FROM AN UNSEEN DIMENSION, the young Traveler watched theEnterprise flash into warp drive just as the fin ships of the Ontailians opened fire, their weapons searing pointlessly into space. He let out a breath he had been holding for what seemed like days, because his mother and friends had escaped…for now. He had heard Captain Picard’s words of concern, and he feared the captain was right—depite the terrible loss of theJuno, the troubles for the crew of theEnterprise were only beginning.

This had been difficult, but at least he hadn’t witnessed the vision he feared to see most—theEnterprise blowing herself to bits with a self-destruct sequence. However, there was no doubt he would see it, because the Pool of Prophecy didn’t lie.

His fellow Travelers had left him alone since his birth into their unique order. That had been both a blessing and a curse. It had put him at loose ends for the first time since going with the Traveler years ago—a vacation from all the vigils he had been assigned during his training. He had known he could visit theEnterprise, Earth, or anywhere else he chose; but he had resisted seeing his old comrades, except for one or two glimpses of his mother. Wesley feared that he would be tempted to try to give up the rarefied existence of a Traveler to return to mundane life as a mere human. At times, he felt lonely enough to do it.

When he had finally caught up with theEnterprise, he had been too late to help them. Of course, coming to their direct aid would no doubt end his chance to be a Traveler, but he might still do it—to save theEnterprise from destruction. He hadn’t acted to help theJuno.

Wavering in space, the being formerly known as Wesley Crusher had a major decision to make. Should he return to the protected bosom of the Travelers, or should he follow theEnterprise to witness its fate? Maybe this was really the first vigil he had chosen for himself, and he would be able to bear witness and refrain from helping his old crewmates…when the time came. He had watched suffering before without taking action; in fact, just a few minutes ago. If he turned his back on his shipmates now, he wouldn’t have to make a more difficult choice later. When his mentor showed him the vision in the Pool of Prophecy, Wes knew he was being tested. This was the hardest one he could imagine.

From his vantage point in space and time, the new Traveler turned to gaze upon the ragged, hollow sphere of wrecked starships, orbiting slowly around a gravity pit that shouldn’t exist. The mysteries of Rashanar were waiting to be revealed, and Captain Picard was doing his level best as usual; but sometimes the price to solve a mystery was higher than anyone should have to pay.This will prove to be one of those cases, thought the Traveler.How much can I really do to help?

The destruction of theJuno had brought him the usual feelings of helplessness, despair, and inevitability. He wondered if it ever got easier. Solemnly, he made his decision.The graveyard can hold on to its secrets a while longer. I’m going to find out what will happen to the Enterprise.

The Traveler envisioned himself at the Starfleet compound in the Presidio area of San Francisco. He found himself standing on an elevated walkway between two buildings—Starfleet Command and Starfleet Headquarters. Cold, sleeting rain pounded sideways, with a few brave pedestrians who rushed past him paying him very little attention. He was a nondescript ensign in uniform, a role he could play with considerable verisimilitude; a humanoid of medium height. Something about him caused one’s mind to blur past his appearance, even though a person could acknowledge that he had been there and was supposed to be there. No two people who tried to describe him would agree on the details, or even have many details to furnish.

Wesley looked at the beige and silver buildings, markedHEADQUARTERS andCOMMAND —one for determining policy and the other for carrying it out. That’s when he noticed that one of the people hurrying past was wearing admiral’s insignia. A spare, erect older woman, she carried a file case under her arm and stared straight ahead; the rain splashed harmlessly off her determined face.

“Admiral Nechayev,” said Wesley, rushing up to her. “Here’s that file you asked for.”

He handed her a nonexistent folder, which she tucked into her case without giving it a thought. “Thank you, Ensign,” she said, striding past him.

“Any news on theEnterprise?” he asked.

“Thank God, they’re on their way back here,” she muttered as if talking to herself. “What a disaster that has been—I have no clue what we’re going to do about it.”

Wes opened an umbrella and held it over her head. “Maybe this will help.”

Nechayev finally paused to give him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Ensign—” She looked at his name tag and read, “Brewster. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you have. I assisted you last week at the inspection.”

The admiral shook her head. “Yes, I guess you’re right. Come along with me and take some notes.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, falling into step beside the admiral and keeping her dry with what looked like an umbrella but was really his subtle powers to alter time and space.

They entered Starfleet Headquarters. The security officers at the door saluted Nechayev smartly. After a jaunt on a speedy turbolift, they were deposited outside a conference room full of admirals seated at a large table. The sleet smashed against a picture window, while the gray skyline of San Francisco shimmered in the mist. Wes recognized Admiral Ross, Admiral Paris, Admiral Nakamura, and several other Starfleet heavyweights.

Ross nodded to Nechayev as they entered, and the ensign took a seat against the wall, along with several other aides who were making notes and organizing documents. Ross went to the head of the table and looked expectantly at the others, while they found their seats and settled down.

“Well, it’s official,” announced Admiral Ross with a grim expression. “TheJuno has been lost in the Rashanar Battle Site with all hands on board. This happened immediately after Captain Leeden sent a subspace message saying that theEnterprise —without any apparent provocation—fired upon and destroyed theVuxhal, an Ontailian heavy cruiser. Out of revenge, other ships in the Ontailian fleet proceeded to attack theJuno and destroy her, while theEnterprise managed to escape from Rashanar. We have no ships there now. It seems the Ontailians have taken over the sector.”

Ross scowled and tossed a padd on the table. “The Ontailians have recalled their ambassador and have tossed ours out,” he grumbled. “They want to pull out of the Federation immediately. Although they haven’t declared war on us yet, that might be imminent. Needless to say, the diplomatic corps is up to their ears trying to save the day, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Wasn’t there some trouble before this?” asked Admiral Paris.

“Yes,” answered Ross. “Before today, there were several minor incidents with the Ontailians and theEnterprise. In fact, I talked to Captain Picard less than a day ago about his conduct and his crew. And nowthis happens. You could hardly believe the conflicting reports I was getting.”

“I could believe it,” said Nechayev, “because we’ve been getting conflicting reports from Rashanar for years now. It’s a mess, which we’ve mostly ignored. We expected theEnterprise to be the white knight who would ride in and restore order, yet we left Captain Leeden in charge because of her tenure. As for the Ontailians, they’re one of the more closed societies in the Federation. I think we make special allowances for non-humanoids, but that’s another discussion. In giving the Ontailians more and more control of Rashanar, we were setting ourselves up for disaster.”

Mulling over her words, Admiral Ross pulled out his chair and sat down. “We have a number of problems to address. First of all, what is our response to the Ontailians? I know what the diplomatic response will be, but we have to plan for diplomacy to fail. Do we send a fleet there—ships we don’t have—to maintain control of the battle site?”

“Our control of the battle site was minimal at best,” said Admiral Nakamura. “It’s nothing but a treasure trove for looters. And I’ve heard stories about the place—” He scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Well, those stories can’t be true. But I say we don’t risk another life in that graveyard—too many have died there already.”

There were grumbles of general agreement around the table. Wes figured it was hard to argue against such a stance. He looked to see if Admiral Nechayev disagreed, but she was pensively silent.

“What about the bodies?” asked Ross. “Estimates are that we’re only at a fifty-five percent recovery rate. To finish the job, we would have to send a task force anyway.”

“Let’s not rush into anything,” cautioned Admiral Nakamura. “If we’re talking about an immediate response, let’s not make it worse by overreacting. These aren’t the Romulans or Cardassians we’re talking about—it’s doubtful the Ontailians have any designs on Federation space. Maybe we should do what the scavengers are doing: pinpoint our vessels and those of our allies, then tow them out of there. If we sent a small force for that specific task, the Ontailians might not complain.”

This elicited a spontaneous discussion, which Ross had to call to a stop after about ten minutes. “We’re not going to decide this right now,” he concluded. “Doing nothing would be the easiest course. It may be the best course. But we have to take a long-range view. The Federation Council is very worried that the Ontailians’ departure will hasten another stampede out the door, especially among the non-humanoids.”

Ross cast an uneasy glance at Nechayev, then sat up stiffly. “The next problem is the inquiry as to the possibility of a court-martial for Captain Picard, which is automatic under the circumstances. Jean-Luc Picard has always been a stalwart officer, but this matter is going to eat up his time and attention, no matter how it turns out. We can’t keep theEnterprise out of commission for that long.”

“Riker can take over theEnterprise,” said Admiral Paris. “He’s more than qualified.”

“That’s true,” Ross agreed, “and he has no apparent responsibility for these events. Picard was in command of the bridge on every occasion.”

Ross sighed as if scarcely believing what he was saying. “I don’t want to prejudge Picard, but the reports and messages from the site are self-explanatory. As you’ll see, we’ve only gotten partial responses from Captain Picard. TheJuno tragedy is too recent to be in these documents, but you’ll receive updates.” There was some shuffling of files, isolinear chips, and padds as all of the admirals made sure they possessed the pertinent documents.

After frowning seriously for several seconds, Admiral Paris cleared his throat and said, “Picard should have a psychological evaluation. He’s long overdue for a complete workup. He wouldn’t be the first to come back from Rashanar with a problem. Not to mention the other traumas he’s had. Under regulations, he would be automatically removed from duty, and we’d have time to set up the tribunal.”

“Oh,” said Nechayev with a scowl, “we’ve got our scapegoat already picked out.”

Ross bristled and sat upright in his seat. “Admiral, there’s no complaint in any of these reports against anyone but Picard. Even his own reports admit his failings, such as when he allowed his yacht to be stolen intact by Androssi salvagers.”

“So we’re going to throw away a fantastic career for one bad week?” asked Nechayev, aghast. “I want to sit on that tribunal, and I want to make sure the Ontailians come here to testify and present evidence. Because Picard gets to face his accusers, and they’re the ones who have to justify destroying theJuno. If you don’t get the Ontailians to testify, there willalways be questions about this affair.”

Admiral Ross heaved his big shoulders. “All right, Alynna. We’ll use the inquiry as an excuse to keep in touch with the Ontailians. If they don’t come to testify, Picard will probably be acquitted due to lack of evidence, so something good will happen either way.”

“We’ll want to schedule a memorial service for the crew of theJuno,” said Nechayev softly.

“Yes,” murmured Ross, casting his troubled eyes downward. He looked so old compared with the man Wesley remembered from the Academy, but he supposed that a war would do that to a leader. Snapping to, Ross pointed to his padd, and said, “Commander Data was also involved in these incidents. I believe he should be available as a material witness. Admirals Paris and Nechayev will serve with me on the tribunal. We also need to assign capable prosecution and defense counselors. I’ll be calling on all of you for help in this matter. If there’s nothing else to discuss, we can—”

“Admiral,” said Nechayev, sitting upright and coming to a conclusion, “I respectfully withdraw my offer to be on the tribunal, because I wish to represent Captain Picard in his inquiry and possible court-martial.”

Ross looked shocked for a moment, and the murmuring in the conference room grew very loud. Calmly, Ross held up his hand and turned a frown upon his colleague. “Let’s come to order please. Alynna, you haven’t acted as defense counsel in decades. This will take you away from a lot of your work.”

“I don’t think so,” said the veteran admiral, leaning back in her chair. “You have no case unless you can get the Ontailians here to testify, and I don’t think you can do that.”

“We can take a depositionthere,” countered Ross, growing testy. He turned to the dignified man seated to his left. “Admiral Nakamura, you will serve on the tribunal in place of Nechayev, who is now the defense counsel.”

“I object,” said Nechayev sharply. “Although he’s a dear friend of mine, Admiral Nakamura has shown himself to be biased against Commander Data. On Starbase 173, he wanted to take Data apart and suppress his rights as a sentient being. He’s clearly prejudiced against an officer who may prove to be my client also.”

Before Ross could muster any response, Nakamura sat forward, bristling. “Admiral Nechayev,” he said evenly, “you may want to reconsider. By Commander Data’s own log, he was malfunctioning and had his emotion chip turnedon during these crucial events, including the destruction of theVuxhal and theJuno. I doubt if he’ll make a credible witness or defendant.”

“So we havetwo scapegoats,” said Nechayev, her eyes scanning her colleagues, many of whom looked away.

Ross, however, returned her gaze. “Mistakes were made at Rashanar, and two Federation starships were lost. Nobody wants to prosecute somebody as loyal and valuable as Picard, but the Ontailians deserve a full hearing. I think our relations with them can be salvaged, and I aim to do that.”

Nechayev hefted her case and rose from her seat. “I had better start my research. It’s probably best that we not discuss this case any further. I trust we’ll treat Jean-Luc Picard as he deserves. I sometimes find him stubborn and overly cautious, but he has saved us all more than once—we owe him more than we can ever repay.”

“We’ll be fair to him,” promised the admiral. “Your defense will be proof of that. Thank you.”

Nechayev’s nondescript aide also rose to his feet, and accompanied the admiral out the door. He didn’t need to read any of the documents, because he had witnessed the events. Like most tragedies, this one had been equal parts stupidity, heroism, and unpredictable forces.

In the corridor, he had to call out to stop the admiral, who had all but forgotten about him. “Admiral Nechayev!” he shouted. “I’ve got to courier some more documents, but I’ll be there when you need me.”

“Yes,” she said thankfully, “I think you will be. They’ll probably want to make a deal. This may require more tough negotiating than lawyering.”

“I think Captain Picard’s luck has changed,” said the ensign. “Good-bye, Admiral Nechayev.” By the time the officer had left her presence, she had forgotten both his name and face.

“So you lucked out,” said Dr. Crusher to her patient, Ensign Ellen Winslow, who was four months pregnant and married to a civilian engineer in San Francisco. “You get to go home three months early.”

“Yes,” said Ensign Winslow a bit sheepishly. “I hate to take advantage of our change in plans, but I think I will enjoy seeing Allen and being home for a while before the baby.”

Beverly smiled pleasantly as she finished up the examination of the future mom. Business in sickbay was rather slow today, and she saw only a few associates making the rounds. Most of them were working on research projects.

“I won’t be shipping out again until the baby can travel,” said Ensign Winslow as she slipped back into her tunic. “When do you think that will be, Doctor?”

Crusher shrugged and said, “It all depends on how comfortable you are with giving him up for large parts of the day. Infants do fine on theEnterprise, but you know how your work schedule can be. You might want to enjoy your baby without interruptions for a couple of years.”

“You sound like you know,” said the ensign. “Do you have children?”

Beverly tried not to wince at the blunt question. Her longtime shipmates knew Wesley, or knew about him. They also knew when and how to talk about him. So many of these new crew members didn’t even know she had a son, because she never brought him up; evidence of his existence was not to be found in her workplace. Crusher realized that she had been acting as if Wes was dead, when he was only being wildly independent as young men will do. She resolved to put up a couple of portraits of him around sickbay and to talk about him more.

“Yes, I do have a son,” she said simply. “But he’s grown. Gone off.”

“Ah, that must be tough,” said the young ensign, hopping off the examination table. “I still don’t think my mom’s recovered from me being here.”

Crusher nodded politely, but she could feel her eyes misting up. She hadn’t realized how emotional she had been lately. Their tragic and abrupt departure from Rashanar had made her feel like the end of an era was at hand. Deanna and Will had each other, many of the crew would see family on Earth, but she was alone. What Beverly wouldn’t give to be going home to spend several months withher baby.

She finally hauled herself out of her gloom. “You and baby are doing fine,” she told Winslow. “I think the date we have is spot-on. You can pick a pediatrician and hospital when you get home. Keep taking your supplements and do your stretching exercises.”

“Yes, Dr. Crusher,” said the woman with a salute.

“And let us know what happens, Ellen,” added a third voice as Alyssa Ogawa poked her head around the curtain. “If you don’t, we’ll hunt you down, won’t we, Doctor?”

“We will,” promised Beverly, mustering a smile.

Ogawa turned to Crusher and said, “Yerbi Fandau is on the com for you.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Beverly with surprise. She glanced down at the screen beside the examination table. “I’ll take it here.”

“Isn’t he the head of Starfleet Medical?” asked Ensign Winslow.

“Yes,” said Beverly. “You take care of that little one, Ensign.” She nodded to Ogawa, who ushered the patient toward the door.

Crusher punched up the com frequency and saw the balding, bearded visage of Dr. Yerbi Fandau on her screen. The Argelian’s amber eyes widened when he saw his old friend. “Beverly, my dear, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Yerbi,” she lied. “And how are you?”

“Training doctors for space is lots of fun,” he answered with a cheery smile. “I just tell them they’re going on a cruise and will never have to do anything. But I’ve got to be a bit concerned about your crew. You had a close call.”

“We’ve had plenty of close calls over the years,” she said wearily. “We’ll survive this one.”

The Argelian frowned deeply. “Listen, Beverly, it didn’t seem like much at the time, but now people are asking about it. Can you tell me anything else about the injury Captain Picard suffered when his yacht, theCalypso, was stolen from him?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she answered hesitantly, “It was in my log. He inhaled an unknown Androssi muscle toxin which temporarily paralyzed him. This toxin wasn’t intended to kill, just to disable. It did the job quite well. He was recovering by the time he got to sickbay, and I examined him and ordered him to get some rest.”

“That was after he had been back on theEnterprise for seven hours, right?” asked Dr. Fandau.

“Something like that,” she answered. “What are you driving at?”

“Just filling in a few blanks,” he replied. “Can you get me the pathology on that Androssi toxin? We want to analyze it.”

“Sure,” answered Beverly, wondering how she could graciously exit from this conversation. “If there’s nothing else, my sickbay is full of patients.”

“Give Captain Picard my regards,” answered Yerbi. “What’s the captain’s frame of mind now?”

She tried to act nonchalant, but her doctor sense was pinging. He was digging for information. “He’s a little on edge, which is understandable. We all are. What’syour frame of mind?”

Dr. Fandau laughed uneasily. “You know, Beverly, I’m going to retire soon, and I’m holding this job open for you. You didn’t really give it a chance last time.”

“Head up Starfleet Medical,” she mused. “I’ve thought about it, but not now. Not whenhe needs me most.”

Fandau gave a nervous chuckle. “What do you mean? Who needs you?”

“I mean the tone of this conversation,” she answered coldly. “We wouldn’t be talking about this unless Jean-Luc was in for a miserable time. I know Starfleet, and their bureaucracies can make a Cardassian torture chamber look like kindergarten. What do you have planned for him? You aren’t thinking of relieving him of command?”

The Argelian frowned at her and said, “He’s going to be temporarily relieved of command and placed under psychological observation. That is confidential information which you cannot divulge.”

“Yerbi, you know he doesn’t deserve that. Even if he did, we’ve got one of the best counselors in Starfleet on this ship. Deanna Troi can do your evaluation.”

“Counselor Troi is not objective, and you know it,” said the head of Starfleet Medical. “I was hoping you could give me an honest assessment, but I realize you’re not objective either.”

“I hope you’re as open-minded as you are objective,” grumbled Crusher. She almost broke off contact with him, but she kept the frequency open just to see what he would say next.

“When is theEnterprise getting home?” asked Fandau, desperately changing the subject.

“Twenty-four hours. It can’t be soon enough. Are you really ordering me not to tell Jean-Luc that he’ll be placed in a hospital for evaluation?”

“Yes,” answered Dr. Fandau gravely. “If he finds out in advance, I’ll hold you responsible. Beverly, we’re talking as chief medical officers here. If theEnterprise were blown up in peacetime by the actions of another Starfleet captain, I hope your ghost wouldn’t mind an investigation!”

Beverly braced herself against the bulkhead. “All right, Doctor, you’ve made your point.” She looked up and caught sight of an unfamiliar orderly who had perhaps overheard their conversation. He turned away and pushed an antigrav gurney into the next ward. She never got a good look at his face, but he seemed familiar.

“Beverly!” snapped Fandau, apparently trying to get her attention. “Can I count on you to keep this to yourself? And to bring me a sample of that toxin?”

“Yes, yes,” she assured him. “I’ll bring it directly to your office as soon as I disembark. Good-bye, Yerbi.”

Five minutes later, Beverly Crusher stood at the door to Picard’s quarters and rang the chime. After finding out that he was off duty, she had decided to see him in person. The door slid open, and his friendly voice said, “Come!”

Tying his robe around his slim torso and looking sleepy, Jean-Luc approached her. “Beverly, to what do I owe this pleasure? I didn’t miss an appointment or a date, did I?”

“No, Jean-Luc,” she said, twisting her hands nervously. The door shut behind her, and she paced to his desk, where she happened to see the photos of the three of them, she, Jack, and Jean-Luc. “I’ve been ordered not to talk to you about something, but I have to talk to you anyway.”

He sighed and held up his hand. “You’re worried about what’s going to happen to me when we get home. I’m prepared for anything.”

“Are you prepared to lose your command and be committed to a hospital for psychological evaluation?”

“Uh, no,” answered Picard, sitting in his desk chair. “I’m sure that’s standard procedure under these circumstances. Admiral Nechayev has volunteered to be my counsel, and we have Data’s testimony about the mimic ship. I might also find some support around the admiralty.”

“I’m sure you will, Jean-Luc,” said Beverly, mustering a brave front. “Just act surprised when they tell you that you’re going to be evaluated. In the meantime, we have one night left before we get home. You’re off duty, and so am I.”

The captain jumped to his feet, took her arm, and conducted her to the couch. “Yes, and I’m being a terrible host. Make yourself comfortable, Beverly. Since we’re going home early, I can stock up on wine from Chateau Picard, so we might as well drink what we have left. I have a splendid Shiraz, vintage 2370.”

“Whatever you want, Jean-Luc,” said the doctor with a glint in her eye. “Let’s make this last night memorable.”