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all know what that means. How long were you there?”
    He smiled. “What makes you think I was there?”
    She tilted her head. Come on. Give a little .
    He put down his cup and propped his head on his hand. He looked very tired and Dax suddenly regretted pressing him so hard.
    “They’re beautiful, Ezri. Impenetrable. Terrifying.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Do you mindif we don’t talk about this tonight? Let’s talk about something else. Do you ever hear from Netara?”
    She let him take her back again to reminiscence, although quietly a part of her wondered whether his weariness was genuine, or a feint to stop discussion. But by the time Bowers, coming off-shift, joined them, they were relaxed, well back into the past, and they entertained him with stories that were old to them but made fresh again by telling him. As they talked and laughed (and drank), Dax easily remembered why Peter Alden had been so admired as a young man. His wit was sharp, his intelligence undoubted, but he never turned these talents on anyone, not in a way that would do harm. And then there was his self-containment, his slight reserve, which only added to the appeal.
    “It’s good to see you, Peter,” Dax said, at the door to her quarters, when at last he went off to bed. They hugged, for a moment or two longer than one might usually hold on, as if to make up for lost years.
    “Good to see you too, Ezri. Good to see you soaring.”
    The door closed after him. Dax remained standing there, tapping her fingers against the bulkhead.
    “Now there’s a man with secrets,” Bowers said. “What do you think? Is he hiding anything?”
    “Oh, I should think so.”
    “Anything we should be worried about, Ezri?”
    Dax looked around at the ruins of dinner, spread across the table. “I don’t know yet, Sam. Sure, he was closed, but that’s what spies are like.”
    “Even the foxes?”
    Dax smiled and opened the door again. Dismissed, Commander . As Bowers passed her on his way out, she said, “Especially the foxes.”
    She didn’t waste more time that night worrying, but went straight to bed—only to be woken three hours later by the persistent chime of the shipboard computer.
    “Message from Commander Alden,” the sleek voice told her.
    She rolled onto her back. “What’s up, Peter? You can’t be in need of another nightcap.”
    The beat before Alden replied put her immediately on alert. She levered herself up onto her elbow. “Computer, lights. What is it, Commander?”
    “Change of plan, Captain. We should meet in your ready room. Now, please, Ezri.”
    Eight minutes later—washed, uniformed, and partially caffeinated—Dax strode into her ready room, Bowers as ever at her back. Alden was already there, studying a holoprojection of a star chart that displayed a sizable portion of the border between the Venette Convention and the Federation. Starbase 261 gleamed in one corner of the display. Alden’s shirtsleeves were rolled up and there was a mug of cooling coffee by his right hand, forgotten and forlorn. Padds were scattered across the table. Alden looked sober and unrested, and had evidently not yet been to bed. Dax sympathized.
    At the sound of the door easing shut, Alden’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Bowers.
    “What are you doing here?” Alden said sharply.
    For a moment, Dax wasn’t sure how to reply. “Peter,” she said, baffled, “Bowers is my XO . . .”
    Alden gave a quick shake of the head, as if to bring himself into focus. “Of course. Yes. Well, I’m sure you have clearance, or we can get you clearance.”
    Dax and Bowers exchanged puzzled looks. “I certainly hope so,” Bowers said, taking his usual seat. Dax went to her chair, forcing Alden to move around the desk and take the remaining seat next to Bowers. She relaxed deliberately back in her chair and folded her hands in front of her. The dim lighting was giving the small room an unusually stifling atmosphere.
    “When