"But I haven't been given a chance here. I'm willing to put in the hours. I'm willing to accept responsibility. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to become a captain myself one day. But I'm not going to get there by checking cargo day in and day out."

"Cargo oversight is one of the duties a.s.signed to ensigns on this ship," Picard reminded him.

"I understand that, sir. And I wouldn't mind doing it-if I also got the opportunity to do something more. Or, for that matter, if I was only being treated the same as everyone else. Out of all the ensigns on the Enterprise, I'm the only one who hasn't even gotten near the bridge level-until now. And with all due respect, Captain, your ready room isn't quite the part of the bridge I had in mind."

Picard nodded. "Have you discussed this with Commander Riker himself, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir," Kane replied. "On more than one occasion. And he's told me that the a.s.signments he gives his ensigns are his own business-not a matter that's open to discussion."

"I see," said the captain. He considered the ensign and could see no hint of duplicity in him. He appeared to be telling the truth.

But if that were so, then Riker was guilty of some sort of private vendetta. And that didn't seem very likely.

Abruptly, Kane got to his feet again. "I didn't mean to take up so much of the captain's time," he remarked.

"Don't apologize," Picard told him. He stood as well. "You can be sure I will look into the situation, Ensign."

Kane looked grateful. "That's all I ask, sir."

Lt. Commander Data had come a long way toward understanding human beings in the handful of years he'd served aboard the Enterprise. And one of the human beings he had come to understand best was his commanding officer, Captain Picard.

Data had barely joined the crew of the Enterprise when he noticed that Picard was given to extensive use of his ready room. It was a matter of style; some captains preferred to spend most of their time in their command seats, while others sat there only when it was absolutely necessary. Picard leaned more toward the latter than the former.

But even among those who retreated to their sanctums at the drop of a communicator, there were stylistic differences. Some wished to be left alone as much as possible; others wanted to be alerted to every little detail of the ship's management, no matter how slight or inconsequential.

On this behavioral axis, Picard favored the former more than the latter. Nor was it a matter of reclusiveness, as the android had suspected early on. The captain simply felt that once he had selected the best people for the job, they should be allowed to do that job.

By the same token, he did not expect to be interrupted needlessly. After all, a ship's captain had a job to do as well, and much of it-too much, some would say-came in the form of correspondence, a.n.a.lysis and continuing education.

Unfortunately for Data, he'd had to learn Picard's foibles the hard way. In his first day on the bridge, he had found occasion to invade the sanct.i.ty of the captain's ready room half a dozen times-until Picard finally called him in for a one-on-one meeting.

"Mr. Data," he'd said, his voice thick with what the android now recognized as irony, "have you never heard of something called initiative? Do you intend to check with me before breathing?"

Data's answer had been "Of course not, sir. Breathing is ah involuntary part of my program. The process requires no conscious decisions. However, if it ever becomes preferable not to breathe ..."

"You will make that choice on your own," the captain had finished, in a carefully measured tone. He'd studied the android for a moment. "Data, if I wanted to make all the decisions myself-or thought I needed to-I'd be out there on the bridge twenty-four hours a day. You were selected to be this ship's second officer because you are good at what you do. Because I trust you to be my surrogate. Is that clear?"

Data had nodded. "Quite clear, sir."

And ever since that juncture, he had made it his business to take care of all matters within his purview -leaving only the most important judgments to Captain Picard. Nor had the captain ever found it necessary to have that discussion with him again.

So it was that when Data discovered something unexpected in a routine sensor sweep, he initially made no mention of it to the captain. First, he isolated it. Then he recorded it. Then he verified that it was precisely what it seemed to be. And finally, he a.n.a.lyzed it.

Only then, when he was sure that he had come across something of genuine interest, did he decide it would be best to alert his commanding officer.

Darrin Kane was riding high. Higher, in fact, than Andy Sousa had ever seen him.

"I knew I could get somewhere if I talked to the captain," said Kane. "I knew he'd bring that spit-and-polish sonuvagun Riker down a peg."

Sousa found it hard to believe that a word or two from his fellow ensign had been enough to sway the captain. From what he'd seen, Picard wasn't a man easily bamboozled.

"Are you sure he did bring him down a peg?"

Kane nodded. "d.a.m.ned sure. The captain and my old man are buddies from way back. As far as Picard knows, I'm a real golden boy, a chip off the old block. There's no way he's going to let that bearded wonder off the hook."

As they negotiated a bend in the corridor, a pair of female civilians pa.s.sed them going in the other direction. Kane flashed a grin at them; they grinned back.

Sousa wished he could do that. He wished he could be that confident, that sure of himself. It just wasn't in his makeup.

That's why Kane would probably be a captain before his thirtieth birthday, and Sousa would be lucky to be a captain at all. Ever.

Sure, he'd made a good start here on the Enterprise.

He was well-liked, even praised from time to time for his work at the conn. But as Kane had told him on more than one occasion, nice guys finished last-if they finished at all.

"Hey, helm-jockey. I think this is your stop."

"Huh?"

Sousa turned to see that he'd left his fellow ensign behind, standing next to the turbolift. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd forgotten where he was going.

"This is where you wanted to go, isn't it?" Kane grinned. "Or have you discovered some kind of secret pa.s.sage up to the bridge?"

"Very funny," said Sousa. Feeling his cheeks grow hot, he avoided the other man's gaze as he headed for the lift.

"See you in the rec after hours, helm-jockey. I'll be the one with the big smile on his face," Kane told him.

As the doors to the lift opened, Sousa turned back to look at his companion. "Yeah," he said. "See you in the rec."

Then the doors closed and Sousa was on his way up to the bridge, wishing he'd been cut from the same cloth as Darrin Kane.

"Captain Picard?"

Picard was still pondering Ensign Kane's situation when he heard the android's voice come in over the intercom. "Yes, Data?"

"Sir, there is something here you should see."

The captain nodded. "I'm on my way." Rising, he rounded his desk and headed for the exit.

Kane's problem would have to wait. Mr. Data would not have summoned him unless this were a matter of some urgency.

As the ready room doors slid aside, he noted that the turbolift doors were parting as well. And as Picard crossed to Data's position at the aft science station, the lift discharged two figures his first officer and Ensign Sousa, both of whom were due to begin their shifts.

With a glance at the captain, Riker saw that something was up. "Sir?" he said.

Picard didn't answer. He merely gestured for Riker to join him. With the two of them converging on the science station, the android turned to look over his shoulder at them.

"What is it, Data?" asked Picard.

"A subs.p.a.ce radio wave," came the reply. As the captain and his first officer bent over the station's monitor array, Data expanded on the statement. "I have identified the signal. The transmission appears to be a Starfleet code used between fifty and eighty years ago." Working at the console a moment longer, he paused. "Code one alpha zero. Ship in distress."

From force of habit, Riker looked up at the intercom grid. Not that it was at all necessary; the computer would have picked up his voice just as clearly if he'd faced the deck instead-or for that matter, spoken in a whisper. "Computer, are there any Starfleet vessels reported missing in this sector?"

The computer's response was prompt and succinct. "Negative."

Picard cleared his throat before he amended the computer's directive. "Expand parameters to include adjacent sectors."

A list of ships came up on one of the monitors. Again, the audible response was almost instantaneous. "Transport ship SS Jenolen, NC five-six-seven, was reported missing on stardate seven-eight-nine-three-point-one while en route to Norpin Five."

Riker frowned. "Seventy-five years ago. I'd say we've found the Jenolen-but we're a long way from Norpin Five. They must've gone pretty far off course."

Picard nodded. "Indeed."

He turned to Sousa, who was sitting at the conn station. Sousa peered out at him from under his shock of dark, unruly hair.

"Ensign, establish coordinates for the source of the signal and plot a course for them. Warp factor eight."

"Aye, sir," answered Sousa, getting to work.

Riker looked at the captain. "Warp factor eight?" he repeated in a low voice, so that only he, Data and Picard could hear it. "Why the hurry?"

The captain frowned. His first officer had a point. If the Jenolen had been waiting for seventy-five years, it could wait a little longer. It wasn't as if there were going to be any survivors at this late juncture.

And yet...

Picard shrugged. "Call it intuition," he said, and left it at that.

Chapter Two.

WILL RIKER drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat in the command center. Stealing a glance at the stony visage of Captain Picard, who was again standing beside Data at the aft science station, he tried for the umpteenth time to decide if it was his imagination ... or if the captain was, for some reason, avoiding him.

For four days, they'd been riding the currents of that bizarre reality known as subs.p.a.ce, heading for a rendezvous with what was left of the Jenolen. And in all that time, Picard hadn't met his first officer's gaze.

For a long time, it had been just a nagging suspicion. Now, Riker was almost certain of it... even tempted to confront the captain with his observations.

No. He reigned himself in. If Picard wanted to discuss the matter-whatever it was-he would do so in his own good time. And that was his right. He would do as he thought best.

Maybe after the Jenolen had been discovered and explored, Picard would put his cards on the table. Yes... that's it, Riker decided. He wants to devote all his attention to the Jenolen. And when that's over, he'll take me aside and tell me what's on his mind.

"Captain?" It was Worf.

Turning away from the science console, Picard answered him. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"We are approaching the coordinates of the distress signal," the Klingon reported.

No surprise there. All it meant was that they were right on schedule.

Nonetheless, Picard nodded his acknowledgment of the fact. Turning to Rager, he said "Bring us out of warp, Ensign Rager. All stop."

Rager, a spritelike black woman, complied. "Aye, sir. All stop."

Riker stood, tired of keeping his seat. He got antsy whenever the ship was about to close in on its objective-particularly one it had been pursuing as long as this one.

Though the main viewscreen showed nothing except an unfamiliar starfield, he found himself straining to see anything that vaguely resembled a transport vessel. Needless to say, he had no success. They were still millions of kilometers short of the signal's source, which they would now a pproach on impulse power.

He'd barely finished his thought when the Enterprise was rocked-as if a giant hand had grasped it and was shaking it like a tambourine. Riker grasped at the back of Rager's chair to keep from being catapulted across the deck.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the shaking stopped. But that was no guarantee that they wouldn't be treated to a repeat performance.

"Yellow alert," cried Riker, his voice reverberating throughout the enclosed s.p.a.ce and spreading to the rest of the ship via the intercom system.

At the same time, he headed back to his place in the command center. Picard and Data were less than a step behind him, moving toward their own customary positions on the bridge.

"Report," intoned Picard, as he took his seat a little uncertainly.

"We have entered a ma.s.sive gravitational field," replied Worf.

Picard turned to look at him. He wasn't alone. After all, there was nothing on the screen close enough to possess a gravitational field-much less one as powerful as the one they'd run into.

"Mr. Data?" the captain said, hoping for more information.

The android was bent over the Ops station, where he'd replaced the crewman who had been sitting there before. "There are no stars or other stellar bodies listed at these coordinates on our navigational charts." He paused. "However, sensor readings indicate the presence of an extremely strong gravitational source in this vicinity." Another pause. "Directly ahead."

It didn't make sense, Riker told himself. Unless ... the object creating the field was cloaked somehow.

Picard must have had the same idea. "Mr. Worf," he said, "can you localize the source of the gravity field?"

For a moment, the Klingon worked at his console. Then he looked up. "Yes, sir."

Good, thought the first officer. Now we're getting somewhere.

"On screen," said the captain.

The starfield on the viewscreen changed, reflecting another view. And if one looked closely, there was a small, dark ball at its center.

"Magnify," commanded Picard.

The image jumped up several orders of magnitude, until the dark ball could be seen more easily. After the final jump, it appeared as round and smooth as a billiard ball-but because it was so dark, it was hard to discern anything else about it.

It mystified Riker. He'd never seen anything like it.

"Sensors?" he said, finally breaking the spell. They needed information-and they needed it as quickly as possible. Who knew what other surprises awaited them in this gravitational field?