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“A good question,” said Picard. “Apparently, by that time, site-to-site transports had been made impossible by the release of plasma gas all over the ship. Worf had no choice but to fetch us personally.”

“It’s a good thing it was the Klingon,” Dravvin noted, “and not someone less powerful.”

“Or less determined,” Robinson added. “The warbird might have destroyed itself at any moment. Yet your man ignored that fact, risking his life to save your own.”

Flenarrh grunted. “A brave man, that Worf.”

“A warrior,” Hompaq pointed out.

The Captain of the Kalliope chuckled. “Your first officer certainly knew what he was talking about.”

Bo’tex looked at him. “His first officer?”

The Captain of the Kalliope nodded. “Early on in Picard’s story, the man said Worf was worth several ordinary officers. The facts seemed to have proved him right.”

“To be sure,” Picard agreed.

“But surely,” said Robinson, “you’re not finished, Picard? What became of the fair Lady Abby? And her stalwarts?”

“And Brant?” the Captain of the Kalliope added. “What happened to him and his rebels?”

“And their Hoard?” Flenarrh wondered.

The gecko perked his head up. It seemed he had some questions of his own, if he could only voice them.

“You’re right,” Picard told them all. “There’s more of my story to be told … if only a little.”

The Tale

WE NEVER BEAMED back down to Brant’s world. Rather, Brant and his fellow rebels beamed up to the mercenary vessel, along with all the equipment and supplies we had seen on the planet’s surface.

And the Hoard as well.

Then we left the vicinity. Apparently, the rebels were well prepared, having decided in advance where they would rendezvous if they were ever attacked while their fleet was away.

Fortunately, the mercenary vessel had sustained little damage at the hands of the Abinarri. Cruising at warp eight, we would reach the rebellion’s new headquarters world in a little less than two days.

In the meantime, we were treated for our injuries and given a chance to convalesce. Even Worf allowed his wounds to be dressed and subjected to a healing device of some kind. However, he refused to remain in the rebels’ too bright, makeshift sickbay, preferring to prowl the purple-shadowed precincts of the ship.

I didn’t have the strength to prowl with him, nor did I pretend to. I remained in sickbay, Abby’s bed just a few feet from my own. I remember lying there as weariness and my medications conspired to overwhelm me, glad to see her color starting to come back a little.

After all, I had begun to care about her. To care deeply.

Finally, I succumbed to sleep a wonderful sleep, peaceful and without dreams. When I woke, I was surprised to learn I had been out for eighteen hours straight and that Abby was gone.

I searched for her throughout the ship. A few of the rebels said they had seen her, speaking here and there with the survivors of her crew. Then one of them directed me to the observation lounge.

That’s where I found her. She was standing with her brother, gazing at the streaking stars through a large, diamond-shaped port. They were cast in a purple light, like almost everything else on that ship.

If our vessel had still been operated by its original owners, the Orions, the place would have boasted a wide variety of gambling paraphernalia. As it was, it contained just a few tables and chairs. I made my way through them to join the Brants.

Abby turned and smiled at the sight of me. She looked a lot better than when I had glimpsed her last. Her pallor was gone and her eyes were as bright as before.

“Picard,” she said.

I nodded. “Or anyway, what’s left of me.” I turned to Brant. “I take it our journey has been without incident thus far.”

“It has,” he confirmed. “With any luck, it’ll stay that way.”

“We need to talk,” Abby told me.

“I guess that’s my cue,” said Brant. “Glad to see you’re up and about again, Picard.” Then he made his way out of the lounge, leaving his sister and me alone.

Abby was silent for a moment, strangely pensive.