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“… warier than ever …” Kuukervol said.

“… and,” Dravvin finished, “arrived without further incident.”

The newcomer’s mouth shaped words to which he gave no voice, as if he hadn’t spoken his fill yet. Then he gave up and, wallowing in frustration, took his half-full mug and wandered away.

The Rythrian looked pleased. “I think we’ve taken the wind out of his sails. And good riddance.”

Robinson made a clucking sound with his tongue and turned to Picard. “The poor, benighted sot tells the same story every night. Except for a few middling changes, of course, so it’ll fit with the evening’s theme.”

Flenarrh smiled benignly. “If we’ve heard him tell it once, we’ve heard it a hundred times.”

“Come to think of it,” said Bo’tex, “we never did get to hear the juicy part. I wonder … would it have been the Phrenalian commander who served as Kuukervol’s love interest? Or perhaps he would have singled out some member of his command staff?”

“The possibilities boggle the mind,” Dravvin observed ironically.

“Minds being boggled,” said a voice from over Picard’s shoulder. “Sounds like my kind of place.”

Picard turned and saw another fellow coming over to join them one dressed in a navy blue pullover with a white symbol on the upper right quadrant. He had dark hair with hints of gray and a goatee to match. Also, something of an antic sparkle in his greenish brown eyes.

“Ah,” said Robinson. “The Captain of the Kalliope.”

The newcomer smiled. “Good to see you again, Captain Robinson. What’s it been? A year or more?”

“Time has little meaning in a place like the Captain’s Table,” Robinson replied. “How’s your wife? And the little ones?”

“Not so little anymore,” said the Captain of the Kalliope. “The big one’s trimming the sails now and his brother’s taking the tiller.” He glanced at Picard. “I wondered if you would drop in here someday.”

Picard looked at him. The fellow seemed awfully familiar, somehow. Picard tried to place him, but couldn’t.

“Have we met before?” he asked the Captain of the Kalliope.

The man shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. Let’s just say your fame has preceded you.” He raised a mug of dark beer until it glinted in the light. “To Jean-Luc Picard, Starfleet’s finest.”

The others raised their glasses. “To Jean-Luc Picard.”

Picard found himself blushing. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” said the Captain of the Kalliope. “These guys will drink to anything. I learned that a long time ago.”

The others laughed. “How true,” Hompaq growled. “Though I am not, strictly speaking, a guy.”

Bo’tex snuck a sly look at her bodice. “It appears you’re right,” the Caxtonian told her.

Her eyes narrowing, Hompaq clapped Bo’tex on the back, sending him flying forward across the table. “How clever of you to notice,” she said.

As Bo’tex tried to regain his dignity, the Captain of the Kalliope sat and winked at Picard. “Some group, eh?”

The fellow reminded Picard of someone. It took him a moment to realize who it was. Riker was a little taller and more sturdily built, but otherwise the two had a lot in common.

Picard nodded. “Some group.”

“Now, then … where were we?” Robinson asked.

“A tale of romance and adventure,” Flenarrh reminded him. “And we still haven’t got a volunteer.”

“Don’t look at me,” said the Captain of the Kalliope. “You know I can’t tell a tale to save my life.”

Flenarrh looked around the table until he came to Picard, and his eyes narrowed. “What about you, Captain? You look like a fellow just steeped in romance and adventure.”

Robinson considered Picard. “Is that true, Captain? Have you a tale or two with which to regale us?”

Picard frowned as he weighed his response. “In fact,” he said, “I do. But it’s one I would rather keep to myself.”

His companions weren’t at all happy with that. Dravvin harrumphed and Hompaq grumbled, both clear signs of displeasure.

Robinson leaned closer to Picard. “Come, now,” he said. “We’re all friends here. All captains, as it were. If you can’t share your tale with us, who the devil can you share it with?”

Picard looked around the table. Normally, he was a man who kept