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“You make a compelling case,” said Picard. He smiled as well. “From now on, we’ll work together as closely as possible.”

Thul clapped him on the shoulder. “I am pleased,” he told the captain. “I am pleased indeed.”

Crusher leaned back in his seat and surveyed the faces of the others who had joined him in the lounge.

Phigus Simenon, the ship’s lizardlike chief engineer. Pug Joseph, the baby-faced head of security, who was straddling a chair in front of the room’s computer workstation. Carter Greyhorse, the big, broadshouldered Native American who served as chief medical officer. Vigo, the strapping blue Pandrilite in charge of the Stargazer’s weapons systems.

And, of course, Ensign Tuvok, who was standing off to the side with his arms folded across his chest.

“Well, Ensign Tuvok,” said Simenon, eyeing the Vulcan with slitted, blood-red eyes as he switched his scaly tail from one side to the other, “you’re the expert on the Kellasian sector. Why don’t you tell us who this mysterious third party is already, so we can all go have a nice snack and put our feet up?”

Caught off balance, the ensign looked quizzically at the Gnalish. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

The engineer stopped and returned Tuvok’s scrutiny. “We backtracked all the way to Starbase Three to pick you up, didn’t we? I thought that you might know something.”

Tuvok frowned ever so slightly. “I know quite a bit. However, it will require considerable investigation to determine if there is a third party-and if so, to uncover his identity.”

“Investigation,” Simenon hissed, his eyes gleaming with humor. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

“Pay no attention to him,” Greyhorse told the Vulcan.

“The doctor’s right,” said Joseph. He had turned around to face his workstation and was tapping away. “Our friend Simenon doesn’t always work and play well with others.”

“Doesn’t ever,” Greyhorse amended.

Crusher knew that the Gnalish could be irascible in the extreme. The human had long since given up trying to beat him in a game of one-upmanship, since he never seemed to get anywhere.

Simenon smiled to himself. “My apologies, Mr. Tuvok. I didn’t know your feelings were hurt so easily.”

The ensign’s brow creased. “I do not have feelings,” he shot back. “I am a Vulcan. And if it is your intention to bait me, I would advise you to spend your time in more gainful pursuits … for instance, adjusting the magnetic switching controls in the plasma distribution manifold.”

The Gnalish’s head snapped around. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with the magnetic switching controls.”

The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow. “That is correct. It was merely … an example,” he said archly.

It took Simenon a moment to realize that the tables had been turned on him, but when he did he hissed with delight. After all, he liked nothing better than when someone matched him blow for blow.

Thataway,” he told Tuvok with a surprisingly paternal tone in his voice. “Don’t take guff from anyone-even me.”

Crusher nodded approvingly. It seemed Tuvok was going to be able to hold his own on the Stargazer-even against the likes of the Gnalish.

“Now,” he said, as the ranking officer in the room, “let’s put the sharp part of our wits to the problem instead of each other.”

“Here’s a start,” Joseph told them. He swiveled around in his chair again. “I’ve taken the liberty of pulling up all pertinent information on terrorist incidents in the sector.”

“You mean the latest wave?” asked Greyhorse, his expression a characteristically grim one.

“No,” said the security chief. “All of them, including the ones attributed to the established terrorist groups.”

“The Quack-Socks and the Melly-Craw,” snorted Simenon.

The Vulcan opened his mouth to correct the Gnalish’s deliberate mispronunciations, but Crusher caught his eye and shook his head. Realizing he was being baited again, Tuvok remained silent.

“Gather “round,” Joseph advised his colleagues. “Don’t be shy.”

They all complied. Even Simenon.

“Now,