“THEHUDSON DOES NOT ANSWERhails or respond to subspace messages,” said Christine Vale. “It has been forty-six minutes since their last communication.”

Captain Picard nodded somberly as he strode from the tactical station to his command chair on the bridge of theEnterprise. He stopped to look at Counselor Troi, whose normally tranquil features were etched with concern.

“Can we break off from this engagement with the Androssi to look for them?” she asked bluntly.

The captain frowned and gazed at his viewscreen, where the ghostly ships continued to revolve silently around the boneyard, like a monstrous mobile caught in a lightning storm. There were only two known Androssi ships still at large, not counting his yacht, and at least a dozen allied vessels were looking for them.

“Set course for theHudson’ s last known position,” he told the conn. Kell Perim immediately set to work.

A moment later, the Trill reported, “Sir, that will take us past a level-four warning buoy and close to a level-five. TheEnterprise isn’t cleared for going that near the gravity dump.”

“Captain Picard,” interrupted a voice from the tactical station, and he turned to see Vale looking gravely at him. “Subspace message from Admiral Ross for you, marked personal.”

“Patch it to my ready room,” answered the captain, straightening his shoulders. This could be about almost anything, but it was likely to be about reports they had received from Captain Leeden. “Commander Troi, you have the bridge. Keep trying to contact theHudson.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Troi with a glance at Lieutenant Vale, who nodded.

Captain Picard strode into his ready room, crossed to his desk, and dropped into a chair. Taking a deep breath, he turned on his screen to see the concerned but gentle face of Admiral William Ross. Since this was a recorded message sent by subspace, there was no opportunity for Picard to respond in real time, but his fingers were on his keypad in case he needed to take notes.

“Hello, Jean-Luc,” began the admiral, his manner grave but conciliatory, “I hope this doesn’t catch you at an inopportune time. I have to address the reports I’ve gotten from the Rashanar Battle Site, culminating in one I received just today. Your account of how you lost theCalypso was accepted. However, we found out today that theCalypso was instrumental in the Androssi attack on theJuno. Of course, we are going to need a few more details…and possibly an inquiry when you return.”

Admiral Ross cleared his throat. “You also sent us reports of an Ontailian ship that was destroyed, theMaskar, when, in fact, that ship is at their repair facilities. I don’t need to tell you, Jean-Luc, that the Federation needs to hold on to as many member nations as we can. Since the war, they’ve been dropping like flies—they perceive us as weak, unable to protect them. Ontailians are a perfect example of the member planets we have to hold on to.”

Picard sighed, wishing he could reply to this unnecessary lecture. In his recorded message, Ross went on, “Obviously, Rashanar is a difficult place to operate; however, I thought you would have a leg up with your vast experience. I’m sorry I didn’t send an admiral with you now, because the incidents keep happening. In a recent report, Captain Leeden states that theEnterprise broke off pursuit of an Androssi convoy stealing a complete Romulan warbird.”

“We spotted them first and saved theJuno,” muttered Picard to himself.

“According to this chain of events, you might have prevented the attack on theJuno,” said Ross in his recorded message. “I’ll give you full opportunity to reply with your account, and you could also include reports from any senior officers who were on the bridge at the time. I don’t mean to give you a hard time, Jean-Luc, when I know what you’ve been through, but Starfleet is going to request to have some of these issues addressed. Reply at your convenience, and do try to get along with the Ontailians and Captain Leeden. She’s by-the-book, but she’s a good officer. Keep safe, Jean-Luc. Ross out.”

What I’ve been through?thought the captain, wondering if Ross was referring to their various missions in the years since the Dominion War. Or maybe he was going farther back to the Borg, the Cardassians, the Maquis, or some other trial that should have broken him. Was Ross trying to tell him that he had commanded theEnterprise for too long and was past his prime? Was Ross even thinking that, or was this just bureaucracy at work—one document requiring another document?

His com panel beeped, jarring the captain out of his consternation. “Bridge to Picard,” said Lieutenant Vale.

“Picard here,” he answered, trying to shake off the message from Ross.

“I have Captain Leeden on screen, and the quality is not too bad,” said Vale. “She’s requested that we go on another sweep near buoy nineteen.”

“Patch her to my screen,” Picard ordered, sitting up and straightening his tunic.

A second later, her tired face appeared on his desk screen. “Picard,” she said, “I’ve just received some very unusual sensor scans from buoy nineteen. Would you take another sweep around there and see if it’s the Androssi?”

He replied, “Captain Leeden, our shuttlecraftHudson has not reported in as scheduled, and we’re getting concerned. That’s the shuttle piloted by Data that is looking for theCalypso.”

“And failing to find her so far,” added Leeden. “I am concerned that we’ve only subdued two of the five Androssi ships.”

“We destroyed both of those,” Picard reminded her. “That freighter was going to surrender to us before the Ontailians arrived, then they started firing at each other.”

Leeden sighed and said, “It was unfortunate, but the Androssi are using deadly force against us. We can’t let them get away.”

Picard sat up in his chair. “Captain Leeden, I’ve got to find my missing shuttlecraft. Maybe I’ll find theCalypso as well. I’m moving my search closer to the center of the boneyard,” he answered evenly. “We’ll get as close as we can, then use shuttlecraft. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Please do. We really need your help with those scavengers. With each ship they destroy, a few more of the war dead never make it home and their families are left wondering what happened.”

“As soon as I have retrieved my living, I will help you protect the dead,” he said. “Picard out.”

He immediately tapped his com panel again. “Picard to Riker.”

“This is Riker,” came the familiar voice, sounding a bit drowsy.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your well-deserved rest,” said Picard, “but theHudson is missing with Data and La Forge on board. In about twenty minutes, I’ll need a shuttlecraft to look for them.”

“I’m your man,” replied Riker, sounding very alert now. “I’ll be in the shuttlebay when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Number One. You might wish to take Dr. Crusher with you, in case there’s a medical emergency. Picard out.” He tapped his panel again and said, “Picard to bridge.”

“Troi here,” answered the senior officer.

“Commander, have the conn set course and make way for the level-four buoy closest to the last known position of theHudson,” ordered the captain. “I’ll be on the bridge in a few minutes, after I file a report.”

“Aye, sir.”

Captain Picard rose from his desk and paced the short length of his ready room, determined to get control of this spiraling situation from every aspect. As far as he was concerned, the dead were not as important as the living, and keeping people alive in this dangerous place should be their first priority. As Leeden had said, there were many ways to die in the Rashanar Battle Site, and he wasn’t going to add to the number of deadly encounters.

Will Riker checked his instrument panel on the shuttlecraftPolo and shook his head. He couldn’t see any trace of theHudson. They were at its last known position. Here the wrecks were fast-moving and erratic, tumbling in eccentric orbits that often brought them crashing into each other. He had to keep firing thrusters to compensate for the gravity pull toward the center, where he could see the ghastly vortex. The sensors were next to worthless. How could Data and La Forge have followed any kind of a ship in this swirling haystack? After receiving a message from theEnterprise, La Forge had responded that they were on the trail of the Androssi ship suspected of being theCalypso. He had detailed the cat-and-mouse game they were playing with the enemy. After that, theHudson had never reported again. The endless vista of twisted wreckage made Riker consider the worst.

He turned to his copilot, Dr. Crusher. “Do you get anything on your science scans?”

“Not much,” she answered, peering at her scrambled readouts. “There’s a vapor trail up around that Breen hulk. Also, I’m getting strange readings from a cloud of debris off to port.”

“What about it?” asked Riker.

“It’s expanding,” she answered. “Of course, most of the debris in the boneyard is expanding or moving, but it has had a year to settle. This still looks fairly compact and fast-moving.”

Riker checked her coordinates, fired thrusters to stop thePolo from drifting, then set a new course. Cautiously, they glided deeper into the boneyard, swerving this way and that to avoid flying debris. As seen from theEnterprise, the devastation was tragic; seen close at hand from a shuttlecraft, the derelicts took on a mythic quality, larger than life. Seeing the endless field of ruins, it was hard to shake the notion that angry gods, not mere mortals, must have destroyed these two great fleets.

“What’s this?” asked Crusher, peering at her readouts. “There’s a smaller vesselinside that cloud of debris. It could be a shuttlecraft!”

“I see it,” answered Riker, making his way toward the glittering ball of rubble, which looked like a multi-colored snowball exploding in slow motion. He could just make out the silhouette of a boxy craft at the edge of the debris, where it underwent a constant pummeling. Riker took them so close that the rubble sparkled against the shields of thePolo, and some of it was recognizable. He saw part of an access panel go floating past; it had a singed yellow sign that looked like Starfleet markings.

“I’ve got a life-sign reading!” exclaimed Crusher. “Very weak. It may be a phantom, but I’m going to lock on with our transporter.”

“We’re not supposed to use transporters,” Riker pointed out. “We’ll have to lower shields.”

“I’ll take responsibility. How else are we going to get him out?” Crusher punched some commands into her board; then she grabbed her medical kit and rushed to the back of the craft. She knelt expectantly by the single transporter pad.

While she did that, Riker activated a com frequency.“Polo toEnterprise,” he said. “We’ve found what looks like theHudson and theCalypso. TheHudson is still intact but without power, and theCalypso has been destroyed.”

There was a jarring thud as debris hit the shuttlecraft with her shields down. Riker heard scuffling sounds, and he turned to see a figure in an environmental suit collapse from the transporter pad into Crusher’s arms. She gently laid him out on the deck and began to remove his helmet. Riker restored shields just as more rubble pummeled the small craft.

He turned to see the doctor working furiously on Geordi La Forge. He turned back to his instrument panel and tried to get a sensor fix on Data. Everything mechanical or electrical seemed to be shut down on the doomed shuttlecraft, including the android.

“I’ve got a pulse!” said Beverly quickly. “I think we can save him, but we’ve got to get back to sickbay.”

A hum sounded on an audio frequency, and the captain’s voice broke through the static. “Number One, are you sure it’s theCalypso?”

“It’s either theCalypso or another yacht of the same class,” answered Riker. “I see the VIP gangplank floating right in front of me, and it’s unique to that design. We’ve got La Forge, but we need to get him to sickbay immediately. Can you get a tractor beam on theHudson?”

“It will take some edging closer, but we’ll do it,” promised Picard. “Get back to the ship.”

Dr. Crusher gave the unconscious engineer a hypospray on the neck; then she sat back on her haunches and wiped her brow. “He’s stabilized, but hurry, Will.”

“Going to impulse,” said Riker, backing the shuttlecraft out of the shimmering curtain of debris. He fired thrusters and executed a perfect bank around a copper-colored Cardassian hulk. Then they soared through space, avoiding clumps of wreckage and glittering energy spikes.

ThePolo almost passed theEnterprise coming from the opposite direction. The starship dropped her shields just long enough for Riker to pilot the small vessel into the shuttlebay. As soon as they were aboard, the doctor tapped her combadge and said, “Crusher to transporter room. Direct-beam me and La Forge to sickbay.”

The two of them disappeared in a flurry of sparkling molecules that looked uncomfortably like the debris field they had just left. With a sigh, Riker rose to his feet and ducked through the hatch of the shuttlecraft. He dashed through the double doors and into the corridor, where he covered the forty meters to the turbolift like an Olympic sprinter.

A few moments later, Riker emerged from the turbolift onto the bridge, panting from his exertion, and he saw theHudson on the viewscreen.

“Well done, Number One,” said Picard. “We’ve got theHudson in our tractor beam and are pulling back to a safer position before we inspect her. Mr. Jelpn, can we get a reading on Data?”

At the ops console, the Deltan shook his head. “Negative, sir. If Commander Data is on that craft, he’s completely inert.”

Picard and Riker glanced uneasily at one another, not liking the sound of that conclusion. Deanna Troi rose from her chair and walked to Will’s side, and she gently gripped his hand. She looked as if she was very relieved to see herImzadi back in one piece.

“As soon as it’s safe, bring theHudson into the shuttlebay,” ordered Picard. “Number One—”

“I’ll go back down there,” promised the first officer, heading for the turbolift. “And I’ll report back as soon as we crack it open.”

“Hurry,” said Picard.

Will Riker entered the shuttlebay as technicians were using the tractor beam to draw the crippled shuttlecraft into the hangar. TheHudson dropped to the deck with a thud; the space doors closed with a softer noise. Riker and two technicians hurried to the hatch of the shuttlecraft. One of them put an electronic device on the hatch to open the lock. With a whoosh of air entering a vacuum, the hatch blew open.

Riker was the first to stick his head into the cabin, and he was astounded by what he did not find. Objects had been floating weightlessly, so the cabin was a mess—but there was no sign anywhere of Data. He stepped aside to let the technicians enter the shuttlecraft. One went to the pilot’s console. The other went to the transporter pad at the rear of the craft.

With a scowl, Will tapped his combadge. “Riker to bridge.”

“Go ahead, Number One.”

“He’s not here, sir,” reported the first officer. “Data is not aboard theHudson.”

After a moment, the captain ordered, “See what you can find out from the logs and transporter records. You may have to go back out there.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Riker. “I’ll get thePolo ready for another trip. We’ll find him, sir.” He made the last promise with far more certainty than he felt.

Beverly Crusher stood in front of the sickbay doors with her arms crossed, guarding her inner sanctum. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, but you can’t see La Forge. He just regained consciousness for a moment. Now he’s sleeping again. His implants aren’t functioning. Geordi is very weak—we nearly lost him. Only the residual oxygen in the shuttle saved him, and his EVA suit kept him from freezing.”

“I know,” said Picard with a troubled sigh. “But we’ve got to have some idea what happened to Data…where to look for him.”

“I don’t think Geordi could tell you that anyway,” she answered, unmoved. “When he was conscious for a few seconds, he askedme where Data was. He’s suffering from shock and maybe partial amnesia. I’d like to find Data as much as anyone, but badgering my patient won’t help.”

“I don’t intend to badger him,” said Picard carefully. However, it was clear that he wasn’t going to be allowed to question La Forge right now, and needling Beverly was indeed futile.

The captain added, “All we know is that they suffered some kind of power failure near theCalypso. It may have been one of the anomalies—we don’t know. We don’t know when or how theCalypso was destroyed, or what became of Data.”

“Try back in an hour,” Crusher suggested. “He may be stronger then.” With that, the doctor ducked inside her sickbay and was gone, leaving the captain standing alone in the corridor.

His combadge chirped. “Picard here.”

“Captain,” said Christine Vale, “Captain Leeden replied to your message. She wants to know how theCalypso was destroyed, and she wants physical proof that itwas theCalypso. Samples of the wreckage, for instance, since other ships that have been reported destroyed were found intact later.”

The captain scowled at the request and then said pleasantly, “Please give Captain Leeden the coordinates where we found theHudson and the remains of theCalypso. Tell her we’d be happy if she collected samples of the wreckage, but our priority is finding Commander Data. When we do, perhaps he can tell us what happened to both shuttlecraft.”

“Aye, sir,” she answered. “Captain Leeden also said theJuno is back to full impulse power. Vale out.”

Leeden was right about one thing, mused Picard: The war still continued in this graveyard of lost ships, where it was hard to put the past behind them. He was beginning to think the Rashanar Battle Site should become a vast funeral pyre. Let it burn to the point where there was nothing left to interest anyone. Nothing left but ashes.

“Mr. Data! Calling Mr. Data! Please report to the Preparatory Center,” announced a voice over the loudspeaker in the Starfleet Academy cafeteria. Data looked up with interest from his meal, of which he had eaten a small amount out of politeness. The android rose stiffly to his feet and looked at his fellow entrants in the Preparatory Program—all potential cadets, even if only a small percentage would make it all the way through four years of training. Such a proud, eager group, brimming with optimism, which was the first human quality Data was trying to master. But it was very difficult not to look facts squarely in the face and make a dispassionate decision, unclouded by emotion. He wondered how humanoids juggled these two conflicting objectives: optimism and accuracy.

He nodded to the youthful visitors, half of whom were not humans but other Federation species. “I must go take my examination,” he said.

They mustered friendly smiles for the android, although most of them held him in awe. “Good luck!” called one or two of them. “Nice to meet you!” said others. He couldn’t understand how “luck” would help him pass an examination unless he actually knew the answers. They offered him their hands, which he remembered to grasp, limply, so as not to hurt them. He cocked his head, wondering why some of them were acting as if they would never see him again. Of course, he concluded, they weren’t sure they were going to pass the entrance exams.

The android walked briskly to the office, ignoring the curious glances sent his way. He was unique, even in a school with a hundred and fifty different species. Data wished to make the cadets and potential cadets feel comfortable with him, but he had no idea how to do so.

Without making a false step in his brisk stride, the android soon reached the domed building in the northeast quadrant of campus which housed the Preparatory Program. He was met in the lobby by Director Edwin Craycroft, a gray-haired civilian who was the link between the general population and the cadets and faculty. Craycroft wasn’t waiting to meet Data by himself—he had a female Starfleet admiral with him, albeit a rear admiral with only two pips on her collar.

Data stood crisply at attention. He looked at the two human educators expectantly. “Hello, Director Craycroft.”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” replied Craycroft with a warm smile. “This is Admiral Alynna Nechayev, who has some interest in your application to Starfleet Academy. Can we go over to my office to discuss this?”

Data cocked his head, because it was obvious that they could. When humans stated the obvious, such as “It’s a nice day,” that was usually some kind of pleasantry. “Yes, let us go to your office,” agreed Data.

The director’s office was a shrine to Starfleet Academy, thought Data; it was full of trophies, awards, medals, holophotos, diplomas, and all the paraphernalia of academia.

Director Craycroft went behind his desk and pointed to the guest chairs for his visitors. “Please have a seat.”

Admiral Nechayev sat down, as did Data, even though he had no physical necessity to sit down. “Am I to take my entrance examination in your office?”

“No, Mr. Data.” Director Craycroft sat behind his desk and folded his hands before him. “From the tests you’ve already taken, we have no doubt that you will pass deductive reasoning, mathematics, and all the scholastic sections of the exam. What will take the other applicants two days to finish will probably take you two minutes. But the physical and psychological tests are another matter, only because they’re not written with someone like you in mind. For example, we try to see how you will handle stress, except you don’t get stressed.”

Data nodded his head. “I do not understand what purpose stress serves.”

“Neither do the rest of us,” said Nechayev with a smile. Smiles did not appear to come easily to the youthful admiral, and Data could empathize with her on an intellectual level.

Looking troubled, the director continued, “A lot of the questions would be meaningless to you, asking you to evaluate emotional responses which you don’t have. Plus your social development is like…”

“That of a child,” said Data, supplying the analogy he had heard most frequently.

Admiral Nechayev cleared her throat and sat forward. “May I interject, Director?” With relief, Craycroft nodded and sat back in his chair.

The admiral peered curiously at the android. “At last there’s someone around here I can speak to bluntly. Mr. Data, Starfleet has regulations to cover almost everything, but not you. We can dispense with the examinations and admit you to the Academy without them. Did you know that?”

“Yes, regulation two-ninety-four, section six, paragraph two,” he answered, “although that regulation is generally invoked only during wartime and times of personnel shortages.”

“I see you know about it,” said Nechayev. “The entrance committee could do that, plus we would like to put you on an accelerated track with credit for individual study. But all of this would make you different from the others.”

Data cocked his head and said, “I am already different from the others.”

Suddenly this scene from his memory banks was swirled away in the sparkling, debris-filled darkness of space. Data had the sensation that he was drifting, suspended, and not altogether functional. He tried to run diagnostics on his neural network and positronic brain, but instead he kept revisiting scenes from his past. There was the day he joined theEnterprise at Farpoint, and Commander Riker apparently insulted him, although he still couldn’t understand the insult.I ammachine, he told himself.

Floating here in the serenity of space, among distant starships that seemed oddly silent, reminded him of the last time he had been abandoned, at Omicron Theta, when Dr. Soong had explained that Data would have to stay on the colony even if it was destroyed by the Crystalline Entity.

“We can’t take a chance that you will turn out like Lore,” said his creator as he checked the settings on the protective chamber. “Now I’m going to have to turn you off, Data.”

“I understand,” replied the android, not understanding that he didn’t really understand. Dr. Soong looked lovingly at him, a tear rolling down his familiar face. Although Data did not feel anything at the time, he had since gained an emotion chip. This had allowed him to appreciate the pain of Dr. Soong’s sacrifice, plus his own feeling of absence. Reliving this core incident made Data realize that in his short but eventful life he had suffered losses similar to those known by humans.

I should not be dismayed now that I am about to be abandoned again,thought the android,because I have experienced many noteworthy events, from physical love to comprehending a joke. Life has truly been “good.”

As he bobbed in space, the android’s positronic brain relived the death of Tasha Yar, an event that had jarred him to another level of understanding. With his emotion chip turned on, it was difficult even to think about her murder. Now he realized that he was experiencing these memories for a reason. The android had often heard of a human’s life “passing before his eyes” when he was dying, but he had never thought he would experience it. His neural nets were trying to recover from the trauma he had suffered, which had apparently left him in this predicament. Data decided that his long-term memory was checking itself and seemed to be functional, but in the short term he was deficient.

While scattered memories sifted through his damaged circuits—Lore, Lal, the poker games—the android gazed around at his surroundings. This space had no air but a substantial amount of gravity. Data felt certain he was being pulled toward some large object. He looked for a celestial body that might be exerting gravitational force; all he saw was a blackened nacelle from anAmbassador -class starship. TheSeattle, he thought, remembering ships that had been lost in the Battle of Rashanar. TheSeattle was a once-retired Starfleet vessel that had been recommissioned for the Dominion War. She hadn’t stood much of a chance against hardcore Jem’Hadar, as evidenced by her blasted hull, which spun slowly about half a kilometer closer to the center. A severed Jem’Hadar warship near theSeattle’ s hull told Data that theAmbassador -class relic hadn’t gone peacefully.

Yes, the Battle of Rashanar,he thought, realizing that his memory dump was almost at the present day. The mission, the shuttlecraftHudson …Geordi.Where is my friend? If Geordi were orbiting out here in the void among these junks, he would be dead, he concluded.

The android twisted his upper body and neck to get a look in every direction. All he saw was tangled metal and nebulas of rubble that had once been great starships. Then a swirl of activity caught his attention just beyond the Jem’Hadar ship, and he peered closer.The vortex, Data concluded,an offshoot of the gravity sink. Suddenly, the Jem’Hadar wreck picked up speed as if it were still active. It swerved toward the whirlpool of spinning remains, drastically altering its orbit. Data watched with fascination as the Jem’Hadar vessel was sucked into the swirling mass of the vortex, where it was shredded into a sea of confetti in a matter of seconds.

We are all being swept into it,concluded the android,myself and these other abandoned machines, and there is nothing we can do about it.