Graduation (1/2)
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Merlin Missy

Copyright 1995, 2000

Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and including the
kitchen sink. Feel free to distribute, so long as my name and header are
attached.

Chapter 1: Arrivals and Departures

Near the edge of the Galaxy, on a yet-nameless world circling an angry red sun,
in the middle of a forest in late Autumn, just an hour past mid-day, a young man
sat cross-legged on a hard, flat rock inspecting a bright stone. At first glance,
his appearance was unremarkable: short dark hair, height slightly more than that
of the average male of his species, but nothing out of the ordinary. Only his
eyes set him apart from other members of his kind, and that only if one knew
precisely how to look. If they were a little less wide and innocent than they
once were, if there was not as much life in them as there might once have been,
it could be chalked up to the added years. However, only one person in the
universe knew just how many years that had been, and the price paid for each
one.

Unbeknownst to him, he was silently being observed by that very person. His
watcher was humanoid, about two meters tall, with two large fingers and a
thumb to each hand. He had a slight protrusion at the bridge of his nose, while
his head, which always gave the impression of being just slightly too heavy for
his shoulders, was mostly bald save for a small greyish fringe that ended in an
intricate knot at his nape.

As far as the youth was concerned, the alien could have been a child, or a being
of Q's age. He had never told, and the Human had never asked. All the boy
knew was that sixteen years before, by his own reckoning anyway, the Traveler
had entered his life briefly and changed it forever. He had quietly arranged
encouragement for the boy and had left upon a dream. Once, he had reappeared
when things looked bleak, and had given him a glimpse of what was possible
before slipping back into mystery. Time passed for the Human, and then the
universe opened to him with the merest step sideways. The Traveler returned
and left again, but he did not leave alone.

For the past eight years of his life, the youth had grown in wisdom and ability.
No longer the cocksure, precocious child, he had been tempered with life
experiences beyond those of most Humans. Together, they had been to places
that were not locations but dreams, a world made of music, a universe of poetry.
With time having no more meaning than starlight, they had tripped through the
past of a dozen races, but only once had the Human glimpsed the future, and
that was enough. Each trip took months of preparation and training, though of a
far different sort than he had ever before known. The courses in the Traveler's
academy were patience, meditation, and long study. The classroom was the
universe. Now, the time had come for the final exam.

"Wesley..." he called. A distant bird cried from the woods.

Wesley turned to face his teacher. "It's time to go, isn't it?" The Traveler
nodded. "You always get that look when it's time to move on. So where do we
go next?"

"Not we. You." Seeing the youth's quizzical look, he continued. "There is
something only you can do, something that must be done. You have reached
the end of your lessons. This is the final test."

Wesley stood, not really surprised. His strange friend had mentioned recently
that their association was coming to an end. Still, his stomach churned with
nerves as he asked, "What is it?"

"There is..." He stopped, trying to collect his thoughts and memories. "If
nothing else, you have learned that time is fluid. Paradox is usually not a
problem when we Travel, because the timestream smooths out the small eddies
we cause. Otherwise, we would destroy the universe the first time we moved
from one time into another. Obviously, we do not." Wesley nodded.

"Sometimes, however, things are not as they seem. Paradox becomes an
integral part of the picture, and certain things must be accomplished to make the
timestream stable. My primary reason for existence, I would like to believe, is
to channel these paradoxes into the timestream so they do not disturb the rest of
it." He paused, trying to think back, to remember the right words ...

"But now there's a paradox you can't fix."

"Yes." Now he remembered. This is how it had gone, how it had been written.
"But you can fix it, and you must. And I cannot tell you how, or why, or even
the overwhelming importance in that the universe unfolds exactly as it has thus
far." Now for the push sideways, to keep him from the center a little longer.
"The time has come for you to repay your debt to me. The timestream must be
kept whole. The price may be your life." He had to add that part; it was all part
of the bargain struck long ago.

Wesley turned his attention back to the stone for a brief moment, turning it over
in his hand. It was a heartstone, found only on Rigel VI. The stones were
prized for their unique property of glowing at humanoid emotional states: red
for fear, brown for sorrow, green for happiness, yellow for serenity, blue for
love. Each stone was mined, polished and shaped individually, with no two
ever alike. Robin had given it to him the last time they had seen one other, and
he had sworn to her that they would marry the next time he saw her, no matter
how long it took. He slipped the pink-tinged stone into his pocket with a sigh.

"What do I have to do?"

The Traveler smiled sadly. Of course the child had accepted the task. That too,
was part of the timestream flowing onward, just as true and unalterable as his
birth, or the long past death of his father, or the far-too-soon loss of the woman
he loved. Some things could never be changed.

"You must trust me. First, we will test language skills. Ask the most important
question in tlhlngan."

"nuqDaq'oH puchpa"e""

"In Bajoran High tongue."

He repeated the question in Bajoran, in Andorian third dialect, then in Ssruuk,
and finally in Romulan. The Traveler nodded acknowledgement at each, then
quizzed him on history, philosophy, scientific theory, literature, firing questions
like phaser blasts. "Now, we will test your Changing."

"What form shall I take?"

"Lakanta first."

Wesley closed his eyes, and began his exercises. His breathing slowed as he
slipped into deep relaxation. Then, his appearance shuddered, and he Changed.
Where Wesley had been stood a different man, a small "rat's tail" of hair at his
neck, and an older, rounder face. He was dressed in supple brown leather down
to his moccasins. He opened his eyes and looked to the Traveler for approval.

"Good. Now Worf."

Again the relaxation, the Change, and a handsome Klingon male dressed in a
cranberry red StarFleet uniform appeared in Lakanta's place, long hair pulled
back in a grey-streaked ponytail. The Traveler nodded.

"Your stepfather."

The man standing before the Traveler was much older and slightly shorter than
the last two, but with an air of dignity and grace about him. The ponytail was
gone, replaced by a wreath of silvery-white hair. The uniform had become an
ambassador's formal garb, scarlet and gold. In a perfect replica of the man's
cultured voice, Wesley asked, "What do you think?"

The Traveler smiled. "I think you should not do that Change around your
mother. It would... worry her."

The replica grinned.

"Now, I want you to become an adult male Vulcanoid, average Romulan
citizen's attire."

The image paused a moment in thought, trying to remember his studies on
Romulan culture. The shudder, the Change, and he was a Romulan of perhaps
fifty or sixty years. He had not changed his own facial features much, just
altered them to fit the Rihannsu image. His clothing had become a simple robe
with somewhat large shoulders over slacks gathered at the bottoms, with a pair
of nondescript boots.

"What is the most important rule of Travelling?"

"You can't go back to the same place twice, or else you'd meet yourself coming
the other way." He paused. "Which means I only have one chance at this,
whatever it is."

The Traveler nodded his approval. He turned away for a moment, to catch a
glimpse of sunshine through the cool woods. When he turned back, his eyes
were full of light. "When all is done, you will return here to this time. I will be
waiting." He raised his hands in a gesture of farewell.

"But you haven't even told me When I'm going or what I'll be doing."

"You must discover that for yourself, Wesley. All I will tell you is that you will
be prepared and that you are in the correct shape for the test." He placed his
hands on the Romulan Wesley's shoulders, already knowing what the outcome
would be. "May Fate lead you to your future."

He sent Wesley Travelling.

Alone, he sat on the large rock so recently vacated by his protege, and watched
the distant sun through the primordial forest. After a while, he heard
approaching footsteps.

VVVVV

Hecouldnotseeathinginsidethetimestreamhehatedgoinglikethis
butthatwaswhatthetravelerwantedandhewasfallinghewasfalling.

VVVVV

The disorientation always came first. Wesley put a hand out to steady himself,
found a wall of some sort, and clung there. After a few moments, enough time
to take a deep breath and let the world revolve beneath his feet, he straightened
and tried to get his bearings.

Walls rose high to either side of him, with a few stray words written here and
there. He dug into his memories of written Rihannsu, but could not make any
sense of what they said: "Cool Disco Dan," "Beware of the Duck in the Red
Plaid Jacket." With a last shake, his head was clear, and he realized he was
standing somewhat drunkenly in an alley. Somewhere Romulan. He read
another, "Pink Mosh Bunnies Rule" and wished that he'd studied more written
language. Mosh bunnies?

"You there!" came a voice from behind him. He turned slowly. A Romulan
guard stood at the end of the alley, glaring at him. Had she seen?

"Yes?" he replied carefully, trying hard to think of a good excuse for being
there and the words to say it. He came up blank.
"You know the rules. There will be no loitering in the alleyways." Loitering?
Good. She hadn't seen him Travel.

"I'm sorry, Centurion," he said, speaking slowly to get the words right, and
hoping to hell he sounded stoned. "I seem to have lost my way." He stepped
gingerly toward her. If he was lucky, she would just tell him to head home.

"Centurion?" She looked skeptically at him. "I think you should come with
me." So much for being lucky.

He scratched his head and reread the graffiti, buying time to think. "Wait a
minute. I know where I am now. I live two streets that way." He pointed
behind him. He turned to walk down that way as fast as he could without
seeming to hurry.

"Wait." Damn. "I think I'd better accompany you home. Just to make sure you
arrive safely."

"There is no need for that. Honestly." The Traveler's teachings echoed through
his mind: stay calm, always think before you act, and NEVER tell your real
name.

"What's your name, Citizen?" The first phrase learned in any tongue. Also the
worst. Have to pick one fast.

"Dalek." Suddenly, he was struck by inspiration. "What is your name?" He
let his gaze wander over her. She was fairly pretty by his standards, and
certainly by those of her own world.

"To you, I am 'Yes, Watch Commander,'" she said, obviously unimpressed.
"And you are beginning to try my patience, Citizen Dalek." Nonetheless, she
shifted to a less threatening posture. It had worked; she thought him drunk.
That was fine by him.

"In that case, I will go." He turned back down the alley, hoping against hope
that she wouldn't follow.

She followed.

"Show me where you live, Citizen."

He decided to try one last time. Thinking of two old and dear friends, he said:
"You are the most beautiful woman in the universe." He felt something press
against his back. A split second later, he realized it was a disruptor. So Will
hadn't been kidding when he said that it wouldn't always work. Bummer.
"If you do not start walking and show me where you live, you will be the most
dead man in the universe."

"Yes, Watch Commander." He started walking, wondering where in hell he
was going to go.

VVVVV

The garrison, if that's where he was, was as imposing on the inside as it was
unnerving from the outside. Wesley looked around in wonder at the massive
hive of bureaucracy humming all around him. Brown-clad workers scurried
busily by, making just the slightest veerings in their direct paths through the
chambers. The Watch Commander shoved him in the back.

"Stop gawking." She pushed him down a maze of hallways, and into a
disturbingly tiny room, perhaps a meter and a half to a side, with one small light
panel as decoration. The door slammed, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
So much for charming her, or trying to fool her into thinking he actually lived
around that block. It hadn't helped when he had chosen a door at random, only
to have the real resident pick that time to come home.

He realized that he could be there for some time. He sat on the floor, and
noticed the slightest upward force. He pushed down with his hand, and met
with more resistance. So the cell had a force-shield, and was no doubt
monitored somewhere. He was not really surprised; Worf had employed a
similar device to keep prisoners from going through the floor or ceiling in the
brig. Escape would be that much harder. He could still Travel out of the cell, if
absolutely necessary, but then he would not be able to complete whatever he
needed to do. Also, Traveling while Changed was usually not a great idea,
unless of course one enjoyed migraines that lasted over a week. The jump
there had been controlled by the Traveler. For his return, he would need to find
a place where he could be unseen, or there would be far more questions left
behind than was healthy for the continued good of the timestream. But how
would he answer the questions that were sure to come now?

The door opened suddenly. A large, unsmiling guard pointed a disruptor at
him. In his head, Wesley dubbed him Chuckles almost immediately. "You,
come with me."

Wesley didn't argue.

Another maze, glimpses here and there of hurried Romulans, and he was
brought into another room much like the one he had just left, this one equipped
with a desk, two chairs, and an official of some sort reading a data padd. The
official looked up at him, gestured towards the remaining seat, and continued
reading the padd. After some time, he glanced up, and seemed surprised to see
Wesley still there.

"Name?"

"Dalek."

"Occupation?"

"Traveling musician." The Traveler always seemed to have an appropriate
persona on hand, and the wandering minstrel motif was usually the safest and
most popular answer. "Would you like to hear a song?" He took a deep breath
in preparation to sing as loudly and off-key as possible.

"No." Also the usual response. "It seems we have no record of you here in
Kalind." Kalind? "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to where you come from,
Dalek."

"That would be because I just arrived here this morning from Lin'Ank Rumm,
as I tried to tell that Watch Commander on the way here. Are you sure you
don't want to hear a song?" He took another deep breath.

"Quite sure." Good. On one trip, they had managed to get away with being
itinerant singers for months after only singing once. They had been paid quite
handsomely to never attempt it again. "We asked the Watch Commander, and
she told us about your claims. Now, wouldn't you know that no one in Lin'Ank
Rumm has ever heard of a traveling musician named Dalek?"

"I play to a very select audience."

"You play to no audience at all. You do not exist in our files anywhere." The
official looked directly at him for the first time. "If you would like to exist, you
will cooperate in our questioning. Do you understand?" Wesley nodded.

"Name?"

"Dalek."

The official, whose name he never did learn, looked over the top of his padd to
the guard standing quietly behind Wesley's chair. Out of the corner of his eye,
Wesley saw him move
nanoseconds before he felt the blow. His ears rang a nice tune; he tried to hum
it but failed.

"Name?" It was going to be a long day.

"Dalek."

VVVVV

Hours later (days?), Wesley returned to "his" cell, although it could have been
another for all he could tell or cared, and collapsed on the floor. They thought
he was a spy. They thought he was an imposter of someone who didn't even
exist. They hadn't taken a blood test yet, or a physical scan. He didn't know
how he could possibly fool either right now. He could still Travel. He had kept
that in his mind during the interrogation. If he had to, he could Travel. The
thought had given him strength somehow, the way a secret could.

He felt a cut across his cheek, and drew back green-flecked fingers. The
illusion was good, but not good enough. He would have to think of something
soon. The bleeding wasn't bad, and stopped after a minute. By then he was
sound asleep.

VVVVV

Autumn again. The sky was grey-tinged, and the sunlight had that special
quality of lateness unique to the closing of the year on every world. The breeze
brushed against his face, and smelled of coming snows.

He looked down to see himself in a loose, white linen shirt with splayed sleeves
and a short jacket. Robin was glorious beside him, in a long, flowing burgundy
dress gathered at the waist, with the slightest dip in the laced, tight bodice. A
small wreath of late flowers held long, dark hair out of her oval face.

His mother was to his right, dressed in a similarly
breathtaking gown in the deepest shade of royal blue he'd ever seen, the waist
more than just a shade too tight. Seated next to his mother, he saw his
stepfather in an outfit much like his own, with a midnight-blue cloak wrapped
around both of them.

Another Human male was to Robin's left, perhaps fifty or sixty years old, with
dark hair turning silver, and a strange smile. He knew without conscious
thought that it was the Traveler, who had brought them all to this strange place.
The eyes gave it away.

Wesley looked around the crowded round theatre. Noisy people sat in the
balconies and stood near the front stage. A trough went through the standing
crowd, almost overflowing with waste and noxious debris. The average
audience member seemed to have too few teeth, and not one of them appeared
to have bathed in at least a month. In that respect, the party of five seemed to
stand out. However, few people seemed to notice, as though being unusual was
normal for the place.

On the stage, two men began to converse. After a few minutes, the audience
quieted enough for Wesley to hear them:

"The Twelvemonths' time, a brief eternity,

Has lately passed as 'twere some solstice eve,

Made sacred by the vows we shall exchange.

How fares the gentle Kate?"

"I'sooth, she speaks

Of nothing further than our coming feast

To Hymen's glory ... "

Wesley glanced to his mother and Jean-Luc. Both were enraptured by the
sounds and sights of a play which had been lost for nearly eight hundred years.
"Love's Labours Won" had only shown a dozen times, perhaps two, before it
had passed out of history with its author. But history was the stock in trade of
the Traveler.

The wedding gift he had chosen for his mother, the one thing he knew that
would entrance his stepfather, a chance to spend time with them and the woman
he loved, all combined into a few hours' trip into the end of Earth's sixteenth
century.

He took Robin's hand, and held it as she squeezed, a warm smile on her lips at
him and at the obviously happy couple beside him. He looked over to the
Traveler, and a shudder passed through to his sleeping body. The Human male
with the alien eyes was not watching the play at all, but instead seemed intent
on observing the young woman beside him. His voice echoed into the dream, a
half-memory of times to come.

The time has come for you to repay your debt to me.

He owed the Traveler for the gift, for the long-dead play, for the look of joy on
the faces of the three most important people in his universe. This was the debt
he had to pay in the present, of which he was slowly becoming aware again. He
fought against the return of consciousness, clinging to Robin's hand as a lifeline
to this wonderful dream-world. Still he watched with a kind of detached awe,
as he realized for the first time that the Traveler's guise resembled what his
father might have looked like, only older and sadder. In his father's voice, the
Traveler's words whispered.

The timestream must be kept whole. The price may be your life.

Unable to move or speak, he watched as the Traveler took Robin's other hand
and gently pressed it to his lips.

The dream died suddenly, and Wesley found himself trembling on the floor of
the cell. He knew the Traveler could do things beyond his own comprehension,
but could he control even his dreams? If so, he had just given a good reminder
as to why Wes could not leave. If not, if the last part had just been a result of
his nervousness combined with the interrogation, then he really needed to rest
his imagination. The Traveler and Robin? Carefully, he felt the comfort of the
heartstone in his pocket.

"Law 103: A couple of lightyears can't keep good friends apart. Or real years,
either." He sat up, in preparation to meet whatever would come next.

VVVVV

The door opened. The guard who had helped in his questioning the day before
again gestured with his disrupter. Wesley looked at Chuckles, looked at the
disruptor, and shrugged. This was getting old. Fast.

They walked in silence through the maze, Wes beginning to wonder idly if he
would get a piece of cheese at the end. The thought made his stomach gurgle,
as he realized he had not eaten since the previous day's lunch. To ignore the
increasing noise level from his insides, Wes began to hum a snatch of song he'd
heard the last time he'd Traveled into Earth's past, just two weeks previous.

Chuckles swatted him. Obviously a music critic.

Wes found himself led back to the nameless bureaucrat's office again. The
Romulan stared at him across the desk, and did not invite him to sit.

"You do not exist, Citizen Dalek." He let the full
implication settle in before he continued. "There are no records of you
anywhere. No one remembers you. You have no home, no friends, no family,
nothing." The ironic truth of his own words did not reach the administrator,
however. Wesley already knew he had no one. He was not even precisely sure
as to what century it was. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, then
remembered Chuckles at his back.

"Under normal circumstances, you would be questioned until you told us what
we need to know." He gestured meaningfully at the guard. "The only official
charges we have against you for now are vagrancy, public intoxication, and
attempted robbery." Wes looked at him questioningly. "Your attempt to
convince the Watch Commander that another citizen's house was yours
constitutes trying to rob him of his name," he explained. "However, these are
hardly capital offenses. Also, our resources are somewhat limited. Therefore,
not only should we not hold you, we could not keep you here longer than
absolutely necessary anyway."

"So you are going to let me go?" Wes could not believe his good fortune.

"Go?" The Romulan looked puzzled, then understanding set in. "Ah, yes."
Wesley smiled in relief. This nightmare could end soon, and he could find out
what the Traveler had wanted him to do. Already, he was looking forward to his
tour of Romulus.

"The colony will be glad to have another pair of hands."

"Colony?" His imagined wanderings around the shores of the Apnex Sea
ended abruptly. What was he talking about?

"In the Carraya System. It's rather new, rumored to be a somewhat wet place,
but if you don't mind needle-snakes or Klingons, you'll fit in just fine." He
typed something into a padd, and handed it to Chuckles. "See that the prisoner
is put on the transport." He smiled thinly at Wes. "You can sing for them in
your spare time."

Klingons? Needle-snakes? The Carraya System? It all sounded familiar, like
something he should know from an old nursery rhyme. As Chuckles escorted
him out, he began to think longingly of home.

Chapter 2: Fish and Paint Chips

The docking bay was enormous. He had seen a dozen
shipyards, had walked the passageways of starbases without number, but
nothing had prepared him for this. It covered at least one hundred square
kilometers at the ground, and stretched skyward into darkness. Romulans in
workers' garb hurried through the bay, some carrying tools looking vaguely
analogous to Federation standard, some holding devices whose purpose he
would not even speculate. Considering the tiny cell in which he had spent the
night, and the small ground-car in which he had been brought, this place was
nearly too large to comprehend.

Chuckles, who seemed to be his eternal shadow, led him to the ship. It was
surprisingly beautiful; the graceful lines flowed down the sides of its long hull,
which split into two airy wings, and the whole thing was the palest shade of
eggshell blue. Had first contact been with such a vessel, he thought, things just
might have gone differently between the Federation and the Romulans.

Then, quieter than moonlight, the ship powered up and lifted gently off the pad
as Wes watched, unbreathing. The delicate nose pointed towards the sky and
soared into darkness. Wesley then saw the ship that had been parked behind it.
Medium-sized, squat, looking somewhat battle-scarred and weary, it sat looking
for all the world as though it would sigh heavily at any time.

"Move it, prisoner. They're waiting for you."

Wes stepped aboard the tired vessel, then tried to turn for one last glance at the
gargantuan bay. Surely the entire Romulan fleet was launched from this place!
His view, however, was blocked by Chuckles' looming form. The guard handed
a padd to a passing crewmember.

"This is 'Dalek.' Be sure to afford him your best
hospitality."

"Oh, we certainly will," she said, squinting at his uniform, "Captain Jarit."
Jarit? So Chuckles did have a name after all. Wes watched him leave with
no sense of nostalgia whatsoever.

"Come with me." The crewmember led him to a compartment in the back
with almost the same dimensions as his cell. He wondered if they had been
designed by the same architect, and whether this person had been summarily
shot. With a sinking feeling, he saw that he had four bunkmates: two men, two
women, all Romulan, none friendly.

"Wake up, slime. This is Dalek. He'll be joining us for our little trip." She
turned to Wes. "Enjoy your stay." She slammed the door behind her; he heard
the hum of the sealing mechanism being activated.

He glanced around the compartment and tried to smile.

"Anybody know where we're going?" He was met with cold stares by three of
his companions.

"The place beyond the stars where all journeys end." The woman looked at him
once, her eyes strange and deep, then returned to her studious examination of a
crack in the wall's paint.
"Ignore her," said one of the men, the more muscular of the two, who was
probably early into his first century if Wes was any judge of Romulan ages.
"She's mad." He offered a small tight smile that had little warmth to it. "I'm
Trehan." He pointed to the others. "That's Josolar." The other, younger man
nodded. His appearance was that of the idealized Romulan citizen: short black
hair, dark brown eyes, skin the most perfect shade of olive, thin but powerful
frame, possibly around sixty or seventy. "That's Kriana." He indicated the
woman sitting quietly on one of the bunks, a long coil of hair pulled back from
her face. Wesley thought she was probably between the men in physical years,
but somehow much older in another way. There was a familiar quality to her,
of terrycloth and steel. "And that's..."

"T'Riest, retainer of the House of Skone." Again she granted the soul-piercing
stare for him, then back to the peeling paint. The tiniest flake floated down, and
she laughed as though it had been the most impressive feat of magic ever
performed.

"Her name on the padd was Arrhat, but she keeps changing it. For all we know,
she might be named T'Riest."

Wes sat down at the edge of one of the two bunks, noting that the arrangements
would be a problem come sleep-time. "I'm Dalek, traveling musician and poet.
Would you like to hear a song?"

"No," said the three of them in unison. Arrhat giggled at the wall again. Wes
shivered slightly. Knowing better, but feeling very alone, he tried once more to
make conversation and figure out just where and When he was.

"So why are you all here? I was taken for vagrancy. They couldn't find my
records."

At first, no one spoke. Wes mentally kicked himself for whatever faux pas he
had committed this time. Then, the smaller man, Josolar, began.

"I was a doctor. I had ... the wrong opinion in a discussion. Unfortunately, a
member of the Tal Shiar was within hearing distance. I'm lucky to be on this
vessel." Wesley noticed newly-healing scars along his arms and across his
hands, and swallowed deeply. "My daughter is still on Romulus, in my
mother's care. Even if I did have objections to being here, it would not matter.
I will not give the Tal Shiar any reason to harm her."

"I worked in the shipyards," said Trehan. In fact, I helped build this
monstrosity. Never thought I'd actually ride in it. Last week, I was in a tavern,
having an ale with some friends. This other guy in the room started acting
uncivilized, making suggestions about one of the women I was with. I warned
him once, but when he kept on, I decked him. Started a fight." Trehan smiled
at the memory. "Turns out he was a Subcommander aboard the _Taris_."

"Did you win?"

"Don't be stupid. If I had, do you think they would have let me live? So
instead, I'm on the transport to Hell. Almost had him, though. Makes you
wonder what kind of people we have in the military these days, you know?"

Wes just nodded, then turned to the woman Kriana. "And you?"

She did not speak at first, and Wes thought that maybe she just had not heard
him. She gazed at Arrhat for a long moment, but the other woman simply
continued watching the paint with
fascination. When she finally spoke, she had a soft exotic accent, but her voice
was firm, and her tone unyielding.

"I was chief assistant to Senator Turin, since before he ever held a council seat
in our home province." Both the men perked up at this; obviously they had
heard of the man, but Wes remained clueless. "We both wanted the position,
but he had more people with him, although not enough to win. I withdrew from
the election, and influenced my own supporters to follow him. Together, we
managed to overcome the opposition easily. After that, I was his right hand and
closest friend, there for every decision, every vote, lending him support on the
one condition that he listen to my suggestions. I know for a fact that he would
not have been made Senator if it had not been for me.

"Three weeks ago, he decided that our association should take a more ...
intimate direction. I told him that I had no interest in such a relationship with
him, that I preferred him as my friend and colleague. He ... " She paused. A
look of deep anger passed over her face. "The Senator is a man who does not
accept refusal."

For a reason he didn't want to know, he found that he could not meet her eyes.

"Afterwards, I contacted the authorities, some of whom I had considered my
friends. They chose to avoid a 'public defamation of character' for the Senator.
I was told that what had transpired was of my own doing, that I had no doubt
encouraged him, and that I should not press the matter further. I attempted to
inform friends of mine in the Senate, and for my trouble, I was seized at my
home two days ago." She turned to Trehan, eyes blazing with hurt. "You call
the place we're going Hell. You may be right; I certainly do not want to spend
the rest of my life in some backwater prison camp with clam-heads. But at least
none of my 'friends' will be there."

The group soon descended into silence. Wesley found his gaze drawn over and
again to Arrhat who, for some reason known only to her, was now trying to
catch her own shadow.

"We don't know why she's here," explained Trehan after a while. "Maybe the
hospitals were full, maybe they broke her mind during an interrogation. She
hasn't said." Arrhat seemed to catch hold of something in the air. She held it
against her ear, nodding occasionally as though she were listening to a tiny
voice. She turned her dark eyes to Wes again.

"The Arrhat lady was a thief; Jacky wants a cicatrin leaf." She opened her
hands and let whatever it was loose, seeming to watch it fly off. He saw
nothing.

Jacky? Now there was a name with meanings. Jack had been his father, tall
and strong and always smiling and lost beyond the call of the universe. And
Jack was now his baby half-brother, sweet and full of deviltry and wise beyond
his seven years. Jacky, with his mother's mischievous smile, and the hazel eyes
of his father; Jacky of the strange glances and deep inspections of marbles and
bits of string; Jacky, who had made a collection of tree leaves gathered
throughout time and space by his adoring big brother...

He had Traveled to the future only once, with the Traveler in charge, and he had
seen the little boy's future self. The Traveler had not forbidden him to go
forward again, but he never had after that. The future had forever lost its allure,
because he knew what would become of Jacky the leaf-catcher. He
shuddered.

"Are you well, Dalek?" asked Josolar, looking concerned.

"Oh yes. Just a little hungry all of a sudden."

"I imagine they'll feed us soon. I hope." They settled in to wait, making the
scarcest conversation, each taking turns watching Arrhat in her latest
adventures.

Dinner was small: a bowl of spicy soup, a thin piece of bread. For Wesley, it
was a feast, gone too soon. After the bowls had been removed, he felt himself
grow sleepy, and realized he had little idea as to what time it was. He noticed
that the others were beginning to drag as well.

Kriana called softly over to Arrhat, who grinned vacantly, then crawled into one
of the bunks. It was a tight fit, but Kriana slipped in beside her, and was asleep
in a minute. Wesley looked at the remaining bunk and then to the other two.

"You guys can have the bunk. I'll camp out on the floor." They nodded
agreement, and slipped into slumber quickly. Wes stretched out on the floor,
and immediately regretted his decision. The cold metal sent a chill through his
body. After a long time, he fell asleep to no dreams.

VVVVV

In the middle of the night (?) he woke groggily to feel something warm at his
side. Arrhat had joined him on the floor, and was settling down to sleep, her
forehead pressed against his shoulder.

"Arrhat," he whispered, poking her in the arm, "what are you doing?"

"Trying to sleep," she answered, to his surprise. "Just don't try anything, or I'll
have to kill you." She moved a little closer, and began to breath deeply.

"Why ... " he asked into the darkness. He found himself unable to frame the rest
of the question.

"Because you needed me," she mumbled, consciousness slipping fast away. Her
breath fell into a pattern of deep snores. Wesley soon drifted to sleep beside
her, dreaming of cicatrin leaves blowing in a calm wind.

VVVVV

In the morning, or at least when Wes woke up, he noticed that Arrhat had
moved to a far corner of the cell and was playing a complicated game that
involved counting her fingers over and over. The other three looked tired still,
but semi-awake. Kriana stretched once, then seemed to disappear into the wall.
Trehan began to exercise his somewhat prominent muscles, while Josolar
observed Arrhat at play.

"I haven't seen such a case in a long time," he said quietly, perhaps to himself.

"You know what's wrong with her?"

"Oh yes. Although I am not in the least equipped to deal with it here. As close
as I can tell, she has ..." He said a word Wesley did not understand.

"Okay, what is it?"

The doctor looked back at Arrhat. "Imagine having two or more different
people in your mind, each one wanting equal time and space to use the home
body."

"Like a Trill?"

Josolar looked at him quizzically. "Trill?"

"Never mind. So how many people do you think she has in her?"
"From what I've observed, maybe four. I only know T'Riest and Arrhat, but
I've seen her in other personalities. Have you noticed that sometimes, she will
look perfectly lucid?" Wesley nodded, remembering the previous night. Had it
been a dream? "That's definitely a separate personality from when she acts like
a child, or talks high nonsense."

"What can we do about it?" asked Kriana, the first she had spoken that day.

"If I had access to a medical database, I could see what has been done in the
past. Try to find a way to merge her selves into one. It's a long process, from
what I've heard, and I wouldn't know where to begin."

The quiet returned. Breakfast, much the same as dinner, passed in silence.
Wesley found himself sinking deep into thought. Part of him wanted to glean
as much information about this place, these people, as possible. Another part
warned him not to get too attached. The last time, he had let himself become
too close, and it had nearly cost him his soul, not to mention the mission. His
thoughts turned to the past, Earth's past, where he had spent months listening
and learning from an extraordinary group of people.

They had lived in Old New York City, but not in the city itself. Instead, they
lived secretly in underground tunnels running all over beneath the streets, a
small group of hurting people who had found a wonderful place to heal. For a
while, he had taken on the form of one of them, a young man called Mouse.
The Traveler had kept the real Mouse busy, showing him wondrous devices to
figure out in the long eternal dark of the Tunnels.

Meanwhile, Wesley had gone back to school. He learned their ways quickly:
take only what they throw away Above, always help out friends in need, and the
community above all. The ideals they lived by were revolutionary in a way, but
also wonderfully familiar. The leader, whom everyone just called "Father," was
a gentle curmudgeon, older, with a curious accent that seemed to fit him well.

His adopted son was another matter. According to the history Wes had learned,
the Vulcans were the first alien race to encounter Humans. Yet, the man in the
Tunnels was obviously some close relative to the Caitians. It was all very
confusing, especially when it turned out his DNA was compatible enough with
Human DNA to produce a child without any outside help. And then there was
that child's mother ...

They called her Catherine, and he thought she was lovely. For the oddest
reason, she reminded him of Ishara Yar, with the same undying strength, but she
was far kinder. When she spoke to him, as Mouse, he felt as though he had
known her forever.

She disappeared. For months, her lover searched for her, trying to find some
clue to her whereabouts. Wesley helped every way he knew how, scouring the
unknown city for hours each night. It was, of course, the Traveler who found
her first.

One night, his strange friend had wakened him, and told him that he must hurry.
To save time, they Traveled to where she was being held, arriving just as the
doctor left her. Wes went in alone. She had lain in a birthing chair, strapped
down, injected with a drug and left to die. Quickly, he retrieved the bottle:
morphine. He knew enough about such drugs; with the proper treatment, he
could save her. He frantically dug through the drawers, looking for the
correct things. His mother would have known what to do immediately, but he
could only hope what he did was right.

Then he saw the Traveler slowly shake his head. No.

He had almost, almost, done it anyway. He could have abandoned everything
he had learned in the past eight years, forgotten everything he had accepted
about the Prime Directive all his life, and he could have helped her live to see
her baby again. Almost.

He couldn't. The Traveler had told him that his path had been set long ago, and
for his life, he could not break free from what he had been taught. He
unstrapped her from the chair. She was very weak, dying from the loss of blood
and the poison racing through her veins. Somehow, he carried her up the stairs,
to where the love of her life was waiting. He and the Traveler watched from the
shadows, heard what she said to him as she died. After that, he could not stay
in that time, where his thoughts were for an abandoned child crying into the
night, where every tunnel echoed with the sound of her breathing, growing
shallower with each whisper.

He had let her die.

Jamie, the real Mouse's best friend, had come the next evening with her round
face and innocent eyes, wondering what had happened. He could not tell her,
could not for his life express the grief of letting a friend --- no, someone he had
grown to love --- just slip away like a dream. He had come close to crying,
finally
understanding so much about what the Traveler had meant when he spoke of
the curse of knowing What Must Be. Jamie had just held his hand the entire
night.

When morning came, he had begged the Traveler to let him leave, before he
caused the death of anyone else. He refused to even consider letting harm come
to his new friends by his own actions or inactions. He had left without even
telling Jamie good-bye. But of course she would never know that.

Without his being aware of it, hours passed in this state, just sitting and
remembering times long ago. Dinner, then sleep-time came again, with the
arrangements much the same as they had been the evening before. The group
had barely spoken to one another all day.

In the night, Wes became aware of Arrhat, who had again fallen asleep beside
him, innocent as an angel. He stroked her hair in her sleep protectively,
wondering how long it would be until he had to hurt her as well.

VVVVV

He awoke slowly, enjoying the fading memories of his dream, a concert in the
Tunnels held by some of the children. Gradually, he became aware of the hard
floor, and something else.

Arrhat was sitting across from him, watching him intently. There was no trace
of madness in her now. At the edge of his perception, he noticed that the others
still slept.

"Good morning," he offered, not sure of what to expect.

"Hello."

Feeling like an idiot, he continued. "How are you today? You don't seem to
have been sleeping well."

"Kriana dreams loud." Arrhat's eyes began to wander, taking in the floor, the
ceiling. Wesley wondered if she actually saw anything. Dreams loud?

"What do you mean?"

But she had already left him far behind.

The others woke in a few minutes, but by that time, Arrhat had returned to her
normal state, and was happily engaged in making shadows on the wall with her
hands, mostly butterflies and birds. Breakfast came.

"Not again," moaned Trehan, splashing his spoon into the soup. "I can't keep
up my strength on this stuff."

"Maybe we're not supposed to keep strong," said Kriana, darkness across her
eyes. "Maybe they want us to weaken, so we'll be more subservient for
whatever they have planned." It was a sobering thought.

Josolar took a spoonful of the broth and stared at it for a minute. "You know, I
once patronized a restaurant where they served this everyday. It was considered
some of the best soup in the city. One day, an official went through the owner's
storeroom and found mynolans in the freezer." Trehan and Kriana both looked
ill. Wesley had heard of mynolans: bat-like creatures not known for their
cleanliness. Josolar tasted his soup experimentally. "At least we know it isn't
made of mynolans," he said, his face perfectly bland.

"How?"

"Mynolan soup is edible."

Trehan was the first to start laughing. In moments, Wesley and Kriana were
having fits, and Josolar had cracked a wide grin. It had been an extremely weak
joke, but it was the first one any of them had heard in too long. It was also the
first thing to bring them together.

Trehan calmed down enough to ask, "How many surrealists does it take to
change an input panel?" He paused, gathering their attention. "Fish!"

Arrhat shook with laughter, her entire body rocked with tremors, while Josolar
looked perplexed. "Fish?"

Kriana looked at him and said, "Fish!" For no reason, they lost it again. It felt
wonderful. One of the faceless guards who brought them their meals passed
outside the door.

"What is going on in here?"

The five of them stopped laughing just long enough to shout in unison: "FISH!"
The guard's look of incomprehension brought on another wave of laughter. He
shook his head and left them. This did not help the mass giggling fit in any
way.

After several long minutes, tears streaming down from each of them, the
laughter resolved into hiccups. However, by that point, something had
happened among them. The dam broke. As if to make up for the previous day's
silence, the words flowed from them, and could not come fast enough.

"When I was small," said Trehan, "my father used to take me to see the ships
in the bay where he worked. I still remember how large and glorious they
seemed, and more than anything, I wanted to crawl inside them, see where the
wires and diodes and little things went."

"I was seventeen," Kriana said, "and he had just turned twenty-three, and I
thought I was so adult to be seeing someone so old. We used to walk along the
edge of the jungle, listening to the sounds of the beasts. Remus shone above us
in the sky so close that it seemed I could capture it if I just stretched a little
further."

Wes told them, "My father's grandparents had raised him since he was small,
and he loved them like his real parents. I'm even named after my
great-grandfather. Sort of. After Dad died, they held my mother responsible,
though I don't know why. I haven't seen them since I was five, but I hear from
my great-aunt now and then. They just refuse to see either of us, as though they
can feel better by not remembering."

Josolar spoke. "We stayed up to watch the sunrise, deep mauve against the
morning sky, playing upon the clouds like some sweet child. The air was so
cold that I could taste the frost in it, but we wrapped ourselves together in the
blanket. I realized at that moment that I would never see another daybreak quite
as lovely, but she was there with me, and all the dawns were in her."

"I was twelve ..."

"It was summer ..."

"We held hands ..."

"I was home ... " The stories came without slowing, without pattern, flashing
bright images of lives so perfect in their ... had he thought humanity?
Friendship was planted, took root, and blossomed in the hours after breakfast.
They talked late into what felt like night, sharing stories of the past and hopes
for what the future might bring. Only Arrhat did not speak, but sat quietly, her
wide eyes touching lightly upon each of them, silent as wind. At last, when
fatigue set in, and they prepared to sleep, she spoke, but only one simple
declaration.

"I have been places to which none of you will ever travel."

Suddenly, Wesley was no longer tired.

"What did you say?" But she did not respond.

If she slept on the floor that night, he did not know it.

"Wake up! Wake up!" The voice of the guard roared into his slumbering brain.
"The ride is over."

The door opened, two guards walked in, and without ceremony herded them out
into the hallway, where other similarly disoriented people milled around. The
crowd must have held fifty prisoners stuffed into the corridor all told, with half
that many guards holding disruptors. No one seemed willing to see if they'd use
them.

Wes became dimly aware that he had been separated from his friends. He
turned against the motion of the crowd, trying to catch a familiar face.
However, he had only been among them briefly, and was still in the mindset of
"all Romulans look alike." Trying to see Trehan's bulk would be his best bet,
but the others crowded too close, and he was lost.

Then, he felt someone take his hand. Arrhat had somehow found him. She
said nothing, only looked at him. Her eyes were light blue, like Earth's horizon
in the early afternoon, full of light and mystery, like his mother's eyes.

The crowd pushed on, and the pair found themselves outside the transport in
full daylight outside an imposing wooden fortress with rolls of barbed wire
ringed around the edges. Wes made a wager with himself that the wire was
electrified. Thick jungle pressed in around the edges, hugging the structure. As
he watched, a large hawk-like creature rose from the trees, swooped low over
the fortress, and flew away. The entranceway opened, and the prisoners were
led inside, to a courtyard in the center of the compound. A medium-sized dais
had been set up at the front, made out of lumber.

They stood there for several long minutes, and the heat of the place began to
press down on Wesley, who had never been one much for humidity. He hoped
whatever was going to happen next would get itself over with soon. As if
reading his thoughts, Arrhat gently squeezed his hand and smiled, her brown
eyes gazing warmly at him. Brown?

A man, a bronze-haired Romulan looking somewhat important, stepped to the
dais.

"Welcome, my friends, to your new home. I am General Tokath, administrator
of this place."

Tokath??!! A hundred memories, stories really, flashed in his mind. A blasted
shuttle; a Klingon woman pulled from the cockpit who wasn't Klingon, sweet
Ba'el with the beautiful smile who had left her home for the sake of love just
before a brutal war between her two peoples; Alexander asking Deanna to be
his mother; Worf wanting both, unsure how to tell either; the twins, whose
impending arrival had settled the matter for then, but not forever. Worf had
come to this place, seeking his father, and instead found a place where Klingons
and Romulans lived in peace. Belle (as Wes called her) had told him only a
little about her home, although he had asked often. And her father's name had
been Tokath. But what year was it? Would he see a younger Belle looking
shyly from a corner? Had she even been born yet? The questions nearly
drowned out the rest of Tokath's speech.

"Each of you was brought here to help us build this colony for the duration of
your sentence. When your time has finished, you may go back to Romulus, or
you may stay here as a permanent citizen. You will have plenty of time to
decide.

"While you are here, you must remember our primary rule. You will cooperate
with everyone here, be they Klingon, Human, or fellow Romulan, and you will
treat everyone with respect. If you do not, you will be sent on the next transport
back to prison, and I intend to make your life miserable before you go."

Then, all thoughts of Belle, Arrhat, and the rest of the universe slipped out of
his mind, possibly for good, as a Klingon man and a Human woman stepped
onto the dais beside Tokath.
"These are the liaisons for the Klingons and the Humans of our colony. You
will treat them with the same courtesy you would treat me. This is L'Kor." The
large man fixed the audience with a scowl. "And this is my wife, Tasha."

VVVVV
Chapter 3: Lost and Found

Wesley's face went slack, shock racing through his system. At last, he knew
why he had come to this place, this time. Gradually, he became aware of a
strange woman's hand in his own, of the wooden stage, and upon that stage ...

He had forgotten how beautiful Tasha was. Compared to the others in their
circle of friends, she had really changed very little. Her bright hair was longer
that it had been, and brushed softly against her shoulders, while her sea-green
eyes seemed to be a little deeper, a touch sadder. There were lines around her
mouth that had not been there before, but a smile graced her lips, and it made up
for years. Her outfit was a simple tunic gathered at the waist, with a light,
forest-green cloak over her shoulders, a casual style accenting her figure.
Which had changed. Either she had been eating much better since (when?), or
there was going to be a little problem arriving in about four or five months.

He tried to think back, to remember when he had seen her last. The only picture
he could form was of a hologram she had asked to be shown at her funeral.
And of course, Sela. The first time he had seen a vid of the Romulan
commander, he had nearly choked. The resemblance had been so close,
physically at any rate. Sadly, Sela had possessed none of her mother's goodness
of spirit. She had backed the Klingon Civil War of '69, and later lured
Ambassador Spock to Romulus in order to invade Vulcan, nearly killing two of
Wes's closest friends in the process. Sela had told then-Captain Picard of her
origins, how her mother had been captured in the past and married to a
Romulan general, how she had given birth to Sela shortly thereafter, how she
had died ...

Now, fifteen years after he had last seen her alive, she stood before him, not five
meters away, smiling gently upon the crowd of Romulan prisoners who were no
longer captives precisely.

"Dalek, that fine cloak you are admiring has already been promised. Perhaps
you can persuade the tailor to find you another." Arrhat's soft whisper against
his cheek brought him swiftly back to reality.

"Uhh. What?"

"That pretty green cloak you have been staring at for the past five minutes. It is
already being worn by someone, and I do not believe you will be able to borrow
it." Her mad eyes looked past his, into his thoughts. Great. She noticed. The
entire colony probably noticed. He felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and hoped it
was green.

"No worries," she whispered. "I believe the cloak will need tailoring soon
enough. The hem will be too short, I think." Then she laughed, but very
quietly, so as not to attract attention.
Wes became aware of Tokath, who had finished his welcome. "You will now
be escorted to the infirmary, and then you will receive your quarter
assignments."

The crowd pressed into him again, and he lost Arrhat's hand. He looked around
wildly for her, fearing what she would do in such a place, and what it might do
to her, but she had melted into the press of bodies. He allowed it all to wash
over him, carry him to the infirmary, where he realized with a sickened feeling
that he would have a lot of explaining to do.

VVVVV

After waiting for what seemed like hours, his name was called, and he entered
the doctor's cubicle. The lights were too bright, and the room actually seemed
chilly compared to the wet heat of the outdoors. To one side, a large golden
bird glared at him from its cage. Wes shuddered inwardly at the scrutiny.

"Remove your clothing," said the doctor with no emotion. He complied, albeit
reluctantly, trying to work his breathing exercises and centering himself for the
false scan.

Saying nothing, the doctor ran a medscanner over him, her features cold. He
decided she could use a few lessons in bedside manner, preferably Starfleet
Medical style. He shivered, trying to concentrate on fooling the scanner. He
thought of everything he had ever read on Vulcanoid physiology:
blood-chemistry, heart rates, a thousand details.

No wonder the Traveler chose a blank scan for his baseline. It was a hell of a lot
easier. His breathing deepened; the noises from the machine kept steady. After
forever, she turned it off.
"Other than a slight fluctuation in your heart rate, you seem fairly healthy." As
he moved to gather his clothing, she stopped him. "That won't be necessary.
You will receive other apparel." She pointed towards the opposite door. "Out
there."

"I have to get something ..." He reached for the heartstone.

"Drop them. You may take nothing with you."

"But ... "

"Go." She did not shout. She had no need. Just like with Catherine, he really
had no choice. He walked through the door, wondering how he would ever
explain this to Robin.

The next room had a small shower that sprayed him quickly, then dried him
before he reached the opposite side of the room and through the next door. A
guard waited there for him, with a large pile of folded garments.

"Name?" Wes had an unpleasant flashback.

"Dalek." The guard was not going to argue the point.

"Here." He handed him a small bundle. "Put this on."

He dressed quickly, grateful for the feel of fabric against his skin once more.

"This is your room assignment. Everyone sleeps in the barracks for now." Wes
thanked him, and went to find his room.

Outside again, he found himself walking freely for the first time since the
whole crazy ride had started. Admittedly, he was still in a form of prison, but
the air brushed warm against his face, and no one was pointing a disruptor at
him. It was a nice change.

He looked at the padd with his room assignment, trying to decipher the guard's
writing.

After a few minutes, another Romulan walked out of the infirmary, looking not
quite so lost as he was. He followed him carefully to the barracks, trying not to
appear too confused. He reached the door, pressed the "Open" panel, and
stepped into his new home.

Four sets of bunk beds leaned against the bare walls. The blankets looked thin
and cheap, and it smelled of old sweat. There was no window. Five of the
bunks already seemed to be used, with blankets covering three beds, and bare
grating for the other two. Blankets lay folded at the foot of the other three
bunks, all on top. Great. He just loved heights. He selected a bed with a
blanketed bottom. He had nothing against Klingons, but he had heard stories
about Klingon snores that truly frightened him. He climbed up to his new bunk
and lay down, waiting for whoever else was coming to arrive.

In a few minutes, he heard the door swish behind him, and the sound of voices
conversing in Romulan. Familiar voices. He sat up.

Josolar and Trehan did not notice him at first, looking with distaste at their
surroundings.

"The decor leaves much to be desired."

"You mean it stinks. This is gonna be a long stay."

Wes said casually, "I've stayed in worse."

"Dalek!" Trehan grinned widely, while Josolar stared. "I didn't see what
happened to you when they herded us out."

Wes jumped down. "I know. I found Arrhat, but she disappeared after
Tokath's speech. Either of you see Kriana?"

Josolar shook his head. "I kept an eye out for all of you, but I didn't even locate
this reprobate until just now." Trehan glared at him, then grinned.

"You're just jealous because Kriana likes me better."

Wes laughed. He had believed the others gone for good; now he knew that he
would have missed them. "Calm down, kids. Now let me welcome you to
our new home. You seem to have your choice of Klingon or Romulan
bedfellows." He indicated the bunks.

"Doctor, I know you love to study alien societies and such. Please feel free to
take the bunk with the Klingon."

"Trehan, you're so kind, but I would not dream of depriving you an opportunity
to increase your cultural awareness. I must insist."

"Really ... " They both turned to Wes, their pasted on grins deepening. He
knew what was coming next.

"Forget it. Klingons snore."

Trehan's face took on the oddest expression, while Josolar asked, "And how,
pray tell, would you know that?"

"Trust me." His mother had told him. When he had asked her where she
came by the information, she had merely said, "Mukbara class." He hadn't
pressed it.

Eventually, they compromised: Josolar was to spend the first night in the
"Klingon bunk," Trehan the second. Wes had the funny feeling he would be
commandeered into switching bunks before long. Soon, they became bored and
restless, so they began to wander the hallway looking for familiar faces,
preferable two female familiar faces, with Wes quietly looking for a third.
However, no one they asked seemed to have seen or heard from either of the
women. From some speaker which none of them could locate, the new arrivals
were informed that the midday meal was about to begin in the common room.

"Perhaps we can locate them after we have eaten," suggested Josolar. Wes
realized they had not eaten breakfast, and dinner had been that awful broth.

The common room was actually a misnamed group of dining rooms projecting
from a common center, where some unidentifiable food product was being
served. Wes kept his eyes peeled for anyone he might recognize, especially a
certain Human liaison. He caught a brief glance of blonde hair, but it had gone
before he could see the owner. Beyond feeling by this point, he took a tray, and
waited in the eternal line.

Trehan got to the front first, and inspected the food as he brought it by the other
two.

Wes asked hesitantly, "What's for lunch?" Trehan looked down at his tray,
then straight at both of them, a gleam in his eye that was either mirth or
incipient tears.

"Fish."

VVVVV

After lunch, during which the three had difficulty keeping straight faces, and
having nothing better to do, they headed back to their room. They followed a
Romulan walking with two Humans, the first Wes had seen other than Tasha,
back through the
corridors, until they reached their quarters. Which all six of them promptly
entered.

The strange Romulan looked at them. "You must be our new roommates." To
the Humans, "It would appear that we're full."

"Great. Now y'all outnumber us," said one of the Human men in a soft drawl.

"Don't be so rude," said the other. "That's an order."

"Yessir, Captain, Sir!" The Human provided an overdramatic salute.
Captain??? "Ensign Dodge Imno. Pleeztameetcha." Imno bowed deeply, his
red hair flopping, which made the action border on the ludicrous. Wes thought
that he looked, just a little, like a duck.

The man addressed as "Captain" rolled his eyes.

"Lieutenant Richard Castillo." Wes stared at the tall man, his dark hair
brushed out of a rugged, tired face. There was something about him, his
carriage, the look of seeing Something More in his eyes, that seemed both
familiar and frightening. He had seen him before, somewhere. He was positive
of it, yet the name meant nothing to him.

"I am Ekan," said the Romulan quietly. "Our other roommates have not
finished eating yet, but they will join us soon. Everyone has today free because
of your arrival." Ekan's voice was soft, almost female in timbre, in cool
harmony with his thin frame. Gold highlights touched his hair, and his eyes
were grey, something Wes had never seen in a Romulan. Then again, before
today, he had never seen a Romulan with blue eyes, assuming he hadn't
imagined the whole thing.

As if to support his growing suspicion that she could read minds, Arrhat chose
that moment to glide in the room. Without saying a word, she threw her arms
around Ekan's neck and kissed him passionately while the others watched in
amazement. When she came up for air nearly a minute later, Ekan had a
flabbergasted expression on his face.

"Err ... Hello."

"Have you two met?" asked Trehan.

"Not yet."

Arrhat released Ekan and smiled angelically at Imno and Castillo. "Hello.
Captain Aileen Marcus of the _Acland_. Where do you boys hail from?" It
took Wesley a total of fifteen seconds before he realized that she had spoken in
flawless Standard.

VVVVV

The two Klingons, K'toktehn and Qu'aemon, arrived a few minutes later, but by
that time, Arrhat had slipped back into her usual state, inspecting the floor with
interest. Ekan watched her carefully, as if worried that she would kiss him
again, and looking somewhat disappointed that she did not. Wes wondered
where her quarters were, and if she would take it into her head to drop by later
that night.

He noticed that although everyone was speaking civilly to one another, a certain
coolness pervaded everything. The Humans seemed uncomfortable around the
Klingons, but more so around the Romulans, while the Klingons did not seem
overly friendly to either group. Neither of the latter made much conversation,
something he could understand. There was a hunger in their eyes, an
unnameable fire that seemed to be guttering dangerously low.

His own friends were chatting amicably enough with Ekan, who turned out to
be a guard. Tokath had specifically ordered that the guards bunk with the
prisoners, and Ekan did not seem overly opposed to the idea.

The only one completely at ease in the room was Arrhat. It was almost funny.
Out of nowhere, a stray thought struck him: she was very much like a child. He
wondered if he would be quite as accepting. Although he stood with the
Romulans as one of them, his sympathies were for the Humans and the
Klingons. Where had they come from? Belle had never said, and had certainly
never mentioned the Humans. The questions piled up again. He turned to
Castillo.

"What ship did you say you served on?"

"I didn't. We were on the USS _Enterprise_." A cold feeling spread through
him. His discomfort must have been apparent. "You've heard of it?"

"Once, in an old song ... " He quickly covered: "I'm a traveling singer by trade.
I pick up songs everywhere. Would you like to hear one?"

"Not now." The group slowly grew silent. Wes felt a return of the first day on
the transport: awkward silence of strangers tossed together by chance and
regulations. This time, though, they were of three different species which had
been hell-bent on annihilating one another for the past century or so. This was
not going to be a fun arrangement.

VVVVV

Arrhat accompanied them to dinner, holding Ekan's left hand and Wesley's
right. She almost seemed to float down the corridor, skipping now and then to
break up the monotony. Qu'aemon was warming to her, but K'Toktehn said
nothing more than absolutely necessary, and tended to frown at her when her
attention was elsewhere, which was most of the time.

When they reached the dining area, both Klingons moved off, to Wesley's
disappointment. He had hoped to find out more about them.

Fortunately, the sight that greeted him next made up for the temporary loss. A
group of Romulan and Human women stood to one side of the hall, talking
quietly. Among them were Kriana and Tasha.

With a cry of delight, Arrhat raced over to Kriana and hugged her tightly. The
others joined them. Kriana held on to Arrhat for a moment, then quickly
hugged the three men.

"It looks like your friends found you," said Tasha, patting Kriana on the
shoulder. "She was worried that all of you had forgotten about her."

"Never!" stated Trehan, a bit too forcefully. "We're the Fabulous Five of Fish!"
He grinned, while those not in on the joke looked confused.

Wesley had barely heard him. He listened, drinking in her voice, and trying
desperately not to stare at Tasha. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, tell
her that everything was just fine now, that he was going to take her back home.
He did no such thing, of course, but he very much wanted to, very much indeed.
She did not notice him at all, which was good. It would not have been easy to
explain. Instead, she spoke to Castillo.

"You're looking well, Lieutenant. Hard labor doesn't seem to have harmed you
too much."

"You also seem fairly well, Lieutenant. How are things?"

"Things are fine. Sela asks me for stories of home." Sela? So she had been
born already. But Sela had not mentioned a younger sibling, which meant that
she either did not think it was
important, or that the child Tasha now carried would die young, perhaps even
before birth. There was a distinct likelihood of either, as Sela had also
neglected to mention Ba'el, who now appeared to be her half-sister. Wesley
didn't want to think about that one.

"What do you tell her, Lieutenant?" Wes sensed the
undercurrents flowing quietly through the conversation, saw the half-hidden
look upon her face, the answering pain in his. Yet, their words and bearing
suggested nothing more than the most passing acquaintance. So much was said
in the mundane speech.

Tokath saw them, and walked over. The subtlest change came over the pair,
but Kriana was laughing with Trehan, and no one appeared the wiser.

"Hello, my dear. Making friends with the new arrivals?" He slipped his arm
around her.

"Just trying to make everyone feel at home." She smiled absently at the group.
"After all, we're going to be here for quite some time."

"We will indeed. Why don't you invite your friends to dinner?"

"Maybe soon, after they've settled in." She suddenly looked very
uncomfortable. Wesley wondered if it had anything to do with the prospect of
spending time with Lieutenant Castillo in her husband's presence.

"Perhaps later, then." Tokath's suggestion had lost, but the man himself gave
the distinct impression of having won.

The two of them moved off. Wesley watched as a small tow- headed Romulan
girl joined them. Tasha lifted her up, and for a moment, the most radiant
expression he had ever seen crossed the woman's sad face. His heart warmed at
the sight, then froze. This sweet child, the center of her existence, would betray
her mother in less than a year.

VVVVV

After dinner, Kriana left for the infirmary. With a nervous air, she told them
that the doctor had wanted to speak with her. Josolar accompanied her, wanting
to see what kind of equipment was on hand, and maybe to offer his services.

The other people around the hall headed towards the common area outside.
Wes and his shrinking group of companions followed them. Darkness had
gathered outside, warm and enfolding. Torches were set up around the
perimeter, and a larger fire burned in a crude centerpiece. Most of the colony's
Klingon population seemed to be gathered around it, with a few small
groupings of Romulans or Humans interspersed throughout.

Castillo and Imno joined one of the Human groups, and Wesley very nearly
went with them before he stopped himself. There was a comfort in being
among one's own species, and his necessary distance from them made him
instantly, achingly aware of just how far he was from home.

He asked Ekan casually what day it was, then tried to calculate just When he
was. With some amusement, he realized that at that moment, somewhere in the
universe, there was a med student in her last year of school suffering from
morning sickness and idly wanting to castrate her husband.

Fortunately for all parties involved, both feelings would eventually pass.

He saw Tasha across the fire, holding Sela's hand and watching the unfolding
events. Just knowing that she was there made it easier. He began to watch the
Klingons in their rite.

L'Kor, the Klingon liaison, had lifted a handful of dirt and was singing as he
walked around the flame. He tossed the soil into the fire, causing sparks to fly.
The others kept time by stomping their feet, singing at certain parts of the song.
It was magical and tragic at the same time. The people had lost their home,
their freedom, their honor, and now had only this song and this ritual to cling to,
if one could forgive the pun.

Meanwhile, the children squirmed while Romulans talked in the background, a
very rude response as far as Wes was concerned. On the other hand, the
Humans, including Tasha, seemed entranced by the fire and the spell created by
L'Kor's song, whether they knew the meaning or not. It spoke of another time,
when honor and glory were more than words, and victory was still possible.
Belle had sung it once, very softly, as a lullaby while she watched his little
brother one deep night.

When the ritual had ended, the little band of Romulans returned in silence to the
men's quarters. They found Josolar and Kriana waiting there for them. Kriana's
eyes were green-rimmed, and she trembled. With a glance from the doctor,
Ekan mumbled something about looking for Qu'aemon and left the room.
Arrhat took Kriana's shaking hands, then held her.

"What happened?" demanded Trehan.

Josolar placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, then said quietly, "The
doctor wanted to run her examination again, to confirm the results. Kriana is
pregnant."

In the silence that followed, Wes asked softly, "Is it ... his?" Kriana nodded,
unable to speak.

"If you would like," Josolar said, looking uncomfortable, "I can arrange
something with Dr. Mirith. You should not be forced to carry this child."

"What are you talking about?" asked Trehan. "It's her baby, for the sake of
Toq!"

"But she did not ask for this baby. She should not have to pay the price for
that _monster's_ actions!"

"That doesn't matter! This is her child, no matter who the father was. Killing it
would be murder!"

"Stop it!" Arrhat's shout rang through the room, startling them all. "Just... just
stop it." Kriana sobbed quietly into her shoulder. Arrhat stroked her hair
gently, whispering, "It'll be okay. Shhh... It'll all be okay."

VVVVV
Chapter 4: The Lady and the Lake

In the darkness, Trehan, Josolar and Wes conversed quietly from their bunks,
trying not to disturb their sleeping roommates. However, Qu'aemon's snoring
seemed to drown everything else out quite nicely.

"What are we going to do? That baby's going to cause a lot of problems."

"Whatever she decides, we will have to accept. We cannot command her one
way or the other. For one thing, she outranks all of us by a galaxy."

"Hmm?"

"Think about it. She was Turin's chief aide, and she had friends in the highest
ranks of our society. If things had gone differently, I would not have been
surprised to see her elected to the Senate within the next ten years."

Trehan snorted. "Not with a criminal record. She'll be lucky to be allowed in
any post now. Just like the rest of us."

"I hope she's okay," Wes whispered.

"Yeah. Arrhat isn't exactly the best person to watch her."

"She's all right," he replied too quickly.

Trehan rolled over to one elbow, and stared across the darkness to him. "Are
you fond of her?"

"He certainly sounds as though he is."

"No! I just think there's more to her than what you think, is all. You just
dismiss her." He was greeted by kissing sounds from Trehan. In the next top
bunk, Ekan laughed very softly. Wes leaned over. "Not you too."

"She seems ... interesting." Ekan smiled, then rolled over and went to sleep.
Having exhausted their conversation, Josolar and then Trehan quickly followed
suit.

Wes remained awake, staring at the ceiling, and debating whether he should risk
a Change back to his normal shape. After a while, he felt watched. From the
opposite side of the room, K'Toktehn's eyes glittered in the darkness. Unnerved
by the scrutiny, Wes casually rolled over, and pulled the blanket over his head.
So much for Changing.

VVVVV

The following day began a new chapter in Wesley's life. At daybreak, all the
colonists were awakened and sent to breakfast, an almost quiet affair filled with
the sounds of chewing and
complaints at the early hour, but little else. Afterwards, work began.

The condition of the compound was far from wonderful. The only
semi-permanent buildings thus far were the common room, the infirmary, and
the barracks. The outer walls themselves were temporary, to be replaced with
permanent living quarters in the walls of the place. In his mind, Wes saw the
final structure as a kind of castle, with alternating sandstone blocks, and a large
tower in the center. No doubt, he thought, where the kidnapped princess lives,
waiting to be rescued. The timeliness of the idea, not to mention its patent
ludicrousness, brought a smile to his lips now and then at night, when could
breathe. He learned to manage on very little sleep, for when the others snored,
he had time to Change back for a while, which did wonders for his occasional
headaches. Most importantly, staying up late gave him time to think.

Tokath's plan had become clear to him as the days progressed, and it was
brilliant. The Klingon and Human prisoners might have been enough to build
the prison camp themselves, hauling the blocks from a neighboring quarry
under the careful watch of Romulan guards. However, the general was
intelligent enough to realize what this would do to the morale of his charges.
Had the prisoners been mere slaves to their guards, they would have either
revolted or died. For the Klingons, at least, there could be no middle ground.
The Humans would most certainly have survived, but with no other thought
than freedom. Considering the relatively small number of guards, and the
isolation from Romulus, the situation could quickly become untenable.

From the first inception of the camp, Tokath must have seen the problems. But
what to do? By allowing a representative of each race to help administrate, he
could alleviate some of the pressure. People who thought they had some say in
their lives were that much less likely to revolt. The racial tensions, on the other
hand, would not be so easy to circumvent.

Tokath had finally chosen the one option that made all three races equal: he had
asked for convicts from Romulus, no doubt a certain caliber, say the political
objectors, the vagrants, the mad. These he put on an equivalent level with the
others in the colony. Suddenly, the Romulans were just as oppressed as
everyone else, and that oppression did not seem so terrible to them.
The warden had taken care of his wards, feeding them adequate if not
wonderful food (Wesley for one could not wait until the replicators finally went
on line), giving them freedom within the compound, and occasional liberties
outside. Then he had delivered the coup: instead of calling their home a prison
camp, he labeled it a colony, and inspired them with the notion that they were
not building a jail, but creating a home. It was an incredible plan, sweeping in
its ideas, and in the notion that three species, so long in conflict, could work
together in peace. Wesley admired him for the sheer audacity to think such a
thing when he had surely been trained all his life that Romulans were the
superior race.

On the level of grandiose dreams, Tokath's goal should have been paramount
over all. Yet, the plan forgot the simplicity of the individual dreams of the
colonists. The Humans would happily die for an ideal, but only if they believed
strongly in it. The Klingons needed their honor. The Romulans had their own
ideas about how life should go. No one was truly happy.

Every day, Trehan talked about what he would do when he got back home,
which ships he would work on, the places he would visit. With a distant look,
he would mention another city he had always wanted to see, while his muscles
tensed for the next stone.

Josolar, quickly ensconcing himself in the infirmary, spoke longingly in the
evenings of real diagnostic equipment, rather than the modified tricorders
with which he had to keep them all well. Of his daughter he said very little, but
there were times when his eyes were far, and he would smile sadly when one of
the colony's few children skipped by.

Kriana said nothing about home, other than passing references now and then to
old friends. She spent her free hours in the company of the administrators when
she could, and had volunteered to be a section watch, meaning basically that she
woke people in the morning. It was a menial job in comparison to working at
the highest levels of Romulan government, but at least it returned to her some
of the authority that she had so suddenly lost. As to her impending arrival, she
made no mention. So far, her choice of action was to take none. She lived her
life from day to day, quietly regaining herself, and spending a large amount of
time with Tasha, with whom she appeared to have developed a bond.

Wesley bitterly envied her if only for that, since he had been unable to see
Tasha for more than a minute at a time, and then always accompanied. He
wanted desperately to get her aside long enough to tell her who he was, and find
a means of escape. If worse came to worse, he could stop time to do it, but then
she would be stopped too. There was no way to win but follow Kriana's
example and wait to see what would come. Patience, alas, was not his strong
suit.

And then there was Arrhat. Alone among them, she seemed happy to be exactly
where she was, laughing, skipping, and generally getting on everyone's nerves,
only to make up with her head innocently on the offended's shoulder. Rarely
did any two of her sentences agree in tense, form, or meaning, but that did not
matter. Often, after a particularly difficult day, when the stones just would not
budge, she would creep into the men's quarters and simply be there, and that
would be enough. She had made it a personal quest to make them all smile,
either through a strange nickname (translated, Imno had become "The Artful
Dodger," Qu'aemon "Fuzzball," and K'Toktehn "Papa Bear", to which he only
deepened his frown and said nothing), or a particularly inappropriate
observation at exactly the wrong time. It usually worked. She was group little
sister for the Fabulous Five of Fish, as Trehan had dubbed them (even though
the five had grown to include Ekan and Qu'aemon, and occasionally the two
Humans).

K'toktehn remained aloof, but not coldly so. He had struck up a friendship with
Imno, asking about his home and his former life with a patient air completely at
odds with the stereotypical Klingon temper. For Imno only, he would become
more than a shape in the shadows, actually smiling now and then. He simply
did not choose to associate with the others, but preferred to sit quietly in the
background, perhaps listening, perhaps not.

Amongst them, Wesley sat and smiled, and wondered inside what would
happen to these people's lives when he took away the light of their warden's life.

VVVVV

They had all settled into routine: breakfast, then off to the quarry to haul stones
in the morning, then lunch, then slowly shaping the stones into blocks, then
dinner. Afterwards, there would be a gathering in the common area, a time for
ceremony, or for sharing songs and stories before sweet, if painful, sleep.

So far, Wesley's frame, obviously weaker than that of the average Romulan,
had not come into question. Whenever he dropped a tool, or could not quite
hold up his end of a brick, he blamed a bad elbow, and laughed it off before
Josolar could get concerned. As time passed, his real muscles, hidden by the
Change, developed. Unfortunately, this also meant that for the first month or
so, his body was in agony nearly every night as it realized what was happening
to it.

No matter how strong he might become, which admittedly was not that
powerful no matter what he might try, he wouldn't stand a chance in a fight with
a Romulan or Klingon, and there would be about even bets with another
Human. He needed to establish himself as a noncombatant from the beginning.
Thus, he made his mark early, singing old Romulan ballads he had picked up
during his travels, and interspersing them with Klingon songs he had learned
from Worf and Belle.

One night, he had sung a favorite of his, a tune with roots back on Vulcan,
although he had changed the lyrics. It was a sad tale of a woman born to pain,
then granted happiness only to lose it once more. He called it "The Lady of the
Blue Ship," as the woman at the end of the song chose to ride on the doomed
Blue Ship with her lover than stay in the unreal world of the Starry Isle. He was
extremely proud of the song itself, the first he had ever written. When he had
finished, the others had applauded politely.

"Dalek," Kriana said carefully, "you were a professional singer?"

"Yes," he beamed. "What did you think of the song?"

The others began to shift in place, not meeting his eyes. Arrhat, to whom tact
was a four-lettered word, had no such qualms.

"You were fortunate to have been arrested. Otherwise, you probably would
have starved."

VVVVV

Every fourth day was a half-day of work, with time off the rest of the day.
Some people used the time to sleep, others to recreate. The children in the
colony, three Klingons, four Romulans and Sela, started a series of games
specifically for the half-days. These were the times Wes tried to find Tasha
alone, but something or someone thwarted him at each turn, no matter how well
he planned. Usually, she had meetings during that time with L'Kor and her
husband, with Kriana often assisting, planning the next phase of the buildings.
Kriana would come back in the evenings both exhausted and delighted at the
new things being planned.

After the first few days, the gates were opened to the colonists, letting them
explore the outdoors if they so chose. The group, suffering from more than a
little cabin fever, took the opportunity.

Outside the compound, the jungle pressed in around them. There were a
number of animals native to the planet, including the needle-snakes Wes had
been warned about. Fortunately, there were no large carnivores nearby; the
biggest one was a feline about a meter long from nose to tip of tail, and its
favorite snack consisted of local birds. Along their walks, the group had found
small piles of feathers marking the end of one of the unfortunate creatures.

Trails, possibly trod by some of the herbivores that
frequented the place, wound through the trees, most going nowhere. One,
though, had led to a decent-sized watering hole. After a few misses, most of the
Fabulous Five (or Seven, or Nine, depending on the day) had its location down
to memory. With the heat of the planet constantly surrounding them, the pond
made an excellent place to swim, and the sun would hit it just as they arrived
after the half-day of work.

Still, the jungle was a dangerous place, and they always traveled in pairs if not
groups of three or more. On the fourth free day, a needle-snake had attacked
and killed a Klingon prisoner, a young man named Taydok.

He had been walking with two friends when the snake had fallen on him from
above. One of the others killed the snake, while the third carried him back to
the compound. He was dead by the time he reached the infirmary. Once the
Klingon Rite of Death had been observed (which took all of about a minute),
Doctor Mirith performed an autopsy, assisted by Josolar.

Later that evening, looking drawn and tired, the young doctor reported back to
his friends.

"The toxin was all through his system. We found traces of it even in his bone
structure. The poison attacks the central nervous system, and neutralizes the
chemical signals from the brain to the muscles, including the heart, and even
between neurons. I'd say he was beyond help within ten minutes, maybe less.

"Dr. Mirith is going to ask Tokath to organize a hunt for the snakes. She wants
to extract the venom and develop some kind of antidote for it."

"A hunt? Is she nuts?" asked Trehan incredulously. "Those things can kill
you!"

"That's the point, Trehan," said Kriana drily. "If we can catch one, we can find
the antidote and then it won't kill us."

"You go out and get yourself killed by one of those things. I have better
things to do."

Arrhat, looking at nothing in particular, said, "Trehan's afraid of snakes."

"No I'm not!" he said quickly. He looked around, saw that something more
was necessary. "I don't have to like them. But I'm not afraid of them." No one
felt like arguing with him.

VVVVV

Tokath announced the next day that anyone who would volunteer for the hunt
for a needle-snake would not have to work in the quarry until one was found.
Castillo, Imno, K'toktehn, and Qu'aemon immediately signed up; Trehan flatly
refused. Ekan found himself assigned to gate duty. Wesley put off making the
decision for a day, then was chagrined to discover that Arrhat and Kriana had
also gone on the hunt.

Nearly two-thirds of the workforce chose to search for snakes rather than cut
stones, and frankly, as the humid day pressed on, Wes wished he were among
them. Trehan was silent as the sandstone itself the entire day.

The end of the hunt came quickly. By evening, three needle- snakes had been
found, with no casualties except among the snakes. Two of them had been
brutally killed, and the third was near death when the team that had caught the
creature brought it to the infirmary for extraction of the venom.

"Mirith removed as much of the venom as possible from the snake," Josolar
told them later. "It did not even struggle; it merely lay on the table," he glanced
to K'Toktehn, "with some restraint, of course." The large Klingon had been in
the group that had captured the needle-snake, but had been strangely mute about
the whole affair.

"We did not need to hold it. There was no fight left," he said, simply.

"Still, I wouldn't have wanted to do it alone. After she was finished, Mirith told
us to kill it and bring the other two, hoping that perhaps we could get more from
them."

"Good thing, too," said Trehan. "It could've bitten you or one of the others.
Then where would you be?"

"We'll see what happens when the poison sacs regenerate."

That took a moment to sink in. Kriana spoke quietly, "You didn't kill it."

"No. The other two were already dead." He paused. Wes had heard what
shape the other snakes had been in after their capture. One of them had killed,
therefore all of them were to be destroyed. "I could not justify killing it. I told
Mirith that I would look after it until it recovered. We may even be able to get
more venom to work on a serum. When it is time, I can release it."

Imno nearly exploded. "Great! You have the deadliest thing in the jungle in
your office, and you want to let it go??!! For what? So it can attack one of
us when we're walking someday? Or maybe you'd rather just let it go in here,
hmmm?" Castillo flashed him a warning look. "Some night when the rest of us
are asleep, just let your little baby loose and see what happens??!!"

"Dodge ... " Castillo began. Imno spun on him.

"Don't even tell me the thought hasn't crossed your mind. Just wake up his
friends, let the snake go, and whaddaya know? No more Klingons or Humans
to worry about."

"That's enough, Ensign!" Castillo's voice carried through the room. Then, more
quietly, "If they wanted us dead, we would be dead. I have no doubt of that.
No one knows we're here except the Romulan government and these people.
The same goes for K'Toktehn and Qu'aemon and all the other prisoners here.
Besides, if they killed us, who would build the compound?"

"If they didn't have prisoners, they wouldn't need a compound," came the
retort.

Wesley said, "We're all prisoners here, for various reasons."

Imno turned to him bitterly, "You can go home. You aren't supposed to be
dead." A sudden feeling of foreboding flowed through him. The
_Enterprise-C_ had been destroyed. According to history, her crew had died
with honor defending the Klingon outpost at Narendra 3. The selflessness of
the act had led to the first real breakthroughs in relations with the Klingon
Empire.

Suddenly, Wes needed to know how it had happened, why they had sacrificed
everything for the outpost, and why a certain young Lieutenant from over
twenty years in their future had been on the ship when it had all transpired.

But he didn't know how to ask without sounding as mad as Arrhat.

VVVVV

After that, Wes redoubled his efforts to find time alone with Tasha to find the
answers. Every half-day off, he tried to make some time to slip out and see
where she was and what she was doing. Yet, something always prevented him
from administrative meetings (hers) to impromptu group trips to the swimming
hole (his) which could not politely be refused. He was willing to settle for
talking to her with another Human around, but that too seemed impossible. It
seemed that despite his diverse ideals, Tokath was not keen on the idea of his
wife associating with others of her kind, especially Castillo. At times, Wes
would catch her eye, and try to hold her gaze, but she always passed by, not
knowing. It was frustrating, more so because Wes could feel the time slipping
from him. Sela had told Captain Picard that she was four when her mother had
been killed, and she had made no mention of siblings. Sela was four, and
Tasha's own pregnancy advanced with the relentless pace of all nature. The
patterns grew smaller and smaller; soon he would be forced to act, no matter the
consequences. It was with spiral patterns that his mind filled each night as he
prepared for sleep, narrowing curves leading into times undreamt.

VVVVV

His chance came unexpectedly three months into his stay. It was a half-day,
Tokath was out with L'Kor inspecting the current status of the building, and the
others were nowhere to be seen. The general's quarters were of course among
the first to be built, and the family had moved in the week before. Tasha would
be there alone with Sela. He hoped for enough time.

Nerves twanging, he pressed the entrance panel, straining to hear the chirp
inside. There was no response. He tried again, suddenly sure that she was not
home, that she had gone with Tokath, and that he would have no more chances.
As he was about to press it again in desperation, the door slid open to reveal a
very pissed-looking Lieutenant Natasha Yar.

"If you press that button again, I will personally break your fingers off."

"I ... I'm sorry," he stammered. Suddenly, all his plans deserted him in the
wake of actually seeing her there. Her sunlight-colored hair was pulled back in
a loose ponytail. Yet, her sea-green eyes were the same, defiant to the end, and
boring directly into him.

"You obviously never had to get a four-year-old to sleep. What do you want?"
It was now or never.

"I need to speak with you alone." She sized him up, then slowly opened the
door to let him inside.

The room was cooler than the hot outdoors, and much darker. As he let his eyes
adjust, he tried to think of what to say.

"You're Dalek, the minstrel, aren't you?" He nodded, knowing now how to tell
her.

"Oh yes. I was a traveling musician, you might say. I've been everywhere from
Romulus to Turkana Four, and have learned songs from all the masters. In fact,
I learned a tune not so long ago by Darryl Adin himself. Would you care to
hear a verse?" She paled; it had worked.

"What?" came from her in a small gasp. He tried to take her hand, but she
pulled away and moved, perhaps unconsciously, into a fighting stance. "Who
the hell are you?" she demanded in a low voice.

"A friend." He breathed deeply, then Changed back to his normal self. Her
eyes grew round.

"Oh my god ..."

"Don't be afraid. I don't know exactly what happened in your timeline, but in
mine, you and I were friends. There is no way I could ever hurt you."

"Who ... who are you?"

"My name is Wesley Crusher." With a strange joy, he saw recognition light in
her eyes. She knew him!

"But, it's only been five years, and you were seventeen, but you're obviously
older ... " Suddenly, her legs went out, and he caught her, setting her gently on
the couch.

"How?"

"In my timeline, there was a man from Tau Alpha C, a Traveler through time
and space, who told me that I could do what he did. I've been learning for about
eight years now. This is my 'final exam,' as he put it. I have to rescue you from
this place."

"Rescue?" She seemed to roll the word in her mouth, tasting its unfamiliar
sweetness. "Why would you want to rescue me from my home?"

Wes was taken completely off-guard. "Because you need ... Because ... Don't
you want to go back?"

"Back to what? When I left the Enterprise, my Enterprise, there had been a
war going on for twenty years. I left one hell on Turkana Four for another, in a
dying Federation. Here, things are different."

"I'll say."

"You still don't understand. This is a good place, a safe place. Peace is a reality
here. We're working on plans that could change the galaxy, by showing people
that Romulans, Klingons and Humans aren't natural enemies. It's an
experiment, really. Tokath wants to blend the three cultures together, and show
the Senate that it can be done. And I want to help him." She looked around the
room, still somewhat chaotic with boxes everywhere, and papers strewn
carelessly about. "This is my home."

He had not expected this. Happiness at the thought of rescue, fear even, but a
desire to stay? "After all that they've done to you?"

"What's been done to me?"

"Well," he fumbled with the phrasing, "your marriage, for one thing! Sela for
another."

She glanced into another room, presumably where Sela slept. "That little girl is
the most wonderful thing in the universe," she said quietly, her voice filled with
emotion. "I've had friends, lovers, even a husband, but none of them come close
to the effect she's had on me. She is everything." She turned back to him.
"If my marriage to Tokath only ever gave me Sela, I would have considered it
wonderful beyond imagining."

All the speculations he had made about her life after her capture were quickly
falling to nothing. His mind had been filled with the horrible notion that she
had been kidnapped, tortured, then forced to bear some halfbreed brat. Sela had
never suggested anything else. But there was obviously much more going on
than any of them could ever have guessed.

"You're in love with him."

Her eyes softened, just a touch. "Yes. Now and then, I think that I might have
married him anyway." Seeing his expression, she continued. "Despite what
you might think, he's a good man. I know that he has led attacks on Federation
and Klingon territory, that he has far more deaths on his soul than anyone has a
right to own. But he would not let the Romulans kill their prisoners. Instead,
he offered me the lives of my friends if I would consent to marry him. He could
just as easily taken me as a personal servant and let the others be executed; I
couldn't have stopped him. But he let me decide."

"Some decision. 'Marry me or die.' He's a real saint."

"You sound just like Richard. Why can't you understand? Sometimes you
have to compromise a little to be content."

"The Tasha Yar I knew would never let herself be 'content' with life.
Sometimes you have to risk to be happy. It isn't even a great risk. We can be
gone in moments."

"And the other Humans? Surely you weren't planning on just taking me and
going. Where will you take them? Back to their homes? Or to your time?
They don't belong in either place. And neither do I."

"Yes you do! You have no idea what it did to us when you ... when our
Tasha died. It nearly killed the rest of us."

"Obviously it didn't." Suddenly curious, she asked, "how long has it been since
... she died?"

"Fifteen years."

"Fifteen years." She was lost in thought for a moment. "You get married yet?"

"Not yet. Mom did, though. She married the captain a while back."

A smile. "Always knew they would. Fifteen years ... I've only lived five since
I came here. Don't you see? I don't belong in your time."

"You don't belong here, either. Maybe I could take you to when you would
have fit, seven years ago. It wouldn't be more difficult than any other time."

"Do you have any memory of me being brought back seven years ago?"

He paused. "No."

She smiled, with just a trace of pain. "Then you have your answer. I wish it
could be different."

"So do I." He tried one last time. "What about Richard and the others? Will
you condemn them to living the rest of their lives here?"

"If they want to go, and if you will take them, let them leave. But I can't go
with you."

"Don't say that. Think it over for a few days. Please. I can stay for another
month, even another year, if that's what it takes to convince you to come back
home."

She glanced downward at her stomach. "In two months at the most, I'll need to
be somewhere safe for quite a while." She met his eyes. "I couldn't even think
of leaving for at least another month."

"Why?"

She frowned. "The Romulan Senate is divided on the colony. Some want it to
be a regular prison camp, others want it stopped completely. They're sending
someone in a couple of weeks to see what we've done so far. If the senator isn't
satisfied, the colony will probably be disbanded. Everyone will be either put
into a real prison, or killed. I can't allow that."

"What part do you play in it?"

"The dutiful wife and mother, of course." Her mouth twisted. "Any problems
will reflect badly upon the colony. The sudden disappearance of General
Tokath's wife, not to mention her Human friends, would qualify as a serious
problem."

"Point taken."

She looked at him oddly. "Unless ... The Romulans would be imprisoned, at
worst, but the rest of us would be killed. There are seventeen Humans, and
nearly a hundred Klingons. Could you take us all away?"

He wanted so much to say that he could. "No. It wouldn't be possible. There
are reasons."

Sadness crossed her features. "Then none of us can leave, at least not until after
the senator's visit."

"How long will it be?"

"At least a week. Maybe more. That will cut it close."

"Say the visit is over quickly, the review is favorable, and you still haven't gone
into labor. Then will you at least think about it?"

"I'll think about it. I promise. It would be wonderful to see everyone again."
Then, in an almost child-like manner, she said, "In my timeline, we were at war
with the Klingons for twenty years. I lost a lot of good friends, including Dare.
One of the reasons I went back with the _Enterprise-C_ was to prevent the war
from ever starting." Her eyes were wide, with hope and fear. "Did we
succeed?"

War. The picture slid into focus, after years of questions. In the midst of a
hopeless battle, they had come across a miracle, a rift in the space-time
continuum just wide enough to slip through and come out in the future bloody
but unbowed. They had found a Federation at war, and had chosen to return to
the past and certain death to prevent that war. But for a few, death had not
come as quickly as they had wished or dreaded. A brave handful had survived,
despite odds of a million to one against them. Then again, when it came to
ships named _Enterprise_, million-to-one chances seemed to come through
relatively often.

"Yes, oh yes, you succeeded." A radiant smile appeared on her face. "We've
formed an alliance with the Klingon Empire, and both sides are doing just fine.
And so is Dare, alias the Silver Paladin." He clasped her hands. "You did it."

Suddenly, she hugged him. He awkwardly returned the embrace. "Thank you,"
she whispered. "Thank you for that. It was worth it." After a moment, she
pulled back, and he could see the glisten of tears in her eyes. "It was all worth
it."

VVVVV

He left a few minutes later. When one wanted to stay unnoticed, one did not
pay undue attention to the General's wife. As he stepped back into the
oppressive heat and light, he realized that he still had a great deal of time on his
hands. He wandered back to his quarters, but found no one there except
K'Toktehn, who was reading a novel in Rihannsu of all things. Wesley smiled
inwardly. Tasha had been right on one account; the cultures were beginning to
blend.

K'Toktehn had no idea where the others had gone.

Having literally nothing else to do, Wes went for a walk in the forest, aiming
vaguely for the swimming hole in hopes that he might find one of his friends.
Idly, he wondered where Kriana had gone. She had been moody lately, and far
quieter than was her wont; it was probably due to horomonal changes, but he
was worried nonetheless. If she was at the swimming hole, he would work on
cheering her up.

As he walked, he planned his course of attack on Tasha's reluctance to return
home.

First, he would have to figure out what to do with the crew of the Enterprise-C.
They could come back to 2379, but it would be a hard adjustment. He could
also quietly return them to their own time, if they could keep silent about where
they had been, and how they had returned. That, too, would be difficult for
them; their families would want to know that they lived, unless they did not go
back home at all.

The other option would be to find them a nice place of their own, away from
anyone who might ask questions. Then again, they were not bad off here; the
gilded cage was a pretty one, and roomy enough, he supposed. He knew
enough about his own species to see that they would not accept captivity
forever. It was not in their nature. Besides, Castillo would stay with his crew,
and Tasha would stay with him. She had followed him across time and space
once; she would not accept such a separation now. Could he then justify
bringing all of them with him, just to have Tasha back home?

What to do about the Klingons? They had to stay; Belle's existence proved that
beyond a doubt. If he began futzing with the timestream to the point of his own
history changing, he could create a paradox big enough to fly a Galaxy-class
starship through. It would eventually flatten out; time was fluid, and could
stand problems of that nature.

Unfortunately, it could wipe out most of the Alpha Quadrant (or the past
thousand years, take your pick), in the process. As a Pakled might say, that
would be bad. Paradoxes could be very nasty. What worried him more than he
would like to think about were the intimations made by the Traveler now and
again that his very existence hinged on a paradox.

But he would never say what, or why.

The night Catherine had died, the Traveler had taken him to a pool of still water
in the Tunnels, and shown him the reflected stars. Softly, carefully, he had
explained the paradox that had cost the woman's life. The child she had birthed
had a great destiny ahead of him. When the Traveler told Wes what the boy's
name would be when he went Above, he had simply stared in shock. The
Traveler might just as well have said that he'd been there for Zephram
Cochrane's birth, and he would not have been more surprised.

The child's mother had not lived; it was a matter of history, but nor did the man
who killed her raise the baby. The father needed to know about the boy; the
man he was to become had a younger half-sister with whom his life was
intertwined. Two of the greatest leaders in the bad times to come were made
possible that night, leaders whose actions had shaped the history of the
Federation to come. The timestream had returned to its course. And Catherine
was dead.

Now Tasha was part of the paradox: dead but not dead, a prisoner of time and
her own loyalties. How could he possibly convince her to leave, when she had
so obviously found a place to be happy? How could he allow her to stay, when
he knew she would die in less than a year? And what would they do about
Sela? She was definitely a part of his own history. If the story changed for
her, if her mother had not been killed, but disappeared instead, things might
have worked out differently in his own past. There was no danger of deleting
his own existence; his birth was in a few weeks, and lightyears away. However,
his universe would be altered, which might have kept him from Travelling,
which would have kept him from changing things, which would have let the
universe unfold as it did previously, which meant he would Travel... Again the
nasty paradox.

The questions began to form spirals in his mind, chasing their own tails with
maddening frequency, but never catching them. Without his being aware of it,
he had reached the swimming hole. Coming out of his reverie, he heard
something in the tangle of jungle just beyond. Carefully, aware that there were
things in the jungle best left unencountered, he moved aside some brush. And
froze.

There was a small clearing, perhaps a meter and a half squared, and it was quite
occupied. Qu'aemon had Arrhat in a firm grip from behind, pinning her arms to
her sides, as he bit into her neck. Meanwhile, Ekan held her head still as his
mouth pressed hard against hers. He could not see her face, but heard muffled
sounds from her throat.

He paused for about two seconds, some rational part of his mind screaming that
he had no chance against either a Klingon or a Romulan in a fight and what in
the name of Kolker was he doing about to take on both??? Another voice, not
as loud, but far more powerful, said simply: "Would you stand by if this pair
tried to rape Robin?"

The two seconds passed; he marched into the clearing. He grabbed Qu'aemon
from behind, and when the Klingon brought his face around, decked him solidly
on the jaw. He dropped Arrhat and fell back, looking dazed. Ekan instantly
moved into fighting stance, as Qu'aemon recovered. Wes ran everything he
knew about hand-to-hand combat through his brain. There wasn't much. With
a silent plea to whatever guardian angel had watched over him thus far, he
prepared to be pulverized, but not without doing as much damage as he could.

"Run!" he shouted to Arrhat, hoping that she would have enough sense to get
help.

She looked back at him, trembling. The shaking grew, and he realized that she
was laughing. In moments, tears were streaming down her face from her mirth.
Wes surrendered whatever hope he'd held for reinforcements. He turned back
to Ekan, who had eased down, and seemed on the verge of laughter himself.

"This is rich," whispered Arrhat between gasps for breath. "I always wondered
when you were gonna beat up these two losers." For the second time, she spoke
Standard.

Qu'aemon began to smile. "It is kind of funny."

Wes felt lost. "What the hell is going on?!"

Arrhat calmed down enough to place a hand against his face. "I know what you
were trying to do, and it's sweet. But the boys are no threat."

"But he had you, and he was ... and you were ... Oh." Understanding hit him
square in the forehead. He glanced around at the ground for a convenient hole
to drop into. "Um. I'll just go now."

"Don't," said Arrhat, with a glance at the others. "I knew you would find out
eventually. I just didn't know I would have to tell you now."

"Tell me what?"

"Well, for starters, that these two twits are my husbands."

"Husbands?" Everything was spinning now. There was something important,
something he had to remember about her. Her eyes. It almost made sense.
Still, the small voice of reason, rather miffed that it had been ignored to date,
chimed in with a reminder that, up till this point, Arrhat had demonstrated all
the mental stability of a ferret on amphetamines.

The two men took her hands, and stood beside her protectively.

Qu'aemon said, "Our 'marriage' is not exactly legal where I come from, and not
especially favored by our families. But I for one figured that since they don't
have to put up with her snoring or his talking in his sleep..."

"My snoring?"

"You both could wake the dead." Ekan shook his head sadly.

Wes thought for a moment. "But Arrhat, you came with our group. And you
have not had that much free time."

She smiled oddly. "Time? I have all the time in the universe, Wesley." He
stifled a gasp. How could she know? "Don't be alarmed. I've known who you
were since we met aboard the ship." She glanced fondly at her companions.
And Changed.

VVVVV
Chapter 5: T'Riest and Traveler

Arrhat stood before him as a Human woman.

She wore a uniform that looked vaguely Starfleet-issue; it had the same
form-fitting style, but the top was solid cranberry save for a thin black seam
around the shoulders, and it was solid black from the midriff down. Her dark
hair was held in a bun at the back of her long neck. She was nearly his height,
and carried it proudly, her bearing that of someone who knew precisely who and
what she was and damn anyone who thought different. Her oval face, filled
with secrets, seemed familiar, like someone he might have seen in an old
photograph once and then forgotten.

Her eyes were her most remarkable feature, with depths he had not thought
possible. They were the color of a stray piece of sky caught between two clouds
near the edge of the horizon some Spring afternoon, and they reached inside
him. There were aspects of every woman he had ever known in that glance:
strength, wisdom, experience, and the faintest air of sadness underlying all the
rest. Now he understood why he could not pin down a distinct color for them; a
Traveler might hold another form for months, but the eyes remained mirrors of
all the universes ever known.

"Now do you understand?" Her normal voice was not much different from her
Romulan voice; other than the intonations, she could still have been speaking
Romulan.

"I think so," he said, uncertain but learning. He turned to the males. "What
about you?"

Qu'aemon Changed into a humanoid male, about two meters tall, with
golden-hued hair and greenish-blue eyes. He looked like an average Human
man, although he too seemed familiar. Compared to his Klingon persona, his
new form was almost weak-looking. Almost. Wes noticed uncomfortably that
a bruise was forming on the other man's jaw.

"Ummm... Sorry about that."

"S'okay. If I saw what you saw, I probably would have hit me, too."

"As would I," said Ekan. He turned to Qu'aemon, or whoever he was, and
grinned. "Hit you, that is." Ekan, Wes noticed, had not Changed.

Qu'aemon was about to respond when Arrhat cut him off with a look. It was
obvious who was the CPU in the family computer.

"So you three just Travel together?" Now there was a useful question, surely
to be marked down on stone pillars for all the universe to read in awe. Chalk
another one up to Wesley Crusher, prodigy and general expert on idiotic small
talk. Oh boy.

"Actually, it's the four of us," explained Qu'aemon. "We have another wife,
but Dell doesn't Travel much with us." Another wife?

"Ah ... " He sighed; this was getting him nowhere. "What are you doing here?
I was sent, I thought, to rescue Tasha and the other Humans, and set some
paradox right. But I don't know any more, and I'm getting confused."

Arrhat looked away, as if conducting an internal debate with two people who
barely tolerated one another. Of course, the little voice of wisdom whispered,
Josolar thinks she has multiple- personality syndrome, remember? Then, she
returned his gaze.

"You are here to correct the paradox, but first you need to set it into motion."

"Huh?"

"Please don't ask me. I can't tell you what will happen. You must understand."

"How will I know when the time is right? Tasha doesn't even want to come
with me," he said, a sudden feeling of despondency settling upon him.

"You will know," said Ekan. "When there are no more choices to be made,
your path will be the only one you can take."

Wes nodded, not because he understood but because it seemed the right thing to
do at the time. "Who are you really? I only know your assumed names."

"It would be easier on you if you did not know our real names, so that you don't
accidently slip," said Arrhat. "Besides," she smiled, "I've already told you my
real name, Wesley."

He racked his brains. "T'Riest?"

Arrhat only laughed, then Changed back into her Romulan form. How easy it
seemed for her! She whispered, "Does it really matter anymore what my name
is? For now, I am Arrhat the mad thief from Romulus. When we visit Dell, her
family knows me as Ami. I have been called Marivic and Kavata and T'Riest
and Morag and Aileen and Piera and Yibeli and Arkady and Brooke and
Valkris. I am the maker of timelines and the guardian of young children. I have
been a musician, a poet, a biochemist, a Starfleet Academy cadet, a philosopher,
and a professional duelist. I have played Ophelia before the last Queen of
England, and sung "The Lady of the Blue Ship" in a Bajoran settlement camp.

"I was present for the discovery of the Medici Stars, for a concert in the Tunnels
beneath Old New York, and for your birth. I have met four presidents of the
Federation, and sixteen people claiming to be the one true prophet sent from
God. I've had lunch with H.G. Wells, debated physics with Zephram Cochrane,
painted with Cool "Disco" Dan, and sung lullabies to Surak. I have seen the
iceberg that sunk the _Titanic_, the assassination of Chancellor Gorkon, and the
sunset on Kataan. I turned twenty-eight a week before we met on the ship."

Wesley tried to think of something profound to say in response.

"Oh."

He turned to the men. Qu'aemon yawned with a great deal of exaggeration.

"Well that was overdone, dear. Are you sure that you aren't related to his
grandfather?" He jerked his thumb towards Ekan.

"Shut up, dear," the other two said in unison. Wes felt the situation slipping
away from him.

"What about you?" he asked Ekan.

"I am ... " he paused. He tilted his head in a manner that reminded Wes of
someone else he had once known well. "I am."

Wes sighed. At least Arrhat had married the right guy.

VVVVV

The compound was unnaturally quiet when they finally returned. Dinner had
not yet started, nor were there any ceremonies scheduled until after dark, yet no
one was in the courtyard. The four of them split up to search. Wes went to the
infirmary, thinking to find Josolar.

The outer door was unlocked, but no one was in the room. Since he was
already there, he checked on the snake. Its vitals had been improving steadily.
Josolar had even finally given the thing a name: Sunoph'l'pighis, which as near
as Wes could
translate, was equivalent to "Spot." There were times he worried about his
friends.

From across the room, the raptor screamed for freedom. The bird, red-golden in
color with bright yellow eyes, had been captured at the founding of the colony.
Mirith officially had the care of it, but in reality everyone in the camp had a
small stake invested in the creature. It had no name, and was merely referred to
as "the large avian." Blood-lust was in its eye; it wanted the snake badly, and as
far as most of the colonists were concerned, it could have the creature.

Wes watched the snake for several minutes. Its half-lidded eyes stared into
nothing. Only the occasional darting of its tongue betrayed that it lived. The
cage, a transparent aluminum box with a grating at the top, took up nearly the
entire wall, giving the snake more than enough room to stretch out. Josolar had
even brought in some small plants from the outdoors to provide scenery, and
fed his little pet with the finest replicated food he could, a greenish paste that
looked rather revolting. From what they could determine, its natural diet
consisted mainly of rodents, and occasionally larger animals when frightened,
but Josolar refused to feed it anything living. The snake did not seem to care
much either way. The long body, nearly five feet in length and tapering to a
sliver at the tail, remained motionless, waiting quietly for whatever fate or the
good doctor might bring it. Given a choice, it might have slithered directly into
the bird's cage.
"It'll be okay, big fella. I'll make sure you can go home, too." But he had no
idea how.

VVVVV

He finally caught up with the rest of his Romulan friends at dinner.
Conversation was minimal. Wes certainly couldn't relate how his day had gone
to the others, and no one else seemed to be in a chatty mood. Even Arrhat
seemed sullen, only giving him the briefest of nods when he caught her glance.
He wondered if she was embarrassed at being caught in the act, as it were. So
far, he had never been exposed as a Traveler, although ...

He sat straight up, nearly knocking his tray off the table.

"Are you all right?" asked Trehan, looking concerned. Qu'aemon, sitting
across the table, glared at him intently.

"Ummm, yeah. Just had a sudden thought is all." The Romulans, the real
Romulans, looked at him expectantly, while the Travelers tried not to look too
concerned. "This place would look much better with drapes."

Ekan placed a friendly, and very firm, hand on his shoulder. "You have been
hanging out with Arrhat for far too long a time."

"I represent that remark," said Arrhat, meticulously sculpting her dinner into a
grotesque statue. The small talk slipped into another topic, but Wesley tuned it
out. She had known his name, and she had known that he would discover
her. But how? Because someone had told her. The Traveler. He seemed to
know things about Wes before he did. He had known when Wes accidentally
set his mother into her own private universe, and come to help. He had known
when life was getting just too damned low at the Academy, had known where to
be when he came to Darvon V. Arrhat, whoever she was, knew when to be
caught by the Romulan authorities in order to be brought here. He had been
captured by being utterly unprepared. He could use some prescience right about
now.

Josolar's voice startled him. "Are you sure that you are feeling well? You've
barely eaten." He tried to think of something, but Kriana saved him.

"Small wonder. This ... stuff resembles what you're feeding that snake of
yours."

Imno, at the end of the table, put a bite into his mouth and made a face. "That
sure explains a lot." K'Toktehn laughed to himself, which brought more than
one stare from the others.

Sure enough, as Wes looked down at his mostly-ignored dinner, it looked like
the dietary supplement for the needle-snake. He felt ill.

"You know, I am feeling a little under the weather. I think I'll turn in early."
Without another word, he left.

As he went, he passed Tokath's table. Tasha was laughing at something her
husband had just said. She looked so peaceful. How could he ever think of
taking her away from this life? Then he looked at her tray. The food was the
same grey-green mash that he had barely eaten. Snake food. He hurried out
and back to the safety of his quarters, where he quickly fell asleep.

VVVVV

He stood in a large transparent aluminum box in Ten-Forward. A crib sat inside
the box with him. When he looked in, he found a baby, no more than a few
weeks old, staring up silently at him. He noticed small points on the child's tiny
ears. He knew that the baby was his responsibility, that he had to escape the
box with it, but he could not Travel out of it with another person yet. He didn't
know how.

On the other side of the box, all his friends from the _Enterprise_ were gathered
for his mother's wedding to the Captain. He tried to call to them, tell them that
he was there, but no one heard him. Then, out of nowhere, a boy of about
seventeen or eighteen appeared in the box with him. He had neatly cut brown
hair, and bright hazel eyes. In the way of dreaming, he knew it was Jacky, even
though the bride at the wedding had a conspicuous bulge in her dress uniform, a
bulge that would form into his little brother.

"You look like a man with a problem."

"I need to get out. I'm supposed to be best man." He pointed to the crib. "We
both need to get out."

"Then just walk through it." He demonstrated. Wesley picked up the baby, and
tried to follow.

"I can't get through." Jack shook his head sadly, and then Robin stood outside
of the cage beside him.

"Then you'll have to fly out, but you must hurry, for you haven't much time
left," she said, and laughed, and as she laughed, her features became waxy and
pale. Like water, her skin began to run, until it formed into another form.
Arrhat.

"I have all the time in the universe, Wesley. But you don't. Not anymore."
Then, she moved up beside the box, and whispered, "I'll tell you a secret about
the box: the only way to get out is to go in."

In the dream, it made perfect sense. "What about the baby?"

"Leave her. Fate will guard her."

"No!" He held the infant close against his shoulder. Suddenly, a sharp pain
shot through him. He pulled the child away, and saw a row of sharp teeth
covered with his own emerald-colored blood. As he stood frozen, he saw a
forked tongue slither out of her mouth, and lick the blood from her lips.

He woke screaming. When the others had finally quieted him down, Josolar
looked at his shoulder. Small symmetric scars like teeth-marks dotted the skin,
an angry, bloodless green.

Wesley did not sleep the rest of the night.

VVVVV
(to be continued)