T'sart now looked up. "Klingons?"

"You may need to call in extra shifts." Picard ignored the Romulan's obvious concern.

Beverly's head turned from T'sart to Picard. She felt the tension. "Aye, sir."

"Wait, Picard." T'sart now turned his chair completely toward the captain and away from the computer on which he'd been working. "Why are you taking on pa.s.sengers?"

Ignoring the Romulan, Picard continued to talk directly to Beverly. "Seven Klingon ships are trapped in a nearby dead zone. Four light hours away, their planet's seven matter antimatter reactors have lost containment."

"Klingon fools," T'sart spat. "They didn't have a contingency for blasting their cores into s.p.a.ce if losing containment was imminent? They've destroyed their own planet."

"The subs.p.a.ce Shockwave seems to have been easily dissipated by the dead zone," Picard continued, deliberately speaking only to the doctor. He lowered his voice just enough that it should be difficult for T'sart to hear without listening closely. "But the normal Shockwave is on its way. With the ships in the dead zone, they haven't enough power for their inertial dampers."

"You're expecting the Shockwave to push them out of the dead zone." T'sart frowned. "That it will, but at close to light speed. If they don't have inertial dampers, they'll be pounded to mush against their bulkheads. Having your doctor ready to fix broken legs won't help."

"We'll be going into the dead zone to retrieve them," Picard told her.

"You're insane," T'sart hissed.

Picard looked at him a moment. He was angry. That was the first time he'd really showed anything but smug arrogance or mild annoyance. T'sart was upset. At what? His own mortality? Then why wasn't he enraged that Kalor had poisoned him?

Unsure, the captain continued to ignore T'sart. "We'll be tractoring onto them. If we pour on the power, they should be able to collect some of that energy and transfer it to their inertial dampeners."

"That won't be enough," T'sart barked. "And you'll be weakened in the attempt. You're risking the destruction of this vessel for them?"

Staring at the Romulan for a long moment, Picard decided to finally speak directly to him. "Is that fear in your voice, T'sart? Surely not for our mission, not for the galaxy. Fear for yourself? I thought you didn't fear death."

"You're a fool, Picard."

"Why?" He took a step toward the angry Romulan. "Because I value life that's not my own?"

"It's not your life you're risking, but the lives of every living thing in this entire galaxy."

The more emotion that seethed into T'sart's voice, the more calm and matter-of-fact Picard made his own. "I don't believe it's an either/or situation. But your argument might be more persuasive if we didn't know exactly how much you cared for any life but your own: nothing. However... your fear of death is interesting, T'sart. I'll be sure to remember it."

They were silent for a time, until Picard's comm badge beeped.

"Spock to Picard."

He tapped his badge. "Picard here."

"Captain, we have a problem. The Klingons are using their thrusters to go deeper into the dead zone."

"I'll be right there." Picard nodded to Doctor Crusher. "Have sickbay ready," he told her, then turned and left.

Picard found Kalor still in the captain's ready room off the bridge, slumped in Picard's desk chair. "You want to explain what in h.e.l.l your ships are doing?"

The Klingon looked up and squinted into the light. His face was flushed a bit purple and the flesh around his eyes and mouth seemed loose, doughy. When he spoke, he slurred. "The honorable thing."

"I'm trying to save them, and you're making it impossible." Picard walked toward him.

"It is impossible."

A frightened Romulan and a drunk Klingon. "You seem to be agreeing with T'sart," Picard said.

Kalor coughed, what might have been his weak attempt at a chuckle. "Then he is not always a fool."

"Or you both are."

The Klingon shook his head. "You have a mission. Complete it."

"I can do that and save those ships," Picard said.

"I disagree. They're my ships. I will do what... what I see fit."

Picard nodded and leaned down over the desk. "And this is my ship. And I'll do as I see fit. I'm saving those vessels. You can make that easier for me, or more difficult. But I'll do it, without or without your help." He swiveled the computer around toward Kalor. "Call them. Now."

"Status, Spock." Picard marched onto the bridge.

"The Klingons are maneuvering back this way, as quickly as they can."

Picard nodded.

"They'll need to transfer all their battery power to their structural integrity fields," Spock said.

Kalor nodded as he came out of Picard's office, suppressing an obvious stagger. "I have alerted them."

"Helm," Picard said, "plot a course into the dead zone. We'll lose power and maneuverability quickly. Stand by on tractor beams." He turned to Spock. "You're sure this will keep the Klingon ships from careening out of control?"

"Negative. Once in the dead zone, we may not have the power to tractor seven separate vessels all being pushed at near light speed."

With so many people lost on the planet... well, Picard wanted to save those he could, now that he wasn't option less He looked up toward the Klingon governor, who was leaning across the upper bridge handrail, supporting his bulk clumsily and without much dignity. "We'll save whom we can."

Kalor nodded. "I know."

Enterprise Runabout Kaku Romulan s.p.a.ce Sector 18 "I'd like to trust you..." Riker sighed and looked away from Tobin's sad, almost childlike face. He felt as if he was having to tell a little boy he'd just accidentally killed his pet puppy.

"I would ... like you to trust me," Tobin said, and seemed to be attempting a hopeful smile. He reclined in one of the runabout chairs, and so looked even more disarmed than his smile alone painted him.

Riker looked up at Deanna and she didn't give him the encouraging nod he was hoping for. He looked back to Tobin. "We have a mission," he tried to explain. "It's very important. I can't take the chance that our meeting you isn't a coincidence."

Lowering his head with a slow nod, Tobin seemed to be considering that. "I do not know what I could say to prove to you my honesty and sincerity."

What Riker probably couldn't explain, so he didn't want to try, was that there was nothing Tobin could say.

There was just too much at risk to invest even more time in this man and his ship. The problem was, they couldn't just leave him to go on his way, either.

"Tobin," Riker began. "It's not just a matter of your not being able to come with us ..."

The Romulan looked up, from Riker to Data, then to Deanna and back to Riker. "You are going to kill me?"

"Of course not!" Deanna said.

"No, no." Riker ran his hand through his hair. "But I am going to have Mr. Data disable your vessel."

"You ... why?" The Romulan's brows knitted together in confusion.

"Because ..." How could Riker explain this? "Look, it will only be enough to keep you here for a few days. Life support will be fine. Your cloak will be fine. But you won't be able to maneuver or use communications. You'll be able to repair the systems you need, but probably won't finish until we're out of Romulan s.p.a.ce."

Tobin frowned. He wasn't a moron. He understood. He was just incredulous. "You're going to intentionally damage my vessel."

"I... I'm sorry, Mr. Tobin." Riker looked at Deanna again. She was the empath, but he knew she felt sorry for him.

"I suppose I understand." The Romulan said slowly. "I have ... perhaps strangely, enjoyed this encounter, nevertheless."

One thing was certain, Tobin knew how to lay on the guilt.

Romulan Warbird Makluan Klingon/Romulan border Sectors "Why?" Folan kept asking herself. Why would T'sart defect to the Federation? What reason could take him from his relatively high degree of prestige and power?

She'd been acting on anger until now and not using her best a.s.set-her intellect. T'sart had always used his mind to his advantage. Folan had to do the same.

If she could know what he and Picard were doing, she might also figure out the why and the how. Then she would know what she had to do to stop them.

She bounded from the command chair and up to Medric's station. "How complete was T'sart's deletion of his files from our databanks?"

Medric stared at her blankly for a moment, then finally said, "I don't know. I've not looked."

Folan felt a tightness in her chest. "Then look." It didn't seem that Medric was going to make any of this easy for her.

He glowered at his computer screen a few long moments as she stood waiting. "Personal files are gone," he said. "Wiped. Not even fragments left. But we still have logs of computer usage. Those can't be erased."

Folan was almost surprised T'sart hadn't figured out a way. "If we look at these, what might they tell us?"

"They won't tell you anything," Medric said, and she noted he'd said "you" and not "us."

"They wouldn't exist if they didn't tell us something."

"Fine. They won't tell you much: Periods of computer use. Databases accessed. Files open, closed, saved, deleted... standard actions."

Folan nodded, her mind already churning on the possibilities. "Transfer those logs to this station." She pointed at her old station. She was careful not to refer to it that way, though. "I want to see them all."

"Fine." Medric tapped the appropriate keys on his console.

The tension was thick. Folan hated it, but would endure. She must. She'd started this and swore she'd see it to its end.

She slid into the science station seat and began poring over the download. At first the logs were just a jumble of dates and times, file names and deletions. She couldn't make much of it. How could she hunt an animal that floated above the ground and left no tracks? Folan was no hunter.

But she was a scientist. She could look for a pattern. Any pattern.

First dates, then common file names. Then databases he used. And reused. And what sort of information each database held.

After more than an hour she raised her head from the console. "I have something," she said, her throat dry.

No one paid her any mind.

"Medric," she said in a commanding tone, "come here."

He rose, stepped over, and stood at her side. "Yes, SubCommander," he said, his tone bland.

She pointed toward one of the monitors. "Look."

He leaned down. "What am I supposed to see?"

Folan wanted to hit him, like she had her younger brothers when they'd annoyed her beyond imagination. "On three separate occasions, T'sart requested patrol information for sectors 18 through 50."

Medric grunted. "He's been nowhere near that sector. And we weren't going to be."

She nodded somewhat excitedly. "Exactly."

"So?" He shrugged. "There's nothing in that area anyway. A few outward colonies. Nothing important. It's too far out."

"Yes. But T'sart was interested."

He breathed out through his nose and leaned down closer to the console, this time with intent "He wants something out there, or wanted to travel out that way."

Folan nodded. "Yes. The question is 'what'?" She tapped at her board and a list of files flashed on another screen. "The only thing of even mild interest in this area is a subs.p.a.ce relay station."

"Only he would know," Medric said, but his tone was much less bored now.

"That's not all I've found. Our sensor logs show a subs.p.a.ce burst from the Enterprise when they were still in Romulan s.p.a.ce. Here, look." She pointed to yet another monitor graphing a list of sensor anomalies. "A warp vessel," she said. "A small one."

"Perhaps," Medric was suddenly slower to agree, "were we able to alert the fleet-"

"We're not." Folan snapped.

"So, what does this do for us?" Medric asked.

"I'm not sure of that part," she admitted. "But the only thing I can see of importance in this area is a relay hub that processes communications and computer database updates throughout these sectors. At first, I thought perhaps he needed some information from it."

"What kind of information?"

"No, listen, I rethought that. Relay stations like that are also used for emergency supply stores. There's an element they might be looking for there. They could add it to their warp intermix or plasma conduits and mask their warp signature to look like that of a warbird's."

Medric shook his head and frowned deeply. "That is not possible."

"It is," Folan corrected him. "I submitted a report to the Senate two years ago on this, but it was ignored. My specialty is power and energy systems, remember?"

Nodding slowly, Medric rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and leaned slightly on the lip of the science station. "Then why are T'sart and the Enterprise now in Klingon s.p.a.ce?"