He was not prepared for casual activity, nor for the clean, slightly fragrant smell in the air. Picard's study of the outpost had centered on its death; he had not been prepared to confront the fact of its life.

"Sir?" Harold asked gently.

The captain snapped out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, I was staring. It's just that I have not been on a planet in some time," he replied. At least partially true, he thought.

They made the short walk to the residence area in silence.

"You're in residence eleven-H," Harold said. "I'll be in eleven-J. If you'll follow me-"

"That will be all, Lieutenant," Santos interrupted.

"Excuse me, Doctor?" Harold asked.

She smiled, but with a certain underlying forcefulness. "I will take charge of Mr. Hill from here."

The lieutenant stiffened. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but Commodore Travers ordered me to escort the ... to escort Mr. Hill to his quarters and to see that-"

"He was made comfortable," Santos interjected again. "You've certainly seen that he arrived. And if you don't mind, I will take care of the rest. Mr. Hill has been cooped up in the infirmary for two days. If he's agreeable, I would like to offer him a tour of our humble outpost. I'm sure the commodore would approve, and I'm prepared to take full responsibility for Mr. Hill."

Harold listened carefully as the doctor spoke. When she finished, he simply sighed. Clearly, he knew when he was beaten-and when he was outranked. "All right, Doctor. You can reach me by communicator if you need anything."

As Harold smiled graciously in defeat, the recognition that had been nagging at Picard rushed to the surface. Staring at the lieutenant, he added some radiation burns to the likeness, hardened the expression, and then gave the face a frightened cast. When he was finished building the picture in his mind, Picard knew whom he was looking at: Lieutenant Matthew Harold, the sole survivor of the Gorn ma.s.sacre on Cestus III.

Except that instead of the haunted visage he remembered from pictures of the survivor, the captain was looking at an animated young face. The remainder of Picard's memory re-formed itself instantly. He remembered the logs from the Enterprise, the nearly hysterical face of Lieutenant Harold as he insisted that "there had to be a reason" for the horror he had witnessed.

Lost in thought, Picard jumped slightly when Santos spoke to him. "Your crew ... you must have been close to them," she said gently. The captain turned to her, confused for a moment. Of course, she was referring to the loss of his merchant crew. "You must miss them," she added.

"Yes," Picard said. It was true enough.

"Would you like to have the tour another time?" she asked.

"Not at all," the captain said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Approaching Aexix system, sir," Worf announced.

"How many cla.s.s-M worlds?" Riker asked.

"Sensors indicate that the second planet and one of the moons of the fifth planet are cla.s.s-M."

"Acknowledged, Mr. Worf." The first officer turned to Ro, who was sitting in the seat he customarily occupied. Riker gave a slight nod and the ensign was immediately on her feet.

"Mr. Halloran," she called to man at conn. "Come out of warp as close to the second planet as possible-and execute a low orbit at one-eighth impulse power. When Lieutenant Worf reports that scans are complete, use one orbit to accelerate to one-quarter impulse and head for the moon of the fifth planet."

Next, Ro turned to the woman at ops. "Mr. Chang, collect data from Lieutenant Worf's and Ensign Halloran's stations and calculate time necessary to execute scans and maneuvers."

Chang went to work immediately. Less than a minute later, she turned around with a look of tired satisfaction on her face. "One hour and thirty-seven minutes, sir."

Under any other circ.u.mstances, Riker knew, less than two hours for the scans they needed would have been extraordinary. But in the last two days, that kind of performance had become routine-allowing them to cover eight systems directly and eliminate two dozen others with long-range scans. It was a fine effort, but it had used up nearly half of the time they had left, and had allowed them to cover perhaps one-fifth of the search area.

The cost was fairly high as well. The constant jumps in and out of warp, in addition to the difficult impulse maneuvers, were taking their toll on the engineering section at a time when both Geordi and Data were off the ship.

And the crew was showing signs of strain. Both Halloran and Chang had worked much more than a full shift. Riker would have to relieve them as soon as this system was scanned.

Having people at ops and conn who weren't fresh was inviting trouble. A slight miscalculation or a slow response could be disastrous during a high-speed impulse maneuver in a planet's gravity well.

And they weren't the only ones he needed fresh. Riker knew that he, Ensign Ro, and Lieutenant Worf had all been pushing themselves too hard as well. For Riker, the evidence was in the sandpaper texture that his eyelids had taken on. And though they didn't show it, he knew that Ro and Worf were feeling the strain, too. Riker would have to order four-hour rest periods for each of them in turn. The Klingon first, since he had been on duty the longest.

"Scan is negative," Worf reported sourly.

Riker could hear Ro's almost inaudible curse. It seemed to him that the ensign had taken on the search as a personal challenge and its failure so far as a personal affront-despite disagreeing with the search in principle. Riker was pleased but not surprised. It was, in fact, exactly what he had hoped would happen.

Ro walked over to Halloran at conn, standing over the ensign as he manipulated the controls, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder in a gesture of support. The acting captain was surprised to see the level of skill she used in handling the crew, pushing people without badgering them. He had expected her dedication-but this surprised him.

"Execute acceleration maneuver and follow course to the fifth planet," Ro said.

Several minutes later, Riker watched the planet fall away on the viewscreen. Then it was back to waiting, a state that more and more seemed to define this mission. Long periods of tense antic.i.p.ation followed by short bursts of activity.

This time, however, the waiting was shorter than Riker had expected.

"Priority message from Starfleet," Worf bellowed.

d.a.m.n, the first officer thought. He had been dreading this. Whatever Command had to say, he was sure it wouldn't be good.

Already on his feet, he noted that Deanna and Ro were standing as well. He turned to them. "Ensign, Counselor, let's see what they have to say."

Moments later, Riker sat in the captain's ready room. He flipped on the monitor. Admiral Kowalski's face appeared instantly; the man's expression confirmed Riker's fears.

"Commander, we have what we consider a catastrophic situation on the Gorn homeworld," the admiral said without preamble.

"What is it, sir?" Riker asked.

"There's been an overt challenge made to the Gorn ruling body by a fringe group hostile to the idea of stronger ties to the Federation. Now, I can't pretend to understand all of the ins and outs of Gorn politics. In fact, we don't have the slightest idea of how their political machine works.

"However, all of the reports we're getting from our Gorn contacts say the same thing: if the challenge is successful, this could mean the total dissolution of the peace process. And the outbreak of hostilities with the Federation."

The admiral sighed, and for a moment seemed to age years in front of Riker. "It is critical that the Enterprise be at the summit on time. You have three days and no more. And if the situation deteriorates further, I will order you to suspend your search and proceed immediately to the summit. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Riker said evenly. Abruptly, the admiral's face was replaced by the Federation symbol that signaled the end of the communication.

The first officer once again looked for that pit of certainty in his stomach that told him continuing the search was the right thing to do.

This time, he waited for some time before it came.

Picard and the doctor walked for a short time in silence. Then Santos led him nearly to the end of the residence side of the semicircle that defined the outpost compound.

"These are the kitchen and dining facilities, as you can see," she said.

The dining hall was clearly marked on the outside wall of the low building, just as the residential area had been. It was, the captain noted, the most heavily trafficked area in the outpost.

He also noticed that just beyond the dining area, there was the slightly raised structure he recognized as a phaser bank. From his study, he knew that there was an identical unit on the other end of the compound's semicircle. He also knew that the phaser banks would be destroyed by the first salvo of the impending attack. Santos didn't explain, or even mention the unit, and Picard a.s.sumed that she was under orders not to discuss outpost defenses.

"If you're hungry, we could stop in for something," she suggested. Picard was surprised to find he was indeed hungry. He nodded.

Santos led him to the entrance of the low concrete structure. Ahead of them was a young ensign walking with an equally young woman-probably his wife. A small girl, no doubt their daughter, walked between them, holding her parents' hands-alternately giggling and being swung by her parents.

Picard had known intellectually that children had perished-or would perish-in the attack. But again, it inexplicably surprised him to actually see a child.

"It must be difficult," he said, flinching inwardly, "for a youngster to grow up here."

Santos nodded. "It is, sometimes. But then, we're all hardy souls. And on Cestus Three, at least, we're getting somewhere. There are colonies that never achieve their goals-and a few that don't even come close."

The captain turned to her. In his time, no colony was ever set up that didn't have a reasonable chance of reaching its objectives.

"Then why do they do it?" he asked. "Why do they make the sacrifice, if there's no reward in sight to give their work meaning?"

The doctor grunted. "Because there's no such thing as a meaningless sacrifice, Mr. Hill. Because any positive act, no matter how hopeless or insignificant, is ultimately worthwhile."

Picard found himself smiling. "Philosophy," he noted.

"One of my vices," she replied.

Leading the way down a couple of ramps, Santos guided him into an open, fairly s.p.a.cious dining hall. The tables were laid out symmetrically in the center, with smaller-sized alcoves on the outer walls. The construction was rather stark, layers of concrete supporting the gray metal walls-but the right angles and shadows that defined the architecture appealed to the captain.

The hall didn't look molded or sculpted. Instead, it looked as if it had been built by human hands. Hands that had dared to establish a foothold on an isolated planet, far from the center of the Federation.

The doctor proceeded to the serving area, where human personnel worked behind the counter. Santos ordered sliced chicken and a rice dish and Picard followed suit. Then he followed her to one of the spa.r.s.ely populated alcoves.

"It's near the end of lunch," the doctor told him. "Most people have gotten back to their a.s.signments."

As he sat down, the captain noticed that the few remaining eyes in the area were on him. No doubt visitors were rare in this closed community.

"They'll get used to you quickly," Santos a.s.sured him, divining his thoughts. "In two weeks the sensor array goes on line. But until then, you're the biggest news we've had in months."

Picard took a bite of his meal and found it surprisingly good. "Excellent," he said. "I'm impressed. I a.s.sumed an outpost barely a year old would still be dependent on reconst.i.tuted food."

Santos smiled. "This is nothing compared to what you'll find at the commodore's table. He thinks it's impossible to make a permanent home when you're living on rations."

"An enlightened point of view," the captain replied. In fact, Travers was years ahead of his time. It wouldn't be until replicator technology made food preparation simple that families would be regularly deployed on starships-and Picard doubted that that was a coincidence. "My father would have approved. He wouldn't allow replicated-I mean reconst.i.tuted-food in the house."

They pa.s.sed the rest of the meal pleasantly. The captain managed the food with his left hand without too much difficulty. Throughout, he took careful note of his surroundings. There was no security at all as nearly as he could tell. Not even locking doors, which, of course, would be unnecessary in this community. Apparently, the kitchen staff went home after the evening meal, which-he learned-was from five to seven-thirty. After that, Santos explained, the kitchen was open to whichever colonists cared to help themselves.

Once again, the atmosphere of trust that seemed to govern the outpost would work in Picard's favor. A pang rose up inside him at the thought of taking advantage of that trust, but he brushed it aside; he would have time for self-recrimination later. For now, he needed to concentrate on his escape.

Undoubtedly, the kitchen would be able to supply the essentials he would need for survival outside of the compound. Water and food were his biggest concerns. And the captain was certain there would be some reserves of food concentrates in the storage areas, regardless of the commodore's personal preferences.

Of course, his Starfleet survival training would allow him to sustain himself for a time without supplies. However, if he carried one or two days' rations with him, he would be able to move more quickly without stopping-which would allow him to put as much distance as possible between himself and the outpost before the attack came.

Picard already had the tricorder and medical scanners, which would enable him to track any pursuers. Yes ... if he could secure some supplies after dinner, he could possibly even make his escape tonight.

He and Santos kept their lunch brief. The doctor was eager to continue the tour, showing an enthusiasm that the captain found charming. Outside again, she was animated and energetic, clearly happy to be showing off her home.

"This is the residence area, which you've already seen. In the lower levels, you'll also find the outpost stores. If you need blankets, or clothes, or entertainment tapes, Lieutenant Harold or I can show you where to find them."

Following the semicircle to its midpoint, they pa.s.sed the life-support section and then came to two large globes supported on bases that were perhaps four meters high. "And these are our-" Santos began.

"Sensor relays," Picard finished. "I'm familiar with the technology. I just never expected to see any this ... closely."

The doctor indicated a spot farther along the semicircle. "There's the sensor a.n.a.lysis section. And farther down is the sciences area. You can see them up close tomorrow if you like. For now, I have just a few more things to show you before I have to reprimand myself for overexerting my patient."

Santos gestured to two large buildings, situated more or less along an imaginary line that connected the two endpoints of the semicircle. "See those?" she asked. "One houses the administrative offices and the other is additional storage."

Picard remembered that the "additional storage" structure was in fact the armory, though he understood why the doctor wouldn't mention that. She described a third, lower building as "some engineering facility," but he knew it was the fusion reactor that powered the station's routine functions.

Then Santos pointed out the lowlying mountains, seen in the distance past the three buildings. "That is where you were found, about five hundred meters into those hills. Unfortunately, they're unstable and p.r.o.ne to landslides, which is how you were hurt."

The same hills, Picard mused, in which the Gorn had positioned themselves right before the appearance of Captain Kirk and his landing party. The invaders had been-or rather, would be-forced to retreat when Kirk fired a plasma grenade into the area. The captain supposed his missing communicator would be destroyed in the blast.

It was just as well. The communicator would have been useful to him if there were someone to receive the signal-but of course, there wasn't. Picard might even have thought about trying to retrieve the device if there was any hope of using it as a marker for Commander Riker or a future Starfleet ship, but he knew it was useless. Though he always made it a point to keep his communicator fully energized, there was no chance of the charge lasting one hundred years.

"And now," Santos resumed, "it's just a short walk to our sensor array. That's the main attraction around here."

For a moment, Picard considered declining. He could use the time alone to make his final plans and perhaps collect what he needed from the kitchen. But he found it difficult to disappoint the doctor, to deny her the pleasure of sharing something she felt was important. Besides, he didn't want to arouse suspicion in his only ally on the outpost.

"So where's home for you, Mr. Hill?" Santos inquired, as they walked in between the sensor beacons and outside of the semicircle that defined the compound. "I mean, where were you from before you made s.p.a.ce your home?"

"Is it that obvious?" the captain asked.

She nodded. "If you know what to look for. My father was a career merchant s.p.a.ce traveler. He spent most of his life on freighters. Even when he was with you, it felt like he wasn't. I see some of the same things in you, Mr. Hill. Sometimes, it seems you're positively light-years away. However, unlike my father, you have the courtesy to at least respond to polite conversation."

He chuckled. "You know me well already, Doctor."

"Please call me Julia, Mr. Hill. Only the children and the newest batch of ensigns call me Doctor, and that's just because I haven't broken them in yet. And there's the commodore as well, I suppose-but he's in a cla.s.s by himself."

"You don't like Commodore Travers," Picard observed.

She shrugged. "To be perfectly blunt, I don't. I think he's a good commander and I respect him for that, but I think he could be, well ... kinder." Santos frowned when she said that.

The captain looked at her. "Doctor ... please call me Dixon." He felt absurd inviting the first-name informality when that name was not his own. But then, neither was "Mr. Hill," and that sounded even more absurd.

Santos's frown lifted. "In that case ... Dixon ... may I present the reason we're here?" They had arrived at the top of a small hill. She gestured to the sensor array just below them. It was incredible. Interlocking spheres of perhaps two meters in diameter made up a larger circle that was at least half a kilometer across.

The sight left Picard breathless. He had seen larger arrays in s.p.a.ce, but somehow, looking at an object in s.p.a.ce from a viewscreen took away the human scale.

Here, he was overwhelmed. And to think this had all been built by human hands ...

"An eye to search the heavens," Santos remarked. "It's state-of-the-art. One of the biggest land-based arrays in the Federation, and certainly the most sophisticated. In fact, from here we'll be able to see farther out into uncharted s.p.a.ce than anyone else in the known galaxy. We'll be paving the way for starships by peeking ahead at distant solar systems, and probably making long-range subs.p.a.ce contact with new races." The doctor smiled self-consciously, then continued. "Pardon my pride, but whatever is out there, we'll find it first."

"This is certainly an achievement worth taking pride in," the captain agreed. They both enjoyed the sight in silence for a moment. He could see, to the right of the array, the bunker that housed the matter-antimatter power source-essentially a stationary warp engine-that drove the entire mechanism. By twenty-fourth-century standards, the equipment was an antique, a relic. Yet for these people, it represented their highest aspirations-the pinnacle of human achievement. "Extraordinary."