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Funny, he thought, how that sign had seemed to loom up out of nowhere. Looking at it now, he didn’t know how he could have missed it.

“Come on,” Gleason told him, tugging at his arm.

They crossed what appeared to be a square and reached the door beneath the sign. It was big, made of dark wood and rounded on top, with a brass handle in the shape of a mythical, horned beast. All in all, a curious entrance even for Madigoor, which had its share of antique architecture.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Gleason took hold of the handle and pulled the door open, allowing a flood of noise to issue forth from inside. Then he turned to his colleague with a grin on his face.

“After you, Jean-Luc.”

Picard took Gleason up on his offer. Tugging down on the front of his shirt, he went inside.

His friend followed and allowed the door to close behind them. “Well?” Gleason asked over the sounds of music and clattering glasses and conversation. “What do you think of it?”

Picard shook his head. After hearing his colleague’s description of the place, it was hardly the sort of ambiance he had expected. The place wasn’t a pub at all, was it?

Rather, it was reminiscent of a French country inn, from the elegant but faded wallpaper to the violin melody coming from somewhere to the ancient hearth blazing in the far wall. There was even an old French nation-flag, hanging from the smoky, dark rafters.

Also a stair, off to the side and just past the bar, that led upstairs to another floor. No doubt, the captain mused, there were rooms to let up there, for those who had drunk a bit more than their fill.

Tables stood everywhere, a veritable sea of them, each illuminated by an oil lamp in the center and liberally stocked with half-empty wine bottles. And there was hardly a vacant seat to be had, except in the farthest reaches of the place. Nearly every table was surrounded with guests, some sitting and some standing.

Picard couldn’t help but remark if only to himself on the assortment of species in evidence there. He had run into almost every kind of being in known space at some point in his career, and he was hard-pressed to think of one absent from the proceedings. In fact, there were a fair number of patrons whose like he’d never even heard of.

As he continued to examine the place, something caught his eye. A display case, actually, with unless his eyes were failing him something remarkable inside it.

Something quite remarkable.

“Jean-Luc?” said Gleason.

“Just a moment,” the captain replied.

He wound his way through the closely packed crowd, drawn by his curiosity. Moments later, as he stopped in front of the display case, his initial conclusion was confirmed.

There was a bottle inside the case. And inside the bottle was a model of a Promellian battle cruiser much like the one he had built as a boy, which stood now in his ready room on the Enterprise.

Picard had never seen another such model in all his travels. It was hard enough to believe another child somewhere in the universe had been so fond of Promellian ship design. But the chances of that child being inclined to build something in a bottle …

He shook his head. It staggered the mind.

Yet here it was, an exact replica of his boyhood trophy. The captain turned to comment on the coincidence. “Look at this, Neil. I”

But Gleason was gone.

Picard looked about, imagining his fellow captain had merely strayed in another direction. Toward the bar, perhaps. But the longer he looked, the more certain he was that Gleason was nowhere to be found.

Now, that’s strange, Picard thought. Gleason was so eager to show me this place. Why would he bring me in and then abandon me?

The captain didn’t wish to jump to any unfounded conclusions. However, it occurred to him he knew almost nothing about this establishment. The hair prickled on the back of his neck.

If Gleason had somehow fallen victim to foul play … perhaps someone he’d met here on a previous occasion and offended …

Picard stopped himself. You’re overreacting, he thought. A massive conspiracy aside, the place was too crowded