Schyler's hand felt cool and dry in his as they strolled one of the many well-worn paths that circled the Crystal Lakes of Benzai. These paths had carried he and his friends away to many imaginary adventures when he was a boy. The chain of small lakes, each connected by a series of underwater tunnels, like pearls on a necklace, were cool and clear as their namesake. On a sunny day, one could see all the way to the bottom where the fish and other small animals grazed on the swaying grasses.

Today was such a day but his attentions were not on the lush scenery but rather on Schyler. Her physical grace and beauty held his attention like a magnet to metal. Sienna hair, usually worn up, hung gently to her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. With a delicate hand, slender like the rest of her body, she brushed it behind an ear. Her narrow face was split by a warm smile, eyelids crinkling beneath dark orbs. A smattering of light freckles covered her nose and bare shoulder.

A light breeze reached under the loose blue wrap-around shirt he wore and tugged at the hairs on his chest.

They walked on towards his, now-deceased, grandparents' house; a villa built in classic Betazoid style. He looked forward to a candlelight dinner and then a cozy evening, wrapped together in blankets in front of the fireplace.

She laughed at his witty remark, a twinkling sound like the wind chimes his grandmother had made when she was still alive.

They stopped walking and she took both of his hands. She looked into his eyes, two dark liquid pools. He felt himself growing lost in them. Her mouth parted.

"Yes?" he asked in anticipation.

"The time is oh-six-hundred," she said in a voice that was not her own.

"What?" He was confused.

"The time is oh-six-hundred."

Andrew's eyes fluttered open as the dream dissolved around him. He stared up at the featureless ceiling of his cabin. The computer was saying, "Your schedule for today: Oh-seven-thirty. Senior staff meeting. Oh-eight-hundred. Bridge duty shift-"

"I know my schedule," he said sharply, cutting off the computer's even female tone. "Cancel audio." There was a confirmation chirp and then silence.

Andrew slowly sat up, the glittering silver sheets falling away to his lap. In the full-length mirror mounted on the wall opposite his bed, Andrew Brower, captain, USS Avenger, stared back in all his early morning captainly glory. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he noticed that almost all of his hair was sticking straight up. He was reminded of the scene in Act 1 of "Hamlet" when the ghost of Hamlet's father was describing the afterlife:

"It would Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an end, Like quills upon the fearful porpentine."

Andrew never much cared for that play.

As he studied his face he noticed a few silver hairs growing near his temples. Only 34 years old and already going gray, he noted. Wonderful. Being the master of a starship certainly took away one's youth quickly.

Climbing from the bed, he felt the weight of his responsibilities press down on his shoulders as the last lingering vestiges of the dream slipped away like Morpheus' sand.

The dream.

The damn dream.

He had had it every night for the past two weeks. Schyler and himself at the Crystal Lakes of Benzai on Betazed.

Good dreams depressed him because they were just that. Dreams. They were not real. At least with the bad ones he could take some comfort in that they were only his subconscious fears acting up. Give me a really horrible nightmare, he thought. That will cheer me up.

As he showered and shaved, he was forced to entertain the very distinct possibility that he was falling in love with Schyler Anderson again. That was not good. For professional reasons and for reasons of objectivity, the job of starship captain tended to be a lonely one. A captain needed to maintain his focus and not become bogged down with interpersonal relations with the crew. He definitely should not fall in love with a subordinate. He most definitely should not fall in love with a subordinate for the second time who was now involved with someone else.

He toweled off, entered his closet, selected a fresh uniform from the rack, and dressed. Sighing, he realized that, ordinarily, he could have discussed the matter with Doctor Logan, the Avenger's medical officer, informal psychiatrist, and currently his closest friend on the ship. He always gave sound advice when it was needed. However, the very person that Schyler was involved with was Logan, which destroyed his only avenue of release.

He promised himself a trip to the holodeck after his shift. Some exercise might do him good.

* * * Feet pounded sand as taut leg muscles bunched and recoiled like spring, propelling Alista faster and faster. Arms and breasts swayed in a gentle rhythm that was counter-balanced by the movement of her hips. Her lungs burned in her chest with glorious fire.

Alista Jarok usually selected a different program within which to run each day. The computer's vast selection combined with the ability to modify gave her infinite variety. Today's selection was Tropical Resort Simulation 3, a re-creation of a Polynesian pleasure center on Earth. Alista gave the scantily clad swimmers and sunbathers little mind as she continued on her run. Mostly because she knew that they were merely projections of light and molded energy fields. Real humans tended to either stare or give her a wide berth. It was hardly surprising, given her Romulan heritage. Humans were usually considered to be an open-minded species, allowing for such things as equality for their entire race, despite station in life or other differences. But when they encountered a Romulan the predisposition was to be wary. Not surprising considering that the Romulan Star Empire represented the oldest known threat to the Federation. Indeed, even before there was a Federation, humans and Romulans had warred, despite the fact that neither side had known what the other had looked like. The Federation had been founded in the ashes of the Romulan defeat at Charon. It was not an easy fact to forget, even for a naturalized Federation citizen and Starfleet officer such as herself.

Suddenly, a beige arch materialized on the beach before her. A door appeared inside it, large and silver, like most of the reinforced hatches on the ship. It opened.

Alista slowed and then stopped to keep from running off of the sand and out into the corridor. Doctor Christopher Logan walked in, hands behind his back in a casual saunter. Passing crewmembers in the corridor peeked in as they walked past, then hurried on their way. They disappeared when the door closed. Then the door and the arch dissolved into blue Pacific Ocean sky and water. Dr. Logan remained. He was an anomaly in her program.

His dark uniform, black with gray trim at the shoulders and the teal blue turtleneck of sciences, contrasted greatly with the bright tropical surroundings. "Hmm," he said, admiring the scenery. "Nice choice."

"What do you want, Doctor?" she asked, quickly raising and lowering her legs, preventing the build-up of lactic acid. The question was not asked rudely or harshly, but firmly, like the questioner. "Still pushing yourself, I see," said Logan.

"I like to run," she replied. Balancing on her right foot, she grabbed her left ankle and pulled, stretching her calf muscle.

He looked at her, blue eyes under a crop of straw-colored hair. There was a gentle concern in his expression. "As chief medical officer it is my responsibility to watch out for the well-being of the crew, both physically and mentally, and to intercede when I notice a problem."

"And you notice a problem." She bent over, slowly reaching for her toes.

"You're isolating yourself, Lieutenant."

She looked up at him, a single dark eyebrow raised. "Do I look isolated to you?"

He dismissed the cheery surroundings. "Holographic marionettes do not count as real people. After your duty shift you come here to run and then return to your quarters where no one hears from you. I don't think I have ever seen you in the mess hall."

"I prefer to dine alone," she said.

"And that is just my point. You are always alone. I never see you with anyone."

She stood upright and sized him. He was taller but she was in better physical shape. "If you have a point, please make it."

"Prolonged isolation is detrimental to any crewmember's health, no matter what his or her particular species is. I have begun to notice signs from you."

"Have I been ineffective in carrying out my duties?" she asked.

"Well, I haven't heard any complaints-"

"Then there is no problem. Perhaps less... resilient races find solitude to be bothersome but I prefer it." She began walking towards a grove of coconut trees where she had left her sandals. The large leafy fronds rustled in the ocean breeze.

Logan followed her. "You may prefer it but that doesn't make it healthy. I don't care if you are Romulan. Romulans are still social like most other humanoids."

She tugged on her second sandle and stood, brushing the sand from the stretchy material that made her running shorts. "I," she said, "am not like most other humanoids. Computer, end program and exit." All around them, the scenery grew transparent and then vanished. They stood in a large chamber, the walls lined with a silvery metal grid, the holoprojection matrix. The hatch parted with the whine of servomotors. "Alista?" he called out.

She paused at the door, one foot in the corridor.

"The Federation Day celebrations begin tomorrow morning. I would like you to be my date to the opening ceremony."

There was a slight tugging at the corners of her mouth. A smile? "I think Lieutenant Anderson might object," she said evenly. She then nodded, dismissing him. "Doctor."

As the doors closed behind her, he muttered, "This isn't going to be as easy as I thought. Then again, when is it ever?"

* * * "Captain's log, stardate 51741.3. This date marks the first of a two-day celebration prior to Federation Day, the holiday that honors the anniversary of the founding of the United Federation of Planets. In this captain's opinion, the UFP represents practically the greatest and grandest institution ever conceived; an institution of understanding, cooperation, and peace, even after 212 years.

Starfleet Command has pulled the Avenger away from defensive duties on the Dominion front and reassigned us to a comet population survey in a nearby sector. This is a relatively simple assignment in terms of manpower, allowing the majority of the crew to participate in the festivities. Although he has not admitted it officially, I believe Admiral Henry has been pleased with our efforts and has granted us some informal R&R."

* * * The mess hall was the Avenger's primary facility for social gatherings. Logic would dictate that it would be the epicenter of the party and logic would be correct. Andrew heard the cacophony before the turbolift doors even opened to Deck 2. The further forward he walked the deck, the more crewmembers he passed. Approaching the mess hall, the corridor was filled bulkhead to bulkhead with people. Practically every person who was not on duty was here. Everyone wanted to get into the room and see who was playing the swinging Mexican rhythms. Several crewmen were bobbing their heads to the beat.

He hit a solid wall of people just outside the open mess hall doors. He tapped an engineering officer on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he said, almost having to scream over the noise.

The engineer called back, "Wait your turn. We all want to see."

Andrew tapped his shoulder again.

The engineer turned around, irritation apparent on his face. "Listen, pal-" he began but then choked off when his eyes went to the four gold pips on the red collar of Andrew's uniform. He swallowed and his face went pale. "Oh! Uh, captain, I-"

"What's your name, Ensign?"

"Alberts, sir. Jason Alberts."

"Think you can clear me a path through this crowd, Mister Alberts?"

Alberts nodded furiously. "Yes, sir. Aye, sir." He tapped on the shoulders of the crewmen in front of him. "Make way for the captain!" he shouted. There was a cascade effect and a path into the room immediately appeared before him.

Andrew had to smile. The captain of the ship was the lord of his domain. Where he wanted to go, he went. Nice to know that there were a few privileges from being at the top, he thought.

The mess hall was filled far, far beyond its carrying capacity, a breach of safety regulations but one Andrew knew he could easily dismiss. All around him, his crew was having a good time and he was not going to interrupt it. Officers and enlisted were jammed shoulder to shoulder, all jumping to the beat of four musicians standing in the corner, under the downward-sloping view ports. Lucas West, the ship's first officer, led the group on his kettledrum. Three other officers from various departments followed on acoustic guitar, sophisticated roll-up synthesizer piano, and trumpet. The room was a display of color. Many wore flashy civilian dress including several non-humans. A Bolian crewmember wore a long tunic that was a chromatic nightmare. On the aft bulkhead, above the bank of replicators, hung a blue banner in white and gold lettering that read: "Federation Day 2161-2374." Flags with the Great Seal of the Federation as well as the Starfleet emblem were displayed on the other walls. The replicators were synthesizing drinks as fast as the crew could order them. Each drink was passed from person to person until it reached its destination.

Andrew had to smile at the chaos around him. He had checked the subspace news feeds earlier this morning where images of the just-beginning celebrations were broadcasted. The streets of every major city on Earth were jammed with partyers. The same could be said for most of the other member and colony worlds as well. One of the few exceptions was Vulcan, where the inhabitants chose to spend these few days of jubilation meditating and reflecting. But even in their own way, the Vulcans were taking much needed, if brief, respite from the war.

The band wound down their set and ended with two sharp beats. The crowd clapped, cheered, and whistled in appreciation. Smiling, Lucas waved his hands for silence. "Thank you!" he said proudly. "Before we begin our next number, I'd like to point out who has just joined us in the room." Uh, oh, thought Andrew.

Lucas pointed right at him. "Captain Brower!" Everyone looked at him with happy expressions on their faces. "Everyone, I'd like to raise your glass in a toast." He mimed the action.

Someone stuck a glass of something green in Andrew's hand. He muttered a thank you.

"To the captain, to the Avenger, and to the confusion of the Dominion!" Lucas shouted.

"To the captain, to the Avenger, and to the confusion of the Dominion!" everyone else shouted back with a thunderous roar. Andrew just mouthed along. They all took a swig and then cheered loudly again. The drink felt like warp drive plasma in his esophagus.

Lucas waited for quiet before gesturing to the captain. "Sir? Is there anything you would like to say?" All eyes were on Andrew and he felt his ears burn in slight embarrassment. He was not used to this kind of attention. "Well, Commander, I think you said it all," he managed to say. Everyone laughed. It was not a particularly funny statement but the atmosphere, the camaraderie, and, most likely, the synthehol had everyone feeling punchy. "Actually," he continued, "there is one thing I'd like to say." He raised his glass. "This is to you, the finest crew a captain... no, not a captain... a man, has ever had the privilege and honor to command." He took a drink and everyone cheered again. He paused. "And what the hell," he said. "To peace and the Federation!"

"To peace and the Federation!" everyone replied and the band jumped into their next song.

Andrew shook several people's hands, smiling, as he moved around the room. He was looking for someone. Then he found her.

Schyler stood near the open door, speaking and gesticulating wildly to two fellow merry engineers; Darian Blake, her immediate superior, and Vella Nor, a talented propulsion expert. She looked absolutely stunning in the one-piece brown body suit she wore. Her hair swayed over her shoulders like the leafy branches of a willow tree. "Excuse me," Andrew said, sliding through the sea of bodies. He had to speak to her, to hear her voice.

She glanced his way for a moment and then her face illuminated into a radiant smile as he approached. He felt something stir within his stomach. "Captain!" she said. "That was an absolutely wonderful toast you just gave." She patted his arm playfully. It felt like electricity.

"Terrific," Blake chimed in.

"Poetic," said Nor.

"I trust you are all enjoying yourselves," said the captain.

"It's superb," said Schyler. "I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."

Andrew looked at the two accompanying officers. "I hope neither of you mind if I borrow Lieutenant Anderson for a moment?" he asked with forced joviality.

Schyler slid her free arm into the crook of his elbow and locked it there like a link in a chain. "They don't mind. I find the idea of hobnobbing with the captain to be quite appealing." She waggled her eyebrows at Blake and Nor and said, "Have fun."

"See you," Blake said.

"Ta, ta," said Nor.

Schyler allowed Andrew to guide her out of the mess hall and down the corridor to an empty section of the ship. She waved to everyone as they passed. Andrew realized that she might have been slightly inebriated. The deleterious effects of synthehol could easily be negated but she had chosen not to. Oh, well, she was here. Andrew stopped at a corridor intersection and faced Schyler. The mess hall noise was only a faint thumping, seemingly worlds away. He looked down into her face. Her perfect, doll-like face. Two glassy pools stared back at him.

"Is this about the phaser array modifications?" she asked. "Because I already submitted my report to Lieutenant Commander Blake."

He waved his hand. "No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to talk to you. Personally. As your friend not as your captain. I don't think I've had the chance to speak three words to you recently, with all the crises and whatnot we seem to have around here."

"Oh," she said. "Okay."

He cleared his throat, unsure how to continue. "So how are you? How are things going with Doctor Logan? I didn't see him in the mess hall."

"He had an minor emergency case in sickbay so he couldn't make it. And things are going fine between us." She grinned. "You know what it's like. I'm sure you remember the good times we had."

He smiled back, feeling his face grow hot. "Yes. I do remember." He paused, gathering strength. "Schyler, I wanted to talk to you alone because I needed to tell you something important." He paused again, chewing his lower lip.

"Well, what is it?" she asked. "You can tell me. It's Schyler. You used to tell me everything."

"Schyler, I..." He felt the words creeping up to the tip of his tongue.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

Schyler.

"Bridge to Captain Brower."

Andrew felt his teeth snap shut with a "clack" and he grimaced. "It's always something," he said in a low tone. He patted the metal communicator affixed to his chest. "Brower here," he said, replying to the page.

"Lieutenant Jarok here, sir. I request that you join me on the bridge immediately." Brower could sense the urgency in her voice over the comm.

"I'll be right there. Out." He turned and faced Schyler again. "I've got to go."

"What did you want to tell me?"

He forced a smile and said, "Nothing important. It can wait. Go on back to the party."

"Okay," she said and turned to walk away. She halted in mid stride and said, "It really was a good toast."

He felt his heart melt. "Thanks."

* * * When the lift doors opened, Andrew noticed Lieutenant Jarok standing in the exact center of the bridge command deck, like the hub of a wheel. Around her, officers tended to their stations, eyes locked to the streams of data that flashed by. Andrew guessed that the good lieutenant ran a tight shift. "Status," he said as he walked around the silver safety railing that ran along the aft deck and stepped down to the command level. On the viewscreen on the front bulkhead, above the forward conn position, the stars flew past. They contained all the colors of visible light as viewed through the prism of subspace distortion that the warp engines created.

"We have received a distress signal," Jarok informed him, "from a Betazoid transport ship. Apparently their life-support system was damaged in an ion storm. We are now proceeding at maximum warp to their last known coordinates."

"What's our ETA?" he asked.

"Seven minutes," she replied.

"Captain to transporter room," Andrew said, raising his voice so that the voice-recognition software knew he was making a call.

"Transporter room. McKay here," was the response.

"Stand ready to beam over evacuees. I'll join you momentarily. Brower out." He looked at Jarok. "Have security meet me there to escort the passengers to sickbay. They may require medical attention. And have Doctor Logan there as well." He vaulted up the steps to the aft turbolift. "You have the bridge, Lieutenant."

She nodded and said, "Aye, sir."

The doors closed and Andrew was dropped down to Deck 4. McKay waited patiently behind her console. She was a shorthaired brunette with a face he read to be deeply caring and perhaps even a little sad. "Standing by, sir," she said.

"Very good," he replied and stood next to the platform, waiting.

Just as Logan and the three-man security escort arrived, McKay received her confirmation signal from the bridge. "We're in range, sir," she said.

"Energize."

The transporter machinery powered up with a loud hum. Six glittering forms began to materialize within the small chamber. After a minute, Andrew noticed that the process was taking longer than usual. "What's the problem, McKay?" he asked.

"I have to compensate for the residual ionic interference on the Betazoid ship's hull," she said, wrinkling her nose in concentration. She worked the controls like most people breathed; through pure instinct. "Just about... got it!"

The forms on the platform condensed into six people. No, seven. A woman was holding a toddler in her arms.

Andrew was just about to open his mouth when he noticed what was probably the tallest humanoid he had ever seen in his life. The man had pale bluish-green skin, was balding, and had to stoop over slightly to prevent his head from brushing the top of the chamber. He was dressed in an elegant, almost Oriental, robe.

The woman holding the toddler rushed down the platform to the slack-jawed captain. "Oh my, thank you ever so much. I thought that clunker of a ship was going to fall apart all around us. I don't know why my government insists on purchasing such low-quality transportation."

Andrew managed to pull his gaze away from the giant to the woman. She was old enough to be his mother but she seemed to hold a certain stunning beauty and charm, if not plenty of bravado. Her eyes were the deep black of all Betazoids and her brown hair was piled atop her head in an elegant coif. She wore a glittery blue dress with puffs of fabric on the sleeves and dangling earrings with tiny, jingling bells. "I'm, er, Captain Andrew Brower. Welcome aboard the Avenger." He nodded formally.

The woman eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure you're the captain? You seem a little young." He was just about to open his mouth in his defense when she winked at him. "Of course you are, honey. I read it in your thoughts." She smiled warmly, almost motherly. "I'm Lwaxana Troi, Betazed ambassador." She looked down at the sleeping toddler in her arms. He was brown haired and had the chubby features of most young children but Andrew also noticed a large ridge of bone that ran from the tip of his nose to just above his brow line. "His father is Tavnian," she informed Andrew. "This is my son, Ian."

Andrew looked at the small group as Logan made his rounds with his medical tricorder. He did not notice any Tavnians, only Betazoids and the giant. "Was your husband travelling with you?" he asked.

Troi laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. "Oh, no, no. I'm not married. But that's a story in and of itself." She nodded to the giant who came down the platform to her side. "Mr. Homn, take the baby to our quarters, would you?" She handed the child to him. He delicately cradled the child in his massive arms. "Oh, Captain. This is Mr. Homn, my valet." Still holding the child, he bowed gracefully.

"Uh, hello."

Doctor Logan walked up to them. "I'd like to take you all to sickbay first. Your ship took a lot of damage in the ion storm and I'd like to make sure you were not exposed to any radiation," he said.

Troi sighed. "Oh, very well." She looked at Andrew. "You'll accompany us won't you, Captain?"

"I really need to check in with my bridge-"

The ambassador slid an arm into his. She smiled at him.

"-but I suppose it can wait." He looked at Logan who was trying to suppress a grin at the captain's discomfort. He could hear McKay giggling quietly behind him. "Doctor? Care to lead the way?" he asked icily.

"Aye, aye, sir," Logan said jauntily. "This way please. Guards, would you see to that gentleman?" The group walked out of the transporter room. The security officers helped a middle-aged man who had twisted his ankle. During the entire walk, Troi chatted incessantly in his ear. "We were quite lucky to have escaped the occupation," she was saying. "When he heard that Betazed had fallen to the Dominion we changed course but then we were hit by that awful ion storm. Oh, it makes my heart break to think that those brutish Jem'Hadar ruffians are tromping across my world. I hope my house is all right." And on and on she went.

The doors to sickbay opened and the ship's nurse stood waiting. Andrew guided Troi over to a biobed and disengaged his arm from her grasp. "The doctor will take good care of you. I'm going to check and see how your fellow passengers are doing. Excuse me." He turned around and nearly collided with a mountain of silk. "Excuse me," Andrew gasped, slowly sliding around him as his heart thudded in his chest. So big, he thought.

He introduced himself to the other four Betazoids. The man who had injured his ankle was named Elron Stadi and he was the transport's skipper and crew. "That woman," he grumbled as the nurse ran a hand-held medical device over his leg, "would not shut up the entire time. She even insisted that we turn around and head back to Betazed. She must be crazy because she somehow mistook my little ship for a battle cruiser. The Dominion have a tight hold on Betazed, Captain, and I think we were lucky to get away..." Andrew told him he would have his ship placed in a tractor beam to be towed to the closest starbase.

The next person was a college student named Marissa Daleers. Young and pretty, she sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting for the doctor to get to her. She told Andrew that she was a third-year psychology student at the University of Betazed. She had been interning at a Federation colony hospital and had been trying to return home for the holiday. He said that she was welcome to spend it with the crew, if she wished.

Gim Bomont was the third person, gray-haired and stout. He was a trader, specializing in rare stones and gems. He seemed more concerned with his shipment of Koladan diamonds than with his home. He asked if the captain could possibly store them in a safe place aboard the Avenger and Andrew said he would look into it.

The last person was a skinny, blonde man by the name of Tenzil Digby. He had been returning home from a job interview to be with his wife and children. He seemed to be extremely worried about his family. Andrew assured him that liberating Betazed was one of Starfleet's top priorities.

As he returned to Troi, he said, "Madame, there is a formal dinner in my private dining room this evening with the senior staff. As an ambassador, you would be more than welcome to join us."

She smiled warmly. "Thank you, Captain, I believe I will." Suddenly her smile dropped. "Oh, pooh.

All of my clothes are still on the transport. You don't expect me to wear this ratty thing do you?" She gestured to her elaborate dress. If that outfit was "ratty" he hated to think what "fancy" would be to her.

"I think we can replicate you something nice," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me? Mr. Homn." He glanced at the valet.

The giant alien bowed again.

Before leaving, Andrew told Logan to make sure everyone received guest quarters. The doctor said it would be his pleasure.

* * * "Troi?"

Andrew looked up from the padd he was reading.

"You don't mean Lwaxana Troi?" Lucas West asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Lwaxana Troi of Betazed?"

Andrew eyed his first officer. Lucas was sitting opposite him at the desk in the captain's ready room. "I'm sensing some discomfort here, Commander," Andrew said.

"The woman's a legend among the Federation Council. A nightmare legend."

"That's odd. She seemed rather charming to me." Andrew took a sip of coffee from the steaming mug nearby.

"Oh, that's just how she starts. Did you know she once made Sarek of Vulcan dance with her at a formal ball in Paris?"

"The Sarek? The man who mediated the Coridan admission, helped draft the Khitomer Accords, and negotiated the treaty with the Legarans? The father of Ambassador Spock? How did she manage that?"

"She threatened him with a diplomatic incident."

Andrew eyed Lucas, suspecting that the commander was yanking his chain. "Are you serious?"

Lucas' face was stone solid. "Absolutely."

Andrew burst into laughter. The image of Lwaxana Troi gallivanting across the UFP Headquarters ballroom with the legendary Vulcan statesman in her arms, no doubt as mortified as any Vulcan could be, was just too funny. When he recovered, he said, "Any woman who can manage that feat is welcome to eat at our table." His body shook with more laughter and he was forced to wipe tears from his eyes.

"Wait a minute... she's eating with us tonight?"

"She is. And I expect you to be on your best behavior, Commander."

Lucas appeared positively horrified with the idea but managed a steady, "Aye, sir."

"Now then," said Andrew, "hand me that fuel consumption report."

* * * Ensign Winston, one of the junior operations officers, stared at her control board in confusion. She then called out, "Sir?"

Lieutenant Jarok, standing in the center of the bridge, turned to face her. "Yes?"

"Did you order a course change?"

"No, Ensign, I did not."

Winston frowned. "Lieutenant, I was just running an analysis on the guidance and navigation system when I noticed the ship was drifting from its assigned course. Actually, according to my instruments, we have nearly executed a 180-degree turn. And since I wasn't aware of any scheduled changes I thought-"

"Mister Garvett," Jarok said, quickly rotating around and facing forward as she cut the ensign off in mid-sentence. "Do you have an explanation?"

At the curved, piano-like conn position, the officer manning it said, "No, sir. According to my instruments we are directly on course for Starbase 190. Perhaps the ensign's readings are in error."

"That's what I thought," said Winston. "But I ran a level two diagnostic on my workstation's dedicated sub-processors this morning. They checked out. There were no errors."

Jarok was quiet for a long moment before she said, "Garvett, run a level three diagnostic on the flight control processors."

The helmsman sighed quietly at the request but complied. Systems diagnostics tended to be a rather tedious process. He typed a series of commands into the smooth touch-sensitive pads on his console. Minutes later, his eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped slightly. "Hey, she's right! We are off course," he said, stunned amazement sounding in his voice. "Adjusting now." Jarok ordered him to correct the ship's heading and he immediately did so. He then said, "If I hadn't run the diagnostic, I never would have detected it. I wonder what caused it."

"There may be a systems processor flaw," said Jarok. "Contact engineering and have them send someone to navigational control to investigate it." She resumed her stance on the command deck. Crises averted.

* * * Candlelight flickered through finely cut glassware, throwing and bouncing rainbows about the small private dining room. The senior staff of the Avenger was seated around the highly polished table, enjoying various pre-dinner beverages. Most drank real alcohol from the captain's private stock. It was naval tradition, since the wooden sailing vessels of ancient Earth, for the skipper of a ship to keep fine liquors to serve to his officers for formal affairs.

At the head of the table, Andrew sat, smiling and chatting with Lucas on his right. To his left were Chief Engineer Blake, Doctor Logan, and Science Officer Lanei. Past Lucas were Security Chief Rataan and Lieutenant Jarok. Jarok did not appear to be enjoying herself, not that Andrew could ever remember seeing her cheerful, but she managed a civilized conversation with Lanei over Romulan ale. The pale blue liquor was technically illegal in Federation space but several Starfleet captains occasionally traded it for favors.

Andrew noted how marked his officers appeared in their crisp dress uniforms; long wrap-around coats reminiscent of the formal wear worn by the sailors of the 20th century Royal British Navy. The division colors of wine red, mustard yellow, or teal blue stood out prominently against the muted grays of the bulkheads and the beige fabric of the high-backed chairs.

From the open door there came a spirited female voice. "I do apologize for my tardiness." Andrew turned his head, regarding the aristocratic Lwaxana Troi standing in the corridor. The alien manservant, Mr. Homn, loomed over her like an Etruscan guardian statue. Apparently, Troi went nowhere without him.

"Please come in," Andrew said, standing respectfully. The others followed suit. He indicated towards the empty seat at the opposite end of the table with a movement of his hand. "Join us."

She flowed across the dining room with a practiced ease that proclaimed she was quite used to being admired. She wore a black dress that glittered with a hundred sequins like a shimmering star field. While not a fashion critic, Andrew had to admit it seemed a most appropriate choice of wear when visiting a starship.

Mr. Homn, who was right on her heels, pulled out the chair and she seated herself. He then remained standing behind her, passively watching the group. The officers reassumed their chairs. "Ambassador Troi, I would like to introduce you to my senior staff," Andrew said and went about the room giving names. Each officer either smiled or nodded politely at her except for Jarok who remained as static as granite. When the introductions had been completed, Andrew touched a control on the table, sending an inaudible signal. "We are in for quite a banquet tonight," he said.

The door opened, admitting eight white-gloved crewmen carrying covered silver trays. Each crewman proceeded to set the trays down in front of the officers and guest. Simultaneously, they lifted the lids, revealing cooked avian. Steam wafted towards the ceiling. The smell of sugar glazes and basting juices made Andrew's mouth water. "Pheasant under glass," he announced. "An Earth delicacy. And it is real, not replicated." The servers began filing in and out, bringing vegetables, soups and breads.

"Why it looks absolutely delectable!" exclaimed Troi. "I can't remember the last time I was seated in front of a non-replicated meal with all the traveling I do on Federation transports."

"Replicators do make life easier but tend to dull the taste-buds," said Andrew. "I like to remind myself what real food tastes every once in awhile."

After the servers finished their deliveries, two remained, manning the beverage cart and immediately refilling anyone's glass that was not completely full. No one would want for a thing this evening. As Andrew picked up the fine silverware and began slicing a piece of meat, he said, "I had a small shipment of real food brought aboard at our last port of call and placed in stasis in the cargo bay." He took a bite and hummed in savory contentment. It was really quite delicious. The crew in charge of the food's preparation was to be commended.

"What do you think of the Avenger, Ambassador?" asked Lucas.

Chewing, Troi glanced around as if the room gave her an overall idea of the ship's standing. "It's nice, I suppose. A little on the small side, but nice, so far as starships go."

Lucas frowned. "We aren't a pleasure yacht-"

"-but whatever we can offer you in the way of hospitality would be our pleasure," Andrew completed smoothly. "The nature of our mission does not often give us the gratification of having such a highly respected guest travel with us."

"Now Jean-Luc's ship, that was impressive," said Troi, as if she had not even heard Andrew's attempts at charm.

"Jean-Luc?" asked Rataan. "You don't mean Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise, do you?"

"Why of course I do, dear heart," she replied. "The man was positively fascinated with me. There was not a thing he would not do for me when I came for a visit."

"You know, I served in the engine room of the Enterprise-D," Andrew began.

"I remember one time when a nasty little Ferengi merchant captured me," she continued. "He was somehow under the impression that he could seduce me into using my telepathic abilities to help him acquire even more profit. Oh, such a greedy thing! Jean-Luc tracked him down and professed his undying love for me in order to get me back safely."

Andrew sighed and stared at his drink. He liked to tell his Enterprise stories.

"It was a rather close call in the end but-"

Lanei cleared her throat loudly. Everyone stared at her. It was an uncharacteristic move for the usually demure Deltan woman. "Excuse me, Ambassador," she said sweetly. "But I was wondering how you and the other Betazoids were faring with your homeworld being occupied by the Dominion. It must be very hard on you."

Troi stared at her for a moment, or more accurately, the lieutenant's naturally hairless head, running her hand through her curly brown hair. "That's an interesting look," she murmured and then said, "It's quite difficult for us, of course. Knowing your home is in the hands of the enemy is painful. But-" she stretched the word out several seconds, "I try to put on a happy face." As if to illustrate, her lips parted into a beaming smile. "This is me. The ambassador of happiness."

Andrew heard Lucas groan quietly. Jarok appeared positively ill. But startlingly, Doctor Logan laughed and clapped his hands together in delight. "That's wonderful, Ambassador," he said enthusiastically. "Sometimes just a positive attitude and a little luck can help a person through the most trying of situations. However, if you or any of the others in your party need someone to talk to, my door is always open."

"You sound like my daughter," she said. "She is a counselor. Are you a counselor, Doctor?"

"Not officially but I do have psychiatric training."

"You must be very talented, being a healer of both mind and body."

"And you are very kind, Ambassador." He raised his glass of sparkling white wine. "I'd like to propose a toast. To the ambassador of happiness."

"To the ambassador," everyone, except Jarok, chimed in.

"Thank you," said Troi graciously.

The group was silent for a long time as they ate, delighting in the experience of their meals. Logan consumed his meal with considerable gusto.

Unexpectedly, Jarok said, "Does he have to stand there like that?" She was staring suspiciously at Mr. Homn who looked at her with a quiet indifference.

"If he would like to join us I'm sure we could-" began Lieutenant Commander Blake.

"Nonsense," said Troi. "He's fine." She looked across the table at Andrew, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Captain, I was wondering... when should I expect Starfleet to begin operations to move the Dominion off of Betazed?" she asked slowly, as if she were choosing her words with delicate care.

"Mr. Digy asked me the same question," said Andrew. "Liberating Betazed is on the top of Starfleet's list of priorities. But as to when...? I'm afraid a date has not been selected as of yet. And if I did I'm sorry to say I could not tell you. There are security measures that we must consider."

"But Captain," she said, her tone of voice equivalent to that of an adult responding to the nonsensical ramblings of a silly child, "I am a Federation representative not to mention a daughter of the Fifth House and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed. I believe I should have a right to know."

"I apologize," he said, "but in times of war it is extremely important that classified information such as that be kept just that. Classified. I do not think I could justify sharing battle plans with you to my superiors despite your... impressive credentials."

"Oh. Yes. I would suppose not." She resumed nibbling her food. "It is delicious," she said but this time there was little enthusiasm in her voice.

* * * Yawning, Andrew tugged open the front of his dress uniform as he trudged down through the corridors of Deck 5. His back was sore from the long session of sitting with the ambassador and his brain felt fuzzy and disconnected. He was a strategist not an entertainer and duties outside his areas of expertise exhausted him. It was very late but he had a stop to make before he took to his bed. She had been on his mind all evening.

He pressed his thumb to the chime plate of a door identical to all the others nearby. "Just a minute," he heard a light feminine voice say. The door parted with the usual hiss of pneumatics, revealing Schyler. She was wearing a long pink shirt that dropped to her knees and her hair was tied back with a ribbon. There was a trace of scented soap in the air. In her right hand she held a hardbound book, a slender finger between the pages of paper, marking her spot. "Hello, Captain," she greeted him. "What brings you here?" She appeared pleased to see him.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you, Schyler," he said considerately.

"Not at all. Come in." She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter her quarters with the sweep of an arm.

"Thanks." He walked in. Her cabin was little different outwardly than any other junior officer's. A bed, functional furniture, muted pastel lights, assorted trinkets and memorabilia from home and various shore-leaves. But this was Schyler's personal sanctum and that made it more than a little special, almost like his grandfather's den or his grandmother's workshop.

She picked up a white teacup resting on the small dining table's glass top and took a sip. "Care for anything?" she asked.

"Thank you, no." He again noticed the book she was holding. "What are you reading?"

"The annotated 'Nightengale Woman,'" she replied, holding it up proudly. "A Pakled merchant sold it to me."

"Ah, Phineas Tarbolde. The Shakespeare of Canopus."

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look. "You have never struck me as much of a fan of the classics, Andrew," she said casually.

"What makes you say that?"

"During the entire time we dated I never once saw you pick up a book and read on your own time."

He held up his arms in a mock defensive gesture. "Hey, now. I was a young junior lieutenant with a few more important things on my mind than expanding my horizons. But over the past few years, I've managed to dip into the occasional work of literature. I'd like to think I've matured since the old days." "I'll say," she said, stepping up close to him. "Looks like you're going a little gray, Captain." She lightly brushed her fingernails across his right temple.

He quickly reached up and grabbed her hand gently. He held it for an instant before letting go. "I, ah," he sputtered, suddenly at a loss for words. Wait, am I a starship captain or a lovesick teenage cadet asking his crush to a dance? he thought. "I was, ah, just wondering if, you know, you weren't too busy, if you'd maybe like to get together for breakfast tomorrow." He then quickly added. "But don't feel that you have to if you don't want to. It's not an order or anything."

She pressed her lips together in thought. He noticed even with her face scrubbed clean of makeup, her skin seemed to positively gleam like polished marble. "I usually eat with Chris," she began, "but... what the heck. Sure, why not?"

He felt his face split into a goofy grin. "Terrific. See you at oh-seven-hundred."

Just as he was getting ready to leave, the door chime rang. "Come in," said Schyler.

The door opened and Chris Logan came bustling in, dressed in comfortable green casual wear. He wrapped his arms around Schyler and picked her up, her toes just barely touching the floor. "Oh, Honey, the long day I've just had would make a grown man cry," he said. He obviously did not notice Andrew's presence in the room as he began pressing his mouth against hers in loud, wet kisses. The scene made Andrew's stomach burn like someone had set a grease fire in his guts. There were fewer things less pleasant to see than watching his friend lip his secret love.

"Mph, Chris..." Schyler tried to say between breathes. "We... mph... have company."

Chris suddenly turned his head and his eyes widened when he saw Andrew. His face flushed bright red for a moment. "Oh. Hi, Captain," he said, sounding slightly embarrassed for the display. He set Schyler to the floor but kept an arm around her waist.

"Don't mind me. I was just leaving," said Andrew in a low tone of voice. "Have a good evening, Lieutenant. Doctor." He walked out and hotfooted down the corridor to the turbolift. His muscles were shaking when he got inside the lift car and it was all he could do to prevent his jaws from grinding his teeth into powder.

* * * The night duty shift was usually a quiet one. Two-thirds of the crew were asleep in their cozy beds while the rest kept the ship running. Lieutenant Commander Blake yawned into his fist. The duty schedule had been changed recently and he was still adjusting to the late hour. He took a long sip from the steaming mug of double-strong raktajino that was resting next to the bridge command chair. The mug was stenciled in black on silver with the Starfleet symbol and the Avenger's name and registry number. He made a mental note to get some official ship's mugs for his son and brother the next time he was on Earth leave. They made great gifts.

He pushed a tab on the command chair's armrest and the small computer screen, situated between his chair and the vacant first officer's seat, flipped out on its hinges. Settling into the chair's comfortable gray padding and crossing his legs, he began casually checking through the ship's primary systems.

He took a large sip of raktajino, which would soon prove to be a mistake when he scanned through the guidance and navigation systems. When the information on the screen reached his eyes and was processed by his brain, he choked, scalding his tounge and esophagus. "Damn it!" he gasped loudly, drawing the attention of the bridge crew. When he recovered he said forcefully, "Ensign Shaw!"

The officer at the helm, a fresh Academy graduate with skin as dark as the Klingon coffee he was drinking, rotated around in her chair. "Sir?" she asked, a slight quiver sounding in her voice. She was probably wondering what she had done to upset the senior officer. While Blake was not exactly known as one with an explosive temper, he was known to get quite angry from time to time.

"Have you been paying attention to your controls this evening?" he asked, standing.

She nodded, a rapid up-and-down motion of her head. "Yes, sir."

"Then can you explain why the ship is now traveling in the exact opposite direction it should be, towards the front line?"

She gave him a startled look, then whirled around in her chair. Her fingers danced over the console like the fingers of a pianist. "Um, sir, my controls say that we are still on our original course."

Blake tossed a glance aft. "Ops?"

The night shift operations manager, standing in his niche, gave his panel careful consideration.

"You're right, sir, we are off course. Now at zero-zero-three mark one-five," he slowly reported.

"That can't be right," said Shaw, now appearing very confused. "When I came on duty I did not make any major course changes. Only minor ones to account for the usual interstellar gravity instabilities."

Blake studied the ensign's face and decided that she was telling the truth. "All right then. Run a level three diagnostic and we'll see what we get." A level four diagnostic was usually run by the computer at the beginning of each shift but the level three was more comprehensive and required personal confirmation of the assigned system.

When the answer came back, Shaw gasped. "Oh my! Setting new course, sir." There was a barely perceptible shifting of the artificial gravity generators as the ensign swung the Avenger into a tight 'U-turn.' When she had completed the maneuver, the conn officer said, "I-I'm sorry, sir. I should have been paying closer attention."

He gave her a forgiving pat on the shoulder. "That's all right, Ensign. You couldn't have known." There was little use in leaving the ensign upset. He reassumed the captain's chair. "But the question remains how could the ship fly off on an exact opposite course on accident?" The idea was so inconceivable that it was almost impossible. Guidance and navigation controls aboard an Intrepid-class starship were so advanced that control error was almost unheard of.

He checked the maintenance logs and started. Lieutenant Jarok, the Alpha shift officer-of-the-watch, had reported a G&N error and requested an engineering tech to look into it just this morning. The tech's report stated that there had been no deviations in the systems norm. After consideration, Blake decided to order an immediate full analysis of the flight control software. Better to be safe... He sent a note to Commander West's private terminal appraising him of the situation. And with that settled, he took another sip of the raktajino. * * *

"Good morning," Schyler said cheerily, dropping into the seat opposite Andrew. The mess hall was beginning to fill with gamma shift personnel coming off-duty and alpha shifters preparing for their day. The replicators hummed as they produced breakfasts for the hungry crew. "Sorry I'm late."

"Oatmeal with cinnamon," Andrew observed. "Still eating that I see."

"Every morning," she replied with a smile. She glanced at his breakfast. "Coffee and croissants. Looks like I'm not the only one who can't seem to break old habits."

It was the same meal each had order when they had first eaten together. Years ago, Andrew's ship the Renegade, an old New Orleans-class cruiser, had docked at Starbase 135 for maintenance and cargo transfer. A recently promoted lieutenant, he had been assigned to oversee the loading of industrial replicator components destined for a new Federation colony. One of the cargo techs, an ensign named Schyler Anderson, had been pushing an antigrav pallet loaded with heavy replicator parts down the docking tube. Apparently the pallet had been loaded beyond the safety specs as one of its antigrav units shorted, causing it to dump its load. She had managed to jump out of the way but Andrew had been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Half a metric ton of energizing coils and matter converters fell on top of him. Luckily, he had managed to shift his body at just the right angle, avoiding having his spine crushed. When the starbase workers were able to pull him out they discovered that he had suffered only a broken leg and some bad bruises. Schyler had felt guilty for what had happened so she stayed with him in the starbase infirmary, keeping him company. When he had been released she had insisted on buying him breakfast at the station's cafe. He had had coffee and croissants, she, oatmeal with cinnamon. They had talked and discovered a kindred spirit. Forty-eight hours later he awoke in her bed. And from there it went. What had started with an industrial accident transformed into a passionate romance that seemed to him would last forever.

But it did not.

Andrew felt himself go into conversation auto pilot as his breakfast with Schyler carried on. He nodded and laughed when appropriate, adding his own thoughts to the topic of discussion, but he was not all there. Much of him was still in the past, laughing, playing, and making love to that beautiful ensign who had nearly caused his death. When he had been with Schyler he had never known such intensity of emotion, of existence, to be possible. The touch of her, or even her scent, had caused every neuron within his body to fire simultaneously. When he gazed into the depths of her eyes, her cheeks in his palms, her hands atop his, his lips dancing across hers, he knew that he would never feel the dull ache of loneliness again.

But he did.

Starfleet did what it could to make its personnel comfortable but there were also responsibilities that had to be fulfilled, relationships be damned. One year after Andrew and Schyler had first met, the Renegade was assigned to an eleven month deep-space survey mission. Both had toyed with the idea of marriage but in the end it never happened. A few years later they ran into each other again when he was a lieutenant commander on the Endeavour but their time together was brief. When he was assigned to the Avenger and discovered Schyler had been assigned here as well he had been surprisingly unemotional about the matter. He knew why but there was no one he could explain it to. The secrets and the very existence of Section 31 would remain secret until he died. It was only a year later, when he was bumped from executive officer to captain, that his yearnings for Schyler resurfaced. But by then he was too late. She had discovered Chris. His best friend.

Andrew idly nudged his croissant around the plate with a finger but then instantly sympathized with the small wrapped pastry. He was the croissant and the finger was Starfleet Command, Section 31, life, fate, love... forces that pushed him, forces that he was powerless to fight against. But now he was going to try to at least guide one into his favor. A man cannot stop the flow of a river but he can make it work for him.

When there was a lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and said, "Schyler, I have something I need to tell you."

She looked up from her oatmeal, spoon poised directly under her mouth as she was ready to take another bite. "Yes?"

"Over the past few years I've been through a lot of changes. I've gone from ship to ship to ship. I've lost friends and my mentor. I went from lieutenant commander to captain in under two years, which is practically unheard of. My hair's going gray. It seems like change is probably one of the two constants in my universe." He then grew quiet for a long time.

"What's the other constant?" she gently asked.

"My love for you."

Despite the crowded conditions of the room, the silence from Schyler was deafening.

The spoon fell from her grasp, seemingly in slow motion. It tumbled in the air, the starlight outside the viewports reflecting in its metal finish, and then it crashed to the table with a loud clatter.

A few crewmen glanced over from their tables to see what had caused the racket and then turned back to their own conversations.

"What did you say?" Schyler asked in a loud whisper.

Andrew felt his throat seize when he saw her expression. She looked as if some sort of omnipresent artist had taken a rag and wiped the color from her face. Except for her eyes. They were static, boring straight into him.

"My feelings for you never went away," he said. "When the Renegade returned from her mission and you were gone... I was devastated. Then during that incident with the crew of the Endeavour, we never even had the time to say 'hello' but when you left, the loss I felt was beyond description. And now... here you are."

"Here I am," she repeated, but her voice was odd, almost robotic.

"I... I don't know what else to say," he said after a long pause.

"Chris," she said, not quite loud enough for him to hear.

"Hm?"

"Chris. Doctor Logan."

"What about-" he began but then realized what had just happened.

"Your best friend. You just professed your undying affections to the love of your best friend." Her stare instantly turned frigid and he felt goose bumps rise on his skin as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped.

"I-I-I-" he stammered, merely making noise, unsure of what he could say to justify his feelings. He had no right to go around Chris's back like this but he could not help what these emotions were making him do. "What does this tell me about you, Andrew?" she said. "That you would be willing to betray Chris simply to rekindle a flame that went out years ago?"

"The flame never went out for me, Schyler," he said weakly, feeling his spine sagging in the chair.

"It did for me, long ago. It takes two to have a love or else its just silly infatuation." She stood and picked up her tray. "What's sad is that I think I feel sorry for you, all alone at the top. But what's worse is how Chris is going to react when he finds out." She shook her head in antipathy. "I don't know what's gotten into you. Have a nice day, Captain." She briskly walked away.

Andrew could only stare at the now empty chair and wonder why the universe hated him so. * * *

Lucas was waiting for him in the ready room. He stood from the guest chair when Andrew trudged in. "Good morning, sir," he said formally. He stared, noticing the ashen expression on the captain's face. "Are you all right? You look a little sick."

Andrew slumped into his chair behind the desk with all the pained motions of a man seventy years his senior. "Something from breakfast isn't sitting right with me," he said faintly. "I'll be fine. What do you have for me, Commander?"

Lucas slid him a padd. "Helm troubles sir. Twice in the past twenty four hours a major G&N error has occurred. In fact we were going in the opposite direction last night until operations discovered the error."

Andrew stared at him, wondering if this was some sort of joke. If it was not such a serious implication, the situation would almost sound comical. "I assume engineering has looked into the problem."

"Aye. They sent up the report an hour ago. Everything checks out with the systems, no anomalies. They even crawled in there and inspected the key components by hand. They said the processors were operating like they had just been installed yesterday."

"Did you have Lieutenant Lanei do a scan for subspace instabilities, assorted temporal phenomena, quantum filaments, wormholes, or any of the other unexplainable hoozits and whatnots that seem to plague space travelers nowadays?"

Lucas nodded. "She found nothing. Astrometrical sensors say the entire sector is clean. Also, because Betazed and the outlying Betazoid colonies are nearby, this area of space was heavily traveled before the war broke out and there were no reports of unexplainable phenomena anywhere in Federation records."

"So either we're dealing with-" Andrew paused, momentarily unsure of the right word to use, "-

something that is beyond our ability to detect or maybe... the answer is less in the realm of the metaphysical. Perhaps someone wants us to go back to Betazed."

"But that would be suicide, Captain. The Dominion invasion force stomped the 10th Fleet. One ship wouldn't even be a challenge for them to destroy."

"Maybe so. But that may not matter to whoever could be behind this." Andrew steepled his fingers in thought for a moment. "Betazed. And this started after we picked up the Betazoid refugees."

"Do you think one of them may be behind this?" Lucas asked. "None of them seem the type to commit treason."

"Who knows? It's just a hunch. Auxiliary control is the only other place besides the main bridge and engineering where helm functions can be overridden, correct?"

"Correct, sir."

"Have Lieutenant Rataan place a rotating security detail outside of auxiliary control until I say otherwise."

"Aye, sir. Anything else?"

Andrew shook his head. "No, thank you. You're dismissed." Lucas headed for the door but stopped when Andrew added, "Oh, and Commander, I want to be alone for awhile. Could you see to it that I'm not disturbed?"

Lucas nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Thank you." As the door closed behind the first officer, Andrew noted that sometimes it was good to be the captain. If he wished to be alone, Lucas would do everything in his power to make sure that wish was fulfilled.

* * * Gloved fists collided with a stuffed vinyl cylinder. The sounds of heavy breathing echoing in the empty gym accompanied as Jarok pummeled the punching bag.

She had been researching in her free time, studying the leisure activities and sports of humans. She was amazed that such diversity in human physical athletics existed. Romulan sporting events tended to be simple affairs to either tone the body or exercise the mind in strategy. Some humans took games to a whole new level, often requiring the players to dominate or even brutalize their opponents, almost like Klingons. One such activity was boxing, a sport that was slightly anachronistic for the times but one that was still practiced none the less. Hit your opponent until he fell down and know when to duck. It seemed simple enough but there were pages upon pages of literature from centuries back dedicated to the strategy and techniques of boxing.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched herself in the mirrors that lined the wall. Her jaw was clenched, sweat plastered her dark hair to her forehead, and green blood coursed through veins beneath her skin. Her arms were almost lightning bolts, jumping forward to connect with the bag and then recoiling. She slowly circled the bag like a predator, striking at it from all sides, no mercy.

She immediately ceased her engagement with the inanimate object when she heard the doors open. She could not help but sigh and roll her eyes when Chris Logan entered the room. "Doctor," she said sternly, "these intrusions are quickly growing bothersome."

"Oh really?" he said brightly. "Well, that's too bad because I just came down here to exercise since all the holodecks are in use for Federation Day activities."

She stared at the medical officer, decked out in shorts and a Starfleet Academy Medical School tee-shirt. From the looks of him, she doubted he had ever lifted anything heavy in his life. He was not in the least bit fat but his body seemed to hold little muscle tone either.

"Hey, boxing. Just what I was in the mood for." He crossed the room and opened an equipment locker, pulling out a pair of gloves and a couple of head guards. "Up for a couple of rounds?" he asked.

"You must be joking," she said flatly.

"You're not afraid are you?" he asked, tossing her a head guard which she caught between her mitts.

"Only of hurting you," she replied.

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. The question is, can you take care of yourself?" She did not reply, but merely slid the padded guard over her head. The two officers walked into the center of the room where a padded blue mat stood.

"I'm going to have to ask engineering to build us a collapsible ring sometime but this will do," said Chris around his mouth guard.

"Are you ready?" Jarok demanded.

"Ready and rearing to go."

The punch was so fast that Chris could hardly see it. There was an explosion of color and then he was sitting on his bottom, the mouth guard hanging between his lips. When he recovered his perceptions he said, "Nice one. Let's go again." He stood.

This time he was able to put up some semblance of a defense but did not have the chance to strike back. She was merciless, bombarding him was blows from left and right. A jab struck him right in the nose, sending him stumbling backwards and crashing to the mat. He felt warm blood dribbling out of his nose.

"Please say you give up," said Jarok.

"I have not yet begun to fight!" He replied with theatrical gusto that even the Bard of Avon would cringe at. He picked himself up again, a little woozy on his feet this time.

She came at him again, punching and jabbing. She drove him into the corner and off the mat. He tripped and went sliding backwards across the floor. When he came to a stop he was staring at the ceiling, blinking.

She stared at him and then said, "This match is over." She pulled off her gloves.

"Coward!" He shouted, weakly raising one of his mitts. "As soon as I get up from this floor, you are going down Lieutenant!"

After removing her headgear she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. "If I agree to accompany you to the holo-fireworks show this evening, will you stop this insanity?" she asked, her tone of voice sounding like she was asking someone to pull out her fingernails.

"Yes," he said.

"Fine. You may meet me at my quarters at 1800 hours." She turned and walked out.

Chris remained on the floor, staring upwards. Then he grimaced, touched his face, and said, "Ow."

* * * Kaleran Rataan clenched his jaw, fighting a yawn. The captain had ordered a security detail placed outside auxiliary control. This type of activity required monitoring from the bridge security/tactical station. But with the ship in cruise mode and nothing happening, it made for a dull shift. On the small display screen before him was a security monitor view of the area around the auxiliary control room door. Two of his guards, Lampley and Watkins, stood at attention on each side.

Rataan's attention sharpened when he noticed the shadow of a person approaching from down the corridor. On the monitor Lampley and Watkins turned their heads to the figure. Lampley raised his hand to his comm badge. "Lampley to Rataan," came his voice. "One of the Betazoids is approaching, sir. A teenage girl."

"Send her on her way," Rataan responded.

Marissa Daleers came into view. Watkins stepped up to her, blocking her way. The two talked for a few seconds. Watkins pointed down the corridor, back the way Marissa had come. She smiled, nodded in a seemingly apologetic way, and walked away.

"She said she took a wrong turn, Lieutenant," came Watkins' voice over the comm. "She's never been on a starship before."

"Understood," said Rataan. "Carry on." He sat back on his small stool and sighed, rubbing his eyes. He was considering getting a cup of coffee from the bridge replicator when he glanced at the monitor.

Lampley and Watkins were sprawled out on the deck in a heap, like they had both suddenly decided to take a nap. The door to auxiliary control was open and the shadow of an individual moving around inside the room was being cast out into the corridor.

Rataan leaped to his feet and slapped his comm badge. "Rataan to all security personnel! Intruder alert, auxiliary control!" He bolted for the turbolift.

* * * The whistle of the communications hail roused Andrew from fitful sleep. He had been having the Schyler at the Lakes of Benzai dream again, with one minor modification. In this one, Schyler had drawn a phaser and had been slowly incinerating his limbs. Pushed into consciousness, he managed to disentangle himself from his blankets and punch the comm padd next to his headboard with his thumb. "Brower here," he said.

"Lieutenant Rataan, sir. Sorry to wake you. Would you please join me in the brig?"

"Let me guess. You caught someone somewhere he shouldn't have been."

"'She,' sir. Two 'she's' actually."

"I'll be right there."

* * * Andrew had not bothered changing out of his pajamas. His slippered feet made swishing sounds on the corridor's traction carpet. The heavy reinforced doors of the brig parted before him. He was greeted with the sounds of a distinctive shrill voice.

"...daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed I demand to be released! Immediately!"

"Ambassador Troi?" Andrew asked, bewildered at the scene before him. Lwaxana Troi and Marissa Daleers were inside the cell. Marissa was seated on the bench, curled up, her chin propped on her knees. Troi was standing close to the force field, shaking her fist furiously at the security guards. Rataan was the picture of serene Starfleet professionalism but one of his guards, Watkins, looked ready to strangle the woman. Another guard, Lampley, was rubbing his temples, as if he had a headache.

"Good evening, Captain," said Rataan.

"Oh, Captain Brower!" Troi called out, her expression changing from outrage to delight as she noticed him enter. "I assume you're here to release me from this dungeon!"

"Lieutenant, do the words 'diplomatic incident' mean anything to you?" Andrew asked Rataan.

"Sir, the Ambassador and young Miss Daleers were the ones responsible for the security breaches," Rataan replied without so much as blinking.

"Explain."

"We have surmised that Miss Daleers used this," Rataan held up a small metallic cylinder, about the length of a pencil, "to render the guards unconscious. The device uses compressed air to deliver a micro dart of sleeping agents. It's commonly used by Betazoid security forces for subduing individuals without harming them. She must have had it hidden on her person when she was beamed aboard. Because it had no explosive capabilities or power cells the transporter weapon scanners did not register it."

"It sounds to me like we need to upgrade our scanners," Andrew commented. "But go on."

"After the guards were knocked unconscious, Ambassador Troi proceeded into auxiliary control where she began resetting the navigational systems. But how she managed to actually get into the systems, I'm still attempting to puzzle out."

"I suspect that the good ambassador was able to pull the information from the mind of one of the engineering staff. If you ask around, I'll bet that there is someone who will remember falling asleep on watch without even being tired." Andrew stared at the two women behind the force field. Marissa held an expression of embarrassment and even shame while Troi simply stared at him with strong distaste. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he told Rataan. "You may release Marissa. Have her escorted to her quarters and please make sure that she stays there."

"And the Ambassador?"

"I'd like to speak with her alone."

"Aye, sir." Rataan punched in the force field release code into a control panel and the energy screen vanished. He gestured to Marissa who quickly walked out. The two guards followed them out the door.

When they were alone, Andrew said to Troi, "Ambassador... I don't really know what to ask. I guess why would be a good place to start."

Troi stomped over to the cell's bench and seated herself with a huff, rearranging the colored layers of her dress. She was quiet for a long minute and Andrew feared that she was going to resist speaking with him. But then she sighed quietly and the trappings of her aristocratic upbringing fell. "I wanted to go home," she said, almost in a whisper.

"Surely you realize that that's just not possible right now. The Dominion has firm control of your planet. If we went there, we might be destroyed."

"Believe me Captain, I'm all too aware of that," she replied, but not in a haughty manner but rather with the voice of one who was very tired. Not just physically, but emotionally as well.

"What were you hoping to gain by putting this ship in danger?"

"I... I thought it would get the ball rolling at Starfleet Headquarters. Perhaps if they saw that this one vessel was able to do damage to the Jem'Hadar forces they would consider sending more ships." She rubbed the bridge of her nose with the tips of her fingers. "And it's more than just wanting to have my friends and my house liberated. Perhaps you don't understand this being a space explorer, but my homeworld is my identity. Almost everything and everyone I ever cared about is there. The best and worst times of my life happened there. Without Betazed, I feel like nothing."

Andrew sat down next to her and gently placed a hand on her arm. "But you're not 'nothing.' You're a... well-known Federation envoy and the mother of a child who needs you."

"I know, I know," said Troi, tears sliding down her cheeks. "But sometimes it's almost more than I can bear, knowing that Kestra's memorial is being trampled by alien thugs."

Andrew did not know who Kestra was but remained quiet as he collected his thoughts. "I don't believe that I mentioned this to you but I was raised on Betazed."

She looked at him, wiping tears off her cheeks with the back of her hands. "You were?"

"Yes. By my grandparents. We had a home near the Crystal Lakes of Benzai. Have you ever been there?"

She nodded. "A few times. My first husband, his name was Andrew as well, and I, we had our honeymoon there." Her dark eyes pierced into his and he felt a slight tickling in the back of his skull. "I can also see that there is more to Benzai than just a childhood memory. You have a strong urge to return there. With a certain woman whom you wonder if you are still close to."

"That's enough, Ambassador," he said sternly and the tickling went away.

"I apologize," she said. "I forget myself sometimes and reach out telepathically when I get emotional. It's how Betazoids often comfort one another. But you probably already knew that." She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Who is she?"

He sighed, wondering if telling her would be a good idea. But before he could stop himself he said, "Someone who I made a mistake with. She loves another man, a man who I also hope to still call friend at the end of the week, but I admitted to her that I... loved her."

"Ah," she said, understanding sounding in her tone of voice. "Believe it or not, Captain, but I have had more than my fair share of affairs of the heart. And more than a few turn out quite badly. It's almost like we need the other person to help define who we are..." she trailed off.

"...almost like a home," he finished.

"Captain what are you planning to do with Marissa?"

"What do you think I should do?"

"I talked her into the plan. She was just a scared little girl and I can be manipulative when I want to be. Please don't let my foolish actions ruin her chances for a successful future."

He smiled at her. "I'm glad to hear that. But I wasn't planning on filing any charges against her. She will be free to go when we arrive at the starbase."

"And with me?"

"Someone needs to be held responsible for the security breaches. And I would normally file a protest with your government but seeing as how it is in exile at the moment, and as how no one was harmed, I believe I'll let you go." He stood then said, "That is, if you promise to behave yourself."

She smiled back at him. "I think that's a promise I can keep."

"Good." He turned to walk away and then stopped. "Oh, yes. There's a fireworks display in Holodeck One in about an hour. I was considering skipping it but many of the crew will be there. I was wondering if you and your son would like to go as well."

"That sounds delightful," she said, standing.

"I'll see you there, then." He nodded and left, suddenly feeling much better than he had in days.

* * * A light nighttime breeze rustled the grass on the hillside overlooking modern day Paris. The holo-image was quite convincing although it had been awhile since Andrew had been in France so he could not really compare. The city below seemed to be illuminated from within as light from the streets and buildings was thrown up into the starry sky. Andrew could easily make out many of the famous landmarks. There was the Sienne River, there was the Eiffel Tower, there was L'Arc de Triomphe, and there was the UFP Headquarters complex. Sounds of the Federation Day celebrations could be heard within the city, completing the illusion.

The crew was gathered around the base of the Paris Observatory at Meudon, an ancient building constructed in 1667 and modified several times over the centuries. Today it was a museum containing many artifacts of ancient Earth astronomy.

The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves. Several sat on blankets chatting or strolling about. Some of the crewmembers were tossing a glowing ball around with a few of the Betazoid passengers. He was stunned to see Lieutenant Jarok, garbed in a pretty gray dress, sitting on a blanket and talking with Chris Logan. Logan appeared to be trying his hardest to make her laugh and actually came close a few times.

Schyler was nearby with Lwaxana Troi and the towering Mr. Homn. She was holding Troi's son and making funny faces at him as he tried to grab her nose. He took a deep breath and walked over to them.

"Ambassador, Lieutenant," he said formally. "I hope you are both enjoying yourselves."

"Very much so," said Troi. "Thank you, Captain."

"As am I," said Schyler, looking at him with an expression he could not quite decipher.

"Could I speak with you for a moment, Lieutenant?" he asked, nervously.

"Very well," she said, and handed the child back to Troi. "I'll be right back," she said, tickling his stomach. "You keep being cute."

Andrew and Schyler strolled away. It took him several long moments to get up the nerve to say, "I'm sorry, Schyler. I did a very dumb thing. Did you... did you tell Chris?"

"No, no I didn't," she replied. "You don't need to worry. But you know what? I'm sorry too. I think I realize now that I was more offended for Chris than I was for myself and I don't think I had the right to be that way."

"I understand. You care for him and you don't want anyone to hurt him."

"I don't want anyone to hurt you either, Andrew." They stopped walking and she took his hand in hers. "I still love Chris but I want you to know that I care for you too. As a friend. No, as a good friend." She smiled. "Damn, there's really no words to describe how I feel. Just give me a hug."

And they embraced, warmly without hesitation or tension. And it felt good to Andrew. She would not be his lover but they had something just as deep. And that was good enough for him.

"Wow, you two are getting awfully friendly over here!" came Logan's voice as Schyler and Andrew broke their embrace.

"Come on, Chris, you know Andrew and I have known each other for a long time," said Schyler.

Chris winked at her. "I know. I'm just kidding." He wrapped his arm around her waist and Andrew smiled at the scene. His two best friends together. There was something comforting about that on a grandiose scale.

"Where's Jarok?" asked Andrew.

"Over there, playing with Ambassador Troi's baby," said Chris.

Andrew could not believe his eyes. "My God, Chris! What did you do to her?"

Chris rubbed his jaw. "It's more like what she did to me."

Suddenly a resounding boom sounded across the valley as a large colorful blossom of fire erupted over Paris. And as the fireworks began Andrew noted that, despite the grave times the Federation faced, on this day of celebration, he had never felt more contented.