POWER HUNGRY

SAG AND aRass HARM-ORM danced and
soared, filling Will Riker's cabin with the intricate
contrapuntal melody of Pachelbel's timeless
Canon in D. The First Officer of the
starship Enterprise reclined in his armchair, eyes
closed, savoring the final notes, the crystalline
trill of a solo trumpet. When that last pure and
perfect note had faded, Riker opened his eyes and
propped elbows on knees, looking for reactions from
his companions, Captain Jean-Luc Picard and
ship's counselor Deanna Troi, both seated
facing him. "Deanna?"
"Absolutely beautiful." Tcoi's large
dark eyes glistened with pleasure. "I've never
heard that piece before."
"It's very old," Picard said,
"Seventeenth-century earth, I believe."
"That's right," Riker said. "I've always been
partial to baroque."
"I had a hunch," Riker said, grinning through his
beard.
Picard's eyes narrowed. "Imagine-we're
listening to music composed seven hundred years ago
.... What a pity the creators of great art can't
know their work lives on long after they've gone
to dust."
The tall first officer leaned back again, hands
clasped behind his head. "I wish I'd had the time
to learn more about music, maybe try my hand
at composing."
"It's never too late to learn something new,"
Deanna said. "It would be refreshing for you to develop
some new activities for your spare time."
"That's true-but then I'd need to develop some
new spare time," Riker said ruefully. He
smiled. "My commanding officer keeps me pretty
busy."
The electronic tone of the cabin intercom sounded
and was followed by the calm voice of Lieutenant
Commander Data. "Bridge to Captain Picard."
"This is Picard. What is it, Mr. Data?"
"We have received a priority code communication from
Starffeet Command, sir."
The captain and first officer exchanged concerned
glances. "Pipe it down here."
"Yes, sir."
The comm screen over Riker's desk lit,
displaying the Starfleet insignia. "Request
voice print identification," said the computer's soft
feminine voice.
Picard leaned forward and crossed his arms.
"Picard, Jean-Luc, captain, U.s.s.
Enterprise."
"Voice print verified." The
insignia's stylized starfield was replaced by a
severe-looking woman in a
wine-colored Starffeet uniform. She peered out from
under dark bangs that were long enough to cover her eyebrows,
and she spoke with a slight drawl. "Captain
Picard, I'm Captain Kimberly Schaller,
Starfleet Command. We've intercepted some Ferengi
communications-looks as if they've developed quite an
interest in the sector you're headed for."
"The Thiopan system?" Picard's jaw
tightened. "What sort of interest?" "We believe
they would like to make it part of their alliance. Thiopa
is centrally located between our border and the Ferengi
fringe systems. They've traded with other
nonaligned planets out there, but haven't been able
to establish a heavy presence before. How familiar
are you with Thiopa's current situation?"
"I know the standard mission profile," Picard
said. "Which I take it is about to be substantially
complicated?"
Schaller managed a small smile. "I'd
say that's an comunderstatement, Captain Picard.
We'll feed all the latest information to your computers.
I strongly suggest you and your senior staff review
it before you get to Thiopa."
"We shall. Should we expect a Ferengi presence
in the area?" was "Expect" may be too strong a
word-what we intercepted wasn't that specific.
Let's just say you should be cautious. I know you're
on a mercy mission, so I'm sure you would prefer
to avoid a military confrontation with a Ferengi task
force."
Picard frowned. "The Ferengi are usually quite
reticent to engage in direct combat. Does your
information indicate a change of heart?"
"I can't say for sure. But they do know the
Enterprise 3
is traveling alone with five automated cargo
carriers. In their eyes, that might make you an
enticing target."
"Understood. We'll be careful."
"Very good, Captain Picard. If we get any
other relevant information, we'll transmit it to you
as fast as possible. Schaller out."
Picard faced his officers. "Your musical
composing career will have to wait, Number One. We'd
better get up to the bridge."
Captain's log-Stardate 42422.5.
The Enterprise is two hours away from the
Thiopan star system on what has become
a dual-purpose mission. We are responding
to an urgent request from Thiopa's planetary
government for Federation assistance in dealing with a
critical drought and resultant food shortage.
The Thiopans have only recently disengaged from
along-standing association with the despotic Nuaran
Imperium. And now Starfleet has informed us that the
Ferengi Alliance has designs on this sector.
It is hoped our convoy of food and other
desperately needed supplies will not only
alleviate Thiopa's crisis but will also give the
Federation a chance to establish formal ties with the
planet before the Ferengi can take advantage of the
chaotic situation.
THE ENTERPRISE CRUISED sERENELY through
open space with five stubby cargo ships trailing
her in delta formation like ducklings tagging along behind
their mother. The freighters were linked directly to the
starship's main computer; any changes in course or
speed made by the Enterprise were automatically
copied by the entire convoy. The only hindrance to the
starship caused by the presence of the cargo drones was a
reduction in speed; they were simply incapable of
anything faster than warp three.
Jean-Luc Picard sat alone in the
captain's ready room just off the main bridge,
enjoying the view of space offered by this chamber, a
view unimpeded by the enhancements of viewscreen
technology. Stars glowed in a rainbow of colors,
veils of dust reflected and refracted the starlight
shining through them, tendrils of gaseous material
drifted and roiled like tinted smoke. Picard found
the sights of outer space endlessly fascinating,
soothing and stimulating all at once-a paradox that
never failed to please him. He enjoyed those sights
here more than anywhere else. The ready room had
become his favorite place on the ship, a
sanctum for private pondering, yet only steps
away from the main bridge.
But the very existence of this little refuge from the
hurly-burly of command had come as something of a
surprise ....
Darting like a skimmer-bug on a pond, the
shuttle
pod in which Picard was a passenger turned
smartly
and approached the maze ofgirders orbiting high
over
the ruddy surface of Mars. With a bit offree
time on his
hands, Jean-Luc Picard had hopped a
supply transport on its way from earth to the
Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards. It was a
purely unofcial visit, but curiosity about the first
of the new Galaxy class starships being built here
was reason enough to come and take a look.
Cradled inside its construction bay, the
U.s.s Enterprise, NCC-1701-D, was still
the object of intensive activity, with work crews
swarming over her. She was now nearly complete, and
Picard's solemn features softened into a smile
of satisfaction as he gazed at her.
"She is beautiful, Captain Picard?"
Lieutenant Snephets, Picard's escort, was
an Oktonian female with four pale pink eyes.
Like all Oktonians, she phrased statements as
questions.
Picard replied with a nod and just a tinge of awe.
"She is indeed, Lieutenant. "She was, without
a doubt, the most beautiful spacecraft he'd ever
seen. He smiled inwardly at the affection he already
felt for this vessel he would soon command. He
suspected shed be an easy ship to love. Picard
had spent the bulk of his career for that matter, most of
his adult life-as an explorer. .for
twenty-two years he'd commanded the deep-space
trailblazer Stargazer. Shed been a good ship,
taken Picard and his crew through some dicey
situations, but no one who'd lived aboard her would
ever have described her as top of the line.
"Captain, a pleasure it has been working on
Enterprise?"
Picard knew Lieutenant Snephets
wasn't asking a
question, but her tone of voice compelled him to answer
out of politeness. "I'm sure it has. She's a
most impressive vessel."
Snephets skillfully docked the shuttle with the
access port on the starship's expansive flank.
"You are greatly honored, sir, being her first
commander?"
"Yes, Lieutenant, I am. his
The pod door slid open and a burly bearded
man in a gold uniform greeted Picard in the
corridor. "Engineer Argyle, sir. Welcome
aboard. The bridge has been completed, if you'd
like to see it. his
"1 would indeed, Mr. Argyle. his
"This way, Captain. was He led Picard to a
turbolift and they stepped in. "Bridge,
"said Argyle as the doors shut. For a long,
embarrassing moment, nothing happened. The engineer
swallowed, repeated the order, and the lift finally
started moving.
"Not quite shipshape yet, Mr. Argyle, was
Picard said, with a hint of understanding.
"She will be, sir. his
They arrived at the bridge and stepped out.
Picard stopped suddenly, gaping. The lighting, the
space, the obvious attention to details . . . The
Enterprise wasn't going to be just another ship, he
realized. It was going to be like home.
"Would you like to see the conference lounge and your ready
room, sir?" "Both right here on the bridge
level?" Picard almost gaped again. "Isn't that
wasted space?"
Argyle couldn't help beaming. "Not on the
Enterprise, sir. his
An easy ship to love. Until he'd actually
toured her from stem to stern, nothing could have prepared
Picard for the sheer size and volume of the
Enterprise. Quite simply, she represented a
quantum leap in design and construction, beyond any
other vessel in 8
the fleet. And his first year in command had
made him wonder how he'd managed to survive
two decades in the comparatively cramped confines
of the old Stargazer. It hadn't taken long for him
to come to appreciate every inch of "wasted space"
built into the Galaxy class design-most of
ail, his personal retreat, his ready room.
Picard again skimmed the summary of Captain
Schaller's report on his desktop computer
screen. Would the Ferengi really have the stomach for a
confrontation? Fueled as they were by the thirst for profit,
the Ferengi had demonstrated time and again that they
preferred to avoid armed conflict whenever possible.
But Picard's own experiences with the Ferengi
Alliance told him that vigilance would certainly be in
order. More than likely, the Ferengi would be
skulking about on the periphery, maintaining a low
profile, cautiously keeping their hand in play and
keeping an eye on what the Federation was doing. And
there was no reason why they shouldn't, since Thiopa was
in free space.
The intercom tone sounded, followed by Riker's
voice. "Captain Picard . . ."
"What is it, Number One?"
"Sensors picking up some activity at
extreme range. I thought you'd want
to know."
"I'll be right there."
The captain strode onto the bridge, glancing
at his regular staff at their posts-Riker and
Troi seated on either side of his command chair in the
center well; Lieutenant Worf, the Klingon
security chief, at his tactical panel on the
horseshoe-shaped upper deck; Data and young
Wesley Crusher at the forward Operations and
Control stations.
As he started to sit, Picard noticed a less
familiar face attending the Mission Operations
monitors directly behind Worf. She was young, with
auburn hair and a sprinkling of freckles spilling
across her nose. Lieutenant White, he
remembered, sliding into his contoured seat. He
inclined his chin toward the viewscreen. "What's out
there, Number One?"
"I can't tell for certain, sir. Three or
four small ships at the limit of our sensor
range."
"Any discernible heading?"
"Not since we picked them up. We've been
transmitting standard hailing messages-disno
response."
"Captain," Data broke in, "two ships
are now moving evasively but in our general
direction."
"Mr. Worf," said Picard, "still no
response to our hails?" "Negative, sir.
Recommend defensive postureshields up,
weapons on standby." "Agreed. Make it so.
Mr. Data, tactical display on main
viewer."
A grid replaced the starfield on the bridge
screen. The Enterprise and her five cargo
carriers appeared on the left side of the grid.
Two fast-moving blips were approaching from the right.
The pair of spacecraft closing on the big
starship were slender projectiles, dark, fierce, and
anonymous in their simplicity, without muscular
bulges or bristling weapons. Their elemental
design hinted at sin- gleness of purpose. They
were killers.
Without slowing, they split apart and veered around the
Enterprise, one to either side, then suddenly cut and
crossed, unleashing a pair of torpedoes at one
of the trailing cargo ships. The burning blue
streaks found their mark and the freight drone
exploded in a puff of shimmering shards.
Picard gripped his armrests as he watched the
destruction on the viewscreen. "Damn. Position
of intruders?"
Data scanned his console. "Retreating at . .
. warp eleven." His eyebrows rose in surprise
at the speedfaster than the Enterprise could manage.
The aft turbolift snapped open and Geordi
LaForge burst onto the bridge. "Mr.
LaForge," said Picard, "I thought you were off
duty."
"The chief engineer's never off duty,
Captain," LaForge replied, activating the
bridge engineering console.
Picard and Riker exchanged a meaningful look.
Geordi's unexpected appearance at a
critical moment was another indication that his promotion
to chief engineer was more than deserved.
"Mr. LaForge," Picard said, "I do not
want to lose another freight drone. Can we
extend our shields to protect them?"
LaForge's compact form tensed as he checked his
readouts. "In this formation, it'll be tough,
Captain. We can do it, but not without a serious drain
on overall available power."
"Then tighten the convoy. Make sure
Mr. Worf has enough power for phasers." Picard
faced forward again. "Mr. Data, have you identified
the intruders?" "Yes, sir. They are Nuaran
interceptors."
"Captain," Worf said, "Nuarans are among
the most effective warriors in the galaxy."
"And the slimiest," Geordi added. "Even the

Ferengi won't deal with them. What are they doing
out here?" Riker stroked his beard. "Maybe the
Thiopans can tell us."
"Maybe we can find out ourselves." Picard
swiveled halfway around in his chair. "Mr.
Worf, hailing frequencies."
"Open, sir."
"Attention, Nuaran spacecraft-this is the
U.s.s. Enterprise. We are on a
non-hostile mission. We request contact
to discuss your unwarranted destruc- tion of a
Federation cargo vessel." Picard's voice was
calm, almost soft. He waited almost a full
minute without getting a response before speaking again.
"Repeat, Nuaran spacecraft-this is the
U.s.s. Enterprise. We are on a
non-hostile mission-but if you interfere, we
will take defensive action."
He knew perfectly well the Nuaran ships were
within reception range. Most likely they thought very
little of his warning. After all, he had allowed them
to pick off a cargo carrier without firing a return
shot. But he would not do so again. "Mr. Worf, your
assessment. Do two Nuaran interceptors pose
a danger to this ship?"
"Not likely, sir. Not as long as we've got
full shields."
Data glanced back over his shoulder. "What about
three? That is the number now on an intercept
course."
Picard's jaw muscles tightened. "I think
we've given them sufficient time to reply to our
messages. Number One?"
Riker nodded. "Concur, Captain."
"Mr. Worf, fire across their flight path,
close enough to make it clear we'll tolerate no
further interference."
"Understood," the Klingon security chief said
"Tracking lock engaged."
The Nuaran ships hurtled toward the
Enterprise, twisting and twirling in an intricate
set of evasive course changes. Again they
fired torpedoes-and this time Worf reacted with a
precise phaser burst. The intruders tumbled
away, desperately trying to avoid being hit.
All three recovered and fled out of phaser range.
"I think we made our point," Picard said.
"Mr. Crusher, resume heading for Thiopa.
Data, keep sensors on maximum range. If
the Nuarans pay us another visit, I want to know
about it."
"Dr. Pulaski to Captain Picard." The
voice of Picard's chief medical officer came
over the speaker.
"Yes, Doctor. What is it?"
"I have a very impatient ambassador cooling his
heels in my outer office." Picard and Riker
looked at each other. "We were supposed to meet with
him fifteen minutes ago," Riker murmured.
"Why is he in your office, Doctor?" asked
Picard.
"He couldn't get through to you on the bridge, so he
buttonholed the nearest officer he could find-who
happened to be me."
"Give my apologies to Mr. Undrun and
escort him to the bridge conference lounge, please."
There was a pause at Pulaski's end,
and Picard could almost see that look, that patented
Katherine Pulaski expression of displeasure when
something went against her grain.
"What is it you're not telling me, Doctor?"
Picard asked. "You haven't met Ambassador
Undrun yet, I take it." It was a statement,
not a query.
"No, I haven't. Is there something I should know
about him?" "How shall I put this? He has what my
grandmother used to refer to as a vexatious
personality."
"Thank you for the warning. Report with him to the
bridge conference lounge, Doctor."
"We're on our way."
Picard, Riker, and Counselor Troi stood
and moved to the adjoining lounge, with its long table and
high-backed chairs. "Number One," Picard said
as they sat, "you've dealt with Ambassador
Undrun since he came aboard. Is he that much
of an irritant?"
"I agree with Dr. Pulaski's grandmother.
"Vexatious' is a suitable word. Consider yourself
lucky you've been spared up till now, sir."
When the door opened, the pair who entered looked
almost comical-Kate Pulaski,
long-legged, regal, striding two paces ahead of
Federation Aid and Assistance Representative
Frid Undrun, child-sized and anything but regal.
Undrun was bundled in baggy knit clothing more
suitable for a winter's day than a
climate-controlled starship. He wore a hat
(several sizes too large for him) pulled down
around his ears and a pair of ill-fitting thermal
trousers. He had a face like a clenched fist,
framed by tufts of gold hair. Appearances
aside, when he spoke, his voice boomed with
unexpected power. "Mr. Riker, this starship of
yours is still unacceptably cold."
With a visible effort at self-control, Riker
kept his 14
voice quiet. "I'm sorry you're
uncomfortable, Mr. Undrun. The best we can do
is adjust the environmental controls in your cabin.
The rest of the ship must be maintained at levels
appropriate for our working crew."
Undrun snorted and turned to Picard.
"Captain, is this true?" "I'm afraid so,
Mr. Undrun. I'm sure you can understand the
necessity of providing climate conditions that will
permit the Enterprise crew to operate at
peak efficiency. I realize your home world is quite
warm-was "Warm?" said Undrun disdainfully. "You
would find Noxor Three much more than warm,
Captain. Now, what was so urgent that you kept me
waiting for fifteen minutes?"
"Please, sit down, Mr. Undrun,"
Picard said calmly: "We were attacked by Nuaran
ships. I'm afraid one of the cargo drones was
destroyed."
Undrun's rump had barely touched the seat
cushion when he bounced to his feet again.
"Destroyed? My emergency relief supplies were
destroyed?" Picard winced. He suddenly had
deeper understanding of the word "vexatious." "Mr.
Undrun-was he began.
"Do you realize the worth of what's been lost?
I knew something like this would happen when they gave me
only one ship, too few personnel, insufficient
supplies, obviously too little protection . .
."
Riker's eyes flashed. "The Enterprise and her
crew can do the job."
"Can they, now?" Undrun parried caustically.
"I can't do mine if I'm handicapped by the 15
incompetence of others. The key to this
mission is not simply giving the Thiopans handouts
of food. We must help them become
self-sufficient again." Picard shook his head.
"Mr. Undrun, you know as well as I that the
Prime Directive limits what we may do for the
Thiopans. They've made it quite clear that all they
currently want is humanitarian aid
to relieve the immediate and most critical conditions of
famine. Your supervisors at the Aid and
Assistance Ministry have made it equally clear to me
that we are not empowered to coerce the Thiopans
into accepting any help for which they do not voluntarily
ask. I shall make the offer of additional assistance
during our meeting with Sovereign Protector
Stross."
"Your assignment, Mr. Undrun," Riker
added tersely, "is to get these supplies
delivered."
"What's left of them," the ambassador said.
"I know my job, Mr. Riker. I trust you people
know yours." Undrun pivoted and left in a huff:
The officers present traded pained expressions.
"See what I mean?" said Riker.
"I do indeed, Number One. Remember,
patience is a virtue," Picard
answered, not without sympathy.
"In the case of Mr. Undrun," said Kate
Pulaski, "a sorely tested virtue."
THE ENTERPRIS-ES Tau-Foawmu
rouationeYE was nearly empty, with just a handful of
off-duty personnel scattered singly or in small
conversational knots at tables around the softly lit
room. Frid Undrun edged inside with a diffident
step, not certain he really wanted to be here. But the
lounge was large enough and empty enough to convince him he could
go unnoticed. The few other occupants were clustered
near the huge observation windows looking out on the
stark darkness of space. Undrun sat as far away
as he could, with his back toward both windows and people.
He sighed deeply, and his shoulders went slack beneath
his rumpled jacket.
"Can I get you something, Mr. Undrun?"
Undrun stiffened and turned to glare at the
intruder. He saw a dark-skinned woman in a
flowing maroon robe and a hat bigger than the one he
was wearing. For
a moment he felt compelled to smile at her. But
he maintained his formal pose. "What makes you
think I need something?"
The woman shrugged. "You looked kind of
tense." She smiled again. "I'm Guinan. I
guess you could say .i'm the host here." She
produced a small tray from behind her back and
proferred a glass filled with a smoky burgundy
drink. "I thought you might enjoy a taste of Kin
inn wine."
"No, thank you."
"It's got a lovely flavor. Even better
than the original, I'm quite sure." Undrun
cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
"It's simulated, made from synthehol."
"The only good thing the Ferengi ever gave the
galaxy," Undrun snorted. "So you can enjoy the
taste without any ill effects."
"Well..." After a moment's consideration,
Undrun took the glass and sipped gingerly at it,
like a child coerced into downing some dread medicine. He
swallowed and his eyes widened. "Hmmm. Not bad."
"Kinjinn wins again. Now, can I get you to enjoy
our magnificent view? It's one of the best things
about Ten-Forward."
"I would rather not, thank you just the same," Undrun
said tightly. He sipped the wine again, and his pinched
face relaxed a degree or two. He leaned
forward, dropping his guard just a bit.
"Spaceflight has always made me a touch
queasy. It's bearable as long as I can't see
what's going on outside."
"I understand. Then you just stay right here. You know,
I've found that if I don't look out of those
windows, I forget I'm on a ship at all."
"Yes, yes." Undrun nodded. "I've found
the same thing. It's as if we're not even moving.
Please . . . sit down, Guinan. I can call
you Guinan, can't I?" "That is my name."
"And you can call me Ambassador."
"Is that your name?"
"No, but I like to hear the title."
"Very well-Ambassador it is."
Undrun drained his glass. "May I have some more
of this Kinjinn wine?" Guinan reached for the decanter
on her tray, refilled his goblet, then poured one for
herself.
"Thank you," he said. "This ship is quite amazing.
It must take quite a gift to be in charge of it, in
charge of all the people."
"You mean like Captain Picard and Commander
Riker?"
"Exactly. I could never do a job like theirs.
I-I'm afraid I don't deal with people very
well."
Guinan fixed him with a warm gaze. "You must be
better with people than you think if you've become an
ambassador."
Undrun shook his head sadly. "I'm much
better with plans and plants. My home world,
Noxor Three, used to be subject to wide swings
in rainfall and food supply. We finally had
to devote a lot of effort and expense to learning how
to manage our agriculture and ecology. That's
where I got my interest in this line of work. I want
to teach other worlds how to do what we did." He
paused and sighed again. "I just wish I didn't
actually have to talk to the people I want to help."
Guinan made an open-handed gesture toward his

empty glass. "I'm glad you're enjoying the
wine. Can I get you another?" "Oh, my-I
didn't even realize I'd finished it." He
drew his arms close to his chest. "I really
didn't intend to stay here this long or--or to talk
to anyone. I-I'm sorry. I hope I didn't
bore you."
"Not at all. You just did what everyone does in
Ten-Fore. You relaxed."
"I-I've relaxed quite enough for now, I think. I
really should get back to work. Thank you for-for
listening." Undrun slid out of the booth and carefully
moved away from Guinan, as if hoping there was a
direct correlation between increasing distance and
reestablishing propriety.
"Feel free to come back anytime, Mr.
Ambassador," she called out. Undrun ducked
his head in faint embarrassment and left the room
without another word.
Picard clasped his hands together on the conference table
and leaned forward. "Exactly what do we know about the
Nuarans, Data?" The android blinked slightly
as he accessed the requested information. "The Nuaran
Imperium is a military dictatorship with
absolute control over four star systems, which
include a total of seven inhabited planets.
Little is known about the history or development of
Nuaran society. The first known contact occurred
sixty-seven solar years ago when they attempted
to conquer Beta Li'odo, which, unknown to the Nuarans,
had just signed a treaty with the Federation. The
Starfleet cruiser U.s.s. Polaris, which had
just departed from Beta Li'odo, answered the
Li'odan distress call and engaged the
invading fleet in a short 20
but decisive battle, during which the Polaris
disabled one Nuaran ship."
"Judging by the fighters that attacked us, the
Nuarans haven't been resting on their laurels,"
said Riker.
"I agree," Picard said. "In sufficient
numbers, they could be a threat, even to a starship.
Mr. Data, what's their relationship with Thiopa?"
"Most interesting, Captain. The Nuarans had
evidently visited and traded with Thiopa before
Thiopa's present leader, Ruer Stross,
assumed power. Then, once Strass became leader,
the relationship became increasingly active. The
Nuarans found Thiopa valuable for both its
natural riches and its location. The Thiopans
agreed to let them find and exploit a variety of
resources-minerals, plants, fossil products
--and the Nuarans began utilizing the planet as a
port facility."
"What did the Thiopans get in return?"
Counselor Troi asked. "Technology," said
Data. "When Stross took control, Thiopa had
barely begun industrialization. In less than forty
years they progressed from steam engines
to nuclear fission and fusion and to intrasystem
spaceflight."
Captain Picard's forehead creased in thought.
"Rapid progress indeed. The same path of
development took two centuries on Earth."
"True," Riker said, "but we did it without
outside help."
Data's head tilted inquisitively. "Was
Earth offered extraterrestrial assistance?"
"Not that we're aware of," said Riker with a
halfgrin. "It might have taken us longer to get where
we 21
got, and we might have taken some wrong turns
along the way, but at least we made it on our own
terms without giving the planet away to predatory
aliens." "Would Earth have declined such help had it
been available?" Data asked. "Probably not,"
Picard replied. "It takes a powerful will to say
"No, thank you' when someone comes along and offers
you a shortcut to the future. Human history
contains plenty of examples of weakness winning out just
when strength was required."
The blank look on Data's face made it
obvious he was awaiting additional input before declaring
his confusion resolved. "So you are saying it
would be preferable to reject such help?"
"How shall I put this? In the best of all possible
universes, devoid of all negative
motivations, a helping hand would always be welcome.
Unfortunately, not all superior beings have the
purest of motives. In return for their help they
may exact a price, and that price is often too
high."
"And sometimes," said Troi, "even when the
motives are pure, the temptation to play God is
irresistible."
"Ahhh," Data said. "This is why the Federation
adopted the noninterference directive?"
"That's right," Picard said. "The framers of that
directive had the wisdom to apply the old adage
about the road to hell being paved with good intentions."
"Data, what other records do we have of
Nuaran activities in this sector?" Riker
asked.
"They have established labor colonies on
several uninhabited planets and planetoids.
Thiopan slaves were used in those outposts."
Troi's eyes widened. "Slaves?" 22
"Yes. Thiopan political prisoners were
disposed of by trading them to the Nuarans like any
other commodity. This evidently occurred later in the
relationship, when the resources Nuara valued began
to grow scarce on Thiopa."
Troi looked stunned. "After only forty years
these abundant Thiopan resources were already running
out?"
"Yes, Counselor."
Riker shook his head in disbelief. "The
Thiopans allowed the Nuarans to plunder their world, they
engaged in something as barbaric as slave trade-and the
Federation is still willing to consider forming an alliance with
these people?"
"Doesn't sound promising, I agree,"
Picard admitted. "That's part of why we're
here-to get some idea whether these things are part of
Thiopa's past growing pains or part of a continuing
pattern of behavior that may be deemed questionable
by Federation standards."
"The Thiopans did ask for our help,"
Deanna Troi pointed out, "knowing full well what
principles the Federation stands for. And they've severed
their relationship with the Nuarans. Maybe they're
asking for a second chance."
"Yes. For now let's try to see this situation from
the Thiopans' point of view," Picard
said. "They saw themselves in a galaxy full of more
advanced civilizations. I'm not sure they can be
blamed for their willingness to be dragged into the
twenty-fourth century, no matter what the cost."
Riker's even features darkened. "Some costs
are too high, no matter what the return."
"That judgment is not ours to make, Number
One,"
said Picard. "Counselor Troi,
psychological profile of the Nuarans, please."
"By our standards, very alien both psychologically and
intellectually. Totally motivated by a desire for
self-advancement-was
"Sounds like the Ferengi," Riker said.
"Only up to a point," Troi countered. "The
Ferengi are very cautious, but the Nuarans are
willing to take great risks in the expectation of great
gains."
"The risk of attacking a starship, for
example?" said Picard. Troi nodded. "They
don't operate according to the rules we use to govern
social and political interactions. Traders and
diplomats who've had contact with them report that
Nuarans either follow no recognizable rules at
all or feel no compunction about changing the
existing rules to suit their needs. It's possible that
they don't care about the consequences of their actions.
It's also possible that their thought processes simply
don't encompass the concept of consequences."
"All of which means that, on top of the Ferengi
threat, we're going to have to be on constant alert
while in the vicinity of Thiopa. We don't know
why the Thiopans broke off relations with the
Nuarans, but it's already clear the Nuarans aren't
about to accept being dismissed without getting in a few
last words." Picard pushed his chair back from the
table and rose to his feet. "Thank you for your
thoughts. You may return to your posts."
"Captain," said Troi, "I would like a word with you
and Commander Riker." Data exited to the bridge, and
Troi faced Picard and 24
Riker. "It's about Ambassador Undrun.
I sense a deep insecurity in him."
Picard frowned. "What sort of insecurity?"
"As if he feels he's a fraud and that others
might discover this. His insecurity may lead him
to try to overcompensate, to cover up what he sees
as his own failings by doing things that may not be what we
expect from him." "Great," said Riker. "He's not
only insuffera85's unpredictable,
too?" Picard pursed his lips. "Are you suggesting
some sort of preferential treatment for our troublesome
Mr. Undrun?"
"I am reasonably sure we won't have any
major problems with him as long as we don't corner
him or overwhelm him with accusations of incompetence.
His job-performance record is good."
"Which means if we handle him carefully,"
Picard concluded, "we can expect Undrun to get
his job done at Thiopa."
"Yes, sir. I just thought you should both be aware
of a possible problem area."
"Thank you, Counselor," Picard said.
They left the conference lounge and took their seats
on the bridge. The Enterprise was nearing Thiopa
now, and the planet had grown large on the main
viewscreen. It wasn't a pretty sight. A
sickly brown haze formed an atmospheric
envelope around Thiopa, and the main continent was scarred
by ragged gashes in its mountain ranges, where mineral
deposits had been carelessly mined. Great swaths
of forest had been cut away. And through intermittent
gaps in Thiopa's shroud of fouled air, the eye
had no trouble 25
confirming what the ship's sensors
recorded: waterborne pollution blemished
Thiopan seas like spreading tumors.
"Is that as bad as it looks?" Picard asked.
"Yes, sir," Data said. "While we were in
conference, Wesley ran some comparisons with sensor
readings of Thiopa from twenty years ago."
"Your report, Ensign Crusher?"
"Yes, sir. The atmosphere now contains
fifteen percent less oxygen, twenty percent more
carbon dioxide, and seventy-five percent more
industrial pol- lutants, including twenty-five
known carcinogens and at least a dozen other toxic
wastes. The water tells pretty much the same
story, and the mean temperature of the planet is up
by almost two degrees Centigrade."
"If Thiopa were a human patient,
Captain," Data added, "its condition would be
critical."
Captain Picard folded his arms across his chest.
"How much of Thiopa's ecological disaster has
been caused by nature and how much by the Thiopans'
own hand," he wondered. "Good work, Ensign.
Continue on standard orbital approach-assume
orbit when ready."
"Yes, sir." Out of the corner of his
eye, Picard saw Wesley smile to himself,
clearly pleased by his captain's words of praise.
Data, too, gave Wesley an encouraging nod.
Picard half turned, toward his first officer.
"Your assessment, Number One?"
"Thiopa doesn't look like a place I'd
want to hang my hat for very long." "Agreed. Your
judgment about the cost of progress being too high
may apply here after all."
"Maybe, sir. But right now, I'm more curious
than anything else. What force could drive a
planet so far toward suicide before its
inhabitants could cry out for help?"
Picard leaned back, his expression
reflective. "We'll soon find out."
"LORD STILL-EOSS, you must stand still!"
Ruer Stross, sovereign protector and
all-powerful ruler of Thiopa, stewed silently,
regarding his own image in a full-length mirror as
his valet flitted around him.
"Supo, will you hurry up-was
"Hold your arms up. I've got to see that these
sleeves fit just right, or-was "Or what? Will my
arms fall ofl?"
Supo froze. His clenched fists landed
firmly on his hips, or where his hips would have been
had they been discernible. But his ample belly
obscured such anatomical landmarks. Supo was
shaped something like an upright sack-head perched on
narrow shoulders; girth steadily increasing down his
body as if flesh had surrendered to gravity; stubby
legs and dainty feet, which stood on their toes most
of the time.
Most Thiopans had elegantly sculpted
triangular faces with high cheekbones blending into a
long chin, large upturned eyes without lashes or
brows, and three or four sensory whiskers on either
side of the face where many other humanoid races had
ears. But "elegant" was not a word that would come to mind
when describing Ruer Stross's domineering valet.
He had a huge beak of a nose, bulging eyes, and
whiskers that always seemed to be drooping--except when
they were twitching in exasperation. As they were now.
"No, your arms won't fall off, but you could very
well be the laughingstock of your own anniversary
feast, and then everyone would blame me. They'd say,
"Poor old Supo-blind as a burrowskratt,
eh? Can't even dress his master, eh"..."And wouldn't
you just love that, making me the most disgraced servant
on the planet, in the galaxy, in the
universe?"
"All right, all right," Stross said, smiling
placatingly. "Didn't mean to growl. I just hate
spending this much time getting dressed."
"I know," Supo said, already back at work,
fitting, pulling, snipping, polishing.
"Don't think I'd be doing this at all but that
Ootherai's insisting."
"I know," the valet said again. Supo's fingers,
the only parts of him that were graceful, fluttered around
his master as he made certain that the bil- lowy
tunic, with its shiny snaps and rows of medals, was
draped perfectly over Stross's barrel-chested
body.
Stross puffed out regular breaths through his nose,
as if venting steam from an overstoked boiler. His
hair and whiskers had long since gone white with
age. But
his eyes, with the large pearly irises characteristic of
Thiopans, were still clear and vibrant.
Supo stepped back with a flourish. "Done!
Perfect!"
"Good," Stross said with a sigh. "Can I take it
off now?" "No! You'll wrinkle it or pop the
snaps or lose the medals. 171 take it
off you." The valet delicately released each
fastening and slipped the jacket off Stross's
shoulders in one smooth motion, then immediately hung it
on a dressing form. Stross, meanwhile, shrugged
into a pullover robe that came down to his knees.
It was a drab tan, wrinkled and spotted with food
stains, but he settled into it like a man released from
bondage. He tied a coarse length of rope around
his waist and pushed the loose sleeves of the robe up
to his elbows. One stayed up, the other sagged. He
didn't care. "I'm hungry," Stross
announced.
Supo whirled so quickly he almost toppled the
clothing dummy. "No! No snacks before tonight.
You'll inflate like a gas bird and this uniform will
never fit. You eat too much, master. And the only
exercise you get is lifting food to your mouth!"
Protector Stross snorted. "You win, you little
tyrant. And that's only because I'm tired of hearing
you scream at me. After this feast tonight, I'll eat
whatever I damn well want."
"And I"'11 alter all your clothing so you
won't have to run around naked," Supo shot back as
he strutted toward the door. It slid open and he
left without a look back. "And I found that
brueggen cake you hid in the nightstand, so don't
even look for it," he called from the corridor.
Stross reached out toward the table next to the bed and
yanked the drawer out. Empty-I'll bet that little
rodent ate it himself.
"Did you lose something, my lord?" Different
voice, this one a smoky purr. Stross looked
up to see a tall woman shadowed in the foyer of his
bedchamber. "Yeah. Food. Come on in."
She stepped into the pool of light spilling from an
asymmetrical lamp stand whose severe design of
black metal and gray glass echoed the stark
austerity of the rest of Stross's furnishings. Ayli
herself was anything but austere. Honey-colored hair
cascaded over her shoulders and framed a face with
all the cool beauty of a flawless gem. Her eyes
were darker than those of most Thiopans, imparting to even
her most casual glance an air of mystery. Her
whiskers were starting to turn gray, but that aside, she
seemed as youthful as she had on the day she first
became Stross's shadowreader over twenty years
earlier. Her satiny dress whispered as she walked
to an oval table flanked by a pair of
straight-backed chairs.
"Is Supo still treating you with his usual
lack of respect?" she asked lightly, settling
into a chair with prim dignity.
Stross joined her at the table. "Why should that
change? Sometimes I think I should've given him to the
Nuarans."
Ayli regarded her leader with a tolerant smile.
"And who would look after you? Without Supo to see to your
outer shell and me to see to your fife-current -"
"You're as arrogant as he is," Stross said,
laughing. "Don't forget Ootherai."
Ayli grimaced. "I hate him," she said without
passion.
"I know you do. And although he won't say
itbecause he's so much cagier than you are-I know
he hates you, too."
"And you like it that way," Ayli said. "It's your
assurance that your two most trusted advisers won't
plot against you behind your back."
"There's something to be said for that. I need a
shadowreader and I need a policy minister, and I
couldn't do better than you and Ootherai. Now,
Ayh, I've got a lot to do today," so let's
get to it."
Ayli lifted the leather case she'd carried in with
her and set it gently on the table. When she
released the top latch, the hard sides fell away
to reveal a collection of tubes and box shapes,
all made of finely machined black metal. With a
practiced deftness, Ayli unfolded the tubes
on their silver hinges and had her apparatus
assembled in a couple of minutes. The device was
composed of an eyepiece connected to a
kaleidoscopic set of prisms and mirrors
enclosed within the cylinders. The main vision tube was
girded by four rings, and she used those to adjust the
focus as she peered into the device.
Stross, waiting patiently, could see flashes
of light and color dancing across her face as the
complex optical mechanisms inside the apparatus
captured light beams, dismantled them, and
reassembled them in a way that only a handful of
mystics like Ayli could use to determine the course of
future events.
Shadowreaders had been present throughout Thiopa's
history. In ancient times their omens literally
changed the course of life on the planet as they
advised some leaders to shun wars, others to launch
them. As science gained a foothold on Thiopa,
before Stross was born, people who wanted to embrace the
new ways turned away from the old, and
shadowreaders fell on hard times. No respectable
government leader would admit to consulting the flickerings
of light and dark-though a good many did so in secret.
In the outlying realms, including Thesra where Ruer
Stross grew up, a few raggedy shadowreaders still
scratched out a meager living by reading omens and
foretelling the future for common folk whose lives had
yet to be enriched by the new ways of science.
Stross never forgot how much respect his parents had
for their local shadowreader, a toothless old man
named Onar. And Ruer never forgot it was Onar who'd
warned them of the earthquake that swallowed up most of
Thesm when he was only ten. Ruer's parents and the
others who believed Onar's prediction had escaped
barely a day before the quake. But most of the
townsfolk thought Onar was just an old fool. They
stay. And they died.
By the time Stross led the military revolt that
overthrew Protector Cutcheon, Thiopa was
well on the way to becoming a modern world. For a boy
who'd been born into a village without running water
or power, science and technology were like magic.
Ruer Stross didn't understand them, but he worshiped
them. To him, they were no different, no better or
worse, than the form of magic Onar the
shadowreader used to save him and his family from the
destruction of Thesra. As far as Stross was
concerned, both kinds of magic channeled the
natural forces of the universe. 33
If they worked, that was good enough for him. He had
plenty of scientists and engineers and technologists,
but shadowreaders were hard to find in the new world.
He'd had his agents scour the planet for someone
who really had the gift of light and dark. Too many
shadowreaders were frauds. A few were genuine, but
most of them didn't seem to be very good. It took
him twenty years of searching, trying, dismissing, before
he found the bewitching young woman named Ayli.
She straightened and looked at him grimly.
"There are many dangers ahead for you, Ruer. Are you
sure you want to hear about them?"
"That's what I pay you for. Let's have it."
Her dark eyes clouded with concern. "The omens
don't carry any answers this time just questions."
"Well, just knowing the questions has to help. Don't
you think?" "I don't know. I've never seen the
shadows so dark before."
He slapped his palms on the table, making her
jump. "Enough warnings about the warnings, Ayli.
Tell me what you read there."
Ayli took a deep breath, then spoke. "For the
first time I cannot see you reaching your goal."
"Fusion?"
She nodded. "Your dream is to see all
Thiopans joined together in one unified culture and
society before you die. But you know your life-current
won't run for that much longer."
"True. I want Fusion to be the gift I
leave behind. The Thiopans" differences have kept them
from uniting-it doesn't take a genius to see that.
When we get everybody speaking the same
language, believing in the same things-that's when we
will be strong 34
enough to take on the universe and win. You believe
that, don't you?" "Yes, my lord. I do. But not
everyone does."
"I know that. Where is the greatest danger to this
mission of mine?" "In the sand-the Endrayan
Realm."
"You mean the Sa'drit Void," he growled.
"The damn Sojourners. Damn them to hell, every
last one of them."
"Some people would say the Void isn't much better
than hell."
Stross suddenly rose from the table and
began to pace the hardwood floor. "They live like
savages out there-no power plants, no water
system, no heating or cooling, no food
processing facilities--"
"But they have weapons, they have communications, they have
the rail line we abandoned. They have the will and the
capability to come out of that desert and hurt you,
Ruer."
"I know. What I don't know is why. When we
got rid of Cutcheon and his band of idiots,
Thiopa was barely living in the present. Whole
realms were still living as I did when I was a child, without
enough food, drinking water that made people sick. In forty
years I took this world from the past to the future. Why
do these crazy Sojourners want to destroy all
that?" Ayli remained calm. "Because they believe your
rush toward the future may have destroyed that very
future. They blame you for the drought and the crop
failures. They blame you for the brown air and the
poisoned water."
"Progress always requires sacrifices.
Why can't people understand that? Do they really want to live
in the 35
past again? In a world where people grow old and broken
before their time, where babies die . . ."
Stross shook his head. "If they're going to blame
me for the bad things, why won't they give me credit
for the good?" "That's the way people are, Ruer. They always
want what they don't have. And they'll turn on their
leaders the moment things go wrong."
"Can't they see over the horizon, as we can?"
Stross asked, hands outstretched plaintively.
"Not when they're scared-as some of them are now. So
scared that somebody like Lessandra can lead them around by the
nose and turn them into a mob of monsters," Ayli
said.
"They haven't won yet, these Sojourner
bastards."
"Maybe not, Ruer. But don't forget the darkest
shadow: the Sojourners are committed to their mission-to
take this planet back to the old waysjust as you are
committed to your mission-to unite Thiopa under
Fusion." She paused. "And, my lord, they believe
in their leader as much as we believe in you."
A third voice, cultured and sly, spoke from
the doorway. "And if we eliminate their leader?"
Policy Minister Hydrin 0otherai entered.
He was much younger than Stross, and taller and thinner,
with a shaved head and a pointed beard. Ootherai wore
a smartly tailored suit appointed with
black braid and brass. Where Stross scorned the
use of physical adornment for the sake of effect,
his policy minister embraced the concept.
"If you kill Lessatdra," Ayli replied,
speaking directly to Stross, pointedly ignoring
Ootherai, "some-one 36
else will take her place. The Sojourners have
come this far-they're not about to bend."
"Then perhaps they'll shatter," Ootherai said.
"As they did when you hunted down Evain and
arrested him? That was twenty years ago, and since then
the Sojourners have only become stronger."
"Evain was a philosopher, not a fighter," said
Ootherai. "When Lessandra took his place, we
were presented with a new foe, one who was tougher, more
radical, more willing to employ strategies of
violence."
"And how do you know you won't get someone even more
radical if you do away with Lessandra?"
"You have such a simple view of things, my dear."
"You can't see anything that's not right in front of
you, Ootherai. You discount Evain's contribution
to what we're fighting today. He's the one who
updated the old Sojourner Testaments. His
writings provided the foundation for what
Ussandra's doing now. She's just added the idea of a
holy war to win the world back from us before it's too
late."
"You give far too much credit to some muddleheaded
itinerant-was "Enough!" Stross exploded, hammering
his fist on the table. "You're arguing about what has
already happened. I need to know what will happen. As for
getting rid of Ussandra, we don't need to create
any more martyrs. I need specifics, Ayli."
The shadowreader cleared her throat. "You face
perils in dealing with the Federation starship that's coming here.
If you're to gain the most benefit from the relief
supplies the Enterprise is bringing, without risking
major losses, you must keep control of events.

You must not let the Sojourners reach the starship
crew with any of their propaganda and lies."
"Control," Ootherai said. "That's what I always
recommend."
Ayli went on, ignoring the policy minister.
"I see the Sojourners striking where they can have the
most impact-at the moment of your greatest
triumph." Stross frowned. "The anniversary
feast?"
"The shadow-light relationship tells me
it is a certainty."
Ootherai rolled his eyes. "One does not need
to be a shadowreader to predict that, my lord," he
said. "For this event I have designed the most stringent
security measures we've ever had. You will have an
unblemished celebration tonight, I can assure you."
"Just as you assured him there was no way Bareesh and
this realm could be attacked by terrorists?" Ayli
asked quietly.
"I never said we didn't make errors. We
do, however, learn from our errors and strive to make
our efforts more effective. I've never heard such
standards of accountability applied to a shadowreader.
Our agents discovered a massive propaganda
campaign and nipped it in the bud, before these"-the
policy minister reached into his coat pocket and
removed a wrinkled sheet of paper-"could be spread
around Bareesh City, not to mention the whole realm.
Under torture, the terrorists admitted to being
Sojourner sympathizers."
Stross blinked in disbelief when he saw the
propaganda leaflet. "Sympathizers . . . our
citizens helping the Sojourners?"
"Yes," Ootherai replied quickly, "but we
don't believe there are very many of them. It's
a small 38
movement, and we're expending a great deal of
effort toward arresting them and convincing potential
traitors that the rewards of treason are not
pleasant. We'll have them eliminated in no time."
"That's not what my readings say," Ayli said.
"Your readings? You sound like a scientist who
knows-was
"Shadowreading is something you can't understand."
Stross cut the bickering short by snatching the
leaflet from Ootherai's hand and studied it closely.
It showed a photo of Stross, the sovereign
protector, at a rally, dressed in his
ceremonial tunic, waving his hands-but his face had
been replaced by a death'shead. The caption
ridiculed him as "Uncle Death."
"The children call me uncle because they know I love
them," Stross sputtered, so distressed he could
barely speak. "I've made their lives better .
. . and that's why they love me."
"Everyone knows that, my lord," Ootherai said,
trying to soothe his leader. "These monsters take that
love and pervert it into this?" Stross gritted his
teeth angrily. "If they want death, I'll
give them death. I'm the sovereign
protector and I'll live up to that title."
"They're sand spiders," said Ootherai.
"We'll crush them."
"Ruer," Ayli said urgently, trying to reach him
through his rage, "you can't let the Sojourners distract
you from your goal: Fusion for Thiopa. If you get
sidetracked into a war and forget what you're trying
to do for this world, your enemies will win-even if they
lose."
Stross shook his head. "What can I do?" 39
"Draw a shroud over them so their poison cannot
escape. Above all, you must keep the Federation and
its emissaries from hearing their demon's version of the
truth."
Stross remained silent for a long moment. He
wanted nothing more than to crush the Sojourners for
mocking him, but he heard the sense in what his
shadowreader was telling him.
"All right," he said finally, "we'll do as you
suggest, Ayli." He turned to his policy
minister. "Tighten your security precautions for the
anniversary feast, Ootherai, and make sure there's
not a Sojourner or one of these"--he crumpled the
propaganda leaflet in his hand-"within a hundred
miles of here when the Enterprise arrives."
"Yes, Lord," Ootherai said.
"I'll be in my workshop. If anyone bothers
me, it had better be important." Stross rose
and shuffled out of the chamber through a side door. The
policy minister watched him go, and shook his head.
"I cannot understand why a leader, whose government policy
is built on the development of technology, can
give credence to the ritualistic pronouncements of a
woman who professes to foresee the future in the
flickerings of light through prisms and mirrors."
"Again you fail to see what is right in front of
you, Ootherai," Ayli said. "Ruer Stross
listens to me because I am right."
War TmTomorrow a final command into his console.
"Standard orbit established, Captain."
"Thank you, Mr. Crusher. Mr. Data,
sensor readings?"
"Close-proximity scans confirm Wesley's
earlier findings, sir." The android turned
halfway toward Picard and Riker, who were seated
behind him. "Since the causes of Thiopa's
environmental difficulties will be vital to our
evaluation, I will need additional historical data
on Thiopa."
"What sort of data?" Picard wanted
to know.
"Weather and water temperature records,
readings on levels of atmospheric and oceanic
pollutants, rates and methods of industrial
development. I would like to conduct my research via
direct contact with Thiopan scientists and information
banks, with your permission, Captain."
"By all means. If they'll talk, we're
certainly free to listen. Keep me informed. Mr.
Worf, contact the planetary government."
"Channel open," said Worf.
"This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the
U.s.s. Enterprise, requesting contact with
Sovereign Protector Stross."
A reply came quickly. "Enterprise, this is the
Thiopan Space Communications Network. Please
stand by while we transfer you."
"Enterprise standing by."
After a couple of seconds the image of a bald
man with a beard replaced the planet on the bridge
viewscreen. "Captain Picard, I am
Policy Minister 4otherai. Sovereign
Protector Stross asked me to welcome you to our
world." "Is your sovereign protector
available?"
"At the moment, he isn't. But I am
authorized to speak for him and on behalf of our
government, Captain. We extend our warmest
greetings and our appreciation for the emergency
supplies you've brought to help us in our time of
need. Lord Stross is busy preparing for tonight's
anniversary feast here in our capital city of
Bareesh."
"Anniversary feast?" Picard wasn't sure
he'd heard that last word correctly.
"Yes. The fortieth anniversary of Lord
Stross's elevation to the protectorate. He has
been our leader longer than anyone else in
Thiopan history. We would be most honored to have you
and your senior officers as our guests at the feast.
Do you need some time to consider the invitation, Captain
Picard?"
Picard smiled cautiously. "No, not at
all, sir. We shall be happy to attend."
Ootherai clapped his hands. "Wonderful! The
feast will commence in about two hours. Beam down to the
government center coordinates you've already been
given. I'll be there to greet you myself."
"Thank you, Minister Ootherai. Now, as to the
primary purpose of our mission-have your
storage facilities been prepared to accept our
cargo of relief supplies?"
"Yes, they have. If you care to transport down
and examine them . . ."
"Actually, I'll be sending my first officer,
Commander William Riker, down for that purpose.
We have the coordinates."
"Excellent, Captain. I shall inform Facility
Supervisor Chardrai. And I and the Sovereign
Protector will look forward to meeting you and your party
at the reception. Until then, Captain Picard
. . ."
"Your hospitality is appreciated. Picard
out." The planet reappeared on the viewer, rolling
on its axis ten thousand kilometers beneath the
Enterprise. Riker's eyes narrowed skeptically.
"A feast? They're in the middle of a famine and
they're having an anniversary feast?"
Picard looked at him. "Perhaps it won't
actually be a feast, Number One. If food is
as scarce down there as we've been led to believe, the
menu may be a meager one."
"The celebration could be a morale-booster,"
Counselor Troi suggested. "When circumstances
are especially trying, people can benefit from an
appropriately scaled celebration to lift their
spirits and help them look forward to better times."
"Like those jazz concerts you've been trying to 43
organize," Picard said to his first officer.
"Morale boosters for times when the captain behaves
in a particularly tyrannical fashion."
Riker grinned. "Which reminds me, Worf . .
. Geordi's sold me on the idea of you
auditioning for me. He says you're pretty good on
that Klingon instrument you play."
"A chuS'ugh, Commander."
"First chance we get."
Picard leaned close to Riker. "Worf in a
jazz band?" he murmured. "Why do I have a hard
time picturing this?"
"He may discover a whole new career," Riker
shrugged He could tell Picard would need additional
convincing.
"Counselor, Commander Data," Picard said,
"I would like both of you to accompany me to this reception
on Thiopa."
"I'm not sure I like the idea of you beaming down,
Captain," said Riker. "Protocol, Number
One. Besides, how hazardous could it be? And you have
other responsibilities on Thiopa."
"For which I have to bring Undrun with me," Riker
sighed. "I'm afraid so," said Picard. "I have
faith in your good judgment and restraint in handling
him."
Riker stood and shook his head. "So while I'm
taxing my self-restraint, you, Deanna, and Data
will get wined and dined like diplomats. I get to tour
a warehouse . . . Doesn't seem fair
somehow." He was already several strides up the ramp
toward the turbolift.
"It's not likely to be a sumptuous affair,"
Picard said. "We'll probably eat stew from
wooden bowls."
That conjecture prompted a fragment of a grin.
"I hope so."
"Number One-was
Riker paused at the open lift doors.
"Sir?"
"Be careful down there. And don't let the
irksome Mr. Undrun distract you from making the most
useful observations you can. The Federation is relying
on us, and I'm relying on you."
Riker nodded. "Understood, Captain."
Riker waited next to the transporter console,.
trying to control his growing impatience as
Undrun carefully arranged his hat and fur collar
to leave as little bare skin as possible.
"Ambassador Undrun, it's not cold in
Bareesh."
"Cold is relative, Mr. Riker."
"Whenever you're ready, sir . . ."
After a little more flung of his collar, Undrun
finally announced, "I am ready."
"Good. Take this." Riker handed Undrun a
filter mask designed to fit snugly over eyes,
nose, and mouth.
Undrun held it at arm's length. "And do what
with it?" he demanded. "Our sensors report a good
deal of air pollution in the area to which we're beaming
down. We're not permitted to be transported without
adequate protec- tive equipment. If you'd like
me to help you--"
"I'm capable of putting on a filter mask,
Commander."
Riker backed off a step. "Fine." He put
his own mask over his face and stepped up onto the
transport45
er platform. Undrun followed, and when they were
both set, Riker gave the order. "Energize."
He and Undrun shimmered back inffbeing
on a vast concrete dock on a bank of the Eloki
River-or what was left of the river. Though the
opposite bank was at least a kilometer away,
the river itself was just a weak trickle running
diffidently down a muddy midstream channel. The
rest of the riverbed was now hard and dusty, baked and
blistered by the sun. Barges lay embedded in dry
mud like fossilized creatures trapped by a world
gone environmentally mad.
Riker immediately realized that it was a good thing they'd
worn the masks. All around them, industrial
stacks loomed overhead, spewing gaseous and
particulate filth into the mustard-colored sky. The
sun glowered down through the smog, a vague pale
disk diminished by the veil of poison strangling the
planet.
Directly behind them, recessed back from a huge
square building, was a vestibule, which, when they
ducked into it, turned out to be a sort of airlock.
The outside doors thumped tightly shut, and a red
light began flashing over the inner doors. Hissing
pumps sucked out the fumes in the airlock and vented
them back outside. The warning light winked off and the
inner doors slid aside, permitting entry to a
dim corridor built from prefabricated
sections. Riker cautiously lifted his mask. The
indoor air smelled stale and artificial, but it was
breathable. He nodded and Undrun took his own
mask off, then carefully replaced his hat.
The corridor led in only one direction. As
Riker and Undrun followed it, they glanced through
small windows at the cavernous interior of the
depot, which 46
extended ten levels above them and five below
ground. Some areas were wide open, apparently to allow
for storage of massive industrial beams and
girders. But most of the structure's space was
divided into cantilevered platforms, divisible as
needed, depending on what was to be kept there. A
variety of containers and crates, some molded of
plastic or metal, others made of old-fashioned
wood, lay scattered about the warehouse's interior.
The corridor led them to a glass-walled office
warren, where a lone Thiopan sat at a desk and a
guard stood just inside the door. The two men wore
similar utilitarian uniforms, one-piece and
gray, with pockets and simple markings. The guard
wore a squared-off helmet and cradled a rifle,
which Riker guessed to be some sort of beam weapon.
On his hip was a holstered pistol, and a
functional knife was nestled in a shoulder scabbard.
The man at the desk looked up as Riker and
Undrun entered, but the guard made no move to stop
them. "You must be from the starship. I'm Chardrai,
supervisor of this here palace."
"I'm Commander Riker. This is Ambassador
Undrun of the United Federation of Planets Aid
and Assistance Ministry."
Chardrai nodded a gruff greeting. He was
short and stocky with heavy jowls and grizzled hair
and whiskers. "Can I get you a drink to clear your
mouth of the taste of that soup we call air?"
"We're fine; we wore masks. Is it always
like that out there?" Chardrai reached into a cabinet behind his
desk and popped the top off a bottle. He poured
light green liquid into three cracked and grimy
mugs. "Today it's 47
a little worse than usual. Weather's been
inverted for the past three weeks-traps all the
fumes inside. But then, that happens about every other
month." He shoved the mugs across the desktop.
"Sorry about the crockery. But the drink's
refreshing. Guaranteed."
Riker wiped the rim with his fingers and took a
sip. Whatever the stuff was, it tasted
mercifully cool and tangy.
Undrun merely stared at the cup with a curled
lip. "Totally unsanitary," he muttered.
"Maybe so," Chard rai said. "But not compared to
what's outside." He ended with a chuckle that
sounded more fatalistic than humorous.
Undrun placed the mug back on the desk.
"No, thank you, Supervisor."
"Suit yourself." Chardrai lifted Undrun's
mug in one large hand and poured the contents back into the
bottle. Then he sipped his own. "Good stuff,
though."
"I'm sure." Undrun surveyed the room they
were in-rusting corrugated walls, chipped concrete,
service pipes crusted with corrosion at their
joints, duct tubes disconnected and hanging from the
ceiling. "Is the rest of the facility in as poor
condition as this office?"
"Hey, now," Chardrai growled, "this isn't no
hotel. It's a warehouse."
Undrun aimed a chilly look at him. "We
have pure, disease-free foodstuffs, seeds,
plants, and medicines to transport down here,
Mr. Chardrai. I will not have them stored in a
vermin-infested bacteria incubator."
The supervisor roused himself from his chair. "Now you
wait a-was "Excuse me," Riker said, clamping
a hand on
Undrun's shoulder and steering him toward a far
corner. "We're not exactly getting off on the
right foot here, Ambassador Undrun."
"Oh, and I suppose that's my fault?"
"You didn't even give the man a chance to-was
"To 1e11 me that this"-he fluttered a hand around
the office-"is not indicative of the way they run this
so-called storage depot? I have a
responsibility to-was
"To deliver your cargo and let the Thiopans do with
it what they choose. And if they choose to let rats
eat it, we've got no say in the matter."
"I'm sorry, Commander Riker, but that's not how
I operate."
"You'll operate according to the standards Captain
Picard and I establish. And going out of your way
to offend these people is not-was
"You can't censor me. I have a mandate to conduct
this mission in any way I see fit." Undrun
shook loose and spun away from Riker, who towered
at least two and a half feet over him. "And if you
lay a hand on me ever again, I'll see to it
that-was
Chardrai slammed Undrun's rejected cup
down on his desk, sending ceramic shrapnel across the
room and stopping the argument cold. "You haven't
even seen the facilities. I'll show you around, and
then we'll talk about whether this place is clean enough
for your cargo containers."
"It's not only cargo containers," Undrun
snapped. "I want to see where my A-and-A
personnel will be housed when they beam down."
Chardrai's eyes darted from Riker to Undrun,
and his voice rose in alarm. "Hold on there.
Nobody told me anything about people coming down here.
If you think you're going to send down some kind of
police squad to meddle in-was
Undrun waved his arms angrily. "Nobody
is meddling in anything. We're here at your
government's request to save Thiopa from starvation and
drought. But I can't do anything for you people under these
conditions."
"I've got no authorization to let anybody-was
A muffled explosion shook the entire building.
Office windows cracked and chunks of ceiling
insulation and ductwork fell in on them, as a fine
dust coated the room.
The guard turned reflexively toward the door,
pointing his weapon at " a lethal angle.
Supervisor Chardrai grabbed his communications
headset, a sim- ple wireless device, and
jammed the receiver plug into his ear. "What the hell
is going on?"
An agitated voice shouted back over a
deskmounted speaker. "Explosion on the river
side! Took out most of a wall. Everything's on
fire!" "This is Chardrai," he yelled into the
mike arm. "All fire-control equipment to the
river wall-now!"
The supervisor and his guard raced out of the office,
Riker and Undrun following. As they ran back
through the corridor, Riker felt acrid smoke
searing his nostrils and throat. Rounding a corner,
they were staggered by the heat of a raging blaze licking at
the twisted wreckage of the warehouse wall. Whatever
caused the fire had erupted inside and blown the
metal wall outward. Men in protective coats
and hard hats were already fighting the fire with foam and
water. But the heat forced everyone else to retreat.
Riker couldn't stop coughing as he staggered back to the
relative haven of Chardrai's no-longer-sealed
office. He did his best to cover his mouth and
nose, 50
but he had to breathe, and every short gasp felt as if
someone had sprayed acid into his lungs. Chardrai
and the guard stumbled in after him-and then he realized that
Undrun hadn't made it.
Keeping low to avoid the smoke, Riker searched
until he found Undrun crumpled on the
metal grate
floor. He scooped the ambassador up in a
fireman's
carry and made his way back to the office as quickly
as
he could. Inside, he dumped the ambassador
on the
floor and fell to his knees, his chest heaving.
He tried
to talk, but that only brought on a racking cough.
He
bent over, trying to recover.
Three guards wearing filter masks bustled past
him carrying something, which they threw into a chair. Riker
wiped his burning eyes and saw that it was a raw-boned
Thiopan wearing frayed work-crew coveralls. One
sleeve was torn and his face was battered and bleeding.
"Who is this?" Chardrai demanded.
"The terrorist responsible for the bombing," said one
of the outside guards. "We caught him trying
to escape."
"A Sojourner," Chardrai said, his voice
taut with
fury.
The captive made no reply. Chardrai
encouraged him with a backhand blow across the face. The
man's head snapped back, then lolled on one
shoulder. "How did you get in? How many others
helped you?"
"They usually work in threes," said the chief
guard. "We think the other two got away."
Chardrai grasped the prisoner's hair and
yanked his head back. "You're a traitor-and
you're a dead man."
The prisoner's bloody lips widened into a
grotesque grin. "You're a man of few words,
Supervisor Chardrai."
"How do you know my name?"
"We know a lot of things. You people haven't
figured out yet that we're smarter than you?"
Chardrai struck him again, opening a gash over his
right eye. "If you're so smart, how come you got
caught?"
"I'm expendable. My seven friends got away."
"Seven?" Chardrai roared at the guards. "You
said two1"
"He's lying," said the flustered guard. "He's
a Sojourner. They're born lying."
Supervisor Chardrai let go of the prisoner's
head, but the Sojourner kept it upright, apparently
out of spite as much as anything else, Riker thought.
"It's not treason," said the prisoner, pausing
to spit blood, "to fight against a tyrant who's
sworn to destroy my people, a tyrant whose insane
policies are going to destroy Thiopan
civilization. You can kill me-was "I will,"
Chardrai snarled. "You can count on that."
"comb you can't kill what we stand for. The people hear
us-and they will fight with us. Only by returning to the old
ways can we save our world from Stross."
"I've heard enough pollution out of you." Chardrai
backhanded the man again, stunning him. "Kill him,"
he told the guards.
The chief guard looked concerned. "We've got
orders to interrogate all Sojourner captives."
"I just did. This man won't tell us anything."
"What should we do with the body?"
"I don't care." Chardrai paused and
seemed to reconsider. "No, wait-leave his body
where his friends will find it."
Riker stood unsteadily. "I don't like anything
I've seen here, Supervisor. I'm concerned about
bringing those supplies down here."
"The main part of this place wasn't damaged,
Commander. We can still fit those supplies in. Guar-
anteed."
"I'll have to talk to Captain Picard about that."
And a great many other things, Riker added silently.
He stepped over to Undrun's unconscious form and
tapped his communicator. "Riker
to Enterprise-two to beam up. And have a medical
team standing by."
It hadn't taken long for Picard to review the
files on Thiopa. There wasn't that much information
there. A fairly primitive world with the good
fortune-or bad, depending on one's point of
view-to be located in a sector in which several
small and large powers had taken an interest.
Picard mulled over the bare facts as he got
ready to beam down for the Thiopan anniversary feast.
The Nuarans had played Mephistopheles and found
Sovereign Protector Ruer Stross to be a more
than willing Faust. And Thiopa had
clearly benefited from the resultant pact. Life
was, no doubt, more comfortable for most people, thanks to the
obvious benefits of modern technology. But just as
obviously, there had been a debit side to this
soul-selling business, as there usually was.
Correction-as there always was.
Picard's ruminations were interrupted by the 53
intercom tone followed by Dr. Kate
Pulaski's voice over his cabin speaker.
"Captain Picard, please report to sickbay."
"What is it, Doctor?"
"Your first officer and Mr. Undrun have beamed
back in less than pristine condition."
"Are they all right?"
"They will be."
Picard was already halfway to the door. "On my
way."
He hurried into sickbay to find Will Riker
sitting on the edge of a bed. His face and uniform were
smudged with soot and dust, but at least he was upright.
Undrun wasn't. He was on the next bed,
unconscious. "What's wrong with them, Doctor?"
"Smoke inhalation. Undrun is in worse
shape. He's under sedation."
Just then, Riker coughed. Pulaski
pressed a small inhaler to his mouth, and he tried
to squirm away.
"Breathe, was she ordered in a tone suggesting she
would not take no for an answer. Riker meekly
complied, then set the inhaler aside and gave
Captain Picard a compressed version of their
eventful visit to Thiopa. Picard's face
betrayed his distress.
"You don't look pleased, sir," Riker
concluded.
"I didn't send you down there to have buildings
blown up around you."
"Captain, I'm not thrilled about your going down
there," Riker said. "Well, you're certainly in no
condition to go in my place."
"Sure I am," said Riker, slipping off the
bed.
"No, you're not," Pulaski said, shoving him
back. 54
"But I agree with him, Captain. It doesn't
sound as if Thiopa's the safest place to have
dinner."
"No, perhaps not. But they invited me and I've
accepted. In addition to the diplomatic importance
of the feast, I need more information about what is
happening down there. Meeting Stross and Ootherai
could add key pieces to this puzzle."
"I still don't like it," Riker insisted.
"Objection noted, Number One. I'll be
careful."
CAPTAIN Pica, Counselor Troi, and
Commander Data beamed down to a broad plaza
surrounded by the cluster of buildings that made up
Thiopa's government center. The half-dozen
buildings appeared to have been built at roughly the
same time. All were constructed of gleaming white
stone, glass, and steel and designed with sweeping
curves and hard angles. Their austerity stood in
jarring contrast to the older, less dramatic
structures on streets outside the plaza.
"Interesting architecture," Picard observed.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows. Picard's
nose twitched as he inhaled a careful sample of the
thick air. "I see what Riker meant about the
air quality. Let's go inside." The
Enterprise trio headed for the building that was
illuminated by the most colorful floodlights, the
only one in the square that was drawing people in. The 56
Thiopan groups and couples didn't look like
victims of famine, Picard noted. They
were all exceptionally well dressed and seemed far from
emaciated. Inside the glass-front lobby,
chandeliers of abstract crystalline shapes hung from
arches towering up to an asymmetrically sloped
ceiling. At the center of the lobby, a crowd milled
around a showcase containing a scale model of a city
with the current government center at its heart. But the
old brick and dark-block buildings presently
surrounding the real plaza were not part of the model. They
had all been replaced by high-rise structures that
complemented the government compound.
Data circled the model like a curious child.
"Most interesting, Captain." "And extremely
ambitious," said Picard, brows arched, "considering
all the problems this society is supposedly
facing."
"Captain Picard!" Policy Minister
Ootherai was making his way toward them through the lobby,
dropping a word here and there to well-heeled Thiopans
as he passed. He finally reached the starship
officers.
"These are members of my senior staff,"
Picard said, "Counselor Deanna Troi and
Lieutenant Commander Data."
"A pleasure to meet you and to welcome you
to Thiopan soil. I see you're admiring the
model for our new capital complex."
Picard smiled thinly. "Most impressive.
When is it to be built?" "We're planning to start
demolishing the old quarter of the city when the weather
turns cooler, in about two months. We don't
really have a winter anymore, it
seems, so we're looking forward to rapid
progress on Stross Plaza."
"Named after your leader?" said Troi.
"Yes, an appropriate monument to the
sovereign protector, which he'll get to see and
enjoy while he's still alive. Posthumous honors
leave much to be desired, I've always believed.
Let honors be for the living-and certainly Ruer
Stross deserves to be honored on a grand
scale. He's quite anxious to meet you. Come this
way-and then I'll escort you to your seats in the feast
hall."
"Stop fussing!" Protector Stross slapped
Supo's hands away from the collar the little valet was
struggling to straighten. Supo flew back several
steps and Stross wrenched the collar straight himself.
He looked in the mirrored wall of the anteroom and
nodded. "There. It's fine. Everything's
fine."
Supo hung his heavy-nosed head. "No, it's
not fine,
but-was
"But it will have to do," Stross said with finality. He
faced his mirrored image again. All his medals were
straight, collar upright, braid in place,
billowy sleeves unrolled, glittering sash tied
evenly about his belly. He had recovered from the
earlier shock of learning that some of his citizens were
actually aiding the Sojourners-an hour or two in
his private workshop, building, had done the
trick-and felt prepared to face his audience tonight .
. . even the visitors from the Federation.
As if on cue, the anteroom door swung
open and Ootherai entered with the starship officers. He
announced each one by name.
Captain Picard then extended his hand in
respectful 58
greeting. "It's an honor to meet you, sir.
I thank you for receiving us." "The honor is mine,
Captain. You're the ones bringing the relief
supplies. We thank you and the Federation. There are
lots of lives at stake, sir."
"The Federation believes in helping those in
need."
"Well, we'll do our best to repay this
good-neighbor generosity. Supo, go out there and see
if you can find Dr. Keat." The valet ducked his
head and scurried out a side door. "I want you
to meet her. She's one of our success stories-one
of our best hopes for the future. We sent her
off-planet to study when she was a little girl-and now
she's come back to rescue our science program just
when it's blown up in our faces."
"Uh, Lord Stross," Ootherai said tightly,
"is this the time for-was "Quiet, Ootherai. These people
came to help us. I want them to know they're not
pitching treasure down a sewer pit."
Data cocked his head. "Sewer pit, sir? A
refuse disposal site-was "Just an expression.
You're a literal fellow, aren't you, Mr.
Data?" Stross chuckled. "What I mean is,
we want you to know we're working hard to help solve
our own problems, Captain. Fact is, we've
got a big announcement to make tonight-oh, here she
is now." Supo had returned with a willowy young
woman dressed in a high-necked gown that was somehow
demure and alluring all at once. Her skin was
almost bronze-colored, much darker than that
of the other Thiopans they'd seen. Huge pale
eyes, golden hair and whiskers, and the dusky
complexion combined to lend her an exotic look that
Picard found striking. His smile warmed and he
clasped her hand.
"Dr. Kael Keat," said Stross, "meet
Captain JeanLuc Picard, Counselor
Deanna Troi, and Lieutenant Commander Data
of the Federation starship Enter- prise. his
"Dr. Keat, your reputation precedes you,"
Picard said.
"Though only by a minute or two," Stross
laughed.
"Your sovereign protector thinks very highly of
you. He credits you with having saved Thiopa's
scientific community from catastrophe."
Dr. Keat's lashless eyelids flickered.
"Lord Stross is prone to exaggeration at times. But
we are doing some exciting work-which only builds on
what was done before I took over as head of
Thiopa's Science Council. Our aim is to find
a way to survive and to adapt to the effects of the
natural disasters we're suffering through now."
"Sounds like admirable work, Dr. Keat."
Data stepped forward. "I am very much
interested in learning more about your climatic changes and
your strategies for adjusting to them. Could we discuss
your work at greater length?"
"I don't see why not," Keat replied. "We
could meet at the Science Council labs tomorrow. Will
you be available then, Commander Data?" "With
Captain Picard's permission. . ."
"By all means," Picard said.
"Sorry I can't chat with you all a bit
longer," Stross said, "but Ootherai here has a
number of other people I'm supposed to talk to before this
feast gets going."
"We understand," said Picard. "A head of state
does have certain responsibilities."
"I'd like to talk more," Stross added. "Ootherai
can
set up an appointment for tomorrow, if you'd like,
Captain. He can answer any questions that might come
up tonight. Otherwise, just enjoy yourselves." Supo
opened the side door for him and Stross left the
room. Ootherai motioned back toward the lobby.
"The feast hall should be ready. If you'll allow me
to accompany you to your seats . . ."
"May I tag along?" asked Dr. Keat.
"Please do," Data answered eagerly.
"I am very curious about your analyses of the causes
of Thiopa's ecological difficulties. One can
discern only so much from a brief period of orbital
observation. Without the proper historical
perspective, contemporary examination is of
limited value. The relationships between atmospheric
components and their relative levels of modification
could prove most enlightening, taking inffconsideration, of
course, the overlapping wand-effect curve of-was
"Mr. Data," Picard interrupted, "you're
babbling again.
Data's yellow eyes widened. "So I am,
sir. Sorry."
"Quite all right, but this is a social occasion."
"I am not entirely proficient in social
occasions," Data said, emphasizing the last two
words as if referring to a course he was in danger of
failing. "Why not, Commander?" Kael Keat wanted
to know.
"It was evidently not part of my programming."
Keat did a double-take. "Programming?
You're an
android?"
Picard and .troi exchanged a knowing glance.
No matter how long they served with Data,
his shipmates 61
never tired of seeing other beings surprised
to discover that they'd been conversing with a machine rather than
with a naively charming human with unusually sallow
skin. "Not just an android," Picard said with pride.
"One of my most capable officers."
"Well, I'm not sure who's more anxious
to talk to whom, Mr. Data," Dr. Keat said.
"I've never met anyone like you before. Perhaps I can
help you sharpen those social skills this evening."
She took Data by the arm and began leading him out of the
room.
Smiling, Picard and Troi followed.
"What did he call it, again?" Riker asked
Geordi LaForge as they strode along an
Enterprise corridor.
"A chuallyugh-and don't ask me if I'm
pronouncing it right. Klingonese always sounds like
somebody either gargling or getting strangled."
"I'll tell him you said so." Riker chuckled.
"He already knows."
"What does"-Riker hesitated, then came up
with his best approximation of the instrument name"...chuS'ugh
translate as?"
was "Heavy noise.""
Riker's expression turned skeptical. "And
you've heard him play it?" "Yes, sir."
"What does it sound like?"
"That's a tough one, Commander. Not like anything I
ever heard before."
"Then it's not likely anybody's written any
great jazz arrangements for it," said Riker with a wry
smile.
"So you'll improvise. Isn't that what jazz
is all about?"
Another all too familiar voice broke in from
behind them. "There you are, Riker. Stop!"
Riker turned and let a shoulder slouch as Frid
Undrun shuffled up to them. "What is it, Mr.
Ambassador? I'm off duty."
Undrun halted and teetered back on his
heels. "Oh, well . . . I'm never off
duty. We needa discush what happened down there .
. . We needa make some d'cisions," he
asserted, losing a few syllables along the way.
Riker eyed the ambassador skeptically. "We
can't make any decisions until Captain
Picard returns from the planet and you sleep off the
rest of that sedative."
"What sed'tive?"
"Did Dr. Pulaski release you from
sickbay?"
Undrun's chin jutted defiantly. "I
releashed myself. Don't need anybody to tell
me-was
"You're going right back to sickbay." Riker
tried to steer the bleary-eyed envoy into an about-face,
but Undrun eluded his grip. "You either
cooperate-was Undrun backpedaled. Cooperation was
not his first choice. Riker strode forward and in one
smooth motion picked Undrun up and slung him
over his shoulder. "You didn't see this, Geordi."
iaForge trailed behind. "See what? I'm blind,
remember?"
"Riker," Undrun shrieked, "I warned you if
you ever tushed me again-was Fortunately, sickbay
wasn't far, and it wasn't long before Riker was
depositing his cargo in front of a startled Dr.
Pulaski. "I think you lost something, Kate."
"Where did he come from?"
"If you're referring to the larger philosophical
context, I haven't got a clue. I'd batten
my hatches if I were you."
"Consider them battened."
Riker and Geordi resumed their
musical mission, arriving at Worf's cabin in
time to hear a basso profundo bleat. Something like a
forty-foot sheep jabbed with an electric prod.
Riker looked horrified. "You sure about this,
LaForge?"
"He's just tuning up. Don't worry. I
told you, I've never heard anything like this
instrument."
Another blaaaaaat, slightly higher in pitch.
"Tuning up?"
"Don't you want this combo to sound original?"
"Sure, but I still want it to sound like jazz."
Riker's brow wrinkled doubtfully. "Okay,
let's get this over with."
Geordi answered with a wide grin. "That's the
spirit."
"When in Rome. . ." Picard shrugged. He and
his companions got to their feet but didn't join in the
ovation with which the Thiopan celebrants greeted their
sovereign protector on his grand entrance into the
feast hall. "Feast" appeared to be the right word for the
celebration after all. By Data's estimate, there
were
2,836 people in the massive hall. Judging by their
enthusiastic reaction to Stross's
appearance, they
were all partisans of the beleaguered government. The
applause went on and on as spotlights and
laser beams
danced across the long dais where Ruer Stross
waved
clenched fists over his head and savored the
adulation.
"Quite a spectacle," Picard said to Troi,
bending close to her ear to make himself heard over the
cheering. "I think this level of revelry far
exceeds the morale-building threshold you suggested.
They're well past the point of ostentation."
Troi nodded. "Do you think they lied to the Federation
about this famine?" "I don't know. If so, did they
really think they'd get away with it?" Data leaned
closer to them. "Their ecological problems are quite
apparent, sir, and more than severe enough to contribute
to an extreme food shortage." "This celebration
hardly reflects the restraint one would expect from
the leaders of a world whose inhabitants are threatened with
starvation. Just look at all those groaning boards of
food waiting to be served."
"This wouldn't be the first time that leaders have exhibited
bad judgment," Troi pointed out.
Picard snorted. "Let them eat cake?"
"Cake?" said Data, scanning the hall. "I
do not see any baked goods."
"It's an expression from earth history, late
seventeen hundreds, the French Revolution."
"M, yes," Data said. "Your ancestral
land, sir. Marie Antoinette, queen of France
and wife of King Louis the Sixteenth, was
popularly believed to have said "Let them eat
cake' in response to a critical shortage of
bread. That attribution was never confirmed, however."
"That's not the point, Data," Troi said
patiently. "The French nobility lived
extravagantly while the rest of the people endured
poverty. Cruel indifference 65
on the part of leaders has contributed to many
revolutions throughout history."
"Do you think that's what we're facing here?"
Picard asked her. "It's a possibility,
sir," Troy said, "but it would be very difficult
to isolate an admission like that from anyone in this
group, especially now, when they're so excited about
this anniversary celebration."
"All the more reason for us to meet tomorrow with Stross
and Ootherai."
The ovation finally subsided and the diners took their
seats again. An army of waiters began circulating
with rolling carts and fine silver trays, all
heavily laden with food. The Enterprise officers
were seated at a small private table in a front
corner of the vast hall. A waiter served them almost
immediately, setting before them bowls overflowing with fruit.
"Generous," Troi noted. "If the Thiopans
really are starving, I feel a little guilty about
gorging myself."
"We've got four shiploads of food up in
orbit, Deanna," said Picard. "If we do our
job, those hungry mouths will be fed . . . for a while
at least."
"It's tuned," Worf intoned. He cradled his
chuS'ugh in the crook of one arm. The instrument, which
was made of dark, dull-finished wood, had a
pear-shaped soundbox about two feet high. Its
wide base rested on Worf's thigh. At the
tapered upper tip was a small air grate. A
short bridge with four thick strings of coiled steel
was set at an odd angle against the instrument's
midsection. In his other hand, the Klingon gripped a
stubby bow. To Riker, who had visited many different
worlds 66
and sampled numerous alien cultures, this was without
doubt the strangest musical instrument he'd ever
seen. He extended a tentative finger toward the
strings. "May I?"
Worf nodded. Riker plucked the thinnest stringthe
thickest was nearly as big around as his little finger. A
tone came out of the soundhole low on the instrument's
belly-pleasantly mellow, to his surprise-but that
was overwhelmed a second later by a brassy
dissonance howling from the grate at the top.
Riker's hand jerked back by reflex, as if
he'd been burned. "What the hell was that?"
Worf almost smiled. "Harmony."
"All right, Worf." Riker leaned against the
wall, arms crossed. "As they used to say in the
old days, "lay some sounds on me.""
The Klingon gave Geordi a hesitant
glance. "He means play," Geordi assured
him.
With an incongruous flourish, Worf stretched his
bowing arm, positioned the bow across the strings, and began
sawing at them while pressing the strings with his other
hand. Riker winced at the noise that carne out-harsh,
clashing, ponderous, and low enough to make the floor
shake. "Pick up the tempo," Geordi
shouted.
After about two minutes, which were among the longest in
Riker's life, Worf stopped.
"That's-uhdistinctive, Worf. How long have you
been playing?" "Since childhood-this very same
instrument. I grew up among humans, as you know,
but my parents wanted me to learn about my own
culture, too. They paid a lot of money for this
chuS'ugh, then realized
there was no one who could teach me to play it. They
finally found a computer lesson program. Not as good
as a live teacher-was
"He's too modest," said Geordi seriously,
"but he turned out to be a natural. So-what d'you
think?"
They both looked at Riker, who wanted nothing
more than to make his escape. Hoping his feelings
didn't show in his eyes, he furiously tried
to formulate an answer that wouldn't offend the very large
Klingon warrior who'd just bared the artistic corner
of his soul, at Geordi's urging. The first
officer's mouth opened, but no words came out. Think
fast, Riker . . . "Well, it's not what I
expected," he said at last. "I don't know what
I expected. I've never heard Klingon
music before."
"Isn't there a saying, "Close enough for
jazz"?" Geordi prodded. "Yes-yes, there
is. I'm just not sure this is close enough for jazz.
I'm not underestimating your talent, Worf. God
knows, I couldn't play that thing. What kind of
piece was that anyway?"
"A Klingon classic." Worf's face
remained impassive, but his eyes revealed a
mixture of disappointment, pride, and hurt. "You
didn't like it."
"To be honest, I'm not sure what to make of
it."
They both turned to Geordi, who tried to save
the situation. "Hey, it'll grow on you, Commander."
Riker backed toward the doors, which obligingly
slid open. "I'll get back to you."
"Maybe it just needs some accompaniment,"
Geordi called after him. "Maybe," Riker
called back. Then the door closed.
"Don't worry, Worf. I like your music.
I'll talk to Commander Riker later. Meanwhile,
maybe we 68
should work on your stage presence-y'know, a little
chatter between songs," Geordi said brightly.
"Humans wouldn't know good music if it knocked
them over," Worf grumbled. "They'd rather listen
to feeble imitations of mewling infants." He gently
laid the instrument back in its-molded case.
The bowls of fruit were just the first of five courses
served at the anniversary banquet. By the time
dessert arrived-multi-layered platters of
pastries-Picard felt more than a bit stuffed. As
he surveyed the huge hall, the image of fatted
calves ready for slaughter darted into his mind. The
evening meal left no doubt that Thiopan cuisine was
excellent, but hadn't yet provided a shred of
illumination as to what was really going on here on this
planet. The important announcement that Stross
had hinted at had yet to be made; maybe that would
contain at least a nugget or two of information
Picard could use to start piecing this puzzle together.
He sampled a tasty spiral crust with a
perfect chiffon filling. So far, in the half-day
since the Enterprise had approached Thiopan
space, they'd been fired on by Nuarans, had a
brush with Thiopan terrorists, taken their first
disconcerting measure of the extent of ecological
damage on the planet, and weathered repeated
petulance on the part of the Federation envoy,
Frid Undrun.
After finishing the pastry, Picard licked his
fingertips and noticed Troi staring at him. "Something
on your mind, Counselor?" His tone was more
brittle than he had intended. Not that it mattered;
it was rather hard to hide moody undercurrents from an
empath sitting eighteen inches away.
"You seem tense, Captain."
His stoic features rippled in resignation.
"It's been a Murphy's Law kind of day. I
fully expect it to end with a Ferengi waiter
scuttling out here to serve us poisoned coffee."
Up on the dais, Protector Stross had
begun to speak. "I'm not going to bore you with a long
speech," he said to a twitter of appreciative
laughter. "I do have an announcement, though. Something
big. Or I wouldn't tear you away from those
desserts."
"He has a natural charm," Troi whispered.
"It is understandable that Thiopans would have accepted his
rule for so long."
"You all know," Stross went on, "that we've
had some problems lately. Our planet is hot,
it's dry, some people are going hungry. But we'll
soon change all that. And I want
to introduce the scientist who's making that change
possible-the head of our Science Council, Dr.
Kael Keat."
The young woman swung gracefully out of her
chair and joined her leader at the lectern as the
audience clapped politely. Picard wondered at
the lack of enthusiasm. Was it possible that these people
didn't know who Keat was, or had the excitement
been lulled out of them by a night of overeating?
"Thank you," said Keat. "All the bounty we've
enjoyed tonight must be made available to every Thiopan, not
just the ones lucky enough to come to this feast. Soon we'll
have a way to make that dream come true. Never again will
we be at the mercy of shifting winds, unpredictable
rain, scorching heat, and deadly cold. Never again will
we be made to feel like our primitive ancestors,
cowering before forces we can't understand. The Science
Council is ready to
unveil a project that will make us stronger than
nature-a weather control shield that will solve our
environmental problems for all eternity." Because of
her low-key delivery, it took several moments for
her meaning to sink in. Then the crowd began to murmur
and the murmur grew into a rumble of sustained
applause that soon spread across the hall
like a wave.
"In ten years' time," Kael Keat said, her
voice still tranquil, "we'll make Thiopa a
temperate paradise." The applause broke out
again, longer and louder now.
After a minute, Stross signaled for attention.
"That's our goal, my friends," he said. "But first,
we have to unite this world and all her people-one mind, one
goal, one faith." The crowd had fallen silent.
Stross spoke with simple intensity. "Harmony.
That's what we need. No more squabbling over old
ways or new ways. Let's just take the best
way. Once we have achieved Fusion, we'll be
strong enough to take on the one enemy that really can kill
us allnature. With your help, I know we can do
whatever needs doing. Thank you, my friends." The
ruler of Thiopa ended his speech with his head bowed in
humility.
And the members of the audience jumped to their feet as
if programmed to do so. By comparison, the welcoming
ovation they'd given to Stross at the start of the evening
had been restrained. Now the great hall exploded
with a fervor that was equal parts religion and lust.
These people were True Believers, Picard realized as
he and his officers stood at their table without
joining in.
Data's head swiveled in birdlike movements
as he watched in wonderment. "The degree of arousal
is most interesting."
"It is all a matter of knowing the right things to say
to the right people," said Troi. "That is part of what
makes a good leader."
"Or a dangerous leader," Picard added.
Troi nodded, suddenly apprehensive.
"Captain, I do sense danger."
"What kind of danger?"
Before she could explain, one of the Thiopan waiters
scrambled past their table and flipped it over,
splattering food on people and walls. Picard grabbed
Troi as they fell back across their toppled
chairs. Startled guests fell silent as suddenly
as if a plug had been pulled when the lone server
leaped on top of another table and unfurled a
banner.
"You're eating well while babies starve in the
Endrayan Realm-because this corrupt government
wants them to starve! Their only crime is that their
parents refuse to sell their heritage in return for
food that's rightfully theirs! They refuse to surrender
to the genocide you call Fusion! There's
plenty of food for all Thiopans, but Stross
won't let those babies have it. Why?" He whirled
to stare right at Stross. "Why, Sovereign
Protector? The Sojourners will never accept
Fusion. Join us and save Thiopa! Join Stross
and our world dies! Please-was
His speech ended in the piercing whine of a blaster
beam. Picard jerked his head toward the source of the
terrible sound and saw three guards firing, their blue
bolts knocking the man off his makeshift podium.
By the time he hit the floor, he was dead, his chest
smoking where the beams burned through his clothing.
Will Riker pulled off his boots and flopped
back on his bed, undecided about whether to read or
listen to music. He felt too tired to read-
"Commander Riker, this is Lieutenant White on the
bridge."
Riker rolled toward the intercom screen next
to his bed.
"This is Riker." White's freckled face
appeared on the viewer. "What is it,
Lieutenant?"
"Sorry to disturb you, sir. Captain Picard
and the away team are beaming back up. He wants you
to meet them in the bridge conference lounge."
"On my way. Riker out."
By the time he reached the bridge, Picard and the
others were already waiting for him. He strode into the
lounge and stopped short when he saw food and drink
stains dotting their uniforms. "Those Thiopans must
throw wild parties."
Picard paced in front of the wall of windows on
the outside bulkhead. Thiopa shone brightly below, the
light from its sun bouncing off the thick layer of
clouds and pollution shrouding the planet. "Sit
down, Number One." "You sure you three don't
want to change first?"
"It looks worse than it is. I want to do this
as quickly as possible, then get some sleep." With no
more preface than that, Picard launched into a terse
report of the anniversary celebration. Then he sat
down at the end of the table.
Riker's mouth quirked in disbelief. "The
security
people shot this protester just for shouting and waving
a banner?"
"A rather extreme punishment," Picard agreed,
steepling his fingers. "Did you sense anything,
Counselor?" She sighed before replying, obviously
trying to sort out the emotions she'd
absorbed during the brief but violent incident.
"Terror, determination-and great anger."
"From whom?"
"From everyone around us."
"I understand," Picard said, his expression grim.
"The Sojourners are clearly a longtime thorn in the
government's side."
"Yet," Data pointed out, "in spite of the
importance of the storage facility and the anniversary
feast, the Sojourners managed to breach security in
both instances. Security that was most likely more
stringent than usual." "Both those breaches proved
highly embarrassing to the government," Picard said.
"The Sojourners gained little else. But they were
evidently determined to let us know of their existence,
and their determination."
"Still," Troi said, "all we know about their cause
are slogans spoken by an apparent terrorist and a
protester before they were executed. Unless we can find
out more, we have no way of knowing if their grievances
against the government are valid."
"They're valid to the Sojourners," Picard
said. "They're willing to die for their cause-whatever
it may be."
"Do these incidents otherwise affect our
basic mission to Thiopa?" Data wondered.
Picard spread his hands in uncertainty. "A good
question, Data. We're not permitted to interfere in this
world's internal quarrels. But if Thiopa proves

unstable, the Federation may have to look elsewhere in this
sector for an ally against the Ferengi."
"But we don't have to make that decision,
Captain," Riker said, "just a recommendation."
"Exactly-but we may have to make a decision on
whether to complete our mercy mission or abort it."
Troi's large eyes grew concerned.
"Captain, if there are people starving on Thiopa-was
"They may not be starving merely because of
ecological catastrophe," Picard suggested.
"Their plight may be caused as much-or more-by
political decisions made by the government in
Bareesh. If that's the case, then who's to say that
our emergency relief supplies will ever get to the people
who truly need them?"
Riker planted his elbows on the conference table.
"The Thiopans must really need that food, and not just
to feed those Sojourners and their sympathizers out in this
Endrayan Realm. Things must be worse than that
feast made them appear or they wouldn't have
sent such an urgent S.o.s. to the Federation.
Agreed?" He glanced around for signs of dissent,
got none, and continued. "Let's proceed under the
assumption that we've got something they want and
they've got something we want."
"Information about just what's going on down there," said
Troi. "Right. So let's go through the motions of
making our delivery, but we'll drag our feet,
make them think we just night take our container ships
and go home."
"A reasonable first approach, Number One,"
said Picard. "Apply a little gentle pressure.
Which I can also apply when I meet with Sovereign
Protector Stross tomorrow."
"I am scheduled to meet with Dr. Keat tomorrow as
well," Data added "So our approach is
threepronged."
Picard leaned back in his chair, his eyes
revealing his weariness. "Tomorrow had better provide us
with some answers. I want to start tying up loose
ends-the quicker the better. Data, what about this weather
control project? Is it possible?"
"In principle. Weather is a product of
atmospheric density and constituents, land mass
arrangement, air and water temperature,
wind speed and direction, amount and intensity of
sunlight reaching the planet, cosmic radiation,
angle of planetary axis, precession of
equinoxes, and effects produced by flora and
fauna, including-was
Picard waved his hand impatiently. "I don't
need a catalog of factors."
"Of course. As I started to say, weather control
is theoretically possible, up to a point. In
terraforming a planet, technicians and designers
can actually create weather in an environment where none
exists. But that takes years, or decades,
depending on the original state of the planet.
However, even the most advanced technology in the
Federation is not capable of controlling or
manipulating the weather around an entire planet
simultaneously."
"What can be done?"
"Pockets of artificially controlled weather can be
created by interrupting, redirecting, or augmenting
key natural wind currents, modifying the
temperature of large bodies of water, adding or
deducting atmospheric moisture-was
"All these strategies sound as if they'd
require immense amounts of energy,"
Picard said.
"That is true, Captain."
"It also sounds like a house of cards," said
Riker. Data tilted his head quizzically, so
Riker explained. "Complex interrelationships of
factors-change one, and it affects all the others,
which in turn add their own effects."
Data grasped the meaning. "That is correct,
sir. And even advanced computer modeling is
inadequate for predicting exact results, since
there are too many variables that cannot be controlled or
even charted."
"Bottom line," said Picard. "Can the
Thiopans successfully accomplish what Stross
and Dr. Keat say they're going to do?"
"Based on our limited observations of
Thiopa's level of technology, and the Thiopans'
lack of success in managing their environment, I
would tentatively conclude that such a project is
beyond their capabilities."
"Tentatively?" Picard said.
"Yes, sir. It is possible that they possess
knowledge of which we are not aware. Possible-but unlikely."
"When you meet with Dr. Keat tomorrow, try to find out
enough to make that analysis more definite.
All right, then, if there's nothing else . . ."
Riker lifted a hand. "There is one thing."
"Which is . . .?"
"Undrun. Do we tell him what we're
planning?"
Picard nodded. "He is the Federation's
liaison with the Thiopan government so far as the
relief supplies are concerned. He has a right
to be informed as to why we're not delivering them just yet.
Computer, where is Ambassador Undrun?"
"Sickbay."
"Picard to sickbay."
Kate Pulaski answered, her voice tired and
hoarse. "Sickbay here. What is it,
Captain?"
"Rough day for you, too, Doctor?"
"Only since Mr. Undrun checked in."
"Is he awake and lucid?"
"He is."
"Ambassador Undrun, this is Captain
Picard."
Undrun's voice came over the intercom. "I
want you to force the Thiopan government to provide a
more suitable place to store the Federation's emergency
supplies."
Out of the corner of his eye, Picard saw Riker
shake his head wearily. "We are not permitted
to force them to do anything of the sort. I'll send you a
transcript of the conference I just had with Commanders
Riker and Data and Counselor Troi. If you
review it, you'll be completely briefed on the
decision we've just made to delay delivery of the
relief cargo to the Thiopans."
"I want that food delivered as soon as
possible," Undrun blustered. "Mr.
Ambassador, you're the one who just said that the
Thiopans haven't provided an appropriate
storage facility. That is what you and Commander
Riker will see to first thing tomorrow. The delay is merely
procedural."
That caught Undrun off guard and he stammered
for a moment. "I-I-That food has to get through
to starving people. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear, sir."
Undrun lowered his voice suspiciously. "I
may be drugged, but I'm not stupid, Captain
Picard. If you interfere with the completion of my
relief mission in any way, I'll lodge a
formal protest with Starfleet. I can make you very
sorry-was
"I already am," Picard muttered under his breath.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"I started to say I am in agreement with you about the
importance of this mission. Good night, sir."
Picard's jaw muscles twitched. Somehow, when
it came to Ambassador Frid Undrun, the
single simple word "vexatious" no longer seemed
adequate.
IN TIM SA'DRIT VOID, on the high
side of noon, the sun held dominion. It
filled the sky and parched the land. It whitewashed
everything within sight of its unblinking glare. Only
now, as it rode toward the barren horizon, did
merciful shadows begin to steal across baked. rock and
dust, like creatures creeping from daytime hiding
places.
One of those shadows, cast by the crags atop a
savage ridge of time-torn stone, fell across a
subordinate ledge. That ledge, in turn, hung
over a narrow pass between flat-topped peaks. From that
vantage point, two lookouts lying on their
bellies watched the lifeless plain stretching vastly
below them.
There were living things out there, and they were getting
closer. At first they'd looked like mites
wriggling in the distant shimmer of the sun's fire.
After a time, they had resolved into animals with men
riding
on them. The lookouts were both women, one young,
one older, with wrinkles framing her eyes and
whiskers already turned gray. The younger peered through
binoculars, touching a servo button to focus the
zoom lens. "How many, Mori?" asked the older
sentry in a hoarse voice. Mori didn't
answer right away. She watched the odd gait of the
animals-there were two-as their slender legs plodded in
slow sequence, heads swaying to an altogether separate
rhythm. These were full-grown ealixes, taller
than a man, rotund bodies covered with the fine
pinkish hair that didn't fill in until the gentle
beasts were well into their second year. The light
coat protected their hide from the sun but allowed
air to circulate and help keep them cool.
"Two animals, two riders-carrying a
body."
The older one muttered a sharp curse. "Another
dead fighter for Lessandra's collection," she
hissed. "Can you make out their faces?"
Mori squinted into her viewer. The riders were
dressed in standard desert garb-loose
robes of pale cloth, gathered at the waist with a
bright sash, woven leggings and sandals. The robes had
a scarflike collar, the ends of which dangled open
during the scorching days, ready to be bundled around the
neck to retain body heat when temperatures
plunged after dark. Floppy hoods were also stitched
onto the garments, and the approaching travelers had
pulled theirs up to protect their heads from the sun.
Their faces were hidden in shadow. "No." Mori
rolled onto one elbow to look at her companion.
"Glin, do you really think Lessandra's wrong about
all this?"
Glin's scowl softened as she scrutinized her young

partner. Where Glin's face was weathered and lined
by time and bitter experience, Mori's was as fresh and
smooth as a newly bloomed flower. She was a
grown woman now, though she had recently cropped
her hair short and ragged in an effort to look
older-an unsuccessful effort. But the hardscrabble
life that lay before her would rob Mori of her
innocence soon enough. "Yes," Glin finally said.
"I think Lessandra's wrong. It's gone too
far. She's pushing Stross as if she thinks we're
the ones with the power."
"We do have power," Mori protested.
"Enough to hurt them-but not enough to win. If it comes to a
war, the numbers say we have to lose. A lot of us
think Stross would rather do other things than pick up the
pieces after we set off bombs. He'd rather not send
hoverjets out here to try to catch us in the
open."
"Which we almost never are." Mori looked away,
annoyed at Glin's implication.
"That's my point, little one. Your father taught us
what Sojourners knew in the old times."
Mori turned back, her head tipped like a
student afraid to answer a question. "That the Hidden
Hand leads us on the better path?" "Exactly.
All the dead we've buried make it obvious that the
better path is negotiation."
"Lessandra says the government will never
negotiate."
"Then we've got nothing to lose. We will make
the offer. If they come to the table to talk, we don't
have to accept any terms we don't like. We're
free to resume our fight. Same if they refuse
to talk at all. But if we can talk and agree,
then we'll gain what we want 82
most-the-right to live peacefully in our own
lands and by our own rules." "But Lessandra says the
government is ruining the whole world and that we are not
immune to their toxins. If they poison their air and
water, they poison our air and water, too. She
says we have to make the rest of the world return to the
old ways. It's not enough, for us to go back to them."
Glins eyes narrowed. "I know what she thinks.
What do you think?" "I-I'm not sure."
"Lessandra says things that differ from what your father
wrote and preached all those years. He didn't
believe in forcing other people to follow our ways unless
they wanted to."
"But he's been gone for twenty years-almost my
whole life," Mori blurted. "How do we know that
what he believed back then is right for what we
face today?"
"Because what he believed came from the old times.
He rediscovered the Testaments and made them fit
our world. Lessandra can reinterpret Evain all she
wants, but that doesn't make her right."
"If my father was as persuasive as everybody
says he was, he could have settled all this."
"Mori, he's dead."
"We don't know that, not for sure." The young
woman's voice quavered. "Mori-was
"We don't know!" Mori scrambled to her
feet. "Just because the government said he died in
prison doesn't mean it's true. All those
stories-was "Are just stories. Nobody knows if
those other prisoners really saw your father alive.
Now go tell 83
Lessandra we saw fighters returning. Tell
her one of them is dead."
Sandals scuffing in the dirt, Mori hurried off
with her head bowed in dejection. The Sojourners never
believed anything the government said, so why were they so
willing to believe that her father had died in captivity
two years after he was captured? They had charged him
with treason, found him guilty, sentenced him to life
in prison-but they never said they would execute him.
Elders, like Glin, had told Mori that the
government wanted to keep Evain alive as a
symbol of swift but fair justice and as a warning
to other Sojourners of the government's determination
to keep order. If Evain had been executed, as
many people demanded, martyrdom would have imbued his legacy
with a power he could never have attained in life.
Still, only two years after his conviction, the
govern- ment announced that Evain had taken sick
and died, in spite of the best medical care
available. On his deathbed, he had recanted all
his Sojourner beliefs, they'd said, and endorsed
Stross's vision of Fusion-a united Thiopa
marching boldly toward the future under the banner of
progress through technology. They built a tomb
for him in Heroes' Park, in the heart of the
capital, and schoolchildren were taught from then on how the
government's most implacable enemy had seen the
light in his last mortal moments, thanks to the kinder
and gentler wisdom of Sovereign Protector
Ruer Stross . . . Uncle Stross.
Mori was only five when it happened. Evain's
death left her an orphan with no close
relatives. She was raised by the community that had
followed her father.
But she'd never felt neglected; all her father's
closest friends had taken an active role in her
upbringing. She had never wanted for love or
attention-quite the opposite. At least a half-dozen
good people thought of her as their own child. But she had always
felt closest to Lessandra, Glin, and Durren,
who might be one of the fighters now on his way back
to the Sojourners' sacred mountain stronghold. If
he was the one who had died-She stomped on that
morbid thought before it could take root.
Durren was too wily to get caught.
Mori made her way up the rocky trail,
following the narrow steps chipped into the stone two
thousand years earlier by the first Sojourners. She
hadn't been born out here in the wilderness but in a
city, like most Thiopans. Mannowai City was the
capital of the Endrayan Realm, not as grand as
Bareesh but quite comfortable and modem, and the center of the
renaissance of Sojourner teachings led by her father.
Mori had vague recollections of having visited
this ancestral land as a toddler, on a pilgrimage
with her father and others, but she couldn't be certain if her
memories were of the trip itself or of hearing others
tell about it in the years since.
It wasn't until a couple of years after her
father's death that the core of the Sojourners, numbering
three or four hundred, had left the cities and
towns of the western Endrayan-which were within easy striking
distance of government police forays from the adjacent
Bareeshan Realm-and returned to the holy place from
whence Sojourner beliefs had originally sprung.
So Mori had essentially grown up here. She'd
forgotten most of her childhood knowledge about navigating
city streets and had acquired the skills needed
to survive in the unforgiving Sa'drit
Void. It seemed now as if she'd always known how
to find food and water, how to conserve what little could be
found, how to coexist with the Mother World and her Hidden
Hand, never forgetting the fundamental principle of the
Sojourners' belief that the land did not belong to the
people-the people belonged to the land.
Conditions here were not as primitive now as they had
been in the old times. The new Sojourners had
modern weapons, tools, and techniques to help
them. Evain, and later Lessandra and the other leaders
of the group, understood the practical need to utilize
every advantage they could in their war with the government.
Mori hurried along the path that wound around the
rim of Sanctuary Canyon. Here, forces she could
barely fathom had wielded the very powers of creation
to sculpt a landscape she would always regard as
miraculous. The canyon itself was a broad chasm,
a semicircle of layered rock that widened as it
rose. But it did not open to the sky, for at the
widest point, the canyon blended
into thousand-foot-high walls that leaned in as if
frozen in precarious midcollapse. In the bowl
of the central hollow, the furies of wind and water,
fire and ice, had cut through giant blocks of
sandstone, reshaping them into fragile arches.
On one side, floodwaters had crafted a
gallery of swirling chambers and tunnels that
overlapped with astonishing complexity. But most
miraculous of all was the cradle of everything the
Sojourners had been and might become 86
the Stone City. All those primal forces had
carved a long, low diagonal cleft in the belly
of Mount Abrai. There, perched in this niche above
Sanctuary Canyon, Mori's ancestors had
built their most sacred place. At this time of day,
the rays of the setting sun streamed over the cliffs that
guarded the front of the wide gorge, splashing the
facades of the Stone City with golden light. The
buildings were as old as the Sojourners, constructed of
meticulously honed sandstone bricks. They ranged
in size from hovels to a four-level structure with
arched ramparts.
Mori found Lessandra hunched over the furrows
of her garden in a pool of afternoon sunlight. Although the
Stone City was in shadow most of the day, hardy
species of plant life needing minimal light
managed to sprout, including vines bearing the sweet
blue silberry. But this year's vines were shriveled
and barren. A hint of a breeze riffled
Lessandra's white hair as she pressed
seeds into the ground and patted handfuls of gritty
soil over them.
"Nothing grew this year, Lessandra," Mori
said. "The underground springs have dried up. What's the
point of planting more seeds?"
Lessandra picked up her walking stick, dug it
into the ground, and used it to stand up. Her right leg was
missing below the knee, the hem of her legging pinned up
to cover the stump. She propped the stick's padded
knob under her arm. She wasn't young, and she looked
older. One lashless eyelid drooped, and a fine
network of creases incised her leathery skin. She
fixed Mori with a one-eyed gaze. "Because it's our
way. It's a renewal of hope that our Mother will
forgive us for what's been done to her land. She'll
see we're trying to 87
make it better. And she'll send us the water we
need. Sacrifice and resurrection. Why are you
questioning the Testament?"
Mori replied with a sullen shrug. "It just
seems so useless."
The old woman rested her weight on the crutch.
"You know better than that," she scolded.
"We spotted someone coming."
"Who?"
"Couldn't tell. Too far away. Looked like
two alive, one dead."
"Don't know who." Lessandra sighed. "Well,
we'll know soon enough. Spread the word-tell
everyone to gather here once the travelers are inside
the canyon. I'll do the service then. I'll be
inside meanwhile." She muttered an invocation over
the newly planted seeds, then hobbled to the open
door of the two-story building adjacent to her
garden.
The two surviving fighters rode their ealixes
through the pass below the lookout point atop the broken
back of the Abraian range. They followed the
meandering arroyo that led into Sanctuary Canyon, but
that was as far as the beasts could go. Surefooted as they
were in open terrain, they were simply too bulky
to clamber up steep slopes; so they were turned
loose by their riders to join the small herd of perhaps
two dozen animals grazing on the brambles and
prickle brush that grew along a desiccated stream
bed. The tired trickle of water springing from a
subterranean source was just enough to keep the ealixes
alive.
Using a rough-weave blanket from the dead man's
pack, the riders fashioned a sling in which
to carry the 88
corpse up the switchback trail snaking to the
top of the canyon bowl. By the time they reached the
encampment, all three hundred residents were
gathered in the natural amphitheater behind
Lessandra's abode. Gouged out of the stone
by prehistoric water flows, the theater had been
enhanced by Sojourner masons, long since dead, who
had cut curved benches into the mountainside. Mori
and Glin waited near Lessandra as the pair of
riders gently laid their burden on the ground, then
pushed back their own hoods. It was Mori's first
chance to see who had lived and who had died. The dead
man was Bradsil. There was a scorched spot on his
chest where he'd been shot, and his face was puffed and
caked with blood. He had been beaten before they
executed him. Mori was sorry that Bradsil had
been killed, especially since he and his wife were
expecting a baby. But she hadn't known him well.
And she was relieved to see that her father's friend Durren
had come back in one piece. Durren had been one
of Mori's surrogate parents, probably her
favorite. She greeted him with a hug, then looked
up into his weathered face, with the long scar down his
left cheek. She had always been curious
about how he got it, but she was afraid to ask. His
whiskers sagged, matching the weariness in his
heavy-lidded eyes.
The other survivor was a fighter not much older
than Mori, and his eyes still displayed fire through the
veil of his fatigue. "They murdered him," the younger
man said fiercely.
Lessandra limped forward. There was no sound at
all from the rest of the gathering. "Did you find him,
Mikken?"
The young fighter cradled his rifle like a beloved child
and nodded. "They murdered Bradsil and then threw his
body where they knew we'd find him."
Glin stepped forward. "How many more, Lessandra?"
"As many as it takes," said Lessandra with a
flinty glare. "As many as it takes to satisfy your
hunger for vengeance against Ruer Stross? That's not enough
of a reason anymore."
"Who chose you to decide where the Hidden Hand
points us?" "No one-yet. But many of us question whether
you can see where it points anymore."
A reed-thin man with a gray beard came up
alongside Glin. "We proved we're willing
to fight," he said,. "and our raids have gotten more
daring. They know nothing is safe from us.
It's time to see if we've scared them into talking
peace on our terms."
"Jaminaw," Lessandra said disdainfully, "you're
a fool. Durren, did you accomplish your
mission?"
He nodded. "The bomb went off as planned.
Someone from the starship was there when it did, according to our
agents inside."
"How much damage did it cause?"
"Enough."
Lessandra turned back to her critics. "Then
Bradsil didn't die for nothing. They
accomplished what they set out to do."
"But what will that accomplish?" Glin demanded.
Lessandra dismissed the retort with an imperious
wave of her free hand. "This isn't the time or
place for an argument. We have a service to perform."
She 90
limped over to face the others. "In time of death
and sorrow, it is our custom, as it has been since
the old times, to tell of the garden. Our Mother World
created a garden, and she herself was the garden, one and the
same. She allowed us to live there, and she allowed
those early people to flourish. But soon the people forgot their
Mother's words and ways, and they turned to new
ways, bad ways. The Mother World had no choice but
to punish the people, and she sent them from the garden. We
Sojourners know that only when all our people live by the
Mother's word again will we be allowed to return to the garden
where life first bloomed. When that happens, it will
bloom again, and we shall be home, living in peace and
plenty for all time."
Lessandra scanned the faces of the people sitting on
the stone benches, then cleared her throat. When she
continued, her tone was strident. "The government of this
world violates everything we believe in. They are
raping our Mother World. As long as they do so, we can
never compromise." She raised her hand and traced a
circle in the air, then continued in a singsong: "Lord
of life, Lord of death, two halves of the same.
You are the master of all. You permit our sojourn in
your garden-womb. Unless there is death, there can- not be
life. Grant us peaceful renewal. Harvest our
souls."
She bowed her head for a few moments of quiet,
then looked up and waved to a pregnant woman
seated in the second row of benches. "Kuri, come
here."
Bradsiff"s widow, Mori thought, and watched
as Kuri approached Lessandra. For the first
time she realized 91
Kuri couldn't be more than a year or two older
than she was, and she wondered if she could be as
stoic if her husband was killed. "We confirm the
circle of life," Kuri whispered, her eyes
dry and unseeing, as she repeated Lessandra's
gesture. "The circle and the cycle are all in
life and time. There is no beginning and no ending, just the
circle."
Lessandra patted Kuri's bulging abdomen.
"You and your child are symbols of the circle, as are we
all. Within that circle, we all share your loss."
Kuri nodded numbly, then turned back the way
she had come. At a signal from Lessandra, two
burly young men picked up the blanket-wrapped
body of Bradsil. "Take our brother and commit
him to the Cave of Remembrance," she intoned.
Mori glanced at Glin and sensed her barely
suppressed anger. When Kuri and the bearers were out of
earshot, Glin exploded.
"That cave is overflowing with your dead bodies,
Lessandral When will you come to your senses and stop this
bloodshed?"
"When they give us back our world," the other
woman replied. Mori couldn't listen
any longer.
Bad enough that there was bloodshed between the Sojourners and
Stross, but for the Sojourners to fight among themselves .
. .
She ran until she reached the ledge. From there she
watched the ealix herd grazing calmly down in the
crook of the canyon. She started when she felt a
strong hand enclose her shoulder, but relaxed when she
realized it was Durren. "What's wrong?"
She shrugged, blinking back tears. "I guess
I'm just confused."
"About what?"
"Whom to believe, what to believe . . ."
"You believe what your father taught."
"I'm not sure I even remember what my father
taught. I certainly don't remember my father."
She took a composing breath. "He taught me
to think. You taught me to act-to ride and shoot,
to survive out there." She nodded toward the
dusk-shrouded desert. "It's easier to believe in
actions. Especially when everybody's thoughts
collide."
Durren smiled down at her. "To tell you the
truth, I always had a hard time understanding everything what
your father said myself."
She gave him a quizzical stare. "You did?
But you were almost like brothers."
"Even brothers don't always understand each other.
To Evain, everything was so complicated."
"You loved him, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. He was a good man. He
believed in the right things, and he put his life on the
line for them."
"Would I have loved him if I'd known him?"
Durren nodded. "I'm sure of it."
They were quiet for a few moments, watching the
tranquil ealixes down below. "Durren, did
you-was
He winced briefly. "Oh, Mori, don't
ask me that."
"I have to," she said, her expression hardening.
"Did you find out anything about my father?"
"Little one, that's not why we went to Bareesh."
"But you know what that escaped prisoner said
when we saw him at Crossroads. He swore
he talked to
Evain in the prison hospital less than a
year ago."
"I know what he said."
"And you said you'd see what you could find
out--was
Durren's temper flared. "We were on a
mission. We lost a good fighter. We're lucky
the two of us got away alive. Mori, we can't
drop everything to find out about rumors-was
She cut him off. "Do you really think he's
dead?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think there's any chance at all he might
not be?" He took a deep breath before answering.
"A chance."
"That's all I wanted to know." She smiled.
"I'll see you later, Durren." "Durren."
Lessandra beckoned him over to where she was talking with
Glin and Jaminaw. "This is our time; I'm sure
of it. It's in the Testaments, just as Evain preached
before they caught him. This starship that has arrived-it's
the Hidden Hand working for us."
He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Durren, do you think we can kidnap the captain
of the Enterprise?" Glin's eyes opened wide.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"No," said Ussandra, "I'm using my mind, which
is something you should try doing more often. Durren, what
about it?"
He thought a moment. "Our agents say the
captain stays on his ship. It was his executive
officer, a man named Riker, who beamed down with some
Federa- tion representative."
"Good enough. This executive officer, Riker, will
do as a hostage."
Glin's disbelief grew. "And what if this
captainwhat's his name?" "Picard," said Durren.
"What if this Captain Picard won't bargain
with
Lessandra's face remained impassive. "Then
Executive Officer Riker may very well become
a casualty of war."
WESLEY CRUSHER sat cross-legged on his
bed. "I do miss you, Mom, but it's not as bad as
I thought."
Beverly Crusher, on Wesley's cabin
viewer, feigned deep distress. "Words to warm a
mother's heart."
"You know what I mean," Wes laughed. "I
hardly have time to think about it."
"Are you eating?"
Wes rolled his eyes at the indignity of this
maternal interrogation. "Of course. How's your
job going?"
"Well, I've discovered that being chief of
Starfleet Medicine has its good points and its
bad points. Too much administration, not enough
medicine."
Wesley glanced at the time on his computer
screen. "Mom, I have to go."
"Bridge duty?"
"No, I have to give a report to Captain
Picard."
Beverly's eyebrows arched beneath her red hair.
"I'm impressed."
"No big deal." Wesley shrugged. "It was just
a little research project Data gave me."
"Has he learned to tell a joke yet?"
"Not exactly," Wesley said "But he keeps
trying. Maybe by the next time we see you . . ."
"Oh, Wm" she sigh, "I wish that could be
soon, but I just don't know when I'm going to be able
to escape this bureaucratic black hole."
"I understand, Mom. Well, I better get
going."
"Bye, honey. I love you."
"I love you, too, Mom. Bye."
Dr. Crusher's wi/l smile faded from the
viewer, and Wes felt a little blue, the
way he always did after they'd spoken by comm channel.
These were the moments when he felt most alone. But
he'd stayed with the ship by choice, and now he had work
to do.
He slid off the bed, straightened his uniform, and
headed for the bridge.
Captain Picard peered across his ready room
desk. "I gave this assignment to you, Mr.
Data."
"And I gave it to Ensign Crusher, sir. I
felt it would be useful for him to gain experience doing
research not directly related to his special
skills in engineering and propulsion science."
Seated on the corner of Picard's desk,
Riker nodded his approval. "A reasonable
reassignment, Data. Very well, Mr. Crusher.
Report on the Sojourners."
Wesley swallowed, wishing his mouth didn't
taste like he'd taken a swig of composite-repair
glue. He stood so stiffly he could barely breathe.
"Yes, sir."
"At ease, Ensign," Riker said. "My
granddad used to tell me, "Look 'em in the eye
and tell 'em what you know.""
"Yes, sir." Wesley loosened up
as he went along. "There wasn't that much information in
the Federation files, so I did a little searching. The
Sojourners were originally a small religious
group that began in the Endrayan Realm-that's the
province next to the one where the government is now-about
two thousand years ago. They believed in coexisting
with nature. I guess you could say that belief was the
basis for their whole religion. The realm where they
lived wasn't very fertile, but it was possible to farm
there with the help of irrigation. And there were lots of
mineral and ore deposits, so mining also got started
there."
"On a small scale, no doubt?" said
Picard.
"Very small, sir, since there wasn't any
industrialization at all on Thiopa until about a
century ago. But the other Endrayans, the ones who
didn't join the Sojourners, started exploiting the
land, digging irrigation ditches, diverting streams and
rivers, digging mines. To the Sojourners, all those
things were violations of the land-they call Thiopa their
Mother World."
"An image," Data interjected, "that is
common to many primitive humanoid cultures
throughout the galaxy."
"Anyway," Wes continued, "the Sojourners
left the settled part of Endraya and moved out into a
really isolated desert area called the Sa'drit
Void. Even today the Void is pretty much
unsettled. When they got there, they built a
village in a place called Sanctuary 98
Canyon. They have a very strong belief in sacred
places, and they decided this would be the most sacred
Sojourner place in the whole world" "What happened
after that?" said Picard.
"This small religious village existed for a
couple of hundred years, almost like a monastery.
Some people left the group, some others came to join it,
but the population never varied much from three or four
hundred. The Sojourners did a lot of writing and
praying, and they sent what they called mentors out
to other parts of the world to try to convert people to the Sojourner
way, without much success. The movement broke up
after two hundred years, and the Sojourners blended
back into the developing society in Endraya-was
"Until Ruer Stross led his military coup and
took over Thiopa," Data interrupted.
Picard gave him a sidelong glance. "Thank
you, Mr. Data-but Ensign Crusher is doing
fine."
"Data's right, sir," Wesley vent on.
"When Stross became sovereign protector and
started dealing with the Nuarans, it was as if Thiopan
society went into fast forward. A lot of people who
weren't Sojourners got scared by what was happening.
A teacher named Evain, who lived in Endraya,
started studying what the original Sojourners had
written down almost two thousand years ago. Those
writings are known as the Testaments. Evain started
updating all those old books and preaching a modern
version of the old religion."
"How large a following did he have?" asked
Riker.
"Not very large at first, maybe a few thousand. But
they tended to be young, well-educated people. Then, 99
after ten years or so, Thiopa started seeing the
negative side of uncontrolled technology-like
all the pollution down there now. And more and more people started
paying attention to what Evain and the other Sojourners
were talking about. They had demonstrations and riots and
strikes. The government even had to declare martial
law for almost two years. They had troops guarding
factories, and they started arresting suspected
Sojourners." "Interesting," Picard said. "Did
they arrest this Evain?" "Not right away.
Things got better for a while, then worse again.
Especially in Endraya, which was the least prosperous
realm on the planet, because of the dry climate out
there. About twenty years ago, the Endrayans started
running out of water for irrigation, and more and more people there
joined the Sojourners, or at least sympathized with
them. Stross was afraid the Sojourners threatened his
government. So they arrested Evain."
"Did they execute him?"
"No, sir. But he died in prison a few
years later, or so they say. At about the same
time, the most dedicated Sojourners moved out to the
Sa'drit Void, where their religion got started.
And that's where they still live. As we've already seen,
they're capable of mounting very successful terrorist
attacks on the government, even right in Bareesh, the
capital."
"Hmmm," Picard mused. "I wonder where these
Sojourners are getting their weapons?"
"I wondered about that, too, Captain,"
Wesley said. "But I couldn't find out anything."
"Thank you, Mr. Crusher-very thorough job of
research," Data said.
"Better watch your back, Data." A smile
played across Riker's lips. Data's
head swiveled as he took the phrase literally.
"That is difficult without a mirror, sir."
Riker and the others stifled their laughter. "Never
mind, Data."
"Ahh," said Data after a moment. "A
colloquialism."
He and Wes returned to their bridge shift,
leaving Picard and Riker to their deliberations.
"There's obviously a lot of symbolism involved
in this conflict," said the first officer. "Two thousand
years of religious passions unleashed . . ."
"Mmmm. Are you a religious man, Number
One?"
"You can't grow up in Alaska, as I did, with
all that pristine natural beauty around you, and not
wonder about how it got there." Riker's voice
took on a husky reverence. "Standing on the edge of a
glacier, with amazing mountains on one side and a pod
of orcas leaping out of an icy ocean on the
other-that's a religious experience. But if you mean
religious in the formal, organized sense, no,
sir."
Picard rested his chin on his hand. "I sang in a
church choir when I was a boy."
"I never knew that, sir."
"Yes, well, it was more of a musical experience
than a religious one. But we sang in one of those
magnificent cathedrals . . . must've been a
thousand years old, taken generations to build.
Incredible architecture and workmanship, soaring
spires and arches."
"I know the kind you mean. I saw some when I
toured Europe."
Picard fell silent for a lingering moment, then
looked directly at Riker. "But I never
felt a holy
presence in that place, Number One. Never
felt that sensation of wonder and belonging until my first
voyage into deep space. That's when it dawned on
me that no structure or philosophy devised
by man could ever hope to represent or replicate
divinity." He shrugged. "At least, that's my
opinion."
"Mine, too, Captain. So here we are, mixed
up in a fight that seems to be as much religious as
it is political."
"Yes. I wish I had a better grasp of the
inflammatory capabilities that seem to be
inherent in that combination. What's your prognosis for a
peaceful settlement on Thiopa?"
"Not good, sir."
The intercom tone was followed by Data's voice.
"Captain Picard?" "Yes, Data?"
"I am beaming down to Thiopa now for my meeting
with Dr. Keat. Is there anything specific about which
you would like me to attempt to gather information?"
"Yes. Obviously, find out what you can about this
proposed weather control project. But we also need
to know more about the role of science and scientists in this
society-and how all that relates to the conflict between
the government and the Sojourners. Give me a full
report as soon as you return."
"Yes, sir."
Data stepped onto the transporter pad.
"Energize." His form sparkled and faded-then resumed
its solid shape in the lobby of the Thiopan Science
Council building, one of the glistening government
structures in Bareesh. Kael Keat was just coming
down a broad 102
curving staircase to welcome him. "Commander
Data, I've got transportation waiting
outside. There are some things I'd like to show you." In
contrast to the elegant attire she'd worn the
previous evening, Dr. Keat was dressed in khaki
shorts and a breezy opennecked blouse.
The vehicle was low and sleek, with a tinted
canopy allowing the passengers an unobstructed
view. Data climbed into the passenger seat as
Keat slid in beside him. Door panels glided
into place as the bubble top closed automatically
over them. Keat touched a hand throttle and they
accelerated smoothly, with only the faintest thrum of
an engine. "This is our newest model. Solar
powered, clean and quiet. We got the technology
from the Nuarans before our split. This way, we
won't waste fossil fuel on transportation."
"Will that make much difference in your airpollution
quotient?" "Not much. Unfortunately, I
haven't been able to convince the powers at the top that
we should phase out all fossil-fuel burning. So
what we save on transportation I'm afraid
we'll just burn for some other kind of energy
production."
"Would it be correct to surmise that you and your
government are not in accord on environmental
policies?"
Keat threw back her head and laughed. "Are you
programmed for understatement, Commander?"
Humor, Data thought. Another chance to master the
art. The android gazed blankly at her
for a moment, then grimaced in the best imitation of her
laugh he could muster. "No," he said, instantly
resuming his normal equability.
She gave him a double-take glance.
"Was a humorous response on my part not
appropriate?" he asked. "Appropriate,
yes. Just just not very well executed. No offense."
"None taken," he said brightly. "There are many
complexities of humanoid behavior for which I was not
programmed. My shipmates are sometimes too
circumspect in administering corrective comments,
even when I ask for them. So I appreciate your
directness."
"Well, that's good, Data. Because I am nothing
if not direct. It's a good if somewhat troublesome
quality to have."
"Troublesome? How?"
"Not everyone appreciates it. My tendency
to speak plainly probably closed as many doors for
me as it's opened-but the ones it did open were the
important ones. Besides, it's just the way I am.
You seem to lack the programming for certain
subtleties, and I don't have the time for them, so I
think you and are going to get along quite well."
"That is gratifying to know, Dr.
Kew."
They left the government center and took several
turns to reach a two-lane road that hugged the
slopes above the withered Eloki River. The
highway's elevation made it possible to see a
considerable distance both up- and downstream. Both
riverbanks were solidly developed; the side they
were driving on appeared to be largely residential,
whereas the far bank was industrial, with factory and
processing facilities extending for several
kilometers in all directions. The air was murky
on both sides, but the visible 104
blanket of poison haze was far heavier on the
industri. al bank. "Are androids like you standard
equipment on Starfleet starships?" "On the
contrary, I am the only one."
"Really? Where did you come from? Did Starfleet
build you?" "No, Doctor. I came from the
Omicron Theta star system, where I was built at
an independent science colony. I was found there by the
U.s.s. Tripoli. was "Found? You mean, this
colony left you there?"
"In a sense. The colony. was destroyed, with
no survivors. I had been completed and tested, but
not really activated. The colonists left
me out in the open, near a beacon."
"How long ago?"
"Twenty-seven years."
Keat grunted in fascination. "Do you know who's
responsible for designing you?"
"I did not, until an Enterprise mission
took us to Omicron Theta. It seems a Dr.
Noonien Soong-was
"I've read about him."
"That is not surprising, for someone with your
scientific training. Dr. Soong was considered the
most brilliant cybernetics expert on earth, but
he failed in a highly publicized effort to build
a positronic brain. He considered this an
extreme disgrace and evidently felt his career had
been destroyed."
"That's very sad."
"He disappeared soon after the positronic
project collapsed, and no one knew what had
become of him-until we found his lab on
Omicron Theta. He had gone to the colony under
an assumed name and 105
resumed his work there. I am the result," Data
concluded with total modesty. "Looks as if he
succeeded after all. Too bad he didn't
live to rake in the rewards. That often happens
to scientists." Her voice hardened. "As a group,
we get more blame and less credit than we
deserve-a trap I plan to avoid." Kael
Keat swerved sharply off the main road, and the
vehicle bounced down a long gravel drive that
dipped between crouched hills. She stopped as they
reached a five-meter-high chain-link fence topped with
lethal-looking coils of barbed wire. Several
hundred meters past the barriers stood a bombed-out
building hulk, mostly rubble and twisted girders,
with few recognizable walls still standing. "That's where
1 was created, Commander Data."
"I do not understand."
"That building is our monument to stupidity-the
remains of our Advanced Energy Institute. The
work being done there was supposed to save us from our
dependency on nonrenewable energy sources,
replacing them with a limitless supply of clean,
safe energy."
"It did not work."
"No, it didn't. The Science Council has
always been responsible for overseeing all
technological development on our world. And when
I was young, they could do no wrong. By the time
I left Thiopa to study for my advanced
degrees, we were already facing the consequences of
uncontrolled progress. When I was offworld, I
saw a whole new approach. I dislearned that
technological advancement didn't have to be won at
the expense of global health and sanity. By the time
I came home, it was obvious to me and other younger

scientists that if we didn't change our ways,
progress was going to be fatal to Thiopa. And we
said so. In fact, we screamed as loud as we could."
"Apparently, no one listened."
"Not until the Advanced Energy Institute
place blew up one morning. The head of the Science
Council was a little burrowskratt named Buvo
Osrai. He always told Stross what the
protector wanted to hear, the truth be damned.
Never told him that we had to stop plundering our own
world-and had to stop the Nuarans from doing it, too.
Osrai and the other ten Science Council members were
down there at the AEI when it went. They were all
killed, along with a hundred other people; an additional
three hundred were badly hurt." Keat poked the
hatch release and the canopy opened. They got out of the
vehicle, and Data followed Dr. Keat
to the forbidding barricade. "There was a huge panic.
Stross remembered how I'd been the most
adamant warning alarm, and he shoved me
into Osrai's job. He told me I could appoint
a whole new council, and he swore he wanted the
truth from then on."
"What did you do?"
"I shook like a scared baby-and then I grabbed the
opportunity of a lifetime. I had the chance to build
a whole new science establishment and do it right."
"Were you successful?"
She flashed an enigmatic smile. "It's still
too early to tell. We're just now discovering all the
sins that were committed by the scientists who died in that
building. But I'm the one who finally made Stross
understand that we were destroying Thiopa with the technology
we Immed from the Nuaraas, the blood 107
suckers of the galaxy. I told Stross he had
to cut our ties with those bastards and beg the Federation
for help. Which is why your ship's here."
"Is this weather control project one of your
ideas?"
"Mm-hmm. I thought it was the right time for something
bold and outlandish. Stross liked the sound of it, and
that's all we needed to get the funding."
They returned to the vehicle and headed back toward
Science Council headquarters.
Data continued conversing about the weather control
plan. "From what we were able to observe from orbit, the
damage to Thiopa's ecology appears quite
severe."
"Oh, it looks pretty severe from inside the
damage zone, too, believe me, Commander."
"I studied all available reports on
similar attempts on other planets."
"Did you? I would love to see those. We don't
have access to all the data you'd have in your ship's
computers. Do you think your captain would allow that?"
"I shall relay your request. But you may find those
files dismaying. No planet has successfully
accomplished what you have set out to do."
"Oh, it's complicated-no doubt about that. But
we've got some fresh approaches in mind. My
attitude is, everything that's been done was once
considered impossible. But somebody had to be
desperate enough to try it first. And you said yourself that
we're pretty desperate here on Thiopa."
"Would it be possible for me to examine your
detailed proposal and see some of the actual work you
have done?"
"Some of it, yes, but a lot of it is
classified I'm sure you can understand that."
"Completely. But I am always interested in
innovation."
When they arrived at the Science Council, Dr.
Keat took her visitor up to her office, which had
not a book, paper, or computer cassette out of
place. "I'm quite fastidious," she admitted.
"I drive some of the others crazy when I go into their
labs and offices and start tidying up and putting
away. There's one guy who loves piles, and
damned if he doesn't know exactly where everything
is. But I can't work that way."
She guided Data to a computer terminal, which she
blocked from certain secret memory files.
"Present Commander Data with the original weather
control proposal."
The system obliged, and Data skimmed
material that was dense with equations and diagrams at
a speed that startled Dr. Keat. "Can't your system
scan any more rapidly?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not."
He swiveled the chair to face her. "You are
planning a planetary net of four hundred
satellites?"
"That's right. We'll be using a variety of
electromagnetic radiation to produce and
manipulate magnetic fields as well as
raising or lowering atmospheric and oceanic
temperatures."
"Yes, I could see that. But in addition to the
actual launching and maintenance of so many
satellites, your network will require large
amounts of energy and will have to be controlled by a complex
and infinitely adjustable computer program."
"Quite true, Commander Data. How we've 109
mastered those obstacles . . . well, that's the part
I can't reveal to you. Not now, at any rate."
Data's head tilted. "When?"
The enigmatic half-smile curled the corners
of Keat's mouth again. "That will depend on how strong
an alliance is formed between Thiopa and the Federation.
We're more inclined to reveal secrets to close
friends."
"Enterprise to Commander Data." Captain
Picard's voice issued from Data's uniform
communicator.
He touched the chest insignia to reply. "Data
here, sir."
"Commander Riker is preparing to beam down
with Mr. Undrun. I'd like you to return to the ship.
In view of recent events, I'd like to minimize the
number of senior personnel down there at any one
time."
"Yes, sir. Please stand by." He stood and
looked at his host. "Thank you for your time,
Doctor. I found my visit quite enlightening."
"If you and your captain have any more questions, feel
free to ask. I can't answer everything, but I'll
answer what I can. Oh, and don't forget to ask the
captain if I can see those files on
weather-related projects."
Data nodded, then tapped his communicator again.
"Transporter room, this is Lieutenant Commander
Data. Ready to beam up-energize."
Riker watched as Data's form sparkled and took
solid shape in the transporter chamber. The
android stepped off the platform. "Did you acquire
any useful information?" the first officer asked.
"Quite a bit, Commander," Data replied.
"Good. I'll look forward to hearing about it."
The door hissed open. Undrun entered from the
corridor and Data headed for the bridge. The
ambassador was bundled up against what he still
perceived as arctic temperatures inside the
starship. Riker felt the involuntary prickle of
his neck hairs-Undrun's presence was all it
took to boost his blood pressure.
"What's the delay, Commander Riker?" Undrun
demanded.
"Delay? I was waiting for-was Riker caught
himself, closed his eyes for a second, and took a
deep breath. "Never mind." He motioned the
diminutive envoy onto the platform, then took his
own place-on the far side of the chamber. Neither
looked at the other. "Energize," said Riker.
"If that so-called storage facility isn't
cleaned up-was The hum of the transporter swallowed
Undrun's voice.
Seconds later Undrun's voice regained
substance at the same rate as his reassembled
body. "comI simply will not agree to handing these
supplies over." They had materialized inside the
depot this time, midway between the building's airlock
and Supervisor Chardrai's office. Hands on
hips, Riker looked down at Undrun and made
an unsuccessful attempt to smooth the aggravated
edge in his voice. "Ambassador, at least give
the man a chance to show us something other than the inside of
his office."
"It's not my fault our first inspection was
interrupted by a terrorist bombing," Undrun
sniffed.
They walked briskly to the supervisor's
office,
where Chardrai was waiting for them. The same guard
stood at his post just inside the door. Chardrai
greeted them curtly. "Gentlemen, if you're
ready, I'll give you that tour of the facility now."
"Will we be safe?" Undrun wanted to know.
"The place is as secure as we can make it.
If you'll come this way . . ." Chardrai led the
visitors back out to the corridor, then through a
metal door to a caged-in catwalk suspended
high over the depot floor five levels below. The
guard trailed a few paces behind. This passage,
with heavy grating for its floor and open-mesh sides
and ceiling, was connected to a network of similar
walkways winding through the warehouse's cavernous
interior, with ramps, ladders, and freight
elevators linking upper and lower storage platforms
and sections. There were few solid walls and
floors, lending the place a skeletal look.
"Down there is where we'll keep the seed,"
Chardrai said, pointing to the floor below.
"We'll-was
"Enterprise to Commander Riker." The voice was
Captain Picard's, and it came from the
communicator on Riker's chest.
"Excuse me, Supervisor," Riker said.
He activated his comm channel. "Riker here. Go
ahead, sir."
"We're picking up an indeterminate number of
Nuaran vessels at the edge of sensor range."
"Intent?"
"Unknown as yet, Number One."
"I'll beam back up, Captain."
"Not necessary."
"But if the ship could come under attack, I should be
there."
"Are you saying Mr. Worf and I are incapable
of handling a few Nuaran interceptors without you?"
"Not at all, sir. It's just that-was 112
"Without the element of surprise, it's unlikely
the Nuarans pose any danger to the ship, Number
One. I just wanted you apprised of the situation in
case we do come under attack and we can't beam you up
for the moment."
"Captain," Riker said, "their pattern is
to strike quickly and flee. Any combat
situation is likely to be of brief duration."
"Lieutenant Worf agrees with your
assessment, Number One, and we're taking the necessary
precautions.
"Make sure you protect those cargo ships!"
Undrun said, leaning into Riker's chest to make
sure he could be heard.
"We will, Mr. Ambassador," Picard said
firmly.
Riker was still concerned. "I'd be more comfortable back
up there, sir." "You've got a mission
to accomplish, Commander Riker."
"Very well. But keep me posted."
"Affirmative. Enterprise out."
Chard equals ai, who had remained silent
during the exchange, arms folded tightly across his
chest, now spoke.
"If you're ready, Commander. . ."
"We are quite ready, Supervisor," Riker said.
"Lead on."
Chardrai took him and Undrun through a passage
bridging two platforms. Below them was a straight
fifty-foot drop to the basement floor. Though little
activity could be seen from their vantage point, the
mechanical noises of motors and chains
and pulleys echoed and creaked through the girders and
grates that were this building's bones and sinew.
Undrun's
habitual bluster seemed tamed for the moment by a
fear of falling; he kept a steady grip on the
catwalk's railing.
"How old a facility is this?" Riker asked.
"About thirty years," the Thiopan manager
said. "The bomb damage is the first time it's ever
needed structural repairs. Pretty solid,
overall."
"Have those repairs been made yet?" asked
Undrun.
Chardrai gave him a disbelieving stare. "It
hasn't even been a day."
"The Federation has made a major investment in this
shipment of relief supplies. What if other
bombings damage other parts of your warehouse? How
do I know that investment will be safe?"
"As I said, we do the best we can. If your
Federation would help us control the terrorists who are
doing the damage-was
"We can't do that," Riker said. "Our laws are
very strict when it comes to interfering in the affairs of
other worlds."
Chardrai grunted mockingly. "That's what the
Nuarans told us."
"Closing at high speed, Captain," Commander
Data reported. "Five vessels this time."
Picard sat calmly in his seat. "Hailing
frequencies, Mr. Worf."
"Open, Captain."
"Enterprise to Nuaran vessels. This is
Captain Jean-Luc Picard. We request
communication in the interest of avoiding further
hostilities."
Worf frowned. "Captain, I suggest that we
raise 114
shields and arm weapons systems, in view of the
Nuarans" previous actions." "Patience,
Lieutenant. Raise shields, weapons on
standby. I hope we won't need them." Picard
repeated his message.
"No response, sir," Worf said. .
"They are still closing, Captain," Data said,
scanning his console. "Course-evasive."
Once more, Picard thought. "Enterprise
to Nuaran vessels. I repeat, we are on a
peaceful mission, and we request communication with you."
Picard drew in a breath of frustration.
"Lieutenant Worf, go to yellow alert. Arm
phasers and lock on targets."
"Tracking lock engaged on all five
vessels, sir. Awaiting your order."
Picard leaned forward in his chair. "Range,
Mr. Data?"
"Thirty thousand kilometers . . . twenty . .
."
"Optimum range, sir," Worf said.
"I'm aware of that, Lieutenant," Picard
said, unperturbed. On the big viewscreen, the
five Nuaran spacecraft had grown from flitting
pinpoints to sleek harbingers of death. Three ships
peeled out of their ever-changing formation and swung wide
around the Enterprise, then dived toward the freighters
trailing behind while the other two intruders
cartwheeled toward the starship.
"Hold your fire," Picard said calmly. His
gaze never wavered from the on-screen image of the
enemy ships, closing, closing, swerving and swooping
like acrobats.
Worf tensed over the phaser controls, his
warrior's muscles coiled for battle.
The ships moved closer, filling the viewscreen,
rushing like mad birds of prey, then speeding
past the Enterprise and off into space without firing a
shot. There was an audible release of held breath
on the starship bridge. Geordi shook his head.
"Playing chicken with a starship?" Data flashed a
quizzical look over his shoulder. "Imitating
barnyard fowl?" "An old earth game involving
foolish dares," Geordi explained. "As I
understand it," Troi said, "there is a serious
purpose to this game-to test the nerve and resolve
of a potential opponent."
"That's right," Geordi said. "Make the other
guy commit himself, and maybe force him into making a
fatal mistake."
Data's brows arched. "Intriguing premise.
What is the proper response?" "Making a first
move," said Picard, "that could also be the final
move. Enterprise to away team."
"Riker here, sir. Trouble?"
"Affirmative. Nuaran interceptors have
reentered our orbital quadrant. No shots
fired yet."
"We're fine where we are, sir. We still have more
to see. We'll stand by." "Very well. Picard out.
Mr. Data, any signs of the Nuarans?" "No,
sir. They have gone out of sensor range
again."
Worf growled deep in his throat. "They'll be
back."
"The Nuarans weren't exactly happy to go when
Protector Stross broke those trade ties,"
Supervisor 116
Chardrai told Riker and Undrun as they
watched five overhead winches perform an intricate
ballet, transferring storage containers across the
depot's wide central bay. The hydraulic
arms were anchored somewhere up in the dark rafters, with
silver cables spinning down like spider's silk.
"How did most Thiopans feel about the
Nuarans?" Riker asked. Chardrai shrugged.
"They were robbing our planet and leaving garbage behind.
Friends don't do that," he said simply. "Let me
take you down to where we plan to store the Federation
supplies."
Riker and Undrun followed the Thiopan to the end
of the walkway, where an elevator cage dangled in
a latticework shaft. The guard lagged behind,
mumbling into his wristband communication device.
"Jeldavi," Chardrai called, "what's the
delay?"
"No delay, Supervisor. Just
checking in." The guard joined them in the lift. But
before he could clang the safety gate shut, another
pair of guards trotted toward them from an
intersecting passageway.
"Going down?" the taller of the two called.
"Down," said Jeldavi, holding the gate half
open. The other two stepped in and muttered a
thank-you. With a jolt, the car began its descent.
Undrun peered down and turned colors when he
saw that the grilled floor panels afforded a
sightline all the way down the shaft.
Riker noticed, and tried not to enjoy the moment.
"Just don't look."
Suddenly the elevator screeched to halt between
levels, staggering Riker, Undrun, and Chardrai,
but not the trio of guards, each of whom hack braced

himself with one hand and taken out palm-sized spray
bottles with the other. Before Riker could react, the
guards squirted a heavy mist in the faces of the
other three. The substance had an immediate effect, and
Riker, the envoy, and Supervisor Chardrai
collapsed in a tangle of limbs.
Jeldavi, the guard from the supervisor's
office, restarted the lift and took it down
to the basement level, where pink vapor lamps cast
eerie shadows through the support struts. He jammed
the control lever to cut power, bringing the car to a jouncing
halt, then threw open the gate. He turned to the
taller of his two companions. "Rudji, get the
wagon. Ligg, tie up Riker." Within
seconds, the tall guard came scurrying back
with a molded cargo box on top of a wheeled
platform. They lifted Riker, now bound tightly
hand and foot, and dumped him into the container. Rudji
was about to slam the lid when Jeldavi lurched forward
and reached inside. He snatched the Starfleet
insignia from Riker's chest.
"What's that?" asked Ligg.
"It's a communicator. I saw him use it
to talk to his ship." Jeldavi hurled the
communicator across the warehouse. It bounced and
skittered, coming to a rest somewhere in the shadows.
"Okay. Close it."
Rudji and Ligg complied, latching the cargo box
on all four corners. "Go! Now!" Jeldavi's
partners started the cart rolling, and he ran behind. They
found a darkened corridor and made a right-angle
turn, reaching a wall with a sturdy steel hatch. The
massive lock had already been jimmied.
Jeldavi jumped ahead and 118
swung it open. The other two rolled their
captive into a service tunnel leading away from the
storage depot. Jeldavi released the lock and
closed the heavy hatch behind him. The lock clicked
into place, resuming its intended function, leaving no
trace of the three Sojourners, or their hostage, as
they made their escape.
Lieutenant Worf s prediction about the
Nuarans' return soon came true. The same
five interceptors hurtled toward the Enterprise,
while the starship held its position, making no
overt moves, either offensive or defensive. This
time the Nuarans cut loose with a barrage of
torpedoes, all but one of them aimed at the cargo
ships. The torpedoes detonated, but the
Enterprise deflectors held firm against the
onslaught.
Once again the Nuaran ships retreated at high
speed following their sortie. And once again Picard
sent pro forma messages after them, peaceable in
substance but cautionary in subtext. Picard was a
man who valued subtlety, but not at the price of
clarity. There could be no mistaking his meaning: further
harassment would not be tolerated.
Once again the Nuaran spacecraft ignored
all hails. And they regrouped for another
approach.
Picard crossed his arms over his chest. He
knew these adversaries obeyed no rules. Their
unpredictability added an unsettling element of
danger to the situation. More than once they'd
demonstrated their willingness to open fire without
provocation. They had refused to respond to repeated
requests for communication. And it was quite clear they were not
going to disappear of their own volition. Jean-Luc
Picard was unusually slow to anger, and he preferred

not to utilize the great firepower of the Enterprise.
But enough was enough. He had ships and a crew
to protect, and a mission to complete. "Captain,"
Data said. "The Nuaran interceptors have just come
back within sensor range."
"Here we go again," Geordi said.
"In this competition known as chicken," Data said,
"are there strategies to enhance one's chance of winning?"
"Timing," said Picard. "Not just the right move, but
the right move at the right time . . . position of
Nuaran ships, Mr. Data?" Picard asked.
"Seventy thousand kilometers and closing."
Picard leaned forward, concentration masking his
emotions. "Mr. LaForge, increase the distance between
the Enterprise and the cargo drones by ten percent."
[*reggg'SirThat,
"Make it appear they're drifting away from our
shield protection."
"Aye, sir."
"Mr. Worf," Picard continued, "establish and
maintain phaser lock on all five targets.
Geordi, prepare to drop shield protection around
the cargo drones for exactly one-point-two-five
seconds, on my mark. Program to resume
full shield coverage after that time. Worf,
synchronize your phaser controls with Geordi's
shields. Simultaneous with resumption of shield
protection, I want phasers to fire at all
five targets. Understood?"
Both officers answered in the affirmative and
quickly completed programming for implementation.
"Mr. Data," Picard said, "tell me when
they're within five thousand kilometers."
"Aye, sir." Within a few heartbeats, it
seemed, Data spoke up. "Approaching that
margin, sir. In five, four, three, two,
one-now. his
"Now, Geordi," Picard ordered.
The momentary power drop in shield coverage
registered on the Nuarans' sensors. Only one
intruder continued toward the Enterprise. The other
four seized their chance and dived directly toward the
unprotected cargo convoy like sharks sensing floundering
prey. It took them just over one second to react
to this perceived advantage, by which time it was gone. For just
an instant, Picard's ploy left them
flat-footed-just the instant needed for Worf to fire
the phasers.
"Direct hits on four. One appears to be
disabled," the Klingon reported. "Captain,"
Data said, "the crew of the disabled vessel is being
beamed off and-was
Before he could finish his sentence, the drifting
Nuaran ship self-destructed, leaving behind an
expanding cloud of debris. The four surviving ships
limped clear of the combat zone.
"I guess they don't like to hang around after they
lose," Geordi LaForge commented. He glanced
at his engineering readouts. "No damage to us or the
cargo drones, Captain."
"Open a channel to the away team," said
Picard.
"Channel open," Worf said.
"Enterprise to Commander Riker."
Picard's brow creased when they heard no
reply. "Enterprise to Commander Riker." He
waited for a moment, then rose from his seat to face the
aft bridge stations. "Geordi, check mission
operations monitors."
LaForge lunged for the unmanned console a few
feet from his engineering panel. His deft fingers
skipped across the touch sensors. He swallowed
hard, then turned back toward Captain Picard.
"His lifefunctions monitor's been
interrupted."
"What are we receiving?"
"Nothing, Captain, except a locator
signal. Not even the readings we'd get if he were
dead."
"Channel to Undrun," Picard said. Worf's
nod told him it was open. "Picard
to Ambassador Undrun. Please respond."
His tone remained cool and even. Intentionally.
Picard had long ago learned the necessity for a
ship's commander to retain every scrap of composure, no
matter what the crisis. "Enterprise to Undrun.
Please respond." After a long moment,
he looked back to Geordi. "Readings on
Undrun?"
"Telemetry's nominal. He's alive."
"Then he must be unconscious. Mr. Worf,
take a security team down to wherever Undrun is
located." Picard addressed the intercom.
"Bridge to Dr. Pulaski."
"Pulaski here, Captain."
"Report to transporter room two, please.
Accompany Lieutenant Worf and his away team
down to Thiopa. He'll brief you on the
situation."
"How serious are the injuries, Captain?"
"We don't know. Prepare for the worst,
Doctor."
"I always do."
WoWs ausstvEvery HAND closed around the small
communicator as he returned to the storage depot
elevator where they'd found Undrun and the Thiopan
supervisor, both out cold. Kate Pulaski
took some bodyfunction readings and made a quick
calculation with her tricorder so she could match her
stimulant dosage with the non-Terran
metabolisms of her patients. She pressed her
hypo against their necks and administered
precise injections. Seconds later, they both were
coming around.
"Just lie still and let the medication take effect,"
the doctor said firmly.
Worf opened a channel to the ship. "Captain,
Commander Riker isn't here. Ambassador
Undrun and the warehouse supervisor were both found
unconscious, but Dr. Pulaski says they'll
recover."
"Recover from what? Can you tell what happened
to them, Doctor?" Pulaski touched her
communicator. "They were overcome by some sort of
paralyzing gas. It'll make them a little groggy for a
while."
"Are they sufficiently recovered to tell us what
happened?" "They will be in a few minutes,
Captain."
"What is that supervisor's name?"
The Thiopan shook his head to clear it, then
rolled unsteadily to his feet. "That's
me-Chardrai," he said, leaning on the mesh
elevator wall for support. "And who're you?"
"Captain Picard of the Enterprise. Mr.
Chardrai, would you permit us to beam you aboard our
ship?"
Chardrai's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "For
what?"
"Further medical care in our sickbay-and I'd
like to hear what happened, face to face. It shouldn't
take long."
"Don't see the harm. Sure."
"Thank you. Lieutenant Worf, have you and your
men had a chance to look around down there?"
"Yes, sir. No physical evidence that we
could find."
"Very well. Gather your team and Dr.
Pulaski's patients and beam up when ready."
The captain waited for Pulaski's summons
to sickbay, then went down to interview the only
witnesses to whatever happened to William Riker.
Undrun and Chardrai were seated in Pulaski's
office when he arrived, accompanied by Counselor
Troi. Her Betazoid empathic skills were always
helpful in such situations, giving him a reliable
gauge of the veracity of those being questioned.
Undrun's recollections were hazy at best, as
if he hadn't been paying much attention.
Supervisor Chardrai, however, was able to give a
terse account, moment by moment, right up until the
guards overpowered them. "Had you ever seen
these guards before?" Picard wanted to know. "One of
them, sure. Jeldavi. He's been my personal
guard for months. The other two I didn't know.
I run the place, but I don't get chummy with
everybody we got working there."
"Have you had other incidents where Sojourners
managed to infiltrate your staff?"
"No. But you can be damn sure I'm going to have
everybody checked out when I get back."
Picard crossed his arms impatiently.
"Apparently you have a major security problem,
Mr. Chardrai. "Iivo breaches in two days,
and my first officer ab- ducted in the process."
"As you say, Captain, I've got my
problems-and now you've got yours. Can I go now?"
"Yes, of course-and we appreciate your
cooperation." Picard's words were polite, but his
manner distracted. He waved in the general
direction of his Klingon security chief, standing by the
office door. "Lieutenant Worf, show Mr.
Chardrai to the transporter room and see that he's
beamed down."
When they were gone, Jean-Luc Picard turned
back to Ambassador Undrun, who seemed even
smaller than usual as he sat in a
fetal curl. "Are you certain you can't add anything
to what Supervisor Chardrai told us?" Undrun
peered up and pulled his sweater up closer to his
chin. "I told you, Captain Picard, I just
don't 125
remember the details-and I think I'm having a
reaction to whatever venomous solution your physician
shot into me without my permission."
"Unconscious people have a great deal of difficulty
giving permission, Mr. Ambassador, and sometimes
they die without treatment," Dr. Pulaski said, an
edge sharpening her tone.
"Well, all I know is I feel dizzy."
With visible effort, the Noxoran straightened. "And
this whole mission is a shambles, Captain. I
expect you to exercise whatever power you have to get some
cooperation from these Thiopans. That relief aid has
got to get to the people who need it."
Picard's jaw muscles twitched.
"Ambassador Undrun, you seem not to have noticed
that my first officer has been kidnapped by an
opposition force which has already demonstrated that it
means business."
"I've noticed, Captain Picard,"
Undrun said, his tone rising
defensively. "I'm very sorry that Commander Riker
was captured, but to blame me-was "I never said you were
to blame," Picard shot back, trying to temper his
exasperation. "The Thiopan situation is far more
complicated than we were led to believe. The safety
of this ship and her crew have been compromised, and your
single-minded concentration on delivering this emergency
aid-was In a fit of indignation, Undrun jumped
to his full four and a half feet of height.
"Pardon me for trying to do my job, sir. I'm
going to my quarters to rest from my ordeal." With that,
he shot past an astonished Picard and out of
sickbay.
The captain's anger deflated and he let his
shoulders 126
slump. "Well, I certainly handled that
well." He managed a fraction of an ironic
smile.
"Not without considerable provocation," said Dr.
Pulaski. "He's a little weasel."
"He doesn't seem to give a damn about
what's happened to W."
"He's more concerned than he lets on,
Captain," Troi said. "He seems to blame
himself."
Picard and Pulaski both stared at the
counselor. "He what?" said Picard. "He
blames himself?"
"He certainly hides it well," Pulaski
added.
"Self-recrimination seems out of character, based on
what we've seen so far of Mr. Undrun,"
Picard said.
"I did some checking on his Federation personnel
profile," Troi said. "He came from a
well-to-do family on Noxor and enjoyed all the
privileges that come with wealth. But the Noxorans have
a strong dedication to public service. The wealthier
the family, the greater the pressure to devote one's
life to helping others. It's almost a military
discipline that's instilled in young Noxorans."
"All right," Pulaski said, "so he joined the
Federation Aid and Assistance Ministry."
"And he rose through the ranks very quickly. It's
difficult to tell his age because all Noxorans
look youthful, but he's quite young to have reached this level
of responsibility. The captain's observation of his
single-mindedness was very perceptive."
"It's very obvious," Picard interjected.
Deanna smiled. "Bureaucracies
aren't famous for encouraging unbridled creativity.
The combination of Undrun's strict upbringing, his
narrowly directed 127
focus on succeeding in public service, his
total acceptance of bureaucratic restraints, and
his insecurity all contribute to what we see as
insensitive, unbending concentration on a single
task."
"He operates by the book," Picard said
softly. "I've known plenty of officers like that.
Frankly, at the risk of appearing insensitive,
I must admit that Undrun's childhood traumas
are the least of my concerns. Finding out who has Will
Riker and getting him back quickly and safely rank
somewhat higher. Counselor, I need you on the
bridge."
Hydrin Ootherai swept into the sovereign
protector's sparsely furnished office with a
plump female aide in tow, but stopped abruptly
when he saw Ayli seated on the deep-cushioned
couch next to Lord Stross. The shadowreader half
reclined against the pillowed arm, her legs tucked under
her with a feline nonchalance that somehow made her look
years younger. Her tawny hair fell across her
face, but a sly smile betrayed her
pleasure at Ootherai's consternation.
"What is she doing here?"
"I asked her to come here. I wanted her reaction
to this."
"Afraid of another opinion?" Ayli
challenged.
"Certainly not. Tresha?" He snapped his
fingers and his young assistant sprang into action,
setting up a spindly easel and placing several
large boards on the sill. The boards were covered
with a cloth shroud. When her preparations were complete,
Ootherai took up a professorial position in
front of the hidden display, visibly warming to one of
his favorite pastimes-lecturing.
"You live for these little presentations of yours,
don't you?" said Ayli, a dicker of amusement
glinting in her deep amber eyes.
"Symbols create reality. You know all about
creating reality, Ayli was Strom shifted
impatiently. "Get to it, Ootherai."
"Of course, my lord. It's immensely
important that we present your weather control plan
as the means of saving our world."
"It will save the world," Sum said firmly. "But
will it get the citizens back on our
side?"
Ootherai circled. "Without question. It's got all
the right elements. We portray the Nuarans as
hateful villains. We offer a homegrown
solution to a crisis caused by those villains, and we
outline a bold program addressing the worries that
give all of us sleepless nights. It's the oklest
epic in the universe-good guys against bad, us
versus them-and you, Sovereign Protector Ruer
Stross, are its hero."
Strom laced his fingers and rested his hands on his
belly, mulling over the concept. "How do we
present it?"
"We mount an all-fronts assault.
Special coverage in all the media, flooding our
message into every Thiopan home. Rallies. Get
children involved right from the start-capture the older
generation by grabbing the young ones first. Make ours the
tune to which every single Thiopan of intelligence will
march. Positive reinforcement in every conceivable form.
Mount a religious crusade that will overwhelm those
pitiful Sojourners and their outdated beliefs. And
at the center of the campaign, this . . . his
With a flourish, the policy minister whipped the
cloth off his easel, revealing a crisply
drawn logo, with
the Thiopan globe in the center, a ring of tiny
sparkles around it, and a single stylized flower
blooming behind and above the planet, all done in
vibrant hues that bore no resemblance at all
to the sepia haze that hugged the real world outside
Stross's windows.
Ayli peered at the design with a hint of a
smile. "Don't be stunned, Hydrin-but I like it.
It has a sort of magnetic charm."
Stross nodded. "Not bad, Ootherai."
"Just one little question," Ayli said. "Will this weather
control project really work? Or are we selling a
fantasy?"
"It will work," Stross growled. "I know it will."
Ootherai waved a hand. "That's of no consequence.
The important thing is the perception, not the reality.
Getting the people to devote their undying support to Lord
Stross-that's what matters."
"Surely you're joking," Ayli said with a
skeptical squint. "If the weather control
project doesn't succeed, this planet could become
unlivable. Or has that trivial fact eluded you
and your symbolic brain?"
"Digest this trivial fact, Ayii,"
Ootherai parried, thrusting his finger at her. "If
we don't regain control of the political situation
on Thiopa-if we don't crush those miserable
anarchists under a mountain of revitalized popular
support-this government will be long gone by the time the
last molecule of air is polluted beyond breathing."
The intercom on the simple plank desk
beeped. "Lord Stross, Planetary Communications
calling," said a controlled female voice.
Stross reached over and thumbed the switch.
"Stross-what is it?"
Ootherai frowned. "I wish he'd use his full
title when dealing with subordinates," he muttered.
"Captain Picard is calling from the
Enterprise. Shall I put him through?" "Let me
screen this, Excellency," Ootherai said. Stross
responded with an affirmative gesture, and
Ootherai moved to the two-way viewscreen in an
alcove across the room. "Communications control,
I'll take it." The receiver activated and
lean-Luc Picard's face appeared on the
monitor. "Captain . . ." "Minister
Ootherai, is Protector Stross available?"
"I'm afraid not. Ire's involved in a
critical consultation and cannot be disturbed.
Perhaps I would suffice?"
"I'd appreciate your passing along the
substance of our conversation to him."
"Certainly, Captain. I surmise from your
tone of voice that the substance is quite serious."
"It is indeed. On an inspection visit to your
storage facility, my first officer was apparently
taken prisoner by a team of Sojourner
guerrillas. I request your assistance in effecting
his safe return."
The Thiopan's expression turned remote.
"I'm sorry to hear about Commander Riker's
misfortune. But I fear there is little we can do
to help."
"Minister Ootherai," Picard said warningly,
"even though Thiopa isn't bound by Federation laws,
your government has a responsibility to-was
"Captain, before you finish that thought, I am constrained
to point out that your officer would be safe aboard your
ship had you simply beamed the emergency supplies
down upon your arrival. There was no need for any of
your personnel to set foot on Thiopa."
"We were not aware of any danger. Your government
knew we were sending people down, yet you failed to warn
us-was
"We didn't know circumstances would arise that would
have required warning. In hindsight, of course we
would have cautioned you to keep your people on your ship. But
I'm afraid hindsight won't help Commander
Riker."
"What can you do to help?"
"Nothing, really."
"Pardon me?"
"Do we have a faulty signal, Captain
Picard? I shall repeat: there is little we can do
to help you locate your missing man. Oh,
certainly we can instruct our security forces
to keep an eye out for him, and we can remain alert for
intelligence we might glean from our agents watching
the Sojourners. But we are fighting to retain order
on this planet. We simply must devote all our
resources to controlling the growing threat of civil
unrest. I do regret that we cannot do more, but the
simple fact is, we can't."
Picard's eyes grew steely, but his inflection
became almost offhand. "Without more cooperation, I'm
afraid we cannot even begin delivery of those
supplies Thiopa evidently needs quite badly.
I'll give you twelve hours to reconsider your
current position. At that time, if your
government isn't more forthcoming, the Enterprise will
leave orbit."
"Without your kidnapped officer?"
"I've lost men before, Minister Ootherai. I
value every member of my crew equally, but no single
life takes precedence over the safety of this
vessel or her mission."
"Captain, I can hardly believe-was
Picard cut him off. "Twelve hours. We shall
look forward to a change of heart. Picard out."
"Captain," Troi said, "departing without giving
them the relief supplies would be punishing innocent
people on Thiopa-was
"Perhaps, Counselor. But everything we've seen so
far casts severe doubts on the Thiopans"
claims of widespread famine. They had enough
resources to throw that anniversary feast."
"Which may have been staged for effect."
"Or it may have been an example of
mismanagement of resources rather than outright
shortages. The Federation is not obliged to sanction
such misman- agement. If Thiopa's problems are
self-made, so must the solutions be."
Data swiveled in his seat. "The ecological
damage to Thiopa is verifiable, sir."
"I'm aware of that, Commander, and of the likelihood
of food shortages in certain areas of the planet.
But at present it appears quite unlikely that any
of the food we've brought will reach those who are most in
need, if they are allied with the Sojourner movement."
Wesley Crusher swallowed, then spoke up.
"What about Commander Riker, sir? We aren't really
going to leave without him in twelve hours, are we?"
"Not without doing everything possible to locate him and
get him back to the Enterprise alive and well,"
Picard said, his tone softer, but still determined. "I
have a strong hunch the status quo won't last the
twelve hours. Meanwhile, let's utilize our
own 133
resources. Mr. Data, initiate a sensor
search for Commander Riker."
Nothing could soothe Ruer Stross like the sweet
aroma of sawdust tickling his nose. He knew it
to be the first sensory impression he could recall,
going back to infancy. More satisfying than mother's
milk, food, sunlight, sex. His father had been a
woodworker, and the memory of sleeping in the cradle
next to his father's workbench still gave Stross a warm
glow. Unlike some fathers who wanted their work
to remain mysterious to their children, as if the
withholding of that knowledge could help father retain power over
son, W'rone Stross had initiated his young son
before the child was old enough to use the tools himself. Ruer
cherished the images that were still fresh and unblemished in
his heart and mind--his father's massive hand guiding
the son's tiny one, providing the muscle so the boy
could learn the art. All the years he'd watched his
father, Ruer knew that finding objects hidden in wood
was more than W'rone's livelihoodit was his life.
In all other things, the elder Stross was the mildest
of men. He loved his wife quietly. He took
pride in his son without boasting. He helped his
neighbors without fanfare. Ruer could not recall his
father ever raising his voice either in anger or in joy,
and he had no memories of tears or broad
grins. Except in his workshop. It was as if
W'rone had stored his passions, saving them for the holy
place where his hands joined with nature's invisible
hands to make magic. Wherever they'd lived while
Ruer was growing up, Father had always set aside a
shed or cellar or room, or just a corner,
to consecrate as the place where his 134
passion could take flight. It wasn't something
Ruer ever quite understood, but he never questioned it. He'd
somehow absorbed the feeling and made it part
of himself. Which was why, all these years later, the most
powerful man in the world could find true peace only
at his own workbench. "Is this the time for puttering?"
Ootherai said to the Sovereign Protector's
back, since that was all he could see with Stross
bent over his woodworking tools. The sawdust commade
the policy minister's nose twitch with the beginnings of a
sneeze.
Ayli was standing with her elbows propped on the
workbench, watching with interest as her ruler carefully
cut shapes out of wood. She had no idea what
they might eventually become.
"Any time is the time for this," Stross said in a
calm voice. "We need those Federation
supplies," Ootherai said. "They will be our
insurance against future dislocations-not to mention a way
of convincing the people in Endraya to forsake their loyalty
to the Sojourners. Without the food from the Federation, we
lose that tool. You know about tools, Lord
Stross."
"That I do, my friend. You need the right one for the right
job. And when you can't find the one you want, you have a
choice: don't do the job, or find something else that
works."
"Will anything else work?" asked Ayli.
"Maybe, maybe. If we have learned anything from
the Nuarans, it is the value of having something
somebody else wants. The Enterprise has what
we want. The Sojourners have what Picard
wants. Find Riker-and we will get our
supplies."
"You make that sound so simple," Ootherai
sneered.
"Who's in charge here, anyway?" Stross said
without looking up. "We've got a good idea where
they're taking Riker. Mount a force to get him
back."
Ootherai snorted a derisive laugh.
"Invade the Sa'drit? Impossible."
"We don't have to invade. All we have to do is
punish them a little. We have weapons that can do that."
"And they have weapons that can stop us."
"Use that symbolic brain of yours," Stross
prodded. "Find a way."
Captain Picard sat with his back to the huge
ports in the bridge observation lounge. Across the
conference table, Data was completing a report on his
visit to Dr. Kael Keat and her lab earlier in
the day. "Your foray seems to have raised as many questions as
it answered."
Data nodded. "It is safe to assume there is
much Dr. Keat has not told me." "Did you get
enough on this weather control plan to judge whether it's
feasible?"
"No, sir. I was able to examine only the
theoretical foundations of the project."
"And what's your opinion on that?"
"Theoretically their plan could provide the sort
of weather modification they seek."
"But can they put these theories into practice?"
"Doubtful, Captain. Unless they possess
technological capabilities we have not
observed-which is possible."
"Speaking of possibilities, do you think Dr.
Keat might reveal more information to you?"
"She did seem fascinated with me." From most
anyone else, the statement would have smacked of
conceit. From Data, it was a simple factual
account. "Well, you're a most fascinating fellow,
Mr. Data. Depending on what happens with-was
The intercom tone interrupted, followed by the
unwelcome imperious voice of Frid Undrun.
"Captain Picard, I want an explanation."
"Of what, Mr. Ambassador?"
"Your unauthorized actions. We'll
meet now."
"If you insist. Report to the bridge conference
lounge. Picard out."
Data started to get up. "Shall I leave, sir?"
"No, no," Picard replied a bit too
urgently, then flattened his lips into a mirthless
smile. "I have no desire to be alone with Mr.
Undrun. And you may be of some help."
Moments later the door slid aside and
Undrun strutted in, not bothering to sit down. "You
had no right to make a unilateral decision," he
said. "And which unilateral decision is this?"
"To threaten to leave Thiopa without delivering those
relief supplies. You and your crew have bungled and
interfered with my mercy mission almost from the minute we
left Starbase."
"You are not on a personal crusade," Picard
thundered, reaching the limit of his patience. He
wondered for the tiniest instant if Riker had gone
into hiding simply to avoid having to deal with this
pint-sized tyrant. "We are on a
Federation-Starffeet mission, and I take strong
exception to your suggestion that my
crew has performed in anything less than
exemplary fashion so far as their dealings with
you are concerned. My decision, unilateral or not,
is consistent with my powers as captain of this
vessel."
Undrun hammered his fist on the table. "Powers
I can override."
"Not when this mission imperils my crew and the
Enterprise. I am becoming more and more convinced we should
never have undertaken this mission, and com1 plan to say
exactly that in my report to both Startleet and your
Aid and Assistance Ministry. And that, for the moment,
is all I have to say on this matter." Picard
rose to his feet and marched out of the room. He went
directly to the aft turbolift without a word to his
bridge crew, all of whom knew enough not to divert
an angry captain from his chosen course. Undrun
slumped into one of the high-backed chairs in the conference
lounge, carefully facing away from the observation
windows. Data remained seated, but silent.
It was the Noxoran envoy who spoke first. "You
seem to be the only person aboard this ship who
hasn't condemned me as a useless slime toad,
Commander Data."
"Perhaps if I knew what a slime toad was .
. ." the android replied earnestly.
Undrun did a double take, then
realized Data was not attempting to be glib or
cruel. And that Undrun found funny enough to warrant
a sad chuckle. "I meant you haven't judged me
as a bad person, just because I'm trying to do my job
the only way I know how."
"It is not part of my cognitive programming

judge other beings-unless I am requested to perform
that analytical function."
"Well, then, I'm requesting it. Judge me.
Give me an android's objective
appraisal."
Data thought for a few moments. "Your behavior
patterns seem to have a common factor."
"Which is . . .?"
"You seem excessively bound by established
guidelines and precedents."
Undrun's shoulders heaved in a helpless shrug.
"I can't work any other way. I need those
guidelines. They function almost like a funnel. I
know that whatever I pour into that funnel will come out the
other end in a narrow, compact stream."
"Such methods do have a directness to them. But I
have noticed that humans-particularly members of the
Enterprise crew-do not always approach
problems in what I would determine to be the most
direct way. Their capacity for
unpredictability and irrationality is quite
limitless. And yet, although I may find their
strategies bafliing, they achieve the desired
results." A touch of wi/lness tinged Data's
expression. "In spite of considerable study, I
cannot quite grasp or replicate this whimsical human
creativity." "You've got an excuse," said
Undrun, leaning across the table and resting his head on
folded arms. "You're restricted by your
programming. But I'm a flesh-and-blood
humanoid. And creativity eludes me, too."
"Biological life forms can also be limited
by programming. Perhaps something in your past..
."
"You're right."
"Please elucidate."
"I'd rather not." The diplomat shook his head with
regret. "It all seemed so simple. If this
mission fails, my life is as good as over."
Data's yellow eyes crinkled in sudden concern.
"Is there something Dr. Pulaski can do?"
"What?"
"You said your life is in danger."
"I meant my professional life, Commander
Data. To me, that is my life. There's an
expression: we are what we eat. Well, some of
us are what we do. How could such a simple mission
turn into such a disaster?" "If I may differ, this
mission was not quite so simple as it appeared. We
knew about the Nuaran involvement, the Ferengi
threat, a certain level of societal instability
on Thiopa itself. Even excluding other factors that
we did not know about until our arrival, how could you
have considered the known complications and still judged this
mission to be simple?"
"Fact is, I didn't consider all that. All
I saw was a cargo convoy delivering emergency
relief supplies for which the Thiopans had
virtually begged. Bringing people what they want should not be
a complicated mission." "That is true-except that
humanoid beings are often reticent about accurately
expressing their wants and needs. This is another
element of humanoid behavior I do not yet
understand. Whether it is the result of dishonesty or
fear, such reticence invariably causes
complications-was "Fear . . . Can I tell you my
fear?"
Data answered with an accommodating
nod.
"My superiors will see how badly I managed
this mission--they thought it was a simple assignment,

too-and they'll decide I'm incompetent.
I've alienated Captain Picard, caused
Commander Riker to be kidnapped-was
Data was staring in wonder now. "Most intriguing.
Is this what humans call self-pity?"
Undrun stopped abruptly. "Yes . . . I
guess it is."
Jean-Luc Picard liked his crew to view him
as a bit of an ascetic. Not that there was any
pretense in it. He wasn't an especially
demonstrative man, a characteristic that arose
naturally from having spent most of his adult life as
a commanding officer and the bulk of that time as captain of the
deep-space explorer Stargazer: The
two-decade duration of Stargazer's voyage of
discovery had encouraged camaraderie, but he hadn't
viewed it as a captain's option to form any deeper
relationships with those serving under him.
So far he'd applied that policy to the
Enterprise as well. Employed judiciously, it
imparted an aloof mystique that elicited
an extra measure of respect-a commodity that
tended to facilitate the exercise of authority.
Even his physical presence contributed
to Picard's aura of leadership. Not a conventionally
handsome man, he had an aristocratic profile and a
stern jaw. A fringe of silvered hair served
to highlight the clear, piercing eyes. He wasn't
a big man, yet he could dominate without effort,
thanks in part to regal bearing. But his
voice-alternately tempered with unadorned
compassion or ringing with the resonance of confidence and
power-was the key attribute with which he commanded.
All of that aside, however, the few who knew this
starship captain best were well aware of his Gallic

appreciation for the proverbial pleasures of wine,
women, and song. And, if anything, those tastes had
been honed by the relative deprivation of his years
aboard the Stargazer.- Still, that vaguely hedonistic
aspect of his personality was something he preferred
to keep private, which meant he kept his visits
to the Enterprise's Ten-Forward lounge to a
minimum. He went there only for an irresistible
party in progress or when he had an undeniable
need to unwind.
Without question, dealing with Envoy Frid Undrun
fell into the latter category. Which explained
Picard's unaccustomed appearance at the end of
Guinan's pastel-lit bar. She greeted him with a
friendly nod. "Captain."
"Guinan."
"What can I get you? A bit of Wesburri
fizz might give you a lift."
"Just some sparkling spring water with a twist of
lemon, please."
A moment later she placed a tapered glass before
him. "There you are."
"Thank you." He sipped. She stood, patient
as always, an almost-smile playing at the corners of
her mouth. Picard had noted her knack for matching
her mood to that of her clients, then elevating theirs
by changing her own so subtly as to escape notice.
For the moment, however, she was still measuring his.
"Sometimes, I just like to watch the bubbles rising,"
Guinan said. He lowered his eyes to the glass.
"Mmm. Buoyancy. Not always easy to attain for the
uncarbonated human."
"You've had better days . . .?"
"Does it show?"
"You're not exactly one of my
regulars."
His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"How would it look to have the captain on a constant
synthehol high?"
"Not good at all, Captain. But sometimes you should
stop by just to say hello. I wouldn't be here if it
weren't for you."
He sipped his drink. "You're doing a fine
job, Guinan."
"Thank you. You know, Ambassador Undrun
came in yesterday." She saw Picard's
expression turn sour, as if he'd bitten into his
lemon twist. "Ah, sore point, is he?"
"Not my first choice as a dinner guest."
"Also not the only thing bothering you, I'd guess."
He frowned in mock anger. "You and Counselor
Troi are starting to sound very much alike."
Guinan grinned. "Our jobs do have
similarities."
"But you don't have her Betazoid empathic
capabilities."
"I get by," she said lightly. She took his
empty glass. "More?" Picard shook his head.
"I'd better get back to the bridge."
She let out a snort. "Good thing the
rest of your crew isn't so tight-upped, or I'd
never feel as if I accomplished anything. You
came in here to unwind, but you still look wound up to me,
Captain."
"Let's just say I'm less tightly wound"
"Captains never really unwind, do they?"
"We get by." He smiled. "Thanks for the
chat."
He did feel better as he left the lounge,
aware that the eyes of crew members were watching him as
he passed. Guinan was correct about captains
never 143
unwinding completely. Too much tension and you'd
snap. Too little, and you'd founder at the first sign
of a storm. Just enough, he thought, and you're braced for
action. As he headed for the bridge, Picard felt
braced for the next few hours, when the decisions he
would have to make might save Thiopa and Commander Will
Riker-or condemn them.
Rut's woxw comprised a shade more than one
cubic meter, and it was dark, except for pinpoint
rays of light filtering through two breathing screens,
each the size of his hand. It also shook to an
irregular rhythm of bone-jarring bounces. Once
he'd awakened, it hadn't taken long
to figure out he was being transported by motor
vehicle, like a trapped animal. And, as an
animal might, he wondered if he was being taken
to a place of safety or slaughter? He'd tried
banging on the sides and shouting, without response.
The frequent bumps and noises from outside
made it clear they weren't traveling at a very high
rate of speed. But since he couldn't even guess
how long he'd been boxed and unconscious, there was
no way to estimate how far he'd been taken from the
warehouse in Bareesh. His communicator was gone-that
he knew. Nothing much to do but wait . . .
It must have been three hours later when the
vehicle rolled to a stop. Riker could hear distant
voices, as if they were near a bazaar or shopping
district. Then he heard the unmistakable
click-slide of latches unlocking. Riker
crouched on bruised haunches, prepared to spring at
whomever or whatever he saw first. The lid opened a
crack-and a blaster muzzle poked in. He made
a fatalistic grab for it, but the person on the
outside held fast.
"Let go or you're dead," said a gruff
voice.
Riker did as he was told. The lid
fell open, forcing him to squint against blinding
daylight. As he took a gulp of outside air,
Riker prepared to fight back his cough reflex.
Compared to the city, though, this air was fresh and pure.
At least breathable. After a couple of seconds of
adjustment, his eyes focused on the grizzled
whiskers of the Thiopan with the blaster pointed at him.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Durren." He thrust a bundle of dirty
tan clothing at Riker. "Out of yours. Put these
on."
"One size fits all?" The man didn't
seem to get the joke. "Sojourner, I
presume?"
The man continued to ignore him, and began humming
a mournful folk melody. So Riker unzipped his
uniform and stepped out of it. He felt a little
foolish getting undressed under these circumstances.
He could see that his packing crate was in fact on the
bed of a small cargo vehicle with a bubble-shaped
cab up front. And they were indeed parked just off a
bustling marketplace. As he put on the gauzy
leggings and shirt and tied a blue sash around his
waist, he took in the surrounding area. The
marketplace and its alleys and stalls were
filled 146
with people, but they looked more like refugees than
shoppers or traders. Many appeared to have their meager
belongings with them, some heaped on emaciated
animals, a few in decaying motor vehicles
overloaded with packs and people, but most of the Thiopans
were stooped by the weight of duffels and sacks strapped
to their backs and clutched in whatever arms were not already
holding small children. Older children were themselves carrying
backpacks.
"Put the hood on," Durren said. Riker
did, but Durren tugged it farther forward, making it
harder for anyone to see that he wasn't Thiopan.
"Where are we?"
"Get out."
Riker would have preferred to vault out of the crate and
make a gymnastically perfect landing on the ground.
But his head throbbed from whatever had been spritzed in
his face back at the Bareeshan warehouse, he'd
been knocked around inside the box for an
indeterminate period of time, and he was wobbly from
hunger. So discretion won out and he clambered over
the side carefully. Still pointing his blaster barrel,
Durren hopped off the truck bed after Riker, who
found himself facing two more Thiopans, with
rifles and knives hanging from their bright sashes.
The other two were younger than Durren. One had a
baby face and burning eyes. He held his weapon
with palpable affection. The third man was somewhat
older, with a nervous blink and darting eyes.
"Tritt," Durren said to his nervous
companion, "don't take your eyes off him. If
he tries to get away, shoot him."
"Shouldn't we burn his uniform?" Tritt asked.
"You couldn't," said Riker. "It's flameproof.
Besides, I'm kind of fond of it."
"Forget the damn uniform," the young Thiopan said.
"I'm starving."
"Mikken, you're always starving," Durren
complained.
"We haven't eaten since before daybreak. We have
to eat something before we cross the Sa'drit."
Durren acquiesced. "But make it fast."
Durren fell back to Riker's side as
Mikken led the way along one of the narrow streets,
looking for a booth that sold food. Durren resumed
his soulful humming, and Tritt trailed so close
behind that Riker could almost feel the blaster muzzle in
his ribs. Except for Durren's humming, they
walked in silence. Riker noticed that there
were precious few luxuries on sale
here-utilitarian clothing similar to what he'd been
given, baskets and sacks, harnesses and halters for
livestock, well-used pans and pottery, and some
tools and hand weapons. Mikken finally found a
food stall to his liking, apparently by following the
trail of the tangy aroma of sizzling meat. On an
open grill, charred nuggets were interspersed on
skewers with chunks of fruits and vegetables, the
flames in the pit hissing and flaring as juices
dripped down.
Riker's stomach rumbled. "How well do you
treat your prisoners?" Durren nodded to the stall
keeper. "We'll take
four."
Riker gratefully accepted the food-laden
stick. He was so hungry, he didn't care much
what was on it. He cared even less after his first
bite-whatever it was, it tasted great. "Thanks."
Once more, Durren avoided addressing him
directly. "You are not a prisoner."
"I'm obviously not free to go."
"Let's move on," Durren said, ignoring him
again.
As they left the cooking stall,
Riker's attention was snagged by a scene at the
adjacent booth. A woman with an infant in her
arms pleaded with a man seated on a wooden bench under
a sagging canopy. The man on the bench was fat and
self-important and his lips were thinned to a disdainful
line. "Can't you see my baby's dying?"
Riker stopped. His escorts made no immediate
effort to move him. No one else seemed to be
paying much attention to the desperate drama being
played out between the woman and the unsympathetic man, as
if a dying baby was totally unremarkable. Two
other painfully skinny children clung to their mother's
hips, fingers gripping her threadbare clothing like tiny
claws, eyes hollow with fear.
"Yes, I can see that," the fat man replied.
There was a border of kindness around his words, but the words
themselves were neutral, as if he had to keep them
untainted by any hint of compassion. "He's not
alone."
Riker drew closer and saw the baby in her
arms. It wasn't moving: Even the eyes were
unblinking. It was wrapped in a tattered remnant
of a blanket. Tiny feet stuck out, bones covered
by sallow skin. The face had none of the roundness of a
baby's face. Instead, it looked like the
face of an old man, withered and wintry and worn,
cheekbones and chin stretching shrunken skin. Its chest
twitched shallowly as lungs did their minimal best
to keep the match-stick body alive.
Alive-it never had a chance to live. Riker
listened, drifting still closer.
"But you have the medicine he needs. Please-was
"Too many need it. There's not enough. We have
to save the ones who are still alive."
"He is alive. was The woman thrust the baby
at the man on his bench. But his arms remained folded
as if any unfolding would unseal a judgment already
delivered. "Even if I could help, could you pay?"
She drew the spindly baby back to her breast and
her head bobbed. "Yes, yes, I can pay.
Whatever it takes, you can have it."
"You don't have anything."
"I have my children."
Riker's mind reeled in horror. He knew
what the woman was about to say. "I'll give them to you
if you'll save my baby."
"They're not worth anything. There's no more slave
trade. And they're too young to work."
"They can work! Save my baby with your medicine
comI'll buy my children back later.
Please!"
"Forget the baby. Save the others."
"Please!" Her plea became a keening cry.
It cut into Riker's heart, but Tritt and Mikken
took hold of his arms and pulled him away. "Why
wouldn't he save that baby?"
Durren shook his head. "No time to be saving
babies. Have to save the ones that can help now."
"How do you know that baby wouldn't have helped
someday?" Mikken stared at him. "That baby dies
today or he dies next week. He'll never reach
"someday.""
"If you can't guarantee life for infants, what
future do you have?" "If we don't save this
planet from the destroyers and their new ways,"
Durren said, his jaw tight, "there won't be a
future for any people on Thiopa-old, young or
unborn."
"Don't you understand?" Riker said. "We've got
enough medicine to save all the babies like that one. We
brought it to help you."
"You brought it to give to the government." Mikken
spat. "And they'll never give it to us."
"Not unless we deny everything we believe in,"
Durren said. "Would you give up all of
your truths if that's what it took to buy
survival?" "Knowing the people on the other side of the
bargain lied to you ail the way before that?" Mikken
added.
"No. Nobody should have to do that. But there's got
to be another way."
"There is," Durren said. "Get rid of the
oppressors."
"What if you can't?"
"Then we shall die trying," Mikken said with
finality.
They continued walking and munching on their food.
Tritt dropped a piece of meat in the dirt and
Mikken whirled on him. "Hey! Be more careful,
idiot."
"Calm down," Durren said.
Mikken's face reddened. "This stuff costs too
much to waste it like that."
"I didn't mean to," Tritt stammered.
"D-d-don't call me an idiot."
"What do you want him to do, Mikken-pick it up
and wash it off?" "Maybe."
"It hasn't come to that, not yet."
"Not yet," Tritt echoed, keeping Riker's
bulk between him and his angry partner.
"Durren," said Riker, "where the hell are we?
You said I'm not a prisoner, but Tritt's not about
to let me get away. So you can at least tell me
that much."
"Crossroads."
"This town's called Crossroads?"
"Yeah."
"Where is Crossroads located?"
"You're in the Endrayan Realm," Durren
finally said.
"That's the desert quarter." Riker waved a hand
to indicate their surroundings. "All this suffering.
There's nothing like this in Bareesh."
"What do you think this war is all about, Riker?"
said Mikken with a sneer. "All this is because the
government wants to wipe out the Sojourners and
everyone who might support us."
"Has Crossroads always been like this?"
Durren shook his head. "Never had too much rain
in these parts. But before the weather changed, there used to be
enough rain and snow in the mountains to water the fields."
"All these people-where did they come from?"
Durren chewed the last piece of fruit off his
skewer and discarded the stick. "Farms and other towns.
They left dried-out dirt behind, hoping
to find a better patch somewhere else . . . or at
least enough food to fill their hungry bellies."
Riker took a grim breath and shook his head.
"Our cargo ships have everything you people need to end all this
suffering. What about a case-fire?. Maybe that would
be enough to get the government to distribute the relief
supplies."
"You're dreaming, Riker," Mikken said, the set
of his jaw hard and harsh. "What about other places?"
Riker wanted to know. "Are other areas like this?"
"No," Durren said.
"Surely other places are enduring the same
drought."
"But they don't harbor Sojourners."
"Almost everyplace else," Mikken said, "the
cowards caved into Stross's genocide plans."
"Genocide? They're killing people who disagree with the
government?" "Not killing people," Durren clarified.
"Just their traditions, their identities. It's
called Fusion."
"We heard about that. What is it, exactly?"
"Making everybody talk, think, eat, and act the
same." Durren shrugged. "In some places it
doesn't matter. In some places people don't
believe in anything anyway. But we do,
and the Sojourners" way is the right way, the only
way to save Mother World."
"You were in Bareesh," Mikken said. "You tried
to breathe that foul soup they call air. The old
ways, from the Testaments . . . they can get us back
to when the world was pure, when it was clean."
"T-t-tell him about the circle," Tritt
said, as he carefully nibbled a chunk of fruit on
his skewer.
"Circle?" Riker repeated.
"That's what we believe in," said Durren.
"Circle of
life. The Hidden Hand leads us on the path . .
. it's a circle. No beginning, no ending. Just
goes on forever. But everything that's happened to the world
since Stross tried to change it, all the new
ways-well, the circle's broken." He opened his
hands to present all that was around them as proof. He
took Mikken's skewer and drew two figures in
the dirt, one a full circle, the other
incomplete, with its line veering off uncertainly.
"That's where Stross is leading us. We go that way,
we lose the circle, can't ever get back on,
keep going that way and soon all the life on
Thiopa will disappear."
"Let's go," Mikken said. "The sooner we
get back, the sooner we can see what Riker's
worth."
"What I'm worth?"
"How much your Captain will pay to get you back."
Riker knew the probable answer to that-nothing. If
he was a hostage, Captain Picard's hands were
tied by Starfleet regulations. While it was
permissible for a starship commander to talk with
hostage-takers, the line was drawn at ransom.
Some discretionary leeway existed, allowing for the
possibility that, under certain circumstance, beings
driven to such extremes really did have legitimate
grievances that had never been given appropriate
attention. A captain who became tangled in such
cases was prohibited from rewarding kidnappers
by paying with goods or favors for the return of crew
members or diplomats. However, upon
unconditional release of any and all captives,
a commanding officer would be free to offer a hearing, without
prejudicial backlash resulting from the initial
hostage situation.
That last part had always piqued Riker's
curiosity. 154
How many ship's captains were capable of
totally setting aside all rancor and chatting with
hostagetakers as if nothing had happened? Picard
could, he felt certain, as long as no blood had
been shed or serious damage inflicted to persons
or property. And if these Sojourners did indeed
have legitimate grievances, they would never find
anyone with a more open or fair mind to hear them out than
Jean-Luc Picard. Riker decided to do what he
could to encourage the Sojourners to take advantage
of such an offer should Picard extend it to them.
For now, though, he would keep all that to himself.
Durren, Mikken, and Tritt were obviously not the
leaders of the Sojourner movement. "Where am l being
taken?"
Durren grunted. "You'll know soon enough."
Captors and captive walked toward the
outskirts of what appeared to have been a busy town
in the past. There were signs that the marketplace which was
now concentrated into a few narrow blocks had once
filled every street. But the farther they got from the
hamlet's heart, the more of the two- and three-story
stone buildings were abandoned and boarded up. A few
were nothing but collapsed rubble. According to Mikken, they
were the result of bombs planted by government agents
in the earlier days of the conflict over
Stross's Fusion policy.
Such paramilitary forays had been only
sporadically successful, and they were often costly,
since government agents rarely made it out of
Endraya alive. Once the drought hit the
planet, ruining Endrayan agriculture,
government policy toward the Sojourners changed
radically to the current starvation campaign. 155
On the outskirts of the little town, they reached a
rail line running past a loading platform a few
hundred meters long. The line consisted of one wide
rail mounted on a track bed raised about two
meters above the ground. A single car, apparently
built of cannibalized parts, sat waiting. The
wheelless chassis, seven or eight meters long,
hugged the guide track, but the passenger compartment was
an amalgam of different shapes, heights, and
colors. It had openings instead of actual doors
and windows, and it was battered and rusting.
But it worked. The Thiopans and Riker climbed
up a short ladder hanging over the side of the car, and
Durren turned on a humming motor. Within
seconds, the car levitated a few inches above its
guide rail and moved away from the loading dock,
floating smoothly on an
electromagnetic cushion. "A little more comfortable
than the first leg of my trip," Riker quipped.
"For us, too," Durren agreed.
"Who built this system?"
"The government, about thirty years ago. The
Nuarans, really."
"Seems like a big project to take you out to the
middle of nowhere."
"They used it to bring minerals and ores back from the
mines and quarries out in the desert," Durren said,
his eyes sad. "That was one of the turning points. They
ripped the heart out of Mother World . . . butchers.
After about ten years, there was nothing left to take."
"What happened?"
"They left. Closed the mines. When the
Sojourners 156
moved back out to the Sa'drit, we found this line
abandoned. We put some pieces together and made it
work." He shrugged. "They would bomb it some- times.
We rebuilt it."
Riker scanned the badlands around them, the rock and
dirt and dust and sand. "Doesn't look as if it was
ever the easiest place to live."
"It wasn't," Durren said "Always hotter and
drier than most of Thiopa. But the
Endrayans managed, even before Evain started
preaching about the old ways$1,
"How?"
"How did they live here? By working with the world and not
against her. Simple." He pointed out to gray
hills. "Look . . ."
Open pits scarred the ashen land like fatal wounds
inflicted so long ago they were past bleeding. "That's
what the Nuarans did?" Riker asked. He got
no reply, but he didn't need one. The sorrow in
Durren's voice, the anger in Mikken's eyes,
told him what he needed to know.
"There's something I don't understand," Riker said.
Durren looked at him. "If there's nothing out here
that anybody wants, why has Stross declared war
on Endraya?"
"Because of us. Because we won't give up our right
to live the way we want."
"Durren," Tritt suddenly shouted "Stop!"
"What?"
"Out this-there."
The track bed ran past a watering hole, which was
nearly dry. But a handful of large animals were
lying on their sides in the mud. Durren throttled
the motor back to reduce speed.
"They're dead, Tritt."
"n-n-no-I saw them move. I
g-g-got better eyes than you."
With a sigh, Durren brought the rail car to a full
stop. Tritt jumped down and trotted across the few
hundred meters to the pond. The others watched but
made no move to follow.
"Why are you letting him do this again?" Mikken
complained. "Means something to him."
"What's he doing?" asked Riker.
Mikken scowled in annoyance. "Putting the
ealixes out of their misery."
"The water," said Durren. "The government and the
Nuarans used it up, made the weather dry it
up-or poisoned it."
"We found out about the poison when people drank the
water and died," Mikken said. "Toxic dumping from
the mining operations. But the animals can't test for
toxic waste, so they drink it and die. Except
sometimes, they're not quite dead and Tritt has to stop and
kill them. He gets along better with animals
than he does with people. So he feels he has to do this
whenever he sees some that aren't dead yet."
"Not an easy way to die, drinking poisoned
water," Durren said softly. "Eats your
insides. I've seen it happen to people."
They could see Tritt shooting the dying animals,
but the sound of his blaster was too faint to be heard
over the drone of the wind and the hum of the motor. He
walked back over the scrub weeds and low dunes and
climbed up the ladder. Durren pushed the throttle
to midspeed and the car leaped ahead.
The captain's seat was, for the moment, empty.
In fact, so was the whole center well of the bridge.
The three seats normally occupied by Picard,
Riker, and either Counselor Troi or Chief
Medical Officer Pulaski were all empty. As
ranking officer, Lieutenant Commander Data was
nominally in charge. But with no pressing crisis, he
simply remained in his low-slung seat at the Ops
console up near the viewscreen. He seemed
preoccupied with running calculations on his computer
terminal. Ensign Crusher glanced across from his
adjacent station.
"What're you working on, Data?"
"A theory, Wesley. But I lack certain
information. I shall try to get it from Dr. Keat when I
return to Thiopa."
"When are you beaming down?"
"As soon as the captain returns to the
bridge."
Wesley watched the planet that filled the main
viewer. "I don't get it." "Get what?"
"How anybody could let outsiders turn their
planet into a toxic dump."
"Shortsightedness."
"I guess. In one of my history courses I
learned about how we humans almost turned earth into a
polluted mess, and we didn't even need any
advanced aliens to help us."
Data's head bobbed owlishly. "Yes, humans
have a long record of self-inflicted disasters. It
is amazing your ancestors survived long enough
to develop spaceflight-- "Do you think the
Thiopans will survive all their problems?"
"Unknown, Wesley."
"Is that what your theory's about?"
"Yes."
The forward turbolift opened and Captain
Picard stepped onto the bridge. Data
swiveled toward him as Picard sat in the command
chair. "Captain, request permission to beam down
to confer with Dr. Feat."
"Granted. Oh, and you may show her that weather
control file from our memory banks. Do
your best to get something in return."
"Yes, sir." The android left the bridge and a
young female ensign took his place at the Ops
station. Only a few years older than Wesley,
she had honey-gold skin and Polynesian
features framed by lustrous raven hair. Wesley
greeted her with a shy smile. When she smiled
back, he had trouble taking his eyes off her.
"Mr. Crusher," Picard said sharply, "mind
your station."
Wesley's face turned crimson. "Yes,
sir." After a few moments, when his blush
subsided, he glanced over his shoulder.
"Captain?"
"Hmm?"
"About Commander Riker . . . we're running out of
time."
"Are we?"
"Your twelve-hour deadline . . ."
Picard got up and stood behind Wesley's seat.
"I haven't heard any orders to leave orbit, have
you?"
"No, sir."
"Then I'd concentrate on my duties if I
were you, Ensign." The voice and expression
were stern. But a reassuring hand rested on
Wesley's shoulder for just a moment.
"Do androids eat and drink"..."[*thorn]
Kael Keat leaned across her desk, golden
whiskers twitching tentatively as her wide pale
eyes gazed at Commander Data.
"It is not actually necessary for sustenance. But I was
constructed to accommodate ingestion of solid and
liquid food."
"To make you more compatible with the humans you were
designed to live with?"
"Apparently so. Since humans have some of their
most interesting conversations at mealtimes, I am glad
that eating is one of my functions." "Do you actually
get hungry?"
"No."
"Do you taste things?"
"Oh, yes, and I do have definite preferences."
"You are just the most fascinating . . . well, I
was going to say "thing," but biological or not, you
are definitely a person."
Data flashed a thoroughly pleased smile.
"Thank you, Dr. Keat."
"Don't be so formal. Call me KaeLike"
"Very well, Kael. Is there anything
else you would like to know?" "Are you joking?"
"Joking? No. As my shipmates so often
observe, I could not tell a joke if my life
depended on it, if it walked up and introduced itself
to me, if I tripped over one, if it ran up and
bit me on the-was
"I get the idea, Data," Kael chuckled.
"Back to your question-I would love to know everything about
you-how you were built, how you function, how you get
along with a shipload of biological beings-"She
stopped when she saw a faint cloud of disappointment
shadow his face. Or was she imagining it? "Oh,
I'm sorry. I'm talking about you as if you're a
behavioral science experiment."
"In a way, I am. My existence is, to some
extent, an ongoing case study." "Does that
bother you?"
"No. Should it?"
"It would bother the hell out of me, knowing my every
action and interaction was being watched and cataloged
by somebody."
"But interaction with humans and with other lifeforms is
endlessly intriguing. Although I am being closely
observed because of my unique origins, I am always
observing my observers. They are my
teachers, even when they are not aware of it. I
believe it is possible to learn something of value from
every life-form we encounter."
"What a wonderful attitude."
"The variety of behaviors exhibited by living
beings is astonishing. I find this especially true of
humans, since they are the species with which I have had
the most extensive experience."
"Do you understand these people you live and work with?"
"Not entirely. The complexities of love,
hate, greed, sacrifice. . ."
"So you learn from both the good and the bad?"
"Oh, most definitely. I do understand why
human artists, poets, and writers make such
frequent use of the most intense emotions, both
positive and negative."
"We've certainly got plenty of those flying
around here on Thiopa," Kael said ironically.
"Think you've learned anything from us?"
"From you."
"Really? What?"
"I have learned more about love and dedication from your
devotion to science and truth."
Kael blinked in embarrassment. "Well, it's
very nice of you to say that. And speaking of
science and truth, there are things you want to know about
Thiopa, right?"
Data nodded. "If I may, I would like to see
your planetary meteorology records."
"Meteorology records? Temperatures,
rainfallthat sort of thing?" "Exactly."
"How far back?"
"As many years as you have on record."
"Do you mind if I ask why?"
"I need additional information to test a theory."
"What kind of theory?"
The android's yellow eyes blinked in hesitation.
"I am not quite ready to discuss it with anyone,
Kael."
"Well, when you are ready, will you tell me about
it?"
"Certainly."
"Then you're welcome to see whatever weather
records you need."
"The overthrow of the government?" Riker's eyes
darted quickly from Durren to Mikken, then back again.
He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
"It's the only way we can find our way back
into the circle," Mikken said fiercely, his powerful
hand curled around his blaster, as if wing a
lover. "We've been forced to it by Stross and his forty
years of collaboration with the scum Nuarans."
"Is this Sojourner policy, Durren?"
"No. But plenty of our people want what Mikken
wants."
"What about you?"
Durren squinted, scanning the desolate beauty
of the mountains guarding the horizon before he replied.
"Don't know, Riker. I'd rather have it another
way."
"It's too late for any other way. Stross
picked this path," said Mikken. "Then he dragged us
down it. The Hidden Hand can't find us here."
"How do you expect your handful of believers to bring
down an entire planetary government?"
"The simple d-d-days," said Tritt
quietly. "We have to go back to them. We just have
to."
Up ahead, less than a kilometer away, the
track bed ended in an old crater formed by an
explosion. Durren backed the throttle down, and the
car coasted to a stop within a few meters of the damaged
section. A young woman waited for them, with five of the
same beasts to which Tritt had tended back at the
watering hole. His face lit as he saw
them nibbling on some prickly brush clinging to the
hillock where they stood untethered. "Mori!" he
shouted. The young woman replied with a wave, and
Tritt jumped down to the gray sand before the car had quite
stopped moving and ran over to greet the animals.
He gave each one a thump and a hug. Riker and his
remaining captors followed Tritt over.
"Is he talking to them?" Riker asked.
Mikken's head quirked in disgust. "He's named
them. Swears he recognizes each one on
sight."
"Ealixes seem to know each other," Durren
said.
"That's by scent. They all smell the same
to me-bad."
Riker walked cautiously around the animals,
looking them over. They, on the other hand, showed little
interest in him, except for twitching their snouts as
they caught his scent. They looked to him like an
ungainly cross between camel, horse, and hippo.
Barrel-shaped bodies with small humps just behind their
withers, wide heads with dainty mouths that seemed
frozen in a Mona Lisa smile, soulful eyes
with long lashes, nostrils that opened and closed
tightly, probably to prevent them from
breathing in grit whipped up by the wind, wide flat
feet with toes that splayed for better traction in the
sandy terrain. Two of the ealixes also had double
sets of horns sprouting from their brow ridges.
Males, Riker guessed. The only noise the
animals made was a rhythmic snorting as their
nostrils sealed and snapped open with each breath.
Riker approached Tritt, who was vigorously
scratching the nose of one of the horned animals. The
ealix yawned in pure contentment. "So these are
ealixes . . ."
"Best friend you could have out here." Tritt's stammer
disappeared as he stroked the animal's neck,
ruffling its fine pinkish fur.
The ealixes all had blankets thrown over their
backs and bridles and reins over their heads.
Since there weren't any bits in their mouths, Riker
guessed them to be docile animals. He touched the
one Tritt was petting and felt it actually purr.
The notch on its back between shoulders and hump
seemed amply padded with fat to provide a
reasonably comfortable seat.
Riker watched the young woman adjust an
additional harness around the neck and shoulders of one of the
ealixes. Another animal had a
similar rig, which held a dull brown metal
tube as long as a man's armspan. "Weapons?"
Mori nodded. "Ground-to-air slasher
launchers."
"What do you shoot at?"
"Government hoverjets. We were easy targets
before we got these."
"And now?"
"Now we get the jets more often than they get
us," she said in an a11-business tone, as if
she'd been shooting down attacking aircraft most
of her life, which might have been the case, for all
Riker knew. "Are you a good shot?"
She fixed him with a flinty gaze. "I get my
share." When she was satisfied she had the launchers
hanging properly, she moved around the second
ealix to face Riker. "Can you ride?"
"I've ridden a lot of different animals on
a lot of different planets. These don't look like
much trouble."
"They're not. Comfortable, too."
"Where are we going?"
Mori turned and pointed off to a distant pass
between majestic cliffs. "Sanctuary Canyon."
"How did it get that name?"
"When our ancestors came out here to the
Sa'drit, that's where they found water and fruit
growing. And that's where our legends say Mother World
handed down the Testaments-the writings that told us how
to live in Fusion with the land and sky."
"Fusion. That's the same name Stross uses for his
plan."
Mori's eyes flashed. "He stole the name,
thought he could fool people. His Fusion mocks what the
name stands for."
Mikken vaulted smoothly up onto one of the
ealixes bearing a slasher. That didn't surprise
Riker, considering this Thiopan's affinity for
weapons. Mori climbed onto the shoulders of the
other animal with the launcher rig. Riker, Durren,
and Tritt mounted the remaining three. Although there were
no stirrups and saddle horn, human hindquarters
fit snugly into the crook of the ealix's back and
Riker felt sufficiently secure.
"Out there, Riker, is the heart of the Sa'drit,
the heart of the Sojourners," Mikken said with a grim
smile. "The heart of the revolution that's going
to save Thiopa from ruin at the hands of Ruer
Stross."
They left the rail line behind and began
to ride across the barren plain of the Sa'drit Void.
From the slate-colored faces of far-off mountains
to the pallid gray-blue of the sky, this land was as
bleak as a moonscape. Riker wondered at the
crazed courage it must have taken for the first Sojourners
to venture out here centuries ago-and at the
fanatical dedication to a Sojourner renaissance that
was driving these people who'd had the audacity to snatch him
from the middle of Bareesh.
Along the way, they passed mute evidence of
past clashes-burned carcasses of hoverjets
scattered grotesquely, like dead birds shot down
by desert marksmen. Whether because of the destructive
power of the slasher weapons, the impact of the crash,
or both, little 167
was left to give Riker an idea what the
hoverjets would look like whole. But the charred and
twisted bits told a story all their own. The other
side of the story was also told by the ashes
of a small encampment, still retaining the two-dimen
sional layout of a place where people had lived. But
the third dimension, height, had been burned to the
ground. Somehow, a tent pole here, a
structural frame
there, still stood, blackened and so fragile
they would
not stand long against a strong wind.
The caravan slowed as it passed the burned
campsite. "What happened here?" Riker asked
Mori, who rode flank to swaying flank with his
ealix. "This is what the hoverjets could do anytime
they wanted before we got the launchers."
"When was that?"
"Six months ago."
"Where did you get the weapons?"
"From the Nuarans."
Riker was shocked. "The Nuaransl I thought you
hated them."
"We do," Durren dissd from the animal behind
Riker. "But they gave us what we needed to defend
our land."
"Your archenemy gave you weapons?"
"They sold them to us," Durren said, "in
return for the rights to future resource mining in our
territory and any other places we might conquer."
"They were hedging their bets," Riker concluded.
"Just in case. But I thought there wasn't anything
left to mine out in Endraya."
"There's plenty," Mikken said from the lead
ealix. "It's just that the mines had to be
dug deeper and 168
deeper, and out in areas that were open to our surprise
attacks. The government decided it was too
expensive and too dangerous. That's about when they
broke off ties with the Nuarans. So the Nuarans
came to us."
"I'm a little surprised the Sojourners would deal
with the embodiment of evil," Riker said.
"The Nuamns are not honorable," Durren said.
"And so we took their weapons, knowing we would never
give them anything in return."
"What if they come back to take what they want?
They can do a lot more damage than government
hoverjets."
"We can handle it," Mikken boasted.
Without anyone else noticing, Tritt had reined
his mount away from the others and was- wandering through the
ruined camp as if searching halfheartedly for something
he knew wasn't really there.
"Damn him," Mikken said. "Does he have to do
that every time we pass this place?"
Mori silenced Mikken's complaint with a warning
glare. "You can hardly blame him."
"Why?" said Riker. "What happened?"
"Tritt lived here," Mori
explained. "He lost his wife and child when the
hoverjets attacked. Almost everyone in the camp
died."
"When was this?"
"Almost a year ago," Mori said. "Back then
we still had some people living outside of Sanctuary
Canyon trying to farm, trying to lead a normal
life. They were the brave ones-was
"Stupid ones," Mikken sneered. "You can't
farm in a war zone."
"It wasn't supposed to be a war zone:" 169
"Lessandra never should have let them live here,"
Mikken went on. "We warned them. . ."
"We are supposed to be fighting for the freedom
to live anywhere and in any way we want."
Mori's face reddened and her voice rose in
anger. "We are not supposed to be telling people how
to live."
"Dream all you want." Mikken swung his arm
out toward the ashes of the settlement. "This is reality.
The sooner we accept, that, the sooner we'll take
Thiopa and get back to the circle."
Riker had noticed that Durren was steering clear
of the heated exchange, concentrating instead on humming
to himself. Silently, Tritt and his ealix
drifted back to the group and fell in at the rear,
leaving a plume of ash and dust curling up into the
breeze behind him. The bickering between Mikken and
Mori faded, and Riker thought about the latest twists
in what he knew of the Thiopan conflict.
The Nuarans giving weapons to the Sojourners-that
was a shock. Did the Nuarans do it just to wreak
vegeance on the Thiopan government, which had booted
them off the planet? Or did they really believe
they could turn the Sojourners away from their sacred
quest? And how did the Sojourners justify their
acceptance of help from the off-wonders who
personified everything they were fighting against?
From a pragmatic standpoint, the Sojourners'
actions made a certain amount of short-term sense.
Accepting the weapons was the only way they could
obtain the armaments they needed to keep Stross's
protectorate from overrunning Sojourner positions
out here in Endraya. But how many principles could the
Sojourners overlook, and for how long, before 170
they began to forget the beliefs that ignited the whole
conflict? It was a rare cause that reached its goals
without some compromise, Riker knew. But the purer the
underlying principles, the more brittle the crusade.
And the Sojourners were obviously a zealous
lot, guided by a righteous doctrine that did not
appear to leave much room for transgressions. If
his escorts were at all representative of the
attitudes of their group as a whole, Riker
wondered if they would defeat themselves from within before the
government could do it from without. Durren suddenly
stopped humming and swiveled about, scanning the sky
all around for-for what? Tritt, who'd claimed to have
a sharper sense of sight, apparently had better
hearing, too. He spun halfway around on his
ealix, then pointed in the direction of the
pollution-veiled sun.
"Out there."
An instant later, Riker picked up the sound,
too-a throaty whine that came from flying dots too
small to see in detail. But there was no doubting
what was about to happen. Mori goaded her ealix
into a trot. The others followed her toward a steep
hill. Once they reached its protective shadow,
the Thiopans and then Riker dismounted and took up
defensive positions behind a pile of boulders.
Mori and Mikken each hefted a slasher, balanced
it on one shoulder, and sighted through scopes
protruding from the launcher barrels.
"Do they know we're here?" Riker
asked.
"Probably. They may be looking for you,"
Durren said.
Riker grunted. "Great to be wanted."
"But we want you alive. They might be just as
happy to send you back dead."
"So they could tell Captain Picard the nasty
Sojourners killed me?" Durren nodded.
"Stross can claim he did his best to get you back
alive-but got there too late to save you from those
fanatics in the desert."
The hoverjets were close enough to make out now-a
random formation of four bullet-shaped craft, glinting
white against the sky. They were moving slowly, drifting
in a search pattern, their verticalcontrol engines
kicking up clouds of dust as they combed the badlands for
their quarry. "Can you hit them from this distance?"
"Yes," Mikken said quickly.
"Maybe," Mori said. "Once we fire, if
we miss, they'll be locked onto our position-was
"And then it's a matter of who's got a faster
trigger finger," Riker said.
Mori nodded. "Right. Also, if we can shoot when
they're closer together, if we hit one, the explosion
might take a second one out, too."
"The waiting game," Riker observed. "Tests
your nerves."
"We may not be able to wait," Durren said. "It
looks as if they've found us."
The four hovercraft slid into a stricter formation.
They were indeed headed directly for the Sojourners'
hiding place. Riker gland at Mori and Mikken.
Both seemed steady, their fingers poised on the
trigger buttons. Riker wished he had something
to shoot, too. It 172
would be better than sitting like a clay pigeon
waiting to get blown away. He licked his lips and
peeked over the rocks. The hoverjets had slowed
their advance. What the hell are they doing? he
wondered. Somebody's going to take the first shot.
If it's them, they could blast the mountain open and
bury us. In this case, I'll be a lot happier
if we shoot first and ask questions later.
As if reading Riker's mind, Mori centered a
hoverjet in her cross-hairs and squeezed the
trigger. A red ball of roiling energy pulsed out the
front of her barrel and screamed across the desert.
The hoverjets saw it coming and broke their grouping,
spiraling as they tried to evade the slasher bolt.
Mikken fired his weapon an instant after
Mori, knowing her decision to fire first meant the
enemy was on the defensive until Mori's shot
either hit or missed. It hit--dead onand the lead
hoverjet exploded into a fireball. But the other
three were far enough away to escape the black smoke from
the fist of flame that was already crashing to the ground.
Two hovercraft cannons opened fire, spraying
a volley of pinpoint energy bursts. The top of the
hill erupted in a shower of dirt and rock. Riker
and the Thiopans ducked and covered their heads. The
hill itself was too thick for the government aircraft
to shoot through. They'd have to move around it, and that's what
they did. Two came from one side, the third from the
other.
Mori and Mikken crouched back to back.
Virtually simultaneously, they fired--and two more
hovercraft exploded. The last remaining hunter
had become the prey in this deadly game, and the pilot
knew he was outgunned. He rattled off a salvo
of cannon bolts, then 173
heeled over so hard his hoverjet was tipped almost
on its side. With a rapid attitude correction,
the pilot kicked his craft to full throttle and
fled at top speed, leaving a streak of white
exhaust smoke behind. The Thiopans
broke into cheers. Riker wiped beads of sweat off
his face, silently relieved. He still wasn't
free, but he'd survived the encounter without a
scratch. And it was better to be a live hostage
than a liberated corpse.
On Timo neouThat not Pouvmm when it wasn't
obscuring the sun, it made for gorgeous sunsets.
Today was one such sunset, and Sovereign
Protector Stross took a break from his
woodworking to watch the sky set aflame, a
palette overflowing with golds and umbers near the
horizon, ribbons of streaked clouds, purple and
finally black on the far side of the sky. The door
of the workroom swung open and Policy Minister
Ootherai came in, heels clicking on the
hardwood floor. He looked haggard, his face
drained of color. He raked his fingers through his
beard. "Lord Stross?" "What?" Stross
didn't bother to turn.
"The Endrayan mission--it, uh, the squadron
didn't accomplish what it set out to do."
Now Stross faced his aide. "You mean it
failed. 175
Come right out and say things, Hydrin. How bad is
it.
Ootherai swallowed, betraying uncharacteristic
jitters. "We, uhh, we lost three
hoverjets."
Stross's baggy eyes opened wide. "Three out
of four?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Damn those Nuarans," Stross hissed, his
jaw clenching. "That party in the desert must have Riker.
There is no other reason for anybody to be going from
here to the Sa'drit."
"Not likely."
"They were going in that direction, weren't they?"
"Yes, my lord, they were."
"Then we know where they'll be. It's about time we
showed Lessandra and her terrorists they're not safe
anywhere. When was the last time we attacked
Sanctuary Canyon?"
"Five months ago. That's when we discovered the
bastards had Nuaran slashers. We lost ten
hoverjets."
"I remember. This time will be different. Get our
best pilots together and plan an attack for dawn
tomorrow."
"On the canyon?"
"That's what I said."
"What makes you think they won't shoot us down
again?"
Before Stross could answer, his communication channel
beeped for his attention. He reached for the wall
intercom. "Stross."
"Captain Picard calling from the Enterprise,
my lord," said the communications control voice. "Shall
I tell him you're in a meeting?"
"No, I'll talk to him. Put visual through
to this terminal."
"Yes, my lord."
A moment later, Picard's face appeared on
the small wall viewer. "Protector Stross,
thank you for taking my call," he said soberly.
"I had hoped to have a response from you regarding my
conversation with Minister Ootherai."
Stross nodded with a benign half-smile.
"Hmm. You made some threats."
"They were not threats." Picard was calm. "I
simply wanted your government to be aware of the
consequences of a lack of cooperation."
"I'm sorry if Ootherai gave you the wrong
idea. I believe in speaking plainly, Captain.
I have a feeling you do, too."
"Then let's speak plainly,
Protector Stross."
"Fine. We need the supplies you have brought us,
and the Federation needs Thiopa. I'm personally very
sorry that your first officer got caught up in our
troubles. We are trying to get him back for you."
"That's a step in the right direction. Have you made
any pry?" "Can you give us till morning? By then
I think we'll have something definite to tell you."
"Very well, until morning. But decisions will have
to be made then."
"Understood, Captain. We appreciate your
patience."
"Is it also understood that patience has its
limits?"
Stross nodded. "It is. We shall talk again in the
morning. Stross out."
The Thiopan leader's image blinked off the main
viewscreen on the bridge and was replaced by the
standard orbital view of the planet below. Picard
crossed his legs and sat thoughtfully in his bridge
seat.
"I don't trust him, sir," Worf rumbled from
over Picard's shoulder. The captain turned.
"Why is that, Lieutenant?"
"I don't trust sudden course
changes."
"Neither do I. Counselor?"
Deanna Troi regarded her commander with her usual
directness. "I think Stross was hiding something.
At the moment, I wouldn't classify him as
trustworthy."
"Mmmm." Picard was silent another moment.
"I think we'll see what the lord protector has
to say in the morning, before we make our decision."
He stood. "I'll be in the ready room if you
need me. Mr. Data, you have the bridge."
The rest of the ride to Sanctuary Canyon was
uneventful, and Riker's group had finally reached the
towering ridges that stood like sentinels at the narrow
mouth of the Sojourners' spiritual homeland. In single
file, the animals picked their slow-footed way
through the ravine until they reached the entrance to the
canyon itself. Riker and the others dismounted, leaving the
animals in Tritt's care. While he led them
to join the herd grazing peacefully on the sparse
canyon grass, Durren took the rest of the group
up the side trail.
To Riker, the canyon had a forbidding majesty.
And though he'd visited cliff dwellings before,
he'd never seen anything quite like the
elaborate- city perched on the far ledge, nestled
beneath its soaring rock over- 178
hang, a wall at least a half-mile high.
A wall that had long ago been the inside of this
mountain, before it was split by . nature's most
elemental forces, then carved and shaped and worn
smooth by flowing water and blowing wind. By the Hidden
Hand the Sojourners believed in, extended by Mother
World to guide and protect them. The surrounding
grandeur of Sanctuary Canyon almost made
Riker a believer, too.
They rounded the canyon rim and entered the Stone
City, where Riker was presented to Lessandra in her
barren garden. The old woman hobbled up to him, then
propped her weight on her walking crutch, the
padded mob tucked under her arm. The crutch was
adorned with intricate carvings, and polished ebony
designs were inlaid along the shaft. In her white
hair Lessandra wore a circlet of silver,
finely wrought but tarnished by time in an environment that
offered no protection for precious bangles.
Riker wondered about those elegant touches that
seemed so out of place in the ragged world the
Sojourners had chosen for themselves. As Lessandra
sized him up, he did the same to her. A
missing leg, one half-closed eye, weathered skin,
missing teethlife hadn't been easy for her. "So
you're Riker."
"And you're Lessandra. You lead these people?"
She snorted a mirthless laugh. "You could call
it that."
"Then we've got important things to discuss."
"Oh, do we now? Let's do it over evenmeal.
I've had food prepared. Little one," she said
to Mori, "fetch some of the silberry wine." She
turned to glare at a man and a woman standing beside her.
The woman had a deeply lined face, though she was
much-younger 179
than Lessandra. The man was also middle-aged,
with a gray beard. "We want to be part of this," said
the woman.
Lessandra puckered her lips in annoyance. "I
don't have to let you, Glin."
"Then Jaminaw and I will have to tell the people you're
keeping secrets from them. That won't do wonders for
your support."
"Come along, then, damn you."
She led the small group to her house. Even in
twilight, Riker could see that the two-story
building was constructed of sandstone bricks
hand-hewn to exacting tolerances, their beveled edges
so tightly aligned that a slip of paper would not fit
between them. Inside, the walls were covered with large
tapestries woven with abstract geometric
designs, their colors amazingly vibrant,
especially in contrast to the drabness of the desert
terrain Riker had looked at all day. Candles in
holders chipped from stone blocks were scattered
liberally about the main room, bathing it in soft light
that quivered with every breath and breeze. There was no
furniture, except a few squat barrels
serving as tables. Large pillows and heavy
blankets littered the floor, and that was where they
sat. Mori entered from a back chamber with a clay
pitcher and mugs for Lessandra, Riker, Glin,
Jaminaw, and Durren. A younger girl, in her
mid-teens, scurried in with two platters of fowl
roasted to a crunchy goldbrown over an open
flame. They were still sizzling. The serving girl left
the food on the barrel tables, then disappeared and
hurried back with a meager salad of leaves and
roots. Mori poured the drinks and then sat down.
Riker was glad for the hot food, since the
temperature 180
had started to drop with the approach of
dusk, a common characteristic of most of the deserts he'd
seen. "Tastes good."
"See? We're not starving," Lessandra said
smugly.
"Of course this is the first time we've had meat in
three weeks," Glin countered.
Lessandra flashed a dirty look at her, but
Riker spoke first. "Look, let's get one thing
straight. I'm not your enemy. My ship came here
to help Thiopans who need help. We've got
food, medicine, all sorts of supplies to help
your world get back on its feet."
"Do you have weapons?" Lemandra said.
"Not for you-and not for Stross. This is a
humanitarian relief mission." "We're the ones
who need what you've got. I'll trade you to your
captain in return for all those supplies."
"We can't do that. We're empowered to deal only
with the planet's authorized government."
"Come back soon and we will be the government."
"I might as well tell you now, Lessandra,"
Riker said in a firm voice, "that Captain
Picard is not going to bargain for my release."
"I know one thing: he won't let you die in our
hands. People who have come this far to help poor
starving famine victims are too softhearted to leave
one of their own in captivity."
"Nobody on the Enterprise is indispensable."
"Brave talk."
Riker nibbled on a leg of fowl. The meat was
tough-these birds had not been raised on quality
feed, that was certain-but however they were cooked, the
flavor had a satisfying tang to it. "Not
brave-just factual."
"So your captain thinks you're worthless."
"I didn't say that, Lessandra. But
Startleet has very clear guidelines for dealing with
terrorists."
"We're not terrorists!" Lessandra sputtered.
"You may have perfectly valid grievances, but the
second you kidnap hostages, you become
terrorists. If you give me back
unconditionally, I promise you'll get a fair
hearing from Captain Picard."
The old woman grunted disdainfully. "And you'll
overthrow Stross for us." "We can mediate."
"Mediate what?"
"A settlement-not a surrender."
Jaminaw stabbed an enthusiastic finger into the air.
"Listen to him!" Riker frowned, trying
to fathom this battered leader who, at the moment, held
his fate in her hands. "What exactly do you want
equals and don't tell me the overthrow of the
government."
"But that is what we want, Riker."
"Give me something realistic, and maybe the
Federation can help you."
"Why would Stross listen to the Federation?"
Ixssandra asked. "Because he wants Federation
aid-and the Nuarans aren't the only alien race who
would like a piece of your planet. Stross can accept
aid from the Federation-or dominance from the Nuarans or
the Ferengi. I know which one I'd pick if I were
sitting in his chair."
Glin munched reflectively on a root. "So
you're saying that in return for aid, Stross might
be inclined to pay some mind to what the Federation says
about our fight?"
"Don't misunderstand me. We have a very strict

rule called the noninterference directive. We
can't meddle with the internal affairs of any world, nor
can we change how any society is developing just
because we think our way is better. But if we're
asked to help settle a dispute, we can
try to bring two warring parties together for their own common
good."
"Tell him what we want," Mori piped up.
The older council members looked at her, and when
no one spoke right away, she told him herself.
"We want the right to live our own way. We want
a chance to convince other people that our way might be
better, but if they don't choose to agree with us,
then we won't force them-sort of our own
noninterference directive."
Riker looked at the others. Lessandra's face
furrowed in disapproval. But Glin and Jaminaw were
nodding. "Is Mori right?" he asked.
"The essence is there," Glin said, her graying
whiskers twitching. "Ealix dung!" Lemandra
exploded. "You're all ready to betray everything our
ancestors stood for, everything Evain taught us and
died for. You're ready to believe that Stross and his
criminals will learn to love Mother World overnight and
accept the Hidden Hand and live in true Fusion with the
land. And if you believe that, you've all got sand for
brains."
"Lessandra," Riker said, "governments sometimes
do incredible turnarounds when the alternative is
extinction. And in the case of Thiopa, your
environmental disasters could mean the extinction not only
of the government but of life itself."
"Besides," Glin added, "no agreement is forever.
If they break a pact, we're free to start the
battle again."
But Lessandra wasn't buying. She folded her
arms 183
across her chest, her chin and whiskers jutting out
pugnaciously. "Stross has led us halfway
to hell, and the rest of the route's a downhill slide.
He and the protectorate have to be swept from
Thiopa. That's the only hope for our future,
any future. I will do anything, even trade with the
Nuarans, to rid Thiopa of Ruer Stross. We
shall build an army strong enough to ride out of the
Sa'drit and overwhelm Bareesh. We've sat out
here in the sand long enough. It's time to take Thiopa
back and restore the old ways before Stross
destroys what's left of Mother World. Either we win
or we weep."
The chill of the night made Riker's nose
tingle, and the condensation of his breath collected on his
mustache. A crescent moon rode high in the sky
as he walked along the Stone City's front ledge
with Mori. A few flickering torches
moved along the canyon rim as sentries marched between
the lookout posts on the outer ridges.
"Lessandra really hates Stross," he said.
"That is certain," Mori replied. She
wrapped her collar scarf around her neck and chin and
slipped her hands up under her arms.
"It sounds more than political. It sounds
personal." "It is."
"Tell me about it."
"Her leg-that's how she lost it."
"What do you mean?"
"Back twenty years ago, she was Evain's
deputy. At that time the Sojourners were picking up
more and more followers. Stross wanted us controlled, and
he wanted Evain stopped. That's when my father went
into hiding."
"Your father?"
"Evain was-disis-my father." She saw Riker's
eyebrows arch in surprise. "Stross told
Lessandra the government was willing to negotiate.
They agreed on a neutral place. I think
Stross was hoping my father would show up."
"Did he?"
She shook her head and raked a hand through her
spikey hair. "He wanted to go, but
Lessandra wouldn't let him. She was right, too.
They arrested her and took her to Kahdeen, the most
notorious prison island on the planet."
"What did they do to her?"
"Tortured her . . . beat her," Mori
whispered, a shiver in her voice. "For two
weeks. Without medical treatment."
"What did they want to know-where your father was?"
Mori nodded. "But she wouldn't tell them
anything. They executed friends of hers right in front
of her. But she still wouldn't talk. They broke both
her legs, and when they finally let her go, they dumped
her in the desert. By the time the Sojourners found her,
one leg was so badly infected that it had to be
amputated."
"What happened to your father?"
"He sent me to live with his friends, and he stayed
on the run for a few more months. But Stross's men
eventually found him. They tried him for treason, and of
course they convicted him."
Riker's eyes were gentle, his voice soft.
"Did they . . ."
"Execute him?" She shook her head. "They
didn't want to create a Sojourner martyour."
She told Riker the 185
rest of the story-how the government sentenced Evain
to life in Kahdeen Prison, how they said he had
died of natural causes two years later, and how
many prisoners insisted that Evain was still alive, being
shunted from island to island in the penal system so that his
survival could never be confirmed. "I know he's
alive," Mori said. "I know it."
"So you don't believe anything the government said
after they imprisoned him."
"Why should I? Would you?"
"No, I guess not." He took a deep
breath of the brisk night air. "And I can understand why
Lessandra hates Stross and his government."
"The strangest part is that Stross blamed my father
for starting the attacks on the Endrayan mining
operations. But they didn't start until after he went
into hiding. Evain hated violence. Anybody who
reads what he wrote about the Testaments would know that.
Lessandra's the one who ordered the attacks. But
they blamed Evain anyway."
"Does anybody else think your father's still
alive?"
Mori's shoulders flexed in a resigned shrug.
"Very few believe it, and nobody will come out and say
it. They're afraid it will encourage me,
get my hopes up, make me do something crazy
to try to get him freed. I think Lessandra
believes he died sometime during the last twenty
years, even if it wasn't when the government says
he died. Maybe Durren thinks he might be
alive."
"It sounds pretty tenuous."
"I really want to know the truth." She shook her
head slowly. "And I thought we could use you to find
out, but nobody thinks it's important enough to include
as part of any deal with your ship."
"Remember, there won't be any deal. You people either
let me go or you're going to have a houseguest for a
long time."
Mori shoved her hands deep into her pockets.
"It's time to go to sleep. I've been assigned
to guard you."
Riker nodded toward the moonlit badlands
stretching infinitely around Sanctuary Canyon.
"Where could I possibly escape to?"
"Nowhere," Mori said grimly. "Don't forget
it. You'd die out there before you got anywhere."
"Fine-you've convinced me."
"I'm still going to have to tie you up. Let's go."
She led him toward the lodge where her
rooms were.
"Tell me-where did the name "Sojourners' come
from?"
"Our people believe we're just passing through this
place. Mother World lets us use her treasures, but
we're just borrowing, not taking. The land doesn't
belong to us; we belong to the land."
"Like caretakers?"
"Right. Mother World lets us use what she has
while we're here. It's our responsibility
to leave the land in as good or better condition than we
found it."
"A little different from the government's attitude,
eh?"
"Yes."
"Sojourners' beliefs," Riker mused as they
walked, "are not all that different from what my people
believe in."
Most of the lodges they passed were dark, but a few
windows glowed with candlelight. Furnishings were
similar to those in Lessandra's chambers, mostly
blankets and pillows, with a few crude pieces
made of wood or flat stones to serve as tables or
seats. All the 187
occupants he could see were adults, with
occasional teens on the cusp of adulthood. It
dawned on Riker that there didn't seem to be any
younger children here. He asked Mori about it.
"Some wanted the little ones to live here, too, but
Lessandra and some of the other leaders decided it was
too dangerous and too rough for children who weren't old
enough to take care of themselves."
"Where do they live?"
"They stay with families back in the villages
and on the farms."
"From what I saw in Crossroads, that's not an
easy life, either."
"There is no easy life in this realm-not as long
as we refuse to surrender to Fusion."
Mori's quarters were two rooms on the ground
floor of a sandstone dwelling considerably smaller
than Lessandra's. Riker glanced up at the
daunting rock overhang rising high into the darkness,
and he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling it gave
him. Not that it was about to tumble down, but the way it
vaulted overhead made him feel that he was in the
belly of some impossibly huge beast. Primal
dreads? he wondered.
Mori pushed back the blanket draped over her
entryway, then stopped short with a gasp.
"What's wrong?"
"Cave spider." She cringed, her voice a
dry whisper.
Riker rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You shoot
down hoverjets without so much as flinching and yet a little
spider petrifies you?"
She crept back as gingerly as if afraid of
awakening 188
some fetid, fanged monster slumbering inside.
"It's not little."
"How big can it be?"
She stared at him peevishly. "You're so
brave, see for yourself."
Riker pushed past her and swept open the drape.
His feet froze in midstride. "Well, well,
that is a sizable spider."
And it was, with a leg span nearly the width of a
man's forearm and a body the size of a melon coated
with glistening brown fuzz. Three stalked eyes
quivered as the creature clung to a thick web it
had spun across the ceiling. "Uhh, do these things come
to visit often?"
"Now and then. They think the buildings are caves
because they're cool and dark. They don't like light.
If you leave a candle burning, that's
usually enough to keep them out."
"But you've got a candle burning," Riker
noted.
"Yes, but you have to leave them near the doors and
windows to keep the spiders from going inside."
"How do you get them out once they're in . . .
or do you just move to another town?"
Mori giggled at Riker's quip, in spite of
her fear. "You scare them away with a light."
"You've done this before?"
"Sure . . . lots of times. Do you want
to try it?"
He sidestepped out of her way. "No, no . .
. I always defer to experience."
He did hold the blanket open for her as she
scuttled in and ducked low, staying as far away from the
spider as she could. She reached for the cut-stone candle
holder, which was sitting on a slab, then held it
high in 189
outstretched hands. "I'd stand back if I were
you." As she edged the candle closer to the spider, it
twitched nervously. Suddenly it dropped down on
a sturdy strand of silk and launched itself toward the
nearest escape route-right past Riker. It landed
on its springy legs and scrabbled off into the
darkness.
"You can come in now."
Riker remained skeptical. "How do you know that
was the only one?" "They're very territorial. If
two tried to come into a space this size, they would have
fought till one was dead . . . or maybe both. So
if there were two in here, one would be just mangled
pulp."
"That's . . . that's very comforting." Still, he entered
while Mori set up two piles of pillows and
blankets for sleeping. He watched her arrange
things and then reach into an animal-hide pouch and take
out a wooden box. She opened it carefully and pushed
aside a soft cloth covering, revealing an
exquisitely crafted doll. It was about the size
of Mori's hand, made of ceramic with daintily
painted Thiopan features and a colorful costume.
Mori set the doll on the stone slab next to her.
She seemed almost unaware that Riker was in the room.
"It's very pretty," he said.
She looked up with a start. "Oh . . . thank
you." Then she shrugged as if embarrassed. "I
don't know why I even keep it."
"It must be important to you."
"I guess."
"It looks old."
"It is." She cradled it in her palms and handed
it to him. Riker held it gently. "How long have you
had it?" 190
"As long as I can remember. My father gave it
to me. It's supposed to bring luck. I used to have a
whole collection of them back when we lived in a
town in a regular house."
"Is this the only one you have left?"
She nodded. "Most of us had to give up most of
what we had." She didn't sound happy about that
sacrifice, as if she'd done it without question, but always
wondered why. "I felt that I had to keep one,
though."
"I know the- feeling. I took some of my
favorite things from home when I joined
Startleet."
She brightened with interest. "What kind of things?"
He smiled sheepishly. "You don't really
want to know."
"I do."
"Well, I was born in a place called
Alaska, one of the few places on Earth where we
managed to preserve lots of original wilderness."
"What's it like, this Alaska?"
Riker sat down on the pillows. "Cold, and
bigger than life-everything, the mountains, the
valleys, icebergs and glaciers, plenty of
wide-open spaces."
"Those favorite things of yours--they're from
Alaska?"
"Yes. We've got these great animals that
roam the oceans. They're called whales. Lots
of different kinds. Many of them were hunted
to extinction, but some kinds were saved and over the years,
they repopulated the seas. When I was growing up,
there were as many of those whales as there had been hundreds
of years before. You could stand on a cliff and diswatch
them swim by for hours." Riker paused in fond
reflection, 191
thinking how he would love to stand on that cliff again.
"I had a favorite kind-called an orca. A
beautiful animal. When I was a boy, I
collected little sculptures of orcas. Some of them
were really old."
"Do they remind you of home?"
"Yes." He handed the doll back to her and
watched as she balanced it on the stone again, gazing at
it as if it could somehow restore all the innocence
stolen away by time and circumstance.
"This is the oldest doll I had. My father said it
was my mother's when she was a girl. She died soon
after I was born."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I never knew her, so when I
miss her, I'm not really missing her . . . I'm
missing the idea of having one mother."
"Who took care of you when you were a child?"
"My father's friends. Glin, Durren . . . I
never felt unloved. It's as if I had lots of
mothers and fathers. Just sometimes. . ." She sighed.
"Sometimes I wanted just one of each." Mori
stroked the doll's cheek with her fingertip. "She's
been through a lot. Sometimes I think it would be easier
to give her away, or leave her somewhere . . . or
just break her."
"Keep her," Riker said softly.
The moonlight was bright enough to cast shadows, including
a shadow of two figures embracing on a breezy
bluff, high over the cleft in which the Stone City was
cradled. Though more of comfort than passion, it was still an
embrace of lovers, as Jaminaw tenderly stroked
Glin's cheek and whiskers. But his voice was
apprehensive. "What should we do?" They sat on
a flat rock, their heads together. "This

could be the best chance we'll ever have to come to reasonable
terms with the government."
"But reason is not enough for Lessandra."
Glin scowled. "Lessandra is only one
person-was
"She still leads the biggest faction. Say by some
miracle-by the Hidden Hand-we actually reached a
compromise and then we couldn't all agree . . . it
could split the Sojourners. It could destroy us."
"Lessandra's path is going to destroy us sooner
or later anyway. Only her way will also kill
us."
Jaminaw sighed. "Why can't she and the others see
that we don't live in a world where absolutes
apply anymore. They want to go back to the old
times, but these aren't the old times, and they can't ever be
that way-that innocent-again."
"Are you writing all this in your journal?"
"Of course. You know I write everything in there.
Maybe someday I'll publish the story of the
Sojourners."
Glin sat up straight and placed her hands on
her hips. She frowned harshly at her companion.
"Why is everything "maybe someday' with you,
Jaminaw?"
Her sudden anger shocked him. "What do you
mean?"
"You know."
"I don't."
"You talk-you don't do. his
Jaminaw spread his hands plaintively. "How
many publishers do you see up here?"
"You always twist what I say. I don't mean
this second on this mountain. For once in your life,
commit yourself to something and work toward it."
"And set myself up for disappointment when I can't
make the impossible happen? You know what Mother

World told us-it's not the destination that counts, it's
the journey."
"I don't know if I believe that anymore,"
she stated. "If you don't steer during the journey,
you might never reach any destination. The destination
does count for something. It must."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying if we want to even have a someday,
we might have to do something about it today. his
"What should we do?" he repeated. The pliancy
in his voice made it clear he would do
whatever she decided.
"W, what should I do?" The petite
fourteenyear-old girl with shaggy dark hair
whispered through clenched teeth to Ensign Crusher, who
stood three heads taller and three feet behind her.
A brigade of Lilliputian Starfleet
officers stood between them, complete with phasers,
tricorders, and miniature uniforms. Including
Wes and the girl fronting the group, there were eight
youngsters ranging in age from ten to Wesley's
sixteen. Seven were human, one a Vulcan.
"Wessssleeeeeee, was she hissed again.
"Gina, you're the captain," he whispered back,
trying his best to master Captain Picard's trick
of sounding both stern and reassuring at the same time.
"You have to figure this out yourself-and you can do it."
Gina shifted her attention back to the slavering
pack of canines blocking the forest path. Standing in

dappled patches of sunlight on moist,
moss-covered ground, the dozen animals looked
almost cute. They were barely a foot tall at the
shoulder, with stocky bodies, short legs, large
triangular ears, and buttonnosed snouts.
Adorable-except for saber-teeth, eyes
like green fire, and horns covered with blood as if
the pack had just gored some poor beast to death. Add
to that the deep snarls rumbling up from their throats, and
they weren't so cute after all.
The Vulcan girl tapped Gina on the shoulder.
"Would it be logical to offer them food?"
Gina blinked as she tried to make some sense of the
situation. "Food, food, food . . . Do we have
any food? And what do these things like? What if we
start a feeding frenzy? What if they want more and we
don't have more? Oh, why doesn't my chief engineer
get that damn transporter fixed?" She hammered
her fist onto the emblem communicator pinned to her
chest. "Enterprise? Enterprise! Come in or
you're all fired!"
"Captain," Wesley reminded her, "our
communications system hasn't worked for two days."
She turned her head slowly and glared at him.
"Let's feed Crusher to the dogs."
T'Jai, the Vulcan, bit her lip and
pointed. "Captain, look out!" Gina faced
front again just in time to see three vicious blurs of
fur and fangs hurling themselves through the air directly
at her throat. In a panic, she flung her arms
up to protect her face and fell back,
knocking everyone else down like a row of dominoes.
At the same moment, the forest and the dog pack winked
out of existence, and the children were left 196
piled on the floor of the bare holodeck, with
Wesley at the bottom. "Poetic justice,"
Gina sneered at him as they untangled themselves and
got to their feet. Then she felt something paw at her
ankle. She glanced down, saw one of the little
animals there, and let out a shriek that sent the dog
skittering across the deck. It dropped down into play
position, wriggled in glee, woofed twice, and then
disappeared like the rest of its computer-generated pack
mates and their forest home.
The holodeck entrance slid open and the exercise
programmer marched in, chortling to himself. Commander
Data and Ambassador Undrun were right behind him.
"That's all for today," he said. "Did you enjoy being
the captain, Gina?"
The girl pulled her hair in front of her
face. "It wasn't fair, Lieutenant
Berga."
"Why not, Captain?"
"Because Wesley didn't provide me with the
advice I needed on what to do about those awful little
beasts."
"I couldn't," Wes protested. "I helped
program the simulation."
"Then you were perfect for telling me what to do."
"That wasn't the point of the simulation," Wesley
said defensively. "Ensign Crusher is right,"
Berga said.
"What was the point?" Gina wanted to know.
"Perhaps I shall ask Commander Data to answer," said
Berga, "since he is an experienced away team
member."
The children looked at the android for enlightenment.

"The purpose of the simulation is to train you
to assimilate what you observe with what you know, as
quickly as possible. I believe the expression is
to "think with your feet."" He looked dismayed
when the human children burst into giggles.
"You mean "think on your feet," Commander,"
Wesley offered. Data smiled. "Of course. For
instance, Gina, you wasted valuable time asking an
ineligible participant to share his classified knowledge with
you."
"You mean Wesley," Gina said.
"Correct. And you forgot that Science Officer
Kolker had visited this planet before and
knew about the behavior patterns of the canines."
"Darn it," Gina moaned, then glared accusingly
at her science officer, a burly
thirteen-year-old. "Why didn't you tell me
what you knew? I'm not supposed to have to ask all the
time."
"I forgot I knew," the boy said sheepishly.
Lieutenant Berga clapped his hands. "That is
all for today. When we meet tomorrow, be ready
to analyze today's exercise. Off you go." The children
hurried out of the holodeck.
"Lieutenant Berga," Wesley said, "what were
those things, anyway? were they real?"
Berga chuckled. "No, no-I made them up."
Obviously pleased with the results, he couldn't
help laughing a bit more. "By the way, Wesley, you
did quite well as my assistant."
"Thank you, sir."
"But tomorrow, it is back to being a student, my friend:"
Wes grinned. "I figured this was too good to last.
I didn't even escape a day's homework."
"Ensign." Ambassador Undrun, who had
observed the exercise with Berga, stepped forward.
"Didn't I see you assigned to the bridge,
too?" "Yes, sir."
"Officer, student, teacher-in-training, all
wrapped into one?" "Why not? A lot of the older
kids on the ship-if they're interested in being starship
crew members later on-get to combine practical
experience with classroom learning."
Undrun shook his head in genuine wonder. "So
much freedom and flexibility. Not at all like our
education system on Noxor when I was a boy.
Consider yourself lucky."
"What's Noxoran school like?" Wesley
asked.
"We had masters who guided us very
strictly-lots of learning by rote, spitting back
facts, replicating results produced by generations
of students before us on the same tests and
exercises." He exhaled a sad sigh. "We
learned quickly that the best way to advance and win the
favor of the masters was to do exactly what was
expected."
Wesley regarded the ambassador with sympathy.
"What if you didn't?" "We would be punished,"
Undrun said, mouth pursed with unpleasant
memories.
Berga shivered at the thought of running Enterprise
classes along Noxoran lines.
"Discipline is needed, yes, but so is creative
challenge."
"The only time we were permitted to exercise
individuality was in self-defense contests."
Undrun glanced up at the faces around him, taking
note of eyebrows raised at the concept of bantam
beings like Noxorans, known more for intellect than
brawn,
engaging in formal martial arts competition. He
took their nonverbal response in stride.
"Don't let our stature deceive you, gentlemen.
Noxoran defense techniques can be quite effective
even against opponents of considerably greater size and
strength."
"Well, Mr. Ambassador," Berga said,
"feel free to visit any of our classes while
you're aboard."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. If time permits.
At any rate, thank you, and you"-he nodded toward
Data com"...for showing me this holodeck simulation.
Most interesting."
The soft beep of the intercom interrupted the
conversation. "Picard here. Lieutenant Commander
Data, to the bridge conference lounge."
Data tapped his communicator badge.
"Data here, sir."
"I have some free time now, and I would like to hear about
your second meeting with Dr. Feat-as well as that
theory of yours, if it is ready for presentation."
"It is, sir. I am on my way."
"Captain Picard, this is Ambassador
Undrun. If this is about Thiopa, I'm entitled
to hear it, too." Then the confidence drained from his
voice. "If you don't mind, that is."
There was a moment of hesitation from Picard's end.
Undrun's unaccustomed meekness had caught him
by surprise. "[*thorngg'f course. Mr.
Data, bring Ambassador Undrun with you.
I'll be waiting. Picard out."
Fingers interlaced, Picard rested his hands
patiently on the long table. "So she didn't
hesitate at all in giving you access to their weather
records?"
"No, sir."
"What exactly were you looking for?"
"Patterns."
"What kind of patterns, Commander?" Undrun
asked.
"Anything that would indicate the true state of
Thiopa's overall ecology. How much of
their current crisis is natural and how much is the
result of their abuse of resources and natural
corrective capacities."
Picard looked at his android officer.
"Presumably you found such a pattern?"
"I did, Captain. And the news is not good.
Thiopa appears to be reaching the most critical
stage of a cyclical drought phase. Most
planets go through such cycles. On some planets
they cause considerable dislocation of plant and animal
life, but other planets have sufficient reserve
capacities of vital resources-water, for
instance-to withstand the drought cycle with little permanent
effect on existing life forms and topography."
"Topography-meaning the shrinking of forests,
deserts, the expansion of that sort of thing?" Picard
asked.
Data nodded. "Exactly. On Thiopa, the
past forty years of rapid development proceeded
with a total disregard for conservation."
Picard's mouth quirked uneasily. "Meaning .
. .?"
"For example, sir, a change in rainfall
patterns or an overall reduction in
precipitation need not be critical if
reservoirs and subsurface aquifers have been
maintained at high capacity. But the Thiopans
used up much of their freshwater reserve, and they have
allowed toxic substances to leach into and poison the
underground water supplies."
Undrun waved a dissenting hand. "They've got
seawater. Desalination should solve whatever-was
"There is much more, Ambassador," Data said
gravely. "I combined all available information on
Thiopa's weather and the rate of environmental
degradation caused by pollution, resource
exploitation, and other negative inputs to create a
model depicting Thiopa's condition fifty years
from now."
Picard exhaled slowly. "Let's have it,
Data."
"Computer," said Data, "please display
appropriate charts."
The graphics appeared, suspended above the table,
as Data continued. "The current trend in weather
patterns shows a further dehydration of northern
fertile zones, with additional rainfall in
deserts."
"Won't that convert the deserts into arable land?"
asked Picard. "No, sir. In most
places it will simply cause flooding and
accelerate erosion. The soil is not of sufficient
quality to permit large-scale agriculture. In
addition, all rainfall on Thiopa now is highly
acidic, due to industrial pollutants.
Acidic precipitation kills plant life, and
when it collects in smaller bodies of water, such
as lakes and rivers, it kills aquatic flora and
fauna. That same industrial pollution, coupled with
combustion of fossil fuels in energy production and
transport vehicles, will result in a fifty
percent increase in carbon dioxide levels. This
will, in sequence, lead to a greenhouse effect, which will
force the planet's mean temperature to rise by four
degrees centigrade-a greater increase in only
half a century than in all the twenty-two thousand
years since Thiopa's last ice age ended.
Polar ice caps will melt, 202
resulting in an eight-foot rise in sea
level and inundating coastal zones and islands.
Since storm intensity is linked directly
to oceanic surface temperatures, there will be a
fifty percent increase in severity of storms."
"Translating," Picard said, "that means it
won't be uncommon for tidal waves
to wash over coastal communities not already flooded
by higher sea level?"
"Correct, sir. And there are interesting
paradoxes. Higher air temperatures will cause
more evaporation of seawater, which must then condense
into precipitation. But none of Thiopa's major land
masses are situated so as to benefit from the extra
rain. As a result, areas that are now populated will
become increasingly more arid, and rivers, lakes, and
aquifers will dry up. There will be a total disruption
of life cycles and fragile ecosystem
balances."
Picard's forehead creased anxiously. "That's quite
a catalog of environmental horrors."
"Oh, there's more, sir."
"I've heard enough. What will all of it mean
to intelligent life on Thiopa fifty years from
now?"
"If these trends are not arrested by massive
corrective action now, almost all Thiopan land
masses will be uninhabitable by anything more than a
small population. Millions of Thiopans will
starve to death, and their civilization will crumble."
"Do the Thiopans have the technology to reverse
all this?" asked Picard, his tone grim.
"No, sir-but we do. I have created a
comprehensive analysis, with long-term
corrective measures, including the desalination of
seawater as Ambassador Undrun suggested,
pollution controls, alternatives to fossil-fuel
usage, changing land-mass structure to rearrange

rainfall patterns and rebuild water
reserves, revival of degraded farmland. . . Shall
I continue, sir?"
"No, I think we've got the picture,
Data," Picard said, reflecting on the enormity
of Thiopa's dilemma. "Do you think Dr. Keat
is aware of this looming disaster?"
"No, sir. She is an influential member of
Thiopa's government hierarchy. If she were aware
of the situation I have described, it is likely she
would have been able to convince Protector Stross
to initiate emergency corrective measures."
"Yes, one would think so. A potential disaster of
this magnitude should certainly transcend
political bickering."
Undrun fidgeted in his seat, as if capping an
incipient eruption. "This is it," he blurted, "the
confluence of circumstances we need!" "For
what?" Picard said.
"Once the Thiopans know about all this, they'll have
to let us help them!"
"They don't have to let us do anything, Mr.
Undrun."
"What choice do they have, Captain? If they
don't listen to reason, they're condemning their whole
world to another dark age. We can put them back on
the road to self-sufficiency."
Picard sighed, speaking softly to counterbalance
Undrun's excitement. "Conclusions that seem
apparent to us may not match Thiopan conclusions
based on the same set of facts. I don't think
their situation could have reached this crisis point without a
highly developed ability for self-delusion."
"Then we'll just have to make them see these facts the
same way we do."
Data slipped back into the conversation.
"Captain, I was also able to pinpoint the area most
afected by the drought. I memorized Dr. Keat's
charts and maps and have already entered them into our computer."
Picard stood. "Then let's put them on the
main viewer. I want Mr. Worf and
Counselor Troi to see this, too." Undrun and
Data followed him through the lounge door and
out to the bridge. Worf, as usual, was at his aft
security console, and Deanna Troi sat with Dr.
Pulaski in the lower command center. Picard
acknowledged Pulaski's presence with a perfunctory
nod. "Doctor, you might as well see this, too.
Your medical services may be needed. Mr.
Data, proceed."
"Computer," Data ordered, "display Thiopan
surface map on main screen."
The computer replaced the orbital view of
Thiopa with a sectional map of the entire planet.
"The Endrayan Realm is the area suffering most
seriously from the drought. It had the lowest annual
precipitation level of any of Thiopa's densely
populated realms even under normal weather
conditions. So its agricultural output was at
best precariously balanced."
"And most easily upset," Picard said.
Wesley swiveled away from his console.
"Captain?"
"Something to add, Mr. Crusher?"
"The Endrayan Realm-that's where the Sojourners'
Sanctuary Canyon is located."
"And where they are probably holding Commander
Riker," Picard said, completing Ensign
Crusher's thought.
"We could mount a rescue party," Worf
suggested. "We could also beam into a totally unknown
situation and lose Commander Riker as well as the
away team," Picard said evenly.
But Worf s bullheaded determination had already
kicked in. "Then what about sending a recon team
down first to survey the area and evaluate the chances
for a successful rescue."
"A better idea, Lieutenant. Mr.
Data, prepare a detailed chart of the Sanctuary
Canyon area for Mr. Worf."
"Already done, sir," Data said, handing a computer
disk to Worf. "It includes orbital views from
the Enterprise, scaled to show objects as small as
six inches across."
"Mr. Worf," said Picard, "study the terrain
and come up with a suitable recon plan for my
approval. Be prepared to lead a scout team down
at planet dawn."
Frid Undrun had circled the back of the
bridge and taken up an unobtrusive position
near the alcove housing the door to Picard's ready
room and the forward turbolift. Unnoticed, he was
studying the maps of Thiopa as they flashed
on the viewscreen and, using his schoolday skills,
committing coordinates to memory. Moments later,
still unnoticed, he sidled into the turbolift and
left the busy bridge. After the doors slid
shut, he stood without saying a word.
"Destination, please," the computer voice
prompted.
"Umm-destination? Uh, the Ten-Forward lounge,
please."
When he arrived, the lounge was nearly empty.
He moved first toward the interior corner where he'd
sat
on his previous visit. Then he stopped and
looked toward the expansive observation windows,
slanting out and offering a wide vista of space. The
mist-edged face of the planet below, the stark,
star-dusted infinity of blackness beyond-this time they drew
him close, and he eased into a booth within arm's reach
of a window, facing out.
"Glad to see you've reconsidered." Guinan's
tranquil voice came from behind him. "It has a
certain magnetism."
He answered without turning away from the
panorama. "Yes, it does. Mesmerizing . . .
as if you could see tomorrow if you looked hard
enough." "I don't know about tomorrow, but you can see
yesterday."
"Hmmm?" He still couldn't, or wouldn't, look
away from the view. "Starlight. We're seeing stars
that are hundreds and thousands of light-years away, so
we're seeing light that's hundreds and thousands of
years old."
"That's easy to see, Guinan. Seeing tomorrow
takes a bit more effort."
"Can I get you something, Mr. Ambassador?"
"A glass of that Kinjinn wine, if you don't
mind."
Guinan brought him his glass and he thanked her.
Then she turned away. "I think you and the stars need
to be alone together," she said. She was right, Undrun
thought. How did she know? He wondered what else
she knew about him. Could these starship people just look at
him and know how much he envied young Wesley Crusher
for the kaleidoscope of opportunities that were his
to choose from, and for the encouragement given by his teachers
who invited him to explore whatever struck his
fancy? 207
They gave Wesley and the other children on the
Enterprise the most precious gift of all: the
chance to fail, and to learn from failure without
fear of reprisal.
Could they know how much he admired Captain
Picard and William Riker for their unerring sense
of when to adhere strictly to the rules and when to bend
them? Or how sorry he was, and how responsible
he felt, for Riker's capture?
Did they have the slightest inkling of how much Frid
Undrun, Federation Aid and Assistance envoy,
youngest person to achieve this rank in the A and A
Ministry, felt like a disaster waiting to happen? And the
Thiopan mission, he feared, would reveal his true
nature-an ineffectual, utter humbug. Did
anyone know that he dreamed of being a maverick
swashbuckler winning the day with wayward brilliance?
Ha! Not a likely transformation . . .
Why not? he argued with himself. I'll tell you why
not--you let them beat every shred of original thinking
out of you when you were a boy . . . let them lock
your
feet to a track that had to lead to success of a
sort-just not the right sort. "By the book, was Data
had said. A
machine has more self-awareness than I do! If
the
Thiopans were going by the book, they'd have
accepted
this damned aid and you'd be done with it-and you'd
be able to keep going through life under the delusion
that that was enough. This is the first time you've ever
had to consider that it's not enough. Talk about rude
awakenings!
Did any of the officers here understand how
desperately he wanted to help the people of Thiopa
solve their problems and feed their hungry and repair
all the heedless damage they'd done to their world? 208
Beneath his shell of mediocre, self-important
conformity, IJ-NDRUN knew he had one noble
impulse-he really and truly wanted to help where
help was needed and he could provide it. Which left just
one monumental question: Do I have the nerve to do what I
should do instead of what's expected of me? "Did you
and the stars find the answers you needed?" Guinan was behind
him again, and yet he knew she hadn't been there a
moment ago. Again she had somehow sensed when he was
ready to talk.
He slid out of the booth. "Yes . . . yes,
we did." He paused for a flicker of doubt. "I
think so. Thank you again, Guinan."
She tilted her head in a farewell nod and he
hurried from Ten-Forward with a purposeful
spring to his step.
The initial twinkling of a transporter beam
took shape in Kael Keat's lab office. In a
few seconds the shimmering shaft of energy became
Lieutenant Commander Data. She sat perched on
the edge of her desk, wearing a beige lab coat
over shorts and a loose-knit blouse. Her eyes
glittered with guarded curiosity.
"I didn't expect to see you again quite so soon,
Data."
"I did not expect to be back so soon."
"What's so urgent? Is it about that theory you were
working on?" "Yes. I did say I would discuss it
with you once it was properly researched. I was somewhat
surprised to find you in your lab this late in the
evening."
"Night, Data. When it's this late, it's
night," she said with a laugh. "But I don't need
much sleep, and I 209
like it here when there's nobody else around. It's
nice and quiet, and I do my best thinking here
alone. Have a seat and tell me what you've come up
with."
He repeated the presentation he'd given
to Captain Picard, weaving in an even more
detailed roster of statistical evidence to support
his premise. Kael listened without revealing the
slightest chink in her composure, despite the mounting
testimony to impending planetary doom. When he
finished his recitation, he looked at her, cocking his
head in perplexity. Kael's dark eyes widened,
incising arched creases across her forehead. "You look
confused."
"I am."
"About what?"
"Your reaction," he said.
"What did you expect?"
"Anxiety, astonishment, shock-was
"Why?"
"Because my findings do not augur a bright future for
Thiopa."
was No, that's certainly apparent."
"Query: is it common for Thiopans to react in
this dispassionate way to news of the near certain
collapse of their civilization?"
"No-but it's not news."
It was Data's turn to be surprised, and he
was. "It is not?" "Not to me."
The android gaped at her. Silently.
"I didn't know androids could be struck
speechless," Kael said. "Neither did I," he
finally replied. "I do not understand."
"Specifically, what don't you understand?"
With great care, Data tried to make some sense of
what seemed to make no sense. "You are a
scientist who has demonstrated a thorough grasp
of the problems facing Thiopa. You have begun
to restructure your world's scientific establishment
so it may pursue empirical truth and be less
susceptible to political manipulations."
"Accurate so far."
"Yet you respond to my report of the critical
nature of the environmental changes Thiopa is
undergoingand the critical need for corrective
strategies-by telling me this is not new information."
"Right."
"Which means you already knew all this."
"Right again."
"Yet your government has not implemented
measures to counteract these detrimental conditions.
What I do not understand is how they could ignore such
overwhelming evidence when you presented it to them."
"Simple."
"It is?"
"I didn't tell them."
Despite his vast positronic memory, his
total familiarity with dozens of languages, and a
computational capacity that rivaled that of any computer
in the Federation, Data found himself-for the second time in
short order-at a loss for words.
Kael Keat seemed amused. "You're finding me
quite a source of consternation tonight, aren't you?"
"Indubitably." He hesitated. "Would it
surprise you to hear that I have also concluded that your
proposed weather control satellite network is far
beyond Thiopa's level of technology-for that matter,
beyond the technological reach of the most advanced
civilizations in the Federation?"
"No."
"You knew that, too?" -- "Yes, I did."
Although his yellow eyes reflected all of his
puzzlement, Data was by now past being dumbfounded.
His pace of inquisition quickened. "Then. why did you
make the proposal to begin with? Did you know all
along it would not accomplish its specified goal,
or did you discover this as you followed through on your
research
"Second question first. I always knew it couldn't
possibly work. So why did I convince Stross
and the government that it would?"
"I do not know-that is why I asked you."
"After I studied off-world and came back here, I
saw what a muddle our scientists had made of
things. Here we had a leader-was
"Stross?"
She nodded. "He practically worshiped science
and technology, as if they were the saviors of
Thiopa. But the man is barely literate and
doesn't understand science at all. To him, it might
as well be magic. Our Science Council could have
built an empire. Instead, they were happy to be
servants-and poorly funded ones at that."
Data gestured around the room. "This is your
empire?"
"The beginning of one. I'm young, Data. I
plan to be around a long time. And I knew right
away that I wouldn't get unlimited money for
research by telling leaders things they don't want
to hear."
"Even if you are telling the truth?" 212
"Truth has nothing to do with it," she said
dismissively. "Even Stross had to admit we had
big problems, thanks to letting the Nuarans teach us
how to ruin a planet in a couple of decades. But
nobody could tell him, "Hey, this is
all your fault." So Stross blames the
Nuarans and tells them to get lost. Then I give
him the means to become a planet-saving hero."
"The weather-control proposal? But you just
admitted it will not work."
"You're being too logical." Kael took a
deep breath. "Look, I could've told Stross
we needed to eliminate acidic rain and industrial
pollution, needed to clean up our fresh water, stop
dumping toxic wastes in the oceans, stop cutting
down forests, start using selfrenewing sources of
energy-was
"But you did not. Why?"
"Because those things aren't magic, Data," she said,
thumping her fist on her computer console. "I needed
to roll all those realistic, mundane objectives
into something that would get people excited. I did that, and now
I've got all the money I need to do all that
boring but necessary research . . . pure research that
really could lead to breakthroughs that'll save this planet.
As long as they think I'm working on that impossible
weather control network, I'll get all the money
I want, and I'll get to spend it any way I
want, and nobody will ask any questions."
"So your work is based on an
elaborate deception."
She looked mildly offended. "I can't say I
like that word, but I guess you could call it that."
"Have you thought about the consequences of failure?
What if your research never does reach any
important breakthroughs?"
"Then we're no worse off than we were before.
If I
didn't cook up this deception, as you call it,
Thiopan science would've limped along with a fraction
of the support we've got now. And while lots of
money doesn't guarantee success, lack of
money does guarantee failure." "But science
is based on a search for truth."
"Maybe so. But I'd rather see our money wasted
on science-where there's always a chance for that miracle this
world needs-than spent on other things, like buying new
weapons from immoral opportunists like the
Nuarans."
"How can you hope to find truth through deceptive
means?" "Data, sometimes that's the only way."
With a blink of wonder, Data tried
to reconcile all the contradictions he'd encountered
in this one brief conversation. It only took a moment
for him to realize he couldn't do it. Not now.
Probably not ever, he told himself.
THE STONE Crry am. The only Sojourners
normally awake in the hours past midnight and before
dawn were the night watch lookouts on the cliffs
guarding the only entry into the canyon fortress.
Tonight, though, two others were up, sneaking between
buildings, then hiding behind rocks near the lodge
housing Mori and the hostage, Riker. "This will never
work," said Jaminaw in a worried whisper. "It's
two against one." Glin tried to sound confident.
"What about Riker?"
"He'll be tied up. He won't be able to do
anything. We both go after Mori. When she's out,
then we get Riker."
"What if he yells for help?"
"If we're fast enough and quiet enough, he won't

have time." Glin took a small spray gun from
her pocket. "This solution is maximum
concentration. Even if Mori wakes up, she'll be
down again before she can do anything."
"What if Riker's not tied up?"
Glin rolled her eyes. "Mori is very thorough
when it comes to security procedures. He'll be
tied up."
"Look," Jaminaw whispered, pointing through a
notch in the top boulder. They saw Mori come out of
her lodge and walk away from it, heading down the
trail along the canyon rim.
"Where's she going?" he muttered.
"How should I know? Let's do it now, while
she's gone. We can have Riker out before she gets
back."
Glin started forward. Jaminaw hesitated, so she
reached back and pulled him along. Moving quickly and
quietly, they reached the lodge and ducked inside,
their sandals barely whispering as they hurried across the
tile floor. They found Riker sleeping on a
nest of blankets in the main room. Glin leaned
over him and squeezed her sprayer in his face. He
shivered momentarily, and his eyelids struggled to open.
But after a few ragged breaths, the paralyzing agent
won out and he fell back into a calm, artificially
enforced sleepone from which he would not awaken for at least
two hours. Jaminaw visibly relaxed. He
unfolded a blanket from his backpack and threaded
two support poles through hemmed loops, converting
the blanket into a sling. They rolled Riker into it,
lifted him up and left as quickly and quietly as
they'd come in.
They carried Riker through one of the natural chutes
worn through the canyon wall by aeons of rushing
water. The rock tunnel took them up to a
plateau above and behind the Stone City, a place

seldom visited, and certainly not at this hour.
From here, they picked up a narrow, roundabout trail that
flirted dangerously with a steep drop. This was a
longer route, but it met with the main trail farther around
the canyon rim, and it was the best way to avoid
running into Mori, wherever she might have gone.
They reached the bottom of the bowl, where the ealixes
spent their leisure time. Most of the animals were
asleep on their sides, nestled close to one
another, but a half-dozen adults were contentedly
munching the bark off thorny-bush branches. Glin and
Jaminaw put Riker down on the ground, then
grabbed the reins of three ealixes and pulled them
away from their nocturnal snack. The animals
responded with mild snorts of protest, but
followed placidly.
The two Sojourners draped Riker's limp
body across one animal. Glin secured him with
ropes wound around the ealix's neck and belly.
Then she and Jaminaw climbed astride the
other two animals and spurred them into the arroyo
leading out of the canyon.
To Glin, the rock walls rising high on either
side looked like the dark flanks of sleeping
mythical beasts as she and Jaminaw slipped past like
thieves with a treasure in hand. Even if Mori
returned to her rooms, they had enough of a head start
to make it unlikely she could catch up with them.
Once out of the Sojourners" Abraian Mountain
stronghold, they would goad their ealixes across the
Sa'drit at best speed. Their destination: an
abandoned communications station near the depleted ore
mines to the west, in the Sternian Foothills. The
relay station had been used to contact Nuaran
spacecraft in planet orbit when they came

pick up shipments of raw materials from that area.
Now Glin and Jaminaw planned to use it to contact
Captain Picard on the Enterprise, bypassing
Lessandra and starting the process of making a deal that
might finally give the Sojourners what
Lessandra's opponents wanted most-to be left
alone in peace. If Riker was right, and Picard could
help by providing Federation mediation, then Glin knew
she and Jaminaw would be hailed as heroes.
She thought Evain would have approved.
But if Picard could do nothing, if the Federation was
powerless to help, if Stross and his ruling
protectorate refused to retreat from his quest for a
monolithic world united by forcible Fusion, then Glin
still believed she and Jaminaw would not be condemned for this
action. She hoped the rest would accept what she
knew in her heart-that this was something which had to be tried
because of the promise it held.
The ealixes moved carefully over and around
loose rocks scattered along the trail
by occasional slides from the walls of the dry gulch.
Jaminaw fought the urge to turn back. Glin had
challenged him to act rather than talk, and here he was,
doing something bordering on madness. The Sojourners were
a fractious group, prone to heated arguments about
tactics and strategies. But they were bound together by a
solid core of faith in the teachings of their Mother
World, faith in Evain's modern evangelizing,
faith in the circle of life.
For all her autocratic tendencies,
Lessandra believed in those basic principles as
strongly as Glin or Jaminaw or anyone did.
And the Testaments had always provided enough common ground
for at least a modicum of agreement and
compromise among all of 218
the Sojourners. There had never been any discord
so serious that it couldn't be dealt with. Sometimes quiet
words were enough; sometimes it took the violent hammer of
authority. But the Sojourners' internal divisions
had never driven groups of members to splinter from the
whole. Until now. If they failed, would he and
Glin be accepted back into the Sa'drit circle?
Or had they embarked on a trail that led in only
one direction? He couldn't help wondering if he
and his companion had committed the same sin of which they
accused Stross-breaking the circle and galloping
down a route that could lead only to oblivion.
The ealixes knew where they were going. They needed
no prodding or steering. Their reliable steps rarely
faltered. So Glin and Jaminaw rode toward the
final exit from the canyon with their attention turned
inward, sorting through private fears and wishes.
Neither one noticed the figure peeking around "a
boulder just off the path worn by uncounted footsteps.
In its dark cloak, with a hood over its head and a
scarf covering most of its face, the figure would have
been hard to spot even by someone looking directly
at it. To people whose concentration lay elsewhere, it was as
invisible as a still breeze. When the first
animal in line, with Glin riding on it, reached the
boulder, the figure stepped out quickly, blocking the
way. It was aiming two blaster rifles, one in either
hand. "Stop."
Glin tugged on her reins and squinted at the
cloaked figure. "Mori . . .?"
"Dismount, both of you," Mori said in a flat
voice that told Glin she meant business.
"Mori, what are you doing?" Glin pressed.

"Dismount-now!"
Both did as she ordered. She approached them
warily, her steps precise. Glin watched her with a
probing eye. "Mori, you don't have any idea-was
"Down on your knees, both of you. Hands on your
heads. Do it."
They did, and she backpedaled over to Riker's
inert form on the third ealix. Then she came back
to Glin and Jaminaw.
"What are you going to do to us?" Jaminaw asked
timidly.
"What you did to him." Mori let one blaster
hang by its shoulder strap and took a spray pistol
from her pocket. "Someone will find you in the morning."
Glin's hands twitched on top of her
head, as if she was contemplating a preemptive
grab for Mori's paralyzer spray. But the quick
upturn of a blaster muzzle quashed the idea.
"Mori, just so you know, we were trying to take the chance
for peace before Lessandra let it slip away."
"Me, too. But if you don't mind, I'm going
to do this my way."
Before Glin could say anything else, Mori
triggered the sprayer. It enveloped Glin and
Jaminaw in a fine mist, and they both fell over.
Mori shoved each one with her foot to make sure
they were unconscious. Then she tied their hands and
feet behind them with practiced efficiency. She knew
that if they struggled, they could probably free themselves
before anyone found them. But the time before they would wake
up, added to the time it would take them to wriggle out of the
ropes, meant that Mori would be too far from the 220
canyon for anyone to catch her, even though they would
know her destination-the same communications relay station
to which Glin and Jaminaw had been heading.
She snatched the loose reins of the ealix hauling
Riker and led it the rest of the way through the narrow
ravine. At the mouth of the pass, she reached two
other ealixes she'd left tethered to a bush. She
no longer needed both, so she turned one
around with a slap on its broad rump. Eventually it
would shamble back to the herd. Mori tied a long lead
between Riker's ealix and her own, then climbed on and
rode out.
She stayed close to the foot of the cliffs. She'd
been assigned to the lookout posts on top of this
ridge often enough to know the sentinels couldn't see her
tiny caravan if she hugged the contours of the steep
rock wall. Besides, lookouts were more concerned about
what might be approaching from a distance than they were about
who might be leaving through the pass. Mori knew her
landmarks, and she knew her route. She continued around
the outside of the Abraian formation. There had once
been five separate peaks in this small range.
But they'd been whittled by windblown sand and coursing
water, driven by seismic jolts, and shaped by the
slow shifting of tectonic plates until it was
hard to tell where one ended and another began. The
Sojourners" canyon was actually encircled by what
remained of a mountain, now remolded into an artful
jumble of forbidding walls and ridges, tapered
arroyos, hunched hills, and of course the canyon
itself. The other Abraian Mountains stood above and
behind the Stone City.
At the base of the second mountain, to the
west, a natural arch jutted out like a sculpted
buttress. When she reached it, Mori knew she was
out of sight of the lookout perches above the canyon.
She grasped her reins and slapped her ealix's
shoulders. With a snort of displeasure, the beast
broke into a trot. The second one followed, and
they headed out into the barren stillness of the Sa'drit.
It could have been the sharp jab into his gut. Or the
pungent odor of animal sweat right under his nose.
Or the chill in his bones. But something made Will
Riker awaken. And he found himself apparently
hanging upside down, his cheek resting on the fuzzy
hide of an ealix. Which explained the odor flaring
his nostrils. His awkward riding position-slung like
a rolled rug over the ealix's back, belly
down and not on the animal's cushioned part-accounted
for the jabbing of ealix backbone into his abdomen.
He managed to lift his head enough to see the dark
desert night around him, and understood why his teeth were
chattering with cold.
But what the hell am I doing here?
He turned the other way, toward the animal's
head, and saw the rider in the lead, cloaked and
hooded. Riker's first effort at a shout came out a
breathless bleat or, more accurately,
didn't really come out at all. He shifted his
position-not an easy feat, since his hands were tied
behind his back-and the maneuver allowed his diaphragm
to resume its natural shape, free of intrusion
by ealix vertebrae..
"Hey-was He coughed.
The rider turned her hooded head-it was Mori.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I've been better." His voice was still a
wheeze. "Do you think you could let me down?"
Mori stopped and jumped off her mount. She
untied the ropes holding Riker atop the ealix in
uneasy balance. Unfortunately for him, before she
could pull him down feet first, he toppled off the
other way, his short cry of distress muffled by his
face hitting the dirt.
"Ohh, Riker, I'm sorry!" She scrambled
around and rolled him onto his back. But he didn't
move. She fell back on her haunches, intending
to cradle his head on her thighs. In her haste, she
wrenched his neck.
"You're alive! I was afraid you'd broken your
neck." "With or without your help?"
A flash of anger lit her eyes, then faded in
an instant. "I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to hurt you."
"Mori, since yesterday, or two days ago-or
whenever it was-I've been gassed, kidnapped,
bounced around the inside of a box, kidnapped again,
carted around like a sack of potatoes, dropped on
my head-was "I get the idea. What do you want
me to do?"
"Well, you could call my ship and have them beam me
up, but I'm not counting on that. For starters, how about
untying me and letting me warm up."
"Don't you try to escape."
Without a free limb, he gestured with his bearded
chin. "To where?" She looked at him for a moment, then
rolled him over again, face back in the dirt, and
freed his hands and feet. With the stiffness of a wooden
soldier, he got to his knees.
"Would you mind telling me what happened?" he

said. "Last thing I remember is sleeping in your
lodge . . . and I think somebody gassed me
again."
"You said you were cold."
"I'm freezing."
She pulled a blanket from the saddlebags
draped over her animal and covered his
shoulders with it. "Better?"
"Thanks."
"Hungry? Thirsty?"
"Both."
Turning to the saddlebags again, she came up with a
small container of dried fruit and a canteen of
water, which she shared with Riker. "So you want to know
what happened."
Riker nodded. "What am I-what are we doing
out here?"
"I decided you were my best chance to find out if my
father is still alive."
"You plan to use me as leverage to get Captain
Picard to put pressure on Stross?"
"Yes. But I wasn't the only one who thought
you'd be worth something on the open market."
He squinted in puzzlement.
"While you were sleeping, I went out to move two
ealixes out of the grazing area to the pass. I was going
to come back and take you away. But Glin and
Jaminaw must have been watching when I left the
lodge. They're the ones who gassed you tonight."
"What were they planning to do with me?"
"Same thing I was-use you to get your captain
to exercise his influence over Stross and the
protectorate."
"So how did I wind up with you?" 224
"On my way back up to the Stone City, I
saw them coming down with you, so I just waited and ambushed
them." She dismissed Riker's alarmed expression.
"Don't worry-I just sprayed them and tied them
up. They'll be fine as soon as somebody finds
them."
"Where were they taking me?"
"That request you made--"
"What request?"
"To call your ship and have them beam you up. That's
what I'm going to do. Glin and laminaw were taking you
to the same place I'm taking you."
"Which is . . .?"'
64An old communications module out near some
abandoned mines."
"Nuarans built it?"
She nodded.
He chewed a shriveled morsel of fruit.
"If you people can't start agreeing among yourselves, you
don't have a prayer against the government." "I know
that."
"But you're still running off with me to strike a
private deal with Captain Picard?"
Her expression grew as frosty as the desert
night. "Sometimes you've got to look out for yourself."
"What if everybody did that? Where would you
Sojourners be?" She pondered for a long moment.
"I don't know, Riker. And I'm not sure I
care anymore. It's not easy being part of a movement
that's trying to show the whole world the way back to the
circle, on one hand, and trying to keep from being
exterminated by the government, on the other."
"The government's wrong. All Thiopans should

have the right to live their own way as long as they're not
harming anybody else."
"Are you on our side?" From someone as young as
Mori, that question might have been filled with naive
hope at finding an ally. Instead, it came
armored in skepticism.
"I'm not on anyone's side. No matter what
my personal beliefs may be, I'm a
Starfleet officer. The Federation has rules-was
"I know-your noninterference directive."
"But there is something I'd like to do . . . for you."
"For me?" For a moment, all wide-eyed, she
seemed like a young girl instead of a guerrilla
fighter.
"This might border on violating that Prime
Directive, but I'm willing to consider it
strictly personal."
"What?"
"If you get me back to my ship, I promise
I will do whatever I can to find out if your father's
alive."
Her excitement flagged. "I don't know,
Riker. If I understand this noninterference thing, not
changing the natural course of civilization on other
planets . . . well, finding out Evain is
alive is bound to affect Thiopa."
"I'd be willing to risk it."
Mori shrugged. "It probably doesn't
matter. There's probably no way you can find out
anyway."
"That's not what you thought when you decided to steal me
from Sanctuary Canyon."
Another shrug, more sullen. "Maybe it was a
stupid idea."
"Your way, maybe. My way, maybe not."
"Your way?"
"I told you--Captain Picard won't make
a deal for my release."
"Then your way means that I let you go and
you promise to find out about my father."
"I said I would try."
She let out a cynical snort. "I don't
trust promises, Riker. Nobody keeps them.
As you said, having you gives me leverage."
"As I said, there will be no deals."
"We'll see." She pointed her blaster rifle
at him. "Let's go."
"Do I get to ride sitting up this time?
Unboxed and untied?" "Sure, as long as you-was
"comdon't try to escape. I know. If I do
try-was
"I'll shoot you." She meant it. "Oh, not
to kill. But stupid or not, I've come too far
to lose this chance now."
The ealixes stood placidly as they mounted.
Mori scanned the sky canopy, detecting the first
glimmerings of a distant dawn. "Let's go. I
want to be there by first light."
There was no such thing as first light aboard a
starship. But if there had been, it would have been before
dawn as Frid Undrun left his VIP cabin,
padded quietly along a curving corridor, and
made his way to one of the starship's large cargo
transporter rooms. Down on Thiopa,
he knew, it would soon be sunrise in the
Sa'drit.
The doors opened and Undrun entered. A
fireshfaced young woman stood over the transporter
console, engrossed in a standard maintenance check on
the unit. She looked up and greeted him with a friendly
smile. "Good morning, sir. Is there something I can
do for you?"
"Yes. I'm Ambassador Undrun-was
"I know, sir. Ensign Trottier." She
brushed a strand of dark hair away back from her
cheek.
"Well, then, Ensign Trottier-you are a
transporter technician?" "Yes, sir."
Undrun circled the console until he was standing
at her shoulder. "A question came to mind while I was
falling asleep last night, and I wanted to ask
someone first thing this morning. In view of the Nuaran
attacks on our cargo drones, if one or more of the
freight vessels were to be damaged, would the
Enterprise transporters be able to transfer all
that cargo either to this ship or down to the planet in short
order?"
"Generally, that should be possible. I could give you a
more specific answer, if you'd like."
"Yes, if it isn't a problem for you."
"Not at all, Mr. Ambassador. Let me
just check on how much those cargo ships are carrying."
Ensign Trottier activated her computer link and
started to call up the information she needed. She
didn't see Frid Undrun sidle behind her and
quickly squeeze the back of her skull with one hand and
her neck with the other. With the slightest backward jerk
of her head, she folded like a marionette with its
strings cut.
Gently, he lowered her to the floor.
"Apologies, Ensign," he muttered. "Time for
you to take a nap."
He stepped over Trottier and tapped location
coordinates into the control keyboard. Then he
activated the unit and sprang up the steps to the
transporter chamber just in time to be enveloped by the
familiar hum and sparkle. A few seconds
later Undrun was gone.
Jean-Luc Picard's first sustained rest since
the Enterprise had entered orbit around Thiopa was
rudely interrupted by the soft summoning tone of his
cabin intercom, and then by a hesitant female
voice.
"Captain Picard-Lieutenant
White on the bridge, sir."
With startling immediacy, Picard sat up,
fully conscious and aware. Years of command had brought
with them the skill to emerge from deep sleep almost
instantaneously-a habit he found useful, to say
the least. "Picard here. What is it,
Lieutenant?"
"Sorry to wake you, sir. But we just got a
signalcargo transporter number two has been
activated."
"Who is on duty there?"
"Ensign Trottier was doing a maintenance check.
I thought she might have activated it as part of her
work. But when I called, there was no response."
Picard rolled the bedcovers back. "Send a
security team down there. I'll be on the bridge
presently."
"Aye, sir. White out."
UNDR-UATION sToon on a sloping dune facing
the cliffs that guarded the Sojourners" canyon, where
hulking sentries loomed against a charcoal sky. The
rising sun had barely begun its day's work, and
Undrun was thankful he still had the cover of darkness
to conceal his approach.
It didn't take long for him to reach the
gap between the cliffs. Undrun was surprised at how
exhilarated he felt out here on his own, traversing
an alien wilderness, taking a bold step toward
solving problems for which there were no approved ministry
procedures. His belly grumbled, displeased about an
overdue breakfast, but this was no time to stop for food.
He moved through the pass, crossing the invisible
threshold into the ravine. In his single-minded
determina-
tion, he saw nothing but the dusty trail that would
lead him to the Sojourners.
Just then, without warning, a loop of sturdy rope
tossed from above flopped over his head and slipped
down around his chest where it was suddenly pulled taut,
jerking him off his feet. His upper arms were pinned
to his sides, but his hands were loose and he tried
to squirm free. Before he could do so, two
Sojourners were on top of him, trussing his hands and
feet and throwing him into a blanket sling. His hard
fall had knocked the wind out of him and he gasped for
enough breath to talk.
"I'm-I'm Frid Undrun," he wheezed.
He sucked down a few labored breaths before he
could go on. "With the Federation-the Enterprise--have to see
Ixssandra-was
"That's where you're going," said Durren from
Undrun's right side. Mikken was holding the other
side of the blanket. "One leaves-another drops
in."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll find out."
"I came to trade for Riker."
Mikken and Durren looked at each other and
burst out laughing. Undrun frowned in confused
frustration.
"Why is that funny? I-I've got food,
supplies, everything you need." When he realized he
was being ignored, Undrun lapsed into silence. "At
least this one is light," Mikken said as they
lifted him off the ground and started up toward the
canyon rim.
The turbolift doors snapped open and
Captain Picard came onto his bridge. He
strode directly to Lieutenant White's station
on the upper level. "Re- port,
Lieutenant."
"Ensign Trottier was found unconscious in
transporter room two."
Picard's mouth tightened into a grim line. This
day was not starting off well. But he remained
silent, allowing White to continue.
"She's been taken to sickbay, so we don't
know what happened yet. We got the beam-down
coordinates from the unit memory. Somebody beamed
down into the Sa'drit Void, sir.
Specifically, within a half-kilometer of
Sanctuary Canyon."
Mikken and Durren hauled Undrun up to the
Stone City, where they found Lessandra in her withered
garden. She was in the middle of a bitter shouting match
with Glin. Jaminaw stood meekly behind Glin,
providing meager support whenever he could muster the
courage to speak up. Both women fell silent when
Durren and Mikken approached and stood the
ambassador up like a statue between them, his feet still
bound together.
Lessandra leaned on her crutch and turned a
frosty eye on the little Noxoran, who straightened
to his full height-though that still left him a head
shorter than the diminutive Sojourner leader.
"Who the hell is this?" she demanded.
Durren poked Undrun, then had to steady him when
the diplomat wobbled from the push. "Talk."
Undrun cleared his parched throat. He wanted
his voice to boom at full volume-he
needed to impress these people, and fast. "I am Frid
Undrun, 232
ambassador from the Federation Aid and Assistance
Ministry. I understand that you are Lessandra."
"You understand right. What do you want?"
"I want to help you."
The old woman's only reply to that was a
derisive snort.
Hostile hearing or not, Undrun pressed on.
"I really am here to help you."
Lessandra made no verbal response. But
skeptical wrinkles creased her forehead and her good
eye focused all her suspicion on this short
alien. "Tell her what you're here for," Mikken
said with a snicker. Undrun gave him a scorching
look, then turned back to Lessandra. "I'm here
to trade for Commander Riker. I've got access--"
Before he could continue, Lessandra broke into a
short, loud laugh. Undrun wanted to stamp his
foot for angry emphasis but obviously couldn't.
"Why does everyone here think that's so funny?"
Even Glin and Jaminaw were smiling now.
"Just what are you willing to give us in trade for
him?" Lessandra said through a grin.
"Food, medical supplies, tools
to help you become self-sufficient, to allow you
to grow what you need to survive."
"Well, that's certainly an attractive offer.
There is just one little technical problem."
"What?"
"We don't have your Commander Riker."
was What. . . his But you Sojourners kidnapped
him."
"I'm not saying we did or didn't."
"If you don't have him, who does?" 233
"A very stupid young girl." She pursed her
lips in thought. "Thanks to you, though, Mr.
Ambassador, we do have another hostage."
"Oh, no, you can't-was
"You may be even more important than a lowly
starship officer."
Undrun shook his head. "Not to Captain
Picard I'm not. I doubt very much he'll be
willing to make any deals for my ransom."
Picard eased into his command seat. "Picard
to Ambassador Undrun." No reply.
"Picard to Ambassador Undrun!"
Impatiently, he drummed his fingers on the armrest
of his chair. When he spoke, that impatience darkened
his tone. "Computer, is Ambassador
Undrun in his quarters?"
"Negative."
"Location check. Where is he?"
"Ambassador Undrun is not presently
aboard the
Enterprise. his
The facts were fitting together, much to Picard's
displeasure. "Sickbay, this is the captain. Has
Ensign Trottier regained consciousness yet?"
"Dr. Pulaski here, Captain. She has.
I'm with her, and she appears to be fine."
"I'm glad to hear you are undamaged,
Ensign," Picard said. "What happened to you down
there?"
"Ambassador Undrun came in to ask me some
questions about cargo transport. The next thing I
knew, I was waking up in sickbay, sir."
"He attacked you?"
was "Attacked' isn't exactly the word I'd
use, sir. He must have crept up behind me. The
last thing I remember is feeling his hands on my
neck and head." 234
"Thank you, Ensign. Return to duty whenever
Dr. Pulaski releases you. Picard out." The
captain shook his head. "Our Mr.
Undrun appears to have hidden talents."
"Captain," said Data, "the ambassador did
mention undergoing martial arts training as a child."
"It would seem he remembered those lessons
well. Lieutenant White, check Mission Ops
monitors. What is Undrun's current
status?"
She nodded and leaned over her console, her fingers
hopscotching the keypad. "Locating . . ."
Picard waited, arms folded.
"He's down on Thiopa, sir. He's got his
communicator. It's functioning normally, and he's
alive."
"I may alter that condition personally," Picard
muttered to himself. Undrun was once again doing what
he seemed to do best-causing complications. Why in
blazes would he have knocked out a transporter tech
and beamed himself down without even the slightest nod
toward the niceties of procedure or protocol?
the captain wondered. Such actions seemed totally out
of character, but then again, how much did they really know about
him? Damn, damn, damn . . . Not only is
Will Riker missing down there but so is this infuriating
little popinjay for whose safety 1 am responsible!
Picard rose and paced the bridge's
front perimeter. "Data, do a full sensor
scan of Sanctuary Canyon. Apparently that was
Undrun's destination. Use his communicator
signal as a focal point. Pinpoint where he is,
who is with him, and how many Thiopans are there."
With his accustomed efficiency, Data quickly 235
completed the task. At Picard's request, he
displayed his results on the main viewer, overlaid
on a map of the canyon.
Thiopa's haze-bordered face was replaced by a
green-lined cartography grid. The computer put
up a two-dimensional aerial image of the
canyon, clearly showing the narrow gulch that was the
only route in, the central bowl of the canyon itself,
the ledge on which the Stone City perched, and all of the
surrounding ridges and peaks. Data tapped a command
into his terminal and a few hundred tiny blue dots
appeared in and around the canyon, with so many concentrated
in the Stone City that they joined to- gether to form a
splotch. Then a single red dot flashed in the heart
of the blue patch.
"Explanation, Mr. Data?" said Picard
mildly, standing just to the side of the viewer.
"The blue dots represent individual
Thiopans, based on sensor readings of
their life signs. There are three hundred
seventy-nine Thiopans in the vicinity of the
canyon."
"How many in this area?" Picard asked, pointing
to the concentration.of blue.
"Three hundred three, sir. That is the
residential section the Sojourners call the Stone
City."
"And the red spot?"
"Ambassador Undrun."
"Any sign of Commander Riker in that immediate area?"
Data shook his head. "No, sir."
"Captain," said Worf, "I believe it's
feasible to beam in there with a security team."
"Need I remind you," Picard said sternly, "that

these people evidently have advanced weapons? And that they
appear to be quite capable of using them, in view of the
fact they've managed to hold off opponents who
greatly outnumber them?"
"I'm aware of that, sir, but we would have the element
of surprise on our side. With phasers on stun,
we would be able to initiate preemptive action if
necessary."
"Beam in with phasers blazing, Mr.
Worf?" asked Picard. "What would be the
purpose of such a strategyT[*macr]
"To secure the position, rescue the
ambassador, and use the area as a base camp from
which to continue the search for Commander Riker."
"Opinions?" said Picard, glancing at Data
and inviting comment with an arch of his eyebrows.
"To rescue Ambassador Undrun," Data
said, "we merely have to lock onto his communicator
monitor signal and beam him up. It is doubtful
whether we could in fact secure the position because of the
nature of the terrain. It is likely that many hiding
places are available to natives who are familiar
with the location. Our weapons will be on non-lethal
settings, but theirs probably will not. The Sojourners
would consider us invaders, and the risk of serious
casualties to our away team appears to be
unacceptable when compared to what might be gained."
The captain turned back to Worf. "Wouldn't you
say the sudden arrival of a large armed force verges
on the confrontational, Mr. Worf?" "Yes,
sir," came the reluctant answer. "Shall I beam
the ambassador up?" Picard returned to his
seat. "Not just yet. It was his 237
idea, however foolish, to beam himself
down. The fact that he's still alive indicates he
has at least piqued the Sojourners' curiosity.
Open a channel."
"Channel open, sir," Worf said.
"Let's give them a call. Enterprise
to Ambassador Undrun . . : His
Lessandra and the others stared at the fettered
diplomat. The voice again issued from inside his
clothing. "Enterprise to Ambassador Undrun."
"Answer," Lessandra ordered.
"I can't. I have to activate the communicator.
It's pinned to my shirt." "Durren, get it out."
Durren tugged the jacket open and found the emblem
on Undrun's chest. He took it out and held it
up. "Well . . .?"
"Tap the front," Undrun said.
Lieutenant White looked across the bridge at
Captain Picard. "The communicator's not on
Undrun anymore. I'm getting unfamiliar
readings."
Data's long fingers danced across his computer
keypad. "Thiopan, Captain."
"Undrun here, Captain Picard," said the
voice from the bridge speaker. "Mr.
Ambassador," Picard said in a
frigid tone, "I was quite surprised to find out you were
not on my ship this morning. Would you care to explain?"
"I have valid authorization to pursue all avenues
available to me to complete my assignment."
"And did this particular avenue bear fruit?"
Picard bristled at the return of Undrun's
imperious attitude. 238
"Uh, no, not exactly." The arrogance was gone.
"Fact is, I could use some help, Captain."
"Are you in any danger?"
There was a moment's hesitation. "No, not really."
"Then you don't want us to beam you up? We can do
that. We have your location pinpointed."
"No..."
"Very well. Are the leaders of the Sojourners there
with you?" "Yes, Captain."
"What exactly is your status, Mr.
Undrun?"
"I-uh-I'm a guest of the Sojourners."
"You're in no danger?"
"I'd say not, Captain." Undrun looked
down at his shackled feet. "But I'm not exactly
free to go."
"Who is in charge down there?" Picard asked.
"That would be Lessandra."
"I would like to speak to her, if that's possible."
Undrun looked her directly in the eye.
"Is that possible?" "What do I do?" she asked.
"Just talk."
"Captain Picard," she called, "this is
Lessandra."
"I've gathered from Ambassador Undrun's
diplomatic language that he is in fact a
prisoner in your custody. I would like to point out that-as
foolhardy as he may have been to beam down alone,
without telling me or anyone on this ship-he has just
displayed considerable courage. You are aware he could
have asked us to transport him out of there just now and we
could have done so before you could have harmed him in any way."
"I figured that, Captain."
"But he didn't. I hope you'll take that as a
signal of his serious intent. He truly does
want to help you."
"I'll consider that possibility."
"We know that your part of the planet has been most
seriously affected by this drought. That means you're the people
who would benefit most from the emergency supplies the
Enterprise has brought."
"Captain Picard," said Lessandra, "I think
you're already well aware of the political
situation down here."
"We've been getting a rapid education."
"Then you know Stross will do whatever he can
to prevent any of your aid from reaching our people. His
goal is to absorb us through Fusion-or to eliminate
us through murder or starvation. We don't plan to let
him do either one. We know this land. If Stross sends
a military force to defeat us, we will scatter like sand
to the winds, then regroup and strike like a savage
storm when the time is right. They may try to starve us,
but we know the whole world is suffering from the same
climate changes. And no one on Thiopa is
better suited to survive such a disaster than we
Sojourners."
"But, Lessandra, there are other choices besides
apocalypse."
"Are there? This mediation your Commander Riker talked
about . . .?" "Yes. Riker told you the truth.
We can't force your government to change, but we can
try to bring the two sides together to negotiate for your
mutual survival."
"What's in it for you?"
"Nothing. Such mediation is part of the mission of this
vessel."
"Riker said you wouldn't bargain for his
release. Is that true?"
"Yes, it is."
"If we give Riker back, why would you bother
to help us?" "Because the Federation believes very deeply
in the right of all life-forms to choose the way they
wish to live, free from disdomination by anyone else.
Can you return Commander Riker to us?"
"We don't have him."
"But you know who does?"
"Maybe-maybe not."
"What would we have to do in order for you to help us
get Riker back safely?"'
comeaI thought you said you wouldn't bargain."
"Maybe what you ask is something I can
provide."
Lessandra considered her choices. "Come down here
and talk to us."
Picard raised one eyebrow. "For what
purpose?"
"To prove you mean what you say. I guarantee
your safety. As you pointed out, your ship can
transport you away in a second. But I don't
think you care enough about us to-was
11'aa be down in a few minutes," Picard
said in an unruffled tone. "With an armed
party, I'll wager," Lessandra goaded.
"Alone and unarmed."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Then you'll believe it very shortly. Please
stay where you are. We'll use these coordinates.
Picard out."
Picard saw all his bridge crew staring at
him, including counselor Troi, who had entered
quietly during his conversation with Lessandra. Worf
was the first one to voice his dissent. 241
"Sir, as your security chief, I urge you
to reconsider. If they're lying, they could injure
or kill you before we could beam you out of trouble."
"Mr. Worf, I evidently have greater confidence
in your reflexes than you do:"
"Commander Riker would not permit you to beam down into a
situation with so many unknowns, sir," Data pointed
out.
"And as my senior tactical officer in his
absence, you are required to state your opinion as he
would if he were here."
"That is correct, sir."
"But the fact is, he's not here," Picard
pointed out. "I believe the Sojourners have a
damned good idea where he is. And, as
captain, the final decision is mine. Counselor
Troi, it's your turn to suggest I reconsider."
"There is risk involved, but your position as
captain entails some risk. I sensed that
Lessandra is wary of our presence. She doubts that
we can really do anything to mediate the Thiopan
conflict . . . but she seems to be sincere about
guaranteeing your safety."
Picard nodded. "Thank you all for your thoughts.
I've got a promise to keep." He headed for the
aft turbolift, pausing at the open doors.
"Keep your eye on my monitor channel,
Lieutenant Worf. Should anything go awry, my
fate is in your hands." With a confident smile, he
left the bridge.
"What are you going to say to him?" Glin demanded of
Lessandra. The older woman remained enigmatic.
"I'm going to see what he has to say to me-if he
comes."
"He will come," Undrun said. He was now sitting
on a stone bench. "If he said he would beam down,
he will do so."
Any further debate ended with the hum and shimmer
of a transporter beam taking shape a few yards
away. Once materialized, Picard
strode directly to Lessandra, greeting her by name.
"I hope our dealings will be fruitful," he said.
"I doubt that's possible, Captain."
"Would you cut Ambassador Undrun loose?"
Lessandra nodded toward Mikken, who used his
knife blade to slit the ropes around Undrun's
wrists and ankles. The little envoy thankfully rubbed
the places where the bonds had been, trying to restore
normal circulation. "Thank you, Lessandra,"
Picard said, his voice resonating with an arresting
combination of calmness and authority. "I take that as a
sign of good faith, and would like to offer you a similar
sign in return."
Lessandra limped closer. "And what would that be.
"A small shipment of food and medicine."
"Mm-hmm." Her tone was skeptical. "And I
suppose you'll expect another gesture in kind?"
Picard's gaze held steady, eye to eye with this
small woman who wielded outsized influence over
the future of her planet. "I expect nothing.
I don't believe in quid pro quos."
He knew the only way to establish any level
of trust at all was to proceed one tiny step at a
time, each one building on the one before. There were
currents in such encounters, and the Enterprise
captain obviously had the sensitivity to discern them,
to know when to 243
remain anchored and when to follow the tide. It was
a skill of which Undrun believed himself totally
devoid, an instinct he simply didn't have.
"Well, then, let's see your good faith,
Captain," Lessandra said. Picard touched his
Startleet emblem. "Commander Data . . ."
"Data, sir."
"I would like you to beam down one ton of grain, one
ton of seeds, and one hundred kilograms of
medical supplies-to these coordinates."
"Yes, sir."
Picard, Undrun, and perhaps two dozen
Sojourners
waited. Undrun had observed the entire
exchange
without a word, admiring Picard's adroit
application
of the most fundamental principles of
diplomacy. I
think l misjudged this man, and if we get out of
this, ill have one honorable bone in my body, I should
tell him
that. Thirty seconds later, the
crates materialized
nearby.
"Thank you, Data. Stand by for further
instructions." Picard watched as several
Sojourners approached the containers, wonder on their
faces. "If you'd like to check the contents,
Lessandra . . ."
"That won't be necessary, Captain," she said from behind
a mask of detachment. Then she fell silent.
Glin and Jaminaw scuttled up behind her, one on
either side. "Tell him where to find his first officer,"
Glin hissed.
"Tell him," Jaminaw echoed. "You have to. .
."
But the old woman's expression didn't waver.
Neither did Picard's. They were as stolid as two
poker players with unknowable hands, playing for the 244
highest of stakes. When the interval of silence had
stretched long enough for the next move to seem like her
idea and hers alone, Lessandra spoke. "No
guarantee on this, mind you, but we know who took
Riker, and we have a pretty fair notion of where
they're headed."
"Can you take us there?"
She shook her head. "We can't catch
them on foot or by ealix. But you could beam over there
in a wink." She crooked a finger at Durren.
"Map. . ."
Durren obediently unfolded a well-worn
map and spread it on the stone bench next
to Undrun. Lessandra's gnarled hand hovered over
the paper. Then a fingertip landed on a spot near
foothills to the west of the canyon. "That's their
likely destination. By now they may even have reached
it."
"What is there?"
"A communications installation," Glin said,
"capable of reaching ships in planet orbit. The
government used to use it to contact Nuaran ships
making pickups at the mines out there."
"The people holding Riker-who were they going to call?"
asked Picard. "You," Glin said. "And it's just one
person who's got him-a girl with a lot of
determination to get some answers."
"Answers to what questions?"
Glin sighed. "Better if you ask her when you
find her, Captain. I don't think any of us can
speak for her."
"Picard to Enterprise, was he said activating his
communicator again. Data answered.
"Standing by for your orders, sir." 245
The captain had a tricorder slung over his
shoulder. He opened it and held it over the map.
"Are you receiving my visual signal, Data?"
"Affirmative, sir. It correlates closely
with our orbital charts."
"Good. Calculate the coordinates of the cross
near the Sternian Foothills, as it appears on
this map."
"Calculated, sir."
"We need an immediate sensor sweep of that area."
"What are we looking for?"
"Commander Riker, and one Thiopan life-form."
"That should not be hard to find," Data said.
"Good. Make it so, Mr. Data. Inform me
when you've found something. Picard out." He turned
to Lessandra. "I'm willing to beam down more food and
supplies, but I want it to go to the people who need it the
most."
"That would be the population center of the Endrayan
Realm, Captain. The town of Crossroads.
That's where most of the refugees from the dried-up
farmlands are going."
"Is there a workable government structure there?"
"Durren," Lessandra said, "you were there
last. What's going on in Crossroads?"
He shook his head sadly. "The local
government is crumbling."
"Do you have people there who could see that these supplies
get fairly distributed?" Picard asked.
"Yes," said Lessandra. "We can do that."
"Fine. As soon as my first officer is safe and
sound, I shall transport twenty percent of our
total cargo to whatever location you designate."
Undrun rose and hobbled over. "Captain
Picard, what you're doing is highly irregular and
. . ."
"Yes?" Picard's piercing eyes gave
Undrun a probing look. "And it seems like the
best thing to do for now." The ambassador smiled.
"I concur wholeheartedly with your decision."
"I would like you to beam up to the Enterprise, Mr.
Ambassador," Picard said. "I am
responsible for your safety, and I believe you could
use some nourishment and medical attention. I won't
take no for an answer. Undrun responded with a
weak nod.
"Picard to Enterprise . . . Lock onto
Ambassador Undrun's position and prepare
to beam him up."
"Enterprise," said Worf's voice. "Locked
on, Captain."
"Mr. Ambassador," Picard said, holding out
his hand, "give me your communicator." But
Undrun didn't have it. Durren did, and he
flipped it to Picard, who caught it neatly in his
palm, then handed it to Lessandra. "I want you
to hold on to this for the time being, in case there's a need
for us to renew this contact. Mr. Worf, ready
to transport. . . Energize."
Undrun's form dissolved into a glittering pillar,
then faded out entirely. "Captain," said
Lessandra, clutching the metallic insignia
Picard had given her, "you should know Undrun's
main reason for sneaking down here himself."
"I imagine he meant to figure out a way
to get that emergency aid to the people who needed it."
She shook her head. "His first priority was
to free your Commander Riker."
Picard's eyebrows twitched in surprise.
"Really," he murmured.
"Data to Captain Picard," said the voice from
Picard's communicator. "Report, Data."
"We have located a pair of life-forms in the
general vicinity you suggested."
"Is one of them Commander Riker?"
"Uncertain, sir. There is some interference with our
sensors due to the magnetic properties of various
ores and minerals present in fairly large
quantities at or near the surface. That, added
to the similarities between human and Thiopan
physiological readings, makes specificity
difficult. I could program sensors
to compensate."
"Do we have time for that?"
"Not if we consider one additional factor."
"What additional factor?"
"Whoever they are, they appear to be under attack
by Thiopan government aircraft."
"Hoverjets," Lessandra said sharply. "If
that's true, they're in great danger."
Picard whirled toward her. "Do you know of any
other people-your people-who might be out there?"
"It's possible, Captain."
"I've got to know for certain. Data,
transport me to that position."
"But, sir, the risks-was
"Don't argue with me, Commander. Beam me
directly there on my order. Then stand by to beam all
of us up to the Enterprise. was Picard
stepped away from the rest of the group. "Lessandra,
we'll talk again."
"Good luck out there, Captain Picard."
"Data, energize!"
Tim QuUU-TALLY iiAn amx gouged
carelessly out of the hillside, then left like a gaping
wound when the mine was abandoned, mute evidence of the
pillaging of Thiopa. A permanent scar, cut so
deep that it revealed millions of years' worth of
sedimentary rock built up by heedless forces of
nature-and torn apart by the heedless hand of man.
All that might have interested Will Riker at any
other time. At the moment, however, his only concerns were
the seven military hoverjets regrouping for another
strafing run at the spot from which three other
hoverjets had already been shot down in flame and
smoke.
Riker and Mori hunkered down near the lower edge
of the old quarry, concealed by two piles of rock that
intersected to form a sort of protective angle.
Protective, but far from invulnerable. Mori's
aim had been 249
nothing short of miraculous so far, but Riker
knew the odds were against her continued success. If he
could have offered a viable alternative
to attempting to blast seven more aircraft out of the
sky, he would gladly have done so. But there was no
other escape from here. It was fight or run. Riker
feared the final results of either choice would be the
same-the charred remains of bodies smoldering where
he and his sharpshooting companion had been crouching.
Mori shifted the balance of the missile launcher
on her shoulder, then took aim on an incoming
hoverjet. "If I can get two more, the rest will
run."
Before she could fire, the hoverjet shot a burst of
energy bolts their way, blowing pebbles and dirt into the
air, forcing them to cower with heads covered until the
rain of rocks ended.
"Number One!"
At the inconceivable sound of a familiar and very
welcome voice, Riker's head jerked up.
"Captain!"
Another salvo of hostile fire set off a
small mushroom cloud of dust and stones. Riker
lunged for Picard's arm and pulled him down to the
ground. "What the hell are you doing here, sir?"
"Getting you out of here." Picard slapped his chest
insignia. "Enterprise, three to beam out--now!"
"No," Mori shouted, popping out of her
crouch, tracking a swooping hoverjet in her
scope. "Let me shoot-was
"Are you crazy?" Riker shouted. He clamped
both hands on her launcher and wrenched it away from
her-as the three of them sparkled back into existence in
the Enterprise transporter room. Mori was still
scuffling to get her weapon back, when the sudden
realization of her abrupt change of venue hit
her. She froze-but only for a beat. Then she
straightened with dignity far beyond her years. "I could
have shot all of them down."
Riker shook his head, a combination of relief and
amusement glinting in his eyes. "Not in my
transporter room. Captain Picard, meet
Mori."
Picard nodded stiffly. "How was she doing?"
"Three out of ten when you interrupted me," Mori
stated.
"Commendable. Number One, you're out of uniform."
"Long story, Captain."
"I'll look forward to hearing it-later." He
faced Mori squarely. "I'm told you are a young
lady of uncommon determination."
She opened her mouth, but Riker silenced her with a
sharp look. "I'll explain, sir."
He reminded Picard about Evain, the latter-day
prophet who had revived the Sojourner movement with
his writings and preaching. "What does all that have to do
with this young lady?" the captain asked. "Mori is
Evain's daughter."
Mori explained the rest. "And I believe all
the reports I have heard of prisoners seeing my
father alive long after the government said he died."
"Ahh, I see."
"Captain," Riker said, "I made her a
personal promise that I would try to find out whether
Evain is alive or dead."
"Hmmm. What would prompt you to make such a
promise, Number One?"
"I'm not sure, sir. I guess I was
impressed with her guts, if not her judgment. I'd
like to keep that promise, with your permission."
"You realize we're treading avery fine line,"
Picard warned. "The Prime Directive. I'm
aware of that, sir. The knowledge that Evain is alive could
conceivably change the balance of power on Thiopa,
and if we're responsible for that. . ." His voice
trailed off:
Picard exhaled slowly, mulling over the
implications. "I take it you have something in
mind . . .?"
"I do, sir."
Arms folded across his chest, Picard gave
Mori a stern look. "Commander Riker does not
make such promises lightly. Nor is he
impulsive. I will allow him to keep his word to you."
Mori met his gaze without flinching. "Thank you,
Captain."
"Let's go to sickbay," said Riker.
"Sickbay?" said Picard.
"I'm going to need Dr. Pulaski's help
to carry out my idea."
"It sounds like grave-robbing," Kate Pulaski
said as she faced the dusty trio in her office.
"Not robbing-just peeking, sort of," said Riker
defensively. Pulaski looked up at the two
officers who outranked her on the Enterprise and
pursed her lips skeptically. "Let me see if
I understand this. You want me to take a genetic
scan of this young woman, then beam down to a
graveyard and scan the inside of a tomb to see if
anyone's home, as you so quaintly put it, W."
"If there is a body in the tomb, you can do a
genetic 252
scan of it, too, to see if it matches
Mori's gene pattern," Riker said. "To see if
they're related." The doctor shook her reddish
gold curls. "Is this technically feasible?"
Picard asked somewhat impatiently. "Well, of
course the genetic scans would tell us whether there
is a familial link. But depending on what this
tomb is made of, my tricorder might not be able
to penetrate."
"But if it can," Riker prodded, "would we find out
what we need to know?" Pulaski looked at
Mori. "We would be able to tell if that's your father
buried inside that tomb, yes."
"Then we'll give it a try," said Picard.
"Where is this tomb?" "In a war memorial park
in Bareesh," Riker said. "Do you know exactly
where, Mori?"
"I've never been there myself, but other people have told
me where it is. I think I can find it."
"What makes you think you're transporting
down?" Riker said. Mori lowered her eyes, one
of the few times Riker had seen her show any
vulnerability at all. "Please let me. I
could never go before, and I may never be able to go there again.
If my father really is buried there . . ." She
paused. "It would mean a lot to me . . .
to say good-bye."
"You won't do anything dangerous?" Riker said.
"I promise."
"Very well," Picard said. "Give the
coordinates to the transporter chief, Number
One. I want you to beam down in Thiopan clothing.
The less suspicion you arouse, the better."
"Agreed, sir. Let's make a stop at
ship's stores and get this over with." "Oh, Number
One," Picard called, stopping them at the door.
"My compliments on skirting the Prime
Directive. If you are able to come to a definite
conclusion one way or the other, only we and Mori
will know for certain. And she won't be able to prove it
to anyone on Thiopa, not from what we find out today."
"That was my thinking exactly, sir."
"Wait," Mori protested. "What do you mean
I won't be able to prove it?" Riker's
expression was not unkind, but it was firm. "I told
you I made a personal promise-between you and me.
There will be no permanent record of our findings, if
any, and we can't ofer any testimony to back you
up."
The young Sojourner's expression darkened, as if
she felt cheated. "Then what good does this
do me?"
Picard approached her. "You'll know-for sure,
we hope-whether Evain is alive or dead. This will
be your own personal knowledge. It may give you some
peace-or it may not. But it will guide you in whatever
you decide to do next. If it turns out your father is
dead, you'll be able to get on with your life."
"And if he's not buried there, then what?"
Picard spread his hands uncertainly. "Then
you'll know the government lied about his death twenty
years ago. And you'll have a solid reason to continue
your quest for the truth about his fate."
"That's the best we can do, Mori," Riker said.
"I hope it's enough."
"It's better than anyone ever offered me before,"

she said with an acquiescent shrug. "I guess
it'll have to do."
Three figures dressed in billowy robes, with
loose hoods shading their heads, shimmered inffbeing on
a cobblestone walk in Bareesh's memorial park.
The path on which they had materialized was one of a
dozen fanning out like a sunburst from a central
plaza with a building that looked like an
administrative office. Each ray was
connected to the others by short paths in between,
subdividing each segment of the whole. Riker
realized they were in a gently sloped valley, with the
walkways going up over the surrounding hills and out
of sight. He didn't want to spend any more time
here than they had to. "Mori, which way?"
For a moment, she looked lost. "Umm-wait a
minute. Okay-up this way. Had to get my bearings
comI'm not used to beaming into places. Takes a
second to figure out directions." She led them
along a connecting path and halfway up the hill, which
was matted with the brittle remains of grass too
long deprived of water. Riker took a quick look
around at the grave markers and mausoleums. There were
no representational statues, no literal
images. Instead, Thiopans favored
geometrical headstones and obelisks. Mori's
steps slowed as she caught sight of a white
pyramid, rising tall and stately above the graves
around it. It was made of a marbled stone, with an
epitaph and dates chiseled into one side at eye
level. "What does it say?" Dr. Pulaski
asked.
Mori stood in bitter silence. When she
spoke, her 255
voice was edged with disbelief. "Evain-The Truth
of Thiopa Saved His Soul."
Riker motioned to Pulaski and she snapped open
her tricorder. He tried to put a reassuring arm
around Mori, but she shook it off and stared at the
graven words as if trying to burn them into oblivion.
The words of those who had imprisoned her father because of the
things he'd said and written. Words that mocked his
life and his memory.
Pulaski turned off her tricorder. "There's
someone in there, all right." Mori didn't hear.
She'd left Riker and circled to a blank side
of the tomb, reaching out to touch it.
"Hey!" A voice called from down the
hillside. Riker turned to see a guard laboring
up the slope toward them. "Hey!" he shouted again.
"This place is closed. How did you get in here?"
Riker grabbed Mori by the wrist, reached under his
cloak and touched his communicator. "Enterprise, this
is Riker. Energize, now. his
They materialized in the secure confines of the
starship's transporter chamber. Mori nearly
stumbled as she came down the steps. "He's in
there," she whispered in a numb voice.
Kate Pulaski gripped her by the
shoulders, gently but firmly. "Mori, listen
to me. All we know is that someone is inside that
tomb. But we don't know if it's your father."
"Who else would it be?"
"It could be anybody," Riker said. He found
himself annoyed that she was so ready to let go of her
faint hope, so ready to forget how much she distrusted
the government that had imprisoned her father all those

years ago. Then he chastised himself for having seen
Mori only the way she'd wanted to be seen--as a
tough desert fighter capable of shooting down an
entire air squadron and more than willing to die in
the attempt. Right now she was a trembling young
woman overwhelmed by the possible reality of the death of a
father she could barely remember. His expression
softened. "They could have buried any dead prisoner and
said it was your father."
"Do you want to know?" Pulaski asked.
Mori managed a nod. "I have to."
"Then we have to go back to sickbay so I can take
a genetic I.d. on you and compare it to the readings
I got from the remains inside the tomb. Are you
ready?"
"Yes, Doctor."
Picard sat in the ready room just off the
Enterprise bridge, elbows propped on his
desk, fingers steepled, eyes focused in far-off
thought. With Riker's safe return and Undrun's
retrieval, he would be able to leave all this bad
business on Thiopa behind, knowing at least that his
ship's complement was intact. For all the brave
ship-captain talk about no single person being more
important than any other, and about every life aboard
being secondary to the survival of the ship and the
majority of her crew, no commander could accept the
loss of a crew member or passenger without losing a
piece of himself in the bargain, without feeling that he'd
failed. I'm responsible for every life on this
vessel-and every life is sacred. For one more day, at
least, that was one internal conflict he wouldn't have
to fight.
He was also pleased that he'd established a 257
dialogue, however tenuous it might be, with
Lessandra and the Sojourners. The people most in need would
get at least some measure of relief from the two
shipments of food and supplies he'd beamed down
to drought-stricken Endraya. But the most difficult
loose end remained loose: what, if anything, was
he to do about Thiopa's long-term
difficulties? Data had given assurances that his
projections of Thiopa's bleak environmental
future carried with them a 97.8876 percent
probability, if none of the worst-case variables were
affected for the better by positive steps. And
Picard had shared Data's astonished reaction at
Dr. Kael Keat's ready admissions. Data still
couldn't grasp the notion of overlooking the truth
to enhance one's personal power. Picard could understand
it, but that didn't make it any easier for him
to accept it. And the revelation that Thiopa's chief
scientist didn't think indisputable conclusions of
ever-darkening disaster were reason enough to alter her
empire-building strategies-well, that certainly
was a bad omen.
Starfleet and Federation regulations and laws were
clear: it was not the Federation's place to tell the
rest
of creation how to live . . . but sometimes some crea
tures were so damned stupid ,-Picard caught that
thought before it could fully emerge. The legal code
he'd sworn to uphold by accepting his Starlleet
corn mission limited his actions. But it didn't
relieve him
of his conscience.
Captain's Personal Log, Supplemental.
I face a decision that is both difficult and
simple.
In spite of the paradox there, such decisions are
all
too common in this line of work. The simple part is
this: I feel morally bound to present Thiopa's
leaders
--both government and Sojourner--with the fads as
we know them to be. And to offer our help, if they
ask for it. After that, it's up to them. That is the
hard
part.
All eyes turned toward Jean-Luc Picard
as he came out of his ready room onto the bridge.
He took his seat between Riker, now cleaned up and
back in uniform, and Counselor Troi. "You
look as if you've made up your mind," she said.
He nodded. "We will not turn our backs on people
in need," he said with quiet fortitude. "Not unless
they force us to."
"What about the Federation, sir?" Riker said.
"It's not likely they're going to want to prop up
a poor leader with a shaky grip on power."
"True enough, Number One. But that's
for the Federation Council to decide, not one starship
captain and his first officer. Lieutenant Worf,
open two channels to Thiopa, please."
"Aye, sir. Channels open."
"Enterprise to Thiopan Communications Network.
. ."
A brisk male voice replied. "Thiopa
responding,
Enterprise."
"This is Captain Picard. I would like to speak
to Sovereign Protector Stross."
"Please stand by, Captain Picard." A
moment later, the voice returned. "Putting you through
to Protector Stross's office-visual
signal."
The main bridge viewer switched from orbital
image of the planet to the inside of Stross's
office, where the Thiopan leader sat at his desk.
Next to him 259
stood Policy Minister Ootherai. "Captain
Picard . . . Sorry we haven't been able
to find out anything about your missing officer."
"We have obtained his release from the Sojourners."
Stross seemed unperturbed. "So you had
direct contact with them, then?" he noted
mildly. "They're considered criminal terrorists
here, Captain. Your talking to them isn't going
to sit well with-was
"The details and consequences of that contact are not
the purpose of this communication." Picard's tone was
direct and controlled.
"Oh? What is?"
"The consequences of Thiopa's lack of regard for
its own future. I have a decision to make--whether
or not to give your government the rest of the emergency
supplies. Would you stand by, please?" He
didn't give Stross a chance to dissent. "Mute
audio." He paused for a moment as Worf cut the
sound portion of their signal. "Captain Picard
to Lessandra. Come in, please."
After a moment, they heard her crusty voice over
the speaker. "Is that how I get this thing to work?"
"Yes, it is. We hear you, Lessandra,"
Picard said.
"Captain, did you get Riker back alive?"
"Alive and unharmed. We also brought Mori
aboard temporarily-some unfinished business.
We'll transport her down shortly."
"We got word from Crossroads that you sent down
the supplies you promised. You're an
honorable man, Captain-thank you. We'll see
that the people who need help get it."
"That was only a fraction of what we've brought

help Thiopa. What we do with the remaining aid
depends on how you respond to my next
proposal."
"Try it."
"I propose a conference between you and Protector
Stross-was "Never, was Lessandra spat. "I
trusted him once-was
"You don't have to trust an enemy in order to talk
to him," Picard said forcefully. "This will be an
electronic conference-right now. Lieutenant
Worf, resume second-channel audio. Lord
Stross, Lessandra comy may now speak directly
to each other."
Stross's eyes were stormy. "Picard, if you
think you can bully-was "I apologize for any
rudeness, Lord Stross. I have a proposal, which
I urge you to accept. It involves no risk on
your part."
"What kind of proposal?"
"Talks between you and Lessandra."
"Stross doesn't want to talk any
more than I do," Lessandra said. "We don't deal
with criminals," Stross shot back.
"I'm not asking you to do that," Picard said. "In
order to decide how to distribute the Federation
relief supplies, I need to present some vital
information to both of you first. In the interest of fairnessand
our best effort to remain neutral, in your
dispute-I wanted you both to hear this presentation at
exactly the same moment. When I'm done, if either
or both of you have nothing further to say, we'll cut
off both signals:" He paused as the bridge
doors opened, and Ambassador Undrun emerged.
"The future of your world is at stake," Picard
went 261
on. "Is it too much to ask that you both listen
to what I have to say?" Stross's shoulders rose
into a hostile hunch. "I'll listen."
"So will L" Lessandra's voice was equally
antagonistic.
Picard thanked them, took a deep breath, then
cited the litany of facts and projections Data
had listed in his report. The greenhouse effect,
its causes and consequences, the abuses inflicted
on water and air, the savage exploitation of
nonrenewable resources, the destruction of
forests and other natural hedges against environmental
ruin-all of it, leading to one inescapable conclusion:
if Thiopans didn't change their ways and learn
to cooperate-or at least coexist-their civilization
faced certain collapse. The Federation could help
avert it, if such help was requested. When he was
finished, Picard felt drained. He'd been
blunt, but believed there was no other way to convey
to them the gravity of the crisis, and to circumvent the
political posturing he expected from both sides.
During his lecture, Dr. Kael Keat had joined
Ootherai at her leader's side in Stross's
office. She was first to respond. "We don't
dispute your facts, Captain Picard. And, as I
told Commander Data, we're aware of the mistakes
of the past and the problems they've caused for our world."
Picard leaned back in his seat. "But you do
dispute our findings?" "Yes, I do. They're
based on limited knowledge of the work we've been doing.
Long before the environmental catastrophe you're
predicting, we will have 262
mended our ways. We'll also have mastered
nature's mysteries. We will be in control."
Data started to say, "Dr. Keat-was
But Picard cut him o@.: "Mr.
Data, mind your post. It is-was Data turned,
confusion in his eyes. "But, Captain, that is not-was
"It is not our place to contradict Dr. Keat."
He addressed the Thiopans again. "What if your
scientists can't produce this weather control
miracle, Protector Stross?"
"We didn't get where we are by doubting science,
Captain Picard."
"We trusted outsiders before," said Keat, "and that
brought us to the brink of catastrophe, Captain.
We're never again going to let outsiders tell us
what to do."
"What about you, Lessandra?" Picard asked.
"Do you also believe Thiopa is in no danger?"
"What if it is? The collapse of their
civilization is what we want. If we can't bring
it about, we'll wait for Mother World to punish them
herself. Meanwhile, we can defend ourselves . . . and
comwhen she takes her vengeance for the ravages of
others, we'll still be here." The old woman's
voice was untroubled, almost stunning in its
tranquillity. "We are caretakers-not
conquerors."
Stross couldn't contain his fury. He rose from his
chair. "I heard that, Lessandra!"
"I know you did."
"You can't stop Fusion-you can't stand in our way.
You can't stop us from building a future where your Mother
World can't threaten us," Stross raged. The angrier
Stross became, the more placid 263
Lessandra's voice grew. "We have the power because
we have the sense to keep the circle intact."
"You and your circle!"
"We've heard enough," Captain Picard
thundered. When the bickering on the comm channels
subsided, he continued in a voice hushed
by hopelessness. "You've given us little choice but
to leave you to your own fate."
"What about the rest of the relief supplies, the
food?" Lessandra wanted to know.
"Since it is apparent that your two sides are
incapable of compromise or cooperation on even a
small scale, I will transport half the
remaining supplies to your people, Lessandra, and half
to your government, Protector Stross."
"Captain," Stross protested, "I am the
leader of this world's government."
Lessandra ignored her opponent's tirade.
"I knew you were an honorable man, Captain."
"This has nothing to do with honor. There
seems to be all too little of that on Thiopa,"
Picard said sadly. "We're just completing our
assignment in the only feasible way."
"I'll register an official complaint with your
Federation," Stross went on.
Frid Undrun suddenly spoke up, stepping
to the center of the bridge to stand near Picard. "Feel
free, Protector Stross. But I am the Aid
Ministry's authorized emissary in this matter, and
I concur completely with Captain Picard's
judgment."
"Use what we give wisely," Picard said
wearily. "I doubt there will be more."
Stross scoffed. "The Federation won't let us
starve. You need us."
"Perhaps. But I wouldn't stake my future on
it, if I were you. We'll beam the emergency
supplies down within the hour. After that, we shall leave
orbit. Picard out."
With communications ended, the viewscreen resumed
displaying the hazy face of Thiopa. Riker
stretched his long legs and sat back. "There's a
view I won't miss."
"Nor I, Number One."
Riker turned slightly. "Worf,
see to the transfer of our cargo to Thiopa."
"Right away, Commander."
Picard stood before Ambassador Undrun.
"Thank you for your support."
"Thank you for your patience," Undrun answered
warmly.
"Number One," said Picard, "I believe we
have one more item to see to."
The first officer rose to his feet.
"To sickbay, sir?"
Picard responded with a nod and they strode up the
side ramp. "Mr. Data, you have the bridge."
As the turbolift doors shut out the hum of
bridge activity, Picard said, "What would you
recommend to the Federation about Thiopa?"
"I think the Federation should look somewhere else for a
reliable ally." "Agreed," Picard said. "The
real tragedy, though, is the future of this world."
"Bareesh isn't really feeling the pain yet.
Maybe they'll change their tune when things get
worse."
"Maybe. But will anything ever make the
Sojourners change theirs?"
They arrived at Dr. Pulaski's office
to find Mori pacing nervously, alone.
"Where's the doctor?" Riker asked.
Before Mori could reply, Pulaski entered from her
lab. "Right here."
Mori's whole body stiffened with pent-up
anticipation. "Do you know-was Pulaski's mouth
softened into a reassuring smile. "It's not your
father's body in that tomb."
The young Sojourner exhaled the breath she'd been
holding and sank down into the nearest chair. The three
starship officers surrounded her, concern lining their
faces.
"I thought you'd be happy to hear it." Pulaski
began.
"I am, in a way," Mori said in a small
voice. "He's not dead inside that pyramid . .
. but he might still be dead." She stopped, her eyes
revealing confusion and something unexpected: shame.
Riker saw it clearly. "There's something else
bothering you . . . Whatever it is, it's okay."
She shook her head vigorously. "No, it's
not. was She groped for the right words, or any words.
When she found them, they were whispered. "Part of me was
hoping it was Evain buried there. Then at least I
would have known."
Her shoulders began to tremble, but she
asserted control over the whirlwind of emotions
swirling inside her. "So I don't know. Not for
sure. But I will find out."
"I believe you will," Picard said, helping her
up with a fatherly hand. "We'll be leaving orbit
soon. Time to send you home."
With the Enterprise's two commanding officers
flanking her, Mori paused at the sickbay
door. "Dr. Pulaski-thank you."
"You're welcome. And good luck."
On their way to the transporter room, they saw
lanky Wesley Crusher and tiny Frid Undrun
coming toward them around the curving corridor.
"Ambassa- dor Undrun," said Riker, "I
didn't get a chance to thank you."
"For what?"
"Captain Picard told me how you tried to get
the Sojourners to turn me loose. That took a
lot of guts, going down there alone. Not a lot of
brains-but a lot of guts." He smiled.
Mori tugged on Riker's sleeve. "Hey,
that's the same thing you said about me."
"Well, you two have a lot in
commonbullheadedness."
"A good quality to have," Undrun
boomed. Then he smiled and added: "When tempered with
some clear-headed common sense. In any case,
you're welcome . . . Commander Riker."
"I think I misjudged you, Mr.
Ambassador."
"No, you didn't," Undrun said with a shake of
his head. "But I've realized something I should have known
before: not every obstacle can be hurdled with a computer
analysis and a five-year plan."
Riker grinned. "Do you think you can nurture this
newfound wisdom?" "I plan to try. I have to get
used to the concept that experiences are to be learned from,
not just filed away in mission-briefing reports."
"C'mon, Ambassador," Wesley urged.
"We'll be late."
"Late?" Picard's eyebrow rose. "For
what?"
"Wesley has invited me to address his class
in Problems in Cross-Cultural Contacts.
Maybe they can learn from my mistakes."
Wes pulled the diminutive diplomat along,
saying, "Guest speakers don't get demerits for
being late . . . but I do!"
Once they reached the transporter room, Mori
bounded up to the beaming chamber, propelled
by a clear sense of purpose. "I can't wait
to get back. I've got a lot of work to do."
Riker admonished, "Remember what the
ambassador just said."
"About learning from experiences? I will."
"You're going back to a dangerous world."
"I know."
"Your own people may not give you the support you
want, to do what you want to do."
"Then I'll find it someplace else." She
smiled. "And maybe I'll find my father, too."
Riker nodded. "Be careful down there."
"I will," she said. "And thank you, both of you."
Transporter Chief O'Brien tapped in the
beamdown coordinates. "Ready, sir," he told
Picard.
"Energize," the captain said.
O'Brien touched the control pad again, and Riker
watched Mori's silhouette fade away until
she was gone. Her life hadn't been an easy one,
and the odds against finding her father and winning his freedom were
too high to calculate.
Still, whatever tests she had yet to face, Riker
had a feeling Mori would hold her ground.
Wnx No uand.mniAnlm mEED
to return to the bridge, Picard and Riker took the
opportunity to do something they both enjoyed-take a
stroll through the Enterprise. As they passed a
small recreation lounge, a strident braying
crashed into their ears at pa*ducing volume.
To Picard it sounded like a herd of bellowing beasts
undergoing unspeakable torture.
Riker, of course, knew what it was instantly.
A second blast of noise virtually paralyzed
them in the corridor. The moment it ended, Picard
lunged for the rec-room door, with Riker just behind: The
door slid aside, revealing no beasts being
butchered just Worf, Geordi LaForge, and Data
sitting on stools around a computer screen displaying
what appeared to be musical notation. Each player
cradled his own Klingon chuS'ugh.
Riker went pale. A whole orchestra?
As always, Picard retained his composure. "So this
is a Klingon, uh-was "ChuS'ugh, was Worf said,
his tone defensive.
Picard reached out with one finger to pluck a single
string on Geordi's instrument. The engineer
positively beamed at the reverberating noise.
"Isn't that the most amazing sound?"
"Amazing," Picard said with a wan
smile.
"Geordi liked it so much," Data said, "that he
had the computer manufacture two more, identical
to Worf's."
"I thought Data should learn more about music," the
chief engineer added, as if explaining the android's
presence.
"Music," Riker muttered with a shake of his
head.
But Geordi continued without skipping a beat. "And
then I thought, since you didn't seem too excited
about having a chuS'ugh in the ship's jazz combo,
well, why do we have only one combo?"
"You mean . . . a chuS'ugh combo?" Riker
asked numbly.
"Hey, why not? Once we get good enough, we can
have an old-time battle of the bands."
"I surrender," Riker said quickly, already backing
out of the room. He and Picard escaped before the next
sonic disruption from the rec lounge. They headed for the
nearest turbolift back to the bridge. "I'm
afraid you've released an elemental force,"
Picard commented, with a thumbed reference back toward the
raucous rehearsal.
Riker chuckled. "Two in one day,
sir."
"You mean Mori?"
"Yes, sir. You know, she really wanted a shot
at the rest of those hoverjets."
"Determined young lady."
"Stubborn is more like it."
"That characteristic could serve her well," Picard
allowed, "if properly directed."
"Or it could get her into trouble she can't get out of
someday." "Like her planet?" Riker nodded
wi/lly as they entered the turbolift.
"Bridge." The doors slid shut and the pod rose
through. the ship. "People can get so damned
selfrighteous-their answers are the only answers. Just
butting heads at cross-purposes-can't they see
they're destroying their own future?" Picard's
expression turned philosophical. "Seems
to be part of the maturation process for most
civilizations, ours included. Takes a bit of
luck to survive it." "The Sojourners seem so
certain they'll come out on top, no matter what the
sacrifice," Riker observed. "Sometimes the only
way to win a battle is to avoid fighting it."
"That doesn't seem to have occurred to either side on
Thiopa." With imperceptible deceleration,
the lift came to a stop and opened onto the
Enterprise bridge. Picard and Riker joined
Counselor Troi, who was seated on the lower
level. Wesley Crusher was at his console,
enjoying a whispered chat with Ensign Lanni
Sakata, the raven-haired young woman he'd found
so distracting on other occasions. "I think I see
a developing crush," Riker murmured to Captain
Picard. "Mmmm. That's your department, Number
One." 271 STAR TREK: THE NEXT
GENERATION
"Captain," said Lieutenant White from behind the
command seats, "we've completed off-loading of all
relief supplies." "It'll be a relief to get
away from Thiopa," Riker quipped, prompting a
trace of a smile from Picard. "Amen to that,
Number One." "Mr. Crusher," said Riker,
drawing Wesley's attention. "I believe the
Enterprise was meant for better things than playing
nursemaid to freight drones. Do you concur?"
"Yes, sir, I do," Wesley replied with
crisp assurance. "Then set course for Starbase
Seventy-seven. Let's get rid of those empty
cargo carriers and get back to work." Wesley's
slender fingers danced across his panel in a
flurry of electronic tones. "Course
plotted, Commander." "Thank you, Ensign.
Captain . . . ?" "Engage," said Picard.
He settled back into the firm padding of the command
chair, watching Thiopa's murky image recede as
the great starship made a graceful roll and left
orbit. He wanted to feel that relief Riker had
joked about a moment before, feel the tension recede much
as the planet itself was being left behind. But he couldn't,
not just yet. "Let's look ahead," he said. To the
missing detail . . . Riker discerned the double
meaning. "Forward view," he ordered. Ensign
Sakata touched her keypad. "Forward, sir." The
main viewscreen switched from the troubled world behind to
"the mystical cleansing clarity of star-strewn
space. Picard had noticed Wesley sneak a
look at Lanni Sakata. Can't blame
him-she's 272 Power Hungry
lovely . . . But now both Captain Picard
and Ensign Crusher had eyes only for the stars
spread before them. "Better, Captain?" Riker
asked. "Much better, Number One." Picard's
stern features glowed with the satisfaction of a man who
knew where he belonged. "Ensign Sakata, ahead,
warp factor four." At tempo
allegro, the Enterprise swept toward the stars.