Picard looked around at the confines of his detention cell and couldn't stop the smallest of smiles from crossing his face. He hoped that wasn't a terrible breach of protocol.

The Intracta really were a fascinating tribute to their history, he thought. Their application to join the Federation had been a pleasant surprise, but not perhaps a wholly unexpected one. He had been glad of the opportunity to be Starfleet's primary investigating officer in their case, because the file alone had been fascinating reading. And (although he would not have admitted it) perhaps a little of his satisfaction was due to his rare opportunity to overrule Riker's insistence that he stay safely aboard ship for the duration.

After all, it would have been the height of rudeness for the captain to stay away this time.

For almost two hundred years, the Intracta had been known as a deeply xenophobic and unfriendly people. They had been an intellectual, spiritual and generally harmless race, who had invented manned space flight, then almost immediately abandoned all use of it after a disastrous first contact with a race called Benaii, who had attempted a hostile takeover of the Intractan homeworld scant hours after discovering it existed. The Benaii were repulsed with some force - Intractans turned out to be formidable fighters - but the real damage was already done. All spacefaring visitors to Tractusaria were henceforth treated with deep distrust, and Intractan society had developed along very different lines to its original path.

However, as Picard had been delighted to discover, the Intractans' somewhat rude introduction to the intergalactic community had failed to completely eradicate their basically charming and inquisitive natures. It had taken over a century, but the Intracta had redeveloped their existing interest in space flight into an interest in servicing space flight for others. Tractusaria was now a thriving space dock with the reputation for having the best facilities in several galaxies - if the visitor was prepared to accept the Intractan terms.

And, Picard thought, as he poured himself a glass of what he had been assured was a native herb tea, those terms had certainly become more palatable. He nodded to the guard outside the cell, who inclined his slender, wedge-shaped head in acknowledgement. "Your very good health."

The guard seemed to consult a mental list, then, in his quiet, whispering tones, recited politely: "Silence, alien scum." Picard nodded once more, and retreated to the other side of the cell to sit down on the padded oblong recliner so he could look out of the barred window and see the little fleets of atmospheric ship service shuttles flicking by at speed in the sunlight.

The tea, naturally, was very good.

"I don't like it."

Deanna Troi looked up at Will Riker and smiled, indulgently. She liked him when he was like this. The single-minded focus of his emotion was almost refreshing compared to the usual gamut of complex human feelings seething beneath most of the crew's conscious surfaces.

"The captain is perfectly safe," she said. She'd offered variations on this theme at least three times in the past hour. She couldn't help feeling she wasn't getting through.

"Safe? He's in a cell. From a certain perspective, he couldn't be safer." The first officer gripped the arms of the command chair as if he could squeeze a new perspective out of them.

"And that's exactly the perspective that applies here," said Troi, gently. "The Intracta imprison every off-worlder who arrives on the planet surface. It's a ceremonial function for them now, not a true judgement of a visitor's character."

Riker reached up and rubbed a knuckle into his eye as if trying to ward off a headache.

"You're right, it's not a judgement on individuals, it's a summary judgement upon all non-Intractan races. It's incredibly closed-minded of them."

"Considering their past, I think it's actually rather generous of them," said Troi. "Think about it. After they were attacked, they could have closed off all contact from alien species. But they didn't. They evolved their natural suspicion and found a way to make it work with their curiosity and desire to be part of a greater community. As long as visitors display a genuine honesty and reason for their visit, there's no real difference between staying in a hotel and staying in a cell."

"I bet Worf would agree with me," Riker grumbled. Worf was also planetside, and presumably also in a detention cell. He couldn't imagine the Klingon warrior side of Worf was enjoying captivity, even it were for purely ceremonial purposes.

"If it helps," came the voice of Geordi La Forge, who was covering Data's post at Ops while the android was on the Away Team, "I think it's a little creepy, Commander."

"There, see?" Riker made an open-palmed gesture indicating La Forge, and darted a told-you-so glance at Deanna.

"Creepy," repeated Troi with a mischievous smile, "and the Intractans are the ones who make summary judgements based on one experience."

Picard had finished his tea and was watching a shimmering Oncaillian cruiser being repaired by three small Intractan engineer droneships when the guard's voice, polite and low-toned as ever, said:

"On your feet, prisoner, the Divemaster wishes to speak with you."

"Captain Picard." The Divemaster of Tractusaria was a particularly tall and willowy example of her race, her wedge-shaped head and jet black eyes tilted down to meet Picard's gaze. She reached out with an elongated hand to offer a handshake. Handshaking was not native to the planet but (their visitor accommodation peccadilloes aside) the Intracta were an extremely diplomatic people and spent a lot of time learning the correct protocol. Her grip was cool and damp.

"I hope your stay in our prison has taught you the required lesson?"

Picard was ready for this one.

"I am fully aware of my position, Divemaster, and will make sure that the Federation have a full report on the strength of Intractan security."

She seemed relieved, from what he could tell. Intracta body language was not the same as human body language. It was more fluid - there were more undulations of muscle and flickers of long limbs.

"And the guard has, I trust, behaved appropriately?"

The Intractan male outside the cell door almost radiated anxiety. Picard smiled.

"Divemaster, he has made me fully conversant with Intractan hospitality and his knowledge of prison protocol."

The Divemaster's thin arms slapped against her sides: an Intractan way of laughing.

"'Silence, alien scum', I imagine?" At Picard's nod, she gave the guard a pat on the shoulder. "Nicely done, Abrin. Now, Captain, if you will come with me to the prisoner recreational lounge, I believe we can talk business."

The walk to the lounge was fairly lengthy: there were no elevators or transporter rooms in the prison complex for fear of making it too easy for prisoners to escape. Picard glanced into other detention cells as they passed, noting the sheer variety of species who came to use the spaceport facilities here on Tractusaria. He walked alongside the Divemaster, but they were flanked by two armed guards, whom the Divemaster had introduced as her head of diplomatic relations and her expert in alien contact.

"I hope you do not mind us not being joined by your two officers, Captain," said the Divemaster, "but you understand that it is our tradition to separate all ship crew on arrival to guard against collaboration. Rest assured they will be well guarded."

Picard was satisfied with that arrangement, and said so. 'Well-guarded' was one of the highest compliments that could be paid by the Intracta, and he actually had few concerns about Worf and Data. Data would be endlessly fascinated by the whole experience, being almost impossible to bore in captivity: and Worf…well, Worf would do very well practicing his Starfleet restraint.

"The Federation have been generous in their allocation of investigating officer," said the Divemaster, turning onto a tall metal walkway over the prisoner registration area. "We hear your Enterprise is the fleet's flagship."

"I am honoured by their choice," said Picard. "Your race's indomitable spirit should be an inspiration to the Federation. I have little doubt that - "

And then he stopped, mouth open, staring.

They had passed the new arrivals area, and had moved on over a section Picard did not recognise. The guards here were heavily armoured and there were fewer "prisoners" present. In the centre of the room, a struggle was going on. Guards aimed weapons: other guards were trying to keep hold of a prisoner who was half-naked, stripped to the waist and fighting hard to be free of them, despite the almost constant splatter of laser fire bathing his body.

The man's skin was opalescent, almost white: he had a severe dark haircut and a long-nosed profile Picard would have recognised anywhere. Nondescript black trousers and long black boots completed the figure.

He broke away from the group of guards, staggered almost immediately as another round of stun slammed into his back, then dropped to his knees. A few scorch marks marred the golden pallor of his shoulder blades, and below the charring a few shining pieces of metal structure were exposed. He looked up with bright yellow eyes, almost as if seeking Picard on the walkway, then crashed forward and lay immobile on his face. He was instantly surrounded by guards.

Picard turned on the Divemaster, fury and shock etched into his expression.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Release him at once!"