A short man with a smile showing well-sharpened teeth awaited her and nodded as she stepped forward. “I am Grinj,” he said. “I am to bring you to the Nagus.”

Grinj led Troi through ornate double doors and into a chamber where Grand Nagus Rom sat. On one side of the room sat a series of clerks, working at high tables, clearly calculating income. There was a constant, almost rhythmic, tapping from them. On the opposite side, under a small window, sat an older woman beside a gorgeous, lithe Bajoran woman, which surprised the counselor—especially since both women were clothed. Given the four-lobed construction of Ferengi brains, she could not sense anything from them, which always vexed her. However, from the Bajoran woman she sensed a certain confidence, and a kind of nervous pride.

“Welcome, Counselor,” Rom said, standing up. As nervous as the Bajoran was, Rom’s body language showed that he was much more so, very much unlike Zek, his predecessor. Most Ferengi were strong-willed, scheming types, usually with nerves of steel.

“I greet you, Grand Nagus, on behalf of the Federation.” She put her wrists together, hands out, fingers curled, for the traditional Ferengi greeting, her combadge cupped in one hand.

“Ah . . . thank you . . . Counselor.” He stammered a moment more, returned the gesture, and then seemed lost in thought.

“Is there a problem?” Troi asked.

“Not at all . . . it’s just, well . . . here.” He jumped from the dais where his large chair was and moved to the far side of the room. From a peg, he took down a large green, orange, brown, and purple robe, seemingly made from different fabrics. He walked over to the counselor and presented her the item.

Now Troi was perplexed and said so. “Have I offended you, Grand Nagus?”

“No, not at all,” he stammered out. “It was very considerate of you, but, ah, I think you’d find it more comfortable wearing this.”

With a shrug, Troi accepted the robe, and then suppressed a snicker when she spotted a large ad across the back for a transportation service. The robe proved to be very short–cut for a non-Ferengi physique—but certainly warmer than presenting herself in the manner of most Ferengi women. Her show of honor and respect seemed not to have worked.

“You’re a good boy, Rom,” the older woman said.

Rom beamed at the praise, started back to his chair, and then turned around again, looking comical in the process. “Ah, Counselor Troi, I would like you to meet Ishka, my Moo . . . mother. And this is Leeta, my wife.”

Both smiled at her but remained where they were, probably so as not to annoy the Ferengi men who sat on the opposite side of the chamber. They did not look like a happy lot, mostly whispering back and forth among them, pretending to be working over the accounts. Troi found it interesting that the leader of the Ferengi people had married someone from off world. She would like to have learned more but needed to stick to the matters most pressing.

“Grand Nagus . . .” she began.

“Rom will do, please,” he said. With a wave of his left hand, he gestured her to a chair before the dais. While she’d have to look up, at least it’d be more comfortable this way.

“As you please. May I ask if the Iconians have come to visit?”

“Yes, with that amazing technology,” Rom said, warming to the topic. “I had heard about the gateways from when the Defiant encountered one in the Gamma Quadrant, and couldn’t begin to imagine how they could work. Before they came, one was found on another continent and I flew to see it. I wish I had the time to look under the paneling.”

Troi didn’t need her skills to see his enthusiasm. “What did the Iconians offer?”

“They said we could own the technology, be able to trade across the four quadrants. Brunt thinks it’s a trick but Moogie, that is, my mother thinks we should make an offer.”

Troi smiled at that, seeing the nagus was actually a man willing to listen to others. Of course, as a former engineer, he also had an appreciation for the technology. Troi found herself growing to like him and his unassuming way. Most of her experiences with the Ferengi had been unpleasant, most notably the time she and her mother were kidnapped off the Enterprise and were scheduled for slavery, so this was a welcome change.

“Did you make an offer yet?”

“Not that I know of, Rom,” she truthfully replied. “In fact, I am here because we are growing concerned that the gateways, left active as they are, pose a great danger. To be honest, we suspect their motives.”

Rom nodded enthusiastically, as if her point proved him right. “That’s the Seventh Rule of Acquisition: Always keep your ears open.” He seemed pleased and once more, Troi had to suppress another chuckle, imagining how the Ferengi could ever close their enormous ears. “What do you know of the Iconians, Counselor?”

“Very little, actually. My commanding officer, Captain Picard, has made a great study of the scant information found. He has a great respect for them so we’re proceeding cautiously. May I ask if you have made an offer?”

Rom opened his mouth, but one of the men, a dourlooking sort, cleared his throat theatrically and Rom’s lips slammed shut. The nagus and the men exchanged looks and Troi watched in fascination, not being able to fully discern the obvious power play going on.

“We are talking with them,” Rom said finally and without much conviction.

“I see. Well, we’re assembling a convoy of ships from different governments in the hopes we can get more information, and more honesty from the Iconians.” If the Ferengi weren’t going to offer up the complete truth, she wouldn’t share the Federation’s deeper suspicions.

Rom looked at his mother, then his wife, and then slowly turned his large head toward the men. He was clearly torn in making the decision but she couldn’t tell which way he was leaning himself.

“I think it would be wise if we sent someone with you,” Rom said. “We can still talk with their representative, protecting our individual interests, while participating in this.”

Troi smiled at the nagus and he looked pleased. She did see him check for reactions around the room and was surprised at how little support he seemed to be getting from the men. Leeta seemed proud and Ishka just nodded to herself. “I think that’s very wise of you, Nagus,” she said formally. “Our ships will leave within the hour. We’ll send coordinates for your team.”

“Ah . . . Counselor, if you like the robe, it’s yours. Just ten slips of latinum.”

Troi fingered the garish garment and sighed. “Thank you, Rom, but I really am not in a shopping mood right now.”

Rom shook his head sadly. “I understand.”

“Report, Counselor,” Picard said from the viewscreen.

“The good news is we have four Gorn ships meeting with us in just under two hours.”

The captain nodded solemnly. “And the bad news?” Troi shrugged, back in her own quarters, and sipping tea. She acquired the habit after countless meetings with Picard and his beloved Earl Grey. It was too strong for her, and she was experimenting with milder blends, searching for one to call her own. She was dressed in her uniform again, which she much preferred to the ill-fitting robe, and the Mercury was already en route to the rendezvous point.

“Not bad news actually,” she admitted, thoughtful. “We’re bringing along a Ferengi Marauder as well. I gather they are negotiating already, or have made an offer. I don’t think the nagus really wants to own it, just tinker with the technology. He’s not at all what I expected.”

Picard nodded. “On the other hand, the Cardassians are not interested in helping us. There are no gateways near them to exploit and Command should have anticipated that.”

“No doubt they’re overwhelmed,” she said, sounding apologetic when she had nothing to do with the decision.

“We still wasted time when there is none to waste,” he muttered, clearly perturbed.

“It’s in the past; we need to stay focused on the future,” she said.

“The Tholians have also rejected our offer. Admiral Ross has also said there are no traces of the Melkots. We’re beginning to head for the rendezvous ourselves. Oh, and Counselor . . . it’s a lot emptier here without you. Picard out.”

Troi looked at the Starfleet delta on her screen, sipped her tea, and considered the burdens of command. Picard’s admission was not one she would have heard only a few years ago. She liked much of the responsibility that came with command but recognized the stress factor was one thing to study, another to experience. Something to consider as the Sabre-class vessel traveled at high warp.

Picard turned away from the screen and pondered his own frustrations. Everything pointed to the Iconians playing at a larger game, not just selling the technology. Once more he mentally reviewed the mysterious race that flourished throughout the quadrant and beyond. They devised wondrous technology, and left on several worlds an influence that survived over two hundred millennia. Why come back now, why offer to sell their greatest achievement? And if these weren’t the Iconians, how did they get their hands on the technology, and why were they selling it?

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he picked up a padd and added in the Gorn complement to his flight plans. With the Enterprise at the head, he could put the Klingons on the right flank and Gorn to the left. He still didn’t know what to make of the Nyrians, so he felt putting them in the middle was safest, with the Ferengi Marauder closer to the Klingons. Mercury and Marco Polo he put directly behind. Four races might not be enough to make the impact Starfleet had hoped, but it would have to suffice.

Picard began recording a log entry, but was immediately interrupted by a summons from Davison. He stopped recording and strode quickly to the bridge.

“We have two warp signatures coming from 323 mark 37, approaching at warp five,” Davison said, as Picard took his chair.

“Mr. Rosario?”

“The power signature makes them to be Romulans.”

He raised his eyebrows at the announcement. Admiral Ross was to deal with the Romulan Senate and wasn’t scheduled to be there yet. The ships must have been patrol vessels, although they were on the wrong side of the border. With the relaxation of postures on both sides, strict enforcement of the boundaries had been lessened. Two were certainly not enough to be an invasion force taking advantage of the gateway chaos.

“Go to yellow alert,” Picard ordered. “Contact the Chargh and Qob, have them standby. I want no overt actions on their part. Time to contact?”

“Under an hour, Captain,” Hol said from science.

“Both Klingons acknowledge, but they didn’t sound happy,” Rosario said.

“That’s a surprise,” Davison added dryly. Picard just gave her a glance.

“Klingons rarely sound happy,” he said. “It’s all in how you listen to them. Commander Davison, let’s keep an eye on them. Also, let’s summon Ambassador Worf to the bridge. The enmity between the two races has not lessened at all despite our work together during the war. Helm, change course to intercept, let’s do this with our eyes wide open.”

Everyone acknowledged and set about their tasks. With a little time, Picard prepared a personal dispatch to Admiral Ross and sent it, making it clear he felt the Romulans could either bolster the plan or compromise it. Unlike his crew, he did not feel like making a wager.

Worf arrived, eyes alert, face impassive. He immediately stood beside Picard’s chair and ignored the sidelong glances given him by the crew.

“Warbirds,” he said.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your keen observational prowess,” Picard said with a grin. Worf merely stared at him.

“They are not an attack force,” Worf continued. Picard nodded.

“They’re also ahead of the admiral’s schedule so they were not sent to us,” the captain added. “Will Grekor follow our lead?”

“His House has never betrayed the Council,” Worf began. “Grekor is old, a loyalist, and eager to serve for future considerations. He will obey.”

“Good to hear,” Picard noted. He gestured for Worf to sit and wait with the bridge crew.

The hour passed quickly, and as the enormous warbirds came closer, Picard initiated contact. Almost immediately, a young woman appeared on the screen.

“I am Commander Desan, of the Romulan ship Glory.”

“What brings you out this way, Commander?” Picard asked.

“There have been disturbances in the Empire and we are seeking reasons.”

“Have you found anything?” Picard didn’t mind fishing for information, fully expecting Romulan reticence.

“It’s an internal matter,” the woman replied.

“And these disturbances, do they have anything to do with the gateways operating in your Empire?”

She eyed him carefully, without a quick, prepared response. “That’s not for me to say, Captain.”

Worf shifted in his seat and caught Picard’s eye. He slightly nodded, giving approval, though strictly speaking Worf didn’t need it. Picard suspected the years of serving under the captain led Worf to defer to him out of habit.

“I am Ambassador Worf from the Federation,” he said.

“How interesting,” she said disdainfully.

“Commander, Federation representatives are on their way now to Romulus requesting support for this mission. Perhaps we can help each other.”

“I am listening, Ambassador,” she said. Picard sat back, content with Worf handling the woman, giving him a chance to observe.

“I can surmise that if the Klingon government and the Federation Council were approached by the Iconians, then so too did they visit your leaders.”

She remained silent, listening intently.

“The Federation suspects these people and we are putting together a representative fleet to find out more from them. Having the Romulans beside us will give us strength.”

“My government likes to remain up to date on all matters of such import.” She seemed confident, almost arrogant in the response. Her hair was long, lighter than most Romulans,’ and was pulled back, exposing a smooth face. She wore large dangling earrings in geometric patterns that glittered in the light. Picard took her presence to mean that somehow, their secret police, the Tal Shiar, had managed to learn of the Federation’s plans—no doubt as soon as they were announced during the holoconference. Despite increased security, and a measure of paranoia, Starfleet Command still could not stop the spying.

“Captain, Ambassador, we approached with the truce beacon on and it remains so. My Praetor feels we have a mutual interest in this situation. Our patrols were in hopes of finding Iconians for further . . . discussion.”

Picard recalled the old adage: “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” With the war over, it was unclear which category the Romulans fell into, but either way, it couldn’t get much closer than this. He also drew confidence from the presence of the Klingon ships, which helped even the numbers should a problem arise. Of course, he knew, the Klingons would object to their presence, old animosities being very tough to bury.

“Do you acknowledge that the Federation is taking the lead in this mission?” Picard asked in his most authoritative tone. “Anyone accompanying us does so under my direction. I will not abide rogue ships causing a problem during these sensitive talks.”

Desan’s eyes flared for the briefest of moments, betraying her true feelings. Good, Picard thought, honest emotion. Now he knew her better. “Once we hear what the Iconians have to say, we will decide our own course of action.”

“Agreed,” Picard replied. “Obviously, I will ask you take the left flank, apart from the Klingons.”

This time Desan’s face twisted into a frown of disgust. “We would have done so in any case, Captain. Glory out.”

Unsettled by the turn of events, Picard sat in thought as his crew busied themselves around him. Worf stared at the screen and Picard could imagine what was running through the warrior’s mind. Although Worf had improved his attitude toward the Romulans, he retained some suspicion and it was understandable. Their dealings throughout the years built up a body of experience that forced such suspicion. Davison had already taken it upon herself to begin positioning the ships as Picard outlined. Chatter remained formal, but he barely paid attention. He absorbed the new facts and poured them into his mental paradigm, considering the consequences of each act. The first order of business would be to keep the peace among the fleet and to accomplish that, he needed Worf.

“I will not serve with petaQ!”

“Captain, the chancellor assigned you to this mission, to follow Captain Picard. Who else accompanies us is not of your concern.” Worf was standing by the tactical station, holding the conversation with the captain while Rosario stepped back.

“Actually, Ambassador, it is,” Grekor said with a surly tone. “I no more want to see our people attacked than you do. I think Picard has the heart of a warrior and I do not object to his being in command. But we will be exposing our backs to a people known for their treachery, and that I cannot abide.”

Worf steeled himself, trying to find a persuasive argument to convince the captain that remaining was better than trying to force the Romulans to leave. Worf certainly had no love for the Romulans, but for this mission every little bit would help.

“We cannot force the Romulans to leave without provoking a fight,” Worf noted. “That would waste time and resources. And there is no honor in provoking such a fight just because they share the same space with us. They are our allies and have been since the war—why not travel alongside them now?”

Grekor considered that, eyes barely wavering from the screen, which showed the beak-like head of the Romulan ship. Dull green light filled the bridge since the captain ordered the alert and Worf knew the disruptors were already trained on both ships.

“They are not to be trusted,” Grekor repeated. “What sort of commander would I be were I to lead my men into a Romulan ambush?”

“A dead one,” Worf replied, not intending any humor.

“True, but there is no pleasure in it this way.”

“But,” Worf persisted, “Captain Picard has also faced these people. He will not allow such a situation to arise. He has Martok’s trust, why not yours?”

Grekor forced the breath from his body and took a moment. He seemed to be forcing himself to relax and Worf was surprised to see a smile on the captain’s face. “You, I will trust, Ambassador. Your accomplishments have earned that. In fact, when this is over I would like to discuss ways to bring our Houses closer.”

Worf turned his head away from the corpulent captain and rolled his eyes.