THE TRAVELER STOOD in the maelstrom at the center of the Rashanar Battle Site, watching the sleek Ontailian vessel surreptitiously expel antimatter and move on. The blasted hulks of dead starships circled him like sharks waiting for the right moment to attack. He moved from his perch every few seconds. Wes wasn’t alone this time either, because in his hand was a blinking, high-tech, oblong container. After his journey here with Colleen Cabot, Wes had decided to offer Commodore Korgan a trip, minus the ill effects of warp travel. The Medusan had taken some time to respond, but in the end he had finally agreed to go, placing his faith and his life in the Traveler’s hands.

Now Korgan’s sublime thoughts were filled with more happiness and pleasure than he could possibly express to Wesley. The human couldn’t help but grin at his companion. It wasn’t the danger that thrilled Korgan, as it had Colleen Cabot; it was the freedom. To move through space in the blink of an eye, without worrying about containers and logistics, the effect his appearance would have on humanoids, or the illness he usually suffered—these changes were like miracles to the Medusan. As Korgan radiated joy, Wes began to think that no one in the universe would enjoy being a Traveler more than the commodore.

When he turned to look at the Ontailian ship, he found it blasting into reverse as glittering tentacles of debris reached toward it. A moment later, the sparkling space dust began to turn black, as if seeping with ink from within. While the Ontailian ship barely managed to escape, the dark anomaly exploded like a billion fireflies set loose at once. The tranquil section of the boneyard rippled like the surface of a pool.

“Wild antimatter,” warned Wesley. “We’re getting out of here.” Before his companion could comment, they were back in Korgan’s elegant town house in the Russian Hill area of San Francisco. Streetlamps were the only objects glowing in the darkness.

“Thank you for going with me,” said Wes as he set the Medusan’s box on the dining table.

Thank you, Traveler, replied Korgan, speaking to him telepathically. I normally dread travel, but this experience was extraordinary. Yes, now I understand how so many things could have gone wrong so quickly. I am unsure what to do about it.

Wes took a deep breath. “Someone from Starfleet has to go back there,” he replied. “The Enterprise crew has experience at Rashanar and the most to gain—they should be the ones to go.”

The oblong box blinked a few times before the young man heard the reply in his mind: So do you want me to intercede on Captain Picard’s behalf?

“Commander Riker can captain the Enterprise,” said Wes, “but don’t you think we owe it to Picard to let him clear himself?”

I will do what I can, promised the Medusan. Thank you again, Traveler, for trusting me with this knowledge of your existence. Just knowing there is an advanced race watching us, remembering what we do for posterity, gives increased meaning to one’s life.

Wesley nodded thoughtfully as he walked toward the door, and he stopped to add, “Your actions give our lives meaning, not the other way around.”

But you are breaking your vows to help your friends, are you not?

“I am,” agreed the young Traveler. “Even though we make all kinds of vows and promises in our lives, some are still more important than others. Good-bye, Commodore.”

Go in peace, Traveler.

Walking through walls and space and dimension as if they were puddles on the sidewalk, the Traveler moved back onto the Enterprise just as it arrived in orbit over Earth. At this moment, it was the most painful place to be in the entire galaxy. Everyone was so gloomy and angry, even those who seldom got that way, such as Geordi La Forge and Deanna Troi. His mother would have been in that category if he hadn’t revealed himself to her with a promise of help. He only hoped her expectations of him weren’t unrealistic, because whatever demons lurked in the Rashanar graveyard were not going to be exorcised easily.

Wes arrived in transporter room two in time to see a happy reunion between Geordi and Data, who had also just returned to the Enterprise. The Traveler hovered in the background, blending in with a number of workers moving supplies onto the ship. He saw La Forge grasp his friend warmly by the shoulders.

“Are you okay? What did they do to you?” Geordi asked with concern.

“I am unchanged,” answered Data. “Admiral Nakamura had plans to insert a prototype chip in the socket dedicated to my emotion chip.”

“Damn him,” grumbled La Forge under his breath. “You told him not to, right?”

The android cocked his head. “I am not in the habit of disobeying orders, even dubious ones, so I was relieved when they could not find the new chip. They had to let me go.”

La Forge beamed. “Wow, somebody is looking out for you.”

Data nodded thoughtfully. “It would appear so. I have sensed for several days now that somebody is indeed looking out for me. Today was the most dramatic instance.”

The engineer grimaced as he moved toward the door. “We’ve been snakebitten until now, so maybe we deserve a break or two. We’re going to be in dock another day at least.”

“Why?” asked Data. “Were the warp trials unsuccessful?”

“Successful enough,” admitted the engineer. “But we could stand to tweak the engines a bit. Say, several of us are going to see the captain tomorrow—do you want to go?”

“Give him my regards, but I should stay on the ship,” answered Data.

The Traveler allowed the two senior officers to go on their way without him. He doubted if he was going to learn much more from them.

Maybe I should just rest, he thought, and let the seeds I’ve sown take root.

Then again, there were those who deserved more scrutiny than he had given them. He couldn’t risk stealing them away to Rashanar to prove his point, but he could see how they were living with their decisions. A wink in time later, the Traveler strode down a nearly deserted corridor in Starfleet Command to the office of Admiral Ross. As he neared the door, his acute hearing picked up Counselor Cabot’s voice, which was distinctly argumentative. Even facing an admiral, she gave as good as she got.

“I tell you, Admiral Ross,” insisted Colleen’s voice, “I have come to believe that Jean-Luc Picard is perfectly rational. I think he had enough justification to believe in this mimic ship to act as he did.”

She lowered her voice to add, “I know there are also practical reasons why we acted as we did. I, for one, don’t want to see the Federation weakened. But we ought to have some sympathy for Picard’s position. Nobody’s saying there weren’t mistakes made, but look at the situation you put the Enterprise in! I have gone…and done some research on conditions in Rashanar—I know we’ve given our forces an impossible task.”

The Traveler edged into the admiral’s office and was glad to see that it was both large and dimly lit, befitting the late hour. He found a shadow behind a potted palm tree and melted into the collection of darkness. Admiral Ross looked properly dumbfounded by this uprising among one of his minions, who was no longer playing by the agreed-upon rules.

“Counselor, you were the one who suggested putting him in your care,” insisted Ross. “Now are you saying you want to throw him back at us? Reopening this case would be like batting a hornets’ nest with a stick!”

“I would rather see Picard on his own ship,” answered Cabot. “You’re not only trying to sweep Picard under the rug, but Rashanar too! The Ontailians are hiding something in that graveyard.”

“What?” asked Ross skeptically. “Since when are you an expert on the Rashanar Battle Site? Or Ontailians?” He rose to his feet and tugged imperiously on his brocaded and bedecked tunic. “Counselor Cabot, what you are telling me is that you have fallen under Captain Picard’s spell. I know he’s a charming, erudite man, but he agreed to a settlement for the good of the situation. Even he agreed to keep a low profile. You want to push him back into the spotlight!”

The admiral heaved his brawny shoulders. His once proud visage looked worn and care-ridden, as if the weight of too many bad choices and too much death was taking its toll. Ross finally said, “Look, as soon as we work it out with the Ontailians, we’ll send more ships to Rashanar, but we won’t risk any more ships. You just follow our agreement and keep the captain safe and content.”

“Content?” asked Cabot, shaking her head. “Yes, I know about the pact that you, me, and Admiral Nakamura made, but I’m saying that I’m beginning to believe him.”

That remark made Ross wince, and he took on the pained expression of a sweet old granddad. “You can’t show a little bit of patience, Counselor? And let’s give the Ontailians a little respect before we either negotiate in good faith or invade them. Rashanar is in their space, and I don’t want to fight a war over the right to retrieve our dead.”

Colleen sighed loudly and collected herself. Wes marveled at how she could stand toe-to-toe with Starfleet Command and not break a sweat. He had taken on a lot of responsibility at a young age, so he knew how it felt.

“Couldn’t we send a small craft disguised as a looter?” she asked. “We just need proof that this mimic ship exists.”

“If it does exist, we’d be putting a ship in danger,” answered Ross. “If it doesn’t exist, we’d be driving the Ontailians out of the Federation for nothing. To go back in force, we need their blessing. Waiting is the prudent thing to do in this case.”

“All right, I’ll have some patience,” muttered Cabot, backing toward the door. “Admiral, do you know officers who are still floating around in that miasma of scorched hulls and wild antimatter?”

Ross’s face turned pale, and he looked as if he had aged a few more years. “Yes, I know a lot of them. They won’t be the first Starfleet officers to be buried in space.”

Feeling defeated, Colleen stepped into the corridor. Well, that was a bust, she finally decided. She wasn’t sure how she could go over Ross’s head, especially since her only other ally was Nakamura, who agreed with him. After several moments spent shuffling rather than walking, Colleen felt another presence at her side. She turned to see an average-looking ensign.

The officer smiled shyly at her and asked, “Counselor Cabot, do you remember me?”

“I know I should, and I’m usually good with names. You’re, uh—”

“Ensign Brewster. Sometimes I help Admiral Nechayev.”

“Ah, yes,” answered Colleen, biting her tongue. She hadn’t been impressed by Nechayev’s defense of Picard, and she wasn’t particularly impressed by the admiral’s aide either.

“Nechayev’s office is just on the floor below,” said Brewster. “I think she could use a visit from you, if you have something to tell her. She has another visitor at the moment—Commodore Korgan.”

Colleen stopped in her tracks to look at him. “Why should that interest me?”

“Because the Medusan wants to help Captain Picard, and you want to help, too.”

“How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

Brewster shrugged. “I saw you coming out of Admiral Ross’s office, and you don’t look very happy. It was just a hunch. But don’t give up, Counselor, because Nechayev will listen to you. Come, I’ll show you the way.”

She peered curiously at Brewster. It seemed for a moment that he wasn’t quite the cipher he appeared to be. In fact, she felt she knew him from somewhere else…someplace more exciting than the drab corridors of Starfleet.

He opened the turbolift door and motioned for her to step inside. When she did, he followed her and said, “Computer, level three, northeast wing.”

As they moved down and across, Cabot studied her escort with interest, and she said, “You know, I would be happy if we just gave Picard a vacation and released him on his own recognizance.”

“No, we have to do better than that,” countered the ensign. “That would be like putting him out to pasture. He needs his ship back—at least to find the thing which put him here.”

Now Cabot peered curiously at her escort. “Do you happen to know a fellow who gets around…name of Wesley?”

He smiled slightly and replied, “It doesn’t sound familiar.”

The door whooshed open, and they stepped out of the turbolift. Colleen felt oddly detached as Ensign Brewster led her to Admiral Nechayev’s office. It was late at night; few people were around Starfleet Command except for the ubiquitous security officers.

When Brewster barged into the admiral’s private lair, the sandy-haired woman jumped to her feet as if to demand to know who they were, but her expression softened when she saw it was her trusted assistant. Also present were Commander Emery and, as Brewster had promised, the floating antigrav container that housed Commodore Korgan.

“Admiral, I’m sorry to interrupt,” announced the ensign, “but I believe Counselor Cabot has had a similar change of heart over Captain Picard.” The humans looked at one another as if they didn’t know who should start the round of explanations.

“It’s not a change of heart,” explained Commander Emery, wringing his hands with anxiety. “Oh, heck, I don’t know what it is. I only know that Commodore Korgan is now convinced that Picard is telling the truth.”

“He is innocent,” declared Cabot. She wanted to ask the Medusan whether he had also met the mysterious stranger, Wesley. But she hated to bring up bizarre evidence that couldn’t be proven.

“Well,” said Nechayev, somewhat astounded, “I didn’t expect Picard’s prosecutor and custodian to step forward and say they want to reopen the case they won. This is highly unusual…but welcome. You realize, there is going to be no support for reopening Picard’s case. We don’t want to drag the Ontailians back here just to impugn their testimony, not when we’re involved in delicate negotiations with them to reopen Rashanar.”

The lights on Korgan’s container blinked. Emery straightened and said, “There is a matter of justice.”

“Justice?” said Nechayev with sarcasm. “You weren’t too concerned about that at the inquiry. Basically, we all agreed to placate the Ontailians and let Picard take one for the team. I’ve been convinced since day one that the captain was innocent, but you played hardball and forced us to settle.”

Cabot stepped forward, taking on her third admiral of the long day. “Well, we were wrong. You’re wrong to hold us to a deal that isn’t in anyone’s best interest. I don’t know exactly what Commodore Korgan discovered that changed his mind, but I suspect he learned more about the Rashanar Battle Site than he knew before. Anyone who has been there can tell you that we left a nasty job unfinished.”

“You’ve been to Rashanar?” asked Nechayev skeptically.

Cabot gave the admiral a wistful smile. “In a way, I have. Please, Admiral, we’ve got to get back there, and we’ve got to reunite Captain Picard with his ship.”

Nechayev stepped away from her chair and paced thoughtfully. “Counselor, you are Captain Picard’s sole master. Right now nobody can give him an order but you. You can set him to picking up trash in Golden Gate Park, if you wish. You could send him back to the Enterprise, but you can’t let him out of your custody. Until he’s officially absolved, you’re his ball and chain. Any place he goes, you have to go.”

The young woman gulped but firmed up her resolve. “I will accompany Picard to the Enterprise. I’ll go back to Rashanar with him, too.”

“Nobody’s going to Rashanar until we conclude our negotiations with the Ontailians,” said the admiral. “You have to promise me that much. We should know in twenty-four hours if they’re going to give us access again.”

Nechayev chuckled. “Ross and Nakamura aren’t going to like this one bit.”

“So be it,” replied Cabot forcefully.

Commander Emery looked squeamish about the repercussions, but Korgan’s container twinkled brightly. With a sigh, the gaunt human said, “Commodore Korgan is willing to take the chance.”

“Of course, if Picard is right,” the admiral ventured, “the guilty party is a lethal shapeshifting anomaly that has destroyed hundreds of ships. Are you ready to take that on?”

Cabot wasn’t so quick with her reply. Even the Medusan and his assistant were strangely quiet. It was a voice from the doorway that finally ended the silence, when all-but-forgotten Ensign Brewster said, “We have no choice. The Ontailians are not going to do it.”

“Then it’s decided. I’ll go tell my patient,” said Colleen, heading for the door. “In case it doesn’t work out as planned, I’ll tell him it’s just a visit to the Enterprise. When negotiations with the Ontailians are concluded—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” answered Nechayev. “Thank you for coming, Counselor. I know it took a lot of courage.”

“Don’t thank me,” said Cabot. “Thank your assistant, Ensign…um—” She turned to find him, but the unprepossessing officer had already left.

Maybe I’ll just take the medical discharge, thought Jean-Luc Picard as he sat on the floor of his cell, studying the reddish clouds that drifted past his dark window, simulating Vulcan at night. Other captains have retired at a younger age than I am, and I could consult in training and planning. Or I could finally do some writing…or tend the grapevines.

Somehow that latter option seemed more attractive than it ever had before. The weather and the soil were tricky but worthy adversaries; also, they played by natural rules. The physical labor would be cathartic for him and would probably prolong his life more than continuing in Starfleet. Let the Ontailians and the admirals worry about Rashanar, he decided. One man with a ship can’t fight that thing, anyway.

A Vulcan walked past his doorway, blocking the starscape from his view for a moment. Picard sat up, because this was a holosuite character he had never seen before; this one wore the silver and white robes of a diplomat. The Vulcan stopped in the shadows and turned to face Picard, his features remaining blurred and indistinct.

“No one can do a mind-meld on himself,” said the stranger, his voice surprisingly youthful.

“What does that mean?” breathed the captain, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Only that you cannot analyze what is inside you, what is happening to you,” answered the Vulcan official. “You have to leave that to others. After you have made a logical decision, your task is finished. Let fate, history, and the natural order make the final determination.”

“So accept what’s happened to me?” asked Picard, growing bitter. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been very good at just sitting still and waiting.”

“To every thing there is a season,” said the Vulcan, “and a time for every purpose under the heavens.”

The captain frowned. “That’s the Bible—Ecclesiastes, not anything Vulcan. The programmers will have to do better than that.”

“I think you’ll feel better after Counselor Cabot’s next visit,” he acknowledged, stepping back into deeper shadows.

“I doubt that.” Picard sighed. He stared after the departing figure, because such characters weren’t supposed to break the theater’s fourth wall and refer to the audience. They were supposed to pretend he was a monk in a Vulcan cliff dwelling, not under a doctor’s care and custody.

Picard even rose to his feet to look for the old Vulcan, but he was gone. From the other side of the walkway, Colleen Cabot stepped into view, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. Upon entering the hovel, she looked around disgustedly at the dusty floor and ragged stone walls.

“Hello, Jean-Luc,” she began. “You may want to return to more modern quarters to get cleaned up and shaved, because we’re moving out of here. Here’s your uniform—we’re going to the Enterprise.”

Picard jumped to his feet. “What is the catch?”

“You notice I said we were going,” she answered. “You’re still in my custody and my care. Commander Riker is still the acting captain of the Enterprise. You’ve done well enough here to warrant outpatient status, and for you, living at home is the Enterprise.”

“Interesting,” said Picard, taking a few steps and mulling it over. “What if I don’t want to go back to my ship as a tourist or a patient? What if I’m ready for the medical discharge?”

“Then you’d be letting a lot of people down,” answered Cabot. “You’d bring relief to a few people, I suppose, but not to yourself. Don’t you want to fight that thing that destroyed all those ships at Rashanar and tarnished your career?”

The captain whirled upon his jailer. “I thought you didn’t believe me?”

“A visitor showed me the error of my ways,” answered Colleen enigmatically. She stepped toward Picard and handed him the bundle. “Here’s your uniform. Your crew doesn’t know we’re coming, but I figure you would just like to show up as if nothing’s happened, rather than have a big home-coming.”

“You have gotten to know me fairly well,” agreed the captain as he took his clothes. “So my fate is still in your hands?”

“For now.” She gave him a brief but sympathetic smile. “I’m willing to be on your side, but you can’t forget that I can keep you under my care as long as I deem necessary.”

Picard’s lips thinned. “I’m well aware of your power over me, Counselor. This week has taught me that if nothing else.”

“You stuck to your story,” said Cabot with admiration, “and you have allies I don’t think you even know about. I’ll be back in half an hour, because I have to pack. Is that enough time?”

“Plenty,” answered the captain. “Thank you, Counselor.”

“You’re never going to call me ‘Colleen,’ are you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“I like your honesty, Jean-Luc. See you in a bit.” She turned on her heel and walked briskly down the walkway that ran along the illusory Vulcan cliff.

Captain Picard let out his breath, relieved that his laborious cooperation had finally accomplished something. But I’m still a prisoner, he told himself, no longer master of my fate. How will they accept me back on the Enterprise?