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And who would ever know how big a part an Orion slave girl had played in it? Who would ever understand how brave she had been?

Only he. And Tuvok.

And what had she gotten for her trouble? Just a small taste of freedom, the commander reflected. But for her, maybe that had been enough.

“Come on,” he told the Vulcan.

As Tuvok had advised, Jack Crusher would make sure his friend hadn’t died in vain.

The sight of his transporter room was unexpectedly comforting to Picard. However, it didn’t make up for the discomforting outcome he had brought back with him.

He had hoped to report another diplomatic success to Starfleet Command; it would have been a nice prelude to a few days of rest and relaxation at Starbase Three with Admiral Ammerman and his family. But it was not to be. The captain bore a message of war, not peace, and the future looked grim for this small sector of space.

Picard nodded his thanks to the ensign who had transported him up. Then he crossed the room, meaning to head for his quarters.

“Cadwallader to Captain Picard,” came a summons, stopping the captain in his tracks.

The comm officer’s voice, upbeat at the worst of times, was now positively bubbly. Wondering simultaneously what she was doing at her post at this late hour and what had caused her excitement, he replied, “Picard here. What’s going on, Ensign?”

“A message for. you, sir,” said Cadwallader. “It’s from Commander Crusher. Ears only, it seems.”

The captain’s heartbeat sped up. “I’ll take it in my ready room.”

“Aye, sir,” said the comm officer.

A minute later, he emerged from a turbolift compartment onto his bridge. His officers-Ben Zoma in the center seat, the Asmund twins at helm and navigation, and Cadwallader at communications-all turned to him with expressions of relief on their faces.

What’s more, Picard understood why. They had been worried about their friend Jack. A message meant that he was still alive.

Without a word, he made his way across the bridge and headed for his ready room. As the doors slid apart for him, he called back to his comm officer. “Patch it through, Cadwallader.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” she told him.

Circumnavigating his desk, the captain sat down and eagerly faced his monitor. Then he tapped in the command that would play the message for him. As it was a simple audio transmission, the Starfleet insignia remained on the screen throughout.

“This is Commander Crusher,” said the second officer’s voice. He sounded pleased and weary at the same time. “Sir, we’re en route to your position in our Benniari craft. It seems First Minister Culunnh’s hunch was right-there is a third party behind these attacks. They were instigated by a Thallonian governor … a man named Gerrid Thul.”

Picard felt a cold like that of the vacuum of space settle in his stomach. “Thul?” he muttered, bewildered.

The Thallonian had seemed so concerned about the situation, so determined to avert a war. However, Crusher didn’t sound as though he harbored any doubts-and Tuvok, a Vulcan, would have argued with his conclusion if he had. If they said Thul was responsible for the attacks, they must have discovered proof that it was so.

Thul, the captain repeated inwardly.

He listened as Crusher went into the details of the governor’s plot and his motivation. Each word Picard heard served to infuriate him a little more. By the time he heard the last one, his face was crimson with rage and indignation and his hands had clenched into fists.

Thul was fortunate he wasn’t on the Stargazer, the captain told himself. He was fortunate indeed.

“Cadwallader,” Picard barked, getting up from his chair and heading for the exit, “locate Thallonian Governor Gerrid Thul on Debennius Two.”

As he strode out onto the bridge, still riled with righteous ire, the ensign was manipulating her controls. She spoke softly into her headset for a moment, listened, then turned to the captain.

“You’re not going to like this, sir,” she told him. “The Benniari report that Governor Thul left Debennius