He tried to respond with a pile driver of his own, but I vaulted over the rail again and he connected with nothing but air. Unluckily for me, he followed me over the rail.

Corbis swung his fist at me and I ducked. He swung again and I ducked a second time.

I thought to sweep his legs out from under him when something or rather, someone hit me from the side. We rolled a couple of meters together before we could even begin to disengage.

I was about to lash out at my attacker when I was realized it was Worf. Apparently, one of his opponents had sent him flying in my direction.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You?"

"I've been worse," I told him.

And that was all the time we had for conversation because our enemies had come together and were headed straight for us. What was worse, we had precious little room to maneuver, thanks to the tables wedged behind us.

There was no shortage of chairs either. But that wasn't a problem. Far from it, in fact. With one mind, Worf and I reached back and grabbed the nearest chairs to hand. And as our adversaries closed with us, we swung at them for all we were worth.

There was a great clatter and cry, in the course of which I believed I had connected with my target. Nonetheless, something barreled into me, sending me hurtling end over end across the table in back of me. In fact, over several tables in back of me.

As I struggled to my feet, reluctant to let Worf carry on the battle all alone, I caught sight of a leather boot. Looking up, I saw that it belonged to the captain. Red Abby was glaring down at me.

"That's enough!" she snapped, her voice like a whip.

Suddenly, everything stopped. Looking back toward the replicators, I saw that Worf and the Oord were locked in midstruggle. Slowly, their anger wilting under Red Abby's scrutiny, they let each other go.

A moment later, Corbis and the Thelurian got up from the floor. They looked bruised. The Thelurian was bleeding from a broken nose.

I got to my feet. I was bleeding, as well, I realized, from a cut across my cheek. I looked at Red Abby, then the rest of the diners, whose enthusiasm for the brawl had cooled considerably.

Red Abby turned to me. "I don't like fighting on my ship," she said. She eyed Worf and then the Pandrilite and finally his friends. "I don't care who was right and who was wrong. If there's a repeat of this, I'll jettison the lot of you into s.p.a.ce. Do I make myself clear?"

"Eminently," I said.

After all, there was a mission at stake. I was willing to swallow my pride, to do whatever was necessary to see it to a successful conclusion.

For Worf, it was a little harder. But he managed to appear humble nonetheless. "It will not happen again," he vowed.

Red Abby extracted the same kind of promise from Corbis and his friends, though the lot of them had to be seething inside. Then she turned and left the mess hall.

In her wake, things returned to normal. Tables and chairs were righted and the crew sat down to eat. The only exceptions were the Pandrilite and his allies. They chose to leave instead but not before Corbis shot us the dirtiest of looks.

As Worf and I took up positions on the replicator line, our meals having been casualties of the altercation, I leaned in to whisper a warning to my officer. After all, the Pandrilite and his comrades didn't seem eager to forgive and forget.

"We'll have to keep an eye on Corbis," I told him.

Worf nodded. "I agree."

However, Corbis would soon be the least of our worries.

Madigoor DRAVVIN SHUDDERED. "NASTY, those Pandrilites."

"They can be," Picard replied. He thought of Vigo, who had served under him on the Stargazer. "On the other hand, I had a Pandrilite weapons officer who was gentler than you could ever imagine."

Robinson grunted. "Not when it came to the enemy, I trust."

"No," Picard conceded. "Not then."

"I knew a couple of Pandrilites once," said Bo'tex. "Twin sisters. Lovely creatures, too. They had an intriguing little stage show on a station called Mephil Trantos ..."

Hompaq held her hand up. "Spare me, Caxtonian."

Bo'tex fell silent. However, he looked as if he would have dearly loved to say more.

"Captain Hompaq is quite right," said Robinson. "This table is no place for the tawdry and the tasteless. At least, not tonight it's not. Until the sun comes up or suns, as the case may be we're dealing exclusively in remarks of delicacy and refinement."

The Caxtonian looked contrite. But he also looked as if he would speak of his Pandrilites if only someone would let him.

"I've never actually seen a Pandrilite," said the Captain of the Kalliope. "Are as they as big as people say they are?"

"Probably," Dravvin replied.

"They're not only tall, you see," said Flenarrh, "but also extremely muscular. However, the most impressive thing about them is their diet."

Picard recalled Vigo's favorite dish. "That officer of mine used to like something called sturrd."

Flenarrh nodded. "I've seen it. It looks like a pile of fine sand mixed with shards of broken gla.s.s."

The Captain of the Kalliope made a face. "Sounds appetizing."

Dravvin cast a sidelong glance at Hompaq. "Appetizing is in the eye of the beholder," he noted. "Even Pandrilites like their food cooked."

Taking the bait, Hompaq curled her lip at him. "Klingons prefer to cook their enemies."

Picard knew it was a joke. So did the others, he imagined. Still, Dravvin looked too disgusted to come up with a reply.

"Now, then," said Robinson, "let's not get too far afield. Our friend Picard was regaling us with a tale, remember?"

"That's right," said Bo'tex, leaning forward with curiosity.

"Tell me," Flenarrh asked the captain, "what did you mean when you said Corbis would soon be the least of your worries?"

Picard smiled sympathetically. "That would be getting ahead of myself."

The Tale AS WORF AND I were newcomers to the Daring, I had expected Red Abby to relegate us to scut work running diagnostics in engineering, perhaps, or safety-checking the ship's half dozen life-pods. Apparently, that was not to be the case.

When the duty list was posted, we found that we had been a.s.signed to the Daring's bridge. Exchanging looks, Worf and I said nothing. We merely made certain not to be late.

When we arrived on the bridge, a place marked by gray-and-black metal bulkheads and pale green lighting globes, we saw Astellanax occupying the rounded captain's chair. Red Abby herself was absent, no doubt getting some rest.

The Orion turned to me. "You, the jack-of-all-trades. You'll be manning the helm." He glanced at Worf. "And I'll need you at tactical. Any questions, either one of you?"

We shook our heads from side to side. "No questions at all," I said, for the sake of clarity.

Astellanax nodded. "Then get to it."

I felt strange a.s.suming any other post but the center seat. After all, it had been more than twenty years since I served as anything but the captain of a s.p.a.cegoing ship.

Nonetheless, I did as I was bidden.

As I approached the helm, Thadoc unfolded himself from behind his console. "She's all yours," he told me. Then he added, in a decidedly more sober tone: "Treat her right."

"I have every intention of doing so," I a.s.sured him, and sat down in the helmsman's place.

Sturgis, who was sitting at navigation and showed no sign of leaving, cast a wary eye at me as I joined him. I mumbled something. He mumbled back. It was the extent of our camaraderie.

Worf's position was behind mine, so I couldn't watch as he acclimated himself to the ship's weapons control console. It was just as well. I had my hands full getting to know the Daring's helm.

Still, I took note of two officers whom I had not yet met. One was the operations officer, a blond man with a boyish smile and a long, ornate earring though it wasn't of the Bajoran variety. I would learn later that the fellow's name was Dunwoody.

The other officer, a dark-haired woman, was at the bridge's engineering station. Her name was Sheel a Trill, as I would also learn, though not the joined kind.

We soared through subs.p.a.ce at warp six, the stars streaking by us, all periodic system checks coming up negative. In short, the Daring was in admirable working order.

It wasn't until near the end of our tour, when the captain and her morning-shift personnel came out onto the bridge, that we hit our first snag. What's more, it had nothing to do with the workings of the ship.

Our first hint of it was when Sturgis scowled at his navigation monitor, where long-range sensor scans were reflected. "Captain," he said, "sensors show something dead ahead."

"Something?" Red Abby echoed.

The man's scowl deepened. "Ships," he said. "Five of 'em."

The captain came over and peered at Sturgis's board. "Let's see them," she said, her voice cool and even.

A moment later, the image on the viewscreen changed. It showed five specks. And though I couldn't see them very well, their precise positioning confirmed they were s.p.a.cegoing vessels.

"Increase magnification," Red Abby ordered.

The image changed again. We were no longer looking at a collection of specks. They were ships, as Sturgis had indicated, though no two were of the same design.

Pirates, I thought. It was the inescapable conclusion.

Worf and I traded looks. This was precisely the sort of obstacle we had hoped to avoid. After all, we were only p.a.w.ns on this chessboard, subject to the whims of our captain and her newfound adversaries. And with their superior numbers, those adversaries had us at a distinct disadvantage.

Red Abby cursed beneath her breath. "Battle stations. Raise shields. Power up the phasers."

Our communications officer turned in his seat. "They're hailing us," he told the captain.

Red Abby glanced at him. "On screen."

A moment later, the image of a swarthy, heavily bearded human appeared on the viewer. His thick, unruly hair, shot through with strands of silver, was bound at the nape of his neck in a tight braid.

I recognized him. His name was Marrero Jaiya, a key figure in the Maquis rebellion. I'd clashed with him on two separate occasions, more to his chagrin than my own.

Apparently, he'd abandoned his post among the Maquis since our last encounter. Otherwise, he wouldn't be pirating in this sector or holding up our vessel at the point of his phasers.

Turning to Worf, I saw his Klingon brow furrow at the sight of Jaiya. When he shot a glance at me, there was a warning in his eyes one I had no trouble at all understanding.

If the pirate recognized either one of us, our cover was blown. We had to make sure that didn't happen. And as there was a good chance we were both on screen, we had to slink off-screen before disaster struck.

"What do you want of us?" Red Abby demanded of Jaiya.

Little by little, Worf and I made our way toward the periphery of the bridge. Nor did the former Maquis seem to notice.

"You've got a big, beautiful vessel there," he told our captain. "We could find a thousand uses for a vessel like that. Maybe a million."

"No doubt you could," Red Abby replied tautly. "I hope you get your hands on one someday."

"Actually," Jaiya said offhandedly, "we were thinking we might get our hands on one today. That is, if you were inclined to be ... how can I put it? Generous as well as realistic."

Red Abby shook her head. "I'm not very generous. Any of my men will tell you that. But when it comes to realism, I'm a past master."

Worf and I kept moving, inch by careful inch. And still no reaction from the pirate. Finally, we removed ourselves to a position from which we didn't think we could be spotted.

"I see," Jaiya said. "Then you'll stand down your weapons and drop your shields, so we can inspect our new vessel."

"I'll do nothing of the kind," Red Abby replied evenly.

"But you're outnumbered," he pointed out. "And outgunned."

"And I've got a big, beautiful vessel, remember? One you wouldn't covet unless you appreciated its tactical capabilities which are more than enough to send your people to their respective makers."

The pirate looked at her for a moment. "You know, I'd heard you could be stubborn on occasion."

"You heard right," Red Abby a.s.sured him.

"Even when the odds are five-to-one?"

"All that means," she said, "is I've got five times as many targets to choose from."

"I see," Jaiya responded. "Then, as they say, the ball is in my court. Do I wish to mar that beautiful vessel by blowing big, ugly holes in her hull and perhaps take a few lives into the bargain? Or do I grant you safe pa.s.sage for the time being?"

"That's the choice," Red Abby agreed. "But as you consider it, consider something else as well. If the situation becomes a violent one, your vessel will be the one I'll go after first."

The pirate's eyes narrowed slightly. "A threat?"