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Picard was indulging in a moment of admiration when a young man in a uniform jacket approached him, a fellow who at second glance couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. But wearing an officer’s uniform. A yeoman?

“Mr. Picard, sir,” the young man began, “Mr. Pennington’s regards, and would you please assign two men to assist the afterdeck brace splicing.”

“Regards to Mr. Pennington, and you may select any two men who are not right in the middle of something else.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Oh, and Mister—I’m sorry, my boy, what’s your name again?”

The young, dark-haired fellow’s brow furrowed, as if he thought Picard must have got a knock on the head. ” Nightingale, sir. Midshipman Edward Nightingale.”

“Oh, yes—I’m sorry. Must be the smoke.”

“Aye, sir.”

“When you’ve discharged your current duty, report back to me, please.”

“I will, sir.”

The young man was skinny and long-legged, as tall as Picard but half the weight. He hadn’t gained his late-teenage meat yet, though there were signs of that coming.

“And, Mr. Nightingale, bring that boy over there with you when you come back.”

“The swab? Oh, aye, sir.”

He watched Nightingale hurry back across the scrubbed deck, and once again scanned the working crew. Which of these men was Alexander’s ancestor? Was he lying wounded below, perhaps? How many days of this program would they have to endure before singling him out?

Alexander’s relatives, who had saved this diary program and passed it along to him, had never specified the ancestor’s name. They thought part of the exercise was for Alexander to find the man.

But Picard had a ship to run, and a tinderbox situation on the planet of Sindikash to handle. Riker would interrupt the holodeck experience if necessary, however, and the ship was hovering just outside Sindikash’s sensor range, waiting for Worf’s reports.

Beyond that, the ship would run itself. Like the captain of this frigate, he also had lieutenants whose job it was to mind specific decks and departments. No point hovering about, micromanaging. He wasn’t actually inclined to do so, though he felt the tug of other responsibilities. He had learned better many years ago, when he himself was officer of the watch.

Standing here on this old-fashioned deck, with the sunset of the past glowing on his face and neck, he felt as custodial about this British frigate as he did about his own ship, for in many ways this small vessel needed him more.

At least, today it did.

Today, the H.M.S. Justina was in hostile waters, thousands of miles from a friendly port, defending what her captain, officers, crew, and king believed was right.

And he had a boy’s idea of honor to tend. He mustn’t forget that.

A week ago, he might’ve huffed off the concept that a twelve-year-old child’s view of the universe would be important to him. Something was different, now that Worf had made this request of him. The universe had gotten a little smaller.

Ah, here came the boys.

Alexander’s white shirt was drenched from the chest down with blood-streaked water. Behind him came Mr. Nightingale, expectantly looking at Picard.

“Mr. Nightingale,” Picard began, “I’d like to have you give this lad a quick lesson in the structure of this ship and its rigging.”

The midshipman blinked, confused. “Sir?”

“You heard me,” Picard said, clasping his hands behind him. “It’s an exercise for you both. Please begin.”

“Oh …” Nightingale paled somewhat, as if afraid he were being tested, as Picard had carefully implied. “Yes, sir. Here, swab, pay attention.”

Alexander frowned at the nickname, and Picard wondered if there were indeed some powder monkey on this ship who had been given that nickname. Just as he himself had been given the position of a lieutenant who probably did exist, Alexander seemed to be taking the place of a boy who had really been here.

“That’s the bow and bowsprit,” Nightingale began, quite obviously uneasy with this simplistic, even weird, assignment. “The rigging from there to the masts are called stays. The sails running on the forestays are heads’ls. The supports athwartships are