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“I’m sorry, sir,” Wesley said. “I was—well, elsewhere. I’ve been checking back up on you guys as much as I can, but I’ve been busy helping train Korgan and—well, traveling. I didn’t want to miss the wedding, though. I mean, let’s face it, those two should’ve gotten together years ago.”

Crusher glanced at Picard. “Well, Wes, sometimes it takes people a while to realize how they actually feel.”

Wriede came back on the line. “Uh, sir, quartermaster says he only has a lieutenant’s uniform in that size. The replicators are under maintenance right now, but he can make a new one for Mr. Crusher within the hour.”

“I’m afraid the need is immediate, Mr. Wriede. Have the lieutenant’s uniform beamed down.”

“Aye, sir.”

Grinning sheepishly, Wesley said, “Thank you, sir. For the uniform and the promotion.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, young man.” Picard wagged his finger in mock rebuke. “This is a temporary promotion for the express purpose of saving all of us some embarrassment.”

“I’m not really embarrassed, sir,” Wesley said matter-of-factly. Then, at Picard’s aghast expression, he added, “But I don’t want to embarrass Commander Riker or Counselor Troi, either, sir. Sorry, it’s just that—well, I’ve come to look at the galaxy a lot differently.”

Picard recovered. Crusher almost sprained her lips holding in a giggle.

“Understandable,” the captain said. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for what you did for us at Rashanar.”

“Happy to do it, sir. It was good to have one last chance to save the Enterprise.”

Riker pulled the curtain that separated the hallway from the main pavilion aside and looked out at the guests who were milling about, most of them holding drinks and some finger food. The latter smelled wonderful, and Riker’s stomach rumbled a reminder that he hadn’t eaten all day. Only a little bit longer, he thought.

He saw plenty of familiar faces, some old friends, some relatives of Troi’s he didn’t recognize—relations on her father’s side—and even a few members of Starfleet brass, including Admiral Vance Haden. The serious-minded old admiral had been Ian Troi’s commanding officer on the U.S.S. Carthage when Troi’s father died, thirty-six years earlier.

A familiar voice from behind him said, “Don’t worry, I’ve done this twenty-three times—it’s a piece of cake.”

Turning, Riker saw two old friends. One was a short woman wearing a lovely gold knit vest over a loose-fitting silvery-green shirt, long golden earrings, and a green hat that looked like a plate with a pituitary problem balanced on her head.

“Guinan! Glad you could make it.” He turned to the woman standing next to the EnterpriseD’s erstwhile bartender. “You too, Katherine.”

Clad in a Starfleet dress uniform, Katherine Pulaski’s eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Her face soured a bit. “Especially after I heard about Kyle. I couldn’t make the funeral, so I thought I should be here for this, at least.”

Pulling each woman into an embrace, he said, “Thank you,” to each of them.

“Nervous?” Pulaski asked.

“Surprisingly—no. Then again, there really isn’t anything to be nervous about. Honestly, this is the first thing that’s gone right since Rashanar.” Again, thoughts of Tezwa returned, the remembered stench of the pit Kinchawn had thrown him in overpowering the existing smell of the finger food. Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he said, “I’m glad you two could make it. We’ve almost got all the D guys back.”

” ‘D guys’?” Pulaski parroted with a snort.

Guinan asked, “Almost?”

“The O’Briens couldn’t make it, unfortunately.” Riker shook his head. “Do you know that Molly’s eleven now?”

“She’s only eleven?” Guinan frowned. “I would’ve sworn she was older.” At Riker’s shocked look, Guinan said, “When you think of your own age in terms of centuries, eleven years really doesn’t mean much.”

“I guess not.”

“Well, I sympathize with the chief and Keiko,” Pulaski said. “It wasn’t easy for me to get away, either. The work we’re doing at the Phlox Institute is at a critical stage—I’m afraid I won’t be able to make the ceremony on Betazed.”

“Speaking of