“Dennis has a point, Will,” Estresor Fil offered after they’d been walking amongst the stalls for a while. “This place is big, and crowded. Are we sure this is what the clue points to? And is there anything in it that might narrow things down more for us?”

Will had been trying to figure out that very question, but so far he’d had no luck. “I just don’t know,” he replied honestly. “We could hope we just get lucky and spot it, but other than that ...”

“I’ve gotit!” Felicia interrupted. “It isin the clue, after all. ‘Bringing them home means bringing yourselves home.’ We just need to look at it more precisely than we’ve been doing. This is where everybody in the city comes to bring fish home. But our home, for now at least, is the Academy. And aren’t there a few vendors here from whom the Academy traditionally gets its seafood, for cadet and staff meals?”

“I think you’re right,” Dennis replied. “The Academy chefs like to work with people they know and trust. They contract with those particular vendors.”

“Do you happen to remember any of their names?” Estresor Fil asked.

Felicia and Dennis searched one another’s faces for a moment, as if the answer might be written there. “I guess not,” Dennis finally ventured.

“Then we’re right back where we were before,” Boon said glumly.

“Not necessarily,” Will pointed out. “At least we have something to look for. We’ve all seen deliveries come into the Academy. We’ve all seen the chefs. Instead of looking at all the fish, we need to look at the people. If we see anyone who looks familiar then we know we’re getting somewhere.”

“We hopewe’re getting somewhere,” Boon, always the pessimist, countered.

Will was tired of arguing with Boon, who never had any better ideas to offer but nonetheless didn’t hesitate to criticize others’. Ignoring the Coridanian, he turned to Felicia. “Good job,” he said. “I think you’ve solved it.”

She returned his smile with one he could feel in his gut. She looked straight into his eyes and they held that for a moment, with Will finally breaking her gaze only so they could renew their search. As they walked, she moved over toward him and let her shoulder bump against his. Once again, Will wished he knew the right thing to say, but as usual it wouldn’t come to him.

Having rearranged their search parameters, it only took a few minutes to find a familiar face. But it wasn’t one of the faces they were expecting. Instead, Will saw the smoldering, dark eyes and thick crop of black hair of his friend and fellow cadet, Paul Rice. Paul was on a competing squadron, but Will had shouted out his name before he caught himself. It was only then that he noticed the rest of Omega Squadron: Hasimi Thorp, Naghmeh Zand, Ross Donaldson, and Kul Tun Osir, standing behind Paul at the booth. Paul set down the checkpoint canister he’d been holding and smiled at Will.

“Cadet Riker,” he said. “Just a little behind the pack, as usual.”

“Damn it,” Boon muttered from behind Will.

“I guess maybe we are,” Will said. He picked up the canister from where Paul had set it. Inside the stall, he thought he recognized one of the women who occasionally made deliveries to the Academy’s mess hall. “We’re doing the best we can, though.” He started to punch his identification code into the canister’s keypad.

“So how many more checkpoints do you have to make?” Paul asked him. “We’ve only got two to go.”

Will couldn’t hide the surprise that transformed his face. “Two?” he asked. He felt Felicia nudge him in the ribs, but it was too late. Anyway, he figured it didn’t really matter now. “This is our last,” he admitted. “We’re done.”

“Done?” Paul echoed. He sounded startled.

“Well, this is the last day, after all,” Will said.

“Yeah, but a couple of them took us more than a day,” Paul replied. “You guys must have had easy ones.”

“I don’t know about that,” Felicia put in. “Maybe we’re just better at this than you are.”

“Maybe they cheat,” Hasimi Thorp suggested. He was a squat, stocky native of Inferna Prime, with charcoal black skin and blazing orange eyes. He was a head taller than Estresor Fil, but at least double her weight.

“Will wouldn’t cheat,” Paul answered firmly. “I know him better than that. I don’t know about the others, though.”

“We didn’t cheat,” Will said. “None of us.”

“Come on,” Ross chimed in. “How else could you guys be so far ahead of us?”

The two squadrons were facing one another now, and Fish Market customers stepped aside for them. Boon shouldered his way to the front of Zeta Squadron’s pack. “Maybe you’re just stupid,” he said. “Did you consider that possibility?”

“Stupid?” Kul Tun Osir came from Quazulu VIII, where intelligence was highly valued,-and he usually placed first, or nearly so, in his classes at the Academy. “I must have misheard you. You wouldn’t have called us stupid, would you?”

“I think your hearing’s just fine,” Boon shot back.

“Boon,” Dennis said, urgent warning in his tone. Boon ignored him, though.

“Anyone who thinks we cheated is blatantly stupid,” Boon continued. “And anyone who’s so far from done on the last day is doubly so.”

Hasimi Thorp moved on Boon then, faster than anyone could prevent. Will and Paul eyed one another helplessly, both realizing at the same moment that their friendship couldn’t put the brakes on what hot words had inflamed. Hasimi snatched a large frozen fish by the tail off the nearest display table and smacked Boon’s face with it. Boon, stunned by the assault for a moment, gathered his wits and responded, scooping up another fish and throwing it at Hasimi. Naghmeh reacted quickly, grabbing two fish and tossing them both at Boon’s head.

Chaos broke loose, as every member of both squadrons—except Will and Paul, who fruitlessly tried to bring their friends under control—started pelting one another with cold wet seafood. Felicia was cod-walloped, flounder flew, grouper and herring were hurled. Naghmeh pummeled Dennis with a sea bass, while Estresor Fil chucked fistfuls of king crab legs at her. Will recognized what was happening—stress, pressure, and all the tensions of the week exploding into insane release. He was a little worried about injury—those half-frozen fish could be hard, and already he could see blood flowing where Dennis and Ross had been cut—but he figured all in all they would have some innocent fun that would dissipate their anxieties. He was almost tempted to join in.

But that was before he saw the uniformed police officers circling them, phasers out—set to stun, Will hoped, considering the nonlethal nature of the combat. “Guys!” he shouted, and then much louder, “Zeta Squadron, attention!”

That did the trick, for his group at least. They snapped to, well trained enough to respond appropriately to the command. Their sudden surrender alerted Omega Squadron to the presence of the police, as well. Fish were returned to their rightful spots on the display tables, but the damage was done: seafood parts littered the ground, and the cadets—even Paul and Will, who had stood by without participating—were covered in scales and guts and fishy residue.

One of the police officers, who seemed to be in charge, separated herself from the pack and stepped forward, holstering her weapon. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, her nose wrinkling involuntarily at the stink.

“Sir, we’re cadets from Starfleet Academy,” Paul explained quickly. “We’re on a special project, and, well, I guess we got carried away with the competitive spirit. Obviously, we’ll reimburse for any damages.”

“You will at that,” the police officer agreed. “And if I had my way, you’d serve some time as well. But if you’re all from the Academy, I think I’ll just turn you over to Starfleet Security and let them deal with you. Save me some time and trouble.”

“Just wonderful,” Boon muttered, but Estresor Fil silenced him by stomping down on his instep.