Riker grunted. "Will the equipment survive another critical surge?" He waited for a moment, presumably as Geordi conferred with his colleagues.

"Negative, sir," came the engineer's measured reply. "If the station has a surge of the same magnitude as before, Data predicts severe damage to the remaining equipment, as well as to the structure of the station. I wish I had some better news, Commander... ."

That's just fine, the first officer thought. Without the alien equipment, even if they succeeded in finding the captain, they could forget about retrieving him from the past. Even though time travel was theoretically possible with a starship, the peril to the ship and crew was great, and the dangers posed by altering history were off the scale.

"Have you made any progress at all with the alien technology?" Riker asked finally.

"Very little, Commander. We have the subs.p.a.ce sensors and one monitor operating, but as we suspected, the memory seems to have been purged by the power surge. And so far, we haven't been able to isolate or operate any of the manual controls."

Riker could hear the frustration in Geordi's voice; he knew precisely how the chief engineer was feeling. So far, they had been thwarted at almost every turn since the moment they arrived at the d.a.m.ned alien station!

"Do your best, Geordi. And continue to report in at regular intervals. If you even suspect that the power surges are becoming a hazard, I want you to get the away team safely off the station. No heroics-I can't afford to lose any of you."

Riker almost added "as well as the captain," but he refused to give in to the doubts that were rising to the surface. If he didn't keep up hope, the crew would undoubtedly lose faith as well. And without hope, they couldn't continue to do the impossible.

"Understood. La Forge out."

"Entering system, Commander," Worf announced from behind him.

During the conversation with Geordi, Riker had pitched his voice low, so the bridge crew wouldn't hear. But his security chief, he knew, had heard everything. Still, Worf's voice was as sure as it was when the search began. Giving up simply was not in the Klingon's makeup.

Riker gave the order and the ship came out of warp. They made the orbital scans in thirty-nine minutes-a full seven minutes under the estimate. Well, at least, something had been going right on this mission. The crew and ship were continuing to perform minor miracles several times per shift.

"Time until next system?" he asked Worf.

"Five hours," came the Klingon's reply.

In that case, Riker decided, it was time for him to get some rest. Ro was currently on a rest period of her own, but Worf would be able to handle things easily enough during the warp journey to the next star.

Riker turned to his security chief. "Lieutenant, you have the conn. I'll be in my quarters."

Worf nodded, and the exec headed for the turbolift. He was almost there when Ro came bounding out of the lift doors. Riker could tell from the tension in her eyes that she hadn't been doing any resting during her rest cycle.

"Commander, could I have a word with you?" she asked.

Riker walked past her, entered the turbolift, and turned around. "If you don't mind accompanying me."

Ro immediately joined him in the lift.

"Deck seven," Riker said to the computer. Then he turned his attention back to the Bajoran. He had been expecting this visit. In fact, he'd expected it sooner. For a moment, he decided to forestall the inevitable. "You were under orders to rest, Ensign."

She frowned. "I was following a new line of inquiry that I saw as vital to our mission. It superseded my need for rest." There wasn't even a hint of apology in her voice.

Ro watched her commander, obviously waiting for a response or, Riker supposed, a challenge. But the ensign waited only a moment, apparently taking her superior's silence as a signal to continue.

"Sir, I have found a way to allow the Enterprise to complete the search in the time remaining to us."

"Ensign, I understand-" Riker cut his own words off. He had been expecting Ro to challenge the wisdom of continuing an effort as apparently hopeless as the search for the captain. He had been prepared to flat-out order her to carry out her instructions and not engage him in useless squabbling. Instead, he found himself momentarily thrown by her declaration.

"What do you mean?" Riker said.

Ro licked her lips. "I have contacted a consortium of Bajoran merchant ships in the area, who have agreed to discuss the possibility of joining the search. There are six ships available, and if we deploy them carefully, we can cover all of the systems in the search area before our deadline."

Was it possible? Riker thought. Were there merchant ships in the area? And if so, why hadn't Starfleet Command been able to secure their help? "Ensign, what is the name of this consortium?"

Here, Ro faltered for a moment. "They are from the Bon Amar trading group-"

"Pirates," Riker spat out.

"Sir, they are-"

"They are pirates, Ensign." Now he was genuinely annoyed. The ship was conducting a ma.s.sive search against astronomical odds and an important summit that was falling apart by the minute-and Ro was talking to pirates.

The Bon Amar were wanted in several sectors by local and Federation authorities. If Riker so much as saw a Bon Amar vessel, he would be obligated to arrest the crew and confiscate the ship on sight.

"The Bon Amar have been treated unfairly since-" Ro began.

"They are of no use to us on this mission," Riker said.

"They are willing to help!" the ensign insisted.

Riker allowed his voice to rise in volume a notch above hers. "That's not the kind of help we need."

Ro turned to the computer panel. "Computer, stop turbolift," she snapped. Turning back to Riker, she said, "Sir, it is the only kind of help we are going to get. While it is true the Bon Amar have had to resort to nontraditional trading practices-"

"They've plundered legitimate trading routes," he reminded her.

Ro shook her head. "They did what they had to do to help finance the Bajoran resistance. Most of their appropriations were from Carda.s.sian or Carda.s.sian-friendly vessels. It's true that they're not licensed to operate in Federation trade lanes, but the only reason they weren't exonerated and fully recognized by the Federation is that they didn't quit after the Carda.s.sians left Bajor.

"They're still trying to recover a fraction of the damages done by the Carda.s.sians to my people. And because they're still active, they have been a political embarra.s.sment for the Federation, who would rather disavow them than risk upsetting the Carda.s.sians."

Riker scowled. "I leave politics to the politicians, Ensign. When it comes to the Bon Amar or any recognized criminals, my duty and the duty of this ship is clear. Your contact with wanted criminals raises a lot of questions ... which I will choose to overlook if that contact is not repeated."

But Ro wouldn't quit. "Sir, whatever feelings you may have about the Bon Amar, they're willing to help us for a fair price. And frankly, I don't think we can afford to turn down any a.s.sistance, no matter the source."

Riker drew his breath to respond, but the Bajoran obviously would not be satisfied until she had said her piece.

"With all due respect, Commander, I have watched you break every rule in the book on this mission to continue a search that any sane person would recognize as impossible. During that time, I and this crew have done everything in our power to support you. And now, when success may be in reach, you say that duty prevents you from finishing what you have started."

Riker had had enough. "Computer, start turbolift." He faced Ro. "Ensign, you're out of line. It's not up to you to decide what is and what is not acceptable in the course of fulfilling our mission. I took an oath when I joined Starfleet to uphold the laws of the Federation-and in case you've forgotten, you took the same one. That oath is not flexible or changeable when it becomes inconvenient. Captain Picard respected it, and I will not break it even to find him. I suggest you review it-and then take a long, hard look at your future here."

The turbolift doors opened and the first officer strode out. He turned back to Ro, making it clear from his face that he would accept no further argument on the subject of the Bon Amar. "And Ensign, get some rest. That's an order."

With that, he headed for his quarters.

Inside, Riker could feel the tension across his shoulders and his brow, and he realized that he wouldn't be doing any sleeping on this shift.

Moments later, he found himself sitting at his computer console. "Computer, access files on a trade consortium called the Bon Amar."

By the time Lieutenant Harold left, Picard was already feeling the toll of the day. He knew he needed rest. Both his head and his shoulder were beginning to ache and he could feel exhaustion creeping into his frame. He would need to conserve his resources if he was going to make a successful escape. Perhaps if he s.n.a.t.c.hed a few hours' sleep now, he would be able to visit the kitchen and slip away later tonight.

Just then, his intercom buzzed. The captain fought an impulse to say "Picard here." Instead, he answered, "Dixon Hill." There was no response except for the whistle of the intercom repeating itself.

Of course, he thought, chiding himself for forgetting his time period-the intercom wouldn't be voice activated. He found the intercom on the desk and hit the b.u.t.ton.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Dixon, it's Julia," came the reply. "I just wanted to ask you if you would care to dine with me tonight. The commodore is having his weekly dinner and I wrangled you an invitation."

"Julia, I'm afraid that-"

"The commodore sets an excellent table. In fact, it's common knowledge that ships go out of their way to use the supply facilities here just to take advantage of his hospitality." The doctor hesitated for a moment, then continued. "I'm afraid that we haven't done a very good job of making you feel welcome. Please give us a chance to change that."

Julia sounded sincerely concerned about his feelings, and Picard couldn't afford to turn down the commodore's invitation for fear of raising suspicions even further. "I would be delighted," he said finally.

"Excellent," she responded brightly. "I will stop by at seven-thirty. Good-bye, Dixon."

Moments later, Harold appeared at the door, with a suit of civilian clothes. Undoubtedly, the commodore's weekly dinner was too formal for Picard's generic coveralls.

Seven-thirty. That gave the captain nearly two hours to sleep. Without wasting another second, he lay down, intending to make use of the time.

Julia arrived promptly at seven-thirty. When he answered the door, Picard didn't recognize the doctor for a moment. Instead of her plain civilian tunic and trousers, she wore a simple but striking green dress. It matched her eyes.

Her short, dark hair was worn up, making her look quite elegant. Picard was suddenly grateful to her for sending Lieutenant Harold over with more formal clothing for him.

"Julia, you look wonderful," he told her.

She smiled. "And you look very handsome, Mr. Hill."

Returning the smile, Picard nodded. "I thank you for the clothes. They are an excellent fit."

"I'm pleased. Shall we go?"

Outside, the captain saw that the sun was beginning to go down over the low, distant mountains, giving the sky a crimson cast. The sun itself was ringed with halos of subtly different shades between red and orange.

"It's a beautiful world, isn't it, Dixon?" Julia sighed. "When we first arrived, I watched the sun go down every evening for six months. I still try to make sure I'm outside this time of day whenever I can be."

"It is spectacular," Picard said honestly.

Julia maintained a slow pace, no doubt so that they could both enjoy the natural display. The captain found her eagerness to share things with a stranger quite refreshing.

The doctor looked at him. "Dixon, if you don't mind my saying so, you don't look much like a merchant captain."

"Why do you say that?" Picard responded, keeping his voice neutral.

"Well, for one thing, you're too dignified. Most of the merchant s.p.a.cemen I have known have been, well ... somewhat saltier."

The captain nodded. Commercial shipping did tend to attract a gruffer and more earthy variety of officer than Starfleet.

He shrugged. "I always wanted to go to s.p.a.ce. My father owned a vineyard, and strongly encouraged my brother and me to take over the operation. My brother did, but there was really nothing there for me. I always wanted s.p.a.ce travel."

"Why not Starfleet?" Julia asked.

He smiled. "I failed my Academy admission exams," he answered.

"I find that hard to believe."

"It is true, nonetheless, I'm sorry to say." It was, in fact, half true. The captain had failed in his first attempt to enter Starfleet Academy. But that failure had merely strengthened his resolve. After redoubling his efforts the following year, he was admitted.

"But that didn't stop you from going into s.p.a.ce," the doctor observed. "It's rare that people stay so true to their ideals." Julia considered him for a moment. "Still, that's not all there is to you, is it?"

The question made Picard uneasy. "What do you mean?" he asked evenly.

"You have secrets, though I'm not sure what they are yet." Julia's face kept the same slightly amused expression.

"But you don't think I'm a danger, as the commodore does?" the captain probed.

"No," she said. "I don't. Call it physician's instinct, but I think you're a good man. Just something of a puzzle. Fortunately, it will be some time before you can get away from us, and I'll have an opportunity to figure you out. That's one of the things we have in abundance here in the middle of nowhere-time."

Picard let her comment go without a response. He pondered how little time Julia and the others truly had left to them, and he could think of nothing to say to her. A moment later, they came to the commodore's building. It was one of the three freestanding structures in the center of the compound.

"After you," Julia said, gesturing inside.

Picard stepped through the automatic doors into a small hallway. Julia led him to another set of doors and then they were inside a well-appointed dining room. Travers, who was at the head of the table, stood as they entered. The five people with him immediately followed suit.

The commodore cleared his throat. "Captain Dixon Hill, I believe you already know Lieutenant Harold."

Using the smile he reserved for delicate diplomatic functions, Picard inclined his head in the direction of the young lieutenant. Harold smiled uneasily, and the captain guessed that he was taking his first turn at Travers's table as well. The captain also surmised that Harold was there primarily to keep an eye on him.

The commodore gestured. "May I also present my first officer and security chief, Hans Schmitter ... my chief engineer, Michael Hronsky-whom you have also already met-my science officer, Rhonda Healy, and my communications officer, Benjamin Washington."

Travers waited until his people had each greeted Picard with a nod. Then he indicated the two seats closest to him, both of which were empty. "Please be seated," said the commodore.

Picard took his seat next to Lieutenant Harold while Julia took the one next to Security Chief Schmitter.

A few moments later, servers brought the soup out-an excellent cold gazpacho that the captain could manage easily with one hand. Travers broke the uncomfortable silence, directing his attention to Picard.

"So, Mr. Hill, where did you operate your merchant ship?" the commodore asked, keeping his tone casual.

Doing some quick calculations, the captain estimated the boundaries of legitimate shipping in this area during this period of time. "We confined our operation to sector one-four-five, as far out as the Chrysalis system, mostly rare minerals."

Travers wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Really. And you had trouble with Orions out there? What could they have possibly been doing that far out?"

"I really cannot say," Picard replied. "We were surprised to see them, and they never explained themselves to me. They merely took our cargo of Benzorite ... and left." The captain could see Julia bristling, but did his best to match the commodore's casual tone.

"That begs the question of what they would be doing out here, after taking your Benzorite in the Chysalis system." Travers waited for an answer.

"Again," said the captain, "they gave no details."