And yet, Corey is still down on the planet. And so are Riker, Troi, and heaven only knows how many survivors from theSlayton.

Then Picard made his decision, and it felt right, somehow inevitable. His jaw set in determination, he began giving orders. “Mr. Data, I want you to pinpoint as close as you can the coordinates that signal gave us.” He turned to address the blond officer who was monitoring a sensor display near the rear of the bridge. “Mr. Daniels, prepare the shuttlecraft Keplerfor passage through the planet’s atmosphere. I’ll need the shields operating at maximum efficiency, and I want as much firepower on board as possible.” He sincerely hoped he would not be called upon to use it.

“Aye, sir,” Daniels said, then strode purposefully into the starboard turbolift.

“Sounds like you’re planning a rescue operation, Johnny,” Batanides said, smiling.

Picard gestured toward Crusher. “Nothing overly aggressive, Admiral. Just myself and the doctor. There may be wounded at those Nightside coordinates who will require her attention.”

“There’ll be three of us in that shuttle,” Batanides said, her tone and posture brooking no argument.

Picard nodded, knowing that there were some battles he couldn’t hope to win. “All right,” he said. “But we must leave quickly. The message’s time reference could mean that we have less than a six‑hour window.”

Data spoke in a manner reminiscent of the Sherlock Holmes persona he enjoyed playing on the holodeck. “At which time it may be possible to penetrate the detention grid mentioned in the message, then extract whoever is being held at the specified coordinates.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Picard said. “Mr. Data, you’ll be in command until I return.” The android nodded soberly, and Picard stepped toward the port turbolift, preceded by the doctor and the admiral. The doors whooshed open and the two women entered ahead of him.

“Captain,” said a voice from the front of the bridge. Crusher held the door as Picard stopped and turned toward the man who had spoken.

“Mr. Hawk,” Picard said. The lieutenant had risen from his seat behind the conn station.

“Sir, I need to speak with you. Privately.”

Though he wasn’t pleased about the interruption, Picard managed to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Lieutenant, we have very little time.”

“I know, sir,” Hawk said quickly. “And that’s exactly why we need to talk.”

Picard knew that this forward behavior was very unlike Hawk. The lieutenant’s gaze was locked with his, his expression unreadable.

Something truly dire must be on the young man’s mind.He turned toward Crusher and the admiral and asked them to wait for him in the main shuttlebay.

After the turbolift doors had closed he turned back toward Hawk and appraised him. “You have two minutes, Lieutenant. In my ready room. Now.”

Hawk was deep in thought as he followed Picard into the ready room. Strange that I’m not feeling more . . . fear.He recalled telling Tabor that watching Picard had been a valuable education for him. The ambassador had reminded him that sometimes the captain bent the rules to achieve the correct aims. This was most certainly one of those times.

More important, Tabor had told Hawk that Zweller was particularly significant in whatever secret agendas were unfolding in this sector. It seemed vitally important to Hawk that he do everything possible to ensure the commander’s rescue. Zweller, after all, just might be the key to the mysteries of Chiaros IV and the rest of the Geminus Gulf.

Hawk wondered if he should tell Picard about Tabor’s overtures, and about Zweller and his connection to Section 31. But the ambassador had been so clear on the need for utter secrecy regarding the organization that Hawk hadn’t even told Keru about it, or about his discussions with Tabor. Despite the ambassador’s death–or perhaps because of it–it seemed wrong to betray this confidence now.

Hawk suddenly became aware that the captain was speaking to him. “Have a seat, Lieutenant,” he said from the chair behind his desk. Hawk wondered when the captain had sat down, and cursed himself for woolgathering.

“Thank you, sir,” Hawk said, swallowing convulsively as he took the proffered chair.

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Hawk?”

Hawk gathered up his courage, then spoke his mind. “I’d like to go along with you on the rescue mission, sir.”

Picard said nothing at first, an indecipherable look in his eye. Finally, he broke the silence. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Lieutenant, but I don’t think your presence on this mission will be necessary.”

Hawk shifted awkwardly in his seat, but calmed himself by recalling the best advice his partner had ever given him when dealing with Starfleet matters: Trust your instincts.

“Sir, may I have permission to speak freely?”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, with respect, I think my presence isnecessary. Your shuttle has three command officers, one of whom is a doctor. You are about to attempt to navigate treacherous atmospheric storms, approach a hostile military base–which may or may not be a trap–and rescue an unknown number of Starfleet personnel from either the Chiarosans or the Romulans.”

Picard leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow cocked, as Hawk continued. “No matter how good a pilot youare, sir, your attention needs to be focused on getting everyone back to the shuttle safely. Admiral Batanides will be of some help, but what happens to the shuttle while you’re rescuing the prisoners? Do you leave Dr. Crusher behind to face a possible attack? Or do you leave the admiral on board?”

He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, then resumed his plea. “I understand why you aren’t taking a large security contingent along; there’s no room in the shuttle, especially if you hope to bring our people back. But there isroom for an excellent pilot and navigator. You’re familiar with my record, sir. You know that I’m one of the best pilots serving on the Enterprise.So I think it’s in everyone’sbest interest for you to have me come along.”

Picard sat in silence for a long moment, his eyes boring into Hawk’s. The lieutenant’s heart raced as he forced himself not to break the captain’s basilisk gaze. He hoped he hadn’t pushed him too hard.

Finally, Picard spoke, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We’ll be under way in twenty minutes or less, Mr. Hawk. I’d suggest you get your best driving gloves on. Dismissed.”

Hawk grinned, and rose to exit. “Thank you, sir.”

As he moved out onto the bridge, Hawk’s heart beat strongly in his chest. One way or another, he was now on a collision course with Zweller, Section 31, and possibly every secret the Geminus Gulf held.

He couldn’t be sure whether his racing circulation came from trepidation or exhilaration.

Probably both.

Chapter Eight

The shuttlecraft Keplerdescended swiftly through the turbulent Dayside atmosphere, its passage creating plumes of superheated plasma that clutched at the hull like the fingers of some angry god. The cockpit rattled and jerked. Picard stole a backward glance at the admiral, who was sitting beside Crusher in the crew cabin. He could only imagine the hell she had endured, having first lost Tabor and then having discovered the ambassador’s possible malfeasance on Chiaros IV. He noticed then that her skin had taken on an almost greenish tinge; spacesickness, adding insult to injury.

“Will someone please explain again just why the Federation is so interested in this place?” Crusher said as she scanned the admiral with a medical tricorder.

Batanides smiled weakly. “I couldtell you. But then I’d have to kill you.”

“Excuse me?” Crusher said, looking startled as she deactivated the tricorder.