FOR PERHAPS THE FIFTIETH TIME since they had made the decision to change course, Ben Zoma watched Admiral McAteer drift over to the shuttle’s control console.

Craning his neck over Chen’s shoulder, the admiral gave their navigational monitors the once-over. “How’s it going?” he asked the security officer.

“Fine, sir,” said Chen.

“Good,” said McAteer. He turned to Paris, who was manning the helm again. “You?”

“Good here too, sir,” said the ensign.

The admiral nodded. Then he stretched a bit, as if that had been the main purpose of his excursion, and returned to his seat in the aft part of the vessel.

Once Ben Zoma was sure that McAteer was behind him, he smiled to himself. The admiral was obviously one of those people who just didn’t feel comfortable delegating responsibility. It was a wonder that the man had come up so far through the ranks, considering how difficult it was to accomplish anything in Starfleet without putting some faith in one’s subordinates.

Ben Zoma believed he understood now why McAteer’s relationship with Picard had been so rocky. If the admiral had a hard time trusting people, he would be that much less inclined to place his trust in a rookie.

The first officer, on the other hand, was perfectly content to get some rest and let Chen do his job. So, apparently, were Ramirez, Garner, and Horombo, who were tilted back in their seats and sleeping soundly.

Ben Zoma shut his eyes too. After all, he didn’t know what they would encounter on the aliens’ supply vessel. It might be a long time before he got another chance to sleep.

One moment, Ulelo was in the Stargazer’s brig, gazing miserably at yet another in a long string of security officers through the sizzling haze of a confining energy barrier.

The next, he was beset by images he couldn’t quite grasp. Images that nagged at him as if he should know them, but remained just beyond the pall of his conscious mind.

An expanse of fissured, black earth stretching to a double sunset of pale gold. A dense, azure forest, the underbrush giving off its own light in the otherwise impenetrable gloom of tree-shadow. A bloodred tide pawing insistently at a shoreline of dazzling, diamond-dust beaches.

And a dozen other sites, each more unfamiliar and unlikely than the one before it.

He hadn’t seen these things on any Starfleet mission. He was reasonably certain of that. But the memories were so vivid, so real as they clung to the edges of his vision, that he was certain he had seen them somewhere, on some occasion he couldn’t seem to dredge up in its entirety.

Finally, after torturing himself for hours, Ulelo believed he knew where he had seen the fissured plain, and the azure forest, and the bloodred tide. On the planet of the people he had worked for. It had to be.

He didn’t remember being prepared for his mission on the Stargazer, but he must have been. Otherwise, how would he have known what to do, or how to go about it? And it made sense that his preparation would have taken place on his masters’ homeworld.

Yes, he told himself for perhaps the hundredth time—for the more he said it, the easier it was to embrace. His masters’ homeworld, a place so alien, so unlike anywhere else…

Where what seemed like a carpet of soft, white ground cover was actually an army of tiny, vicious predators. Where rust-red pellets fell from the sky in savage twists of wind, only to shatter on piles of gray-and-white striped rock.

He had no way to confirm it, no way to put his mind completely at ease. But if he had to decipher what was happening in his brain, this was the answer he felt most comfortable with.

And Ulelo needed an answer of some sort, needed it even more than food and water. Because without it, he was afraid he would go insane.

Nikolas was stretched out on his bed in the quarters he shared with his friend Locklear, going over everything he had to do the next day, when he heard the harsh buzz that told him someone was waiting outside his door.

If he were still on the Stargazer, he could have admitted whoever it was with a simple voice command. But as he was reminded a hundred times a day, he wasn’t on the Stargazer any longer.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Nikolas got up and went to the door, then pressed a black pad set into the bulkhead. A moment later, the duranium panel hissed open, revealing his caller.

It was Redonna, the ship’s primary pilot—a black and white striped Dedderac with large, dark eyes and a spare if well-muscled frame. Nikolas hadn’t had occasion to speak with her previously, other than to ask her to pass a condiment in the mess hall. He wondered what she had come to tell him.

“Well?” said Redonna.

Nikolas looked at her. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Sure,” he said.

Obviously, what she had to tell him was going to take longer than she cared to stand in the corridor. Moving aside, Nikolas let her into the room.

There weren’t any chairs because there wasn’t enough space for them. As a result, Redonna took a seat on the corner of the human’s bed, propping her leg up and lying back against the bulkhead.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

The pilot regarded him. Then she said, in a voice huskier than those of most Dedderac, “You don’t seem very concerned about the danger we’re in.”

He had to smile at the unexpected nature of the remark. “Is that how it looks?”

“Most everyone in the crew is walking around with a weight on his neck. But not you. Why is that?”

Nikolas shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t see the point of worrying about it.”

Redonna nodded. “That’s pretty much the way I look at it. But I grew up smuggling disruptor rifles, so I’m used to sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Her nostrils flared, a sign of amusement in a Dedderac. Obviously, she hadn’t entirely hated the smuggling life.

“But you weren’t a smuggler,” she noted. “I’d know if you were. So why doesn’t it bother you that we’re taking a chance?”

It was because Nikolas had served in Starfleet, where exposure to danger was practically an everyday occurrence. But he didn’t tell Redonna that.

Captain Rejjerin knew where he came from, and so did Locklear. But no one else, and he wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise, he would have to get into an explanation as to why he had left the fleet, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Redonna tilted her head. “Hiding something, are we? I wonder what it could be.” She looked him up and down. Suddenly, something seemed to come to her. “Rings of Tultarri…why didn’t I see it from the beginning? You were a uniform, weren’t you?”

He frowned. “I don’t—”

“You worked for Starfleet,” said the pilot, making it sound like something dirty. “Admit it.”

Nikolas didn’t answer. He just kept frowning, stalling until he could think of something.

“Don’t worry,” said Redonna, “I won’t give away your little secret.” Her nostrils flared again, even wider this time. “I’ve got a secret too, you know.”

“Oh?” said Nikolas, his curiosity aroused.

“Yes. You see, I’ve been monitoring your schedule and Locklear’s for some time now, waiting for a moment when I could catch you alone in here.”

Nikolas’s heart started to beat a little harder. Was Redonna doing what he thought she was doing?

She put her hand to the front of her throat and caressed it with her fingertips. Then she dropped them a little lower and unfastened the topmost snap of her tunic, exposing a prominence analogous to a human collarbone and a little more of her perfect, striped flesh.

“You see,” Redonna said, her voice a little more languid now, a little more sinuous, “I’ve had my eye on you since the minute you beamed aboard.”

She leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Then, stronger than she looked, she drew him down to her.

“It gets lonely on a cargo hauler,” Redonna whispered. “But there are ways to relieve the loneliness.”

Suddenly Nikolas felt her mouth on his, her lips soft and warm, her breath redolent of something sharp and fragrant. And part of him was tempted to give in, because he was lonely too.

Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw Gerda Idun—sleeping like a child as the hours approached morning, her golden hair spread like a fan across his pillow. And the idea of being with anyone else became inconceivable to him.

In that moment, he pulled away from Redonna—and saw the surprise in her eyes. But it didn’t stay there long. It was quickly replaced with cold, sharp-edged anger.

“You don’t like me?” she spat.

“It’s not that,” said Nikolas. “It’s—” He felt he had to give her some taste of the truth. “There’s someone else.”

Redonna glared at him for a second. Then her mouth twisted into a sneer. “I hope she’s worth it, Starfleet. You don’t have any idea what you’re missing.”

Then she thrust him away, got up from his bed, and headed for the door. Pounding the pad set into the bulkhead, she waited until the panel slid open. Then, without a look backward, she stalked off into the corridor.

Nikolas sighed. He had left the Stargazer to forget Gerda Idun, to put her behind him with the rest of his past. But even here she continued to dog his steps, to haunt him with the memory of her beauty.

Falling back on his bed, he closed his eyes and wondered if he would ever be free.

Ben Zoma was in the process of dozing off when he heard Horombo call his name. Blinking away sleep, he joined the security officer at the navigation controls.

By then, McAteer was up and about as well. He peered over Horombo’s shoulder as he had peered over so many others.

Ignoring him, the first officer asked, “Got something?”

“I believe I do, sir,” said Horombo.

“Slow to impulse,” said Ben Zoma.

“Impulse,” Paris confirmed.

Suddenly, the stars froze around them. No longer vivid streaks of light, they were simply tiny points now, insistent but static.

However, they hadn’t traveled all this way just to gaze at the neighborhood. Ben Zoma watched Horombo check his monitors for additional data on the supply ship.

“Is it what we came for?” asked the first officer.

“It sure seems like it,” said Horombo.

Ben Zoma smiled. “Distance?”

“Fifty thousand kilometers.”

The first officer was about to ask Horombo to put their objective on a screen. But at that distance, they would be within visual range in a matter of seconds.

“There she is,” said Paris, pointing forward.

Ben Zoma took a peek through the observation port. So did McAteer, getting between Paris and Horombo in the process.

What they saw was daunting, to say the least.

The vessel was colossal, several times the size of the Stargazer and dark gray in color. Its long, angular hull boasted eight small nacelles, their mouths all glowing with a fierce vermilion light.

None of the warships it served were visible. However, the sensors were registering their presence, the nearest one being almost two hundred kilometers up ahead.

“Life signs?” asked McAteer.

“None that I can detect,” said Horombo.

“I think I see a cargo bay,” said Chen. He pointed to a rectangular outline on the drone’s port side.

“I don’t know what else it could be,” said Horombo.

“We can try to get in that way,” said Ben Zoma. “But I’d prefer to find a docking port. Then we’ve got a shot at manual access.”

“I think I found one,” Ramirez announced from an aft station. “And here’s another, on the other side.”

The first officer went back to see what Ramirez was looking at. Sure enough, there was a much smaller outline that suggested a docking facility.

He turned to his pilot. “Mister Paris, you’ll stay with the admiral. The rest of you will—”

“The hell he will,” said McAteer.

Ben Zoma looked at him. “Sir?”

“I have no intention of hanging back in this shuttle, Commander. If you’re going to try this, you’re going to do it with the benefit of my experience.”

The first officer didn’t know how good an idea it was to include the admiral on the away team. Even if McAteer had once been a crack ship’s officer, it was a long time since he had put himself on a bull’s-eye. He might get into trouble and drag the rest of them down along with him.

“Sir,” said Ben Zoma, seizing on the first angle that came to mind, “this is going to be a pretty dangerous proposition. I’d be remiss in my duty if I put the life of a superior officer in jeopardy.”

McAteer smiled a sour smile. “Not if that superior officer insisted on it—which I do.”

There wasn’t much that Ben Zoma could say to that. The decision had been taken out of his hands.

“All right,” he said. He turned again to Paris, who had watched the exchange with interest. “You might as well come too. We can put the shuttle on autopilot.”

“Aye, sir,” said the ensign. But it was clear that he was glad to be going along.

And Ben Zoma was glad to have him. It would be helpful to have another capable officer at his disposal—especially when he would constantly have to keep one eye out for McAteer.

Picard stood in the engine room of the Antares, studying a vaguely hourglass-shaped warp core that was identical to that of the Stargazer right down to the last stem bolt. It was shimmering inside with a ghostly, blue light, looking every bit as vigorous as it should have.

“Well,” Picard observed with satisfaction, “it appears that you are back in business.”

“That it does,” said Captain Vayishra, who was standing beside him, his aquiline features softened by the glare. “But if you hadn’t come along, the Antares would have been as dead as the invaders left her.”

And you and your crew along with it, thought Picard. But he refrained from mentioning that unhappy detail.

“We were pleased that we could help,” he said instead.

Vayishra looked as if he meant to say something more. However, he was interrupted by the voice of his com officer, which Picard had by then heard often enough to recognize as easily as his own.

“Captain,” said the officer, “I have Admiral Mehdi. He wishes to speak with both you and Captain Picard.”

The two men exchanged glances. Vayishra seemed to be of the same opinion as Picard—that they wouldn’t appreciate what they were about to hear.

“Patch it through to the main engineering console,” said Vayishra.

“Aye, sir,” said the com officer.

Picard and Vayishra moved to the console in question. It was in the same place as the one used by Simenon on the Stargazer. A moment later, Mehdi’s image appeared on a monitor screen. He looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping very well.

“Good news?” Picard asked hopefully, despite the admiral’s appearance.

“I wish it were,” said Mehdi.

Do not tell me that something happened to the shuttle, Picard insisted silently. Please do not tell me that.

“Two more of our ships have been attacked,” Mehdi reported. “The Ojanju and the Gettysburg. Both of them managed to send out warnings to the fleet before they fell incommunicado.”

Picard absorbed the information.

“Judging by the coordinates of the attacks,” the admiral continued, “our adversaries are steadily moving toward the heart of the Federation. They’ll reach Earth in a matter of days if we don’t stop them.”

Picard understood the significance of Mehdi’s observation. However, it was Vayishra who expressed it out loud.

“It’s been more than a hundred years,” he said, “since an enemy has gotten within firing range of Earth.”

And back then, Picard noted, there was significantly less at stake—the fate of a single planet, not an entire union of worlds. If Starfleet Command were destroyed, the damage to the Federation would be incalculable.

“Command has decided that we’ll make a stand,” said Mehdi, “with all the firepower we can muster. The Antares, I understand, is in no shape to fight….”

“However,” Picard inferred, “the Stargazer is—and you want her to be part of the effort.”

“What I want,” said Mehdi, “is for you to be off studying worlds we’ve never seen before, looking for new forms of life and undiscovered civilizations. But under the circumstances, yes, I’d like you to be part of the Federation’s defense.”

Picard nodded. “Consider it done, sir.”

Mehdi fashioned a halfhearted smile. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll transmit the pertinent coordinates.”

Picard didn’t like seeing the admiral this way. He seemed to be carrying the weight of the entire Federation on his narrow shoulders. “We will stop them,” the captain blurted, attempting to sound as reassuring as possible.

Mehdi appeared to brighten a bit. “I trust you’re right,” he said. He looked around. “I’ve grown rather fond of this place. I’d hate to lose it.”

And his image vanished from the screen.

“This place,” said Vayishra, echoing the admiral’s words. “I wonder if he meant his office…or Earth.”

It was an ominous question. Picard didn’t have the stomach for answering it. Neither did Vayishra, apparently.

Picard turned to his colleague. “I hate to leave the Antares to her own devices.”

“Don’t worry,” said Vayishra, “we’ll manage. It’s the Stargazer I’m concerned about.”

Picard regarded Vayishra, wondering what, exactly, the fellow intended by his remark. After all, he was an ally of McAteer. Was he implying that the Stargazer’s captain wouldn’t be equal to the task in front of him?

“We’ll manage as well,” he said, unable to quite keep the indignation out of his voice. Then he started for the exit.

“Picard,” said Vayishra.

Picard stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“All I meant was that you’ll be on the front line. Nothing else, I promise you.”

Picard took the remark at face value. “Thank you,” he told Vayishra. Then he turned again, and left engineering for the nearest transporter room.