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Previously
on Star Trek: Picard...

A group of rogue synthetics

dropped
the planetary defense shields,

completely destroying
the Utopia Planitia shipyard.

Tell us, Admiral.
Why did you

really quit Starfleet?

Because it was
no longer Starfleet!

We're done here.

- What's happening?
- Baby, please,

find Picard.

He can help you.

What do you want here?

I was with my boyfriend.

They murdered him.

No! No! No!

Something inside of me
just knew what to do...

how to move, how to fight.

Everything inside of me says
that I'm safe with you.

I had a dear friend.

Commander Data.

He painted you,

exactly as you are here
and now.

That's impossible.

He named the painting
Daughter.

Stay down!

She came here

to find safety.

No!

I owe it to her

to find out

who killed her
and why.

The androids that
destroyed Mars came from this lab.

No one has ever been able
to redevelop the science used

to create Data.
Then came Bruce. Maddox.

His theory was that Data's
entire code, even his memories,

could be reconstituted from
a single positronic neuron.

Then Data, or some part of him,

- would be alive.
- There'd be no way of knowing

- without examining...
- Dahj.

Data's daughter.

They're created in pairs.

Dr. Asha?

Narek.

Soji.

- Twins?
- Twins.

So there's another one.

Attention, all personnel.

Happy First Contact Day.

Celebrations will be held in
designated recreational areas

during regularly scheduled
alpha and beta shift breaks.

All directors,
please submit final duty logs

prior to shift change.

Sector 3 maintenance regulators

will report to
mandatory security training...

Good morning, plastic people.

Good morning, Mr. Pincus.

Let's go to work.

All A500 maintenance issues

should be reported to
Synthetic Personnel supervisors

prior to initiating
manual shutdown proceedings.

Every other tri-hy station
in the yard gets off

First Contact Day.

Not us.

What'd we do wrong?

To have a
skeleton crew,

you have to
have skeletons.

I bet my kids are
having cake on Earth.

Yo, F8, you get into

any trouble
last night?

Hell yeah.

Oh, yeah? Doing what?

Nothing.

Hell yeah.

Hell yeah.

Hey, F8, I got one for you.

What's brown and sticky?

Teratogenic coolant.

Isonucleic residue.

Boson-enriched
nanopolymer.

A stick.

You get it?

No.

- Dude creeps me out.
- Hey,

he can hear you.

And?

You can't offend them.

They're not people.

And they can rip
through solid titanium

without breaking
a sweat.

What are you, his sister?

Ugh,
who raised you?

Report to
primary reactor control sector.

...Sector 3.
Hazard protocol

in effect
until further notice.

I wish they'd go back
to using uno-amino matrices

- in the replicators.
- No kidding.

Space pineapples again.

I know what's brown and sticky.

This food is brown
and sticky.

Is this a joke?

Hey, that dude is lucky.

Now, here is
some brown, sticky shit.

Amen.

Did you replicate flies
with that, too?

What are you doing?

Security alert.

Multiple synthetic labor units

- have been compromised.
- Hey.

Get away from there.

Deflector shields down

in all sectors
of Utopia Planitia.

- Repeat, security alert.
- Shit.

Multiple synthetic...

Central,
this is tri-hy station A19.

Synth unit F8
has been compromised.

We have a man down.

Repeat,
we have a man down.

Stand down!

Grid failure detected.

Move immediately
to designated safe zones.

Security grid failure
in progress.

Containments have failed.

Evacuate immediately.

Orbital defense system
compromised.

Emergency evacuation protocol
in effect...

Cascade failure in progress.

Surface scans negative.

No matter or trace elements consistent

with Dahj Asha are present.

They erased her.

And then they erased
themselves.

Well, it's certainly Tal Shiar's
operational style, but...

On Earth?

Not even the Tal Shiar
would have that audacity.

Then who?

It has to be.

Zhat Vash.

And here we go.

What is Zhat Vash?

A Tal Shiar myth.

It's a kind of boogeyman they
use to frighten new recruits.

And children.

Please explain.

Here in the Federation,

you refer to the Tal Shiar
as the Romulan secret police.

- Mm-hmm.
- But it's a bit redundant.

You could put the
word "secret" in front

of almost any aspect
of Romulan culture.

I have heard...
and I have reason to believe...

that the Tal Shiar
is merely a mask worn

by another, far older cabal.

That
before the Tal Shiar,

there was the Zhat Vash.

"Zhat vash" is a term
sometimes used to refer to the dead,

the only reliable keepers
of secrets.

- Ominous.
- No. Fitting.

Because that's the sole purpose
of the Zhat Vash.

To keep a secret so
profound and terrible

just learning it can
break a person's mind.

Are you sure

she said
that he was murdered here,

in her apartment?

She did.

All apparent evidence
to the contrary.

Would it be foolish to ask

what is the dread secret
that the Zhat Vash are keeping?

No one outside the Zhat Vash
knows for sure.

But I've heard whispers.

Romulan methods
of forensic

molecular reconstruction
are illegal in the Federation.

Really?

- I had no idea.
- Yeah.

They're also unreliable,
and, uh,

the results are

- dubious at best.
- Ah, yeah.

That's exactly what we wanted
you to think.

When I was a new recruit,

- one of my first handlers...
- My mother.

...got drunk on Romulan ale...

- My father.
- ...and let slip

that at the heart
of the Zhat Vash mission

was a deep,
unassuageable loathing.

A loathing of whom?

Not whom.

What.

More wine?

Surprise me.

♪ Oh, I ♪

♪ Oh, I... ♪

Dahj, your replicator
menus are tragic.

That's... extraordinary.

It's said they operate

without regard for treaty
or jurisdiction...

and not just
in Romulan worlds,

but in the Klingon Empire,
the Gorn Hegemony,

even the Federation itself...

and that they have kept
this secret

for thousands upon thousands
of years.

Oh, the cheeky fuckers.

They've overwritten
the particle residuum.

Overwritten it?

Yes. And in
a very sophisticated way.

It's...

barely detectable.

It would read as
instrument failure

if you didn't
know better.

But it's not.

It's a flat-out wipe.

Can you recover it?

Uh...

Have you never noticed
the complete absence

of any form of artificial life
in Romulan culture?

We don't have
androids or AIs.

We don't study
cybernetics.

Our computers are limited
to purely numerical functions.

They must have saturated
this place in antileptons.

At no small risk to
themselves, by the way.

This place hasn't just
been cleaned, Admiral.

It's been scrubbed.

Is that to be expected
of your Zhat Vash?

Well, they're
not my Zhat Vash,

and I thought you
didn't believe in them.

I may be coming around.

So, then...

all this is about the Zhat Vash
hatred of androids.

It's not simply hate.

It's hate and fear

and pure loathing

for any form of synthetic life.

Why?

That I can't tell you.
I don't know.

But I am certain
that is the silence

that seals the mouths
of the Zhat Vash,

as surely and eternally
as death.

The operatives
who did this

wouldn't have wanted
to leave the impression

that the place
had been scrubbed.

We may find they've neglected
something, some...

actual clue...

that lay tucked inside a
false clue, as it were.

Something like this,

for example?

There's no record
of any incoming

or outgoing calls.

The information's there,

but the indexes
have been surgically deleted.

There's no way to sort the data.

Essentially,
they've sterilized it,

so that it's...
qualitatively agnostic.

There's no distinction.

Everything looks
like everything else.

What we need

is a record of any contact
that she may have had

- with her sister.
- Mm, and no doubt it's in here, but it

will look the same
as everything else.

N... No, it...

it will look like her.

Like Dahj.

Wh-What's her name?
Um, Dr. Jurati.

She said that they would be
identical twins, right?

- Even closer than twins, perhaps.
- Okay. So what's

the first thing you do

when you bring a new
digital assistant online?

- Introduce myself.
- Exactly.

Computers like efficiency,
so what a computer does

is build heuristics,

shortcuts to the tasks

- it performs most often.
- You're saying

that if they were
indistinguishable,

then the machine, at some point,

- could have mistaken the sister for Dahj.
- Exactly.

And if it did, even
for a few seconds

before it flagged the error,
then the tags

might still be in here,

overlooked by even the
most diligent of scrubbers.

Got you.

Okay.

These were all outgoing.

And these...

were incoming.

It's her.

Ghosts in the machine.

Can you tell me
where she is?

No.

But I can tell you
where she isn't.

Nonlocal information packets are
routed through subspace relays.

This routing leaves tiny

but unmistakable
code marks.

Nonlocal?

I'm saying this
transmission

came from off-world.

- Are you certain?
- Wherever this girl

was calling her
sister from,

it's nowhere on Earth.

Beautiful?

No one's ever said that before
about a Borg Cube.

This isn't a Borg cube, Narek.

It's the Artifact.

A Borg cube is mighty
and omnipotent.

The Artifact is lost.

Severed from the Collective.

Broken.

Vulnerable.

You find vulnerability

and brokenness beautiful.

Is that strange?

To find beauty in imperfection?

It's certainly
not very Romulan.

But, then,
there's nothing very Romulan

about this place at all.

Apart from the current owners

and the profits you extract

from the exploitation
of Borg technology.

Are you a subversive,
Dr. Asha,

sent by our enemies
to foment revolution

among the researchers?

Yes, I am.

But it's too late now.

You already slept with me.

That makes you an
accessory to my plot.

Mm.

Clearly...

I'll have to silence you.

Try it.

Time for work.

Yeah.

- Me, too.
- Oh, you have a job?

Thought you were just some
Romulan lounge lizard.

Oh, we all have
our part to play.

Can I ask you a question?

Sure. Just don't
expect an answer.

Are we allowed to be sleeping
together? Or is that a secret?

Very much the latter.

Is everything Romulans do
a secret?

Ooh, I'm not at liberty
to divulge that.

Is your name actually Narek?

It's one of them.

So is there anything you can
tell me about yourself?

Yes.

I'm a very private person.

So, see you at the Checkpoint?

Ooh, really?

I need to see how it works.

In your new capacity as...

Yes.

Good.

So can I.

He said I'd find you out here.

Moritz.

Hello, Jean-Luc.

It's been a very long time.

Too long.

I know there was a bit of
trouble with the remote medscan,

but I hardly expected
a house call.

Let me just, um...

Your office told me
they would be forwarding

the certificate
for interstellar service

as soon as you had
seen the results.

Oh, I see.

You might want
something stronger.

Your medscan came in
at or above Starfleet minimums

in every category.

Cardiovascular, metabolic,
cognitive.

For a relic, you're
in excellent shape.

Just that little abnormality
in the parietal lobe.

I was told a long time ago

that it might cause
a problem eventually.

Loss of appetite, mood swings,
unsettling dreams?

Inappropriate
displays of anger

on interplanetary news holos?

What do you think it is?

I'd need to run more tests.

It could be one of a number
of related syndromes.

Prognosis?

Come on. Let's have it,
Dr. Benayoun.

A few are treatable, but...

they all end the same way.

Some sooner than others.

I see.

I need you to certify me
to Starfleet

as fit for interstellar service.

Now, will you do it?

I don't suppose
you'd condescend to tell me why.

Secret mission?

We certainly had
our share of those

on the Stargazer, didn't we?

Remember that time
in the fireforest

- on Calyx...
- Dr. Benayoun.

Forgive me.

You really want to go
back out into the cold.

Knowing...

More than ever, knowing.

I don't know
what kind of trouble

you're planning to get into.

Maybe if
you're lucky,

it will kill you first.

All visitors must report

to the main security desk.

All visitors must report

to the main security desk.

Admiral Gurdy,
please report to Conference Room B.

Admiral Gurdy, please report
to Conference Room B.

Hello.

I, uh, have a meeting
with the CNC.

I have an appointment.

Of course, sir.

May I have your name,
please, sir?

Oh, um, Picard.

P-I-C-A-R-D.

Jean-Luc.

Ah.

It's nice to see you up and
around, Admiral. Welcome back.

Come.

Jean-Luc.

Kirsten.

Hello.

May I?

Apparently, you have urgent
Federation business.

I understood you to have left
affairs of state behind.

I am staying as far
from it all as I can.

So then what can I do for you?

- Bruce Maddox.
- What about him?

I believe that
he is using neurons

from the late Commander Data

to create a new
organic synthetic.

Well, that's not far
from all of it,

it is all of it.

The Romulans are involved.

This gets better and better.

Commander Data
was not only my colleague,

he was my dear friend,

and he gave his life,
body and soul,

to the Federation.

And if there is
a chance that

some part of him still exists,

then I think we have
an obligation to investigate.

There is no "we," Jean-Luc.

Kirsten, I know we have not
always seen eye to eye.

Nevertheless,
I have a request to make.

Based on my years
of service,

I want you to reinstate me,

temporarily,
for one mission.

I will need a small warp-capable
reconnaissance ship

with a minimal crew,
and if you feel that my rank

makes me too conspicuous,
well, then,

I an content to be demoted
to Captain.

The sheer fucking hubris.

You think you could just waltz
back in here and be entrusted

with taking men and women
into space?

Don't you think I was watching
the holo the other day

along with everyone else
in the galaxy?

I should not have
spoken in public.

The Romulans were our enemies,
and we tried

to help them
for as long as we could,

but even before the synthetics
attacked Mars,

14 species within the Federation
said, "Cut the Romulans loose,

or we'll pull out."

It was a choice between allowing
the Federation to implode

or letting the Romulans go.

The Federation
does not get to decide

if a species lives or dies.

Yes, we do. We absolutely do.

Thousands of other species
depend upon us for unity,

for cohesion.

We didn't have
enough ships left.

We had to make choices.

But the great Captain Picard
didn't like his orders.

I was standing up
for the Federation,

for what it represents,

for what it should
still represent.

How dare you
lecture me?

Ignore me again
at your cost.

- My cost?
- You are in peril, Admiral.

There is no peril here,

only the pitiable delusions
of a once-great man

desperate to matter.

This is no longer
your house, Jean-Luc.

So do what
you're good at:

go home.

Request denied.

Security badges
must be visible at all times.

Here, let me help you with that.

So embarrassing.

Thank you.

Are you new here?
I haven't seen you around.

Yesterday.

My residency was supposed
to start six months ago, but

the Romulan Free State revoked
it when I was halfway here.

I have no idea why, or why
they finally reinstated it.

Well, that sounds
about right.

They still don't have
a clear idea

of how much damage
this cube sustained,

or maybe they do and
they just aren't telling,

but, anyway, you don't want to
cross over into the Gray Zone

without this turned on.
Don't worry,

you're gonna be fine.

Morning
and welcome to Ops Cycle 9834...

Here we go.

As guests of the Borg Artifact
Research Institute,

your safety
is important to us.

You are standing inside
one of the most

destructive weapons ever known,
and though no longer active,

it remains
potentially dangerous.

Please don't
venture outside

of your designated
research area.

Assume that any
fixture or instrument

not personally known
to be benign is malignant.

Romulans are into drama.

Who is that?

That's Narek.
He's new here, too.

I didn't know Romulans
could be so hot.

...from
the Gray Zone will result in...

Me, either.

While in the Grey Zone,
you are likely to encounter

former members
of the Borg Collective.

Are you researching
the xBs?

It's a little more hands-on.

And if your gradient badge
starts to blink green,

run.

Don't worry about it.

Narek, this is...

Dr. Naàshala Kunamadèstifee
of Trill Polytech.

The Institute is eager to see
your work bear fruit, Doctor.

How likely is the Collective to
reestablish a link to your Borg?

Is it, is it really wise
to release them?

They're former Borg,
and we're not "releasing" them,

- we're reclaiming them.
- There's really no danger.

When a cube undergoes
submatrix collapse,

the Collective
immediately severs its link

to the afflicted population.

As far as the Collective
are concerned,

this is just a graveyard.

And what does that make us?

The same as you find
in any graveyard.

Some have come to feed
on the dead, some are ghosts,

and a few, like you, Dr. Asha,

have pinned their hopes
on resurrection.

Um, may I join you
for the procedure?

I'd-I'd like to see you work.

That's not up to me.
You need approval

from the Director of the
Borg Reclamation Project.

Hmm.

Actually, I don't.

Ah.

You have a taste for
the classics, I see.

I never really cared
for science fiction.

I guess

I just didn't get it.

- Well, thank you for coming over.
- Yeah.

It's hard to tear myself away
from the action at my lab,

but...

Um, your preference?

We have a selection.

Earl Grey?

I knew there was
something about you.

I gathered up, uh,
everything I could find

from Maddox's tenure
at the Institute.

Most of what was there got
blackboxed after he disappeared,

but they left some of the
ancillary stuff untouched.

I was thinking
about the painting.

Bruce and Data were friends
after a fashion.

I-If Bruce is using Data's
neurons to make more synths,

it would make sense
to model them

after the painting Data made.

Indeed.

I also did a little digging
into Dahj Asha.

You're right.
She was accepted at Daystrom.

In fact, she was
a perfect candidate.

In hindsight,
a little too perfect.

Her credentials were bogus?

It's more insidious than that.
I checked with Regulus.

Their records show
she was enrolled there

and her grade transcripts
are on file.

So she was what
she claimed to be?

She was a complete
work of fiction.

There's no record

of her having actually
attended R3SA.

I-I'm no forensics maven,

but my sense is that
her entire identity

was built all at once,
about three years ago.

By whom? Bruce Maddox?

- He certainly had the ability.
- Motive?

I don't know.

People in the synthetic
humanoid field

tend to get a little
secret-planny.

Milk?

Uh, yes, please.

Thank you.

There you go.

Oh, thank you.

It breaks my heart
that I never

got a chance to meet her.

Such a wondrous
thing.

And the damn
Romulans just

wiped her away.

You asked me
what the plan was,

what she was after at Daystrom.

I don't think that's the most
relevant question right now.

I think the question you should
be trying to answer is...

"What about the other one?"

If she's really out there,

and if the Romulans
haven't gotten to her, too,

then where is she?

And what is she after?

Continuing procedure
on Patient 8923/3,

one of the Nameless.

Time in regenestasis,
14 years.

Arm implant was
successfully removed.

Initiating ocular harvest
procedure on Nameless.

You know I hate it
when you use that term.

You may have
mentioned that once.

Why do you call them
"the Nameless"?

Their species had a name.
We just don't know what it was.

Nameless is a name.

Removing ocular
processing core.

Tertiary mandible implant
containment complete.

Tagged for
level 10 storage.

Interlinked transceiver node
confirmed inactive.

Tagged for
level one disposal.

Raffi, it's Jean-Luc.
Please, don't hang up.

I need your help.

I need a ship.

Picard again?

And we all thought that
he was safely mothballed

on that vineyard of his.

All these years.
The Hermit of La Barre.

Now suddenly he is inescapable.

That's one word for what he is.

Going on and on
about advanced synthetics,

Bruce Maddox and...

Bruce Maddox?
Is he still alive?

Does it even matter?

And then there was this
wild talk about

clandestine Romulan
anti-synth ops here on Earth.

It was just...

it was just sad.

One might be even inclined
to say tragic.

Admiral Clancy, I know I
need hardly remind you

if the Romulans were running

clandestine operations on Earth,

I would know.
And then you would know.

And then all of Starfleet
would know,

because clearly,
that would be an overt

- and intolerable act of war.
- Of course.

Look, Commodore, obviously
there's nothing to it,

but I thought I'd better check.

Out of an excess of caution,
as they say.

- Just look into it.
- Of course.

Lieutenant Rizzo,
to me, please.

What?!

Have you gone mad?

- Is it dementia?
- I beg your pardon?

Sorry, but you're not
a stupid man,

so when I hear you say
such a stupid idea,

I have to ask
for other explanations.

Well, how about this.

The daughter of the man
whose death I have been mourning

for two decades
comes to me for help

and assistance. And then
she is assassinated

in front of my eyes by
a Romulan death squad

who will then go
and try and find

and destroy
her twin sister.

And you want me to sit here
worrying what to do

about the spittlebugs
on the pinots?

I want you not to die.

No one but the Tal Shiar
could ever protect you

- against the Tal Shiar.
- She's not wrong.

You can't go without us.

Idiot!
He cannot go at all.

He's only safe here.

He knows about them.
They have to eliminate him.

Nevertheless...
I have to go.

Go where? Go how?

Well, I will get
a ship, and I will

find Bruce Maddox,
wherever he is.

Laris, I have to do this.

I don't yet fully
understand all of it,

but I know that
it's important.

- And not only to me.
- No, of course.

If it's important
to Jean-Luc Picard, it must be

important to the whole galaxy.

Go.

And take that one with you.

You can die together.

Laris understands.

She's afraid for you,
that's all.

I know that.

But you have to stay
here with her.

The grapes are far more in
need of protection that I am.

And it's less than a month
to the harvest.

But you can't do it alone.

You need help.
You need protection.

- Yeah.
- You need a crew.

Riker. Worf. La Forge.

Hmm?

No.

I thought about it.

And they would do it
in a heartbeat,

and that's precisely
why I cannot ask them.

They would put themselves
at risk out of loyalty to me,

and I do not want to have to
go through that again.

Okay.

You need someone who hates you

and has nothing to lose.

I've already made the call.

Come.

You wanted to see me, Commodore?

Take a look at this.

Does that look like
disruptor fire?

There.

Reflected in the hand rail.

Not to me, no.

Admiral Clancy just called.

Jean-Luc Picard
came to see her.

He has information

about clandestine Romulan ops
here on Earth.

He referred to
Zhat Vash by name.

He was trying to persuade her
to give him a ship

and let him go after
Dr. Bruce Maddox.

Although she did not
mention that last part,

nor the talk about Zhat Vash.

- Then how do you know?
- Do not

insult me, Lieutenant.

It would not be advantageous
for your career.

Apologies, Commodore.

This is unexpected.

A dirty word...

in our line of work.

Perhaps the worst
word of all.

So you need me
to take care of Picard?

Your zeal and passion
are commendable,

but they are very nearly
overbalanced by your impatience.

There is a fundamental
aptness in the word

"undercover" which you

have yet to fully absorb.

So I won't take care
of him impatiently.

I'll make it last
as long as you like.

Clancy has discouraged him
adequately, I believe.

And if the need arises,

I will take care of Picard.

I want you to stay on mission.

You made a shambles
of the operation here.

Your team destroyed the thing
before it could be interrogated

and nearly blew
our cover. We have

one more opportunity.

Do not squander it.

Of course.

- I've put my best man on it.
- Have you?

I worry about that one.

He too has a
troubling penchant

for the unexpected.

And I have had just about my
fill of surprises, Lieutenant.

Do I make myself clear?

I will vouch for him
with my life.

Indeed. You will.

Which is why
I strongly recommend

that you manage
this case in person.

Of course.

Everything is at stake.

See that he does not fail.

See that neither
of you does.

You can turn around

and call that cab

to take you right back
where you came from.

Just want to talk.

There isn't anything
you could say

that I want to hear.

Secret Romulan assassins
are operating on Earth.

Is that the '86?

Goddamn it.

- Nice of you to knock.
- Why start now?

How's life in Starfleet,
Lieutenant Rizzo?

That ridiculous
disguise.

Round ears.

- You look like a plucked wakak.
- Shut up.

- Any progress?
- Yes.

Slow, but I'm still confident
that my approach,

which you approved,
is the only sound approach.

I hope that confidence
is not misguided.

If your approach doesn't
start paying off very soon,

I will be obliged
to unapprove it.

For both our sakes.

Commodore Oh
is quite distressed.

She has been a useful ally

for a long time.
I can't have her turning on us.

When I arrive...

When you arrive...

I'm on top of it.

So it would seem.

Have you found the nest?

Has the machine
given up the location

of its fellow abominations?

Really, has it told you
anything at all?

Grave reservations
have been expressed

about your approach,
baby brother.

I don't have to tell you
the stakes couldn't be higher.

Oh has reservations.

Profound reservations.

There is no one
whose survival

matters more to me than yours.

Except my own.

If you've made
no progress

by the time I get there,

I will have no choice

but to try my approach,

unfortunate as it may have been.

If there is another
such disaster,

it will undoubtedly
consume you

and me, too.

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