ATSTARFLEETCORPS OFENGINEERS, Geordi La Forge paced nervously in the tasteful lobby, where there were several displays of technical marvels built by the corps in the last two hundred years. He had seen the First Starbase Diorama ten times, while waiting to find out what had happened to Data. Twice he’d been told that Data would soon come down to meet him. He hoped so. The two of them had to attend the memorial service for the crew of theJuno.

The android and the captain had disappeared from theEnterprise early that morning without saying much to anyone. Geordi had thought Data would have his meeting and come back to the bridge to join the pared-down crew, because the android usually volunteered to serve while others took shore leave. But Data hadn’t returned all day, and Geordi was in command of the ship. He couldn’t leave the bridge to find him. Finally Riker had taken over for him, so he had tracked his friend down by calling Admiral Nechayev’s office.

He stopped to look at a model of a collider the S.C.E. had built on an asteroid, and the voice behind him made him jump.

“Commander La Forge?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. He turned expecting to see someone he knew. What he perceived through his ocular implants was somewhat odd—a human who was so bland he had no distinguishing features—yet there was something about his electrochemical makeup that was oddly familiar.

“I’m Ensign Brewster,” he said. “We talked earlier today. So you still haven’t gotten in to see Commander Data?”

“No, I’ve just gotten the runaround,” answered La Forge with frustration. “We’ve got to go to that memorial service.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” said the bookish ensign. “Well, let’s go spring him.”

“There’s one problem.” La Forge pointed to a hulking Starfleet security officer standing by the turbolift, checking everyone’s IDs. It was obvious that security had been strengthened in this building today. He sincerely hoped that wasn’t because they feared Data.

Brewster ambled slowly toward the turbolift and motioned for La Forge to follow. “Don’t say a word as we walk past the guard,” he warned. “If he sees you’re with me, he won’t say a word. But if we stop to talk, he might have to make a show of stopping us. He won’t find you on the list.”

“Whatever you say,” replied La Forge with a curious look at the unassuming ensign.

The big security guard didn’t even seem to look at them as they walked past him. When the turbolift door opened, he looked surprised, but his combadge beeped, further distracting him. Before he looked their way again, the turbolift door was closing. “Level four,” said Brewster.

“So, Ensign, you must come here a lot,” remarked La Forge.

“I get around,” answered Brewster. “In fact, I know a way to duck out of this building with Data.”

“I bet you do,” said La Forge, impressed.So this is Nechayev’s fixer, he thought to himself. Brewster was certainly the kind of person no one would look at twice; however, he seemed rather old to be an ensign. Geordi knew his perceptions were different from other people’s, but Brewster had a vagueness about him that was peculiar. He wondered if his new implants were working at full capacity.

They arrived on a floor of laboratories and design studios in the robotics department, which was not encouraging. Once again, there were plenty of security officers around but very few gold-uniformed engineers; three officers were gathered around a door at the end of the corridor. La Forge was dressed in his regulation duty uniform, so he looked as if he belonged.

The two of them walked right up to the door and past the security officer, who appeared momentarily confused. La Forge spotted Data inside the laboratory, stretched out on a workbench and surrounded by technicians. Every one of his input ports was hardwired. The readouts were whirring past on a screen over his head.

A stout, blue-skinned Bolian looked up at the intruders. “Excuse me, we’re conducting tests here. You’re not authorized.”

“Hello, Geordi,” said Data, swiveling his neck to see them. “Hello, Ensign Brewster.”

“He can come back tomorrow for his tests,” insisted La Forge. “Right now, he’s got to go to a memorial service for the crew of theJuno.”

“This is on his approved schedule,” added Brewster. Several of the technicians seemed to notice the ordinary-looking ensign for the first time. “Unwire him, please.”

A brawny Antosian security officer stepped into the room and growled. “Are these two bothering you, Commander?”

“Not yet, but they might be soon,” answered the Bolian. “Give us fifteen more minutes.”

“I’ve given you an hour and fifteen minutes,” insisted La Forge, crossing to the workbench and starting to undo wires himself. “I’ve been down in the lobby waiting that long.”

“Here are orders from Admiral Nechayev,” said Brewster, producing a handheld device, which he handed to the Bolian commander. Geordi glanced at the thing, which looked vaguely like a padd but didn’t have any real circuitry; to him, it looked more like a hair-brush. Still the commander seemed to be reading from it as La Forge hurriedly untangled his friend.

“The orders are valid,” muttered the Bolian with disappointment. “But we have our orders, too. He can go, but I want him back here at oh-seven-hundred hours.”

“Is he functional?” asked Brewster. “Does he seem to be himself?”

“I am feeling fine,” replied Data, swinging his legs over the side of the bench and hopping off. “Commander Moroz has examined me before, during my Academy days. It was a pleasure to see you again, Commander.”

“You too, Data,” said the Bolian, his arrogant façade crumbling a bit. “Good luck in the inquiry.”

“Why, thank you.” The android made a polite bow, and he strode out the door with his two rescuers in tow.

“Let them pass!” ordered Commander Moroz.

Once in the corridor, they made quickly for the turbolift at the far end of the hall. As they walked, La Forge studied Ensign Brewster a bit closer. “Is there something wrong, Commander?” asked Brewster, noticing his attention.

“Ensign, have we met before?” La Forge shook his head puzzledly. “You remind me of someone I know, but I can’t quite remember who.”

Brewster smiled. “A lot of people say that. I have a very common face.”

“I guess so,” said La Forge with a shrug. “Your manner too.”

When they reached the turbolift, the ensign stopped and said, “I have to make sure Captain Picard gets to the service, too. Tell the turbolift you want to go to the transportation center in the basement. From there, take the moving walkway to the basement at Academy Central Union and look for the Sarek Lecture Hall. You can avoid going through both lobbies that way.”

“Thank you, Ensign Brewster,” said Data. “Please give my regards to Admiral Nechayev and tell her I have been reviewing the testimony I will give on Thursday.”

“Remember not to talk about the case with anyone,” warned the ensign. He smiled at La Forge. “Except maybe your friends.”

“I am under orders not to comment,” agreed Data.

The turbolift door opened. La Forge pushed his friend into the chamber. Wanting to ask about Captain Picard, he turned to look for Brewster again, but the ensign was gone. The hallway was empty. The doors slid shut before Geordi had a chance to keep looking for him.

“He has been very helpful,” said Data.

“Yes, very,” agreed Geordi, feeling a bit tired and woozy. “Does Ensign…What’s his name?”

“Brewster,” answered Data. “Computer, transportation center in the basement.”

“Transportation center,” echoed the mechanical voice.

La Forge blinked his eyes, thinking that he could hardly recall Brewster’s face now. “Does the ensign remind you of someone…maybe someone who used to serve on theEnterprise?”

“Yes,” answered Data. “But then many humans remind me of many other humans. Is it rude to say that?”

“No.” Geordi chuckled and patted his friend on the back. “The ship has been dead with everyone gone, but we’re thinking about throwing a poker game tonight.”

“That sounds very enjoyable,” answered the android. “It will distract our minds.”

“Well, we can try,” agreed the chief engineer.

Captain Picard buttoned the tunic of his dress uniform, which he was wearing for the memorial service. He had finished the questionnaire about half an hour before. He didn’t think he had sent up any red flags; no one should conclude that he had a murderous personality. The captain had spent the last hour answering questions about Ontailians, and he wished he understood them better.

If I win my case and discredit them, they might leave the Federation for good,he thought glumly; but he doubted that was a major concern for them. What they worried about was the same thing he was worried about:What are they hiding in the graveyard at Rashanar?

There came an old-fashioned knock on his door. “Come!” he called.

Counselor Colleen Cabot entered. She was also wearing a Starfleet dress uniform, in Special Services blue, unlike the civilian clothes she had worn earlier. “Hello, Captain, I see you finished all of your work. Thank you,” she said, back to acting cordial but not insipid.

“You’re welcome,” answered Picard. “Are you going to the service, too?”

Cabot nodded. “Where you go, I go. Until I release you for the inquiry, you’re in my custody. But I’ll have to share you, because you have three more women waiting for you in the lobby.”

“Let me guess,” said Picard with a smile. “Admiral Nechayev, Dr. Crusher, and Counselor Troi.”

“I’m probably in for it, aren’t I?” asked Cabot worriedly.

“Yes,” Picard answered, crossing to the door, which turned into a holosuite archway at his approach. “I’ll try to protect you from them.”

They stepped into the tastefully appointed corridor, and it felt wonderful to get out of his cage, although he dared not say so. As they walked to the turbolift, they passed a white-suited attendant, who nodded pleasantly at the captain. His face was oddly prosaic yet familiar, and the captain glanced back at him. But the attendant was moving swiftly in the other direction.

“Who is that attendant?” he asked the counselor.

“What attendant?” she responded. They both glanced behind them, but there was no one there.

After stepping off the turbolift and entering the lobby, Captain Picard felt like a matinee idol as he was surrounded by doting women. During the introductions, Beverly Crusher and Admiral Nechayev gave Colleen Cabot dirty looks, but Troi seemed to know her fellow counselor and greeted her warmly.

“We’ve been waiting for you for hours,” complained Beverly, giving Cabot some more evil eye.

“I had a couple of questionnaires to fill out,” he answered with a glance at his jailer.

“This is highly unusual,” muttered Nechayev, her intensity ratcheting up a notch. “Admiral Ross assured me that the captain would be well treated.”

“I have been,” Picard assured them all. “Can we please talk about something else? I can’t feel sorry for myself when I consider what happened to Captain Leeden and theJuno crew.”

That effectively ended conversation as they made the short trek to the Academy Central Union, where they met up with Data and La Forge. Commander Riker had volunteered to stay on board theEnterprise for the duration, a decision for which Picard was very grateful. He knew he could lose command of his ship at any stage of this procedure. He wanted to make sure Riker was aboard when it happened. He loved his first officer, but if Riker was allowed off the ship, he would soon be parasailing in Mazatlán and be impossible to reach. If he was on board, no one else would be assigned theEnterprise.

They reached Sarek Hall, the Academy’s largest lecture hall, and found it filled with cadets, officers, and family members of theJuno crew. The family members were easy to spot, because they pointed Picard out to each other and glared at him. Although officers and admirals greeted each other warmly, theEnterprise crew members were pointedly left alone to find seats apart from the others. Captain Picard lifted his chin and nodded politely to Admiral Ross and others he knew, although no one from the admiralty approached him for personal conversation. This was as persona non grata as he ever hoped to become.

As promised, Colleen Cabot seldom left his side, although she was content to converse with Deanna Troi while eavesdropping on his conversation with Beverly. They struggled to find topics of discussion, as did Geordi and Data. It was difficult not to talk about the tribunal or reassure each other that all would end well. But Picard was adamant: he refused to discuss his own troubles when they seemed so trivial compared with the grief of those who had lost loved ones on theJuno.

A clergyman from Captain Leeden’s hometown came up to talk first. He introduced himself and pointed out Leeden’s family in the front row, all wearing Starfleet uniforms, except for her mother and a few young children. Her two brothers were both lieutenants. The pastor talked about how much she had wanted to follow in the family tradition of service. He pointed out that Jill Leeden had always volunteered for the toughest assignments, and Rashanar was certainly that. When she had come home for several months to recover from injuries suffered in the Dominion War, she had become a humanitarian, organizing shelters for displaced refugees.

It was difficult going for Picard to listen to the eulogy. He felt for these people. The accusatory stares made him uncomfortable, but he knew the whole point of being here was not to be comfortable. It was to show respect for the crew of theJuno. Three family members of others slain spoke on behalf of those who couldn’t speak owing to time constraints, and their brief, tearful remarks made the veteran captain misty-eyed.

Admiral Ross spoke last. He lauded the entireJuno crew, mentioning senior officers and department heads by name and distinctions. He expounded on theJuno’ s distinguished record, mentioning awards for valor and scientific discoveries. Clearly Captain Leeden had never shirked from any difficult mission, and Picard felt a deeper connection with her.

By necessity, Ross’s speech was long and detailed. It gave bored audience members ample opportunity to look his way.No, I haven’t sprouted any horns, Picard wanted to tell them.I’m still the same Captain Picard who used to lecture here to packed houses. He tried to concentrate on Ross’s remarks. He marveled that the admiral delivered his eulogy so well. He supposed that the war had given Ross considerable practice. The admiral could probably name every Starfleet vessel lost at Rashanar.

Admiral Ross concluded by addressing the current problem: “As we face inquiries and investigations into the tragic loss of theJuno, it’s important to remember one thing: Starfleet is all one family. We’re not always a happy family—we make mistakes and face adversity—but we have respect for each other and our shared duties and goals. One of those goals is not to put fellow officers in needless, avoidable danger. I’m afraid the admiralty and the Federation Council failed on that account…for not recognizing how dangerous the Rashanar Battle Site is. I apologize to all of you for that.”

He scratched his chin and continued, “The holy book says ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ and I think we should take our solace from that. Keeping the peace is often the most dangerous mission for Starfleet, because breaking the peace is always to someone’s advantage. We’re restricted, wanting to set a good example and not use full force…even against ruthless thieves. TheJuno was trying to keep the peace when she went down. She was retrieving the hallowed dead from our most revered battle site. As our Klingon friends would say, ‘It is an honorable death.’ ”

He nodded offstage, and a classical quartet filed in and assembled. “This is theJuno Youth String Quartet,” explained Ross. “They were here on Earth performing in a series of concerts when their parents and family perished at Rashanar. In memory of their families, they would like to play the piece they played in competition, which enabled them to travel here: Mozart’s ‘Hunting’ Quartet in B flat for strings.”

The youngsters began to play, and play beautifully they did. But it was clear that the youngest player, a blond-haired violinist, was trying to suppress sobs. Before Picard had even realized he was gone, Data popped up on the side of the stage. While the other musicians bravely tried to plow their way through the piece, Data said a few words to the grieving young lady. A moment later, he took over for the violinist, and his perfect playing rallied the others. Together they brought the piece to a rousing conclusion and much applause. A reception was announced for another room in the building, and the memorial service was finally concluded.

Data shook a few hands while keeping an eye on the contingent from theEnterprise. Picard and the ladies did some milling around until the aisles cleared of traffic.

“It’s time to go, Jean-Luc,” said Colleen Cabot, nodding toward the door.

“Do we really have to?” asked the captain. “It’s so early.”

The counselor smiled sweetly. “If you cooperate, I’ll let you go at this time tomorrow. You can sleep in your own bed before the inquiry.”

Beverly Crusher had taken notice of the conversation, and she intruded. “Counselor,” she began, “I happen to know your boss pretty well, and I don’t want to hear that you’re denying Captain Picard visitors, including his doctor and his lawyer.”

“Beverly,” he said, trying to calm her down. “I don’t mind. She has a short time—”

The younger woman leveled her blue eyes at the older woman and acted as if he wasn’t even there. “I don’t think you’ll find many volunteers to take over for me,” she declared. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. If I find the captain non compos mentis, then I’ll have to take the heat, but he won’t have to face a court-martial. He could stay under my care for a couple of months until this all blows over. If I give the captain a green light to go ahead, he could face a court-martial and lose everything…his ship, his rank, even his freedom.”

While Beverly paused in thought, the young blond woman got more in her face to whisper, “You tell me. Was he in his right mind when this happened?”

Crusher looked at Troi, and both of them came to an unspoken conclusion. It was Deanna who finally nodded and said, “Yes.”

Counselor Cabot gave Picard a sidelong glance. “Then I’ll only have to decide if he’s in his right mind now.”

When the captain was ushered back into his room at the mental-health facility, it was dark inside. He started to say something to Counselor Cabot, but she had beaten a hasty retreat down the hall. The door slid shut behind him, cutting off all light in the room.

“Is this a new test?” muttered Picard. “Sensory deprivation. Computer, lights.”

At once the lights came on, and he wasn’t in his rustic log cabin, of which he had grown fond; instead he was in his old bedroom on the family farm in Labarre, France. He was stunned at first, then angry, because they had chosen this place for him.

“Computer, can I change this back to the log cabin in Canada?” he demanded.

“Yes,” answered the computer.

“Wait a minute,” said Picard. He looked around, realizing that this version of his bedroom was from his teens, when he had stopped sharing the room with his older brother. On top of his dressers and shelves were starships displayed inside clear wine bottles, models he had meticulously crafted himself, although the holodeck did not reproduce them in much detail. If this scene was accurate, his old bed would not be as soft as the one in the cabin. Out the window, he could see neat rows of grape vines stretching into the distance. It was the middle of the season, so there was watering and pruning, but not much activity. Plus a golden twilight was falling.

“Here, Jean-Luc, eat your lunch,” said a feminine voice speaking French.

He whirled around to see his mother carrying a tray of food into the room; she set it on his desk and smiled at him. He glared at the wall where the picture window had been in the cabin, because he assumed they were watching him. “I know that’s not my mother.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Yvette Picard with confusion. She wiped her hands on her apron. “There’s nothing unfair about your lunch, except that you missed it earlier. Now eat up, Jean-Luc, because we’re going to playMilles Borne before dinner.”

Knowing he was beaten, Captain Picard slumped into his old, rickety desk chair. It creaked realistically. “Mother,” he said politely, “you don’t think there’s anything odd about the outfit I’m wearing?”

She smiled fondly. “You’re just dressed up like your space heroes again, aren’t you, Jean-Luc? But please change into something else before your father sees you.”

Picard glanced at the veal cutlet on his plate and picked up a croissant, which he studied. It smelled delicious, but of course they knew how to make croissants in San Francisco. “I’m not playing,” he said wearily. “I don’t really care what you say about me at the tribunal.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said his mother cheerfully. “Tribunal? What tribunal? Madame Fouché said it wasn’t you who was stealing the brandy from her reserve barrels. It was that Bouchard troublemaker.”

“I’m not playing.” Picard jumped to his feet, took a couple of hops, and sprang into his bed, a maneuver he had done a million times but not for sixty years. He lay there, marveling that his muscles had not forgotten.

“You think everybody likes you, Jean-Luc,” said his mother as she tidied up. “Not everybody likes you. There are a few who say you get too many accolades, too much credit, too many plum assignments, not to mention the brightest and best crew. Who couldn’t succeed with theEnterprise?”

Picard had been only half listening, but now he sat upright. “Who are you speaking for? And I know it’s not my mother.”

“Don’t listen to a silly old lady,” said Yvette Picard, back to using motherly tones.

“Who wants me out of here?” he demanded.

The holoperson gave him a friendly smile. “Why, nobody wants you out of here, Jean-Luc. We want you to stay in this pretty room forever, just dreaming about the future and spacecraft. Just as always.”

She moved briskly to the door, escaping from the room before Picard could even jump to his feet and chase after her. As the door shut behind the apparition, he caught a glimpse of himself in the long dressing mirror behind the door, and he gasped aloud. It was Jean-Luc Picard at the age of twelve!

Of course,his rational mind said,they have recent records of me at that age, and Cabot even asked about the time I turned into a child. Instead it made him introspective, and he asked himself,Who is that young man, and where has he gone? Have I been in this game too long?

“Computer, take me back to the log cabin,” he said wistfully.