Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the ship, sat forlornly in his Ready Room, staring at his sandwich and rapidly cooling Earl Grey tea, hating himself for what he was doing, but seeing no other way to assuage the pain of unrequited love. She angrily stabbed her fork into some, by now, limp lettuce and chewed as it if was rubber. Seeming to have a malevolent aura surrounding her, the other crew members in the lounge left her exclusively alone, and that suited Beverly just fine. 1