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“Were you especially close?” I asked her rather abruptly, I’m afraid. “You and your brother, I mean?”

Red Abby looked at me, as if trying to decide whether to answer such a personal question. In the end, she decided in my favor.

“He was my brother,” she said. “My only sibling. How could it have been any other way?”

I too had possessed but a single sibling my brother, Robert, back on Earth. He had perished in a fire. I took his death rather badly. But for most of our lives together, we had failed to see eye to eye.

I said as much.

Red Abby shook her head. “It was never that way with Richard and myself.”

“No?” I said.

“Not in the least. Growing up, we were always very much alike rebellious and undisciplined, determined to blaze our own paths instead of following those of others.” She paused. “Somehow, my brother managed to ignore those qualities in himself and wound up in Starfleet Academy.”

“Where he did rather well,” I noted.

The second interface was deactivated. Without pause, I went on to the third one trying not to notice how alluring the smell of Red Abby’s hair was. Like lilacs, I thought.

“Yes,” she said. “Richard did very well.”

Her tone of voice told me she meant to say more. “But?” I prodded gently, hoping to hear the rest.

“But he didn’t have an easy time of it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“The regimentation, the lip service he had to pay to his so-called superiors …” She shrugged. “He hated all that. But he managed to accept it because he wanted to explore the galaxy and Starfleet seemed like the best way to do that.”

“He must have derived some satisfaction from the job,” I suggested. “A person doesn’t often rise to the rank of executive officer without a certain degree of commitment.”

Red Abby nodded. “It satisfied him, all right even more than Richard expected, I think. But only for a while. Then it got to him, little by little, just as I told him it would.”

“He felt stifled?” I asked.

I glanced at her, suddenly aware of how close she was to me. Aware of her every feature. Her fiery red hair, flowing over one slender shoulder. Her eyes, with the mystical blue of a summer sky in them.

Her mouth, full and inviting.

“Claustrophobic,” said Red Abby. “Restrained by one rule or another. But even then, he didn’t give it up. Someone always seemed to be counting on him for something, depending on his skills and experience and Richard never in his life let anyone down.”

She lapsed into silence for a moment. Perhaps, I thought, she was renewing her resolve not to let him down.

“In any case,” Red Abby went on, “his tour eventually ended and he took the opportunity to resign his commission. He’d had enough. He wanted to try something different. Something without so many rules.”

The last of the three interfaces gave way, rendering the self-destruct mechanism harmless. Breathing a sigh of relief, I took hold of the device and withdrew it from the bulkhead cavity. Then I showed it to Abby.

“That’s it?” she asked.

“That’s it,” I told her.

Red Abby nodded. “Good work.”

Neither of us got up, however. That was fine with me. I still yearned to know more about her.

“And you’ve never had the urge to try Starfleet yourself?” I asked. “Never wondered what it was like?”

Red Abby laughed and leaned back against the Romulan divan again. “I know myself too well.”

I gazed at her. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve grown even less patient than Richard, less tolerant of sprawling bureaucracies and red tape.” Her tone grew more serious. “Frankly, Picard, there’s only one thing in Starfleet I’ve ever coveted, and that’s only a very recent development.”

Her remark made my curiosity boil. “If I may ask,” I said, “what is that one thing?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, unexpectedly, she swung her legs beneath her and leaned forward, and kept leaning until her face was right beside mine. I could feel the warmth of her breath in my ear as she answered with remarkable frankness.

“You.”

Madigoor

PICARD PAUSED IN his tale. But his companions at the Captain’s Table wouldn’t hear of it.

“Go on,