PICARD SAT BACK in his center seat and considered the yellow-orange disk of Delta Campara on his viewscreen.

“We’re getting some impressive readings,” said Wu, who had come to stand at his side.

“No doubt,” the captain replied. “It is, after all, one of the larger Cepheid variables in Federation space.”

“With some spectacular prominences,” Wu added.

“Yes. Quite spectacular.” He frowned. “I don’t suppose they are appreciatively different from the prominences observed by Captain Crajjik twenty-five years ago?”

The second officer hesitated. “We’ve only been studying Delta Campara for a few hours.”

“Six,” said Picard. “And thirteen minutes. And have we observed anything Captain Crajjik did not?”

“Well,” Wu said with obvious reluctance, “no.”

Picard nodded. “Wherein lies the problem.”

“Look at the bright side,” said Wu. “In another couple of days, we’ll be finished here.”

That was indeed the bright side. But by then, McAteer would have some other busywork lined up for them. And beyond that, Picard had a hearing to look forward to.

“A brave attempt,” he told Wu.

“But you’re not cheered,” she noted.

“Not significantly, no.”

“Sir?” said Paxton from his place at the com station.

Picard turned to him, hoping that Paxton had something more interesting to offer than Delta Campara. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“It’s Admiral Mehdi calling from Command, sir. He’s asking to speak with you—in private.”

Mehdi? the captain wondered. He hadn’t heard from the admiral in months. “I will take it in my ready room,” he said. Then he got up from his seat and made his way into his sanctum.

In a matter of moments, Mehdi’s narrow, pinched face was staring at him from his computer screen. Even on his good days, the admiral wasn’t a particularly congenial man—but at the moment, he looked positively grim.

“Jean-Luc,” said the admiral.

The captain inclined his head. “Sir.”

“We’ve got a problem,” said Mehdi, as succinct as ever. “In the last few hours, two of our starships—the Cochise and the Gibraltar—have been attacked by unidentified assailants.”

Picard understood now why the admiral had looked so solemn. “Their status?” he asked.

Mehdi shook his head. “We don’t know. They both got off distress calls, but we haven’t heard from them since.”

It wouldn’t have been good news no matter which ships were involved. But the Cochise was commanded by Denton Greenbriar, one of the canniest captains in the fleet—and Picard’s friend since their involvement in the White Wolf incident.

Mehdi scowled. “There’s more. The Antares hasn’t responded to our hails for more than a day now. It’s our guess that she’s been attacked as well.”

The captain’s throat was suddenly very dry. “Admiral, I dispatched a shuttle to meet the Antares, with Admiral McAteer aboard. And six of my crew.”

Only Mehdi’s eyes reflected his sympathy. “All the more reason to find out what happened to her—and quickly.”

“You want the Stargazer to investigate her disappearance?”

“Exactly. I’m transmitting a set of coordinates—the last known position of the Antares.”

Indeed, Picard saw the coordinates appear in white characters in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, superimposed on the image of the admiral.

“You’re to get there as soon as you can,” Mehdi continued, “and let us know what you find out. We need to get a handle on who’s carrying out these attacks and why, before they decide to take another shot at us.”

“And my shuttle?”

“Is a secondary concern right now. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” said Picard, however reluctantly. The Antares had to come first.

“Further instructions will be forthcoming,” said the admiral. “Good luck, Jean-Luc. Mehdi—”

“Wait,” said Picard, as a possibility occurred to him.

Mehdi stared at him. “Yes?”

The captain’s mind raced. Ulelo. He had transmitted the Stargazer’s specs—to no one in particular, if Greyhorse was right about the com officer’s state of mind.

But what if Ulelo’s transmissions had been purposeful after all? What if someone had received them and studied the technologies employed by the Stargazer? Someone who might have been daunted by Federation firepower for some time—and now had the knowledge to wade through a starship’s defenses as if they weren’t there?

The Cochise, the Gibraltar, the Antares…they were all Constellation-class, like the Stargazer. Their specs would all be the same. Picard felt the blood rush to his face as the the pieces began falling into place….

“Admiral,” he said, “I may be able to shed some light on what happened to our ships.” And he went on to tell Mehdi about Ulelo, his transmissions, and the conclusion reached by Picard and his staff. “However, considering what you’ve told me about the Cochise and the other vessels…”

“You think Ulelo may not have been so crazy after all.”

“I do,” said the captain.

“And where is Ulelo now?”

“In the brig—where he will remain, at least until we determine the truth of the matter.”

“See that he does,” said Mehdi. “In the meantime, I’ll alert the rest of the fleet that our adversaries may know our ships as well as we do.”

Obviously, he wasn’t happy about the prospect. However, he also wasn’t blaming Picard for it.

“Now,” said the admiral, “I have even more reason to wish you good luck. Medhi out.”

As the older man’s visage faded from the screen and was replaced by the Federation insignia, Picard sat back in his chair. He felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.

He felt personally responsible for the Ulelo situation. He had been content to accept the notion that the com officer was out of touch with reality, and that his actions had ultimately been harmless.

Now, it appeared, Ulelo’s actions might have consequences after all—deadly ones. For all the captain knew, the lieutenant had placed the entire Federation in danger.

And Ben Zoma’s team on the shuttlecraft was as vulnerable as anyone. If something had happened to the Antares, the Livingston might be next.

Picard felt an urge to go after his people, to reel them in. But Mehdi’s instructions didn’t leave him much wiggle room. He was to look for the Antares—period.

“Picard to Idun Asmund,” he said, making use of the ship’s intercom system to contact his helm officer.

“Aye, sir?” came the response from the bridge.

“We are altering course.” And he gave her the coordinates he had received from Mehdi.

“Acknowledged,” said Idun.

Next, Picard summoned Wu and Greyhorse, in order to discuss Ulelo with them in more depth. Then he contacted Paxton and apprised him of their orders.

“Send a message to the shuttle,” said the captain, “and let Commander Ben Zoma know what is going on.”

“Of course, sir,” said Paxton.

Picard sat back in his chair. Before long, he assured himself, the Livingston would be headed for the nearest starbase—McAteer wouldn’t brook any other course of action. Then the shuttle would remain there until the danger had passed.

That was by far the most likely course of events. Of course, there were other possibilities—grimmer ones—but there was no point in the captain’s worrying about them.

Especially when he suddenly had so much else to worry about.

Ben Zoma was going over the shuttle’s latest sensor reports when he heard someone forward of him swear under his breath.

Looking up, he saw Horombo shaking his head over the com panel, where Ben Zoma had stationed him. The security officer was obviously unhappy about something.

Joining him, Ben Zoma said, “Something wrong, Mister Horombo?”

Horombo unfolded himself from his chair and pointed to his subspace message monitor. “Take a look for yourself, sir.”

Sitting down in Horombo’s place, Ben Zoma inspected the monitor. There was a message from Captain Picard on it. As the first officer read it, he came to understand why Horombo had reacted as he did.

By then, they had drawn the attention of the rest of the crew. “What’s going on?” asked McAteer, voicing the question that must have been on all their minds.

Ben Zoma turned to him. “Apparently, a couple of our ships have been attacked and boarded.”

The admiral’s eyes narrowed. “Which ones?”

“The Cochise and the Gibraltar,” said Ben Zoma. “And the Antares isn’t responding to hails, so there’s a possibility she was attacked as well.”

“The Gibraltar?” asked Chen.

“That’s right,” said the first officer.

Chen swallowed, and didn’t say anything more—but Ben Zoma knew why the security officer had asked the question. He had a brother on the Gibraltar.

McAteer looked as if he had consumed something rotten. “Who attacked them?”

“No one knows,” said Ben Zoma. “Which is why the Stargazer has been dispatched to conduct a search for the Antares—so we can get some answers.”

Garner’s brow knit above the bridge of her slender nose. “If the Antares is missing, and the Stargazer is on a mission to find her…”

“Then we’ve got no one with whom to rendezvous,” said McAteer, finishing the security officer’s thought.

“So where do we go?” asked Ramirez.

Ben Zoma wished he were the one empowered to decide their next move. But he wasn’t—not as long as McAteer remained the highest-ranking officer on the shuttle.

Turning to the admiral, the first officer said, “Sir?”

McAteer shrugged. “I don’t think we’ve got any choice, Commander. We’ll report to the nearest starbase.” He glanced at Paris. “That would be One-Two-Nine, I believe?”

The helm officer confirmed it.

“After all,” McAteer went on, “this is a shuttlecraft, not a starship. If the Cochise and the Gibraltar weren’t able to stand up to our mysterious enemy, I doubt there’s much we can do.”

Ben Zoma had some ideas about that. But, knowing how futile it would be to voice them, he kept them to himself.

Picard gazed across his desk at Wu and Greyhorse. They looked back at him with the same expectant look on their faces, obviously wondering why he had summoned them.

He didn’t leave them in suspense.

“Two of our starships—the Cochise and the Gibraltar—have been attacked by unidentified vessels,” he said. “And we’ve lost contact with the Antares.”

“When did this happen?” asked Greyhorse.

“Command received the distress calls less than an hour ago. And though the fates of the Cochise and the Gibraltar are still unknown, both captains spoke of defending against boarding parties.”

Wu’s otherwise flawless brow creased with concern. “What about our shuttle?”

“I have sent Commander Ben Zoma a message notifying him of the attacks. With luck, he will receive it in time to move the Livingston out of harm’s way.”

Greyhorse frowned. “Why can’t we meet the shuttle ourselves?”

“Admiral Mehdi has assigned us to investigate the fate of the Antares. Besides, the Livingston is probably seeking the shelter of a starbase by now.”

Silence reigned for a moment, as Wu and Greyhorse digested the information. Then the second officer spoke up.

“Whoever attacked them must have had some pretty impressive firepower,” she observed. “Greenbriar and Rodriguez are both formidable combatants.”

Picard leaned forward. “Unless the intruders knew our tactical systems inside and out. Then they could have worked out a way to pierce our defenses.”

Greyhorse looked at him askance. “But how would they have that kind of—” He stopped in midsentence. “You’re not suggesting that Ulelo had something to do with this?”

“I am,” said Picard. “I no longer believe that Ulelo was carrying out a schizophrenic fantasy. I believe he was transmitting data to a group of aliens, who used it in their attack on the Cochise and the other ships.”

Again, his officers took a moment to mull what he had said. This time, it was Greyhorse who reacted first.

“It may yet turn out to be a coincidence,” he said.

“It may,” the captain conceded. “But if it is, it will be a rather large one. On one hand, Ulelo repeatedly transmits data to an unknown party. On the other, an equally unknown party attacks our vessels with remarkable success. It is not much of a leap to suspect that there is a connection.”

Greyhorse sighed. “Perhaps not.”

The captain turned to Wu. “Do you think Ulelo is capable of shedding light on our attackers?”

The second officer frowned. “He couldn’t even keep straight whom he was working for. I doubt he can be of any help to us, even if he’s willing.” She looked from one of her colleagues to the other. “Still, I suppose I can give it a try.”

Picard nodded. “Please do.”

Nikolas was ensconced in the Iktoj’ni’s small, badly ventilated operations center, running a routine diagnostic on her deflector array, when he heard the clatter of approaching footfalls in the corridor outside.

“Nik?” someone called, his voice echoing wildly.

It had to be Locklear. No one else on the cargo hauler called him by that name. For that matter, no one on the Stargazer had called him Nik either.

Not even Obal.

Nikolas’s thoughts turned to the Binderian, as they had almost every day since he set foot on the cargo hauler. And as always, he set them aside.

Obal was a relic of the life Nikolas had put behind him. He was part of the past, like Gerda Idun. And Nikolas owed it to himself to look to his future.

“I’m in here,” he called back, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his readouts.

“There you are,” said Locklear, his voice closer now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nikolas saw his friend swing into the room. But then, Locklear’s shock of red hair made him hard to miss, even obliquely.

“What’s up?” asked Nikolas.

“You won’t believe this.”

Something in Locklear’s voice made Nikolas turn to him. When he did, he saw the unmistakable expression of concern on his friend’s face.

Locklear wasn’t the type of person to get worried over nothing. If something was bothering him, it was a bigger item than, say, a glitch in his sonic shower.

“What’s the matter?” Nikolas asked.

“While I was up on the bridge,” said Locklear, “Captain Rejjerin received a message—from Starfleet, of all places.”

That got Nikolas’s attention. “Starfleet…?”

“Yes. And it wasn’t just to say howdy. Apparently, someone’s attacking the Federation—or parts of it. But the message didn’t say who was doing it or why. It just advised us to avoid the usual shipping lanes.”

Nikolas whistled. “Rejjerin must be steaming. She promised she would get this cargo to Djillika on time.”

“She still may,” said Locklear. “I heard her say she refused to change course.”

Nikolas looked at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not,” said his friend. “She said she’s got a schedule to keep and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let a few troublemakers scare her off.”

Nikolas leaned back into his chair. “Great.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

“Any chance the captain will change her mind?”

“I’ve never known her to, but there’s always a—” He stopped himself in midsentence. “Nah. No chance.”

“So, what do you think? A little mutiny?” Nikolas suggested with a straight face.

Locklear chuckled a little. “Mutiny’s for your fancy Starfleet ships. Around here, we just grumble.”

“Then grumble quietly,” Nikolas recommended. “I’ve got a diagnostic to finish.”

He didn’t love the idea of ignoring a Starfleet alert and remaining on course for Djillika. However, it didn’t look like he had much choice in the matter.