AS SOON AS PICARD EMERGED onto his bridge, he was greeted with the angry visage of Captain Sesballa.

“Where have you been?” the Rigelian demanded. “No, never mind that. Just fall into line with the others. The aliens will open fire at any moment.”

“But we agreed to hold our fire until we gave my first officer a chance.”

“Obviously,” said Sesballa, “that was a miscalculation on our part. Now back off and join the line.”

Idun turned to Picard, awaiting his orders. But he didn’t give her any. He just stood there, stubbornly refusing to comply with his colleague’s instructions.

“Did you hear me?” asked Sesballa, his voice ringing throughout the bridge.

Picard had heard only too well. But he had just made an offering. He couldn’t respond unless he was certain it wouldn’t be accepted.

Sesballa turned to his communications officer to make sure the link to the Stargazer hadn’t been broken. When he turned to face the captain again, his ruby eyes were ablaze.

“Damn you,” Sesballa spat, “do as I say—or I will see you stripped of your command!”

You will have to join the queue, Picard thought.

Just then, he saw what he had been hoping for. A wave of D’prayl vessels came about as one, and headed back the way they had come. Then a second wave did the same. And a blessed moment later, the rest of them followed.

One of those vessels would be Otholannin’s, with its ever-so-precious cargo. Picard breathed a sigh of relief.

“Transporter Room One to Captain Picard,” came a voice over the intercom. “Refsland here, sir. We’ve got six arrivals.”

Picard nodded. It was exactly what he had hoped to hear.

Normally, the doors to the transporter room slid aside as Picard approached them, triggered by a sensor farther down the corridor. But this time, he was moving so quickly that he had to stop and wait for them to open.

When they did, he was rewarded with a happy sight: six figures on a transporter platform. McAteer was there, looking none the worse for wear. So were Horombo, Chen, Garner, and Ramirez.

And in their midst stood a sixth figure—a tall, darkly complected man with a high forehead and dark, probing eyes, dressed in a standard Starfleet uniform. A man who had been one of them once, and was one of them again.

Dikembe Ulelo.

He looked thinner than his counterpart, perhaps because he had been limited to an alien diet. And there was a spark in his eyes that Picard didn’t remember in the other Ulelo.

But beyond that, the two Ulelos looked exactly the same.

Picard approached the man, ignoring his companions for the moment. “Mister Ulelo?” he ventured.

The fellow nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Picard smiled. “Welcome aboard.”

Ulelo smiled back, though he looked a bit out of practice. “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be aboard.”