Hawk acknowledged Picard’s order and adjusted the forward velocity to twenty percent that of light. Chiaros IV quickly turned away into the darkness and fell away into the infinite night of the Geminus Gulf. The commandeered vessel dove outward beneath the ecliptic, arcing headlong toward the singularity.

“Your captain’s beverage is delightful,” Grelun said to Riker and Troi. “The human Urlgray who devised it must surely be a god among men.”

Sipping from a mug that looked absurdly tiny in his enormous hand, the Chiarosan sat shirtless at the edge of a bed that seemed scarcely capable of supporting his weight. Now that Will Riker was in close quarters with Grelun, he noticed that the rebel leader smelled faintly of freshly turned earth and lilacs. The aroma, as well as Grelun’s fierce mien, reminded him absurdly of Worf.

But what struck Riker most was Grelun’s astonishing recuperative powers. Less than three days after he had regained consciousness–and had refused further dermal regeneration treatments–Grelun’s body bore not a trace of the severe disruptor burns he had sustained during the battle in the rebel compound. Even the coarse brown hair on his thick‑thewed arms had grown back almost completely.

Riker was just as impressed by the huge Chiarosan’s quiet dignity, as well as by the extreme delicacy with which he held his drinking vessel. Surely, he could have smashed it with a mere twitch of his fingers.

“I must thank you again for the hospitality that you and your captain have shown me,” Grelun continued, setting the mug down on a bedside table. “These are splendid quarters, though I must confess that the floor serves me better as a sleeping place than does this child’s cot.”

The Chiarosan bared his razor‑sharp metallic teeth as he finished this last utterance. Though Riker was reasonably certain the mannerism was the equivalent of a human smile, he was still glad that he had posted a pair of security guards, both armed with compression phaser rifles, just outside the cabin door.

“We wanted to make you as comfortable as possible,” said Counselor Troi, who stood beside Riker. She appeared confident that the Chiarosan posed no danger. Still, Riker was uncomfortably aware that Grelun could easily snap her neck without even having to rise to his feet.

Grelun tipped his head in apparent perplexity. Riker wondered for a moment if the universal translator had malfunctioned. Or perhaps the Chiarosan tongue simply contained no word that corresponded to “comfort.”

“No matter,” Grelun said. “We have much larger problems, you and I. Your captain even now risks his life to expose the treachery of my predecessor’s outworld allies.” He practically spat this last word.

Riker tensed at Grelun’s mention of Picard’s secret incursion behind the Romulan cloaking field. Grelun was somehow aware of the mission, despite his not having been briefed about it.

Zweller,Riker thought sourly. We should have arrested him as soon as he came aboard. Even now, he’s trying to play both ends against the middle.

“You disagreed with Falhain’s decision to accept aid from the Romulans,” Troi said to Grelun, her tone matterof‑fact. It was clear that she wasn’t asking a question.

Grelun raised and lowered his shoulders in an elaborate triple‑jointed shrug. “I did not want an alliance with anyoutworlders. But during Falhain’s rule of the Army of Light, my opinion was neither day nor night, and was not sought. While my leader lived, it was my part to go where he led and do as he bid.”

Grelun paused to raise his cup for another drink before continuing. “Falhain’s untimely slaying changed this.”

Riker hadn’t seen exactly how Falhain had died during the skirmish in the Chiarosan capital; he’d already been knocked unconscious by the time the deed had been done. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that maybe Grelun hadwitnessed Falhain’s death, or perhaps even arranged it. Could he somehow be concealing from Deanna his own complicity in the rebel chief’s demise?

“Whatever you might think of us,” Riker said carefully, “your people will be on their own against the Romulans if the referendum forces the Federation to withdraw from your world.”

“That is now spilled grain,” Grelun said. “My people will fight anywho seek to conquer us.”

“You won’t be able to direct a revolution from a Federation starbase,” Riker pointed out. “That’s where we’ll have to take you next, if you’re really serious about petitioning the Federation for political asylum.”

Grelun straightened his back, looking both resigned and defiant. “Should you not worry instead about your more immediate problem? Ruardh will send her forces against this ship if you do not surrender me to her before you leave this system. She is implacable. She will not allow me to escape without a fight.”

A look of deep understanding crossed Troi’s face. “You want us to return you to your people. You want to continue leading the resistance against Ruardh’s government.”

“Of course I do,” Grelun said, his eyes narrowing with menace, his voice an angry growl. The fur on his neck rose, like that of an agitated cat. “Do you think me a coward?”

“Of course not,” Troi said calmly, standing her ground; it was unwise to show fear to a Chiarosan warrior. “I think of you as a leader in exile.”

At that, the tension in Grelun’s muscles relaxed visibly. Leaning forward, he said, “You could endmy exile. You could return me to the hinterlands to which my people have withdrawn. From there, I could continue the fight.”

“Are you telling us that your asylum request was just a tactic?”Riker said, his eyebrows ascending involuntarily.

Grelun folded his massive arms across his chest. “He who fights and retreats in the now may fight and win in the fullness of time.”

Riker did not enjoy being manipulated. But he knew that Grelun and his people had few alternatives to subterfuge. Having seen the carnage Ruardh’s regime had inflicted upon the rebel tribes, Riker couldn’t say he wouldn’t make some of the same choices Grelun had.

But there were still rules that had to be observed.

“Are you withdrawing your asylum request, Grelun?” Riker said.

Grelun studied him, as though over a hand of five‑card stud. “What would be the consequence of such an action?”

“We would be legally bound to turn you over to the Chiarosan authorities,” Troi said sadly. Riker saw tears forming in her dark eyes; she, too, had seen the carnage.

Riker expected to see rage welling up in Grelun’s visage. Instead, there was only sorrow there. “Even after I have shown you the villages of the slain? Even after your own instrumentshave recorded the ghosts of the slaughtered children?”

“Your people deprived us of the tricorder evidence we gathered in the village,” Riker said. “Until both sides stop shooting long enough to let us gather newevidence, we have no objective way to back up your allegations against Ruardh. And no legal way to get around her extradition request.”

The last thing Riker wanted was to condemn someone–anyone–to certain death. He hated the situation, and was frustrated with himself for his failure to find an honorable way out. But he knew that Deanna’s analysis was correct: they had to either grant asylum to Grelun or else extradite him. It was a clear and apparently irresolvable conflict between law and morality. Still, Riker clung to the hope of finding an acceptable third alternative.

Data keeps saying that I rely on traditional problemsolving methods less than a quarter of the time,Riker thought. Maybe now’s the time for yet another unorthodox solution.

“Let’s speak off the record, Grelun,” he said aloud. “Starfleet officers are bound by laws that respect the sovereignty of democratically elected governments. Whether you intend to leave your world behind or not, if you withdraw your asylum claim we’ll haveto hand you over to Ruardh immediately. You’d be giving us no other choice.”