Vignettes From The Life of a Section 31 Operative

It was nearly midnight when Kyle Riker reached his sister-in-law's home, but he knew from the lights inside that Ellen Forester was still up. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. If he had been able to slip in and get some sleep, he'd be better equipped for the confrontation that was about to occur. He had been traveling for eight days straight, buying or begging a berth on any ship heading the right direction and he was bone-weary. On the other hand, it was probably best to get this out of the way immediately.

Amazing, he thought. He hadn't believed in love at first sight until he met Susan. He hadn't believed in hatred at first sight until he met her sister. The antipathy between him and Ellen had been immediate and implacable.

She must have been watching for him, because she opened the door before he reached the porch. "So you made it," she said flatly.

"I got here as soon as I could." She stood in the doorway, blocking his way. "If you don't want me to come in, say so. Otherwise, I'd appreciate it if you'd move. I don't want to take too long."

She stepped aside, leaving him just enough room to get by. "Good God, Kyle, what is that stink?"

"Andorian sheep," he said shortly. "I was able to get commercial transports from Corvallis to Mynax IV, but the only ride I could get from there was an Andorian freighter bringing sheep to Earth. I've spent the last three nights in the cargo hold. I'm tired, Ellen and I'm dirty and I'm hungry. I want to get Will and go home."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's it? You're tired? What happened to, 'how was the funeral, Ellen?' or 'did she say anything before she died?'"

He wondered again how two sisters could have been so different as Ellen and Susan. Susan had been filled with laughter and sweetness and a zest for life. Ellen, nearly ten years older, seemed to believe that her reason for living was to make sure everyone around her felt as unhappy as she apparently did all the time. "Susan's dead," he said quietly. "I can't change that. I want my son."

She started to speak, then clamped her mouth shut. He watched with fascination as she visibly got control of her emotions. That's new, he thought. Ellen's never bothered to control herself around me before.

"Come into the kitchen first," she said. "I've got a fresh pot of coffee and I can make you a sandwich. There's something we need to talk about."

"All right," he said, not giving anything away. He followed her into the kitchen and looked around. The room was large and homey, which surprised him. Ellen was usually so focused on her music that she paid little attention to niceties like decorating or cooking. "This is nice," he said. "I haven't been here before."

"No, you haven’t." She sounded grateful. "I moved in six months ago, just after you left. Susan helped me decorate."

He felt a tug at his heart. It looks like Susan. The copper pots. I wonder if Ellen knows the difference between the sauté pan and the saucier.

She gestured for him to sit on a stool at a breakfast bar, and she set a cup and saucer in front of him. "You take it black, right?"

"Thanks." The coffee was good, especially compared to the motor oil passing as a breakfast beverage on the Andorian freighter. "What do you want to talk about?"

She walked to the cooler and removed a platter. It held a variety of bread, meats and cheeses. For Ellen, this was a lot of work. Whatever she wants, she wants it badly.

As she set the platter in front of him, she said, "Will."

He constructed his sandwich without hesitation. "What about him?"

"I want him, Kyle."

"Like hell."

"He's been with me since the accident. We’ve really developed a bond. I think he'll be happy here with me."

Kyle stared at her. "No."

"Why not?" A little of the belligerent Ellen he knew crept into her tone.

"Because he's my son, not yours. That makes him my responsibility."

"Responsibility." She repeated it scornfully, as if it were a dirty word. "Is that how you think of him?"

Truthfully, yes, he thought. He hadn't wanted to start a family, but Susan had been very persuasive. 'I get so lonely when you're gone,' she'd said, those big eyes fixed on him. 'This way, I would always have a part of you with me.'

He'd never been able to refuse her anything, not marriage, not a child.

Ellen was staring at him, waiting for an answer. "Yes, he's my responsibility. He's my son. Not yours. Mine, and Susan's."

Her mouth twisted into a sneer, and she drawled sarcastically. "Don't tell me you want him because he's your last link to poor, dead Susan."

Only the knowledge that she must be hurting as much as he kept him from hitting her. "I don't have to tell you anything. He's mine, and that's enough."

He expected outrage, he expected screams. Instead, she bit her lip and her eyes suddenly glistened with tears. "Kyle, I love that little boy. I really love him. You aren't on Earth more than a month or two out of the year. I can give him the home and the stability he needs."

If she had suddenly declared her undying love for him, he could not have been more surprised. Although Susan had always spoken affectionately of her big sister, in the six years Kyle had known her Ellen had been uninterested in much beyond her own comfort and interests. She had roused herself out of her music long enough to object to Susan's choice of career – marine zoologist – and choice of lover – Kyle. The career cost her a cook, housekeeper and business manager and Kyle cost her any hope of regaining the cook. Ellen had never been one to succumb to mere emotional attachments, and the fact that she seemed sincere about her attachment to Will caused him to hesitate just for a moment.

"I’m sorry," he said and he meant it. "I didn't want children, you know that. But things are different now. I owe it to Susan to take care of him."

"You owed it to Susan to be on Earth." The bitterness in her voice was reflected in her face. "She died asking for you, did you know that? She kept saying, 'where's Kyle?' But no one knew. No one knew where you were."

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the images conjured by her words. He could see Susan, bleeding on the deck of the boat, asking for him. This was the 24^th century, for God's sake. No one was supposed to die from an accident. Especially not Susan. Not Susan.

God, he felt so alone.

"I came as soon as I got the message," he said, opening his eyes. "I came as fast as I could."

Perhaps some of his pain showed, because Ellen suddenly softened. "Don't you see? What if something happens to Will while you're off-planet? Let me have him, Kyle. I'll raise him right."

Without thinking, his eyebrows shot up. "You'll raise him? You? Ellen, what the hell do you know about little boys?"

"Not much, I admit, but my friends from the orchestra will help, and-"

He snorted. "What will they teach him? How to modulate from G sharp to A minor? How to pick the perfect outfit for every occasion?"

"That is unfair and narrow-minded."

"You live in a world of concerts and teacups and delicate souls who wilt when anyone looks at them crosswise. You don't have the first idea how to raise a man."

She stared at him in speechless indignation. With her long jaw jutting forward and her eyes blazing with righteous indignation, she looked, he thought, remarkably like a mare he had once ridden up the backcountry. It had been early in the spring and she was just back from the winter feeding grounds and full of herself. He'd had to kick her back into shape.

I'm way too tired, he thought, if I’m comparing Ellen to a horse. But… she is narrow in the chest, thin in the flanks and she is stupid and stubborn. Yeah, she's like a horse.

Ellen found her voice again, and it pushed past clenched teeth. "You're wrong. I don't think your employer will be happy to find out that you were with a woman when you were supposed to be consulting with Starfleet."

His spine stiffened automatically, and it took all the discipline he had left to control his face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think I’m stupid, Kyle? A woman was with you when I finally got through to you. It was the middle of the night on Corvallis. I doubt you were conducting a briefing on strategy."

"You're mistaken."

"No, I’m not. I have the recording. You were very clever, not going to visual until you thought she was out of sight. But she's there, just for a second." Ellen smiled triumphantly. "Shall I describe her? Human, lightish hair, wearing black leather. Black leather, Kyle."

He stood. "Leave it alone, Ellen. For your own good, I'm telling you – leave it alone."

"You can't threaten me," she sneered. "I always told Susan what you were up to, but she didn't believe me. If you try to take Will from me now, this will be in court and on the news vids by next week. I've got friends in the media and I promise you, Kyle, I will make your life a living Hell."

He couldn't help it; his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. "And I promise you, Ellen, you don't know what Hell is. But if you cross me, you will." Without saying anything more, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He glanced briefly at the doorway to what was obviously the master bedroom and continued down the hall. Despite her declarations of love, he doubted that Ellen would have a two year old in her boudoir.

He found Will asleep in the first room he checked. It looked like Ellen had moved everything to her house; the crib, the chest of drawers, even the bassinet were all there. Apart from a few stuffed animals, none of the toys were there, though. The miniature robot, the tiny speeder – the toys that said 'boy' just by their appearance – were conspicuously missing.

The toddler was sleeping on his stomach, his thumb firmly lodged in his mouth. Long dark eyelashes swept against cheeks of delicate pink, and his brown hair curled ever so slightly around his ears. Kyle tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.

He reached down and scooped the sleeping boy into his arms. Will stirred, but settled back to sleep quickly enough. Kyle grabbed a blanket and wrapped it as best he could around the child. When he turned, Ellen was blocking the doorway.

"No," she hissed, not raising her voice above a whisper. "You can't."

"I can and I am." Kyle used his shoulder to knock her out of his way. "Send the rest of his stuff back tomorrow."

"I'll fight you," Ellen said, following him down the stairs. "I'll fight you any way I can. I'll prove that you're an adulterous bastard in open court. I'll find out who she is and I'll drag you both through the mud."

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and turned. She skidded to a halt two steps behind him. On a level surface, she was a few centimeters taller than he was; with the advantage of two steps, the difference between them was nearly a meter. But she was flustered and angry, and he was coldly calm. He did not speak until he was certain that she was looking at him, at his eyes. "Don't."

She froze, then the color drained from her face and she backed up a step.

"For your own good, don’t."

She only stared at him, apparently shocked into silence. Satisfied that he had made his point, he turned and left.

Before he was at the end of the walk, though, she had recovered and was in the doorway. "I'll fight you, Kyle. I'll get him back. You'll be sorry."

He climbed into the transport, thankful that Will was still sleeping. He had no carseat or other conveyance for the boy, so he handed the child silently to Marguerite, waiting in the passenger seat.

"That took longer than you expected. You look upset."

"Yeah."

When he said nothing more for a moment, she said, "He's a darling little boy."

Kyle glanced over. Will looked almost angelic, which was ironic considering he was such a demanding ball of energy when he was awake. "He looks like his mother."

He reached for the comm system and punched in a series of numbers. In a moment, an automated voice said, "Channel secure."

"This is Riker. I need to speak with Ngyen."

After a gap of three seconds, the familiar voice responded. "Riker. How is your wife?"

"She died three days ago," he said, trying to force back the pain that statement caused.

"My condolences."

"I have to make some changes, Ngyen. I've got a son to raise. I can't accept off-planet assignments for quite a while."

"Ah. I feared this would be the case. Well, Section 31 does what it does for the sake of our families. We can provide you with analytical and Earthside projects while you do what must be done for yours."

"Thanks. It will probably be a while. He's only two now."

Marguerite turned her head and rubbed her cheek gently over Will's soft hair, her eyes on Kyle.

"Yes. Frankly, I can't picture you deskbound for long, Riker, but no matter. The Section will be waiting."

"Yeah." The future suddenly loomed before him like a prison sentence. But he owed it to Will to be certain he was raised right and that he learned how to take care of himself. That the universe is a damned unfair place. That the Federation is the best shot at living free in the galaxy and needs to be protected. "There's one problem."

"Oh?"

"My sister-in-law. She claims she saw Marguerite in my room when she contacted me."

"That is a problem."

"She thinks I was cheating on Susan." Marguerite rolled her eyes.

A dry chuckle. "How ironic."

"She says she has a recording of the conversation and she'll try to use publicly to get custody of Will. She threatened to introduce it publicly, and into court documents."

Marguerite stiffened beside him, and looked at him with concern. There was another long pause before the comm was active again. "You know we cannot allow that."

He saw the lights of Chicago ahead of him. "Yes. I know."

"Very well. Don't worry about it. It will be taken care of. Are you returning to Alaska?"

"Yes. We're going through Union Station; you'll be able to reach me at the usual number in about an hour."

"Good night, Riker."

The communication ended. He looked over at Marguerite, whose face had become a flat, unreadable mask. Then he looked at Will. The boy's mouth was curved in a sweet smile. There's so much of Susan in him. I wonder if there's anything of me.

He brushed the back of one finger across his son's soft cheek. "You're going to be safe," he whispered. "Whatever it takes, you're going to be safe."

***

Doctors' offices made Kyle uncomfortable, even elegant, well-appointed offices in what was once a convent. There was something about them that reeked of intimidation and condescension, two things that Kyle did not respond to well. The fact that Dr. Jones-Day was late for their appointment only heightened his conviction that the ambience was intentional.

He was pacing between the two ivy-green leather chairs and the matching sofa when the door finally opened. Dr. Porter Jones-Day was a portly, balding man who was carrying a stack of padds as he came in.

"My apologies, Mr. Riker," he said, as he set the padds down on the desk. "Rounds took longer than expected this morning."

"You wanted to talk to me about my sister-in-law."

Dr. Jones-Day did not seemed put off by his abrupt manner. "Yes. As I told you, Ms. Forester has emerged from her coma."

His head jerked up. "No, you didn't tell me that. You told me there had been a development. Are you telling me that Ellen is awake?"

"Yes. Ms. Forester has regained consciousness."

Kyle sat down, stunned. After three years, he had assumed that Ellen's condition was permanent. "I, uh, how? When?"

"The when is simple. She opened her eyes last night and asked the nurse for a glass of water. As you know, she has hovered near the brink of consciousness for several months, so we thought this was possible but I admit, she caught us all by surprise."

Ellen was awake.

He could finally find out what really happened.

"I want to see her."

"And you will, but there are some things I need to explain to you first." He picked up one of the padds from his stack. "Ms. Forester used cordrazine in her suicide attempt. Cordrazine is a notoriously tricky drug; it is almost impossible to predict what effect it will have on any given individual in even moderate overdoses, and your sister-in-law went well beyond moderate. It is something of a miracle that she has regained consciousness. It would be beyond a miracle if she were … unchanged."

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jones-Day sighed. "I mean that it appears she has experienced significant cognitive damage."

"How much?"

"It's too soon to be certain. There is unquestionably impairment to her memory. The very preliminary tests indicate that her reasoning skills are on par with an 8 to 10 year old. There may also be changes in her personality, but since we have no baseline for comparison, you will have to assist us with that evaluation."

He swallowed. "An 8 year old? You're saying that she has the mental ability of a child?"

"For now. It's too soon to say whether or not it's permanent."

He pressed a hand to his head and stood. "Oh, God. I never meant for this to happen."

"Mr. Riker?"

"My fault," he muttered.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Kyle recovered himself and turned back to the physician. "The suicide attempt was my fault. When my wife died, Ellen threatened to seek sole custody of my son. When I made it clear that not only would I would make her life miserable if she even tried, but I'd see to it that she was never even on the same continent as my boy again. She … apparently she couldn't handle it. I had no idea she was so attached to Will."

I don't want to think they did this.

Jones-Day looked at him thoughtfully. "Tell me something, Mr. Riker. Was your sister-in-law a cheerful person?"

"Ellen? Cheerful? Not at all. She was one of those people who could look at a silver lining and find the cloud. I think she was unhappy most of her life."

"Interesting." He made a notation in the padd, then set it down again. "Would you like to see her now?"

"Yes."

The doctor escorted him, even though Kyle knew the way. He'd come to L'Esperance three times a year, ever since Ellen had been placed here. The corridors were as familiar to him as those of Starfleet Headquarters.

He hesitated at the door, and looked at Jones-Day uncertainly. The Doctor nodded his understanding and went in first. "Ellen," he said in an avuncular tone, "you have a visitor."

"I do?"

The childlike voice elicited goosebumps on Kyle's skin. It was the voice he remembered, but changed. He forced himself to go inside. "Hello, Ellen."

"Hello," she said, smiling without recognition. Three years of coma had left her muscles soft, so even though she had lost weight she had also lost the sharp angles and planes of her face. She looked like a little girl.

"Do you remember me? I'm Kyle. Kyle Riker."

Her eyes narrowed in concentration, then cleared. "No. I'm sorry, I'm having trouble remembering a lot of things."

"Kyle is your brother-in-law."

She smiled warmly. "Really? So you're my family."

He couldn't remember ever seeing her smile like that before. It transformed her; for the first time, he saw a resemblance to Susan. "Yes, Ellen. We're family."

***

Kyle Riker glanced around the Audience Chamber in the Palace of the Liege of Maladon, careful not to betray his thoughts with his expression. The words "wretched excess" kept repeating themselves in his mind. Softly pastel banners and tapestries of silk, or some silk-like material, covered the walls. The pale pinks, ambers and tans mirrored the landscape beyond the balcony and ballooned and swayed with the gentle breeze. All the furniture was gilt and gleamed like burnished gold in the light of what he estimated to be 500 candles. There were no chairs; instead, they were arrayed on something like recliners that were soft and plump and covered with a material he didn't recognize. It was soft as velvet but not as heavy. The entire room was soft and decadent.

It made him acutely uncomfortable.

The position they were forced to assume on the recliners was ludicrous. In order to carry on a conversation, they each had to prop themselves on one elbow and lie on their sides. At least I fit on the damn thing, he thought. He looked over to Federation Envoy Harve Cammisar, whose legs dangled half a meter beyond the end of the recliner. On the other hand, Starfleet attaché Lt. Commander Ferrar looked completely at ease.

The Liege motioned to a servant to pour from a long, graceful bottle. "We shall sample the gift Mr. Riker brought us. What was it called again?"

"Fala nectar. It's made from flowers that grow on Betazed, one of worlds of the Federation. The flowers bloom only once every ten years and by tradition they must be harvested by hand when the moon is full to extract the nectar."

"How romantic," the Liege murmured. She waited while the servant took the first sip and then smiled. "The tasting is also a tradition. Poisoning is no longer in fashion, but once it was the most common reason for a change in government."

"You've nothing to fear from us," Cammisar assured her. "Our goal is to persuade you to grant the Federation access to a single moon."

The servant, apparently satisfied that the fala nectar was not immediately lethal, distributed glasses to the Liege and the others. The Liege sipped, then closed her eyes. "Bliss," she said softly. "Pure bliss. My compliments, Mr. Riker. You chose well."

He inclined his head. "I am gratified you like it."

She took another sip, then looked at him speculatively. "Why are you here?"

"We've come to petition for access to the moon of Maladon III."

"No," she said, looking amused. "I mean why are you specifically here, Mr. Riker? Envoy Cammisar, I understand. Lt. Commander Ferrar, I understand. But you are neither a diplomat nor a soldier. What is your role?"

He glanced at Cammisar, who nodded once. "I am a specialist in strategy, Liege. I have come to explain the strategic importance of the listening post we wish to establish to both Maladon and the Federation."

"And there are no such specialists in Starfleet?"

Ferrar answered. "Of course there are, Liege. But we felt that too many uniforms might convey the wrong impression. We aren't here to threaten you with military force."

The Liege studied Ferrar closely. "I believe you."

"Then," Cammisar began eagerly, "may we discuss the terms of access?"

"I do not need an expert in strategy to tell me of the importance of the listening post to the Federation. You wish to keep track of the Romulans, and from the moon of Maladon III your equipment can effectively monitor their border for ten parsecs. Twenty, if your next generation of communications equipment performs as predicted."

Riker felt his eyebrows lift. Her intelligence was better than they had realized; the capabilities of the prototype communications array was still considered top secret.

"You're well informed," Ferrar said.

The air of detachment that had clung to the Liege since their arrival vanished abruptly. With an almost imperceptible straightening of her shoulders, she suddenly seemed vital and focused. "Of course I am. My worlds exist on the border of a violent and unpredictable empire. Did you honestly think I would not seek out information about the enemies of that neighbor?"

"We are not enemies with the Romulans," Cammisar protested. "We have a truce."

"The Treaty of Algeron. Yes, I know. I also know that every time the Federation and the Empire have met, death ensued. First, Cheron, then Tomed."

"Then you understand the importance of an early warning," Cammisar pressed. "If we know soon enough that they are leaving their boundaries, we may be able to avert bloodshed. At the very least, we can set up defenses for your world."

She looked at him without responding, then drained her glass and signalled the servant for more. "Tell me, Envoy, do you have children?"

"No. I am not married."

"Lt. Commander? Mr. Riker?"

"I have a son," Riker said.

The Liege smiled. "Do you? How old is he?"

"Will is eight years old."

"And is he a good boy?"

Riker shrugged. "Most of the time. He's too smart for his own good sometimes, and he's fearless. That can get him into trouble."

"You love him, do you not?"

He glanced at Cammisar and Ferrar. This was not something he enjoyed discussing, but he clearly some kind of rapport was being developed and he had to pursue it. "Yes, Liege. I love him more than anything in my life."

"You would do anything you could to keep him safe."

Kyle looked down at the delicate crystal glass of fala nectar in his hand. Then he committed a breach of protocol by looking directly into the eyes of the Liege. "Yes. I would do anything I could. Anything at all."

She smiled softly. "Then perhaps you will understand this, Mr. Riker, and explain it to your people. As Liege, the people of the Maladon are my children. Every one of them. They depend on me to do what must be done to protect them, to nurture them, to save them from unnecessary harm. What you are asking me to do is to place my children directly between two great and opposing powers. If I give you your listening post and the Empire does look this way, it will not see a neutral neighbor. It will see an ally of its enemy. I cannot endanger my children in this way."

"Forgive me, Liege, but you endanger your children if you do not."

She blinked. Clearly she expected no rebuttal. "Explain this."

"If the Romulans cross your borders, they won't be coming to petition you. Romulans don't negotiate, they conquer. Without the support of the Federation, Maladon will fall, and will fall with bloodshed. As one parent to another, I ask you to reconsider."

Silence hung in the room for some time, long enough to become uncomfortable.

Then the Liege spoke. "I like you, Mr. Riker – what is your given name?"

"Kyle."

"Kyle. A strong name. Your heart is good, Kyle, but you do not live with the reality of Maladon. We are not a militaristic world. If the Romulans seek to annex us, we will consent without the need for bloodshed. We will survive, even if we must swear allegiance to Romulus. So you see, there is no strategic advantage for us to grant your request. The advantage belongs entirely to the Federation and you cannot offer enough to make it attractive to us."

Cammisar looked panicked. "But, Liege-"

"That is my decision, Envoy." The words echoed in the room, and Cammisar sank back, defeated.

"Very well," he said after a moment, rallying himself. "We will depart in the morning. I hope that you will welcome another envoy from the Federation in the future. Even though you didn't accept our proposal, the Federation still wishes to maintain friendly contact."

The Liege leaned back. The aura of detachment returned. "You are gracious in disappointment, Envoy. Let us talk a while of other things, so we may part as friends if not allies."

She turned her gaze to Ferrar. "Are you also from Earth, Lt. Commander Ferrar?"

Ferrar stretched languidly, her pale green eyes fixed on the ruler of Maladon. "Liege, if we are no longer conducting business, I would be honored if you would call me Marguerite."

Well after midnight local time, Kyle sat in a chair in his assigned guest suite and tried to read "Call of the Wild." Will had come home only a week before after seeing a holonovel based on the book and had pestered Kyle ever since to actually read it. Whenever he could, Kyle previewed Will's reading materials so he could be prepared for questions. This wasn't bad, not at all; he approved of stories that emphasized self-reliance and overcoming hardship. Still, he wondered if Will was up to it at the age of eight.

He was having trouble concentrating, though. It was probably a sign that he'd been out of the field too long. Waiting had never bothered him in the past. Well, not much.

At 1230 Marguerite entered without knocking. She was wearing a nearly transparent negligee that looked oddly askew, as if she had thrown it on without thinking. For a moment, she leaned back against the closed door, palms pressed against it and back arched. In that position her neck seemed long and graceful and her breasts, impressive under any circumstances, thrust forward. She closed her eyes. "Oh, God, Kyle," she said in a throaty voice that was little more than a whisper.

He closed the book but did not rise, knowing full well what was about to happen.

She opened her eyes, looked at him with panic of a doe that suddenly realizes she is facing an enemy, and gagged. Hand over her mouth, she fled to the bathroom.

The door didn't shut tightly behind her and sounds of retching reached him. This was her usual reaction and he stifled the impulse to help her; she would only resent it. As long as he didn't acknowledge her weakness, she could pretend it was still her secret.

After a bit, the sounds slowed, then stopped. "Where's the mouthwash?" she called.

"The blue bottle on the counter. Use a lot of it. It will neutralize any gas that's lingering."

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on kissing you."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't drink the fala nectar. I prefer not to take any chances."

When she emerged, she was pale but composed. "There's been a terrible tragedy," she said calmly. "The Liege is dead."

He nodded, feeling a tinge of regret. He had rather liked the Liege and was sorry they had been forced to remove her. If she had only been reasonable, they would have stopped with the fala nectar, which was harmless by itself.

Marguerite must have seen the remorse in his eyes. "It was very quick," she added as she sat on the bed.

"I gather it worked as promised?"

She nodded. "Penrose is a genius. When I released the gas into her mouth and it hit the remnants of the fala nectar, blooey."

He winced. "Blooey" conjured up images he'd prefer to avoid. "It will look natural, won't it?"

"It's going to look like exactly what it was. The Liege suffered a fatal heart seizure while in the throes of ecstasy." She frowned slightly. "There was one complication. The body servant – Hara – heard the Liege cry out when her heart seized up. She came into the room, ready to kill me. I had to dispose of her as well."

Riker stared at her. "Shit."

"Tell me. When they find the bodies, it will appear as if Hara killed herself in remorse over the untimely death of her beloved Liege." She rubbed a hand against her jaw. "One thing Penrose can improve on is that hollow tooth. I practically had to break my jaw to release the gas."

She sat carelessly on his bed, seemingly unaware of the picture she presented in the outrageously transparent negligee, her strawberry blonde hair tumbling in wild waves to her shoulders, her long legs exposed to the thigh by a slit in the flimsy fabric. He shook his head. "You baffle me, Marguerite."

"I do?" She perked up, looking almost pleased. "In what way?"

"You're a beautiful woman, you're in a committed relationship, and you've got a terrific career ahead of you. And while you're quite good at what you do for the Section you obviously aren't completely comfortable with it. So I can't help but wonder, why do you do it?"

She went completely still, not moving so much as an eyelid. He had crossed the line, he realized, and ventured into territory that she had marked off-limits. He was about to retract the question when she said slowly, "I'll trade you, Kyle. You tell me why you started and I'll tell you about me. And don't try to pass off that stuff about your son. You were in the Section before you ever met your wife."

"Never mind." He realized he was still holding "Call of the Wild" and set it aside. "We'd better get to sleep."

He sunny smile returned. "You know, you're my favorite alibi."

"I'm honored." Shedding his robe, he pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. As soon as the lights were out, Marguerite slid in beside him smelling of roses and mouthwash. This was also their pattern; Marguerite would sped the rest of the night with him, ostensibly to establish an alibi but also because she never liked to be alone after completing an assignment. She'd told him long ago that having a warm body beside her held the nightmares at bay.

She lay on her side, facing him but not touching him. When his eyes were accustomed to the dark, he could see that she was looking at him. He asked, "You're sure Marty doesn't mind this?"

"Nope. I've got Marty convinced that you are a gentleman."

For a fleeting instant he wondered what would happen if he tried to prove otherwise, but the impulse faded quickly. The most likely outcome would be that she would laugh in his face; even if he managed to seduce her, it would probably destroy their ability to work together. He rolled to his other side and closed his eyes.

He was just drifting to the edge of sleep when Marguerite spoke softly. "My father was an independent trader. We lived on the ship and visited a lot of non-Federation worlds. It was just our bad luck that we were on Bajor when the Cardassians annexed it. They took my father for questioning and we never saw him again. My mother and I were able to leave with a group of refugees. We eventually made it back to Earth."

There was a lot behind that last sentence, he was certain. It wasn't easy getting out of the refugee camps, and she undoubtedly had learned to be self-sufficient at an early age and experienced things no child should know. We have more in common than I realized.

A poke in his ribs reminded him that she was waiting for his response. "My father was at Tomed."

"Ah." Nothing more needed to be said. The last, violent confrontation with the Romulans was well known to anyone with any connection to Starfleet. "No wonder you wanted this assignment. I wondered what could pry you away from Earth for so long. You haven't left Will for more than a couple of days at a time before this."

"It's important."

She snuggled into her pillow and yawned luxuriously. "We make a good team, Kyle. You see all the alternatives, and try to make them work before I have to implement the final solution. No one else is as good. I wish you'd come back full time."

"I will. Eventually." He closed his eyes again, and fell asleep peacefully.

As they expected, they were awakened in the morning by the Palace Guard, who wanted to know their whereabouts during the night. The interrogation was brief and listless, though; apparently the Guard had not been overly fond of the late Liege.

Harve Cammisar summoned them to his quarters, and they found him looking deeply shaken. "I can't believe it. She's dead, just like that."

"The rumor is she had a tendency to indulge in unhealthy habits," Marguerite said. "That sort of thing can catch up with you."

"The question is, what happens to our mission?" Kyle asked. "Do we leave as scheduled or wait for the new Liege to make a decision?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I still can't believe it. Rogovan, the nephew we met two days ago – has been named the new Liege. He came to me this morning and said he has very different views on our proposal than his late, lamented aunt." Harve ran a harried hand through his thinning hair. "He wants us to remain for his Installation, and then we'll close the deal. We've got the listening post."

Marguerite grinned. "That's great news."

"Yes, but it's so incredible. Last night, we were leaving with our tail between our legs and this morning we're successful." He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as Fate."

Kyle shrugged. "Don't believe in it myself. I've always thought you have to make your own luck."

***

Kyle walked past the rose garden to the expansive lawn of L'Esperance. The residential section of the complex was newer than the Hospital itself and the grounds were maintained meticulously. On a warm, early summer day like this he knew where he would find Ellen without the help of the staff.

As expected, she had set up a folding chair under a large oak tree and was playing her flute. It was her favorite place on the grounds; from that vantage she could see down to the small stream that formed the boundary of the complex. He stopped before she saw him to listen as she played.

Her cognitive abilities remained impaired, but her talent was intact. The melody she played was somehow wistful and happy at the same time, and he didn't recognize it. When she finished, he began applauding.

"Kyle!" Her face lit up when she saw him. "You came early." She struggled to her feet and walked toward him. Her left foot dragged against the grass.

He returned her hug. "I have a business trip next week, and I didn't want you to think I'd miss a visit."

"I'm so glad. But I only have the one chair."

"That's all right. The grass will do for me. Sit down, and tell me about that song. I didn't recognize it."

She blushed. "I wrote it."

"It's very good. You should write it down."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do. How are you doing, Ellen? Is everything all right?"

Her smile faded a little. "I suppose so."

"What's wrong?"

"Miss Yvonne is leaving."

It took a moment to remember that Miss Yvonne was one of the Education Specialists at the residence. "She's your math teacher, right? The pretty one with the red hair?"

Ellen nodded. "She's my favorite, because she never gets impatient no matter how many times I forget the multiplication tables. She's getting married and moving away. Is Mars far away, Kyle?"

"Not so very far, but far enough that she can't come teach you every day. I'm sorry, Ellen. I'm sure you'll like the new teacher, though."

"I s'pose." Then she brightened up. "I got a birthday present yesterday." Then her hand flew to her mouth. "I forgot. It was supposed to be a secret."

He felt his heart trip. No one came to visit Ellen any more; her friends from Chicago had stopped coming years ago, once they realized that she didn't remember them and would never improve. Certainly no one came in secret. "Well," he said slowly, "if it's a secret, don't tell me. But – maybe you could tell that butterfly. The butterfly won't tell anyone."

She giggled. "That's cheating."

"I won't tell if you won't."

Still giggling, she bent forward and spoke in the direction of a pale blue butterfly that was hovering near her chair. "Marguerite came, and she brought me a birthday present."

The trip in his heart became a pounding beat. He rose to his knees and grabbed her by the shoulders. Ellen stopped giggling and looked at him with sudden fear. "What did she give you, Ellen? Tell me what she gave you."

"She – she gave me this blouse. It's real silk. What's wrong, Kyle? Why are you angry?"

He took a deep breath. As far as he knew, the Section had nothing in the works involving fabrics other than some tracking devices. Since Ellen never left L'Esperance, it seemed unlikely they'd bother with that.

It was just a birthday present.

"I'm sorry, Ellen," he said, letting go of her. "It's lovely. I just don't like you taking gifts from strangers."

"That's all right," she said, stroking his cheek. "Marguerite isn't a stranger. She comes lots. She says she's your friend."

"Marguerite visits you often?"

"Yes, but I'm not supposed to tell. She said you might not understand. I told her you wouldn't mind but she made me promise anyway. I like her, Kyle. She's nice."

He almost laughed. Somehow he doubted that anyone had called Marguerite 'nice' since she was six years old. Why does she come here? Out of some kind of friendship for me?

"I won't tell her you told me. We'll just pretend it's still a secret." He made himself smile. "I brought a birthday present for you, too. It's from Will and me."

"Where is it?" She twinkled with the same mixture of eagerness and greed that he had seen on Will's face on his last birthday.

"In your room."

"Can we go up now? I want to open it."

"If you want to."

She quickly broke down her flute and put it back in its case. When she stood, he took the chair and folded it. "I'll take this."

"You take such good care of me, Kyle."

"I always will, Ellen. I always will."

On to Part 2