DEANNA TROI PACED the bridge of the Enterprise, alone except for Lieutenant Kell Perim, who watched a combination of readouts at her conn station. In spacedock over Earth, with most of the workers gone for the day and most of the crew on leave, it was rather lonely and dull duty. When she wasn’t pacing, Troi went over personnel files to give Will Riker a hand. More crew members than usual had requested a transfer off the Enterprise. She couldn’t blame them. There were always others willing to take their places on the famed vessel, although several prime candidates had suddenly withdrawn their names owing to the recent trouble. Perhaps this was not the best time to join the Enterprise, thought the counselor.

Because the ship was technically repaired and fit for duty, the bridge had to be manned, and Troi had drawn this shift. Will, Beverly, Geordi, and Data were indulging in a poker game in Riker’s quarters. She hoped that it afforded them some distraction, but she doubted if it was the usual jovial gathering, full of reckless bluffing and good-natured ribbing. These days, the only one who seemed to be in a good mood was Dr. Crusher, although maybe that was just a brave front.

Troi didn’t feel like taking shore leave and doing recreational activities since Will was tied up as acting skipper of the Enterprise. They had expected him to get his own command someday, but this wasn’t how any of them had wanted it to happen. Will certainly didn’t want to take command away from Captain Picard, and it felt disloyal to be running the ship while the captain languished in Medical Mental Health.

“There’s been some activity in transporter room two,” reported Perim from the conn, where she was monitoring the ship’s main systems. “Two people have beamed up from Starfleet Command.”

“From Starfleet Command?” asked Troi, scratching her head. “Are they admirals or just a couple of technicians reporting early to work?”

“We should know in a minute,” answered the Trill, “because they seem to be on their way to the bridge.”

Troi cringed. “I hope we’re not talking admirals—we don’t need any more bad news.”

“Do you want me to alert the captain?” asked Perim.

“No. Let’s see who it is first.” It was still strange, thought Troi, for everyone to refer to “the captain” and mean her Will, instead of Captain Picard. If the real captain had died in the line of duty or had retired with full honors, none of this would seem strange, but it felt as if Picard had been captured by an implacable enemy.

She was still fretting over his fate when the turbolift door opened. Kell Perim blinked in amazement, whirled in her seat, and gazed attentively at her board. “Captain on the bridge,” she announced.

“Done with the poker game already?” asked Troi, turning to meet her beloved. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she came face-to-face with Jean-Luc Picard, accompanied by her colleague, Colleen Cabot.

“Hello, Counselor,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t let me interrupt you—I just wanted to tell you I was on board.”

“Good to see you, sir!” With difficulty, Troi resisted rushing forward to hug her superior, who had miraculously returned from exile. She looked instead at his escort for an explanation.

Cabot hefted the duffel bag in her hand and said, “He’s on outpatient status. Since this is his home, I’m going to have to stay here with him, so if you could find me a bunk somewhere, I’d appreciate it.”

“We have spare quarters,” replied Troi. “Lieutenant Perim, assign Counselor Cabot to a nice stateroom near the captain.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the Trill, working her console.

Cabot looked impressed and said, “Deanna, I didn’t realize you had qualified for command duty.”

Troi shrugged humbly, but Picard cut in, “Commander Troi can run this ship as well as anyone. She’s saved us on more than one occasion. I’m sure they’ve been doing fine without me.”

“The senior staff would love to see you, Captain,” said Troi with a grin. “They’re in Will’s quarters, playing poker.”

Picard smiled wistfully, turned to Counselor Cabot and asked, “With your permission?”

Troi bristled at the sight of her proud captain having to ask the much younger woman for her consent, but she knew Picard’s legal status. He had obviously won Cabot over to some degree, or he wouldn’t be here.

“Go ahead, Captain. I’ll just visit with Counselor Troi for a bit, then see my room. I packed lightly.”

“We’ve got everything you need,” Troi assured her.

With a grateful nod, the captain hurried toward the turbolift and was gone.

“He’s rather remarkable, your captain,” said Cabot with admiration. “And he has remarkable friends.”

“Is this permanent?” asked Troi hopefully.

Colleen Cabot shook her head. “Who can say what’s permanent in this life? I may be in big trouble tomorrow, but for tonight I feel pretty good.”

“Oh,” said Troi with dawning realization, “you didn’t really get approval for this?”

“I discussed it with Admiral Nechayev, and technically this is my decision.” Colleen circled around the empty bridge, gazing with awe at the blinking instruments and expansive screens. “Of course, they could assign him to you or some other counselor, if they felt like it. I can’t believe I’m on the Enterprise! What’s it like, being a ship’s counselor?”

“It can get rather exciting sometimes,” admitted Troi. “Stick with me, and you’ll get a good idea whether you’d like it.”

Cabot stretched her arms over her head. “It already feels good to get out of those offices…and the politics.”

“Make yourself at home, Colleen,” said Deanna Troi with a warm smile. “Would you like something from the food slot?”

“I’ve assigned you a really nice room, Counselor,” added Kell Perim. “Maybe you’d like an appointment in the spa?”

“The spa?” Colleen almost purred. “I think I might like it here.”

“Dealer takes two,” said Data, adjusting his green eyeshade. He deftly dealt himself two cards, slowing his normal hand speed so that everyone could see he was dealing fairly. “Geordi, it is still your bet.”

“Huh? What?” The engineer had been marooned in his thoughts, and he blinked at his friend. “My call?”

“Your bet,” replied Data. “You took one card, and you opened the betting with kings or better.”

“Oh, yeah,” said La Forge, giving his cards a desultory inspection. “I’m sorry, my mind isn’t really into this tonight.”

“It’s okay,” Riker assured him. “Nobody’s is.”

Data cocked his head and said, “My mind is quite active and engaged.”

“And that’s why you have all the chips,” added Beverly Crusher. “Here, I’ve got kings or better. I’ll bet three.”

“I’ll see your three,” said Riker, and the betting went around the table until it came back to La Forge.

“I fold,” he muttered, tossing down his cards. “In more ways than one. I think I’ll get to bed early and get an early start on the matter reactant injector.” He rose to his feet.

“Don’t fix it too fast,” warned Riker. “We want to put in a full day tomorrow before we have to go out again.”

“Do you really think this is going to do any good?” asked La Forge, frustration creeping into his voice. “We don’t know if it will do Captain Picard any good, and they may come after Data again. I’m putting in for early retirement, so wherever we go…it’ll be my last cruise.”

That brought a gloomy pall to the game. No one knew what to say next. Since Data was the dealer, he felt obliged to keep the game going. “I will fold if it will increase your chances, Geordi.”

La Forge gave a chuckle, which lightened the sour mood. Data was gratified to have made a joke, under the circumstances.

“Sit down and play poker,” ordered Beverly Crusher. “Doctor’s orders.”

The engineer shook his head with amazement as he sank into his seat. “You seem unfazed by all this, Doc. How do you keep from worrying?”

“Don’t you feel the tide turning?” asked Crusher, brimming with optimism and hope. “I do.”

“Well, I’m still going to win this hand,” said Riker. “La Forge, are you in or out?”

Geordi shrugged and reached for his meager chips. “My last three. My luck had better start changing, or this is it.” He tossed his markers into the pile just as the door whooshed open.

“Do you have another seat?” asked a familiar voice, forcing everyone to whirl around.

“Captain Picard!” “Jean-Luc!” There was a babble of voices as everyone leaped up to greet their leader.

When they all tried to question him at once, Picard held up his hand and hushed them. “I’m just visiting—as an outpatient. Counselor Cabot surprised me with this, so I don’t really know what to make of it. My status hasn’t changed, and neither has yours, Number One. It’s your ship. I’m here by the counselor’s good graces, and she’s here with me. Treat her as you would a visiting dignitary.”

“I think we can do that,” said Riker. “Even if I didn’t like her much before.”

“Well, like her now,” ordered Picard, moving to grab a chair from another table. “And, remember, she’s basically my commanding officer. She has spent a week learning everything there is to know about me. The Cardassians weren’t nearly as thorough. That’s all I want to discuss about this for now. Who’s winning the game?”

“Data, as usual,” said La Forge a big grin on his face. “They took his emotion chip, so now he’s ruthless.” The others laughed.

While Data pondered whether ruthlessness was an emotion, Crusher grabbed her glass and hoisted it skyward. “Welcome home, Captain Picard.”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Riker.

Picard lowered his head and nodded, and Data wasn’t sure that the captain was able to speak.

“This is outrageous!” bellowed Admiral Nakamura as he stomped around Admiral Nechayev’s office. The Traveler considered himself very lucky that he could blend into the wall paneling as Ensign Brewster; he didn’t want this unbridled fury directed at him. Nechayev appeared oddly calm and more than willing to let Nakamura blow off steam without interruption.

“You spirited him away in the middle of the night—back to his ship!” he continued to roar. “Without telling any of the members of the tribunal! That’s unethical, Alynna.”

“I agree. You have every right to be angry. However, Picard wasn’t in my custody. Counselor Cabot has all the authority she needs to take him anywhere she wants, without consulting either one of us. Ensign Brewster, do you have the pertinent regulations?”

“Yes, I do,” answered the ensign as he fumbled with a padd.

“Never mind,” growled Nakamura. “We’ll just transfer Picard to someone with more sense…and experience.”

“Actually, you won’t,” said Nechayev. “All three members of the tribunal would have to approve the transfer of Picard. Admirals Paris and Ross have been speaking with Commodore Korgan. They all believe that Picard’s story should be checked out. Also, they agree he should stay in Cabot’s care. I have a statement from Paris. Care to hear it?”

“No!” Nakamura slashed his hand through the air in blind anger, then took a deep breath to calm himself. “You’ve thought ahead, Alynna, as you always do. I don’t care where Picard is, but keep him under wraps until we conclude our negotiations with the Ontailians. That’s all I ask.”

“That was the intention,” answered Nechayev. “The Enterprise is still testing her repairs. After that, she has a survey mission. Riker is acting captain. Are we on our final offer to the Ontailians?”

“We’re going to let them run things at Rashanar. Starfleet will have very specific missions and zones of responsibility,” Nakamura predicted with confidence.

“They’ll turn it down,” she said.

He bristled at the suggestion. “They can’t do better than this, unless they want to keep us out permanently.”

“Right,” said Nechayev. “Just remember, when it falls apart, we can still do black ops inside Rashanar. It might even be safer.”

“Black ops? Safer?” scoffed Nakamura. “Alynna, I know you always want to rely on espionage, but in this case it won’t be necessary.”

“Brewster here had a good idea,” she said, taking a moment to find the ensign leaning against the wall. “We could send small craft into Rashanar disguised as illegal salvagers.”

The Traveler cleared his throat. “Actually it was Counselor Cabot’s idea.”

“I see.” Nakamura slapped his palms on his thick thighs and began to pace. “So now you would invite the Ontailians to fire on us! You would also compete with the real looters, who might not take too kindly to this idea, and you’d be operating without a safety net.”

Nechayev shook her head and replied, “The idea of any safety net inside that graveyard is a delusion. I’ve been reading the reports. It looks to me that a larger ship could slip in, find a place to hide, play dead, and act as a base for our fake looters. I’m just telling you that we have an alternative other than war, if negotiations fail.”

“Don’t do anything else until you talk to me,” warned Nakamura as he strode toward the door and exited.

As soon as the admiral was gone, Nechayev tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Brewster, tell the Enterprise to take off for their survey mission as soon as possible.”

“I’m on my way. Good-bye, Admiral.” By the time the door slid shut behind him, the Traveler was in a corridor aboard the Enterprise.

“We can’t get all of our crew back that quickly,” complained Commander Riker, leaning over Data’s shoulder at the ops console. Looking on were Dr. Crusher and Captain Picard. “We’d have to go on the survey at about one-fourth crew strength, with the reactant injector untested. Doctor, it would help if I knew where this advice was coming from.”

“It came from Ensign Brewster, the aide to Admiral Nechayev, after her meeting with Admiral Nakamura. I think she sent him to me because she didn’t want this to be an official order. Just good advice,” Beverly replied.

“We could even go at impulse power,” said Picard, “while La Forge finishes work on the warp engines. If need be, there are lots of repair bases around the asteroid belt. I wouldn’t ignore advice from Ensign Brewster.”

“What about Counselor Cabot,” asked Riker. “Is she willing to ship out with us?”

“She’s here, isn’t she?” replied Crusher. “She knows we’re not a colony or a space station, but a starship. With warp drive, we could have her home in half an hour if she whines too much. Listen, we’ve got all our senior staff. Data can do the survey.”

“The doctor has a point there,” remarked the android. “The demands are relatively simple.”

“Should we call back as many of the crew as we can find on short notice?” asked Riker. “Or should we just go?”

“If we’ve got enough crew for the tests, we’ve got enough crew for the mission,” answered Picard. “If we put out the word we’re leaving, the wrong people may find out.”

“All right,” answered the acting captain, making his decision. “Data, find out from La Forge how soon we can depart.”

“Ensign Brewster is going too,” added Beverly Crusher. “Sort of a liaison with Admiral Nechayev.”

Riker waved his arms, giving up. “Okay, we’re going on a mission with three-fourths of our crew missing, but several unofficial passengers, including our captain. This doesn’t look to be our typical journey.”

“When do we ever have a typical journey?” asked Crusher with a wry smile.

We’re moving, thought the Traveler as he stood in the newly assigned guest quarters of Ensign Brewster. The place where he really wanted to be was only two doors away, the stateroom of one Colleen Cabot, but he was frozen in indecision. How am I going to approach her? What am I going to say? Out of all the rules of being a Traveler he had already broken, becoming intimately involved in the lives of those he observed was the most egregious.

I may not be a Traveler much longer, he told himself. He thought he could feel it becoming harder to pull off his miraculous feats, although in subtle ways he couldn’t explain, like walking in heavier gravity. He didn’t know if it was his own failings, a lack of focus, or his fellow Travelers drawing away from him—but it felt that resistance was increasing. He wondered, Does observation strengthen the lens, while intervention weakens it? For certain he knew one thing: When the last of his fellowship stopped experiencing this vigil, he would be cut off from their combined focus. He would again be just Wesley Crusher, mustered out of Starfleet and unemployed.

So the sooner I embrace that unfamiliar persona, the better.

Wes thought he heard a nearby door open and shut, and he fought the temptation to surprise Colleen in her room. He didn’t know who might be with her. It was the Traveler who intrigued the counselor, not Wesley Crusher or Ensign Brewster.

For the moment, I am the Traveler and I am Wesley Crusher. Why should I behave any differently around her?

Walking out of his quarters and down the corridor, the young man looked like his true self in the gray, unadorned garb of the Traveler. Of course, he knew there were few crew members on board, and could mentally befuddle one or two if he passed them. The real question remained: Why don’t I want to tell my shipmates that I’ve returned? I told my mother and two complete strangers, but I can’t tell my old comrades that Wesley is back. Why not?

He didn’t like any of the possible answers: Maybe I don’t want to be that nebbish kid who kept saving the Enterprise, when that’s why I’m here. Maybe I just don’t want to explain what I’ve been doing or where I’ve been. Every time I come back to the Enterprise, it’s because I’ve failed somewhere else.

Before he had time to choose an answer, Wes found himself standing before Colleen Cabot’s quarters. He knew she was inside, and pressed the chime rather than stepping through the bulkhead.

“Who is it?” came her voice.

He looked around to make sure he was alone in the corridor. “It’s Wesley,” he answered.

At once, the door opened. Colleen rushed to greet him, brushing her glowing blond hair out of her face and tugging on her tight-fitting blue tunic. He decided that she must have been napping, since she had been up all night arranging the return of Captain Picard. She smiled at him girlishly, then seemed to recover long enough to pull him into the room and close the door.

“You’re here? On this ship?” she asked excitedly. “I should have known. Who else would have a…whatever you are.”

“I’m not stationed on this ship,” he answered, “although I once was. Do you know that we’ve left Earth?”

“Really?” Cabot rushed to her small porthole and gazed at a disc of blackness with vague glints of light. “Yes, we’ve left. Nobody mentioned this to me. Where are we going?”

“Just making a survey of the asteroid belt near Jupiter.”

As Colleen gazed out into space, she bounced on the balls of her feet. Then she turned and looked sheepishly at him. “Excuse me for being excited, but I’ve just taken off on the Enterprise.”

He took a step closer to her.

Colleen gazed at him with big blue eyes. “Is this the way you really look?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered hoarsely.

Colleen moved in close, and he leaned down for an exploratory kiss. She responded passionately. They were very much alike—two gifted people giving up everything for a monastic existence that focused solely on work, study, and advancement. Alone together in the strange stateroom, the young man and young woman sought out human contact and love.

Hours later, Wesley Crusher slipped out of her warm bed and pulled on his gray jumpsuit. “I’ve got to go.”

Colleen stirred and rubbed her eyes. “You’ll be back?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered with a smile. “My quarters are only two doors down.”

Cabot sat up. “I thought you said you weren’t stationed on the Enterprise?”

“Not as you see me,” he answered. “You also know me as Ensign Brewster. I’d appreciate it if you kept my secret.”

She frowned, puzzled. “But you don’t look anything like Ensign Brewster.” Her frown deepened. “Or do you? I don’t remember what he looks like.”

“That’s the point.” He bent down and kissed Colleen, and she nearly succeeded in pulling him back into bed. Reluctantly, he drew away from her urgent kisses.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.

“I’ll probably be busy,” said the woman, stretching luxuriantly in her bed. “In an attempt to keep me happy, Counselor Troi is taking me to a spa, a tour of the ship, lunch, holodeck racquetball, and whatever else you have. If they only knew that I’ve got eveything I need to be happy right here.” Her hand grazed his thigh, and he laughed.

“Yes, if they knew about us, they would certainly be surprised,” agreed the Traveler. “Let’s keep it our secret a while longer, okay?”

“How much longer?” she asked with a pout. “I’m happy for the first time since…I can remember. I feel great I’ve returned Captain Picard to his ship, I’m away from those admirals, and I have you.”

She gave him a come-hither look and smiled at his obvious discomfort. “How can you not love a guy who can travel through space in a wink, and doesn’t think there’s anything special about him?”

“You’ll see, when you get to know me better,” answered Wesley. “I’ll be back soon. If I’m Brewster, don’t let on.”

“Take care, Wesley.”

He focused himself back to Rashanar, only this time aboard the new Ontailian flagship, the Yoxced, which had replaced the fallen Vuxhal. In a reception room intended to entertain humanoids, a stern Tellarite and a proud Vulcan stood face-to-face with a teeming collection of Ontailians, who twisted and squirmed around their trellises like large hairy worms. Every few seconds, a slothlike individual descended upon the smoothly sculpted computer terminal, where it looked like a furry octopus squirming around the large levers and knobs.

The Traveler lurked in the background with the Starfleet security personnel, watching the Ontailians’ frantic activity. He forced his persona into near obscurity in order to observe this historic event. Although the Ontailians would eventually produce an answer, they were going to take plenty of time to quarrel among themselves.

In due time, a gray-haired Ontailian with a span of three meters to his hairy tentacles descended from the rafters and plucked a parchment from their computer’s printing mechanism. As the senior diplomat, the Vulcan took the document and read it first. His face showed a glimpse of disappointment, as he handed it to his colleague. When the Tellarite was done reading, the two of them shook their heads in consternation.

“This decision is most regrettable,” said Ambassador Telek of Vulcan. “You blame the humans for essentially being human. You have not been in the Federation long enough to know what you are giving up, but I can tell you it’s a great deal. The Federation was here for you during the Dominion War; now you deny us access to our hallowed dead from that conflict. Are you sure this is what you want to tell the Federation?”

The chittering and squeaking grew very loud. Evol, the Tellarite ambassador balled his hands into fists as if he would bash a few of the recalcitrant Ontailians. “You are unworthy allies” he cursed them.

Amid heckling and squawking from their hosts, the diplomatic delegation from the Federation took their leave and beamed out of the Yoxced and back to the runabout Ohio. The Traveler left with them, but he didn’t go to the runabout. Instead he slid through space and dimension, feeling the power of his fellow Travelers returning to guide him. Yes, they know I’ve broken rules, but they still know how important this is.

There was no doubt now—the Enterprise would have to return to Rashanar.