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“Humblest apologies!” he wheezed. “The room is crowded, you see. I was jostled and I-“

The Thallonian felt his whole body thrumming with excitement. It had been too long since he’d had the pleasure of an all-out fight. Brandishing his blade like the expert he was, he rose and closed the distance between himself and the alien.

Abbis could smell his victim’s terror. It was a heady perfume, and his drunkenness only seemed to magnify it

“I did not see your table, I swear it!” the alien moaned. “Please, sir, allow me to repay you for your-“

“I’ll say you’re going to pay!” cried the Thallonian. In an instant, the naked tip of his sword was at the alien’s soft, fleshy throat.

One quick push, he thought-ah, so easy-and The Den’s manager would have a very large and bloody body to haul away. The alien closed his eyes and whimpered softly, no doubt seeing the same end for himself.

But before he could make his thrust, Abbis felt his anger begin to cool. And cool some more. There was no challenge for him here, he realized, nothing to be gained. Not even a little fun.

The alien’s toppling of the bottle had obviously been an accident. And even if it weren’t, the Thallonian told himself, the thing was empty. So what was the point of taking offense?

Abbis thought of his last conversation with his father, and what Thul had said about true valor. He thought of all the assassins who answered to him. He thought of war, only another incident or two away.

He had accomplished a great deal during his short stay on Debennius VI. There was no need for him to prove his manhood by taking the life of a fat, defenseless fool.

The Thallonian stuffed his sword back into his belt and looked down his nose at the alien. “Yes,” he repeated, “you’ll pay. Another bottle of The Den’s best and we’ll call it even.”

The alien opened his eyes, saw that he was not going to die and exhaled a huge, trembling sigh of relief. “Yes, yes, of course,” he breathed. “Thallonian ale, was it? Happy to do so, sir, happy, yes, happy!”

Abbis withdrew and lowered himself onto his bench again. The silence that had descended when he first unsheathed his sword began to fill in with sound. The buzz of conversation and the clicking of ceramic goblets resumed. Little by little, the erstwhile customers and staff of The Den turned their worthy attention elsewhere.

Wyl, however, was staring at him. It bothered Abbis.

“What are you looking at?” he asked his friend.

“You,” came the reply.

The Thallonian snorted. “I might have guessed that. But why?”

“You have never walked away from a fight in all the years that I’ve known you,” the Indarrhi observed.

Abbis scowled. “Is that a problem?”

Wyl smiled. “Quite the contrary, I would say. I see a bright future ahead of you, Mendan Abbis. After all, the only thing that ever really stood in your way was yourself.”

Just then, the waitress came over with another bottle of ale. Without a word, she plunked it down on the table and left The Thallonian looked around. Finally, he caught the eye of the big alien. Pointing to the bottle, he nodded. The alien seemed happy, yes, happy.

“A bright future indeed,” said the Indarrhi.

The Thallonian shot him a look of disdain. “You’re telling fortunes now? Stick to what you do best”

But Abbis’s words belied the pride he felt. And his companion being what he was, he would know that.

Wyl leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes,” he said, “predicting the future is not all that difficult”

Picard was sitting on the Council Chamber’s podium in his usual spot, watching a Melacronai diplomat address the afternoon session, when Jetaal Jilokh entered the room with a look of anxiety on his furry, round face. The Benniari’s ears were pressed flat against his head and his violet eyes were enormous.

By that, the captain of the Stargazer knew that the news was bad. Of course, he had no idea how bad.

Culunnh’s aide trundled down the central aisle and ascended the podium. Then he approached the First Minister, who was seated against the wall