," Riker replied.

"You heard the Captain. Mr Data, please notify Sickbay," Riker instructed.

They had planned to have two medical officers scan Captain Picard independently and in full view of Worf in order to establish he was truly himself.

He would be checked again in four hour intervals for the next forty-eight hours.

Tasha glanced over at Worf and nodded, signalling it was time for him to head down to the shuttlebay.

"Sir," Worf replied, acknowledging the order.

Suddenly, Data scowled. His hands began to work overtime, blurring as they raced across the Operations console.

"Mr Data?" Riker questioned.

"I am picking up another small craft in the area. CR-9 class. A Caldonian personal craft. Limited armaments. Max speed is Warp 4," Data advised.

Riker blinked and shook his head.

"We're a long way from Caldonia," Riker said.

"Scans indicate one life sign. The ship appears to have sustained heavy damage. Disruptor fire," Data reported.

"Sir, the vessel is hailing us," Tasha said.

"Onscreen," Riker ordered.

At the very least, he wanted to know how and why a Caldonian personal craft was out this far.

The video image included heavy static. From their angle, the Bridge crew could see sparking wires and hazy smoke inside the cockpit of the vessel.

Suddenly, a grey, scaly hand shot up to clutch the seat. There was a pained groan. A moment later, a Cardassian pulled himself into view.

"Hello," he said as if it were perfectly normal for a Cardassian to be aboard a Caldonian personal craft in this region of space.

"Garak," Tasha breathed.

Garak folded his hands and smiled.

"Ah, my dear! Tell me how is that garment working out?" Garak asked before turning his attention to Data. "Or perhaps I should ask the Lieutenant Commander?"

Data whipped around in his chair.

"Garment?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows.

Tasha froze.

Fortunately, the present security risk outweighed Riker's curiosity.

"Lieutenant, you know this man?" Riker questioned.

"Yes. Well, we've met," Tasha answered.

Garak clucked his tongue.

"Met? My dear, we survived a Cardassian occupation on Starbase 118 together," Garak said casually. "I've made some of my best friends that way."

"Mr Data, lock on tractor beam," Riker ordered.

Data immediately punched in his code and snagged Garak's ship.

"Oh, thank you," Garak said. "It is so fortunate you've come along to rescue me."

"You misunderstand, Mr… Garak, is it?" Riker asked.

"Just plain, simple Garak," he answered.

Riker pursed his lips.

"You misunderstand, Mr Garak. In accordance with Federation law, I intend to haul you to the nearest Starbase where you will be held accountable for your role in the unlawful occupation of Starbase 118 in accordance with your admission," Riker barked.

Garak smiled, belying just how nervous he felt.

"You misunderstand, Commander," Garak said, throwing Riker's own words back at him with a sickeningly sweet voice. "I wasn't on Starbase 118 as part of some Cardassian occupation. It was my home."

He paused.

"At least it was before the Cardassian military burned my shop to the ground," Garak said.

He chuckled, amused by the thought.

"Lieutenant Yar is one of my clients," Garak said.

"Clients?" Riker asked.

He knew Tasha had some unusual contacts. There were more than a few redacted sections of Tasha's personnel file.

"He's a… tailor, sir," Tasha chimed in.

The answer did little to ease Riker's concern.

"And what, may I ask, is a tailor doing on a Caldonian personal craft out here?" Riker demanded.

"Travelling," Garak replied without elaboration.

Riker waved his hand, gesturing that he was looking for more.

"You see, with my shop destroyed I've had to fall back on peddling my wares," Garak said.

Riker wasn't buying that excuse for a minute.

"We are lightyears from any mercantile hub," Riker pointed out. "How did you wind up here? In this particular sector?

"Would you believe delivering a baby for a title lady from one of the aristocratic houses on Peylops VII that had to remain anonymous?" Garak asked.

Riker was about to cut the channel when Garak lifted one of his injured hands.

His hand was bleeding. He was also sporting a nasty cut on his forehead.

"A small jest, Commander," Garak said. "I was merely trying to cut through the tension. I will say it's thicker than wool from Gault."

"Stand by, Mr Garak," Riker ordered before killing the channel.

Captain Picard would return to the Bridge momentarily and Riker felt it was best to consult with him before making any decisions regarding this unusual encounter.

"Counsellor?" Riker asked.

"I sense considerable deception," Deanna said.

"Sir, at the very least could we beam over some medical supplies?" Tasha asked.

Garak looked to be struggling to stay on his feet. Regardless of what circumstances led him to this place, it was clear he required medical attention.

"Fine," Riker said. "Make the arrangements."

Tasha nodded and sent in the request to the Medical staff.

"Data, is there any chance this is an ambush? An attempt to plant something on the Enterprise?" Riker asked.

Data double checked his scan results before answering.

"That is unlikely, sir. His life signs are weak. The ship carries on minimal offensive capabilities," Data said.

"So no chance he's got a team waiting? Concealed?" Riker pressed.

Data frowned.

"That would be highly improbable. Caldonian vessels are not that advanced. And the power requirements to sustain-"

"Thank you, point taken," Riker said, cutting him off.

It would be another few minutes before Captain Picard was back to the Bridge – provided his medical scans came back clear.

"Tasha, prepare a Security team to meet this Garak in Transporter Room 3 if Captain Picard agrees to bring him aboard. Full contingent and bring Medical too so they can scan him," Riker ordered. "I expect the Captain will want him taken to the Brig straightaway."

Security precautions prevented beaming anyone directly in or out of the Brig. It was one of the only areas on the ship equipped with additional dampening fields and a transport scrambler.

The energy requirements were enormous, so they were only activated while transporting someone in the Brig.

"Sir, if I may-"

Riker looked back at Tasha in disbelief. It wasn't like her to speak out of turn on the Bridge – especially in such a tense situation.

"Lieutenant, by your own account you have met this man once. Correct?" Riker asked.

"Yes, sir. But-" Tasha protested.

"And did you know this man before your encounter on Starbase 118?" Riker pressed.

"No, sir," Tasha answered honestly.

She may have only met Garak once. But he'd made a number of pieces for Tasha – including the costumes for their trip to Earth and Data's Inverness cape.

Guinan knew him. She trusted him. And that was good enough for Tasha.

"Sir, if you-"

"Enough! He's a Cardassian that just happens to be out here the same time we are?" Riker said, pointing at the viewscreen where Garak's ship was drifting. "You have no way of knowing if he's acting on the authority of Cardassian Central Command. Need I remind you we are still at war?"

The last thing they needed was the Cardassians to get wind of things weren't all well inside Starfleet – or worse, the Cardassians teaming up with the Romulans.

"So because he's a Cardassian he must clearly be our enemy?" Tasha asked in a heated voice.

"I didn't say that. But you and I both know the odds that man's done service or is still working for Central Command. We don't know what he's capable of, Tasha," Riker countered.

Tasha nodded. She was staring at Commander Riker. But rather than disdain, her expression was full of remorse.

"Tasha, I want to trust you. But we can't take any chances. There's something not right about this. And he may be a tailor now – but I think it's equally as likely he either is, or was at one time, in the service of the Cardassian Central Command," Riker said.

"And once you've served your people or your government you clearly must be irredeemable, right?" Tasha said, disgruntled by Riker's insulation.

Deanna could sense it hit more than a little close to home.

There were only a handful of officers on the Bridge including Riker, Data, Deanna, Worf, and Tasha.

Tasha wasn't sure if it was her own strong feelings on the matter, the privacy their limited group offered, memories resurfaced by their proximity to the Renegade, or that she was just exhausted from the whole conspiracy situation – but she wasn't afraid of voicing her opinion.

"Does that attitude carry over to our side too, sir? Our crew?" Tasha demanded. "Do you share that concern for Lieutenant Di'oma? What about Ensign Matol? Me?"

Riker stepped close.

"For the time being, he stays on the shuttle. We'll send over the medical supplies," Riker said.

Riker was counting the seconds, hoping Captain Picard would arrive soon.

"And Tasha, I didn't mean to imply that you or our Orion crew members were in any way-" Riker began to say.

"You didn't have to, sir," Tasha hissed.

Before their argument could go any further, the lift slid open. Captain Picard, Worf, Beverly, and Doctor Selar strolled onto the Bridge.

Tasha straightened herself up.

"Permission to leave the Bridge, sir?" Tasha asked.

Riker responded with a terse nod.

Jean-Luc followed Tasha as she left the Bridge and then looked to Riker for an explanation. Riker wasn't ready to address the matter.

Will was upset with himself. He had never intended to hurt Tasha or imply this Garak was untrustworthy simply because he was Cardassian.

"Sir, we have a situation," Riker said.

"Sir, the Cardassian is hailing again," Data advised.

"I see it's all go here," Picard remarked.

Jean-Luc put his hands on his hips and scanned the room.

"Well, is one of you going to explain the Cardassian sitting at our bow or should I just ask him?" Picard questioned.

Everyone sprang into action to look busy.

"Sir, we picked up a hail from a Caldonian personal craft. The vessel is heavily damaged. One passenger. Injured," Riker explained. "We are sending over medical supplies."

Riker paused.

"He's a Cardassian, sir," Riker added uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We have a team prepped and ready in Transporter Room 3 should you wish to bring him aboard."

That much was standard procedure for any non-Federation persons brought aboard the ship.

The Brig was not.

"The ship is currently in our tractor beam. With the travel restrictions in place, I did not want to-"

"Say no more. I'd have done the same," Picard said, understanding.

Jean-Luc approached the Operations console. He came to stand behind Data, resting his hand on the back of his chair.

"Mr Data, I'd like to speak with this Cardassian – after Security has conducted a full sweep and following a quick medical exam. And not in my Ready Room. Find one of the conference rooms on a lower level. I don't want him coming near the Bridge," Picard ordered.

There had been incidents before where Cardassians had beamed aboard Starfleet vessels under a guise of peace only to implant surveillance equipment in sensitive areas.

It was heavily suspected one such listening device in the Captain's Ready Room of the Alcester was how the Cardassians obtained the shield frequency leading to that ship's destruction.

"Counsellor, I'll want you there. And I'd like Security to prepare a search of the ship – after we determine it isn't rigged with some sort of sabotage," Picard ordered.

Jean-Luc-strolled to the middle of the room and straightened his posture.

"On screen," Picard ordered.

Data reopened their channel with Garak.

Garak stumbled, clutching the helm of his small personal craft in order to stay upright. Data couldn't be certain, but he looked… grey.

At least greyer than Cardassian normally would – almost as if he'd lost a considerable amount of blood.

"Ah, Captain Jean-Luc Picard," Garak said. "Oh, don't be rattled. I know of you by reputation, sir."

A likely excuse. Picard thought.

"Mr Garak, we would like to render assistance. However, we are currently undergoing a maintenance cycle on our vessel," Picard lied. "As a result, we have strict protocols that must be followed."

"Of course, I have no wish to upset your… protocols," Garak said.

"For the safety of non-personnel, we'll be required to keep your access restricted," Picard said.

"Is this your polite way of offering me a room in your Brig?" Garak asked.

Jean-Luc hesitated.

"It's quite alright," Garak said quickly. "I'm venting atmosphere in the rear. There's about forty millimetres of a duranium alloy between me and a particularly nasty death. That is unless of course I bleed out first."

His voice was not one of anger. Rather it was a frank assessment of the situation.

"I presume your Brig has a bed?" Garak asked.

All of a sudden, both ships were rocked by a moderately sized energy wave.

Captain Picard had to grip the helm to stay upright.

"Report?" Picard asked.

Worf scowled as he analysed the reading.

"Captain, I am picking up an unusual disturbance nearby," Worf said.

"Confirmed, subsector sixty-three," Data chimed in.

"Specify," Picard said, requesting elaboration.

It was going to be one of those days.

"Sir, it's difficult to tell at that distance," Worf said. "We're just shy of sensor range."

They were too far out to get clear scans of the wave's area of origin.

"Theorise, Mr Data," Picard said.

There were no small white dwarf stars in the area, even though the force of shockwave was consistent with such an event.

The Enterprise was well out of range for any inhabited planets. So the possibility of any man-made disaster or test was unlikely.

"Based on the speed and impact of the shockwave I would say the only reasonable hypothesis is a matter-antimatter reaction," Data said.

"Like a warp core going critical?" Picard asked.

He was fighting against the cold chill creeping into the pit of his stomach. There were only four ships in the area.

That you know of. Picard reminded himself.

"We could launch a probe," Riker suggested.

"Make it so Mr Data," Picard ordered.

Data nodded and coded in the appropriate commands to alert Engineering.

"ETA three minutes to launch and nineteen minutes until we receive initial data," Data advised.

"Thank you, notify our guest to stand by," Picard said.

Twenty minutes later, Garak was still standing by in his decrepit ship.

Captain Picard had done his best to keep him apprised of the situation. Through the use of a power transfer, the team had managed to stabilise Mr Garak's ship.

It was beyond repair.

But for the moment it was stable and in no risk of breaking apart. Picard had also advised the Data was standing by at the ready to beam Mr Garak aboard in the event the situation did turn critical.

Garak had assured Jean-Luc that he wasn't going anywhere.

"I'll just be here in my failing ship," Garak had said shortly before Picard put him on hold.

"Sir, early readings show radiation levels from a matter-antimatter explosion consistent with a heavy cruiser like an Ambassador or Constitution class ship," Data advised.

Jean-Luc fell silent.

"Sir? Your orders?" Riker prompted.

Picard was now torn on bringing Garak aboard. For all they knew, they may very well have intercepted a Cardassian agent on his return journey from planting something on another ship.

Jean-Luc was reluctant to bring Garak aboard.

However, if Garak was responsible then Jean-Luc had an obligation to bring him into custody.

"Captain?" Riker pressed.

"Maintain all stop at this location. Continue to analyse the sensor data. I'll be in my Ready Room," Picard said.

"Sir?" Riker asked as Jean-Luc walked away.

"A moment, Number One. I'll be back in a moment. You have my orders," Picard snapped.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Jean-Luc collapsed into the chair behind his desk.

He glanced over at the antique picture on the far shelf. It was a snapshot of a bygone era.

And bygone men. Picard thought.

Jack Crusher. Cortin Zweller. Gregory Quinn. Donald Varley was in danger.

Possibly Walker Keel.

No one lived forever.

Jean-Luc had just always assumed they would have more time.

His eyes fell on the isolinear chip – a gift from Donald Varley upon their last meeting. Both men had taken great risk to obtain it.

"Let's hope you're worth it," Picard said aloud.

The lift came to a stop. Tasha took a breath to steady her nerves before stepping off onto the Bridge.

She was not alone.

There was no shortage of stares as Tasha turned and marched directly to Picard's Ready Room with Guinan in tow.

"Lieutenant, I don't think now is the time. Captain Picard-" Riker began to warn.

He paused as Guinan shot him a curious look.

She had that effect on people. Guinan liked to joke it was her mix of fabulous headwear and bold colours. Yet everyone knew it was something different, an ineffable quality of composure that allowed her to command a room.

"Right," Riker said, nodding to the door.

Jean-Luc was about to return to the Bridge when the door to his Ready Room slid open.

Guinan and Tasha stepped inside.

"Guinan?" Picard asked, bewildered by her presence on the Bridge.

"I need to speak with you," she replied.

Picard rose from his seat.

"Forgive me, but it will have to wait," Picard said. "We're in the middle of a crisis."

He turned to Tasha and frowned.

"Speaking of which – why aren't you down in Transporter Room 3?" Picard demanded.

"Captain… Jean-Luc. I need to speak with you," Guinan insisted.

Picard was starting to feel a headache coming on. His left temple was throbbing with pressure.

"We're in the midst of a crisis. I've got a possible Cardassian spy sitting in our tractor beam. An unknown shockwave likely caused by the destruction of another Starfleet ship and we're not even supposed to be in this sector!" Picard snapped.

He huffed, tugging his uniform shirt down for good measure.

"Now what could possibly be so important that you felt the need to come here?" Picard barked.

Guinan folded her hands just under her chin in an almost prayer-like position.

"I need a hat," Guinan announced.

When Jean-Luc emerged from his Ready Room, everyone on the Bridge could sense the Captain was in a foul mood.

He'd barked orders for the Bridge crew to prepare to receive their Cardassian guest. To everyone's astonishment, Garak was to be brought to the Captain's Ready Room following a thorough search.

"And I will hold you wholly responsible for any mishaps," Picard warned Tasha on her way to the lift before adding, "If there's a ship left!"

No one knew exactly what occurred between the Captain, Security Chief, and their resident barkeep – Jean-Luc offered no details and Guinan was as quiet as ever.

"Our trip to Pacifica will have to wait," Picard informed the crew.

Jean-Luc wanted to investigate whatever had caused the shockwave. At the same time, he didn't want to know. There was a feeling that had settled deep in the back of his mind that told him he would be unhappy with the results.

If it had been the Renegade, then Starfleet would have lost one of the brightest young minds in a generation.

Were the Thomas Paine to have been destroyed, Captain Rixx would no doubt have gone down with his ship – and any hope of stopping this conspiracy with him.

And if it was Walker…

Jean-Luc pushed the thought aside. He couldn't afford to go into that line of thought. At some point he would have to explore the wealth of feelings it evoked in him.

But not today. Picard reminded himself.

"Maintain speed and adjust course to take us to the origin of the shockwave," Picard ordered.

Riker slipped back into the Helm position.

"Aye, sir. Changing course to three five one mark four," Riker said, acknowledging the order.

Garak nearly collapsed the moment he appeared on the transporter pad.

Tasha and Lieutenant Wu rushed forward to catch him. Supporting Garak's weight under each of his arms, they managed to get him down so he could sit on the edge of the platform.

"It's quite a good thing Starfleet uniforms are designed with your patented fit-flex fabric. I can tell it makes a difference in your ease of movement," Garak said, noting their quick response.

From the corner of the room, Miles was eyeing Garak with distrust. His console blocked his clenched fists from view. But Garak could still read his body language – the stiff posture, the clamped jaw.

Tasha cast a quick eye over Garak's body.

"Can you stand?" Tasha asked.

"Lieutenant, I can't begin to tell you how much I wish I could. These pleats look best in an upright position," Garak quipped.

He leaned in close.

"And when I sit they have a tendency to ride up, accentuating my hips. And while I know less Yamok sauce would go a long way in curbing that particular problem, it's far easier to conceal with the right pair of pants," Garak said.

Tasha bit back a smile.

It was by no means the time or place to laugh. But she couldn't help it. There was something so disarming about Garak's wit.

In a way, it reminded her of Captain Rixx.

"I have to search you," Tasha said.

"Of course," Garak said. "Just note – I'm packing."

He grinned.

Tasha wasn't entirely ready to take that as a joke.

"You're armed?" she asked to clarify, keeping her voice in a neutral tone.

In situations like this, it was only standard procedure to inform another officer if you were carrying. But when Garak didn't answer, Tasha decided to press it.

"A disruptor? Or phaser?" Tasha inquired.

"Something far more deadly," Garak said in a serious tone.

Tasha froze.

Lieutenant Wu's hand went to her phaser. Jeffords already had his phaser out and aimed directly at Garak's chest.

Miles shifted uncomfortably behind his console. His hand hovered just above the controls. Miles had zero qualms about beaming Garak back out into space if necessary.

Garak put his hands up and allowed Tasha to conduct her search. After an advanced scan with a tricorder, Tasha moved onto a physical check.

She reached into Garak's top pocket and frowned.

"Lieutenant?" Miles asked, ready to back her up.

"It's alright," Tasha replied.

While maintaining eye contact with Garak, she produced a pencil.

"More dangerous?" Tasha asked.

"Mightier than the sword," Garak replied innocently.

By the time she had finished searching Garak, Tasha had uncovered chalk, tape for measuring, a small sewing kit, half a sandwich, and a pair of reading glasses.

"Well, I think it's safe to say you pose no threat," Tasha said with a reassuring smile.

Garak cocked his head to the side.

"The best kept threats," Garak replied with a knowing smile.

It was only a short trek to the origin point of the shockwave.

"Approaching subsector sixty-three, Captain," Riker advised.

"Slow to impulse," Picard instructed.

"Sensors are beginning to pick up small objects, sir," Worf reported.

The bits of debris were still small enough that they remained invisible to the naked eye. But as the Enterprise reduced her speed, larger fragments began to appear on the viewscreen.

"Identifying marks, Mr Worf?" Picard asked.

His tone was sharp, coloured with a hint of desperation.

Worf was scanning each and every piece. He used his console to enhance the imagery. Worf analysed fragment upon fragment in an effort to find any clue as to the origin of the debris.

And the shockwave.

"Mr Worf?" Jean-Luc pressed.

"Nothing so far, Captain," Worf responded.

Jean-Luc rolled his head against his shoulders in frustration.

"I do not like to be kept waiting, Mr Worf. Particularly in our present situation!" Jean-Luc snapped.

Worf stopped scanning.

"Captain," he said in his deep, smooth baritone. "Sensors are not detecting any bodies in the flotsam."

Jean-Luc closed his eyes and braced himself.

"These debris is too small for a visual identification," Worf went on.

But there were other clues present – the signature, the size of the shockwave, the composition of hull plating.

"I'm sorry, sir. I believe we're looking at the wreck of the Horatio," Worf concluded.

Data turned around in his seat.

"Captain, I concur with Mr Worf's findings. Some of these debris fragments contain a unique mix of duranium, aluminium alloy, and an interlaced microfoam furanium filament," Data said. "The specific proportions present in this debris are consistent with an Ambassador-class ship produced between 2336 and 2339."

Jean-Luc blinked in disbelief.

"The Horatio was the fourth Ambassador-class ship produced after-"

"Mr Data!" Picard said, cutting him off.

Data fell silent.

"What are we looking at?" Picard asked, pointing at the viewscreen.

Data glanced over his shoulder to confirm nothing had changed before turning back to the Captain.

"Sir, there is a ninety-four point six chance that is the remains of the USS Horatio," Data answered.

Jean-Luc was seething.

"I'll tell you what we're looking at, Mr Data. We are looking at all that remains of good officers, good people. All seven hundred and thirty-four people that were on that ship!" Picard roared as he leapt to his feet.

Data felt terrible.

"Sir, I am sorry for-"

"If I want more of your pedantic rambling, I'll ask for it. Until that time, keep your worthless trivia to yourself," Picard snarled.

Data nodded and turned back to his station. He recognised he'd touched a nerve and that the Captain needed some time before Data could approach him to properly apologise.

A part of Jean-Luc wanted to blast out of the area.

Run somewhere - anywhere – to avenge this senseless tragedy.

Only Jean-Luc had no idea where to start.

If this was part of the great conspiracy Captain Rixx had warned of then there was no one he could trust. While it was certainly possible some unforeseen anomaly or accident had caused this tragedy, Jean-Luc knew that was about as likely to happen as Q cropping in to cure Darnay's Disease.

"You have the Bridge, Number One. Collect everything. I'll be in my Ready Room," Picard said.

There was no small sense of unease when Tasha, Guinan, and Garak stepped off the lift.

Data glanced her way, wordlessly communicating the Captain was in quite a state.

"My, my," Garak remarked as he surveyed the Bridge. "So this is where all the action happens?"

"Sometimes," Commander Riker said, pulling himself up to his full height.

Garak looked him up and down with approval. It had the effect of intimidating Riker without even a word.

"Something you care to say?" Riker demanded.

"Have you ever considered growing a beard, Commander?" Garak asked.

Riker was caught off guard. It was the last thing he'd expected this Cardassian to say.

"Is this a joke?" Riker asked, looking to Tasha for an explanation.

"Oh no joke intended, Commander," Garak assured him. "You know I have a blue silk shirt that would look positively dashing on you – provided it isn't destroyed. I haven't had a chance to check my stocks yet."

Nearly all of Garak's inventory was on the failing ship.

The Enterprise was still holding that ship via tractor beam. However, they had refused to bring aboard any packaging for fear it could be some sort of weapon or surveillance equipment.

"Your inventory is going to remain on that ship," Riker said.

"Pity," Garak said with a sigh. "I'm afraid I don't know how I can do a proper wedding fitting without it."

Data whipped around in his seat so fast he nearly flew off it.

"I-I-I didn't," Tasha stammered.

"I put two and two together," Garak said as he pulled Tasha's hand to eye-level so he could examine her ring. "Stunning craftsmanship."

Data was stunned. While their engagement was old news, they had agreed to their nuptials a secret until after the fact.

"Oh dear," Garak said, sensing their discomfort. "Forgive me, have I made an assumption?"

He was giving them an out to deny it. Tasha saw the opportunity for what it was and seized upon it.

"We're engaged. No date's been set," Tasha said, retracting her hand.

Technically it wasn't a lie.

"We should probably see the Captain straightaway," Tasha said, pulling Garak toward the Ready Room.

Deanna could pick up on a number of interesting emotions from Tasha. She made a mental note to ask her about them later.

"That's when I said, my dear – no one will be looking at your tail," Garak remarked.

For the last ten minutes, Jean-Luc had sat in disbelief as Garak recounted narrowly escaping from the disruptors of the Lyran Empire.

He claimed to have been commissioned to make the wedding attire for what Garak described as the 'wedding of the century' that was set to formally end hostilities between two powers.

The daughter of the Lyran Emperor was supposed to marry the son of the Kzinti Patriarch, the de facto leader of the Kzinti Hegemony.

Supposed to.

Allegedly after years of negotiations and sixteen yards of the finest Tholian silk, the groom had made a startling confession at the altar.

He was married to his military career and already deeply in love with his Lieutenant.

The Kzinti had tried to smooth over the situation with a less-than acceptable offer. In a desperate move to salvage the peace, the Kzinti had offered a second son instead – a great insult to the Lyrans.

The bride had declared she was fine with calling off the wedding, loudly remarking she had never wanted to wed a Kzinti in the first place.

Their spat had turned to a brawl, then a fire fight as the Kzinti delegation tried to escape, before devolving into an all out battle over the Lyran homeworld.

War was back on between the two powers.

"Well it was more than my job was worth to hang around there. I barely escaped with my life and my stock intact!" Garak explained. "I've got rolls of Tholian silk, woven gold-pressed latinum, lambswool from Deribdan VI."

Jean-Luc was less than impressed.

"You expect me to believe that you've been limping along through space for the last month and just happened to wind up in this particular corridor?" Picard asked.

"It's all true, Captain," Garak insisted.

"Why didn't you stop Starbase Ross? Or Norpin colony?" Picard pressed.

"Captain, you've seen my vessel. There was no possible way it could survive re-entry," Garak said without missing a beat. "And before you ask, I only recently managed to repair the damage to my communications system."

Jean-Luc's lips thinned.

"And between here and the Kzinti border, thousands of lightyears, you encountered no other ship?" Picard questioned.

"None that were as friendly as you," Garak answered. "Speaking of which-"

Jean-Luc just wanted their meeting to be over with.

"Captain, my life is my work. All my remaining inventory is on that ship. A loss would devastate my business," Garak said.

Picard shook his head.

"I can't permit you to bring cargo on board," Picard.

He explained they would drop Garak at the nearest Federation planet and he could make his way from there.

Garak was at a loss.

"Captain, I appreciate your generosity. But I need my inventory in order to-"

"The Federation will provide for all your basic needs," Picard said dismissively knowing full well that Garak would be able to access food, housing, and medical care without the need for income.

"Captain, I'm not in your Federation and we both know I can't stay," Garak pointed out.

Sure, Garak would be treated as guest in the interim. But it wouldn't last. And he had a life he wished to return to – even if it wasn't his beloved Cardassia Prime.

"Captain, we can scan everything brought aboard. I assure you my Security team will take every precaution," Tasha promised.

Picard stared at his Security Chief. He wanted to remind Tasha just how precarious their position was. But he was reluctant to reveal anything in front of Garak.

"Oh dear, have I come at a bad time?" Garak asked, reading the room.

"Your timing could not have been worse," Picard answered honestly.

Jean-Luc sat up straight and tapped his fingers on the desk.

"What I can't seem to work out is why they would bother firing at a tailor," Picard remarked.

"You know, I didn't stop to ask," Garak replied.

Picard had always found the Cardassian wit trying. Garak was no exception.

"It's curious that the Cardassian Union would be the direct beneficiary of continued violence between the Kzinti and Lyrans," Picard went on.

It was no secret that the Kzinti supported the Cardassian Union with weapons and troops. The Lyrans had taken a stance of neutrality in order to maintain trade with the Federation.

A union between the two would have been contingent on the Kzinti ending their support for Cardassia.

"Makes one wonder what lengths the Cardassian Union would go to in order to ensure uninterrupted support from the Kzinti," Picard said, his voice dripping with accusation.

But Garak was composed as ever.

"Captain, you flatter me," Garak said. "But I fear you have overestimated the power of my pleats."

"Have I?" Picard asked, raising an eyebrow. "You had nothing to do with the fallout?"

"Well, I'll confess the groom was less than satisfied with the ruching, but he was rather robust sort of in here," Garak explained, motioning to his waist. "That I simply couldn't let him walk the aisle in something so unflattering as the Kzinti military dress uniform."

Jean-Luc had reached his limit.

"Bring the damn inventory on board," he declared.

Security would scan it all in. For the time being, Guinan had offered to open her own quarters to Garak. On their way out, Picard had a few parting thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," Tasha said.

"Tasha? Are you trying to rehabilitate him or yourself?" Picard asked bluntly.

Tasha looked as if she'd been slapped.

"Does it help you sleep better to make nice with this Cardassian?" Picard went on. "Is it easier to forget?"

Tasha struggled to answer as she glanced over at Garak, flashing him an apologetic look. She certainly hadn't been consciously trying to mislead him with her friendly manner.

"They might not know. The people out there certainly don't know what you're capable of," Picard continued.

Tasha wanted to vomit.

"But I do," Picard reminded her.

Between the meeting with Rixx and still reeling from the loss of Walker, memories were at the forefront of Picard's mind.

"All I ask is that you think of this ship and the people on it as you try to restore your moral credibility," Picard spat.

For a moment, his comment hung in the air.

"Dismissed," Picard said in a low voice.

"Sir," Tasha said with a small nod, avoiding eye contact as she escorted Garak out.

Jean-Luc sat back down at his desk and resumed reading through the flight plans for other ships in the area. He was still working out how to make an excuse for the presence of the Enterprise in the area.

There was an obligation to report the loss of the Horatio.

Captain Picard understood it was a delicate situation that must be handled with care in order to protect his crew. There would be questions and Jean-Luc needed to be prepared.

Suddenly, he became aware of a presence in the room.

Looking up, Picard saw Guinan was still there. She loomed over his desk, waiting in silence for Picard to address her.

"I said dismissed," Picard said.

"I'm not on your crew," Guinan said.

She put her hand to silence Picard before he could snip that she was there due to his permission. Civilian appointments to the Enterprise were rare and Guinan understood it was an incredible opportunity to run her establishment on such a prominent ship.

"You're tense," she observed.

"I'm busy," Picard countered.

"You're always busy," Guinan replied, seeing straight through his excuse. "But that? What you did back there? That was cold."

Picard took a sharp breath.

"I lost a very dear friend today," Picard said in a defensive tone.

"Well, keep it up and you might have one or two left by the end of the day," Guinan said, turning to go.

Three hours later, the Enterprise had concluded a preliminary investigation into the mysterious and sudden destruction of the Horatio.

"Based on the scope of damage, we believe there was some form of additional explosive force used in order to destroy any evidence," Worf said.

"The ship's central computer core has not been recovered," Data added.

"Theories?" Picard asked.

It was difficult to determine a cause with so little debris remaining. They were certain the warp core had suffered a containment breach.

However, just how and why such a breach occurred remained unclear.

There was no doubt it was likely sabotage. Picard's thoughts drifted back to the warning he offered Walker.

Check your new Tactical officer. A scan. Back of the neck. Here.

Had that action directly triggered the containment breach?

"Sir, I believe it was the intention of someone or persons aboard the Horatio to intentionally cause this level of devastation to hinder any investigation. To use a human idiom, I believe this ship was done to death," Data said.

"Charges placed in strategic locations throughout the ship could account for the increased destruction," Tasha suggested.

"That couldn't happen between the end of our meeting and Walker's return," Picard pointed out.

"Whatever happened on the Horatio, happened fast," Riker added.

Tasha nodded.

"It would have to had been in place in advance. Perhaps planted days, weeks, even months ago," Tasha said.

Unfortunately, they could only speculate.

"Sir, sooner or later we're going to need to report this to Starfleet," Riker said.

Jean-Luc bristled. He knew Riker was right – they couldn't delay the inevitable.

"And the minute we do, someone's going to ask the question," Picard said, voicing his concern aloud. "What is the Enterprise doing out here?"

"I have been exploring possible explanations for our deviation, sir," Data chimed in.

In fact, Data had run through a total of four hundred and eighteen possible cover stories. He examined the likelihood of believability, any possible threat to exposure, and checked & re-checked the long range scans to ensure there were no other ships.

"Yesterday at 11:38 hours a plasma storm was recorded near Pacifica. We could use this to excuse bringing the Enterprise around the far side of the Boradis corridor," Data said, walking them through their deception.

"During that time, we noticed an anomaly and decided to reroute to an orbit above the planet Aidaro," Geordi said.

"Aidaro's a pre warp civilisation. We would have no business visiting," Deanna said, puncturing a big hole through their excuse.

Or so she thought.

"Not visiting. Just viewing from orbit," Geordi said, putting up one finger.

"Our orbital observation would coincide with the Aidaro Festival of Bonfires," Data said. "Where we encountered the shockwave and later went to investigate."

"Bonfires?" Picard asked, surprised.

For a second, no one spoke as Picard contemplated this plan.

"Gentlemen, I appreciate your effort. But I find it rather difficult to swallow that we would divert from our mission to look at a bonfire. And so will Starfleet, I anticipate," Picard said.

"I love a good bonfire," Miles remarked with a nonchalant shrug.

"Sir, of all four hundred and eighteen cover stories available this plan would account for the distance recorded in the computer's logs and is the most difficult to disprove," Data said.

Jean-Luc couldn't argue with that logic.

"But bonfires? From orbit?" Picard asked, glancing around the ship.

It hardly seemed a fitting reason to justify such a diversion.

"We have been on the ship for a long time," Deanna offered.

"A long, long time," Worf added in a terse voice.

"I spent three hours tossing a ball at the wall last night," Riker lamented.

There was truth in what they said. With the travel restrictions in place, the team had grown restless. Guinan did what she could to keep morale up with new recipes and themed nights at Ten Forward. But that was getting more difficult to produce as supply lines grew longer due to the added security of bringing goods aboard.

Time on the holodeck had to be strictly rationed to ensure everyone got a chance. And there was only so much a holodeck could provide.

Nerves were frayed across the ship as people were forced to forgo holidays, conferences, and shore leave. Worst of all – only a handful of people understood why.

Security had broken up a fight at the spa. Deanna's office was flooded with frustrated personnel. Beverly cautioned that sleep aid requests had doubled.

Captain Picard had even caught a team of Ensigns racing on roller skates down the corridor on one of his late night strolls.

"Given our state of affairs, it's not entirely out of the question," Deanna advised.

"Right, bonfires," Picard agreed with an absentminded nod.

Picard was about to dismiss the team when he realised there was something still gnawing at him.

"Is there any possibility that this Garak could have been responsible?" Picard asked.

Tasha visibly stiffened.

"No, sir," Data answered.

It brought Jean-Luc some relief.

"What about a cloaked Romulan ship? Could it have been watching the Horatio? Or all of us for that matter?" Picard pressed.

"We would have detected the tachyon signature by now," Data answered.

Ever since they had first learned of this conspiracy, Data had carefully monitored all tachyon emissions near the Enterprise to ensure they were not being shadowed by a cloaked vessel.

"Whatever occurred on the Horatio happened from inside," Geordi added.

It was still hard to stomach.

"All those lives," Picard remarked.

"Any Romulan agent or agents probably planted hidden charges throughout the ship shortly after they arrived. It's the perfect way to wrap up any loose ends," Tasha said.

She turned to the Captain, anticipating his next question.

"And no, sir. There is no possibility of the same happening here. Worf and I have had the team sweeping the ship. Irregular intervals. Surprise inspections in key areas," Tasha explained.

"Right. Thank you," Picard said.

At 15:38, Jean-Luc hit send to transmit his report on the loss of the Horatio.

After completing his report, Data proofread the log to ensure it matched with their deception. No one felt great about lying to Starfleet.

But as Data pointed out – they weren't lying to Starfleet.

All evidence would indicate they were deceiving the Romulans in an attempt to protect Starfleet.

And the Federation.

It would take several hours for his message to be relayed to Starfleet Command Headquarters in San Francisco.

Until then, the only thing they could do was wait.

And one more thing. Picard thought.

"This is exquisite," Garak said.

He was seated in Guinan's quarters, sipping on a new tea blend she had procured from Jaros II when they were interrupted by a chime at the door.

"Captain," Guinan said as the door slid aside.

She wasn't entirely surprised by his presence.

"I'm sorry to intrude," Picard said.

"Not at all. Please, join us," Guinan said, gesturing to an open seat.

"I fear I owe you an apology, Mr Garak," Picard said.

"It's quite alright, Captain. Would it ease your conscience if I said I am accustomed to such a reaction? In fact, I'm quite grateful you didn't blast me out of the sky on sight," Garak said.

He raised his teacup to Jean-Luc.

"You may ask," Garak said suddenly. "You may not like the answer, but feel free to ask."

"Fine. Just where does your allegiance fall?" Picard asked as Guinan poured him a cup of tea.

"Cardassia," Garak answered with complete honesty.

Jean-Luc was halfway to his mouth with his teacup when he stopped. He set the cup back down rather harder than intended.

"That's older than you, so watch it," Guinan warned.

She wasn't about to have him cracking a three hundred year old teacup over politics.

"So you admit you are a Cardassian agent?" Picard asked.

"Ah, I could see where you might reach that conclusion," Garak said.

He sat back in his seat and took a small sip of his tea.

"I should have clarified," Garak explained. "My loyalty lies to Cardassia. To my people. I did not say the Cardassian Union."

That was an important distinction.

"I am incredibly proud of being a Cardassian. You are no doubt familiar with our motto that 'Family is All.' And for me, Cardassia is my family," Garak said. "Our archival skills are unparalleled. Our educational system, unmatched."

Garak paused.

"Unlike our Romulan counterparts, with whom your Federation is so keen to compare us to, we were already starving before we started annexing Bajoran territory to try and feed our people," Garak said.

The socioeconomic situation on Cardassia had been dire for more than a century preceding the Bajoran occupation.

"We didn't sacrifice ourselves for some fool's quest to find glory," Garak went on. "We were merely trying to survive."

Garak's account of history was considerably different than the common Federation understanding of Cardassian history.

"I dare say, I wonder how things might have played out differently had the Federation agreed to our request for food replicator technology in 2285?" Garak mused aloud.

Cardassians had replicators. But they weren't nearly as efficient as those employed by the Federation. The breakdown in 2285 was a tense topic of discussion between both powers and often cited as one of the early steps towards open conflict.

"Then you do not work on behalf of the Central Command?" Picard asked.

Garak chuckled.

"Captain, I have never worked on behalf of the Central Command," Garak said.

Jean-Luc studied Garak for a moment. He couldn't quite put his finger on it – but there was something about Garak's answer that left him wondering what more he was hiding.

"May I ask, how are you possibly alive then? Is that why they targeted you on Starbase 118?" Picard inquired.

"I don't know why I was targeted. Perhaps they didn't like my bold check suit in the window? Or the dress I had on display? Maybe it was the lighting?" Garak said.

Jean-Luc eyed Garak with heavy scepticism.

"As for how I've managed to survive, well, that's rather simple," Garak said. "I've never allowed my ambition to outweigh my patriotism."

"And that's why you're a tailor?" Picard asked, his tone making clear that he didn't buy a word of Garak's story.

"I like to work with my hands," Garak answered.

Picard laughed.

"You certainly weave a good story," Picard acknowledged.

"I usually buy my materials after they've been woven," Garak responded.

Jean-Luc was resigned that this Garak wasn't about to break under questioning. He was too clever, too quick on his feet to walk into a verbal trap.

"Then tell me, why? I won't lie – I find it highly suspicious that you happen to have established a rapport with my Security Chief and one of my oldest and most trusted friends," Picard said, meeting Guinan's eyes.

In all the years of their friendship, she had never once mentioned this Garak.

"You mean it wasn't my disarming personality?" Garak asked, feigning innocence.

Jean-Luc didn't answer.

"Oh alright! You've caught me, Captain," Garak said as he held his hands up. "I'm guilty. I've always had a soft spot for orphans, bastards, and broken souls."

Garak smiled at Guinan.

"And anyone that can pull off fabulous headwear with confidence," Garak added.

Tasha was halfway through stuffing her face with a plate of hot chili nosh bean wings when Commander Riker found her in the canteen.

The Enterprise was back underway to Pacifica. That meant the crew had a chance to take a break and catch their breath.

Without saying a word, Will slipped into the seat across from Tasha.

She stopped eating and stood, greeting Will as if she was first year cadet and he had just strolled in for inspection.

"Sir," Tasha said.

"As you were," Riker ordered.

Tasha relaxed her posture enough to sit down, but otherwise remained on edge.

"Look, I'm lousy at this. But I came to say I'm sorry," Riker apologised.

"Thank you," Tasha said, resuming her dinner.

Riker took a deep breath. He could practically feel the tension melt away in his shoulders. Ever since their semi-public row on the Bridge, Riker had felt awful for what he'd said.

"You know I wasn't trying to say you were a bad person. I know you spent time with Covert Ops," Riker acknowledged.

Tasha stopped eating and glanced up.

"I'm sorry. Truly I am. You're one of the finest officers I've had the pleasure to serve with. Hell, T – I trust you with my life," Riker went on. "I know you would never do anything for the wrong reasons. I mean, I'm sure anything you did was only for the best."

Tasha's fork dropped with an audible 'clang.'

"And just what are the right reasons?" Tasha demanded in a cold voice.

Will Riker immediately realised that he'd put his foot right back into his mouth.

"Tasha, I didn't mean-"

"What did you mean, hmm? That just because it's us doing the killing makes it justified?" Tasha asked. "And just how the hell are we defining who is right in this war?"

Tasha sighed.

"Look, I'm not defending the Cardassians or what they've done to the Bajoran people. But it's pretty rich for Starfleet to condemn Bajoran activists as terrorists at the same time as we send in covert missions to sabotage Cardassian supply lines."

She paused.

"Because it's not the Cardassian military that pays when we do that. It's people. Civilians who couldn't care less about this stupid war," Tasha said.

"No offence, T – but Cardassia isn't suffering from a shortage of willing recruits," Riker argued.

Tasha slammed her open hand down on the table. Riker jumped.

"Because if you don't serve, you've got the Obsidian Order breathing down your neck. You're guaranteed daily rations in the military. And your family is at significantly less risk of being rounded up and shipped off to a work camp," Tasha hissed.

She leaned in close.

"And don't tell me you would do any different," Tasha said under her breath.

Tasha knew better than anyone on board just what people were capable of when hungry, tired, or destitute enough. Survival was a powerful motivator.

"So I'll ask you again – what are the right reasons?" Tasha insisted.

"Tasha, you're a good person. I know you're a good person and you would never hurt anyone unless-"

Riker trailed off.

There were any number of justifiable reasons he could think of to explain away whatever was weighing on Tasha's conscience.

"What's the difference between the Cardassians on Setlik III or Lazon and me?" Tasha asked. "Is it because my orders were sanctioned by Starfleet?"

Riker didn't have an answer.

"Am I absolved of my deeds because an Admiral signed off on them?" Tasha pondered aloud, her voice starting to break.

Will reached across the table and took hold of Tasha's hand.

"I have to believe that we're more than the sum of our past deeds. That people can change," Tasha confessed.

"Tasha, you spend every single day making this universe a better place. I know that you would do anything to help us – I've seen it. You're a protector. It's just who you are," Will said. "And that's the Tasha Yar I know – I don't care about what you did before."

Will could sense this was eating Tasha inside.

"Maybe you should talk to Deanna? I mean, I'm happy to talk, T. Whatever you need. I just think maybe a professional could help more than me," Riker confessed.

"Sometimes I wish I could," Tasha said in a faraway voice.

What Deanna knew of Tasha's past was minimal. Even Data's understanding barely scratched the surface.

"I could die tomorrow and everything I've done to repent would hardly begin to clear my debt," Tasha said in a strange voice. "It could take a lifetime just to make up for my stint in the Department of Wet Affairs."

Riker saw an opportunity to shift her attention.

"I didn't know you were a frog," Riker said, astonished.

'Frogs' was a slang word for Starfleet operatives trained in underwater tactical operations.

"Can you teach me any amphibious stealth moves? I'd love to razz the gang down in Cetacean Ops," Riker said, hoping to earn a laugh.

Tasha frowned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Lieutenant Yar? Please report to the Bridge," a voice rang out over the comms system.

"Duty calls," Tasha said.

She got up from her seat and stopped just a foot from the table. Tasha turned back to Riker and fumbled with her hands.

"Forget I said any of that. Please?" Tasha requested.

Only Will Riker wasn't the type of man to leave things alone. He had no intention of going back on his word to Tasha – he was merely curious about one of the things she'd mentioned.

Once he was home, Will put the computer to work.

It was a difficult task.

Time and again the computer rejected his search parameters claiming there was no known institution, body, or division within Starfleet known as the 'Department of Wet Affairs.'

So Riker was forced to get creative.

He began searching through all known Federation records including literature, music, even news articles for any use of the term.

And what he found answered a lot of questions about Tasha's defensive nature when it came to Garak. The answer was found in a paper critical of Starfleet's increased militarisation.

According to the author, Starfleet's 'Department of Wet Affairs' was a colloquial term used to denote a division of Covert Ops that specialised in challenging missions.

The accusations were bold – messy extractions in areas where official Federation law couldn't reach, support missions for Federation-backed coup d'états, advanced strike force missions for larger Starfleet military operations, even (as the paper claimed) a hand in assassinating more than a dozen prominent enemies of the Federation.

It was called the Department of Wet Affairs because of the bloody nature of the work.

And Starfleet denied any and all existence of such a team. After all, it would violate more than thirty separate intergovernmental treaty agreements.

Will ran his hands back through his hair and sighed.

His own record was far from spotless. He'd done things he wasn't proud of either.

On orders from Starfleet.

In the name of some greater good.

Will swatted his glass of water across the table, letting it spill without a care.

Then he buried his head in his hands and tried to push away all thoughts of the past.

Tasha was stunned when she stepped into the Captain's Ready Room.

Garak was present – along with half a dozen storage crates.

Most shocking of all was that Captain Picard and Garak were talking.

Chatting.

Guinan was sitting behind the Captain's desk nibbling at a tray of tacos. It was the single strangest scene Tasha had ever seen occur in the Ready Room – and she'd seen some doozies in her time.

"Thank you for coming so promptly," Picard said. "Tea?"

Tasha was at a loss for words.

"W-what?" she said, fumbling over her own words.

Jean-Luc clasped his hands together.

"No, no. Tea is wholly inappropriate to mark the occasion. We need wine," Picard said.

He scurried over to the built-in cabinet along the wall and began to rummage around.

"Ah ha! The '38. You'll love it," Picard said. "Mr Garak?"

"Oh I never drink and work. But thank you for offering," Garak said.

Jean-Luc handed Tasha a glass of wine, then Guinan. Finally he set the bottle down on the table.

"Have I missed something?" Tasha asked.

She nearly fainted when Captain Picard took her hand, pulling Tasha toward the centre of the room.

"I owe you an apology. My remarks to you before were out of line," Picard said. "In fact, I fear I owe you much more than an apology, Tasha."

"It's alright, sir," Tasha said.

She was always uncomfortable whenever anyone apologised to her – no matter how strongly their actions warranted it.

"You have my orders, Mr Garak?" Picard asked.

"Yes, sir," Garak replied as he slipped on his reading specs.

Garak produced his chalk from his top pocket.

"Walker Keel reminded me earlier today that when I had no one to turn to, when I was at the lowest point of my life after the Stargazer – you were there," Picard said. "You didn't have a cent to your name you didn't fight and scrape for. And you still offered me a place in your little flat."

Tasha tensed as Captain Picard kissed her cheek.

"Thank you," Picard said.

Tasha blinked slowly as Jean-Luc gave her hand a squeeze. Without another word, he left Garak and Tasha alone in his Ready Room.

"What the hell just happened?" Tasha asked as soon as Picard was gone.

Garak was humming to himself as he rummaged through one of the cases, tossing scraps of chenille, silk, and organza in all directions.

Garak stopped.

"It's your wedding fitting. Surely you weren't planning to wear that," Garak remarked.

Wedding fitting?

Tasha's eyebrows shot up.

"Um, look – this is really sweet, but I don't.. erm," Tasha said, backing toward the door.

Attention had always made Tasha uncomfortable. That's part of why she was such a successful covert operative. She would just as soon blend into the background.

Suddenly, Tasha stopped. Her brow furrowed. She glanced at the door and then back at the room.

"He… he told you," Tasha said, realising Captain Picard had broken their promise to keep the nuptials a secret.

"Tasha, I don't know any more information than I did this morning. Or a week ago for that matter," Guinan said.

"We don't know when or where you are planning to tie the knot. In fact, I don't know any details beyond the groom," Garak assured her.

True to his word, Jean-Luc had revealed nothing.

"Everyone knows you're engaged. It's reasonable to assume that at some point that will lead to a wedding. If my understanding of human custom is accurate," Garak said.

"Actually my people forbid marriage," Tasha said automatically.

She bit her lip.

"But you know, that's not important right now. I mean we are.. getting married, that is. We are getting married. Um, someday," Tasha stammered.

Gods. Really bungled that. She thought.

Garak began holding up various swatches as he circled Tasha.

"Hold this," he instructed, holding up a length of champagne-coloured satin.

"Aren't you supposed to measure me or something?" Tasha asked.

Garak grinned and tapped his temple.

"I've never forgotten," he said as he knelt down to drape and pin the fabric in place. "Heaven knows I spent ages getting that blue piece right."

"It wasn't blue," Tasha said.

"Same shade as your eyes," Garak said, recalling the garment well.

Tasha's brow furrowed.

Garak froze.

"Right," he said quickly, turning back to his task.

It was the first time since his arrival that Garak had appeared genuinely spooked – and Guinan could feel it too.

"Garak?" Guinan asked.

"Forgive me. You are so very like a woman I met years ago," Garak said to Tasha.

"You mean there were others before me?" Guinan teased.

"There's no one like you," Garak responded.

He shuffled along the ground, moving to the other side so he could pin the back.

"No. This woman was just someone I met when I was working as a gardener. I quite enjoyed our talks. She loved to come walk through and smell the roses. Rather like a flower herself – beautiful but lonely," Garak shared, lost in a surreal memory.

"What was her name? What happened to her?" Tasha inquired, unable to set aside her burning curiosity.

Garak hesitated.

"I, uh. It escapes me," Garak lied.

"What happened to your friend?" Tasha pressed, sensing Garak's own sorrow at the memory.

"That was a long time ago and I was only a gardener on Romulus for a short time," Garak said.

Tasha visibly staggered. Garak caught her arm.

"You know I don't think wine is such a great idea right now," Tasha said, stumbling toward the desk. "Are the tacos for anybody?"

Guinan was on her feet in a flash.

"Tasha?" Guinan asked.

"I'm sorry, I just felt dizzy for a moment," Tasha apologised.

Tasha turned and leaned heavily on the desk.

"This is all so lovely, but-" Tasha paused for a moment, struggling to describe her feelings. "We're just not this kind of people. We're not planning anything extravagant."

It wasn't her style. Nor was it Data's.

"We just want something simple," Tasha said.

Garak took her hand and guided Tasha over to the sofa. Garak and Guinan sat on either side of her – complete with the tray of tacos.

"Why don't you tell us what you want?" Garak asked softly.

"As much as you're willing to share," Guinan clarified.

"And maybe your thoughts on tulle?" Garak added.

With his office occupied, Picard opted for a stroll around the ship. Eventually he stopped in front of the large view window on the lower decks that overlooked the aft section.

It was one of the more beautiful and unobstructed views on the ship.

"Penny for your thoughts," Beverly said.

Jean-Luc realised that in all the hubbub, he was late for his latest scan. As part of the return procedure from his meeting, he was due for a scan with two medical professionals every few hours over the next couple of days.

Beverly and Nurse Alyssa Ogawa emerged from the shadows.

"I am so sorry," Picard said. "I didn't mean to pull you both down from Sickbay like this."

"It's quite alright. We can just as easily scan you here," Beverly said.

It only took a moment. As expected, both scans were clear. Beverly nodded to Nurse Ogawa who quickly made herself scarce.

"How are you?" Beverly asked.

Picard didn't answer.

"Jean-Luc?" she pressed.

"Starfleet lost a fine man today. We lost a good friend," Picard said. "He asked about you. And Marta. Donald."

Picard was still reeling from the loss. Beverly knew better than anyone just how close they had all been.

"How was he?" Beverly asked.

Picard laughed.

"You mean in the last awful meeting we had before his death? The same old Walker," Picard said.

And now he was gone.

"To make matters worse I've been a right terror this afternoon. I snapped at Data. Publicly," Picard said, humiliated by his own temper. "I told off Tasha. I was short with Riker and Worf."

Jean-Luc's temper had always been his downfall.

"You're feeling old. Looking at the ledger of your life and the unfilled pages that you thought would be different now," Beverly said.

Jean-Luc shot her a look.

"Oh don't give me that. I know. I'm feeling it too," Beverly confessed.

"It's a rotten feeling," Picard shared with a bitter laugh. "And I really don't know how to shake it. I fear dark days are ahead."

Beverly reached for his forearm, offering a gentle squeeze.

"Stay your course, Captain. Hold fast. And hold those that are dear and still with you close," Beverly said.

She moved to go, but Jean-Luc caught her hand.

"I haven't said it often enough – but thank you," Picard said.

"For scanning your brainstem?" Beverly asked.

"For holding me accountable when I need it. For making me a better man," Picard said in a soft voice.

Tasha bit back a laugh as she watched Garak parade across the room in a ridiculous white fur hat.

"It's Andorian chic. It's Oriental Express. It's Doctor Zhivago," Garak declared, flaunting his walk as he turned.

"It's lovely but.."

Tasha paused.

"Simpler," Tasha said, pushing her hands together to indicate they needed to scale things down.

Føroyar was cold. And for the camping portion of their trip, Data and Tasha would be limited in what they could bring. They would have to haul all their supplies in and out for the trip.

Tasha would much rather the weight in her pack be tea, rations, and good whisky instead of some beautiful, albeit silly hat.

Garak stopped and put his hands on his hips.

"My dear, with your desired level of… minimalism," Garak settled on. "Might I suggest you'd be better served with a beach wedding? Then you need not bother with much at all."

Tasha laughed.

"I'm sorry – I wish I could like these things. It's just not me," Tasha confessed.

"Never apologise for that," Guinan assured her.

"In fact, I have just the thing," Garak said as he began to tear about one of his cases of materials. "It's simple. Understated. Elegant. Trust me – you won't need anything else."

Tasha glanced down at the box in her hands. It was square and about fifteen centimetres on either side.

"What is it?" Tasha asked, eager.

"Take a look," Garak said.

Tasha carefully peeked under the edge of the box. She looked up at Garak for an explanation.

"It's um, it's a ribbon," Tasha said, confused.

Garak's face broke out into a broad smile.

Tasha glanced back into the box at the long, fine ribbon. Garak watched as realisation slowly dawned on her.

Tasha clamped the box shut. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

It took all of her composure to act calm as Captain Picard strode back into the room.

"Thank you," Tasha said to Garak as she backed for the door.

"Finished already?" Picard asked.

"Yes. Quite. Thank you, sir," Tasha said before beating a hasty retreat.

"I'll see myself out," Guinan said.

Garak began to pack up his swatches, materials, and spools of fine fabrics.

"And what do I owe you?" Picard asked, looking to settle up with Garak for his services.

"Oh three slips of latinum will cover the material and my fees," Garak replied without looking up from his work. "Do you require an invoice, Captain?"

Jean-Luc's brow furrowed. He strained his memory to ensure he'd heard Garak correctly.

"Three slips of latinum?" Picard questioned.

He couldn't work it out.

"The last shirt I bought was seventeen strips – and that was ten years ago! Surely a wedding dress is considerably more," Picard said, unable to comprehend such a low cost.

"She's a simple bride," Garak replied with a shrug.

Deanna had seen Tasha slip out of the Captain's Ready Room. She'd been waiting for a chance to speak with the Captain all afternoon.

But the way Tasha snuck out of the room had piqued Deanna's interest.

She managed to squeeze in through the lift doors just before they shut.

"What's in the box?" Deanna asked.

"Nothing," Tasha said, clutching it protectively against her chest.

Deanna grinned.

"Something for Data," Tasha said.

It wasn't entirely a lie.

"You're up to something," Deanna said with a knowing smirk. "Any news you care to share?"

She playfully nudged Tasha.

For a brief moment, Tasha's resolve faltered. A part of her desperately wanted to open up to Deanna about her wedding plans, to gush about the beauty of Skýr Point, and the natural hot springs on Føroyar.

But Tasha remembered her promise to Data.

This was a moment that was entirely for them and Tasha knew it was best to keep it that way.

Deanna could sense her trepidation.

"You know what? Tell me when you're ready," Deanna said with a warm smile.

When she reached her quarters, Tasha sat down on the sofa. Data was still working and that gave Tasha a chance to open the box and admire the ribbon.

Leave it to Garak.

Tasha had to admit there was something poetic about the symbolism of it all.

She had always felt secure with Data.

Comfortably bare.

He didn't see her as a damaged soul or a dangerous covert operative. He didn't see her sins nor her scars. In Data's eyes, she was simply Tasha.

Tasha.

As she ran the soft white ribbon through her hands, Tasha realised perhaps it was time to bare herself to Data.

At least, in a way she had never shared with anyone.

"Come in," Picard ordered, waving Data inside.

Jean-Luc gestured for him to take a seat.

"Sir," Data said with a small nod.

Contrary to their usual easy banter, Data remained silent as he awaited the Captain's orders. Jean-Luc realised this was Data's attempt to follow Picard's order from before on the Bridge.

"Data, I wanted to apologise," Picard said. "But first we must see to a call from Starfleet Command. And when that business is finished, we shall talk."

Starfleet Headquarters had received his report regarding the Horatio's demise and was keen to speak with Jean-Luc.

Picard had requested Data to be present – both for his sage advice and for posterity.

Data could recall every second of the call without the need for recording. Furthermore, Jean-Luc trusted that Data would reveal nothing.

To Picard's dismay, Starfleet seemed more interested in what the Enterprise was doing near the Horatio than the actual loss of life.

Flag officer Admiral Aaron seemed only too casual about the news.

His response wasn't just callous – it was alarming.

Before the end of the call, he was already making claims to Picard about what he called 'Walker Keel's sloppy performance and gross negligence.'

The Admiral was so keen on repeating this unfounded claim it was like he believed repetition would make it true.

"Sir, with all due respect – you cannot know that," Picard pointed out.

Starfleet had only just received the information from the Enterprise. And all evidence pointed to some sort of intentional breach.

"But we do. We've had the Horatio under observation for months," Admiral Aaron replied coolly.

Starfleet Command would entertain no evidence to the contrary.

"Continue your course to Pacifica, Captain. We thank you for reporting this matter," Admiral Aaron concluded.

Data and Captain Picard sat in silence for a moment after the transmission ended.

"Data, I'm going to give you an order. And I'd like your word that you'll follow it?" Picard requested.

"Of course, Captain," Data answered.

"We will speak of the call with Admiral Aaron tomorrow. Until then, put it out of your mind," Picard ordered.

Data understood that this request to put it out of his mind was merely a turn of phrase to instruct Data to not waste processing capacity on the matter.

"I must apologise to you, Mr Data. For my behaviour toward you on the Bridge earlier," Picard said. "Please forgive me. I spoke in anger."

Data cocked his head to the side.

"It is I who should apologise, Captain. Please forgive my insensitive remarks after the loss of Captain Keel and the Horatio," Data said.

Captain Picard waved his hand.

"It's all in the past, Mr Data. I was emotionally compromised," Picard acknowledged. "Though that is no excuse for my behaviour toward you."

"He was your dear friend, anger is only natural as part of the grieving process," Data said.

Jean-Luc nodded in agreement.

"I suppose it is," Picard said.

He sat back and rested his hand on the surface of the desk.

"You see, that's one of the things I've come to value about our friendship, Data. If I may speak frankly, your perception, your patience. That can be hard to find," Picard said.

"Thank you, sir," Data replied.

Jean-Luc opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an antique wooden box. Picard got up from his desk and opened the box for Data to see inside.

"You can pick it up," Picard encouraged.

Data reached inside and pulled out an antique compass. He turned it over in his hand to admire the ancient craftsmanship.

"That compass is over five hundred years old," Jean-Luc said.

"I would estimate between eight hundred and thirty to eight hundred and fifty years old, sir," Data said as he studied the composition.

Jean-Luc chuckled. He knew Data, more than anyone, would appreciate such a piece.

"Eight hundred and thirty-two. Commissioned in 1532 for Lazare Picard. Much like you and I, he risked everything he knew. He left behind everyone he'd ever known to follow Jacques Cartier across the sea in 1534," Picard explained.

"The Age of Discovery," Data said, breathless.

"Quite right," Picard said.

It was a miracle the compass survived at all. Jean-Luc had carried it with him throughout his career. On the Stargazer, he kept it stored in a small compartment on the arm rest of the Command Chair.

"Marcel Picard had it with him at Trafalgar. It was with Jules Picard at the Somme. And he gifted it to his son, Janvier," Picard shared. "It was one of the only things Janvier took with him when my family fled at the outbreak of the Second World War."

Jean-Luc had spent considerable time in his youth exploring the tunnels and secret passageways his ancestors had used to hide from the Nazi regime.

"He ended up with the Free French Forces in Tunisia. And Janvier carried it with him when he landed in Provence to liberate France," Picard went on.

He reasoned that compass had seen more in its time than he ever would.

"My great-grandmother, Rosalind, took it with her to the bottom of the Mariana Trench for the Nares Expedition in 2230," Picard said.

"A remarkable piece," Data said.

"My great-uncle Charles gifted this to me when I was seven. I knew then I wanted to be a starship captain," Picard commented.

He could remember that day clearly – one of the only happy memories of his tumultuous childhood.

"You see, in my family this compass has a tradition. It is always gifted to the second child. For the second child has to make his own way," Picard said with a wry grin.

He took hold of Data's hand and closed it around the compass.

"And that is why I want you to have it, Data," Picard explained.

Data was at a loss for words. He looked up at the Captain in surprise.

"Sir, this is-"

"Please," Picard insisted.

It was no ordinary gift.

"Data, I have no children to pass such an heirloom on to," Picard said. "And rather than see this wind up in a drawer in some museum, I would prefer you have it."

The loss of Walker had Picard thinking of such things.

"Because I know you will appreciate it and, perhaps, someday have a family of your own to entrust it to. Maybe this compass will travel the stars for generations?" Picard mused.

There was comfort in that thought, that maybe a small part of him would live on.

"You are certain, sir?" Data asked.

"Make it so," Picard replied.

It was late by the time Data arrived at Tasha's quarters. In the spirit of rotating, they were spending the night at her place.

He stepped inside and slipped off his boots.

Data heard the sound of water sloshing in the tub as Tasha stepped out.

She emerged a moment later in the doorway after towelling off – hair slicked back, face flushed red from soaking in the tub.

"Hey," Tasha said as she loosely tied the sash on her dressing gown.

Data stopped, momentarily struck by her appearance.

"Everything alright?" Tasha asked.

She moved toward Data, but he took a step back so he could look her up and down. He hadn't so much as blinked or taken a breath since she stepped into the room.

He glanced up to meet her eyes, seemingly lost, and raised his eyebrows.

"Data, you look spooked. What happened?" Tasha asked.

His hand was trembling as Tasha reached for it.

"Blink, Data," Tasha said in a soft voice.

"Forgive me," Data responded.

Suddenly, Tasha felt shy under his gaze – and more than a little exposed. She reached for the sash on her dressing gown to cinch it tighter.

"Do not," Data whispered as his hand shot out to stop her.

Data relaxed his grip on her wrist in favour of tracing the line of her collarbone.

He had seen her before. Many times. Data had spent hours exploring every inch of her body. There were days Data couldn't get her out of his mind.

He knew every freckle.

But tonight, he saw Tasha in a whole new light – as if he was looking at her for the first time all over again.

"You are so beautiful," Data murmured.

It was the last thing he said before he captured her lips.

There was a gentle hum as the environmental coolant system kicked in. Tasha was lying atop Data on the sofa, wrapped in a tangle of limbs as she stared at the carpet.

Data was watching out the window as the Enterprise travelled along at cruising speed to reach her destination on Pacifica.

His hand rested between Tasha's shoulder blades. Both of them were eager to rest but too tired to drag themselves to bed.

So they simply laid there as the cool air began to drift down from the vent in the ceiling above.

"I fear sooner than later we will need to make a decision about our living arrangement," Data said.

It was a conversation they were both simultaneously excited for and dreading. Neither was ready to give up their own personal quarters – and they both could see the logic in the other position.

"Not tonight," Tasha requested.

She simply didn't have it in her.

"You are tired again," Data observed.

Tasha chuckled, grinning against his chest.

"I wonder why," she replied, turning her head so she could look out the window herself before settling in back against Data.

"But you were tired again. Fatigued before our cardio," Data remarked.

There was no point in denying it.

"Sometimes you're far too perceptive," Tasha said.

"You have also increased your weight again this week," Data added. "One point zero seven kilograms."

He was happy for her. Tasha had been working ages to regain the weight lost from the prototype suit incident.

"Snoop," Tasha countered.

"Please make no mistake. I am not complaining," Data said as his left hand dipped just below the blanket to give her an appreciative squeeze.

Tasha rolled her eyes.

"Oh like you could really see that," Tasha said, chiding him.

Data simply smiled.

"My dear, I can sense even the most miniscule changes in you. I feel it when we embrace. I see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice," Data explained.

Tasha sat up just enough so she could look at him properly. Staring down at Data, she studied his face.

"You really do see everything," Tasha remarked.

"Does that bother you?" Data asked.

"Only as much as I find it endearing," Tasha replied.

They shared a long, slow kiss before Tasha snuggled back down against Data. He wrapped his arms around her tight, relishing the sense of warmth that came from lying together.

"Data?" Tasha prompted.

"Hmm?" he replied.

"I want to share something with you," Tasha began to say.

She reached for Data's hand, looping her fingers through his own.

"Something that I've never told anyone," she went on.

"Turkanan?" Data said with a faint gasp.

"In a way," Tasha answered.

Data adored Tasha's stories. The rich mythology and history of her world was unlike anything Data had encountered. Because so little information was known to Federation sources, Data looked at her experiences like the chance to speak with a living, breathing archaeological find.

She was like a book come to life.

And because Tasha was the only one with that knowledge, Data couldn't simply absorb it in one quick readthrough. He had to learn it, bit by bit, just like any other humanoid.

"One of your deities?" Data asked, keen to learn more.

The Turkanan religion was complex. And while Tasha didn't entirely prescribe to the faith of her ancestors, it remained a heavy influence on her person.

"No," Tasha chuckled lightly.

She paused to nuzzle against his chest.

"I want to share something with you. Something I've never shared with anyone else before," she explained.

Tasha paused, taking a shaky breath to calm her nerves.

"I'm sorry – I've just… well," Tasha said, her voice starting to waver.

"Please take your time," Data said in a signature patient way.

Tasha closed her eyes and tried to steady the storm of emotions building inside her. She reminded herself that Data had never judged her. He'd never once mocked or looked down upon the Turkanan customs that seemed unusual by Federation standards.

Tasha propped herself up so she could make eye contact with Data.

"This is something I've kept with me for a long time. The only thing of value-" Tasha paused and scoffed to herself. "Well, I supposed if you could call it that."

There was an odd, faraway look in her eyes.

"There were times it was all I had. I've never been able to tell anyone before because I made a vow to my Grandmother that I would keep it secret," Tasha shared.

Data was intrigued.

"But she's been gone a long time now. And the reasons why I needed to hide it are all on Turkana," Tasha explained.

The odds she would ever return were slim.

"I think I'm more likely to visit Romulus than Turkana," Tasha teased.

Data took it as a good sign that she was laughing. Tasha leaned in close, hovering just inches about Data's face.

"I want to tell you. Because just once, just one time before I die I want to hear it again," Tasha said.

As of late, Tasha found herself consumed with thoughts of 'what if' and 'why not?' There had been so much death lately, it hovered over the entire ship.

It impacted everyone as crew members rewrote wills, evaluated their relationships, and took stock of their lives.

"You must promise you will never tell another soul," Tasha insisted.

"Of course. I will not speak of it. But Tasha, what is so-" Data began to ask.

"My name," Tasha breathed.

Her pulse was racing. She was watching Data's face, waiting to see where she landed after leaping off the metaphorical diving board.

"My name," Tasha repeated in a quiet voice, fearing that courage had failed her, and she hadn't really said it the first time.

Data tried to keep his reaction in check, but he couldn't stop from tilting his head to the side.

"Do you mean that your name is not your name?" Data asked, trying to sort it all out. "That is to say, your name is not Natasha Yar?"

"Um, it is. Sort of," Tasha said, her resolve starting to falter.

Data's face lit up.

"Fascinating. Please explain," Data requested.

"Well, erm, my family called me 'Tasiya' and in the common tongue it was butchered to 'Tasha', and I just sort of accepted it," Tasha explained.

She had accepted it – but she had never forgotten.

Data was all too familiar with the history of the 'common tongue.' The factions on Turkana sought to embrace all the modern trappings of the Federation. That included violent efforts to stamp out the Turkanan language spoken by Tasha's ancestors in the north, the language of the clans, as well as the other languages found throughout Turkana.

That meant children like Tasha were raised to hide their northern heritage, to only speak their language in hushed voices in the safety of their homes.

"Then your name is Tasiya?" Data asked.

It made sense. Rarely did she ever go by 'Natasha.' In fact, she had an aversion to her full name.

"No," Tasha said, shaking her head. "That was just what my family called me. Like a nickname."

"Oh," Data said, struck by the thought that he had never had a nickname of his own.

His brow furrowed.

"Then may I ask where 'Natasha' came from?" Data inquired.

"There was this religious order that took me in as a girl and that's the name they gave me. It sort of stuck," Tasha shared.

Turkana was crawling with different missionaries. It was Tasha's misfortune to have found herself taken in by one of the more zealous organisations.

Known as Torquemada, they were a religious order established on Earth in the wake of the Third World War.

As for her use of the name, Tasha found that it offered a small semblance of privacy and protection for a girl that had none. She could reserve Tasiya or Tasha for herself, for her sister. It was a little something they could cling to.

"I must confess I have often wondered how a girl from Turkana wound up with a historically Terran name," Data admitted. "Particularly one with a traditional Terran religious meaning."

They both laughed.

"What does it mean?" Tasha asked.

"You have never looked into that?" Data questioned in response.

Tasha shook her head. She had simply accepted it.

"Born on Christmas day," Data answered.

"Ah, that," Tasha said.

Over the years, Tasha had accepted different invitations from various friends and colleagues. Part of the beauty of the Federation's diversity is there was no shortage of celebrations to explore the various religious and cultural traditions of others.

Christmas was an unusual holiday for Tasha. She found it all a bit overwhelming. Most of her Terran comrades celebrated the holiday in one form or another – some religious, some secular, and more than a few with odd commercialised vigour.

Riker was always making a big to-do to mark the occasion. He would invite the entire crew, don a ridiculous costume, and they'd politely sip a disgusting eggy thing.

"Well, I can tell you I most certainly wasn't born on that day," Tasha said. "What a funny way to name people."

Data opened his mouth to speak, but Tasha anticipated his question.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. Even years on since Turkana, she still had a sense it was something best kept in hushed voices.

When she pulled back, Data had a look of wonder on his face.

"So now you know," Tasha said simply.

She snuggled back down against Data and turned her attention to the window. As she stared at the inky expanse of space, Tasha felt a sense of relief in finally sharing that with someone.

And she was grateful it was Data.

"Nastasiyla," he whispered.

It was the first time Tasha had heard her real name spoken aloud in twenty-two years. And it was uttered with love.

Affection.

Gentleness.

Tasha felt exposed, but not negatively so. She clutched Data's shoulders, wordlessly conveying her appreciation for his patience and understanding at yet another instance in which the unusual customs of her culture collided with Tasha's complicated past.

"And Yar?" Data pressed, his curiosity now in overdrive.

Tasha hesitated.

"Um, it's not a name. It's uh… it's sort of a social class. A designation," Tasha said, fumbling for the words. "When I was rescued by the crew of the Renegade, they thought it was my name."

In truth, it had been written on her crate as a designation. Tasha had never had the heart to correct them – she was far too humiliated to ever admit the truth.

She had simply accepted it.

"Why did you not change it?" Data asked.

Tasha shrugged.

"I was always as Yar. My parents were Yars until they earned their freedom," Tasha explained, her mind beginning to drift. "It doesn't matter."

She really wasn't ready to unpack that yet – she was already far outside of her comfort zone in sharing her name.

Tasha snuggled back down against Data and tried to push aside thoughts of her parents. Silence fell on the pair until Data felt it was necessary to try and redirect Tasha's thoughts.

"It is beautiful. Your name," he said. "It is lovely. Why did your grandmother forbid it?"

"Because she knew it would give us away," Tasha answered. "That we would easily be identified as Northerners, as Yars."

"Which goddess is she?" Data asked.

"Hmm?" Tasha responded, not following.

"Nastasiyla," Data clarified. "Which deity is she?"

So many of Tasha's stories revolved around the Turkanan mythos that Data presumed the name was taken from some aspect of that.

To his surprise, Tasha shook her head.

"None," Tasha answered.

"Oh," Data responded.

She could sense a hint of disappointment in his voice and knew Data was hoping for some grand story. Tasha couldn't resist sharing a bit more – even if it was one of the more ridiculous myths in her opinion.

"It's silly anyways," Tasha said dismissively. "But do you remember me telling you about Sela and her great golden eagle? The one that helped her to steal the secret of fire?"

Data shot her a look.

"Of course you remember. What am I saying?" Tasha realised aloud.

Data was all too familiar with the story about the Turkanan goddess Sela stealing fire from her creator-grandfather in an attempt to help humans.

"Anyways, Nastasiyla was her eagle," Tasha shared.

She sat up, now feeling energised and encouraged by Data's curiosity. With her newfound feeling of confidence, Tasha launched into the story.

"She rode Nastasiyla into battle time and again," Tasha said, animated and talking with her hands as she described the legend. "And then the storm god, Rorik, called up a great storm and struck Nastasiyla with a bolt of lightning."

Data's eyes were wide like a child as he listened intently, hanging on her every word.

"And she fell from the sky in a fireball. BAM," Tasha said, slamming her fist in the open palm of her other hand. "There's a huge crater lake in the north. The legend says that's where Nastasiyla fell."

It was a beautiful, eerie place.

"So Sela and her great golden eagle fell from the sky in a fiery end – like the fire rain," Tasha said.

Meteors. Data recalled.

"And just when it seemed the battle was lost, Nastasiyla shot out of the crater," Tasha described, flapping her arms just like her grandmother used to. "Covered in flames. Reborn. Forged in fire."

Tasha paused for dramatic effect.

"Unstoppable," Tasha declared.

She may have found the story to be nothing more than fantastical legend. Yet as a child, it had been one of her favourites.

"Then Baehrsaen-"

"Baehrsaen?" Data inquired.

This name was a new one he had not heard before. Tasha's face lit up.

"She rides a great white horse and her blood is made of ice. She brings frost, kills the crops and trees, freezes the river," Tasha began to explain.

Then she stopped herself.

"It's not important," she said, waving her hand.

Data was about to interrupt when Tasha stopped him.

"For this story," she clarified. "Anyway, the point is that she tried to stop them with a great frost. It rained ice from the sky and froze all the ground."

Whenever she saw snow as a child (a rare occurrence), Tasha was not reminded of Baehrsaen but rather Nastasiyla and her awesome power.

"But it wasn't enough. Nastasiyla couldn't be stopped. And Sela won the battle, riding to victory on flaming wings," Tasha said, beaming. "We call it rodas."

"Arise," Data said, translating based on his understanding of the language.

Tasha nodded.

"Like the Terran legend of the phoenix or the Romulan Soot Eagle. The Bolian Avisini. The Klingons have the Flaming Stag of K'undraa," Data rattled off.

He was trying to make Tasha feel better, to help her realise her own Turkanan legends weren't all that strange as many cultures had similar themes.

"I suppose," Tasha agreed.

She sat back and sighed.

"You know I think I like my legend. I certainly like the idea of being reborn from a fireball as opposed to born on Christmas," Tasha remarked.

From what she'd gathered the original celebration was all on account of some person born solely for the purpose of redemption through sacrifice.

The oral tradition of a fiery eagle had been far more appealing than the hours of prostration and flagellation required by the religious order that took her in as a girl.

On a world like Turkana, there was no more powerful force than fire.

"Look, don't say anything to anyone. I just wanted you to know," Tasha concluded.

Data sat up and eyed Tasha for a moment.

"And what would you like me to call you when we are alone?" Data asked, kissing the back of her hand.

"What you've always called me – Tasha," she said.

She smirked.

"Or Lieutenant as you seem so fond of. Darling. Sweetheart. My dearest. The sexiest woman alive whom I will love and adore for all of my days," Tasha teased. "Data, this is where you step in and tell me not to push it."

"Ah! You are being an impudent Cercopithecoidea," Data remarked.

Tasha blinked, confused.

"A cheeky monkey," Data said.

They collapsed back onto the sofa together, laughing.

"Would you permit to call you by your name? Sometimes? When we are alone?" Data asked.

In his mind her name was far too lovely for Data to accept that it may never fall from his lips again.

"You can say it again. In the moonlight on Føroyar," Tasha answered.

"You know Romulans traditionally have four names including a secret name they keep and only share with their lover," Data shared.

"Hmm. That's interesting. But can we not talk about it? I don't want to think about Romulans tonight," Tasha confessed.

Far too much of their time was spent thinking about Romulans.

"What would you like to talk about?" Data asked.

"Føroyar," she answered. "You know, I got something for the trip today? Garak made it."

"For the wedding? You have selected something to wear?" Data inquired, overcome with excitement.

"Not for the wedding," Tasha said.

"Ah, for the trip then. Good thinking. The average temperature is well below typical starship levels and I would not want you forced to trek about in the heavy cold weather gear. It will be a long trip to Skýr Point," Data said.

Starfleet cold weather gear was certainly practical. But there were other, more stylish options that afforded equal protection with additional manoeuvrability.

"It's not for wearing outside," Tasha clarified slowly.

"Oh. Well I am certain it will look lovely," Data said.

Tasha counted the seconds as she waited for Data to catch her meaning.

"Oh," Data repeated.

From all his research, Data had learned that the Terran cultural expectations for a 'wedding night' were often exaggerated, overblown, and impractical.

Most people were completely knackered after hosting a large party. The physical and emotional toll of hosting a social gathering were immense.

According to most accounts Data had read, many people simply wanted to sleep or relax.

But Data and Tasha weren't hosting a party. There would be no chasing children or navigating the politics of colleagues and family.

They didn't have to worry about photographs, seating charts, dances, or speeches.

They simply had each other and their obligation to have their nuptials witnessed (the legal portion) and Ceangal Azurdorcha or the 'dark bond' in which they would seal their commitment to each other through an act of coupling under the moonlight.

Geordi would not be present for that portion of their ceremony.

"Data, I'm too tired," she said in a low voice, sensing the rather pressing matter between them.

Embarrassed by his own excitement, Data manually overrode his sexuality programme to deactivate it.

"Sorry," he said.

"You don't have to apologise," Tasha assured him. "Sorry. I just.. I can't. Not again tonight."

"You do not have to apologise," Data threw back at her. "I fear I cannot help myself. You are on fire."

Tasha was overcome with a fit of giggles.

"Please don't make me laugh. Ugh," she groaned, pulling herself off the sofa.

Tasha had been reluctant to get up. But she'd been fighting a losing battle with her bladder for the last thirty minutes and couldn't wait any longer.

Data scowled as he sat up.

"Perhaps you should make Doctor Crusher aware of your-" he began to call after her.

Tasha stopped in the doorframe and whipped around.

"I am not going to Beverly just because I have to pee more because I drink more Raktajino," Tasha declared in a heated voice.

Data raised his eyebrow, wordlessly leading her to answer the next logical question.

"I'm drinking more to stay awake. I'm just tired. It's this bloody Romulan business," she turned to go into the loo and then stopped. "And doing this more nights than not certainly isn't helping my sleep schedule."

Data smirked, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction.

Yes, the fire was still burning there.

At the top of the ship, Jean-Luc was sitting in front of a holographic fireplace built into the wall in his personal quarters.

He took a slow sip of wine before returning the glass to the end table.

It was one of his rare Picard vintages from his personal stock and something Jean-Luc only drank on two occasions – great celebrations or moments of sorrow.

Tonight he had been driven to crack open a bottle. Though in truth, he was really feeling numb more than anything else.

His eyes fell on the partial Iconian tablet recovered by the crew of the Yamato and gifted to Jean-Luc some weeks before.

Between the situation with Ira Graves and the investigation into the Black Cluster, Picard had barely found any time to dig into the mystery of the Iconian tablet and its Romulan connection.

Donald Varley had shared they believed the Romulans were creating things that would give Jean-Luc Picard nightmares.

And allegedly, much of their work came from Iconian research aeons before.

Picard was reluctant to start digging for fear of what he may uncover. However, he'd tried that approach before. Burying his head in the sand would only benefit the Romulans.

At least I will have time to look into this on Pacifica. Picard thought.

Jean-Luc knew it would be a difficult task. He was still reeling from the loss of Walker Keel and desperate for answers to it all.

"And where there is smoke," he pondered aloud.